#tempted by deception

[bookishpedia]

Adrian: Wait you like me? For my personality?

Lia: I know, I was surprised, too.

[adrianvokov]

headers adrianlia like

[safiraerklare]

deception trilogy by rina kent

reblog if you save.

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

Do not compare, do not measure. No other way is like yours. All other ways deceive and tempt you. You must fulfil the way that is in you.

Carl Jung

[sir-maxwell1]

Am I actually considering returning because of this guy?!

[memequeen92]

man every once in a while i reread breaking you apart and get such a visceral urge to rewrite it if only because the first two chapters feel so awkward at certain points and it makes me cringe

but also like. the rest of the story doesn't bug me much, just the two first chapters.

but I also feel like it would be weird to go back and just make big changes to them after all this time??

fuck man, it's so easy to tell I was having a manic episode while writing the first two chapters of that fic...

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction to You Calling Them Submissive and Breedable

Warnings: 18+, Implications of Smut, Implied Dominant Reader, Implied Submissive Reader, Some Submissive MW2 Characters, Some Dominant MW2 Characters, No Pronouns used for Reader Except for ‘You’, Gendered Spanish Terms of Endearment (Fem-Leaning), Petnames, etc.

Ghost

“Careful, Darlin’,” he says, slowly, lowly, almost hushed. He has you backed against the counter, his hands flat atop it, thick, bulging arms caging you.

He presses his front against yours, his bulge catching you in just the right place.

“Pretty little mouth like that’ll send a man wild.” His breath is hot against your lips, with his just shy of yours. Ready to silence.

“And I won’t be held responsible for what happens when I lose control.”

König

“My, my,” he says, his voice heavy, eyes half-lidded. All the while, he’s approaching you, slowly.

“My little maus is being rather brave today, aren’t you?” He’s condescending. Deceptively so.

With a growl, he pounces, wrestling you down onto the bed, his weight both an unstoppable force and an immovable object as he bunches your hands in one of his, his other at the base of your throat. A warning. He grinds against you, his panting breath quivering at the friction. All the while he’s making dead eye contact with you.

He brings his mouth down beside your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “There won’t be an inch left of you that isn’t mine by the time I’m through with you.”

Soap

“Don’t tempt me, Dolly,” he whines, giving you a pleading look.

When you continue to tease him, to mess with the bull, he gives you his horns.

He pins your arms above your head, a rabid tint in his eye. Feral.

“I warned you,” he breathes, his grip tightening. “Whatever happens now is on your head.” His tone is as serious as death. “And my terms.”

Valeria

She won’t give you the chance to even finish the sentence before she has you pinned against a wall, her chest to your back and a hand around your throat.

“Don’t fuck with me, Querida,” she says, her voice low and hissing. You can feel the darkness settling over her eyes, feel the simmering, bubbling concoction of lust and rage overflow in the way she rocks her hips into the back of yours.

“Because you know I’ll fuck you twice as hard.”

Needless to say, she’s not letting you go until you are perfectly aware that it is you who is the submissive one in this relationship.

Price

“Is that so, Love?” Price’s voice carries, aromatic. His eyes crease and trail your silhouette as he hands you a smile. Throws you a bone. Gives you a chance.

His arms are folded over his chest, the image of strength, resilience, and resolve.

“You sure you don’t wanna take that back?” he says, voice lowering. His head tilts, and his smile begins to retract into a smirk. There’s a hunger to his demeanour. His voice husks.

“Before I make you.”

Horangi

Initially flabbergasted. Then, abashed. Though, he doesn’t want you to know that.

“Negative. A baseless accusation.” He says, humourless. Though, that is his effort to try and hold back the storm, to fortify the floodgates. To keep the excitement in his chest from boiling over.

He stands toe to toe with you, his eyes sharp, dark and unwavering. A look of reproach, though he was from far above it with the thoughts racing through his mind right now.

“And I’d suggest you keep them to yourself,” his hand slithers up your side, takes your shoulder, mock reassurance in his grip. “Before someone decides to punish you for your transgressions.”

Alejandro

“Oh?” His tone is playful as he turns to face you, leaning against the countertop, his arms folded and his smile a signature upon his face.

“Well, then, you’ll have to come and dominate me.” His grin is a disguise. “Only, of course,” he pushes off, walking towards you, intent in his gait. He’s before you now, his chest touching yours. “If you can get me to behave.”

His hand wraps around your hip and squeezes you. His smile is sly. “Else, you’re just a dog whose bark is bigger than its bite.”

“And I can assure you,” his other hand slides around your shoulders, pulls you closer. “That my bite is bigger.”

Rodolfo

“I have no doubt about it, Mi Amor,” he tells you, still carefully crafting you the sandwich you requested. When finished, he passes you the creation, the lack of double-sidedness to his words reassuring. Or inviting. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Little did you know that beneath his butterscotch exterior lay the heart of a lovingly maniacal masochist who, after your little conversation, took to trying to poke the bear, to feed the lion between the bars of the cage.

And you repaid him in kind by giving in to his trap and straddling him, late into the evening, pinning his arms above his head, making vibrant conversation of the obscenities you were going to perform on him.

And he didn’t resist once, instead soaking up every ounce of love you had to give.

Graves

“Sure thing, Doll Face,” he says, blasé. Dismissive. He doesn’t even turn to face you, instead making a mild hand gesture, looking down at his documents.

“Though, let’s be honest,” he flips through his papers. “There’s nothing I can’t make you do for the right sum.” The tinge in his voice is equally as void as before, as if he were stating a fact.

Graves’ fetish for finance (and its many persuasive effects) did little to protect him from your wrath.

And you told him as much – that “No amount can save you now,” before wrecking him.

Truer words were never spoken; especially now as he sat at his desk, his body and pride sore after the fact. Though, he can’t help but crack a smile at the memory. Perhaps he’ll invoke your dominant side more often…

Gaz

“Oh, really?” he says, almost challengingly. He hands you a skeptical look, smiling all the while. Practically chuckling.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Regardless of how capable Gaz is in physical training, he truly is powerless against your advances. That much is proven when he’s pinned beneath you, breathless and whining and clawing at your thighs.

He never challenged you again after that... Well, except when he wanted to.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[amylinneaposts]

A Lying Fool

Satan is a master of deception. In fact, I’d even give him that official title. But that’s the only thing I’ll give him. He seeks to destroy life, shoving aside anything and everything in his way. He cares not a whit for you. Or those you love. His goal is to distract you, tempt you, and discourage you from action. There are many loved ones in my life walking away from God. Oh, they think…

[luna-azzurra]

What Makes a Character an Evil?

A character is typically identified as a devil based on a combination of traits and attributes that align with historical, mythological, and literary representations of such beings.

Supernatural Origins and Powers: Devils often originate from otherworldly realms, such as hell or infernal dimensions. They possess supernatural abilities that surpass human capabilities, such as shape-shifting, manipulating elements, or controlling minds.

Malevolent Intent: Central to a devil's character is a fundamentally malevolent nature. They seek to cause harm, sow chaos, or corrupt others, often reveling in the suffering they inflict. Their actions are driven by a deep-seated evil that contrasts with more ambiguous or morally complex antagonists.

Deceptive and Manipulative: Devils are masters of deceit. They often use cunning and manipulation to achieve their goals, preferring to corrupt and coerce rather than use brute force. This might involve tempting individuals with promises of power, wealth, or forbidden knowledge.

Moral Corruption and Temptation: One of the devil's most iconic roles is as a tempter, leading individuals astray from moral paths. They exploit human weaknesses, encouraging greed, lust, pride, and other vices, ultimately aiming to corrupt souls.

Physical Appearance: Traditional depictions of devils often include distinctive physical traits that evoke fear and revulsion. This can include horns, tails or red skin, and other demonic features. However, some devils may appear deceptively attractive or benign, hiding their true nature.

Symbolism and Allegory: Devils frequently serve as symbols of ultimate evil and moral degradation in literature and art. They embody the struggle between good and evil, often representing the darker aspects of human nature and the consequences of succumbing to one's basest desires.

Opposition to Divine Forces: Devils are often depicted as adversaries to divine or holy beings, such as angels or gods. Their rebellion against order and goodness positions them in direct opposition to forces of light and virtue.

A character becomes a devil not just through their supernatural traits, but through their embodiment of ultimate malevolence, manipulation, and moral corruption. They challenge protagonists not only physically but also ethically, making them powerful and enduring symbols of evil in storytelling.

[nebbyy]

Please write a fanfic about King Baldwin IV from KoH, where he fell in love with female reader. The plot is up to you. Please make it a serious love story with slight fluff 🤗🤭

Baldwin IV x reader - Life always comes down to a game of chess

A/N: You have no idea how much I love you anon, this was one of the prompts I already wanted to write omgggg!! For this fic I kinda got inspired by this painting (which, for everyone interested, it’s “La belle dame sans merci” by Frank Dicksee), and you’ll see how and why reading it;)

Summary: King Baldwin IV receives an offer from an Italian nobleman to marry his daughter; unsure of whether to accept or not this compelling offer, Baldwin decides to do what he does best…

Warning: there are some mentions of christianity and religious references along with some hints at the misogynistic ideologies of the time (about the woman being “owned” by the dominant male figure in her life) ((I don’t condone this ideology at all but I thought it’d be fitting to add it anyway to give some accuracy to it)).

Word count: 2637

King Baldwin couldn’t quite wrap his head around you. The day that he was informed of your engagement, he felt himself quite skeptical of the idea of marrying someone. After all, ever since his leprosy had been diagnosed he had to get used to the idea of living a life of solitude, forced into a lifelong chastity, for no sane man would ever marry off their daughter to a leper. With time, he had found solace in nurturing his own knowledge and virtue, elevating himself to a level of wisdom that very few could boast at his young age.

During the following days, the young king's mind was plagued with thoughts, considerations he was making to weigh the choice. The benefits of marrying Lady Y/N were many, first and foremost securing a connection to the land of Italian speakers, allowing for easier trafficking of crusaders arriving in the Holy Land, not to mention the abundance that would be the young lady's dowry. And not only did marrying her mean strengthening the economical side of his reign, but it also meant giving the impression to the public that the king's health condition was improving to such an extent that he considered that to be an ideal time to marry. His most trusted men and all of his advisors kept repeating to him, marrying Lady Y/N would’ve been  comparable to a blessing.

But despite all the benefits this union seemed like it would bring, Baldwin continued to hesitate to make a decision. What left him so undecided was the possibility that this was some kind of deception, a conspiracy orchestrated against him, hidden in the form of the most convenient of marriages. It was up to him to decide whether it was worth taking these risks in favor of the benefits that would come if his concerns turned out to be unfounded. 

Like everything else in his life, this choice came down to a game of chess…

It was this idea that prompted him to make a decision. Baldwin had a messenger called, to be sent to Pisa to give the news to Lord Y/F/N that the king wished to report his decision to him live, at his court. For the lord to arrive it would have to wait, but Baldwin has always been a man of exceptional patience.

Four months passed, when at the dawn of Lent it was announced by a Pisan messenger that Lord Y/F/N and his daughter had come to Acre, and would soon be coming to Jerusalem. Another week passed before father and daughter, riding two white horses and accompanied by an escort of knights arrived at the royal palace.

When he first saw you, Baldwin could have sworn he saw Mary himself. You walked with such grace that you almost seemed to float. Your face looked serene, despite the anxiety that had been devouring you from within ever since the day the invitation from the king of Jerusalem reached you; a blue veil covered your hair, framing your face and falling over your shoulders. You bowed to Baldwin as was proper to do before a king, yet he felt so tempted to interrupt you, prevent you from bowing to him, perhaps even bowing to you himself.

At that moment he felt like Lancelot before Guinevere, completely mesmerized by your beauty, one who seemed more fit to an angel than a woman. But, he gave no sign of his true emotional state; after all, a gorgeous woman does not mean she can be fit to serve as queen. Her answer will be decided when she has had a chance to hear you speak, away from the judgmental stares of the court, free from any influence that might change what you really think.

As the sun shone bright in the sky, the banquet took place inside of the palace. The king excused himself before going to eat by himself in his chambers as usual, leaving his guests in the company of his sisters and his court. Loud chatter filled the room, goblets were raised to get more wine poured, courses flowed onto the set table, a tribute to thank Lord Y/F/N for making such a journey to fulfill the king's request. All this noise, yet in your ears all became quiet when a servant approached your chair, whispering a few simple words, "The king has requested your presence at dinner."

Your blood froze in your veins in surprise, and you could almost feel your father's thrill as you rose from your seat, having the servant guide you toward the king's study. Walking through the halls of the palace, you could do nothing but feel so small in comparison, you almost seemed to disappear, enveloped by the magnificence of everything around you that, if all went well, you would have called your own.

You were brought back to reality when the heavy doors of the king's room were opened by the two guards who stood at his sides. An enveloping fragrance, a mixture of myrrh and frankincense filled your senses with a feeling of serenity, an almost familiar feeling. In the center of the room, a hooded figure, dressed in silk as white as snow. "Come forward, my lady. I apologize for my absence at the table but," she interjected for a moment, rising from her seat and revealing her face-or at least, what was not covered by the veil-"many might find my appearance somewhat...disturbing during a meal." He chuckled a little at that last part. You wondered if irony had become a kind of means for him to soften his own hellish condition. 

As soon as he turned around you could not help but study the appearance of what will hopefully be your future husband. Rumors about his condition had been swirling since the day he was crowned, so you had been prepared to be confronted with a horrifically disfigured man. Instead, although part of his face was covered by the thin veil, it was like an instinct for you to try to study his features. You could vaguely make out the golden hair that adorned his face, although it was covered by the veil. His voice had intrigued you; it sounded so jovial and yet so deep. A melody that sang of the young monarch's endeavors. It intrigued you, you wondered what his lips looked like, whether they matched the sound of his voice.

But what really caught your interest were his eyes. They were blue, but of a color so deep, so intense, it reminded you of tales you had heard about the northern seas, of the waters that dark and deep seemed to beckon sailors, to lead them to drown within them. Likewise you felt mesmerized by such intensity. And you wondered, how much of this would remain the same as his illness progressed.

You recovered from that momentary trance, wasting no time to bow, but this time Baldwin stopped you before you were able to bow more than your head: "Don't bow, please. Such reverences are not necessary here." You looked at him a little dumbfounded, but despite the king's unusual attitude you did not object. He stepped to the side, revealing a finely decorated chessboard, with all the pawns already set in place. "Do you play?" he asked softly, and you finally mustered up the courage to speak "It's been some time since I last did," as you approached the table, taking your seat opposite Baldwin. He took his seat again, and for the first time in your life you found yourself face to face with a king. 

You quickly realised that he had assigned you the white pawns, the small courtesy of moving you first. You took a moment to think of an initial strategy, and moved your first pawn. A horse. Baldwin raised his eyebrows, surprised by your decision. "Aren't you going to move the pawns first?" You kept your gaze on the chessboard, partly out of respect and partly out of fear, still unsure why the king would call you to his chambers, if indeed it was all just to have a playmate. "I always prefer to start with the horse. I like to think that the pawns would be frightened to charge against the enemy without a knight to guide them." You looked up, meeting his eyes that studied you intrigued. Chuckling at what you had just said, you continued, shaking your head slightly, "Forgive me, it was just a silly thought."

"Not at all, my lady," he replied, studying your every detail, "I find it fascinating." It was his turn to move, and as per rule, he moved one of the pawns, the one in front of the queen. "So you think good leadership is better than letting the individual decide for himself?" There was a spark that had lit up in his eyes, something playful. It was clear that you were intriguing him, surprisingly in your eyes, since you had been instructed to stay behind your father's shadow, not to express your thoughts or externalize your ideologies.

Everything had to be perfect, one could not risk the futile mind of a young woman ruining the marriage that would have been so beneficial to her dukedom, but above all to her family. Yet at that moment she felt that expressing what resided in her own mind was exactly what Baldwin wanted from her. Something lit up in her too, and he in turn caught the same spark in her eyes. Could it be that she had figured out the trick...? 

Another pawn moved, it was Baldwin's turn to move again. Your eyes seldom parted from each other, just for that moment necessary to make your own move. "Independence is not always what benefits a man. Certainly, it is tempting, but in moments of indecision it risks leading to oblivion. An infantryman needs a leader, a young man who is lost in the woods needs a hunter to guide him out..." Another move, the white bishop points directly at the black king "...an indecisive man needs an outside opinion to make his decision."

You smiled, and like the sweetest of plagues you infected him too. You had deciphered his little deception. An innocent deception, with the purpose of seeing with your own eyes how you, in a condition so similar to what is the duty of a sovereign, would have acted. 

After all, his life always came down to a game of chess....

"So you understood..." Baldwin whispered, again sitting in his place. For the first time in his memory, someone had managed to leave him speechless. His witty mind seemed to have died out all of a sudden, the knight in him unarmed by the woman sitting in front of him. Maybe the deception wasn’t as occult as he had planned, or maybe this young lady was really able to stand up to him.

You smiled at him proudly, be proud of your intuition but also relieved that your thought had not turned out to be foolish. Your pride had removed from your mind every rule, every admonition that had been given to you from the moment you set foot in the Holy Land; your mind was now like a river in flood, finally free to flow out according to its natural course. "I do not blame you, my lord. I realize that this is a difficult choice for you, and that the factors at stake go far beyond your individual will."

"And what do you think about that?" Your smile acquired a bittersweet scent, and you answered without almost hesitation: "I am only a woman, my will is that of my father and it will be of my husband. My family prays that this role will be filled by you, and for this to happen I have been instructed to be fit to reign at your side."

“That I can clearly see, but what truly urges me is to know what your own will says. If we were to marry, you would be the bride to a wretched man, one whose fate has already been announced by God. My demise won't be far off, you’ll be left a widow in a foreign land. And before this… curse gets the better of me, there is no saying that it won’t get to you too. If it did, you would suffer the same fate I had been given.”

It took you a moment to let his words sink into your mind. He spoke the truth, a future with him would be filled with sickness and uncertainty; you would have to live in a court far from your home, where everyone was waiting for the king’s death like a flock of crows flying above a dying man. You took a deep breath, feeling as everything came down to this very moment. “I won’t lie to you, my lord, the future that awaits me while standing by your side is not an easy one by any means, and I’m very much aware of that. I do not expect my future to be easy, for it would be an excess of greed. So if I can have a saying in my own future, I’d like to say that I would much rather all the time that is given to me by the Lord standing by the side of a man filled with virtue, than by the side of a man too full of himself to see anything just an inch away from his reflection. There would be no greater honor for me than to stand by your side, for as long as you still have to live, my lord. And if I ever was to catch this disease as well, then I would have no other words to say other than God wills it.“

At your words, the young king had to shake himself up, now more than ever necessary for him to say something, anything really. “For you, my lady, I shall always be just Baldwin.” His tone was softer than ever, a soft breeze that reached to you and whispered I am but yours now. It was unsaid, but decided. Once this meeting would be over, the king would come to your father, and confirm his decision to accept the proposal. Only problem was, this meeting seemed to have become endless. What was supposed to be a quick meal, accompanied by a game of chess, turned into a lively exchange of political views, then silly childhood anecdotes, then again into a walk in the inner courtyard of the palace. Baldwin tried hard to keep you in his presence for as long as was deemed decent for an unmarried man and woman. He kept you with him as long as he could, and when that was no longer possible, he led you back into the great hall, gently holding your hand over his. Soon after the announcement of your engagement, the wedding was set to happen during the following Easter, and the banquet made in honor of his guests was prolonged until the sun had been long set, this time in honor of his betrothed.

You think back to that day fondly, as you lay on your bed, in the comfort of silky sheets and soft pillows. One of your hands holds your head while the others traces the patterns of the scars in your husband’s face that have considerably worsened during the years. Aside from the bed, sitting on a table, forgotten as long as the night reigned over Jerusalem, were two crowns, along with two chess pawns. A white queen and a black king. Both came from the set that had been used the day the two of you met, a reminder for Baldwin of the day God had merged your destinies in one.

A/N: wowww that came out longer than I though oopss. ANYWAY, this was my interpretation of your request, anon, hope you like it!! Also, for everyone who’s gonna read this, feel free to leave any constructive criticism since this is my first fic and I would like to improve a looot more in my writing skills. That’s it now have a nice day y’all <3<3

[remlionheart]

Split Decision

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦ ˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ i woke up this morning w a slutty, feral, urgent need for some soukoku x fem!reader smut and this fic just kinda poured out of me (literally), 3.7k words. porn with a plot. (hope u like it nasty) you're an intern, ending your last day in Yokohama when you're approached at the hotel bar by two men who have one very pressing question for you: red or white wine? i was melting into an actual puddle writing this so lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡ (and as alwaaayysss, thank u to the loml @bratbby333 for proofreading and being just as fucking pumped for this to come out as i was ♡) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

You were tired, exhausted after a day filled with meetings that you barely contributed anything to. You were grateful for your internship, happy that it held the promise of a job right after graduation but being in Yokohama for the last two days had been a bit lackluster.

You sat at the bar of your hotel with lazy, muffled jazz music dancing around you as you fiddled with the straw in your empty cocktail glass.

The trip itself hadn't been all bad. The days were long, but you'd managed to make the most of your nights. The firm you were interning for was gracious enough to make it an all-expenses paid trip and you'd definitely taken full advantage of that over the last week.

You'd spent your nights in the most upscale restaurants the city had to offer, taking yourself on little dates to pass the time. You'd found yourself sitting alongside powerful businessmen and prominent executives that made you feel important even though you were still very much on the outskirts of their social circles. You had been a fly on the wall, quietly observing a world that you could only hope to one day be a part of.

It'd been a learning experience if nothing else. A secret glimpse into how rich men behaved when they thought no one was watching. There was something intoxicating about it all. Something that made you want to try harder when you got back home. You were determined to have this sort of life for yourself one day and you would.

That's what made being responsible tonight all the more important. Your flight back home was set to leave at 6 am. Your bags were already packed and waiting for you in your room. As tempting as it was to venture out into the city again, you needed to be well-rested and level-headed when you woke up tomorrow. So, you'd kept your promise to yourself and settled on slipping into your last clean black dress and grabbing a few drinks at the hotel bar to end your makeshift vacation.

Your legs dangled from your stool, the strap of your dress slipping down your arm as you yawned. The bar had been mostly vacant all night. People passing by, but never actually staying for more than one drink. The vintage grandfather clock at the corner of the room watched you tauntingly, another sway of its heavy arms indicating that it was nearing midnight.

You knew it was time to head back. Your hand reached out to bell for the bartender when two opposing, but equally powerful drinks were suddenly placed at either side of you.

A deep, rich red wine on your left and a deceptively alluring white wine on your right. Your eyes hesitantly drifted between the two men that were now occupying the seats next to you, the warmth of their bodies radiating off of them as they sized you up.

"Which one will it be, angel?" His voice was like velvet, a dangerous smirk creeping across his face as his brown eyes met you. His partially bandaged fingertips slowly pushed the Chardonnay towards you. "You look like a woman of good taste. Honestly, I think you'd like this one much better."

A gloved hand rested on the small of your back, gently turning you around to face him instead. His disheveled red hair and azure gaze were hard to ignore as he nudged the Cabernet closer to you. "Tch, you're too pretty for that cheap shit." He smirked. "Besides, I bet you're wantin' something that would hit way deeper than that, right?"

Your breath was suddenly lodged in your throat, an ache burning between your legs at the sheer shamelessness of it all.

The brunette's smile was piercing, his stare slicing into the man on your left as he let out a low laugh. "You've always had quite the imagination, haven't you Chuuya?" His eyes maintained the same sharpness, dragging back to yours with fervor. "I think what she really needs is something that would leave her begging for more and that's not something that measly little sweet red of yours would do."

The air between the three of you was suddenly suffocating.

You crossed one leg over the other, finding yourself actually having to clench while they carried on with their salaciously threatening banter. Their fingers roaming along your back and the top of your hand. Both inching closer and closer, still spilling out corrupt little nothings about which one would taste better going down your throat and which one would fill you up until there was no more room left.

You needed to be in bed. You needed to keep your wits about you. You needed to tell them both that you didn't have time for this, but your insides were on fire the harder they fought over you.

After being ignored at every meeting you'd gone to this week and being nothing more than a wallflower at the dinner parties you'd attended, having two admittedly depraved but attractive men competing over you like this was enough to make you forget about trivial things like time and responsibilities.

They were still going on. Still gently petting and praising you while their insults towards each other grew heavier and headier.

Your blood rushed through your veins as you looked down at the contrasting wines sitting in front of you. You knew the minute that you took a sip of either, your fate would be sealed for the night. You'd be declaring yourself to one of them. The only smart option you had would be to push both drinks aside, to choose yourself, and to leave the two of them to carry on with their degenerate rivalry with the next unsuspecting girl that waltzed in here.

But you weren't going to settle for either.

As you glanced between them, it dawned on you that there was an alternate, much more menacing 4th option at your disposal.

Their voices came to a pause when they noticed your hand finally raise, hovering directly in the center of the two glasses. Your eyes danced from the brunette back to Chuuya, a hazy smile pulling at the corner of your mouth despite the fact that your heart felt like it was capable of ripping straight through your chest at any given second.

You rested your palm over both, letting your middle finger slide into the Cabernet and your index finger slide into the Chardonnay in perfect unison.

The tension was palpable as they watched you slowly pull out and bring them to your lips. You cocked your head to the side, your tongue generously gliding against the mixture of red and white before you brought them all the way into your mouth, spit slightly dribbling down your chin while you looked between the two men.

A smile cut across your face as you noticed the two sets of blown out pupils staring back at you. "Does that answer your question?"

"No," Chuuya was the first to break the silence. "No fuckin' way am I letting that asshole anywhere near the same room as us."

But it only seemed to pique the brunette's interest more.

A grin that could rival that of the devil's began to pull at the corner of his mouth. "Oh c'mon, Chuuya. You're really gonna deny this angel what she wants?"

"Don't start with me, Dazai." he snarled, his eyes softening a bit when they reached yours. "Look, I'd love to fuck you, but -"

Dazai took full advantage of the redhead's decision to opt out, spinning your barstool towards him so that your back was abruptly facing Chuuya before he could even finish his sentence. "Well," he smirked with a dangerous sense of wit in his voice. "Guess that just leaves us then."

"Wait a minute, that's not how this works!" Your chair was once again being flung in the opposite direction. A gloved hand gently cupping yours as he tried to reason with you. "You're gorgeous, y'know that, right? Even if you end up leavin' by yourself, I promise it'd still be better than endin' up with that mackerel over there."

It should've been an insult. In fact, you were certain that it was an insult, but for some deranged reason, it made Dazai all the more persistent to get you what you had originally asked for.

"Okaaay, okaayy." He conceded as he stood up. "There's no need for petty nicknames. If you're too self-conscious to share a beautiful woman's body with me, that's all you have to say."

"Self-conscious?" The edge in Chuuya's tone only gave Dazai what he wanted. "I'm not self-conscious, you arrogant bastard. I just don't trust you."

Dazai leaned into your ear, his hand shielding his mouth though his voice was far from a whisper. "It's because of his height, I'm afraid. Quite sad really."

"Alright, cut the shit." It was enough to finally bring the redhead to his feet.

He stood up, grabbing your hand to help you off your chair, eyes now locked firmly with yours. "You really want us to fuck you?" He asked, completely ignoring the absolutely vile smirk Dazai was sporting.

A mix of fear and arousal pooled between your thighs as you realized that this was your one chance to back out.

You looked between the two of them one last time before promptly grabbing the drinks that were left on the counter and knocking them both back one right after the other.

"My room or yours?" You asked.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The three of you had ended up in Chuuya's suite which was at least three times the size of your room. It was lofty, decorated with high-rise windows that were covered by thick, black privacy curtains. His king-sized bed made up in pristine white sheets that you feared would soon be ripped to shreds with the way the two of them could barely share the same elevator without almost killing each other, let alone share you.

Chuuya took off his gloves and hung his coat in the closest next to Dazai's as you slipped out of your heels and left them by the door. Your heart was suddenly in your throat now that you were actually here.

You were still by the entryway, not entirely sure how this was going to start while Chuuya went around and began dimming the lights, making a snide comment about how the less he had to see of Dazai, the better. The brunette just smirked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, motioning for you to join him.

He spread his legs, lightly guiding you to stand in front of him as he kissed the back of your hand. His brown eyes trailed over you intently, his slender fingers tracing along the curve of your hip. "No need to be nervous," he whispered, tangling his free hand into yours.

There was something so tantalizing about the way he was looking at you. Eager but thorough, like he wanted to memorize every single inch of you. "See how pretty she is, Chuuya?"

You felt him approach you from behind, his calloused hands holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail while his breath fanned across the top of your shoulder. "Care if I unzip this?" he asked, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck as you nodded. He continued to kiss and nip at you, carefully dragging the zipper down your spine before letting it fall to the floor.

"Fuck."

It was perhaps the one thing that they'd agreed on all night.

Dazai had the full-frontal view of you and Chuuya had the back. You were on full display for them both due to the fact that you'd opted for no bra or panties when you'd left your room earlier, thinking that you'd be coming straight back anyway. What a lie that had turned out to be.

Dazai's hand roamed along your stomach, goosebumps dancing across your skin as his fingertips dipped a bit lower. Chuuya's mouth was still on the nape of your neck, his grip tightening around your hips, drawing the poutiest little whimpers out of you.

"And to think you almost made us pass this up." Dazai taunted. "That would've been suuuch a shame."

"Shut up." Chuuya grunted, pulling you closer so that your ass was flushed perfectly against him. Your back arched feeling how hard he was, another little noise you couldn't quite control escaping you.

Dazai raised an eyebrow at this, realizing how easy it was to make you squirm.

"Oh, our girl's sensitive, isn't she?" He smirked, his fingers making their way to your center, just barely touching the outside of your folds. "Hmm," He hummed, surveying your desperate, dripping cunt. "What kind of sounds do you think she'll make if I do this?"

His finger ran along your clit, only giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation before he immediately plunged it inside of you.

"Nngh ~!" You whined, ramming yourself further into Chuuya's bulge. He held you steady, stuck somewhere between severely hating that Dazai had made you moan like that and fucking loving that you did it while grinding against him.

"Aw, look at that. I think she likes you, Chuuya." Dazai mocked, sliding into you again without warning, jealousy washing over him at how you were holding onto the redhead for support.

He went deeper, adding in another finger, to redirect your attention down to him as you mewled. "Feel good, angel?" he asked through heavy lashes.

You nodded back at him so pitifully, it made him groan, rubbing his thumb against your clit as his other two digits continued their assault on you.

You felt Chuuya undoing his belt behind you, his pants quietly dropping to the ground.

"You're doing so good," he praised into the softness of your neck, stroking himself with one hand and palming at your chest with the other. Squeezing a nipple between his fingers as you filled the room with more heavenly noises. "Think you can do me a favor, baby?" His voice felt like blissful static against the shell of your ear.

"M -" you struggled, your eyes nearly crossing at Dazai relentlessly hitting your g-spot. "Mhmmm." you finally managed.

"Can you bend over f'me?"

You tried your best to comply, but Dazai wasn't making it easy. In fact, he was making it impossible. Every time you tried to move, he'd go deeper, practically pulling you towards him from the inside with the curl of his long fingers.

Your vision was blurry, your body forgetting how to move altogether as the two men fought over you like you were a toy that they were willing to break in half as long as it meant the other person couldn't have it anymore.

"I -" you whined, noticing the absolutely feral smirk spread across Dazai's face. "I'm gonna - fuck, I can't -"

As much as Chuuya wanted to murder him for making you cum first, he knew his turn was next and he was going to fuck you into oblivion. "I've got you." he breathed, still playing with your nipple and holding you in place. "You're okay, baby. Let it out. Oh, just like that. Good fuckin' girl."

Dazai panted as you soaked his fingers, greedily trying to draw another one out of you before Chuuya intervened. "Alright, enough." he said, carefully pulling you away from him. "Here." he said, guiding you so that your ass was arched up for him and your face was on the mattress.

He was just about to put it in when Dazai stopped him, swiftly wriggling himself out of his pants before sitting on the edge of the bed again and placing your head above his dick.

Chuuya ran a frustrated hand over his face, the last fucking thing he wanted to see was your pretty mouth wrapped around Dazai while he was inside of you, but he knew he didn't have a choice.

"Be easy on her," he warned him.

You looked up at Dazai with glazed over eyes as he smiled down at you, proud of his work. "You know I wouldn't hurt you, right angel?"

Your pussy throbbed at the way he was able to make such a reassuring question feel so sinister.

His cock was long and thick and you were quickly realizing just how hard it was going to be to not choke on it. You started off slow, letting him tangle his hand into your hair as you lolled your tongue out and pressed it against him.

"Oh, fuck." Dazai groaned watching you make your way up to his tip, graciously opening your mouth wider to accommodate him.

Chuuya was wildly annoyed but not at all surprised at how vocal Dazai was. He blocked it out by rubbing his tip between your folds, reeling in the way your back arched for him as he softly massaged your abused little clit.

You were moaning, doing your best not to lose your concentration from how intoxicatingly tender Chuuya was handling you.

Whereas Dazai had practically bullied an orgasm out of you, Chuuya was prepared to play the long game. He'd fuck you slow and deep for hours if that's what you wanted. He was determined to make you feel so good you wouldn't be able to remember any other words besides his name.

Once he was satisfied with how wet both of you were from your cum, Chuuya lined himself up with your entrance. "You ready baby?"

"Y - yes." You struggled, Dazai only letting you come up for air for a second before your head was promptly pushed back down again.

You whimpered, completely forgetting what you were doing when Chuuya entered you. His cock stretching you out more than you knew you were capable of. "Oh - mygod." You choked out, eyes pleading as you looked back at Dazai.

Surprisingly, he wasn't jealous. Wasn't instantly shoving your head back down to get you to focus on him. He was in a euphoric daze seeing how fucked-out you looked. Your eyes were full-on watering, your pussy wrapped so tight and snug around Chuuya.

Dazai's grip in your hair lightened, pulling you up but only so he could watch you from a better angle. He held your head in one hand and began stroking himself with the other. "Oh, angel. You love being fucked like that, don't you?"

You nodded pathetically, completely overstimulated by the feeling of Chuuya pounding into you and the beautiful sight of Dazai jerking himself off to you getting railed. "Say it." He smirked. "Use your words."

Chuuya groaned, it was the first time all night that he wasn't tuning Dazai out. His hips thrusted into you harder as you whined. "I - love." Your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth dropping open at how deep Chuuya suddenly was. "I love - it." You cried out. "I love it so fu - cking much."

Chuuya wasn't sure if Dazai was trying to hurt or help him by coaxing such depraved things out of you, but he was lost in the sound of your moans.

Your legs began to shake, your cunt pulsating as Chuuya's tip knocked against your cervix. "I -" your head shook, you felt like you were going to pass out. "I can't - s'too much, I'm gonna -"

"Let me feel it, baby." It was almost more of a beg than a command. "Let me feel that pretty pussy soak my cock."

Dazai's breathing hitched in his throat watching the two of you. The tears that were spilling down your pretty face and the guttural noises you were forcing out of the redhead so effortlessly. The way neither one of you were coherent anymore, too lost in the way your bodies were aching for one another to know anything else.

Dazai wasn't sure why it was doing this to him. Wasn't sure why he couldn't stop himself, but just as you started to cum, he did too. He shoved your mouth back around him, reveling in the shock and pleasure and absolute awe on your face as you swallowed every last drop he shot into your mouth.

Your body felt like it was convulsing. The three of you had somehow all managed to reach your climax in perfect, lewd, synchronicity. Dazai's cum was pooling down your chin while Chuuya filled you up from behind. A combination of both of your fluids mixing together and then squirting out of you when he finally pulled out with a heavy, "Oh, FUCK."

You collapsed into Dazai's lap, your legs refusing to hold you. Chuuya helped pull you up onto the bed as the three of you fell into the mattress with a thud. You laid in the middle of them, your head rested peacefully against Dazai's chest as you tried to stop the room from spinning.

"And you told me to go easy on her." Dazai mused, running his fingers through your hair.

Chuuya rolled over on his side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck. "'Least I didn't get off watching her get railed by another dude." he sneered.

"Yeah, you're right." Dazai tsked, "Only thing that could've made it better is if it was by a taller man."

"Dazai, I swear to god -"

But their bickering came to a quick end when you began to shift against them.

"Hey," you mumbled dreamily, causing both of them to immediately revert back to petting you and leaving light kisses along your skin. "Could you shut the fuck up? I've gotta be up at 5 tomorrow to catch my flight."

Chuuya smirked and set an alarm on his phone. Truthfully, he was willing to let you talk to him however you wanted with what you'd done to him tonight.

He reluctantly pulled the comforter up over the three of you. As much as he didn't want Dazai in his room for another minute, you looked too content to move.

You had never felt more safe or secure than you did being smushed between the two of them. Their words were hazy as you began to doze off, two sets of strong arms wrapped around you.

"Y'know, I think I'll kinda miss her." Chuuya breathed.

"Me too," Dazai smiled, looking down at you. "She's our girl."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Three

For @erisweekofficial Day 3: Betrayal

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Despite wishing he weren’t, Eris Vanserra is a creature of habit. A mask is easier to put on, easier to wear than to remove. When you confront him about a recent deception, you’re faced with that reality first hand.

Warnings: mentions of injury, abuse, and blood, fighting verbally and physically, harsh words

Word Count: 2.3k

Part Two | Part Four

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

His cabin was quieter than usual, the crackle of the fire absent.

Tonight, Eris hadn’t bothered to light it, nor had he changed out of his old clothes. The heavy green coat still hung from his shoulders, pressing heavily against his back. Beneath the coat, his shirt was stained with crimson, each wound on his back pressed uncomfortably against the material, their blood gluing the fabric to his skin.

The coat hadn’t been stained yet, but it was bound to be if didn't remove it in a few minutes. If he were less exhausted, he might have cared more—might have taken the time to clean the blood from his shirt.

But Eris was too tired, too exhausted to care much about the state of his clothes.

The distant sound of a horse made him sit up, his body tensing in anticipation, reading itself for another round of fight. A few moments later, the door burst open.

He blinked at the sight before him, his heart beginning to thud rapidly in his chest. A tight knot formed in his stomach as he let out a breath.

"Y/n."

You shut the door behind you with a decisive thud, your eyes narrowing at him, dark with an intensity that made him take another breath.

"You lied to me."

Eris remained still, calm and collected, as you took a few steps forward. Your hair was tousled and windblown, clearly the result of the rapid horseback ride you’d endured to get here. He was tempted to ask how you had managed to arrive so quickly, but the determined glint in your eyes halted him. They held a resolve he had never seen before, a redness around them that hinted at tears. His heart clenched at the thought.

He stayed silent as you continued.

"You told me the rumors weren't true. That Lucien wasn't near. But he was. Him and the Cursebreaker."

Eris opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand in interruption. "Your brothers have a tendency to talk when they're drinking."

His back ached from the barely healed lashes Beron had so graciously administered. In the back of his mind, he wondered how well his brothers had fared, if his father's disappointment had weighed as heavily on them for their collective failure. He settled on no; it hadn’t. If it had, they wouldn’t have been drunkenly spilling their secrets in an Autumn tavern, recklessly letting such information slip through court ears—through yours.

"Okay," Eris said finally, his voice tight. "I lied."

"You and I don't lie to each other. That is the one thing we have." A muscle feathered in your jaw. "Why start now?"

He took a moment to think. There was no use in lying, not to you. But the truth seemed lackluster, seemed almost trivial. He rolled his shoulders back, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his body with the movement.

"It was for your own good," he said, almost nonchalantly.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Eris knew they were the wrong choice. They came across as commanding, entitled—like a High Lord’s son presuming to know what was best for a common-court female. He'd always been adept with his words, skilled at navigating conversations to elicit the reactions he wanted. But that skill faltered around you, weakened as he struggled to balance what was most tactful to say with what was most honest. Even after all these years, he wasn’t sure what he truly wanted from you. Respect, perhaps.

You scoffed, running a tongue along your teeth as you shook your head in disbelief — in anger.

"That is a pathetic excuse," you said sharply. "That was not your decision to make."

Eris let out a tight sigh, feeling the reluctance in his lungs from the lingering imprint of his father’s boot. He was sure the area was bruised — a rib slightly out of place, the skin above bound to be darkening. Your eyes flickered down to his chest as a ragged breath escaped him, eyes softening as if you had heard his thoughts as they crossed his mind.

"If I had told you the truth, you would have run off into the wilderness in some reckless attempt to help him."

The words came out quicker than intended, more manic than he’d prepared for. But they seemed to distract you, pulling your heated gaze from his chest and back to his eyes. The anger in your expression simmered again, the soft crease between your brows smoothing as if the concern that had bubbled up moments before had been momentarily forgotten.

"You're godsdamned right I would've," you growled. "Because that's what you do for the ones you love."

The words hit him like a physical blow, his muscles aching under the weight of them. He couldn’t help it—the way his hands tightened at his sides. They didn't tighten into fists, no, but in slow, rigid flexes as he fought to keep his breathing even.

"You would've gotten yourself killed."

You shook your head again. "Don't pretend this was because you care about me."

"I do care about you."

"Do you?" You titled your head at him, a small scowl curling at your lips. "Or did you want to make sure I wasn't there to witness when you tracked them down like prey?"

His stomach tightened, a sinking feeling settling as he struggled to keep his composure. Every fiber of him ached to take your hand, to drop to his knees and lay himself bare. He wanted to explain that there was more than what you saw—that he lied for the first time because he wanted you safe, that he had tried his best not to hurt Lucien or Feyre. He itched to speak, to reveal the truth, but instead:

"I had orders," was all he responded.

You waited for a moment, your eyes scanning his face as if searching for more, as if willing him to confess further. If Eris had grown up with a different father, one who hadn't instilled in him the ability to withstand torture, he would have crumbled. He was sure any male in his position would have. But he was built for moments like these—whether he liked it or not. So you waited.

And nothing came.

He stayed quiet. He was going to choose his words carefully now, he decided. Very carefully.

You laughed humorlessly, but the sound caught in your throat. The corners of your eyes glistened. "Tell me you tried to fight against it. That you waited as long as you could, that you tried to protect him."

The truth was, Eris had. He'd waited it out, had attempted to slow his brothers down, but there was only so much he could do without it becoming dangerous, without losing his control. But as he stared into the anger in yours eyes, felt the desperation that clung to your voice, he realized it didn't truly matter.

"Why?" He asked.

You blinked. "Why what?"

He took a cautious step forward. You didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as move a muscle. The small act—or lack of one—was a comfort at least, telling Eris that you were not afraid of him. It was all just anger. Anger and something that tasted bittersweet, something like disappointment.

Disappointment meant you’d expected more from him. And while it made something deep in his chest glow, that sort of expectation was dangerous.

"Why do you want me to tell you that?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Is it so you don't feel as guilty about caring for me?"

You blinked again, your mouth parting slightly as you shook your head once more. This time, it was a meek gesture, almost shy, the defiance in your posture giving way to a vulnerable edge. "That's- That's not it."

"Is that so?" Eris hummed in contemplation, pursing his lips as he held your gaze. "Are you sure?"

You shifted your weight on your feet, pulling your gaze away from him momentarily to cast a glance around the cabin, as if something had caught your interest. To any casual observer, it was a simple gesture—but not to Eris. He knew you. He was right. He knew he was.

You brought your gaze back to him.

"Why are you asking me all of these questions?"

Eris shrugged. "You come storming into my cabin, demanding things of me, and yet I'm not entitled to questions myself?"

"All I'm 'demanding' for is for the truth."

He took another step forward, keeping his eyes trained on yours, amber glowing like a forest fire. When he was close enough to feel your breath, for the scent of you to fill his nose, he leaned down. The coldness spreading through him was unmistakable, the softness he usually regarded you with—the one you didn’t quite seem to notice—slowly being replaced by something more taunting. He was too exhausted to care about his clothing, yes, but he was also too exhausted to care about proving himself anymore. It didn’t matter.

"And if the truth were that I didn't resist? That I pursued them without hesitation? That I allowed my brothers to capture Lucien so I could chase the Cursebreaker myself—what then?"

He watched as something changed in your face, eyes darkening as you somewhat recoiled, taking a minuscule step back. You scowled, a deep furrow forming between your brows, and then you clenched your teeth again. Without even looking down, Eris knew your hands were in fists at your sides, your nails pressing into your palms.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You managed through gritted teeth. Your scowl fell into something more reminiscent of a frown. "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and you're fighting it. Gods, I feel sorry for you."

Your voice rose as you spoke and he could taste the bittersweet flavor of your disappointment. You turned abruptly, striding towards the cabin door, your jaw clenched so tightly Eris could almost hear the grinding of your teeth. Suddenly, he felt awake, but it was a different kind of energy—one of anger, of frustration.

"We're not done talking," Eris said, stalking after you. "Don't walk away from me."

You whirled around, your voice rising in a fierce, anguished cry. "I should've walked away from you centuries ago!"

Eris blinked, feeling the weight of your words settle deeply, like a dull ache in his bones.

He took in the raw, distraught expression on your face. You took a deep breath, rapidly blinking as you ran a hand along your face. Eris wondered how you could be so beautiful in such a state of disarray — hated himself that this disarray was caused by some sort of care you held for him. Some sort of care that he didn’t understand enough to be careful of.

"I was so foolish to believe that even a few hundred years could rid you of what you were born with," you said.

He clenched his jaw, taking another deep, painful, ragged breath. "And what is that?"

You paused for a moment. Then you straightened your back, staring at him straight on. The disappointment was gone, no bittersweet aftertaste, no sense of care or anguish. It was pity that he sensed in your gaze.

"Cowardice disguised as cruelty."

He almost laughed.

Eris knew that word better than anything else. It was etched into his skin, ingrained in his lineage. He had learned early in life that cruelty was often easier than kindness. Cruelty required no second thoughts; it was swift, unyielding, and in a way, liberating. With a sharp word or a cold look, he could build walls so high and thick that no one dared to scale them. Kindness, however, was different. It was a burden. It demanded patience, understanding, and—above all—vulnerability.

He had allowed himself to be willing with you, to let his guard down slightly, to let you see past the facade he needed to survive. But even then, he had been wary. You'd wanted too much, wanted his kindness, his patience. It wasn't possible. Eris could never fully be himself until his father was dead—this he was sure of.

Until then, Eris had a role to play. A court to maneuver. And cruelty didn’t ask why or weigh consequences.

Kindness had no place in the life he was being molded to lead. Not now.

"I don't need Lucien's leftovers to tell me that I'm a good male, that I'm worthy of forgiveness. I was never asking for it. I do what’s required of someone like me. Not everyone can afford to be ordinary."

The sting of your hand wasn’t the first thing Eris felt as your palm collided with his cheek. No, it was the searing intensity of your anger that struck him first—a blazing heat that radiated from the force of it alone.

There was a long beat of silence as Eris stood still, his face turned slightly to the side, skin tingling with the impact. Slowly, he turned his face back to look at you.

And you smiled.

It was a smile that carried no warmth, only a cold, detached finality. You smoothed down your hair, the gesture almost casual, unnervingly so.

"You'll fit right on that throne, Eris Vanserra," you said, your voice steady. You held his gaze for another beat. "You're already your father."

Without another word, you turned and stormed out.

Eris stared at the door long after the echo of your horse’s departure had faded into the distance.

It wasn’t until he could breathe again, until the last traces of your scent settled into his skin, that he quietly sank onto the couch. He wished he could scream, wished he could cry or hurl his furniture around, claw at his face in anguish. But he did not. Because that wasn’t who he was.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: yeah... they need therapy baby, dare I say this is a betrayal on both ends, lying and putting her down to push her away?? Reader calling him beron… ya… good thing they have years to grow huh

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[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

A hand dynamometer. A device to measure a person's grip strength. Your friend bought it off from somewhere during one of her impulsive shopping sprees. She lent it to you for the day.

You tried it out yourself, squeezing the handle as hard as you could and having your whole arm contracting. You were lukewarm with your results, your strength fell into the average category. Nothing more, nothing less.

You kept it away, forgetting about it for a while and your friend did so too. It's almost like she gifted it to you.

Until one day, you were searching for something from your drawers. You stumbled upon the dynamometer again.

You were curious about Yves's grip strength, he's quite lean and built. His readings must be high, but you wouldn't know until you've tested it on him.

So you went back out to your living room. Yves was folding your laundry neatly, it was warm and fragrant as he did it for you earlier. His fingers smoothened the wrinkles delicately, caring for everything you own.

Yves didn't have to do your chores, but he insisted because he said he loves doing it. Especially when it's in service to someone he loves to death; you.

He did offer to let you move in with him. Although it was tempting, you didn't want to feel like you're taking advantage of his willingness to take care of you. It would be even worse if you lived with him, Yves would become your full time maid! It feels unsettling despite Yves's reassurances that he's enjoying doing such tedious tasks.

"Yes, my love?" He asked while picking up a stack of shirts to be returned to your dresser; It's arranged by colour and makes it aesthetically pleasing to look at. Yves reflexively used a hand to tidy the strands of hair away from your face.

You presented him the device.

"Ah..." Yves smiled charmingly as he picked it up from your hands. You knew he knew what it was, this is something you've appreciated about this relationship. It's as if he would read your mind and words aren't necessary to convey your wants at times. It saved you a lot of energy and you felt... Special. It's something no one has ever made you feel before except your new partner.

Yves barely gave it a squeeze before you heard a defeaning crack that made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. It also made Yves's green eyes widen in surprise too.

He slowly uncurled his slender, delicate fingers from the handle. "Oh?" Only for the gadget to fall apart, shard by shard, screw by screw and spring by spring. It crumbled like a scone to the floor, miscellaneous pieces bouncing off everywhere and landing on the tip of his high heels.

Your jaw was slack, just how strong is he? You remembered using all your might and maybe about to burst a vessel in your eye from the power, just so you could get an average score. Yet, Yves is leisurely holding your neatly folded clothes in one hand, while the other merely gives the dynamometer a light compression at best- and he obliterates it.

He sets your clothes back down into the clean laundry basket before kneeling on the floor to pick the debris up.

You asked him how he is so strong.

"I am terribly sorry for breaking your handheld dynamometer, dear." He spoke, picking the sharp pieces up first, so you wouldn't get cut. "But it was already faulty before I could even perform a fair test." Yves continued

That made a lot more sense. Because that device can handle up to 200 pounds, or 90 kilograms. To make it shatter like that, Yves would have to at least double, triple or even quadruple its maximum limit. And within a blink of an eye too? Without breaking a sweat or grimacing? It's impossible that Yves possessed superhuman strength to do that. Right?

"Where did this come from?" He asked, rising up to his full height as he carried the broken dynamometer in his deceptively dainty hands. "It isn't of good quality."

You told him it came from your friend, you have forgotten to return it to her and it seems like she has forgotten to ask for it back.

He cocked an eyebrow. "The one who regularly partakes in flagrant overconsumption?"

Your eyes darted around, trying to defend her. But ultimately, Yves is right. She buys more than she can afford. And she tends to visit sites that sell for cheap, but in horrible quality.

"That explains its... Intolerance." He brought the mangled dynamometer to your eye level. Yves sighed before chuckling, "I'll replace it as soon as I can."

Yves kissed you on the forehead before walking past you, so he could reach the trash can to dispose of the broken dynamometer.

You didn't catch the second, silent sigh of relief, though. He thinks he's getting sloppier, Yves was trying to impress you by achieving a grip strength comparable to those of elite athletes. But he was much stronger than that, Yves was supposed to control the contraction of his muscles to not scare you off. But he must have gotten distracted by your presence, all he could think of was how kissable your cheeks were and his cuteness aggression must have gotten the better of him. That damned device was actually functioning perfectly fine.

You seem to buy his coverup. But regardless, he must do something about his near uncontrollable urge to squeeze you out of sheer love and affection.

He dusted his hands off and turned around. Yves caught a glimpse of you carrying your folded stack of clothes back into your bedroom.

His eyes tracked your every movement, big or small. Cherishing and memorizing each sequence. Yves's face may be unreadable, but his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand and the momentarily dilation of his pupils could tell a story of a thousand words about his rawest feelings towards you.

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 3

Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 chapter4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Reader’s POV

You weren’t sure why Ghost had to drive you out to your new home. He’d been insistent on seeing you there safely rather than letting quite literally anyone else do so. In fact, he’d almost seemed jumpy, stating that Simon wouldn’t like strangers near his home, and that you ought to keep that in mind.

How you were supposed to feel like this was anything but an elaborate plot to murder you and scatter your remains in the woods was unfathomable to you, but Ghost trusted Simon. While you weren’t entirely sure where you stood with the Lieutenant, he’d been the only one to stay back with you and ensure you got out alive.

“When will he be home?” You asked as Ghost focused on the road ahead. He’d given no indication how far the drive would be, and you’d left base about forty minutes ago.

“Tomorrow,” Ghost answered plainly, giving no indication as to what Simon was doing that would have him preoccupied elsewhere.

You let out a soft hum and leaned back in your seat. The humvee would occasionally jostle you, and you hissed at the pain in your knee. The pain medicine was beginning to wear off, but you were too afraid to bring it to Ghost’s attention.

Instead, you closed your eyes, and focused on your next steps. You would need to get some new clothes, having little more than the clothes you’d been sent off in. Maybe if Simon wasn’t too opposed to taking you into town, you could visit the second-hand store.

When you were young, your mother used to take you to pick out patterned tablecloths that had been donated, and would take them home and see you little sundresses.

You recalled a white one with frills that you wore down to the neighbor’s strawberry field, and hadn't lasted the morning before it was an unfortunate mess of red strawberry juice and mud after you had burrowed beneath the strawberry patch and clawed the fruit off the vine like a little, white mouse taking refuge in the cool dirt.

Your mother had called you a little troll for your bad behavior, and made you wear the stained up dress to school anyway.

The Humvee jostled you again, knocking your knee against the vehicle, and you nearly choked on the breath of air you inhaled. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Ghost was anything but gentle, even in his driving.

Simon’s POV

He left you settled on his large, plush couch, your only bag on the floor by the door. The cabin was a single story, so he doubted you’d have much trouble maneuvering around as long as you had your crutches.

He’d given you his cell number, not that you knew it was his. You looked…lost as he walked out the door, and if he didn’t have work to finish for price before his leave, he’d have been tempted to tear the mask off his face and assure you that you wouldn’t have to spend the night alone.

It was still hard for him to comprehend that he was now a married man, even if this had been entirely his plan. It didn’t occur to him until you were seated on his sofa, looking as if you felt out of place in your own home that he didn’t know what he was doing.

He had a rough idea of how he wanted things to be. You’d get to know Simon, a second chance for him to redeem himself in your eyes as someone more patient and gentle, and with time you’d forget about the harsh treatment of Lieutenant Ghost. He didn’t try to fool himself into believing that you could ever love Ghost, but maybe he could convince you to love Simon.

The hour drive back to base didn’t feel real. It was still early, and he needed a cup of tea, something he would have preferred to indulge in alone, but alas…

“How’s married life?” Soap asked with a poorly disguised grin, and Ghost glowered at him from the sink.

“Not now, Johnny,” he warned, rolling his eyes. He hadn’t necessarily wanted Soap to know, but he’d also wanted a second opinion on his decision to offer you a bloody marriage contract.

Johnny had thought he was pulling a joke, until he’d seen it with his own two eyes. Once Simon had rather stiffly explained that he had some very confusing feelings for you that wouldn’t allow him to abandon you, the Scotsman had patted him on the shoulder and told him he was a good man. A bloody mad one too, but that was besides the point.

“Difficult drive with the Mrs.?” He asked, that grin still ever present on his face.

“Something like that.” Not at all like that. More accurately he simply didn’t want to leave you there all alone.

“Cut her some slack, L.T., one minute your her boss, the next your her husband, probably a real doozy for the lass.”

“She doesn’t know,” he said softly as Johnny popped a biscuit in his mouth.

“Doesn’t know what?” He asked over the food in his mouth.

“Doesn’t know she married me.”

The Scottsman choked on his biscuit. “Bloody hell!” He exclaimed, wiping a palm across his face. “Ghost, you’ve gotta be yanking my leg here, mate!”

Ghost shook his head.

“Who does she think she married?” Johnny asked, eyes blown wide.

The Lieutenant shrugged. “Simon Riley.”

Johnny sputtered for a moment and shook his head. “That’s so wrong, Mate. She’s gonna be bloody pissed when she finds out-“

“She’s not gonna find out, Johnny,” Ghost hissed. “She’s gotta forget about all of that. Move on with her life.”

“People don’ just forget that kinda trauma, Simon. She nearly lost her leg,” Johnny said.

Simon sighed, pushing his mask up over his nose so he could sip his tea. “Let me worry about my wife, Johnny.”

It was six in the morning when Simon was finally relieved from his post. He found himself spacing out all too often on the road home, pulled out of his thoughts only when the asphalt turned to gravel.

He liked having his home so secluded. He hoped you liked it too. He’d stopped for groceries shortly after leaving base, planning on having breakfast ready before you woke up. He probably should have paid attention before to how you liked your eggs, but it was too late for that now. He’d just have to guess and go with it.

He pulled up to the cabin, the gravel beneath the car grumbling a greeting to his return as he slowed to a stop.

Simon took a deep breath, hooked his fingers beneath his balaclava, and pulled the mask off before stuffing it in his duffel bag. He unpacked the groceries, storing most of the meat in the deep freezer in his garage before finally entering his house.

He kicked off his work boots at the door, his eyes scanning over the room as if he expected things to be out of place. He paused, however when he noted your small form curled up right where he’d left you, your bag still by the door and your crutches against the wall. You were curled in on yourself, likely trying to keep warm as he’d forgotten to turn on the heat for you.

Shit. He’d left you alone for hours in a cold, unfamiliar place. You were supposed to have slept in the bed. He’d expected you to acclimate yourself over the past twenty-four hours, and instead you had curled up on the couch and succumbed to an uncomfortable sleep.

That wouldn’t do.

He moved to your side as quietly as possible, kneeling next to you on the tan rug. His palm gently brushed the side of your head as he watched you closely. “Y/n?” he murmured, his hand moving to squeeze your shoulder.

You gave no sign that you were awake, and Simon sighed, lifting you up as carefully as he could. Once you were properly tucked into bed, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

His shoulders sagged, and with a soft groan he leaned back into the mattress, only just now noticing that he only had one pillow and you were using it. Not that he minded. He needed to take stock of just how unprepared he was for this endeavor.

He switched between staring at the ceiling, and staring at you. You didn’t move much in your sleep, which was a relief. You did, however, let out a soft whine, alerting him to the fact that he’d rested you on the side of your bad knee.

He frowned, internally scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. It was easy to roll you onto your back, but the action caused you to stir, and Simon stiffened.

~

It must have been early when you woke, because the room was bathed in a soft glow from the sun barely rising outside the window.

It took you only a moment to realize you no longer dozing on the couch. Your eyes settled on the massive figure beside you, traveling up his waist to his chest and shoulders, before finally finding his face.

Simon, or rather you assumed it was Simon, had ruffled blonde hair, with deep set brown eyes and a strong jaw. Handsome for a soldier. You’d expected him to be plain. You were very wrong.

You sat up slowly, and he watched you like a hawk. You expected him to greet you with something, anything, even if it was just snapping at you for crawling into his bed, not that you remembered doing so. Instead he simply stared at you.

“What time is it?” you asked softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Almost eight,” he murmured, and you blinked in surprise. He had an English accent, very mancunian, just like Ghost’s. The similarity was actually rather uncanny. “You can go back to sleep, or I can make breakfast.”

This felt very strange. You were in a stranger’s house, in their bed and said stranger was offering to make you breakfast as if you weren’t an intruder. You felt tears prick your eyes, suddenly feeling very out of place.

Simon’s brow dipped, a look of panic crossing his face as he tried to figure out what he’d done this time as tears spilled from your eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked, a shaking hand brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, this is just…really overwhelming-“

Simon was quick to pull you against his chest, pulling a soft gasp from you.

“You’re safe, I promise. M’ not gonna let anything happen to ya,” he murmured, those deep brown eyes gazing at you as if he’d loved you for a lifetime.

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his response, your body slumping as your head dropped onto his heavily muscled shoulder.

“Why…why are you doing this for me?” You whispered.

“You made a sacrifice for one of my mates. You could have gotten killed. He felt responsible, wanted to see you taken care of, and…I wanted to help,” he said gently, stroking the back of your head.

You sniffled softly. “Is Ghost important to you?” You asked, gazing up at him curiously. Simon stiffened, unable to hold your gaze.

“Let’s leave the topic of Ghost alone for now, yeah? Give you some time to recover from what happened.”

You tilted your head at him in confusion, but nodded in agreement. It was his house after all. If he didn’t want to bring up work then so be it.

“You’re in good hands here, I promise.”

~

Two weeks went by, and you found that it wasn’t as difficult to adjust to Simon’s presence as you expected. He worked on base twice a week when he wasn’t on mission, and spent the rest of his time caring for you.

You couldn’t help but feel like a pet that was being spoiled more than it deserved. He’d bought you one of those nice, memory foam pillows, despite your insistence that you could just sleep on his large, plushy couch.

Truthfully you were a little frightened at the idea of sharing his bed, but he kept a respectful distance away from you, and there wasn’t even the mention of sexual expectations.

He slept on his back, or facing the door, something you assumed was an ingrained behavior.

He let you sleep in the mornings, but once you’d had breakfast he was practically dragging you out of the cabin to take a walk with your crutches, encouraging you not to stay in bed all day.

You supposed it was a good thing, as you’d likely become depressed if left to your own devices. He took you to town only once to find some new clothes, and gave you a very displeased look when you tried to insist on the thrift shop rather than the department store he pulled the truck up to.

“No wife of mine is walking around in a stranger’s hand-me-downs”

With that, he’d helped you inside and gotten you an array of loose pants and comfortable tops to spend your recovery in.

He was certainly committed to his promise of taking care of you.

He didn’t talk much, and you still found that a little unsettling, but his lack of words was matched by his aptitude for actions, making sure you didn’t so much as lift a finger unless you adamantly wanted to.

You hadn’t told your parents about the arrangement, and had been worrying just how you were going to go about keeping the situation on the down low. They’d call eventually, and you had to think of something to keep them from going into a panic.

You watched Simon from the corner of your eye as he started the truck, having helped you into your seat and gotten you buckled moments ago.

You weren’t sure if he was anxious about your check up, or if he was simply displeased at the thought of having you back on base. He seemed to dislike the idea very much if his hesitancy to bring you back to Dr. Radcliffe was anything to go by, but the doctor had insisted on it as he was the one to handle your knee surgery to begin with.

“Simon?” You called as the gravel road disappeared and gave way to paved asphalt. “Do you think Ghost will be available today? I never got to thank him for everything,” you said softly.

Simon tensed, and you couldn’t help but frown a little. “I’ll ask him,” he assured you, taking your hand in his and giving it a light squeeze.

A smile lit up your face, the first one he’d seen since the ordeal at the warehouse, and his heart aches for it. “Thank you, Simon.”

He nodded in response, but his stomach was in knots. He didn’t deserve your thanks. Not as Ghost, and not as Simon. Maybe someday, when you had forgotten all about what had happened to you, and lived a carefree life. Maybe then he could deserve it.

~

“I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely pleased with the results so far,” Dr. Radcliffe said as he looked over your x-rays.

“What does that mean?” Simon asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is it bad?” You asked as you sat on the paper covered table.

“It means unless we get you set up with a physical therapist you’ll be on those crutches for the rest of your life.” The doctor explained.

Your eyes widened, and you were about to exclaim that you couldn’t possibly afford that when Simon cut in.

“What are her chances with the physical therapy?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Slim, but better. Might have a limp, but definitely more mobility.” Radcliffe assured him.

“I can’t afford Physical Therapy,” you cut in, and the two men glanced down at you.

“Yes, we can,” Simon said gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. You simply gaped at him in astonishment. PT was expensive, especially for such an involved injury. You couldn’t expect him to pay for that, but the warning glance he sent your way said that the two of you would not be discussing it now.

“I’ll send out a recommendation for the practitioner closest to you.” Radcliffe said. “However I’d still like to see you back here a month from now.” You nodded, and Simon ‘tisked’ in response.

Thanks, doc,” you said, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

~

Simon left you to your lunch in the mess hall with the excuse that he had some paperwork to do, and you didn’t question him once he set a burger in front of you. He was quickly finding that a good meal was all he needed to keep you in a good mood.

He felt ridiculous, slipping into his office and shucking off his civilian clothes in exchange for his uniform and mask, before turning around and thundering back to the mess hall.

He didn’t plan on this double-life mess, but he was going to put an end to it. His eyes landed on your little form happily munching away on your lunch, and he let out a deep sigh, clearing his throat as he approached you.

“Ghost?” You looked up in surprise, wiping the condiments off the corner of your mouth on a napkin. He always saw you use your shirt sleeve, and he felt a swell of pride that you liked the little green sweater he’d gotten you enough to preserve its newness.

“Simon said you wanted to see me?” He asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded vigorously. “I wanted to thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise-“

“This is what you called me down here for?” He asked, and your face fell. He felt the absence of your smile as an ache in his chest.

“I…I just thought…you’d want to know that I’m safe,” you said.

Simon felt his heart swell at the words. It was a relief to hear you say it, and it made what he was about to do even harder.

“One less thing to worry about then,” he stated grumpily, turning on his heel with a roll of his eyes and leaving you to gape at his back.

~

He felt like a kid in a play, switching costumes depending on his role in the moment. Price raised a brow when Simon passed his door four separate times in two different outfits.

He could have sworn he heard Johnny mutter “you don’t want to know.” To his captain. They were going to give him hell for this.

He was nearing the mess hall when his phone chimed the very specific sound he’d set for you, and was quick to open his messages.

I want to go home.

He wasn’t sure if he should be glad you viewed the cabin as home, or worried about the damage control he was going to have to do.

He entered the mess hall, preparing himself for whatever state of disarray you’d be in, only you weren’t there. His head whipped around the room, looking for any sight of you, but you had seemingly vanished.

Shit.

Where are you?

He rushed out of the mess hall, looking for any sign of your presence. He didn’t see your crutches, so he could only assume you’d left on your own.

I’m in the truck.

He let out a breath of relief, pulling the keys from his pocket. He probably would have put the whole base on lockdown if you hadn’t replied.

He made quick strides to the parking lot, opening the door to the driver's seat and hauling himself in as quickly as possible.

“Everything alright?” He knew it wasn’t, but it felt polite to ask anyway.

“M’ fine,” you mumbled, leaning your head against the door.

Simon bit his lip as he watched you wilt. You looked as if the life had been sapped out of you. Maybe he’d been too harsh.

“Y/n?” He called, placing a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t acknowledge it and he sighed. “Let’s go home,” he mumbled.

You were silent the entire drive back, and Simon was genuinely starting to question if he’d broken you. You had just gotten some rather bleak news.

“We could stop at that bakery in town,” he offered, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

“I’m not really in the mood.”

Simon pursed his lips, his brow ticking slightly. He was trying to make things better, why were you fighting against him? Ghost was supposed to be the villain here, not him.

Your mood only seemed to worsen as the day went on, and Simon couldn’t wrap his head around it. At least until you snapped.

“Can I please just do one thing for myself!”

He’d just wanted to take up your dinner, shooing you out of the kitchen so he could do so when you decided you’d had enough.

“You do everything for me. I’m not a child, I’m a grown woman! For fuck’s sake it’s like I’m a prisoner or something!”

Your tirade was followed by a pathetic hobble down the hallway and slam of the bathroom door. He was fairly certain he heard muffled sobs before the tub faucet was turned on to drown them out.

Simon crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter with a frown. You weren’t just upset about Ghost, he realized. You were upset about your leg, about the feeling of losing your autonomy, and his dismissal of you in the mess hall had been the proverbial cherry on top.

You had said you felt safe, but what you really felt was stifled.

He let out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair. It seemed while keeping you in bubble wrap suited him just fine, it was slowly eating away at you.

This wasn’t what he had wanted for you. He’d wanted you to be able to do things that made you happy, not be stuck doing nothing at all.

You may have been small, and fragile compared to Ghost, but you had still been a soldier, and it was something you took pride in. He hadn’t meant for you to lose purpose, but if you were really going to be happy here, he needed to help you find a new one.

~

You felt terrible. You shouldn’t have snapped at Simon. You should have just calmly explained that you needed him to give you some space, but after Ghost had reminded you just how useless, how much of a burden he saw you as, it had triggered the rage that had been building in you for a while now.

None of this was fair. You had done your job well, despite being at a higher risk, you’d put the well being of your teammates above yourself to the very end, and your mind was still just as sharp.

Despite all this, it seemed both Ghost and Simon thought you were useless. The difference was Simon didn’t seem to tack worthless onto the list of things you were as well.

You didn’t feel right sleeping in his bed that night, or taking advantage of any of the kindnesses he’d given you for that matter. You were tempted to go sleep outside but it was freezing. Instead you curled up under a blanket with one of Simon’s chess books and read until you fell asleep.

At some point you heard him get up and put on a kettle for tea, before venturing out through the back door. You pretended to still be asleep if only to avoid the impending confrontation.

You eventually heard the telltale sound of a saw in his work shed, and supposed the coast was clear to make a cup of tea.

You went back to reading your book, not sure what else to do, until Simon’s footsteps sounded on the back porch, followed by the door opening. You tried not to stiffen when he stopped right in front of you. Maybe he’d been out there making the coffin he was going to bury you in for being an ungrateful little-

“Could use a hand if you’re not busy.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “With what?” You asked skeptically.

He held out a hand to you, a gentle smile spreading on his face. “You’ll see.”

He walked slowly, acting as a crutch so you wouldn’t need to get them out of the kitchen. He led you to a portion of the yard that had been sectioned off with wooden planks. There was a chair seated beside it, along with a small shovel and a rake.

“What’s this?” You asked as he helped lower you into your seat.

“Garden box. Gonna start growing stuff,” he explained. “Fresh tea is good for you, especially in the colder months.”

He pulled a pair of gloves on and handed you a slightly smaller pair, along with the handheld shovel. “You can start pullin’ dirt out of those bags and droppin’ it in here,” ge explained.

“Wouldn’t this go faster if you just dumped these in yourself?” You asked as he picked up the rake.

Simon shook his head. “You could use some fresh air, and you might as well accomplish somethin’ instead of sittin’ like a bump on a log.”

You could tell he was excited about his little task by the way his accent got thicker, and you had to admit it was a little cute.

“Fair enough,” you murmured, shoveling dirt into the box for him to spread out with the rake. It was a little mindless, but the sound of the birds was nice, and the sun slowly rising in the sky casted a warm glow on your face.

Once you’d emptied two bags of dirt Simon went inside to grab you both a bottle of water before planting the seeds. He handed you the bottle, and a little packet of electrolyte mix, but he didn’t mix it for you, and instead went about opening the little seed packets after having downed his own water.

You had to admit that Simon was quite the sight in that tight gray shirt with a shovel in his hands. You bet he looked even better with a rifle.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” you murmured as he passed you a small packet of seeds. Simon paused, looking up at you in surprise, before nodding at you.

“I…I’m sorry that I wasn’t paying attention before,” he began, taking a step towards you and cupping your cheek with his large hand. “I see you now,” he murmured softly, bending down to place a kiss on your forehead.

You let out a sigh of relief, leaning against him as your arms wrapped around his middle. “Thank you, Simon,” you whispered as he returned your embrace.

AN: wow this ended up being long~ Lots of drama to come!!!

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[noosphe-re]

The tension of the future is unbearable in us. It must break through narrow cracks, it must force new ways. You want to cast off the burden, you want to escape the inescapable. Running away is deception and detour. Shut your eyes so that you do not see the manifold, the outwardly plural, the tearing away and the tempting. There is only one way and that is your way; there is only one salvation and that is your salvation. Why are you looking around for help? Do you believe that help will come from outside? What is to come is created in you and from you. Hence look into yourself. Do not compare, do not measure. No other way is like yours. All other ways deceive and tempt you. You must fulfill the way that is in you.

C.G. Jung, The Red Book: Liber Novus, edited and introduced by Sonu Shamdasani

[pxeachfuzz]

DESIRE / LIVE / EAT 2024

i wrote something to go along with this under the cut but you can also read it here

“UNDERSTANDING A DEMON’S NATURE

I. TEMPTATION + TRICKERY

Demons prepare their food for as long as they see fit. In order to wring an unsuspecting victim out like a wet towel, it must make one world a miserable reality. It creates this world stripped of misery, another world, as if there can be any other. In a victim’s desperation, that becomes an illusion of choice, or a trap. What one must understand when face-to-face with a demon’s lure, is that to the beast, the victim is an ant in a farm or a fish on a hook.

Having had so many meals, they are well acquainted with what humans need and want. Demons take that knowledge to their advantage quite swiftly. They plant seeds of ideas into their victim’s heads, which grow into the real world. However, the desire that first drew the demon forward can never be fulfilled. Demons know better than to eat their prey at first sight. They could end it all, but that wouldn’t be a filling meal. Food like desire should be thoroughly marinated and grilled, or fermented into fine wines and savored.

II. GAMES

As much as a demon can tempt and lure, it is reminded the fun ends when its stomach cannot growl any louder. These creatures have a certain proclivity to games, or more specifically a sickening ecstasy when it comes to the idea of achieving victory. A very powerful demon, fattened with many egos and vices, may choose to gamble with the source of its own power. These beasts are greedy by nature, and simply cannot help themselves. In order to understand this, one must understand that demons know human nature, not demon nature. They have studied it since the beginning of humankind, but as humankind knows, it is a much more difficult task to study the self.

Typically, in a demon’s own thick blanket of trickery and deception, it has also deceived itself into a hubristic state. While demons have the powers to create and destroy like gods, it is a farce. Really, they are any other hungry animal, albeit a very intelligent one. What it has lied to itself about is the fact that it was never at the top of the food chain, nor nature itself. Even with gods, there is always something much older and much stronger: the forces that drive all living beings to eat.”