#v. main ;; you refused to burn

[hvnterscorned]

@loyaltylanced whispered: Can you also feel this fire burning?

There’s a certain level of discomfort that she felt at that moment. She can feel the fire burning, his grace surging through every fiber of her body. There’s part of her that knows she can handle it, she’s handled pain before.. but this was different- it was like her blood was boiling.

“That’s you, isn’t it..?” The brunette asks, her fingers curling as part of her tries to fight for control. She thought she could handle it, but this… this scares her. This level of trust-

“It hurts…”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Geico STD story is the new McDonald's Hot Coffee story

Here’s a media literacy rule of thumb: any time you hear about how the courts have done something outrageous and absurd to some poor, long-suffering, gigantic, wildly profitable corporation…dig deeper. The canonical example is the “McDonald’s Hot Coffee Lawsuit” (aka Liebeck v. McDonald’s Restaurants). You know, that time that an old lady got burned by her McDonald’s coffee and then sued for for $2.7 million?! Most people heard that story — and they heard it for a reason.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liebeck_v._McDonald%27s_Restaurants

The Hot Coffee story was propaganda — specifically, it was propaganda for the idea that corporations should be shielded from legal liability when they maim or even kill the public through gross negligence. The real Hot Coffee story is a lot more complicated than the “lady gets millions because her coffee was too hot” tale that circulated widely.

One of the best explorations of the Hot Coffee story is Adam Conover’s excellent “Adam Ruins The Hot Coffee Story” video from 2016. In that episode, Conover explains what really happened.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9DXSCpcz9E

The coffee that burned Stella Liebeck in New Mexico in 1994 was served at 190°F. It caused third-degree burns that permanently disfigured Liebeck, required multiple skin grafts, and disabled her for two years. The surgery was so drastic that Liebeck lost 20% of her body-weight while she was recovering.

McDonald’s had a history of serving coffee that was dangerously hot. It had received 700 complaints about the matter, and had had to settle numerous claims from people who were horribly burned by its coffee. However, it declined to settle with Liebeck, who initially sought $20k to cover her medical expenses.

Denied a settlement, Liebeck sued. The jury did award $2.7m, but the judge clawed it back to $640k. Liebeck likely didn’t get that amount — she and McDonald’s reached a confidential settlement under threat of McDonald’s appealing.

So, the real story isn’t: “Old lady spills coffee and gets millions.”

It’s “McDonald’s ignores hundreds of dangerous incidents for years, then maims a customer for life and refuses to pay her medical bills or change its practices to avoid future incidents. A judge says she’s due a fraction of the jury award, but she doesn’t get it because McDonald’s uses its massive litigation war-chest to force her into a confidential settlement.”

So why did you hear so much about this story? And why was the moral of the story inevitably about how bloodsucking lawyers are victimizing poor l’il multinational corporations like Mickey Dees?

It was propaganda. The “bloodsucking lawyers preying on innocent corporations” story is a creation of the business lobby, which has, for decades, argued that it should be immune to legal consequences when it harms or kills the public. The cause of “tort reform” is, in actuality, a corporate charter of impunity.

It worked. Over the past four decades, corporations have steadily whittled away the public’s right to civil justice, no matter how egregiously a corporation behaves. The main mechanism for this was the expansion of binding arbitration, a 1920s-era law that initially allowed big companies to agree to have their contractual disputes worked out by a mediator, rather than going to court.

Since the 1980s, a series of Supreme Court decisions have steadily expanded binding arbitration, allowing corporations to add “arbitration waivers” to their terms of service, employment contracts and other non-negotiated boilerplates. Today, the mere act of removing some shrinkwrap or clicking a link can result in the permanent loss of your right to sue, no matter how badly a company treats you.

Instead, your grievances will be heard by a corporate arbitrator, a pretend judge who is paid by the company that wronged you. Your case must be heard in isolation, and not part of a class action. The proceedings are secret, and even if you win, you don’t set a precedent for others who are similarly wronged. It’s “a justice system just for corporations.”

http://www.onthecommons.org/magazine/we-now-have-a-justice-system-just-for-corporations

American corporations pushed the expansion of binding arbitration waivers as a get-out-of-court-free card, and for many years, it worked. Remember when Wells Fargo forged millions of its customers’ signatures to fraudulently open high-fee accounts in their names? The company argued that because the forged agreements included arbitration waivers, those customers couldn’t sue over the fraud:

https://www.thenation.com/article/the-ceo-of-wells-fargo-might-be-in-big-big-trouble/

Everybody got in on the act. If you’re a Pokemon Go player, you’re stuck in binding arbitration:

https://consumerist.com/2016/07/14/pokemon-go-strips-users-of-their-legal-rights-heres-how-to-opt-out/

Same with Airbnb customers:

https://www.airbnb.com/help/article/2908/terms-of-service

Unsurprisingly, Trump loved binding arbitration. One of his first acts as president was to strip nursing home residents of the right to sue, which was great news for the nursing homes that murdered patients by abandoning them to covid:

https://www.consumerreports.org/consumerist/trump-administration-will-allow-nursing-homes-to-strip-residents-of-legal-rights/

(Older voters love the GOP, but it sure as hell doesn’t love them back.)

Forced arbitration wasn’t just a matter of civil justice — it was also a matter of economics. As Lina Khan and Deepak Gupta showed in their 2016 American Constitution Society paper “Arbitration As Wealth Transfer,” “Forced arbitration clauses are a form of wealth transfer to the rich”:

https://www.acslaw.org/issue_brief/briefs-landing/arbitration-as-wealth-transfer/

But the business leaders who bankrolled the forced arbitration epidemic were — characteristically — overconfident. It turns out that arbitration has weaknesses. It’s possible to do mass arbitration — to automate filing arbitration claims by thousands of corporate victims, which triggers hundreds of millions of dollars in arbitration fees, which the company is on the hook for, win or lose.

Uber was one of the first companies to discover this, when thousands of drivers brought arbitration claims at once. Not only would Uber have to pay for arbitrators in each case, but because arbitration decisions do not constitute precedents, it would have to argue each case, over and over again, even if it won. The company surrendered and paid drivers $146m:

https://www.reuters.com/legal/government/uber-sues-aaa-block-100-million-fees-politically-motivated-arbitration-2021-09-20/

This spooked Amazon, which amended its terms of service for Alexa to remove binding arbitration:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/02/arbitrary-arbitration/#petard

Law-tech firms like Fairshake created automation systems to enable mass arbitration filings at scale and on a budget:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/11/socialized-losses/#justice-restored

Something wonderful and wild started to happen. The companies that had argued for decades that binding arbitration was, well, binding, began to argue that arbitration waivers were unconstitutional, despite the precedents that they, themselves had bankrolled, at enormous expense.

The poster child of arbitration buyer’s remorse is Intuit, a company that has stolen hundreds of millions of dollars in tax-prep fees from the poorest Americans by tricking them into fake “Free File” products using dark patterns on its website.

Intuit is now facing arbitration at scale — more than 100,000 claims — and a court has ordered them to hire arbitrators to hear each and every one of them. After all it was Intuit — not its customers — who put the arbitration clauses in its terms of service, claiming that court cases were a bad way to resolve their disputes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/11/socialized-losses/#justice-restored

Which brings me back to McDonald’s, hot coffee, and juicy stories about giant corporations being abused by the courts.

Have you heard about the Geico STD judgment? A woman caught an STD from her then-boyfriend when they had sex in his car. She won a judgment against him for $5.2m. Geico insures his car. A court has ordered Geico to pay that judgment.

https://www.yahoo.com/news/jackson-county-woman-says-she-222907031.html

But it’s more complicated than that!

It’s not a court that ordered Geico to pay the judgment — it’s an arbitrator. Geico is one of the companies that forces its customers into arbitration. Why would an insurance company want arbitrators to hear cases about its refusal to pay claims, rather than judges?

I mean, duh. Insurance companies have a long, dishonorable tradition of taking your premiums every month, then stranding you when you actually experience an “insured event,” arguing that the obscure, obfuscating language in their contract doesn’t cover your losses.

The real Geico STD story is this: Geico demanded that the case be heard by its arbitrator, who ruled against Geico, because Geico’s insurance terms did cover this event. Now, Geico is claiming that the arbitration it insisted upon “violates the company’s due process rights” and that its own arbitration agreement is unenforceable.

The case that’s being reported on isn’t about the $5.2m award for the STD. That happened way back in 2021. The case that’s in the news this week is a court telling Geico that when it forces its customers into arbitration, it has to abide by the arbitrator’s decision, even in those rare instances in which the arbitrator finds against the company who pays their fees.

But you wouldn’t know it from the coverage. All this stuff about arbitration is buried way down in the story. The headline is: $5.2m judgment for a venereal disease!

This is McDonald’s Hot Coffee 2.0. Someone pitched this story, and the pitch emphasized the poor, downtrodden corporation (Geico is owned by Warren Buffet and has $32b in assets) — not the fact that Geico is reaping what it sowed. The real story here is: “Corporation seeks to replace civil justice system with a kangaroo court, and gets kicked by its own kangaroo.”

Incidentally, if you miss Adam Conover’s “Adam Ruins Everything” and you have a Netflix password, check out “The G-Word,” his incredible new show about regulatory competence and the deadly threats it holds at bay:

https://www.netflix.com/title/81037116

[Image ID: The Adam Ruins Everything title card for 'The Hot Coffee Case.' It is a split panel with Adam Conover on the left at a judge's bench, banging a gavel, and a confused Hamburgler on the right, in the witness box. They are separated by the center of the 'M' in the McDonald's 'Golden Arches' logo. Superimposed over this separator is the Geico lizard.]

[edenesth]

Scarlet Requiem

Pairing: emperor!Baekhyun x empress!reader

AU: historical au (Goryeo era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: In his reign, Baekhyun strived to be a virtuous emperor, all for the sake of his kind-hearted empress, steadfastly resisting the temptations of power that had corrupted those before him. He held onto the belief that this was the key to securing her eternal presence by his side. Yet, he learned, to his heartbreak, that this very resolve would lead to the cruellest loss of all.

Genre: heavy angst

Trigger Warnings: major character death, violence, gore, lots of blood

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Capture that demon before she flees!"

Her hands trembled as she gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. Once healthy skin now bore a sickly pallor, brown eyes turned crimson, tears staining her cheeks red. Even her jet-black hair had transformed to snowy white. Confusion and fear gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the inexplicable transformation.

As guards roughly seized her arms, she pleaded, "No, please! I've done nothing wrong! I don't understand any of this!"

"Of course, you'd deny it, Your Imperial Majesty," sneered the Minister of Rites, one of many who had urged her husband, the emperor, to accept their daughters as concubines. "Little did you know, those potions you received from the royal healer for the past month were meant to reveal your true nature by shedding your human guise."

Horror pierced her heart as realisation dawned. The tonics meant to maintain her health had been a ruse. She had been poisoned, it explained the sudden and alarming changes in her body and health.

"You," she whispered, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her. "It was all you."

She was not naive; she understood the ministers' discontent with her influence over Baekhyun throughout his reign. Their persistent attempts to sway him, offering their daughters as concubines to bolster their own power and threaten her position, had not escaped her notice. Their frustration must have reached its zenith when her husband adamantly refused their advances, steadfast in his commitment to her as his one and only empress.

"Hm? I'm not sure I understand what you're implying," the man smirked, his deceptive tone belying his words. "We've long suspected there was more to you, Your Imperial Majesty. It appears you're indeed a demon, effortlessly manipulating the emperor. Surely a man of his stature would desire more than one woman by his side?"

Struggling against the guards' grasp, she retorted weakly, "You vile cowards. You'll rue the day my husband learns of this..."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing their sinister plot. They had bided their time, seizing the perfect opportunity amidst the chaos of war. With Baekhyun, the virtuous emperor she had wished him to be, leading the army, they saw their chance to poison her, framing her as a demon to eradicate her while he was away.

"Or perhaps we'll witness the rise of the ambitious emperor we've long awaited. He will finally be able to reach his full potential without you here obstructing his path," he sneered, gesturing towards the approaching healer with another bowl of poison. "Just comply and drink your tonic, Your Imperial Majesty. Your suffering will soon end, and our nation will thrive under the rule of a new emperor, liberated from your naive ideals."

As the sinister men tightened their grip, she sobbed in agony, the relentless headache from the past month resurfacing with a vengeance. Each touch felt like a dagger through her skull, each word a cruel reminder of her plight.

With an apologetic bow of his head, the healer cupped her jaw, his hands trembling as he forced the bowl of poison towards her lips. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. "This will be the last one, I promise."

She gagged as the bitter liquid slid down her throat, burning with each swallow. Crimson tears streamed down her white face as she choked on the vile concoction, feeling her strength wane with each passing moment. In that desperate moment, all she could do was pray for salvation from the nightmare consuming her.

As the healer finally released his hold, she felt despair engulf her. The bitter poison settled within her damaged insides, coursing through her veins like a silent killer, slowly consuming her from within.

"It is done, my lord. The empress will not survive through the night," the healer declared, his voice carrying a finality that chilled her to the bone.

The minister's grin widened with satisfaction. "Excellent. Arrange for someone to confirm her death by dawn. Let her enjoy her final moments in the comforts of her own chambers. His Imperial Majesty will surely be grateful we've rid him of his treacherous demon of a wife upon his return from war."

Laying limply in the centre of her grand chambers, the very space she had once despised before ascending to empress, memories flooded her mind. She recalled the scepticism that clouded her heart when she first found herself falling for the crown prince of the nation. After all, history had taught her that no happy endings awaited the women who loved emperors. But Baekhyun was different—he was loving, caring, and considerate, going to great lengths to prove his devotion to her.

He swore never to take concubines, to resist the allure of power, and to remain hers, and hers alone. Despite the admiration of the entire nation, he remained committed to prioritising her above all else, even if it meant drawing the ire of his ministers and officials. Their accusations of his partiality towards his empress over his nation only served to strengthen his resolve, his unwavering loyalty to her.

But now, as she lay weakened by poison, she realised the tragic irony of his goodness. It was his very commitment to righteousness that led him to the battlefield, refusing to let his men fight in his stead. And it was this decision that ultimately sealed their fate, leaving her to face the consequences of his noble intentions.

As the darkness closed in around her, she couldn't help but wonder how Baekhyun would react upon returning to find her lifeless form in this state. Would he succumb to the poisonous words of his ministers, believing their accusations that she had been a demon all along? Would he entertain the notion that she had bewitched him, clouding his judgement and leading him astray?

Or would he remain firm in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that this was nothing more than a cruel ploy to rid him of her for good? In the depths of her fading consciousness, she desperately clung to the hope that he would see through the lies, that his love for her would prevail over doubt.

On the brink of death, she yearned to trust in his endless devotion to her, to believe that he would never doubt the love they shared. It was a fragile hope, but in that moment, it was all she had to cling to as she slipped further into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable arrival of dawn and the fate it would eventually bring.

"Forgive me for not being strong enough, Baek," she whispered into the stillness of the chamber, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "Please don't blame yourself for any of this."

As the darkness threatened to swallow her entirely, she couldn't help but reflect on the warnings of history, the cautionary tales of women who loved emperors, only to meet tragic ends. Once again, it seemed, she had fallen victim to the same fate.

Her vision blurred with crimson tears as memories flooded her mind—moments shared with Baekhyun before he departed for battle, blissfully unaware that they would be their last. Each memory stung with bittersweet intensity, a painful reminder of what could have been, had fate been kinder.

As her life ebbed away, flashes of cherished moments with him flickered through her mind like scattered stars in the night sky.

Wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, doubts clouded her mind one morning, questioning her husband's resolve to remain faithful amidst the pressures of his position.

"Would you truly refuse to take any concubines, Baek?" she inquired, her voice laced with uncertainty. "You're aware that the ministers and officials desire it, and perhaps even the citizens of our nation. For all we know, the people might have grown weary of this same dull empress who has yet to bear you an heir."

He drew her close, pulling the silk sheets higher to shield her bare form from the chill seeping through the open windows. Pressing a tender kiss upon her head, he smiled reassuringly. "Never, my love. I do not care for their political machinations. I won't forsake my vow to you. You will remain my only wife, that is final. I did not ask to be emperor, the role was thrust upon me. Now that I am here, they should at least be grateful I am fulfilling my general duties."

She chuckled, nestling into the crook of his neck as he added, "Besides, if the ministers and officials are so displeased, they could just dismiss me. That would be even better; we could live in a quiet little village, just as we've always dreamed."

In another memory, standing before her reflection, plagued by insecurities instilled by the scheming ministers, his unwavering admiration melted her fears away.

"You look beautiful, my empress. You always do," he reassured, approaching from behind to envelop her in his arms.

"Not as beautiful as those young maidens, I fear. I am old," she confessed, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness after witnessing the ministers' attempts to seduce the emperor with their daughters.

Baekhyun gently turned her to face him. "If you're old, then I must be ancient," he teased. "I believe it's only fitting that I am with someone my age, and that's you, my empress. I have no interest in marrying children or anyone else for that matter; I am a taken man. Don't you dare compare yourself to anyone else again, you hear me? You're the most beautiful woman in my eyes, and that's all that matters."

In the final embrace before he departed for war, hearts heavy with the uncertainty of his return, they clung to each other.

"I will be back before you know it, my love. You'll wait for me, won't you?" her husband murmured against her neck, his arms tightening around her.

"Where else would I go, you idiot? Of course, I'll be waiting right here," she retorted, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

Amidst tears and laughter, he leaned in to kiss her deeply, pressing his lips against her soft ones over and over again to imprint the sensation into memory.

"I love you, my empress," Baekhyun whispered against her lips before pulling away, his eyes full of love and determination.

In the quiet of her chamber, she found solace in the fleeting recollections, clinging to them as the darkness threatened to consume her entirely. And as the crimson tears clouded her eyes once more, she resigned herself to the inevitable, silently bidding farewell to the life she once knew.

"I love you too, my emperor."

"I will not ask again, where is she?!" the emperor's voice thundered through the throne room as he stormed back into the palace, abandoning the battle upon learning the shocking revelation. According to the Minister of Rites in his letter, the empress had been discovered to be a demon all along, concealing her true nature under human skin to manipulate him and bend him to her will.

The eunuch panicked and fell to his knees. "Th-the empress is confined to her grand chambers, Your Imperial Majesty!"

Without uttering another word, Baekhyun stormed over immediately, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as fury overtook his being. Betrayal flooded his veins; he was seething with anger.

"You will regret lying to me," he growled under his breath, his vision zeroing in on the path towards her chambers, the place he frequented more than his own. "You will regret deceiving me."

Upon reaching the entrance of her chambers, he turned to the eunuch. "Gather all the ministers and officials who played a part in discovering the empress as what they claimed her to be in the throne room. I wish to speak with them soon."

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," the eunuch hurriedly replied before darting off to carry out his orders. Baekhyun steadied his breaths, his hand resting on the door as he prepared to face her once more. Under his breath, he vowed, "I swear, you will all regret it. How dare you accuse my wife of being what you are—demons."

I'm here now, my love.

Stepping into the familiar room, the emperor's heart raced with anxiety as he mulled over a perfect apology. He needed to express his deep remorse for not being there when she needed him the most, for failing to shield her from the treachery of those vultures. Reflecting on his actions, he realised he should have never left her behind. In his rush to leave for war, he had neglected to arrange proper protection for her. In hindsight, he understood that he should have never left her side in the first place.

Determined to make amends, he vowed to do better. He resolved to never again allow those ministers or officials the opportunity to torment her in his absence again. From now on, he would be her shield, her staunch protector, and her unending support.

But it might be too late for any of that.

His steps faltered, his breath caught in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he beheld the sight before his eyes. The sword in his hands slipped, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he sank to his knees in disbelief at the last thing he expected to see.

His shock deepened as he took in his wife's unrecognisable appearance. Crawling towards her limp form on the ground, he pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with anguish. The horror settled within him like a heavy weight as he tried to imagine what atrocities these monsters had dared inflict upon her while he was gone. His mind raced with images of torture and torment, each one more gruesome than the last.

"Oh god, what have they done to you?" he whispered, his heart fracturing into a million shards as he struggled to comprehend her pale skin, her white hair, and the blood-like tears staining her cheeks. With shaking hands, he gently cupped her cold cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face as if seeking reassurance that she was still there, still his beloved wife.

"Please wake up, my love. This isn't funny, stop scaring me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You promised to wait for me. You promised..." His words trailed off into a broken sob as he refused to accept anything but the truth, shaking his head in denial even as he searched desperately for a pulse, even when she remained unresponsive.

"No, no, no... this can't be real. It can't be," he murmured, his mind reeling with the unimaginable horror of what he had found.

Despair and regret enveloped him as he sobbed painfully, holding her lifeless body tightly against his chest. The realisation that she was truly gone, that her final moments were spent alone in the very room she despised just to be with him, weighed heavily on his heart. He grappled with the bitter truth that he had failed her, just as she had feared when she hesitated to be with him.

Gradually, his sorrow gave way to seething rage as he recalled the faces of the ministers and officials responsible for this atrocity. They had callously taken her life, foolishly believing he would be deceived by their feeble attempt to frame her. With trembling hands, he picked up a shard of the shattered bowl nearby and brought it to his nose, recognising the metallic scent of mercury.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

They had poisoned her with lethal doses of mercury, causing a myriad of symptoms—tremors, headaches, muscle weakness, kidney damage, and breathing difficulties. And the deliberate administration of such high doses to turn her hair white revealed their sinister intent from the outset.

Just how much had they fed her? It was evident they had intended to kill her from the start. Anguish and fury surged within him as he vowed to make them pay.

Gently caressing her cold cheek, he leaned in to kiss her unmoving lips, his own trembling against hers. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired. Perhaps if she hadn't been with him, she would have lived a better life—a normal life with a normal man. She wouldn't have to endure such a painful and cruel death.

It was all because of him.

Regret hung heavy in his heart, but dwelling on what could have been served no purpose.

"I'm so sorry, my wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Just hold on a bit longer, alright? I'll join you soon, but first, I'll make those bastards pay. Wait for me—I won't let you face this alone. Not again."

With resolve hardening in his heart, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it once more before lifting her lifeless form into his arms. Like a man burdened by death itself, he trudged towards the throne room where justice awaited. Kicking the doors open with a forceful thrust of his leg, he was met with a sea of horrified expressions from the ministers and officials. Clearly, they hadn't anticipated the emperor's dramatic entrance, cradling his beloved empress in his arms.

Ignoring their shocked gazes, he strode past them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the far end of the room. With careful tenderness, he laid his wife down upon the ornate seat, arranging her robes and ensuring her comfort as though she were merely sleeping. Pressing a solemn kiss upon her cold forehead, he turned to face the assembled council, their unease palpable in the air.

The guilty culprits remained frozen in their places, uncertain of what awaited them.

As the emperor's gaze swept over them, the ministers and officials for the first time felt a cold shiver of fear trickle down their spines. His expression was unreadable, his appearance wild and dishevelled compared to his usual polished demeanour. Specks of blood and dirt stained his robes and skin, his hair a tangled mess, half tied up in a disarray that mirrored the chaos within him.

Gone was the warm smile that often graced his features; instead, a slow, unsettling grin crept across his face.

"My dearest ministers and officials," he began, his voice low and laced with an eerie calmness. "Your message has been received loud and clear. I hope you're satisfied now that you've succeeded in eradicating the empress, as you so desperately desired. I've given it some thought, and perhaps... you were all right."

The Minister of Rites, attempting to feign nonchalance, cleared his throat. "A-about what, Your Imperial Majesty?" he stammered.

Baekhyun's eyes gleamed with a frightening intensity as he smirked, his demeanour bordering on madness. "About what this nation truly needs," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling edge.

"Not a good emperor, but a mad one."

Without giving the men before him time to register his words, all Baekhyun saw was red. In a split second, he unsheathed his sword and transformed into a bloodthirsty animal, cutting down anyone and everyone in his path. The Minister of Rites tried to flee but to no avail. He watched in complete horror as his colleagues dropped dead one by one, their blood splattering over the grand walls of the throne room, their screams echoing.

The emperor went on a rampage, leaving no man behind. The Minister of Rites, who had been behind the idea of poisoning the empress, smearing her name by labelling her a demon, and executing her, was now filled with regret. They had turned him into the mad king his empress had feared. Perhaps they had finally achieved their goal, but it wasn't what they were prepared for.

The minister collapsed to his knees before the emperor, realising that His Imperial Majesty had saved him for last. Trembling, he rubbed his hands together in a desperate plea. "P-please, everything I've done, it's for the betterment of our nation."

Baekhyun's humourless laughter echoed through the hall, sending shivers down the minister's spine. "You truly believe that, don't you? Of course, that includes subjecting my wife to all that torment. Yes, because that is exactly what the nation needs. Unfortunately for you, I am the emperor, and I determine what's best for the nation. And in this case, I think it's better off without traitors like you. See you on the other side," were the last words the minister heard before his head was severed from his neck, rolling off to join the others on the floor.

The emperor finally turned back, his eyes softening as they landed on his beloved's lifeless body. Making his way back towards her, he knelt down beside her, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her hand. Holding it to his cheek, he missed the warmth it once had.

"I'm coming now, my love," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'll be there with you soon."

"Yes, I understand His Imperial Majesty's orders not to enter, but it's been hours. Surely, any assembly would have concluded by now, wouldn't it?" With apprehension and curiosity, a senior court lady pushed open the doors to the once-bustling throne room, expecting to find His Imperial Majesty and his council of ministers. Instead, she was met with a horrifying sight—a scene of bloodshed and chaos spread across the grand hall.

Her piercing scream echoed through the silent room, jolting nearby palace staff into action. Rushing to the scene, they were met with a scene that chilled them to the bone. At the end of the room, amidst a sea of lifeless bodies, lay the empress on the throne, her appearance shocking all who beheld it. Beside her, her husband remained, his head cradled on her chest, their hands tightly clasped together. A gaping stab wound marred his chest—it seemed he had taken his own life before joining her in death.

Following that, the next prince in line promptly ascended the throne and found himself compelled to appoint an entirely new cabinet of ministers and officials. The entire nation descended into chaos, particularly since it was still embroiled in a war, with endless theories circulating about the events. While some speculated that the emperor succumbed to madness and killed his own council, others whispered of a conspiracy, suggesting that the ministers had orchestrated the demise of both the empress and the emperor.

Amidst this uncertainty, the new prince faced the daunting challenge of restoring order to the kingdom. With a heavy heart, he pledged to uncover the truth behind the tragic occurrences and ensure that justice was served to those responsible.

In the end, the truth of what truly occurred remained shrouded in mystery. All those involved had departed from the realm of the living. As centuries passed, that chapter in history became known as the Scarlet Requiem, a haunting tale that lingered in the collective memory of the kingdom. Despite countless efforts to unravel the enigma, the events surrounding the tragedy remained obscured by the sands of time, leaving future generations to ponder and speculate about the dark secrets of the past.

"What do you think really happened?" a woman asked her boyfriend as they studied a painting depicting the throne room scene in a museum dedicated to the events of the Scarlet Requiem.

He pondered for a moment before responding with a shrug. "It's hard to say. But judging by the way he's holding onto her, it seems he must have truly loved her. Let's hope they've found peace and happiness, whether in the afterlife or their next life."

She nodded in agreement, leaning into his comforting embrace. "Yeah, I hope so too."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, if I were him, I wouldn't have left her for war in the first place."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smack, though a smile danced on her lips. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I bet it's because the empress was described as beautiful as a celestial being."

He scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me how pretty she was. I'll stay only if you're my empress."

Unbeknownst to them, the couple had been contemplating their own past lives. Perhaps the emperor and empress had indeed found each other again in another existence.

Believe it or not, this has been on my mind for months ever since seeing those AI-generated photos of Baekhyun. I had an epiphany while looking at them again yesterday and just had to write this. It's my first EXO fic, and I hope it's decent hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Master Tag list:

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @green-agent @vantediary @tinyteezer |

@hollxe1 @pandabur666 @lilactangerine @oddracha @evidive

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[norrisleclercf1]

Just Come Home To Us

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader x Lando Norris

Rating: R

Words: 3.8K

Warnings: Angst, some fluff, Smut, oral (both receiving), p in v, wrap it before you tap it, I'm sure there is some other, also this smut not the best written but hey I finished it

Our Boy Series Masterlist/ Previous: Memories of Old and New / Next: They're My Future, You're The Past

Synopsis: Things are never easy, even when you want to come home.

A/n: One more chapter before the end of Our Boy Main Story!

4 months have passed since that morning after the Monaco Grand Prix. 4 months since your husband kicked you out of the house and their lives. Painful nights alone, filled with tears and nightmares, the only comfort has been talking to Elijah and Cecile every day. Elijah was the ever-good son, telling you Charles and Lando were far from okay. 

His Papa was back in therapy and felt he wasn't ready to see you, not because of the fight, but because he wanted to better himself first. You kept your mouth shut, refusing to let anger cloud your son's judgment of his Papa. Lando, Cecile told you that he was holding everyone together, but she worried no one was there for him. 

It made your heart clench. Lando was the younger of you 3 and always in the middle whenever you and Charles argued. Closing your eyes, you suck in the bone-chilling air of Finnish winter. "Eh, don't fall asleep on me!" With an ache in your neck, you see your father on his snowmobile, grinning. The same grin he'd give Uncle David or Michael before a race. 

"I'm not old man, just enjoying the fresh air." Words are falling off, and the blanket of white surrounding you has your eyes burning. "Just call," Mika whispers, knowing what you're thinking. He could always see those thoughts whirling in your head. An open book is what he liked to call you. "No," Your father mumbles something about how stubborn you are, kicking off the engine and leaving you as he goes through the private course again. 

Why should you have to call? Charles was the one who wouldn't let you explain, even listen to you. He did what he always did: reacted first. A defense mechanism you have experienced one too many times. And this was the last time you'd be subjected to it. Charles has ripped your family apart more than once; this may be the time he succeeded. 

Kicking your own engine, you follow your father to the top of the point, seeing him staring out. "He should be the one to call!" You yell, the wind whipping around you. It was a lashing you have missed, the cold turning your blood to ice and making your lungs expand to suck in the crisp air. "Why?" You hated when Mika did this. He wouldn't take your side. He said that while he loved you, that doesn't mean he'll always defend you. Sometimes, the child must fight their own battle to determine if the war is worth it. 

"Why?" You trudge through the snow, stopping next to your father. Memories of being a little girl, learning harsh lessons, and the screaming matches of forming your own path. "Because he kicked me out and told me to leave. And I did. He ripped this family apart, not me." Mika turns, and you shrink back. Even after the words left, you felt their poison seep in. "The truth is a paper cut, but the lies are the bullet wounds. You did not help your cause when you continued to lie to those men. Good men who have given you a wonderful family and two gorgeous children." Mika sighs, fixing his glasses. 

"You think I don't know this? What do you want me to say? That I lost sleep, sometimes sick to my own stomach, when I watched Elijah grow up? Or when Charles would whisper how much he loved Elijah and me? Because I did. I've hated myself for 16 years; for 16 years, I have lied to the greatest loves of my life. I thought Nico was my air, but he was sea. Swallowing me whole and drowning me. But Charles," You break off, swallowing your tears. "And Lando, they gave me air; for once, I remembered what breathing was like. FUCK!" You scream out into the mountain air. 

"When your mother died, I felt my world slip out from under me. When you started to act out, a part of me felt like I failed. You started to date Nico, and for once, I thought you were okay. Instead, you were slowly dying inside. If your mother was here, she'd kick my ass and then yours." You laugh, wiping your tears, the cold making them burn like acid. "I failed my babies," Mika shakes his head, facing you. 

"You didn't. You never failed those children, just yourself. And that's okay. Because no matter how old you get, you're still a child. My child and we Häkkinens don't make things easy. Just ask your Uncle David." You laugh, remembering how Uncle David would tell you stories about your father. "I miss them. I feel like I'm missing pieces of myself." You whisper. 

"I should hate Charles for the pain he caused me, but then I remember all the pain he's been through. We're both hurt, Daddy, so I fear we might harm Lando sometimes." Mika chuckles, still picturing you 3 as the 20-something-year-olds back in the 2020s. "He's stronger than you think, trust me." Nodding, the two of you drive back down to your cabin. Slowing, you see a blacked-out SUV. "Who is that?" Mika shrugs as he stalks to his own car. "Don't know! See you tomorrow for dinner!" Scrunching your eyebrows together, you open the front door, heat greeting you. 

"Hello?" Slowly entering your cabin, you stop seeing the familiar old, worn-out McLaren jacket. "Lando?" You call, boots pounding as you round the corner and stop seeing the mop of curls with little bits of grey now in them. He turns and stops, and both of you stare at one another. "Hey, gorgeous." Hearing that accent, those green-blue eyes stare at you, and everything comes crashing down. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry." You sob, crumbling to the floor. 

Whatever he was doing is forgotten as he rushes to you, falling to the floor with you as his arms circle around you. "Don't apologize, please don't." He whimpers, his beard tickling you, and you cry harder, hating how much you've missed that ridiculous beard. "You're here, you're here." You repeat and pull back, exchanging messy kisses and words. "Of course I am. It's been a horrible four months. We would've come sooner, but work and," You shut him up by kissing him deeply. 

Lando groans, hands digging into your snow jacket as he relaxes. Pulling apart, you take note of his words. "What do you mean, we?" "He means us." You give yourself whiplash with how fast you look up. Charles stands there, face taunt and glasses hanging onto the end of his nose. You and Lando always say Charles has aged with grace, but right now, he looks like his 26-year-old self again. And it still has your heart skip a beat. Standing, you two stare at one another as Lando looks between you. 

Without a second thought, you rush Charles, and with waiting arms, he accepts you into them. "I've missed you," Whisper of words pass between you two, but he swallows them with his mouth. "Don't talk," He groans, ripping your layers off as Lando whimpers, watching you two. "Come here, baby boy." Lando blushes and grumbles about how he isn't a baby anymore. "You're still our baby," Charles's fingers tug Lando's curls, which has him staggering into you two. 

"Where's the room?" Lando asks as Charles bites and sucks marks into his neck. "Down the hall to the left," You moan as Charles moves to your neck and leads you with a tangle of limbs to the bedroom. Shoving the door open, you three stagger in as they make work of your clothes. Charles stops, lifts you up by your legs, and drops you flat on your back. "Charlie," Lando whines as he lays Lando beside you. 

Your husband leans back, taking in the wreck messes that are you and Lando. "I haven't even fucked either of you, and you're both so wrecked for me." Lando rolls his eyes, and you do, too, with Charles smiling. "That was stupid, Charlie. We're not young anymore." Lando teases and leans up, pulling him down by his necklace. Their kiss is soft, filled with love and emotion, and you swear you feel that hurt grow again. 

Lando pulls away, gently pulling Charles's bottom lip. Leaning up, Lando whispers something to Charles, who has his eyes cut to you and grow dark. "You're right, baby." Charles presses a kiss to Lando's cheek and moves to you. His fingers brush your jaw and then cup it, pulling you up. "Still as breathtaking as the day I met you in the street." He places a soft kiss on your neck. 

"A wonderful mother," Another kiss, and with each praise, he places a kiss before he kisses your lips. "I've missed you more than air," Raising your arms, he helps you out of your shirt, and Lando removes your pants. "Don't leave me again, please." Charles doesn't let you answer as he swallows your words, straddling you on the bed. 

"Easy, Charles. You both need air." Lando reminds me of which has you breaking apart, chests raising and falling. He leans in, pecking you both on the lips. "I love you both so much," Lando whispers and pushes you down, smiling at you both. "Take off your clothes," Charles groans, hating that Lando is still fully clothed. "Who's needy for me now." Laughing, you help Lando out of his clothes. 

"Still a pretty cock, for an old man." Charles's fingers wrap around him, which makes Lando shiver. "Speak for yourself; you're older than me." Charles chuckles, gently jerking Lando off. But Lando doesn't ignore you as he leans down, kisses, licking, and biting his way down, but he stops looking up at you. "I love you," He mouths before closing his eyes as his lips have you gasping. 

"Oh, fuck." Arching your hips up, Lando's large hand pushes you back down and makes eye contact. "Does she still taste like heaven?" Charles rumbles, pulling his hand away from Lando, who whines at losing Charles's touch. Lando moans when your fingers tug at his curls each time he curls his tongue. "Mh, Lan-" You moan louder when Charles bites one of your nipples and ruts up into Lando's mouth. 

Lando pulls away, and you whimper as you are close, but he shakes his head. "Charles, come here. I think you owe our girl a perfect apology." Charles pulls off with a pop and smiles. "I think you're right." Charles moves and stands off the bed, and Lando bites his lip. "Kinda jealous," Charles laughs and pulls Lando into a searing kiss. "Don't worry, you're next." Your toes curl when you feel Charles nudge you as he gets comfortable between your legs. 

"Are you okay?" You stop and think this over. It probably wasn't wise to have sex before talking things through, but damn, you've missed them too much. "Yes, fuck yes, just," Charles moves and slides into you slowly, which has you whimpering. "Easy, you're okay," Charles whispers, dropping over you. His arms cage your head, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "See, old." Charles whips a hand out and twists Lando's nipple, which has him squeak. 

"Jesus, just fuck me, Charles." The two look at you and stop laughing. "Watch your tone." Charles pulls back and slams back into you, which pulls out a whimpering moan. "Lando, you can fuck my mouth." Lando whimpers, hearing that, and the boys move. Charles pulls you close, and he moves in slow thrusts, and Lando gets comfortable for you both. 

"I have missed this mouth. Charlie is good. But you're better." Lando whispers, peppering kisses all over your face. "Missed you too," Opening your mouth, Lando lets you swallow him as he whimpers, screwing his eyes shut. You don't know where your mind went, but every lousy thought has gone away with the two of them here. You've missed them both so much that having them close to you has made you fuzzy. 

"Fuck, baby." Charles groans and drops down, covering your body with his as Lando's hips and Charles's move faster. Lando whimpers pulls away, and wraps his hand around. Charles bats his hand away and takes Lando down his throat, which has you whimpering and clamping down on your husband coming. Lando gasps as Charles sucks him dry, pushing Charles off as he drops to the bed, panting. The three of you are a mess. 

"Don't leave me," Charles whispers as you tangle his hair with your fingers. Exhaustion seeps into your bones, and darkness takes you over. 

-----------------------------------

Charles doesn't know when he wakes; all he remembers is tensing and his eyes flying open. Warmth covers him front to back, and something soft is wrapped around the warmth. Scanning the room, he groans. Memories of the flight, Mika helping them into your cabin, you coming back, the sex. Fuck, he shouldn't have done that. But he missed you, having you wrapped around him as he pulled you apart. 

Eyes move up, taking in Lando's puffed cheeks and mushed curls. He loved watching you both sleep; it was when you were more at peace. Rolling over, he feels his body go rigid. You weren't there, fuck did you leave. Slipping out of his husband's hold, he places a few soft kisses over the marks he has left. "Be back," Lando whines but settles back down. 

Bending down, Charles slides on some sweatpants and follows the light. He stops when he sees you sitting by the low fire on the phone. "I know, baby. I'm glad you and Cecile are having fun with Uncle Carlos." Charles leans against the frame, watching. "Yes, Papa and Daddy are here," Elijah must say something because your face scrunches up. 

"I don't know, honey. Um, Pa...Charles said some stuff during our fight that hurt. So I don't know if we'll get back together." Charles loses his smile and stands up straight. "Elijah, I understand you want me to talk to him, but.....listen. You tell Cecile that I'm okay. Also, please don't give Carlos a hard time, alright. Also look after the twins, oh remember that Oscar's daughter is coming to visit. Yes, Victoria. No, Elijah, don't fight with her. Just, okay, yeah, bye." Hanging up the phone, Charles quickly bolts into the bedroom. 

Lying down, Lando immediately attaches himself to Charles. The door creaks open, and you slide into the bed. But you don't cuddle into Charles; instead, you roll onto your other side, back facing him. 

He was losing you. 

-----------------------------------

"But, it's snowing, and I think it would be nice," Lando begs, trying to get you and Charles to do something together. "Exactly, it's snowing, and we're in Finland. It's not exactly a British winter." Charles grumbles into his coffee. "Yn, pretty please. This is the first time we're in your home country. I want to see it." Lando makes his eyes big, and Charles looks away quickly. 

You groan as Lando starts to smirk, knowing he's got you. "Fine, there is a trail we can take that the locals use. It's about 2 hours, both ways." Lando cheers and rushes to the bedroom. The tension rolls off of you and Charles in thick waves. Putting down his mug, he stands and leaves you with no words or kisses. 

45 minutes later, with multiple layers of clothing, you trail behind Lando, who talks Charles's ear off. "Yes, Lando, I know that." Charles smiles, kissing him gently as Lando takes a picture of the snow-covered mountains. It's another 15 minutes before Lando gets tired of you two not talking. 

"Cecile was wondering if she came here and visited you," Charles staggers, but Lando catches him without a beat. "Really? I guess the kids could come here and visit." It never occurred to you that they could come out and visit. "Yeah, it's a great idea, don't you think?" Charles stops walking as you pass him, smiling. 

"You could come home," Charles whispers, cheeks dusted pink from the cold weather. The scuff you let out had Lando's shoulders tense. He could feel the fight coming a mile away, and this was one place he didn't want to get stuck in the middle. "Do I have a home to come back to? Or will you kick me out again?" The sneer on your lips has Charles's face pulled tighter. 

"Charlie, don't." Lando pleads, placing a hand on his chest, wanting him to calm down. "Your home is with us and our kids." Charles's voice was eerily calm, and Lando knew that all hell would break loose with one more comment. "I think you mean my kids. Or did you forget Elijah isn't yours?" It was a low blow, but all the hurt and anger you've felt over the past 4 months was too much. How dare he come here and demand you go home when he's why you're not home. 

"You're right, he isn't mine. I don't even think you're mine too." Charles snaps as Lando looks between the two of you. Fear in his eyes, as this could be the end. The end of his family. "You're right! I was never yours! And you know what? I should've divorced you after you kicked Lando out. How he can still stay with you is a fucking miracle." Charles's face goes neutral, the same look he had when Mattia told him off. His emotions are gone. 

"When you two get home, I hope Lando has the fucking mind to leave you and take the kids and let your worse fucking nightmare come true!" "ENOUGH!" 

Charles and you jump, turning to see Lando standing there, breathing hard. "Just enough. Please?" He begs the emotions and thoughts he's held together, snapping. "What the fuck is the matter with you? The both of you?" Charles has the mind to look ashamed, as do you. "How could you say those horrible things to one another? We're married! We have TWO gorgeous children and a wonderful life. I know I wasn't there initially, that Charles held you together. That you told a lie because you were hurt and trying to not let it all kill you, but fuck." 

"Y/n," Lando turns, looking at you, before taking a deep breath. "What you've done, said, it hurt. You manipulated us in a way that has cracked this marriage in a way we'll never recover from. But, you know what. I don't care. I don't; you're the love of my life and the mother of my two gorgeous, brilliant, talented children. You could kill me, and I'd forgive you. But you are holding onto such hate inside you for Nico that it's hurting us all. Nico, he," Lando sucks in a breath. "Lando, don't." "Shut up," The two of them stare at one another before Lando looks back at you. 

"Nico, he didn't leave you. He bought a new apartment and wrote that letter to tell you how excited he was and how much he loved you. But you never read the letter because you thought he left you. And that's okay because if you had read that letter, you'd have never fallen in love with us, and we wouldn't have Cecile. Y/n, you're not in your 20s anymore. Please, you need that closure when you come home. Because this is not your home, please talk to Nico. There is a piece of you that you're hiding from us because of him, and I have ignored it for 16 years, but no more." Reeling from his words, Lando turns his attention to Charles. 

"And you," He points his finger at Charles, who curls back like Lando has slapped him. "Grow up, get over it. She didn't cheat on us, she didn't fuck him while you two were together and then lie. She never told us who the father was; she moved the truth around. I know that losing your father and Jules was the worst pain imaginable and then losing Anthoine, and that was another person who left you. Charles, we're not leaving you, but we will if you keep shoving us away." 

Charles looks away as the silence surrounds you. "Charles, Charlie, look at me." Charles looks up, staring deep into Lando's eyes. "Elijah is yours, Cecile is yours. Y/n and I are yours. Never think that will change. Elijah is your little boy, the first person he goes to. Listen to me. We're all going to therapy because I refuse to let this relationship fail. If you two don't get your shit together, I'm taking the kids and leaving. Now, fucking TALK!" Lando screams and shoves past Charles and down the trail, leaving you two some peace. 

You two stare at one another; Charles opens his mouth to say something but keeps closing it, unable to say a word. 

"You didn't follow me," Charles snaps his eyes, shocked at your words. "For four months, Charlie. You didn't call, text, write, or even ask about me. Four months of hell, and you come here and then demand me to come home." Stepping closer, Charles takes a step back. 

"A part of me was scared that when I got here, you'd kick me out. And that terrified me. I don't care that Nico is Elijah's," Charles swallows the words and clears his throat. "I care that you didn't trust me for 16 years. Care enough to tell me the truth. After talking to Nico and reading the letters, I understand why. But, fuck," He rips his hand out of his jacket and wipes the tears away. 

"It's all my fault. I went back to therapy and realized that, but a part of it is your fault, too." You scuff, but stop thinking it all over. "He hurt me more than I want to admit. I just wanted to cause him pain, and by causing him pain, I hurt us both." Charles hiccups, wiping away the tears faster. "Four months, that's how long Cecile and you haven't talked to me. We need you home. We'll go to therapy. Hell, I'll stop racing if it means you stay. I'm going to fight for our family." You throw yourself into his arms as you two cry in the snow. 

"Also, Lando is ready to kill Nico on command, and so am I. Mika told us what he said to you, and I'll skin that fucker." You laugh as Charles pulls you back into his chest. "Oh, also, could you possibly call your Uncle David off. While commenting, he's destroyed Lando and me, and it's not fun." You laugh louder, but it stops when the crunch of snow has you facing the sound. 

"Thank god, can we please go home. I'm about to freeze my balls off, and I know you both love my balls." Lando whines; Charles and you share a look and smile. "Yeah, let's go home." 

---------------------------

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[myladysapphire]

The spoils of war

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

word count: 2,665

CW: MDI 18+, incest, angst, smut, forced marriage, unrequited love, jelousy. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), no happy ending

Fem!reader x Aegon ii Targeryen and past fem!reader x Aemond Targereyn

a/n Aegon isn't a r*pist in this fic

Masterlist

Being a woman on the losing side of a war was never a good thing. Death always followed war, but so did marriage. and Marriage was what you now found yourself facing. Though you had begged for death, the greens deemed it fit for Rhaneyras only daughter to marry Aego.

as a means to oppress the remaining black loyalists.

With Heleana having taken her own life after the detah of both her sons, Jaeherys and Maelor. Aegon found himself without a wife. 

And with only a daughter to succeed him, the small council feared another dance should Jaeheara be heir, so they agreed a marriage between you and Aegon would suit the realm.

Though you disagreed, you had been a prisoner in the red keep for longer than you can remember. Having been dragged to the keep by Aemond after Luke's death. Aemond would visit often. You wewre forced to listen and watch as Aegon ruled, as they ridiculed your mothers everymove. You would hear about the death of each of your family through gaurds taunts.

You had seen freedom for half a year when your mother finally achieved her birthright. Had met Cregan, the man who you was supposed to marry. 

And then you heard of Aemonds death. Daemon had killed him and died himself. You and he had once considered yourself inlove. Even planned to run away and marry. But after what he did to Luke, those feelings changed and the love and longing turned to hate and anger. And with his detah came relief. She felt one step closer to her mother being safe on the throne. 

And then Aegon returned and killed your mother. Burned her alive.

You had witnessed it all, as guards held you back.

Then two weeks later your own grandsire, Coryls Veleryon, came and told you of the plans, the plans he agreed with and even proposed. 

He was the only visitor she had had. She had no Aemond to visit her, to eat with ehr even if all she did was spit angry words in his direction.

Then today, after over a moon, you were dragged from your bed and forced before Aegon in the throne room.Your mothers burnt body laid in front of you, wrapped in sheets as if to hide what Aegon had done to her. and your youngest brother, Aegon the younger, in chains.

The green council tood and told you what they demanded, Crolys the main voice among them. It was clear you had no choice but to accept their demands. marry Aegon and become queen, her brother's life will be spared and warded in Oldtown until he was four and ten. If she refused, he would become just like thre dead mother. A burnt body. And she would be dragged down the aisle anyway.

she needed her brother Aegon, he was the only family she had left and it killed her that he would grow up in the hands of the greens, but then again so would her children. The heirs the small council had demanded they have, if not Aegons life would be forfeit. 

The small council had left, leaving her and Aegon alone, bar the few guards that remained. 

Aegon called your name, he seemed nervous, tired even.

He wore the conqueror's crown, it suited him, though it was not his. But it was clear that the weight of it was more than the weight of the rubys. A weight Aegon ahd once told her he feared. 

He coughed, bringing you back from your thoughts. “Your grandsire informed me that he told you of our plans over a moon ago”

You nodded.

“I know this is not what you wanted… that i am not who you wanted, or even - or even the brother you wanted-” he stood up and made his way towards her “but this is for the good of the realm”

You scoffed “of course it is Aegon, no one wants another war.”  Everyone knew why you were marrying, it was to be a front of the greens and blacks uniting, of her bending the knee. “I am the spoils of war, Aegon. And when it comes to victory the victor always keeps his prize. And I am your prize Aegon. Not that i had a choice” you tunrened to leave, done with this, you had time. Time to get a letter to Cregan. Some servants were still loyal, surely?

Aegon once again called your name “we wed on the morrow”

Then again, the greens were smart enough to win a war, of course they were smart enogh to marry her fast. 

Aegon had alwasy hoped to wed her. And he had hope for this marriage, but not hope for a happy marriage. though he had once hoped to wed her instead of Helaena, and now he was forcing her to marry him. But he did hope it’ll end the war. Hoped that Cregan Stark would stop his attacks and surrender, submit to him and not launch the realm into another war.  they had lost too much as it was.

Aegon felt sorry for her. He felt alone but she truley was. Her only family would soon be torn from her and she would be stuck with them, and married to him. 

It had never been him for her, though it had always been her for him. from doing everything to gain her attention, bullying Aemond so she would see him as the better brother, from begging his mother and even his father to marry her and not Helaena. From bedding whores who were her doubles. 

But for you it has always been Aemond, always been him even when he killed your brother, Aemond still spoke as if you two were soon to wed and that you and him were utterly in love. He  had never got your attention, not the way Aemond had.

He called your name again, you were numb, eyes and face void of any emotion. “did you hear me?!” he asked more sternly.

you nodded your head, looking down. “ I understand Aegon.” you said his name so sweetly and yet it was filled with such hate. you had yet to call him King, had yet to fully bend the knee to him.

he sighed “you will have to bend the knee to me before and the lords of the realm… they have all been summoned for the wedding. where we shall pledge our souls together and you shall pledge your allegiance.”

you gritted your teeth, you had never been stubborn, always a people pleaser, but when it came to this you were being… difficult.

he sighed, going to speak again before you snapped your head up. He was close, close enough to reach out and take her hands in his. To hold her close. To-

“Fine! But you must swear to me Aegon.. That my brother will be safe. I - i do not want him in oldtown, send him somewhere anywhere but there. I will only bend the knee if he is safe, and i will make sure he does aswell, and that he sticks to it, if you swear he will not be killed!”

“Of course, i- he is my nephew, and as it stands my heir- it is in the crowns best interest to protect him. Doing otherwise would-”

“Risk war” she finished for him. “I make no rpomises for the marriage, but is shall do my duty.”

It hurts, duty. Their marriage, the marriage he had hjoped for being just a duty. Being a consolation prize for winning a war his mother and grandsire planned and plotted his whole life. And her turning around and storming through the door straight away hurt even more.

She had been given a dress. It was ivory and It was…beautiful. 

She had expected green. Something obvious. To get the greens point across. But she supposed the wedding got it across enough.

The wedding was packed, lords and ladies from all over westros, lords and ladies from both the blacks and the greens.

Her grandsire walked her down the Asile. 

Aegon stood up there, in ivory, with matching patterns to her gown. He smiled at her. He looked happy as if he had waited for this day. As if she and him were lovers finally getting there wedding day.

The ceremony was fast, a copy and paste of the dozens of weddings she had attend

They had stood before each other, in the eys of the realm and the gods. There hands joined togther, eyes locked. It was intense and fast. Then she was maade to kneel before him, and as she knelt he placed a crown on her hesd, naming her his queen consort.

There was relief throughout the kingdom the night. There wedding celebration turning into toasts and dances of peace. 

And before she knew it, it was time for the bedding ceremony.

She was nervous. She knew it would hurt somewhat. Her mother had always had told her. And told her all she would need to know. Ahd reassured her that on her wedding day she would be there, smiling and dancing as she married her love. And yet her mother was dead. Her brothers dead. Rhanea and Beala were at driftamark, univinted as if them coming would prevent the wedding from happnning. And she was not marrying her love, she was marrying her duty. Marrying for peace. And yet when Aegon looked into her eyes as they stood for the bedding ceremony she flet at peace, calm, as if eveything was snapping into place.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, before moving to step down and leave.

Aegon had ordered for no escorts top there chambers, no servants or maids. It was just them. 

And for the first time in who knows how long she felt like she could breath. 

Aegon looked towards you, cupping your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks. he was nervou, his eyes gave that away. “i’m sorry if this is not the wedding you wanted, or the husband, but i want you to know that you are the wife i have always wanted. i understand why you could never love me back. i have done terrible things to your family and i-“

“not tonight Aegon” you begged, “for tonight let us be husband and wife, tommorow you can be King Aegon, the Aegon who did all of those things, but tonight we forget. you will make me forget” you begged.

Aegon responsed ,not with words but by surging forward with a kiss. Unlike the one in the sept, were it was quick chaste. this was filled with passion, filled with Aegons love for you. There  mouths moulded together, his tounge teasing your  lip until you finally got the hint and opens for him. she was inexperienced, it was obvious, but you caught on quick. even quicker when his kisses started trailing from your mouth, to your  jaw and then to your  neck, moving further down until they reached your shoulders. he looked up then, his hand moving to the back of your dress, reaching for the corset. reaching for his laces he gave a soft kiss to your  shoulder, before removing the laces to her gown., your dress slowly dropped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. leaving your in your shear underclothes.

“gods”Aegon moaned, before diving back down to kiss your neck and working his way back up to your mouth. you moved your ah do to his shoulders, relaxing more into the kisses, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Aegon moved down one more, this time he didn’t stop at your shoulder, but moved down your your breast. taking your nipple into his mouth, and moaning at the taste. you yourself moaned in pleasure, you had done some stuff with Aemond, mainly kissing, some touching, even had his head between your thighs. but tonight felt differ t, it was not a differ t lind of pleasure, but a feeling. with Ameond it was forbidden, but with Aegon, he was your husband and deep down it felt right.

moving away from your breasts aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, before taking a step back. you watched as he did, removing his jacket and then his tunic, leaving him topless before you. he was not toned or leaned as Aemond was, but a bit chubby. And yet she found even hotter than the toned body you  had once knew so well.

Aegon continued stepping back, but not before taking your hand in his and pulling you with him, towards the bed.

He turned you around, allowing your back of your beds to hit the bed. sitting in the bed Aegon thought you a vision, even more so whn you shyly reached  for your small clothes and pulled them off over your head. you were perfect.

he moaned at the sight, before reaching down and pressing his mouth to yours, his hands reaching down to caress your body, the feeling filled with care.

“Aegon?” you spoke up, causing Aegon to lean back and stop.

“what? are you ok?” he asked

you nodded, reaching forward to his breeches, searching for the laces. Aegon let out a laugh, before moving back to take them off. “better?” he asked. you nodded.

he leant down and gave you a kiss before getting in his knees and spreading your legs. he looked up at you a gleam o his eyes, before moving forward, and devouring you. his tounge circling your clit. his hands moved up your legs, leaving goosebumps in there wake. his fingers moved up towards your heat, his fingers teasing your opening. slowly he entered his finger, gods you were right, unexplored. 

pumping in and out of you, you let out moans of pleasure, your peak etching closer and closer, before taking you over whole.

Aegon moved back, wiping his face in the bed sheets, before standing up. 

you looked at him, dazed.

“we don’t have to go any further-“ you interrupted him.

“i want too” you spoke, almost begging.

he nodded, moving you back, further into the bed. 

Moving between your thighs, he pushed in slowly and carefully. 

you felt so full, uncomfortable, before it turned quickly into pleasure. Aegon moved slowly, pumping you full, his body pressed against yours, kissing you deeply. before moving faster, harder. moans filled the room, the pleasure over taking them you both as you once again reached your peak, and Aegon let go, filling you with his seed.

Aegon collapsed further into you, both your breath heavy.

“gods” you sighed. and Aegon nodded in agreement.

As the years passed since your wedding to Aegon. 

you knew you would never forgive him for what he had down, never love him, not like he loved you. 

but you were civil, appeasing. paining the picture of the perfect wife. And Wegon grew more in love.

but deep down you knew that you would never love him, or forgive him, and some part of you would always long for Cregan or mother black loyalist to rise up and name your brother king.

But as you grew older, and had five children, all the image of Aegon, that that day would never come. not as your children grew older. As Jaheara and Aegon wed, and had children of there own. 

And when aegon died at the age of 56, from a summer fever, believing you had forgiven him and loved him, you realised that the greens had won. Even as you watched your son be crowned king, and his son after him.

You never got your happy ending, but the history books would right that you did. That all along you were a green. Switching form one brother to the other.

when in reality you still felt alone, and though you died surrounded by your grandchildren and great grandchildren, you died feeling alone, still feeling like the spoils of war.

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HOTD: @taragryenmoony

General: @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

[bits-and-babs]

✰ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 - 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “This is just a hookup." "I know." — Fed up of your antics, Simon gives you a time and place.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. reference to interrogation/violence/torture, sensory deprivation (pitch black), power imbalance, references to masturbation and voyeurism, finger sucking, gagging, against a wall, p in v sex, unprotecte- i know, I’ve got issues.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Skittering chills crawl up your vertebrae as you wait impatiently. The shipping container previously used as an interrogation chamber didn’t make for the cosiest spot, but Ghost hadn’t left much room for argument when he’d informed you of the rendezvous point.

“Container 12, 11 pm.”

He’d delivered it with authority, that barking order that rang out over the coms when bullets whizzed by your ears. Who were you to deny Lieutenant Simon Riley? Refusal equated to insubordination— you couldn’t have him thinking you’re undisciplined.

Casting your eyes over the inside of the container, you grind your teeth together. Dried, rusty-coloured flakes of blood peel from the metal ridges of the walls, and a chair lies discarded on its side in the corner. Standing here alone is unnerving, though you’d never admit it. Perhaps that’s what Simon had in mind- a test of endurance. He was late for the meeting by around five minutes; surely there was no other explanation?

It’s only as you begin to settle into reluctant resignation that the creaking door of the container screeches, pushed forward. You’re, admittedly, relieved to see him. Golden flood-lamp light spills across the floor, haloing Simon’s hulking frame before he shoves the door closed again.

“Lieutenant,” you address him by rank, squinting in the darkness but keeping your voice as steady as you can muster. It’s pitch black, but you’re almost convinced you can see his ghoulish mask sneering at you in the darkness. “You’re late-“

“You’re early,” his gruff voice cuts through the blackness. It sounds odd, the bluntness of the Mancunian accent bouncing off your eardrums. He also appears closer than you realised, his voice abnormally loud for the distance you assumed lay between you.

They were right; he really did move like a spectre.

“You needed me, Sir?” You query, but the words seem to shrivel and die in your throat when a gloved palm settles across your chin, tilting your head up.

“Don’t think so,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your face. There’s amusement flirting with his tone— only slight, but with your senses on overdrive, it rings in your ears like he’s set off a gun beside your temple. “Think you need me.”

Heat burns beneath your skin, but you grit your teeth and steel yourself against the shock of Simon fucking Riley making such an astute observation.

“Sir?”

“Don’t play coy,” his tone is flat, words slightly muffled as though he had something in his mouth, “Think I don’t hear you? Always moanin’ my name when I’m on watch.”

He’s walking you backwards, stopping his advancement only when your back hits the cold metal of the wall.

You don’t have a chance to dispute his damning point, his naked fingers pushing past the plush of your lips and pressing against your tongue. It’s as though your body falls in line immediately, following his silent orders like a good little soldier. You trace his fingertips with the tip of your tongue, sucking on the length of them as he hums.

“Always raisin’ your voice, hopin’ I’ll hear you. You want me to join you? That it?” He asks, his monotonous accent pooling deep in your abdomen as he continues to call you out for your reckless behaviour. Any of 141 could have overheard.

You open your mouth to speak around his digits, but Simon preempts your pathetic attempt to make an excuse. He pushes his fingers in until his knuckles brush your lips, halfway down your throat. You gag around the intrusion, hand grasping at the bulletproof vest Ghost still wore after returning from his latest mission.

“Fuckin’ dirty girl,” he groans over the filthy sound of your chokes. You can hear the clinking metal of a belt in the darkness, the rustle of khaki fabric and the rip of a zipper. “If I give you what you want, are you gonna stop those pathetic little whines?”

God, it’s ridiculous. You practically trip over yourself to nod the affirmative to his question. Muffled swears rumble in Simon’s chest, intelligible despite the close proximity. You’re already scrambling to pull down your cargos; embarrassment soothed only by the blackness that swallows and shrouds you both.

Ghost grunts softly, pulling his saliva-soaked digits from your mouth. The disappointment of feeling empty doesn’t last very long, his drenched fingers brushing over your pussy lips and plunging deep inside you without warning.

“Fuck,” he practically spits at the squelching sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers. You gasp loudly as he curls them back, brushing against your walls and coaxing a sensitive spot that ripples bliss through your core. “This— This is just a hookup.”

You nod over and over, probably looking like those stupid Churchill-Dog bobbleheads he’d see in taxis at home, babbling the same words over and over as he teases that mind-melting spot inside you that has your thighs trembling; “I know, I know, IknowIknowIkno-“

You feel it before you hear it, the huff of breath before the rumbling growl of dying resolve. A large, bruising hand grabs your thigh and hoists it over Ghosts’ hip. The position settles for only a moment, your tight, orgasm-teased muscles just creaking at the sudden change before Simon’s cock sinks into your dripping core.

The wail of bliss ricochets off the metal walls of the cargo container. Ghost is quick to press his naked palm to your mouth, suppressing your pathetic little mewls as he inches inside of you. You can hear his haggard breaths, can feel the ebb and flow of his exhales as he presses his masked forehead against your own.

“Hoh- Fuck-“ Simon groans out, only slightly rocking into you once he settles balls deep. It’s barely there, but the gentle thrusts have you clawing at his sleeves. Your eyes roll back, his pubic bone grinding just right against your needy clit.

“This is just a hookup-“ Simon insists through gritted teeth, but as a shaky moan falls from his mouth when he begins to thrust into your tight, wet heat forcefully, you start to wonder if he’s attempting to convince you of himself.

You realise he’s losing that battle when he spills inside you with a gasp of your name, quickly followed by an almost desperate ‘just one more-‘

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@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @gummyfang @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction

[melodygatesauthor]

Save Us

Moon Boys X f!Reader

Summary: Two months after Marc broke up with you, you get a late night call from Steven that has you worried and rushing to help them. It's hard to face them again after things went wrong, but Marc is going to try and make it up to you.

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, Marc is kinda toxic, Marc needs therapy, Marc has issues, Marc needs a hug, THIS STORY IS ANGSTY, may be triggering if you've been in a toxic relationship before, sad, smut, p in v creampie, argument, breakup, exes to lovers trope, soft dom Steven, sorry in advance, no physical abuse

Major Trigger Warning: this story explores themes of emotional abuse. It was very self indulgent. If you’ve been a victim of emotional abuse (or are sensitive to topics like this) then this may be upsetting to you. You’ve been warned. I seriously went the full self indulgent route with this one. Had to work some personal stuff out and it helped!

Word Count: 9.9k (What in the...)

You were awoken in the dead of night to your phone vibrating loudly on the end table at your bedside. You groaned, sitting up and looking at the screen. Clear as day, it said, My Boys🌙. You still needed to change their name in your phone, or completely block their number. It rang until it went to voicemail, but that’s when you saw that there were seven missed calls.

You hadn’t heard from any of them in the two months since Marc had broken up with you, and now they’d called you seven times. It rang again, this time you jumped up and grabbed it immediately. You didn’t want to talk to them, but you knew it must be serious for one of them to be actually calling you. 

“H-hello? Hello?” You cleared your throat.

“Dove? Darling?” You heard Steven on the other end and you let out an exhale.

You weren’t ready to deal with Marc, but Steven…at first you were relieved it was him, but the more you thought about it, Steven was worse. Steven might be able to convince you to come back.

“Is everything ok?” You asked, feeling your chest already tighten at the tone of his voice.

“No, no I’m afraid it’s not.” He was sobbing. You felt your own eyes start welling up. “We need your help.”

“Are you in danger? What’s wrong?” You tried to keep the panic down in your voice.

“I…I think I’m a little drunk, but we’re sobering up.” You could hear it now that he’d mentioned it, the slurring of his words as he spoke. “I haven’t been in the front in a long time, it’s always Marc, he won’t…oh my…he won’t let Jake or me out. We’ve been trapped in there.”

“Ok, you need to tell me where you are, right now.” You demanded.

“I’m outside of a…” You heard him pull the phone away from his face.

“Hey, watch it!” Steven yelled.

You heard some scuffling, followed by some Spanish slurs, before the phone was picked up again.

“Mi princesa.” Jake said. “We’re at the corner of Elm and Main, at a place called Tiko’s. I can feel Marc trying to take over again…por favor, querida, we need you.”

The line went dead. It was rare that Jake uttered the words por favor, or we need you. Steven’s cries would remain burned into your memory for an eternity. He cried when you’d left too, and you still hadn’t forgotten the pain. It was all you thought about as you got yourself dressed and headed for their location. You knew right where it was, it was where you and Marc had first met.

------------------------

It was also where he went just before he broke up with you. He’d come home, wasted, completely obliterated and crying. It was constant, and you were sick of it. He refused to go to therapy, said it was for nutjobs, and he didn’t want them drugging him up. You understood, you sympathized, but instead you were stuck trying to handle his terrible self-loathing attitude, and toxic behavior.

“Why don’t you just fucking leave then? Huh? If you’re not happy then why don’t you just go!” His mouth turned into a hard line, his brow furrowed.

That was always his go to line whenever things got tough. Always telling you to leave if you didn’t like it. You sometimes wondered why he even asked you out in the first place if this is how he was.

“Ok Marc, is that really what you want? You want me to leave? Fine…you say it every time we fight so you know what, I’ll go then.”

The two of you had moved in together a year ago, but you moved in to his place, so almost everything was his, Steven’s and Jake’s. The TV that had a purple spot in the corner when you turned it on from the time Marc threw one of Steven’s books at it in a fit of rage; the stool at the breakfast bar that had a wobbly leg from the time Marc pushed it over while he was drunk and yelling at you; and the dresser in the bedroom that had a broken drawer from when he punched it, it was all his.

It was heartbreaking to walk away from the other two though. They didn’t have anything to do with it. When Marc backed out, retreating to the headspace, too upset to handle the pressure, Jake came out. That was the final straw. He couldn’t even be bothered to have a conversation with his girlfriend after berating her for over an hour. He did it time and time again, and this time…you’d had enough.

“Princesa, please don’t go.” Jake said, walking up to you quickly while you started filling a bag with clothes.

“Jake.” You pulled your arm back quickly when he grabbed it.

“Cariño.” He grabbed your arm again.

“No!” You yelled a little too loudly in your apartment. “I’m done Jake. I can’t do this. You want someone to blame? Blame Marc.”

Jake was never one to give up easily, so he must’ve been able to tell how serious you were when he let go of your arm again and forfeited the body to Steven. The bastard, he knew that of the three, Steven would be the one to get you to stay. He’d done it time and time again. Always telling you that he’d confront Marc himself and that he’d work on making Marc be better for the four of you, but even Steven couldn’t help Marc, you were convinced at this point that no one could.

“Darling please,” there came the waterworks. Even when it wasn’t your fault, Steven made you feel guilty. “He’s gotten a little better, yeah? Look…”

You were still filling your bag with clothes while Steven walked to the kitchen and came back with a card.

“He got you this for your birthday.” He held the birthday card in his hand like it was supposed to be the one thing stitching the relationship together. “I didn’t even have to remind him! He did it on his own!”

You stopped, holding a pair of jeans in your hands. You looked at Steven. He was desperate. His eyes were glossed over while he tried to keep it together. You remembered when Marc got you that card, it was the day after a fight, and he felt guilty. He only ever did anything nice when he felt guilty the next day, never when it really counted.

“They’re both assholes for putting you through this.” You said, feeling yourself choking up. “I can’t do this anymore Steven, Marc doesn’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here.”

“But he’s nice sometimes, look he also…” Steven was scrambling around the apartment.

You walked to the bathroom and grabbed your toothbrush and other personal care items. When you looked in the mirror, you noticed your saddened face and realized how much you’d been crying. You’d probably been crying for at least an hour. You wiped your cheeks and went back out to the bedroom where Steven was standing with a vase.

“He got you this vase, remember when you were sick and he went and got you flowers?” Steven asked. You saw his eyebrows raise in an attempt to look happier, but they were fighting to furrow.

“Steven, please go.” You grabbed the vase and put it in the bathroom trash. “You know he only got me those because I had just complained the day before about how he never does anything nice for me? He only does something nice after I’ve complained about it.”

“I can’t just go.” He looked like a lost puppy trying to get you to keep him. “They’re both just out, quiet, I wish I could leave.”

You sighed, wiping your face and sniffling, “then they’re both fucked for doing that to you. You don’t need to be here, dealing with this. Marc is selfish, and…that’s it! He’s selfish! He’s the one who did this, he’s the one who should be here. He’s a fucking coward.”

You threw the bathroom items in your bag and then zipped it.

“Tell Marc I’ll have my brother come back for the rest of my things.” You grabbed your purse and pulled out your keys.

“Sweetheart, love, please!” Steven raised his voice, cracking under the weight of sorrow.

You turned around, “I’m so so sorry baby. I really am.” You said through your own strained voice. “You deserve better than what he’s putting you through, and so do I, I wish I could help you.”

------------------------

With that, and one last look at Steven’s broken face and waterfall of tears, you slammed the door and never looked back, until now, when you were turning the corner on the street to find Jake leaned against the building, smoking a cigarette. You got out of the car and pulled your jacket around yourself tighter. You felt like an idiot for coming back after what Marc put you through, but there you were. You reminded yourself that you weren’t there for Marc, you were there for Jake and for Steven.

“Jake, come on.” You said, waving him over.

“Oh, hermosa, I missed you.” He winked as he walked over to you. He was stinking of alcohol and smoke.

“Put that thing out.” You grabbed it from his lips and dropped it, crushing the butt under your shoe. “Let’s go.” You took his hand, to which he pulled you in close.

“You are as beautiful as the day you left, perhaps even more.” He cupped your cheek and leaned in to kiss you but you pulled back.

“I didn’t come here to get back together with you, I came back to get you home in one piece.” You pushed him back, and he stumbled and fell.

He shook his head, “Wha-oh right, I’m here and…” Steven looked up at you, it always amazed you how different each of them looked regardless of the fact that they shared the same body. “Oh my…love!”

Steven stood up and couldn’t hide the smile plastered on his drunken face. He gripped your shoulders before pulling you in for a hug. He wasn’t going to try and kiss you like Jake had, he was too respectful of your boundaries to do anything like that. Even when you were dating, he always respected your personal space.

“We really got ourselves in a predicament, yeah? Well…” He chuckled, “Marc did. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.”

“I need you to just get in the car, we can talk on the way back to your place.” You said, urging him into the vehicle.

When you got in on your side you let out a heavy sigh and put the car in drive before heading toward their apartment. The streetlights afforded you a split second of light before fading into darkness again. The radio was off, leaving nothing but silence. You heard Steven sniffle, fighting back the urge to cry.

“Tell me what happened, why did you call? I made it very clear-”

“Marc isn’t letting me or Jake out, it’s just headspace all day every day. He’s destroying us.” Steven said, choking on his words. “I don’t know when the last time we ate something proper was. I’m so hungry.” He pressed a hand to his stomach.

“Do you have food at the house?” You asked, pulling down a different road.

“Y-yeah I think he’s got a few things…I don’t know.” He said, laying his head back. “I missed you.” He was crying again, “I’m sorry, I said I wasn’t going to do this before I called you.”

“It’s fine. I’m…I’m glad you called me, Steven.” You said, keeping your eyes on the road.

“We had a lot of time to think after you left, and…he really didn’t deserve you, I never should’ve asked you to stay. I’m so sorry.” Just when Steven’s cries became overwhelmingly loud, they stopped suddenly, and you knew it was Jake coming back. You’d grown to know them so well that you could tell the differences between the way they each breathed when they were upset.

“Keep him in there please, at all costs.” You said coldly, trying to keep your composure.

“Si.” Was all he said. You knew he understood.

Steven wasn’t a child, and didn’t need to be treated like one, but he was much more sensitive than the other two, and you knew that he was living a nightmare having to see you and go through this, and having you just within arm’s reach, but not being able to really have you. He had been a passenger in Marc’s path of destruction, just like you had, the only difference was that you could walk away, Steven just had to suffer in there and you felt terrible for him and Jake both.

“Marc has completely taken over. Saw a girl at the bar tonight though who kinda looked like you and then he went loco, yelled at her, he was so drunk, and then he went away.” You watched him pull a cigarette pack from his pocket. “Steven was so happy to be out, he just ran outside and knew he had to call you to get you to help. Something about that girl must’ve knocked Marc back.”

“You’re smoking again? I thought you quit.” You grabbed the pack and threw it into the back seat.

“It’s Marc’s pack.” He explained, dropping his hands on his lap. You could tell you irritated him.

Marc wasn’t a smoker. At least, he hadn’t been while you were together. Jake had been, but insisted on quitting after getting to know you.

“What has he been doing?” You asked as you pulled onto their street.

“Nothing.” Jake was aggravated. “He’s been doing absolutely fucking nothing except destroying himself and dragging us down with him.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been in there for two months, dos.” He held up two fingers to emphasize his point.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you said, you didn’t know what else you could say. 

“I’m not mad at you, Cariño, I could never be mad at you.” He said calmly as you pulled into the driveway.

“Jake…” You put the car in park. “Did he hurt anyone?”

“No, no one except you, and Steven.” He said softly.

“And you. You might not be showing it but, I know you’re feeling it too.” You said quietly. He always stayed quiet about his feelings, but he wasn’t emotionless, he was just less expressive.

His hand reached over and grabbed yours.

“You have always been so caring, querida.” You tried to keep it inside, but a smirk played at the corners of your mouth, Jake was always so smooth.

“Please stop.” You pulled your hand out from under his and opened the door quickly.

If you’d let his hand linger, you’d be inclined to lean into it, and you couldn’t allow yourself to do that. You damned yourself for even being there in the first place. You still had the key to their apartment and opened the door so the slightly staggering Jake could make his way inside. You made sure to lock it tightly and returned your keys to your pocket before helping Jake get to a chair at the table.

“Here.” You opened the fridge, only to find…nothing.

There were about two tablespoons of butter, opened, several sauce packets strewn about, a moldy tomato, and about three-twelve packs of beer. You took note that one of the twelve packs was down a few beers. You let out a heavy sigh.

“Guess he’s living on air and beer then?” You slammed the fridge closed.

“There’s some ramen I think, in the cupboard.” Jake said, letting out a huff. “Steven would appreciate the taste of food you know…”

“Think he can handle it?” You opened the cupboard and found some packages of dried noodles. “Being here with me?”

“He’s calmed down. I think he will be ok.” And with that, Jake was gone.

“I’m fine.” Steven said, sucking in a deep breath. “Really.”

You grabbed some water from the tap and handed it to Steven whose hands were trembling. He drank from the cup in big gulps, when he finished it, you poured him some more.

“Let me make you something to eat.” You said, turning to the cupboards.

There wasn’t one pan that you could use. They were all in the sink, or on the stove, and they were all dirty. Of course this couldn’t just be easy.

“He usually just microwaves somethin’, or eats the noodles dry.” You groaned at Steven’s words.

“I…nevermind.” You wanted to say how frustrated you were to be there trying to make food for them, and running into every obstacle along the way, but you decided not to dump that on Steven.

Instead you ran the hot water and grabbed the sponge. You soaked it and then started washing the dishes, lathering soap on each one in silence, knowing Steven’s eyes were on your back. You felt saddened by the memories flooding through your head, thinking about all the times you’d been at the sink doing the dishes for them before.

------------------------

There was one time when Steven was fronting and he was sitting at the table while you did dishes after dinner, and he was going on about some Egyptian God you couldn’t remember the name of now. You were smiling in this memory, unable to suppress the joy that came to you while listening to him chattering on about his passions. When you’d finished scrubbing and turned to look at him. He was absolutely beaming, and so were you. You were…happy then.

“How did we get so lucky?” He asked, standing up and walking over to you.

He put his hands on your waist and kissed your forehead.

“Well, Jake’s a smooth talker, you’re thoughtful and sweet and Marc…” you trailed off.

You and Marc had never seen eye to eye. He was always pushing you away. Always telling you how he should just disappear and let Jake and Steven have the body so that you could be happy. But that wasn’t what you wanted, at least, that’s what you told him. You wondered what made you fall for him in the first place sometimes, but that didn’t matter now, you loved him, right?

“Marc what?” You watched his entire body language change, and he let go of you, stepping back. He chuckled, “hard to find anything to huh? What do I keep telling you?”

You groaned, wishing that he would’ve just let you and Steven have a nice evening, but you’d struck a nerve, and Marc loved to fight. He liked to make you feel bad, at least that’s how it felt, and then leave right when you pushed too far so that Jake or Steven were left to pick up the pieces. You tried to be understanding, you knew he had trauma, but sometimes he was just cruel.

“Please don’t start, Marc, not tonight I’m exhausted.” You walked toward the bedroom and he followed, hot on your heels.

“No! Don’t you walk away from me…!” He said your name with venom laced around each letter, “we never get to talk, the other two always get the best of you and then when I come in, you…you just walk away!”

You pressed your lips together tightly in frustration.

“Are you suggesting that when I see you, Marc, that you give me the best version of yourself? Hm? Because from the way I see it, every time you’re fronting, you treat me like you don’t fucking want me here!” You felt your eyes starting to gloss over. “Not to mention, you say I’m an ass for walking away? You always retreat into the headspace every single time we argue!”

“You ever think that maybe I actually don’t want you here? How many times have I told you to leave? If I treat you so badly, then just go!” He yelled.

“Why can’t you just stop being an asshole and then I don’t have to leave?! I don’t want to go Marc, I want you to love me and treat me like you want me around!” Now you couldn’t stop the dam from flooding over. Tears were coming down, and fast, and you knew it was only a matter of time before Marc dipped out. “I love you, I don’t want to go.”

“No, you don’t love me, you love Steven, and Jake, but not me.” He said, and his words were followed by silence that hung heavily in the air.

He was right, and you weren’t going to say it out loud, but he was right. When you’d first met them, it was just Marc at first. He was sweet, caring, he treated you like a princess. The more you got to know the boys, the more you grew to love them all, and the longer you were together, the more Marc started to push you away. Because you deserved better than him, and he was no good for you, or at least that’s what he said.

------------------------

That was the moment you’d realized you really didn’t love Marc anymore. You still held him in your heart, but the spark wasn’t there. Instead it was replaced with an anxiousness that pooled in your gut like a bad meal. You turned and looked at Steven once you’d finished the dishes. He was staring up at you from the chair with those big eyes you loved so much.

“Let me get this food going before he takes over again.” You grabbed one of the pots you cleaned and filled it with water before putting it on the stove.

When you turned around, Steven was standing with his hands balled into nervous fists at his sides, eyes trained on the floor. He did that when he wanted to say something but knew he shouldn’t. You put a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed a little bit and met your gaze.

“What is it?” You asked. “Talk to me?”

“No, nope, I’m, I’m fine.” He said, pressing his lips together tightly.

“Steven, it’s three am, I drove over here to help you, I washed the dishes and now I’m cooking you food. I think you can talk to me.” You said firmly.

He let out an exhale, “I miss you s’all.”

“I know, I miss you too. I just can’t…I can’t…”

“I know. I hate him too.” Steven looked agitated, more agitated than you’d seen him in a long time.

------------------------

The last time he was this bold regarding Marc was that same night, right after Marc had accused you of not loving him. After dropping those words on you, he left, letting Steven have you, the blubbering crying mess, that he’d left behind. It wasn’t the first time that you cried because of Marc, and each time chipped away at Steven more and more until he’d had enough too.

“Love,” he rushed over to you, pulling you in tightly, letting you soak his shirt for the umpteenth time, “you know if I could hit him, I would.”

You didn’t respond, you just sobbed into Steven’s chest, trying to let yourself be soothed by the gentle way he rubbed your back. You liked the way he smelled, the way they all smelled, and you kissed his chest just above where your tears had soaked his shirt.

“I love you, Steven, and I love Marc too.” You said, unsure whether you were trying to convince him or yourself, or maybe you were trying to convince the man hiding inside his own head.

“I know darling, I think he knows, he just gets caught up in his own head sometimes.” He chuckled, “well, I guess all three of us do.”

That forced a small amused breath to escape you. The air already felt lighter, and you were starting to cope with the emotional turmoil Marc had put you through. This was how it always went, Marc would start a fight, you’d be left with Steven or Jake, and slowly your emotions would come back to normal with the help of his alters just in time for him to break you down again. It was a never ending cycle.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” You murmured, pulling back. “Steven, I love you, I love all three of you but-“

He silenced you with his lips over yours.

“That’s enough of that.” He said in a forceful but quiet tone. “I’ll keep him in there if I have to, I’m not letting him push you away from us.”

You wanted to believe him, and you wished he’d been able to do it, but he couldn’t. That didn’t stop him from seizing the moment while he had it though, pulling you in for soft kisses and entangled tongues. Steven’s favorite body part was your breasts, that’s how you could tell sometimes if the boys switched mid session. One time Jake had taken over while Steven was buried in your chest and immediately began squeezing your rear.

Not now though, now Steven was dragging your shirt up while he trekked his hand over your abdomen on his way to squeeze your rounded mound. You gasped a heated moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and entangling your fingers into his curls. The supporting hand on your back gripped tightly, pulling you in so hard you thought you might melt into one being.

“I love you, Steven.” You said, going in for more breathy kisses.

“I love you too darling.” He started slowly pushing you backward until the backs of your knees met the mattress.

You fell back, chest heaving. Steven was ripping off Marc’s jacket and shirt and you were quick to get your top off as well. He preferred you leave in your bra, he said he liked to take it off himself. Something about the way they looked when he unclasped the strap in the back, you didn’t fully understand, but you didn’t argue either.

“Wow…” he said, looking down at you. “You’re so beautiful, dove.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You were sure you looked frightful, eyes puffy from tears, makeup streamed down your face, but Steven always told you how pretty you were, no matter what. He was good at that. He climbed over you, hovering his body closely over yours. You felt the peak of his erection pressing onto your leg through his pants.

“Oh, Steven…” you moaned, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours in deep, bruising kisses.

He was grinding himself on your leg, moaning every time he opened his mouth over yours in another wet and messy kiss. Supporting himself on one elbow, he reached around your back and unhooked your bra with one hand before disconnecting your lips to look at your chest. When he pulled the bra up over your arms, he stared in awe at your tits, wasting no more time before latching his mouth over one of them.

“Oh, f-fuck.” You stammered, gripping the back of his head.

One of his hands ran up your abdomen and grabbed your other nipple, pinching it between his fingers. You arched your back, pushing your chest further into his face and hand. You felt him gently churning his hips and grinding into you. He was sloppily sucking on your peak, covering your tit in his saliva.

“Mm, feels good baby.” You groaned, rolling your hips upward, wishing you’d taken your pants off before this.

Steven, who you’d thought would be the most timid when it came to sex, became silently demanding in the bedroom when it came to what you were and weren’t allowed to do. He liked to be the one to undress you, and he liked to be the one who started the physical piece. He liked to take his time, making you yearn until you nearly exploded the moment he entered you.

He leaned back. The shadow of his erection was oh so apparent in his sweats. It took everything inside of you not to sit forward and grab it. Steven’s little curl fell in front of his eyes, and he didn’t bother to brush it away as he unbuttoned your jeans and tugged them off.

“Oh love, look you’ve soaked straight through your little panties there.” He leaned over, burying his face in the fabric of your underpants and inhaling deeply. His pussy drunken eyes, hooded and dark, peered over your mound at you. “I’m just going to have a little taste, darling…just a little…” 

He moved your panties to the side and ran his tongue along your slit, flicking sharply once he got to your clit. A gasp escaped your lips as you shifted your hips forward toward Steven’s face. He pressed a large hand on your abdomen, holding you down.

“Sh-shit.” You gripped the sheets tightly.

Steven, despite Jake’s overall skill in the bedroom, was the best at eating pussy. The way his tongue glided over each part of your cunt, and the way he slurped and groaned to your taste like he was savoring each drop made you lose your mind. He knew to put a hand down to keep you in place, otherwise your hips would force him off the bed completely. He looked up at you, eyes dark and hungry, before looking back down at his work. You tangled one of your hands into his hair, urging him on.

“Mm, Steven you always know just…oh shit…just what to do baby.” You cooed, tugging at his curls

If there was one way to help you get over a fight with Marc, this was it, and Steven and Jake knew that. They’d fuck you until you could hardly walk and then cuddle you while you fell asleep.

------------------------

Steven was quiet now while you finished making the ramen noodles. You had to keep your back to him while you cooked, otherwise you were going to break down and fall into bed with him and that wouldn’t be good for either of you. Now that you were finished, he was sitting at the table again. You put the noodle bowl in front of him with a fork.

“I hope you like it.” You said genuinely.

Steven looked up at you, “it’s wonderful love, really.”

Steven seemed happy, at least, somewhat, to be getting some food in his stomach, even if it wasn’t the most nutritious. You wondered if he’d had the chance to enjoy any sort of meal since Marc had taken over, but from the way he and Jaked talked, this was the first time either of them had been out in a long time.

You kept trying to convince yourself that you didn’t care about Marc, but a big part of you was curious as to why he took over the boy all that time. The other part of you already kind of knew.

“He really has been fronting this whole time? Why?” You walked over and sat at the table across from Steven.

Steven shrugged, “you know him, he likes to suffer, thinks he’s some kind of hero if he takes the pain himself. A bit messed up innit? Usually once the pain part is over, I come out yeah? Not anymore, the pain part never ends. It’s just…he’s always hurtin’.”

“I’m surprised that Jake hasn’t taken over, when things get really tough, he’s usually right there, ready to deal with it.” You idly picked at a tear in the tablecloth.

“I think Jake likes watching Marc…well…destroy himself.” He stuffed some noodles in his mouth. Steven was probably the only person in the world who could talk with a mouthful that didn’t make you frustrated with their poor manners. “Problem is, it’s destroying us too, and I don’t want to die.” He gulped. “S’why I called you. I thought if anyone could help, it would be you.”

“I’m glad I could help get you home, but I’m…I’m not staying Steven.” The room got quiet again.

He reached a hand across the table and put it over yours. You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve pulled away and told him to cut the crap, but his hand, his gentle and soft hand made you feel warm. Nausea swept through you as you recalled more about your time with the boys.

------------------------

Marc was smiling from across the table at you, holding your hand tightly. You were smiling too. It had been a perfect night. It was New Year’s Eve, and you’d both decided to stay in, and spend it with each other. It was three nights before the breakup, three nights before he finally brought you to the breaking point. He laughed at a silly joke you made, and now he just looked at you with those eyes.

That’s why you’d fallen in love with Marc. He had a way of making you feel like you were the most important thing in the world to him. In fact, you were so important to him that he felt like you were better off without him. He had a troubled past, he didn’t hide that. He eased into telling you about the boys, afraid of scaring you off, but he told you about his mother and about his brother before you’d met the other two. In fact, knowing about his trauma was the only reason you didn’t call him crazy and leave when he told you about Jake and Steven.

He got up and leaned over the table, placing a peck on your forehead. He grabbed your plates and walked over to the sink, turning on the faucet to wash the dishes. Your phone buzzed. It was your brother.

Joe: Hey! I’m going to be in town tomorrow, is it cool if I come over?

“Oh, Joe is asking if he can come over tomorrow.” You paused. “Should be fine right?”

The dishes clanked in the sink and the faucet stopped. Not again, you thought.

“You act different when your brother is here.” He said, turning around and wiping his hands on a towel.

“He’s my brother, of course I act different with him than I do with-”

“No, I mean…you treat me different when he’s around.” He slapped the dish towel on the counter and walked to the living room.

You buried your face in your hands. It was a simple question. Can your brother come over tomorrow? There was no reason to say no, in fact, you only asked out of courtesy. It was a way of making sure you weren’t interfering with some unknown plans. Steven or Jake would’ve just said, of course, with some term of endearment attached to the end.

The night would be even worse if you didn’t follow Marc to the living room, so you got up and went to him. He was back to, staring out the window.

“Marc, I don’t want to fight with you, I’ll just text him and-”

“Yep, just tell him that your nutjob, douchebag boyfriend doesn’t want you around your family.” He said, keeping himself turned away from you. “Make me out to be the bad guy. You’re good at that.”

“Alright you know what? I’m not doing this, Marc.” You threw your arms up before walking to the door and grabbing your keys out of the change bowl.

“Yeah? So you’re just going to leave then?” He turned and looked at you now. “Good, it’s probably for the best.”

“Fuck you.” You slammed the door behind yourself.

You’d gone down to the parking lot and started your car but you didn’t leave yet. You just sat there, crying for a bit, thinking even more about what he’d said, you act different when your brother is here. You hated to admit when Marc was right, but you did act differently toward him. In fact, you downright avoided him. He and your brother didn’t always see eye to eye, and you hadn’t exactly told Joe about Marc’s…condition, so it wasn’t like one of the boys could take his place; Besides, you were sure that would’ve upset Marc even more, you asking one of them to replace him around your family. It would’ve made him feel even more inferior than he already did.

You further hated to admit that he didn’t deserve that. To do that would seem like you were ashamed of him. Like he was your little secret. The saddest thing though, was that it wasn’t the mental disorder that you were trying to hide from your brother, it was the way that Marc acted when your brother was around. You weren’t the only one that acted different with him around.

You laughed a lot, and joked with Joe, and you assumed Marc was probably jealous that you didn’t joke with him the same way, as though you hadn’t been close with your brother your entire life. So Marc would call Joe a punk and try to one-up him in almost everything, and it exhausted you.

While you sat there in your car, furious and thinking about what to do next, you surmised it must’ve been what Marc felt like, when he left the apartment in a huff, on the nights he didn’t hide behind the other two, and he went to the bar instead. You figured that if it worked for him, it would work for you, but you’d forgotten how busy it would be. You’d forgotten for a moment that it was New Year’s Eve.

That made it easier though. People were happy to buy you drinks, seeing that you’d walked into the bar in tears. Some guy offered to take you home, but you denied him, telling him you had three boyfriends waiting for you, to which he raised his eyebrows as if impressed and laughed. When you saw one of them out of the corner of your eye charging into the bar like he owned the place, you groaned.

The well dressed man in a paperboy cap and tie walked over, grabbing your arm.

“Come on, princesa.” You pulled back.

“Jake! I want to stay for one more song!” You shouted over the music.

“No, it’s time to go-”

You covered his mouth in a quick but gentle kiss, “por favor mi amor?” You asked as sweetly as you could.

Jake rolled his eyes, but you knew he couldn’t resist an opportunity to dance with you, especially not when you talked to him like that. A smile spread across his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Dancing with Jake was more like foreplay than it was dancing. It always started facing each other. His hips would gently churn against you while you stood as close as you possibly could to him, chest to chest. His lips hardly left yours, and when they did, they instead found purchase on your neck.

The dancing always ended with your rear pressed against his erection while he dry humped you to the rhythm of the song. His leather covered fingers were around your throat while he kissed the side of your neck and cheek tenderly, drawing moans from you that couldn’t be heard over the music. By the time you finally agreed to leave, you were drunk, and a single finger stroke away from a full body, earth quaking orgasm.

You’d driven far, at least a half hour from home, giving Jake more than enough time to stick his hand in your pants while he drove and circle the smooth gloved fingers over your swollen clit. You were already so wet, he slid around easily. You gripped the door handle when you reached climax, moaning and gasping under his touch.

It didn’t stop there though, it never was that simple with Jake. He was going to give it to you when you got home. You’d been teasing his cock all night, running your hand over it through his nice pants. He would give you hell later for ruining them, as though he actually cared. As though he didn’t have ten more pairs at home.

Something about Jake made you feel different than the other two. You wanted to act out, you wanted to be the biggest brat you could just to see how far he’d push you back. The back and forth with Jake was fun though, it always ended in at least one orgasm from both of you, and smiles before dozing off. You were his little brat, and he adored putting you in your place.

That night was no different. You stumbled inside, he chased after you, closing the door with his foot. You were already removing your jacket.

“Get naked for me, cariño, papi will be in to check on you soon.” He said, giving you that smirk that caused your knees to buckle.

You went into the bedroom and wasted no time at all stripping down completely naked except for your panties. Jake always wanted you to keep your panties on, especially if they were wet. You sat at the end of the bed, waiting for him to come in. Be still your beating heart when he did.

His hat was off, likely resting on the coat hanger by the door, his jacket had been discarded as well. He was the most well dressed of the three, and boy did he make you drool standing there like that. His tie was loosened. His button down shirt was rolled up exposing his strong forearms and hands. He wiped his mouth, you were in awe watching the veins in his hands shift under the skin. He was one of the few men you’d seen that could make suspenders sexy.

“Princesa, you know that’s not how I like to see you…” He smirked at you again, an evil but playful grin.

You rolled over on your stomach and then up on all fours, presenting your rear to him proudly. He cooed about how beautiful your ass looked with a thin lacy fabric wedged between your cheeks. He brushed his bare palm over one of them and then smacked it gently. You heard the shuffling of his clothes being removed, along with the clanking from the metal on his belt. 

The bed shifted when you felt him get behind you. His finger hooked under the waistband of your panties and slid down, pulling them out of your crack.

“Oh, look at you hermosa.” He used his other hand to feel around between your folds, drawing soft whines from you. “Did you like teasing me? Hm?”

“Yes, papi.” You groaned, lowering your head to the mattress and angling your rear up higher for him.

“You had a rough night, so I’ll go easy on you cariño.” He said, dropping his tie in front of your face.

You knew what to do. You put it around your neck, feeling the soft fabric against your throat, and then reached back, handing him the excess. You felt it tighten under his grip as he pulled back. Jake would never harm you, but he loved to hurt you. Sometimes he’d leave little bite marks that Steven would obsessively rub disinfectant over the next day. Other times he’d leave bruises on your waist from how hard he squeezed and fucked into you.

You’d teased him so much at the bar that he didn’t spend as much time on foreplay as he usually did, and instead kept your head level by tugging on his tie, and getting you in position to ravage you. Sliding into you was easy, you’d been ready since your orgasm in the car. He had one hand, squeezing on your hip that would periodically slap your asscheek and then go back in for a bruising hold over you.

“Si, princesa, you feel so tight, so…mmm.” He could usually last a long time, but you’d spent quite a while rubbing his cock on the dance floor, and he couldn’t hold out.

In truth you didn’t need Jake to last long though, the way he moved he always made you come, every single time. Almost every single time. On the few times he didn’t, he wasn’t afraid to get down behind you and eat his spend out of you while flicking his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves until you were gripping the sheets and begging for him to stop.

------------------------

You pulled your hand back from Steven’s, feeling a pang of guilt for holding it so long. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. As soon as your fingers left his, you saw the color leave his face. He dropped his fork and he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Marc.” You said quietly.

He said your name coldly. He was fairly sober at this point. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed harshly. He reached for the glass of water and gulped some down. He was surprisingly gentle when he put the cup back down. You’d expected him to slam it.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He said. “But I guess now that I’m here, it’s time for you to leave right?”

“Marc, you told me to go. Remember?” You were already resisting your fight or flight response kicking in.

“Didn’t actually think you would go.” He sighed and shook his head. “Probably for the best, right?”

“Never better.” You slid your chair out, standing up.

“You look good…baby.” He said.

“Goodbye, Marc.” You weren’t going to do this…not again.

You’d almost made it to the door. Your hand felt the draft through the broken trim on the doorframe from when Marc pulled it open too harshly so many times. You felt his hand…usually he just let you walk away, but his hand touched yours and you couldn’t stop yourself from turning to face him.

“Marc why are you doing this…please just-”

He closed the tense space between you, covering your mouth in his over and over until you felt like you might collapse. Part of you still tried to pull back, but it was pointless, not because he was holding on too tightly, but because you weren’t trying all that hard. You’d given in to his tender touch, his desperation, his need to keep you.

All you’d thought about all night were the bad times, but there were some good ones too, and they came flooding in while he kissed you, one soft peck after another.

------------------------

You were sitting at the bar the night you’d met, alone, and the handsome man in a forest-green shirt sat down next to you. He caught your eye immediately with his gorgeous smile and the way his eyes wrinkled when he laughed. You were completely enamored from the moment you laid eyes on Marc, entranced by his very being. The two of you drank far too much, and shared far too much that night.

You weren’t one to put out on the first date, nor when it was your first time talking to someone, but you’d made an exception for Marc. You found yourself at his place that night, listening to him coo about how beautiful you were with his face buried in your neck. He was so sweet, gentle, and kind, you wanted to be around him more and more.

Your second date, a real date, was at a restaurant you both hadn’t been to, but talked about wanting to try through your texts. It was the worst food you’d ever had, but sneaking into the bathroom to get fucked over the sink was worth the time and money spent on the bad meal.

It was more than just the sex though, of course that was great, but it was the way Marc really made you feel like you could be yourself around him. He held your hand everywhere you went, as though you were a prize and he’d won and wanted to show you off. When you agreed to be his girlfriend he started looking for excuses to say it. He would call to order pizza and say, yes, for my half I’d like pepperoni and my girlfriend would like the other half with just cheese, please.

So on the nights that he got destructive, it made things even harder. You knew where it was all coming from. Guilt. He felt like you were too good for him, so he had the, push her away before she can push me away, and the, she’s not going to leave on her own so I need to make her leave, mentality. The good times made the bad times feel that much worse, and made it that much harder to walk away when it got really rough.

No matter what he’d thrown at you, you were willing to work through it with him, if only he’d let you. It was when the other two started coming around that things got really tough for Marc, seeing the way you were with them, how you smiled, and the way they made you so happy. For him, you assumed, it made him feel even more like he wasn’t good enough for you. He was jealous, full of hatred for his own shortcomings and unable to get over the pain he brought upon himself. If only he would’ve just talked to you, instead of pushing you away, you wouldn’t be in the position you were in right then.

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You couldn’t help giving in though, letting him peel off your clothing layer by layer until you were in just your panties, and he was completely undressed, pressed up against you in the bed. Steven was your selfless lover, the one who treated sex like an artform, savoring every single piece of your body as though it were sacred. Jake was your rough and tough beatdown guy who always knew when you needed to be put in your place, but Marc…Marc knew you.

He knew just how to suck on your neck to get you whining and whimpering in ways that the other two could never dream of. He knew just what to say to make you squirm underneath him, begging for more. He kissed you deeply now, feeling around in your soaking wet panties for your clit, circling over it when he found it. You groaned into his mouth.

“Oh wow, baby, so fuckin’ wet.” He said, sliding a finger into your hole easily. “Can’t believe how soaked you are just for me.”

You arched your back, gasping, “oh, shit, Marc.” You wrapped both arms around his neck.

“Tell me how good that feels, tell me baby…” He begged, desperate for your words of praise.

“It feels so…oh shit…you feel so good.” You kept your eyes locked on his while you said it.

He covered your mouth in bruising kiss after bruising kiss while he shoved another finger into your wet cunt. You tangled your fingers into his curls, reveling in the way his moans deepend under your touch. He was so warm and familiar, no matter how much you hated yourself for giving in to him, you couldn’t deny how wonderful Marc felt while he fingered you.

“I want you…” You said, the desperation in your tone pissed you off, but you didn’t care.

“You do?” He asked in between kisses.

“Yes.” You breathed.

Normally, Marc would get you off twice, once with his mouth, fingers, and one time he got you off with his thigh, and then the second time he would get you off was by fucking you until you couldn’t see straight. Tonight he was so glad to have you there, you could tell by how he acted, that he didn’t second guess your request. He wasn’t going to make you wait to feel him inside of you. You could probably ask him for the moon right now and he’d hand it over to you.

He pulled his fingers from you and immediately stuck them between your lips. His eyes rolled back, Marc loved having his fingers sucked on while he fucked into you. You felt his cock glide to your hole.

“I wanna hear you tell me how my dick feels when I fuck you, baby.” He took his fingers from your mouth to guide himself into your cunt.

Your head flew back, nearly hitting the headboard when he finally thrust himself into you. It took you a moment to come down from the initial wave that jolted through your body. While Steven and Jake were usually fixated on breasts or ass, Marc was stuck with his mouth on your neck, leaving bruising hickeys and forcing pained groans from your lips. You wished he was terrible in bed, at least then you would’ve been able to resist him.

“Tell me baby, say it, please.” Marc was so needy, so desperate for your words, but you weren’t going to give them to him.

“No.” You said in a moan.

He didn’t even look at you, he just kept pushing into you, faster and harder, as though he could fuck the words from your mouth. You liked when Marc got a little rough with you. When Jake was rough, it was methodical, controlled, and intentional; When Marc got rough, he was jagged, unpredictable, and downright messy. He would huff while his skin smacked against yours in repetition, voice becoming more and more wrecked with each thrust.

“You’re gonna play this game, huh?” He lifted his head up and looked at you, lips pressed together tightly, dark brow furrowed.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” You spat back. His hand reached up and gripped your throat. “You gonna start fucking choking me now?”

“As if you need another reason to hate me.” He said between thrusts.

You never expected that more fighting would do you in, that that would be what got you there, but it did. Your body was heating, pooling within your core. You leaned your head back, arched your body upward, you were so close. Then all at once you were empty, Marc pulled out of you, but kept his eyes trained on yours, and his hand around your throat. Asshole.

“Tell me how bad you want it, and maybe I’ll keep going.” He was breathing heavily.

“No.” You whacked his arm away and tried to get up.

You were on the edge of the bed, almost pressing the ball of your foot to the cool wood floor when Marc’s arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. Instinctively you’d spread your legs over his knees. His erection was prodding between your folds. You felt his chest rising and falling against your spine. One of his hands pinched your nipple while the other guided his cock back into your cunt.

“Tell me.” He said softly.

From this position he could easily tease your clit while he fucked upward into you. This angle made him feel deeper, like he filled every bit of your channel, all the way until he couldn’t go any further. You rolled your head back over his shoulder. You hated how intimate this position felt, but you loved how it made your entire body burn.

“F-feels good…” You were practically drooling, and when he started sucking on your neck it was even worse.

“I wanna hear you, keep going.” He grunted and groaned while he kept thrusting into your tight, wet hole.

“You…oh shit…you fuck me so good, please don’t stop.” You begged, nearly crying with the need to feel yourself crashing over his girth.

“That’s right, yeah…” He continued circling his fingers over your swollen clit. “You gonna come for me babe?”

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop M-Marc it feels, oh baby it’s so…” It was coming back again, the heat, the tingling that turned you into a ragdoll.

You felt Marc’s thick cock harden inside of you, and you knew he wasn’t going to deny you this time. His arms tightened and his fingertips pinched your nipple almost to an unbearable point of agony. His other fingers didn’t stop circling though, drawing your orgasm out of you in soft circular motions. You were a panting, crying mess while your walls clamped down over him, and he was no different, groaning and grunting into your ear while he shot his hot spend into you.

“Fuck, baby.” He said as he started coming down from his orgasm.

Once you were both done, and your mind was stabilizing once more, you felt nothing but hatred for yourself, and guilt for what the other two may have witnessed from the headspace. You were sure that Jake knew, but you’d hoped that Steven had managed to get some rest. Without looking back at Marc, trying to avoid your shame, you went to the bathroom and cleaned yourself up. When you looked in the mirror, you were disgusted with the woman looking back. You promised yourself you would never do this, you thought.

When you came back out, Steven was looking back, wearing nothing but his sweats. You sucked in a deep breath, feeling only sorrow. This was it…the point in the road where you had to choose, and you weren’t sure you were strong enough to make that decision, so you were glad when the boys chose for you.

“He…erm…he knows.” Steven said softly. You heard his voice cracking.

“He knows what?” You asked.

“He knows that you have to go, and that you aren’t coming back.” Steven pulled a shirt over his torso. “I’d rather you didn’t go, I’d rather he go but…”

“He can’t.” You helped him finish his sentence.

“Right.” His bottom lip began to quiver.

You knew that the part of Marc that loved you wouldn’t allow for him to completely give up the body while you were present, and therefore the two of you would always be at each other’s throats. You couldn’t have Steven and Jake without Marc, because Marc couldn’t stay away, he just couldn’t, and so you, for your own sake, had to go, and never come back.

“I really am going to miss you, Steven, and Jake.” You walked up and placed a kiss on Steven’s tear stained cheek. “And you too Marc.”

You didn’t turn back around when you left, you didn’t check to make sure that they were ok, you just put your clothes back on, grabbed your keys, and walked out the door. You weren’t sure if your visit to them would have left them saved, or if Marc would continue to spiral and destroy them all, but you couldn’t stay, that much you knew for sure, no matter how much it pained you to go.

You had to do what was best for you for once, even if it nearly killed you.

AO3 LINK

TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @ninebluehearts, @in-between-the-cafes

[meamiya]

LESSON 1: BLOWJOBS with MIYA ATSUMU

synopsis♱ ‣ Best friend Atsumu gets the proposition of a lifetime. To accept or to not accept. 

cw♱ ‣ nsfw, gn!reader, blowjob (m!receiving), ball sucking, handjob, inexperienced reader and atsumu

word count♱ ‣ 2.3k words

author’s note♱ ‣ Hopefully this makes up for the crimes I have committed against ‘tsumi in the past. I love him so I have to give him a hard time of course. Enjoy!

♱ explicit content! minors do not interact ♱

“I have a proposition for you.”

The words leave your lips before you can draw them back in. This was definitely not one of your best ideas, but you’d already begun, and you weren’t about to give up just yet.

Atsumu pauses his endless swiping and glances up from his phone, giving you his full attention. “’m listening.” 

Atsumu has been your best friend since childhood. He’d been there when you’d started your awkward training bra phase and you’d been there for his horrid bowl cut era that had lasted a total of one hour. There was nothing that you two couldn’t talk about or do together, and you were about to test the boundaries of that statement.

“Can I give you a blowjob?”

Years of listening to podcasts and reading novels describing the intricacies of doing the deed had led you to this moment, where you wanted to test out the knowledge you’d acquired before going out into the real world. And since you were both single and bored, what better test subject than your best friend.

Atsumu’s expression had turned from curious to completely dumbfounded in the matter of seconds and you began worrying that he may refuse your proposal. Although, who could blame him? It’s not every day that your best friend proposes to suck you off.  

Your cheeks burn crimson as you rush to explain yourself. “I’ve never done it before, and I can’t think of anyone I trust more than you to give me some pointers. I mean you’ve had so many girlfriends over the years that you’d definitely know a thing or two. Or ten.” You joke, hoping to lighten the mood even the slightest bit.

No response.

Your rambling continues. “It will be completely platonic. It’s just that I have all this theoretical knowledge on how to do it and I want to see if it will actually work out before I make a fool of myself.”

As the seconds tick by your hands grow clammy and regret burns in your gut but you refuse to back down now. Maybe a little push would do the trick.

“I could always ask Osamu.”

“No! No!” You’ve finally broken through his dumbstruck expression and his exclamation gives you some form of hope. “Not that scrub. I’ll do it! I was just shocked for a second.” His expression quickly turns sheepish. “But I doubt I’d be of any help though.”

It was your turn to don the quizzical expression. “Why?”

With averted eyes and rosy cheeks, he scratches the back of his neck. “Well… Because I don’t have as much experience as ya think I do in that field. Actually…To be honest, I have no experience in that field.”

Blind shock passes through you, and you immediately look at him in disbelief. “No way. You’ve had so many girlfriends before. You can’t tell me that you’ve never gotten so much as a blowjob before.”

“Said it was degrading to them and I didn’t want to force anything. ‘sides, none of them lasted long anyway.” He admits embarrassedly.

To be fair, the main reason you’d chosen to ask Atsumu was because you had the notion that his past trysts would arm him with some helpful tips. It was definitely not because every time his shirt would rise an inch, displaying his deep v-line and a glimpse of his abs, your mouth would water just imagining your tongue licking from his happy trail to a place you could only envision in the darkness of your room when your fingers managed to drift into the wetness between your legs.

And now, with your best friend blushing like the virgin he was and his consent to your proposal, you were practically ready to pounce him.

You try but fail to hide your smirk as your crawl on hands and knees from where you had been sitting on the bed to where he rests against the headboard. “Guess today is your lucky day then, Mr Miya.”

As you approach him his eyes dart from side to side, never making eye contact with yours, his cheeks still tinted pink, and hands curled into the bedsheets at his side. You slowly make your way between his outstretch legs and place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling them tense in response.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ‘tsumu.” You appease, gently running your palms over his sweatpants absentmindedly.

“No, I want to. Just nervous ‘s all.” He mutters.

You smile brightly at him as he finally makes eye contact with you, albeit reluctantly. “All you have to do is lay back and tell me if it feels good or not. Easy!”

You hear him scoff but your focus is now on removing his sweatpants. With Atsumu’s assistance they make their way to your bedroom floor in a matter of seconds and your eyes are immediately drawn to the half hard appendage resting between his juicy thighs, only covered by the material of his underwear. Drool pools in your mouth and you can’t wait to put it to use.

With as much self-control as you can muster, you try to recall what you had learned before diving in headfirst, literally.

Anticipation is key. Always keep them on their toes.

Your palms find their way to Atsumu’s thighs once again and run over the smooth muscle, squeezing gently as you travel higher. You hear a sharp intake and the change in his breathing to quick shallow breaths only motivates you further.

Deciding to take the plunge, you remove his shirt to reveal his prominent abdominals before you connect your lips softly to the very hairline you had been fanaticising about. A barely audible groan rumbles in his chest and you can barely contain your excitement. Your kisses travel lower until you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, and his breathing audibly quickens. You teasingly trace your fingertips the slightest bit under the waistband as you make eye-contact with your best friend, his pupils blown, and eyes focused intently on your movements.

Slowly, you ease his boxers down his long legs before tossing it to the floor alongside his sweats, never breaking eye contact. Unable to take the suspense any longer, your eyes travel down the length of his torso to his naked lower half.

And there lies something you had only even imagined in your dreams, his fully hard cock lying against his stomach leaking droplets of precum, with enough girth and length to leave your throat and jaw aching for days to come. You had never wanted to put something in your mouth more than in this moment.

The tip and the underside of the penis is the most sensitive. Pay it the attention it deserves.

Gently grasping the twitching member, you settle on your knees between his thighs and place wet kisses to his tip and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck.” Atsumu groans quietly upon contact as his head droops to rest on his left shoulder.

Lubrication is important and your mouth produces it for free.

Gathering all the spit that had accumulated in your mouth, you hover just above the head of his cock and let it slowly drip down from your tongue to his tip, watching as it trails down his length to your fist at the base.

“Fuck, that was hot.” Atsumu comments and the praise goes straight to your wet pussy.

“I’m glad. Any other words of wisdom you’d like to share?” you joke as your hand begins to coat his length in your spit with each upward motion, squeezing slightly as you reach the tip.

You momentarily lose his attention as his body focuses solely on the pleasure your right hand is bringing him, soft pants leaving his mouth and his abs clenching with each stroke.

“Atsumu?” you try to grab his attention, slowing your movements until his hazy eyes focus on yours.

It takes him a second before he finally responds to your previous question. “Other than for you get on with it, I have nothing to say.”

Glad to see that his sarcasm is still intact, you happily grant his request.

Start off slow and make sure that you are enjoying the process as much as your partner is.

Your tongue flattens as you lick the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, before engulfing the head into your warm and awaiting mouth, applying a bit of suction before sliding it out with a pop. The saltiness of his precum is something you easily get used to, and you find yourself savouring the heady taste.

Atsumu’s back arches as he feels the heat of your mouth envelop him before it disappears all to soon for his liking. His moan resonates through the room and his fists grasp that much tighter on the bedsheets, sweat beading on his chest.

Before Atsumu even has time to catch his breath, your mouth descends once again, and this time you’re able to take more of his length. The combination of your twirling tongue and suctions drives him wild while the incessant rotations of your hand at his base have his head tossing side to side and his eyes rolling back.

With each bob of your head, you’re able to take more of him, but gagging on your best friend’s dick was not in the cards for today, regardless of how badly you wanted him to fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak a word. You decide to take a more throat-friendly approach, one you were the most curious about.

The balls are your friends and not to be feared. Don’t neglect them.

Using your free hand, you trail it up his rigid thigh and carefully cup his balls into your palm, massaging them softly.

The action catches Atsumu off guard and causes his body to jerk unexpectantly, thrusting his cock a bit too close to your throat. You unconsciously retract and gather some much-needed oxygen into your lungs, breathing deeply.

Atsumu immediately reaches for you, eyes wide and frantic. “Shit! ‘m sorry. It felt good I promise. I was just shocked.”

“I’m fine ‘tsumu. I was just shocked as well. Now let me get back to what I was doing.” You push at his chest with a smirk until he’s lying against the headboard once again, returning your focus back to his still hard cock and ignoring his worried glances.

Your right hand continues its strokes while you attend to the heavy sacks dangling between his legs once again. This time, instead of your hand, you place teasing licks and kisses along each sack and Atsumu sighs in pleasure, sinking further into the mattress.

“Feel good, ‘tsumu?” you ask.

“Mmm.” He moans in return, concern long gone.

Satisfied with his response, you drag an experimental lick from his perineum to his balls before taking one into your mouth while your free hand fondles the other. Atsumu’s moans sound heavenly to your ears and only spear you on to drag more out of him. You switch to the other side so that neither go unattended before your attention is drawn to the twitching of his cock.

Wanting to feel each twitch on your tongue, your lips find their way around his length once again, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth and mixing with his precum that leaks in droves now. Atsumu voices your thoughts.

“Fuck! Fuck! ’m gonna come soon. Ya better pull off.” His fingers tangle in your hair but he makes no attempt to move you.

Reluctantly, you slide off his dick with a pop in order to ask, “Do you wanna come in my mouth, ‘tsumu?”

Due to his unfocused gaze and unrestrained groans, his unfiltered response doesn’t surprise you. “Yes! Please let me come in your mouth!”

With renewed vigour, you swallow his cock once again, using both hands now to focus on the never-ending length that you are too inexperienced to take whole. The wet sounds and groans that resonate around you have only added to the tingling between your legs and clenching your thighs does little to quench the pleasurable burn.

You receive three warnings, Atsumu’s hands tightening the grasp they have on your hair, the relentless throbbing of his cock and a breathless “Comin’!” before the taste of hot and salty cum fills your tastebuds and throat.

You try to swallow as much as you can before the need for air kicks in, the rest coating your fingers and Atsumu’s cock. Since you didn’t want to waste a drop, you lock eyes with Atsumu’s half-lidded ones while cleaning up the remainder of his cum from your body and his, licking your lips and drawing one last unabashed groan from him.

“So, how was it?” you ask cheerfully, in direct contrast to your best friends drained state, both physically and mentally.

“Ain’t no way that was ya first time doing that. My legs feel like jelly.” He admits breathlessly.

His reaction brings a smile to your face, and you’d be damned if you let this end all too quickly. “So, same time tomorrow?” you ask.

The look on Atsumu’s face coupled by his naked state is almost comical. “Wait, what?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to test out all that I’d learned. Did you think this was a one-time thing?” you ask innocently, an obvious ploy but one he falls for, nonetheless.

And when two days, turns to three days, turns to 4 years, and you’re able to wake up next to your best friend every morning, you’re glad you had the balls to go after his balls.

[moris-auri]

Lend themselves to your sweet eyes of gold

Warning: NSFW 18+ for smut. Teasing, p in v, oral sex (female receiving), mature, (she/her)

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x unnamed

Word count: 2k

A/N: Enjoy!

The melancholy strains of a lute drifted his way as he entered, haunting and beautiful and familiar. His shoulders slumping almost immediately after the door latched behind him. He dragged his fingers through his hair irritably, sending the already messy strands further askew. 

Crossing the room in several strides, he reached for the jug, pouring wine into a gilded golden cup, lifting it to his mouth, the familiar sourness sitting heavily on the back of his tongue. The room had grown cold in his absence, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room coming from the sunlight that streamed past the curtains. 

“Your brother was here earlier. The Queen too.'' 

The words came from behind him, spoken so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her speak. It was one of the things that drew him to her, her preference for the quiet peace of his chambers when she was not playing in the main hall or in another room. 

Caught off guard, he turned, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, “What did they want?” he croaked, wincing as the wine burned a path down his throat as it settled in his stomach. 

He knew what they wanted. What they always wanted, day after day after day; a never ending cycle of disappointment and reddened, still stinging skin. 

“They didn’t say, though I assume they were searching for you," she murmured, lifting one shoulder in a delicate half shrug, head lowered as she continued to pick determinedly at the strings. 

Her gown, some nearly sheer thing from Volantis or Tyrosh or Lys, he didn't know or care really, pretty as it was, hung loosely from her shoulders as she sat with her legs folded underneath her, the thin fabric a rich shade of blue. Further adornments decorated her limbs, little trinkets he had brought her decorated her wrists and her fingers. Rings of silver and gold embedded with emeralds and rubies and pearls, costly enough that she had protested, all but demanding he give them to Helaena. 

He’d refused of course, knowing his sister-wife had no true interest in anything past the insects she had carefully pinned in her box. A plate of delicacies, the same one he'd left her with earlier, laden with pomegranates and other rich fruits and pastries, sat on the bed by her hip, more half eaten than it had been when he’d left her, steadily picked at over the course of the morning. 

His answering smile was a rueful one that did not quite reach his eyes, his gaze lingering for a second longer before he grumbled under his breath, wrinkling his nose as the stench of the city wafted in on the breeze. 

The weight of his beloved eldest sister's arrival hung sourly over everyone’s heads, his uncle and her children coming with her to see his nephew reaffirmed as the Sea Snake’s heir. A part of him viciously hoped it was two days, or even three. That her ship hit some delay, loathing the thought of having to leave his chambers, where no one looked at her like she was the dirt beneath their boots, someone cursed to remain nameless, doomed to be forgotten in the pages of history.

Where no one looked at him. 

Not his mother, with despair in her eyes, not Aemond, who gritted his teeth and looked down at him every chance he could, cursed as the second son to want everything that came to him so effortlessly. 

He wasn’t blind, using the fact that they chose to overlook him to his advantage. As covetous as Aemond was, he was still his brother, and that familial loyalty and shared blood mattered far more than any trivial crown. Or so he hoped. 

Downing the last of the wine, he kicked off his boots and the near stifling layers of his clothing before he laid on his back beside her, curling one hand around her knee as his head rested against her thigh. He knew she didn’t mind it; his constant seeking of her when they were alone, craving the calm that she seemed to exude effortlessly like it was air.   

“Will you sing for me, my little songbird?” he murmured, eyes glinting with mischief as he tilted his head back to look up at her, twirling a lock of her hair around the tip of his finger.

“Anything for you,” she promised, casting a delighted smile his way, eyes bright with affection as she looked down at him. 

The sight of it, given so freely and without anything expected in return still made his breath lurch in his chest, the taste of blood blossoming in his mouth as the sharp edge of his tooth nicked the inside of his cheek. 

She shifted backwards, wrapping her fingers around the neck of the lute and settling the pear shaped instrument against her chest, the quietness of the chamber filled with sound once again. He watched, an insurmountable fondness growing as her eyes closed, her pale lashes fluttering against her cheeks. 

Her thin fingers plucked at the instrument’s strings with a reverence he knew all too well, the lilting sweet tones of her voice heavensent as her voice echoed over his chamber. He leaned further back against the loosely scattered pillows, the faint sunlight glinting off the rings on his fingers. 

"Do you love me?" 

Her eyes widened, her instrument forgotten in a second as she scrambled onto his lap. His eyes closed at the feel of her hands on his cheeks and the tender softness of the kisses she pressed to the curve of his cheekbones, her quiet murmured words soft in his ear. 

He exhaled, fingers tangling in her hair as he sighed, a deep rasping sound from deep in his chest as her head lolled against his. He swore, time and time again, that he would never tire of it. Of her; the haven of her arms. 

Of this. 

The intensity of his gaze sharpened, his hand tangling itself in the fabric of her gown, pushing it up past her waist, savoring the growing desperation in her eyes. He trailed the tips of his fingers over her shoulder and down her arm as he listened to her play, watching with rapture as she shivered, not stopping despite the gooseflesh that rose on her skin. 

She shuddered, fingers faltering on the strings, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Her quiet noises spurred him on, his eyes darkening as the violet was swallowed by black. Desire swelled within him, as dark as a stormcloud and as thick as smoke, choking and stealing the breath from his lungs. 

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sliding closer, moving his fingers higher and higher before tangling them loosely in her hair, freeing the strands so they tumbled over her shoulders. 

She hummed, a slow, lazy sound that belied her content as her head tilted to the side, lips parting. Her eyes opened again, half-lidded and intoxicated, a shade of gold not unlike Sunfyre’s scales. 

"There's my love," he rasped, dragging his nose down the curve of her jaw, lips tightening at the breathy sound she let out. 

Like a man starved, he curled a hand around her jaw, leaning in to kiss her again, one arm twining around the curve of her waist as he pulled her against him, reveling in the way she sank into his touch. 

"Look at you," he murmured, ducking his head to press kisses along her throat. He dipped his hand, pressing the pads of his fingers to her bud, watching her arch above him, “I’ve barely touched you, little songbird,” his lips parted, groaning as he swiped his fingers through the slick that had gathered between her legs, “Is this all for me?” he panted, trailing a path of openmouthed kisses over her shoulder, hissing as he felt her fingers twist in his hair, yanking on the short silver gold strands. 

“Yours,” she gasped out, her breath coming out shaky and tremulous. 

She dug her fingers into the linens, gripping them tightly as her back lifted up, arching like a cat. 

"Do you wish for me to stop?” he asked in-between the kisses he pressed against the column of her throat. 

She shook her head quickly, curling her body tighter around his, her instrument forgotten once again, “Please-” 

“Listen to you,” he rasped, “Begging for me so prettily,” he added a second finger and she mewled, not bothering to make any further attempt to be quiet. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning at the feeling of her clenching around his fingers, stars bursting and erupting behind his eyelids. 

“My instrument-” she protested breathlessly as the sound of the wooden instrument clattering over the side of the bed and onto the floor sounded over the sounds of her pleasure. 

“I’ll purchase you a new one,” he promised absentmindedly, a sheen of sweat covering his skin, the heat between them nearly boiling in its intensity, a gratuitous result of the steadily rising sun, “I swear it,” he said as her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back to her mouth, “I’ll purchase anything you desire,” he mumbled as she let out another cry. 

His head lowered, the warmth of his breath fanning over her skin as he moved down to settle between her thighs, the shorn, uneven ends of his hair brushing over her stomach like a bird’s feather. 

He felt her legs trembling as she writhed under him as he buried his face between her legs, the lewd sounds of his mouth on her echoing loudly in the same breath as the other noises she made. 

Her moans were an entirely different form of music, clear and sharp and sweet like the bells that had rang in the city after the births of Jaehaera and Jaehaerys and Maelor. He lifted his head, pressing a kiss to her hip. His eyes met hers, gold on violet as he rested his chin on her stomach, one arm curving around her waist, content to just watch her. 

He rolled onto his back, hands finding home on her hips. 

“You’re not playing fair,” she grumbled breathlessly, groaning in tandem with him as she sank onto him. 

He huffed out a laugh at that, only for it to fade as he grimaced, pain flaring in his shoulders where her fingers dug into his flesh, the sharp edges of her nails sure to leave marks later. He tugged her hands away to kiss her palms as emotion after emotion raced through him, one after the other like a serpent swallowing their own tail. 

“When have I ever done that?” he said lowly, one corner of his mouth curving upwards. 

Her head fell back as she twisted her hips, hands braced on his chest, fingers hovering inches from his collarbones. The intoxication that had been in her eyes before is still there, echoed just as potently in his own now. 

“The day grows late,” she commented after her breathing had steadied and quietness swept over the chamber once more, her gaze focused on the windowpane as she curled around him, watching the sun rise higher and higher, resting her head on his shoulder as she traced shapeless patterns against his skin with the tips of her fingers lightly, “Perhaps I should go-”

He clucked his tongue, pulling her flush against him, “There is nowhere else you should be but here,” he murmured, a pleasant drowsy tiredness settling over him like ice over a river, the fear that she would leave hovering faintly in the back of his mind as it always did. 

Her sighs echoed softly in his ears as she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his as she traced over the lines etched deep into the flesh of his palm. 

It was the moments like this, tucked away with her flush against him, his nose buried in her hair, hidden away from the leeches and the vipers of the court, that were a balm, soothing in a way he did not know quite what to name, but craved it all the same the calm that settled over him as she nestled further into his arms, his restlessness fading slowly like ripples on the surface of a lake.

He dreamed sometimes of fleeing in the dead of night with her, going somewhere, anywhere, where no one would ever find them. To Lys or Meereen or even further. But those were but the stuff of dreams; childish and unattainable. 

She was his, and he would bathe the realm in dragonfire before he ever let her go.

[vennilavee]

v. ares & aphrodite

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 2.2k

summary: there is a dinner party at ryomen sukuna's shrine and you are invited.

warnings: active cannibalism

If the sea could open herself up and present the sky with her treasures hidden deep under unturned rocks and shimmering pearls, she would present only you in a rush of seafoam and roses. The sun would rise and set with each step you took, if it had the honor to see you emerge from the sea.

As you wander the halls of the shrine, you are unaware of the ravenous eyes on you with every quiet step you take. The walls are decorated with paintings and carvings of lines and shapes that are new to you. It is warm here but not uncomfortably so, despite the balmy heat from the sunlight filtering in through the windows. 

“You look lovely,” Uraume says as they guide you towards the main dining area.

“Thank you,” you murmur, wringing your fingers together. Uraume looks pointedly at your hands and places a goblet of a clear liquid in your palms. It has no odor but you eye it suspiciously. Uraume nearly laughs at your hesitation.

“It’s sake. Lord Sukuna only has the finest of drinks here. Take a sip, if you’d like.”

You nod, continue to glide through the corridors of the demon king’s home, hoping to run into him soon. The fairies have informed you about sake and wine, and the effects it has on humans. You keep the cup at arm’s length as if it will bite you if you hold it close.

You are at the mercy of your own curiosity, but you remain cautious in the den of wolves.

Uraume walks with you as you roam the halls of your own volition. The ruby red is jarring when you remember how the palace halls in the sea looked. Dark greens and blues blending together to match the sea around you as if it was all one and the same.

You don’t think of the palace often these days. But sometimes, it comes in unwarranted bursts, like you are powerless to stop your own memories for a fleeting moment.

Letting your fingertips gently graze the walls, you sigh wistfully.

“For a demon king who despises humanity, Lord Sukuna certainly enjoys human made artifacts,” you muse, touching the molding of a grand tapestry that surely took years to produce. It is a painting of him sitting on a throne of fire and skulls, looking directly at you solemnly. As if the burden of turning the world to ash and fire sat on his shoulders.

“Despises humanity? You misunderstand-” Uraume cuts themselves off as a looming figure that can only be one Ryomen Sukuna emerges from the shadows.

“Sukuna,” you say in surprise, the breathlessness in your voice setting him on edge, “Hello.”

“What are you doing here, so far from the dining room?” he asks roughly but there is no ire in his eyes.

Uraume has left, but neither of you notice.

“I wanted… to see how the great demon king lives.”

“So you resort to sneaking around like a common criminal?”

“Criminal? Is that how you think of me?”

Sukuna says nothing, only allowing his lightning eyes to graze the way that your shimmering dress sits on your frame as if it was a second skin. Pearls lay daintily  hidden in your tresses, as if to replace the heavy crown you would have surely worn in your dark hair had chosen to stay in the sea.

In an unbreakable trance, he reaches for you with heated fingertips and a burning gaze. Your eyelids flutter when he fixes one of the pearls in your hair that has gone astray, nearly falling out. He allows his hand to drift away from your hair and towards the curve of your jaw, pressing his thumb to your chin.

If he can hear the racing of your heart, Sukuna says nothing of it. He drinks you in- your half lidded eyes, the imperceptible parting of your lips and the way you stand in front of him. Wrapped up as a gift from the sea.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly when you grip his wrist with your much tinier hand. You even rub a small circle on the skin there, as if to coax something out of him. Something born deep in the flames of desire that he refuses to admit to himself. Something it seems you already know.

Of course you do. He sneers at you, but it melts away with just one look to your dark eyes.

His thumb brushes over your lips, a sticky balm to your skin. When you gasp in surprise, he presses the digit past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth. 

Sukuna groans out loud when your tongue rolls around on his thumb, your eyes growing wider at the sound. Your teeth scrape clumsily over the skin of his finger, but he doesn’t mind. Not when you look at him as if he’s carved this world with his own two hands. Not when you look like a shimmering angel standing in front of him, at his mercy.

You decide you wish to chase that sound. He pulls his finger out and brushes your lips once more before cradling your cheek in one hand. You lean into his touch, a fire in your belly beginning to set alight with each heated touch he presses upon you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “Come. We have a dinner party to attend.”

Sukuna is fully aware of the obvious stares that you garner as you walk in front of him and to your seat at the dinner table. The entire room goes silent, heads turning to stare down the girl who emerged from the sea as you set the entire room ablaze.

But you seem not to notice, or if you do, you show no acknowledgement of how the worst curses and curse users in existence leer at you with hungry eyes. You’ve learned a little bit about curses in your time spent at the pond. They don’t bother you, perhaps on Sukuna’s orders. All you know is that they are capable of chaos and they only respond to Sukuna.

You wordlessly take your seat next to him, keeping your head up high and showing no fear to the thirsty beasts surrounding you. 

“Beautiful,” a beast with one eye says to you in a low voice.

“I cannot say the same,” you mumble, inspecting your food.

All Sukuna needs to do is send one heated glare to his dinner guests and they all fall silent immediately.

The curse users take a particular interest in you, asking you where you’ve come from. Wordlessly wondering why Sukuna has welcomed you to his shrine.

You have a general idea of why, but you decide to keep your lips sealed and not spill the demon king’s secret to his subjects. Instead, you give them a disarming smile and ask how they found Sukuna. You’ve never spoken to anyone besides your fellow sisters and brothers, pirates and sailors. It is different to be amongst what Sukuna tells you are curses, manifestations of energy that seem to be almost as human as actual humans.

They are enchanted by you, wide, greedy eyes drinking you in to quench something that cannot be. The energy twists and changes inside the dining room as you attract more and more attention and Sukuna laughs to himself in amusement.

Of course. You barely need to try to have these pathetic imbeciles at your feet, and yet you could drown them easily with wide eyes if you so chose.

Sukuna takes you away by the wrist from the bloodthirsty creatures and ignores you when you ask him where he is dragging you to. You receive no answer, only coming face-to-face with a colossal burgundy wooden door.

“So this is where the great demon king sleeps,” you murmur, letting your hands trail along the burgundy walls lined with gold trim. It’s as royal as a man like him desires for- the finest silk and satin and the warmest fur. Not that he needs it.

“Sleep? You think I require something as trivial as sleep?” 

You glide around his colossal bedroom, taking in the weaponry and the trophies of his conquests. A broken sword, a chest with glittering rubies and diamonds laying haphazardly by the bed, a half made clay figure with his likeness to it…

Perhaps a last ditch offering for life.

“I suppose not. Though, perhaps sleep would make you less…irritable,” you reply with a smile. He scowls deeply at you.

The bed feels like a cloud when you rest your body upon it. You sigh happily and close your eyes, sinking into the ruby satin sheets. It is comfortable, but you miss the fresh dew of the grass by your favorite lemon tree. The lemon tree at the edge of the pond near the shrine with its leaves that cast shade on your heated skin and its bright yellow fruit.

Sometimes you take extra care when you are sunbathing by the lemon tree to savor the heat when you feel Sukuna’s eyes from afar. He takes in every movement of your limbs before disappearing back into the darkness. It has been an odd dance since you’ve made a home out of the pond- you catch him watching at strange hours of the day, only for him to vanish before you can call out to him.

On occasion, you’ve been surprised to see a full plate of freshly cut mangoes, peaches and peeled pomegranate awaiting you after your decadent afternoon nap. While these fruits were a delicacy to you before, now you have grown accustomed to the rich taste.

The bed dips slightly and you don’t have to open your eyes to feel the heat from Sukuna’s body. Like a moth to a flame, you draw yourself closer to him. His touch is gentle, despite the brute force that he has used to rip out the hearts of those who are doomed to it. 

“You make this bed your home and yet you do not allow me a taste of you,” Sukuna muses. His hand remains on your arm, the other on your waist, heavy and fleeting. The satin shimmer of the dress is featherlight underneath his fingertips as he craves the warmth of your skin.

“Allow? I did not know that the lord Sukuna required permission from his subjects to take what he deems as his,” you reply airily.

Your laugh sounds like petals flowing into the water. He grunts an acknowledgement and caresses your bare shoulder, as if you might break if he presses too hard.

“You belong here,” he states, “Here in the shrine.”

“Is your pond not enough?” you reply, opening your eyes to meet the fire in his eyes with your own.

“I will not have these fools questioning your place to me,” Sukuna says, “I will have you.”

“Will you?” you whisper, threading your fingers through his, “Or do you have me already?”

His eyes narrow but you look away towards the windows, where the moonlight filters into his bedroom and the sound of the waves rolling to shore fills your ears. She stands regally in the sky, looking down on you almost in contempt.

Why have you chosen to leave your birthright? Why have you not chosen the sea I made for you?

Chosen. 

Sukuna feels your eyes on him abruptly, staring at him as if trying to peer at his soul. You may have been successful, had you only tipped your chin upwards and parted your lips just an inch. 

“You will stay here,” Sukuna says with nearly no room to counter.

“For just one night,” you reply softly, raising your fingers to touch the black markings on his face.

“That will do,” he agrees, removing your hand from his cheek, “I wish to show you something. Come.”

He does not offer his hand to you to help you off the bed.

He turns his back to you, opening the armoire where yet another chest is hidden at the back. It is ornate, framed with gems in colors you are still adjusting to and twinkling gold borders. Clearly, a chest fit for the finest treasures as deemed by Sukuna.

A beating, bloody heart sits in his hand, cradled delicately by the massive palms. A tiny little life sits in the center of his control to be easily crushed or allowed to bloom with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen, a funny little feeling floating around in your belly, especially when you see a rose tucked away in one of the vessels of the heart.

“This is from that white haired fool who was being so bothersome. I’ve retrieved this. For you.”

“Oh,” you reply unsurely, not wanting to upset him, “That’s lovely…”

You hold your own hands out to cradle the warm heart that is still fighting to live. Blood stains your fingers but you pay it no mind.

There are no words for you to say so you tuck the beating heart away in the chest that Sukuna had initially placed it in. Licking your fingers clean of the white haired man’s blood, you offer Sukuna a small smile.

“Help me with this, won’t you?”

tags:  kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @helenas-revenge @aboveasphodel

[hvnterscorned]

Tag drop

i. study ;; nothing burns brighter than a hero in flames

i. headcanon ;; you are not the tragedies that happened to you

i. image ;; supernovas are the brightest

iii. memes ;; never asked to be immortal

iii. open starter ;; legends never die

iii. starter call ;; heroes never grow old

iv. ooc ;; Icarus it was not your fault

v. main ;; you refused to burn

[inkedreverie]

Consequences

pairing: lloyd hansen x female reader

warnings: fingering, cum eating. p in v sex. unprotected sex, choking. soft!lloyd hansen. 18+ content. minors DNI!

summary: You get more than you bargained for when you decide to tease lloyd on the way to your vacay.

wordcount: 1.5k

prompt: transportation: 17. in a private jet,  on the way to a vacation spot from this list.

main masterlist | library

a/n: thank you for requesting this, Aud! it was so much fun to write. i hope you enjoy this!

 

They had sat across from each other on the jet, as usual. Every once in a while, Lloyd, would suddenly drop everything he was doing and whisk her away on one of their favorite vacation spots.

This time, however, it was a surprise. No matter how many times she pressed him for details, he refused to budge. He was keeping this as a gift for her, to make up for all the time they'd spent apart lately. With little time to spare, and his laptop demanding his attention, he was hardly paying her any attention. This only made the fire inside her burn hotter. She was desperate for some small ounce of affection. Anything, even if it was just for a single moment.

She was wearing one of her favorite dresses, the blue floral one with the hem a few inches above her knees, spread apart slightly, drawing more attention than she had intended. She didn't care though, as they were all alone, just Lloyd and her.

She had teased him at first. Y/N leaned back, rubbing her hands against her thighs, spreading her legs apart slowly at first, and then she whispered in a low voice, “Lloyd, I’m not wearing any panties.” She'd taunted. No answer.

Lloyd had never been one to waste time, let alone wait for anything - and he certainly wasn't going to start now. As Y/N spoke, he remained expressionless, his gaze fixed on her lips as she continued her taunts. His name echoing from her lips over and over. He thought it would be best to let her go on, and savor the anticipation before finally breaking the silence.

As Y/N continued to roll up the hem of her dress with a teasing grin, Lloyd finally broke his calm facade. The slightest twitch at the corners of his lips gave away his true feelings, and that hint of eagerness that suddenly appeared in his eyes left Y/N with no doubt in her mind.

Before she could even process what he was doing, Lloyd grabbed her arm and dragged her into the bathroom. Despite the thrill of excitement in her chest, Y/N couldn't shake the sudden chill that crept up her spine as she found herself face-to-face with Lloyd's darkening gaze. In a swift but smooth movement, he lifted her up onto the counter and barked out, "Sit!"

Her heart pounded so loudly against her chest that she could feel it in her ears, and for a moment, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if she'd gotten more than she bargained for. The intense desire she felt for Lloyd had never felt so real before, and she suddenly found herself doubting if she was even ready for what was about to happen. However, there was no turning back now.

Lloyd’s hands gripped her thighs roughly, squeezing them. “You’re being a naughty girl.” He whispered, his rough hands rubbing her inner thighs in slow, intricate circles. “You thought you could get away with teasing me like that?” He asked, his hand inches closer to her aching center, pushing up the hem of her dress up to her hips. When she didn’t answer his thick fingers gilded between her slick folds, making her gasp. “Answer me, sweetheart.” He growled. 

“N-no. I didn’t.” She whimpered and it was like music to his ears.  His index and middle fingers began to rub her sensitive nub in slow, torturous circles which only made her sink her teeth into her bottom lip, her hands gripping the edge of the smooth granite countertop. Two fingers slip slowly into her sopping cunt, his strong digits thrusting in and out of her slowly. “You gonna be a good girl for me now?”  He asks, leaning in and pressing his forehead against hers.

She leans back, the cold glass from the mirror sends a shiver down her bare back and she can only nod in response to Lloyd’s question, her breath hitching in her throat. Without warning, his fingers plunge deeper and curl, finally hitting that sweet spot. His pace is still agonizingly slow and she grabs hold onto his striped polo shirt, the corners of his mouth curl up into the most devious smirk.  She should have known better than to tease him earlier but she couldn’t help it. 

“Oh fuck. Lloyd, please!” She whines, bucking her hips upward against his palm. 

“Please?” He mocks, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.” He purrs, his warm breath sending goosebumps down her arms as her cunt swallows his fingers. He eventually picks up the pace, the pad of his thumb slowly swirling against her clit, making her gasp out a small moan.

"Be quiet. We wouldn't want the pilot to hear you, now would we?" She shakes her head, licking her lips as she feels her walls clench around his fingers. Her slick is now drenching his hand and Lloyd groans. "Fuck, such a pretty pussy." Lloyd whispers, pulling away slightly and he slowly slides his fingers out of her before he licks off her juices.

Y/N pouts at him, her walls now clenching around nothing and she feels that honeyed heat pool down her lower stomach. "Mmm, you taste so good." He hums, before grabbing her by the throat and crashing his lips against hers roughly. His other hand trails down her chest, softly squeezing her right breast before his fingers find her swollen clit once more. Her slick coats his fingers as he rubs up and down between her folds, making her whimper against his mouth.

After a few seconds, he pulls away and she notices the bulge that's grown in his pants. "Lloyd, please fuck me." She pleads, watching him with wide eyes as he unzips his beige slacks. "Be patient, sweetheart." Lloyd grips his thick cock in his fist, slowly stroking himself once, then twice as his eyes darken with lust. He's so big and girthy it makes her mouth water. He finally presses the tip to her clit, tapping a few times before rubbing up and down between her slit in a slow motion.

Her hands drop, fingers gripping the counter of the sink a bit tighter this time at the sudden contact. "Mmm," she whimpers, a rush of euphoria washes over her body and she can feel her nipples harden beneath the fabric of her dress. Y/N's eyes squeeze shut momentarily as he continues teasing her clit that's still sopping wet, coating him in her release. "Need you all nice and sensitive for me, baby." He coos, slapping his cock against her puffy cunt. “You gonna come for me again, pumpkin?” 

She bucks her hips again, grinding against his tip. "Yes. Please. Need more." Y/N whimpers out. Her mind is hazy, drunk on the thought of him inside her. It's all she can think about. Warm heat spreads from her stomach and between her thighs as he keeps teasing her clit in circular motions. She lets out another moan, a bit louder this time as her pussy pulses, drenching the counter and his cock again. “Good girl,” he paises, guiding his tip now at her entrance. Lloyd takes his time, slowly sinking a few inches into her creamy entrance.

His fingers curl around her throat, squeezing slightly before she can make a sound. “Shhh, pumpkin.” Lloyd coos, rutting into her another inch or two. Her lips part slightly, choking out another gasp and Lloyd smirks down at her, his palm caressing the side of her face, his thumb slips into her mouth, in an attempt to quiet her moans. 

Y/N hums, sucking on his thumb as she feels her walls clench and pulsate around him. Lloyd sighs softly, rutting into her a few more inches before he fills her completely. “You feel so good, baby. Now, don't make a sound.” His other hand grips at her hip as he pulls out a few inches before shoving back inside of her. Another gasp slips out. She's trying so hard to keep quiet but the way he's fucking her right now makes it much more difficult. He leans forward, his thumb now caressing her cheek as he presses his lips to hers, muffling her sobs. The pad of his thumb strokes her cheek soothingly.

 He keeps up the pace, pressing his forehead against her own. “Is this what you wanted? Hmm? Filling up your pretty little pussy like this?” 

She grips his shoulder, his warm breath fanning over her neck as he continues his steady, harsh thrusts, making her sob again as her cunt soaks the length of his shaft. “Y-yes..” Y/N manages to choke out, her cunt squeezing him tightly. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Lloyd grunts, picking up the pace even faster as he ruts into her until she’s blubbering.

Her fingernails sink into the fabric of his shirt, her head tilting back against the cool glass of the mirror. Lloyd stills, his hot cum coating her walls and spilling out of her entrance. The two of them are now breathing heavily as he pulls out of her. “Oh,” he breathes., looking down at his cum seeping out of her and onto the counter. “Such a pretty sight, sweetheart. You look perfect filled with my cum.”

He dips his fingers in her folds, his fingers now coated in their arousal and bringing it up to her lips. She grips his hand, sucking his fingers dry before she leans back again, still trying to catch her breath. Lloyd strokes the side of her face, a satisfying grin curling at his lips. “Good girl.” He whispered when he watches her swallow.

Her heart speeds up at the echo of footsteps outside the bathroom door. “Mr. Hansen, we’re about to land in five.” One of pilots calls out and Lloyd gives her a look, telling her that this is far from over.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

masterlist

18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | COMPLETE | word count: 235,940.

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies).

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon back to main masterlist.

so many amazing sweet wonderful readers have drawn fanart of this fic??? ♡♡♡♡♡ jolie is written without much physical description so you can imagine whatever you want but if you'd like to see how i and others imagine her, i've linked them below. thank you for being the absolute sweetest.

jolie's painting of rocket by @hibataao3 makes me cry every time i look at it

very first portrait of jolie by @raccoonmybeloved ~ so fucking cute i died

sims of jo by @evolvingchaoswitch ~ particularly love her paint-spattered outfit

an absolutely drool-worthy nsfw of rocket & jolie by @lazarel-3000 that permanently has altered my brain chemistry and lives in my mind forever ♡♡♡

adorable jolie sketches by @moonnpiie that truly capture what i mean when i describe jo as having “everywhere-hair.” plus her lil art-glove! (and a really cute rocket)

the cutest jo by @frostedwitch in her chapter xxvii sweatshirt. she is so cute with such shiny eyes and cute freckles and i love her so so so much! ♡♡♡

this shiny-haired jo by @miinsie! i love her hair so much in this one - it almost looks iridescent. i swoon. thank you for taking the time to read and to share this lovely interpretation of jolie with me!

and here are my jolie character concepts (complete full-color illo & rough doodles) and an illustration of one of my fave scenes from window ♡

✧･ﾟ:*collects Chapters I-XXVII (below the cut) & a holiday special && a silly epilogue

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be .in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. * in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI. I Very Still. ❤︎❤︎ in which our heroes get fucked. In the good way, this time. Finally.

Chapter XXII. Got There Worse. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket does not say "I love you."

Chapter XXIII. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Table. ❤︎ in which the galaxy just keeps spinning.

Chapter XXIV. Space Would Be Better. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket ~ discreetly ~ claims the title of boyfriend.

Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. in which both of our heroes learn a little about themselves. ❤︎

Chapter XXVI. Other Side of the Window. in which old friends are reunited. ❤︎

Chapter XXV. The Most Beautiful Thing in My House. in which our heroes finally get what they deserve.❤︎

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ a holiday special *

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short, silly fluff.

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Nostos

HA! This week I have my act together - it is I who will be tagging!

@mareenavee @thana-topsy @dirty-bosmer @greyborn2 @gilgamish @archangelsunited @paraparadigm @inquisition-dragonborn @skyrim-forever @elfinismsarts @polypolymorph @orfeoarte @tallmatcha @snippetsrus @rainpebble3 @saltymaplesyrup @thequeenofthewinter @changelingsandothernonsense.... STAND AND DELIVER (those WIPs) Khemor gro-Skaven still has me hung up on those wonderful orc tusks. Here's the opening scene for Nostos, the fic that will be a sequel to Aristeia.

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence, mushy stuff [kissin' not viscera]) Category: M/F Genre(s): Romance Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, Khemor gro-Skaven (Male orc LDB)

Summary: Khemor gro-Skaven thought that after he defeated Alduin, he would not have to worry about anything more dangerous than a quill knife for the rest of his existence. But when jarl of the Pale asks him to investigate the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilants, it sets off a chain of events that ultimately leads him to wash up at the feet of Borgakh the Steel-Heart of Mor Khazgur. But what can a crippled conjuration mage-scholar half again her age possibly offer to a future Shield-Wife?

14 Rain's Hand, 4E 205 The snowfields of the Druadachs were melting in the spring rain that drew a gauzy gray veil over their jagged peaks. The dripping rivulets joined larger streams, carving ever-deeper grooves down the granite faces of the mountains, where they joined together in glades just greening with the waning of winter. The streams became myriad rivers whose names were known only to the inhabitants of the remote wilderness where they roared and foamed over jagged rocks on their way to the great river Karth, and finally to the sea.

Khemor gro-Skaven, Thane of Eastmarch and The Pale, the Last Dragonborn, Vanquisher of Alduin, Confidant of the High King of Skyrim, and disgraced former Magus of the College of Whispers, was now drowning in one of those rivers. The violent current wrapped Khemor's thick traveling robes and cloak around his limbs as he struggled to grab onto passing debris; his head rang from the blow it had taken on a rock as his feet had been swept from under him, preventing him from even attempting a rudimentary waterbreathing spell in a last-ditch effort to save his sorry hide. Shouting was out of the question.

Calder is going to kill me. Khemor's lungs burned for want of air and the cold water squeezed his chest, the deluge pinning him against a submerged tree trunk as coherent thought left him.

Something was pinching Khemor in half. Unbearable pressure resolved itself into a narrow band of fire across his stomach: Khemor tried to squirm away but his arms and good leg refused to move, as if weighed down by anchors.

Breaking the surface of water he had not known he was under, the heavy wet canvas of his cowl plastered itself to his mouth as he tried to draw a desperate breath. A wracking cough caused him to twist in the hands that were hauling him by his belt through the shallows. A torrent of muddy, foul-tasting water spewed from his mouth as he hit the ground, his face in the clay of the riverbank.

He coughed again, his sopping cowl now hanging away from his face enabling him to take deep draughts of air in between wrenching paroxysms. As his lungs cleared, so did his mind.

Calder is never going to let me live this down, Khemor thought, waiting for the inevitable indignant lecture his housecarl was wont to give whenever Khemor did something particularly foolhardy.

"Are you able to stand?" said a gravelly, yet unmistakably feminine voice above him.

That is not Calder.

Khemor lifted his head, peeling the hood of his cowl and a lock of his hair back to peer up at his rescuer. As he blinked the river water from his eyes, the blurry figure above him came into focus.

An orc stood above him, silhouetted by the noonday sun. Water droplets twinkled as they fell from her dark hair and traced the severe angles of her face. Her yellow-green eyes gleamed in the dark hollows under her heavy brow, framed by deep madder paint that graced her high cheekbones and was now dripping and streaking towards the two white tusks peeking out from behind her lower lip. Her tunic and trews clung to her figure, revealing every bulge and groove of her well-muscled arms and legs.

Khemor shut his mouth with a snap, words crowding his throat but none of them would come out.

Say something, you idiot!

Instead of words, another coughing fit gripped him, leaving him breathless and retching as he brought up more river water. The orc knelt next to him, heedless of the mud and clay of the riverbank, and gave him several back blows that made him see stars.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Lost Cause prologue, Part V

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

In my upcoming solarpunk novel The Lost Cause (Nov 14), we get an epic struggle between the people doing the repair and care work needed to save our planet and species, and the reactionary wreckers who want to kill the Green New Deal and watch the world burn:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

Amazon refuses to carry my audiobooks, which means that I make my own indie editions and pre-sell them on Kickstarter, along with ebooks and hardcovers. I narrated this one! It came out great! You can back it here:

http://lost-cause.org

This week, I've been serializing the prologue to give you a taste of what you can expect from the book, which Bill McKibben calls "politically perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

Here's part one:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/06/green-new-deal-fic/#the-first-generation-in-a-century-not-to-fear-the-future

And part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/07/met-cute-ugly/#part-ii

And part three:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#lost-cause-prologue

And part four:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#super-soaker-full-of-hydrochloric-acid

And now, part five:

Look, I had weeks to go until graduation. I had a life to live. I had stuff to do.

Gramps and his friends would stew and shout. Idiots on the internet would make dank memes out of Mike Kennedy and deepfake him into a million videos, turn him into a main character whose image would be around long after he left the world.

I just had to keep my head down, collect my diploma, and get the hell out of Burbank. I’d already been provisionally accepted for a Blue Helmets AmeriCorps spot down in San Juan Capistrano, helping to rebuild the city’s lower half a mile inland, up in the hills. I was going to do a year of that and then go to college: I had applications in to UCLA, Portland State (they had a really good refugee tech undergrad program), and the University of Waterloo, where my mom did her undergrad in environmental science. They’d let me declare my major in my second year, so I could take a wide variety of courses before settling on something, and if anything, Canada’s free college was even more generous than the UC system or Portland’s, with a subsidy for dorms and meals.

To tell the truth, I’d be glad to go. My senior year hadn’t been anything like I’d anticipated. Gramps’s health had gotten a lot worse the previous summer and his shitty sexist and racist remarks chased away any home help worker Burbank sent over within a week or two, so I’d been trying to keep my grades up while picking up after Gramps, getting him to take his meds, washing his sheets and cleaning his toilet—­not to mention making sure he made his doctor’s appointments and even bringing him into the office a couple of times a month for the kind of exams you couldn’t do by telemedicine.

I wasn’t sure what Gramps would do without me to take care of him, but at that point, I was running out of fucks to give. Let his asshole Maga Club buddies look after him, or maybe Gramps could figure out how not to offend everyone that came over to wipe his ass and do his laundry. He was—­as he was fond of pointing out to me—­a grown-­ass adult, and this was his house, and he was in charge. So let him be in charge.

I put myself to bed stewing about all of this, thinking of San Juan Capistrano. Some of my older friends had graduated the previous years and had gone down there and I’d followed their relocation of the old mission on their feeds. It looked like hot, sweaty, rewarding work, the kind of thing where you could really measure your progress.

For the second night in a row, I was woken up at 2 a.m. This time, it wasn’t my screen, it was Gramps, who’d stumped into my room with his cane, flipped my lights to full on, and started shaking me and calling out, “Get up, kid, get up!”

“I’m up,” I said, getting up on my elbows and squinting at him.

He was shaking, and he reeked—­of both booze and BO, and I felt a flash of guilt for not getting him in the bath that day.

“God dammit,” he said, and staggered a bit. I leapt out of bed, pulling the sheets off with me, and steadied him at the elbow.

“Calm down, okay? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. No one is all right. Fuck all right and fuck you.” I’d had Gramps tested for early dementia the previous year, by showing his doctor videos of moments like these. The doc had run a battery of tests before pronouncing, “Your grandfather isn’t senile, he’s just ornery.” Which was undeniable, and also pissed me the hell off. “Ornery” was a polite word for “asshole.” What the doc was telling me was that Gramps didn’t have to be cruel. He was cruel by choice.

I untangled myself from the sheets and piled them on the bed.

“What is it?”

“It’s Mike Kennedy, that asshole. Someone shot him.”

“What?”

He shoved his giant screen into my hands. I tapped the video window. It was from the POV of a car cam, that weird fish-­eye view of a self-­driving car, split-­screen with the passenger in the front seat, and it was Mike Kennedy, looking even worse than Gramps, bloodshot and trembling, with that under-­chin camera angle that makes everyone look like they’re half dead.

I tried to watch both halves. There was Kennedy, whispering something to him. There was the cul-­de-­sac he was parked in, false-­lit with IR from the cameras. The timestamp was 1:17. Less than an hour before.

Then the external image flickered for a second and resolved itself into a man, who phased in and out. He was wearing a ghillie suit like the one Kennedy had worn on the roof, covered in telltale CV dazzle stripes, designed to exploit defects in the computer vision system. You had to wear a different specific pattern for every algorithm, but if you got the right matchup, the computer would simply not see you. The man was flickering into existence when his posture crumpled up the ghillie suit and made the pattern stop working, then out again when he straightened up.

He straightened and disappeared and Mike Kennedy’s eyes widened as he noticed the man for the first time—­computer dazzle worked on computers, not humans—­and he started to say something and then a round hole appeared in his forehead, his head snapping back against the headrest, then careening forward. The flickering phantom appeared again as the man in the ghillie suit turned and disappeared.

I dropped the tablet to my bed.

“Jesus Christ, Gramps, I didn’t need to see that snuff movie—­”

He tried to smack me then. I was ready for it. I was faster. I stepped out of his reach. I was shaking too.

“You don’t get to hit me anymore old man. Never again, you hear me?”

He was purpling now, and a decade’s worth of fleeing and defusing his rages rose in me, made me want to apologize. After all, I rationalized, he’d just seen a friend murdered.

But I’d seen that friend murdered too, videobombed with a snuff flick at 2 a.m. without warning or consent. It was a traumatizing, selfish, asshole move. I’d be watching that movie on the backs of my eyelids for years to come. And the friend who’d died? He’d been ready to kill me. Gramps had no right. He was a grown-­ass adult. He had no right.

“Listen to me, you little shit, you think you can live under my roof, take my charity, and talk to me like that? Now? With all the shit that I’m going through? No sir. No. Get out, you little bastard, get out now. Get out before I kick your goddamned teeth in.” He was vibrating with rage now, literally, actually shaking so hard his wispy hair swished back and forth across his forehead.

I didn’t say another word. I picked up some jeans and a jacket, put a pair of socks in a jacket pocket, and jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers without bothering to unlace them. I shouldered past him—­still vibrating, stinking even worse—­and banged out the back door and stomped through the nighttime streets.

My feet automatically took me up to Verdugo, and then across the empty road. I turned toward school—­as I did every morning—­and autopiloted in that direction. By the time I reached the Verdugo Aquatic Facility I had calmed down enough to realize that there was no reason to go to school at two thirty in the morning, so I stopped and headed for the playground in the park behind the pool. I sat down on a bench and kicked my shoes off and shook out the playground sand, pulled out my socks and put them on, then put my shoes back on properly. I was still furious, but now I could think straight and my hands weren’t shaking. Gramps and I hadn’t had a blowup like that in years, mostly—­ okay, entirely—­because I’d backed down every time we’d been headed in that direction. I wasn’t in any mood to back down. Not ever, to be fully honest.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/11/equal-opportunity-class-war/#part-v

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[booksdaydream]

Masterlist?

*SPOILERS OF THE GAME HOGWARTS LEGACY AHEAD*

THE LOST AND FOUND MINI SERIES

AO3: The Lost and Found - Edited, darker version

Main Themes: ANGST, lots of angst! Some fluff but very misplaced. And a little bit of smut, very little.

Characters: Dark!Sebastian; use of MC; GN!MC; Ominis Gaunt; eventual Ominis Gaunt x MC.

Summary: Based on this post by @avadakedavravravra. Dark!Sebastian goes mad after he discovers MC and Ominis decided to turn him in for Solomon's death. He kidnaps Ominis and takes his place with a poly juice potion.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV - a little fluffy, a little smutty

Part V - a little suggestive

Part VI - End

Epilogue - MC and Ominis' Ending POV

THE BLIND RIDER (WIP)

 On AO3 Only (because of planned length)

But, posting SNIPPETS here!

Characters: Everyone. Like, literally. Some OC's. MC – Magnus Agathe and You, of course.

Summary: Magnus was the new 5th year, with incredible ancient magic and the role of a hero to fulfill. He faced hardships and made friends, sacrificing his own well-being. 

And you will be the new 6th year, reborn in a dragon riding family, the Draggunnars. That meant being raised in seclusion on the Hebridean Islands, Scotland, learning everything you could about dragons under the watchful eyes of your pureblood family. That is, until your father couldn’t refuse Hogwarts invitation that year again. 

Warnings: A bit of angst, a bit of fluff; violence (duel, end battle, blood); manipulation and lying; gaslighting; death (Ranrok, Solomon); rewriting the end of the game; bullying; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; mutual pining; suggestive content; eventual smut; POV second person; use of you; f!reader; reincarnation - just so it's easier to put yourself in her shoes.

Taking a break after chapter 40, maybe.