#i could EASILY write tens of thousands of words about him

[always-amity]

Shitty 15 minute doodle done on the bus today because O Superman by Laurie Anderson came on my play list and I was like "This is so Furious Core"

Also debut of my Young Furious design I guess.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Lucifer Morningstar with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario in honor of Valentine’s Day

warning: aged up!reader [middle to late twenties], language, ooc, one-sided!Alastor x reader, possible spoilers from the first season of the 2024 show.

Hey guys, welcome to another Hazbin Hotel collaboration with @vikkirosko, starring Charlie's own goofy, duck-obsessed father, the King of Hell! Special thanks to @ladydoe8, and @illuminaresblog for their feedback so that I could write this fic in a timely manner before things got busy in the real world for me!

Just so everyone knows, the outfit depicted here is Jean’s ceremonial outfit from the game Genshin Impact, idea was courtesy of @illuminaresblog.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what our short king is up to ~!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Lucifer is someone who believes in second chances now. 

Charlie had made something that had been impossible for the last ten thousand years possible, and he wanted to support her in any way he could. Thanks to him being an amazing, resourceful father they were able to rebuild the hotel in less than four months, and Alastor didn’t show up until they were finished. Ha! Take that, asshole! 

But what has made him the happiest he has felt in a long time is the opportunity to be close to his daughter again. He was not going to ruin it by being a coward and not speak to her unless it was convenient for him. She is more precious than anything or anyone in Hell. 

Don’t get him wrong, he is very happy that his little devil found someone that made her happy, but it was kinda awkward to see them being….intimate. That’s at least one other valid reason why he’s been coming to the greenhouse more often than isolating himself away in his living space of the hotel. It wasn’t healthy, and he couldn’t keep hiding himself from Hell forever after fighting Adam in the war. And why the greenhouse instead of the lobby bar, the rooftop balcony, or the parlor? Well, you were there. The hotel’s stoic groundskeeper, and one of the people who had been supportive of Charlie’s dream when he wasn’t around. 

You always knew the right words to say to her without sounding like a jerk. 

You would help out with creating group exercises, though some of your ideas were a little extreme.

 If someone needed some assistance with work around the hotel, you were there in the blink of an eye ready to help. 

You had fought against the exorcists to protect everyone, even at the cost of losing your prosthetic arms.  

You were a lot of things that he wasn’t. And he was a tiny bit jealous about it, even when you had never intended to make him, the King of Hell, jealous. That job was exclusively reserved for the Radio Demon. 

 He did think you would look a lot cuter if you smiled more often, and he has said this to you one afternoon as he sat on a wooden bench, watching you carefully remove the weeds from the flower beds. In that moment he thought he had fucked up. The words that spilled out of his mouth had pissed you off so much that you were quiet and did not even look at him over your shoulder. He felt his apple red cheeks burn with embarrassment as he stammered out an apology, trying to make amends when your calm voice broke through the awkward silence. 

You weren’t bothered by what he said. He was stating a fact that you’ve heard many times when you were alive. You explained to him that it was…difficult to express yourself for a long time. And in Hell, you couldn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. It made you a target. To demonstrate your point, you slapped your cheeks and pulled the corners of your mouth upwards to create a smile, albeit a forced one. 

Lucifer had a good laugh that day, and the frazzled thoughts that ran rampant in his mind came to halt. You were a funny sinner. And definitely strange, but hey, so is he! Kind of. Okay, he definitely is, but who isn’t a little odd down here?

When he realized that you weren’t easily offended like the others, conversations between the two of you had gotten…well, better. He would ask you questions about the stuff you grew, and you answered without hesitation. When you asked him about his rubber ducky creations, he babbled about his latest one and you would give him an idea on how to improve. “Perhaps instead of spitting out fire and water after the back flip, what if you did flower petals instead?” You said to him one afternoon as you hoisted a heavy pot up from the shelf, carefully placing it down on the workbench. “You can use the ones I remove when I prune the roses, if you’d like. All I ask is to not take too many of them. I am using them in an experiment to make soaps for the rooms so that Charlie doesn’t spend too much money on acquiring cleaning items.”

Lucifer immediately took you up on the offer, smiling so widely that it almost hurt his face before hurrying back to his workshop. In a matter of hours, he was cradling a brand new ducky that did release blood-red petals and golden sparkles! The ingenious part of it all is that, instead of doing a backflip, all someone needed to do was push its chest and poof, magic! It was amazing, the audience loved it and he actually liked it too!

 Lilith used to pitch ideas on his creations…at least…until she left. He still missed her. She’s Charlie’s mother, and not even he knew where she was or what she has been doing for the past seven years. He could only hope that wherever she is….she is happy.  

Instead of throwing this little gem with the rest of the ones he’d been working on since moving into the hotel, he gave this little ducky to you. A token of his gratitude, their friendship, whatever you thought the gift was! He just wanted to thank you for giving him that spark of creativity he had been looking for. 

To this day, it sat on the corner of your workbench, glowing under the red light streaming through the stained glass windows and in pristine condition. It was obvious that you treasured his little creation and it made his heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. Before he realized it, his conversations with you shifted to memories of the past. 

He would regale the tales of Creation, how he’d tease his fellow angels and outwit them with harmless little pranks or showered their meeting assemblies with sparkles and ideas that…that they rejected in favor of order and obedience. It still hurt, that no matter how much he wanted to shower humanity with goodness and free will, it seemed like bad things had happened ever since he gave Eve the Fruit of Knowledge. 

You told him about the Great War  and how you served as a soldier in the Leidenschaftlich Army under Major Gilbert Bougainvillea. You could not remember your age, but everyone assumed you had been ten after being enlisted. You were fourteen when the war ended, and the Major had died saving your life. You never understand what his final words meant, I love you, until you yourself had perished. Not from old age or disease or famine, as most humans were known to succumb to back then. You had died protecting your friends, the people you had come to know in your line of work as an Automemory Doll, from being blown to smithereens by an anti-peace faction. Although the war had been over, men like General Merkulov could not comprehend a world without war. When the assassination attempt on the envoy failed, the bridge had been rigged to explode. Together with Benedict, you were able to remove the bombs…but when the last one you removed, the one that took great effort to remove…you lost your remaining arm, then your balance, careening off the train and into the dark waters below. That was the thing you remembered before waking up down here. 

There were days when you wondered how everyone else was doing, if Cattleya and the Lieutenant were all right, if there were still Automemory Dolls helping others with writing letters when the clients themselves were not able to read, write, or had trouble putting the words on the page. But who knew much time had passed since then? All you could hope…is that they were still able to live long, happy lives and not mourn for your death.

Because in the end, you finally understood the Major’s last words. And you would no longer need to follow orders to live. 

It made Lucifer a little sad when you finished your tale, it sort of made him wonder how you ended up down here when technically sacrificing yourself to save others should have gotten you into Heaven. You thought about that as well, drawing to the conclusion that even if you had died valiantly, it did not change the fact that you had killed many men in the war. Perhaps the blood on your hands will always be there, and you would have to live with that knowledge for eternity. Or maybe…no one really knows how to get into Heaven, as Charlie had informed everyone before, after the disastrous meeting with the Seraphim. Either way, if you were given the choice of being redeemed and going to Heaven, or remaining down here with everyone, you would choose to be here, in the Hazbin Hotel. 

Just because there is such a thing as Paradise, that didn’t mean you could not find your own. And you had found Paradise, here, with everyone. The sinners who are your family. 

Your words left him speechless. He had given humans free will, and all he had seen was the bad, never the good. But to hear your story, and how you are truly happy in a place surrounded by brimstone and the streets crawling with psychopaths, made him realize that you had used his gift as it was intended to be used. To have passion, to find love in one another than wholly dedicating your everything to the Big G. 

This revelation might have been when he was starting to realize that he was starting to see you as more than a friend or someone who believed in Charlie's dream. He followed you around like a little duckling around the hotel, occasionally leaving small gifts at your door and mentally panicking if you’d like it or not, and using his magic to help with your work in the greenhouse. Moreover…he trusted you. He had never shared any of his stories with Charlie about Heaven because he didn’t want her to be crushed like he had been. Now? Well, his little girl is thriving. Which brought Lucifer back to reality when he realized that in less than a week is his daughter’s birthday and he had no idea what to get her for a gift. The last time he had gotten her anything was when she went through her rebellious phase, and all she wanted to do was stay in her room and listen to heavy metal music all day. 

He immediately went to the greenhouse, bursting through the double doors and calling out to you in a panic. Ironically he found you in the apple orchard, standing on a ladder. You were picking the ones that were ready to be eaten and placing them in a wicker basket on the ground. When you saw him, you carefully climbed down the ladder and asked him if everything was all right. No, it wasn’t okay! He was not okay! 

He explained his dilemma to you in a rush, the words tumbling from his mouth like a tidal wave until he felt your gloved hand on his shoulder. You looked at him long and hard, leading him to the bench to sit before pouring him a glass of lemonade from a thermos. You offered it to him, and half of your sandwich. You were starting to eat more food at regular intervals and taking breaks instead of working until your task was done. You were trying to take better care of yourself; if not as part of your redemption, then at least to not worry Niffty or Charlie. 

He did take the lemonade, but gave you back the sandwich, scolding you needed to eat properly if you were continuing to skip meals periodically. You had the grace to look ashamed, carefully placing it back in the tin lunch box. You promised him that you would eat after you heard him out. 

You listened to him carefully before offering your help. If purchasing a gift for Charlie is hard for him because he is still getting to know her…then you can help him create a special letter for a special occasion. After all, you were an Automemory Doll. It was your job to write the words to connect people, to bring them closure and be remembered. Lucifer blinked in surprise, asking if it was really all right to ask you to do something that…might still bring back painful memories of your past. 

You shook your head. “If it were as painful as you believed it might be, then I would not have said something. Besides,” Your mouth curved upwards into a small smile. “Charlie deserved nothing but the best for her special day, right?”

It took all of Lucifer’s self control to not hug you right then and there. He could still make things work between him and Charlie, he can still be a good father!

Once you had eaten your lunch as you had promised, you asked him to meet you on the rooftop  in an hour. You needed to wrap everything up here in the greenhouse, eat, and grab your Remington typewriter. Charlie was still trying to figure out what to do with the space, but right now there was a table with some chairs up there. It was a good setting to write a letter without anyone overhearing the two of you. 

Lucifer wanted to start working on the gift right away, but he knew that you disliked leaving your work unfinished. So he left the greenhouse, letting you finish up. When it got closer to the time to meet up, he whipped some of your favorite tea and snacks with a flick of his wrist. Remedial creation for him! 

Once everything was set up and you had removed your gloves, the two of you got to work. 

He didn’t think writing a letter would be so difficult because he wanted to pour so much of his feelings into a single page. He was sorry that he missed her other birthdays, how he didn’t step up to be a father after Lilith left because he had been just as upset as her but didn’t have the courage to move forward, and how he wanted to make up for it all. How proud he is to have her as his daughter. 

At one point, he realized that he was staring at your skeletal fingers and how they were fluttering from one key to another before he forced himself to look at you when you asked him a question. He didn’t have time to look at your shiny hands, he had a job to do! 

Between your respectful schedules and small breaks in between, the letter was finished in a week. It was several pages long, folded neatly in a creme-colored letter with a red wax seal once he wrote his name at the bottom of the last page. He thanked you profusely for helping him, promising you anything in his power in exchange, you just had to name it. But you shook your head, saying that knowing his words in the letter will reach Charlie is more than enough. You were simply doing your job as an Automemory Doll. 

And by God you did. 

When Charlie read his letter, his gift to her on the morning of her birthday after presenting a plate full of her favorite caramel apple pancakes with maple syrup, bacon, and coffee in the kitchen, she cried. She cried and hugged him tightly, thanking him for this wonderful letter and how all she ever wanted was for him to understand her, to support her. He felt tears well up behind his eyes as he returned the embrace. It was already looking like it would be a good day. 

Later that day, the hotel staff arranged a small party for his little princess in the Ruby Ballroom. Food, drinks, music, even a small mountain of gifts. Vaggie was of course the brains behind it all, wanting Charlie to have a special day too. Everything was perfect. 

At least, until he saw you dancing with Alastor. You had changed out of your gardening clothes - a white long sleeved shirt and a green skirt with your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail - to one of your newer outfits. Or at least another one besides the white dress with the Prussian blue jacket you always wear. You actually looked more like a knight in this one than an Automemory Doll. Not that he was complaining. 

A sleeveless black buttoned up shirt under a white vest with a long turquoise tailcoat attached to it, a pair of black sleeves that covered your arms and hands, with a short blue and gold cloak attached to a white collar. The emerald brooch glowed under the ballroom’s lights. White tights embroidered with a gold-diamond dot pattern covered your legs, alongside a matching pair of knee-high boots and white gauntlets. 

In summary, you looked gorgeous and entirely out of place as you struggled to keep up with Alastor on the dance floor during the foxtrot. Polar opposites, oil and water, a pairing that doesn’t go well together. 

So being the badass fallen angel that he is, he tapped Alastor on the shoulder and asked if he could have a dance with you. The jazz music screeched to a halt  as the son of a bitch he turned to him, ears pinned against his head and eye twitching. He’s mad. Good. 

“Well, well, this is a surprise~! To think that His Majesty would want to dance when he’s so much shorter than our dear groundskeeper! What a delightful disaster~! But,” Lucifer saw Alastor’s grip on your hands tighten, causing a fleeting expression of discomfort to wash over your face. “We are not done dancing. Yet.” 

Lucifer felt his anger rise. “Listen here, you fucking prick -”

“Oh Al, there you are~!” Charlie suddenly appeared, smiling and oblivious to what was going on at the moment before she gently tugged the Radio Demon away from the dance floor. “There’s something I need to show you~!” 

Alastor did not want to be separated from you, and while he did want to keep dancing, Lucifer knew this asshole valued his pride and reputation above all else. He wouldn’t dare act of character unless it benefitted him in some way. He then turned to you, who looked more than a little relieved to not be near Alastor and…your face was red? 

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Y-Yes. I’m…fine.” That caught his attention. You never stuttered. But with how you were smiling at him shyly…it wasn’t hard to let him have hope. To believe that his feelings towards you were actually reciprocated. He smiled at the thought, stretching his hand out towards you. 

“Care to dance?”

Taglist: @alastor-simp @alastorsgoldie @food-theorys-blog @nunezs-stuff @lbcreations-blog @imperfectbloodmoon @crystalrose36 @nixie-writes @isuckatwritingsobenice @tired-of-life-86 @frompeach @trecllllllll @lanxianschoenheit @22carolina08 @witch-of-writing-desk @mary-v193 @chewbrry @mmelionsblog @ladymothbeth @the-cat-queen-peasants @anielly-2010 @victheauthor @alyriaschoenheit @blumin8 @akemika75 @f4turemom @kameyo-kumo @aloenemonabee27 @doc-tooth @theuknowntravel3r @angelltheninth @solandis-does-stuff @navierkalani @deathmetalunicorn1 @star-fawn21 @sleepy-hutao @gamerxpfighter @no1sillybilly @frenchtoastmafia @candyladycry @bladeismine @bones4thecats

[fan-goddess]

Hello lovely xo, can I request Aemond reuniting with his childhood love/crush at a feast after not seeing her for six years.

Author Note: Hi love of course you can! I wrote so much more for this than I thought I was gonna write I really took of, plus after looking back at the request I didn’t make them meet at a feast… still I hope your happy!

Word count: 5.3K words

Warnings: None explicitly needed, though reader is described as being female, kissing stuff and insecurities

Other Links: My Ewan Mitchell masterlist for more Aemond content

Taglist: @blue-serendipity

—————

Aemond was one and ten when he first laid his eyes on you, the daughter of Tyland Lannister.

You had golden hair that resembled Sunfyres scales. Your eyes were green like grass. Oh and your smile, it could light over a thousand lanterns. He easily thinks the best part about you was that smile…

The first time Aemond saw you up close was in the library. He was researching Daenys’ prophecies when he heard a strange thumping noise go off within the shelves.

“Hello?” He called out. “Is anyone here?” An annoyed scowl taking over his face when no one showed up immediately to take credit. He went back to reading, though soon he became too on edge to even get past another sentence. What if there was actually a person hidden in the shelves and they wish to kill him?

Aemond put down his book and walked into the shelves, peeking round the corners to see if anyone lurked there. He looked for a couple minutes, shifting from his least favourite section the poetry books to his favourite the section on Targaryen history.

That’s however, when he sees golden hair peeking from the sides of the display. He doesn’t choose to call out to them, in fear the mysterious person will flee and he’ll never get to see them. Aemond slowly takes out his dagger and stalks towards the person, his heart beating rapidly at the possibility of a fight taking place.

When he turns the corner though, with his dagger held high and stance ready to take a fight, he feels his heart is about to burst from his chest when he sees you innocently sitting on the ground with a book in your lap. You seem to be asleep, as the pages aren’t being turned and your neck seems to have laid itself in an uncomfortable position.

He places his dagger back in its hold and kneels forward to take a look, and to see if you truly are sleeping. He nearly smiles when he sees how innocent you look in this view. Though Aemond knows he should not be jealous at that moment, and goes to wake you up as carefully as he can.

“M-my lady…” He all but whispers, gently taking the book from your lap. His restraint shows well as his hands attempt to not caress the skin that’s being revealed from your slightly ridden up skirt. “My lady, I think you need to wake now.” He uses one hand to gently shake your shoulder and the other to grasp your chin and pull your head up. His restraint is tested once more when his thumb nearly brushes over your lips.

Aemond is ever so grateful when you let out a small groan and groggily open your eyes. It’s almost amusing when your eyes turn panicked when you realise the situation you were in. “M-my prince I am so sorry!” You shout. Attempting to stand up but you nearly fall over in the struggle. “P-please do not punish me for being here!”

Aemond cannot help but give an amused smile at your panic. “It’s okay my lady!” He smiled, now standing up to be level with you only to embarrassingly realise you were taller then him… “What is it you were reading?”

You look confused now. Probably wondering why he isn’t kicking you out and demanding your head for sneaking in. “It is not a trick question my lady. What is you were reading?”

“I was reading about your own dragon my prince…” Aemond had to strain his ears to hear what you said, but when he does his ears turn scarlet. You were specifically looking at his dragon and not Sunfyre or Caraxes? Even the book of Balerions journey could’ve been the one you were reading about but no, you chose to look into Vhagar. It made him smile almost cockily.

“And why my dragon in particular?” He grinned. If his mother was there she’d not be happy he was fishing for compliments from a Lannister, yet she wasn’t here at that moment to see the pride that filled him so he carried on anyways.

“She’s an important part of your family’s history! Her nickname is Queen of the dragons which is one of the best names for any of the dragons both still alive and dead!” The way you ramble about his dragons makes his ears burn and smile somehow both bashful and yet cocky at the same time.

Aemond nearly invites you to go meet Vhagar the moment he sees you begin to smile at him, though it takes all his restraint to just talk to you about Vhagar. The two of you become more and more passionate in your conversation and continue to talk until the shelves become dark and nearly impossible to see.

Aemond insists on escorting you to your temporary chambers, secretly relishing when you insist bashfully that you could very easily escort yourself. “I insist my lady you do not know the sort of people that hang around in the corridors of this castle. My brother being one of them…” He relishes even more when he hears you giggle and shyly accept his offer.

The next morning though, when he’s washed himself thoroughly and dressed himself as fancy as he could without Aegon picking up on his intentions, Aemond walks to your chamber doors and knocks nervously. For all he knows you could be half dressed, or still asleep, or even taking a bath… He’s only half sorry when his mind begins to wonder.

Aemond does begin to worry when he stands outside of your chambers for nearly ten minutes and he hears no movements. He takes a deep breath before heading into your chambers, and takes notice of its near pristine state. “My lady?” He calls, even though he knew secretly that it was useless to call for you. He does a little walk around the room to see if he could tell why your presence seems to have left the room.

The sheets and the bed covers are pulled tightly and tucked into the bed. The personal items Aemond had managed to get a small peek at when he brought you to your room last night looking as if they were never their in the first place. The room looked as if nobody had ever slept their that night.

The lack of life in the room made Aemonds skin crawl. Maybe you weren’t even there in the first place? A cruel figment of his imagination that made him believe for a short time he was normal. So he went to the first person he thought could help. His mother.

“Mother, I visited the Lannister daughter this morn to invite her to break fast with us, but she was not there and her room was empty. Do you know why this is?”

“Yes my sweet boy. The girl and her father were summoned back to Casterly Rock near late last night. It seems the lady Lannister had started her labours earlier than the maesters would have liked.” His mother said, looking to her son in sympathy when she saw the saddened look on his face.

“Do you know if she- I mean if they’ll return when her mother has given birth?” Aemond could not help but try and be hopeful, even if he knew their was no chance of it being anything like that.

“I doubt it, sweet boy. The mother has gone into labour nearly a month earlier than expected. I highly suspect the babe may not survive, so they will no doubt wish to mourn the child if it does pass.”

Aemond tried to stop the frown that he could feel was stretching on his face, though it was no use. His mother had already seen it and was looking at him like he was weak. Like he was a silly boy with just a silly crush on a silly girl.

That was the moment Aemond devoted himself to leaving that silly boy behind. Soon he’ll become a man. Maybe it was all secretly so you’ll want to marry him just as much as he secretly wishes to marry you… but he’ll never admit to that.

It’s been six years since Aemond last saw you. He secretly writes letters to you every week, imagining you receiving them and holding them to your chest in excitement. He has never forgotten you. Late at night when he goes to sleep he secretly always wishes for dreams of you to keep him company. None that are dirty of course! Though Aemond didn’t complain when he had one every once in a while…

“Aemond did you hear what I just said?” His mothers voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“No mother I was thinking about, things.”

“Well, as I was saying. We will be hosting the Lannisters for a ball for their eldest daughter starting next week. Her father wishes for her to stay here in kingslanding for a year to give her a better chance at finding a potential and acceptable suitor for her. I believe she’s around your age Aemond...” Aemond could feel his heart beating out of his chest. You were coming back here? He’ll finally get to see you again and see how much you’ve no doubt changed after all these years…

“A marriage with the Lannisters will no doubt be helpful in the long run. I suggest talking to her before anyone else. Her house is a useful ally, though her father will no doubt attempt to go for whoever possess the larger coin pouch.” His grandsire commented halfheartedly as he tucked into his food. Aemond only gave a simple nod before retreating back to his mind, indulging in the simple fantasy of seeing you again.

The rest of that week, Aemond could not take you out of his mind. He had not acted like this since you left six years ago, and it was easy to tell. He was less enthusiastic in his training with ser Cole, thinking of how when you were his bride you’d be sitting proudly on the balcony watching him. He couldn’t read peacefully in the library, only thinking back to how he first met you and how much you truly made him smile that day.

Thankfully to Aemond though the week went surprisingly quickly, and before Aemond knew it he was standing proudly yet nervously for your carriage to pull up and for you to come out.

He’d put on fresh clothes that morning and requested to have a bath drawn for him. He took an awful long time making sure every single part of him was clean and that his hair held no sweat or grease of any kind. Aemond could not shake the look of amusement from both Aegon and his mother, both taking notice of Aemonds sudden pristine condition and nervous exterior.

When the carriage carrying your house colours arrived, Aemond felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. Would you even recognise him? Would you even be the same girl he met and talked to all those years ago?

Aemond nearly lets his mouth fall open when you walk out of the carriage, and only just catches the actions before he could embarrass himself anymore than Aegon will no doubt bring upon them.

Your hair still holds the same golden colouring to it, the sun looking like it was reflecting off it. Your figure has quite obviously changed in the years you were gone, the most prominent ones being the fact you’ve… matured. It’s almost amusing to him that you’re shorter than him, when before you were the one who looked down at him as children. Your smile though, that has not changed at all.

He sees the way Aegon leers at you when you curtsy to his mother and thank her for his families hospitality. It brings him such a great amount of joy to kick Aegon swiftly and firmly in the legs when your back is turned talking to Helaena.

Over the next few days, as much as Aemond hates to admit it, he has been hiding from you. Aemond cannot bring himself to strike up a conversation with you, possibly due to a fear that he refuses to acknowledge.

Though he cannot deny the jealousy that takes over him when he sees you laughing with Aegon of all people. When you laugh, you hold your hand in front of your mouth, a trick taught to all young ladies according to Helaena. Though he believes it to be a terrible thing, as it hides the way your face lights up when you’re overcome by laughter.

Aemond even finds himself jealous of Helaena, who you seemed to have grown close to in the last few days. From what he has observed, the two of you like to sit under the tree in the courtyard and discuss a whole manner of items Aemond cannot hear from where he observes on a nearby balcony.

He’s disgusted with himself for acting like some common man, though even though he knows it’s morally wrong he still cannot bring himself to stop. As long as he cannot bring himself to talk to you, he watches you to bring himself a strange sort of comfort. To know that you are okay and safe and nowhere near himself.

Though it seems that you have been upholding a different idea, as one moment when Aemond is looking at you talking with Helaena, he sees you turn to him, look him dead in the eye and show him a kind smile. He can feel his eye widen in the sudden acknowledgement and hide behind a nearby pillar. It brings secret relief to hear your giggle. Assuring him that you are not disgusted as he is in his nature, and that instead you are amused by it for some unknown reason…

Aemond looks around the corner, expecting to see you resuming your conversation with another one of your beautiful smiles on your face, though he is scared nearly out of his skin to find you face to face with himself. It takes him a near minute to find words. No amount of words that he had read over the years seemed to come to him no matter how much he willed it.

“I-I’m sorry for intruding on you my lady Lannister!” He stammered with a bright red face. Aemond does not think he has ever felt as sheepish or as shy as he has at that moment. His face only reddens though when you seem to giggle at him, whether in amusement or in mocking he does not know.

“It is fine my prince.” You smile. Aemond cannot help himself from comparing your voice to the one you possessed as a child. It’s gotten lighter, he thinks. Before you seemed to be shy to talk to him, though that may have been more to do with circumstances rather than who you were talking to, and now your voice held a sense of ease. “Me and your sister were merely nibbling on some honey cakes and talking about the silly things? Would you care to join us?”

When he takes too long to respond, purely out of surprise that you wished for him of all people to join you, you seem to have taken his silence in the wrong context. “You do not have to join if you do not wish to participate in silly lady gossip-“

“Nonsense!” Aemond blurts with a shyness that brings him nearly straight back to his boyhood. “I would be honoured to join a lady such as yourself my lady for what you called, silly lady gossip.” Aemond cannot describe the joy he feels when he sees your reddened cheeks and happy smile. It should be you the painters should be painting, not himself when there’s such obvious other beauties in this world.

The roles are reversed however, when you take his hand in your own and lead him to where you and Helaena were previously conversing. It takes every fibre of his being to not send a cold glare in Helaenas direction. Especially when she sends an amused look and a raised eyebrow his way at the sight of his flushed cheeks and awkward expression.

It surprises Aemond though, when he finds himself enjoying what he had thought would be a dreary conversation. It brings a smile to his face when he makes you laugh so hard you forget to put your hand in front of your face. He even nibbles politely on a couple of the fresh honey cakes you offer him bashfully.

When the supposed picnic is over, Aemond is prepared for you to go off with Helaena and leave him. Though it surprises him when Helaena says her goodbyes, claiming she has a duty she needs to fulfil, and you turn to him with a small sheepish smile. “Do you wish to head to the library with me, my prince? I feel it has been an age since we had a conversation.”

It brings every part of him to answer normally. “I would love to my lady.” With a small smile. One that he doesn’t think he’s ever displayed to anyone else outside his family. He’s delighted that you also share a similar blush that’s painted across both of your cheeks.

Aemond wishes he could start a conversation with you. Though whenever he turns to you all he finds himself doing is turning straight back to the corridor looking straight ahead.

When he and you get to the library, he shyly holds the door open for you to go first. Delighted in the slight blush that appeared at his politeness. He notices how you seem to look around in awe and is delighted that you seem to hold the same love for books as you did as children.

“The library has expanded since the years you have been gone, my lady. I believe near a few hundred couple books were added since.” Aemond smirked. It was a strange get definitely not an unwelcome sight to see someone be as passionate about literature as he did. It easily became a bore when he had to handle people like his brother, who he doubted at this point of his life could even read at all…

“It’s still as beautiful as it looked the last time I saw it…” You whispered, looking at him in an awe. Aemond cannot help himself from wishfully thinking that you were saying that to him. That you’d whisper into his ear how you believe he’s beautiful even after all those years apart.

He’s soon knocked from those blissful thoughts when a pain hits his eye socket and he hisses lightly, gaining your attention. “Are you alright my prince?” You asked in concern, moving to be before him.

“It is alright my lady…” Aemond hisses. “It’s merely a side effect of my deformity…”

“Is there any way I could help?” Aemond could not help but look up at you to see if you were genuine, and by the way you anxiously held a hand to his shoulder and knelt down to him to get a look at his injury he felt like you were.

“I have a balm which the maesters found to help when the pain flared like this…” Aemond cannot help himself from confessing. It felt so strange and unnatural to be talking so freely about his ailment with another person. Though you weren’t just another person. It was you. “It should be in my left breech pocket. If you would be so kind as to grab it for me, my lady, I can apply it myself.”

Aemond attempts to hide the way he gulps when he feels your warm hands on his thighs, fumbling to find the small tube containing the balm. It probably would’ve been more effective if he had told you what the balm was in, though at that moment he cannot stop himself from indulging in your touch as you modestly fumble for it. Even when you do find the tube and remove your hands from him he finds himself missing that small warmth. “Thank you, my lady.” He murmurs, releasing his hold on his eye to unscrew the tube lid.

He’s about to apply it to his eye, when Aemond realises something vital about the process. He’d need to take off his eyepatch, and you’re still in the room watching him concerned. “I’m about to take my eyepatch and I don’t wish for you to be disgusted and feel like you need to watch this…” Aemond cannot bring himself to look at you, in fear you’ll look as disgusted at the mention of looking at him without his patch.

He’s brought out of his self pity though when he feels a sudden warmth on his cheek. Your hand. It’s almost embarrassing the way his cheeks suddenly flush at the realisation.

“I don’t care about your scar, my prince. I have seen far worse from my brothers in the training field.” You smile. The blush on his cheeks does not seem to want to leave, though by the matching colouring that appears on your own cheeks he’s glad.

“You do not need to continue calling me my prince, my lady. You can call me by my name.”

“Okay Aemond. Then I must then insist you call me by mine.”

“If you say so Daena. Though like I said, if you truly do not wish to see my ailment then I suggest you turn away now…” Aemond cannot help himself from near preening at the honour of saying your name out loud in your presence.

“And like I said to you Aemond, you strike no such thing as disgust nor fear in me. In fact, I think I’d dare say what it is you strike me with are the exact opposite.” You smile, not realising just how effective your words were affecting him. Maybe if he was braver, then he would’ve asked exactly what you meant by that. But he didn’t. Instead, Aemond removed his eyepatch and applied the balm to his eye, before covering the area once more and acting like the moment never happened.

Over the next few days, Aemond spent all he could with you, abandoning all his previous plans so he could see you and make you smile. It still brought a chill down his spine to hear you speak his name while you smile and place a delicate hand on his arm. This new pattern that Aemond has developed though is broken, when he heads to your usual spot to find you conversing with Aegon. Or more accurately, Aegon conversing with you while you looked uncomfortable. It only gets worse when Aegon spots him marching towards him.

“Ahh brother! I was just telling lady Lannister all about the pink dread!” Aegon smiled with a cup of some unknown substance. Aemond felt his heart stop in panic. He does not dare to look in your direction, in fear he will see pity within your sweet green eyes. Aemond does not even dare to utter a response to Aegon’s taunt, leaving with his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he feared if he wasn’t clutching his hands, he’d be clenching his fists and punching Aegon’s face till it was shining red with blood.

When Aemond arrives in the library, he attempts to distract himself from his horrid self-pity by rereading one of his favourite pieces of literature, Valyrian dragons and where to find them. A fantastic book playing on both fiction and non. He becomes so enamoured with the writing he does not hear the doors open and delicate footsteps coming towards him. It’s only until he hears a small cough he looks up only to meet your eyes.

“Hello Lady Lannister. What brings you here? Has my brother either bored you of my childhood sorrow or run out of stories to tell?” Aemond scoffs, returning to the page on Dreamfyre.

“I though I told you to call me by my name Aemond?” You said, not moving from your spot.

“Apologies Daena. Tell me, did you enjoy when my brother was telling you tales of how he humiliated me as a boy?” Aemond closes the book, marking the page with a random piece of paper before looking at you.

“No, I must confess I did not. If I am to put it plainly and honestly Aemond, I believe your brother to be an absolute pest and a prat.” Aemond let’s a scoff of laughter at your unladylike language, though it certainly is correct.

“I cannot agree more with you Daena. It’s a surprise my brother has even lived till now. I believe any day well here such sad news on Aegon dying in some brother or ale house. Maybe both if he’s lucky?” Aemond cannot describe the joy he’s feeling, nor can he begin to fathom just how much his heart is racing.

“I think I walked about not long after you did. It took everything in me to not strike him there and then. Especially after seeing how unhappy you seemed to become when he mentioned that pink dread.” Aemond once again looks away at the mention of that dreaded tale. He cannot bring himself to see the pity once more than used to fill so many eyes at the sight of him.

“Do you, do you feel disgust for me? Or even pity?” Aemond murmurs so quietly he didn’t even know if you had truly heard him until you knelt down to be level with him.

“Aemond, I feel a lot of things for you. None of them are anything of the sort that could be even compared to disgust or pity.” You smile again and Aemond feels like his heart will burst from his chest. If you requested it at that moment, Aemond would’ve ripped his heart out then and there and handed it to you on a plate made of pure Valyrian steel. It takes everything in him to swallow the lump in his throat and speak. “May I ask what these emotions you feel for me are? The ones that you claim cannot be compared to disgust, or pity…”

“The feelings I feel for you Aemond are ones that I do not think I am even allowed to tell you of…”

“I do not care,” Aemond now almost desperately grasps onto your hands within his own. He is so close to possibly hearing what he has wanted for more than six years. Your love. “I would kill any who dare to oppose you sweet Daena.”

“You are beginning to sound like your ancestor Maegor the cruel Aemond.”

“It is worth the title and the bloodshed if I am to hear what I hope to hear be uttered from your lips.”

“And what is it you wish uttered from my lips?”

“That you feel a fraction of the same way I feel for you…” Aemond can feel his heart beat from his chest. The library has gone silent. A notion he used to enjoy but now hates more than ever. “Please Daena. Tell me what it is you feel for me so I can no longer feel like my heart is beating straight out of my chest when I see you! So I can no longer think of you as I have been doing for the last six years you have been gone! So I can leave you and never bother you again with my unrequited devotion for you…”

Once again the library’s silence becomes overwhelming as Aemond stares at you in both hope and fear. Your face does not betray you, staring only blankly at the intertwined hands of yours and his.

“What I feel for you Aemond, I think in all the books we have both read and the stories we have shared amongst each other, can only be described as pure devotion to you and only you…” This is when your face reveals a sweet sweet smile that sends Aemonds own face into a blood red blush. “I too thought of you, nearly everyday since my departure. Of that sweet boy who listened to me while I rambled on about a topic he already know plenty of yet still craved for more. That sweet boy who insisted on walking me to my chambers even though he did not have to. That sweet boy, who has grown into such a handsome man, that I think my heart grew fonder the moment I saw you when I stepped from my carriage. I must say though, I was disappointed that you did not send any letters to me in all these years.” You seem to jest.

“I didn’t want you to think of me as an eager boy and a prat…” Aemond reveals with a slight blush, looking down at the ground. It only worsens when he feels you take a hand from his grip and place it on his left cheek to tilt his head up. “I could never think of you like that my sweet Aemond…” He feels his face grow to a deeper red as it spreads all over. He can even feel his ears burning. He stays content in your hold though, Aemond does not think he has ever felt safer in your grasp than he ever felt in his life.

“I do not know if you read those sorts of books, Aemond,” You begin to speak, drawing Aemond from his daze. “But when I was younger and read those old romantic books where the man got the girl he loved, he’d always kiss her…” You grin. Aemond reciprocates it fully, picking up on your definitely not so subtle suggestion.

“Are you suggesting sweet Daena I kiss an unmarried woman in this very room, where there is no one but us?”

“No no my darling,” Aemond can feel his heart go mad at the name you give him. “I am simply asking you to kiss the woman who loves you back with all her heart.”

“Then I guess I have to make my darling love happy then.” Aemond wastes no time in reaching forward to grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. He relishes in the giggles you make for a moment before colliding his lips with your own.

It’s an awkward moment at first, since the two of you have never done this before, but eventually Aemond finds a pace that suits him and you. He finds himself letting out a deep groan from his throat when he tastes your sweet lips for the first time, the taste of strawberries and cherries overcoming his senses. That groan is released once more when he feels your hand make a place for itself in his hair and holding him firmly, Aemonds own hands staying in a near iron grip on your waist.

It is a great shame when he is forced to pull away from you, though he does get the great view of your swollen lips, red cheeks and panting form. “I believe I should talk to your father so I can get his permission to marry you, my sweet girl.” Aemond speaks, a hand removing itself from your waist to go to your face and stroke your warm cheek fondly.

“You truly wish to marry me?” You whisper, making Aemond raise a brow in surprise. “Of course I do. I would not be kissing you and finally confessing my love for you if I didn’t. Besides, the servants will no doubt talk if they are to see us alone here together and I would not wish to besmirch your honour like that.”

“I think that supposed honour left the moment your lips kissed my own…” You smile.

“Mine left the moment you smiled at me when we were children. I’ve never cared for another woman since… Are you truly happy? That I am to hopefully marry you?” Aemond asks, that insecurity creeping back in.

“Of course I am happy, my sweet boy.” You stroke the edge of his scar with your thumb and for the first time Aemond does not immediately jerk away at the contact. For once, he does not feel so ugly. For once he feels wanted and loved. “I would have no one else but you in my arms to love and cherish.”

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Can I request a Carmen Berzatto x fem! Reader smut? A friends to lovers trope please. They work together in the restaurant and secretly love each other but don’t want to admit it. Eventually Carmy just bites the bullet and tries to confess and then they fuck in his office?

“Bad” at This

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem! Reader

Warnings: sweet then sexy, Carmen is hesitant at first, mild fingering, oral (m! Receiving), unprotected sex, language, mild hand kink

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 5k

I have been waiting for someone to request him! I had a lot of fun writing this. Enjoy!

When the restaurant was busy, most people despised being at work. They despised the frenetic activity. They despised the feeling of being overwhelmed by the din of screams. In contrast, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I've always worked well under pressure, and rush hour meant I wouldn't have to be alone with my thoughts.

I was chopping my ten thousandth onion of the night, mindlessly. I wasn't thinking. I was solely relying on muscle memory.

Chop.

Chop.

Chop.

Chop.

Chop.

Swipe it to the side.

Start over.

I had done this process a thousand, no, a million times before. It felt familiar. It felt comfortable. The din of patrons was pushed to the outskirts of my mind. My world was quiet, unbothered.

Shit.

I could feel him.

He was near.

When he walked into the room, he had an unmistakable, strong, and conspicuous presence.

My hands began to tremble.

I was thrown out of my element.

Everything felt strange, new, and foreign.

He didn't make me feel uneasy. No, we were perfectly at ease with each other. He was one of my closest friends.

I was just madly, completely, utterly in love with my boss.

Every time he was close, the desire to impress him clouded my judgment. The feeling was so overwhelming that I frequently slipped.

He was staring over my shoulder. Not in a creepy, tyrannical overload sense. No, just in a boss-like manner, casually checking in on his employees. Despite the lack of sexuality in his demeanor, the hot breath that grazed my throat gave me subtle goosebumps

My cuts became sloppy, and each section of onion became less uniform than the previous one.

“Your knife’s dull, Y/N. Get a fresh one.”

I knew he was behind me. I was aware that he was scrutinizing every move I made. Even so, when he broke the tension, it made my heart skip a beat. I nodded forcefully and reached for the magnetic strip that conveniently displayed the gleaming rack of knives.

“Hey, look at me.”

He positioned himself to my right and tilted his head to attract my attention. I came to a halt when I met his vibrant blue eyes.

“Are you alright? You seem a little flustered. Your face is really red.”

He always spoke to me softly. I'm not sure if it was naive to believe that the feelings of attraction were mutual based on this trivial fact. I brought my hands to my face, and my cool hands proved to be a stark contrast to my burning skin.

“I’m fine. It’s just really hot in here.”

It was a lie. The temperature in the room was no higher than usual.

“I agree.”

Did he concur? Or was he just saying that to try and make me feel better.

“I’ll work on that.”

“Carmy! I need help over here! Where the fuck are ya’?”

Carmen rolled his eyes as he walked away from my station to assist Richie. I couldn’t help but giggle under my breath. I knew he'd complain about him later tonight as we cleaned, as is our custom.

When he left and the familiar aura faded, the room became noticeably cooler.

-

“I mean, I can’t fuckin’ believe that guy! I swear half the shit he asks me to do is shit he coulda’ easily done himself!”

This grease was truly burned on. I scrubbed harder, the brown splotches gradually disappearing until the gleaming counter was spotless. I was listening, but there was no need for me to respond. Carmen was aware that I was paying attention to his mindless babbling. I was familiar with the procedure. This was his one opportunity to vent after accumulating rage throughout the day.

I couldn’t help but cast a glance to my right. Carmen was sweeping, his strong biceps gripping the broom handle. His large hands dwarfed the skinny plastic. Sweat drops dripped down his large nose, emphasizing his ethereal side profile. I couldn’t help but imagine how his fingers would feel between my legs.

I averted my gaze and concentrated on scrubbing, even though I had already made the counter sparkle.

“I swear he’s doin’ it on purpose. No way in fuckin’ hell he accidentally pushes all my buttons.”

I chuckled.

“You’ve been saying the same thing since I met you.”

Carmen scoffed.

“Well, it’s true.”

I enjoyed the time we spent together after the sun had set on the small restaurant. It was comforting. I didn't feel the need to impress him, and the stakes of the conversation were very low.

His eyes were on me.

I could feel them.

The subtle scuffing of his broom against the floor had vanished.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer.”

Carmen remained silent. But I could see him, looking away, a slight flush on his cheeks. I often felt his eyes burning into the back of my skull. If I was lucky, I caught him staring. But he stared at everyone. It was his job to keep a close eye on everyone. It was difficult to tell whether that was a display of genuine attraction or a job requirement. Besides, I was used to zoning out. I often switch off without realizing that I'm staring at someone, and when I’m discovered, it's embarrassing. And since Carmen and I were kindred spirits, I figured it was a feeling that we could both sympathize with.

“You did good work today. Sorry for makin’ ya come in on your day off.”

“It’s no problem.”

I met his eyes. Sure enough, there was a hint of a flush on his high cheekbones.

“I like being here. It’s fun.”

I sigh deeply.

“Alright, the counters are done. Anything else you need from me?”

Carmen shook his head, his gaze fixed on the floor. At his feet was a small pile of food scraps and stray dust. A few stray curls clung to his sweaty brow.

“Nah, you can head out. Thanks for everything Y/N.”

Hm.

“Are you alright?”

Carmen came to a complete halt. As he gripped the broom for dear life, the veins on his forearms bulged.

“Yeah… Well, no.”

I approached him, smugly leaning against the counter.

“Alright, tell me, what’s up?”

He exhaled slowly. My attention was drawn to the uneasy rise and fall of his chest beneath his dirty white shirt.

Jesus, he was fine a second ago.

What the hell happened?

He fixed his gaze on me. His blue eyes were filled with something I didn't like, something I'd never seen before.

Nerves, unease, and desperation were all present.

“Can I ask you a crazy question?”

He laughed, but the laughter was hollow.

I shrugged casually, hoping to calm his nerves by appearing relaxed.

He had nothing to be concerned about.

Why was he worried?

“Of course! You can ask me anything.”

Carmen clenched his teeth, the muscles on the sides of his jaw bulging from the effort.

“Do you…”

He chuckled. The noise gave me chills. It was an empty, hollow sound.

“God, this is gonna sound so fuckin’ stupid.”

His head fell forward, and he shook it, a few more stray curls falling.

“I promise to give it a serious answer.”

“Promise?”

He inquired. I gave him a mock scout's honor by raising three fingers.

“I promise.”

I smiled, hoping to somewhat alleviate his nerves. Carmen's gaze was fixed on his tattooed hands, which mindlessly caressed the broom handle.

“Do you-”

He gulped, Adam's apple bobbing.

He shifted his weight.

“Do you-”

Jesus, was he trying to kill me?

This suspense was far too much for me.

My palms began to sweat, and my grip on the counter nearly slipped due to the newfound dampness.

“Do you think I’m…”

He shrugged casually, as if he wasn't creating palpable suspense.

I wanted to scream at him to spit it out already.

But, with the intent of being a good listener, I bit it back.

“I don’t know… attractive?”

The silence grew deafening.

What?

Of all the things that could have come from his gorgeous lips, this was not what I was expecting.

“You’re asking if I think you’re attractive?”

Carmen furrowed his brow and vigorously shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. That’s a stupid ass question.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know what came over me. God! I wish I never said that!”

I raised my hand to silence him.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down. I promised I’d give you a serious answer, didn’t I?”

He gnawed on his bottom lip.

“Oh Y/N, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, no, no, I gave you my word.”

I clenched my jaw.

If I said no, this conversation would almost certainly never come up again. It would be pushed to the earth's depths, never to resurface. I could rest easy knowing that I hadn't confessed my undying love to my boss.

If I said yes.

God.

What would happen if I said yes?

Normally, I can predict Carmen's every move, but I'm at a loss.

Carmen clung to every beat of silence. His eyes were fixed on me, waiting for an answer, afraid I'd say no.

“I-”

Jesus, what do I say?

Do I take the risk?

“I think-”

Now I was the one creating meaningless suspense.

Come on! Just say yes or no!

“Yes.”

I blurted out.

That wasn't the only thing I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that whenever he came close to me, I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. I wanted to tell him that he was the most attractive and intriguing man I'd ever met in my life. I wanted to pull him into me and run my hands along his bare torso as I pressed my lips to his. But I kept it simple with a mere "yes." I couldn't bring myself to say anything more.

Camen raised his brows, then quickly dropped them to maintain his stoicism.

“Um- cool.”

The slight flush on his cheeks intensified tenfold. His gaze shifted away from mine and landed on the slender broom handle. I pursed my lips into a straight line.

“Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

I inquired.

“Yes.”

I could tell he had another question for me. His tone was not convincing in the least. But I decided not to push. I simply nodded reassuringly.

“Alright. Have a good night. I’ll see ya’ tomorrow.”

“See ya’ tomorrow Y/N. Have a good night.”

I brushed up against him. Carmen's familiar scent stood out without being overpowered by the aromas of food. He smelled of cigarettes, sweat, and grease. I shouldn't be so taken with that scent. However, he was able to make the aura of a hardworking man extremely appealing.

I walked past him, my strides slowing, wanting to extend the moment as long as possible in case he had something to say. I began to lose hope with each step, as I increased the distance between us.

“Actually-”

There it was. I turned on my heels and shoved my hands into my pockets to appear confident and at ease. My ears were filled with the audible thrumming of my heartbeat. If this was going in the direction I thought it was going, I wanted to embrace it.

“Yes?”

The tension was palpable. It thickened the air to the point where we were swimming in molasses.

“Y/N, I’m gonna be totally honest with you.”

I gently wiped my hands on my jeans, trying to remove the thick layer of sweat from my palms.

“I’m not good at this...”

His whispering tone gradually faded away into the dense atmosphere.

“What do you mean “this?’”

“I mean- fuck.”

He muttered as he ran a hand through his greasy hair. He scratched his head, and I couldn't help but watch the tendons in his hands and forearms flex. Carmen allowed his strong arm to carelessly fall as he sighed deeply. He met my eyes, running his wet tongue along his bottom lip.

I swallowed.

“I’ve never been a social butterfly and I definitely have never been a romantic.”

So, everything was going as I had hoped.

“I don’t know the right things to say and I don’t know when to say them. I don’t know how to be anyone but myself. Which is both a blessing and a curse, I suppose.”

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

“So, I’m just gonna say this in my normal, stoic way… because that’s the only way I know how to say it.”

I didn't believe he would actually say it. I anticipated that he would abruptly change the subject. To be honest, I didn't believe this was possible.

“I am in love with you.”

My jaw instinctively dropped.

The confession lacked any genuine emotion. It only encompassed mere traces of the feelings he was hoping to convey.

It was stoic.

However, I discovered that I was completely and utterly shaken. He couldn't have said it more beautifully.

“Well,” I said with a laugh, “for someone who isn’t a social butterfly, that sure as hell wasn’t bad.”

Carmen chuckled.

“Would it kill the mood if I told you that it wasn’t spontaneous at all and I’ve been planning what to say for literal months?”

I shrugged.

“No.”

Carmen smiled. My heart warmed. Despite being his closest friend, seeing him smile was rare.

“Ok, good. Cause if I tried to be spontaneous, it’d be a total shit show.”

He sighed, relieved to have finished the challenging task.

“Can I ask you another stupid question?”

“Of course.”

His gaze trailed down to my lips, a soft blush on his cheekbones.

“Can I kiss you?”

My stomach flipped and blood rushed to my cheeks. My face grew hot. God, we were so juvenile. I smiled tightly.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

He moved forward, closing the distance between us. His breath gently cascaded across my face. My chest tightened.

“I’m not very good at this either.”

He said with a rigid laugh. I pressed my open palms against his chest. Carmen's throat tightened. His pecs rippled under my foreign touch. Despite this, he kept a steady gaze, his blue eyes fixed on me.

“I do not give a shit.”

I said, imitating his laugh. I hurriedly closed the gap between us when I realized Carmen wouldn't be the instigator.

He was really, really tight. His arms hung at his sides, fists clenched in uncertainty. I pressed my chest flush against his, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. His muscles were stiff and unyielding.

“Relax Carmy… and lose the broom.”

I whispered reassuringly. Carmen relaxed somewhat.

“Right, sorry.”

He dropped the broom. The plastic hit the ground with a loud smack. I tangled my hands in his greasy hair, urging him to come closer. He obliged, craning his head forward to meet me halfway.

Carmen's lips were surprisingly soft. He was clearly hesitant at first, not wanting to move too quickly. Finally, he found solace in the feel of my kiss and allowed his mouth to mesh against mine in a relaxed manner. I grasped his wrist, bringing it to the swell of my hips. He let it sit, not wanting to alter anything I had done.

“You can touch me if you want. I’m not gonna break.”

Carmen wrapped his other hand around my hip and gently drew me forward, connecting our pelvises.

“Is this alright?”

He murmured under his breath.

“That’s perfect.”

His bulge began to grow against my thigh.

Shit. This was gonna be fun.

“You’re really hard right now, Carmy.”

I said with a chuckle. Carmen broke away, his face bright red. He looked down, confirming that he really was, in fact, hard.

“Ah-shit. I’m sor-“

I hastily cupped his face, reconnecting our searing kiss.

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

I reached between our bodies, cupping him through his jeans. Carmen groaned, my mouth swallowing his noises.

“Shit.”

He murmured, instinctively grinding his hand against my open palm.

“Jesus, you’re touch starved aren’t ya?”

Carmen shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as struggled to maintain his composure.

“That feels really fucking good.”

His tone was completely erotic. It was low, breathy, and his thick accent added to the sensuality. Carmen’s pleasured expression sent a wave of heat to my core.

God, I wanted his cock in my mouth.

“Can we go into my office? It’s more private there, and, to be honest I think these counters are a little too tall for me to fuck you on.”

-

I had been in his office many times before. It was a place of comfort where I could briefly escape the hustle and bustle of restaurant life. At least, that’s what I told Carmen. Typically I’d need time to gawk at him and wonder what it would be like to have his face between my legs. I’d grow wet at the mere thought of his nose bumping my clit as his tongue delved between my folds.

I wonder if he ever fantasized about me. I wonder if he ever found his fingers involuntarily dipping below the waistband of his boxers. If so, I wonder what fantasies his complex mind was able to conjure.

I hope to learn them one day.

I shoved him backwards. His knees collided with the chair and he fell back with a loud huff. I dropped to my knees, lodging myself between his spread thighs. Carmen’s eyes widened.

“Oh, fuck me.”

If he was becoming aroused solely from the sensation of my hand against his clothed erection, I couldn’t wait to relish in his expressions when I took his cock into my mouth.

I brought my hands to his fly, slowly unbuttoning it and dragging the zipper down to expose a small section of my boxers. Carmen shifted his hips as I dragged his jeans down his thighs. I palmed him through the thin fabric, a small patch of precum appearing on his boxers.

Carmen hissed through his teeth, jerking his head back to fully expose his thick neck.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He dug his dull nails into the arm rests, veins bulging along his forearms from the effort. I hooked a finger in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down his thighs just enough to expose his thick cock.

My mouth began to water. The feeling of his erection through his boxers was deceiving. He was really fucking big.

“Jesus Carmy, you’re big.”

I wrapped a hand around his veiny length, gently pumping. Carmen whined.

“Your hand feels really good.”

I dragged my hand to the base before bringing it upwards. I spread his precum around his pink tip, lubricating his cock to prepare it for my mouth.

I grasped his dominant hand, bringing it to my scalp.

“Move me however you want.”

Carmen’s head flopped forward, his cock twitching as he met my gaze. He tangled his hand in my hair, gently tugging on the roots.

Without further ado, I slipped his tip between my lips. Carmen exhaled shakily, his chest heaving with each labored breath.

“That feels really fucking good.”

He chuckled. I swirled my tongue around his tip, slowly taking more of him into my mouth. Carmen maintained eye contact, growing impossibly harder as he watched me take all of him into my mouth.

I groaned, trying my best not to gag as his cock grazed the back of my throat. Carmen furrowed his brow, gently thrusting his hips into my mouth.

My nose brushed against his happy trail. He spread his legs, utilizing the grip on my hair to push me further onto him. I groaned, the vibrations causing Carmen to shudder.

“You-you look really pretty.”

I admired the effort.

I hollow my cheeks, increasing the suction. Carmen groaned and threw his head back, unable to conceal his desires.

“Jesus darlin’.”

Darling?

I rubbed my thighs together, hoping to relieve some of the ache building between my legs.

God. The lamp's soft glow washed over his perfectly sculpted features. His erotic noises were amplified by the blanket of silence. This is exactly how I imagined it when I had my hand between my legs, hoping to recreate a feeling I had never even experienced.

I wanted him to fuck me.

I wanted to hear him moan and I wanted for him to make me cry with pleasure.

It was almost unbelievable that the man who made a living yelling and making sure everything was in order was now gazing at me with half-lidded eyes.

I shifted my hips, resisting the urge to touch myself. I wanted to save all feelings of pleasure for when his cock slipped into me. I wanted to ache for him just a little longer.

“I’m gonna cum real soon.”

Sure enough, his cock began to twitch against my tongue. I bobbed my head faster, expediting the process. Carmen dropped his jaw, releasing one final groan as he came into my mouth. My throat became coated with his hot cum. I bobbed my head a few more times, helping him come down from his high.

When I was satisfied with my work, I released his cock with a loud pop. Carmen looked spent. His body was numb, his eyes were closed.

I crawled onto his lap, gently cupping his face. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, exposing his vibrant irises.

“Are you alright?”

He grinned.

“I’m fuckin’ awesome.”

I pulled him in, pressing my wet lips to his plush mouth. I slipped my tongue past his teeth, deepening the kiss. Carmen groaned. I clung to him, his strong torso pressing against my soft breasts.

He wasn’t close enough.

I needed him to be closer.

I needed him inside of me.

“Can I fuck you now?”

He murmured against my mouth.

Damn, he read my mind.

“You can fuck me anytime you want baby.”

He brought his calloused hands to my thighs, tenderly caressing the supple skin. I glanced down, watching as his dark ink danced along my skin.

“You have pretty hands.”

Carmen chuckled.

“Thanks.”

He hooked his hands under my thighs. Effortlessly, he raised me up, shoving all the papers to the side as he set me down on his desk. Carmen immediately rekindled our passionate make out session, slipping his tongue past my teeth. His hands moved upwards, fingers slipping past the hem of my shirt to touch my bare sides.

I yanked him forward by the collar, positioning his body between my legs.

“Take my clothes off please.”

Carmen scoffed.

“Yes ma’am.”

He tugged on the hem of my t-shirt, lifting it over my head and discarding it haphazardly onto the floor. My shorts soon followed.

I was now only in my undergarments, making quick work of Carmen’s dirty shirt. I ran my soft hands along his bare torso, feeling his muscles ripple under my gentle touch.

Carmen’s hands slowly dragged along my hot skin, hastily undoing my bra strap and allowing the fabric to fall to the floor. His palms hovered over my breasts.

“Is that okay?”

I nodded.

“Yes, of course.”

He began to slowly knead the soft flesh, the heel of his palms brushing against my hardened nipples. I whimpered against his mouth, my nerves on fire from his hot touch. I ran my hands through his hair, indulging in the soft moans that came with the occasional tug of his roots.

Carmen’s hand brushed against my abdomen. He lightly grazed my clothed mound, gently cupping me through my underwear. I groaned, breaking the kiss to lean my head against his strong shoulder.

“Can I?”

I nodded.

“Please. Just-just don’t make me cum yet. I wanna cum on your cock.”

Carmen pushed my panties to the side, hesitantly delving a finger between my wet folds. I arched my back into his chest, raking my nails against his scalp, which elicited a low groan from the back of Carmen’s throat.

He began to tenderly thrust his calloused fingertips against my spongy walls, softly humming in delight whenever I instinctively clenched around his digits.

“Does that feel good?”

He dropped his voice to a whisper. His hot breath brushed against my ear and sent cold shivers down my spine. I glanced between our bodies, nearly cumming as I took in the sight of my walls swallowing two of Carmen’s fingers. The veins of his forearms flexed with every thrust.

God, if only he knew how much I fantasized about his rough fingers pleasuring me.

“Yeah… yeah Carmen that feels really fucking good.”

My body was now red hot with desire, every sense had increased tenfold. The feeling of his fingertips delving into my cunt made me antsy with want for his cock.

“Okay, that’s enough for now, please fuck me Carmen.”

I knew I’d get the chance to cum around his thick digits eventually. There was no way in hell tonight was the last night I’d see Carmen naked.

“Um- will you do it for me?”

I smiled.

“Sure.”

I grasped Carmen’s semi hard cock in my hand, giving it a few pumps. His eyes fluttered shut.

My heart grew. Whatever the circumstances, he was gorgeous. However, something about his vulnerability, his desire to be mine lit a fire deep within me.

I pressed his tip to my entrance, and we both sighed in unison.

“Move your-“

Carmen rolled his hips, pushing his cock past my entrance and deep within my walls. His large hands slammed onto the table, bracing himself so he wouldn’t collapse at the sudden onset of pleasurable sensations.

“Fuck.”

I mumbled, his thick cock stretching me to the brim.

“Feel good?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Fuck yes.”

I said, possibly a little too enthusiastically. Our noses bumped as I hastily reignited the spark between our lips. Carmen wasn’t holding back anymore. He hungrily moved his mouth against mine, shoving his tongue past my lips.

I threw my arms around his shoulder as he began a steady pace. His cock was so perfect it made me dizzy. I feared I would fall if I didn’t hold Carmen close.

“If I knew you felt this perfect I would’ve told ya’ I loved ya’ a long time ago.”

I chuckled.

“Not so shy anymore?”

Carmen slowly increased his pace. The veins along his length bulged. They pressed into my stretched walls and heightened the sensuality of his glorious thrusts.

“Next time I’ll be confident from the start. I’ll give ya’ whatever the fuck you want for being such a doll this time around.”

I jolted, a soft scream spilling from my lips as his tip grazed my g spot.

“Keep makin’ noises like that, I wanna hear ya.’”

I maintained eye contact, allowing any expression roll over my features in the hopes of fulfilling his erotic desires. He was now hitting my g spot with every thrust. I saw in his eyes that he was meticulously crafting his pace in order to best suit my needs.

The tips of our noses brushed against each other everytime Carmen snapped his pelvis forward. I ran one hand down his body, raking my nails through his happy trail before coming back up to fiddle with his greasy hair. I was overcome with the need to feel every part of him. My hands wouldn’t stay in one place. I was finally able to touch him without limits, and I wasn’t about to waste that opportunity.

When Carmen established a groove, his palms cupped the sides of my hips. He brought me forward to the edge of the desk to acquire a more suitable angle to ram himself into me.

The dim light was now illuminating one side of his face, leaving the other in darkness. I grasped his face, running the pads of my thumbs along his defined cheekbones.

The coil was mindlessly tightening within my lower abdomen. Carmen furrowed his brow in frustration.

God, I wish he always looked like this.

Sure, I’d seen him concentrate before. But concentrating on chopping onions and concentrating on finding the perfect angle to fuck were two vastly different forms of concentration.

I hooked my legs around his thin waist. All the combined efforts created the perfect angle. I threw my head back, a loud moan ripping through my as I came increasingly closer to cumming.

“Are you close?”

Yeah.”

I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh fuck I can’t wait for you to cum all over me.”

“Are you close?”

I inquired.

“Darlin’, I’ve been close for the past thirty minutes.”

I was close, so incredibly close. The beginnings of an earth shattering orgasm were seeping into the corners of my brain, clouding my thoughts.

“Lean into me. I want you to be close.”

I tossed my head forward, nestling my face in the crook of his sweaty neck.

This was so much better than I could’ve imagined.

I could smell the cigarettes on his skin. I could feel him pumping inside of me as I caressed his hot skin. I could hear the sensual sounds of sex filling the small office, bouncing around the walls. I could see him, staring at me, relishing in my expressions as he fucked me senseless.

“Oh God Carmy, I’m so fucking close it’s unreal.”

Carmen found my clit, gently grazing his calloused finger against my tight bundle of nerves. I came loudly, my walls squeezing his cock as I reached my high.

Carmen twitched inside of my overstimulated walls, cumming shortly after me. His hot load painted my walls. I watched. I watched his expression gloriously contort in pleasure as he came inside of me, his beautiful face glimmering with perspiration in the soft glow.

He gave a few lazy thrusts, wanting to prolong the sensation for as long as possible.

“Jesus Carmen, for someone who “isn’t very good at this,” you sure act like you know what’s goin’ on.”

Carmen smirked, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“What can I say, I’m a fast learner.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.

“I promise I’ll make you really scream next time.”

His sultry tone made my heart flutter.

“Promise?”

I asked.

He held up three fingers.

“I fuckin’ promise.”

[bonkbobl]

make a deal or play a game

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: guys im gonna be so fr with yall i legitimately dont know where this energy came from but here you go. this contains possibly the longest sex scene i've ever written in my entire history of fic writing and i did get a little carried away. like a little more than carried away. the keys just dont stop click clacking

summary: You find out Roose has been plotting against your King but you know the Northern cause cannot survive with the North divided between the King's loyalists and a Bolton-Karstark army backing their martyred liege lords. You and Lord Bolton need each other more than either of you would care to admit, grasping for power over each other.

warning: DUBCON!!!! as in the dubbiest of cons, power dynamics, forced marriage, roose bolton is secretly a perverted old man, EDGING like a LOT OF EDGING, wet humping??/thigh fucking, dacyrphilia, wait girl he's literally like obsessed with you eeeeeeeee

You were always Robb Starks most trusted advisor, and who was to question why. A ward, offered by one of the Starks most loyal vassal houses for the honor of have you join their family as a ward. Your father practically begged them to raise you when your Lady Mother succumbed to the failed birthing of your baby brother. He hoped one day you may reach a higher station that you'd have been afforded, and how better to reach that than through the Starks. Your father shared a great great, a few times over, great grand parent with Ned, and ever honorable, the Lord Stark agreed to take you in.

But its difficult for a woman to rise up in the world, even harder still, in the midst of a war. Men did not like to make room for women at war but Robb was like your brother. He trusted you. And he trusted your opinion on people. It's because while the Starks held that honor must be of paramount importance, you understood not everyone held that same principle. You make sure Robb doesn't trust everyone as he trusts you.

Trust is a funny thing because you could trust someone with your life but you may not trust them to cook a chicken correctly. You may trust someone to lead a garrison of ten thousand for you and not trust them with a knife in close quarters without a guard behind you. Trust was what you dealt in — advising Robb on deals that he was to make with other Lords, even so far as traveling on his behalf.

Deals, and diplomacy — charms, and words. That was your strength.

Robb Stark insisted that Catelyn take you to the twins to aid in negotiations with Walder Frey, he deferred to you to send letters to Renly and Stannis Baratheon, you were even the one who had sent out the rallying cry at the very beginning of his great war to all his Bannermen. Everyone knew it. He was the brain, you were the mouth. The pretty, cunning, biting mouth of the young wolf.

—————

One issue you were never able to resolve was Roose Bolton. He was cold, calculating, and distant. Though he seemed to care deeply for the Northern cause, you had little to believe he was truly as passionate about Robb as King.

It began with certain issues in which you would honestly take Roose's side instead of Robb's and since you saw Roose as an ideological ally, you would shoot glances at him after Robb declared he'd have his way after all. In those moments, a bitter gaze that lingered a few seconds too long on the King in the North roused suspicion in you.

It wasn't serious. You're sure its the frustration than anyone would feel being brushed aside so many times. But as the social tension within Robbs camp rose, you felt that you must do something about it.

You don't trust Walder Frey. He wouldn't so easily brush aside a slight as heavy as the King in the North refusing his daughter's hand in marriage. He wouldn't trade it so carelessly, not even for a claim in the Riverlands. The fact was that a young boy had made him a promise and quickly threw it all away the moment he got what he needed.

Frey's resentment of all the Paramount liege lords in Westeros already made any alliance between you fragile. Compound it with more insult and well, you just didn't know what you expected from this.

So when you saw a rave flying even in the general direction of the twins, you shot it down.

The Bolton seal, you noted, as you inspected the short scroll.

Tomorrow the white sun will illuminate the darkness clouding your castle. We will dine on fishes and the hour of the wolf will drown out in history. Ensure final preparations are made.

R.B.

As you read it, you could feel blood draining from your face and you really should have gone to Robb immediately but the need to find out what plot was brewing overtook reason. When the men were drinking and dining, you snuck into Roose Bolton's tent.

—————

"Letters, letters..." You muttered. You had already checked his desk but of course the man isn't dense enough to store proof of treachery in the drawer of a desk where any young squire may stumble upon them. So you were rifling through everything, casting aside bulks of chainmail, furs, coats, anything.

As you did, your mind ran endlessly about what might happen. So the Boltons and the Freys. Eliminate them and you're forced to then castrate your own army. We were already outnumbered greatly. Losing the Boltons is a blow we may not survive even if we survive this bloody wedding.

And the reference to the white sun illuminating the darkness was not so easily lost on you. You weren't sure, but coupled with the rising tensions with the Karstark men who currently stood one third of Robb's entire army, you could take a gander to why the white sun of their sigil was mentioned in Roose Bolton's death letter.

"Looking for something?"

Roose's voice cut clear through the room, it even felt like it sliced right through your heart. Well die tonight or die tomorrow night it makes no difference to you. But it makes all the difference to the North.

You should have gone to Robb first. Your foolishness.

You straightened up and flattened the blankets on his cot down. "Just tidying up. Waiting for you, my lord," And you took a deep breath, braving a sultry look on your face before turning around.

"Me?" Roose asked, pure amusement in his voice. You'd have to work to really get him to believe you.

"All this talk of weddings, it's all I hear now. Everyone, everywhere," You hoped your hesitation wasn't visible as you draped your arms around Roose's neck and stared into his eyes.

"And why are you here, my lady, waiting for me."

You sighed, careful not to drop the ruse. Of all men why did it have to be Roose Bolton. Any other man, after not touching a woman for years, wouldn't have questioned the logic of your seduction and you'd at least have a chance to hit him over the head with a lantern, maybe a knife if you're lucky. But Roose hed his gaze with you evenly. Challenging you.

How to get him to trust you...

"Isn't it obvious?" You tilted your head, staring with the biggest pleading eyes you could muster. And you looked at his lips, just a moment of hesitation overtaking you before you leaned in and slowly molded your mouth to his.

Your heart went wild as he kissed you back, a mix of emotions forming. You were still scared for your life but you were also happy that your trick seemed to be working. And under the two dominant emotions, there was a slight hint of something else at play. You chalked up to the scandalousness of it all. It wasn't your main worry, but as a proper lady you were raised to not be caught in close quarters with another unmarried man, especially if you were doing salacious things — or if it looked like you were about to. It was also the first time you'd ever kissed a man.

Not the greatest conditions, but alas, you could care less about a tender kiss or even a few. You just need a distraction and its working. Roose kissed you back so fiercly it made you dizzy. So dizzying that you hadn't realized he reached into your pockets.

When the kiss broke, you stared up at him, his face composed and hard as stone, almost as if it hadn't affected him at all. But his lips were swollen and he stared at you, eyes betraying him to look down at your equally puffy lips and you smirked.

You made sure to hold his gaze and you let your hand trail down his front, teasing just above his crotch. "Celebrate the happy betrothal with me?"

Roose cracked a smile and nodded, a sarcastic hum rumbling from him, "Your nerves give you away, my lady." Your heart sank. "You quiver like a virgin playing at being a whore. It was almost convincing, but..." He held up the letter that you had stolen from the raven.

You let the dread overtake your face and you ran.

But you couldn't even make two steps before Roose pulled you by your wrist, back into his chest.

You struggled for a few seconds but stilled as soon as you felt cool metal under your chin.

"A deal," You spoke quickly, equally as quickly deciding you really didn't like the feeling of a cold blade pressing against the neck, that you very much did like.

"A deal?" Roose breathed the question into your ear. He was so obviously not scared or even wary of you. And you scrambled to keep the upper hand.

"I could always scream instead. You could kill me, make some excuse to cover yourself up, but that excuse wont pass, not for our King's childhood friend. You could run. You'd be dead within the fortnight if they caught you." You hoped that you weren't just spewing bullshit, "The camp is so dense. How likely are you to make it to Frey before one of Robbs catches you first? And your plan would fail. Robb would know something's wrong."

He was permitting you to continue, so you did. He wasn't so much as urging you to continue but rather, watching, knowing you would.

"I could offer your head to our king. But I imagine you wouldn't enjoy that very much. So many options but I propose the best one — you could turn on Frey, tell Robb. Warn him about Karstark, too. Wouldn't you much rather become the new Lord of the Twins than deal with a petty mess?"

Roose considered it for a couple seconds before releasing you. You're right that making you disappear would be a little more annoying that simply a petty mess. He knows he can't just let you go either. He doesn't trust you.

Whats to stop you from running to tell Robb as soon as he let you go anyway? Then he remembers that his soldiers make up the largest portion of Robb Starks army aside from the Karstarks. And that there was his leverage. That's why you were trying to reason with him. Which really means, despite everything, he could even go as far to say that he's the one with the upper hand in this situation.

You, apparently unwilling to inform Robb of his treachery, asking him to warn your King and continue to fight by his side, all you had was a secret that only the two people in this room know. Not a very good hand. You don't even have proof anymore. Roose walked over to his bed, pulling a stack of letters out from a slit in the mattress.

You sighed, kicking yourself. You were so close. And you watched him, walking to the fire at the foot of his bed with his eyes trained on you. You watched helplessly hope was scorched in the flames.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and only now had you permitted yourself to notice it. Sitting at the edge of his bed, You wiped your forehead.

Roose chuckled. Clever girl, weighing logic and strategy, no trouble following the shifting power between you two. You knew you needed him. You knew Robb needed him. You knew the odds of winning this war was slim already now that the Tyrells had joined the fray. You knew if you gave him a reason, he might slit your little throat tonight. And sure that meant Robb might get the hint not to attend the wedding, but the Northern army would still be crushed within half a year.

And perhaps you valued that pretty little head of yours above all else.

Now, Roose took interest, evaluating you with a new eye, "What is your proposal?"

"You go, tell Robb of the plans but tell him you intended on being a turncoat this entire time."

"And what do I receive in exchange for this act of mercy."

You chuckled, "My many thanks, redemption in the eyes of the Gods," you offered sardonically, knowing the answer would come as too dismissive. You could tell Roose wasn't impresssed, "I can still tell the King, my lord, if it pleases you.

Roose, ever perplexed by your mind, drew closer but stowed his knife back in his holster, behind him. He made it so that you had to tilt your head up to look at him. "Do not think for a second that you might have the upper hand in this position, my lady. I say that, not as a threat, but as advice. Know when you do not have the upper hand. Know when to serve."

You glared up at him, scanning his eyes, baffled by his audacity. You are— "I am a—"

"Stark Ward. But not a Stark. If you go to Robb, you have no proof. I might have my own story. You and Greyjoy, bitter that you'd never truly be accepted into the Stark family plotted the demise of the King in the North, who I so faithfully served up until now. There is no reason for Robb to view me with less trust than you... The King may grow weary with paranoia. First his brother... then he doesn't know to trust his closest advisor or his sister. "

"But you---"

"I am guilty. And you have no evidence. You are asking for a favor. Tell me, what difference does it make if the King dies tomorrow or three months later on the Battlefield without my men to back him." he questioned, enunciating each word clearly, staring down at you.

You cursed yourself for sitting. The scare was not over, you should have realized. Even if the cold blade was no longer physically at your neck, Roose Bolton still had a knife to you.

"What do you want?"

He chuckled, "One day I will have a need for you. And that day, you will obey. You owe me your life, my lady. And the King's life."

You glared at the ground, wishing you could say something of his arrogance, "And Robb?"

"I will tell him of the plans. And you will not tell him the truth. Any time you think you want to tell the young wolf what we discussed in these chambers remember that it is your pretty neck and your reputation that may be in my hands." Roose gave you one last look, then whispered, "Go on now. Back to your tent."

You stood, meeting him with one last glare.

He smiled sweetly at you, nodding, "I thoroughly enjoyed the display."

—————

Your promise to Roose Bolton loomed over you every day for a month. You spent your days watching his actions closely to know when he was plotting anything, but he's yet to step blatantly out of turn.

He was showered with honors for being savior at the Red Wedding, not only becoming the official Lord presiding over the Twins, but he was given a large portion of the remaining Karstark forces, which thankfully very few deserted the King in the North after the victory at the Twins. Roose sent his Bastard to serve in his stead at Karhold, which was now under close surveillance for their treachery.

You paled to hear these developments. Because in truth you still failed to trust Roose Bolton though you hoped these gifts from the King in the North sweetened the pot enough for him to follow through with his promise to you. You simply shivered at the obscene amount of power that was showered to him.

So long as he retained the upper hand you would continue to be unsettled. You wish he would just tell you what he wants from you quickly so that you may get it over with. Really, something you think he just enjoys watching you squirm.

"Milk of the Poppy," Talisa said calmly.

And you moved to argue with your queen but hearing the screams of agony of the man being tended you, you decided there was a time and place.

The queen finished up with him quickly and turned back to you. That's when you started, "My Queen, I'm sure you're tired of hearing. And I, more than anyone else here understand your concern for the wellbeing of unnamed Lannister boy-soldiers."

Talisa, laughed, ducking her head in preparation for your words.

"But truly... Milk of the Poppy?" You pleaded, "I know it may seem cruel but it's really more of a luxury in wartime than anything. Perhaps that can be saved for the men fighting for our King."

Your queen met your eyes again but then at something behind you. Turning, you saw Roose speaking with Robb. Robb glanced at you, spoke something back to the Dreadlord and patted his arm before making his way to you. Roose spared you a glance before walking in the other direction, toward his tent.

"I'll take your words into consideration, my lady," Talisa reassured, "I understand. Thank you for stating your opinion calmly and without judgement."

You smiled in sympathy, knowing the men in the army could be quite rough around the edges with their opinions.

Talisa started again, taking some time to gather her tools "My husband is coming. I think he wants to speak with you."

Robb came up to the two of you, placing a hand on the small of Talisa's back, pressing a kiss to her cheek and whispering something short in her ear.

"I'll leave you to it then," Talisa said sweetly and left to find more sick to tend to.

As soon as she did, Robb's features were cast with a stern seriousness. You evaluated it, wondering if it had anything to do with Roose Bolton's conversation with him just moments before.

"What is it?" You asked.

Robb sighed, "You don't have to agree. You can think on it for a while. I know it can be daunting seeing as I'm almost sure he's older than father."

"What is it?" You pressed urgently.

"Roose Bolton asked for my blessing to take your hand in marriage."

Your heart sank, the full weight of the deal you made with Roose falling on your shoulders.

"I gave him my blessing as I have no reason not to. But I warned him that I cannot force you to be amenable." With a laugh, Robb tried to cheer you up but to no avail, "I even warned him you shared Arya's disdain for marriage from a young age."

You simply nodded, expressionless and quickly muttered something to dismiss yourself and you ran straight for Roose Bolton's tent.

—————

The route to Roose's tent felt quick, like you had stormed off from Robb and landed right at his door. Your anger bubbled at your throat and you could hardly wait before storming in and yelling at the man sat at his desk.

"So that's it?" You asked, bewildered, "That's how you aim to make me repay my debt?"

Roose didn't even look up at you as he continued to write on a small strip of parchment. "It seems with my sudden acquisition of the Twins, even if I legitimize my bastard, it will not be enough to sustain my achievements. I'm in dire need of heirs. You owe me a favor."

You were speechless for a second and you felt a laugh be punch out of your chest, the mere ridiculousness — the scale of this favor. "A favor, my lord, usually doesn't include a lifelong bind. A favor, I would imagine is a one and done type of deal." Marching to the side of his table, you attempted to command his attention, "Was the twins not enough? Was having your bastard installed as acting Lord of Karhold not enough?"

Roose looked up at you, calmly speaking. "I'd like to remind you, my lady, that had I not warned the King in the North of the Freys and Karstarks treachery, I'd have been named Warden of the North by the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Closing your mouth, you huffed, amazed by this mans blatant selfishness. Titles.

"The Twins, and temporary reign over the Karstark maneuvers pales in comparison to what I had abandoned."

"Well you our deal wasn't for me to make that loss up to you, it was so you could keep your head and remain loyal to King Robb." You shook your head, "I wont do it. If you're the pragmatic, power hungry man you claim to be, why don't you plot your way into some other lady's bed — someone who could give you another stronghold to place your seed upon? I'd just be a cow to breed, nothing else to gain from there"

"A pretty cow to breed with a respectful name and no brothers to take your family home. I'd say you're as good a match as any."

You gasped at his blatant disrespect, blood rising to your head, and you landed a firm slap to his face. You even went for seconds but he grabbed your wrist firmly. You tried to pull it away but he wouldn't let you.

"Of course, we'll have to do something about that temper of yours once we are wed," He warned, pulling you a little harshly — not too rough but enough to make you fall forward and catch yourself on his table. He stood, circling around the table, as casually as he could managed but he did adjust his jaw from the slap you landed on him. "Your spirit and smart mouth have done you well in the past but only when they are in company with your wits. Don't go losing those wits and getting yourself in trouble. As I'm sure you are aware, there are dangerous men lurking in times of war."

"Dangerous men like you," You pushed yourself off the table and faced him again, crossing your arms, "I owe you my life. What happens if I decide I'd rather die than marry you?"

"Then what will be protecting your King, if not your life?"

That took any retort out of your mouth, as this was not an avenue you'd expected him to take. You stuttered dumbly for a moment. "M-my King? What of him? They—... House Frey and the Karstarks have been dealt with. You—"

"I can still betray him. He trusts me now more than ever. If I write to Tywin Lannister detailing how the plan had been spoiled and I explain that I'd counted our losses and regained the trust of the King so that we may try again well, that'd be easy enough," He stared down at you and said the next part clearly, "You are the only thing stopping me from doing so. If you'd rather die..."

You shook your head at him, scowling. The entire North, dependent on what you say to this man. "I don't want to marry you," you stood your ground as well as you could, "Anything else, I'll do."

Roose looked to the ground next to you, "Well then," He sighed.

Then he glanced back at you, giving you a lazy once over.

He sighed again, this time more sure, straightening his back and that's when you knew he'd had an idea.

You didn't like him getting ideas. You don't like his mind and the thoughts he spins.

"Another deal. A game, more like."

You didn't trust the slight tinge of a smile. Really you just didn't trust or like this man. Every moment you're in his tent feels like a gamble. "What game?" You especially hate the idea of playing his games. Right into the bear trap, it felt like.

Where you excelled in proposing deals that suited the interests of both sides perfectly, the Boltons were infamous for creatively constructing games that were rigged from the start, in their favor.

"Part of it is that you have to figure out the rules," He smiled.

You should have known the odds were against you. They always were when it came to Roose Bolton. How does one negotiate with a man like him?

Your attention was drawn back to him when his hand came up to the pin that secured your cloak to your shoulders. He undid the on on the right, then the one on your left. And you could do nothing but watch it fall to the floor, heart racing, because suddenly you understood.

Why did you have to say "Anything"?

Of course... You watched him, his clenched jaw, barely holding back from just ripping your clothes off, and you realized: Roose Bolton is just like any other man. He only wants one thing. Married to you or not.

One and done, you wondered, Is that better?

He pulled the laces securing your dress in the front, watching his eyes greedily take in your chest as more of it was exposed. Soon, your dress hugged your waist and shoulders, barely covering your top half.

You smacked his hand away as it reached under the fabric draping at your shoulders.

The silent question in your eyes was What the fuck do you think you're doing?

Roose simply chuckled softly, “Letting me see your tits is not as bad as marrying me, is it, my lady?” Dark intentions coated his syrupy smooth voice and it made you shiver.

Breathing a long, angry sigh, you looked up at him, “I could just kill you.”

“Even if you managed, your king desperately needs Bolton men. They'll only follow a Bolton,” He spoke matter of factly, tugging your sleeves so they fell off your shoulders.

He's right. The Starks and the Boltons had no love for each other. Centuries of hate. Many Karstarks remained loyal to Robb because of the history of love between the houses. There was no such history between the Starks and Boltons.

The cool air hit your exposed skin. “Trust me,” Roose smiled satisfied with the sight before him, taking a firm handful of your breast, caressing over it and pinching the nipple as he let go, “You’d rather handle me than deal with my bastard.”

You shivered and took several steps back from him and his touch, and moved to cover your breasts with your hands as well as you could.

You’d definitely heard about his bastard. From what you knew, he was a more unhinged, less predictable version of Roose, more willing to get his hands dirty, more eager to act. You stood and let Roose’s eyes rake over your body, disgust bubbling at your throat.

“So conveniently, my best option is to either marry you or let you fuck me and ruin any marriage prospects in my future?”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Roose raised his brow, playing innocent, “I just want to see you, touch you... feel you touch me. I wont put anything inside your cunt unless you ask me to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, you dont trust his mercy, especially the last clause. Unless you ask him to. Why in seven hells would you ask him to? “What do you want me to do?”

Roose smirked widely and the look should have terrified you — you’ve never seen such twisted joy on a persons face before, especially not stoic Roose Bolton.

He stepped closer to you once more, hands coming to cradle your face and neck gently. Your hands instinctively followed, grabbing his wrists cautiously. Though a hint of that devious smirk lingered, he looked at you with gentleness between his eyes, “Lets start with another kiss,” He said, condescension lacing his voice, “seeing as my lady was so eager the last time we saw each other.”

You couldnt help but fall a little under his spell, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to figure out why you felt dizzy with him so close to you, cold eyes darting all over your face. Why your mind whirred with the memory of how hungrily he responded to you last time you were in his tent. You wondered if perhaps you had sparked something in him. If that was why he was so insistent.

You nodded softly, so soft that upon thinking on it, you wondered if it was even noticable. But Roose had been watching you closely for any sign of submission and he closed the gap between you before you could move to do anything else.

He noted how you tensed just as his lips met yours and he carefully took your hands, guiding them to wrap around his neck. You tried to relax into it as much as possible and kiss him back, but it proved difficult until his arms came around and pulled you closer to him.

His bare hand on your back made you jolt and he chuckled deeply, the rumble of it making you shy away. "Roose," You started, unsure of what you would say. That you already need a break?

Roose ignored you, hands coming back up to cup your breasts, "Fucking gorgeous. And you've been right in front of me this entire time," He spoke so lowly you almost thought he was muttering to himself. But his eyes trained on you told you different.

He leaned down the few extra centimeters to meet your lips again, this time toying with your hardened buds as he did. Your hand shot up to grab his wrist but he just pinched in response. You squealed, lips parting from his but he kept you held close.

"Behave."

You whined, glaring at him, your dignity clinging to any sliver of hope it had of remaining intact.

Roose glared right back and took your hand, leading you toward his cot. He sat you on his lap and again, turned his attention toward your chest after kissing you a few times. This time, his lips wrapped around the bud on your right while his hand toyed with the other.

You tensed as a moan threatened to escape you, especially with his tongue circling around the way it did. When he sucked and continued that technique at the same time it was difficult not to enjoy. To be honest, you didn't even know a man could enjoy a woman's body like this — so shamelessly lewd. But he promised no penetration. You assume that means he deigns to make use of your body in any other way.

It was quickly proving to be too much. You grunted a few times when moans caught in your throat, gutteral noises and sighs to keep the really embarrassing noises down. But even that was wearing thin. Your hand shot up to his head and tugged at his hair. Your back arched into him, body twitching when he'd trigger a sensitive nerve.

And before you could stop it, you sighed something a little too audible, too close to a full moan. You began trying to push his head away.

Roose grabbed your hands firmly, pushing them away and gave you a small nip as a warning. You yelped, staring at him incredulously. Then he switched to your more neglected nipple.

This same torture continued for far too long, but the result was worse than the torture itself, because you couldn't deny the pool forming in your small cloths. The pleasure of him toying with your sensitive buds just goes straight down there. You can't help it.

"My lord, h-how much more."

"I'll play with you until I'm satisfied, darling," He answered cooly, "Don't ask again."

You nodded, looking at his intense, watchful eyes. And he crashed his lips on yours again. This time, he reached beneath all the heavy layers of your skirts and pulled your breeches down. You helped him kick them off.

When the pads of his finger met your cunt, they circled around in search but he cut his search off, chuckling at what he found. You pulled away from his lips, hiding in his shoulder because you already knew what he was laughing at.

"Look at my little whore. Never been touched like this, have you? You're going to let me ruin you for your King?"

You groaned, feeling his fingers gather your slick, then he found a bundle of nerves. It felt like when he was licking your nipples— the way it tingled down there— but he was touching the exact source of it. Sometimes you'd cross your legs or gyrate your hips against a pillow and feel the same way but Wow you always thought that sensation was coming from something deeper inside you. Turns out its right there. Right at the front of your vulva.

And Roose knew. You gripped his knee and spread your legs for him as he toyed with you in ways you hadn't even known to toy with yourself. Your lips fell open but you wouldn't allow a single sound to come out, though you knew this would be far more difficult to bear than what he was doing previously.

Your body would twitch and tense up under his ministrations. Something was building within you. You'd felt this kind of feeling, grinding against soft pillows, but then the feeling would die after a little while. You'd walk away satisfied with the morsel of pleasure.

But with Roose, it wasn't going anywhere. It kept building and building.

Eventually, you thought that perhaps an end to the build was near but he diverted his fingers, playing with your opening instead, gathering more slick.

You calmed yourself, taking a few breaths to calm yourself. You looked down to see Roose staring at you, eyes hooded with a dark cloud of lust, lips parted, just taking you in like you were the most interesting, captivating thing he's ever seen.

His finger teased your entrance, pushing slightly and you ripped your gaze away from his intense eyes, studying you. Gods... Oh gods. You rolled your hips but he pulled his hand away finally.

Roose wiped his hand on your skirt. "Do you like being touched by me?"

You refused to answer, turning your head and looking anywhere else. Weakly, you shook your head no.

"Don't lie," he scolded.

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, brows furrowed, confusion behind your eyes, wondering how your body could betray you like this. But its just biology. Simple as that.

"You came close."

"Close to what?"

That made Roose smirk wider, a twinge of surprise and excitement, "Close to a release that some women can achieve while fucking." Roose took a second to compose himself before continuing, "A release that you won't experience tonight, unless it's around my cock."

Fear filled you, "You said you wouldn't."

"No, I wont," Roose cooed, a false comfort, "Not until you ask."

"I wont."

"We'll see, darling," He moved his arms from you and nudged your behind a little, "Up. Take off your dress."

You stood and obeyed, albeit hesitantly. He also took to stripping himself, but left on his small clothes. You, having already rid yourself of your breeches, were bare as the day you were born once you took off your dress.

Roose, with a hand to your waist, pulled you into him, standing in between his legs and he pressed a kiss to your stomach, trailing down to your dripping cunt. You shuddered at the thought of his tongue circling around that spot the way it circled your nipple. You don't think you could bear that.

Unfortunately for you, that was exactly what Roose had in mind. He lifted your leg so that your foot rested on the edge of his bed, which sat low on the ground. It's height provided the perfect angle for him to duck under and lick a flat stripe over your clit.

Your cunt convulsed and you were embarrassed for it because unlike your moans, you could not hide the reactions of your cunt as easily. His tongue dipped a little further, barely dipping into your hole to taste you and collect your essence on his tongue.

He groaned into you, the vibration making you bite your lip. He feasted on you like a starved man, wrapping his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves and gently shaking his head as he sucked. Each time he flicked his tongue sent shocks through your body and you'd buck your hips against his face.

Even just the image that you were met with when you looked down— Roose Bolton burying his face into those parts...

If him licking your nipples was considered lewd, you didn't know how to describe this correctly. You hadn't even realized that men did this in the first place. Frankly it felt like something a man like Roose would normally consider to be too debasing and submissive.

There was nothing submissive about the way Roose licked up your juices. This was a man who was confident he held all the power and you'd be stupid to underestimate him.

Whines, real wanton whines pushed through your throat, filling the open air of his tent and that only seemed to spur him on. You submitted to it, feeling his hand come under your buttock and his other wrap around your waist. He then hoisted you up in the air and gently laid you down on the bed.

Roose not so gently spread your legs and settled between them, continuing his treatment on you.

Again the coil in your core tightened impossibly tight and just as you thought you'd reach some higher pleasure. He pulled away, peppering kisses to your thigh to calm you. You breathed heavily, staring at the ceiling.

This time, having him stop was frustrating. You cant lie. And you had a feeling you were in for a rather long night. Your hand twitched, almost wanting to give yourself the pleasure that he refused but you knew Roose would not let you. This was his game.

The game where you win if you steel through and manage to out last him.

You whimpered, legs quaking softly when he carefully bent and flicked his tongue against your clit again. Even, at this point, the feeling of his stubbled cheeks brushing your inner thigh was almost too sensitive to bear. Your body was responding to everything.

Soon you were bucking against his face, cursing the gods, and repeating the process again and again.

He learned what you liked quickly and tried everything under the sun. Dipping his tongue into you, he brought you just to the precipice of something amazing by fucking you with nothing but his mouth.

Once you had settled from the near high a fourth time, Roose pulled your body closer to him and through his lustblown eyes. He whispered to you as his fingers came to tease your entrance again, "May I?"

You looked down at him, biting your lip and you wanted to say yes. Your entire being begged for it. But your pride told you to say, "Do I have a choice?"

He merely chuckled at the loss of any desire to argue within you, and he plunged two thick fingers into your cunt. You cried out, the stretch somewhat shocking to you. But you were so wet that it really just felt nice, despite being foreign.

The noise you made was something you didn't even think could be produced within you. You moved to cover your face, laughing into them neverously because holy shit you need to get a hold of yourself. You need to. You've never felt this weak in the hands of someone else.

His fingers filled you nicely but you dreaded to admit it wasn't enough. And you didn't like how stiff they felt inside you. Something softer might feel more like it belongs. something longer and thicker... Something like—

Roose growled and that noise brought you out of your trance. You stared at him for a second, his eyebrows knit together frustratedly. His fingers did their work inside your cunt while his mouth continued to torture your clit.

"Fuck! Ahhh... fuck fuck—" You groaned, gritting your teeth together as you tried to keep yourself up to watch him.

You breathlessly but sort of victoriously took note of his clear frustration. You were proving to be more stubborn than he bargained for, you assume. But he was persistent too. There was no mistaking who had the power here.

He groaned, pumping his fingers into you. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel when you finally gave in to him. So he let you know, "Your cunt loves me, my lady. You feel it clenching around me. You're so desperate for more. All you have to do is ask."

"Eat shit," you choked out. You meant to say it more confidently, less weak and shuddery but it created the same effect within Roose as it would have either way.

His lips returned, doing only what garnered the strongest reactions from you. And you were tumbling back down the hill again.

Of course he stopped, again.

You needed more than a second to recover from that one. What was it? Five rounds of the same torture. Your body was sure to be feeling the effects of it. Your cunt continued to twitch around nothing after his fingers were unceremoniously pulled out.

You lay there, unable to do anything but watch him clean off his fingers with his mouth. And it was hot because he didn't necessarily make a show of it. Ever the practical man, he probably only used his mouth because it was the easiest, cleanest solution. But you'd never seen anything so salacious and wrong.

Well, you concede, perhaps its not wrong, just something you, again, wouldn't thought of doing. It made your hips wriggle involuntarily and your cunt clench around nothing again, missing his fingers stretching and making you feel a little closer to whole.

Roose made quick work, ridding himself of his breeches and shirt.

You barely had enough time to appreciate the defined lines of his body, toned, even at his age because he stayed active.

He's undeniably handsome. If he wasn't so evil you'd have jumped at the chance of marrying him. Even now, staring at him, the man in control of your pleasure, you wondered if being married to him would even be so bad.

And his cock... You glanced at it, then trained your eyes back on his icy gaze. He cant see you staring down there, he'll get the wrong idea like he's winning or something. But the image was burnt into your mind. You could end your suffering now and beg him to put it inside you. You could.

But then your pride jumped in and told you to stop acting a fool.

He climbed up the bed, staying to one side of you, then wrapped his arm under you, kissing you briefly. Very briefly. So briefly that when he pulled away, you felt trained to chase after his lips, expecting more. The very accidental admittance of submission was not lost on either of you, an approving chuckle leaving him as he flipped your body on its tummy.

He crawled over you, snaking a hand under your stomach to pull you up and your entire backside felt his bare skin upon it. You bit your lip to stop yourself from whimpering at that feeling alone, again your cunt whined and begged you to just give in. Its right there, hard and pressing against your ass.

It was dizzying, the entire experience. You'd been denied so many times.

"Remember the rules," he murmured in your ear before taking a small bite and kissing down it. "Keep your thighs tight. Until you're ready to spread them like the good little slut you are." And with that, he used his free hand to slip his cock between your damp thighs.

You'd been so stripped of any and all resistance that the dominant emotion filling you was pride at his praise, calling you a good little slut. Something so debasing shouldn't stir you this much.

You were shocked at the warmth, initially scared that he was trying to slip it inside your cunt without you noticing, but Roose stayed true to his word. He wasn't going to put it in unless you asked, unless got to the point of wanting to beg him to. That didn't mean he couldn't put it right next to the entrance to tempt you.

It took him all but two seconds to begin slowly thrusting into the crack of your thighs and you wondered if it was supposed to feel like anything for you because it felt really amazing.

It wasn't as intense as his lips on your cunt but it was more tempting. The head of his cock, when his hips would slap against your ass, would grind deliciously over your clit. You whimpered each time it happened. It was all so wet and warm down there, his cock doing nothing but spreading the mess between your thighs.

His hand came around you to grab your neck, pulling you up so that he could fuck your thighs, using you as leverage. Your cunt pulsed with desire again, wishing he'd angle his hips incorrectly on accident and it'd just slip inside.

Please just slip inside. Please, please. Please slip in.

"Fuck, Roose, It... Its so... please," You said without even thinking

A dark chuckle vibrated right next to your ear. He chewed your lobe and kissed the top of your jaw. "Tell me."

"I... mmm nothing, nothing. I..." You growled frustratedly, burrying your face in the pillow.

Tears pricked your eyes.

The frustration was really getting to you.

Five times denied.

Your hips met him, rolling back to make his thrusts easier and he growled, landing a firm smack to your buttock. You cried out into the pillow.

Having had enough of your muffled cries, Roose pulled you up, situating your neck in the crook of his arm and he hoisted you up to your knees, cock still pumping drenched between your thighs.

It was pure debauchery. Unadulterated debauchery. You felt dirty and you couldn't even bother to be embarrassed by it. You just wanted him to have an accident and slip in. But you knew Roose. You knew he was too careful.

You had to give in first.

Your heart sank, realizing this could go on for so much longer. If he really wanted to, he could release right now, between your thighs and toy with your body mercilessly until he's ready to try with his cock again. He could go on for much much longer than you could ever dream of.

Especially in this position, it was difficult not to imagine him spearing you, your walls clenching and welcoming him instead of your thighs.

Gods, the way he was just using your body. Any part of your body. You were dizzy with pleasure and longing.

“Roose just do it, you win. Fuck me, please,” You spoke through sobs. Frustrated tears trickled down your cheeks.

Roose slowed his movements but that only made your wanting worse. Your thighs literally quivered for him. He took one look at the tear streaks on your face, not having noticed the fact that you were fucking crying for his cock, since your face had just been buried in the pillows a second ago. Roose's heart nearly had a tender little lapse, but it instead, swelled his pride to see you so desperate.

He wiped your tears away with his free hand and kissed your cheek. He wasn't completely done toying with you. He had to make sure you understood what it meant to be fucked by him. Truly understood. “And take my lady’s maidenhead? Will any respectable man take you to be his bride then?”

Your heart sank deeper than it ever had, real dread filling you. You finally understood his play here.

“Of course, as an honorable man, It’d be my duty to inform them of your compromised purity. Tell them this little whore's been tainted.”

He'd riled you up this far. You thought naively that he simply wanted you to admit defeat that you desired him as much as he desired you before taking you passionately.

In reality he wasn't going to let you go even after you gave in. The second another lord comes along for your hand in marriage, Bolton will reveal this little tryst you've had.

This was his goal since the beginning.

Marriage to you has been his goal since the very beginning of this little parlay.

You whined, stomach twisting because your dignity has become a whispered scream within you, telling you not to give in. But your psychology, your biology, everything else was screaming for him. He wanted not just to fuck you but to own you.

Your thighs tightened and you grinded against his long shaft. Still in the weakest attempt to remain stubborn, you stuttered, “Just… only a little, my lord. Only the top part. If you must. But please dont put it all in. Not far enough to break the… m-my maidenhead.”

That was the moment both of you knew you lost. You'd say it was stubbornness. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe you just liked feeling helpless under him, knowing what was inevitable.

Roose reached down, the strain that his smirk had on his cheeks being felt against yours. You're happy he's happy. Truly, you are. It twists your stomach again. You think if your stomach twists again you'll just melt into Roose Bolton. Completely at his mercy.

You whimpered as he used his hand to guide his cock to your entrance and pushed in, only far enough for the tip. Breathy moans tumbled out of you, all effort to hide them completely foregone. You threw your head back against his chest, eyes closed, enjoying the teasing feeling of just his cockhead stretching you.

He alternated between faster pumps and slow ones where you could feel his tip just barely broaching your entrance before pulling away again. He liked to feel your cunt try to suck him into you. Could you get any wetter? Any more ready to take him?

You tried to cheat, you'll admit it. Bucking your hips back, but he always managed to follow your movements, not giving you a single bit more than what you asked for. Tears pricked your eyes again but your heart soared from it. You're at his mercy completely.

“Whats wrong, my lady, you seem distressed.” He wiped a tear away from the corner of your eye, threatening to fall. And the way you whined at that moment, so frustratedly, almost like you hated him, like you might kill him if you had the chance... it actually managed to crack Roose’s composure and he laughed a good hearty laugh from the bottom of his chest.

Still smiling, he tilted his head, giving a condescending hum of mock sympathy.

Roose took your chin in his hand so he can get a good look at you as he continued to tease the tip of his cock in and out of you. Your big eyes looking up at him and begging, begging. He would love to give in but you have to say it.

“I am but your loyal and humble servant. I only do what is bid of me.”

“Fuck me,” You crack, the words coming out not as intelligible words but as part of your moans.

He hummed a deep and clear “Hm?” Pretending he didnt hear but he did. You know he did.

“Please, fuck me.”

“And...”

“Please fuck me and marry me," You forced out, you cringed at the way your voice sounded, so whiny you would have thought it to be annoying and too high pitched. But it deepend the clouds of lust behind your lord's eyes. It made you keep going "Please, my lord, take me as your bride. Fuck me and then save my honor from ruin.”

Your eyes fluttered close, shutting tightly. You expected more taunting from him, anything, but you forced your eyes back to him when you felt his hot breath on your cheek, then his nose ghosting over as well. He pushed his cock in a little past the tip and you whimpered, grateful, melting into him. Your stomach twisted again. Your legs were so so so weak.

Roose tilted his head, leaning in closer and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. When he parted, you blinked, looking up into his striking blue eyes and you whimpered again because he thrusted back in, deeper, only slightly, but he met the little barrier within you and you braced yourself for the striking blow.

He captured your lips more roughly this time as he pushed through, claiming you as his. Your soft squeaks of pain and pleasure getting lost in his mouth. Roose pumped his cock in and out, slowly, waiting for you to stop tensing.

When your ass twitched upward against him, he took that as the permission. Your lips disconnected from each other, both of you left gasping. You stopped trying to hide your pleasure long ago.

Your husband to be let go of you, letting you fall down back to the bed and you caught yourself on your elbows. He grabbed your hips, using your body mercilessly as you damn near sobbed from pleasure.

The view of you bent over for him, the side of your face pressed into the sheet and submissively crying out for him was almost too much. Roose braced himself to last longer but it seemed you were also tumbling embarrassingly quickly to your release after having been denied the pleasure five times over.

"Perhaps tonight," Roose paused to grunt and in his deep, baritone, it was just too good, you whined in response, "Tonight, I will put our first baby in you. A bastard, but no one else but you and I will be privy to that technicality."

"Yes," You shook beneath him, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. And as your cunt tightened around him, Roose knew you were close.

"Beg," was the one worded command, and having learned your lesson, you obeyed nearly immediately.

"Please, let me release. Please, let me carry a son for you, husband. Whatever you need from me, please."

Roose could not deny such sweet words, he came inside you with a few purposeful jerks of his hips and you shuddered for it, the pleasure feeling as if it could blind you if you were even the slightest bit more wound up than you were in this moment. You were unaware of the fact that your pussy, having a mind of its own, continued to pulse, milking Roose Bolton for everything he had to offer.

The sizable load immediately spilled out onto the sheets after your intended slipped out of you. You laid there afterward, with your ass up, desperately attempting to recollect yourself as quick as possible.

You moved to get up but Roose landed a firm but not too painful smack on your ass. It wasn't too hard but in your state, it succeeded in knocking you back down to your hands with how weak your legs were.

"That's for striking me earlier," He said, icily, then he handed you a cup of water, waiting for you to take it before he started to wipe away at the mess he'd left between your legs with a spare rag of his.

The act was more tender than you'd have expected from Roose, especially when he pressed a small, short kiss to your buttock and gave it another playful smack.

"Stubborn little wife."

That brought a pleasant little heat to your cheeks.

[bowieandqueen11]

Jesse Pinkman Being Jealous Would Include...

Request: omg so glad you’re writing for breaking bad rn cause i literally just started watching it and i’m obsessed 😭 could you do jealous jesse pinkman please? (hcs or a fic whatever you want)

Oh my gosh yay I'm really glad you started watching it!! If you haven't already you 100% have to watch Better Call Saul afterwards it's one of my favourite shows of all time! :)

Warning: spoilers for later seasons of the show! Mentions of drugs, mentions of drinking/alcohol, mentions of burn injuries, light swearing, mentions of trauma!

(I do not own Breaking Bad or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @tilldeathdousart.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Baby boy, baby boy. meow meow cat man. its so hard writing you as jealous because i feel if anyone started flirting with your s/o you would just break down crying and honestly same we love an in touch with his emotions king loml honestly

Jesse has always been the jealous type. Hot headed. Easily wound up by bullies ten times his size and a thousand times more ferocious and cutthroat than he had ever tried to be. Almost as easily as he had slipped into that easy routine of being ass over heels, devastatingly in love with you. The kind where every night, he tosses and turns in his mildew spelling bed, plagued by thoughts of doing nothing all day but sloppily kissing your lips between blunts. The kind where he has to stare up at the sky after he's been caught staring, until his retinas burn the sunlight into the back of his skull, yet the pain is nowhere near as cataclysmic as the hurricane your smile brings to his heart.

He had far too many years to temper it, to try and smother his love, and yet over time he seemed to get worse and worse and worse at stopping it from choking at his throat. He wasn't so bad during high school: sure, you found him a little odd, the way he would brag to his friends in the corridor about how he'd never 'studied a day in my life, man!', and yet in Chemistry he would be chewing the edge of his pen and scribbling furiously down on his paper during the end of term quiz.

He was terrible at tempering it, and you were terrible at seeing it.

Little did you know, that all the words he scratched down with his shaking hand were either complete guesses, or absolute gibberish. He had no idea what the paper was even supposed to be on, but you were sitting beside him, and so he wanted to look as smart in front of you as he possibly could. Bless his heart, to everyone else he was so obvious: Mr White would just peer over his shoulder and shake his head, his mouth in a lined frown as he watched Jesse peer like a meerkat over the side of the desk to stare at you from behind his slipping down beanie.

Some of his friends, his 'gang' as he liked to call them, were snickering from a couple of benches behind at the way he was trying to look clever by placing his fist under his chin, but his elbow kept slipping off the edge thanks to his baggy hoody. Even Justin Treller, the guy sitting to your right, and the kid Jesse was getting more and more annoyed with every time he leant over to whisper something in your ear, was evidently enjoying the way the tips of Jesse's ears were beginning to burn with embarrassment.

Eventually, when you began giggling at the things Justin was leering further and further towards you to murmur, Jesse began to snap. That's when he began doing stupid shit to make you laugh, like plugging the tube in and flicking his hand through the Bunsen Burner flame to try and impress you with his pain tolerance. When Jesse inevitably ended up being sent to the nurse's office for such a dumbass idea, he was wincing so harshly at the pain that he nearly tore through his bottom lip, leaving a nice scar. You volunteered to bring him down, spending half of your lunch period taking care of him.

He sat caved in on himself, trying to make himself as small a target as possible on one of the fold out chairs. He was obviously embarrassed, by the way his voice kept cracking each time you tightened some of the new dressing over his fingers. Mainly he was talking to try and distract you from the way his hands were shaking, so desperate to reach out and brush over your cheek that he nearly sobs with the effort. He also doesn't want you to notice how pathetic he looks: how he so subconsciously prepares himself for the mental barrage from his mother, or the physical threats from the people he deals with out in the streets, that he looks like a meek kitten sitting there with his palms down on his knobbly kneecaps.

He had known then, of course. He had known, as you pressed your lips chastely against the back of his sore knuckles, and giggled at the way his cheeks immediately flushed like a blooming snapdragon, that you would always be the love of his life. The only thing, behind the emotional neglect, the gossip, the drugs, the constant damn pressure, that he truly had chosen to care about. Which is why, after he bought his parents house and asked if you'd want to live in it, free of rent, he was shocked that you said yes.

Good things don't usually happen to this boy. And seeing how you were the best of all, he had to swallow his heart and just smile at your words, terrified he was going to ruin you.

I mean, living there at first had been easy enough. You had been round (or smuggled in by Jesse) so many times since that day in the nurse's office, that it felt like a second home to you. His parents, while they had still been speaking to Jesse, had absolutely adored you. They would always be teasing their son during family dinners about how he had been saving up doing his *wink wink* 'paper rounds' late at night, just so he could save up for the big wedding he was planning. Blushing ferociously, Jesse would duck his head down until his forehead banged against the tablecloth, begging his mom with that tired drawl to 'please... just stop'.

Somehow, somehow you just... never saw it. Perhaps you were laughing too much at the way Jesse's father was pretending to elbow his son to notice. Maybe, you were trying to cover your own eyes in mortification. I'm not sure, but I do know that you never seemed to notice the gut-wrenching look of pure hope Jesse would throw your way, once he had mustered the strength to peek his head up again.

While he shook his head and bit at the corner of his fingernail, while he poked and prodded at his escaping garden peas, while he took an awkward sip of his water and pretended to glance around the table. He was always looking your way, as if you had tied his heart to a string, his compass pointing him north, directing him back to his true home. His eyes would just linger on you like a listless man possessed from between the prongs of his fork, stabbing harshly at the plate in time with his thudding heart.

His heart sure was beating now. So ferociously, he thought it was about to splinter and explode out of his chest, implanting the chards everywhere until they were all that was left in memory of him. He knew you were getting sick of the constant parties. Of him being dazed 24/7. Of not knowing why he lashed out all the time. He knew it wasn't fair, but every time he closed his eyes he just saw Gale's pleading eyes beginning to burn itself into the safe memories he kept in the back of his head. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't breathe from all the sobbing. He couldn't even think in peace. So he just bit the cap off another beer bottle and fell down heavily on the edge of his brand new thousand dollar sofa, imprisoning himself in self-isolation despite being lost amidst a sea of people.

It was right at that moment you decided to try and brave down the stairs, having to hold onto the bannister for dear life as you jumped down each step, the bass vibrating through the walls until they shook. As you peered over mountains of baggie hoodies and tripped over lumps of passed out people on the floor in your effort to try and find Jesse, you accidentally bumped into the back of one of Skinny Pete's friends. You apologised as he turned around, which would have been fine if he hadn't taken one look at you and decided you were his main entertainment for the night. The smell of stale weed and lukewarm beer radiated off his sour breath as he leant down to rasp against the shell of your ear, sending a chill rolling down your back. You tried to compress your shoulders and squeeze past him, but the guy would not stop trying to grab onto your waist and pull you back, staring very blatantly down at your chest.

You knew Jesse had been shoved into the deep end of some shady business recently, but the way he had been acting over the last while had been frightening you. So despondent. So careless. To come home every day and find him almost completely blazed out of his mind on the floor, seemingly not recognising you as he failed to respond to your greeting. Not realising that as soon as you wandered into the kitchen to put the groceries away, those desperate, love strung eyes were following your heels. He nearly cried out for you, voice hoarse and heavy in the back of his throat.

If he had mustered the energy, he would have gotten onto his hands and knees and crawled like a baby on the floor to follow after you. The way you would beg him at 2 a.m. to turn down the music, and he would just grab at your hands and try to get you to join in his terrible on the spot jump-dancing. You never discerned how heartbroken he seemed to be when you jolted back from him as if shot; his bottom lip would quiver and he would sink to his knees when your bedroom door finally slammed shut. 

He couldn't take it. He couldn't take it anymore. First it had been his parents. Then the drugs. Then Mr. White, Gus, Gale, Mike, Saul, the pressure just kept building up and up and up and he didn't know how to escape it. Too cowardly to run away, just as he had always been resigned into believing you could never love him back. Too submissive. Too easily used. And now, now there was barely anything left of him. Sometimes, sometimes that scared kid would try to crawl out of his throat when he was alone at night, but he would just choke on his tears in the darkness until he had drowned him again.

So what does he do? Gets off his face drunk, and throws another mind numbingly monotonous party until the walls start spinning and he doesn't even know who's coming through those doors anymore. Hell, he still half expects his mother to come busting through, chiding him for having drugs in the house. For having you in the house, with such company present. For being a coward.

Now he had just brought more trouble on himself. If the company he now decided to keep didn't get his hands off you in approximately ten seconds, you were going to knock him on his ass in front of all his little buddies.

Thankfully, Jesse seemed to have a sixth sense as to when you were in trouble, and he had been steadily keeping his beady eyes on you ever since you reached the top step. Before you could shove the guy back, Jesse's already doing it for you. As soon as he’s by your side you can tell he’s wound up: not by the way he comes striding over, shouting over the beat and lowering his head as if he’s about to headbutt the guy. Not from the way his hand flies in his face, or the swears, the long string of increasingly ridiculous ‘bitch’ related insults he calls him, but from the way he looks so, so tired. He looks on the verge of tears, his eyes bloodshot as he brushes gently past you to start shoving the guy out the front door, yelling above the music to shepherd everyone else out as well.

'Jesse... seriously, you need to tell me what's going on, right now.'

When the door finally slams shut, you know him well enough that the best thing to do is just let his head cool down for a minute. When he was younger, that used to involve ringing you up whenever his parents had threatened to kick him out again; you would come clambering over the picket fencing lining his immaculately manicured side-yard to see him sitting on the edge of his windowsill, smoke rings blowing out the side of his mouth as he waited in the dark for you to arrive. His hand would shake as he hefted you up from the piping by his bedroom wall, awkwardly landing you down half on his feet as he would just stay beside you all night. He would speak from time to time, asking you about what you wanted to do once you managed to escape from this dump ass town. But mainly, he just leaned his head back and listened to your voice, gazing up at the faraway stars as if it were the only place he could possibly be truly free.

But now, he was far worse off than you ever could have imagined. He hunched over, as if he had a spiked collar weighted around his neck as he lumbered past you, crawling down onto the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest as he sat back against his brand new surround sound speaker, ducking his head into the gap and clawing at the back of his neck until you worried he was about to draw blood.

It was horrifying, hearing how he gasped between retching sobs as you sunk down on the floor next to him.

You tentatively reached out to place a hand on his back, kicking an empty pizza box out of the way with your foot so you could sit with the side of your thigh touching his. As soon as you made contact, he leapt at you like a rabid dog, clawing and clenching and biting his teeth into his shirt as he fell onto your chest.

‘Please. Please don’t leave me’, he gasped out between heaving cries, looking up at you with eyes so dejected, it were as if someone had stifled out the blinding stars once in them with dark clouds. Bits of saliva stuck between his teeth as he screwed his eyes shut once again and began bawling even harder, falling like a broken bird as you held the back of his head and guided it down to rest just above your breast bone.

‘I love you’, he starts sobbing, fists bunching up the material at the back of your shirt. It was you. It always has been. And if you walked out that door with the rest of them, he had nothing left. He would willingly roll over, and let himself just rot away. 

You sure as hell saw it now.

Eventually, after you rock him back and forth against the floorboards for a while and just cradle him in a way he’s never experienced during his years on earth, he becomes more placid against you. It helps that at some point, you had absentmindedly begun to trace the silvery wisp of an outline that had been left on his bottom lip all those years ago, your pointer finger glancing back and forth as it quivered. He was almost entirely curled against you now, pretending to be asleep so you wouldn’t stop, but his breath froze when he heard you whisper ‘I love you too’ against the top of his hair.

He’ll feel really sheepish the next day when he finally wakes up, peering round the corner with his hand behind his head when he spots you trying to straighten out the crick in your neck after a night spent on the floor. He’ll come apologizing with his go to breakfast: a childhood favourite of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup; they were the kind his mom would make if she were in a good mood at the weekends. When he would sit at the table the morning after you slept over, watching stupid cartoons his brother had put on the small television, grinning to himself as some dripped down his chin. It had been the happiest he had been in his life.

Although he still has that boyish, soulful smile on his face as he sits criss-cross down beside you, you can tell that he’s still plagued by how wet his eyes are: how heavily he’s blinking.

‘I really do love you, you know that right?’, you whisper, taking the plate from him.

‘Yeah, I do.’

Suddenly your fork goes crashing to the floor, forgotten about as you lean forward to kiss him, nearly surprising the heck out of him as his teeth clash against yours. He’s quick to reach up and tenderly, oh god, so gently cradle the side of your cheeks, but that’s soon abandoned as he readily allows you to guide him until his back is against the floorboards. You clamber over until you’re almost straddling him, beginning to smile yourself as you feel him grin against your top lip, the soft peals of his giggles breaking out against the surface of your tongue as you dip down against him.

And suddenly, his life seemed like it was worth fighting for again. He was going to get out of this. He was going to escape. He was going to win. Not for himself, but for you.

[azaisya]

in which i get enough of my curufinrod thoughts together to write 1k words about it. featuring the aftermath of the messiest breakup ever, finrod's inability to be chill about the bëorians, and curufin's inability to be chill. [ao3]

The door to the King’s chambers yielded before his hand as easily as it ever had, and Curufin’s voice filled the familiar space like the cracking of ice beneath their feet. “Art thou mad?”

Finrod’s answering laugh was fey and wild. His temper was still upon him, his mind closed, and the light in his eyes was the light of the King of Nargothrond, for all that the silver crown gleamed not at his brow. “I? ‘Tis the madness of thine own tongue, Curufinwë, that has turned our people’s hearts against my hopes. If I am mad, it is only because thou hast left me no other path.”

They were alone. Finrod had sent his meager ten with Beren to prepare. Curufin closed the distance between them, kicking aside supplies half-packed, unflinching from the anger in those grey eyes. “Thou let’st thy fondness for the Secondborn blind thee to what is before thy nose.”

Felagund did not back away, though their faces were close enough that their breath mingled between them. His lip curled into a snarl, canines flashing in the candlelight. “Thou hast spoken enough already! Insult me again, and thou wilt not have the chance to do so a third time.”

[keep reading on ao3]

Curufin’s fury kindled, but he kept his mien cold and still with his will alone. How many times must he be reminded that he was the lesser, that their long years of closeness, their youth together, their quarrels and love, were nothing compared to Felagund’s infatuation with these mortals and their mayfly-quick lives. For the briefest of heartbeats, further poison gathered on the tip of his tongue. In his mind’s eye, he saw Felagund pushed further into wrath, saw the wild flame of his eyes. Would he draw his blade, as Fëanor once had against Fingolfin? Or would he close his bare hands about Curufin’s throat?

Felagund so loved to pretend at placidity, at gentleness, but his anger slumbered ever beneath those still waters. It shone, as bright as the summer blaze of his joy, and it was real. Curufin loved Finrod most when he was real.

The temptation was there. Curufin knew he could do it. But he did not insult Beren, or Barahir, or even Bëor. He said, cool, “Thou knowest that this was ever a fool’s journey, even hadst thou managed to rouse an army. The gates of Morgoth will not yield before the likes of thee.”

“Perhaps!” Felagund’s voice was sweet with rage. “But now we shall never know.”

Curufin’s eyes narrowed. “Thou wilt walk into doom for some mortal’s flight of passion, for Thingol’s whim?”

The back of Felagund’s fingers brushed, feather soft, against Curufin’s cheek. The touch was alight with the memory of thousands of other caresses, alive with the danger between them. His grey eyes were full of something unspeakable. “Wilt thou grieve for me, Curvo?”

It was the last thing that Curufin had expected. He flinched backwards, his mind unfurling, and beneath his anger his terror was laid bare.

“Ah,” Felagund said, the barest exhale. Gone was the might and majesty of the King, and in his absence there was only Finrod, small and pained and full of sorrow. “Thou wilt.”

“I’ve no desire to,” Curufin hissed. It did not matter whether he was met with softness or hardness; he could do nothing but arm himself with knives. “I desire naught but for thee to come to thy senses and abandon this futile quest.”

Finrod did not snap back. It would’ve been better if he had. He laughed, the sound soft and bitter and private. “I see! I had thought— Well, it does not matter what I had thought. Thy schemes have done naught but set my doom in stone, Curvo mine.”

The terrible thing was the way his small-name sounded on Finrod’s tongue: as tender as the press of lips against his neck, as solemn as the light of stars reflected in grey eyes, as laden with love as it ever was.

Curufin, rather abruptly, was forced to realize two things: Finrod did not love anything by halves, even now, and the love did not matter. 

Perhaps he should’ve realized that long ago.

“There is nothing I can say to change thy mind,” Curufin murmured, before he could think better of it. Unable to meet Finrod’s eyes any longer, he looked at the supplies scattered about the bed, the floor. He had not packed enough food. 

“There never was.” Gentle, gentle, as ever. From Curufin, it would’ve been a blade sharp enough to pierce the heart. From Finrod, it was just the truth. “I swore an oath to Barahir and his kin—”

Curufin’s hands fisted beneath his sleeves. “Do not speak to me of oaths.”

“—but I need no oath to compel me to Beren son of Barahir. I am bound to the House of Bëor by my own will.” The weight of Finrod’s gaze was a nearly physical thing, prickling across Curufin’s skin and sending shivers down his spine. He still did not look up. 

Finrod resumed his packing, haphazardly throwing things into his bag. One of his men would need to repack it for him. Curufin watched the quicksilver grace of his movements, the careless turn of his head. It should’ve been insulting, that Finrod thought so little of Curufin’s danger that he paid him no heed. But perhaps they simply knew each other too well for that. 

“I will not guard thy crown for you,” Curufin said, “Thou art dooming thyself and thy kingdom both.”

“Nargothrond is strong, when she is not sipping from thy cup of lies,” Finrod replied, and there, like the sun between clouds, was the splintered remnant of his anger. It was a weak thing now, muted by the helplessness between them, but not dead yet. “I’ve faith enough in Orodreth.”

Curufin sneered. “Yet more madness.”

“It is done, Curvo. There is no path for me but forward.”

There are many more paths than forward for thee, Curufin nearly snapped, but he made the mistake of meeting Finrod’s eyes. 

They were bright with treelight, with love, with doom. 

Curufin’s breath caught in his chest. He had no foresight to speak of, but he knew that this was the last time he’d see those eyes. 

Finrod smiled and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Farewell, Curvo. I hope I haunt thee.”

Curufin was helpless to do anything but watch him leave. 

[thottyimagines]

bestie do u have any Thoughts on shisui

Do I have any thoughts on Shisui?

Anon, I have an ongoing, unpublished Shisui-centric fanfic that I write for my own enjoyment that is tens of thousands of words and counting. I have thoughts on Shisui.

Like:

He has a polarizing personality. I think Shisui is willing to play the fool (something he played up for Itachi's sad excuse for a childhood while he could) for fun, for intelligence, for someone else's benefit (re: Itachi), what have you. He can also easily switch that off and become someone very intense and very sharp. Some people like this, those who don't notice think he's the friendliest little murderer out there, but many find it to be a very off-putting performance.

He could also just be insane. That seems to be something that runs relentlessly in the Uchiha family, after all.

I think Shisui would have mixed feelings about Naruto. On one hand, it's excellent that broody, broody Sasuke has a rival/bestie/bf. On the other hand, Naruto is shockingly naive for a powerhouse holding a demon within, even after a childhood just filled with abuse. I feel like he'd get kind of fed up with sparkly eyes/sad flute time/talk-no-jutsu pretty quickly.

Shisui gets weirdly territorial over things and people, like a dog resource guarding.

His secret hobby is astrology.

Shisui is very particular about scents. He prefers for the people and things around him to have more of a neutral, clean smell. He has a vendetta against Big Perfume.

Every time a festival comes around, Shisui thinks he's going to just love the cotton candy. And every year he has one bite of it and feels nauseous at the sweetness and hates how it dissolves right onto his teeth. Small Sasuke grew up getting cotton candy handed over to him year after year and he'd have to surreptitiously foist it off onto a cousin, for he also did not like anything that sweet.

[mdhwrites]

What Would Corrupting Die (up to the end of character creation) Look Like Without Input?

Someone suggested that I potentially do a rewrite of the whole story that was my take if it weren't a Choices story once I was done. That is actually a compelling question though, uh, looks at how long the story already is Yeah, that'd be a lot of work for not a lot of point sadly. It did make me want to talk about how making it comment driven like this does change things. After all, while these sorts of stories absolutely exist, they're the minority for a lot of reasons. So, how much would change?

A lot. Like... A LOOOOOOOT.

Or maybe not?

If that sounds weird, it maybe shouldn't. A comment driven story is something you genuinely have to treat as different than a regular story. That malleability and openness to being influenced is going to inherently change a lot of things you do so even if two stories follow a similar concept and structure, there will be marked differences just by the fact that how the two are setup. The demands of one sort of story versus another.

As an example: I probably wouldn't have done these character creation chapters. Or they would have been a lot more awkward. Jacob still needs those early, corrupting roles to prepare him for play after all but I've used the structure of Choices to get around a LOOOOOT of talking. Jacob doesn't have to tell each girl about the races, classes, etc. because those happen between chapter/choice breaks essentially. You see the outcome, not the setup because then choice is the setup. I can have them have an idea before coming and that's what they discuss but then they focus more on the upcoming character rather than revealing more about themselves and who they are. I can of course mix the two but it also could become even more routine than these character creation chapters already were without a hook of the different decisions being made to keep people invested.

It'd be a problem I'd have had to tackle in a vastly different way just because the inherent pacing of the story is different. Because my tools and needs are different. After all, the choices on the characters here allow for a cascade effect into the game itself. What situations any character gets into is going to be dependent on the character they're playing. That makes it so that these early chapters will be all the more satisfying for the audience in a way that is just not a thing in a traditional story because you know I chose all the classes, races, etc. It's less important so spending THIRTY THOUSAND WORDS on this makes literally no sense. Ten thousand at most would be right for my style so as to get to the real meat of things.

And mind you, even with these justifications, I have been SWEATING BULLETS about these chapters. That they are causing too much focus on this element and the core thrust of the story might be lost. That it's maybe too much time gamifying things. That it's too much build up so the payoff can never measure up to it. Etc. Etc. People seem to be enjoying the pacing, especially helped by me using the time to present compelling characters who interact with Jacob in different ways, but will that make the transition to the smuttier, sillier times of the actual game harder because it's no longer what people want from this story?

This is why this question is hard for me to answer without just doing the original version. These are things I could only figure out by feeling out each potential option and seeing what feels natural or satisfying. It'd be a rare time where I could easily see myself having to rewrite a large swathe because whatever direction I take just doesn't cohere into anything that makes sense. It's almost like writing stories, and especially ensemble stories like these, are hard and so many choices you make about them affect just the inherent pacing required for your story at a fundamental level.

It's a mess, just like this blog is. Sorry about that. See you all next tale and I hope you all enjoy Corrupting Die as we finally get to begin the game.

=======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[callsign-magnolia]

Imperial // Ch. 2

MATURE CONTENT (18+)

Synopsis: Tatiana Alexeyevna discovered she was a princess when she was seventeen, a young age for a girl to receive such shocking news. She's done well at learning how to be a royal, and after meeting Bradley she considers that she really could find true love while taking the throne.

Warning: Angst, cursing, smut (eventual)

Word Count: 6.0k

Chapter 1 | Masterlist

Once at the hard deck I immediately noticed it wasn’t as packed as it was last night, which seemed odd for a Friday night. But I repeated the same routine from last week, walking over to the bar and taking a seat. “Oh, you’re back.” Penny said as she walked up, smiling at me. “Yes, I am.” She nodded, wiping the bar in front of me. “Well, what can I getcha?” She asked, tossing the rag over her shoulder. “Vodka soda?” She chuckled as she started the drink. “Creature of habit?” She asked and my face blushed. “Yeah.” Once she finished, she slid the drink to me. “Even wore jeans and a t-shirt tonight. Must have been a more relaxing day.” I nodded, sipping my drink. “Of course, anything is easier than yesterday.” She raised a brow at me, eyeing me as I looked past her to the pool table. “You’re here for Rooster.” My face burned red as I choked on my drink. “What makes you think that?” She bit her bottom lip, her shoulders jostling in laughter. “You keep looking around for him.” I furrowed my brows in confusion. “I glanced at the pool table!” She chuckled as she opened a beer for another customer. “Which is the first place you saw him last night. Honey, I’ve been a bartender and owner for a few years now. I know how it goes.” I sighed, my face getting even warmer. “You think he liked me?”

She smiled at me, leaning on the bar. “Honey, once you left, he sulked the entire night. Going on about how he never got your last name, your number, an address, anything!” I hated that he was upset, and yet I was happy he was because he wanted to get to know me more. “I was pretty upset too. I didn’t get more than a first name and call sign! I couldn’t find him anywhere on social media!” She laughed loudly at my words. “He doesn’t use social media. You’ll have to get his number.” I nodded, drinking more. “Do you know when he’ll be in?” She shook her head, sighing in dejection. “No. Him and his squad are on a mission right now. They shipped out for the Indian ocean this morning.” My face fell, and so did my hopes. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” She shook her head. “I’m engaged to the captain of his squadron. So, I don’t know, but I will be happy to give him your number when he gets back.” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth rolling it around. For all I know, this woman knows who I am, and she could easily sell my phone number for hundreds of thousands of dollars. “Um, actually, how about you call me, and I’ll come down here. I really want to give him my number myself and so I can get his. You know, so I don’t have to wait on him to call me…” God, that sounded ridiculous. She probably thinks I’m so weird now. I felt like I wanted to crawl under my duvet and hide forever.

“Okay… that’ll work.” She slid me and pen and notepad where I wrote down Maria’s number. “Can you give me yours? So I don’t miss your call?” She nodded, writing hers down and handing it over. “I will text you when he gets back.” She said with a smile. I finished my drink and gave her the glass. “Thank you, Penny. I really appreciate it.” I said as I pulled out my card. “Anything for love, honey.” She said as she swiped my card and handed it back. Once she did, I said my goodbyes before going back out to my car, getting in and driving back to the Chateau. I was upset he was gone, but I was… worried as well. What if something happened? What if he wasn’t careful? I quickly realized I was worried for him. But he didn’t go into too much detail about his job. Just that he flies fighter jets for the navy, and he’s been in for ten years. But fighter jets, insinuate danger. Ugh, he needed to come home before I worried myself to death. I mean, what if he died and I never got to talk to him again. I’d be completely distraught, knowing I never got to know him more.

I agonized over it the entire drive home. Stressing and worrying. But when I pulled up, I wanted to crawl into the floorboards. There was Marcus, standing under the Porte cochere with his arms crossed over his chest. Kal slowly opened my door, holding out his hand for me to take. I looked up at his face to see him swallow hard. Telling me that he’s already been read the riot act by Marcus. I gently took his hand, getting out and standing in front of Marcus. “I am the head of your security for a reason. I cannot do my job, when you sneak around.” I sighed, hanging my head. “I agree to give you some freedom. Because your life was turned upside down at a young age, and you never got to experience the joys of being a young adult. But you are a person who will be stalked and bombarded by paparazzi and tabloids the second they realize you are in the states.” I nodded in shame. “I will not tell your grandmother about this. But one more slip up, and I will advise her to bring you home.” I sighed and nodded again, Kal handing me my purse before opening the door for me.

“Was he at least there?” Marcus asked as I headed for the stairs. I turned to him, taking a deep breath in hopes I wouldn’t cry. “No, he was not. He was deployed for a mission for the U.S. Navy and I do not know when he will be back.” He nodded, hands going behind his back. “But Penny, the owner of the Hard Deck, offered to call me when he gets back.” He raised a brow at me in curiosity. “And when he does come home, I plan on going to see him. You may come, but please, stay in the dark. I don’t want him knowing who I am just yet.” I said as I made my way back down the stairs, standing in front of him. “You have my word. No one will know who you are.” He said as he held out his hand. I grabbed it firmly, shaking it. “Thank you, Marcus.” I said as I yanked him into a hug. I caught him by surprise as he slowly hugged me back. Once he let go, I went upstairs, finding Maria in my room, turning down my bed. “I’m so sorry, your majesty!” She said as she dipped into a deep curtsy. “I tried to distract him, but he came up here when I turned my back and found you gone! He was going to send out a search party, but I told him where you went!” I chuckled, grabbing her shoulders. “It’s okay, Maria. But I do have something you could do for me.” She seemed shocked that I wasn’t angry. “Put this number in your phone as Penny, and when she calls bring it to me. I’m sorry I gave her your number, but I was scared to give her mine.” She smiled at me. “No, I would be happy to do this! Why is it a girl’s number though?” I sighed, flopping on the couch as she sat next to me.

“He was deployed on a mission this morning.” She gasped. “Do you know where?” I shrugged. “Penny, the owner of the bar, said they were sent out to the Indian ocean.” I said as I stared at the ceiling. “Is it bad that I’m worried about him? What if something happens and his plane goes down?” She giggled, her hand falling on my leg. “You’re absolutely taken with him.” Her accent becoming thick, making me smile. “Apparently he was very bummed that he didn’t get my number or last name.” She giggled again. “You didn’t get either of those things tonight, did you?” I groaned, tossing my head back. “No, I wanted to get his number myself and I didn’t even think about getting his last name.” She laughed loudly. “You couldn’t give him your last name anyway. If he looked you up online, he’d know exactly who you are.” I pursed my lips. She was right. If there was one thing I learned, it’s that the royal life was not for everyone. I have it easy right now. The media thinks I’m in Krasivayet Gorachu, not the states. But the second they learn about it I will surely be swarmed everywhere I go. That’s not a life you want to drag people into. He may not want a life like that, and I can only respect that. I love my life, and the things I get to do for my country. But my life being invaded is not something I enjoy.

“Either way, I think you two could really work.” I rolled my eyes at her words. “You’ve never even met the man.” She sighed, standing up. “No, but I think he would be really good for you.” I scoffed, sitting up. “What are you, my therapist?” She rolled her eyes, her arms crossing over her chest. “I’d smack you over the head if it wouldn’t cost me mine.” I raised a brow, my jaw dropping slightly. “Remind me to change that law.” She laughed and nodded. “Well, your majesty. Your bed is turned down and ready for you. You know where the call button is if you need me.” I nodded and bid her goodnight as she walked out. She knows I’ll never use that call button unless it’s an emergency. The only time I ever used it was when I was sick and struggled to get up. With that, I sighed, getting up and changing to something comfy before crawling into my comfy, plush bed. Maybe he’ll come home safe, and when he does, I’ll get to know him better.

I got to sleep in that morning, but only for an hour. After that extra hour I was once again rudely awakened by the sun shining in my face. "You do know my lights dim and brighten! You could slowly turn them up instead of blinding me!” I groaned into my pillow as I tried to hide my face. Maria chuckled, setting my coffee mug in the bedside table for me. “Well, that would be no fun and your nail tech will be here in two hours. But you need breakfast and a shower before that.” I groaned, rolling onto my back. “Start my shower, please?” She hummed in agreement before disappearing into my bathroom. I sat up, sipping on my coffee. “Shower is ready, your highness.” I nodded, setting my coffee mug on the warmer and getting up. I was exhausted and I know that if I don’t get a nap before tonight, I will be exhausted.

Throughout the day I had my hair done, my makeup done, my hair done and now Maria tightened the corset on my royal blue gown. “Ugh, I’m so bloated Maria.” I groaned as she finally tied the dress. “Has to be the salt, your highness.” I nodded. I knew that was it because my salty food cravings were ridiculous. She handed me my silver necklace to put on before grabbing my crown and bringing it to me. “Thank you.” I said as I laid the crown atop my head before she secured it. This was one of my favorite tiaras, having diamond and pearls throughout. “Are we ready?” I asked as I stepped down from the pedestal. She rushed over, handing me a pair of long white gloves. “Oh! Thank you.” I said as she helped me slip them on. “Now your ready. Knock them dead, your majesty.” I smiled and nodded. “I sure will, Maria.” I said as I flung the doors to my suite open, falling in step behind security as they escorted me to the grand dining hall.

“The dove is flying.” Jon, my current security guard said into his earpiece. Dove was my code name, just as Robin is my grandmothers code name. “You are late.” Marcus said and I chuckled. “What is it my grandmother says? A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early?” He chuckled. “A queen. You are a princess.” I rolled my eyes, adjusting my gown. “Whatever.” He nodded to Sophie. “Presenting her royal highness, Tatiana Alexeyevna, Princess of Krasivayet Gorachu.” The doors opened and everyone stood from their seats, bowing deeply as I walked to the head of the table. Marcus pulled out my chair for me, pushing it in as I sat before posting up by one of the windows nearby. “Thank you for coming to this state dinner. One where I hope we can strengthen the bonds between our two countries, lifelong allies and friends.” I held up my glass and everyone gave soft cheers.

We ate and made pleasant conversation. It was smooth sailing and by the end of the night I was bidding everyone goodbye, hearing about how great of a time they had. “I had a wonderful time, Tatiana.” A young man said as he stopped in front of me. “You will either address her as Princess, your majesty, or your highness.” Marcus interrupted. “Come on, it’s just a title.” He shrugged and Marcus’ body tensed. “It’s a title that I was gifted by the queen herself. To not use it is a direct insult to me. I am the Princess or Krasivayet Gurachu and I will be addressed as such.” He seemed uncomfortable at my words. “Goodnight, Senator.” He nodded, leaving. That was the last of them and I heaved out a sigh before turning to Marcus. “Give me one.” He said holding out his hand, which I slapped. “Atta girl.” With that, I retreated to my suite, where Maria ran a hot bath and made me some tea.

As I sat in the tub, my head leaned back I thought. “Hey, Maria?” I asked and she peaked her head through. “Yes, your majesty?” I chewed on my lip. “Do you think Bradley could live this kind of life? Do you think he could handle it?” I asked and it went quiet. I sat up, looking out the door to see Maria watching me, wide eyed. “That-that’s a big question, your majesty. I wish I could give you an answer, but I do not know the man.” I sighed and nodded before leaning back. She was right, it was a big question, and I don’t even know if the man likes me. For all I know he hasn’t even thought about me since that night. Maybe he just wasn’t a hook up for the night, another notch in his bedpost. But he didn’t strike me as the type. He was living in my mind, that grin, his voice. Oh, I could just melt thinking about how he called me sweetheart and hoping maybe he’d call me that again.

Two weeks went by without word and I was starting to think that maybe Penny just took my number so I wouldn’t bother her about him. But as luck would have it, Maria’s phone rang while I was in the shower. “Princess!” She yelled, bursting into the bathroom, startling me. “Maria!” I scolded when I just managed to make out her ringing phone in her hand. “It’s Penny!” My heart felt like it would burst from my chest, and I gasped. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” I yelled, rinsing the soap from my body. “Answer it!” I yelled, rushing to get out. “Me?!” I wiped the steam from the glass, staring at her. “That’s an order.” I’ve always tried to be polite with the staff, they may work from me but that doesn’t mean I have to be rude and order them around. So, this was the first time I ever gave her a real order. She gulped, answering the phone and putting it up to her ear. "Hello? No, I’m her friend. She’s currently in the shower and asked me to answer her phone. Oh, really? Yes, I will tell her! Thank you!” She hung up, squealing as I stepped out of the shower. “They are home!” She squealed and immediately I got excited.

“She said they plan to be at the Hard Deck this evening around eight.” I nodded, looking at the clock. Sadly, I had the rest of the day ahead of me before I could go to the bar, but I would make it. If the excitement doesn’t kill me first. But thankfully, the day flew by and when night fell I dressed in a casual sundress, attempting to look like I didn’t try, and let my hair fall loose around my face, my makeup being minimal and natural. “How do I look?” I asked, giving Maria a twirl. “You look lovely, Princess.” She smiled at me, handing me my purse. “Ready to go?” Marcus asked, standing in the doorway to my suite. I nodded, rushing to follow behind him. It had been a decision that I would drive myself, Marcus and a few other members of my security team would follow. It would be as if I was alone, when in reality, they would be waiting in the shadows.

I slid into the driver’s seat of the Maserati, placing my purse into the passenger seat before taking off down the long drive. The entire ride I was practically vibrating in my seat, excited to see him, and hopefully, he will feel the same. Upon my arrival I all but jumped out of the car, looking to Marcus and the team who would hang back. I walked up to the doors, pulling one open and slipping inside. The bar was packed, you could hardly move without bumping into someone, but I managed to make my way to the bar. “You’re here!” Penny cheered. “I am.” I replied, looking around for Bradley. “He is just back in that corner, by the pool table.” She pointed out and sure enough, there he was, in all his Hawaiian shirt glory. “And he needs another beer.” She said, sliding me a vodka soda, extra lime and a Budweiser. I grabbed them, thanking her before making my way through the crowd, attempting to keep every drop in the glasses. As I approached him, his nose was buried in his phone so I set the beer bottle on the table next to him with a thud.

His head snapped to me in surprise and I smirked at him. “You are one difficult man to keep track of.” I yelled over the chatter of the other patrons, and his mouth gaped, opening and closing like a fish. “I-I your h-here.” I nodded, trying not to chuckle at his stutter. “I am, and you are too.” He seemed to calm at my words. “Yeah, yeah. I-We-“ He motioned to a few people ahead of us. “Were shipped out. We had a mission to fly.” I nodded, sipping my drink. “Penny told me. I’m glad your okay.” I spoke loudly, hoping he would hear me. “You worried about me?” I nodded, my fingers tapping my glass. “I was very worried.” He smiled at me, sipping from the beer I bought him. He said something as the crowd got louder, and I couldn’t make it out. “What?” I yelled and he opened his mouth but seemed annoyed, so he leaned close. “Do you want to go for a drive with me?” His breath brushed against my ear and neck, sending a shiver down my spine and allowing my eyes to slowly slip closed. I wanted him to stay close, just an inch away.

“Yes.” I whispered, but he still heard me. He took my drink, setting it next to his on the table before taking my hand, guiding me outside. The quiet enveloped us as we stepped outside, the music dying down and a breeze cooling us. “Come on.” He kept a gentle yet firm grip on my hand, pulling me across the parking lot. I turned back, spotting Marcus walking out, taking up space by the door, watching ever so closely. “Here we are.” I turned back to him, coming face to face with a blue ford bronco. “Oh wow, what a classic.” I said as I ran my hand across the Bronco logo on the side. He smiled, taking my hand again and leading me around to the passenger side. He helped me in, shutting the door before rushing over to the driver’s side. I set my purse in the floorboard as he started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading down the highway.

The roof was off, letting the wind blow around us. My hair whipped around, and a laugh escaped my lips. The stars shone brightly above us, casting the faintest of glow on Bradley’s face. I looked at him, his lips were pulled up into a big grin, one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of the bench seat, fingers grazing my shoulder just ever so slightly. Soon, he pulled of into a parking lot in front of the ocean. I watched as he tossed it in park, and cut the car off, turning to me with another smile. “Come here.” He tilted his head, motioning me to slide across the bench seat. I hesitated, now wondering if I made a mistake by being alone with him. What if he expected me to sleep with him? “I don’t bite, princess.” My eyes widened at him, now growing nervous at the title. “Unless you want me to.” I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me too. I promise.” He held out his pinky and I looked at it, I decided to take him on his words and wrapped my pinky around his.

I slid over, my hip bumping into his as I did. His arm immediately wrapped around my shoulders, holding me tightly. “It’s so beautiful out here.” I sighed and he nodded. We sat in silence until a breeze blew by, causing me to shiver. “You cold?” I bit my lip, looking up at him. “A little.” He turned, reaching over the seat and pulling a blanket from the back. “Here.” He said, tossing a blanket over us before placing his arm behind me again. “So, where’d you go to school at?” I stared out at the ocean, admiring as the waves curled over themselves. “Moorewood Prep on the north end of San Diego. Then for college I went to the Kennedy school at Harvard.” His eyebrows shot up. “Harvard?” I nodded as he chuckled. “You really must be smart.” I shrugged. “Not so much smart as hardworking.” And a royal title. He laughed, looking out the window. “And isn’t Moorewood that prestigious private school in Carlsbad?” I nodded. “Mom wanted me to have a good education, so she put me in the best school in the area.” Truth be told, mom knew nothing of the American education system and sent me to the most expensive, local school because she thought money equaled a good education, and she wasn’t completely wrong.

“Wow.” I looked up at him, to see he was looking at me. “Where did you go to school?” I asked as I leaned back slightly, granting me a better look at his handsome facial features. “Just a public school in Virginia and then I went to the University of Virginia and got my degree in Political Science.” I smiled at him. “My degree is in Political Science as well! Also in Diplomacy!” He chuckled at my excitement. “You’re so beautiful.” My cheeks turned red, blushing brightly. I looked down at my hands in my lap before looking back at him. “You know, I came to the Hard Deck the day after we met.” He raised his brows, humming. “You had a good time then?” I bit my lip. “I came looking for you, that’s when Penny told me you were shipped out.”

“You said you were worried about me. Were you really?” I nodded, sitting back against the seat. “I was. I was very worried.” I said looking up into his eyes. They were warm and kind, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away from him. Soon I noticed he was leaning in, his eyes shifting to my lips, and I panicked. “How did you get the scars?” I whispered, just before his lips brushed mine. He reeled back, clearing his throat. I seemed to make him uncomfortable and I felt bad for doing so, but I panicked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I had to eject from my jet a few years ago and the landing didn’t go well. I had a few cuts and bruises, but I also broke a few ribs.” I watched his face shift from uncomfortable to one of pain. I lifted my hand, running it along his scars. “I like them.” He furrowed his brows in confusion. “I don’t, still find it hard to look in the mirror sometimes.” I gave him a sad smile. “Why do you like them?” I pursed my lips, shrugging slightly. “They’re part of you, part of the Bradley I know. They also give a rugged look to your handsome features.” He smirked at me.

“You think I’m handsome?” I nodded. “I think you’re very handsome, definitely different from most men I meet.” His hand brushed my shoulder, pulling me close. “Is different good?” I nodded, looking up at him. “Very good.” We were quiet after that, just watching the waves roll in. Slowly but surely my head drifted to his shoulder, resting as he rubbed my arm, our thighs resting against each other. After about two hours we drove back to the Hard Deck, him helping me out and taking my hand. I noticed Marcus pull in as well, keeping his distance as Bradley walked me to my car. I didn’t want to go, there was still so much I wanted to learn about him. But I knew I couldn’t stay out much longer, if I did I ran a higher risk of someone spotting me and alerting the media. When we stopped at my car I opened the door, putting my purse in and closing it. As I turned around, he grabbed my hand, his thumb grazing the back of it softly. "Can I take you on a real date?" He asked as I leaned against the Maserati. "Does Thursday work for you?" He nodded enthusiastically. "It does. Pick you up at six?" I shook my head. He couldn't know where I lived or who I really was. Not yet. "I'll meet you at the restaurant at six. You know, stranger danger and all that." I said as I dragged my nail down his chest.

“Didn’t think I was a stranger still.” I giggled. “Well, seeing as I don’t know your last name or have your number yet…” He whipped out his phone so fast, holding it out to me. “My last name is Bradshaw.” He said with a wide grin. I giggled, taking the phone and putting my number in. I put my name in and texted myself, showing him. “And now I have yours.” He smiled, his arms coming up and caging me in just like I wanted him to do last time. He leaned down, his forehead resting on mine as I pressed my hands onto the car door behind me. “Can I kiss you?” My smile grew wide, almost splitting my face in two. “No.” I whispered, and his grin grew. “But I can give you this.” I leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to the scar on his right cheek. I pulled away slightly, resting my temple on his cheek. “Goodnight, Bradley.” I whispered before I pulled away. I stepped back, smiling at him before opening the car door. He took it from me, closing it once I was settled. I started the car before backing out of the spot, and driving away. I glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling when I saw Bradley leaning against the back of the Bronco watching me drive away.

The drive back I was giddy, vibrating in my seat, dying to tell Maria. So when I pulled up, I didn’t even let Kal open my door, I shifted the car in park and jumped out, rushing inside. “MARIA!” She rushed down the stairs, eyes wide. “What? What?! What happened?! Oh, you must tell me!” She said as she grabbed my hands. “I have a date. Thursday at six!” I let out a squeal and she joined me, jumping around. “Oh my god! Did you get his last name and number this time?” I nodded. “I did! I’m going to make the reservation at White Ibisco, and tell him to meet me there!” I said as I pulled out my phone. “Oh no! You must wait! Texting to early can make you look desperate!” I frowned at her words. “You think?” She nodded. “That’s what I was told with my last boyfriend. My fast replies made me look desperate.” I sighed, looking at my phone. “Well, I’ll text him tomorrow then. Sophie, if the restaurant is still open, could you give them a call and make a reservation for Thursday at six?”

She nodded, going to call them. “Princess. A word?” I nodded, following Marcus past the security desk and into his office. “This date you will be going on, when is it?” He asked as he sat down on his side of the desk and I sat in the chair across from him. “Thursday at six.” He nodded, typing away on his computer. “What’s his full name?” He asked and I huffed, glaring at him. “I have to know your majesty.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Bradley Bradshaw.” He chuckled, typing away again. “Okay, the background check should come back by Thursday.” I sighed, nodding. I was chewing on my lip when Marcus cleared his throat, I looked up to see him staring at me with a raised brow. “Well? What do you think of him?” I was a little caught off guard by his question. “He’s so kind, and he’s charming. He’s interesting too. He flies fighter jets for the U.S. Navy! I mean, what a job?” I asked in amazement. “It’s such a fascinating thing. To fly at such speeds, and to do the things they do!” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You speak as if you know.”

My face reddened, as if I was drunk. “I may have looked up some videos.” He chuckled. “He doesn’t know who I am, at least, if he does he hasn’t led on. I never thought sitting and staring at the ocean could be so enjoyable. But we just sat there, learning little things about each other and I laid my head on his shoulder and he held me close. It’s everything a little girl dreams of.” He smiled at me. “I have watched you grow from a teenager, into a beautiful and strong woman.” He said as he stood, coming over and pulling me to stand. “But know, you do not need a man. You can be just as strong on your own.” I chuckled and nodded. “I hope he gives you everything you want, your majesty.” I swayed away from him, grinning. “Thank you, Marcus.” He nodded and I surprised him, pulling him into a hug. “Oof, careful princess.” I giggled, backing away and letting go. “Sorry.” He just chuckled. “It’s quite alright. Now, if you’ll excuse me your majesty, I have some work to do before I go to bed.” I nodded and he gave me a bow before I turned and walked out of the room.

I made my way upstairs, too enlivened to go to sleep after I changed. “So? What did you do?” Maria asked, sitting next to me on the couch. “Well, it was loud when I got there so he asked if I wanted to go for a drive with him.” She gasped, placing her hands on my knee. “Oh! Princess, tell me you didn’t!” I laughed, grabbing her hands. “We just drove. He took me to a beach where we just sat and watched the waves roll in. We talked and I sat in the middle seat, our legs touched, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.” I said dreamily as Maria shook her head. “Princess, I will remind you, for you to be alone with a man can be seen as highly inappropriate by Krasivayen culture.” I huffed, standing. “So, we’re reverting back to the 1800’s meaning if I’m alone with a man, we must assume we did something naughty, and he must marry me?” She shook her head, standing and stopping my pacing. “No! But your grandmother still holds those values. Just be careful, okay?” I sighed but nodded. I knew my grandmother could never know I was truly alone with a man. Soon after that, Maria went to her own room I pulled out my phone, texting Bradley. I told him I booked the restaurant and which one it was. I didn’t expect an immediate response, tossing it on the side table as I kicked back on my couch. So, when it buzzed, I all but launched myself over the arm of the couch to retrieve it, eager to know what he said.

Hey Sweetheart! Good, I’m so excited to see you again. I don’t know if I can wait.

I squealed, kicking my legs on the couch as I threw my head back in glee. I almost threw myself off the couch with my actions, but I was so happy. Finally, I managed to take a deep breath and reply.

I’m excited to see you as well. I wish I could say we could meet before, but I’m booked full for the week. So, I am just excited to get to see you and spend time with you on Thursday.

I laid my phone on my chest, holding it close as I waited for his response. A man who is excited to see me again, and he doesn’t know who I really am? That’s a first. I will tell him if something comes from this, but no point in landing myself in a tabloid storm if it doesn’t go well. Suddenly my phone buzzed again, and I looked at it.

Well thank you for carving time out for me. I will see you on Thursday. Goodnight and sweet dreams, sweetheart.

Oh, the affectionate names will be the death of me. I got up, closing the doors to my bedroom and slipping into bed and turning off my lights. I stared at the ceiling as I remember the way he held me, my head resting on his shoulder as we sat so close together. This man has captured my attention and sparked my interest. Many men have sparked my interest in my life. In high school it was the jocks, the ones who kept pretty girls on their arms and never even spared a glance at me. Then in college it was the smart guys, the ones who knew the work right off the top of their heads. As an adult only one man sparked my interest, a young politician in California, and he used me for media attention for his first big election campaign. That’s why I love that Bradley doesn’t know who I actually am. He can’t use me that way, he can’t break my heart like that. 

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@artemissunn @dhwanishah09 @amortentiadrops

[neuxue]

For the blorbos...ishmael or lan. Gotta say I love the uh.. Thousands of words of character analysis and parallels from the liveblog

thousands? oh anon we are well past thousands; it's literally in the millions now. we are long past the point of pretending anything about this endeavour is sane.

anyway! I'll go with Ishamael because I do have a deep and abiding love for Lan but Ishamael is more blorbo-shaped I think.

his picture is just a dark scribble because his ultimate goal is nothingness

enemy of the state universe and proantagonist of life are based on my reading of how he sees himself: as essentially the pattern-mandated opposite to Rand. An anti-chosen one, one who is bound to this cycle of birth and rebirth, of being spun out again and again to play out this story, but his fate each time is to lose. He is trapped in a role that can never know victory, can never triumph in any way that matters, because if he wins it means annihilation. Nor can he refuse the role given to him, because just as the story demands its hero, it demands a darkness against which that hero must fight... anyway. Is he right about this? Up for debate! But he sure seems to see it that way and I think about the spiralling no-win implications of it often. (Betrayer of hope betrayed by hope etc etc).

Too many thoughts.... I mean. "Your logic destroyed you, didn't it?"

He's not further towards 'awful company' mainly because of that one fireside dream, and also because I think he and Lews Therin were once friends, and also because I tend to read him as... someone who, almost like Rand, you could easily like if he were allowed to be Just Some Guy (if he could sit and remember a student named Elan Morin, so to speak).

The trauma is dying repeatedly but never getting to rest. Also staring far too deep into the void until it dances across his eyes as saa. I haven't put him further along that scale for... reasons I'm not sure I can fully articulate in this bullet point.

The sidekicks are the Forsaken.

And also the reason I ticked 'different friends'.

'The Realisation' is mainly because I have some Thoughts about where you could go with the resonance/link between him and Rand, and Rand's Dragonmount epiphany, and what that could mean for one who believes to his very core that his entire existence is for the purpose of fighting on the wrong side, of falling so that the light's champion can triumph. One day I may write that fic.

But the one I really want for him, the one I would tick the box for ten times over, is 'freedom'.

[woomycritiques543]

TW: SEXUAL HARASSMENT, MENTIONS OF ABUSE, AND R^PE! LONG VENT! SCROLL AWAY FROM THIS POST IF THESE TOPICS HEAVILY UPSET YOU!

(This was copy and pasted from an hour ago, so sorry for all the "theys" some of this is from an older post im just compilling this together as receipits/an archive/legal defense. UPDATE: I was also tired while writing this, so many typos are to be expected.)

There is a much larger channel, the Itallian one I mentioned earlier, who when I mentioned the fact that Stolas and Blitz's SA was being mishandeled, Dir, also known as "DirGentlemen" proceeded to slander me for mentioning how sexual harassment in the show was mishandeled by telling me to "CRY ABOUT IT!" and how I was a "A GAY SEX ON SCREEN HATER!" and then after I defended my statement and had to post evidence to prevent any further harm from either his fanbase or the overall Hazbin fandom he threw the word "abuser!" at me for having to post evidence to keep myself from being harmed by even more of the fandom, due to his following, in a thread, that he could have easily blocked me over instead of shaming me for having my own free speech and mentioning my own traumas on a public Twitter thread! I had only mentioned said trauma since he had harmed me in a way that invalidated it by derailing something that mattered to me as another victim, and continued the conversion for hours despite claiming that he had wanted to "drop it" and continously harassed me for mentioning said traumas, disclosing his personal information (for no reason, he could have blocked me at any time instead of constantly contiuing the conversation and going after my blog!) in a public Twitter thread that includes serious topics that he could have easily blocked! So for that, I am going to archive everything that I told both my freinds and my Twitter here:

"-and then when I treid to tell them to stop invalidating me and to try to understand the context of why I didnt like how they were fetishizng Stolas's r&pe of Blitz, they claimed that I was "TRAUMA MEASURING" and that I was "mentioning something that made them comfortable"- Only AFTER they continued the conversation about it for about ten minutes despite the fact that I was obviously uncomfortable with them BULLYING ME and INVALIDING ME by telling me to "CRY ABOUT IT" in response to criticism about SA fetishizing in Helluva Boss, but instead of owning up to their behavior, played the victim for a conversation they choose to continue! - and then when I was telling him to stop posting serious accusations towards me to the point of calling me an "ABUSER" for saying that THEY were the one that made ME mentioning MY personal info by invalidating my traumas and experinces for a fucking CARTOON! and telling me to "cry about it!" for caring about the representation of something I WENT THROUGH! Just to manipulate people into thinking that I was a "bad person" for trying to defend my channel from a adult man with a much bigger fanbase that he was using against me!

-and then used the fact that they were also a victim and autistic as an excuse to continue harassing me and use these kinds of claims for pitty when hey were the one who made me continue talking about it by continuing to harass me and victimize themselves for a conversation about a serious topic- THEY STARTED instead of ignoring my Helluva Boss thread by saying such horrible things in front of their fans of ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND SUBSCRIBERS in the first place! -and again, called me a creep, abuser, AND a "hater of representing toxicity in gay relationships and all sorts of things for not wanting Stolas and Blitz r^ping each other to be represented as "cute and sexy!" and wanting them to stop attacking me, wanting them to LEAVE ME ALONE and to block me instead of posting damaging claims that could end my Youtube channel for good.

I even told them I was scared (again, this was a much larger youtuber, so I was terrified and kept responding since I didnt want anyone from their fandom to dox me or anything, knowing Hazbin fans)- yet they kept going on and on and on and ON with victim blaming and victimizing themself for a conversation they started that was making ME uncomfortable but continued with due to wanting to post evidence to keep their fandom from harassing me! A smaller channel with barely 100 subscribers while they, a much bigger channel, kept harassing me and then bragged about how I was having my "BIG MOMENT!" just because I was talking to him-

Someone with a bigger subscriber account as if that made them "right!" or was an excuse for harassing me over a cartoon! Which is narcissistic as hell and outright harassment! Which is also narcisstic as all hell because they were assuming that I was telling them to stop harassing me "for attention" just because they had more internet subs than me. Then mentioning that they were "autistic" and were also a sa victim and that I was mentioning a "uncomfortable topic I dont want to talk about!" (Psst. It clearly wasnt since they kept talking to me about it in a total of TWO DAMN HOURS!) try to get me to feel guilty for telling them not to lie about defending the representation of something I care about/went through, and how it hurt ME! ANOTHER LIVING BEING! THE REPRESENTATION THATS HURTING ME AND MANY OTHERS MATTERS TOO AND PRETENDING AS IF THIS PROBLEM WITH HELLUVA BOSS "DOESNT" EXIST FOR CLOUT IS FUCKING DISGUSTING!!!!!!

Saying that their representation as a Italian is "SO VALID OH NO HELLUVA BOSS IS OFFENSIVE!" but when I talk about something that personality harmed me as a SA victim they told me to "CRY ABOUT IT!" and twisted my words as a attempt to get their fandom to mock me for caring as if me talking about representation that hurt ME deserves to be invalidated? As if I dont fucking matter?

AS IF I DONT FUCKING MATTER AT ALL!?

again- He MADE me mention these things!

If he didnt- he would have blocked me instead of WILLINGLY posting serious claims and slander towards me such as me being "against gay sex being in media" (which is borderline accusing me of being a homophobe), and saying things that would obviously cause people to harass me and claim that I was "NOT!" a victim, calling me a "abuser" for trying to tell them to stop responding and to block me instead of posting more and MORE serious claims and twisting my words, all because they wanted to harass me over a cartoon character!

Plus denying the things that I was talking about were in the show were there when they clearly were, and when someone defended their harassment and apologized, the youtuber only acknowledged the harassment but not that other fan's apology and AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH why is this fandom so fucking god awful!? IM SICK OF IT!!!!!!"

You know what, screw it, im done being vague im going to say who HE (not "they", not being vague anymore) was doing to me last night and had refused to stop despite be begging him to do so for the sake of my reputation, prevention of slander, and legal rights:

The post I retweeted because I felt bad that he was being harassed with nationalist stereotypes.

2. Another post such as this, that I also supported.

3. I then posted a thread about Helluva Boss stereotypes, including this one: (Also, the entire episode revolved around SA. For a person that "hates!" talking about things like this he sure likes to look at entire things involving it, plus responding to things about it and then getting mad when I come out as a victim of SA just because I responded to how they were derailing my post and telling me to "CRY ABOUT IT!" and that they were invalidating something that clearly is hurting other victims and he had NO REASON to disclose personal information outside of weaponizing his trauma to excuse his own actions and to make those calling him out look "bad faith!"- Dirgentlemen having harassed people himself not long ago!

4. The "CRY ABOUT IT!" post. Which makes this even more hypocritical because when I said "You made me do this! You made me continue this conversation by posting slander towards me and risking my reputation over a cartoon! HOW AM I "TERRIBLE!" for defending myself after you harassed me?!" he called me a literal "ABUSER!" when by that logic, that would make him a "abuser!" since he posted actually hateful language and said "CRY ABOUT IT!" as if any of the representation that hurts someone "doesnt matter" if he doesnt agree with it, didnt apologize, and instead played victim by acting as if he "didnt want to talk about SA!" and claiming that I was being "innapropiate!" for mentioning my own traumas to defend myself since the fandom constantly tries to invalidate victims and pretend as if we dont exist whenever we mention things like this. Saying that he "didnt want to talk about SA!" at the last second, right after watching an entire episode of a cartoon filled with the subject matter and also harassing me for two hours within a topic instead of "dropping it!" like he said a literal hour before he stopped going after my Twitter blog and posting literal hate!

He was literally acting as if I should have just "let" him talk horribly towards me and that me defending myself from him telling me to "CRY!" about caring about the representation of a subject matter that effects me as someone who's traumatized is "abuse!" As if I somehow dont have the right to mention my trauma, in a public space that he could have easily left at any time, and acting as if I "forced" him to disclouse personal info when I never asked for the sort and just wanted him to LEAVE ME ALONE! Again- what did he expect me to do after he told me that the problem with how Helluva Boss represents SA is "harmful!" while he felt that he could talk down to me and continue the conversation PLUS the slander without any care! Saying "im a victim of this!" doesnt mean "you should mention this if you are that too!" and this was all just emotional manipulation to make me feel bad for saying anything about how he was treating me. LITERALLY! He had NO REASON to mention his personal life in the context of his section of the conversation ("Which was basically just "LOL THERES NO R^PE IN HELLUVA BOSS! Stolas and Blitz are just discovering each other ✨what are you talking about?!")and clearly did this out of pitty to get his fans to see my overall posts as "abusive!" despite the fact that I was just trying to tell him to leave me alone! He kept harassing me for HOURS while I was trying to tell him to stop and that if he didnt want to listen that he should have left the conversation and moved onto something else instead of obsessing over what I was saying for hours!

3. The "BIG MOMENT!" comment, fuming of narcissim and "YOU'RE JUST DOING THIS FOR ATTENTION!" just because I was responding to a blog with a high subscriber account. When I could have cared less about that detail since I just wanted him to leave me alone!

4. Dirgentlemen telling me to drop it, but then continueing to post more slander and no criticism whatsoever as a way to try to get his fandom against what I was saying for another hour!

Again, he had no reason to spread that information, but did so anyway to try to make the fact that he was trying to harass me for posting in a public thread about my own experinces and how it applies to my thoughts on a literal cartoon show, while also being the same man who said this to me not long ago, which made it so I had to defended myself. I have every right not to want be slandered or spoken to that way! -and just because you have a higher subscriber count, that gives you no excuse to harass others and then call them "ABUSERS!" for feeling the need to post evidence of your behavior within said public thread that you could have easily muted instead of shaming me for mentioning SA like you somehow "own" that section of Twitter and everything people say within it. I wasnt "forcing" you to mention anything! I just wanted you to block me so you would'nt post further slander about my blog or my (much smaller!) channel and because let's face it- it's a public thread, and if I want to defend myself from you saying uncalled for shit like this, in front of your 50,000+ subscribers and thousands of followers:

I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO DEFEND MYSELF FOR IT!

THERE IS NEVER A EXCUSE FOR BULLYING OR SLANDER!

NONE! YOU HAD NO REASON TO HARASS ME OTHER THAN TO FEEL BETTER ABOUT YOURSELF FOR YOUR OWN PROBLEMS!

This isn't criticism or letting someone talk about their own experinces and how representation effects them- THIS IS BULLYING!

-and the reason why this conversation even happened, being because he posted a video defending Stolas and Blitz and calling it "grounbreaking representation!" , again, calling me a "sex on screen hater", a "creep" and a "ABUSER!" for saying that he was making me continue a conversation I wasnt comfortable with by throwing out slander and basically acting as if it was "WRONG!" for anyone to call him out for that post in any way whatsoever. When it's obvious that this isnt even a "NEW THING!" and gay men have been represented as toxic or predatory since before the 90s! If anything, the show just furthers harmful stereotypes, in which me mentioning this caused him to tell me to "CRY ABOUT IT!" and then try to get pitty once I told him that how he was treating me was disrespectful, and then telling me that mentioning the fact that I was a sa victim in a PUBLIC SPACE as if this was his "property" somehow was "gross!" while defending harmful representation- AND LITERALLY HARASSING SOMEONE AND USING HIS STATUS TO GET AWAY WITH IT!

He told me I was "gross!" for mentioning MY own traumas in a PUBLIC space and then HARASSED ME over and over and OVER again, keeping up the conversation instead of blocking me and twisting my words and mocking my post repeatedly- but at the same time it's "ok" for him to speak to me that way because he likes a fictional lizard? WHAT THE FUCK?! Literally, forcing me into continuing a conversation I was uncomfortable with by spreading slander and harassing me for talking about my own experince- in a public space when he could have easily BLOCKED ME if he didnt want to see people talking about those experinces.

Instead, he basically tried to control the whole comment seciton (unrealistic) and acted like he "owned" the comments- when the comment section is somewhere that's public! PEOPLE CAN MENTION WHAT THEY WANT! IF YOU DONT LIKE IT JUST BLOCK THEM INSTEAD OF PUBLICALLY SHAMING AND HARASSING THEM FOR POSTING A TRIGGER, GUILT TRIPPING THEM INTO THINKING THAT YOU MENTIONING YOUR OWN INFO WAS "THEIR FAULT" WHEN YOU COULD HAVE EASILY CHOOSEN NOT TO AND HAD BLOCKED ME! INSTEAD YOU CONTINUED TO SPREAD SLANDER THAT COULD GET ME FURTHER HARASSED AND CALLING ME A "ABUSER" FOR FEELING THE NEED TO POST EVIDENCE! WHICH I HAD TO OR THINGS WOULD GET WORSE! BUT NO! YOU KEPT GOING! YOU KEPT HARASSING ME FOR CRTICIZING YOU BACK AFTER YOU WERE VERBALLY HOSTILE AND RUDE TOWARDS ME! AND YOU WOULDNT LEAVE ME ALONE! FOR HOURS- YOU WOULDNT LEAVE ME ALONE LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD! INSTEAD OF "DROPPING IT" LIKE YOU TOLD ME TO- YOU KEPT GOING AND I HAD TO BLOCK YOU MYSELF AFTER LITERAL HOURS OF YOU HARASSING ME AND ONLY USING "DROP IT!" TO GUILT TRIP ME FOR DEFENDING MYSELF FROM LITERAL SLANDER AND HARASSMENT!

He knew that having such a large following could get me potientially further harassed, lied about, or even doxxed by the fandom from throwing me out in the open and spreading slander on top of it- but didnt care! All that "mattered" in the end was his validation, him being seen as "right" in the conversation no matter how much basic research he had to deny, him not getting criticized back, and me being seen as the "bad guy" for posting a topic in a public thread that he could have EASILY IGNORED but choose to harass me over anyway! He didnt give a shit about my wellbeing and only cared when it benefited himself and his own reputation! Also his fans did end up harassing me and denying what happened so the "dont worry my fans wont harass anyone!" was a total lie! He had no care for the reputation of the other side to the point of throwing around the word "ABUSER!" without any research into what the word actually mean! With no consideration whatsoever of what this could do to me legally- over a Twitter thread! TWITTER! Who does that?!

I had no choice, I am a much smaller creator and if I didnt post any evidence or say what I was, more of the fandom would not just accuse me of "not" being a sa victim just because I disliked a fictional character, or would have used your posts as a excuse to harass me further! -and ive had enough slander, so I posted evidence as an attempt to keep things from going out of control. Instead, you had a pitty party over something you could have easily blocked and not discloused, and risked my rights legally on top of it by throwing the word "ABUSER!" in a public space as a channel with over 70,000 subscribers! I am a black person under disability who's financially struggling yet you're throwing around the word "abuser" like it's nothing! HOW DO YOU NOT REALIZE HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS LEGALLY?! I could get genuinely hurt because of your behavior! Yet you pushed the word "abuser" on me for having to make myself try to find a way to get you to stop harassing me or to not post my thread out of context to protect my repuatation, as black person, in a world of police brutality! Something that could cause me serious harm, or even get me killed! Instead, you choose to slander me anyway just to benefit your own self and your career! Dir- you're a large channel, harassing a much smaller channel, and shaming someone for mentioning a subject matter in a public space and throwing the word "abuser!" around to get your fans against my blog. Do you want to be taken to court over a Twitter post, is that really the kind of image you want for your channel and your viewers?

How is that feedback? How is that in any way going to help anyone but yourself and your own ego?! I would have had a choice if you had just BLOCKED ME instead of posting slander and harassment that could cause extreme harm to my channel with only 197 subs with a much larger channel posting harassment and slander towards me publically! Instead, you didnt care, took it to the extreme of calling me an "abuser" for saying that I had no choice but to post evidence so you and your fandom wouldnt use the kind of things you were spewing against my repuatation, my channel, or my legal rights later on. Then you know what happened? I ENDED UP BEING HARASSED ANYWAY because you prioritized your ego and my so called "big moment" of speaking to you when I didnt even want to speak to you anymore! But you kept going anyway instead of blocking me in a PUBLIC SPACE where I could mention a serious topic if I so choose, shamed me for mentioning said topic or my own traumas as if you owned a public comment section that you could have left any time so I could talk about Madline's video in peace with someone who apologized because unlike you, said fan actually cared about the wellbeing of others in the situation and actually wanted to listen to what I was saying! You kept harassing me for hours instead of just leaving me alone and not spreading further slander. I was begging you to for hours, but you wouldnt listen!

If you dont like something- block it! Dont shame and harass people for mentioning something triggering just because you dont agree with them on a cartoon! If it's a trigger- BLOCK! Harassing people and then calling them a "abuser!" because you basically used your status to force them into having to continue the conversation to make sure there was enough evidence to not make the harassment worse is BULLYING! Eventually, I had to stop after I posted enough evidence to keep him from using the fact that I mentioned a trigger of his against me, in a public thread, to prevent as much further harassment and the possibility of even more known youtubers attacking me, but that just goes to show that no- I had no choice because he kept making claims that could get me into LEGAL ISSUES because he didnt agree with me on two fictional characters, invalidated MY traumas by telling me to "cry about it!" but then called the fact that I told him that he was making me continue by continuing to spread false information on a public thread "abusive" but not even once acknowledged his own hostility and how horribly he treated me!

He also claimed that he "wasnt" talking about representation in the show that offended him, while the top post was literally this:

He made the post about himself and was clearly talking about Italian representation- otherwise, why even mention that you're italian in this post at all if its not about you or how the representation offended you? How is it "OFFENSIVE OH MY GOD!" to you yet it's "good representation and you should just cry about it! CRY ABOUT IT HATER! LOL BAD FAITH!" if it's representation that doesnt personally offend you? How am I "overly sensitive!" and deserved to be lied about, slandered, and also claimed to be an "abuser!" for telling you to stop harassing me and that you basically forced me into a conversation I didnt want by bullying me and spreading slander as a Youtuber with over 50,000 subscribers, and then cried wolf over mentioning a subject matter that you were mentioning to me MULTIPLE TIMES and clearly didnt have any empathy for how uncomfortable you were making me- at all! Please- if you see this PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE I dont want to talk about this anymore I told you multiple times yet you would'nt listen to me and forced the conversation to keep going by posting slander towards me as a smaller channel.

While you are a "GOOD PERSON WHO DID NO WRONG!" who didnt even apologize once for your own hostile behavior just because again- that you liked pair of fictional characters!

Characters from a cartoon show- that doesnt even exist! Yet the real people in the conversation somehow barely mattered to you, at all, just your ego and the fact that spreading slander over what I had wrote and how "terrible!" it is to post about my personal experinces in a public thread, that you could have easily ignored and not harased me over- made you feel better about yourself!

5. Extra details, but I noticed how he had a fan who was also harassing me and twisting my words, but when said fan apologized he liked the harassment... but not the apology.

Again- with Dir deliberately trying to take things out of context or only focusing on a certain context to benefit himself.

6. Called me not just a "ABUSER!" but an "abliest", again, with no evidence or even feedback- when I even calmly asked them about what I did wrong- and he ignored me! Again- you cant just make serious claims like this and not elaborate on it! WTF?!

7. Again with the "ABUSER!" and misusing serious terms out of hate towards me criticizing him for repeatedly harassing me.

A abuser is someone who "controls, or does "something with cruelty."

Again- how is me admitting to being a victim of assault, telling him that he shouldnt be harassing other victims of assault after he mentioned that he was also a victim because well- I dont know, maybe other victims in the situation matter too Dir and shouldn't be told to "CRY ABOUT IT!" for something that effects them as a victim, aka "cruelty"- so by your logic that would make you an "abuser", but you're not- So what is the point of using this term except to slander me over a show filled with fictional characters! -and when I told them that I was sorry for calling them a "man child" (sorry about that) or asked them "why" him kept screaming about how I was an "abliest"- He never responded?! They just kept posting slander? WHY?! WHY NOT MUTE ME WTF?! I had to block him myself because I knew that he just WOULD NOT STOP if I didnt block him or decide to not put the entire situation in my own hands by continuing to respond to him out of fear of the public slandering me in return or causing me to get into any potiential legal trouble for a 70,000+ subscriber channel claiming that I was a literal "CREEP!" and a "ABUSER!"! because I didnt want him to harass me over a cartoon character and felt that I needed to respond to DEFEND MYSELF FROM BEING HARASSED BY HIS FANDOM AGAIN and telling him to not harass me because I had every fucking right to! NO ONE deserves to be harassed and to tell someone that they basically "deserve" it because you disagree with them is disgusting!

Almost no consideration for my legal rights, my representation, reputation, nothing! No consideration outside of what makes him look "good!" Im honestly disgusted by how he handled the situation, when he could have easily blocked instead of choosing to harass my blog and make claims that have nothing to do with what I said such as "you just dont like seeing sex on screen!" or "you hate when shows represent toxic gay couples, even if this has been done before and im just using this as an excuse to ignore the fetishization!" and using his large audience to get away with literal harassment when I had every right to defend myself from him telling me to "CRY ABOUT!" something that hurt me mockingly and throwing out serious claims such as this when he literally made me have to defend myself!

Hell, I even apologized for saying "man child" and told him to stop responding and to block me- but of course he did, and then told me to be "hurt somewhere else" while continuing to talk about the episode of the show, the episode where there's constant SA and abuse and a literal public thread that he could have choosen to block me over instead of continously harassing me and making serious claims that could put my life at stake! Legal ones!

If you dont want me mentioning things like this-

Just BLOCK ME instead of continuing the conversation as an excuse to tell me how "wrong!" i am for not wanting you to harass me further, instead you kept going on about it despite claiming that you wanted me to "drop it!", again, as a attempt to make me look "abusive!" for fighting back in ANY SORT OF WAY against YOUR own slander and verbal attacks towards me, over a cartoon, and then used serious claims such as outright calling me an "ABUSER!" that made it so I had to continue in order to protect myself LEGALLY because of just how fucking iresponsible you are since you decided to harass a teenager online over a cartoon, and then accused them of being a "abuser" and a "creep!" for mentioning their trauma and how Helluva Boss is sexualizing said type of trauma! -and now am having to post this so I dont get into legal trouble because of how you tried to flip the narrative so people wouldnt point out your harassment.

God.... this guy is insufferable. I wish the best for him and im sorry that he is being harassed, but that gives him no excuse to harass people in return! Especially if almost worse than just "italians funny!" because it's denying the existence of the fetishization of sexual harassment- something I even SHOWED TO HIS FACE yet he still denied things and told me to "CRY ABOUT IT!" and outright MOCKED ME OVER and didnt say "pwease dont talk about this uwu! Im a victim and autistic too so that automatically makes you a bad person for mentioning your traumas in PUBLIC TWITTER THREAD that I could have easily blocked so you could talk about a cartoon character in peace without being HARASSED by me, a grown man with a big youtube channel with fans that are now harassing you because of what I did! LMAO CRY ABOUT IT! XD" until after I was starting to tell you to not harass me, yet you kept going because you did not care about how continuing the conversation effected me, my representation, my rights against literal slander and bullying, my legal rights, OR my mental and physical health, absulotely no consideration for my wellbeing whatsoever!

FUCK OFF!

Now- im posting this here because im having to defend my rights and representation from a Hazbin stan with over ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND SUBSCRIBERS to keep myself from having to have even MORE hazbin stans going after my blog than there already is or from getting into legal trouble from Dir's inconsiderate behavior!

Honestly-

WHAT THE FUCK?!

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Hi my love

💝💌💘

Z, my darling!

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

I have to talk about My Hand Was The One You Reached For here, my first ever TLOU fic. The response to it? INSANE. I came here from a fandom where, especially recently, stuff about a father-daughter relationship wasn't getting much traction, so since I was used to a small response, I wasn't really expecting anything. I first made a Tumblr post about it, again, not expecting more than a handful of notes. After all I'm a fandom newbie who only came here because of the show, I knew close to nothing about the game. And then the post got thousands of notes in a matter of hours. People were dropping their own fics in the reblogs!!! I dropped mine on ao3 and it got more kudos & comments in a single day than my most recent Titans fics got in months!!! That never happened to me before. I've had popular fics but never to this extent, never so fast. So I was absolutely blown away. Thank you guys for welcoming me so kindly 🥹

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Since I'm currently splitting my writing time between two fandoms, right now I don't have anything started for The Last of Us, but I can list the ideas I will be working on once I'm done working on my Titans ideas.

Ellie forgives Joel by writing a song about it, based on Back to December by Taylor Swift - but before I get to that I want to watch the gameplay of tlou2 and torture myself since I don't know the full story. For science.

Ellie overhears the word "adoption" at school and asks Joel to explain it to her.

Another dancing fic, something based in Jackson, though I don't have a clear picture of it yet. Although I'm thinking about the kitchen. You know, another T Swift lyrics, dancing in the refrigerator light.

As for Titans, I'm currently in the process of writing the last two chapters of my newest multi-chapter Acrida, which is a time travel fic that can cause you a baby fever 🤭 but come on, which fictional father we all know and love would pass on a chance to go back in time and get to know his adopted kid when they were just a tiny little baby? There's some angst though, I actually wrote the heaviest scene today and I spent a good ten minutes crying. But I'll be keeping that under wraps and instead share something sweet.

The snowflakes falling around them became bigger. Few of them settled on his hair, one dropping right onto his nose and that was a game changer; Rachel's eyes grew round like dinner plates, lips forming a tiny ooh as she swatted at it with her hand.

"What's that?" Dick gasped, his eyes as wide as hers. "Snow? You like snow?"

She blinked at him a few times, entranced by the sound of his voice. Then she broke into a giggle, twisting in his arms as she laughed.

Dick tucked her closer to himself, laughing as well. She was the sweetest child, her sparkling personality already shining through, and her baby laugh could easily have the power to clear the sky off the heaviest clouds.

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

I once had this thought to rewrite my earliest fics because reading them made me cringe and I know I would have done them better now when I'm more experienced. But I decided against it because it shows the progress I've made as a writer, how much I've actually learned. So they'll stay cringe. If y'all want to binge my fics, start from the bottom so they get better instead of getting worse lol 😂

There's one though, where I only realized the issue recently. There's this collab AU fic for Titans I wrote with a friend. Huge thing, our best work to date, HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING (shameless self promo but fuck it we ballin) it's called Wicked Game. Recently, we started developing a sequel. Nothing written yet, only brainstorming and exchanging notes for now, but I realized recently that damn we really fucking put ourselves into a corner with that epilogue 🫣🤭

[edaworks]

Reynard the Fox's holding cell has me curious. I'd love to hear about it c:

Sure! Thanks @dovesofcedar for the ask/sorry for the textwall response :P

Throughout the first arc (feels weird to say that) of my WIP, I reference a specific collection of poems/New England literature as a plot device. Reynard the Fox, a wily character common to a bunch of European fables, comes up in the poem "tied" to this chapter.

This is also the only chapter sitting in a standalone document. Why? Well...the document in my WIP folder named "text" is my main draft file, and it used to be absurdly long. I've never done this before; legal writing is a constant for me but it requires other skills (persuasive/technical writing) and needs to hold attention in a very different way. One if by Land, on the other hand, started as a stress-delirium-induced near-accident spun off of a oneshot I wrote at the end of April. There was an element of "if I keep it casual I won't intimidate myself with what I'm working on and freeze up," so I just kept chucking everything into one disaster file. It eventually contained:

about 2/3 of the first arc (70Kish words)

planning for parts of Arc 2

cut material

some drafting for Arc 2 (a couple tens of thousands more words)

all my non-spreadsheet research and notes (we won't even go there)

Inevitably, it reached a length able to crash and stall out Google Docs. @twosides--samecoin and I were talking about this and she gently pointed out that I could choose to not keep it all in one place don't mind me I'm a dumb bird and offered some good advice on process/how to handle it, so now there is some Organization™ instead of one long file and scattered Excel spreadsheets (the spreadsheets have been consolidated into one sheet with different tabs, and mainly consist of "how do I make X thing work in the Falloutverse" research).

The portion of Act I that I'm actively picking at - this chapter, Reynard the Fox - has been pulled out of my draft file to its own document where the file size is manageable, and where I can more easily compare it to the extant draft. It's about 9.5K words at the moment. It's a "holding cell" because I'm full of bad jokes: a temporary home for something that needs to be processed before it can be bonded out and released into the wild on monitoring. hur hur criminal defense jokes

EDIT: whoop forgot this part of the game, here's a snip. This particular character's viewpoint is very stream-of-consciousness and is one of a couple that I write first-person-present with a lot of run-on sentences.

He releases the wall. Something comes away under his right fingers, like dust scales from moth wings. Chalk powder. He looks back at the wall and finds what he’s looking for, smudged, but visible: a small starburst of lines around a central point. Six lines, not eight. In the center, an X. Railsign. Danger.

A familiar, hated, forced calmness is spreading through his limbs like anesthesia. The world slows down. Every deafening noise, every sluggish trickle of air, every scent, every object; they get cataloged in his mind as it all-unwillingly constructs a three-dimensional map of the space around him, forcing him into an almost out-of-body sense of heightened perception. He turns through suspended animation, dipping to catch the bat’s handle in his right fingers and gracefully swinging it across his shoulders; stepping with purpose back towards his own house. His mind screams that he's slow as molasses, but he's quick, quite quick for a world which has all but ground, shuddering, to a halt.

Fuck.

[7r0773r]

Six Walks: In the Footsteps of Henry David Thoreau by Ben Shattuck

I sat in the sand and, to distract myself, took out my journal and wrote synonyms for the wind: cloud-river, weather's yeast, season trader, colonial fuel. It was a word game I'd assigned freshman college students one day years earlier, when I'd finished teaching the lesson plan but still had fifteen minutes before the end of the period. "Look out the window," I'd said, "and write the longest list of synonyms you can for anything out there." Sitting at my desk ten minutes later, listening to the students read their lists aloud, I was unexpectedly moved—entranced, maybe. This renaming of nature, these many words for an oak tree or the clouds or the sky or the Iowa River, sounded like prayers, like worship. I think everyone in the classroom felt it, because we all entered the silence you feel in a church or theater. The spell was broken when a boy started his list with "Worm shit."

"Dirt?" I said.

"The earth."

Hurricane muscle, summer's respite, crying scapegoat. (p. 13)

***

Writing this now, I'm reminded of what Annie Dillard wrote about sand in For the Time Being—that beach sand is, in fact, not shoveled up from the ocean floor, as I had imagined. That it often comes from a place far away from the sea itself. That lichens, ice, and salt crystals chew up stones; that glaciers grind boulders to grains; and that the dried rocky powder is lifted by the wind, taken seaward. That the sand made from these inland mills—the featherlight ones, the mountain-shaping ones—is then carried by freshwater, by rain, by streams, then rivers, and finally out to sea before being pressed back ashore by currents and waves. That the sand I was walking on could have come from a mountain a hundred miles away and started its journey many thousands of years ago. That, in fact, nothing is as simple as it seems, Or, more, nothing is at all as it seems, and usually older. That this ground could have been carried by the wind before settling here. (pp. 121-22)

***

Before lunch, I walked past a small group of boys and one girl standing in a circle around a sandcastle, tossing in handfuls of sand. I overheard that they had caught a crab and put it in their castle.

"Should I throw a rock on it?" the tallest boy, likely the oldest, asked.

I turned, saw that he already held a large rock in his hand.

"Should I?" he said again, this time lifting the rock over the castle.

I kept walking.

"Bombs away!" I heard him yell.

Moments later, the little girl passed me, quietly running away from the group. Two other boys, smaller, the group's youngest, followed.

"Let's not talk about what we did today," one of the boys said as he passed me.

"I won't," the other said.

The boys speed-walked all the way to their family's blanket down the beach, maybe feeling for the first time the tension of temptation and thrill, of transgression or, maybe, power over something smaller and weaker. They'd killed something, or been a part of killing something. They didn't know how to explain the lingering discomfort to themselves except, as one of the boys suggested, to try to ignore the memory.

These are not malicious boys, I thought then. Not rare in what they'd done. They were two common boys—two of many other boys who would stand over the crab, waiting to see the stone crush it. They would become two common young men, would witness predation in other ways—social or cultural or political—and would likely do nothing to stop it. But what of the taller one? The boy who had gone to find the rock, who had looked for one just big enough to smash the crab but small enough that he could carry it easily? The one who had asked the question with the rock already in his hand, planning to kill but needing the group to approve before he did it? Who would he become? What did he need?

I had killed minnows and crabs when I was a boy. These days, I don't like killing wasps or spiders or beetles, and when Jenny and I find a bug in the house, I get paper and a water glass, and scoop it up and take it outside. Jenny says it's endearing, but it's not only out of care. It's out of a debt of guilt for what, as a boy, I smashed. This past summer, I found myself running through the house, trying to catch a wasp the size of a baby carrot with a fishing net, afraid of its enormity but even more afraid of the responsibility of its death. We looked up the wasp online: it's called a cicada killer, grows nearly two inches long, and is known as the "gentle giant" of wasps. How would I have felt then, had I crushed a gentle giant? I've been repenting for the small animals for a very long time, I think.

Walking farther down the beach, I watched a girl searching for shells, curating her collection by holding each shell in her palm for some moments before deciding whether it would go in her bucket. (pp. 125-27)

***

I had been to Sakonnet Harbor once before.

This was about a decade ago, when I met my friend Ethan at his commercial fishing boat to motor offshore for a couple of hours and haul in dogfish at sunrise. Commercial fishing is not like fishing with a rod. It's not catching one fish at a time. You don't remove the hook and then decide to keep the fish or toss it back. You don't have the satisfaction that you are hunting, that this fish on your line has somehow chosen you just as you have somehow chosen it; that you have a relationship with the fish that will ultimately end in its death or in your pardon.

The dogfish came up in numbers, gasping and bleeding in the brightly colored nets that had been hung between buoys for a few days. The nets were hauled aboard by a winch—what looks a giant metal spool. As a net rose from the sea, Ethan and his first mate and I picked out the dogfish—each a couple of feet long—and tossed them in a plastic barrel. Rarely, a dogfish would slip by, too tangled, and then be crushed under the splitting weight of the net tightening around the winch. The winch would be stopped, reversed, and the broken fish would be untangled and added to the barrel.

I stared into the barrel after the first haul. The sharks' eyes were glassy blue-green. Some were blue like my dad's eyes. Others, celery colored. Obscenely beautiful, kitschy eyes, with pupils of coal-black that made the surrounding irises nearly shimmer. I looked closely at a shark on top of the pile—it had dots of silver or gold in its eye, as if washed with flecks of mica.

I've hunted ducks. I've fished. I've learned that animals look different up close, are endowed with details and colors that you'd never see without holding them. The teal window on a mallard's wing is more iridescent than it is through binoculars. The purplish glow on a bluefish's side is as deeply glossed-out as paint enamel. And then, here—I thought the eyes of a dogfish were the prettiest eyes I'd ever seen. Most people have duller eyes than these little sharks that hunt the lightless seafloor. If you're an omnivore, you might feel guilty at some point about being the reason for an animal's death. You might be thinking of an animal's feelings, consciousness, or right to a natural death. But I think that guilt could come from a place far less abstract—a fleshier place that most omnivores don't see anymore: the body of an animal, and how beautiful it can be to almost all our senses. The warmth of a cow's neck on a cold day. A pig's eyelashes. The color of a dairy calf's nose. The softness of lamb's wool. When, throughout this summer, I call to my two chickens to roost, these birds come to my feet, look at me with tilted heads, and I see the depth of red in their combs as vibrant as blood in a Rembrandt painting. They coo when they hear my footfalls down the garden path in the morning. I see them standing at the fence when I round the corner, waiting for me to open the gate. How sweet their cooing is, and how sad it would be if it ended. Ethan said the dogfish would be shipped off to England, for fish and chips.

"They used to use cod," he said as we motored back that afternoon, years ago.

"Do these taste like cod?" I said.

"They deep-fry them," he said. "It all tastes the same."

So, here I was, back in Sakonnet. (pp. 132-36)

[velvetporcelain]

My mind and I have been scandalously intimate for quite sometime now

Grand rising my beautiful, tenacious void. Again I get to see the sun rise and slowly light the blue sky. I always wonder what it looks like on the other side of the world at this time.

It’s absolutely incredible that people in the same world are already into the next day. I find time fascinating. The way it just always IS. I would love to study the origins of it more deeply. I’m sure it would keep my mind occupied and delighted.

The crows are extra loud this morning. It sounds quarreling. The gentle sounds of the highway play in the background and mix with the sounds of the cold air, reminding me that it is in fact morning.

Last night I had one of the most deepest conversations with my husband. It was interesting to see how his brain works. I didn’t back down and answered his questions with ease and confidence. I almost didn’t know where the fuck this information was coming from. I was indeed impressed with myself.

I believe emotions are frequencies. Women have the uncanny ability to maneuver through these frequencies gracefully. Men I think tend to be on this one constant frequency, and maneuvering through them tends to be a bit more difficult for them, but not impossible.

Just like women need a bit of protection maneuvering through the real world, men need a bit of nurturing to be able to move through their mind. This is NOT a weakness, it’s just the way they are built to withstand life.

We talked about the difference words make to the human thought process. What words you choose can have the potential to send someone down two very different thought paths.

Have you ever sat and wondered WHY there are thousands of words? Why there are so many synonyms? What would we need these for if we always chose one word to describe something that could be described ten, even twenty different ways? Ha. The government does!

I’ve always respected the difference between men and women. Men are built to provide safety and security while women are built to nurture that safety and security, allowing both to thrive, but only if they are working with each other not against each other.

An immature man applies his logic to almost anything. An immature woman applies her logic to almost anything. I also believe that men let their inner child die quickly in order to think that they are a man. Women keep theirs very much alive, it is why we are delicate beings. This clash can be devastating to a relationship.

So how do I teach him to maneuver through emotions without actually trying to “fix” him or “change” him. Well I believe woman can also provide some type of security for men emotionally. It’s just takes great understanding, time, patience, courage, nurture.

I do believe either gender can give themselves all these things. But it is quite exhausting and can easily lead to some type of emptiness. Hence why we spend most of our lives trying to mate.

It seems I have jumped down a hole this morning. But this is all rich, viable thought. I enjoy being able to apply my logic to the reality of the world.

Today I hope that you are able to take anything from my writing and think about it deeply. Use your power wisely and not against yourself.

-x