#⸻ . ✷ ❛ answered asks ❜ 〉blow the horn .

[ask-runaan-anything]

Do humans have any natural advantages over elves?

*proud assassin noises* Well. I suppose they do have that fifth finger, which offers a marginally better natural grip. And they fit through openings that are a few inches lower, due to no horns.

*thinking very hard* Perhaps this makes them... more apt at becoming good musicians... and cooks? Yes, that sounds correct.

[west1rosi]

@dcviline asked: ❛  god ,  you’re  beautiful -  ❜ (theon @ jeyne)

Her   first   instinct   would   be   to   cover   herself   up.   She   had   never   been   so   bare   at   the   presence   of   a   man.   Not   just   in   body   but   in   soul,   she   only   told   Theon   she   would   take   any   gods   as   her   own   as   long   as   he   remained   by   her   side.   Her   Old   Gods   had   accepted   him   all   the   same,   promises   under   a   weirwood   tree   cannot   be   broken.   But   she   takes   on   his   own   Drowned   God   too,   as   proof   she   takes   all   parts   of   who   he   is,   the   water   is   not   as   warm   as   she   would   want   and   she   shivers   when   she   resurface,   breathless   at   the   experience,   eyes   opening   to   stare   back   at   Theon's,   her   clothes   clinging   to   her   frame   and   giving   her   none   of   that   decency   a   young   lady   should   have.  

But   she   let's   it,   because   her   heart   is   his,   and   so   is   all   parts   of   her.   Her   hands,   that   had   been   covering   her   chest   against   the   wet   cloth   hesitantly   leave   her   body   and   rest   on   her   sides,   letting   him   see   what   the   clothes   insinuate.   "I'   don't   know   about   beautiful.   .   .but   I   know   I   am   now   yours.   To   your   Gods   and   mine."   Jeyne   thinks   herself   as   plain.   Sansa   was   beautiful,   lady   Stark   had   been   beautiful,   even   the   queen   was   beautiful,   but   Jeyne?   She   never   thought   herself   pretty,   less   alone   worth   of   that   word,   but   in   the   lips   of   Theon,   she   believes   him.

  Her   hands   reach   for   one   of   his   own,   placing   it   against   her   chest,   his   skin   warm   against   the   wet   cold   skin."What   is   dead   may   never   die,   but   rises   again   harder   and   stronger."   And   she   adds,   her   lips   lingering   against   his   own,   eyes   close,   her   chest   rising   with   every   shaky   breath.   "Together."   

[glitchfiles]

only 'til dawn. [ljn]

pairing ⋆ badboy!jeno x inexperienced/goodgirl!reader

wordcount ⋆ 2.7k+

warnings ⋆ SMUT MINORS DNI!!!, softdom!jeno, smoking, shotgunning, car sex, big dick jeno, corruption, praise, light degradation, oral (m receiving), cowgirl, spanking (once), light choking, creampie...

note ⋆ i had to leave this one in my drafts for some time first because i didn't want to upload two car sex fics in a row then i wanted to rewrite it then i couldn't be asked to do that fully... so yeah, enjoy :D

"fuck," jeno drawls out as his head lolls to the side, "you're shit at this." he chuckles at your feeble attempt to give him a blowjob.

you look up at him, he seems totally unphased by your attempts to get him off, even going as far as to fish a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. the scowl that forms on your brow shows how much it dents your pride; he smirks down at you tauntingly.

"open your mouth a little more." he places a cigarette between his lips and lights the end. "you don't mind if i smoke, right?" you roll your eyes, he could have asked before. at least he had the courtesy to wind the window down.

there was no reason for you to debase yourself like this, the whole situation is beyond demeaning. you’re on your knees in the back of jeno’s car, struggling to please him and now he’s having a smoke mid-head?!

it felt as if your jaw was about to unhinge at any moment, you didn’t know it could stretch this far. the girls in the videos made it look so easy, compared to them, the way you were slobbering all over his girth was far from sexy. not to mention how you were clumsily pumping the rest of his length. not to toot your own horn, but you picked things up easily, this was a whole different ballpark to academic work. 

"you're too big," you whine. your lack of experience definitely didn't have anything to do with the shoddy head you were giving. how he was still hard was a wonder, you’re sure he’s seconds away from going flaccid.

normally, he would have put an end to the whole thing. it's not like he wasn't one text away from a few girls that could suck the soul out of him. however, considering how unsavoury his reputation was, the fact that you, the university’s golden girl, and much-revered student union president, were so eager to please him behind closed doors inflated his ego more than anything else could.

he couldn’t help but find humour in how ardently you refused to acknowledge him in public at times like this; if you spotted him on campus you looked the other way. but the moment he shot you a text, you were swooning and giggling, begging to meet up. so, here you were, in the dead of night, at the back of an empty parking lot a couple of miles away from campus.

“you’re lucky you have a patient teacher, i’m going to turn you into an expert!” jeno directs you between drags of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the windows as he laughs at you being unable to get the hang of it. saying you feel frustrated would be an understatement.

"i don't want to do this anymore," you sit up, finally admitting defeat and letting his heavy cock flop down against his abdomen. if jeno were a better person, he would have stopped you a few minutes ago, but you were so eager to please him and he loved the adorable pout on your lips and how your brows furrowed whenever you were exasperated.

"then what do you want to do?" you can think of a few things, but they would be super embarrassing to say. so, you refused to answer. he sighs before slotting his cigarette between his lips, leaving his hands free to pull you onto his lap.

"wanna try?" you don't know what possesses you, but you nod. 

how bad can it be? 

he taps the burnt end off, letting the ashes fall out the window before setting the cigarette between your lips. it feels childish to admit, but the fact that you had shared an indirect kiss makes you smile. this doesn't last long, though; after a short pull, you end up choking.

"god, that's awful!" you squeak as he belly laughs, only stopping when you hit his chest. all he's done tonight is tease you.

"i thought so too when i first tried." he soothes you, so as to not incur any more of your light-handed wrath. "why don't we start with some baby steps?" 

you're unsure what he means until his large, rough hand is placed gently under your jaw and his thumb brushes over your lower lip, "open up for me, angel."

he takes a long drag before tilting his head to the side and filling your mouth with a thick cloud of smoke. you're not sure what this is, but it feels intimate. it feels as if he’s breathing life into you. your whole body warms and tingles, your head spins, and a fire lights in your core.

once his lungs are empty, he seals it with a kiss. it's slow and passionate. his hand slides round to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. maybe it’s the nicotine running through your veins, you feel lightheaded. you let him slip his tongue past your lips to dance around your own.

the sweet flavour of your strawberry lip balm he was used to intermingled with the bitterness of his cigarette. he can't help but groan at the fact you taste a lot more like him now. 

the cigarette he's momentarily forgotten in his hand gets flicked away to burn to a butt somewhere on the tarmac outside. his now free hand comes to rest on your hip. it guides your body forwards, bringing your clothed centre flush against his bare cock.

you mewl into his mouth, he swallows down the sound. he’s greedy for more and starts rocking against you. grinding out then gulping down your noises, they go straight down to his cock. it’s throbbing, you can feel how painfully hard he is underneath you. only when he’s met with an uncomfortable stickiness due to his precum seeping through his shirt does he put an end to his gluttony.

a begrudging whine fills the car as he pulls your lips away from him. the look in his eyes alone was almost enough to make you cream, it was different to the cocky, yet lewd, eye fucking that seemed to be his default. those dark eyes of his turned into endless pits of boundless desire.

warm hands glide under your sweater, tugging it over your head, off your body to let it land somewhere in the front of his car. he does the same with his own shirt, sitting back to let you admire the rippling muscles on his torso. you delicately placed a hand on his chest, sliding it down to his abdomen; it seems he doesn’t have to have his dick in your mouth to have you drooling over him.

“like what you see, baby?” the smug look on his face makes your stomach twist.

“shut up,” you smash your lips against his again before he can speak again. 

jeno rushes to unclasp your bra, pushing the fabric out of his way so he can knead at your breasts; not before long, his mouth leaves you to pepper kisses down your neck then it encloses around one of your pert nipples. 

“mmm, jeno!” you mewl as his tongue laps at the bud, causing your back to arch in search of more stimulation. a hand weaves itself into his inky, thick locks, pushing him to give attention to the other side. “jeno, more!”

“i love hearing you say my name,” he growls against your chest, “wanted to hear you say it all week, but you don’t even spare me a glance unless i have my cock out.” 

you ignore the slight bitterness in his tone focusing on how he nips at your skin, leaving dark marks he hopes will last until he next sees you. marks that he hopes others will see and know you belong to someone; you’ll probably chastise him later over text but he doesn’t care, anything to keep him on your mind like you're always on his. 

reluctantly, he detaches himself from your chest and sits back, eyeing the drying traces of saliva he left with a dazed smile. 

“what next? tell me.” his hands delicately caress your hips, your cheeks begin to heat up and you avoid his eye contact. “don’t act all coy now, where’s the girl that begged me to drive her out here and fuck her dumb?” 

you were still clinging onto the last dregs of your virtuous good girl persona - the last white spots on a canvas he had first found unsullied. your first sin had been naivety, too easily seduced by a good-looking face and the sweet nothings he whispered in your ears but he had been more than happy to lengthen the list.

you wondered if this was how you had always been - or was he corrupting you. he broke down every conception you had of yourself and no one outside of the car you both sat in would believe this was you - you barely did yourself. some would say he was ruining you, but he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to, this was all you.

“please…” you let your head fall onto the crook of his neck, voice barely above a whisper. “want you inside.”

“a smart girl like you can be more descriptive than that.” he strokes a finger down your back, leaving a trail of heat on your spine, in hopes of prompting lewder vocabulary. you take a moment to chew your bottom lip and swallow down the last bit of dignity you had.

“please, fuck me.” you weep against the shell of his ear, “fill my pussy up, i need you so bad, jeno.” 

“sound so pretty when you tell me what you want.” his low-toned praise makes you shiver as he flips your skirt up and raises your hips. he pushes your panties to the side to position his cock at your dripping entrance. taking a second to tease your slit, making sure to brush over your swollen clit, only to hold you still when your hips jerk forward.

“look at me, angel.” you perk up for him, “so beautiful,” he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his gaze holds yours firmly as he brings you down on his bulbous tip, stretching you out slowly.

you struggle to keep your eyes from shutting. your mouth hangs open letting out hushed gasps as you sink down an inch at a time. he thinks you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“keep going... yeah, just like that... so good...” his soft gaze, light touch and encouraging words make things easier. he can feel your walls begin to relax and hungrily accept his girth. 

“‘s so fucking big,” you wail out, not even having taken him fully. you couldn’t quite yet without his help, though you’ll get there eventually - he’d make sure of that. 

“i know, baby, but you take me so well. can you move for me?” you nod shyly, lifting yourself and dropping back down as far as you can with a long whine. up and down, you split yourself open over and over. 

jeno’s hands press into your flesh, silently encouraging you to take more of him. you work your hips faster, earning a deep groan from him as his head falls back. instinctively, your mouth attaches itself to his neck, mimicking the way he had kissed and sucked at your own earlier.

“for such a sweet, innocent girl, you sure do ride like a slut.” he breathily laughs as his hand comes down on your ass with a sounding slap. “like the way my cock stretches this tight cunt out.” there’s no hiding the way your walls clench at the sharp sting. you try to find refuge from your embarrassment by hiding your face in his shoulder, but he quickly takes ahold of your throat, forcing you to sit up straight.

“don’t hide from me,” he tells you warningly and squeezes your neck lightly. once again your eyes lock, his stare as intense as ever. your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you rest your hands on his strong chest, adopting a faster pace. 

he lets out moans which you naturally reciprocate, however, you embellish yours with his name; you feel his cock twitch at the sound of it. the look in his eyes turns wild as his fingers dig deeper into the meat of your ass, forming a nearly bruising grip; with the other hand, he’s careful not to cut off airflow but forms a hold that leaves you feeling dizzy. 

“you know exactly what you do to me.” he chuckles, “you were fucking made for me, made for taking my cock, weren’t you? yeah, so perfect, angel.”

your legs begin to shake, his words and his cock are quickly pushing you towards the pinnacle. you try your very best to work through the overwhelming pleasure and the ache in your thighs, wanting to get him off since you failed at sucking his dick. but you can't seem to power through it, tears well in your eyes as everything becomes too overwhelming, it's far too much.

“need help, baby?” his soft spot for you wins, “did such a good job for me. i’ll take care of you, make you cum all over my cock. want that?”

“please, need to cum so bad.” his hand leaves your neck and places itself and your other asscheek. he plants his feet firmly and then rams up into you.

your brain goes blank in an instant. 

he’s deep. so deep. too deep!

you cry out, nails digging into his broad, muscular shoulders to anchor yourself. the tears that had threatened to leave your eyes before stream down your face, staining your cheeks. your whole body quivers as his cock lays kisses on your cervix with each thrust. 

“jeno, oh my god, right there!” you practically scream. his face screws at the feeling of your walls constricting, getting tighter by the second and making it harder to move; he powers through by jackhammering into you with more force. 

it feels like you could break at any moment, he's bouncing you on his cock like you're a ragdoll and you're too weak to do anything but take and enjoy it. all it takes is a few more thrusts before you’re creaming all over him. your body seizes as your eyes roll back, and his name tumbles from your lips incessantly in pleasured sobs. 

it’s hard to keep you in one place as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, but he handles your squirming body with ease using his strength. the most ungodly wet squelches fill the car as he races towards his own release, your sticky mess clings to both of your thighs. 

“shit… pussy’s sucking me in so deep, gonna cum.” his chest rises and falls dramatically, he can barely breathe. his thrusts get choppier as he loses himself to the feral urge to paint your insides pearly white.

a heavy groan rips through him as his balls tighten, he nestles his cock nice and deep as he pours hot spurts of cum into you. he fills you with warmth; you feel complete for a moment. unfortunately, all good things must come to an end eventually. 

you could almost start crying again when he pulls you off of him. his praise on how well you took his cum as it dribbles out of your cunt makes up for it, though. his tongue swipes across his lips as he watches it drip all over his cock, unbothered by the fact half of it is soiling his leather car seats too. 

the sound of your wild breathing is all that fills the car for a moment until his lips find yours one last time. breathlessly kissing you, there is less vigour than before but just as much passion. your heart warms for a moment at the almost bashful smile on his face as he rests his forehead against yours and wipes the tears that still cling to your soft skin.

this feels right, perfect even, but it only takes a few words for him to fuck it all up.

“wanna come over to mine?” jeno regrets his words immediately, the expression on your face sour at the thought of someone spotting you walking into his dorm or one of his loud-mouthed roommates blabbering about you spending the night together.

give jeno a hand and he’ll end up taking the whole arm.

you pull away from him suddenly remembering who you are.

“don’t be ridiculous, you know i can’t even be caught dead with you.” you grimace at the mess between your legs as you reposition your panties; then, you search for the clothing he had strewn around the car.

you don’t even look at him when you demand him to. “just drop me off where you usually do.”

jeno grins even at your cold-hearted rejection. not just anyone could say they had a place between your legs; he’s sure he’ll have a place in your heart too soon enough…

★ thanks for reading! my inbox is open for feedback and requests! :3

© glitchfiles

[daymarenightdream1]

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 coming back after a long day of work to see you humming to yourself as you busy yourself in the kitchen, back turned to him. You’re mixing some ingredients in a bowl with your head in the clouds, totally lost to the world. He sneaks up on you, looping his arms around your torso and humming in content as he rests his cheek on your head. You lean back into him, a warm smile gracing your lips. “Long day?” you ask. “Yeah, was dying to get back to you all day,” he answers, squeezing you.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 is clingy, trying to pull you away from the kitchen to your bedroom, desperate for your soft touch and kind eyes. He’s really touchy, always needing some point of contact to feel like he can breathe again. Every second spent in your absence leaves an aching void within, and he actually feels a painful squeeze when he’s away.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 is vocal. “C’mon, sweetheaaart, let’s cuddle,” he begs as he kneads your waist, desperate to convince you. You huff and smile, shaking your head at how needy he is. “Satoru, let me finish making dinner, we can cuddle after.” He presses a hand to his brow and his voice warbles in faux-distress, “Woe is me, woe is me! My own wife refuses to love me! And on the day before my birthday!” This leads you to elbow him in the stomach and he splutters as he backs away. “Whyyyy…” he moans.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 being the little spoon once you finally come to bed, loving when you give him head scratches and peck sweet little kisses all over his face. He turns to snuggle into your arms, looking up at you with a ditzy lovestruck gaze. “How did I ever get so lucky…” He says sleepily, searching for your lips with his. You share kisses in the night, waking up every so often to a tangled mess of limbs and honey-sweet words from your husband who holds you like he never wants to let go. “I could kiss you all night…” He rasps, voice groggy from sleep but spilling over with love. “In fact, as an early birthday present, I think I will.” You chortle as he presses his lips to yours again.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 clasping his arm across the bed haphazardly in the morning to an empty bed as the sunlight filters through the blinds. He sits up suddenly, duvet falling to his hips, only to find your side of the bed painfully absent. His heart does that terrible squeezing motion, the thread connecting your souls stretching in your absence. It urges him to get up and find you. He feels empty without you. He stands, calling out your name, and only receives the echo of his own sad voice.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 jolting in surprise as you blow a party horn directly into his face and strap a party hat onto his head. “Happy birthday!” you squeal as you bounce on your feet, presenting the cake on the kitchen counter that you’d spent the evening before baking and decorating. Satoru stills, tears gathering in his eyes as he sees the bunting you’d placed around the walls. “This is for me?” he whispers in disbelief. You chuckle happily as you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Who else would it be for? My second husband?” He grasps you all of a sudden, pulling you in for a roasting kiss, clinging to you like he wants eat you alive. You pull away, the two of you panting heavily. “My god,” you heave, “You know the cake is over there, right?”

“Don’t care,” He licks his lips, “Just want you.”

You blow the party horn half heartedly in his face. He jolts and snatches it from your lips, laughing. “Thank you for all this sweetheart. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile as he pulls you in for another kiss. What a wonderful way to celebrate your husband’s birthday.

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Smutty Headcanons

I promised on this LM x Reader post things would get spicy soon, so here we are, coming so far from my first post! Just the first of probably many more smutty Lucifer posts, because we all know this man fucks and we all want a piece.

Warnings: SMUT

- This man legitimately loves everything about eating pussy. He loves performing it, he loves bragging about how well he performs it, he loves giving tips because he believes in respecting the craft, and he loves putting down anyone too entitled to provide what he sees as this most enjoyable of services for one's partner. You don't even have to ask him to go down on you, it'll be one of the first things he offers, and he'll regularly ask if you're interested in letting off a little steam. Having the ability to extend and shapeshift his tongue into having an opposable forked tip makes him capable of techniques beyond your wildest fantasies, and whether you like to receive from above or below, he's equally down to have you seated on his face or laying back to enjoy yourself.

- He's not poorly or overly endowed for a man of his size, but he's also quite literally the one who originally proved that size doesn't matter in the slightest, and he's had thousands of years to perfect those original techniques. From position to tempo, he's mastered everything he needs to hit the G-spot with impeccable accuracy, and his hands will be quite busy seeking out where you most enjoy attention as he rides you with the power and virility of an untamed stallion. All this combined results in a mind blowing time for you, every time, and he's got the stamina to answer all of your repeated requests for another round.

- Nevermind the magic he can work with his tongue or his dick, the King of Hell is also a wizard with his fingers. He's even got a carpal tunnel roller just to keep his dexterity in top shape for when his skills are needed. Finding your clit is effortless for him, and he'll show it all the love he thinks you deserve, responding eagerly to your feedback in the moment and putting his mouth to use on your neck as he does so. Whether you want him inside, outside or both at the same time, he's happy to provide, and he'll gladly push his wrists to the limit if it leaves you properly satisfied.

- If you offer to be the one servicing him, he'll happily accept, and you'll quickly find his mannerisms shift quite considerably when he's on the receiving end. He starts out confident, offering banter to match your own, but as soon as your mouth gets to work, his demeanor changes. A grin becomes an open mouthed moan, his hands tenderly take hold of you to ground himself, and witty quips turn to soft and needy sighs. The more heated things get, the more he loses himself, but it's a great way for you to gauge how well you're performing. Growls and an appearance of his horns are a sign he's really having a good time, especially considering he's always got steam to blow off. Particularly rough days will result in him losing all control by climax; fully extended wings and horns, an unfurled tail he wraps about you, hair disheveled and clinging to a fine layer of sweat, and more than a few reality bending bursts of power surging around the both of you. It's his favorite way to end the day on a good note. He'll pull his fingers from your hair as he breathlessly apologizes for the show, but the both of you know watching him go feral is part of the fun.

- The afterglow is peak cuddle time for him, and he'll be in no hurry to get dressed if there's somewhere either of you needs to be, so more than a few of his duties will end up delayed thanks to post-coital bliss. All six wings will seek you out for a fluffy embrace, and if the two of you are at all winded, the otherworldly softness of Archangel feathers might make staying awake quite impossible. Should you have some energy to spare though, he'll want to actively enjoy the snuggle. Hearing you breathe, feeling his skin against yours, and engaging in pillow talk just make him the happiest little guy. Such moments really allow him to let his guard down, and you might hear him speak with a softness and hopefulness that rarely leaves the bedroom, but he's just as interested in listening as he is in talking. Don't be too surprised if he drifts off with his head in your boobs though.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @mrs-starkgaryen @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you almost everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have rarely known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Blue Jay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

[aerynwrites]

It's About The Chase

Halsin x Fem!Reader

A/N: FINALLY finished this halsin pic I've been working on for the past like month lmao. a huge shout out to @princessbatears @hdlynnslibraryand @maybegefor being the pushes I needed to finish it! I hope you all enjoy! <3

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, SMUT! Hunter/Prey Kink, halsin is chasing reader through the forest lol, P in V sex, cream pie, cock warming, marking, biting, rough sex, soft sex, fluff, slight aftercare, cuddling.

Summary: You and Halsin have been together for sometime now, so when Halsin approaches you and asks you to partake in a Ritual custom of his people to further your relationship...who are you to deny him?

Orange embers add to the number of stars in the night sky before flickering out of existence against the blanket of night.

The fire roars fierce before you; orange, yellow, and red tangling together in a dangerous dance to the euphony of songs around you.  Your heart races, blood thrumming through your veins like a raging river.  The heat from the flames only adds to the heat bubbling beneath your skin, making the fingers dragging across its surface seem startlingly cool in contrast. 

You look down at your friend, Avella, as she drags her fingers down the length of your arm in mesmerizing patterns, leaving a shimmering trail of golden paint in their wake. You watch in fascination as the liquid coats her finger tips, dripping in a glimmering trail down the back of her hand before she moves to retrieve more from the bowl at her feet. 

You’ve only ever bared witness to this ritual once, Halsin wanting you to see it before committing to it with him, and while you remember it being just as intriguing, it feels…different, now. 

Now that it’s happening to you. 

Avella, one of your closest friends, had helped you prepare for the ritual just earlier. The golden paths she is painting now, are a continuation of the ones that snake beneath the simple white dress adorning your body.  

You look across from you to see Halsin garnering the same treatment, except the paint adorning his skin is a crimson red, appropriately matching the tattoos inked into him. The only thing that separates you from one another are the flames, making him flicker in and out of view as the fire laps at each new log added to it. 

But even from this distance you can see the way he looks at you. See the way his eyes darken with hunger. The way his shoulders tense and his fists clench from where they rest at his sides. 

He’s ready to pounce. A predator with his prey in sight but just out of reach. 

At least for now. 

You can feel your breathing speed up,  becoming shallow, chest rising and falling quicker as Avella finishes her artwork and the harmony of songs and drums alike come to a complete stop around you.

One of the elders, a druid you’ve only met on occasion, comes to stand in front of the fire, between you and Halsin. He speaks in an old language, one you don’t understand before slipping back into common. Yet, even then, the words do not reach you. 

The elder speaks eloquently about tonight's ritual, describing everything Halsin had already prepared you for. 

This ritual is a sacred one, that you know. Halsin, like many druids, believed that life, like nature, is a fluid thing. Not to be bound to one person or place or thing in one's life. Yet, this very practice seemed to contradict that very principle. You still had lingering questions, one that Halsin promised would be answered come the end of tonight. 

Because, by the end of the night you would be Halsin’s, and he would be yours. Completely and wholly, under the watchful eye of Silvanus himself, you and Halsin would become one with the natural world he holds so dear, cementing one another as an inseparable part of each other's existence. 

You only realize the elder had ended his prayers by the low blow of a horn, and the steady reverberation of the drums picking up once more. Your eyes dart from where you had been staring off, to your partner across the fire, his brows drawn in slight concern at your hesitance. 

That’s right…you must run. 

And so you do.

Turning on your heel, you take off into the forest behind you, the moss and fallen leaves surprisingly springy beneath your bare feet as you dash deeper into the trees embrace. 

The singing grows louder behind you at the start of your retreat, but as you put distance between yourself and the others, the sounds grow softer, quieter – muffled by nature until the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, the blood rushing in your ears, and the rustle of foliage beneath your feet. 

Only then do you pause, not knowing how far you’ve gone or where you’re even going. It’s then that Halsin’s words echo in your mind, your eyes slipping close as you try to reign in in your excitement, your panic. 

“You mustn’t let your mind get the better of you. It will be dark, unfamiliar, but you know where to go. Find the tree.”

You wring your hands together nervously, worry evident in your features. “What if I can’t find it? What if – what if I fail?”

Halsin smiles softly, reaching out to take your hands in his own, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. 

“You will not fail. Even if you cannot find the tree…the oak father will guide you.”

With a deep breath, you open your eyes once more, taking in your surroundings as quickly, but as efficiently as possible. Halsin was right, this place is utterly unfamiliar to you. A forest he’s lived in for most of his life, yet you have never truly seen before. Yet another advantage in his favor. 

Another breath. 

He believes in you, he trusts you. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. So, with one last steadying breath you turn slowly in place – listening, looking, feeling…until you see it. 

It would have been almost impossible to see just moments ago, dark clouds shrouding the moon’s light. But just as you turn, there is a break in the sky, the celestial light making the silvery underbellies of oak leaves that sprout from branches that tower above the rest, glint at you.

“The heart of the forest. That is your goal,” Halsin’s voice rings in your ears again. 

You smile, heart leaping with triumph as you take off at a sprint once more, all while sending up a silent prayer to Silvanus for guiding your way. 

– – – – – – – – – – 

Despite seeming to know the way you need to go, you continuously doubt yourself. The forest all looks the same, the trees too similar, the sounds never changing, and it feels like you’ve not made any progress towards the heart of the forest. 

The branches whip past you, brushing against your face and arms, surely leaving behind evidence of their assault, but you couldn’t care less. Despite the rush of anxiety and primal flight coursing through you, there’s also...a thrill. A thrill like you’ve never felt before. A thrill that makes you giddy as you continue your race. And it only seems to intensify as you hear the distance sounds of a pursuer in the distance. 

The chase has begun.

Without thought, you move faster. Feet digging into the earth beneath you, arms pumping faster, breathing harder. You will succeed. You will not fail. Not tonight.

And once again, as if the Oak Father himself heard your earlier prayers, the forest around you changes for what feels like the first time. Endless trees give way to a small clearing; an iridescent, bubbling stream running through it, separating you from more forest on the other side. 

You come to a pause at the stream's edge, mind racing with what to do. But each second matters. Each breath matters. 

One. 

Your mind races with information that Halsin has told you about his hunts. 

Two.

A branch cracks in the distance as your eyes scan the water. 

Three.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you step into the stream, the water splashing around your ankles. 

Four. 

Tracks…you have to leave tracks. 

Five.

The mud squishes between your toes as you emerge on the other side of the river. One step, another, and another -

Six. 

You hear footsteps now, clear as day as the massive bulk of your partner crashes through the woods. 

Seven. 

Quickly, you dart back into the stream, rushing in the opposite direction of the heart of the forest before moving to crouch behind a large boulder in the water, your dress tugging at you with the movement of the current. 

Eight.

This breath you don’t release, as Halsin burst from the tree line, pausing at the edge of the stream just as you had. 

You watch silently, blood rushing in your ears as you peer around the edge of your hiding place. Halsin is breathing just as hard as you were, and even from here you can see the sheen of sweat adoring his skin, the moonlight reflecting off him. His eyes scan the water before they pause. Quickly, he makes his way through the water, kneeling on the other side where you exited the water. He follows them with his gaze carefully until they disappear back into the water in the opposite direction. From this distance, you can’t be sure, but you think you catch him smiling. 

“Using the water to hide your tracks…” his voice is almost lost to the bubbling stream, but you manage to hear him. “Clever, girl.”

His words send a pang of arousal through you, and you have to cling to the boulder to fight the urge to reveal yourself, but you manage. You stay in place and watch as Halsin stands to his full height once more and takes off jogging upstream, until he’s out of sight within the trees. 

You wait a few moments longer, and then just a moment more before leaving your hiding place and darting out of the water and back into the forest’s sanctuary. You see the towering top of the sacred tree, closer now than you ever hoped, and you know - you know, you’re going to make it. 

And you do. 

Somehow this last push to the end feels quicker than the rest. The forest doesn’t feel endless, time doesn’t feel like it’s dragging on. In fact, the closer you get, it feels as if a warmth flows through you, a calm you haven’t felt since the night started. And as if on cue, you burst from the trees once more into an awe-inspiring sanctuary. 

You understand now, why this place is called the heart of the forest - a huge clearing cut naturally in the middle of this vast place. The air is cooler here, a light breeze rustling the fabric of your simple gown as you come to a stop at the edge of the trees, your breath coming in quick deep breaths as you are finally able to stop running. If just for a moment. 

Your eyes trail over the space, catching instantly on the fireflies dancing through the air, blinking in and out of existence as they fly. With slow reverent steps, you make your way closer to your goal, standing tall and unmoving at the center of the clearing. 

The Sacred Tree. 

It stands silhouetted against the night sky, a looming presence that towers hundreds of feet above you, its base thick and imposing as roots sprawl out in a vast network from its center. 

With as much care and reverence you are able, you pick your way over the roots, trying to memorize every detail of this magnificent place. After a moment you even notice another stream bubbling steadily into a small pool at the base of the tree, sparkling with moonlight and calling to you. 

Soon, you kneel next to the pool, hands dipping into the water, dissipating your reflection on the surface. You lean down, bringing your cupped hands up to your lips as you take small sips. You nearly moan at the cool liquid cascading over your tongue, quenching the intense thirst you didn’t even know you had. It even tastes…sweet, like fresh honeysuckles in spring, or the faint sweetness of honeydew. 

You stay at the edge of the pool for a long few moments, taking slow sips and deep breaths before finally standing back to your feet. As you do, your eyes trail over yourself, astonished to find that the paint adorning you has stayed intact, not even the dirt or branches rubbing it off.  

Your dress is another matter however, the garment showing clear evidence of your traipse through the woods. Tugging at the hem of the piece of cloth, you send a small smile to the tree above you. 

“I suppose it’s a reasonable sacrifice, a dress for…”

For what exactly?

While Halsin had told you the basics of the ritual, and the things that were to come, you can’t help but feel like you still don't understand the cultural importance of this sacred rite. 

And you don’t have time to wonder, for just as you step closer to the tree, the world around you spins uncontrollably as familiar strong arms wrap around you and rough bark meets your back as you are pressed up against the imposing trunk. 

You didn’t even hear him approach, his steps surprisingly silent for a man of his size. But he’s here now - he’s here and wasting no time as his lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping you wherever he can. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he presses you further into the tree behind you, fisting the delicate white fabric of your dress in his need to get impossibly closer to you.

“Halsin-” his name leaves your lips in a gasp, barely able to pull away from him before he’s dominating you once more. 

Your mind cannot even keep pace with what’s happening, Halsin’s presence cutting off any and all logical thought you may have. The only reprieve you get is when his lips leave your own only to leave a trail of messy kiss down your jaw and lower, one of his hands sliding up to cradle your jaw and expose the line of your neck to him as he continues to explore you. 

Blunt teeth nip at the delicate skin of your neck and you can’t stop the whimper that slips past your lips, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he continues his assault. You’re so absorbed in him, in the way he presses against you and mouths at your skin that you don’t even notice his hands as they move to take hold of the gauzy neckline of your dress.

You’re only able to utter a gasp of his name as he tears the thin fabric clean down the center. The threads rip easily under his grip, snapping and popping until it hands In tatter remains on your shoulders. You’re barely able to take in another breath, before calloused palms cradle your cheeks, and for the first time since he’s found you are you able to truly see him.

The sight nearly takes you to your knees. 

He towers over you, pupils blown wide with lust as he drinks you in. His shoulders heave with labored breaths, sweat damp skin glistening in the light of the moon. He looks like a god, cut and carved from stone before you. 

Halsin has always been an attentive lover, and at times you would even describe him as tame. Always doting on you, putting your pleasure first and handling you with the delicacy of a newly blossoming rose petal.

Not now. 

The man that stands before you, clutching you in his hands, fingers pressing into the base of your skull, is nothing more than the beast he always tries to contain. yet, even now you can sense a moment of hesitation in him, restraint. A moment you know won’t last - nor do you want it too. 

“I’ve found you, my heart,” he says, voice nothing but a low rumble in his chest. “I’ve found you, and I intend to make you mine. Wholly and completely with no one but Silvanus as witness and I…I cannot promise gentleness. Not tonight.”

He didn’t ask, not out right - but you know he’s asking. As much as he wants this - wants you - you know he would back down if you so much as hesitated. He would take his hands from you and walk away and never hold any ill-intent towards you. 

But you want this. You want this more than you ever could have imagined. Halsin unrestrained and untempered…

You want him to devour you.

You nod resolutely, hands sliding up his arms to rest upon his wrists. 

“You’ve found me,” you tell him, voice but a whisper as you squeeze his wrists, inviting him imperceptibly closer. “So, claim your prize.”

The only response Halsin offers is a growl as he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours in a mess of teeth and tongue and you don’t dare refuse him when he pushes past the seam of your lips to explore you further. 

Halsin makes quick work of the remnants of your dress, tugging the tattered fabric from your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Once free from it, you reach up and cling to his shoulders as he divests himself of his own clothing before his hands come to grip at your thighs lifting you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. 

From this position, you can feel the heat of him against your inner thigh, hard and just as eager as you are. A fact he is more than aware of as he brushes up against you, groaning into your mouth as he feels your wetness against him. 

“I knew you would be ready for me,” Halsin says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves to press faint kisses to the skin there. “I could smell you even back at the stream.”

You pause at his words, surprise coloring your pleasure and Halsin laughs, breath warm against your sweat damp skin. 

“Oh, yes,” he whispers, “I knew you were there. placing fake tracks, hiding…”

He presses you further back into the tree, the bark bringing a pleasant sting of pain to the pleasure building in your belly as he lines himself up. 

“Why…” you trail off, words choked out into a whimper as he finally - finally - presses into you, inch by agonizing inch.

Halsin lets out sinful sounds of his own, grunts and sighs that make you quiver in his hold as he continues to fill you until his hips are flush against you own and you feel so full that you might burst. 

“Because,” he breaths, nipping quickly at the juncture of your shoulder and neck, “It’s about the chase. The hunter and his prey-” he grinds his hips into you, eliciting a moan from you that would have made yo blush in any other circumstance. “It’s the catch that makes it worth it.”

Halsin emphasizes his words with one swift movement, pulling out of you before thrusting forward to the hilt once more, as stars burst behind your eyelids. No more words are said as he sets a devastating pace. Anything you do try to say slipping from your mind like warm honey as he drives into you. 

With Halsin, there’s usually build up. He’s a man who loves to play with you, wring out your pleasure in the most torturously pleasurable way he knows how. Tonight, however, there is none of that. And you thank the gods above that you found the chase itself so exhilarating, because even with how ready you were, how eager you are for him - the size of him is bordering on overwhelming. 

Yet you can’t find it in you to truly care. 

All you can do is clutch helplessly at his shoulders and back, nails digging into taut skin as your legs wrap around his waist in an effort to pull him even deeper inside you. 

It feels as if he just started touching you and you can already feel that familiar tug deep in your belly, arousal burning bright as he continues his furious pace. But you also notice a falter in his rhythm, his hips stuttering ever so slightly as you assume his own end approaches. 

“Halsin-” his name falls from your lips in a whimper, hands moving to tangle in his hair as he comes back up to claim your lips once more. 

You expect him to acknowledge your silent plea or agree and tell you he’s close too, but you should know to not expect anything tonight. instead, your surroundings blur around you. Your back leaves the rough bark of the tree in a blink and soon, up becomes down and cool moss meets your knees as warm hands meet your back and before you can even take another breath Halsin has you on your hands and knees before him as he presses into you once more. 

You can’t stop the cry that falls from your lips, this position letting Halsin even deeper into you, allowing him to touch places that make it feel like magma runs through your veins. 

“Oh, gods…”  you moan, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers dig helplessly into the soft ground beneath you. 

“No,” Halsin growls, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair as he moves to lean over you, surrounding you in him. “There are no gods here, not now.”

His words and the combination of his cock buried so deep inside you at this new angle catapults you over the edge. You come with a cry of Halsin’s name on your tongue. 

Your lover helps you through your high, his thrusts growing more erratic until he too finishes with animalistic grunts as he spills himself inside of you. 

You still struggle for air beneath him, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm, that it takes you a moment too long to realize that warm hands are tugging at your hips. A small whine slips past your lips when Halsin pulls himself from you, and it’s then as he rolls you onto your back and leans down to capture your lips in a much more tender kiss than before, that you realize he’s still hard. His release doing nothing to satiate the need coursing through him. 

“I love you, my heart,” Halsin says as he pulls away from you to nose at your temple. “You have given me a gift, this night - a gift I do not think I will ever have words enough to repay you.”

Then, for the first time tonight do you truly seem him. He’s pull away from you slightly, just enough so he is able to look upon your face, and you can seem him clearly. His eyes glisten with emotion, vulnerability and utter devotion swimming in pools of hazel. You take this instant to take your lover in, commit this reverent moment to memory as your eyes flit over his face and lower. From the scars cutting through his brow to his tousled hair. To the paint that adorns him - the paint that now lies muddled against his bronze skin, red mixing with your gold. A visual representation to anyone who sees that you two are bound to one another. 

Your hands slide up his arms, fingers dancing across his shoulder before finally coming to cradle his face - your heart fluttering when he leans into your touch. 

“Then show me,” you whisper, puling him into another searing kiss.

His lips are hot against your own, yet despite the sureness of his movements there’s just a hint of tenderness there. A familiar warmth that encompasses you as he touches you once more. 

His hands are firm against your skin, squeezing and gripping and pulling you tighter to him, but gone is the pure urgency that was just moments ago.  Halsin is all consuming - he always is - but now it’s as if he is taking up every part of your existence. 

Solid arms wrap around you, holding you to him as he slots himself in the cradle of your hips. The familiar scent of him seems to envelop you whole as he presses himself further against you - sandalwood, sage and  moist earth after a spring rain. He breaks away from your lips only to nose at your temple, and you take this moment to breath him in, your hands sliding up his back in an effort to pull him closer. 

Halsin sighs against you, warm breath ghosting over your ear as he shifts his hips, pressing into you once more. He moves to kiss you once again as you take him, swallowing the moans that bubble from your chest until his hips meet yours.

He stops, then, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against your own, as he allows you both pauses to bask in one another completely. You, for one, are grateful for the small reprieve, the moment becoming completely overwhelming in a new way. 

You and Halsin have lain together more times than you’re able to count, each time never ceasing to take you to new heights, but this…this feels as if you’re seeing him for the first time - being with him for the first time. 

He holds you to him in a reverence you never thought possible from a man, cradling you with a delicacy that makes your chest tight with emotion. He presses featherlight kisses to your brow and then your lips once more before he finally moves. 

And it’s as if the heavens open up above you. 

Ecstasy burns through your veins with each push and pull of his hips, as if you can feel every vein and ridge of him inside you. He sets a steady pace, but nothing like the hurried fucking he gave you earlier. No…this was slower, more measured, as if he never wants this night to end. 

“I love you.”

The words are a mere whisper against your cheek as Halsin moves, his hips pressing deep into you forcing you into the soft moss beneath you as he tries to mold himself further into you. 

“I love you, my heart,” he says again, voice strained. “I have never felt…” he trails off voice going soft before he picks up again. “I am bound to you, body and soul. And by the Oak Fathers grace I will never be parted from you. Not if…If you’ll have me.”

His words make your heart flutter, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you turn your head to look at him, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair once more. 

“I would have no one else,” you tell him solemnly, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

At your acceptance, your reciprocation of his vow, Halsin shudders in pleasure above you. With one arm still wrapped snugly around you, his other hand trails down, over your hip coming to rest at the back of your knee only to tug it quickly over his hip, changing the angle and allowing him to slide deeper inside you. 

The cry that falls from your lips in nothing short of erotic, his name falling from your lips in a jumbled prayer as his pace speeds up, bring you both closer to the climax you feel burning in your belly. 

Gone are the sounds of nature that greeted you when you first entered this sacred place. Now the only sounds that meet your ears are your lovers groans of pleasure in your ear and the blood raring in your veins. His skin slides against your own, damp with sweat and swirled in gold and red as the paint so delicately applied to you both now mixes together. 

Halsin’s thrusts become erratic, and a wave of golden light washes over him as he ruts against you. He pulls your hips closer to him, and you wrap your legs around him obediently as the hand that was supporting you comes up to cup your jaw, titling your head up and away, presenting the delicate expanse of your throat to him.

You catch the familiar flash of druidic magic in his eyes through your lashes, and you know he’s fighting the beast, holding it back as he lowers his head down, lips brushing the underside of your jaw as he thrusts into you again, harsher this time. 

“You are mine,” he growls, voice octaves lower than his usual deep timbre. 

“Yours,” You relent, voice a whispered plea into the night air. 

The only warning you receive is another harsh thrust of his hips, this one making him reach so deep inside of you that you see stars as his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, breaking skin and sending you to another plane of euphoria you’ve never experienced before. Moans and cry of pleasure spill from your lips as you come, nearly sobbing as Halsin follows you over the precipice once again, pressing himself into you fully as he fills you. 

With ears ringing and heart racing, you almost don’t hear the soft call of your name, Halsin’s lips placing delicate kisses to your cheeks and lips, drawing you closer to coherency as gently as he can. 

He has not separated from you - the forest floor still at your back as he presses his weight comfortingly against your front, brushing errant strands of hair from your face.

“I love you,” you finally say, voice raw. 

When you speak, Halsin lifts himself from you slightly, bringing one hadn’t up to stroke at your hair affectionately, eyes brimming with emotions you can’t yet place. 

“And I you,” he says, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. 

After a few quiet moments, Halsin takes you into his arms once more and rolls so he is on his back with you resting against his chest, never separating himself from you in the process. 

His heart beats strong beneath your ear, his chest rising and falling in long even breaths, and if it weren’t for his fingers tracing patterns up and down your spine, you’d think he’d fallen asleep. 

Neither of you speak for a long while, using the silence to bask in one another’s presence, your mind still reeling from your experience. the silence is only broken when you hear the faint call of song birds and you see the barely there streaks of grey tinting the horizon beyond the trees. 

You sit up turning your head and wincing at the tinge of pain that accompanies the movement. a hand comes up to touch the spot at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and your suddenly reminded of the mark Halsin left behind. 

His hand comes up to cover your own, calloused fingertips tracing over the bite gently, and you look down to see concern tugging as his brow. 

“I’m sorry, my heart, I lost myself-”

“Will it scar?” You cut him off, turning your hand to lace your fingers with his own. 

Halsin pauses at your question, lips tugging downward. “I can make sure it will not-”

You shake your head, leaning down to capture his lips in a quick kiss, pulling back to stare into familiar hazel eyes. 

“Don’t.” you say. “Leave it. I…like the idea of it. But I…” you trail off, your courage waning. 

Halsin’s other hand comes up to card through your hair, urging you to face him again.

“Speak freely here,” he encourages. 

You nod, sliding one hand up to run your fingers over the spot on his neck that mirrors your own.

“I’d like you to bear a similar mark.”

Halsin smiles, pulling you down to him so your lips are a mere hairsbreadth away.

“You are mine just as much as I am yours, my heart.”

You smile.

You could get used to that. 

[bodybaggage]

Shadows in Gotham

---

Gotham’s twilight sky was a patchwork of purples and reds, a fading canvas that gave way to the inky blackness of night. The city was alive with the usual sounds of distant sirens, honking horns, and the underlying hum of danger that never quite left its streets. For Danny Fenton, now in his early twenties, Gotham was supposed to be a fresh start—a place to lay low and raise his unconventional family.

His daughter, Danielle, Ellie, as she preferred—skipped ahead on the cracked sidewalk, her energy boundless despite the long day. She looked about ten years old, though she was technically more of a clone than a traditional daughter. She had Danny’s black hair but with an unruly curl to it, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. Beside Danny, holding his hand, was a boy who looked no older than eight. His hair was tousled, and his expression was a strange mix of innocence and the haunting wisdom of someone far older. This was Dan, Danny’s de-aged evil future self, a living, breathing reminder of what could go wrong if they weren’t careful.

The trio moved through the narrow streets, Danny’s senses on high alert as they made their way back to the modest apartment they now called home. He had retired from the life of a ghostly vigilante, focusing instead on keeping his small family safe and hidden from the relentless pursuit of the Guys in White (GIW). To the world, they were just another struggling family in Gotham. But beneath the surface, their existence was anything but ordinary.

“Can we get pizza tonight?” Ellie asked, her voice full of hope as she glanced back at Danny.

“Pizza sounds good,” Danny replied with a smile. “But it’s Gotham, so let’s hope the delivery guy makes it to our place in one piece.”

Ellie giggled, and even Dan let out a rare smile, though it was fleeting. The moment of normalcy was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle up ahead. Danny’s instincts kicked in as he pulled his kids closer, eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding just around the corner.

A man, clearly desperate, was trying to rob a woman at gunpoint. The woman’s purse dangled from his shaky hand, and fear was etched across her face. Danny knew he should keep moving, that getting involved could blow their cover, but he couldn’t just walk away.

“Stay here,” Danny whispered to Ellie and Dan, his voice firm.

Before he could intervene, a shadowy figure dropped from the rooftops, landing silently behind the mugger. The man didn’t stand a chance as a blur of red and black moved with lethal precision. Within seconds, the mugger was disarmed and unconscious on the pavement.

Red Hood stood over the man, his stance relaxed but ready, as if this was just another routine night in Gotham. He turned to the woman, who quickly grabbed her purse and bolted, muttering her thanks. It was only then that Red Hood noticed Danny and the kids standing just a few feet away, watching the scene unfold.

Danny tensed as the vigilante’s eyes—hidden behind that crimson helmet—seemed to study them. He instinctively placed a hand on each of his kids’ shoulders, ready to flee if things went south.

“You alright?” Red Hood asked, his voice rough but not unkind. He seemed to soften at the sight of the kids, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Danny replied, his tone cautious. “Just heading home.”

Red Hood’s gaze flicked between Danny and the children, and Danny could almost feel the wheels turning behind that mask. This was Gotham, after all, a city full of dark secrets. A young man, barely an adult, with two small kids in tow—it wasn’t hard to jump to conclusions.

“You live around here?” Red Hood pressed, the curiosity in his voice making Danny’s stomach tighten.

“Not far,” Danny answered, hoping to end the conversation quickly. “Just trying to keep my family safe.”

Red Hood nodded slowly, as if weighing his next words. “Gotham’s not exactly the best place to raise kids, especially if you’re... alone.”

Danny’s jaw clenched, recognizing the underlying question. “We manage.”

Before Red Hood could probe further, Ellie stepped forward, her usual boldness taking over. “He’s the best dad ever! And we don’t need any help, mister.”

Red Hood chuckled softly, the sound almost disarming. “I’m sure he is, kid. But just in case, you should know there are people around here who can help... if you ever need it.”

Danny forced a tight smile, grateful for Ellie’s fierce loyalty but wary of the attention they’d attracted. “Thanks, but we’re good.”

Red Hood seemed to accept this, though the suspicion in his stance didn’t entirely fade. “Take care of yourself,” he said finally, before turning and vanishing into the shadows as quickly as he’d appeared.

Danny let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The encounter had been brief, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The Bat Family had eyes everywhere, and their curiosity was piqued.

“Let’s get home,” Danny murmured, guiding Ellie and Dan down the street with renewed urgency.

They reached their apartment without further incident, the familiar creak of the stairs a welcome sound. Once inside, Danny locked the door and sagged against it, the weight of their precarious situation pressing down on him.

Ellie flopped onto the worn couch, her earlier bravado replaced with concern. “Are we in trouble, Dad?”

Danny ruffled her hair affectionately. “No, Ellie. We’re just... being careful. That’s all.”

Dan sat quietly at the kitchen table, his eyes distant as he processed the night’s events. “He was one of the Bats, wasn’t he?”

Danny nodded, joining Dan at the table. “Yeah, Red Hood. He’s... complicated. But we should be alright if we keep a low profile.”

The night passed uneventfully, but the encounter with Red Hood lingered in Danny’s mind. He knew that living in Gotham meant constant vigilance, but the thought of the Bat Family watching them added a new layer of stress.

---

Meanwhile, across town, the Bat Family gathered in the Batcave, the massive space filled with the glow of computer screens and the quiet hum of machinery.

“Interesting case tonight,” Red Hood—Jason Todd—began as he removed his helmet, revealing the slightly tousled dark hair underneath. “Ran into a guy with two kids. They seemed... out of place.”

“Out of place in Gotham?” Dick Grayson, quipped from where he was perched on the edge of the Batcomputer’s console. “That’s pretty much everyone.”

Jason shot him a look. “Not like that. The guy was young, barely in his twenties. The kids were ten and eight, maybe. And something about them just... felt off.”

Bruce Wayne, Batman, looked up from the screen, his expression unreadable. “Off how?”

Jason hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. There’s something he’s not saying. And those kids—they’re attached to him, but it’s like they’re all trying to stay under the radar.”

Damian Wayne, the current Robin, scoffed. “Plenty of people try to stay out of sight in this city. It’s not our problem unless they break the law.”

“Yeah, but...” Jason trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “There’s a chance that guy’s a victim. The way the girl talked about him, it was like she was protecting him.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think the children are in danger?”

Jason frowned, shaking his head. “Not from him. I think they’re all running from something.”

Silence settled over the Batcave as they considered the implications. Bruce stood, his presence commanding as ever. “Keep an eye on them. Gotham has a way of uncovering secrets, and we can’t afford to overlook anything.”

---

Back at the apartment, Danny lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The shadows played tricks in the dim light, reminding him of the life he left behind. He had taken on more than just the role of a father—he had become a protector, a shield against the darkness that sought to consume them.

But Gotham was relentless, and he knew their time in the shadows was running out.

---

🧌

[flor4de4amor]

hockey!abby with the reader being her biggest fan prompt 🫣🫣

click for palestine | boycott tlou!!! | read b4 engaging w me

ok i changed the prompt up a little bit again, but i promisseeeee it's the last time!!!! (it's probably not but shh!!)

you’re almost at every single one of abby’s games. it’s always easy for her to spot you. you’re sectioned off in the front, in one of her old hoodies. at any free moment she has on the ice, abby skates by your section, blowing a kiss, that you eagerly pretend to catch. 

but the key word is almost. this is one of the few games you’ve missed since you and abby have been going steady. even when she used to play college hockey, and you had a silly little crush on her, you’d do your best to show up at the games. hiding somewhere in the back row of watchers, but still keeping an eye out for your favorite player. 

your absence was definitely noted this game. abby had been missing shots, which was quite unusual for her. her teammates teasing her, asking if she needed her good luck charm. to which her answer is yes. a resounding, bolded, large, all caps, yes. 

who was she gonna blow kisses to? who was gonna come rub her back in the locker room after the game? williams better not try it. abby’ll bite her head off, and you’ll never hear the last of it. abby can’t remember the last time she’s played without you watching. you’re her favorite trophy to show off. all pretty, with a wide smile, and gorgeous for her to brandish for anyone who’ll listen. 

the game is rough, for a lack of better words. the team loses,by a lot. too much for abby’s liking. she drives home, her fist pounding her steering wheel. occasionally at a red light while releasing anger onto the battered wheel, she hits the horn. stirring her from the storm of anger, and causing a cluster of horns following hers. the cars are speaking for their agitated drivers. abby sighs as she pulls into your shared driveway. the last thing she wants to hear you say is that you watched the game.

she sees your blurred frame on the couch through the window film of the front door. she sees you jolt up as her keys jingle through the hole, unlocking the door. you sit up drowsily, your nose agitated as you’ve been blowing it through the better half of the week. flu season had captured you as it’s latest victim.

“i saw the game baby,” you say with a raspy throat and nasally voice. abby sighs, and allows her head to hang to the floor. she should’ve known better paying for the extra hulu subscription. of course you’d use it. she’s mentally kicking herself. “you played really good baby,” you tell her sitting half up wrapped up in your favorite blanket.

she snorts, “sure,” she replies sarcastically.

“i’d kiss you better but i’m so sick right now, lovie.” you blow her a ton of kisses with your hands, though your dominant limb clutches an array of crumpled tissues.

she catches them, pulling them to her heart. “you miss one game and you’re stealing all my moves?” she raises her eyebrow at you.

you toss your hand at her dismissively. “i’m allowed,” you say with a playful closed lip smile. 

“one kiss won’t hurt me,” abby rolls her eyes. pressing a soft one on your forehead, and another to the corner of your mouth. “i’ve built up my immune system,” she tells you offhandedly. “ate dirt when i was a kid,” she laughs to herself. bullshit, but, whatever. “so you saw the game?” she fiddles with her thumbs, and avoids eye contact for a minute. when talking about her sport, this was when you’d catch abby at some of her most vulnerable.

“uhuh,” you tell her after catching a sneeze into the corner of your forearm. “‘scuse me,” you mumble.

“you’re ‘scused pretty,” abby replies while waiting for a further in depth answer than ‘uhuh.’

“you did such a good job baby,” you smile at her tiredly. “you shouldn’t beat yourself up too much. you really can’t win them all.”

“that’s insulting,” she smiles at you. “i definitely can. i just need my good luck charm.”

“i don’t do not a thing. it’s all you on the ice abs. don’t give me too much credit,” you say before having a slew of coughs.

“hey,” abby says putting a stern mask in her voice, “don’t pick on my favorite groupie now,” she burst out into laughter.

“i won’t make a habit of it, if you can make me some hot tea. my throat’s killing me.” abby nods her head, kissing your forehead once more and setting the kettle up. who was she to even deny her biggest fan, same one who stayed up late watching her girl’s game on her deathbed? abby’s mean, but not a monster. 

[s-sugustar]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 — 𝖮𝗇𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗈𝗉𝗈𝗇

🎧﹒𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬﹒✢﹐— friends to kiss, friends don’t have sex, then what are we?

🎧﹒𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠﹒✢﹐— onyankopon x black!fem!reader

🎧﹒𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ﹒✢﹐— unrequited love, angst-ish

🎧﹒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭﹒✢﹐— 1k

🎧﹒𝐚/𝐧﹒✢﹐— just a lil sumn. Haven’t written in awhile so i’m giving yall this. not proofread.

"Been missing you, y'know." Ony rasped against your ear, after giving you a light kiss to the cheek. The two of you sat in his car, air condition blasting through the fans and you two sat quietly enjoying the music that played on the radio; not too loud but just enough to cover the silence that you two sat in. Eyes low and hooded as your head laid against the rest, high out of your mind, giggling at Ony trying to sing 'Pull Up' by Luh Kel. "I pull up to yo crib every time I miss you. " Ony mumbled, puffing out smoke from the blunt he had not too long passed you.

It had been two hours since he pulled up to your house, blowing the horn for you to come outside and spend some time with him. Of course, you couldn't resist. The blonde waves with a fade and a tooth grill on one of his canines, the olive-green hellcat charger with leather seats; not to mention your name in Italics on the passenger seat head rest.

His outfit was another story. Green hoodie with white t-shirt and all-black sweatpants and the green crocs that you had bought him for his birthday last year so that you two could have matching crocs.

You two weren't together as many speculated but you had been close friends for quite some time. The dynamic between the two of you was odd but neither of you said anything. Just as Connie said, 'Just going with the flow' and that's what you two had been doing all this time.

You liked whatever was going through but sometimes your mind wandered and you ended up wishing that the two of you had something going on.

Maybe it had the false realities you had made up in your mind about your relationship with him, but you knew that would never happen. You knew that he had his mind made up of not getting into any relationship from the time before. You remembered it like it was yesterday.

"You look so beautiful in this dress." Ony complimented, his thumb and index finger played with the hem of your dress. You sat on his lap with your hands around his neck, rubbing shapes onto his neck.

His brown eyes stared into yours, he was high off the love you gave him and loved every second of it while you searched from some sign or clue; wishing that some sort of emotion would appear in his eyes since he never spoke on how he felt.

"What do you think about relationships Y/n?" he asked, looking up to meet your gaze. You quirked an eyebrow before formulating the words to answer his question. “I love every aspect about them. Once you find that person you really cherish in your life, the person you think ‘Yea, I want to spend the rest of my life with’, I think that’s when you know. It’s just not about the thinking about them all day long or the cute little texts they send but it’s how they make you feel on the inside and no, I’m not speaking about sex Ony” you stated, pausing to squint at him when he heard the last part, you playfully rolled your eyes before continuing.

“You’ll know when the time is right. What about you?” you pondered, tilting your head, waiting for his response. Lost in thoughts, Onyakapon rubbed his chin before he answered, shaking his head to confirm his thoughts. “Nah, relationships aren’t my thing. Hasn’t been for awhile. Not since I’ve been around you.” he grinned, making a joke out of something you cherished dearly, but you said nothing. You weren't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing in what he said but it did pull you back slightly.

You looked at him in confusion, head titling to a side. " What do you mean?" You weren't sure on how you felt on his statement so before you jumped to any conclusions you asked him to further explain his statement. "I don't do relationships Y/n. Too much stress and effort but whatever this is we got going on, I like it. No titles, nothing. Just two friends kissing and fooling around." he explained, rubbing circles onto your exposed thigh in hopes of calming whatever thoughts had come into your mind.

"Friends don't kiss and fool around Ony. Friends to buy other friends expensive clothing to wear to 5-star restaurants, to spend time with each other Ony. " You commented, slowly pulling away from hi embrace. He slightly rolled his eyes before answering, " But we do." You laid in his embrace a while longer before getting back into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt across your body. You hadn't said much after that as the ride went on, and Ony noticed this but kept quiet. When he made it back to your house, you were quick to get out of the car, but Ony stretched over and pulled the door shut. Before you could protest, he quickly summarized, "Are you upset about what I said earlier?'

Nodding, you heard him sigh. "I get you don't like relationships and what not but I'm not going to go on in a friendship just messing around with you and it gets nowhere. You know how I feel about them Ony. We know each other so why you can't just trust me, Trust me and we can get through this together." By the end of your small speech, you were practically begging Ony to try at having a relationship with you. But with the look on his face, you could already hear his answer. "This was pointless." you muttered before getting out of the car.

When you shut the door to your flat, you silently wished that Ony would come knocking at the door, begging you to open the door so that the two of you could talk and maybe try to work things out. Yet, your imagination can only go so far.

[west1rosi]

@roseguided asked: [ SHY ]:  sender  covers  their  face  and  receiver  moves  their  hands  away. / sansa and gendry *      ―    ﴾  𝚗𝚜𝚏.𝚠  𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜  ﴿   :    𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘  𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

sansa   stark   is   beautiful.   that   was   never   something   he   would   doubt.   he   had   heard   stories   of   the   northern   woman's   beauty.   red   hair   contrast   against   the   white   snow   and   sharp   eyes   that   threaten   to   cut   through   you,   if   you   dare   speak   ill   of   her   family.   the   she   wolf   of   winterfell   they   call   her.   the   queen   in   the   north.   and   yet,   she   is   covering   her   face   now   from   him,   and   gendry   cannot   fathom   why.   nothing   but   a   bastard   blacksmith   turned   lord   (   bastard   of   a   king   but   still   a   bastard,   even   when   the   law   now   gives   him   a   last   name   ).   "you   are   beautiful,   your   grace.   i'm   not   worth   you   trying   to   hide.   it   should   be   the   other   way   around."   gendry   speaks,   gaze   turns   to   the   gruond,   somehow   ashamed   of   it,   even   if   he   often   hold   his   bastardy   with   pridefulness,   for   he   got   where   he   is   now   out   of   sheer   character.   still,   he   looks   at   his   hands,   enclosing   her   wrists   and   see   how   rough   they   look   and   feel   compared   to   her   own.   soft   against   rough,   calloused   fingers   against   her   own.   "a   woman   such   as   yourself   should   never   hide."

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

39 and 55 for Tav/Astarion? OH AND I LOVE WANT IT ALL, YOUR WRITING IS IMPECCABLE ‼️<3

Prompt(s): leaning into the other’s side + tracing the lines on the other’s hand

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

There really was nothing like being pleasantly tipsy while in good company. Your party was in good spirits, the night was warm and, for once, danger was something that happened to other people. 

Eventually everyone had shuffled off to bed, leaving you and Astarion leaning against each other as the fire crackled on.  Your thoughts floated in front of you, swimming lazily in the air. Everything was just so lovely, especially the other hand in yours.  You couldn’t help but run your fingers across the lines, smiling as you made a study of every angle.  

“See something you like,” Astarion asked, amused.  He was decidedly more sober than you and appeared content to stay that way. 

You nodded idly. “You have beautiful hands. I bet you’d make a wonderful pianist.”

He gave a low laugh, shaking you slightly with the effort. 

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” he said, grinning. “You just might be the only person I know who could study a man’s hands and think only of their musical capabilities.” 

You stared confused, before a sinking rush of embarrassment flooded your stomach.

“Oh.”

He laughed again, turning just enough to kiss your temple. “Just teasing darling. Although I do love that color on your cheeks.”

“Serves me right for trying to give you a compliment,” you said, pouting. 

“Oh don’t be like that. I relish them all.” 

You huffed in childish annoyance, which only seemed to humor him. He then raised your entwined hands to the firelight, narrowing his gaze as if to examine them himself. 

“Do you think I’d actually be good?” he asked as a peace offering. 

You let out a sigh. There really was no use trying to stay annoyed with him. 

“Capability is there,” you allowed, “provided you have a very, very patient teacher.”

“Are you offering?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re interested.”

“Depends if you’re offering,” he repeated, with a sly smile. 

You didn’t answer right away, scrunching your face in exaggerated thought. 

“Maybe not piano,” you concluded. “There’s only so far the blind can lead the blind.”

He nodded in understanding. “How about the violin?”

Again, you considered before shaking your head. “Too difficult for a beginner. Lute isn’t bad though.”

He gave a dismissive scoff. “Overdone. The lyre, perhaps?”

“Bit on the nose don’t you think?”

His brows furrowed, his lips pursing in consideration. “A lyre and a player…Yes, I suppose you’re right. The jokes just write themselves. Flute?”

You shrugged. “Never learned actually.”

“Really?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Pan pipes.”

“No.”

“Horns?”

“No to all wind instruments. I think it comes down to mechanics. I never saw the appeal of having to put my lips together and blow.” 

You glanced up at Astarion, keen to watch his reaction. 

He stared at you for a long second, a look of utter confusion on his face. His eyes then widened as a loud laugh barked from his lips. 

You broke that same instant, dissolving into giggles. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” he said, trying and failing to get a hold of himself. “Gods that was awful!” 

“But effective,” you pointed out, grinning. 

He gave another short laugh before shaking his head. “What have I gotten myself into with you?”

“Having regrets?”A wicked smirk flashed across his face. “Far from it, darling.” He then leaned in close, his eyes alight with conspiracy and mirth. “I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

[procyonloser]

Adam didn't know what to say, how to react, or what to do - nothing could have prepared him for this. Upon his creation, many things were confusing, strange, befuddling, and upon his removal from Eden, he got a taste of how the world could sting.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared Adam for walking into Lute's condo and finding a body pillow with him on it.

She turned fifty shades of gray and stammered over her words, trying to defend the purchase. She hadn't ordered it, she said. She got it from Peter.

'Peter dating my son, Peter', Adam had asked her, to silence, as Lute broke out a window to jump out of an fly away.

Adam looked down at the pillow, it was his normal outfit. He turned it over and found art of himself face down, ass up, with a little bunny tail.

Nope. He burned it right to hell.

Adam tracked down Peter next, who smiled upon seeing him, then turned pale as he realized Adam wasn't happy. He tried to escape, but Adam was quicker and larger than him. Peter turned bright red when Adam slammed him up against a wall, letting out a small moan that made his skin crawl.

'Explain the fucking pillow,' Adam snarled in his face.

And Peter did.

They hadn't been made in heaven, which was less shocking - they'd been made in hell, but Peter didn't know who by. He just found a truck load, and apparently there was a line around the block to pick one up. Why people wanted a pillow of Adam in a slutty pose, Adam had no idea. He was a badass exorcist alpha male rock legend, not some bitch.

Peter said as far as he knew, the pillows had come out of the Greed ring. Which Adam wasn't supposed to go to. He wasn't allowed there. It wasn't part of the agreement, he wasn't supposed to upset the heirarchy in the hellborn by reminding them all they were nothing compared to him a human soul.

Adam went anyway.

He found one of Mammon's factories, and felt stunned silent for the second time in one day. There wasn't just one pillow of him in production, there was an entire series of them, and some were blatantly pornographic. He was happy they gave him a totally accurately sized huge dick, but he wasn't as thrilled with the things that were up his ass or down his throat in half the pillows.

Technically, he wasn't allowed to kill hellborns, but he was allowed to pull the fire alarm and then blow the whole place to smithereens.

Flying home, he had to pass through Pride, where he was quick to run into the face he hated most.

Lucifer hung in the sky, arms crossed, horns high.

'Mammon told me what you did, you know we have cameras now, right?' Lucifer asked tiredly, and Adam just parroted him mockingly, before telling him to get the fuck out of the way. 'No, you can't just attack the private property of one of my people, my sins, without answering for it. Those sex dolls cost Mammon a lot to produce.'

Adam stared, and stared.

'... Dolls? I burned down the body pillows.'

Lucifer froze, nervously laughing. 'That's what I meant, of course. Pillows. Right. That's all he's made of you.'

Adam decided in that moment all sinners must die.

[sugarushwriting]

ot7 vampire — human blood bank

s2 part 9

adult content featured, read at your own discretion

small jay smut

you sat around the breakfast bar with sakura and eunchae. the other girls had went out for the day with their own activities.

“i don’t understand how i was so jealous of you all moving in. i acted liked a child.” you huffed, picking at your plate.

sakura placed a hand on your shoulder. “it’s okay hon. you have a bond with them and seeing them with past lovers freaked you out. it’s really okay.”

eunchae added, mouth full of bacon, “plus no telling if ni-ki or that sunwoo guy had already began altering your brain and thoughts.”

feet padded down the steps heavily. sounds of boots.

“sounds like riki.” eunchae said finishing her food. ni-ki came into the kitchen with a smile, stealing a piece of toast from eunchae’s plate.

“you ready?” he asked and eunchae nodded.

“please be safe.” sakura said in a mom tone.

eunchae hugged her. “we’ll be with chan’s clan, jeongin and seungmin. we’ll be fine.”

chan had invited them to see his world, and where he lived. he offered to help ni-ki with his anger and other powers.

a horn blew from outside. “that’s heeseung and sunoo. well better go before they blow their heads off.” ni-ki stated, tugging a strand of eunchae’s hair.

“you just do anything to annoy me.” eunchae mumbled flicking the back of his head. eunchae chased ni-ki all the way out the door.

“what are you going to do for the day?” you asked.

sakura smiled. “seeing some friends i haven’t seen in a long while. nayeon and jihyo.”

“well i hope you have the best time.”

you said goodbye to sakura, and she walked out the back door, her dress flowing to her small figure.

“if only i had genes like that.” you mumbled.

“but i like the way you are, now.” jungwon’s voice said from behind you.

he kissed the top of your head, so then so you leaned your head back, puckering your lips. jungwon chuckled and kiss your lips lovingly.

he sat beside you so you could turn your head normally.

“do you need to feed or anything?” you asked.

truth be told, it’s been a few days since you’ve returned and it’s like all the boys minus sunoo and ni-ki have been avoiding or ignoring you. you’ve hardly seen jay and sunghoon at all.

jungwon hesitantly shook his head. “no.”

“what is it with you all? i come around and you all are quick to dismiss. not like you all at all. especially jay and sunghoon.”

jungwon internally debated if he should tell you. but he knew you didn’t like being left out. he also didn’t like the way you were giving him puppy dog eyes and pouting.

jungwon sighed. “it’s because of your smell.”

“do i stink?” you gasped and sniffed yourself.

jungwon laughed. “it’s not like that. it’s just, you were strong of sunwoo’s smell. our need to mark you was strong. especially for sunghoon and jay. we didn’t and don’t want to hurt you.”

“do i still smell like him?” you asked, eyes wide.

jungwon shook his head. “thankfully no. but jay will be the first to feed off of you, the sunghoon, then the rest of us.”

“when’s that? i hate being ignored.” you pouted.

“now.” jays deep voice carried from the last step at the bottom of the stairs.

he walked in the kitchen, hands in his pockets, eyes going back to their normal color from being red. you internally squealed at the look jay was giving.

jungwon chuckled, tapping your leg. you looked at him and he nodded his head towards jay.

you smiled shyly and walked up to jay at the steps, his hand reaching out to grab yours gently. he led you to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

your chest pumped in anticipation. would he be rough? you secretly loved rough jay, but your question was answered when he kissed you softly, rather than bringing out the duct tape.

jay looked into your eyes after the kiss with a smile. “your ours forever. no one else is allowed to feed off of you or fuck you.”

you nodded and jay smiled in relief leaning down to kiss you again, deepening the kiss as he walked you to his bed, your knees buckling under you. jay followed, as you fell back on the bed, jay landing on top of you.

not once did the kiss break, jay’s kisses becoming more intense, needy, and he began undoing your pants, pulling them down as far as he could from this angle. his hand went into your panties to play with your cunt, him smiling into the kiss finding you wet and ready for him.

he entered two fingers at once, you immediately adjusting to his fingers, your hand gripping his wrist as he began pumping in and out. lips still attached, you began moaning into his mouth, into the kiss, your free hand and arm, wrapping around his neck.

jays tongue prodded through your lips, you instantly and instinctively accepted, and he added a third finger, catching you off guard, you moaning loud into his mouth.

as he pumped his fingers, your body began moving on its on, trying to match his pace. his thumb rubbed circles on your clit, intensifying your pleasure.

both hands went to grip his biceps, your lips removing from his, as you leaned your head back and let out a loud moan of jay’s name.

“that’s it love.” jay smiled hearing you moan his name. his lips attached to your neck, his teeth teasing the spot he likes to feed most.

but before so, he removed himself completely, a whine leaving your lips. he chuckled softly, eyes never leaving yours. he removed his shirt and sweats, revealing he opted out of boxers. he then removed your shirt, pants and underwear, and climbed back on top of you. his tip aligned with your entrance, he slowly pushed in, your legs immediately wrapping around his hips. his mouth went back to your neck, his teeth already poking through your skin.

he pulled out to his tip, the rammed back in, and while so, his teeth sunk into you, you loudly shouted from pain and pleasure, your arm wrapping around his shoulder once again.

jay began easing in and out of you, whispering sweet things into your ears.

“jay, i’m close.” you moaned out. you were close to your orgasm sooner than usual, and sooner than you would like to be.

jay felt it, and encouraged you to come with him. you did. both of you moaning into each other’s mouths, breathing hard. less intense, but more pleasurable, loving.

“mine.” jay growled and kissed your neck where his teeth imprinted.

later than evening, you felt weaker than usual, but just thought maybe you hadn’t ate enough. scuffling down to the kitchen, sunghoon and jay seemed to be in an intense stare down.

when you walked in, sunghoon and jay whipped their heads to you, sunghoons eyes landed on your neck. he took quick and long strides to you, taking your chin in his hand, moving it so he had better view of your neck.

your new—not a real—tattoo. of jays teeth. permanently.

“you fucking marked her!” sunghoon gritted out.

you gasped removing yourself from his grip. your hand immediately went to your neck, finally feeling the teeth mark. usually the marks would be gone by now. but this one hadn’t left.

“i had to! if i didn’t who knows what would happen next. other vampires need to know she’s ours.”

“am i going to turn?” you whispered out.

sunghoon turned to you softly. “no sweetheart. it just means you’ll smell like jay forever until the mark leaves.”

“which will never happen.” jay crossed his arms.

“jay, you’re not supposed to mark a human without their knowledge and permission!” sunghoon explained. “you know there’s a whole damn ritual and it needs to be with the full moon to protect her and us.”

“if i smell like jay, does that mean the rest of you are turned off from me?” you pouted.

sunghoon smiled and shook his head. “no. since we’re from the same clan, you smell just like you to us. it just shows jay is your provider, owner, and you belong to him and his clan.”

“wait, what do you mean ritual to protect me?”

sunghoon sighed and pinched his nose. “jay, you have major explaining to do to chan and make sure our girl doesn’t die!”

you gasped, “die?”

jay huffed, sunghoon ready to rip his head off. “seriously jay, do you not think before you act?”

“i just wanted her to be ours!”

“she is ours but we—you, could’ve done it in a more appropriate manner!”

“am i going to die?” you squealed, never removing your hand from your neck.

“let’s hope not.” chan’s deep voice came from the hallway and in he walked into the kitchen.

you caught off guard, jumped with a squeal. “fucking fuck, why are you so quick and quiet?”

chan laughed. “remember, i am a predator in a way.”

“oh, right.” you mumbled. “how do you always know when to come?”

“i always know when someone fucks up.” chan stared at jay.

“ok, so i fucked up, what happens?”

“her body is already weak, i can smell it.”

you sniffed yourself. you smelt fine to yourself.

“what happens if she dies? i mean when i tried to turn her last time she was fine.” jay stated.

“that’s different. you know our bites are different, hence, different markings.” chan said. “and you know there are rules and rituals we must follow to ensure everyone involved is safe.”

“can you just spit it out, chan?” jay said, rolling his eyes. chan didn’t like the disrespect but let it go.

“she may live, be fine, no issue. if she dies, she could potentially come back to normal, but most likely not.”

“huh?”

“you see, yes, part of her bloodline is to feed vampires, specific clans. that’s why she doesn’t get weak from feedings often from you all. but all bloodlines have different paths and it’s up to the ancestors to decide which path to take.”

“oh, what are my other paths my bloodline chose not to go through?” you asked excitedly.

chan laughed. “well we all know first is being a blood bank for your vampire clan.”

“yes, yes, what are the others?” jay asked impatiently.

chan rolled his eyes at jay, noting how annoyed sunghoon was at jay. sunghoon hadn’t stopped shooting dagger eyes at jay.

“usually there’s only two bloodline choices, but you had three your ancestors chose from. one was becoming a line of witches.”

“oh a witch!”

jay and sunghoon didn’t seem to happy. chan smirked, “aw fellas, don’t be so sad, you’ll love what other bloodline her ancestors had decided not to pursue.”

both boys swallowed. you bounced with excitement, “oh was i vampire myself? or maybe a fairy? oh maybe i could talk to animals!”

“none of the above.” chan said.

“what was she, bang chan?” sunghoon asked. he was nervous. he had a feeling.

chan looked at you. “hunter.”

“hunter?” you asked in disbelief. “like a fucking deer or goose hunter?”

chan and sunghoon bursted out laughing, jay kept quiet.

“no sweetheart,” sunghoon said in between laughing. you crossed your arms not liking the way they were laughing.

“chan means mythical creature hunter.” jay said, now definitely regretting choices he made.

your heart dropped. “like—like vampire hunting? hunting you all?” you gasped.

all three nodded.

“so i’m either lame like justin russo from wizards of waverly place or absolutely cool like sam and dean winchester.” you smiled. “but either way, i wouldn’t hunt you all, i love you guys, and i know you all don’t hurt people.”

“it doesn’t work like that.” chan sighed. “once you die, and whatever bloodline path comes, you won’t have memory of us.”

“what?” you frowned. you looked at jay and sunghoon. “i wouldn’t remember them? you?” you pointed to chan.

chan shook his head. “this is why doing it during the full more is important. the ritual involves a witch to put a protective spell on both the human and clan to avoid things like this and to avoid any kind of retaliation.” chan narrowed his eyes at jay.

“well when’s the next full moon? how do i remove my mark, huh? we can remove it and do it the right way.”

“next full moon is in three days. i’m scared she might not make it until then. we’ll still need a witch to remove the mark, but since it was done wrongly, it’ll be painful.”

“anything to keep her alive and to not become a damn vampire hunter!” jay snapped.

“painful?” tears started prodding your eyes. “what the fuck jay!”

“in the meantime, keep her indoors, keep her rested, and no feeding. make sure she keeps her energy up as much as possible.”

“is there anyway i could come to your world with your clan?” you asked.

jay looked at you like you lost your damn mind. “no.” he growled.

you pointed a finger at him, “you hush it!”

“it might be safer jay.” sunghoon said. “she’ll be surrounded by the most powerful vampires and other creatures.”

“only if we come too. i’m not letting you out of my sight again.” jay demanded.

“only if you behave.” chan stated, voice going down an octave. “you all can come. it may actually be a good learning lesson for you all. can attend some of the classes we have.”

“what is this? like vampire academy or hogwarts?” you asked.

chan shrugged. “something like that.”

[monster-disaster]

[krampus] Michael 1/3

krampus!Michael x human!Reader Good to know: a bit mean Michael, a bit crying Reader but nothing too serious

Summary: You want to ask your neighbor a favor but it doesn't go well.

You shouldn't do this. It's a bad idea. Maybe even insensitive, too. Probably. But despite your inner battle, you still find yourself knocking on your neighbor's door, a small, hopeful part of you wishing he wouldn't answer. Maybe it would be better if he wouldn't answer. You could go back to your apartment as if nothing happened. After all, he might not even be home. You could still slip away unnoticed. Yeah, best to just-

A faint clink of keys jangling filters through the door, followed by the sound of a lock turning. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you nearly turn to leave, but then the door swings open. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed in front of him. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, hanging low on his lean hips, and his bare chest is right at your eye level, all tight muscle and fur. You can see the slight rise and fall of his breathing, a steady rhythm that draws your gaze up to his face. He raises an eyebrow, his gaze curious, almost amused, as he waits for you to say something.

"Hey," you smile up at him, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Hey," Michael replies, tilting his head slightly as a playful smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Can I help you with something?"

Heat spreads up your cheeks, and you swallow, nodding. "Yes," you say, licking your lips nervously. "And, um… you can totally say no," you add in a rush, wanting to soften the blow of your unusual request. "But, well… there's this holiday program at the mall for the kids. A Christmas event."

You watch his golden eyes narrow slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths as he raises an eyebrow. "And?" he asks slowly as if he already knows where this is going, and he isn’t sure he likes it.

"And… we lost an elf today," you say, cringing a little as the words leave your mouth.

His thick brow arches even higher. "Lost?" he repeats.

You shake your head quickly. "Got sick," you clarify. "So, we’re in desperate need of someone to, um… step in as her replacement."

The male's gaze sweeps over you as if weighing whether you're actually serious. "Let me get this straight," he says, his tone laced with skepticism. "You want me to be an elf?"

You let out a soft scoff, trying to play it cool, though the heat creeping up your face tells a different story. "No," you reply, attempting to sound casual. "Of course not."

"You want me to be the Krampus," he states, not asking but knowing. He’s already put it all together.

You nod, swallowing, and manage a barely audible, "Yes."

"You want a krampus to play the Krampus at your little Christmas event so all the kids can run screaming to their parents and Santa?" His voice is firm and steady, his gaze heavy and unyielding as it rests on you.

You clear your throat, trying to salvage what’s left of your request, but his intense gaze makes it nearly impossible to keep a straight face. "Well," you begin, forcing a lightness into your tone, "kids cry over everything anyway."

"You know it's a bit offensive, right?" he asks with a hint of reproach as he straightens to his full height. His chestnut-brown fur catches the warm glow from his apartment. The sight is both mesmerizing and, admittedly, a bit intimidating. "You know how many kids started crying from seeing me just today?"

You are not exactly sure what pushes you over the edge. Maybe it’s his voice, firm and edged with a hint of irritation. Or maybe it's the way he towers over you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his tall frame casting a shadow over you that makes you feel small and cornered. Then there’s the sight of his horns, long and formidable, curling back before angling upwards toward the ceiling. Or perhaps it’s the subtle snarl twisting his lips, his fangs just barely visible as he speaks. You can't be sure what it is exactly, but after weeks of long hours spent at the mall, surrounded by crying kids and endlessly unsatisfied parents, you feel something inside you start to unravel. It’s the exhaustion catching up to you, the weight of it all pressing down so hard that you can barely hold it together. Your throat tightens, and before you can stop it, you feel the sting behind your eyes. The first tear slips free, hot and fast, and suddenly, you can’t stop them. They fall in quick succession, betraying you before you have a chance to look away or try to fix yourself.

Michael’s posture shifts immediately, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he takes in the sight of you, but before he can say anything to make it better or worse, you feel the words spill out of you uncontrollably. “God, I know it’s a stupid request,” you snap at him shakily. “I know it’s insensitive, alright? I know! I’m not an idiot, I get it. I’ve spent weeks at that goddamn mall with kids crying over every little thing, parents complaining about everything. And don't even let me start with that stupid elf costume I have to wear every day! And I just… I just thought, maybe, just maybe, if you helped, it would make it less awful for a second. But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t think you’d actually-” You take a breath, forcing yourself to steady your words. “You didn’t have to make it worse. If you’d just said no, that would’ve been enough. I didn’t need- I didn’t need you to make me feel even worse.” Your voice wavers slightly as you continue, the tears starting to slow, but the frustration still raw. "I don’t need anyone else making it harder, Michael." You shake your head, wiping your eyes to get rid of the salty wetness that probably smudged your makeup all over your flushed face.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you let the silence fall between you for a long, tense second. The words have left you, but the weight of them still lingers.

After what feels like an eternity, you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Thank you, anyway," you grunt, forcing the words out, though they feel hollow.

Without waiting for a response, without even giving him another glance, you turn on your heel and rush back to the safety of your apartment. The sound of your feet pounding against the floor echoes in your ears, but you don’t dare look back. Not even once. You don’t see the way Michael stands there, his eyes following your retreating form, and you don’t see his friend joining him at the door, patting the krampus on the shoulder with a sarcastic hum under his breath, “Well, you really make everyone cry, don’t you?”

_ You can read the other two parts (I will post them on Dec. 24 and 25) on my Patreon where I post a story every day this month.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Pletonic yandere with Disney Hades

Will be nice to have a sassy dad

Yandere Father Hades 

“Come on Megara, all you got to say is that I’m going to some siren soiree you know. I just know he’s going to ask you before anything and it’ll give me enough time to–”

“Fat chance, Spitfire. You’re daddy’s going to sniff you out faster than Cereberus and we all know how that ended last time.”

You sucked your teeth as you know her words are true. While the embarrassment that came with your father crashing every Olympian party you so much as thought about attending. But you had to go this time, you just had to.

“But Meg…Perseus will be there…”

She groaned bookmarking a page in her book and closing it to look at you earnestly. Recognizing that longing look in your eyes, she painfully sighs as she grasps your hands.

“(Y/n) the thing about love is that it's…not guaranteed and wouldn’t you want to save your freedom for something that will promise your happiness.”

You knew what she was getting at and you had nothing to protest. Perseus may have invited you but you doubted he actually remembered you. Let alone would really notice you’re intentions towards him. Sinking your head and pulling from Meg’s hands you slowly stood.

“I-I guess you’re right.” You turned away mopily leaning on the exit of the room, “I’ll see you around Meg.”

She could only worriedly sigh as she watched you drag yourself out the room. Her look of sincerity and sorrow morphed; scrunching into a disatistied frown she turned the side of her cheek to the darkest corner behind her.

“Happy?”

From the darkness a blue fire ignited resting atop the head of none other than Hades. With a spikey toothed smile the deity of death emerged from the shadows with spirits high.

“You know what? I am! Ta think all it took to get them to behave was a brokenhearted–”

“Yeah. Yeah, well maybe if you let them live a little they wouldn’t treat you like the plague itself.” 

“Meg, meg, meg! I’m sure you can’t tell but I’m their parent and what experience do you have raising a little bundle on your own?”

“...”

“Come on! Come on!”

“...none.”

“NONE! That’s right! Zilch, Nada!”

“Whatever just don’t go blowing up the underworld when they explode at you.”

“Yeah? And how much do you want to be-”

Suddenly the distant calls from Panic and Pain rang throughout the hall, before they stumbled in. 

“Sir! S-sir!”

“M-master! (Y/n) took the chariot–”

“-and t-they released Cerberus as well!” 

Exactly as they expected an angry beam of red hot fire shot off his head as his face contorted to one of pure rage. Meg stepped away from him letting her lips stretch into a knowing smirk as she crossed her arms.

“WHAT?!” 

“T-they i-interrupted our cleaning it–”

“Yeah sayin’ something about not living forever?”

Meg snickered. “What’d I tell ya?” 

He shot a glare towards her before grasping the heads and horns of Pain and Panic. Veins popping from his forehead and heat permeating from his hands, he let out a pent up scream. Shriveling in response the imps bore the pain of his raging flames.

“AAAAAAAGGHHH!”

“HOT! HOT! HOT!HOT!”

Meg rolled her eyes holding her hands over her ears, waiting until his eventual cool down. In a puff of air he released his servants and ran a hand through his azure flamed hair.

“Alright Im cool, I’m cool again. We just need to know where they're going.”

“We don’t know Master!”

“M-m-maybe they went to a park or something?”

“I’m thinking our dearest Nutmeg knows the answer to that!”

She groaned as Hades squeezed her shoulders and mockingly nuzzled his cheek into hers. Pulling away she looked behind her to see a dark look on the lord of death’s face. She fought her desire to shakily sigh before spilling what she knew–she hoped you were doing what you needed to do.

_____________________________________________

Arriving on the chariot of death to a Solcist party was the coolest entrance you could have had. And as much as you wished you could dally you needed to find Perseus–to tell him how you felt. Pushing past the other party-goers still guffawing at your arrival you made your way into the heat of the gathering already feeling the tightness of bodies dancing next to one another. 

You could smell the power of your cousin Eros wafting through the air. It gave you a sense of urgency as you searched for the one you were looking for. 

“(Y/n)?”

Perfect timing. You turned to the hero, expecting to see him as handsome as the day you met him only to stagger at the sight.

On his arm was Andromeda, the ethiopian princess he’d recently saved. In turn he was leaning into her, a visual intimacy between the two that really made them stand out. 

“H-hey Perseus, Andromeda.”

“So happy you could make it, we’ve heard great things about you-”

He kept talking and all you could do was blindly nod your head and wave off his compliments. Watching painfully as they disappeared into the crowd, seemingly sneaking off to make out in a corner somewhere.

It hurt. 

It hurt a lot.

But you didn’t want to leave. In fact you wanted to party. Party so hard you’d see no end in sight. To forget about that pain, to replace it with something sweeter for the time being. You’d deal with the pain later but for the time being…

“I think its a good time to call those…flower lovers…what are they? The lotus eaters?”

_____________________________________________________

When Hades finally arrived to the right party spot, he’d fully expected its attendees to run in terror. After all he arrived on the back of a drooling and searching Cerberous but the only reaction was the distant coos of some few who seemed to notice them. 

“Aww what a cute puppy!”

“Here give ‘em a flower!”

“Give them three.”

Hades scrunched his nose, practically suffocating by the sent of intoxication and the lotus’ influence. Slipping offf Cereberus’ back he walked past the intoxicated guests. He didn’t mind the way the giant dog(s) accepted the flowers offered to them as well as the humans feeding them as snacks. 

“Saves me a cow or two.” 

Entering the andron, he shoved past the different intoxicated humans and demi-humans in search of a familiar head. Even as he pulled at familiar looking partiers and stomped through different rooms he found no sign of his little flame. Feeling close enough to burn the property to the ground he quieted as he recognized your silhouette in the moonlight. 

Sitting idly on a bench you were too occupied removing the seeds of your pomegranate to properly acknowledge your fatherl.

“Hey, you! You look like your having the time of your life too bad I’m here to cut it short! Eh?!”

He put his hands out as he finished his punchline to which you sent a single look his way. Deflated Hades plops himself next to you looking into your lap and then at your face. 

“Sooo is this what you’re like with lotus in your system? A total buzzkill?”

He frowned deeper when you all but sighed as you continued to pick out the seeds of your fruit. 

“I already had two of the lotus flowers…but that was a while ago.”

“Than what in my name are you doing here?”

He watched your eyes look to the side towards a couple that were drunkenly clinging to one another; that was all he needed.

“Uhh no reason.”

He didn’t seem convinced. But when you gave him that adorable pout he figured he could wait before exacting their comeuppance for putting Hades baby in a state of unease. Kirking his mouth into a smile as he pulled you into him.

“C’mon kid what’d do ya say we blow this popsicle stand? Eternity’s still young and the dead won’t stop coming anyway!”

You chuckled, “What’d we even do?”

“Well I’ve been hearing rumors of Thebes having a new hero, figured we send a hydra or two over for a…welcoming gift.”

“That sounds cruel….I’m in!”

“Yes! Now where’s the chariot?”

“Right, about that that’s a f-funny story–”

“Kid you’re killin’ me here!”

_____________________________________________

The day had come and Meg couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. Sleeping soundly in your room surrounded by the armor of the now fallen hero. Not to mention the other various artifacts you clutching onto in your sleep.

“All tuckered out. I’d say you weren’t half as bad as a dog but I know you too well for that.”

“Think what you may the title of #1 Daddyio belongs to me. Speaking of I have a job for you Meg.”

He handed her a device, it looked strange but he snatched it out of her hands to shove on her face; clouding her vision.

“Ah what are these things?”

“The cool kids are callin’ them: sunglasses! Anyway, there’s this guy with a gorgon’s head and I need him dead.”