#he speaks the truth and nothing but the truth

[justauthoring]

a life like mine.

because you may think you're nothing, but gojo thinks you're the whole world (modern au).

a/n -> goooojjjjjjooooooooooooo

pairing -> gojo satoru x f!reader

tw. -> you're a prositute, implied sexual content, physical abuse (not by gojo), dubious content (not by gojo) also, not spell-checked :)

he'd noticed it as you were clasping your bra on.

a large, weltering bruise; the size of his hand and black and blue and everything nasty. something uncomfortable twists in his chest, face falling as he pushes himself up to rest on the crook of his elbow. when his hand touches your back, you jump despite how soft his touch is, head turning over your shoulder and frowning when you realize what he's staring at.

"it's nothing," you dismiss instantly. you brush his worry away and stand, putting extra care into stepping away from him as you slip your panties on; a matchy lilac lacy pair to go with your bra.

gojo isn't so easily distracted though. "who did it to you?"

and he watches, always aware of you and your emotions, as your face twists; there's a flash of fear that appears in your eyes but you blink it away as fast as it came. "a client," you say eventually, short and sweet. to the point. it's clear you don't want him to ask more questions.

gojo just stares back at you.

you huff. "some dude that came in yester—no, two days ago." there's a pause, body stilling, and then you're brushing out your hair. "it's fine."

but that uncomfortable feeling still weighs heavy in gojo's chest. he sits up, moving to the edge of the bed as he watches you clean and fix yourself. the reality of the situation weighs heavily on his shoulders—in a minute you'll walk out that door, put a bright smile on your lips and you'll do what you just did with him to another man.

"i've been thinking," gojo speaks up, eyes still stuck on that bruise.

"yeah?" you call out, distracted, "what about?"

"you and me."

everything stills then. the tense air thickens into something else entirely as your eyes snap to his. you stand there before him with a dark look in your eyes, practically willing him not to finish what he's threatening to start.

"sato—"

"no, just—just listen to me, okay?" he's pushing himself to his feet, crossing the distance over to you in seconds. his hands fall on your arms so as not to let you pull away, tugging you towards him as he smiles down at you; as if he's got the solution to everything. "we work well together—you and me. you—i like you. a lot. and not just for the sex. i like your spirit... i love how you laugh and the jokes you make. i like when you give me shit and i love when i get to see that sparkle in your eye."

you're shaking your head, lips parting but gojo doesn't give you the chance.

"it leaves the second you walk out that door, y/n." gojo breathes, voice desperate, "the second you're out there you're someone else. someone you're forced to be. and i know you need the money but i can give you that money. you don't need to... to—"

"—to what?" you cut in, voice sharp, eyes narrowing. "whore myself out?"

gojo's huffs. "i didn't say that."

"but that's what you meant," you shrug. "the second i go out there i'm not myself? that's what you believe?" you raise a brow, pulling away from his grasp. gojo attempts to stop you and you slap his hands away. "the second i'm out there, satoru, i'm not longer the girl you want me to be. that's the truth."

"y/n—

"no, you listen to me," you hiss, pushing him back by his chest. "i like you, it's true. we get along. you're nice to me... but don't think you're any different from any one of those men out there." your arm shoots back sharply to gesture towards the door; to the other side that is blasting music and filled with lights and occupied by men waiting for their pick of women like you.

lips left parted, gojo watches as you kneel down, grabbing his jeans off the floor and reach into his front pocket. a second later there's a wad of cash in your hands. "you pay me. just like them. you think you're better because you're some son of some rich daddy? because your inheritance is some big corporation?"

and gojo notices it then—the tears welling in your eyes.

"you're not. you may be prettier, smarter... whatever. but you come in here and you pay me for my body just like them. and anything we do or the way i act is because that's my job. to satisfy men by being the type of women they want."

you throw the money at him and gojo catches it, watching as you move to leave the room.

just as your hand falls on the door, he speaks up; "is it your job to let them hit you?"

and he knows it's a cruel thing to say. he knows it's mean and horrible and the worst possible thing he could say to you in that moment. but he's angry and his feelings are hurt, so he says it all the same.

your eyes meet his fiercely, shining with pure hatred.

"not everyone gets to choose the life they live, satoru," you whisper and something about it scares gojo cold. "so don't you dare judge me for living mine."

-

gojo had started visiting you four months ago.

he'd walked into the club one night, surrounded by a bunch of his friends; they'd walked in with their heads held high and the clear confidence that they knew they were better than every other person in that room.

your boss had dropped everything to greet them. shaking and honestly pitiful, he'd dined and served on them for whatever they wanted.

you remember thinking that it was odd such high-class men had come to your club. gross, old and fat men came to your club; not young, attractive men like him and his friends.

that didn't mean you expected him to act any different.

he was though. so different. sure, he'd been cocky and it was clear he was quite high on himself. he still threw flirts your way and eyed you, but it was different than how it had been with any of the other men that had before him. his teases were genuine flirts, could even be considered sweet. he didn't eye you like a peace of meat and when he finally had you alone, he'd been just as attentive on you as you were on him.

he'd paid extra and had smiled at you so sweetly you were unable to deny the flutters it gave you.

he returned two weeks later. then, four days later. and then, he just... kept coming.

three weeks ago, your boss had been replaced. it wasn't that you particularly loved your boss before, but he was nice enough and he was extra careful about making sure you and none of the girls were ever harmed outside of any kinks in the bedroom.

he was decent enough for the club you worked at.

this new guy didn't give a shit. not about you, or any of the other girls—all he cared about was money. and with him brought scarier clients. the first time you'd seen one of the girls with a black eye, you'd went to tell him and he'd told you to fuck off.

when you pushed, he'd slapped you and told you if you didn't shut up, he'd do worse.

the next night a man had chosen you and almost immediately he had unnerved you. the way he looked at you was nothing good; cruel and like he couldn't wait to get his hands on you. across the room, you'd seen your new boss looking at you and the glare on his face had been clear.

don't screw up.

that man, some big CEO of some big company, had kept you all night. hours and hours. it wasn't the sex that bothered you—you'd had rough sex before, especially considering your job. it was... the way he'd held you, the way he choked you so hard you'd blacked out. it's the way he'd hit you when you tried to fight back.

it was the things he called you and the things he'd said to you.

a week later was when gojo had came in and that was the last you'd seen him since.

clearly, his talk of 'you and him' had been nothing.

that man, haruto ito was his name, came back two days after. and four after that, and he'd come back tonight too. each and everytime he requested you and each and everytime he got more and more violent.

"—stupid bitch, are you listening to me?"

you're pulled from your thoughts as a sharp pain radiates from your cheek. you blink, stunned, only to find a pair of narrowed, harsh eyes staring back at you. it's haruto, and he looks less than pleased.

"s-sorry, sir," you apologize, ignoring the hurt of your cheek as you step towards him. you right yourself quickly, knowing it'd be worse if you didn't, and make sure to swing your hips as you saunter towards him, hands falling on his shoulders to straddle his waist. "now, where were we? i—"

he pushes you off him, without a care for you, as you slam into the carpetted floor with a cry. hand sprawled out behind you to catch yourself, you stare up at him in surprise.

"what—"

"i want to try something different tonight," he leers, not a care in the world that he'd just hurt you, smiling brightly at your pain.

your stomach twists, fear blooming through you.

"sir, i—"

"no more 'sir'," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "i think 'master' would be more appropriate, no?"

swallowing thickly, you let out a shaky breath. "i, um, m-master, i don't understand—"

"just shut up and do what i tell you," he brushes off with a wave of his hand. "first, i want you to lick my boot."

he extends his foot out towards you, and your eyes fall on it, puzzled.

"sir—master," you speak hesitantly, "wouldn't you rather if i—"

"do it. now."

hands left curled in your lap, something horrible twists in you. it was one thing to degrade yourself for the pleasure of these men; to have sex with them or suck them off or anything of that sort... but to... lick his boot?

it felt... worse.

dehumanizing.

"i-i don't... i mean, this isn't what we're supposed to do. i don—"

"i paid for you," he hisses, reaching forward to grab a handful of your hair. he tugs, hard, a cry leaving your lips as you're forced to bend your body awkwardly to relieve the strain. "so you'll do whatever the fuck i tell you to."

"p-please, i—!"

he slaps you across the face, this time harder, before he uses that hand to grip your jaw, pinching, squeezing until your mouth is forced open and his face is right in front of yours.

his eyes are blazing and you realize that you're terrified.

"lick. my. boot."

he lets go then, dropping you as you sink into yourself, shaking and crying as a sob wretches from your throat. he pushes his foot in front of your face, lightly kicking you with it, and you dig your nails into the palm of your hand as you force your mouth apart and move to lick.

just as you do, you hear the distinct voice of your boss and pounding footsteps.

"—sir! she is with a client!"

"i don't care. get out of my way!"

your head snaps over your shoulder in the direction of the door. that was—

"what are you doing?" haruto hisses, grabbing you by the arms as he tugs you back towards him. his grip is pinching and you yelp in response, turning back only to see him pulling his hand back and your eyes fall shut, trying to steady yourself for the pain you know will come.

except, it never does.

in the midst of everything, you hadn't heard the door slam open. it isn't until, a moment later, that you flicker your eyes open in confusion, only to see gojo looming beside you, his hand gripping haruto's wrist in his own.

and his face—it's the angriest he's ever seen it.

"what the hell is—" haruto attempts to call, moving to stand, but gojo cuts in.

"is that how you let your client treat your own employees?" gojo asks, murderous eyes focused in on your boss. you glance back at him and it's the first time you've seen your boss look so afraid. "beat them? and you." he spins to haruto, and you watch as he cries out, gojo's grip turning painful. "you like hitting defenceless girls?"

you're shaking, you realize. shaking and crying. your heart is bounding against your chest and it's then you realize you're still naked. as your hands move to cover yourself, you miss the way gojo's eyes fall on you.

something warm falls over your shoulders then. it's gojo's jacket.

meeting his eyes, the concern in them, a fresh wave of tears fall down your cheeks.

gojo let's go of haruto, and before either him or your boss can say anything, his arms are slipping underneath your back and knees and he's lifting you to his chest. he turns, pushing your boss out of the way and walks right out the door.

a second later, your boss comes running out. "wh-where do you think you're taking her? she's still one of my girls!"

a group of your coworkers, other girls who'd heard the commotion, are standing by the bar watching. there's concerned looks on their faces, especially when some of them see the state of you, and there's confusion.

gojo stops right by the door leading outside.

"consider this her quitting."

-

gojo hadn't said a word.

he'd been silent in the car ride, having tucked you into the passenger seat, making sure his jacket was still wrapped around you tightly. you don't know how long you drove, all you could focus on was the sobs that refused to stop.

when you reached what you assume was his house (mansion more like it) the tears finally stopped. he refused to let you walk, opting to carry you and didn't set you down until you reach a bedroom. his bedroom.

he'd grabbed a shirt and some sweats, both which were too big, but helped you dress into them before tucking you into bed. he'd then left, only to return with a glass of water, a clothe and a first aid kit.

all without saying a word.

now, having just finished cleaning your words, you were desperate for him to say something.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, unable to handle the silence. "i'm so, so sorry."

and that makes gojo still. he freezes on the seat next to you, body tensing as his eyes slowly flicker to meet your own and then he's shaking his head. "why are you apologizing?"

the tears well again even if you desperately try to hold them back. "because of what i said to you..." you whisper, hugging yourself as your lip trembles. "you're nothing like them. and... and i should've listened to you."

gojo's silent for a long moment. it drifts, carries on and leaves you tense and unsure. and then, finally, he speaks.

"it's not your fault."

and his voice is firm, leaving no room for any arguments as he shakes his head at you. "i should've tried to be more sensitive to you."

nodding numbly, you glance at your lap. "how'd you know?"

"one of my friends visited," gojo starts. "said he saw your boss hit one of the girls. i remembered the bruise and i was there before i even realized it."

your eyes widen then. "the other girls!" you hadn't thought about it in the moment; scared and desperate to get away. but your boss would surely be angry about what had happened with you and that meant— "they'll be punished! my boss, he'll—!"

gojo's hand falls on your own, soft and warm, gentle. "don't worry about that, baby. my guys are there. they'll help them."

lips parting, you turn to gojo. "really?"

he smiles. "i promise."

eased at that, you nod. silence follows then, echoes for a few moments.

gojo is the first to break it. "i meant what i said even if i said it wrong."

you turn to him, confused.

"you and me," he clarifies and you blink. "i never went to you just for the sex. maybe at first, but never after that. i... i can't explain it but i could never stop thinking about you. you were on my mind all the time. and it pained me to see you stuck in a place you hated so much."

squeezing your hand, gojo shifts, leaning closer to you.

"i mean it. you don't have to go back, ever. i... you can stay with me."

your heart warms but you hesitate. "what about money? i... i don't have any to give you."

"i don't need it. you could live here forever and never work and i wouldn't care," he professes and something about the way he says it tells you he means it. "i have more than enough money in the world. but... but if you want something, i can help you get a job. something better. something safer."

biting your lip, you sniffle. "i... i always wanted to work with kids."

gojo smiles then; "then you'll work for kids."

you stare at him, stunned that a man like him would do so much for a girl like you. "why?" you ask, shakign your head. "why do all this for me?"

"because..." and he hesitates, inhaling sharply as he thinks over his words. but the resolution comes with ease and gojo's words are heartfelt and meaningful as he answers. "because i love you."

your lips part, stunned.

"you don't have to love me back," he assures with a shake of his head. "i know i used you the same as all those other men. but please know i never meant it that way."

you shake your head. "it never felt that way to me. i didn't mean what i said before."

gojo seems eased at that, smiling. "i'm glad."

"and... and," you start slowly, inhaling sharply. "i don't know if i love you... yet. but i trust you," you confess, meeting his eyes. "and you make me happy. and i think i could learn to love you."

gojo just smiles.

"that's all i could ask for."

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader

[syoounn]

•A little scenario saying they are handsome

•Characters: Dazai, Chuuya, Sigma

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Dazai placed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. He just got home, and it's not surprising he'll get so cuddly.

While he's busy feeling your warmth.. you were staring at him and admiring his features.

Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, shifting his position to face you. He looks at you sleepily but quickly becomes curious when you don’t look away from him. After a moment, he chuckles.

“Hmm.. bella, you’re either staring at me cause you love me or cause you hate me. Which is it.. hmm?” He asks, still keeping his voice low.

"Nothing.... you just look handsome.." You said.

Dazai smirks at your bluntness, scooting closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Oh, so you think I look good, hm?” He asks, playing with a small strand of your hair.

Dazai snickers, his smile broadening.

“If you keep that up, I might have to kiss you again, and this time, it probably won’t just be on the corner of your mouth~."

He plants a quick kiss to your forehead and then shifts so his forehead is pressed against yours.

"That’s not threatening.." you said.

“It wasn’t meant to be, Bella.” Dazai sighs softly. “But maybe I should threaten you.” He teases mildly, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"Ah.. not again.." You said, and those smirks of his are clearly not a good sign.. or not?

“Maybe.” Dazai purrs, running his fingers through your hair and stroking the side of your face. “You seem a little wound up. Maybe I should calm you down?” He smirks teasingly.

“Or I could tease you, make you feel more wound up, then give you a little release, just for fun.” Dazai chuckles softly, kissing your forehead and then your nose. He moves to your eyes and kisses each lid of each eye before settling back on your lips and kissing you again.

He draws back after a moment, his lips moving to your ear before returning to your lips after he has had his fill. His lips move to trace the shape of your body with every kiss, every touch. He is taking his time.

You've ended up being his tonight.

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Chuuya is lying next to you in bed, and one of his hands rests against the side of your torso; he’s staring at your sleeping form. He can’t help but feel an urge to caress you, but he tries to resist the temptation so as not to disturb you while you’re resting. Eventually, he ends up kissing the top of your head sweetly.

"Chuu.."

Chuuya lets out an amused chuckle when he realizes that you’ve half woken up by the time he kisses you. He snuggles in close to you. He closes his eyes, sighing contently for a moment.

“I missed you.”

As you've finally been able to see him.. he always looks so attractive. You can't help but want to praise him more.

"Chuu.. you look so..-"

“Tired?” He cut off your words and chuckles. “I’m sorry… I had to deal with this little rat… he was all kinds of annoying… I should’ve just beat ‘em up and left… "Instead, I had t’sit down and talk to the bastard… ugh…”

"Handsome.. i said.." You continued.

Chuuya’s face immediately turns as red as he buries his face into your neck, his cheeks puffing up.

“D-..Doll...” He muttered, seemingly too embarrassed and flustered to speak. Your comment caught him completely off guard.

After a moment, Chuuya slowly lifts his head back up, his face still flushed as he stares at you. His eyes flit to your lips before meeting your eyes.

“...are you trying to make me blush, Doll?” He asks, his voice still a bit higher than normal. A small smile is plastered on his face.

"No.. I'm just saying the truth.." you said.

Chuuya chuckles softly, his heart skipping a beat by the way you’re gazing at him. His arm tightens around your shoulders.

“...you’re so darn cute sometimes.” He mumbles softly

Seeing you slowly getting more sleepy, chuuya chuckles softly, not realizing that you’re already almost asleep.

He notices the yawn you let out, so he pulls you close to him, wrapping his arm protectively around your waist so your head is lying on his chest.

“Sleep, Doll. I’ll hold you so that the bad dreams don’t getcha.”

You've slept safely and sound tonight.

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Staring while your partner is working maybe is not helping him focus. You wanted to cuddle with him but can't due to his work and, how can you not adore his attractiveness?

The longer the stare gets, the more Sigma's face would start turning pink. Sigma is a naturally shy guy, so when it comes to affection, he tends to blush like a tomato. The more he blushes, the more he tries to cover the blush as he gets all flustered.

"cough cough..."

He tried to distract himself, but it didn't work. He was just too attracted to you. He was really tempted to pull you into his arms and kiss your face.

At the thought, he blushed even more and tried to cover his face with his hands as he chuckled out of embarrassment. He had to fight the urge to do something rash.

"You're so handsome.." you said giggling.

He chuckled shyly as he still had his arms around you. He had to take deep breaths in order to try to calm himself again. You are so beautiful and soft, and he just wanted to take you back to your room and...

"You know you're making it difficult for me to do my job when you look at me like that." He said with a soft smile. His hands were placed on your waist as he looked at you.

You're so handsome.." you said giggling.

His heart did a flip every time he looked at you, and whenever you said that he was handsome, his heart felt like it was going to melt.

The urge to push you into the wall and kiss your soft lips... The urge to run his hands through your hair...the urge to just stay in this moment with you... He had to fight against it all. He chuckled softly again as he cleared his throat.

"Sigh, I can't focus at work when I look at you. My mind just gets filled with romantic thoughts..." he mumbled.

He slowly took hold of your hand and placed a kiss on it as he slowly started pulling away. A defeated sigh.. escape him as he gently held your hand and sat down in his big chair while pulling you on his lap, wrapping his slim arms around your waist with a soft smile. He really couldn't resist his darling, You were so cute and warm and so...perfect for him.

You've ended up watching him work with cuddles.. it's a win-win.

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(Request is available) :3

#bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd fluff #chuuya x reader #sigma x reader #dazai x reader

[a-land-lacking-sleep]

A brief thought on the parallels of the Subway Bosses, The Tao Trio, and Warden Ingo's place

@waywardstation just made an amazing post on her thoughts of Warden Ingo's parallels to Kyurem. Nothing in the game directly connects the two, just like nothing in the game connects the Subway Bosses to the Dragons in Generation V. But the connections are still there regardless, because Game Freak made sure to fill Unova with so much symbolism.

These are the basic thoughts that connect each Man to their Dragon.

Subway Boss Ingo - Ideals; Aspire to greatness, never give up in your journey

Subway Boss Emmet - Truth; You are who you are, there is no need for a mask

Warden Ingo - Void; What is there when you lose who you are? No drive for greatness, nothing to mask. Ideals, Truths, nothing matters except the ground beneath your feet.

In each game that they appear, Ingo and Emmet are relatively flat characters. In Gen 5, they have enough personality to stick in your mind, and nothing past. And in PLA, Ingo's whole personality is "I lost my memory and am depressed, but have hope". Instead, we end up looking at word choice, and in the Subway Bosses cases, other media.

Subway Boss Ingo, across most media, embodies Ideals. He has his eyes to the future, always pushing himself and others to continue onwards. He frames battling and training as a journey ("What can I see after winning, winning, and winning? Where is my destination?"; "Your talent has brought you to the destination called Victory!"; "There is no terminal called End in your life!"), most often when he is victorious. He seeks to create his Ideal self, and wants to push others to do the same.

This comes up in Pokemon Masters EX as well, where the "no terminal" line returns (in an appropriately spooky tone), he also spends time in the Day With Ingo story event talking about how he seeks to better himself and "break through the mold of [his] past self". This event is also the first time he mentions the phrase "greater heights", which appears another 6 times in various snippets in Masters. And finally, we have a triple whammy of travel metaphors for growth in his level up lines.

For Subway Boss Emmet, his connection to Truth is admittedly a bit more tenuous. He doesn't have any tendency for truth-seeking or investigations (outside of the famous behavior in the manga where he likes to eavesdrop on drama, which gossip isn't exactly truthful), but what he has is a strong showing of being truthful, even if he ends up being blunt or disrespectful.

As a consequence of his writing in Japanese giving him a very casual way of speaking, the English translation has him speak in shorter clips, just the bare essentials. The naked truths of his thoughts. He doesn't seek the Truth, or give a Universal Truth; Emmet is True to himself and to those around him. (As a side note, I love when people give power to other usages of the word True through Reshiram. I did it in my fic with a turn of phrase, but I've seen it done beautifully in other works too).

In Pokemon Special, Emmet doesn't hide the truth of why they asked White to train on the Battle Subway ("We're studying you as an example of a Trainer who gets overwhelmed and loses every battle!" "That's not nice, Emmet."), not because he is intending to be rude (Ok, a little bit), but because that *is* what they are using her for. In the games, he speaks of how Pokemon battles can be decided on luck ("I won against you. But I think I just got lucky."), because the Truth of the matter is, you can be highly trained and just have a bad day or get hit by a critical hit. But, most importantly, he believes that battles must be serious for them to be fun. Because what fun is there in putting up a fake fight, when you could just be True to yourself?

Now, to speak on the connection of Warden Ingo to Kyurem, we must first understand what Kyurem is to Zekrom and Reshiram. On a surface level, it is a Husk, a leftover revenant that can be reassembled into a simulacrum of the Original being. But looking into the actual symbolism of them all is where you find threads of connection to the Warden.

Reshiram, the Dragon of Yin, is representative of a more static element, receptive of change but passive in how it does so. It is a recursive existence that reaches out and pulls back towards itself - Everyone has an individual Truth, but that is still able to be changed by The Truth. However, one does not go out and change The Truth, only altering the perception of it while it passively exists. You cannot change what is already there, only create something new. In comparison, Emmet is never really shown to focus on the future, but rather on the present. He knows of the Truth in his life, and while it can be changed by present actions, he knows that he cannot go back to change it, so there is no need to try, or to hide it.

Zekrom, the Dragon of Yang, is active, ever expanding, and pushes up against those around it in it's search for Ideals. Ideals cause you to seek out a goal, to leave your home, your comfort zone, and push away from the past. To represent Ideals is to be in constant flux; Settling into a form makes you into a Truth, as an Ideal is a goal, something attainable, yet unreachable. We've gone over Ingo's future-forward gaze, constantly thinking about what is to come. Life is a journey, and every step you take in life is a step to self-improvement.

Kyurem is a Husk, a Shell. According to Bulbapedia, it is representative of Wuji ("Without a roof"), the absense of Yin and Yang, or "The Ultimate Nothingness". For this reason, I personally also attribute to it Mu, a concept of non-existence and negative space, specifically the lack of something normally there (modern Japanese actually uses "mu-" as a prefix the same way English has the suffix "-less"). Interestingly, the Japanese transliteration of Wuji is "Mukyoku" (lit. Non-polar, another translation of Wuji), connecting the two concepts neatly. In short, Kyurem represents Nothing and Everything.

Kyurem was supposedly the Original Dragon, the deity of Unova that represented Truths and Ideals in unison, a embodiment of Yin and Yang's harmony. In a sense, the Original Dragon was an embodiment of Everything, Unova's spirit of unity. Then, with the war between the Twin Princes (another pair also frequently compared to Ingo and Emmet, in case you think I forgot my boys), it was split into 2, but secretly 3, parts. This third secret part became Kyurem, a being lacking in its original qualities, leaving Nothing but the Husk.

Now, finally, we can get to everyone's favorite uncle, Warden Ingo. His connection to Kyurem is probably the least intentional of them all (which is saying something, because I'm honestly convinced that the Subway Bosses' own connections aren't intentional, but rather just a result of how Unova games were written with Truth vs. Ideal being ingrained heavily), but there still is one. As Wayward says in her fateful post, "Warden Ingo is an empty husk of who he once was ever since he was separated from his life, and from Emmet." Ingo as the Subway Boss may not have embodies the Everything that the Original Dragon has, but pairing with Emmet so closely still meant that Truth and Ideals mixed so cleanly that it might as well have been Everything.

However, the most important connection for Warden Ingo are the concepts of Wuji and Mu. To be "the Ultimate Nothingness" or "Non-Polar" means to be devoid of Everything, yet still have the capability to be far more than Nothing. The singular concept of Mu may mean that Warden Ingo is missing who he is and was, but that is not who we grow know in the game; We connect with a man who is slowly piecing together his sense of self, remembering facets of his past and growing happier with who he can be. Thus, the Mu transitions into Wuji, a void that isn't Empty so much as lacking.

The importance of distinction is that Mu is by nature Empty, while Wuji is Empty and Everything, limitless and confined. Similarly, Ingo is devoid of what made him him (His drive for self-improvement is impaired, even while he pushes the player to climb to greater heights), but becomes something new in the meta-narrative of the story. His actual, plot-related story ends when you quell Electrode and he becomes a challengeable NPC at the Training Grounds, but he becomes something of a kindred spirit in the greater plot of the game. He's like you, a Faller who has lost themselves, and also like you, an avid battler who pushes the system to it's limits (especially in the Path of Solitude).

In short, the connection between Kyurem and Warden Ingo isn't anything in the text, as Kyurem has no explicit in-game theming attached to it like Zekrom and Reshiram, and Warden Ingo doesn't have strong philosophical points that seeps out of the words he says to you. But when you look at the meta-theming for Kyurem, and subsequently Warden Ingo's meta-narrative, the connections become clearer.

Does some of this make no sense? Of course! A lot of this is extrapolating what was said in Wayward's post, and what came from my head as I thought of it. A lot of the connections of the twins to the Dragons has been discussed since 2010, but for all intents and purposes, Warden Ingo is a different character from Subway Boss Ingo. Narratively, he is the same person, hence why his appearance is a tragedy in Legends Arceus, one which we never get to solve. But on a meta level, he functions so differently, and lives so differently, that the themes he inhabits do not match up to the Subway Boss in any way. To end this on a sad note, Warden Ingo is exactly like Kyurem - Broken. He has lost what made him whole, and we've been shown that just reinserting Ideals isn't enough. Hopefully, if Game Freak decides to touch upon the Warden once more, we can find a way to reinsert his Truths as well.

#submas #pokemon black and white #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon ingo #subway boss ingo #pokemon emmet #subway boss emmet #warden ingo #zekrom #reshiram #kyurem #gen 5 has so much symbolism that it bleeds out into every other game that it cameos into #“Oh you thought that this Sinnoh remake would only touch upon the themes of Gen IV? Well. We put a conductor in the game have fun”

[withabroken-heart]

I’M STARTING TO COME UNDONE

chuuya x afab! reader

smut, angst, themes of alcohol, oral (fem receiving), spanking, hair pulling, themes of a toxic relationship

minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked)

your love with chuuya is like a drug. harmful, painful, and something you always come back to.

a/n: 5sos is weird for me bc my ex introduced me to them so it’s bittersweet when i listen to them. but i love their music and this song so wtvr <3

a/n: taking a break from all the swift fics lol

why do we go to things we know are bad for us?

chuuya knew his drinking was bad for him. he knew he relied on alcohol too much, needing more and more to get him through his darkest days. the drinks were both his salvation and greatest enemy; but he was a man of the mafia. he had seen the darkest dark, the most evil of the world. if a couple shots of tequila, two glasses of wine, and a double shot of whiskey could take the weight away for even a moment, then fuck it.

chuuya was like your alcohol.

he hurt you, hurt you heart like a liquid poison being absorbed by your body. but like an addiction, you kept crawling back- and kept hating yourself for it. you kept coming back if it meant savouring a second of bliss before being tormented for an eternity. being involved in the mafia was miserable. having an ability felt like a curse. and every day, you walked through the nights bestowed upon by your life of crime. chuuya was your light. a burning, sickishly green light that made you sick.

chuuya used substances, and chuuya was your substance.

tonight was no exception.

“you’re so bad for me.” you stated out between kisses, almost as if pressing your lips to his would prevent you from speaking the whole truth. it was the truth, and chuuya knew it. but right now he only cared about making out with you, not about how horrible it would be in the long run. “you’re gonna make me regret this.”

“fuck, i know.” chuuya hissed while his lips moved down to your neck, sucking dark red hickeys onto your delicate skin. his gloved hands eagerly teared away your dress, pressing you down onto the bed. he found his way in between your legs, his hips grinding against you eagerly. your hands flew to the back of his head, running through the ginger locks as he went down on you. “just shut up and let me fuck you.”

chuuya trailed hot, possessive kisses down your body, nipping at your tender flesh. a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he reached your already glistening clit, his tongue darting out to tease yout sensitive folds. you waste no time moaning in response, a buzzing feeling in your chest travelling down to in-between your thighs. he gripped your already trembling thighs over his shoulders, burying his face deeper between your legs. his skilled tongue your sensitive spots well, and he left no part of you untouched.

chuuya lapped and sucked with a relentless hunger, tightening his grip on your thighs like he was a starved man. he let out a satisfied moan as he felt your legs shake, tongue flicking at you and eliciting more desperate cries from you. your mind grew heavy with euphoria, your orgasm bound to wash over you at any moment like a tsunami. you writhed in the sheets, but you knew chuuya- you knew he wasn’t just going to let you have it.

“f-fuck, don’t stop..” you breathlessly begged as chuuya climbed on top of you. he took your wrists and pinned them beside your head, admiring the way your half-lidded eyes and your hair sprawled out on the pillow. your arousal dripped from chuuya’s lips, and his blue eyes looked ready to ravish you further. you felt his the tip of his throbbing cock press against your clit, and you whined. you could already feel yourself clenching around him. nothing mattered now, the only thing you cared about was chuuya fucking you so good everyone knew what you were doing. the feeling of pleasure was so much better than the reality of your relationship.

he wasted no time pushing his cock into you, biting down on your shoulder as he felt your tight, wet walls constrict around his length. he slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt of your tight heat. you felt your fingers shiver with nothing to grab onto, chuuya making sure to keep you restricted. chuuya grimaced as you screamed his name like a choir, his hips crashing against your body with animalistic fervor. a desperate gleam shone in his eyes as he watched your face contort in a mix of ecstasy and pleasure.

“f-fuck, you feel so good around my cock like that baby.. fuck! yeah, just like that.” chuuya released punishing grip from your hands to move down to your thighs, landing a few punishing spanks to your ass as he fucked up. you threw your head back, screaming as the sting manifested itself as pleasure. your mind and body were buzzing, watching as chuuya’s cock disappeared into your heat over and over again. he fit in your perfectly, nothing else could feel like this.

you were unable to speak, but chuuya wasn’t going to ask you anyway. he grabbed you by the hair, flipping you over onto your stomach. your mind too blank to protest, you felt as he grabbed your hips and pulled it upwards, positioning his cock back inside of you. he pressed your face into the pillow, muffling your screams as he continued to fuck you from a new angle. his hips snapped forward in a brutal, relentless rhythm, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

chuuya continued to unleash a series of sharp, stinging slaps against your round, exposed ass. the sound of skin striking skin mingled with your desperate cries muffled into the pillow. he leaned down, whispering something incoherent in your ear. your eyes rolled to the back of your head in pure euphoria, ready to cum around his cock at any moment.

“oh, fuck.” chuuya moaned.

he felt his climax approaching. with a few more savage thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and unleashed his hot, pulsing release deep within your quivering depths. a breathless, triumphant smirk crossed his lips as he savored the feeling of their body clenching around him, watching as his and your cum dripped out of you. you continued to shake, clenching around nothing as chuuya slowly pulled out of you.

he fell to your side, pulling you in closer to him. the shackles of your orgasm still weighed you down, barely able to speak. but what could you say?

your heavy eyes looked up at chuuya’s face. though there were remnants of pleasure, what remained was pain. he’d be gone by the morning.

you felt him wrap his arms around your waist, kissing your head as you began to drift off. the morning after always felt like a stab in the gut. knowing that he was going to break you all over again burned in your heart.

but you’d always come back. and he’d wait with open arms.

#bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd fanart #bungo stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs fanart #bungo stray dogs manga #bungou stray dogs #bsd fyodor #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #bsd roleplay #bungo stray dogs chuuya #chuuya x you #chuuya x reader #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya smut #chuuyabsd #bsd spoilers #bungo sd #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #beast dazai #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #chuuya fanart

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #the case of the very long stairway #im sorry this really IS the short version of my thoughts i swear #i didnt want to get long and rambley backing everything up and mentioning everything else this forces me to reconsider #i just feel like i've barely interacted w this fandom and still seen quite a few odd duck takes on this moment imo #i dont think he wouldntve got the nerve to say it otherwise #(he was already going to! & if anything his new experiences in hell only cement that being the right choice) #and as much as i get what fear can do to a person i still definitely dont think he was resigned to staying in hell if charles reacted badly #i truly think he just couldnt keep it to himself any longer #the show is upfront about his escaping hell being a testament to his own strength rather than a lucky break of some sort #so i think even being on the receiving end of a rescue mission getting out still must take a lot of strength in this universe #and telling charles that definitely made him stronger/in less pain #so yeah totally necessary it happened where and when it did in my book #also i hope it doesnt sound like im being dismissive of anything charles says in this scene #but the way i see it those were all things they both already knew #so reaffirming them just adds to the idea that the act of Telling Each Other Things is what's so important here #rather than counting as a truly separate thing this conversation achieves #just my two cents

[nico-di-genova]

Strollonso College AU Snippet

A/N: please see the vision 🙏 (this may be nothing, idk, it plays a tiny role into the larger plot, but barely)

This was also written on my notes app in a flurry at 1 a.m., please excuse any typos.

“This ‘college experience’ enough for you?” Lance asks, wincing when Fernando presses the cheap bar napkin to his nose harder, trying to staunch the still steady flow of blood. Lance can taste bitter copper coating his tongue when he gathers it and spits onto the gravel.

They’re standing in the washed orange glow of a street lamp, Lance leaning against the drivers side door of Fernando’s Aston Martin that looks out of place amidst the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Fernando looks out of place, half unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows doing little to distract from the slacks and dress shoes he’s still wearing. In the crowd of undergrads wearing jeans and t-shirts, sneakers splattered with liquor, he’d stood out - even more so when he was stood next to Lance with his backwards cap and fraternity shirt clearly marking his age.

Fernando doesn’t answer him, instead just grabs Lance’s chin with calloused fingers and pulls his head down.

“Don’t tilt your head back,” he demands, pinching the bridge of Lance’s nose with the same force he’d pulled Lance out of the bar with.

Lance hadn’t meant to throw the first punch. But he feels he can hardly be blamed. Sure, Brenton had been drunk, it still didn’t excuse the way he’d jabbed at Lance and joked about his sex life.

“That the old man you fucking?” He’d asked, pointing back at Fernando with a grin, like he and Lance were friends. In truth, Brenton was his least favorite fraternity brother, a feeling that had only grown as Brenton kept pushing.

“He’s a fucking asshole anyway,” Lance grumbles, like that somehow excuses the black eye Brenton will most likely be sporting at the next chapter meeting. He can taste bits of bloody napkin on his tongue when he speaks, the poor quality of the thing causing it to shred under the amount of blood Fernando is forcing it to soak up.

“This will be reported, no? You will get in trouble for this?”

He might, but he doubts Brenton wants to pursue it. To explain his black eye he would also have to explain why he was drinking underage, so voraciously that his breath had smelled of nothing but vodka and vomit when he threw an arm around Lance at the bar and leaned fully on him for support. Both of them would be suspended then, or fined, which wouldn’t do for Brenton who was running for a leadership role. More likely, Brenton would wake up tomorrow with a sore face and no recollection of what had happened in the first place.

He shrugs, “Maybe.”

“It was not worth it.”

“Neither was coming here, I told you we should have just stayed home.”

Lance likes partying, is normally the first to suggest going to the club with Pato and Esteban. He likes partying with Fernando even more, when they go to some upscale place in the city and Fernando buys bottles and a private lounge. He likes it when it means grinding on Fernando in the privacy of their own secluded space, borderline fucking in the shadows. The rundown college bar is a far cry from that, and Fernando’s Aston looking comedically out of place amidst the sea of Jeeps and Camaros should have been the first indication.

“You should be here, Lance. Not hiding at my place.”

His place. Right.

He pulls back, as far back as he can with his back pressed to the car and Fernando keeping him against it, enough that Fernando’s grip on his chin slips.

“I wasn’t hiding. I like your place, I like being there.”

“Lance-.”

“If you’re sick of having me there you can just say that Nando. We don’t have to play this game of you caring about my college experience.”

Fernando grabs him again, presses a fresh napkin to his nose, rolls his eyes.

“You are still looking for a fight.”

Lance starts to argue, before he realizes his fists are clenched at his side, his jaw tense like he’s bracing for another punch. But Fernando would never stoop that low, no matter how much Lance pressed. Instead, he soothes the tension from Lance’s jaw with the pad of his thumb, and stares at him with a look that demands he take a breath.

Lance does, in through his mouth, out through his mouth, tasting beer and regret.

“I hate this place,” he grumbles. Despite the fact that it’s the hot spot for college aged kids looking to unwind. Kids he should have related too, but instead had found very quickly weren’t like him at all. Pato liked it here, being social and charismatic, the bar had quickly made a space for him. Lance on the other hand was too tall, stood out too much, was too queer for a space that prided itself on a true southern welcome. They’d accepted him enough when he wore Greek letters and flirted with girls from his major, but drew the line at Fernando taking up a barstool. Lance had felt that, seen it from the moment they’d entered, been on edge in a way that made him impulsive.

Fernando nods, “So we don’t come here next time. You choose the next one.”

“Somewhere with better liquor,” he jokes, grimacing when he shifts to stand taller and his shoes, sneakers Fernando had bought him only a few weeks ago, stick slightly to the pavement. “Where it doesn’t all end up on the floor.”

They stay there until Fernando staunches the blood. Lance spits one last glob of it out, watches it land next to an empty beer can and then kicks the can across the pavement for good measure. It skitters to a stop against the wheel of a suped up Honda, dented and scratched from other student’s poor parking.

Climbing back into Fernando’s Aston fills him with satisfaction.

—————————

“This better?” Fernando asks later, when he’s got Lance naked and spread across his mattress. Silk sheets cool against Lance’s warmed skin.

He wants to nod, say something to agree, but the wine that Fernando is pouring into the hollow of his throat prevents him from doing so. It’s red, threatens to stain the sheets if it spills.

Fernando, straddling his hips, leans down just enough to suck the wine from his skin, licks at Lance’s throat until it’s gone. He keeps one finger hooked around Lance’s chain, keeping the Star of David pendant out of the way. The wine is expensive, pulled from Fernando’s own collection, opened solely because Lance had asked upon their arrival home.

It’s better than whatever bottom shelf liquor Rusty’s would have been able to scrub up, better than the jungle juice he’s used to chugging from trash cans at frat parties. Lance jots this moment down as another reason his college experience can go fuck itself.

And then he opens his mouth to let Fernando fountain some of the wine into it. Straight from the bottle, some of it escaping, trailing down his chin and then dripping onto the pillow case Fernando has so carefully propped him against.

Fernando hardly bats an eye at the stain, just licks the sticky trail from Lance’s neck up to the corner of his mouth.

“Much better,” Lance breathes, closing his eyes, letting Fernando kiss him and tasting the lingering wine on his tongue.

#I once again ask #is this anything? #truly I do not know #strollonso college au #strollonso #lance stroll #fernando alonso #my fic #strollonso fic #formula 1

[happy74827]

I Want To Be Your Lover

[Colt Seavers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve always felt something for Colt, resorting to a friendship as he is completely unaware. But when he comes knocking at your door… it’s hard to not connect reality to fantasy {GIF Creds: @colt-and-jody // Please go and watch the edit they made of Colt + Jody. Literally Amazing 🤩}.

WC: 2199

Category: Slight Fluff + Spice/Lime, First Kiss, {TW: Mentions of Murder}

Obsessed… I’m so obsessed with him…

FALL GUY SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

『••✎••』

His hands grasped your face as he pulled you close, your heart pounding, breath quickening. The way he could pull you up onto him without warning and how it was so effortless. The way he'd hold your thighs around him as he made out with you, his hands traveling up your thighs, then under your shirt, touching your bare back, your waist, your chest.

Then he'd lean into your ear, those stupid lips kissing the bottom of it, gently, delicately, but firm and knowing. It was the way he'd whisper something so unserious that would almost turn you off him for a minute, but then he was smiling with those stupid dimples, eyes sparkling like the stupid sea, and you couldn't help yourself from melting all over again.

That’s what you believed about Colt Seavers. That was the dream, the fantasy, the perfect little love story between the two of you; that was the life you'd created in your head. He was the love, the life, the future.

But the sad truth was, it was only a dream because the real Colt Seavers was painfully oblivious.

He would laugh, smile, and give you that wink that was meant to be sexy but was actually kind of stupid, and then he'd be gone, and you'd be left with that aching in your heart.

The one that showed the fact that you were a friend, nothing more. A good friend, a best friend, someone to be close to, someone to talk to, but not someone to love. Not the way you loved him.

So you would often find yourself in your head, where it was safe, where there were no consequences. Because in your mind, Colt did notice you, he did care, and he did love you back. In your mind, he'd wrap his strong arms around you and kiss you with all the passion that you'd wanted for so long.

In reality, you'd be walking along beside him, listening to his voice, laughing at his jokes, and wishing that he would see you, the real you, and not just the friend.

And then, one night, it was as though the angels had heard your prayer.

You were sleeping, probably dreaming of Colt if you were honest, when you were awoken by knocks at your door. At first, you thought it was your imagination, or the wind, or whatever, but it happened again, and you groaned, throwing the covers off you and shuffling your way to the front door.

When you opened it, you were surprised to see Colt standing there, looking as if he had gone through hell and back. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the most pitiful expression on his face.

You stared at him for a moment before speaking.

"Colt…?” You still couldn’t believe it was him. “What’re…what're you doing here?"

Colt shrugged and looked down. "Can I… uh, spend the night? Here?"

Your mind immediately went straight to the gutter. The two of you, alone, in your home, late at night, and no one around.

Yes, yes, yes.

But you weren’t completely lost to him. You were still aware of the situation and the fact that you had no idea what was going on.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Don’t you still have a hotel room? Since you’re working?"

He started at you, blinking, while you waited for an answer. He seemed almost taken aback by your response, but he didn’t seem surprised.

In fact, his expression turned a bit sheepish. If it weren’t for the fact that it was late and that you were so confused, you would have found it adorable.

"You haven’t watched the news yet, have you?" He asked.

You frowned. "No. Why?"

“Good, that means you’ll let me in."

Before you could reply, he took the opportunity to step inside. You watched him, eyes wide, as he made his way into your kitchen, opening the refrigerator, pulling out a drink, and grabbing a slice of pizza from your leftover box.

It wasn't until you heard him groan that you snapped out of it.

"Colt? What are you doing?"

"Eating,” he said with a mouth full of pizza. He was sitting on your kitchen counter. “God, I miss this, and I don’t know why."

Sometimes, your crush on him was questionable, especially times like this.

"That's great," you rolled your eyes. "But why are you here? And what about the news?

He paused for a second and then looked at you, eyes soft, a small, apologetic smile on his face. It almost melted your heart.

You didn’t even realize the fact that he was soaked until that moment. And was he… was he bleeding?!

"Colt, are you—”

"I’m wanted for murder, which, to set the record straight, I did not do," he answered, taking another bite of pizza.

"Wanted for—what?!" You practically shrieked.

He held his hand up to stop you and finished his bite of pizza before speaking again.

"I know, I know. Crazy, right? This pizza, by the way… amazing. Where did you get it from? Dominos? This… This is what heaven tastes like, I think. It's gotta be.”

You were stunned. Speechless. Absolutely flabbergasted.

He didn’t even seem to notice your distress as he hopped down from the counter and threw the now-empty pizza box into the garbage.

"Long story short, the world thinks I’m dead after Tom — who turns out to be even more of an asshole than I thought — tried to have me killed to be the fall guy of his murder. Didn’t work, obviously, but it's not like he knows that."

He continued talking, but at this point, you had zoned him out. Your head was spinning, and you could barely keep up with him as he paced around your kitchen.

"So, anyway, I got away, and now I have to stay hidden and all that jazz. Hence, why I'm here, I couldn’t go anywhere else. I figured you would let me crash here tonight. I hope that's cool. And hey, if not, then that's fine; I can… find a ditch of something to sleep in, or a hay bail, or a cow shed, or whatever. It's cool."

You still couldn’t process it. None of it made sense. You weren't sure if you were dreaming or not. Maybe it was a nightmare. You had been thinking of Colt all night, and now he was here, and everything was insane.

You weren’t even sure if he had stopped talking or not or if he had noticed the fact that you were practically catatonic.

You needed to lie down. You needed to think. You needed to…

You were pulled out of your thoughts by Colt waving his hand in front of your face. A normal behavior for him, but somehow, right now, it sparked something inside of you.

He dropped his hand when he noticed the stare you were giving him. But it wasn’t just any stare, no. It was one that said a million things at once.

And you were sure he saw it because he, too, had a look. One that was much different than the one he normally gave you. One that was a bit more… serious.

His eyebrows were furrowed together, he had a frown on his lips, and his eyes were softer but also darker and deeper. They were the eyes of someone who had gone through some shit. Real shit.

It was a look you'd never seen on him, and you were sure the look you gave him was a first for him, too.

Different reasons, of course.

And for a moment, you had forgotten that this was the real Colt Seavers. Not the one from your fantasies, not the one from your dreams.

But the real Colt.

Which meant you had to take a moment to collect yourself. Acting out and getting all crazy and lovey-dovey wasn't something he needed right now.

"You… can stay. Of course you can," you sighed. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed, is all."

Colt's serious face didn’t drop, but he did nod, understanding.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for barging in here and acting all crazy. It's just I had nowhere else to go, and I figured… you'd be the one to understand."

You smiled softly. "Don’t worry about it, Colt. Seriously. You can’t even kill a bug. So, a murder charge is the last thing I'm worried about."

The corner of his lip twitched into a slight smile. "Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a rat?"

"No. No, you did not."

"Yeah, it didn’t end well.”

“For the rat or you?" You grew a grin on your face.

“I’ll leave that to your imagination," he teased, glancing up at the ceiling. It gave you a chance to examine his face. Messed up and bruised, but it was still him—still your Colt.

"So… the rat won?"

"He put up a good fight, I'll tell you that."

"Did you cry?"

"Nope, I was a total badass."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. Taylor Swift would be so proud."

"I know she would."

"She'd probably write a song about it."

"Well, duh. Of course, she would. How else would she immortalize our love story?"

It was at this moment that your brain and your heart finally got in sync, and you realized exactly what was happening.

By the time you looked at him, just to see if his tone matched his expression, Colt was already staring at you. And even though he was smiling as he normally would, his eyes were different.

You couldn’t make it out, but something was there. Something that wasn’t usually there but was now, and it wasn’t a nice feeling. It made you feel uncomfortable.

It was the same feeling you had when you caught him talking to girls but then flashed his smile at you. When he'd call you his 'best bud' and then hug you for a little too long.

This was that feeling, but worse. So much worse.

You’d see this part in your dreams, but they usually had a happy ending, one that included a kiss. Well, more than a kiss.

You’d take the initiative, and he’d go along with it, slowly becoming more and more in control until it was him, him, him.

And in the dream, you'd kiss him and feel him on you, his hands traveling up and down your body, his breath hot against your neck, his lips leaving marks all over your skin.

But when you opened your eyes, usually you were back in bed, the fantasy ending. And it was hard not to feel sad.

But, for some reason, when you opened your eyes this time, Colt was still there. And his hands were still touching you, and his breath was still hot, and his lips were still kissing you.

You weren’t sure if this was reality or not. You had dreamed about him so many times it was hard to tell the difference.

But the longer you kissed, the more it felt real.

You had no idea how you got there, how it had happened. All you knew was that Colt's hands were grasping your face, your hands were in his damp hair, his mouth was against yours, and the whole murder thing was forgotten.

And it was a good kiss, too. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl, your body tremble, your mind go blank, and the only thing you could focus on was the craving for more.

It was a desperate, needy, passionate, hungry, messy kiss.

When Colt pulled away, you were breathless, and your head was spinning. Your lips were numb, and you could barely stand, but Colt had an arm around your waist, holding you up, his other hand still touching your face delicately, tenderly.

"That was the best pizza I've ever had," he breathed out. "Ever. In my entire life."

It was at this moment you knew for a fact that this was the real Colt and the real you. And you were both awake, and it was happening.

Colt Seavers, the boy or man you'd loved forever, had finally opened his eyes.

And you were going to kill him.

You were going to actually, truly murder him.

He couldn't kiss you like that and say something stupid like that?

But before you could get a word in, he was kissing you again, and you were melting, and all anger had vanished. A lot of power this boy had over you.

This time, the kiss was different. More controlled, calmer, sweeter.

He took his time and savored every second. It was a lot more intimate, and the hand on your face was gone. Instead, it was on your neck, tilting your head upwards, and his other arm was around your waist, keeping you close.

When you were left breathless, he didn't pull away. Instead, he continued kissing you, his lips traveling down your jaw to your neck.

You gasped, feeling his tongue on your neck and his hands roaming your back. It was the exact fantasy you'd imagined for so long. Except this was so much better.

Because it was real.

It usually takes me about two to three fics before I fully “understand” the character’s personality… and Colt turned out to be MUCH HARDER to write about (I kept rewriting this from the beginning at least 10 times). So, apologizes if you this sucks and is totally ooc 😬😬

I half-heartedly blame it on the fact that my memory is garbage and I’m too broke to rewatch it in theaters.

But, nonetheless, I’m happy to add and help populate the growing fandom — even if this isn’t up to par.

And to everyone who is still reading this, thank you for making me not feel alone with my Fall Guy obsession 🥹🫶

#colt seavers #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers/reader #colt seavers x female!reader #ryan gosling #colt seavers x you #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x you #fanfic #x reader #reader #fanfiction #colt seavers fanfiction #colt seavers fic #the fall guy #the fall guy fanfiction #jody moreno #fall guy #fall guy fanfiction #fluff #angst #tom ryder #colt seavers x oc #tom ryder x reader #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson x female!reader #tfg #the fall guy edit #mega fluff

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

11K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: What do you do now that you realize you have feelings for the Barón?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Pining and Angst. Semi public kissing, groping and sex. Someone comes in his breeches 🤷🏻‍♀️. F!oral, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected PiV. Pet names (spanish), Pero catches reader and gives her a little twirl once.

A/N: I'm sorry for the word count 😅😅 I feel like the pacing of this final part is kind of like season 1 of Bridgerton where it was like 5 episodes of flirting and then SMUTSMUTSMUT 🤭🤭 Just wanted to give our Spaniard and his Dulce a HEA, that's all! Please please correct my Spanish!! Google won't be offended! Thank you for reading along and hope you're looking forward to Season 3 of Bridgerton next week!

Series Masterlist

The following morning you wake to your ladies’ maid gently shaking you and a massive headache.  Barely able open your eyes, so puffy from crying, you’re sure you gave her a terrible fright.  After asking for and drinking some water, you try using the cool glass to depuff your eyes and alleviate the pounding in your head, but no difference is made; you continue to feel positively awful.  Daphne comes into your room at the behest of the maid and immediately sees you’re much too unwell to entertain visitors today; it’s an easy decision to send all your suitors away and have them come back when you’re better.  When you start to apologize for causing a fuss, she immediately shushes you and insists you get rest - she will have the maids bring up some soothing tea.  You lay back down, exhausted, and drift off in the middle of telling her how much you love her.

---

Pero steps into Bridgerton House just as several young men are leaving; as they brush past him, he spots Colin speaking with a maid in the main foyer.

“Tovar! It’s been ages – how have you been?” Colin beams when he sees his friend. 

In truth, Pero is here to see you; he can’t quite get over the look of distress on your face when you left him last night.  Not for the first time, Pero silently curses Lord Ridlington for having sent over women to his house unsolicited last night, his apparent idea of a prank.  Leaving the women to themselves in a waiting room, Pero had been discussing with his butler the next course of action when you had surprised him beneath his window.  After you left, he made the proper arrangements for the women to leave discreetly, and had gone to bed thinking of you as usual. 

“I’ve been well, thank you.  Hope things have been going well here?  Have today’s suitors started their visits earlier than usual?” He gestures to another three men now descending the stairs and making towards the exit in an orderly line.

“No, my Lord,” the maid explains, “Miss is ill today.  Her suitors have been sent away and asked to return when she has recovered and is ready to receive visitors again.”

“Ill?!” How could you have taken ill when he just saw you?  Instantly Pero admonishes himself for having kept you standing outside last night - the night chill must have disagreed with you.  “Please,” he begs, “take me to see her.”

The maid looks panic stricken.  Surely this Spanish nobleman must understand the impropriety of a man being let in to the bed chambers of an unmarried woman.

Colin diverts her attention, “Marie, it will be okay.  Barón Tovar is an old family friend of the Count’s.  There is nothing improper afoot.  The door will remain open and you and I shall both be but a step away.”

With Mr. Bridgerton’s assurance, Marie the maid leads the two men to your door and opens it wide before stepping back to wait outside with Colin.  Pero walks into darkness, the curtains still drawn to help you sleep and ease the pain of your headache, but your magnetic pull leads him to you with no issue.

Kneeling by your bedside, Pero says your name softly, but you do not stir.  He goes to push aside some hair that’s fallen across your forehead and is alarmed when it feels hot to the touch; using the back of his hand to check your forehead and cheeks, he finds you clammy and feverish.  Shouting for Marie, both Colin and the maid rush in to Pero’s call, “Please find the Duchess!  Her friend is running a fever and a doctor needs to be called.  And please bring me a basin of cold water and a clean washcloth at once!”

Daphne rushes in minutes later to find Pero dabbing your forehead with the wet cloth that Marie procured, “Oh no!  I saw her this morning and knew she was unwell, but I did not think to check for a temperature!”

Shaking his head softly, Pero entreats the Duchess, “Do not blame yourself, your Grace.  Likely this morning she was not feverish when you saw her.  Please, has a doctor been called?”

The Duchess nods tearfully, grateful for Pero’s kind words and feeling a kinship with this man who clearly shares her tremendous concern for your well being. 

When the doctor arrives, Daphne stays in the room and gives Pero a nod of reassurance; he leaves begrudgingly though he knows you are in safe hands with the Duchess.  Hovering impatiently never more than a step away from the door, Pero breathes a sigh of relief when he overhears the doctor say that your temperature is no longer increasing, and that if kept cool and comfortable, your fever should easily break over the next day or two.  He vows to ensure both conditions are met to the best of his abilities until the moment you awake.

After the doctor leaves and Daphne has gone in search of a servant to fetch your father, Pero stays by your side, continuously stroking your hair gently and dabbing your hot skin with a cool cloth.  Every time Daphne passes by the open door of your room, she looks in to find Pero watching over you, brows furrowed, eyes full of concern and worry.  Sometimes the Duchess will see Pero’s lips moving, speaking gently to you - though she never hears the words he says, she can tell they’re heartfelt.  It becomes crystal clear to her that two weeks ago she had simply asked the Barón the wrong question; instead of “Do you intend to court her?”, she should have asked Pero: “Do you love her?”  The answer obvious. 

Pero never leaves your side, not when the Bridgerton women visit, or even when your father comes.  He just tucks himself into the corner of the room until their visits are over, as if afraid to leave you.  When it’s just him and you alone, he tries his best to make sure you’re comfortable, arranging your blankets nicely and propping up your pillows so that your sleep is restful and serene.  He requests that cool water and clean cloths are at his constant disposal, and makes sure to dab your face, neck, and decolletage at consistent intervals in order to keep your temperature down.  And while he does so, Pero continuously talks to you, encouraging you to get better, coaxing you back to him. 

He calls you carino, hermosa, princesa, mi reina, mi amor, and all the other endearments he doesn’t ever let himself call you save for in his head.  He lavishes you with compliments and words of praise that he's never allowed to slip past his lips - how perfect you are, how sweet and smart, that he doesn’t know anyone else like you and that your cheerful demeanor and melodic voice are the only things that can ever make him smile.  He tells you how he hasn’t smiled as much as he has since he reunited with you at the Danbury ball in years.  He confesses that every time he holds you while you dance, he has trouble letting go when the music ends, and when he sees another man take your hand and spin you around the room, he has to hold himself back from physically stepping in and pulling you back into his arms.  He tells you that he finds you beautiful and intoxicating, and describes every last inch of you that he can’t stop dreaming about, but lingers the longest in his description of your eyes and the richness of expressions they make that leave him breathless.  He tells you all these things because if he doesn’t say them out loud, he thinks he will burst from having to hold his feelings in all the time.  He tells you these things because he knows you will never hear them.

As the doctor predicted, the fever breaks late the following day and you start to stir shortly after.  Blinking your eyes open slowly, they come into focus to your father’s worry lined face and you watch as it cracks with relief, “Welcome back, dearest.  How do you feel?”

Not sure you can trust your voice right now, you give your father a small smile and nod when he says he needs to get the doctor.  In the few minutes you have alone, you try to get your bearings; the last thing you remember is waking to a terrible headache and falling back asleep after Daphne told you she would be sending your suitors away.  You swear you have vague memories of Pero’s voice and soft touch, but that couldn’t have been real.  Pero.  Oh.  You remember now the reason for having woken up before feeling empty and sad, but you don’t have too long to linger on it because your father returns swiftly with the doctor.

After declaring you well on your way to a full recovery, the doctor leaves you with your father; the Count, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, hugs you tightly and clasps his hands tightly over yours, “I am so glad you are better, dearest.  Now, will you please tell your suffering father what is troubling that heart of yours?”

You’re shocked.  How could your father know about your feelings for Pero when you only realized them a few nights ago?  Your surprise must be written all over your face because the Count gently explains, “My dear, in the entirety of your life, you have only ever had such a fever twice, both times due to crying yourself sick from heartbreak.  The first time was when you were a young girl and I read you The Little Mermaid - the ending saddened you to tears.  The other was when we were leaving Portugal and I didn’t let you keep the stray puppy you had been feeding for a month.  This is how I know something ails your heart terribly.  Please.  Tell your father so he can help you.”

Your heart swells with affection for your father - he has always been the most loving and caring man, attentive to your feelings and understanding of your nature.  There is no one on this earth who you trust so whole heartedly and with whom you feel so safe.  Except for Pero, you suddenly realize. 

You tell your father everything.  You tell him about how Pero lets you be yourself without reservation, and that with him you don’t need to temper down your enthusiasm for your interests or make your experiences seem smaller than they are.  How he encourages you in everything you do and makes you feel like you’re capable of anything and everything.  He respects you and approaches you with kindness, always making you feel safe and taken care of.  That he makes you laugh all the time.  And that you’ve taken Pero and his wonderfulness for granted, not realizing just how rare and valuable all his amazing qualities are because if you had you would have figured out earlier that you’re completely in love with him.  You cry softly and confess to your father that your heart is broken because you’re in love with a man who will never see you more than a childhood compatriot, and that you may never get over this sad truth.

The Count listens to you sympathetically, and when you’re finished, he simply tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “How do you know he does not care for you in the same manner?”

You can hardly tell your father that you snuck out of Bridgerton House and interrupted Pero when he had company over, so you have to cite another reason you’re so certain of how Pero feels about you.  But you find yourself struggling to come up with any concrete examples or reasoning that satisfy even yourself; all you can say is, “Because he wishes for me to find a husband.  He encourages me to do so.  I’m simply the daughter of his father’s friend.”

Something like bemusement dances over your father’s face, “It seems to a me that a man who thinks of you as simply the daughter of his father’s friend would not have purchased my shares in the fleet.”

You’re absolutely stunned.  Pero purchased your father’s shares?  But why?  There was no inherent income from the investment, the dividends benefitted you and your future children only, “Why would Pero do that?”

“You will have to ask him yourself, dearest.  It shouldn’t be too long before he visits himself now that he’s likely heard you’re awake.  He had not left your bedside for nearly two days and it was only at my insistence that he let me sit vigil so he could go home and change his clothes.”

Again, you’re astonished; is it possible that your vague recollections of Pero’s voice and gentle touches while you were ill are real? 

“I will say, when I asked him the same question of why, his answer was that he did not want the hard work you and I put into our happy venture to be squandered.  He said he knew that would break your heart.”

It’s true, it would.

“With his experience, I know the fleet would be in good hands.”

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

You look up to see your father looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place.  You’re about to ask him about it when you hear a quiet knocking and you look over to see Pero standing in the open doorway, as if you had summoned him with your conversation.

“My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt.  I thought I heard your voice and wanted to see if you were awake,” Pero looks tired, but hopeful.

The Count waves him in and gets up, whispering in your ear, “Be kind to him, dearest.  The man has been in anguish and has not left your bedside for more than a few minutes these past two days.”  Kissing you on the cheek, he tells you he will go and find the Duchess to give her the good news of your recovery if the doctor has not yet done so himself.  After he pulls away, you notice for the first time that your room is filled with peonies, every flat surface covered with the most splendid displays in the prettiest pastel colours – your heart soars at the sight.  When Pero takes your father’s place in the chair across from you, neither of you notice that the Count closes the door behind him.

“Dulce, how are you feeling,” asks Pero with as much feeling as you’ve ever heard from him.

You tell him you’re much better, and that although no one has said so explicitly, you suspect that much of your recovery is due to his diligent care and watch over you.

“It was nothing, Dulce.  I was worried about you.  I am glad you are okay now,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me.  I really don't know what I have done to deserve your kindness, Pero.  And not only these past two days when I’ve taken ill, but over the entire course of this season – I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for being there for me, supporting and encouraging me, and bringing me such peace and joy so that I did not buckle under the pressure of my debut.  Please allow me to do so right now.  Thank you, Pero,” you look at him with adoration and admiration, pouring all your feelings out and disguising them as simple gratitude.

“It has been my absolute pleasure, truly.  I am so very proud of the woman you have grown up to be: beautiful, smart, funny, and so, so very caring.  You are one of kind, Dulce – and the lucky man who marries you needs to know just how special you are.  There isn’t anyone else who has your vibrant spirit, your sweet disposition, your fun-loving heart.  He needs to know and nurture all these wonderful qualities so that your light never goes out,” Pero espouses your virtues and merits with eyes fixed upon yours, wishing he could express just how deep his admiration truly runs.

To say you’re affected would be an understatement, and it makes you bold and brave.

“Pero, I cannot tell you how much your kind words mean to me.  I have never known a man to be more genuine and earnest that you; when you say something, you mean it.  I find you so very thoughtful this way.  And in other ways as well – I know, for example, it must have been you who filled this room with my favourite flowers.”  Pero nods indulgently and you carry on, “… and I know you purchased the shares in the fleet from my father.  Thank you, Pero.”

Pero is surprised, although he had not asked the Count to keep the sale from you, he didn’t expect you to know already.

You’re looking at him with an expression he won’t let himself name, eyes soft, almost pleading, “Why would you do something so generous, Pero?”

Pero remains quiet, as if wrestling with how he wishes to answer and you wait patiently, not sure what to expect.

“The owner of the shares has custody of a great gift.  The fleet is an impressive venture - it has potential to do considerable good in this world, and much of that is thanks to you and your father’s dedication and contributions – the holder of these shares cannot squander that opportunity; he needs to honour you and your father’s legacy by carrying on the good work you’ve started together.  But that in and of itself is not the gift.  The man who holds these shares is also given the gift of being able to take care of you, to have a small hand in ensuring a prosperous future for you and your children.  I… could not take the risk that someone who did not understand the honour of this charge would hold these shares.  I hope you can understand and not think it imprudent of me.”

You don’t know what to say.  Pero is so generous and considerate – how could he ever think you would view his gesture as anything but deeply caring?  Unsure of your silence, Pero attempts to lighten the mood, “This way, I can still be in your life.  I can come to see you when I need to discuss matters of the fleet.”

“Pero, you’re my friend!  You do not need to have a business pretense to see me.”

He shakes his head sadly, “You will be married, Dulce.  Your husband would not like a man like me visiting his wife frequently.”

“A man like you?” you’re not sure what he means.

“A man who looks at you the way I look at you.”

You inhale sharply, hardly allowing yourself to breathe, “And how do you look at me, Pero?”

“Like you are the sun, Dulce.  Like everything you touch is made brighter and better from the light of your smile and the warmth of your sweet laugh.  As if under your care and attention, everything and everyone, including me, grows – stronger, brighter, better.  I look at you like I dream about the graceful notes of your voice every night and wish to hear your melody of thoughts and opinions on all things.  I look at you like I am hypnotized just by the sway of your hips and even the lilt of your fingers.  Everyday, I’m ever more enchanted with the tilt of your head and curve of your mouth.  I look at you like I could never get enough.”

“And what if I don’t want that?”

“Then I will stay away, mi reina.  Anything you wish,” though crushed, Pero knows that he would do whatever you asked.

“No, Pero, you misunderstand.  What if I don’t want a husband who does not want you looking at me like that?  What if I want you to look at me like that?  What if I do not want a husband who isn’t you?”

“Dulce…” Pero’s heart has leapt into his throat, he can hardly allow himself to believe what he’s hearing, “… you do not know what you’re saying.  You would not want me for a husband.”

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

Pero looks at you so sadly it breaks your heart, “You would not wish to separate from your friends and leave England to be mistress of a lowly Barón’s estate in a foreign land where you know no one and do not speak the language.  Not when you have suitors with much grander fortunes, with estates nearer to your friends, and where you and your children would grow up in the style befitting the daughter of a British Count.  You would not want a husband who is never home and spends more time on the seas and in far off lands than he does on home soil; one you never see and for whom you would worry all the time, not knowing where he is or what he is doing.”

“Would you not be willing to take me with you on your travels, Pero?”

“Of course, I would,” Pero never second guesses his answer.

Heart still aflutter at Pero’s romantic declarations, you press ahead, determined.  “Well.  It seems then that no one would be better suited to be my husband than you!  You must know me well enough to know that I do not care for grand fortunes and estates, and my dear father and now you have made sure that I will never be financially dependent on any husband.  What I care for is freedom and adventure!  And exploration and not being kept from the joys this life has to offer because I am a woman, or just somebody’s wife.  As for my friends, I can always visit!  And I am fortunate enough that the strength of our bonds is not dependent on having to see each other constantly.  Honestly!  This would not be the first time in my life I have gone to live in a foreign country where I do not speak the native tongue – it’s practically second nature to me now!  But I can see how it would be useful to be able to fluently converse with servants and locals - I suppose I would just have to commit myself to learning Spanish.  That is,” you’re suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that Pero hasn’t actually asked you to be his wife, and instead, you’re espousing all the reasons you find the match to be agreeable when he himself hasn’t expressed any desire for it, “if you would wish to have me.” 

“Dulce, all I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Danbury Ball is wish to have you.  Do you know how hard it was for me to see you entertaining all those suitors when I was certain none of them could ever appreciate you for even half the wonderful person you are?  None of them had any idea what a smar-“

You crash your lips to his, and after the initial surprise, Pero kisses you back with the fervent need that’s been building in his soul the past few months.  Throwing your arms around him, you open your mouth to his just as his hands pull you flush to his chest; it’s the warmest, hungriest first kiss to have ever been kissed.  Your mind having only recently caught up to your heart, and Pero’s constrained feelings finally being set free, your tongues press together over and over, spilling all the unspoken words between the both of you.  On instinct you fist Pero’s shirt and pull him down with you onto the bed, Pero’s eyes darkening as he climbs on top of you, placing one knee in between your legs while keeping the other on the ground.  You finally run your hands through his soft curls and it feels as incredible as you had imagined two nights ago; you both moan softly at the sensation.

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

You purr softly at Pero’s praise, leading him to groan deeper into your mouth and you feel the hand that isn’t braced on the pillow next to your head start to skate up your side, landing near your breast and tentatively drawing circles on the underside of your plush curves with its thumb. You arch into Pero’s hand to encourage him to touch you, and he responds as he always promised he would if he had the chance which is to give in to your every desire.  Groping your breast and finding your nipple between his fingers, Pero rolls and pinches so expertly that you can’t help but writhe beneath him.  He shifts to kiss down your neck as he continues his attentions on your peak and when his knee brushes your throbbing centre, you gasp loudly before covering your mouth with your hands.  Still breathing heavily, the two of you giggle and smile stupidly at each other in the tender moment.  Pressing his forehead against yours, Pero whispers, “Mi reina, we should stop, I still need to ask your father for your hand.  Tomorrow, I am sure he will come here for breakfast and I will ask to speak with him after.”

Looking deep into is eyes, you nod; you know Pero’s right, though there’s a warmth radiating from your very being that wishes to invite scandal and tell him to never stop touching you, knowing by the way he’s making you feel right now that it would be worth it.

Not without regret, Pero pulls himself off of you and stands; after he helps you sit up, Pero tips your chin with his finger so you look at him squarely.  A seriousness takes over his face, an expression he usually reserves for others, “Are you sure you want me, mi amor?  You have so many suitors, so many options.”

Your eyes shine with sincerity and so much softness for this man that does not seem to understand just how much you love him.  You vow to spend the rest of your days showing him, “There are no options when there’s you, Pero.”

You can’t help but shriek a little in laughter as Pero falls on you and crushes his lips to yours, pinning your body to your bed with his large and solid frame.  Kissing you over and over, Pero punctuates his affection with barely strung together words of love - So perfect.  So perfect.  Can’t believe it.  How.  How did I get so.  Damn.  Lucky.  Beautiful. Perfect girl.

Right before your giggles can turn into moans, a knock on your door freezes you both.  The noise is quickly followed by the Duchess’ slightly amused voice, “Is everything okay?  We have brought up dinner.  Please let me know when it is decent for us to come in.”

Giving you one last peck on your lips before chuckling lightly, Pero pulls you up and whispers, “Tomorrow,” before going to open the door for Daphne.

The next morning you find Pero waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down.  Checking quickly to make sure there aren’t any lingering servants, you step off the third to last step and fling yourself into his arms.  Pero catches you easily and gives you a twirl before placing you gently on your feet, then places a less gentle kiss to your lips.  With a few hurried murmurings of devotion - I missed you.  You look beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine - you break apart and head to breakfast.

When the two of you enter the dining room, you’re greeted exuberantly by your friends congratulating you on your recovery and expressing their delight that you’re well enough to rejoin them.  Your father hugs you and you think you detect a knowing smile gracing his face, but you’re too soon seated with platters of food being offered and pushed towards you for you to be sure.  It’s a happy occasion but also slightly awkward – you’re seated next to Pero, but you have to pretend that nothing has changed between the two of you.  Trying to cheerfully chat with your father and friends, you find yourself unable to give the conversation your full attention because you trying with all your might to hold in the most wonderful news of your life, and with it, your overflowing happiness.  It doesn’t help that Pero finds increasingly mischievous ways to secretly touch you throughout breakfast: foot reaching over to playfully nudge yours, gently squeezing your thigh under the table.  When he purposefully brushes his hand down your arm and over yours in order to reach for the butter dish, you gasp in surprise - his touch out in the open sending a warm thrill through to your heart.  In response to your friends’ concerns, you have to lie and say you may still be feeling fatigued, and Pero, ever the menace, pats your shoulder affectionately and reminds you not to overexert yourself before buttering his scone with a smirk.

After your father finishes his meal, you nervously watch Pero hastily shove his last piece of food into his mouth before asking the Viscount for use of his office, and entreats your father for a word.  Finishing your own breakfast as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion, you find your way to the closed office doors and pace outside impatiently.  Try as you may, you cannot make out any of what is being spoken in the office, even when you press your ear up to the door.  After what feels like an eternity, the door opens and Pero exits; not the least bit surprise to find you outside, he whispers in your ear as he walks by, “Your father wishes to see you now, Dulce.  Come find me afterwards.  I will be upstairs writing a letter.”

The Count welcomes you into the office with open arms and you immediately fly into your father’s loving embrace.  As he continues to envelope you in the warmth of his joy, he chuckles, “Well, dearest, I think your old father deserves some acknowledgement for being right.”

Pulling away from him, you look at the face that’s so much like your own, eyes crinkled in mirth and a smile big enough to rival yours, “I concede, Father - you were right.  And I have never been so happy to have been wrong!”

Your father’s already expressive eyes shine with an extra brightness, “All I have ever hoped for is your happiness, my dear.  Pero is a good man, like his father before him and he has given me every assurance that he will cherish and take care of you the way you deserve.  I shall rest easily knowing that you will be in his capable hands… and he in yours.”

What did you ever do to deserve such a brilliant father who has given you the most wonderful life?  You ponder this as you walk up the stairs after telling your father that you love him and saying goodbye for the day.  You suspect you’ll never discover a satisfactory answer, but can only hope you can one day bestow the same unconditional love and support upon your own children.

You find Pero sitting at the corner desk in the drawing room where some of the Bridgertons are relaxing: Eloise and Colin reading, Francesca tinkering at the piano forte, Daphne looking over some correspondence of her own.  Approaching him silently, you look over his shoulder and whisper, “Mi rey, to whom are you writing?”

Smiling at your Spanish endearment of choice, Pero responds without looking up from his task, “I am writing my king, Dulce, and asking him for his permission to marry.”

Ah right, you consider that the Count could very well be penning a similar letter to the queen at this same moment, “What happens if he refuses, Pero?” 

“Then I abscond with my new bride and we live like pirates on the run,” smiles Pero, still not looking up.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you grin.

Pero finally sets his soft gaze upon you, “Nothing can be so bad if you are by my side, mi reina.”

He looks at you with such devotion and affection, you can’t help yourself - you cup his perfect face in your hands and bend down to kiss him.  Pero returns your soft, gentle kisses with his own, nothing urgent, nothing hurried – just a moment of tenderness that couldn’t have been restrained.

You don’t break apart even when you hear the successive gasps of your friends or even when Colin cheers, unable to part from Pero’s lips even a moment sooner than you need to.  When the two of your finally look up, it’s to the sight of the Duchess standing with her hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face, “Do you two have something to tell us?”

You and Pero attend all of the remaining season events as a happily engaged couple.  Pero, no longer scowling all by his lonesome against the wall, but standing tall and proud next to you; his hand laced through yours or comforting and firm on your lower back as the two of you receive congratulations from the ton.  He drinks in the jealous looks from your former suitors and inwardly chuckles a little at the conceding grumbles from the mamas who proclaim with surprise that they didn’t know he had been looking for a wife.  His stoic countenance cracking just a little at their poorly concealed scandalized faces when he replies that he hadn’t been.  For your part, you don’t notice any of this; you only have eyes and ears for Pero.  Your face hurts from smiling so much – it’s all you can do to tear your eyes away from your handsome fiancé in order to respond politely to the questions you receive from curious members of the ton.

You still dance every dance, floating on air as you traverse the floor in the strong arms of your dashing Spaniard; now that there is no danger of some other man whisking you away from him for the next dance, Pero quite enjoys the dance floor.  He holds you closer than he probably should, chests touching and faces so close that the gentle fan of your breath curls over his lips; his hands find themselves placed low on your back during the waltz, dipping scandalously close to where he really wants them to be, itching to squeeze the plush globes of your ass.  If anyone was to make a comment to you about it, you would giggle and simply say that your fiancé is a passionate man.

And he is.  A passionate man, that is.  Under his grave and steely visage, Pero is a man who yearns for and craves the woman he loves, hungry for you at all times.  Such a man is not made of infinite restraint - the limits of Pero’s self control having already been sorely tested for the past few months.  As such, whenever an opportunity to escape the rigid formality of these events would arise, Pero wasted no time whisking you away for himself.

At the Grand Picnic, he steals you away to a secluded spot in the gardens where he proceeds to kiss you so fervently and passionately that you actually get dizzy.  He presses you against the base of some winged sculpture and hungrily licks and sucks down your neck, all while you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping against hope to contain your moans and soft whimpers.  The stone angel watches from its perch as Pero trails his mouth down past your collar towards the swell of your breasts, already rapidly rising and falling.  Pressing feather light kisses to the tops of your breasts, Pero drinks in your breathy giggles when his scruff tickles you, before diving in devilishly, lapping at your ample curves and the valley in between.  As you start to pant from arousal, Pero finds himself most ardently wishing that your tits would break free of their fine silk confines and spill into his mouth. 

A la mierda, he thinks and glides his tongue into the sliver of space between your dress and skin, dragging it across your chest until he hits your hardened nipple; having found his prize, Pero dives in, straining with his tongue to stroke your peak harder and faster.  When he leverages enough space with his chin to wedge in between your soft skin and the fabric of your dress, Pero takes your breast into his mouth and sucks while groping your other breast with his hand, finding the twin nipple already straining against your gown, aching to be played with.  The combined sensation has you grabbing at Pero’s hair and pressing him closer to you; with your hands now otherwise occupied, your gasps and moans spill unfiltered from your open mouth.  The obscene sounds Pero pulls from you must start to carry, because soon you hear voices getting nearer to where you and Pero have now frozen, his mouth buried in your chest; he places one last chaste kiss to tops of each of your breasts before the two of you giggle and run hand-in-hand out of the gardens.

At the Opera, Pero secures a box on the second mezzanine for the two of you.  With most of the ton preferring the orchestra seats or boxes closer to the stage, you find yourselves alone in the secluded alcove nearer to the house balcony.  Once the lights dim and the overture starts, Pero takes your hand in his and you lean on his shoulder, relaxing into his closeness.  By the time the audience is enjoying the soprano’s heart-breaking aria in the third act, Pero has his left arm thrown around you and the knuckles of his right hand are ghosting over the front of your panties where he finds them already damp from want. 

“Keep your eyes on the stage, Dulce,” he whispers in your ear as his thumb draws slow circles over your clit.  You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, trying with all your might not to let your whole body react to Pero’s teasing lest it draws the attention of the opera house attendees sitting on the balcony or in the boxes on the opposite side of the hall.

Pero is patient.  And thorough.  He takes an inordinate time exploring the shape of your pussy - running his thumb then fingers over the outline of your slit and the hardening form of your clit, eventually cupping your mound and letting you grind down on his palm to give you some of the friction you so desperately seek.  He toys with you over the fabric of your underwear for the remainder of the 3rd act until your panties are completely soaked through.  Only once the 4th act is underway does he slip his hand down the front of your underwear and start to run his forefinger through your folds.

“Pero…” you sigh, spreading your legs wider to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Doing so good for me, mi amor,” he whispers back, continuing his smooth, teasing strokes, dragging your sticky arousal through the valleys of your seam and trailing it up to your clit, spreading it over and around your bundle of nerves before returning his fingers to your wet core.  He repeats this over and over, alternating the speed and pressure of his fingers, never letting you settle into a complacent state.  Quite the opposite – you feel like your body is on fire. 

Willing yourself to breathe through your nose as evenly as you can, you focus on the soprano’s finale song before the ensemble gathers for the finale; just as the singer hits the high notes of her solo with a warm vibrato, Pero pushes a finger straight into your heat and you whine in harmony with her.  Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, nearly losing control with the way you clench as he drags along your warm warms; Pero feels you hum around him as pleasure you’ve never felt before radiates throughout your entire body.  The squelching sound of Pero working your cunt are thankfully masked by the musical drama unfolding on the stage, and Pero uses the opportunity to ask you if you’re ready for another. 

Seeing you nod as subtly as you can, Pero murmurs, “Good girl,” before adding a second finger to join the first.  Oh.  You’re so full.  It’s a stretch, but the sting pairs perfectly with the devastating pleasure now coursing through your veins as Pero slowly drives his fingers into you.  Staying with a slower pace until you start dripping down his wrist, Pero’s fingers now start to thrust faster, keeping tempo with the musical build that the ton in the orchestra is enjoying, clueless to your lascivious activities above them.

When Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit, you surge forward and grab onto the balcony banister for stability, nearly in danger of drawing the attention of unwanted eyes.  Refusing to ease up in his efforts on your cunt, Pero continues to push you closer and closer to your high, his fingers never faltering from their punishing pace until you come and cry out in tune with the finale’s final chorus.  While the rest of the audience applauses when the curtain falls, Pero’s praise is only for you - purring that you did so good for him and kissing you gently as his slips his slick covered hand back into his glove. 

At the Hastings Ball, you’re the one feeling bold.  Having arrived at your friend’s estate a week prior to help the Duchess with preparations, you familiarize yourself with the grounds and all the intimate, secret corners perfect for intimate, secret things.  Once all the guests have arrived and the festivities have begun in earnest, you sneak off with your fiancé, leading him down a hidden staircase into the Duke’s impressive wine cellar.  With all of tonight’s refreshments having already been pulled from inventory, you know no one will be coming down here during the ball; you’re free to touch, feel and love on Pero in all the ways you desire.  Once Pero realizes the amount of privacy you’ve been afforded, he’s like a dog unleashed, stalking and cornering you into a wall with a growl, sniping at your neck with his teeth and lips, pawing at your soft curves already on display for him in your pretty ballgown. 

Here in the cellar, while you still cannot be loud, but you don’t have to be quiet – the cavernous room echos your quiet moans and Pero’s deep grunts like a soundtrack of pleasure that’s percussed by heavy breathing as the two of you drown in one another.  Lips attached to yours, but eyes kept open to take in your lustful expression, Pero spies an unopened crate out of the corner of his eye and smiles against your mouth, “Come here, Dulce.  Let me show you something.”

After letting him lead you to the crate, you allow Pero to help you on top before scooting you back so your legs no longer dangle over the edge.   Grinning, you ask playfully, “What, pray tell, do you wish to show me, Barón?”

“Want to show you how I’m going to make my pretty wife feel good every day we are married,” Pero looks at you, eyes dark, as his starts to ruffle up the many layers of your dress.  You giggle as his pushes through the yards of fabric with a feigned annoyance, bunching it up for you to hold against your chest like an overstuffed pillow.  Once Pero is satisfied with his unfettered access, he gently pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hands still laid prettily on your pillow of dress skirts, eyes watching your handsome fiancé’s movements.  Pero leans over the edge of the crate and rubs your silk stocking covered calves with his big firm hands as he starts kissing up your leg starting from where your stockings end mid thigh.  Every kiss he leaves on your skin gives you a shiver as the cool cellar air hits the imprint his lips leaves behind; then, as he gets closer to your heat, he starts to open mouth kiss where you’re the most sensitive, dragging his tongue back and forth over these tender spot and leading you to throw you head back and close your eyes in heady desire.  When he repeats this fog inducing pattern on the inside of your other thigh, you start begging, “Pero, please… please, my Lord, ple-pl-please!”

Nipping at your sensitive flesh with his teeth, Pero smirks against your leg, “What do you need, mi reina?”

Opening your eyes, you nearly buck into his face when you see Pero’s roguish expression peeking up at you from between your wide spread legs, “Touch me please, mi rey.”

“Here?” he asks, with pretend innocence before he dives in and starts devouring your pussy over the fabric of your underwear without waiting for your answer.  This feels different.  So much like his fingers but even more sensual, intimate, wild.  Pero mouths and nuzzles your cunt with a precision only rivalled by that of his tongue; his tongue has a mind of his own, gently prodding, exploring, reaching where his lips can’t. Pero's hands reach up your legs and hook under the band of your soaked panties and you catch him look at you before he murmurs “May I?” directly into your cunt.  The vibrations of his question run through to your chest and it’s all you can do to nod quickly before you watch him pull the frilly undergarment down your legs and have them drop to the ground.  Already completely wrecked, Pero takes in your glistening folds, wet and primed, and growls, “Look at this perfect pussy.  And she’s all mine.”

You run one hand through his soft curls and grip his hair so he’ll look at you, smiling lazily, already unbelievably blissed out, you promise, “All yours.”

“Mine,” Pero repeats, and then he buries his face into heaven.

The sensation is overwhelming in the very best way.  Pero is eating you, no, devouring you like a man starved; every press of his lips to your pussy somehow deeper and hungrier than the last, as his tongue licks every crest and wave of your core and marks them for his own.  Your slick pools from you, down your backside and dampens your gown beneath you; the wet noises from Pero’s mouth against your folds echo obscenely around you and your voice cannot help but try to add in its own harmony.  All of this makes you feel like a worshiped goddess about to ascend her alter and simultaneously like a wanton whore who knows that true heaven lies in the bodily pleasures of this mortal realm.  Then, as Pero’s mouth closes over your clit and he starts to flick your throbbing nub with his tongue, you realize in your daze that no, what you are is something better than either of those two things: you’re the woman who is marrying Barón Pero Tovar.  That’s the thought that overflows from your thumping heart and pushes you over the edge, coming on Pero’s face as you chant his name in a grateful prayer.

After the Ball, you’re positively exhausted from purposefully overdoing the socializing after returning from the wine cellar so no one would recall your long absence.  Yawning, you’re giving your hair a final brush when you hear a soft clink against your bedroom window, followed shortly by another, then another. 

Confused, you approach your window with slight trepidation, and upon looking out, you think at first that your tired eyes must be deceiving you.  Below your window, gazing up at you, is Pero.  He looks devastatingly handsome; yet to undress – Pero is still in his formal breeches, but his white shirt has been unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing his smooth, tanned skin to your admiring gaze.  You might lick your lips at the sight.  Giggling as you tiptoe down the stairs, you walk out onto the terrace that hangs off the sitting room directly below your bedroom, greeted by Pero’s blinding smile, “Barón, what are you doing here?”

It's an easy climb up the side of the wall to the terrace level for Pero and his long legs; once he’s standing directly in front of you, he answers, “I could not sleep without seeing you one last time, Dulce.”

Where did this man who adores you so openly and without reservation come from?  You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a gleeful kiss; you adore him too, after all. 

Still grinning, Pero jokes, “And as I recall, it is my turn to call upon you in the dead of night from beneath your window in order to rouse you from the comfort of your bed chamber.”

Although he has no such intent, Pero’s words immediately transport you back to the night you realized your feelings for him… and how you had left his house, devastated upon the discovery that he was not alone.  Stilling in your movements, you shrink away from Pero a little; none of this goes without notice.

“Dulce, are you okay?  I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with these late-night meetings, but if you prefer to go back inside, I understand.”

You shake your head to let him know you’re not upset by that, but still your expression remains slightly sad and hurt.  Pero bends at the knee to meet your eye, “Mi amor?”

You’ve never lied or kept anything from Pero in all the time you’ve known him, and now that you’re his fiancé, you’re not about to start.  Looking at the ground next to you, you mumble, “I’m sorry, I was just remembering the night you’re alluding to; when I interrupted you… with those two women.”

When Pero doesn’t answer, you wonder if he’s upset with you for having disturbed him that night, and you look up to meet his eye finally, trying to give him a brave smile, “Please do not be upset with me.  I did not know you had company, which would have been entirely your private business, to which I know I am not entitled.  But if I must be honest, I do not particularly enjoy imagining you with other women.”

Pero has to stifle a laugh; if only you understood the war that raged in his chest every time a suitor placed his hand on your waist for a dance or when you would laugh at their jokes with that twinkle in your eye he loves so much – then you would not feel as if you had to hide these feelings from him.

Stroking your jaw gently, Pero tips your face to his, “Dulce, I could never be upset with you.  Firstly, you are entitled to all my business, private or not.  Secondly, the women to which you refer were not there by my invitation – Lord Ridlington had sent them to my house that evening as some sort of prank.  In his words, maybe if the Barón got laid, he would not be such a stick in the mud.  Nothing happened with those women, I promise, mi amor.  When you arrived, I was right in the middle of arranging for a carriage to take them home.  And thirdly,” Pero walks you backward until your back hits the wall; he braces an arm above your head, and towering over you, grips firmly onto your waist with his other hand, “how could I ever even think of another woman when there is you?  You with your pretty face, and your sweet smile, and your heavenly laugh.  You with your witty quips, and your melodic voice that says the smartest things, and this gorgeous body…” 

Pero’s voice trails off as he starts to kiss down your neck and his strong hands start to move up and down your sides in unison, then separating so one can reach up to massage your breast and the other down to grope your ass.  Your head tips back to allow Pero more access as you melt into his touch - he’s everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses.  Kissing down to your breasts, Pero finds them available to him in a way he has yet to experience, your thin night dress much flimsier than the gowns you wear during the day; he can already see your nipples poking up through the fabric, hard and inviting.  Without warning, he ducks and takes one in his mouth, teasing and sucking in tandem with your loud gasps and moans.

“Oh Pero, right there, oh- nghhh, please that feels so good!” you cry out breathily.  Spurned on by your praise, Pero frantically rucks up the skirts of your nightgown and slots his thigh between your legs, pulling you down to sit.  The pressure and friction on your cunt sends a wave of pleasure through you, amplified and extended by Pero’s tongue and lips laving their attention on your breasts.  He encourages you to rock against his thigh, using his grip on your waist to help you find an enjoyable rhythm, and once you’ve found one that catches your clit on the flex of his leg, his hands leave you to your work and travel up your body to pull down the front of your night dress, exposing your tits to the cool night air and Pero’s darkened gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, as he leans back to admire everything before him: your naked curves, your hardened peaks begging for his attention, and the sight of the woman he loves getting off by rubbing her pretty pussy all over his thigh.  He thinks he’s minutes away from combusting.

Instead, he dives right into your chest, mouth and tongue licking, kissing and nibbling, hands groping, pinching and pulling all your delicious parts so that he can bring you to your second orgasm of the night.  While tugging at your nipple with his teeth, he hisses low, “Were you jealous, Dulce?”

Half out of your mind from pleasure you gasp back, “Yes!”

Growling, “Good,” Pero sucks in a mouthful of your breast and kneads what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hands, panting out words when he should be taking in breaths of much needed air -

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

When you didn’t know I would burn the world for you.

You cry out at his confessions, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer to you still; increasing your rocking, you’re chasing your own high when your knee brushes up against something hard, something big.  When it jumps at your touch, you use your knee to stroke Pero’s length with every pass of your pussy over his thigh. 

Your breasts now wet from Pero’s mouth, the cool night air’s chill against your skin causes you to tighten in Pero’s arms as he continues to electrify you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his words -

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

You come to his loving and possessive declarations, singing back your own - Yours, yours, yours.  Body violently seizing and shuddering, Pero holds you close as you ride out your high.  As you continue to buck against him, he crests to your desperate whimpers and breathless panting – his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized by the sweet blissed out expression that he pulled from you.  Finally opening your eyes, you grin lazily at the sight of your lover smiling at you, calming down from his own summit; and when you feel the dampness of his trousers against your bare knee, you giggle in pride and pull Pero back to you lips for a flutter of happy kisses.  As he walks you to the door to the waiting room, you hardly give him a moment without a light peck on his lips, cheeks, neck – not sure you’ll be able to stand being apart from Pero for even a few hours of sleep.

Before he leaves you, Pero cups your face in his large hands, whispering against your lips, “I’m yours,” and you smile back and press your mouth to his before returning, “Mine.”

You marry at the end of the season in late June with the blessing of the Spanish king to do so in England.  The ceremony itself is wonderful and your gown is gorgeous, but you hardly remember anything save for how handsome Pero looks waiting for you at the end of the aisle and how he and the Count both had tears in their eyes for most of the wedding.  What you remember much more vividly is the fun you and your friends had when preparing for the nuptials.  Days and nights filled with laughter, play fighting over flower arrangements, tearful promises to never let distance impact your friendship – you thank the Bridgertons over and over for their love and support during this season and bringing you to Pero; you can never repay them.  When you board the ship to your new home, it’s not without tears as you say goodbye to your friends and father; everyone sends you off with mirroring sentiments and promises to visit soon.

If the Tovar estate servants had any concerns or misgivings about having a foreigner as mistress of the house, you soon win them over with your kind and gentle nature; your cheerful and easy-going demeanor overriding any language barrier, which with their help and your dedication, you were overcoming more and more every day.  And if there were any remaining whispers, be they among the members of the Spanish court, villagers, or any one else, they were quickly quieted once the concerned party bore witness to the ferocity of your love for your husband and his obvious and complete devotion to you.  The older house staff observed quite readily that they hadn’t seen the Barón smile as much as he did since he was a boy.  The newer servants declared that prior to his marriage, they had not seen him smile at all.

One morning, only two months after landing in Spain, you wake to find yourself alone in bed for the first time since you and Pero got married.  Deciding it unnecessary to ring for your ladies’ maid (Lucia, a delightful woman whose English was improving as much as your Spanish), you throw on a dressing robe over your night dress and pad downstairs, sure you’ll find your husband in the dining room having breakfast. 

As usual, you’re right; for a few minutes you remain standing in the doorway, admiring your handsome hulk of a husband as he shovels the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth.  You love the way he eats… everything - with voracity, unabashed hunger, like he can never get enough.  Strolling in only when you see him push aside his empty plate in favour of a pile of letters and paperwork to begin reading, you thank the footman who had already seen you and plated you a warm breakfast, before you approach Pero’s chair.  Dancing your fingers across his broad shoulders, you slide onto your husband’s lap before laying a soft morning kiss to his lips, “Buenos días, mi rey.”

“Buenos días, mi reina,” Pero kisses back, turning his full attention to you as he always does.

“Te echo de menos esta mañana (I missed you this morning),” you pout, although you’re not really upset with him in any way.

Pero smiles at you indulgently, “I thought you might like to get some extra sleep.”  He nuzzles your ear and you can hear him smile, “Considered you might be tired after your activities last night, Baronesa.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss, your cheeks get hot just thinking about the multiple orgasms that Pero pulled from you with his talented fingers, mouth and cock; you purr back and pepper his scruff with kisses, “Very thoughtful of you, Barón.”  Your eyes soften, “No me gusta despertar sin ti, Pero (I hate waking up without you, Pero).”

Pero kisses your temple, “My apologies, Dulce.  How can I make it up to my pretty wife?”

You squirm in his lap; a thrill still runs through you when you hear him refer to you as his wife, and you start to plant breathy kisses to the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Already?  Is my wife so insatiable?” chuckles Pero, though his voice his has dropped to that low baritone register that makes your stomach flip.  You nod into his neck and start to run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging impatiently at the ones at the base of his neck.

“Déjanos por favor (leave us please),” Pero calls out politely.  The servants in the dining room leave at once and close the doors, some smirking - all the servants having gotten used to their master and new mistress’ voracious appetite for one another.  The younger servants were mainly amused and some even found it romantic; the older servants acting scandalized, but secretly pleased to see such a happy marriage on the estate after so long.

 “Sit up here, mi amor,” Pero pulls you off his lap gently and directs you up onto the dining room table; you move his papers aside and push his flatware out of the way.  Teasing him, you quip, “I thought you already had breakfast, my lord?”

“I’m ready for seconds,” growls Pero as he pulls up his chair and seats himself between your legs.  Licking his lips greedily, he unties your robe and peels it open to reveal your lacey nightgown underneath. Lifting up the skirt to reveal your already wet and waiting naked cunt, he murmurs, "Delicious," before lowering himself to meet you where you already need him so desperately.  Aware that you might still be sensitive from the previous night’s sex, Pero is careful with you – his licks and strokes to your folds are gentle and slow, he mouths and sucks your clit with tenderness and reverence, and when he presses two, then three fingers into your tight hole, he does so with restrained worship.  It’s only when you cry out for more, more, more, that he quickens his pace and fully presses his mouth to you, tongue tangling with your sensitive bud before nibbling it between his teeth.  Your moans and debauched sounds of rapture have never been restrained in this house, your house – and you come with a desperate and enchanting scream befitting the blinding pleasure now electrifying your body. 

Kissing up your nightgown and planting loving open mouth kisses to your breasts before letting you taste yourself, Pero licks into your mouth and whispers, “Te amo, mi reina,” before standing back to unlace his pants.

Your mouth waters as you watch your husband free his cock; no matter how many times you’ve taken him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, you’re still in awe of its size and the things that Pero’s length can do to you.  Whenever you feel the stretch of him entering you, you always recall the first time and how gentle he was as he pushed in.  When you remember the tenderness in his voice and face as he made sure you were comfortable, putting your pleasure before his – your heart always blooms with overflowing love for this man.  How did you get so lucky?  Pero would of course always say that he’s the lucky one, and then show you just how deep his affection for you runs by thrusting with intensity, punching that spot inside that makes you see stars, over and over – the exact way he’s doing so now.  “¡Cómo te amo, Pero!” you whimper again and again, and by the way he continues to drive into you, you know he believes you.  Folding himself over you so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate spot at the base, Pero's pants and groans have you arching your back and fisting his hair just for something to hold on to lest you float away.

“I’m close, Dulce.  Come with me,” Pero growls, snaking a hand between your bodies and finding your clit with ease.  Drawing quick circles over your swollen nub, you feel the coil beneath your belly tighten and tighten until it snaps and you throw you head back chanting your husband’s name as you fall over the cliff.  Not far behind, Pero’s pace falters before he spills into you with a long and low grunt in your ear that shoots straight to where you’re joined as one. 

Weak, limp and perfectly satisfied, you let Pero pull you into a sitting position and kiss him deeply and sweetly as both of your breaths start to even, the heaving of your chests slowing in unison.

Forehead resting against yours, Pero catches your still dazed eyes and gives a small nod towards the papers that had been pushed aside and forgotten, “Dulce, I’ve been charged with accompanying His Majesty’s naval fleet to Naples, Italy.  Would you join me?”

Smiling because you know he already knows the answer, you nod, “Of course, mi amor.  I’ll start making the necessary arrangements today.”

Pero tilts his head, eyes soft and reassuring, “Are you okay with leaving?  We will have only been home for a few short months.”

Cupping your husband’s face in your hands, you gaze adoringly into his eyes, “My home is where you are, Pero.”

Pero closes his eyes and pulls you flush against him, with him still softening inside you, you’re as close as two people can be.  He tips your face to his and whispers, “You’re my home, Dulce,” and all you can do is sigh in unsurpassable happiness as he presses his lips to yours once again.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa @wintersquirrel @toobsessedsstuff @starwarslover-81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

#pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #bridgerton au #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar smut #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

[prentisssgf]

| change the prophecy

| criminal minds

| emily prentiss x reader

| hurt / comfort

| 1634

| A/N - there are a few trigger warnings for this fic, including abortion talk, vomit, death, (basically the after effects of demonology, and when she was pregnant at 15), there is a scene where I talk about blaming someone’s death on someone else so please if you know that it will trigger you, don’t read it, otherwise I kind of tried something new with my writing style so please let me know what you think

You woke up around 2:30am to the sound of shuffling, you knew Emily and you knew that it would be her.

You heard her shrug off her coat and throw her keys into the bowl, you heard her hang her coat up and the sound of her heels as she kicked them off as she made her way into the kitchen to grab herself a glass of wine

You also heard her sigh to herself as she sat down on the couch

"Baby?" your voice both startled and calmed her, not expecting you to be behind her, but a gratefulness that you were.

"Oh my God Y/N I'm so sorry, did I wake you?" she quickly placed the glass down and made her way over to you.

"No no, I was up anyway" you spoke before you thought, making it so it sounded like you waited up for her all this time.

You both knew it was a lie, you were always in bed at 10, 11 would be pushing it, you definitely were not going to be awake at, now, 2:45am

Emily nodded, she knew you weren't telling the truth but she also knew that this lie was harmless.

"Emily I'm-"

"I'm coming to bed, baby, you go up and I'll be right there" Emily finished your sentence, already knowing what you were about to say.

Emily smiled as she made her way over to you, kissing your head and then your lips "sure" you smiled looking up at her with every single love and admiration a person could speak with their eyes.

3:08 was when Emily finally walked through your bedroom door "bad case?" you whispered so quietly that you hoped she didn't hear you.

"No not a case" she sighed as she slotted herself into bed with you.

"Oh" your eyebrow perked up "do you want to talk about it?" you lay there, now face to face with Emily, you both leaning with an elbow propped up, you stuck out your hand to swipe some hair behind her eyes.

"It's about Matthew"

You remembered when Emily confided in you, almost 2 years ago, you remembered how Matthew and how he encouraged her to go to an abortion clinic when she was 15 and pregnant and scared.

"What about him sweetheart?" you whispered gently.

She waited a few minutes, she pulled you closer to her by curling her hand around your waist and pushing you towards her, she rested her forehead against yours before she finally spoke again.

"He's dead, he died and I couldn't save him" that's what broke her, sobs finally broke free, she had been keeping those in from the minute she found out about his death, from when she had to go and talk to Matthew's parents and when she sat in her office for hours and hours and hours.

She sat there, for almost 4 hours; cold, scared, and alone, mirroring exactly how she felt 17 years ago, but only this time, she didn't have Matthew Benton by her side, she had you.

You pulled her in close, your chin on her head as she sobbed into your chest, you kissed her head many times as you rubbed her back all whilst whispering sweet nothings to her gently

"Emily?" you whispered, looking down at her, Emily didn't answer, instead her grip tightened as she looked up at you "hey hey it's okay, its okay, you're okay" you affirmed, Emily nodded and mouthed the same words back, you kissed her head once more "I just want you to promise me something, do you think you could do that?" you spoke softly.

"Hmm?" Emily both partially agreed whilst simultaneously wondering what you were about to say

"Promise me that if you ever need to talk to me tonight, you'll wake me up, or, or, if you have a nightmare or anything" tears fell from your face as you looked down to see Emily, she had been crying for hours and hours, she was tired and you could tell

"Yeah" she bit her lip and looked up at you, an attempt at a smile was made but faltered nonetheless "yeah I can do that?" she breathed out as she tucked her head into your chest again

Soon enough, Emily's breathing slowed down, she was exhausted and she tired herself out and she fell asleep in your arms, you kissed her head once more and you told her that you loved her and that she was the strongest person you had ever met, a slight smirk appeared on her lips to signify that she heard you which made you smile.

You watched her sleep for a few minutes before deciding do to the same, you shuffled down and kissed her shoulder as you slung your arm around her waist.

You woke up the next morning on your back with Emily's arm around your waist tightly, you screwed your eyes together as you hadn't yet adjusted to the morning sun, carefully you turned over to see a bright red "6:52" looking back at you, making you groan slightly, it was like it knew it was your day off

You kissed Emily's head once more before you went back to sleep.

You woke up a few hours later to the sound of thrashing next to you, you quickly sat up in bed to find Emily crying, with a layer of sweat down her forehead, as fast as you could you quickly sprinted to the kitchen to get her a glass of water, you ran back down the hallway into your bedroom to find Emily in the same position only now muttering to herself "I need to save him" your lip quivered as you made your way over to her, you knew how to handle Emily's nightmares, considering you had been her best friend for 5 years and together for 3.

"Emily, Emily honey, you're having a nightmare" you shook her lightly "Emily" your voice now filled with concern as she wasn't bulging "Emily" you accidentally shouted louder than you expected to.

With a huge gasp of air, Emily flung herself forward and heaved heavily, you knew what was coming so you quickly went to your bathroom to grab a bin for her to throw up in, you rubbed her back as she did so and held her hand all the way through it.

"Here" you picked up the water and slowly placed it in front of her lips "drink this" you prompted, you cleaned everything up and went back to bed, you sat up on the bed, purposely sitting behind Emily, you adjusted yourself to sit behind her as you pulled her up in between your legs, she kept quietly drinking the water, you kissed her shoulder again before leaning into her nightstand to retrieve a brush out of there, you asked silently for permission as you raised one eyebrow along with the hairbrush, she nodded and started sipping some more water.

You started brushing and playing with her hair, Emily would never admit it, but she absolutely loves people playing with and brushing her hair, she just shrugged it off as she never had an older sister or an older relative in her life that would take care of her the way you did; gently, warmly, and fully.

"I had a nightmare about Matthew" she sighed, a few minutes later.

"Okay" you gently prompted again "are you ready to talk about it?" she shook her head harshly "okay that's okay" your voice laced with a compassionate tone "well whenever you're ready to talk about Matthew or about anything, I'm always here" you repeated once more, you didn't have to tell Emily if she knew that because she always did.

"Matthew's parents" she placed her glass on the nightstand as she held back a sob and tried to console herself at the thought "they uh, blamed his death on me" she started to pick around her fingernails

"What!?" panic in your voice, almost in awe at how someone could do something as terrible as that.

"I shouldn't have said anything I'm sorry" Emily quickly retaliated.

"Hey, hey, no why are you sorry?" you asked as calm as you could.

"Because you believe them right? because you believe that I killed Matthew because I didn't get there in time!?" Emily raised her voice slightly, but you knew she wasn't angry at you.

"Can you turn around and look at me" you sighed, hesitantly Emily turned around to you, her head on your stomach as she lay in between your legs again "I would never, never think that" you sighed as you reached down to cup her cheek before repeating what you just spoke "I know you got there as quickly as you could, you didn't do anything wrong" you smiled gently.

"They still blame me for the abortion" Emily played nervously with the strings of your pajama shorts.

"Honey, you were 15, you were 15 and pregnant, it's okay to have been scared, you did the best thing for you and the baby" you sighed gently, your hand caressing her cheek.

"Thank you" she gripped your hand, absentmindedly swirling her finger around it creating different patterns, something she did when she was either nervous, scared, or sad "come here" you pulled her back up and hugged her as tight as you could "I'm glad you're here, I love you so much, please don't ever forget that" you stapled a kiss to her forehead once more before she fell asleep, you rubbed her back and played with her hair, whispering how much you loved her and listening everything you loved about her.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #paget brewster #criminal minds x you #emily x reader #emily x you

[libraryraccoon]

TWST with a Manipulator!Reader Headcanon

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Type : Headcanon/Ideas

Characters : Riddle, Idia, Vil

Others infos : Not manipulator like that, but yk those who have masks that hide their emotions, those who analyze people and their behavior/attitude changes depending on who they talk to, in a way the person they talk to will like them, letting no one see their true colors. And they are traumatized too bc what is someone without trauma ??? And the Reader is really good at that. Bad english (it's not my first language), probably ooc.

I don't think Riddle would realize/understand it. To him, you were just a good student who followed the rules. And I don't think he'll realize you're playing a role, not if anyone else tells him, and if he does it probably would have been Trey or Carter, if they realize it. After that, he will observed you more and will try to talk with you about that. He will probably be a little hurt that you somehow manipulated him, not showing the real you. After that, you have two choices, lie to him and say you were being real with him, or tell the truth and try to act like the real you. If you lie, I don't think he will see it, trusting you and not thinking that you lied to him. If you tell the truth, he will be a little hurt by this new, but he will try to know you, the real you. Even if the real you isn't perfect, he will love it and be happy that you trust him enough to show him the real you.

Idia will know it. You can't tell me that man doesn't stalk you. Even if you're a friend, when he will get bored or having nothing to do or just for knowing what his friend/partner do, he will look in the school cameras. He will see that you act differently with almost everyone, adapting to the person you are speaking with. He would surely be intrigued and/or confused about this. Idia will probably wonder who the real you is, and if you were lying to him all along. He'll question you about it at some point, if you lie about being the real you with him, there's a 50/50 chance he'll believe you, his sixth sense screaming that you're lying. If you tell the truth, he won't talk to you for days, can't believe he fell into this trap- the trust will be broken, and it would be worse if you were together romantically because he will think you also lie about loving him, but it could be fixed with time.

Vil will know something is wrong. Being an actor, I feel like he would know when someone is playing a role or at least have suspicions. His sixth sense would scream that something was wrong, so he would observe and send Rook to gather information. Above all, he would be curious, curious to know the real you, and to know why you play a role, constantly changing depending on the person you are with. If you are together, he will be hurt that you played him, realizing that he really knows nothing about you. He might question your feelings towards him. If you lie, like Idia, something inside him will tell him that you lie, and Vil will maybe talk about it again. If you say the truth, Vil will try to know you really, especially in a relationship, it would be like starting from scratch.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x gn reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts x gn reader #riddle rosehearts x male reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x gn reader #idia shroud x male reader #vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #vil shoenheit x gn reader #vil shoenheit x male reader #Probably ooc #Raccoon is writing #no proofread

[thelesbododo]

This is a headcanon circulating around a sensitive topic and one that you may not agree with so if you don't want to read it please scroll.

This headcanon revolves around the character Osamu Dazai and the concept of sexual assault

I believe that Dazai was sexually assaulted as a child

This has nothing to do with Mori and takes place long before they even meet

While it is true we know little to nothing of BSD Dazai's past, it is also true that it is highly likely the Irl author and his No Longer Human counterpart was SA'd

There are two specific pieces of writing are evidence of this

"My true nature, however, was one diametrically opposed to the role of the mischievous imp. Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and manservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit. But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings. I smiled in my weakness. If I had formed the habit of telling the truth I might perhaps have been able to confide unabashedly to my father or mother about the crime, but I could not fully understand even my own parents. To appeal for help to any human being - I could expect nothing from that expedient. Supposing I complained to my father or my mother, or to the police, the government - I wondered if in the end I would not be argued into silence by someone in good graces with the world, by the excuses of which the world approved.It is only too obvious that favoritism inevitably exists: it would have been useless to complain to human beings. So I said nothing of the truth. I felt I had no choice but to endure whatever came my way and go on playing the clown"

- No Longer Human

"I ceased being a child soon after entering grade school. It was then that my younger brother’s nurse taught me something that took my breath away. It was a beautiful summer day, and the grass by the vacant house out back had grown tall and dense. I must have been about seven, and my brother’s nurse could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen. My brother was three years younger than I, and the nurse shooed him off. She said, ‘Go get some leaf grass’ - that’s our word for clover back home. Then she added, ‘And make sure it’s got four leaves too.’ After he left, she put her arms around me and we started rolling around in the tall grass. Thereafter we would play our secret little game in the storehouse or in one of the closets."

- Memories

Both No Longer Human and Memories are semi-autobiographies, meaning they're somewhat based in truth

I can't speak from experience but SA has a big effect on the lives of the survivors

Some of thes effects include;

Sleeping or Eating disorders

Dazai canoniclly has issues sleeping and there are scenes that imply he has issues with and/or doesn't see the point in eating, at one point saying that it is "so much trouble"

Nightmares

There is a specific scene within one kf the light novels where Kunikida asks if Dazai has nightmares.

(Unfortunately I can't find the exact moment so I can't quote it so if anyone can find it please let me know)

Self-hatred

It might not be clearly stated that he hates himself but ay the same time its rather clear that he does

Suicidal thoughts or self-harm

He is a suicidal maniac

Riskier sexual behaviors such as having many partners

He canoniclly has had quite a lot of lovers

Substance abuse

The one scene we see of his apartment we see that there is more alcohol than furniture (it's also a popular hc that Dazai smokes which makes sense considering his past with the pm and that irl author smoked)

Another moment to mention was when he seduced the nurse (which technically counted as SA too but that's not the point of this)

I'm probably gonna end it here because it's late and I'm tired but anyone willing to add or correct anything please go ahead and I hoped you enjoyed my hc

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #dazai headcanons #dazai hcs #dazai bsd #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazaibsd #osamu dazai #bsd headcanons #Bsd hcs #bsd thoughts #bsd analysis #bsd theory

[fourteentrout]

Azriel had waited. He had waited for five hundred years to find his mate. His equal.

That's the kicker, wasn't it? His equal. How could he find that, when he was Death itself. When he looked into the bloody mouths of his victims, Truth Teller in his grasp, and he could not see anything but his own reflection staring back at him. Built upon fingernails and severed toes, built upon a burst of blue that burnt like fire, built upon a blade that sang when it cut through flesh. Calculated death, something beyond rage, something beyond a quest for justice. Something not borne out of impulse or uncontrolled power, but out of a carefully constructed network of lacerations, each placed with more thought than the last.

What, out there, was equal to that?

Oh, how cruel, he thought.

Is this what it is? Is this what an equal is? Someone with fists wreathed in flame, who could wield what Azriel's hands hadn't been able to survive.

Fire itself mated to the burnt.

Someone tortured, mated to a torturer.

How cruel to him, he thought, flames dancing in his head.

Was it cruelty, though? Or simply justice? That fire lord with lashes across his back was no hero. He was the worst of the worst, and his pain didn't make him any better. It just made him both the victim and the tyrant. It allowed him to play both sides. He himself was cruel.

Eris was nothing like who Azriel had thrown himself at. Eris was unkind, unable to wield his flaming hands with the same delicate niceness of Elain. Eris was a sneaky, manipulative, slithering thing, a stranger to the blunt authenticity of Mor. Eris would never be able to turn to the sunlight the way she did. Eris would never be able to speak with words like honey the way Elain did.

Azriel had never earned those words, anyway.

This is what it is, then, he thought. Two people who got exactly what they deserved. Fated to share something so pure, so clean, with someone who was decidedly not. The thing he had slogged through five centuries of silent desperation for a female who would never love him back for, finally granted to him--only with someone just out of reach. Perhaps, if he wanted, he could reach out a hand.

But he didn't want to. It was easier to stay angry, easier to pretend that he didn't deserve something as honorable as a mating bond, like he had during those five hundred years of waiting.

He did, though. He was getting exactly what he paid for.

His was soaked with the blood of a thousand, a hundred thousand, too many for Azriel to feel bad for. Eris' hands burst with the same flame that had once bathed Azriel's own. They delivered each other's scars, Azriel supposed. His mottled skin would be familiar to Eris. How many people has he burned, Azriel wondered. The scars that littered Eris' perfect High Fae body were the same Azriel imparted dutifully upon anyone unlucky enough to find themselves in his chamber. How cruel, to look at the one tied to your soul and see an assignment. The same methodical job he imparted on the prisoners in the dungeons, blanketing the one he was supposed to be able to look at reverently. How could he?

Eris was always a slimy bastard, anyway. Azriel could never love him, just as he would never love Azriel. It was upon principle, more than anything.

And perhaps it was easier that way. Perhaps his hands would thank him, kept safe from the fire that they still shied away from, centuries later.

How cruel, he thought as his chest throbbed with that bond.

Azriel had waited his whole life for something he knew, in his soul, he would never deserve. But of course, the Mother found Her ways. To give him what he wanted more than anything in the world.

To give him something he would never be able to have.

Not when he was one who supplied torture, and his mate was one who received it. Not when he was scarred with burns, and his mate could light the fire with half a thought.

How cruel, he thought, that I could not have been better. That I could not have become someone able to earn something good.

That even the mating bond could be twisted into something to punish him, something to prove his unworthiness. It was right there, and yet he couldn't have it. Would never be able to face that. The fact that he and his mate were everything that had made the other suffer. Why, he wondered, had he wanted it so? Had he not realized that to be granted that, he would have to look into the eyes of another and see himself reflected back? The one person that could break him.

After a lifetime of waiting, he had finally gotten what he wanted. But he had also finally gotten what he deserved.

#azris #i dont know what this is lmao #but like #theres just so much to say about the tragedy of their pairing #something something your equal includes everything youve come to hate about yourself #azriel #azriel x eris #eris #eris vanserra #azriel shadowsinger #my writing #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar drabble #azriel acotar #eris acotar #azriel spymaster

[jammiycge]

Hold me close like you did before

In which the boy who broke your heart was now running back to you like he had a chance.

(Isagi Yoichi x gn reader)

tags- gn reader but I wrote this with male reader in mind, slight angst, swear words, not proofread, typos or grammar errors.

REPOST

———— ★ ————

"I'm sorry..I shouldn't be here." he didn't move off from you though, melting into your embrace. right now, he was at your front door.

he knew it was selfish, he it was unfair for you to endure someone chasing you. he didn't even have the right to run back to you.

"yeah you shouldn't, so get off." Isagi flinches a bit. words cold as ice, it pierces through his heart just a little. he should've stuck to his decision of breaking up with you.

“please just let me stay a little longer? just a little…” his voice trails off, and he buries his face into your shoulder.

"why're you even here..?"

he doesn’t speak, but his body tells the truth. He rests against you, still melting into your embrace. He pulls away from you slightly, but doesn’t pull away entirely so that his forehead is still against your shoulder. His voice is soft, and he feels ashamed when his voice breaks. “because I can’t stand how lonely I’ve been without you.."

"but you're the one who broke up apart. this isn't fair Isagi.." ouch. last name basis? he chose not to comment on it though. he didn't have a choice anyways.

yoichi closes his eyes and sighs. “I know, I just…” he trails off, unsure of how to explain himself. this is the first time he’s talked to you after the breakup. he never thought about what he’d do. his eyes grow soft. “I miss being in your arms like this…”

"that isn't a valid reason, isagi."

he opens his eyes, and a pained expression washes over his face. “I know, but…” He trails off. the look on his face speaks for him instead, as he glances at you with a look of longing. It’s unfair, he knows, but his heart aches when he’s not with you. it wasn't his place to complain..

"it's your fault for breaking up with me when you knew you couldn't handle being away from me." the tone was nothing like he was heard from you. being used to the calm and composed one that he grew fond of.

yoichi winces at your words, but is unable to deny them. “I shouldn’t have broken up with you, I just…” he pauses, as his thoughts trail off. He can’t find the words to express himself clearly. “just please, let me stay. for just awhile longer?” His voice was soft, and his words were pleading.

"no.'' he knew damn well you were sadistic and there was no second chances in your book. you believed that if someone broke your heart once then there should be no reason to love them again.

yoichi looks at you, and his lip begins to tremble. you were always stubborn, but he didn’t know you were this stubborn about this. maybe it was his fault for assuming he was an exception. the thought made him bitter.

“please…” Your stubborn response wasn’t what he expected, and his grip on you tightens for just a moment before letting go. your heart is cold, and all he could think about was how he wanted to warm it up.

"do you think I'll choose you now and everyday..? I hate to burst your bubble, but i won't."

yoichi shakes his head, your words shattering what he hoped was a possibility. instead, the reality of you having moved on sunk in for him. all he could hope for at that moment was that you were happy. he hated the feeling of jealousy that bubbled within him. “no,” he says, his voice was barely above a whisper, “not anymore.”

"you know the answer. so why are you choosing to still love me when you know it'll be ten times harder to do so." the fact i had a way with words was only a stab in his heart. he used to love how i portrayed my love for him before, but now, he hated how its being used against him.

“because I can’t help it,” he says, closing his eyes. He knows you’re right, but his heart can’t stop loving you. The thought of moving on from you is impossible. everything about you was too perfect to let go, and he can’t find a reason to not love you. he knew it was a bit pathetic how he was acting, but the truth was that he still loved you. a part of him always will, he knows that now.

"just let me go."

yoichi's whole body freezes, and his heart beats faster at your words. you were serious about this, more serious than he expected. but you said it so gently, that he wanted to cry. he didn't want to let you go.

he lets you go from his embrace, though not entirely. his hand cups your shoulder, as his eyes are locked to yours. he swallows the lump in his throat and spoke, "..can I ask you a question?"

"..what?"

for me to be quiet was something uncommon. I was a person who was passionate in his words. so to leave me speechless or..wordless in this case was a bit out of place.

he always found you to be passionate and fiery with your words. It was what he fell for in the first place .

"have you found someone else?" his voice was soft, almost pleading. he couldn't stand the thought of you with someone else, and yet he hated himself for being so jealous. he couldn't help his emotions, and he hoped that wasn't enough of a reason for you to hate him.

"no..? you were my first and my last." you gave up searching for love after Isagi. you couldn't bare getting your heart broken after him. however, one part of you still longed for those short-lasting relationships.

yoichi pauses at your response. what? so you hadn't. that was some consolation, but he'd expected the worst. "and you don't plan to?"

"no, and why're you still here?" you didn't care on how rude or mean your responses were. you didn't bother adjusting for him.

your response stung more than he expected. he felt unwanted, but he deserved it.

he'd made his bed, and now he must lay down in it. "okay..." your words and actions were clear. he couldn't stop the tears from falling as he stepped away from you.

you just blinked at him with the same eyes that used to hold so much adoration, all for him, but he wasted it all. you didn't even look like you held any remorse.

everything about you from your words and actions was cold as ice, your words were a cruel reflection of his actions. yoichi can't deny that his emotions are hurt from it. He never knew you could cut so deep. feeling a sense of finality, yoichi simply nods. It's the only thing he can do in response to you anyways.

"..." you didn't even look at him. he knew he couldn't have a second chance in loving you, yet if he knew the consequences. it still hurt as much as he thought it would.

yoichi wanted to follow you, but this time he knew when to stay away. you were serious about this, and he knew that nothing he said could bring you back. He watches you disappear around the corner, and sighs. he turns and places his hands against the wall, letting out a frustrated huff. “I really should have taken you seriously,” he muttered to himself.

"you should've." you managed to catch a little of what he said and responded in a somewhat calm tone.

yoichi heard the tone in your voice and frowned to himself. he wished he could have another chance, but his actions have already spoken. he can't blame you for rejecting him after everything.

“damn it…” he mumbled softly, his words were filled with frustration with himself. he couldn’t believe he’d made the mistake of breaking up with you.

you weren't someone to be played with so easily. but maybe, just maybe, It was your mistake that your missed out on the chance on getting back what your used to love oh so dearly. Isagi didn't know that though.

the two never spoke again.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk x you #blue lock fluff #bllk #bllk fluff #blue lock x you #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #yoichi isagi #isagi x gn reader #isagi x male reader #isagi yoichi x male reader #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #blue lock isagi #isagi x reader #isagi x you

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 2:

Talia could hear the muffled sobs from behind the door.

Her father must have informed him then.

The two sentries standing guard before Jason's room acted as though they heard nothing. The result of intense disciplinary training from the league.

She dismissed them with a mere wave of the hand. Talia barely noticed their deep bows as they left their post.

She knocked twice. No answer. She cracked open the door to see a young man on his knees, eyes red and puffy from crying.

Talia lifted Jason's face up to hers. 

She found no trace of the bright young boy with a sharp tongue and sharper wit left in him. What she had before her was a young man broken by the burdens of life placed on him at too young an age.

His body no longer had the scrawny build of a malnourished child. Now, he was a tall teenager with a fighter's lean build.

There was still time for him to grow and Talia knew that in time, her sons would surpass Bruce in both height and strength.

"How could he replace me?" Jason croaked out.

The question broke her stream of thought.

"He didn't replace you habibi, he most likely had to take on another Robin after your death. You know how Gotham is." Talia soothed him, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I know how Gotham is, that's why I'm mad that he has a new Robin. He got lucky with Dick, and he should have learned a lesson about putting kids in spandex and having them jump off roofs and fight costumed asylum escapes when I died. Now there's another stupid kid who's following Batman around and will probably get himself killed as well." He raged.

Talia's heart hurt as she hurt her son speaking ill of her beloved, but she steeled herself.

He needed to know the truth.

"Jason, are you aware that the reason Bruce made you Robin, is because you were marked?"

"What's that mean?" Jason asked, confused as he collected himself.

Talia sat on the floor beside him and began to explain, "There's a curse in Gotham where a select group of people are marked with a symbol of the bat. They are destined to become vigilantes by choice or by circumstance."

His eyes widened, he got up and began to take off his clothes and turned his back to the mirror. 

"Why didn't he say anything?" His voice barely a whisper.

Talia sent a fond glance towards Jason, "He wanted you to have as normal a childhood as possible. Also, at the time, Bruce didn't have much proof aside from the matching marks. He needed to know more. You know Bruce, he never says anything, unless he has all the facts."

Jason staggered back to his bed, "I think I'm going to need a minute."

"Of course." Talia nodded.

She shut the door behind her.

The muffled sobs were now replaced with an eerie silence.

Her footsteps were the only sounds left to be heard.

Jason stared up at the ceiling, his entire worldview shattered for the third time in two months.

The first was when Bruce, his dad, failed to save him from the Joker. The second was when he realized that not even death was concrete in his life, as he clawed his way up from his own grave. The third, when he was told that he was marked, the choices he made, not really his.

The last one grated on him the most. He could live with Bruce not being as perfect as he once thought, he could live with coming back to life, but when faced with the prospect that the life you lived was already decided for you, that crossed the line.

It was as though he was a kid again, back in Crime Alley, where society already decided he was a criminal, and given the lack of opportunities, it really was the only viable path for him.

He grit his teeth. Everything he had gone through, nearly starving to death every winter in the Alley, watching his mother get high on drugs, becoming homeless after her death, to becoming Robin after a fateful encounter with Batman. It was all predetermined, his choices irrelevant.

He could live with the fact that he got blown up by the Joker thanks to his own mistakes, but if it was already meant to be, what was the point of doing anything? Was his life just to suffer for Gotham's sins? 

Jason contemplated offing himself with one of the many weapons at his disposal, but then decided against it. Odds are, his mark won't let him die that easily, at the very least Talia wouldn't. He'd probably get dunked in the Lazarus pit again and lose what little sanity he had left.

In thought, he glanced out the window, at the rows of assassins training.

He wondered what his replacement was up to. Feelings of resentment aside, he felt for the kid. Bruce probably didn't tell him about the mark either, out of concern for his childhood (Jason had to roll his eyes at that, if B was so concerned about their innocence, then he wouldn't have them beating up criminals in the streets) or fear that he'd run away.

Jason tamped down a surge of jealousy, it wasn't fair that some rich kid from Bristol was living his life.

He stretched and headed out to the training grounds. If his life was already destined to be a mess of vigilantes and criminals, preparing for it was the least he could do.

#marked au #batfamily #batfam #batsiblings #tim drake #batman #jason todd #dc robin #red robin #bruce wayne #red hood #talia al ghul #league of assassins

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 14. C!M!Sydney (Date Night)

Pairing: C!M!Sydney / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,538 Warnings: public, fingering, religious contexts (duh it's sydney), cockwarming, fallen sydney Prompt(s): 03 — date night Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: i haven't written for sydney a lot, so i hope this is okay !!!! it was rlly fun working out how to write for him tho, and how to include the prompt appropriately <3 i hope i done it justice hehe... hope u like it !!

He was right about coming here later at night, thinking that there'd be a whole lot less amount of people attending the same movie now versus earlier on in the day. Which is necessary, for him anyway. Sitting in the pre-selected seats with you, there are only three more couples awaiting the showings start, and even less single attenders. Happy that his hypothesis was correct, it's difficult not to get a little giddy at the prospect of spending some much needed alone time with you, especially considering no one seems to be sitting close enough to you to become a threat.

And by that he means, to see him playing with you.

It's the perfect date night setting for it, don't you think? Relatively alone, distracted by the moving pictures on the big screen, secluded by otherwise stark darkness. It's a prime opportunity for him to execute his plans tonight— a date that you'll not be able to forget. At least for a while, until his corrupted mind can come up with an even better excuse to steal you away for a night of degeneracy.

A far cry from his once shy and naive self, as soon as you're seated comfortably he's promptly wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder. Glaring at anyone who dares come too close to you, a warning not to intrude on his planned alone time with you. Allow him to pray in private, just like at the temple.

Only, he's not at the temple right now. Cooing down at you when you shuffle closer to him, place your head on his shoulder. So cute, he thinks. So sweet, especially when you quietly ask him when the show was planned to start; too afraid to speak too loudly in fear of disturbing the other movie guests. The soft whisper you carry yourself with only has his chest tightening in more excitement for the very near future, wondering how you'll handle yourself when it comes to his touch later on, and if you'll be able to stay as quiet as you'd like; as you're trying to be right now. Little lamb, you've got no idea what he intends on doing to you tonight, do you? Returning the apple gift of knowledge you so kindly offered him a bite of in kind, reciprocating the very same blasphemous touch you graced upon him by moving his hands from your shoulder and instead down to your waist, pinching at your soft side with playful platitudes.

"How long now?" You ask again, the picture of innocence as you snuggle closer still, practically on his lap at this point from how much you seek his comfort, or is it protection? It doesn't matter, really, because the bulge in his pants continues to grow despite the answer as he places a chaste, but sweet, kiss atop your head. A reminder that he's there, and nothing—no one—will be getting in his way tonight. That includes you, a deep concentrating sigh escaping him before he answers you.

"A couple more minutes, love." Disarm, ease you into his trap. He learnt from the best, didn't he? Mentally thanking you for showing him the light in the form of your dirty paws and filthy mouth. Now he's found a new God, and tonight, he wishes to venerate you in the best way he knows how to, how you taught him to.

Truth be told, he's forgotten what movie he's even supposed to be watching. A mere backdrop to his true intentions of spoiling you for date night; a public setting. A step further from how he usually spends his time with you, but he'd like to explore every avenue of worshipping you because you deserve it. For showing him that there's a better way, for teaching him so many new things, new sensations, and... For causing the bulge in his pants right now, unable to be seen thanks to the oppressively dark theatre. You'll praise him for his location choice, won't you? Congratulate him on picking such a secretly public spot to corrupt you in, right?

Oh he just knows you will! Giddy with carnal lust pooling in his pants, he paws at the fabric just a little. Not noticeable by any stretch of the imagination, and if it were, it doesn't matter; trailers begin playing on the large screen for your eyes to go wide at, all glossy and attentive— good. Now that you're distracted, he has time to enact his plan.

Which starts by removing his hand from around your waist, instead placing an open palm on your pillowy exposed thigh. Getting you to wear a skirt tonight was simple, one picked out by him in an effort to have easy access to you tonight, but a choice that was easily played off as something more romantic in the moment. I think you'd look so cute in this, he'd prompted you with. And like a good girl, you obliged, ever kind to your faithful follower, aren't you?

Briefly pulled out of his indulgent thoughts by the small crowd laughing at... Something, he missed it, he joins in. Just too keep up appearances. Too busy loving you instinctively, his thumb rubbing up and down your thigh. Not too far, only meant to help soothe you a little, relax your body into his perverted touch, cock twitching in his pants when you shuffle around a little to get more comfortable, inadvertently giving him greater access to the fat of your thighs. Which he exploits immediately, so soft and squishy under his touch, God. Do you know about the things you do to him? How one glance over at your pretty face, noticing how completely engrossed you are in just the trailers, sitting so nicely and politely for him as if you were waiting for him to take advantage of you— it's not a matter of if he'll end up staining his pants sheer, because it's already happening. Fat globs of precum beading at his tip, rolling down his length to wet his balls, dirty girl. The thought of ruining you in such a public place is reason alone for him to be this hard, tired of holding himself back all day, he repositions and stretches his legs wider open to accommodate how fat his cock gets.

Not that you notice very much, the time it's taken for him to gain enough confidence to merely inch his fingers closer to your core has been long enough for the movie to actually start. But fuck, he can't pay attention to it in the slightest. Giving the screen a mere quick glance before turning his attention back to you, hidden in the dark of the theatre to freely gawk and stare are your pretty face. And, soon enough, your pretty tits. And your pretty tummy. And your pretty thighs that his fingers are currently playing with. And fuck he's so hard already, a little pathetic don't you think? Just by looking at you, he's already ready and wanting to get his dick wet. In such a public place too, his breath shaky after a deep inhale and exhale.

It's now or never, he supposes. Taking the opportunity to creep his hand up to your clothed cunt, head snapping to the movie in faux interest as he feels your eyes narrow in on him from the side. But you're supposed to be quiet, remember? Be courteous to the other attendees of the movie, you can't scold him for hooking a single finger under your panties, chin resting on his other hand as he leans away from you to avoid suspicion if anyone were to look up at the back corner of the room, right? Though he doubts it, the movie seems to have enraptured all of the movie-goers just as much as you enthral him, a whispered curse escaping him as he glides a finger up and down your slit, circling your clit a little to help coax out some wetness for him to use against you.

And it doesn't take long for you to be coating his hand all sticky. It's the setting, isn't it? Knowing that you must keep yourself hidden, unable to fully express your thanks for his pleasant touch out of fear of getting caught with your pants down. Or hooked, as it were, the way your legs seems to automatically open up further for him has his pants tightening even more so, removing his free hand from under his chin to instead keep palming away at his leaking cock.

It's an opportunity to look at you again too; though he really wishes he hadn't the moment he does so. An egregious eye roll to the back of his skull at the way you stifle your moans by chewing on your skirt, panties exposed to the crowd below if only they'd look back, the movement of his finger under your underwear catching his eye as he gently rims around your wet little hole in preparation. Fucking heretic, you like this, don't you? Not that he blames you, no, never! For he is enjoying himself too; perhaps a bit much so as he masks the sound of him unzipping his pants behind the loud bangs from the movie, whipping his too hard cock out for precum to dazzle in the dim lights.

He communicates with his eyes, half lidded and hazy, a soft little smirk tugging at his lips when your brows furrow in attempted concentration. For the movie? Or for the pad that pushes past your hole, ever so gently finger fucking his way inside of your warm little cunt as something happens on screen; he's too busy watching you fall apart in his hand instead. His favourite kind of movie, where the only attendee is himself, selfishly enjoying you to his hearts content because he can. Revering you in public privacy is fun too though, he must admit. With a heavy fist around his cock, squeezing slightly at the base of it to focus more on exploring your squishy insides, he has no choice but to agree with the statement. You're so warm and fucking tight, donning a harmless smile at the way you tremble against his hand, how your insides quiver and suck his finger in deeper, a silent beg for more.

And who is he but a devout disciple to the true God that you are?

With more fervour, he fucks your cute little cunt with just one finger. Just one, leaning back in his seat to allow you a front row viewing to the exact kind of things you do to him, cock tall and proud and fuck he's drooling so much precum for you, are you looking? Can you see how hard his cock throbs for you, one knuckle deep in your pretty pussy and he's ready to cream himself. Isn't he such a good little follower for you? Sweet squelching filling his ears to match your muffled moans, bitten back by your makeshift skirt gag, his eyes catching just a small glimpse of your soaked cunt every time he slips his finger out; illuminated by brief flashes from the big screen.

So he can't help but to jerk off with you. Just a minimal amount, a lazy up and down to provide enough pressure to ease the building tension in his body, muscles taut as he curls his finger inside of you, again and again, diving as deep as possible into your hole and biting down on his bottom lip to refuse exit to the plentiful words of praise he wants to dote you with. But that doesn't stop him from thinking about praising you. Pretty girl, does it feel good? Look at you, taking it so well. You've got no idea just how badly I want to fuck you right here, right now. Let everyone hear just how much you love my touch, how they could never hope to worship you as well as I do.

What movie was he supposed to be watching again? Do you remember? You're trembling so much in your seat, unable to decide whether you want to stare more at his face in a voiceless plea, or more at his cock in an implicit searching for more. He chooses not to answer your beg, but to help you decide yourself by diving into your cunt as deep as possible and flicking his finger against your sweet spot. Stroking it, feeling the way your slick gushes around his knuckles, surely staining the seat under you all wet. The staff here should be thankful to have a taste of you that way, tutting lowly down at you as he leans over to your ear.

"It's okay, you can cum."

A whispered approval, as if his dribbling cock wasn't assurance enough, hot and heavy in his hand as your head gets thrown back and your hips jut forward a little, giving him a better angle to finger fuck your cute little cunt all better. He'd like to take a quick glance around the room, see if anyone is paying attention to the way he's spoiling you, letting you cum so sweetly on his hand as your orgasms washes over you; but he can't bare the thought of taking his eyes off of you for a single second. The way your body jerks and shake for him is just so pretty, the idle fist on his cock soon matching your intensity as he jerks off faster now, focusing more on his own pleasure while helping you ride yours out. Soft hums and agreeing coos, he knows it must feel soooo frustrating to not be able to moan out loud, right? But you're doing so well, silently seething to yourself until you're able to recover, huffing and puffing and eyeing up his throbbing pre coated cock.

Poor baby, you look so dishevelled! So fraught with need even after cumming once, he gives you what was meant to be a quick reassuring kiss, but the second his lips meet yours and he feels your tongue poke out against his own he can't help but to indulge you. After all, he has just fingered an orgasm out of you, what's a little making out in public compared to that, right?

Though, he can't keep it up for long. Cock twitching for attention, drooling pre all over his tightly closed fist, knuckles sticky with it. He pulls away with a sharp gasp, hands over your waist to immediately help lift you onto his lap, prompting you to stand up for a second as he lines his tip up to your used hole.

"Not done with you yet, love. Come, sit on it." He tenderly encourages you, open mouth gasping for air when you almost instantly abide by his beg.

Heavenly fucking cunt, angel pussy, God he's so in love with it he can barely even stand to be inside of you, easily gliding his full length against your soft insides thanks to your first orgasm tonight.

He'll make you wait a bit longer for the next, though. Whispering sweet nothings down your ear as you get comfortable enough to watch the movie again.

"Warm me up a bit, okay?"

#500 event! #dol smut #degrees of lewdity smut #sydney the fallen #sydney the fallen smut

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Galileo: "Talk?"

His eyebrows twitched as I showed him the history books and biographies I had borrowed from the library.

Mitsuki: "I looked into your past while I waited for you today."

Galileo: "........."

Galileo: "I see. Did you find any useful information?"

Mitsuki: "You mentioned before a person who pursued the truth and was punished."

Mitsuki: "That was you, wasn't it?"

He didn't answer, and I continued.

Mitsuki: "You advocated heliocentrism, were put on trial for heresy, and sentenced to life imprisonment."

Mitsuki: "I don't know why it's recorded that you died afterward, but I'm pretty sure you lived with the bitterness of being denied the truth."

Mitsuki: "There's just one thing I don't understand, though."

Galileo: ".........."

Mitsuki: "The day I came to your place and mentioned, 'And yet it moves,' you got angry."

Mitsuki: "You told me not to talk about this man, as if you were angry with yourself."

A shadow fell over his expression, and the atmosphere around us turned cold.

Mitsuki: "It's as if you're denying yourself."

Galileo: "Enough. Stop talking nonsense."

Mitsuki: "Why do you speak as if you're denying your past self?"

Galileo: "I told you to shut up."

The anger in his voice made me tremble slightly, but...

(I can't back down.)

If I back down now, I won't be able to reach him.

Mitsuki: "Please tell me! I want to know. You should have stood by the truth you saw with your own eyes."

Galileo: "Stop."

Mitsuki: "For you, the truth should still be important, so why are you denying your past self!?"

Galileo: "I said stop!!"

Mitsuki: "----!"

In an instant, his strong tone made my body jump. He glanced away and said this.

Galileo: "Stood by the truth? I wasn't wrong at all."

(Galileo?)

Galileo: "But by bringing the truth to light, I gained nothing." 

Galileo: "On the contrary, because of it, I lost everything."

Galileo: "Everything... I..."

His lips trembled, and his words spilled like water overflowing from a cracked glass.

As he collapsed to his knees, it seemed like he no longer saw me.

Galileo: "If I hadn't advocated for the heliocentric theory, none of that would’ve happened."

(What is he talking about?)

Galileo: "Why even them? They hadn't committed any crime."

Galileo: "Why did everyone have to be killed by those humans!?"

(........)

He gasped for breath, clutching at his chest.

Galileo: “It’s all me. It’s all my fault.”

Mitsuki: “Galileo.”

Galileo: “I killed them. I killed them all!”

Galileo: “I was the only one condemned as a heretic and rejected by the world!”

Mitsuki: “Galileo!!”

Before I realized it, I was holding him tight.

Mitsuki: “You’re not wrong. You’re not wrong at all.”

Mitsuki: “So please, don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

I tightened my grip, trying to anchor his heart.

Galileo: “I’m not wrong?”

Mitsuki: “No. You’re not wrong.”

I repeated the same words, peering into Galileo’s face.

His amethyst eyes, once as deep as the ocean, now seemed hollow, like when he ate those Blanc flowers.

(He still has a past that I don't know about.)

A heavy past, one that involved someone's life.

(What I say may only be a temporary comfort, but I want to convey my message properly.)

(The image of him that I've witnessed must also be part of the truth.)

Mitsuki: "Even at this moment, the earth is turning. That's the truth."

Mitsuki: "The truth you've discovered will be passed down to many people."

Galileo: "........"

Mitsuki: "Your belief in seeking the truth, no matter what happened in the past, was never wrong."

Mitsuki: "If you continue to deny your past self, then I will continue to affirm it, no matter how many times."

Galileo: "........."

After conveying all the feelings in my heart, I embraced the person in front of me again, and he accepted it without saying a word.

A short time later, I left the university and walked alone down the main street.

After that, Galileo left the room without saying a word.

(I've seen him angry before, but I've never seen him blame himself like that.)

The vivid memory of his intense scream resurfaced in my mind.

(He said it was because of him that they were killed.)

(Maybe someone died as a result of the trial?)

Although Napoleon and Sebastian didn't mention anything like that, there might have been something not recorded in history or books.

(In any case, I went too far.)

(I dug into his old wounds and hurt him deeply.)

As the weight of guilt bore down on me, I suddenly bumped into something.

???: "Ah."

Lowering my gaze, I saw a young girl with chestnut-colored hair, and I quickly crouched down to help her.

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry. I was lost in thought and didn't notice you. Are you hurt?"

Girl: "I'm okay. I'm sorry for bumping into you."

Although the girl said so, her feet wobbled.

(Somehow, she seems worn out.)

Judging from her dirty clothes, it seemed that she was poor.

Mitsuki: "Are you alone? Do you have your father or mother nearby?"

Girl: "My brother... haa..."

The girl struggled to breathe and clutched her throat.

Mitsuki: "Are you okay? If you're in pain, I can call a doctor."

Girl: "No. That's not it."

Girl: "I'm just really thirsty."

The girl tightly grasped my hand and clung to it.

???: "Mireia!!"

Suddenly, someone shouted, and the girl suddenly released my hand.

Curly-haired boy: "Mireia, it's dangerous to be alone."

Curly-haired boy: "Are you okay, miss?"

Mitsuki: "You!"

The curly-haired boy who came running to us was the same boy with golden curls whom I had met twice before.

Mitsuki: "Is this girl your sister, by any chance?"

Miguel: "Yeah. I'm Miguel, and she's Mireia."

Mitsuki: "I see. I'm Mitsuki. Mireia, I'm glad your brother came for you."

Miguel: "Mireia, are you okay?"

Mireia: "Yeah."

Miguel: "Miss, did Mireia cause you any trouble? Did she hurt you or..."

(Hurt me?)

I tilted my head, feeling his concern for his sister didn't quite match his words.

Mitsuki: "She didn't cause any trouble at all. More importantly, Mireia seems to be in pain."

(Oh, right.)

I asked Miguel and Mireia to wait for a moment, then headed to a nearby bakery.

Then, I gave them the bread and milk that I bought.

Mitsuki: "You said you were thirsty, right? Are you also hungry?"

Mitsuki: "This is the least I can do, but please take it."

The two of them exchanged glances and smiled sadly when they saw the bread and milk.

Miguel: "You're very kind, big sis."

Mitsuki: "Eh?"

Miguel: "You tried to help me before, right?"

Miguel: "We've never had someone care about us like this since Mireia and I have been together."

(Have they been living a tough life?)

I didn't exactly know what happened, but my heart ached just thinking about it.

Miguel: "Thank you for being so kind."

(Kind, huh?)

(I've only done trivial things, and I've just hurt Galileo, so I don't deserve to be told that.)

Still, being thanked for reaching out made me feel a bit better.

Mitsuki: "No, thank you. I've been feeling down since earlier."

(Oh, by the way...)

When I asked where they lived, it turned out the siblings were indeed staying in the slums.

Mitsuki: "I've heard there have been dangerous incidents lately, so be careful, okay?"

Miguel: "You mean those rumors about vampires?"

(Miguel knows about it too.)

Mitsuki: "Yes. I don't think vampires are all scary, though."

Mireia: "I think so too. Vampires aren't scary at all!"

Miguel: "Mireia..."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, it's nice to hear that you're not scared of vampires, Mireia."

I smiled at them both as they walked away, holding hands.

(Thank you, Miguel.)

I didn't know how to face Galileo, but seeing you and Mireia made me feel a little better.

(I should go back now.)

(He’ll probably reject me, but I want to apologize to Galileo.)

As Mitsuki walked away quickly into the dusk, the siblings arrived in a deserted alleyway.

Mireia took a sip of milk and nibbled on the bread, but...

Mireia: “Big brother, it’s still no good. This isn’t enough at all.”

Miguel: “Hang in there a little longer, Mireia. I’ll definitely figure something out.”

Miguel: “I promise I won’t let you go hungry.”

Holding each other’s thin hands, the brother and sister disappeared into the dimly lit street.

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#ikemen vampire #ikevamp jp #ikevamp #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp translations #cybird