#however sacrifices had to made for the plot

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (3)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, incest, obsession, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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When he learned of the death of Daemon's wife, he knew it was a sign from the gods that his time had come − Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragoness in the world, was left without a rider.

He thought that at last he would make his father proud, that he would take his niece to Essos as he had promised her.

It seemed to him that the heavens were finally smiling on him, that everything made sense and was slowly beginning to come together, that he could see above the mist that surrounded him his destiny.

As he fled from the fortress in the middle of the night he thought only of the fact that he might die and hoped that if he did, his betrothed would mourn him greatly and never marry any other man.

Her sign of love and loyalty, of respect for his sacrifice for her and their future family.

Vhagar was frightening and huge, like a giant, dark, moving mountain, with her every movement the earth shook around her; he couldn't believe it when she obeyed his command, his body trembled as he climbed the ropes to the great saddle on her back, he screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him into the skies.

He was the rider of the greatest dragon in the world.

He was like Visenya, like Aegon the Conqueror, and his future wife was like sweet Rhaenys.

Everything was as it should be.

He ran through the underground caverns to wake her and tell her everything, to kiss her, to spend the night in her embrace and listen to her assurances that he was fearless, that he was brave and that she was proud to become the wife of the man who had become the rider of the most powerful dragon flying in the skies in their lifetime.

It was then that he came upon them.

He thought he would never let them humiliate himself again, that bastards or weak, quivering little girls who couldn't even tame a dragon would never stand in his way again.

All that mattered was her, and though he knew she would be upset, he felt that she would forgive him, that she would understand that this was revenge for all the years of humiliation he had suffered from them.

And then Luke cut his face with his blade − he suddenly heard his own loud, squeaky, almost girlish scream and grabbed his left eye where he had lost his sight completly.

He was given poppy milk to ease his pain and a stick was put in his mouth that he was told to clamp his teeth on; his mother cried out loud, horrified when she saw what had happened to him, the maester said the eye could not be saved and would have to be taken out.

That he would be a cripple.

He wailed and screamed, feeling the cut of the heated blade on his skin, struggling and writhing like an animal, tied to a chair, and then he stopped feeling anything, staring dully ahead, his mother and Aegon unable to look at it.

He saw her as if in a dream, and though she always smiled at the sight of him, this time she screamed loudly, terror and fear in her eyes.

She covered her mouth with her hand trying to hold back the sounds that came from her throat.

Then he understood.

So what if he had claimed a dragon, if she would never desire him again?

How would she force herself to marry someone who was from now on supposed to look like him?

He returned to King's Landing with the thought that all was lost and he didn't want to see anyone, much less her.

He didn't want her tears of sympathy, her assurances that she still loved him, her pity, the fact that in order not to offend him she would refrain from showing how disgusted she now was by his face.

He was no fool.

Her letter only angered him − he tore it into little pieces clenching his lips, thinking she was an idiot, giving him books now that he had lost one eye, reminding him that he would never see well again, that he would always be defective, that he would have to learn everything from the beginning.

However, as soon as he did so he immediately regretted it and burst out crying, looking at the pieces of parchment lying on his sheets, thinking of how he wished he could read it again because it was her handwriting, her words to him.

His conviction of his ugliness and the fact that what had happened crossed him out in her eyes as a man she could desire deepened his state into complete withdrawal, sinking into the darkness of his thoughts, fears and desires.

He needed someone to loathe, to throw all his ill emotions at, and he had chosen Luke as such a person, however it was the thoughts and dreams of her that kept him awake at night.

Waiting for her letters was his obsession.

She sent one every two months, always on the same day, for many years. At first they were short and full of uncertainty, but then it seemed to him that she had the impression that he didn't read them anyway, so she began to write and confide in someone who no longer existed, revealing to him the darkness and suffering of her own heart.

He was embarrassed by his own reactions, that whenever he saw a sealed message from her lying on his table he would take it reverently and sit down on a chair by the fire, as if in some kind of ceremony pulling off the lac and unrolling it slowly, feeling his heart beat fast.

Dragonstone appears to me like a prison, like a black coffin, the sky above me full of clouds. I can't remember the last time light dawned in my heart − when I wake up I wonder for a moment about the meaning of it all, only to realise that thinking about it is pointless, it only sinks me further into the darkness.

It seems that the more I move away from what surrounds me, the greater the silence that settles in my head.

After what happened something inside me died.

Not in the aspect of my body, but in the sense of a conviction that something is missing, like when you look in a mirror reassembled from hundreds of pieces and, even though it is whole again, you can clearly see its cracks.

I wonder, are you sleeping well, uncle? Are you having nightmares again? I often return in my dreams to that night. I see you and although I want to say something, I can't get anything out, just as I did then. I wake up with the conviction that I am still a child.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He repeated to himself in his mind that he would read her despairing, feminine ramblings to mock her, but in fact he was immersed in her thoughts, in her world, trying to imagine her, analysing each word with pietism, returning to the sentences that had taken the most root in his heart and would not leave him afterwards for days.

He read her letters for hours, treating such evenings like a sacred day, running his thumb over his lower lip, staring dully ahead in the light of the blazing fire, thinking of her words.

Although he pretended that what she wrote meant nothing to him, once in a while, usually when he was waiting for her next message, he would take all her letters and read them one by one, analysing how her handwriting had changed, now much prettier and assured, how her choice of words had evolved, rich and full of metaphors.

He knew that, like him, she read a lot.

She never brought up the matter of his or her family, the details of their conflict, their betrothal and the fact that his mother had insisted that he marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters.

When he learned that Rhaenyra planned to marry his niece to her cousin of House Arryn he grabbed all her letters she had sent him over the years, which he kept locked in his wooden drawer, and almost threw them into the fire, hesitating at the last moment, squeezing them in his hand, panting with rage.

Although he kept repeating to himself that it was a good thing he wouldn't have to take a bastard wife, immediately his mind went into a fury at the thought that she might have become someone else's mistress, borne children to other man, and he found himself sinking into her letters again, as if re-appropriating her in this way.

He feared nothing more than that one day she would stop writing to him.

He dreaded what he would do then.

The days when Aegon could mess with him were long gone. His older brother the drunkard knew he was no match for him in hand-to-hand combat, he was taller, smarter and stronger than he was.

Yet it was Aegon who was to inherit everything that would not fall to Rheanyra as future queen.

He wanted to be his opposite in every sense of the word; his appearance made him even more isolated from the opposite sex and he didn not look at women at all, spending long hours in the Great Sept with his mother praying at her request.

If it had been up to him, he would have prayed to the gods of Old Valyria, but he saw her loneliness and loss, and wanted to be a support for her, a son she would be proud of.

Despite what he tried to tell himself, the tension he felt as a man grew stronger within him, even more so in the evenings when he leaned over her letters again, when he thought of her scent, of her hand holding the quill.

He wondered involuntarily what she looked like now, what he would notice if he undressed her, if he exposed her bare breasts to him.

Would they fit in his hand, would they be soft and warm?

Would she moan sweetly if he touched her there?

He tilted his head back, trying to read further, settling himself more comfortably in the chair, his free hand slipping under his breeches, gripping his already half-hard, throbbing manhood.

He imagined that it wasn't his hand but hers that was touching him, that she wasn't disgusted by him, that just like before her hands were stroking his cheeks, her lips were finding his in a sweet, warm kiss.

A murmur escaped his throat at the thought, a wave of heat surged over him and he quickened, fucking himself with his own hand until he came with a low sigh of relief, imagining that she was sitting on top of him, that he had just filled her with his seed, that she was begging him not to stop.

However, when he regained his sanity he felt rage and shame.

He hid her letters in a drawer and did not take them out for weeks, as if offended that it was their fault he had to pray again and beg the gods for forgiveness.

He promised himself that this would not happen again, however, it always ended the same way.

The knowledge that he could not forget her enraged and calmed him at the same time, as if this state was natural, the parallel hatred and desire for her became one and the same in his eyes.

He hated her because he desired her, desired her because he could not have her, could not have her because he hated her.

He locked himself in this circle, not allowing anyone to see what was poisoning his mind and heart.

If in the poems women appeared innocent and bright, she was to him the symbol of his downfall, his flame of his eternal suffering, which burned him every day, but which he did not dare to extinguish knowing that complete darkness would then prevail inside him.

When it became known that Vaemond Velaryon had challenged Luke's claim to the throne of Driftmark he laughed out loud at the Small Council meeting, amused, embarrassing his mother and grandfather.

He thought the gods were cruel but fair.

The grin disappeared from his face, replaced by a strong heartbeat when their Queen conveyed that Rhaenyra, along with her entire family, would appear in King's Landing in a few days to settle the matter.

With her entire family.

He sat by the fireplace that evening, running his thumb over his lips, feeling that there was complete panic in his mind, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

He wasn't ready for this.

He didn't want to see her.

He wanted nothing more than to see her again.

He was disgusted by her and her brothers, by the fact that he would be sitting at the same table with her.

Would she touch him with her soft hand? Did she still smell of vanilla? Would she whisper that she missed him?

What was he to answer if she did?

Mock her, tell her that she should retain the remnants of her dignity.

Tear off her gown, press his lips to her bare body, saying that he would sooner kill her than let her marry someone else.

He let out a loud shuddering breath, burying his face in his hand, feeling like his head was about to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was losing his mind, that he was descending into madness.

When he saw Jace and Luke among the crowds, when he saw how small and skinny they were compared to him, when he saw their mouths wide open in shock as they realised who they were looking at, he thought he had never felt more satisfied in his life.

"Nephews. Have you come to train?" He asked in a deep, teasing voice feigning concern as he played with the hilt of his sword in his hand, flipping it between his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to humiliate them in public.

His musings and wild excitement were interrupted by Vaemond's entrance into the courtyard − he grinned broadly at the sight of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction, sighing quietly, thinking of how the gods had rewarded his patience.

He turned impatiently, extending his hand to his servant, willing him to hand him another wooden shield and froze in half-step, out of the corner of his eye noticing a silhouette looking at him from the cloisters.

It seemed his heart knew who was standing there even before it reached his mind, for it began to pound like mad, his breath stopped in his throat.

He forced himself to look there again and that's when he saw her − he couldn't believe how much she had changed.

Although he could see the obvious features and similarities by which he recognised her immediately, her eyes, her eyelashes, the shade of her hair, the shape of her nose and face, it seemed to him that if she had been a bud when she left the Red Keep, she was now a flower that had blossomed, a ripe fruit that begged to be plucked, to bite into its flesh.

It occurred to him, looking at the unashamedly exposed bare skin of her shoulders, that it must have been pleasantly soft and warm.

He imagined his lips brushing the hollow of her neck, the scent of vanilla he would smell and he shuddered, ashamed and horrified at how hard his manhood throbbed in his breeches.

This sight, so clear, blunt, final, completely shocked him, and though it lasted only a moment, he managed to remember the shape of her breasts and hips, the shape of her mouth, her terrified gaze full of longing, from which he felt a tightness in his throat and this huge, overwhelming, cruel desire.

He turned away from her, furious, thrusting his sword at Criston, their blades clashing in the air with a loud clang of steel.

That evening he felt that something hung in the air, he felt her presence in the keep, he had the impression that if he turned he would see her silhouette behind him.

He played between his fingers with his dagger and looked at it, wondering if he would feel relief if he killed her, if he would then regain control of his body and mind again.

Maybe it was the right path.

Maybe it was because of her that he was unable to move on.

He shuddered and tensed all over when he heard a quiet knock on the door to his chamber − he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck, knowing that it was her, that destiny had reached him.

He felt it in his bones.

He wanted to remain silent, he wanted to show her that she no longer had access to his world, that he recognised years ago that there was no way for them that they could walk together.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He closed his eye, feeling a squeeze in his throat at the thought of those three sentences that echoed through his mind and heart like a bell, that undeniable desire on her part to be reunited with him that he pretended not to share.

"Come in." He said coldly, feeling the thrill of excitement, his heart pounding so hard that he felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

The door opened with a quiet creak of wood, and she appeared in it, surrounded by the glow of candlelight, looking like a saint, like a ghost, like an innocent, sweet maiden who was lost in the black maze that had always been meant to lead her to him.

He resigned himself to the fact that there was no escape from it.

She closed the door behind her and turned to look at him; he wasn't sure if it was the flames that was trembling or if it was her body that was quivering all over with fear, in her big eyes terror, desire, suffering, everything she had written to him about.

Only after a moment did he realise that his jaw was clenched, that he was involuntarily still playing with his dagger in his hand as he looked at the indistinct silhouette of her naked body peeking through from under her nightgown, her long dark hair loose, its curls falling freely over her back.

He felt his length throbbing hard at the thought of her coming to him dressed as a lover, as if she were his, and he licked his lower lip with his tongue, catching himself breathing loudly.

Gods, how long he had waited for this.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked quietly, as usual without any further pleasantries, her voice trembled slightly betraying her fear. He shuddered to hear that she no longer sounded like a child, the way she spoke was melodious and pleasant, soft, warm.

"Yes." He replied in a low, deep voice, sounding like an echo in an endless, dark bottomless well. He saw that she blinked rapidly, as if she hadn't expected such an answer; she pressed her lips together and swallowed loudly, gathering the courage to say more.

She knew she had ventured into the dragon's cave and might never leave it again.

He knew, he felt that she was aware of what was on his mind, that she saw it in his gaze.

"Have you read them?" She asked at last, there was something final in her question.

He parted his lips slightly, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture, stretching comfortably in his chair, wondering if he should humiliate her with words that he had burned them all.

To let her know that she no longer meant anything to him.

He wanted to say it, but he couldn't.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He hummed, running the blade of his dagger across the armrest, making a deep, chiseled line on it.

Go on, he thought, ask me why I didn't write back, what I thought of your tendentious, weepy musings, what I thought of your feminine, touching guilt, of your weakness, of your coming to me now like a dog to beg forgiveness.

She, however, asked nothing.

He shuddered and threw her a surprised glance as she suddenly moved ahead and walked around his chamber, as if she had lost interest in the subject, making him feel discomfort, as if he had lost control of the situation, his advantage over her.

"Does your mother-whore know you're here?" He asked dryly, coldly, wanting to take away her confidence, to embarrass her, to strike at her dignity, reminding her that she herself had come to a grown man in such a shameless negligee.

She, however, merely threw him a surprised glance as she approached his bookshelves, the small one he had been given as a child replaced by three new ones, made of oak wood, high to the ceiling, filled to the brim.

She reached for one of the volumes and he felt a squeeze in his throat when he saw that she had taken out The Reflections on the Dignity of the Ancient Philosopher Areon.

"My, as you put it, mother-whore, never knew when I visited you, uncle. I was very determined not to be caught." She said calmly, but with an air of regret and weariness, as if the situation between them was tiring her, as if she believed that facing him like a ghost from the past would allow her to move on.

He thought they both could have done it, but he wasn't sure if the blade he held in his hand wouldn't have cut her neck then.

The thought that someone else might touch her body made him furious.

He snorted, turning his gaze to the flames, involuntarily turning his dagger in his hand − he grinned despite being tense and bitter.

"Do you often visit men like this?" He asked reluctantly, though inside he was dying to prove to himself that surely she had already slept with her guards or other men who would give her pleasure, that the sweet, innocent girl he remembered was long gone.

He heard her footsteps and felt her presence; he lifted his eyes to her, surprised, and noticed that her gaze was cloudy, her brow furrowed.

She looked as if she had been exceptionally offended by those very words.

"Have you no shame?" She asked him in a cool, trembling voice; he could feel the pain in the way she asked the question, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He was struck by how direct the question was.

He wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

But before he had time to respond with anything, to finally stab her in the back with words that were like poison, she began to speak, as if a dam had suddenly burst inside her and her thoughts poured out at him.

"I don't know who you are, the man who sits now before me, but if there is even a fragment of the boy I was meant to marry in you, let that boy know that he was and will be the only one in my heart. He was my best friend and I failed him. It is hard to live with the thought that someone you loved so deeply has died in a way, but there is neither a grave to pray over nor any hope of peace for his soul. What I fear is that the boy I knew has disappeared among the darkness and is dying in it every day."

He was ashamed that he felt a squeeze in his throat, that he felt a burning under his eyelids, that his heart was pounding like mad, that he froze completely in disbelief and shock as he stared at her wide-eyed.

She was crying in front of him, as if she was really mourning someone's death, and he didn't know what to do, even if he wanted to humiliate her, tell her to leave, he couldn't get anything out of himself.

He drew in air loudly and his whole body stiffened, the dagger fell out of his hand with loud clatter when she surprised him completely by sitting down on his lap, snuggling into him like a little child and burst out sobbing.

He had the feeling that she was not embracing him in the here and now, but a figure from the past that she missed so much.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She whined in a desperate, trembling, quavering voice − he felt he was struggling to catch his breath, his nostrils filled with her scent, the smell of vanilla, her familiar warmth, his manhood hidden beneath his breeches swelled in response to this sudden, unexpected closeness.

She shuddered feeling it and looked up at him, her face flooded with tears, terrified and ashamed, her gaze asking him what she had just felt underneath her. He began to breathe through his mouth, feeling the panic rising inside him because of the heat he felt in his lower abdomen.

There were drops of her tears on her eyelashes, her eyes big, her gaze hot, tender, terrified, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her lips puffy and plump, slightly parted in an accelerated breath.

"Can I kiss you?"

He wasn't sure if he really heard it, it seemed to have only resounded in his head as his memory of that sunny day, but involuntarily he leaned lower.

He sighed as if relieved when her arms suddenly embraced his neck, her breasts snuggled into his tunic, and her wonderfully wet, soft lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

They both moaned into each other's mouths as they felt him throb under her again, harder this time − he wasn't sure if it was his will that guided the movements of his hands as one clamped down on her hip and the other on the back of her neck, holding her in place, not allowing her lips to pull away from his as he slid his tongue deep into her throat.

They both trembled as he tentatively began to rock his hips, rubbing against her, overwhelmed by her familiar closeness and scent, her so-needed, gentle hands stroking his hair and cheeks, her thumb running over his scar under his eye patch.

The sight of her body, her sweetly parted lips, her hot gaze in which everything lurked, and her scent, the smell of fucking vanilla filled his entire mind.

He rubbed against her his already hard cock again and again, sliding his free hand under her chemise, placing it on her naked, hot hip, digging his fingertips into her skin, his manhood reacting to his movements instantly with a strong, pleasurable throbbing, he involuntarily began to pant.

He saw the blush on her sweet, innocent face, her hips in a slow, smooth motion began to move back and forth, pressing what was underneath her; he shuddered all over feeling it and they both sighed quietly as her fingers ran over his scarred cheek.

"− uncle −" She whispered softly into his mouth, exactly like in his dreams, like when he touched himself between his thighs with his hand, with longing and desire.

He was unable to remember when she pressed her sweet-tasting lips to his, hugging her soft breasts into the fabric of his tunic, what the reason for their disagreement was, it seemed to him to be completely trivial and unfounded.

He thought it was obvious that the lovers had argued with each other and then reconciled.

That was all he thought about as he undid the ties of her nightgown, sucking and caressing her mouth, jaw and neck with his swollen lips, leaving wet, hot marks on her skin, his hands slid it slowly off her shoulders, revealing her bare body, her lovely breasts, unashamedly before him.

He delighted in this sight, almost mythological, noble, for breasts were the joy of husbands and the source of milk for their offspring, something beautiful, admirable.

He could feel her trembling all over in his hands, terrified by her negligee; he was sure now that no one had ever seen her naked before him and this thought spread like a wonderful, hot wave through his body.

"− easy − your husband will treat your body with proper respect −" He murmured in a deep voice trembling with arousal, his large hand grasped one of her breast and squeezed it tentatively; he sighed feeling how warm and soft it was, he heard her surprised moan.

He grasped her cheeks in his fingers, with a brutal, sudden movement drawing her face closer to his; his hand slid lower, ran over her soft, wet, full lips. She moaned helplessly because of the increasingly rapid bucking of his hips, the bulge in his breeches rubbing against the spot between her legs.

"− please −" She babbled, and he decided to take pity on her, sliding his tongue deep inside her throat, stifling her loud mewl, his fingers began to tease and play with her nipple, her whole body shivered; he felt her hands tighten in his hair, her lips melt into his in a quick, hot dance of saliva and teeth.

"− uh − I − I feel a tickling inside me, uncle −" She mumbled out as innocently as if she really didn't know what was happening to her, as if she wanted him to help her understand what her body was trying to tell her, however he, hearing this, lost his temper.

Despite the material of his breeches separating them where their bodies met, he could feel her moisture.

She was wet.

She wanted him inside her.

"− it's understandable − you missed your uncle − hm? −" He whispered into her mouth with a kind of tenderness and understanding that surprised him, as if it had been obvious that this was how it would end. She nodded quickly like a child who agreed with his teacher, who wanted to be guided, to be shown what was right.

She squealed as he stood up with her, holding her in his arms, just thinking about the fact that he hadn't felt this calm for years, the sight of her, the smell of her made his head spin.

He couldn't even remember why he was mad at her, why he hadn't written her back, why he wanted to kill her.

How could he ever hurt her, his sweet little wife?

"− lie on your back − yes, just like that −" He murmured with delight, looking at her partially exposed body; her lips was pink and puffy from his caresses, her breathing quick as she looked at him dreamily, watching as he began to undo the fastenings of his tunic, getting rid of it and his chemise, leaving only his breeches.

He climbed onto the bed with a loud creak of wood, not quite sure what he should do, sensing subconsciously, however, that this was the day of their reunion, their reconciliation after years of separation, the figures of Lord Baratheon's daughters and Lord Arryn's son seemed to him nothing more than a joke.

Aegon spoke to him of how wonderful it was to taste the woman between their thighs, that they quivered with delight when he licked them there, and since he would devour her whole if he could, he decided to try.

She was horrified and distraught when she saw his face between her thighs; she tried to push him away, asking him fearfully what he was going to do, but only tilted her head back as his tongue ran over her leaking, throbbing, hot womanhood, the sound she made surprised even him.

"− o-oh, gods −" She whimpered as he licked devotedly what spilled out of her, the taste and flesh of his wife, her proof that she didn't despise him, that she still wanted him, that her tight cunt was waiting for him and for his caresses.

"− have you touched yourself here? −" He asked between one lick of his tongue and the next, her thighs trembling in his hands, her fingers clenched in his hair, trying to rub against his face. He grinned involuntarily sensing her desperation, seeing that she nodded and ran the tip of his nose over the bud hidden between her folds, she moaned loudly when he did it.

Encouraged, he grasped it in his mouth and began to suck on it, licking it with his tongue; her whole body arched, uncontrollable moans erupted from her mouth. He tried to cover her lips with his hand, fearing that someone would eventually hear it, but she clamped her hands on his wrist, blocking his movements.

"− please, uncle, too much − too much −" She whined out trying to escape; he stopped, seeing that her body was shaking in convulsions, surprised how sensitive the female body was and how many secrets it hid.

He thought he now understood why it was Rhaenys that Aegon the Conqueror wanted in his bed.

In the art of the body, one could not be aggressive and brutal as on the battlefield.

What they were doing was some sort of a feast, tasting and satisfying their desires, full of moistures and hot embraces.

He hummed as he leaned down again and slipped his tongue deep inside her, feeling how rough and wet her fleshy walls were, groaning quietly as her wonderful taste spread across his palate.

"− uncle − mghmm −" She mumbled breathing hard, with each flick of his tongue drifting away more and more, he could feel her insides pulsing all over around nothing.

"− it'll be wonderful to feel it clench around my cock one day − don't you think, sweet niece? −" He asked, pressing his face closer to her body, licking and rubbing her walls at the spot that when he touched it with the tip of his tongue she trembled the most, moaning helplessly, her hips coming up to meet his face, her breathing getting louder and louder.

"− oh g-gods, Aemond − oh gods,oh gods,oh gods −" She mewled, startling him as she raised herself up on her elbow, tilting her head back, bliss and delight painted on her face, her plump, glossy lips parted in sweet moans as if in disbelief that something so wonderfully pleasurable had shaken her body.

It was the first time he had ever seen female fulfilment and it was a stunning, wonderful sight.

He groaned low as he felt how much moisture flowed out of her, kissing her hot, throbbing entrance devotedly, slowly licking everything off, not wanting to waste a drop, even though she begged him to stop.

Everything he drank from her was for him, the wonderful nectar of his sweet wife.

He rose on his knees, wiping his face with his hand, looking at her in disbelief, panting loudly; she lay as if without strength, with her hands spread on either side of her head, her plump, puffy lips slightly parted in ragged breath.

His niece.

"Touch me." He demanded, slipping off his breeches, taking her hand in his, with a desperate, sudden movement clamping her fingers on his swollen, twitching manhood, leaking from his own wetness. They both moaned helplessly when, with movements of his hand, he showed her how she was to touch him.

She looked up at him in shame, squeezing him with sure up and down strokes, feeling him throb all over in her grasp; he rocked his hips involuntarily, sensing that he was embarrassingly close to fulfillment.

"− fuck − fuck, come here −" He gasped, grabbing her by her hair, forcing her to rise up and kiss him − their lips collided in a sticky, messy kiss, the combination of their tongues and their saliva, the smell of her, the sight of her bare body, the scent of her sex, her moisture around them, proof of what they were doing.

Against their gods, against their family.

He didn't care what happened next.

"− don't fucking stop − faster − oh fuck-fuck-fuck −" He growled out and moaned low, surprised at the helpless sound that came from his throat, coming with a sigh of relief onto her nightgown, his translucent, pearly spend spurting out onto her, startling her; he hushed her with his kisses, whispering to her between the sticky brushes of their lips.

"− easy, it's just me − shhh −" He whispered, letting go of her hand, allowing her to release her grip, her fingers all sticky with his seed.

"− lick it off − don't waste a drop −" He growled, wrinkling his eyebrows and she swallowed loudly, obediently licking her finger after finger, looking him straight in the eye. He watched her with satisfaction, thinking of how obedient and good a wife she would indeed be.

"− you are going to spend the night with me −"

______

From the author: In Stay and love, leave and die oneshot Aemond would not allow her to enter his chamber, he would remain silent - in his opinion, she had forgotten about him and suddenly wanted to regain his favor, which he found pathetic and irritating, not worth his attention. None of her letters reached him through the years, having been intercepted and burned by Otto. The next day, he informed his mother that either she would leave the Red Keep or he would, and she decided to return to Dragonstone so as not to escalate the conflict. In that universe, they actually speak to each other only in Strom's End.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #dark aemond smut #aemond kinslayer #aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond smut #house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchell fanfiction #aemond angst #hotd angst #aemond targaryen angst #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond angst #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #ewan mitchell fandom #aemond fandom

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Ideas for subverting popular character tropes? I've started a story and am having difficulty making my cast of characters unique. I'd love it if you had any fresh takes on tropes like the mentor, the sidekick, etc...

POPULAR CHARACTER TROPES AND PROMPTS TO SUBVERT THEM

A character trope, sometimes called a character archetype, is a “recognizable element within a story or plot that defines or conveys information about a character. Character tropes can either define a character's entire role in a plot or the character's personality or motivations.” (source: arcstudiopro).

Many people bash “tropes,” but what you have to remember is that there is no such thing as a unique idea; everything has been done before, and the reason why tropes are so popular is because (a lot of time) they work!

It is totally possible to have a "normal" trope in your story without making it a cliché. However, if you’re looking to subvert these expectations, here’s a list of ideas I’ve come up with!

(This is me brainstorming on the fly to help get your gears turning, so I apologize if these aren’t fully fleshed out or if they’ve already been done before!)

1. THE CHOSEN ONE

The “Chosen One” is a trope where “one character is framed as the inevitable hero or antihero of the story, as a result of destiny, unique gifts, and/or special lineage” (source: Wikipedia). The Chosen One is often depicted as naive or unwilling at the beginning, and has a progression of growth through the narrative when they “accept their destiny.”

Examples:

Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

Harry Potter (Harry Potter)

Frodo (The Lord of the Rings)

Neo (The Matrix)

Subversions:

1. The protagonist who was believed to be the chosen one from the very beginning discovers that it was actually someone else the whole time and must come to terms with the realization that they no longer have this title that they’ve based their entire life (and perhaps personality) around. (Bonus points if the new Chosen One is someone they’re close to).

2. Every solstice, the “Holy Order” sends a Chosen One to defeat the monster that has been ravaging their town. None ever return. The protagonist is selected as the next Chosen One, only to find that being Chosen does not mean “Chosen to defeat the monster” but rather “Chosen as the sacrifice to appease the monster.” (Bonus points if the reason the Chosen Ones always die is because the “Holy Order” misguides them (gives them broken weapons/drugged food/faulty armor/directs them into traps/etc.)).

3. Having the Chosen Power comes with a price. After someone is Chosen, it is a death sentence. The protagonist must find a way to defeat the villain AND purge themself of the Chosen Power before it’s too late (Bonus points if the villain helps them purge the Chosen Power).

2. THE SIDEKICK

The sidekick is a friend and helper of the main protagonist. They are often depicted as a loyal comic relief character made to emphasize the hero’s greatness, and may be killed off to advance the hero’s journey.

Examples:

Robin (Batman)

Samwise Gamgee (The Lord of the Rings)

Chewbacca (Star Wars)

Pan (His Dark Materials)

Subversions:

1. The “sidekick” is actually the hero of the story; the narrator just has an inflated ego and believes themself to be the hero. Meanwhile, their “sidekick” is the one saving the world.

2. Sidekicks are often depicted as younger than the hero. Perhaps an older sidekick might do good to spice things up (Bonus points if it’s without turning them into the mentor trope).

3. The sidekick is a former hero who had to watch their own sidekick sacrifice themself, and was convinced to leave hiding by the current hero. (Bonus points if the sidekick dies in a poetic way that is a narrative foil to the way his own sidekick died, perhaps in a “I didn’t understand why they would sacrifice themself for me but now I get it”).

4. A ridiculously strong/powerful Mary Sue type character is the sidekick to a Normal Guy™ (Bonus points if they are incredibly content in this position).

5. The sidekick is not a willing sidekick; they were kidnapped by the hero because they have an object/bloodline/power/etc. that is essential to defeating the villain.

3. THE MENTOR

The Mentor is the protagonist’s teacher, who helps them transition from a “normal” person into a hero. The Mentor is often depicted as wise and virtuous, teaching the protagonist not only the ways of fighting or magic, but also the ways of good and evil. The mentor is often killed off to advance the hero’s character arc, due to the fact that they are sometimes seen as a parental figure.

Examples:

Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Yoda (Star Wars)

Uncle Iroh (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Mr. Miyagi (Karate Kid)

Subversions:

1. The mentor is the narrator. After spending so much time training the Chosen One and raising them like their own child, they must hear news that they have been killed by the villain. While still grieving (or perhaps fueled by revenge), the mentor must venture out and defeat the villain themself.

2. Have the mentor be a woman! You would be shocked at how overwhelmingly male-dominated the “mentor” archetype is!

3. The mentor turns on the protagonist that they trained…not because the mentor has turned evil, but because the mentor believes that the protagonist has become a monster (à la Kung Fu Panda). (Bonus points if the mentor is actually right and the protagonist really has become a monster).

4. The bright-eyed Chosen One thinks the world of their mentor, only to realize through experiences with others that the mentor trained them horribly, and that the mentor only used their training to boost their renown—without expecting them to survive their fight with the villain. (Bonus points if the protagonist is an unreliable narrator, and we as the readers feel just as betrayed by the mentor because we, too, thought they were a great person).

5. The mentor is the former Chosen One, desperate for the current Chosen One to not make the same mistakes. The current Chosen One resents the mentor for pushing them so hard and treating them so cruelly, but in reality the mentor is just overprotective (Bonus points if it’s not revealed that they were the legendary “Defeated Chosen One” until later).

4. THE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Although a Damsel in Distress is often associated with female characters, any character is capable of falling into this archetype; mostly known for being a passive figure who exists mostly as an object for the hero to save.

This is one of the few character tropes that is difficult to break the negative stigma, due to its root in misogyny and the disadvantages that come along with having a character without personal goals or motivations. In my opinion, if you have a character that follows this archetype to the T, perhaps you should consider some revising.

Examples:

Lois Lane (Superman)

Princess Buttercup (The Princess Bride)

Mary Jane Watson (Spiderman)

Ann Darrow (King Kong)

Subversions:

1. The passive, meek damsel in distress whom the hero has been working relentlessly to save actually turns out to be a villain! Their supposed rescue efforts were used as a distraction while the evil plot unfolds, and ends with a fight to the death!

2. The damsel in distress gets in a huge fight with the protagonist when they come to the rescue; they were undercover the entire time, and the protagonist has ruined their plans!

5. THE FEMME FATALE

The femme fatale is usually characterized as a mysterious woman who seduces and entraps men with her body. This doesn’t necessarily have to be a gendered archetype, but often errs into sexualization and misogyny (especially in works written by men).

Examples:

Jane Smith (Mr. & Mrs. Smith)

Nikita (La Femme Nikita)

Catwoman (Batman)

Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct)

Subversions:

1. The Femme Fatale doesn’t know they’re a femme fatale. They are a master of seduction and gaining valuable information through licentious wiles, but it’s all an accident; they just-so-happen to sleep with rivals and they just-so-happen to say important information. The femme fatale casually brings this information up in conversation, rendering the team awed by their “impressive skill set.”

2. The Femme Fatale is male or nonbinary (Bonus points if they will seduce any gender).

3. There is a Femme Fatale team; an icy power couple dedicated to killing through threesomes.

6. THE GEEK (OR MAD SCIENTIST OR NERD OR KNOW-IT-ALL ETC.)

The Geek, or the Mad Scientist, is the character known for knowing everything. They often have a lack of social skills, and their vast knowledge of random things helps the characters when they’ve been backed into a corner…though they sometimes tend to be a quick fix for writers who’ve written their characters into a corner and need an easy solution.

Examples:

Sheldon (The Big Bang Theory)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

Spock (Star Trek)

L (Death Note)

Subversions:

1. The Geek has leadership skills and ability to inspire others. Awkward is not the complete opposite of charismatic; just because someone may have trouble talking to people doesn’t mean they can’t foster intense loyalty from their comrades. (Think along the lines of L from Death Note. Bonus if they’re the leader of their organization, and their subordinates would face God and walk backwards into Hell for them).

2. Combine the Geek with another archetype, perhaps an antithesis archetype like the Dumb Jock. For example, a Geek that enjoys the outdoors and extreme sports like rock climbing (but rather than to get buff, they just want to look at the fantastic granite deposits on the side of the mountain they’re climbing). Or perhaps a Geek Femme Fatale, whose “special interest” is the psychology of seduction.

3. The Geek hates what they do. The “passion” that Geeks usually have for machines/non-humans/their chosen expertise is forced upon them because they’re super smart. In reality, they’d wanted to take it easy going to business school but nooooo the world was at stake so they had to become an expert in the intergalactic space-time continuum.

4. The Geek is useless. Their musings are more mania than genius, their explanations and ideas incomprehensible to a normal human being, and the group only keeps them around with the hopes that one day they’ll come up with an idea that actually makes sense. (Bonus if that idea comes at the climax of the story).

8. THE DUMB JOCK (OR HIMBO)

The dumb jock, also known as “the brawn,” is an archetype that is often categorized by being all buff and no brains. They often are, or at least begin as, the antagonist of the story, and if they aren’t, they’re considered the “Himbo” character (with character traits being buff, dumb, and respectful to women), who are often reduced merely to their attractiveness and stupidity, without much depth.

Examples:

Jason Carver (Stranger Things)

Mitch Downe (ParaNorman)

Kronk (The Emperor’s New Groove)

Bolin (The Legend of Korra)

Subversions:

1. The himbo and/or jock is frustrated with the way that their comrades always reduce them to the brawn. They feel left out and isolated because they can’t understand the lofty conversations of their peers, and know that they, in a way, look down on them for not being as smart (Bonus if this becomes a major plot point in the character’s arc, causing a huge blowout fight that fissures the group because of it).

2. The himbo/jock’s stupidity does not reduce them to comic relief. The himbo/jock is well-respected and has incredible emotional intelligence and charisma/street smarts, but merely lacks in textbook intelligence.

3. The himbo/jock is a woman! Break through the stereotype of dumb strong people being men and put some herbos in your story (Bonus if you don’t sexualize her and just let her be herself).

4. An idea from the jock/himbo becomes an integral part of the plan to save the world!

9. THE ANTIHERO

The antihero archetype is categorized by their lack of conventional heroic attributes, their execution of their goals through morally gray means, and their frequent reluctance to be the one saving the world. Their motivations may be vengeance, hatred, or any other less-than heroic inspiration besides “the greater good.” In fact, the antihero is sometimes the antagonist of the story, but due to the fact that the audience is seeing things from their perspective, they often tend to root for them.

The antihero used to be its own subversion of the “Chosen One” archetype, but became so widespread that it itself became its own archetype. That’s why antiheroes are so varied, to the point where you may not even need a subversion due to how many possible ideas there are to choose from. (This was the hardest list to make!)

Examples:

Barry Berkman (Barry)

Harley Quinn (DC)

Cassie Thomas (Promising Young Woman)

Deadpool (Deadpool)

Subversions:

1. The antihero feels guilt. Oftentimes, an antihero is depicted as stone-cold and dead-set on their actions (and sometimes they’re right! If someone killed my family, I wouldn’t care about “being the bigger person”). However, an interesting subversion may be guilt or self-awareness surrounding their actions playing a large role in the execution of their goals.

2. The antihero is not a lone wolf, and develops meaningful and positive relationships with others rather than having it be 90% snarky banter. Sometimes, antiheroes suffer from a lack of three-dimensionality due to most of their dialogue being cheeky one-liners. Anchor them solidly into the story by building a web of relationships to support them! (They don’t have to all be lovey-dovey, either! Even enemy relationships can be more than snark).

3. An honor code. Giving an antihero with an interesting honor code regarding killing, stealing, or any of their other morally gray deeds could be an excellent subversion! Having characters who are stone-cold killers but draw the line (perhaps in an odd way, such as refusing to steal cars or kill pets), somewhere can be a great way to develop their personality and show the readers their motivations.

Hope these all helped, and happy writing!

#writing #writers #writeblr #booklr #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #creative writing #characters #character tropes

[ranboolivesaysstuff]

How did you decide what plot lines or characters to focus on for Generation 1 compared to the other generations?

We’re all so excited for this, it’s gonna be great Ran!!

Basically I came up with a concept that was achievable with what resources I had now. It’s a HUGE reason as to why this one isn’t going to be the “main” show of sorts that people are expecting (don’t worry you’ll see what I mean). It’s because the main storyline is so so awesome that I just couldn’t do it justice with what I have on hand. So instead I made something that I CAN (hopefully) pull off without having to make any sacrifices story wise! It’s a VERY cool story however and I’m excited to kick off everything with something that I’m so so proud of.

However if I ever get the resources to tell what is in my opinion my favorite story… no one is safe

#genlossdev

[blues824]

⚰️Imagen the uppermoons guys with a female undertaker s/o.

⚰️Imagen them meeting them because they

where near their store and smelled human blood and flesh only to see her working on her new dolls (that's what the undertaker calls his customers if I recall )

⚰️She meets them after they enter the store and she comes creepyl out of on of the coufins asking if they need one as a joke only for her to say ooo I forgot demons don't need one while giggling .

⚰️Imagen muzan finding out about their knowledge and him asking her questions only for her to tell she doesn't give information for free and when he asks how much money she just tells him the payment is laughter because she finds money useless (muzan probably thinks of her as a female douma 💀)

⚰️How would they react when their "human" s/o turns out to be a shinigami /God of death and they learn how she became a shinigami (because all humans become shinigami if they kill them selfs )

⚰️and learning that she was originally from Victorian Britain until the book of Atlantic plot you known her turning a crewship in to her "dollhouse" all because she was bored and wanted to see what will happen if you mess with people's Cinematic Record to to try to find away to immortality.

⚰️And how would they react when her death scythe could take away their lives. (if she can do it with Sebastian the uppermoons are going to be easy )

⚰️And normally they can see people's there Cinematic Records because only humans can't see it how would they react to seeing it for the first time.

Since all of the uppermoons would be 12 characters, I limited it down to Muzan, Douma, Akaza, Daki, and Gyutaro.

Muzan Kibutsuji

He always thought you were an interesting character. He met you at your funeral parlor when he sensed a human inside. What he saw was rather strange: you were trying to reanimate a corpse, but it seemed as though you couldn’t get a soul to complete that person.

However, he knew that you weren’t human. You didn’t smell like human flesh. He asked about it, and you giggled while stating that you don’t give information out for free. He had a few jokes up his sleeve, but it was more like quick bits of sarcasm. It was enough to get you to laugh, though.

So, you took off your top hat and brushed your bangs out of your face. Muzan got a full view of your phosphorescent eyes, and he was entranced. You explained that you used to be a grim reaper who was still obsessed with death, and you were from the year 1876 in England, which was very intriguing to him.

As much as he wanted to preserve bodies for you to experiment on, it was usually always messy when a demon killed a human. If you wanted, he would give you a messy corpse to try and ‘fix it up’ and make into a doll. There was one time where he watched you do it and he saw the cinematic record of the person. He felt nothing besides when he saw the person’s wedding day…

As for your scythe, he is very intrigued by it. It’s one of the only things in the universe that could possibly kill him, and only you could wield it. However, he wore the pants in the relationship. It was a very weird dynamic between the two of you, but he never felt threatened. In fact, he was kind of glad that you had this power over him because he was secretly afraid his hunger for power would hurt you in some way.

Douma

He kind of burst into the funeral parlor when he smelled flesh, but what he did not expect was for you and one of your dolls to come out of two coffins that you had presumably built. He’s seen people use corpses as sacrifices, but he hasn’t seen people reanimate them into self-reliant (kind of) dolls.

I feel like he would also know that you weren’t human, but he wasn’t able to sense the power you actually held. He always made you laugh, so you told him that you were a grim reaper. You even showed him your eyes, and he thought they were beautiful (but not as beautiful as his).

You told him that you were a foreigner, originally hailing from England. Even though you were retired, you were still very involved in death. You designed coffins to make a profit, but you would experiment on the bodies before they had to be locked in the wooden boxes.

He would use some of his worshipers to give you as cadavers (I like this word for some reason) to experiment on. He once watched you as you made a doll, and he got to see the entirety of the person’s life because of the cinematic records. He was amazed at the things you could do.

When he learned about your scythe, I think he was a bit intimidated because 1) only you could wield it and 2) you were able to kill him in less than a moment’s notice. But maybe that was for the best. He thought it much better to be killed by the person he loved most rather than Muzan, since it would be ironic because you actually made him feel love.

Akaza

Not only did he smell blood, but he also was sent there to gather information. He was told that you were not to be killed because you were a powerful ally, but he had his doubts. However, his thoughts of you changed when he saw a reanimated corpse in the lobby of your funeral parlor and you giggling about how you got closer.

It’s then that he knew you weren’t human, which might be the real reason why you were on the safelist. I feel like he could be pretty goofy when he tries, so he did make you laugh in order to get information out of you (which was a weird and certainly unique experience).

You explained that you were a grim reaper that came here from England. You had retired from your original job and decided that starting up a funeral parlor would be the next course of action because you still wanted to be involved in death. You even removed your top hat to show him your face, and he had to admit that you were beautiful. 

Again, when a demon kills a human, it’s totally messy. Unless you wanted a messed up human carcass to fix up and make into a doll, you aren’t getting any more human bodies aside from the ones that died in a more normal way. He wasn’t completely apathetic (as seen when Rengoku got turned into a donut), so when he saw the Cinematic Record he knew that they lived a wonderful life up until the end.

When he learned about your scythe, I feel like he fell for you even more. You were the only one who could correctly wield it and use it, and you were able to kill him if you so desired (not that you did). He always gravitated towards strong people, so you and him were a perfect match.

Daki

She was ordered by Muzan to go ask for information from you, and she thought you were a human so this was going to be easy for her. Unfortunately, what she did not expect was for you to come out of a coffin from the right and one of your ‘dolls’ to come out of a coffin from the left.

That’s also how she knew you weren’t human, as necromancy was looked down upon by all of humankind. Even though she was a bit disturbed by it, she was even more weirded out when you told her your price for information. She got pretty annoyed, but eventually she did it.

You told her that you were a retired grim reaper from England, and that you decided to start a funeral parlor in order to see if you could bring life to the dead. No experiment had been successful since you couldn’t put a soul back into their bodies, but you got closer. Daki became super interested when you said that you were from a different country, so she continued to ask you questions.

I feel like if she is in a good mood then she would bring a dead human body for you to toy around with and fashion into a doll, as long as she got to actually dress the doll up. She’s still a bit childish, after all. I feel like her favorite (but also least favorite) part would be seeing the person’s record because it’s the only way she got to see how a normal human life was supposed to be like.

She was definitely intimidated by your scythe since it could easily kill her with just one swing. However, she figured that you loved her too much to use it out of a random urge. So maybe it was a good thing that you had something that could stop her.

Gyutaro

Daki had told him how weird you were, and he was intrigued. So he decided to pay you an unannounced visit. The moment he opened the door, he was ambushed by a doll that he could sense was (or at least used to be) human. It didn’t take long for him to rip it to shreds, but you were a bit annoyed.

He then asked what exactly you were, to which you responded that you didn’t give information out for free. Gyutaro was completely concerned when you stated your price since almost anyone could get you to laugh for valuable information, but the more he asked questions the more he got to know about you.

You were an ex-grim reaper who dipped your feet into necromancy fairly often, trying to see if it was in fact possible to bring someone back to life. You have had partial success, but the beings didn’t have a soul or that same sparkle in their eyes.

I don’t know if he could actually bring back a well-preserved body back, but if he could then he did and it was like a special treat for you. I would say he would silently watch the cinematic records because they were interesting to him. However, he did get jealous whenever he saw the joyful moments in their life. You reassured him that he would be able to experience those moments with you, and that you would try your hardest to make it a reality. That’s when he fell for you.

Gyutaro was kind of indifferent towards your scythe, but if you were going somewhere without him then he would insist that you take it with you (completely forgetting that you were a reaper and therefore weren’t easily killed. Just listen, otherwise he would follow you in the sun (with proper protection, of course).

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kny x reader #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #muzan #muzan x reader #muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan kibutsuji #douma x reader #douma #doma #doma x reader #akaza x reader #akaza #daki x reader #daki #gyutaro #gyutaro x reader

[gartenofbanny]

Ever since the first season of Hazbin Hotel ended, I've seen people excuse the reason why Hazbin Hotel is rushed the way it is because of the episode count and the runtime of each episode.

Hazbin Hotel has 8 episodes, with each one being about 24 to 25 minutes long, and while that is really short of a runtime compared to other Amazon shows like Invincible, I don't believe it's an excuse for the bad pacing of the show overall. The writers had 8 episodes to make a coherent and well-paced story, but instead, they chose to just stuff as many things as they could within those 8 episodes, which leaves out a bunch events in the story poorly written or entirely unnecessary.

An example of this is Velvette. Throughout the third episode of Hazbin, she kept preaching about wanting to fight back against the Angels now that they're aware that they can get killed.

But she doesn't even do that. Instead she's just fucking chilling in her home while watching the main cast doing the thing she was preaching about prior. What was even the point of her inclusion in episode 3 or even in the first season as a whole when she wasn't even going to do what she preached afterwards?

And this show having too much shit in it also messes up the main premise of the show itself that being redemption. In episode 4, Angel Dust is at his lowest point, as shown in the series. He continues to do drugs and drink alcohol despite being at the Hazbin Hotel the longest.

However, in episode 6, it's revealed that Angel Dust has been taking a break from drugs, has formed a bond with the rest of the main cast, and has even stood up to Valentino for the first time. In short, he's actually made progress at the Hotel and has developed as a character.

But bad news, all that shit was off-screen. We never got to see Angel Dust actually develop as a character and form relationships outside of Husk, Charlie, and Vaggie. And it's simply because this show has some really horrid pacing and writing.

This show wants to cover like two seasons worth of plot in eight episodes, and I blame the writers for this. Stuffing your show with too many plots just results in them all not having the time necessary to grow. I get wanting to show your audiences as many things as you can, but some sacrifices have to be made for good writing.

Also, the fact that after episode two that each episode is like a month apart from each other is hilariously bad that it puts shonen timeskips to shame.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop #vivziepop criticism #vivienne medrano #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique

[wayfaringhoax]

Riddles

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Click here for part two

Word count: 12k+

Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts. 

This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.

New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.

Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!

Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.

As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.

Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.

How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?

You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.

Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.

Sure, shit got real when you got older.

After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career. 

Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.

Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.

You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.

On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.

Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.

An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking. 

Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.

A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.

A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself. 

A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.

Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him. 

You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness. 

Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available. 

Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer. 

Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control. 

Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.

Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole. 

“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”

Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”

Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”

“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.

Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”

Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached? 

You’d sign yourself up right now. 

The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.

Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.

“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”

Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.

“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.

Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.

With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment. 

Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence. 

You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.

Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.

Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.

****

He’s struggling.

Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.

He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.

He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous. 

Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit. 

And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel. 

He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.

You were far too good for him.

He had baggage; struggles he was still working through. 

You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him. 

Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.

Yep, he needed to stay away from you.

Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.

There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.

It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.

Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.

A text message from you.

Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.

He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.

Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x

Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.

He sends his reply swiftly.

Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?

Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.

You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.

Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him? 

Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response. 

Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.

Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.

Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name. 

Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut. 

Get it together, Frankie. Get it together. 

He found it a little harder to type his next words.

Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.

He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.

You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.

Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too. 

The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you. 

Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita. 

The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.

Any guy, huh?

And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.

Even you? 

Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.

Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.

Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles. 

On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.

“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.

“Do you wanna come over?”

Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”

“Be there in 15.”

****

Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess. 

What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.

You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie. 

Is this really happening?

The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.

Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile. 

He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there. 

Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find. 

And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.

His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now. 

Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.

Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it. 

When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic. 

You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.

The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.

Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him. 

He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants. 

Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard. 

He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.

Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.

Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.

“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.” 

How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?

By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death. 

“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.

You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”

Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him. 

And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs. 

Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.

“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.

You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.

But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.

“On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”

Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back. 

He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.

“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.

He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.

You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.

However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand. 

“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.

“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say. 

“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation. 

Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet. 

He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.

You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.

But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win. 

Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.

His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.

“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”

He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes. 

Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you. 

Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need. 

After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing. 

His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him. 

“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.

Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”

And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed. 

He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet. 

Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair. 

“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you. 

And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.

“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.

He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away. 

It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has. 

You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.

“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”

“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard. 

“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face. 

You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm. 

There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him. 

One time isn’t enough. 

He can’t give you up just yet. 

****

The two of you soon get into a rhythm. 

You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.

But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world. 

The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.

You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.

Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.

Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering. 

You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded. 

One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture. 

You start showering together, too.

The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom. 

He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine. 

On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day. 

You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.

After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.

You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car. 

Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.

You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did. 

An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it. 

It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good. 

You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.

“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.

You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.

What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”

Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.

You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.

However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there. 

You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed. 

This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby. 

He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different. 

But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.

Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.

The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route. 

The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.

You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.

Frankie was scared, too.

In fact, he’s worried.

You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety. 

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.

He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.

However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter. 

Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.

Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through. 

Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes. 

You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.

Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.

Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely. 

Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.

Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X

It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight. 

He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.

Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.

Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it. 

Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.

You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on. 

Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately. 

Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship. 

Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.

You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.

You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.

It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.

Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door. 

You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.

After a few seconds, you succumb. 

“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”

She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.

Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.

“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.

“Who is he?”

You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”

It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”

You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.

“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.

You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter. 

Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.

It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy. 

He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention. 

But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.

I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?  

And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.

You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options. 

All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this. 

Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends. 

You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.

It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.

****

Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.

After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do. 

He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.

Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact. 

He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.

And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.

Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed. 

It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex. 

That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend. 

Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn��t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.

So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.

The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out. 

Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.

It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.

Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.

Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you. 

You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.

There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick. 

You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.

You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption. 

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

And you’ve got him. 

Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.

When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast. 

He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again. 

And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?

Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place. 

Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.

Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship. 

Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends. 

You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight. 

Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.

His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy. 

Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way. 

As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.

Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up. 

Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.

You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you. 

He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again. 

After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you. 

“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.

After a beat of silence, he pushes again.

“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.

It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you. 

Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves. 

He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs. 

When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?

Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better. 

Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.

He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now. 

“You know what I want.”, he says.

The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.

And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs. 

You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.

His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.

A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin. 

So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you. 

Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him. 

The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that. 

“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.

And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind. 

What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want. 

And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.

Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave. 

“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.

Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.

You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh. 

“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.

You’re not ready.

“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads. 

And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway. 

This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication. 

Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him? 

By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out. 

After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage. 

As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache. 

****

It’s not a secret that you miss him.

Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt. 

You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’. 

You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.

The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.

You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.

But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.

You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about. 

It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover. 

What would he say? 

Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past? 

Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?

You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.

And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress. 

He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.

Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.  

You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.

So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie. 

As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him. 

The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him. 

Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.

Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.

Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week. 

Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.

And you do, after a poignant pause. 

“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come. 

He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.

You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”

Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.” 

He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.

You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”

Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure. 

“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.

Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.

“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.

“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.

“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying. 

“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.

“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”

He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.

“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.

Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.

Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.

“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.

It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.

But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.

Then, you go and throw him a curveball. 

Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.

And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”

He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.

He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.

Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.

“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.

After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.

He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.

But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you. 

And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.

You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.

Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something. 

He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.

“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.

And he knows those last three words could scare you off. 

Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful. 

It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.

Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x female reader #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x female reader #frankie morales x f!reader

[suffersinfandom]

I don't care when people have takes that don't agree with mine or love characters that I don't. What does get under my skin is when people are smug and self-congratulatory about a take that's just wrong.

"The story of the show in season one was that it was a bunch of people with conflicting personalities shoved onto a boat together."

The story has always centered Stede, Ed, and their relationship. The initial idea of it came from the fruitiness of historical Stede Bonnet and Blackbeard's whole situation, and David Jenkins always meant for it to be a romance about those two guys. (He talks about it in this interview. The romance wasn't added partway through filming, it was changed because of the way Rhys and Taika played it.)

"Season two of OFMD was an ensemble show and season two wasn't."

OFMD was never an ensemble show. Stede and Ed are the primary characters and everyone else, however much we love them, is secondary. Even Jim, the only other character who gets a flashback and a through-line in season one, is a supporting character. And their story is fantastic! It's about finding a place where you can be who you are, learning who you are beyond assigned roles, and finding belonging and family -- and that's also what our A-plot is about. Jim's story supports the main story.

The crew does have considerably more screen time in season one, and that's because season one has more time. I truly, sincerely wish that season two had the space to feature the crew the way season one did because I love almost all of them and wanted more of them. I think that the crew's relative absence in season two is, overall, to the show's detriment.

But let's think, just for a second, about why there was less time devoted to the crew in a season that was much shorter. If the crew's storyline was the main one and if all characters were equally important, why did David choose to spend the time he had focusing on Ed, Stede, and their relationship? Is it because he lost the plot of his own show?

No.

Season two is shorter. Cuts had to be made, so David cut back on the crew's stories and kept the main story -- the Gentlebeard story -- intact. A writer does not sacrifice their primary story for subplots. When you show me that season two has more Gentlebeard per episode, you're not proving that the nature or focus of the show changed. You're underscoring the importance of the story that has always been the show's center.

If you liked the show better when it had more time to commit to the supporting cast, that's okay. I sincerely don't mind that some people liked season two less because it was heavier on the Gentlebeard. I just don't understand why it's so important to downplay the importance of Ed and Stede in the first season. OFMD has always been their show, and insisting that that's not true is bonkers to me.

Literally no one is saying that Ed and Stede should be the only characters onscreen. No one who loves Gentlebeard hates the crew; I'm deep into Gentlebeardie tumblr and there's tons of love for every single character (with maybe one exception). No one is saying that Ed did nothing wrong or Izzy is the devil incarnate or time given to characters who aren't Stede and Ed is time wasted.

There is a right answer when we're talking about what OFMD is about and who the main characters are.

Also: anyone who's still struggling to understand Anne and Mary's importance should read this. Atticus wrote a lovely and concise essay that ought to clear everything up.

Also also: anyone who harasses people, anonymously or not, is the worst kind of fan. There are no fandom opinions that warrant racism, transphobia, homophobia, doxxing, etc.

#ofmd discourse #gentlebeard #i'm so irritated with people today #and i'll probably regret this #but jfc y'all #sorry for the negativity #life's not going great #and neither are the general fandom tags

[onceuponastory]

betrayal - nick fowler x reader

"Girls will go to hell and back For boys who taste like heaven." - teenage sacrifice by creeper

Plot: Nick Fowler is gone, killed on a mission a year ago. And his partner and girlfriend Y/N made her peace with that. ...Until she suddenly finds out on a mission that he's very much alive. Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female!Reader Warnings: Death/murder (Nick faked his though), kidnapping, death threats, betrayal, lies and manipulation, grief (and reader shutting herself away due to her grief), heartbreak and angst, light violence. And especially: Nick Fowler being a complete asshole (but one you still can't help but love, because...look at him). But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: I have not written for Nick Fowler in a LONG time, but like I said, a few weeks ago I had a ton of Nick edits show up on my tiktok fyp, and @holacia3 sent me a gif of Nick, so I had a few ideas floating around. But as soon as I heard this song and that line in particular, I knew it would be the perfect fit.

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

It was a bad idea. She knew it was. She should have stayed with the rest of her team, and not gone off alone. After all, it’s what got Nick killed. As soon as the memory of Nick enters her mind, her body and heart ache, and she has to fight the urge to cry or scream. 

“No. Not here. Make them pay first.” That’s why she got separated from her team. The criminals they’re tracking are the very same who took her partner from her. And she just had to be the hero and go after them, trying to seek justice for Nick. That was the plan, until she ended up getting lost. And now, she’s in a completely radio silent part of the building with a malfunctioning earpiece. “Ugh.” She hisses, leaning up against the wall and trying to get her bearings. If Nick was here, he’d be laughing at her. Sure, he’d tear down every wall in this place to try and find her… but he’d be sure to laugh too. “I miss you, you asshole.” She whimpers as a few tears break free, rolling down her cheeks.

When Nick died, Y/N shut herself away for months, refusing to speak to anyone. Honestly, she lost a part of herself that day. Not just because she and Nick were dating. Well, he said they were. She was the one who refused to confirm it, not wanting to put labels on things because she knew what a job like this does to people in relationships. And the last thing she wanted was to lose what she had with Nick.

But she loved him so much, and though she never admitted it, she was coming round to the idea of officially being his girlfriend. Actually, she was going to tell him that after their mission… the same one he never came back from. When she finally went back to work, she was relegated to desk work, deemed too vulnerable to be out in the field after what happened.

Despite how much she protested, hating the idea of being wrapped up in cotton wool for the rest of her career, refusing to be forever known as ‘the agent whose boyfriend died in the field’... she was secretly appreciative of the coddling. It was a much better option than being sent out and constantly remembering what was lost. The moments with Nick she’d never get back.

And then, this case came along, bringing her the one thing she wanted right on a silver platter. A chance to stop the very criminals who killed Nick. A chance for revenge, to finally put an end to this reign of terror. To make them feel the same pain she did. And she said - no, she fucking insisted - that she would be okay, and not do anything stupid. Yet here she is, proving them all right. Y/N sniffles, ready to try and find her way back to the rest of her team.

But then, it happens. Something grabs her, and she screams, trying to kick her assailant, desperately fighting for her survival. Yet, the more she fights, the tighter he holds her. She’s dragged into a room, and turns around, immediately preparing herself to continue her fight.

That is, however, until she finds herself staring into a pair of blue eyes she recognises immediately. The same pair of eyes that have been haunting her nightmares for the last year.

And everything just…stops.

“Hey there.” Nick chuckles. 

Nick Fowler, her partner and the love of her life. 

Nick Fowler, who’s supposed to be dead. 

And yet, here he is, standing right in front of her, looking perfectly fine. Her entire body stiffens, freezing her in place. 

“No.” She gasps. “No…N-No, you’re dead.” Nick simply laughs again, grinning like he hasn’t just ripped her entire world apart. As if the months she spent crying over him, mourning his loss, feeling empty and numb meant nothing to him. She lifts her hand, placing it on his neck. The rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat tells her Nick’s very much alive. His skin tingles under her touch, and her breath hitches. Maybe things will be okay?

“Sorry. You know how it is in this life.” Nick simply shrugs. She blinks, waiting for him to continue, to explain that even though it’s part of their job, there are some things he can tell her. That he trusts her enough to tell her something, anything. That there’s a reason he had to fake his death and hide it from her. One that she’ll understand if he just fucking tells her.

Because she’d help him, whatever it is. He knows that. She trusts Nick Fowler with her life, and as far as she knew, he felt the same about her. But his silent stare causes a thought to dawn. And it feels like an icy jolt through her body. Since he clearly had no problem lying to her… did he ever care about her feelings? Or feel the same about her? Even in the wee hours of the morning, when Nick held her and kissed every inch of her body and told her she was his girl, the most important person in his life…. was he just pretending? 

“No.” She thinks. “Nick loves you. He’s the one who called you his girlfriend.” But just as soon as that hope flourishes, another thought comes, destroying it. “So why has he been lying to you for so long?” The icy realisation quickly gives way to a new emotion. A deep, passionate anger. It engulfs her, boiling her blood and making her voice like venom. “I am…was your partner, you fucking asshole!” She snaps, shoving Nick back away from her. “You didn’t think to tell me you were going to fake your death? We promised each other that we would tell each other everything, no matter what!” Nick simply smirks. “You promised!” She repeats, imploring him for an explanation.

But she can see it in his eyes. 

He doesn’t care. 

And despite everything Nick has done to her by this point, all the deception… that is what hurts most of all. She shared so many intimate moments with him, gave him so much of herself, and he just threw it back in her face. Like it’s nothing more than a game to him.

“Don’t be like that.” Nick tuts, tilting his head to get a better look at her. As if he wants to see every part of the pain he’s causing her, like some sick perversion. “I had to do it. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

“If it was me, I would’ve told you. I trusted you!” Her voice cracks, and she almost bursts into tears right there and then. But Nick simply scoffs, his disinterest sending another spike through her already broken heart. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Nick sighs once he notices the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, okay?” But she can’t even trust him now. She doesn’t even know who he is anymore. If the Nick she fell in love with even existed.

It’s only then, when she looks anywhere but at Nick, that she notices other men in the room, watching them. Men she knows all too well. They’re the enemy, the very people they’re trying to stop, the ones who took Nick away from her. So what is he doing with them? “Nick, if you’re under duress or in trouble, I can help you. Just let me…” Because that would make sense. That would explain why he faked his death and abandoned her. Because he’s in danger too. Her hope builds. "Please god, just let me save him."

“Hey, hey, shhh.” Nick soothes, gently taking her hands. “It’s okay Y/N. There’s no need for that. They’re with me.” He chuckles, cupping her cheek. She tries to flinch away, but he keeps a hold on her. And for just a moment, it’s like how things used to be. Her stomach flutters, and she’s reminded of when Nick kissed her for the last time. Little did she know it was a kiss goodbye. But then, she realises what he’s telling her. And her last smidgen of hope is destroyed.

“You’re… working with them?” She gasps, eyes wide. But that means. Oh god. Her stomach drops, and her chest heaves. Has he been working with the enemy this whole time? Did he ever care about her? Or was she just a stepping stone for his career, a pawn in his plan? 

“Now do you see why I couldn’t tell you?” Nick smirks, still laughing like it’s all a big joke. Like he hasn’t just ripped her apart.

“How could you?” She whimpers. “Y-You used me, and you lied to me. And now you’ve brought me here to kill me.”

Every memory of the moments they shared flashes through her mind. But now, she sees them differently. Nick’s seen her at her most vulnerable, with her feelings and insecurities laid out in the open. He comforted her as she cried, worrying that they’ll never catch these criminals before they hurt someone else. 

And he was working with them the whole time. He was probably laughing as he held her, enjoying the manipulation he was causing.

He never loved her. He just used her love to his advantage. 

“Nobody said anything about dying.” Nick chuckles. “Yet.”

“What do you want with me?”

“Just a proposition. Nothing too bad.” He smiles. 

“Given what you’ve already told me tonight, forgive me for not believing you.” 

“Told you she was stubborn.” Nick smirks to the men in the room. Y/N’s stomach churns. She can’t bear to think about the other things Nick’s been saying about her. She looks around, searching for an escape route. But every exit is blocked. She’s trapped. “Why don’t you join us?” Nick continues. “I told my boss how talented you are, and we both agree that you’d be a perfect fit in our…organisation.” He grins. “You can finally be a free agent, do what you want instead of having people order you around. And….” His voice lowers, and he looks over her body. She hates how her body still betrays her when he does that, how her heart pounds, her breath catches in her throat and she instinctively steps closer to him. Nick grins, knowing he’s got her. “You’ll see a lot more of me. Win-win, really.”

“And what about the innocent people who’ll die?” She asks, her brow raised. Nick simply shrugs.

“Part of the job. You know it is.” He chuckles. “So, what’s it going to be? Come on, Y/N. Come with me.” Nick whispers, smiling at her. The same smile he had whenever they woke up beside one another, their bodies entangled. When she thought he truly loved her.

He was just gathering intel. 

“No.” She speaks. At first, Nick frowns, almost wondering if he misheard her. “I’m not being a part of this.” But then when her words sink in, his gaze hardens.

“Oh. I see.” He sighs. “Must you always be the hero, Y/N? It’s such a weakness.” 

“It’s what I chose to do. To stop people like you.” She hisses.

When she tries to push past him, he grabs her arm, pushing her back against the wall, blocking her path with his body. “Did I say you could leave?” He asks, his voice more forceful. She’s never heard him be so angry, so demanding.

Or maybe he was just a master of hiding it.

“Nick, let me go.” She orders. He ignores her, tightening his grasp.

“What am I going to do with you, Y/N? Hm? I can’t let you go running off to your friends, spilling my secrets, can I?” When no word comes from Y/N, Nick raises a brow. “Cat got your tongue? That’s weird, because you had no issues talking earlier.” Y/N starts to notice the men around them reaching for their weapons, and her heart stops. Suddenly, it all becomes real.

She’s going to die.

She’s going to die at the hands of the person she loves… loved.

“Please don’t hurt me.” She murmurs pathetically. Nick chuckles.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Yet, his grip tightens ever so slightly on her arm. “I might just keep you.” She raises her free fist, attempting to strike him. But Nick is just too quick, grabbing her wrist and twisting it back. She cries out in pain, trying to kick him, but Nick dodges the hit. “Mmm. Touchy, aren’t we?” He smirks. Y/N tries to remain calm, to show him she’s not affected by his betrayal. But her body betrays her once again, and she starts crying.

“Go fuck yourself.” She hisses through her tears. Nick rolls his eyes, tutting. 

“I need to go. Got to explain to my boss that our new asset might take more convincing than we thought.” He turns to the men in the room. “Be careful.” He warns, giving her one last wink. “She’s trouble.”

And then, he's gone.

And Y/N is all alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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#nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler #nick x y/n #nick x reader #the 355 #the 355 fanfiction #the 355 fanfic #nick fowler fic

[muzansfangs]

Babydoll.

Starring: Douma x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, kind of gang au, criminal Douma, corruption kink, use of alcohol, dirty talk, language, choking, breeding kink, small age gap, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers dynamics, kind of toxic relationship, dacryphilia, dom!Douma, sub!reader, vaginal sex, slight manipulative behavior, unprotected sex;

Plot: you should have not fallen for him, the devil himself, the handsome hitman of Muzan Kibutsuji. His charming personality, however, had you wrapped around his finger effortlessly. Sometimes, when you blabbed out some reserved informations of your gang to him, you felt how he was taking advantage of what you two had. All it took for him to calm you down, though, were his sugarcoated words and the promise you were his only one.

Track: Babydoll — Ari Abdul: “When I meet your eyes, the devil, he wins”.

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Same old story. A bottle of saké on the coffee table, his red button down clutched into your hands, his multicolored hues boring into yours as you sat on his lap. You wanted to stop this, but you could not.

His lips curled up into his trademark smirk, his long-dark eyelashes contrasting with his pale complexion and the variety of shimmering colors mixed in his irises, as he ran his thumb over your lower lip.

If you did not know him, you would have said he was a gift from the gods. However, Douma was a gift from the haunts of Hell.

You knew you should have not even allowed him to approach you that night at the bar. You were not clueless, his identity and his reputation were well-known. But he was enticing. You were alone, dealing with a break-up, feeling like the ground was shaking under your feet. He was a little bit older than you, three years, but they had granted him enough experience to deceive you. You were fragile in that moment and he knew it.

That time had long gone, however. Months had passed by and you had fully recovered. Staying by his side now, letting yourself being ruined by him over and over again, was your choice.

“You’ve been so helpful for me, darling. I wonder how I can reward you for your sacrifice” Douma chimed, forcing his thumb into your mouth and pressing the pad of his finger onto your tongue.

His actions were laced with lewd intentions, his words creeping under your skin.

He had mentioned a ‘sacrifice’. Of course, he had. He knew that what you were doing for him was the equivalent of killing the good and loyal part of yourself that would have given up on anything just to make the people you cared about happy. What were you doing for them now? You were stabbing them on their backs, spitting on their faces, putting their lives in danger, for the sake of a toxic and secret relationship with him.

As his thumb entered your warm mouth, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut only not to let tears spill out of your eyes. He knew what his words did to you.

His dirty talk made your panties sticky, but the way he never failed to remind you of what you were doing for him, for a criminal, for the man who easily manipulated you and played with your heart like a guitarist played with the strings of a guitar, well, it broke your heart.

Your lower lip quivered and a soft chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Ah, I’m sorry, baby. — he whispered, slowly removing his thumb from your mouth and grasping your jaw roughly — Look at me” he added, his voice velvet but still firm.

A command. One of the many he gave you, when he was about to watch you crumble in his arms. You slowly lifted your lids, letting your teary eyes meet his ones. In his shining ones, you could see two small versions of you. But you could read two identical words too: betrayal.

A sob escaped your lips, your shoulders shaking and a grin crossed Douma’s face. There it was, your fragile part. Your tears falling from your lashes, your mascara drawing patters on your cheeks that resembled brenches of a leafless tree, made him lose his cool. You could feel his cock underneath you twitch, you could see the way he enjoyed your whimpers.

Depraved, he was depraved.

“You’re so beautiful like this. — he purred, wrapping his hand around your throat and slipping the other one between your thighs, tugging your thong to the side — Bearing a baby into your tummy. Your womb swollen, my baby growing into you” he said, his voice dripping desire and lust.

“Douma…” you whispered, as his deft fingers plunged into you effortlessly.

“Tsk, you’re dripping… Can you hear it? The lewd sounds of your cunt yearning for more, waiting for me to fill you up. Can you hear them, love?” he hoarsely said, involving you into a fervent kiss.

A moan, another one, this time louder, erupted from your throat as his slender fingers searched for that spongy spot that made you squeal out in ecstasy for him. It did not take long for him to find it. He knew you like the back of his hand, your body was like a piece of paper for him to write on.

“Ah, chant for me, baby. Sing for me, sing because you’re my only one” he whispered, his grip on your neck tightening significantly as you gasped for air.

Your eyes widened, your inner walls clamping onto his fingers as he pinned you down onto the couch, underneath him.

Your toes curled, as you lolled your head back in pleasure. The gultiness, the shame you felt for the way you let him manhandle you, for your morals bending only to stick by his side when the sun set, they were all gone. He stripped you out of your sanity, his sinful hands breaking the sheer of pride you loved to show off in public.

You felt his fingers leaving your core, the hand around your neck following suit, as he unbuckled his belt and hastily unzipped his pants. He needed you. He wanted to ruin your innocence again. It was never enough.

“I promise, I’ll fuck you so good you’ll leave this place slithering around like a viper. My pretty, little viper” he crooned, spreading your legs wide before hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his tight boxers and pulling them down his thighs.

The sight of your essence leaking out of you for his previous actions made him let out a moan of anticipation, while your cheeks heated out for the predatory look plastered over his angelic face.

You were glad he had streatched you out properly. His shaft was not exactly easy to adjust to. As long as he loved seeing tears stream down your face, he wanted you to enjoy the way he messed up your insides. It had to feel good for you too.

“Tell me that you love me” he said then, hovering over you and resting your legs on the top of his broad shoulders. His fingers dug onto the plush of your thighs, earning a soft whimper from you as his tip started to tease your entrance.

“I love you. You know how much I love you…” you breathed out, arching your back in hope to get some friction from the spot where your intimacies met.

Douma chuckled, his teeth grazing the tender flesh of your neck as he shoved himself into you slowly, making sure you could feel every inch of him exploring your warm channel. He surely was vocal, he had always been. A long, strained moan left his lips as he bottomed out and your cry of pleasure echoed into the luxurious living room of his house.

Your breaths mixed, his thrusts hard and steady as you ran your fingers through his long, silky and silvery hair.

Douma was too handsome to be a devil. Then again, as he made you reach your climax, whispering sinful words into your ear, making sure his thrusts hit your g-spot, you were reminded of that fallen angel. He was an angel, in the end, you were right.

Douma was God’s favorite, he was Lucifer. Therefore, as he released into you, moaning into your mouth as his tongue dominated yours, you were ready to let him drag you to hell with him.

“Yeah, I definitely love you” you murmured, panting as you stared at the ceiling above you, his body still pressed against yours.

Sinning never felt that good.

TAGS: @doumadono @doumaslotus @mrskokushibo @misaki-the-lotusflower @flakeygod @cyberdazetragedy

#douma x reader #douma x y/n #douma x you #douma smut #upper moon two #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader

[bugaboo25]

Another Danny and Damian are Twins

Um... hi :) I don't post very much, or, like, at all. But!! I have been obsessed with Danny and Damian are twins AU for a long time, and a plot bunny decided to live in my head. I'm debating actually writing this or not at the moment, and I figured, why not get opinions? I'm going to write it no matter what. I just... wanted to know if anyone else wanted to read it?

Edit: Masterpost Next>

Anyways, here's the first chapter:

The moon hung in the desert sky, the stars twinkling and shimmering around it. Two pairs of eyes, one blue and one green, stared up at them. The blue eyes were filled with childlike wonderment, while the green eyes were brimming with boredom. However, both sets of eyes held an undertone of worry. The nine-year-olds sat in an easy and comfortable silence, one that they knew needed to be broken so they could discuss the current state of their place in League. Neither boy wanted to speak first, but it had to be done.

“Danyal,” started the green-eyed boy. Danyal’s eyes turned away from the stars, and green met blue as the boys stared at each other. “We must talk about what we overheard Grandfather saying.”

“Yes, I am well aware,” Danyal responded. His brow pinched in thought, the small scar that adorned his left temple wrinkled in response. “Dami, you do realize what he meant, correct? There can only be one heir, and since no one escapes the League…”

“Then one of us must die.” Damian’s eyes steeled, but with Danyal being the only other soul present, he did not try to hide the glistening of unshed tears in his eyes. “I will refuse to fight you, Danny. I know he will try to make us, but I will not do it.”

“Nor will I, Dami, but you know Grandfather as well as I do. There will be no choice. Unless one of us dies before he can make us.” Danyal turned away from Damian as he said this, knowing that the next words out of his mouth would break his brother’s heart. “I will do it.”

“No, Danyal!” Damian’s sharp but quiet reply was not unexpected, but Danyal still allowed his eyes to return to his twin’s. “I do not wish to live in a world without you.”

“This is not up for debate, Damian. I will not return from this mission, and you will become the sole heir. I will hear no more of this, just know that I will forever love you.” Danyal gave Damian a swift hug, then stood from the ground and started toward the hidden bunker that they had just completed their mission in not even fifteen minutes prior. There were bombs set to go off in just under 4 minutes.

Damian jumped from his position on the ground, ready to chase after his brother. However, as soon as he started forward, he was pulled back to the ground. Danyal had chained him during their quick hug, and slid Damian’s katana just out of reach. Damian growled, already beginning to pick the lock. He knew Danyal was not trying to keep him there, but simply wanted him to stay put during his sacrifice. He finished with the lock swiftly, but as soon as he stood up to begin his sprint toward the bunder, explosions filled the air. “Danyal, no! Danny!” Damian fell to his knees, and as tears filled his green eyes, the only thing that filled his mind was blue.

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Danyal ran as fast as he could away from the exploding bunker. He could hear Damian’s heartbroken cry for him, and his own heart twisted and ached as he desperately wished he could call back to his brother. He knew, though, that if Grandfather or Mother found out that he had not died, then Damian would be forced to kill him. He did not wish that guilt on his twin, which is why he made sure to leave behind everything needed to confirm his death from the explosion. Once he reached the cover of a nearby forest, he allowed himself to stop for just a few moments. He vowed that he would find Damian again, that he would not allow his brother to mourn him forever. He only wished that Mother had disclosed the identity of their father before he had to fake his death, if only so he could go to him in hopes of being reunited with Damian as soon as possible. For now, though, he would escape to America, and hopefully find a place he could hide his presence from the League.

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Damian returned home, and for what felt like the hundredth time that night, he turned his head and felt the absence of blue eyes meeting green. He stood in front of Grandfather, relaying the proceedings of the mission. He told him that he had waited for Danyal outside of the bunker, but he had not returned to his side even after the explosion. He did not allow his features or his tone to show the hollowness he now felt without his brother by his side, but he did not miss the satisfaction that crossed Grandfather’s face at the mention of Danyal’s death. Mother’s expression had not changed, and Damian could only guess at whether or not she felt sorrow for her son’s death.

“Dismissed,” came the voice of Ra’s al Ghul. Damian turned on his heel and headed straight for his quarters. Quickly, he grabbed Danyal’s favorite book on astrology and hid it underneath his pillow. Damian knew that hope was a foolish thing, but he would never allow himself to truly believe that Danyal was gone. There was always a chance that he escaped, that he would find his way to his brother again once they were older. He sat on the edge of the bed and memorized every detail of Danny’s side of the room. He knew that by morning, all of his brother’s things would be gone, and Danyal al Ghul would be nothing but a memory.

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Danyal quietly made his way through the forest. It was fall now, October, if he had to guess. August felt as if it had been years ago, but the last two months without Damian had been even more agonizing than he had originally anticipated. He looked around for any sign as to where he was, and out of his peripheral he saw a sign along the road. Slowly and carefully, he made his way towards it. “Amity Park, Illinois. Population 15,328.” Danyal read the sign slowly, making sure he fully absorbed the information before he came to a decision. “This will do.” He walked toward the road, and then followed it until he made his way into town. He was sure a nine-year-old carrying a wakizashi around would be unsettling, but he refused to leave it behind. It would be one of the only ways he could convince Damian that he truly was his brother once they met again in the future.

Almost immediately after making his way into town, a police officer approached him and dragged him to the station. When asked about his parents, Danyal informed them that he did not have any. The pitying looks were disdainful, but he kept his mouth shut. He did not wish to garner unwanted attention. Well, more than he already had for being a child that would not part with a wakizashi and no parents. Before he knew it, he was being carted away to an orphanage. He was left with a woman called Mrs. Park, who led him to an office where he sat down in an old plastic chair.

“What’s your name, son?” The sickly-sweet voice of Mrs. Park almost made Danyal gag, but he managed to hold it in.

“Danyal,” he responded, and the lack of a last name made Mrs. Park frown.

“Okay, Daniel. Let me just get you put in the system. We will need a photo and some fingerprints before we take you to the rooms. We have some prospective adopters coming by today, so you might want to get cleaned up.” Mrs. Park pointedly stared at the mud-stained clothes that hung off Danyal, and if she noticed him bristle at the mispronunciation of his name, she didn’t show it.

Once they finished with the necessary paperwork, Danyal was taken to the restroom to get a shower and a change of clothes. He kept his wakizashi with him in the bathroom, and he made sure to leave it on the counter where he could still see it even with the curtain closed. Once he was done, he emerged in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and he couldn’t help but frown at the restrictions that his new attire provided. He was shuffled into room by Mrs. Park, and he made sure to glare at the other two kids in the room so that they knew to leave him alone.

Mrs. Park clapped her hands. “Okay kids, we have some prospective adopters that just showed up. Their names are Jack and Maddie Fenton, and they brought their daughter Jazz along. Make sure you’re on your best behaviors!” She then opened the door, and the family stepped in.

Teal eyes met blue, and suddenly the ginger teenager, Jazz, if Danyal had to guess, was walking towards him. The looming figures of her parents walked behind her. “Hello! My name is Jazz, what’s yours?” Jazz stared at him expectantly, and Danyal was unsure of how to handle the bright smile that adorned her face, so he settled for a gurgling sound instead.

“This is Daniel,” Mrs. Park spoke up. “He just joined us today. Would you like to get to know him a little better? We can take you to a private room.” Danyal once again bristled at the mispronunciation of his name, but he looked toward the Fenton family to see their response.

The large, burly man grinned excitedly. “Hiya, Danny-boy!” he boomed. “You want to come get to know us? I’m Jack, and this is my wife, Maddie!”

Danyal stared at them, but quietly and quickly responded with a “sure,” and suddenly they were being led to another room by Mrs. Park. They sat in silence for a few moments before the Fenton’s were overzealous and excited balls of energy. Danyal’s eyes snapped to Jazz, and the comforting look she gave him was all he needed to decide that he wanted to stay with this family until he could make his way back to Damian. If Danyal allowed himself to develop a familial bond with Jazz during that time, well, Damian would just have to learn to be okay with an older sister.

#batpham #twins au #danny and damian are twins #batman #danny phantom batfam #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny tells himself that he is gonna be a gremlin #and then after so many years he just #is #batfam goes through so much whiplash #like damian never shows emotions but danny #danny has damian's face and is just #chaos

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

When I’m trying to create new characters, I often find questionnaires that have questions like “what is your character’s favorite movie?” Or “What is their favorite social media app and why?” However, these questions do not work for creating fantasy characters (like I am). Do you have any ideas for questions to help writers create fantasy characters?

This is a fantastic question, especially for fantasy writers. There aren't many resources dedicated to the creation and development of fantasy characters. I highly recommend exploring Dungeons & Dragons (DND) questions; they can offer valuable insights like this one.

On that note, if you'd be interested in a customized workbook solely focused on fantasy character creation, just give me a heads-up! Meanwhile, I've crafted a concise yet distinctive short questionnaire to get you started. (With unique questions, not the basics.)

Magical Essence 🌟✨:

Source of Power: 🌀💫 What magical abilities or powers does your character possess? How did they acquire or inherit these powers?

Magical Affinity: 🌊🔥 Describe their connection to elemental forces or magical domains. Are they aligned with specific elements or forces of nature?

Otherworldly Origin 🌌🔮:

Realm of Origin: 🏰🌌 Where does your character come from? Describe their homeland or origin realm—its landscapes, cultures, and inhabitants.

Mythical Lineage: 👑🌟 Does your character hail from a line of legendary beings, gods, or creatures of ancient lore? How does this lineage influence their identity?

Legendary Quests and Adventures 🗡️🛡️:

Heroic Exploits: 🏹⚔️ What legendary quests or adventures has your character undertaken? Describe their valorous deeds and encounters with mythical creatures or foes.

Artifacts and Relics: 🏆🔮 Have they encountered or possess legendary artifacts or relics? How do these items influence or aid their journey?

Creatures and Companions 🐉🦄:

Familiar or Animal Companion: 🐾🔍 Does your character have a magical creature companion or a familiar? Describe this bond and its significance.

Encounters with Mythical Beings: 🧜‍♀️👻 Have they interacted with beings like dragons, spirits, or mythical entities? Describe these encounters and their impact.

Destiny and Prophecies 🌟🔮:

Foretold Prophecies: 🔍📜 Is there a prophecy or destiny foretold about your character? How do they perceive and react to this prophecy?

Chosen One or Fate's Hand: 👑🌌 Is your character considered a chosen one or fated to fulfill a significant role in the world's destiny? How do they handle this responsibility?

Interactions with Magic and Society 🤝🔮:

Attitude Towards Magic: 🧙‍♂️🔑 How does your character view magic in their world? Are they a skeptic, a practitioner, or a scholar of magic?

Relationship with Magical Societies: 🏰🌐 Are they part of magical societies, guilds, or orders? How do these affiliations shape their actions and beliefs?

Struggles and Sacrifices 💔🌪️:

Internal Conflict: 🤔💔 What inner struggles or conflicts does your character face? Are there conflicts between their desires, duties, or moral beliefs?

Sacrifices Made: ⚖️💔 Have they made sacrifices or endured hardships in their journey? What are these sacrifices, and how do they impact their character development?

Fate and Free Will ����🌌:

Control Over Destiny: 🌟🔗 Do they believe in free will, or do they feel their destiny is preordained? How does this belief affect their actions and decisions?

Choices and Consequences: 🤷‍♀️🔮 How do their choices influence the world around them? Describe instances where their decisions had profound consequences.

I hope these questions help you start thinking about your story and your character. I mentioned things like dragons and magic to give you a place to begin, but you can totally explore other ideas beyond typical fantasy themes. Use these questions to spark new thoughts for your plot and character development, leading you to create a story that's unique and goes beyond the usual fantasy clichés.

#creative writing #thewriteadviceforwriters #writing #writeblr #on writing #writing tips #writers block #how to write #writers and poets

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (19)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex, manipulation, angst ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

Lady Strong Moodboard

Lady Strong & Aemond Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She didn't have a clue what made her feel an unpleasant constriction in her stomach when she saw the Iron Throne out of the corner of her eye. She stopped, looking at it, standing in the half-light in the distance of the great throne room, illuminated only by the light of the torches.

She thought with pain and bitterness that everything that had happened, everything they had had to sacrifice and fight for, was only because of someone being able to sit on it and declare themselves the only legitimate ruler.

Greed flowed through the veins of Targaryens as much as fire and blood, she thought with dismay.

Sunk in her thoughts, she headed for the throne room, thinking in the back of her mind that even if her father and mother agreed to come to an agreement to build a truce on the foundation of their marriage, if she did not bear her uncle a son, her husband's faction would surely begin plotting against her mother despite the agreement.

Even if her husband remained faithful to her, she could never fully trust him, be sure that he was on her side.

The perpetual thought of betrayal was destroying her from the inside.

She knew that in a matter of days her moon bleeding should begin and she knew what it would mean.

Disappointment and danger.

This was why, every morning for the last few days, before she had even had time to truly wake up, she had sunk her hand between her thighs, feeling her insides clench with fear and terror as she sensed the moisture under her fingers, which then turned out to her relief to be only her wetness mingled with her husband's spend.

It made her draw in a loud breath and smile, for a moment believing that maybe a miracle would happen.

That the gods by making his seed take root in her womb would also indicate to the kingdom that what they wanted to do met with their approval.

Later in the day, however, all it took was for her to feel a discomfort in her lower abdomen, a slight sting or pain, a wetness between her thighs and a cold sweat would fall over her again. She would then lose her appetite and although she ate her morning meal in the presence of her husband, she would later lie that she had eaten a second meal during his training and duties.

She was unable to swallow anything out of fear.

She had the feeling that later when he took her, already as her legitimate husband, something inside her broke, all her terror, her doubts and despair spilled out of her like a rushing river.

She was afraid of his reaction, afraid of his certainty that it was impossible for them not to have succeeded in begetting an heir even though her whole body screamed that it could have been different, that it could be months or years before it happened, and they did not have that much time.

His words, however, took her completely by surprise.

You need to calm down.

Come to terms as I do with whatever the will of the heavens decides.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt burning tears under her eyelids, why her lower lip began to tremble, why her throat squeezed so tightly at the wonderful thought that he understood that no matter how much she begged the gods for their mercy, she had no control over what would happen.

He let her know that whatever would come to pass, he would not blame her.

That he would consider it the will of the gods and not her failure.

She made love to him for the second time that night in his chamber, the embrace of his strong arms tighter than usual, the touch of his hands more tender, his lips finding hers again and again in sticky, greedy kisses as the deep thrusts of his hips forced his swollen manhood into her.

Even though she was a prisoner, she felt free, even though her enemy was taking her, she felt safe, even though some part of her thought it a betrayal, she loved him deeper than ever before.

Her lover.

Her husband.

Her friend.

She hadn't understood when she was still a child how important was the bond they had created then, the long hours they spent at night in conversation, in discussions, sometimes even arguments, after which, however, they always found each other again, realizing that they didn't have to agree on all issues.

She realised, lying with her face cuddled into his naked chest, holding her hand over his lazily beating heart, enveloped tightly in his arms with her legs entwined with his, that although at the time, in the context of their future marriage, what they were doing seemed unimportant, it appeared that it was in fact the foundation of everything that had happened between them many years later.

Had it not been for the trust and affection they had for each other then, they would not have been able to find their way in this reality that faced them now.

"I am truly fond of you, uncle." She said softly, sitting in one of the chairs in his chamber facing him, similarly engrossed in her reading, swinging her legs that did not reach the ground. She realised, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, that she had never told him this and she was not sure he had ever heard such words from anyone.

He lifted his gaze to her and furrowed his eyebrows, as if for a moment he did not understand what she had said; his face expressed consternation and embarrassment, as if he was unsure whether he should respond as a man to such a confession.

However, he apparently decided after a moment that since it was not an overwhelming confession of girlish deep love, but a simple expression of affection, he could also express his opinion on the matter.

"Well…I'm fond of you too." He replied cautiously and grunted, turning back to his book, pretending to concentrate on his reading with all his might – she could see the vein in his neck pulsing rapidly, betraying his excitement.

"What do you appreciate most about me? I, for one, value in you that you know so many things and always listen to me attentively. When I don't know something, you don't mock me but explain everything to me. I like it when you teach me and when you look at my embroidery, when you choose the ones you find most beautiful. I am very grateful then." She said quickly on one exhale, swallowing loudly, overjoyed that he had responded to her words, wanting to take advantage of this and convey to him as much as possible at once, which of course overwhelmed him as he did not look at her for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line.

It seemed to her that he was trying to hold back a smile, but she didn't know why.

He did a lot of things she didn't understand and refrained from emotional statements or gestures, however, it didn't bother her.

That was just the way he was.

She heard him swallow hard, gathering up the courage to reply something, pretending to look at what he was reading, although she was sure his mind was just analysing everything she had told him carefully.

"Well. I must admit that I also appreciate in you that you never mock me and listen attentively to what I have to say. I am fond of your presence, simply put." He muttered, clearly feeling that he was drowning more and more with every word he spoke, settling back in his chair a little, lifting his book higher, not wanting her to look at his face any longer.

She smiled contentedly then, happy, and went back to her reading without disturbing him any further.

She remembered that day exactly, for when she had escaped to him as she did every night, hiding under his bedclothes, she had fallen asleep almost immediately, tired after her long day full of duties. He waited apparently for her to fall asleep, hoping she wouldn't feel it as his hand touched her cheek, as his lips pressed against hers in a warm, soft, tender kiss.

She didn't move or open her eyes, feeling the heat in her lower abdomen, her heart began to pound like mad with delight, for he had never kissed her first before, never kissed her like this before.

She thought of that night and that day as she watched him standing on the other side of the chamber in the morning, his servant helping him dress his black, leather tunic while her maid tied the bodice of her gown.

Their gazes met for a moment and she saw him sigh heavily, unhappy at the thought of what awaited them.

Borros Baratheon.

The Lord of Storm's End appeared in King's Landing at midday, accompanied by his son and his daughter, who it was agreed was to marry her husband. The King called a gathering in the throne room, at which she and her uncle were also to be present, to try to face the consequences of their somewhat joint decision together.

She and her husband stepped into a great hall with tall windows with seven-pointed stars through a side entrance. She swallowed loudly when she caught sight of the silhouette of a postured man, his beard, hair and thick black eyebrows furrowed in disapproval and rage at the sight of her, his lips clenched as much as his fists. Her gaze fled to the right, to the girl standing next to him.

Maris Baratheon lifted her chin higher at the sight of her, struggling to hide the expression of frustration and disappointment in her eyes, clearly hoping that the woman who had stolen her prince would be an ordinary and bland girl, standing in the shadow of her dragon husband.

She, however, had specifically ordered her servants to leave her hair loose, for although when she was a child its colour had driven her to despair, now she saw it as her advantage – her dark and shiny curls fall in gentle waves down her exposed back, accentuating her fair skin and bare shoulders.

Her gown was modest, black and matte, with floral ornaments embroidered in gold threads on her chest, her sleeves reaching all the way down to the ground.

Anyone looking at them from afar could have the impression that her choice of attire was no accident, even more so standing next to her husband clad in a black leather tunic.

They looked alike.

Their evidence of unity and intimacy, a wordless expression of their bond.

She wondered if she could see from a distance the previously red and now slightly purple bruise on her neck, a reminder of her husband's greedy lips, and if she was aware of what it meant.

She pressed her lips together at the thought, trying not to smile and provoke her.

Although she couldn't call her ugly or rejecting, there was something harsh in her facial expression and posture – her elaborate hairstyle with her hair slicked back was perhaps fashionable, but it didn't suit her beauty or her face shape. Her gown, though rich, did not emphasise her assets, whatever they might be.

She thought she wanted to look haughty, to show her that while she was a lady of a respectable house, she was a mere bastard, even if the child of a princess.

Everyone turned their gazes towards the main gates when one of the guards announced the King himself; her uncle stepped into the throne room confidently without bestowing even a single glance on Borros Baratheon, Aegon the Conqueror's crown shone on his head in the glare of light trickling through the stained glass filled windows.

She felt her heart pound like mad as her uncle took his place on the throne, her mother's throne, and she clenched her eyelids, reminding herself that he had extended a hand of truce and that if she wanted the matter of succession to end bloodlessly, she had to control herself and give him respect.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at her husband and swallowed loudly, seeing that he stood upright like a stone, all tense, his hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette expressing the same passive aggression she had felt from him when she appeared in the Red Keep after many years.

He was prepared for battle.

He was prepared to kill.

"My Lords. We are gathered here today to address a sensitive matter. Lord Borros Baratheon and his house have suffered an insult and have come to demand justice. My Lord." Aegon nodded, extending his hand, with this gesture showing him that he was allowing him to speak.

Lord Baratheon walked closer to the throne, followed by his heir and his daughter, her gaze full of poison and rage still fixed on her.

She did not look away.

She had no intention of giving her satisfaction.

"I have come to demand that the honourable Prince Aemond keep his mother's word and marry my daughter, Maris, according to his choice. I witnessed his arrival and that he confirmed in my presence my arrangements with the crown. Yet word has reached me that the Prince has secretly married another woman in a barbaric ceremony." Borros growled, his voice tubular and hoarse, full of strength and determination. She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her stomach, a shiver of discomfort ran down her spine at his words.

She glanced at her husband feeling him move beside her restlessly, enraged, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He tried to remain silent and not explode.

Aegon nodded at his words with understanding.

"I understand your bitterness, my Lord. Indeed, our mother forced my brother to comply with her will. However, in my presence and that of our entire family, our father, and your King to whom you vowed, during the supper before his death, announced his will to us.

He conveyed to us that he was keeping the betrothal between my brother and my niece in force, foreseeing the division that would occur in the kingdom once he left this world. After his death, my mother imprisoned my niece and ordered my brother to fly to Storm's End.

Therefore, as you understand, my Lord, the case substituted in this light clearly proves that his decision could not have been in force, for as far as I am aware, it is the King's decision, not the Queen's, which is the final one." Said Aegon with a lightness that shocked both her and her husband.

She could not believe how good a speechmaker he was, with what ease he played with facts and half-truths, creating a image in which, indeed, his brother was in a no-win situation and their nuptials were an act of honour and a fulfilment of their late father's will.

Lord Baratheon drew in a loud breath, furious, his face all red with emotion.

"Are we to accept this insult in silence, then? They did not marry in the presence of witnesses, they did not marry in the Sept, so their marriage is invalid. I demand justice for myself and my daughter." He hissed, Aegon raised his hand, ordering him to be silent.

"I understand the source of your anger, my Lord. However, you have a right not to know that last night my brother married my niece in the presence of myself and my wife before the Septon, who prepared the appropriate act, and their marriage is valid in the eyes of the realm.

I recognise, however, the injustice that has befallen you and my brother has decided to donate part of his annual income as a dowry for your daughter. In addition, you or your son, that I leave to you, will be granted a seat on the Small Council in place of my grandfather, whose decisions led to this…misfortune."

He said softly; Borros pressed his lips together at his words, looking at Aegon with piercing eyes, clearly not knowing himself what he thought of what he had heard.

He hesitated.

After a moment, however, a woman's voice echoed in the throne room.

"It is impossible, my King. No one will marry a woman who has already been touched by another man. The Prince has taken my maidenhood."

All gathered began to speak loudly, shocked by her words – she felt her heart leap into her throat, her stomach squeezed so tightly that she had trouble catching her breath.

She and Aegon looked at her uncle at the same moment, her husband standing as if stunned, his healthy eye wide open, his mouth parted in disbelief. After a moment, however, his shock was replaced by an expression of anger and fury, he took a step forward like a lion about to lash out at its prey.

"Lie." He growled, the voices of conversation and disbelief all around them even louder, the King twisted in his throne, completely not expecting this turn of events.

"How can we be sure that it was my brother who deprived you of your…virtue, my Lady?" He asked quickly, wanting to turn her confession against her, in case it appeared that her uncle was guilty, to accuse her of being able to be taken by any other man.

She lowered her gaze, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling the cold sweat run down the back of her neck, her hands clenched on her womb quivering as much as her body.

No, he would never have done something like this.

He wouldn't deprive a woman of her maidenhood knowing he wouldn't marry her.

Was she sure of that?

Maybe he took her as his wife that night because he felt remorse after betraying her?

She felt tears of despair welling up under her eyelids at that thought, feeling that for a moment she was in the throne room with only her body, no longer seeing the proud look of Maris who grinned seeing the expression on her face.

"I ran after the Prince once he wanted to leave. He took me in one of the corridors of our fortress against my will." She said without a shadow of embarrassment, as if dragging him down behind her was more important to her than her own honour.

She wanted to become his wife, the Prince's wife at any cost.

"Maris, good gods…" Mumbled her father, looking at her in disbelief, all red with shame at her confession, shocked as the others by what had left her mouth, knowing full well that she was not telling the truth.

"Disgusting lies. I followed my nephew out the stronghold and returned to the Red Keep to fulfil my duty to my father that same night. It was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman." He growled, and she felt heat in her heart and a burst of pride at his words.

Even though he had used lie against lie − after all, she was no longer a maiden then − the way Lord Baratheon's daughter swallowed her saliva, the way her body shivered under the weight of his words made her lift her chin, looking at her with superiority.

Insolent whore.

Aegon raised his hands in the air, clearly amused by the situation, ordering everyone to remain silent.

"As I see it, opinions are divided on what happened. Lord Baratheon is a party. Is there anyone else who could confirm your version of events, my Lady?" He asked lightly; the girl looked at him breathing heavily, her hands clenched on her lower abdomen. Aegon looked to the side, directing his gaze to his brother.

"And you, brother, can anyone confirm your words?"

"My nephew." He answered without hesitation.

She swallowed hard, reminding herself that he had, after all, allowed her to meet her brother, and the king wasn't aware of it.

That he could be accused of treason, lose Aegon's support.

"We exchanged a few unpleasant sentences before I returned to King's Landing. Only a brief moment passed between the time he left and our conversation. Certainly not enough for even the most desperate man to possess a woman."

"Who will believe the words of a traitor? Was it not he who took away your eye, my Prince? Did he take something else from you along with it?" She asked mockingly, her father looked at her in horror, his lips forming a silent, warning 'enough'.

She heard her husband draw in his breath loudly, his knuckles clicking in his fingers as he squeezed them as hard as if he wanted to break them himself.

"You were there, my Lord. You know that she did not run after me, and even if she had, she would have gained nothing. I chose her because she was most different from my wife. Lest she might ever think that I could lust after your daughter." He replied with a cold, deep hiss that echoed through the throne room.

She felt a wave of delightful satisfaction run down her body, and though she knew her husband's cruel words might have cost them everything, the look of disbelief on Maris' face was more than worth it.

Did she really believe that he had chosen her because she was the most beautiful of her sisters?

That he could ever desire her when she, his childhood friend, his confidante and lover was by his side?

"I do not know what I saw." Borros replied, however, without his previous confidence, not looking at him or the King, apparently trying with his last strength to protect his and his daughter's honour. Her husband snorted at these words.

"Pathetic." He sneered quietly, not daring to say it out loud; it seemed to her that his whole figure was trembling.

He was furious.

"If I were your daughter, I would be wary of such far-fetched accusations without any evidence or witnesses, my Lord. Some might call it as treason." Aegon replied, spreading out comfortably on his throne.

She couldn't believe some part of her admired him for how he was playing with the situation while still keeping what was happening under control.

Lord of Storm's End did not respond to his words.

Aegon's words were the nail in the coffin of whatever plan Lord Baratheon's daughter had in her head, and after her humiliating outburst, Borros agreed to the terms set by the king himself and the amount of her dowry, which her uncle-husband would pay out of his purse.

She watched with satisfaction and an involuntary smile on her lips as Lord Baratheon and his daughter were forced to sign the terms of the agreement imposed on them by her uncle.

Borros left the throne room like a storm, furious, without even bowing to Aegon, to which he only responded with an amused expression on his face.

Maris didn't dare look at her anymore, her face pale, from a distance she could see how red her eyes were from tears.

She wished to be a princess in a beautiful castle.

She could be his Rhaenys, but she had no intention of allowing any Visenya into their lives.

Even if it was one night in ten, she couldn't bear the thought of having to share him.

Fortunately, her husband was as possessive as she was.

The smile disappeared from her face as she felt an unpleasant, familiar stinging sensation inside her lower abdomen.

She clamped her hand over her womb as something warm and sticky ran down her thigh, a whine of despair and pain stuck in her throat as she pressed her lips together.

She took a step backwards, revealing the stone floor under her feet, and noticed a few drops of crimson liquid on it.

She was bleeding.

#prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond smut #prince aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x original female character #aemond x female #aemond x original character #aemond x niece #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #hotd smut #hotd angst #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell angst #ewan mitchell smut #aemond fandom #hotd fandom #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon

[myriadmoons]

charmed

sirius black x fem!reader (she/her pronouns)

okay here it is! my first ever fic. i’m not sure how i feel about it. i think it peaked at the start, hope you enjoy! thanks for all the kind messages. and thank you @starsval for being so lovely and helping me with everything!! also i’m really sorry i tried to keep the reader as ambiguous as possible but i’m new to writing so it might not be great. hope you enjoy x

word count: 5k (YEAH I GOT CARRIED AWAY)

synopsis: sirius black has never really cared about grades, in fact he’s never really had to. yet after one particular monday morning, his charms grades begin to mysteriously plummet and now he’s decided that a tutor is what he needs. except, only one tutor will do; the pretty ravenclaw that happened to walk past during breakfast.

warnings: very soft/sappy sirius straight away, girl grabs sirius and it’s a bit weird, wizarding slurs?? my first time writing so everyone’s probably really inconsistent and the plot probably doesn’t make sense.

‧₊˚✩彡

there was something about mondays that didn’t sit quite right with you. maybe it was the fact that 24 hours ago, you were asleep, and not up trying to mentally prepare yourself for a full day of mundane learning. maybe ‘mundane’ was cruel. it was a magic school of course. and you were a ravenclaw. but just because it was a magic school and you were a ravenclaw didn’t make it any less draining. a thirst for knowledge and a thirst for learning about the ‘14th Century Wizarding Economic Bubble’ at 9am were completely different things. however, there was one thing that would cheer you up:

breakfast.

yet before you could dare to dream about the mountains of pastries, or the sausages and bacon that stretched as far as the eye can see, or the jams of reds, purples and yellows, or the array of cereals and oats stretched across the old oak table, or the eggs that were fried, scrambled, poached and even deviled, you heard a yell of your name from the other side of the great hall. a tall figure with mousy hair flailed its arms in an attempt to coax you over. remus. remus lupin. one of the ever so famous marauders. what on earth could he want with you this time? instead of succumbing to a spiral of what’s and why’s, you pushed them out of your mind and sauntered over to the deep red and gold table.

“yes, lupin, any reason for demanding my presence oh so early in the day?” you pondered out loud as you reached the lanky brunet.

“well, since you asked so nicely, i was just letting you know that prefect rounds have been swapped, hale and valentine are patrolling instead of us tonight and vice versa.”

“may i ask why?”

“i may or may not have detention today.” the boy replied, a mischievous glint in his warm eyes.

“a detention as a prefect? doesn’t that almost defeat the point? regardless, lupin, fine by me. but i’ll only do it if you promise no impromptu pranks while i’m patrolling. i don’t think i can bear talking to slughorn about how riveting the properties of shrivelfig are again. i’m exhausted recalling it.”

“you helped us? i thought that moony covered for us!” a sudden vehement shout came from the quidditch captain placed in front of remus, dragged from his squabble with the objectively beautiful boy beside him.

“you mean to tell me after i put on the performance of a lifetime i got no credit at all?” you turned your attention to the pair that made up another part of hogwarts’ favourite group.

“sorry, can’t say we’ve ever heard of your sacrifice, have we pads?”

a sudden jab of the elbow pulled sirius out of his stupor as he grasped reality once again. “um no, i can’t say we have.” a pretty pink sheen covered the boy’s unnaturally chiselled cheekbones. remus’ eyes suddenly lit up with a flame they hadn’t before as he studied his friend’s uncharacteristic behaviour.

sirius had been cursed. he was sure of it. it was the only solution for the sudden dizziness that had overcome him, the unexpected flush that he could feel from the top of his glossy locks all the way down to his booted toes. it definitely wasn’t because you were in front of him with your pretty eyes flitting between him and his best friend brother, with your brows in an endearing crease he suddenly wanted to smooth with his thumb, it definitely wasn’t. at all.

“right, if that’s all gentlemen, i best be going, breakfast is calling my name! besides, i’m going to need it if i want to pass the charms test today.” your voice chimed out, a spell to sirius’ ears.

“oh please as if you aren’t the top of our year in charms.” lupin snorted at you, even though his eyes still tracked his awe-struck friend.

“stuff it lupin, you owe me.”

once again, sirius declared in his mind he was ill, as he watched the way you strolled back to the table of rich blue and silver, completely fine, not at all affected by the affection curse that had taken him captive.

one thing rung in his mind as remus’ throaty wheeze rumbled out.

“top of our year in charms.”

‧₊˚✩彡

sirius had a plan. a stupid one. one that probably had almost no chance of working. but a chance at spending time with you was better than none at all. he gazed at the question paper he normally would have finished with ease if time with you wasn’t on the line.

“in order to free something from within a collapsed cave, which of the following charms would be the most effective?

a). disillusionment charm

b). impervius charm

c). gouging charm

d). substantive charm”

quickly sirius circled the second option and repeated the sequence of identifying the actual correct answer, and then choosing the option above it over and over again. “godric, i hope that this works.” he muttered under his breath, debating whether all of this was actually worth the hassle.

then across the room, you peered in his general direction, as the clock lied just up and a bit to the right of his broad shoulders. the previous thought that dared to cross his mind perished as he caught the way the light caressed the bridge of your nose and cascaded down towards your pretty mouth.

definitely worth the hassle.

‧₊˚✩彡

lupin was right.

only a couple days after a test that you had been bricking it for, you sat in front of the very same one, except this time a nice big ‘O’ with a smiley face from professor flitwick had been added to the page. you turned to lupin with a big fat grin on your face as you both held your papers up and took the other’s in. he got one mark less than you. so although he was correct in his assumption, he also got lower marks than you (even if it was just one). your grin turned into a smug smile. lupin mouthed the words “i told you so.”

swiftly followed by a middle finger.

you turned back to your conversation with the gorgeous redhead beside you.

“godric, i hate you sometimes.” she muttered with a side eye.

“sorry? since when?”

“you’re just so smart and some of us actually have to try.”

“lils, you’re literally the brightest witch i know, rowena knows i could never pull of the things you do in defence against the dark arts!” your voice dropped to a whisper, “besides who really gives a shit about charms apart from academic validation?”

“stop being ever so lovely when i’m being mad at your greatness.”

“you know what, i stand corrected. been thinking too much about potter? ‘mad at your greatness’ are you actually kidding me?”

“you did not just go there!” you were sure the girl must have had whiplash with the speed she swung her head around to face you, her pink mouth dropped open.

“i’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him recently. you can’t fool me.”

“shut up.”

“lily, do me one thing.”

“what?”

“pick your jaw up off the floor next time you see him at breakfast after quidditch practice, you’ll catch flies.”

you narrowly avoided the pale fist that came flying at your shoulder, blissfully unaware of the two lovesick marauders who saw the interaction. one of whom clutched his paper with a bold ‘D’ and a note to “please actually revise next time!” close to his chest, hoping some point in the future that maybe that would be you. although. you would never know that. ever. because he was sirius black.

he had a reputation to uphold.

‧₊˚✩彡

“what do you mean you won’t ask her to help me moony? your poor best friend is failing charms and you won’t do this simple favour for me?”

“it means what it means. do it yourself pads.” remus says, bluntly.

the ebony-haired boy’s face drops further. “but, you know, it might be a bit sort of odd?”

“not like you to care so much about being ‘odd’, especially when a pretty girl is involved, something else going on we should know about pads?” james chimed in, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

“no! it’s not like i care, it's just, she’s moony’s friend so surely it would be better coming from him?” sirius forced out. then, he dropped his shoulders and shook the inky locks out of his eyes. “wouldn’t want to scare her, that’s all.” a newfound nonchalance in his tone.

the other boys’ eyes met across the dorm.

“scare her my arse” the taller of the boys mouthed, the other shook his head in amusement.

the messy dorm room remained silent for a few moments, until a deep breath sounded, followed by a string of words pushed out all at once. a string of words that sounded a lot like: “moony please ask her i just think she’d be a great tutor, you know ravenclaw and all, i just want to do well in charms, is that so strange?”

remus made a noise that sounded almost like a howl, even though the full moon had been a week and a half ago.

then, he fell onto the floor, in a fit of giggles.

after choking on his own breath and getting back onto his feet, albeit with an obvious shake due to forcing back manic chuckles, he made eye contact with the blushing boy who had an adorable pout on his face.

he couldn’t stop the next peal of laughter.

“fine! fine. i’ll ask her if she’d be willing to help your sorry arse tonight.” remus got out, finally giving sirius a break after 5 minutes of cackling.

the other boy in the room however, stood, and for once, the loudest boy in every room was the quietest as he just watched. a special type of grin wove its way onto his lips, one of pure euphoria as he realised that he finally had something to update his mother on in terms of sirius orion black and his love life.

‧₊˚✩彡

“i still don’t know why you call me lupin even though we’re practically best friends, you know book club, prefect rounds and all.”

“have you ever realised every time i’m with you it’s because of someone else, lupin?”

“ouch, alright then.”

although it was the middle of winter, your thick jumper did a surprisingly good job at keeping you warm in the dark and dreary fifth floor corridor. you would probably forget about the chilliness if it wasn’t for the whines of the lanky boy beside you.

remus lupin could be so annoying all the time sometimes.

“i still don’t understand why they force us to parol when i can’t feel my fucking toes.”

“for the love of rowena, shut. up. lupin. i would do anything not to hear you whining for a couple minutes!” you shrieked, finally losing it after what felt like hours of complaining.

lupin suddenly stopped walking.

“well, i do actually have one thing in mind.”

‧₊˚✩彡

once again, the great hall was bumbling with witches and wizards as ribbons of sunlight trickled in from the grand window at the end of the room. sirius forced to keep his eyes open, as james prattled on and on and on about how he ‘swore lily evans had looked at him’ two days prior.

sirius couldn’t really give a shit.

as he raised his fork to his lips, ready to wrap them around a rasher of bacon, a soft cough sounded from a couple feet behind him. he ignored it. then, another sounded. he ignored it again.

“hey sirius!” a slightly shrill voice suddenly sounded out. the boy in question closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning around. he wasn’t pleased with the sight in front of him.

lucinda rowle. at least that’s what he thought her name was.

don’t get me wrong, she was probably a lovely girl, but sirius orion black was a prick sometimes.

when sirius looked up at the pureblood ravenclaw in front of him, he couldn’t help but wish it was another ravenclaw instead. “yes?” he questioned, trying not to be rude, but he just couldn’t care less.

“there’s a new cafê open in hogsmeade…” the girl trailed off, with an arrogant glint in her eye.

“i've been.”

“not with me.”

“i’m good.” sirius responded with a tight smile as he attempted to turn back to his hopefully still warm meal, trying to give the girl a hint subtly, but he was hungry and impatient.

“come on, sirius, it would be fun, besides, surely it’s better than going with anyone else in the year.”

“i’m sure someone else would be thrilled to go with you.”

the girl grabbed sirius’ shoulder harshly in a last ditch attempt. sirius eyes immediately zoned in on the girls hand, and his eyes darkened with a fury that many had heard of.

“look, just fuck off.”

lucinda let out a huff as she finally got the message and strutted off, muttering something about “how mudbloods really must taint a blood-traitor’s mind”, whilst sirius looked at where the girl had touched her with a fierce distaste. nevermind, definitely not a lovely girl. he didn’t understand why people thought it was okay to just grab anyone they pleased.  

“don’t get me wrong, i’m all for feminism, but what a cow.” remus stated.

“agreed. i love women in power, but not women like that.” james added on.

sirius shook his head and finally got back to his meal. suddenly he heard a whisper of “pads…” from opposite him, a pair of honey eyes and one of chocolate filled to the brim with the concern met his slate ones. he nodded at them, indicating that they could carry on.

“are you alright? that was a bit, you know, i know you don’t like being touched in general, let alone like that.” remus’ deep timbre inquired.

“i’m fine. promise.”

before either james or remus could ask any other questions, someone else requested sirius’ attention.

“black, is now a good time?” your voice murmured out, yet still still sounding as confident as ever.

sirius felt his heartbeat speed up as soon as he sensed your presence, then he swore it doubled, no wait, tripled, its speed when he realised you were addressing him. to try and seem not completely incompetent, he nodded his head up and down with a bright smile thrown onto his lips.

he saw your mouth moving, but all he could hear was white noise as he stared at the way your mouth wrapped around each sound.

“..so that’s what i’m thinking we go for, since the library isn’t that busy during the week, is tonight a good time to start our first session?”

“sounds great.”

it went silent as sirius watched you walk away, excitement bubbling within him.

“godric, pads in love makes me sick.”

“fuck off as if you’re speaking.”

‧₊˚✩彡

as you rounded another bookshelf, your eyes trailing around searching for a quiet and free spot, you were quite shocked to find black already sitting in a seat, surrounded by a myriad of charms books, parchment and quills. he seemed out of place as he blew a piece of charcoal hair out of his vision, his eyes lazily scanning around the old library. then his eyes caught yours, and you could have sworn that his harsh, angled, face softened slightly.

not wanting to keep the boy waiting, you hurried over, once reaching the table, descending into a seat and removing your deep blue scarf and outer robes.

“hello black, sorry to keep yo-”

“sirius. call me sirius. if you want.”

“hello sirius, as i was saying, sorry to keep you waiting. has it been long?” you questioned.

“no, not at all, don’t worry.”

sirius black had been there for an hour and a half. you hadn’t agreed on a time and he didn’t want to miss you. he was unsure why he was so enamoured with you, but after hearing you had covered for them without question, and that you were friends with mr. ‘i don’t like people’ lupin, he deduced you must be somewhat of a good person.

“glad to hear it, anyway, so is there anything in particular you’re struggling with and would like me to go through with you, or should i just work down the list and see where it takes us?” you inquired, your voice taking a more intimate, gentle tone, wanting to make the boy feel as comfortable as possible.

“um, well, i got less than 5% on the test so i believe going through it all would probably be the best.” he cringed, you probably thought he was stupid, even though he faked it.

“grades don’t define us. besides, how is knowing charms on paper going to help in any real life situation?”

the corners of sirius’ mouth lifted in response and his eyes glittered with something warm.

you’d deny it if anyone asked but honestly, your heart skipped a beat.

the rest of the evening was just as sweet, with you explaining simple charms, what they do and when to use them, and sirius asking questions, just to hear you talk about anything and everything. you both agreed on another tutor session again next thursday evening.

‧₊˚✩彡

sirius was bored. with nothing but james potter’s off key recital of “staying alive” and the sound of water rushing in the bathroom filling the dorm, sirius had nothing to do as he reflected on the evening with you. even though you had probably only offered to tutor him out of the kindness of your heart and hadn’t dared to think about him beyond revision timetables and flashcards he couldn't stop thinking about you.

oh you were so lovely. the way you cared about if he understood what you were saying, and the hint of excitement in your eyes when talking about your favourite poems when you got off topic. wait.

poems.

moony likes poems.

surely he would have a collection of some or something, that boy was always smacking prongs around the head with a book when he was too busy ogling lily to listen.

with a newfound passion for poetry he never had before, he went over to moony’s pile of books in the corner of the room and scoured until he found something to fit the job.

‘sonnets of a sorcerer’.

“perfect.” he muttered aloud, transfiguring the cover to some textbook on defence against the dark arts, now he could read these and find something to talk about you with, hopefully showing you he was more than a pretty face who was bad at charms.

‧₊˚✩彡

over the next week, you didn’t notice anything unusual, apart from more interactions with the famous marauders. not that it was completely strange. but previously, you had only spoken to lupin due to being prefects together and the small book club he also attended with you and lily periodically.

however, after you tutored sirius black, you were subjected to the occasional shared smile in the corridor with black; or his first name, sirius, which he insisted you call him by, as well as that james potter would grin and wiggle his eyebrows at you whenever he’d see you.

not sure what that was about. not sure you wanted to know what it was about if you were honest.

anyway, you made your way back to the library you were in just a week before. however this time, sirius was beside you as he insisted to meet outside your common room. he was surprisingly sweet.

“so, how have you been, over the past week?” sirius said, making small talk. you were glad, because honestly, last week, he seemed sort of nervous? you chalked it down to the fact someone he never spoke to before now had to tutor him because he was failing. however, now, he seemed a lot more comfortable.

“i’ve been good, how about you sirius?”

“honestly, great.” an amused glimmer in his eye, as if he knew something you didn’t. “i also discovered that the library has a surprisingly large poetry section after i decided to visit it once in my lifetime.” he added on.

the grin that overtook your face made the whole thing worth it. “ i know right! i don’t want to know how long i’ve spent in the library looking for poetry, let alone reading it. there’s something about the way people use words to express themselves and paint their experiences and let others read them. words can’t explain it.”

the smile on sirius’ face was sweeter than honey. you suddenly realised how far away from the path of charms you had strayed.

“apologies, i don't want to take more of your time, just tell me to stop before i go off a ramble.”

“nah, why would i, if i enjoy them so much?” sirius said, voice smooth, silky and low. it made you feel ways you hadn’t exactly encountered before.

for the rest of the session, you were overcome by a flush. there was something enigmatic about sirius black, and you could feel him dragging you further and further in.

near the end of session, you noticed an unnatural mark underneath sirius’ right eye, you weren’t sure what drove you to do it, perhaps that was simply the power of sirius black’s presence, but you dampened your finger and brought it to his. as you realised what you were doing, your started apologising profusely and drew away from him.

until sirius, with his callused hands, brought yours back to his face, with a gentleness you were astonished he possessed, and said “don’t worry, i don’t mind.”

you still felt dizzy when you met up with remus lupin for prefect rounds.

‧₊˚✩彡

“pads why the fuck do you have a love confession written on your arm? i know you want more tattoos but at least make them half decent.” james shrieked as he tracked the dark ink that jumped out against the paleness of sirius’ skin. although sirius had already got a couple tattoos strewn across his collarbones and chest (one of a constellation dedicated to his brother and an array of other symbols for his found family), the hastily scribbled nonsense of age old sonnets stood out like a sore thumb on the elder boy’s forearms.

sirius was too busy recalling the smell of your perfume and the softness of your actions to listen to james dramatic ramblings and questions.

‧₊˚✩彡

“also remus, i can’t believe you didn’t tell me that sirius also had an interest in poetry? he could’ve joined us and lily at our book club? i’m sure she wouldn’t have minded, as long as ‘it isn’t potter’ or so she says.”

“what the fuck.”

“alright, nevermind, didn’t realise sirius attending book club was so offensive.” you replied with a roll to your eyes.

“no it’s not that, but what the fuck do you mean pads likes poetry? i’ve known him for six years and i have refused chocolate more times than he’s read a poem. are you sure you’re not talking about baby black, like got the wrong brother or something?.” originally, you thought remus must be taking the piss but the sudden harshness of his welsh accent made you think differently.

i mean sirius was known for being a prankster, but what on earth would he get from asking you about sonnets for rowena’s sake. besides, he seemed to know almost as much as you.

what on earth was going on?

‧₊˚✩彡

there was one thing that sirius black forgot as he deposited the test on flitwick’s desk a few days before.

he was in fact quite good at charms. and as he sat in front of his ‘O’ paper, he didn’t know what to do. how on earth was he going to get you to tutor him and go over the essay when he got practically full marks?

and adding to his conundrum, he was sure you were avoiding him ever since the last tutoring session which happened the day before the sudden surprise charms test, maybe he had overdone it with the poetry? you seemed fine during your rambles of appreciation, yet maybe he read the signs wrong.

on the table a few rows over, you were also in the midst of a conundrum as you thought about the boy behind you.

“i was going to ask how the charms test went; but after looking at that face i don't think i want to ask what you got…” the girl next to you inquires after taking in her own test and packing up her parchment, books and quill.

“lily, i’m fucked, i think i like sirius black, like i don’t, i only want him if he says it first to me so it’s not real but how the fuck do i deal with this? have i taken advantage? is it wrong having a thing for the guy you tutor? you know like power imbalance? i can’t tutor him anymore! i can’t get, oh rowena, tutorzoned! tutorzoned lily, tutorzoned! ” the words tumbled out of your mouth, gathering speed as you couldn’t help but pour your heart out to the girl next to you.

“babe, slow down, what on earth are you talking about? before i even dare to ask about the confession, i don’t think he’ll need you to tutor him anymore, when i walked past i could’ve sworn i saw an ‘O’.”

“lils, that’s impossible.”

“alright, i know he isn’t the brightest lad but still he sti-”

“no i mean i hadn’t taught him half of the content on that paper, and he was adamant he didn’t know it, like i feel so bad, there was a whole essay question on lumos charms and he only knows the one from first year because i haven’t taught him the content yet! but how did he still get an ‘O’ without knowing any of them?”

“what? i saw him use lumos solem the other evening when he was with potter and we don’t learn that until next year?”

“wait, what?”

‧₊˚✩彡

“sirius! how was the charms test? i apologise, i didn’t realise we would have one so soon, i would’ve gone through more of the content. however, i’ve heard you still managed to do quite well?” your voice took him by surprise as his eyes widened, his face suddenly very reminiscent of his ‘other’ form.

“umm, what can i say, i got lucky with my guesses?” he stuttered out, a scarlet flushing his cheeks.

“oh yes, ever so lucky indeed. though not as much so as performing a seventh year charm even though you don’t know the name of it and many others we have actually learnt. colour me impressed.”

sirius couldn’t even register the sniggers from james and sly comments from remus as they realised sirius’ plot had been foiled. however, if he was confessing, he refused to do it within a stuffy charms room with everyone watching. the blushing boy rose up from his seat and nodded towards the doorway, stupid charms paper in hand.

‧₊˚✩彡

“explain. now.”

“well, basically, don’t kill me, when that morning, you came to talk to moony, about prefect duties, i just thought you were really, really pretty, and the fact you covered for us, i knew i wanted to get to know you more, but i didn’t know how without seeming creepy, you know? like i wasn’t about to confess my love for you through a serenade like prongs so i thought of the next best thing. and then. well then after the first tutoring session i was like ‘godric i’m screwed she’s lovely’ but i didn’t know how to talk to you, but i remembered you liked poetry. and moony does so i rummaged through his things - not in a violating way - and memorised some poems and things, but i forgot them so i had to write them on my arm and prongs found out, and then you started ignoring me and now we’re here and i think you hate me. please don’t i don’t know what i’m doing but maybe we could give this a go? i thought we worked quite well together and i really, really hope this isn't all in my head.” sirius orion black, who was described as ‘heartless’,’cold’ and ‘cruel’ laid himself bare in front of you.

you looked between the charms paper and sirius, who looked like he was trying to consume himself as he waited for the onslaught. what he didn’t expect was a fountain of giggles to erupt from your mouth, forcing you to lean onto the wall so you didn’t topple over.

eventually, your laugh slowly petered out and you allowed yourself to take in the sweet boy with such a harsh exterior. the sweet boy who sabotaged himself to speak to you. the sweet boy who subjected himself to embarrassment just to find something to talk about with you. the sweet boy who-

“can i please kiss you?” the words escaped before you could stop them.

his eyes flitted between yours, you felt as if you were peering into his soul for a way to stay there with him forever, and he nodded. you forced yourself up on your toes and he didn’t hesitate as he grasped your chin and tilted it upwards, letting his lips meet your own.

sirius realised something about the first time you met in that moment, as he was pressing his smile into yours, hoping to intertwine himself with you for the rest of time, he hadn’t been cursed.

no, he had been charmed.

‧₊˚✩彡

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fic #marauders x reader #marauders fic #marauders oneshot

[umbran6]

A Different Champion

Ok, hear me out on this - Leo should've been the champion of Hera rather than Jason. At the very least, they should've had a relatively more positive relationship in comparison to the one time they interacted in The Lost Hero.

For those who've seen my prior posts, you know I've analyzed Leo's importance in the plot. I would also further cement this in that Leo has more importance to Hera than Jason. Even from an initial viewpoint, Hera would have more motivation to help Leo considering his background. Esperanza Valdez was willing to raise her son and still love him despite her family blacklisting her for having a child as a single mother and willing to work 9-5 just so they could live. Jason was the second child of Jupiter and Beryl Grace, who this time was fully aware of her lover's divine nature, willingly having a child despite the fact that not only did it defile Hera's marriage, but it was the second child that was testament to Zeus' disregard for his Pact made among his brothers. Overall, Hera seems more likely to sympathize with Leo and Esperanza.

This sympathy and favor is visible when you examine how Hera interacts with them, even when they were young. I always found it pretty hard to believe that Hera would pressure Beryl Grace to sacrifice Jason to sate her wrath, because Jason and Thalia were already destined for persecution - Zeus had broken the Pact of the Big Three twice. Thalia was never specifically targeted by Hera ( and the statue incident is... questionable, considering Olympus was freaking collapsing and Hera was also busy fighting Typhon), and as far as we're informed by Riordan, Hera was never particularly active in Jason's life while he was in the 5th cohort of the legion.

On a side note, Beryl Grace was an utter idiot for naming her son after the OG Jason. The OG Jason may have initially been favored by Hera for being one of the few mortal heroes without any divine parentage. However, he also severely screwed the pooch because he willingly broke his wedding vows towards Medea by attempting to marry Glauce despite all that Medea did and risked for him, to the point that its noted in most analyses of Euripides' Medea that the titular protagonist got approval from the gods for all of her actions. So yeah, Beryl painted a very big target on her son with that name. And the less said about Thalia's name, the better.

Hera spends nearly most of Leo's youth acting as his nanny while Esperanza Valdez works in the warehouse so they can stay afloat. Though most of the time Leo discussed this in the Lost Hero, he focused on the bizarre and unusual — having him use knives to cut jalapeños, prodding him to poke a snake, the whole 'burning your fingerprints into the park bench' incident, there is more to it than that. Hera doesn't just encourage the traits of a stereotypical hero, but also Leo's creativity such as him drawing the Argo II in crayons and though he wasn't aware of it, gives Leo hints as to how his future may look like. We also kind of forget that Hera still willingly helped raise Leo for Esperanza, which must've been an immense boon because she was a single mother.

Hera even performs what is quite likely the same ritual Demeter applied to Demophon so long ago — roasting him in a fireplace so Hera can burn away his mortality. Of course, it could be argued that she was doing this to strengthen Leo so she could have a stronger demigod to fight against Gaea, but either way such a possibility would benefit him more than it would for Hera. Needless to say, she must've favored Leo to the extreme if she was willing to make him, a demigod son of Hephaestus, immortal.

Furthermore - and please hear me out - let's expand on this connection. Esperanza seemed to be aware of Hephaestus's true nature as an Olympian because she knew that Leo's powers came from him, so it wouldn't be too far to say she was aware of Hera's true nature. She didn't know, however, that Hera was planning to train Leo to become a being that would defeat Gaea when she rose. She made the Queen of the Gods to promise not to intervene in their lives until Leo became aware of his true nature when Esperanza saw the fireplace scene, because Leo noted that ever that day, Tia Callida never showed up in Leo's life afterwards. So when Leo knows he is a demigod, all bets are off and Hera can finally start playing a more active role in his life.

So, now hopefully I've established that Leo should've been Hera's champion considering how she seems a lot more sympathetic to Leo. Now let's imagine how this plays out in the story. For now I'm going to specifically focus on the Lost Hero, because that's the series Hera is more prominent. Jason's memories are still wiped, Piper still thinks Jason is her boyfriend, but Leo is remarkably spared from the memory-warping effect of the Mist and is aware that Jason just straight up appeared out of nowhere.

Leo doesn't have that same edge of trust towards Jason, but that gives him a better perspective on what exactly Jason was sent out for. So he notices that Jason has a coin engraved with Latin, he uses latin terminology to describe the monsters that hunted Leo since he was young, and sees that Jason has combat skills far more advanced than an amnesiac should really have, he starts putting the pieces a lot earlier than we expect and when he is introduced to Camp Half-Blood, Leo cooks up the theory that Jason may have come from a Roman camp, and reasonably cooks up the corresponding idea that Percy is now in said Roman Camp.

When Leo figures out Jason's true origins, two things happen: he immediately tells it to Annabeth (he's not that much of a dick to hide what actually happened to her bf), and Hera conjures a specter to confirm this theory and explain why she's doing what she's doing. The whole scheme against the Earth Witch that killed Leo's mom, and that oh yeah, there's a wrench in the scheme. This concentrated method turns the gist of the quest from how the original Lost Hero presented it:

'Oh, this nebulous evil villain is going to use me as a freaking battery for her son/dragon and that sucks, so you must rescue me.' Oh yeah, and Percy is gone too, and we don't know where the freaking Tartarus he is, so there's that.

To this:

The Witch that was involved in your mother's death has captured me so that she can use me to fuel the resurrection of her strongest fighter. So if you want to get some sweet, sweet revenge/atonement for your mom's death you have to rescue me. Also, I'm holding your friend's memories with me so if you want to help him recover who he his he will also want to join. Percy Jackson? The guy who's gone missing? I have him with me as well, so Annabeth Chase better actually help out, or he's going to die too. You're in? Okay, here's how to do it, and you better get your butt here before the Winter Solstice because that is the day the absorption process is going to finish and things will really go to hell in a hand basket.

With that single message, we actually have people that aren't just following a prophecy. Annabeth joins the party because, oh yeah, now she finally knows where her boyfriend is and is willing to stomach saving the goddess she hates the most in order to help him. Jason's in it because Hera wants his memories and wants to know why she got him involved in her gambit in the first place. Leo? We have the direct motive of him wanting to atone for his mother's death while also getting revenge against the other party that was also involved. Piper's the unexpected fourth party member/possible traitor because her dad's still being held hostage.

Now, I'm not going to delve into the full plot detail changes, but a good chunk of it remains the same with some other changes. Annabeth gets a stronger friendship with Leo on an intellectual level, because you know, the guy was able to offer her a bit of hope in finding her boyfriend. He's more cautious of Jason, but also more genuinely comforting. And finally... he's suspicious as heck of Piper, because he can feel there's something more behind her joining the quest.

But I want to focus on this scene: when Leo gets claimed by Hera as her champion. I, preferably, would imagine it takes place after she is rescued from becoming a power source for Porphyrion. Mainly because then she would have enough power to do a proper claiming and thus she can be as extra with it as possible.

I mean, imagine it. Everyone's gotten back from rescuing Hera, they're all patting themselves on the back and everyone's praising Jason, Piper, and Annabeth unwittingly ignoring Leo. Everyone's hearing about Jason fighting Porphyrion, Piper getting to free her dad from Enceladus, the surprise reveal of the search for Percy, when...

A light starts to glow above Leo's head. It's faint at first, but then it grows more vibrant and swells to cover the entire dining pavilion, swallowing him whole. Then it fades away to reveal Hera, putting a crown of laurel leaves on Leo's head, his clothing replaced with a chiton that was dyed ruby red that glimmered against the firelight from the braziers. A peacock is glowing above his head, the hundreds of eyes shining like the aurora of the north.

Leo's stunned as his mind does his best to process his new reality. Hera gives him a single, warm smile, and everyone else is staring in shock as she announces his status as her champion and gives him her divine blessing. Camp Half-Blood practically erupts in shock because this is the first time the camp has witnessed a male demigod being claimed as Hera's champion with the last guy being... the OG Jason.

I mean, the look of horror in Annabeth's eyes as she realizes one of her friends is now the champion of the goddess that she hates with a burning passion. Jason suddenly realizing that Leo was a lot more in the know of Hera's whole plot than he suspected, because why otherwise would Hera make him her champion? The members of Cabin Nine, suddenly looking at Leo with a sense of betrayal because yeah, Hera's the goddess that threw their dad off of Olympus. Leo isn't really sympathetic with them, Hephaestus had practically abandoned him for sixteen years of his life and forsaken him for eight. Piper can't exactly see him in the same light - how could she, when suddenly her friend had changed so suddenly?

All of this happens as Chiron steps forward, bowing in front of Leo and his patron before uttering these words: "Hera. Goddess of the Heavens, Protector of Men, Patron of Rulers. Hail, Leo Valdez, Champion of the Queen of Olympus."

#leo valdez #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson #pjo #annabeth chase #rick riordan #jason grace #piper mclean #hera #riordanverse #alternate universe #headcanon #adaptational intelligence #Leo gets to be more badass #beryl grace #esperanza valdez #Jason (Greek Myth)

[roxanaagriche111]

Chapter 1

Before we begin: this is an 18+ story and could have suggestive and dangerous mentions. If you are uncomfortable, please walk away! If you’re willing to stay then welcome! Enjoy the book as it progresses.

This story is set before the plot of twst events takes place. The battle between fae and humans is still at war. Lilia will be given a title at the beginning of this story. The story will not have a prologue but chapter 1 right off the bat.

This is chapter 1, however, it sounds like a prologue which it isn’t.

~~~~~~~>>>

The Valley of Thorns is a place filled with dark fae. They are known as the evil counterparts of the light fae kingdom. The rules within the valley were stricter than theirs. Their people are adorned with black and their spells are considered evil by all. It is because of this that their kingdom is hated and feared by everyone. Including the nearest human kingdoms, who despise them. Their kingdom is at war with most of those kingdoms, led by a king who is well respected by the humans. The Knight of Dawn is the human king and the valley’s current enemy.

The royal family of the valley has been against the Knight of Dawn’s people for many generations. From their ancestors to their descendants was seen as such pure annoyance. For they have wide connections of every kingdom and village full of humans. All live close to the valley of thorns, yet never dare to cross the borders. Their current enemy was the strongest out of all the past knights of dawns. Because of this, they were searching for a general to lead the crown princess’s command, who hoped the lead them to victory.

Many fae warriors had tried to prove themselves, but only one prevailed over all expectations. Lilia Vanrouge is the adopted son of the current queen and the crown princess’s mother. He had grown up beside the crown princess, but he had worked hard to obtain the title that was being given to him. Without the royal connection, he had made while growing up with the queen and crown princess.

The very person was kneeling before the high priest. The priest began the ceremony as many of the nobles and warriors within the valley was present for such ceremonies. Even both their majesties was watching.

“I, high priest of the Valley of Thorns, ask Lilia Vanrouge if he is willing to put his life for this title. To use his title to the fullest, the strength he wields, and knowledge to help aid the royal family in their desperate need. Govern and lead will he only obey the crown princess’s orders she gives to you. You shall obey only her along with the royal family and nobody else! To die by the hands of our enemy if you fail, but is honored even in death. Does Lilia Vanrouge accept this order of the high priest?”

“I, Lilia Vanrouge, accept this and shall serve the royal family and only them. Following the crown princess’s orders within this war. I shall sacrifice my entire being only for the crown, and no other outside of the army.”

“Then I give, Lilia Vanrouge, the title of general to help lead the army and to aid the crown princess’s battle! May you give the Valley of Thorns the glory that we so dearly deserve within this desperate time of need!”

Roars of cheers and congrats were thrown. The now newly appointed general stood up from his kneeling position. Before facing the people behind him. Everyone wished the man luck as he walked off the steps. His acquaintances within the army gathered around him, congratulating him for being given such a high title. Being given such title was a huge honor. Lilia could only give a small smile and thanked everyone, but he was honestly not paying attention to them. He was looking for a certain someone amongst the people that involved all nobility and not just the army themselves.

That’s when he found the person that he was searching for. (Y/n) (l/n), the youngest and the only daughter of the archduke. She wields the title of archduke after everything her ancestor had done for the kingdom. Her title is so important that she could be a princess if you will. However, she is not close to actual royalty like the Draconia family. Her family earned the title while the Draconian’s was born from it. But despite not being an actual princess. Lilia stood there unmoving as he was immersed by her appearance.

(Y/n) (l/n), the only daughter of the archduke held her head up high. She wore a gorgeous dark green ball gown with black tinted into it. Her hair put in a half updo, letting the rest of her hair fall down to its natural curls. Her beauty and elegance of how she carried herself made her stood out from every noble lady in the room.

(The dress: 👇👇👇)

Such beauty left Lilia stunned as he watched her taking a sip of her drink. A thick red liquid in her wine glass. That was obviously blood and not a red wine from the palace’s cellar. She is given a special treat due to her being a vampiric bad, rather than a fruit bat.

Seeing her standing there before him cause a smile to form on his lips. For he had been waiting for this moment. Wanting to prove himself to her after being told he held no title. Now that he does—should he dare go over to her. Even if he is now a general, the crown princess right hand man. He still felt inferior to her presence. The very woman who holds the key to his heart. Only she can bring out such feelings to his cold heard. Always beating rapidly upon seeing her.

One of his men, Baul Zigvolt, had noticed his staring at the woman. As a devious grin came to his face. Wanting to help his friend, he decided to roughly elbow him. Catching the smaller male’s attention, who then glared at him. For he didn’t like being interrupted.

“What?” Lilia asked trying to hold back his anger. Lilia did not appreciate how his friend in battle made him lose focus on the one thing that was interesting in the entire room

Baul rolled his eyes a bit at how his friend was being, but couldn’t blame him. He knew of his friend’s (now general) long affection towards the young arch noblewoman. Even knowing how he was always denied by her when he asked for her hand. Simply because he had no actual title to his name and only his battle records till now. Baul decided to give his friend a push and gestured to her without making it obvious. “You’re now a general. One that nobody could talk down upon you except for the royal family and the senators. This is your chance to ask for her ladyship’s hand,” he said.

Realizing what his friend was trying to do for him. Lilia couldn’t help but have a smile creeping onto his face. Thanking Baul, he began to walk over to the lady that he had been trying to court. Only for his smile to fall as the girl glanced at him before quickly leaving the room. His heart broke upon seeing this, knowing she still looks down at him. Baul cringed upon witnessing the events that had unfold. He put a hand on his shoulder, feeling guilty for giving him false hope. “Don’t worry. You’ll get her next time. Maybe prove yourself more to her,” Baul suggested to him. But Lilia was too busy wondering and questioning why wasn’t he good enough.

Why won’t you give me a chance? Why?

Meanwhile, (y/n) made it out of the palace and into the royal garden. She knew her parents were not happy by her sudden disappearance, but she had to get out of there. It was not because she hated the banquets being held at the castle, but because of him! Lilia Vanrouge! A thorn at her side since she had met him and she didn’t know why he was so interested in her! She declined him so many times and yet he was still into her! She hated him!

She knows that many within the valley heard of her hatred towards the male. Heck! Even their majesties knows of it! Their reaction is always a shock and bunch of questions on why she hated him. Before those people rant on everything he’s done, and how ungrateful she was being. She knows she sounds horrible as many rumors and gossips are already made and directed at her. For her unjustified hate towards the man with so much achievements in his life.

She doesn’t mean to be like this. To show disdain to a person that is sacrificing his entire being for the kingdom for this war! In truth, she does think it was amazing how he managed to climb through the ranks so fast. But the man in question was someone she hated since she was little. No, hate is a strong word for such a situation. She didn’t hate him—in fact, she is scared of the very male. How laughable. She’s scared of a man serving her kingdom and country. She who is an arch noblewoman. Even if she is overthinking—she can’t shake off that very memory. She had witnessed something that she can never get rid. Something that had happened many years ago that involved him. Something that made her traumatized of him because of it. It was—

“(Y/n).”

!!!

The sudden voice caught the young noblewoman off guard. She recognized the voice from a mile away. She quickly looked over to see none other than General Vanrouge!

“You— no…I suppose I should now call you General Vanrouge, correct? Congratulations on your achievement, please excuse me.” She said as she turned and was about to leave, but the male grabbed her wrist causing her to look back in shock.

“Stay, we need to talk…”

~~~~~~~~~~>>>

Oh my goodness! Whatever is going to happen! Do you guys happen to like my new way of writing? I’m trying to upgrade my writing a little. Anyways, what do you guys think will happen next?

Stay tuned!

Fun facts:

The author has no idea how a title is given to someone. All she knows is that the king or queen does it, but since it is the valley of thorns? It has to be something that the Valley of Thorns would do.

The author doesn’t plan to write the hair color, length, or eye color nonsense. Not even the skin color stuff as it’s too hard to shorten/write it as she usually does. For now, she only says hair, eyes, and skin. She’ll leave all that to you guys for she doesn’t know what you all look like.

Go check the bio if you haven’t. To find the chapters for this book. Look up

Vampiric love

On my search bar

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #yandere general lilia vanrouge #yandere x darling #yandere twst #yandere x reader fanfic #yandere x reader #general lilia vanrouge #vampiric love

[its-the-ratdawg]

I spent the longest time wondering why Hannibal had an affair with Alana. Mads says that Hannibal doesn’t lie emotionally, but obviously he’s in love with Will when we see him sleep with Alana on the show.

The way I see it, Hannibal’s attracted to Alana and even cares about her. Not the way he cares about Will, but he does care. In Mizumono, he gives her the chance to run, to escape and pretend that nothing ever happened. She doesn’t take that chance, but this proves that he doesn’t want to kill her.

This got me thinking about the lack of physical intimacy between Hannibal and Will (oh yeah big shock right). Beyond the meta of making a kiss or actual sex “too obvious,” I wholeheartedly believe that canonically, Will and Hannibal wouldn’t have had physical intimacy during the plot of the show.

Hannibal never hoped to let Alana “know him” or “see him” (cries grossly). So sex with her was less important.

Will, however, did get to know Hannibal completely. During season two Hannibal held NOTHING back from Will. He trusted him so much that he caught Freddie’s scent on Will and still decided to trust him.

But maybe Hannibal didn’t want to give Will everything until he was absolutely sure Will would give him everything back. I’m 5774822882% positive that if Will had gone through with it and ran away with Will and Hannibal, that would have been the closure Hannibal needed (and they would have fucked in the bathroom on the plane).

As it was, they ended up engaged in a whole different type of penetration in Hannibal’s kitchen (I have been waiting to make that joke for too long). That’s why Hannibal and Will never made love. Because even if Hannibal trusted Will entirely, he wanted Will to sacrifice every chance to betray him before giving him everything.

Imagine how devastated Hannibal would have been if he’d slept with Will and then been betrayed. It would have shattered his heart.

#hannibal analysis #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannigram #nbc hannibal #Abigail Hobbs #alana bloom #Jack Crawford #Mizumono #Hannibal season two #Hannibal season three