#AO3 please try... I cannot do without you.

[indelen]

Me whenever AO3 goes down

[court-of-constellations]

i should be asleep but i found a quiz and

i feel seen and i Do Not Like It

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 9 — HE'S A VIRGIN

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — aventurine, blade, boothill, sunday

— warnings. — fem! reader, virgin hsr men, virginity loss, inexperienced af & pussy drunk, established relationship, they're kinda whiny, dirty talk

⚝ — AVENTURINE

aventurine doesn't know how to properly touch you, and it's cute— right? of course it is, yet again, it's not like he wasn't aware on how to trace sweet patterns all over your flesh, yet without experience, he was frightened he'd fail to make you feel good.

but he's a gambler, isn't he? and this— this is the wager he'd risk everything on.

he cups your face with trembling hands, lips parting against yours with the kind of hunger that doesn't belong to a man who's done this before— it's worshipping, yes, and wild? like he's tasting pure wealth, real power, you, all in one drag of breath and tongue meshed together.

and there's a moment aventurine thinks he can play it cool, settle down his excitement with some jokes curled at the edge of his lips— "what's the risk here, really?" he drawls, but then you slowly guide him in, inch by inch, step by step, and his whole face fractures.

his breath abandons him all at once— violently, shamefully, like a confession torn from the throat at knifepoint as his mouth falls open to moan out your name, lips parted in disbelief on how good you felt around him, not even a gasp escaping, only a shuddering intake of air that sounds more like penance than relief when his thick length pushes itself past your hole, practically bullying itself in.

white-knuckled, he grips the sheets and cages you in within his arms as if the sensation has torn straight through to his spine as he rocks his cock once more, pushing past your creamy hole again and again and again with shallow, sloppy thrusts when he winces, yes, cries as your walls suckle and constrict around him, your stomach tensing as he whines into your neck.

"shit— shit, it"s—" aventurine cannot even finish his words without melting it into a brittle whimper, and you pull your hips up a bit to give him better entry as he pants hotly at the pleasure, his body betraying him with the enormity of feeling you, as if the sensation of your deepest spongiest spots itself were an affliction too great to name.

you move your hips up and up to grind just enough and he gasps loudly, like am animal without shame, covering his cheeks in a pink flush as he stares down at you— sweating, chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead, "you feel like— like, i'm not supposed to survive this," he groans, voice breaking, "fuck— do it again, please do that thing you did—"

and when you do, slowly grinding your hips up, your walls milking him sensually, he throws his head back, eyes lurching back, whites flashing— an expression not of ecstasy, but of some higher derangement. his lips, clearly bitten to a sickly red, tremble as though every nerve beneath them was a silent cry for more. 

he reaches down with trembling fingers to tenderly caress your cheek, not understanding how you can feel this good, ugh, like he's never going to recover from this ever, "fuck— i could die like this," his voice slips out like a secret smuggled through clenched teeth;

"—and call it profit."

⚝ — BLADE

without a doubt, blade's kisses were always rushed, yet do not mistake him for the reason that it's not due to the fact that he wanted it to be this way— but because he doesn't know any softness.

yet when his lips meet yours like a wound trying to close, like violence sculpted into affection, blade realizes he's never done anything more than this before and it shows, it clearly did— in how hard he grips at you, anxiously, how tight his jaw was and the lust hovering over his facial features, like pleasure itself might annihilate him.

when you guide his mouth open with yours, his whole body shudders and there's a broken sound you picked up on, something low and strangled, torn from deep inside his throat as his hands fly to your waist— a little too rough, yes, too urgent, almost as if he's pulling you closer, tighter, closer still, he needs you, right now.

and when he feels you for the first time— truly feels you— his knees nearly buckle, not because he's overwhelmed, but because he's terrified he might never stop craving this moment once it's over.

on top of that, blade never stops pecking your lips as he kisses like a man who's never thought he'd be allowed to do this, and now, well, that he has it, he's going to burn for it.

you're riding him slowly at first, your squeals and mewls turning him on— you're beautiful, blade thinks, your moans spilling from you like sugared blasphemies— those candid, innocent, candy-shaped sounds, so bare in their honesty that it hurts to hear them and blade could've just cummed right here and there with a view like that.

he's trembling as he grasps at your moving hips— his jaw clenched, teeth grinding, hands squeezing and wiggling your flesh like he's trying to stop himself from acting out what his body's screaming to do. you repeatedly sink onto him as the air rips out from his lungs in one long, guttural moan— your cunt swallowing him whole, all at once without mercy, sucking him in like you're even needier and more lusting than him, whining out his name in brittle, cute tunes as you're being spread wide open by his cock throbbing inside.

his hips stutter upwards as he presses himself entirely inside you in many small, uncoordinated jerks as he claws at the sheets, no, fists them— quite literally anything to ground himself, little does blade realize there's no ground for him to hold onto.

there's only you— your tight, hot, walls wrapped around him, feeling like a punishment, a deliciously hot punishment— fuck, you cannot be real, your pussy was so hot, soft and spongy, his cock just drags and slips along the insides of your walls with such ease.

"i'm gonna—" he hisses through his teeth, hips fucking into you, "gonna lose my fucking mind—" as you begin to ride him faster, crueler when his body bucks and bucks and bucks then shudders violently, fingers digging into your skin, forehead pressed to your chest like he's ashamed of the sounds he's making.

"don't look at me," blade winces, voice hoarse and broad arms wrapped around your waist, "fuck, don't— i'm gonna come too fast, i can't—" but you make him, in fact, you force him to keep voicing his pleasure as you grind down faster, your mouth hovering at his ear, whispering filth not meant for daylight— each word a slow, everlasting violation.

in that moment, blade doesn't shatter— he breaks.

he sobs as you both fuck each other desperately, mind buzzing and thigh muscles clenching as multiple, sharp, beautiful sound of skin on skin ring through your ears— and then he begs, "please, i can't hold back, don't stop, don't— don't make me, fuck more—'

but you do— in fact, ultimately still your hips, immediately, controlling his orgasm at last.

because blade was made to be ruined.

⚝ — BOOTHILL

as was anticipated, boothill grins at first, easy and cocky, you know? all swagger and silver-tongued charm, the kind of smile which was made to deflect and disarm, never leaving behind his cool persona yet the second your mouth touches his, the mask he's carefully put on drops instantly as he goes rigid, his breath caught right in his chest, hands hovering like he doesn't know where to land them.

you take the lead and that breaks him.

he whines softly, almost shameful, yeah— as your tongue touches his carefully, dancing and circling around his wet muscle with his fingers tightening in your dress, carefully pulling you in like he's afraid you'll stop if he applied too much strength.

there's no finesse to the way boothill kisses, no rhythm— just desperate, clumsy passion, teeth clicking by accident, nose bumping yours, but fuck, he means it— every moan, every twitch of his hips, every shaky inhale against your cheek— it's real.

raw. untrained. perfect.

and when he pulls back at last, flushed and swollen-lipped and dazed, he whispers, "y-you— you sure you want to—?" as his voice trembles like he's already addicted to how you're about to feel around him.

boothill hasn't touched you the way he aches to— not with the desperation clawing at his insides, his hands haven't claimed the plushy flesh of your ass, haven't properly gripped and kneaded like a man starving. he hasn't wedged himself between your thighs yet, hasn't carved himself into your wet, sloppy cunt like he's imagined night after night.

although the second he slides into you, he screams, chokes on it halfway, trying to muffle it with his hand, but it's too late— you've already heard what you've done to him, his cock weeping when he fucks into your tight walls as they milk his thick seed one by one.

he's wide-eyed, dazed, his lips trembling around some half-moan, half-laugh, like he cannot believe this was happening right now, "ugh, darlin’ you— I can't— how're you so tight—" as you crush your pussy down with his hips bucking up without permission, then he sobs, actually sobs when you attempt to go slower, clutching your waist like you're the last real thing on this earth.

“you're squeezin’ me like— ugh— it's like your body knows me already," boothill drawls and throws his head back, "i'm not gonna last, baby, i'm gonna lose it—" as you kiss him deeply, tongue sliding into his mouth as he moans into it like it's salvation, his fingers trembling where they grip you with his thighs shaking under yours.

his body was not made out of flesh— no, not in the way flesh was intended, it was cold, not merely in temperature, but in essence, like the echo of a cathedral long abandoned. boothill felt manufactured, as though he were patched together in some chamber where light was forbidden and love even more so.

the man thought that he was never made for desire, in fact, only for function, for ruin, for the mechanical repetition of duty— yet when you touch him, when you kiss and smile at him, it is as if you are laying hands upon judgment itself, removing everything that has happened to him— smoothly and unyielding with love sprinkled in your eyes.

at last, here he was, trembling under you in the faintest, most shameful of ways— his ribs, cool beneath your fingers, feeling like prison bars, and still he lets you in, babbling, not knowing what he's saying anymore, words like please and more and ugh i wanna stay inside you forever spill from his lips like he's utterly drunk on you.

⚝ — SUNDAY

over the slopes of your body, sunday shakes when he ultimately touches your face— and he's good with words, yes— but here, in this special moment in time, there's only silence, nothing but the tremor of it— wet, shivering gasps caught between parted lips when he kisses you.

no language, only the soft collapse of restraint, the sound of want making the squeezes of flesh without the dignity of words, only the terrifying intimacy of skin meeting skin.

his lips brush yours once, twice— and he gets greedier, kissing you trice, testing and asking, and when you respond— when you give, he sinks into it like a drowning man, mouth plush and parted, dragging kisses down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone with a kind of breathless awe.

he pants into your mouth like the taste of you was something forbidden, and he's just taken communion with it as his hands never stop moving, tracing every inch like he's memorizing your body.

sunday's never done this before, but somehow it's perfect— because he worships every second of it, kissing you like a call you didn't know you needed answered, evidently, the man moans your name like it burns his tongue— heavy with honor and the feverish throb of surrender.

with no punches pulled, it leaves his mouth dry, as if the very syllables were stitched within a delicious act of wickedness when his hands remain shaking, large palms warming up your hips as his fingers squeeze you towards him to move you over his erection.

oh well, sunday was so anxious he's holding you tighter than necessary, but the feeling grounds him as you took him easily.

he gasps at the moment he presses into where it goes further, his cock head popping in with ease, his breath seizing, strangled in his throat, as if his body can no longer bear the weight of sensation.

his eyes fall shut almost immediately, lashes damp with something too raw to name— like paradise, like ecstasy— quivering as though even that small act of surrender might undo him completely.

you lean forward and lick into his parted lips as he moans softly into the sloppy kiss— and fuck, you feel like you might be going insane on how big your boyfriend was, in fact, you knew he must be packed down there but ugh— your lungs were straining from pulling all the energy into keeping him inside as you squeeze him ever so tightly, every nerve on your walls ringing with the exquisite panic of too much pleasure and nowhere to place it.

underneath you, sunday appeared fragile, not weak, okay? do not call nor act like he was weak, ever.

the man was delicate in his awe, yes, in how much this mattered to him, how badly he's waited all this time, "you're inside me," he whines wetly as he ceases to think and starts to crave, "i'm inside you, i can't... it's too much."

he starts to experimentally thrust into you, sloppy grinds and shoves of hips smacking into your heat as he finds the perfect cycle for the both of you, especially for him to properly feel you but also cherish each softness and gnaw of your gummy walls, the ideal back and forth of his dick as you squeal his name for more.

sunday was filled with gratitude, lapping into your mouth and moaning into your lips like he's been possessed— sloppy and overwhelmed as your boyfriend chokes on a moan after thanking you for making him feel so good, "i've dreamed of this, but i never... never like this."

he moves with you now, the rhythm unraveling— each thrust deeper, needier, yet graceless in its urgency, as though guided more by instinct than thought. every motion dragging a cry from both of your throats, tangled in the wet heat between you as he moans against your skin without shame, breath hitching, mouth desperate against your neck, kissing you like it might quiet the quivering in his bones.

his voice cracks, although not from pain— but from the impossible, unbearable fact of you and him being one now, "fuck— i'm yours," he breathes, doused lips smearing his saliva over your skin, "baby— i'm yours, you hear me? i wanna stay here forever."

he's red all over— flushed to the tips of his ears, skin damp and shining, breath coming in ragged as his back arches, "i'd give you my soul," each of his words were fractured at the edges, broken by the quiver in his breath, moans upon moans laced through every syllable.

"if you just keep fucking me like this."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[not-rigel]

Can't do it better

posted on AO3 but im also going to post it here. first sevika fic aaa.

warnings: top sevika, teasing, strapping, riding, multiple orgasms, mean sevika, aftercare, soft sevika, porn what plot, F!reader

Sevika's fingers trailed down your spine, sending a shiver through your body. She was still in that teasing stage of sex, where half her strap was inside you. She was just waiting for the right moment to push the rest of herself inside. You tremble because you know that she knows you love the teasing.

She thrusts with half the length, deciding to drag out the teasing even more. You groan against the pillow your face is pressed into. She echoes your groan, but there is a mocking tone to it. She grabs your hips, pulling your ass higher which pulls you a little further on her strap.

The extra inch of her dick brushing inside you makes you lose control for just a moment but that's all that it takes. You push your hips back to take more of her. Her hands stop your hips after you get another inch inside of you.

She lets out a disappointed sigh, "Oh no, baby.. Do you think you can fuck yourself better than I can?"

You gasp, having been caught and in deep shit.

"I'm sorry. Sevika-"

You're cut off when she hooks her left arm under your torso and pulls you up so you're on your knees with her still inside of you. She repositions herself, remaining kneeled but her thighs are on either side of yours. She pulls your hips down then her arms move back to support her weight from behind.

"Go on, baby," She coos.

"What?"

"Fuck youself on my dick."

You push your hips back, a moan coming from you almost immediately. You just cannot dig yourself out of the hole you created.

"You gotta keep going, baby." Sevika is being evil, speaking that tone. The one that is equally demeaning and sweet.

You grind your hips, trying to find momentum but each time you shift yourself down on her dick you shudder and pause. She always feels so good inside of you. But you know there is something missing.

"Sevika," you whine, "Please. I can't fuck myself like you fuck me."

She flat out ignores the plea and the confession. "Faster."

Pathetic little noises leave you as you obey her order and begin to thrust your hips properly back onto her strap. You moan again and try to push yourself all the way down her length but you end up short.

"If you wanted me that deep, you should’ve let me fuck you," she growls. If her tone is any indication, she is losing her own control.

"Please please, Sevika. It's not enough. I need you."

But again, she ignores your begging. She must not understand. Having her inside you was getting you so close but all you really needed was to be hers. You needed to be taken.

"I can't cum without you claiming me," you admit. You think your confession is pathetic. Sevika thinks it's the hottest, sweetest thing in the world. You swear you can feel her shudder through the strap.

Without warning, she pulls out. She turns you over, pushing you into the mattress on your back. She takes her usual place between your thighs. She grabs her strap and slides it through your folds, teasing but not entering. She is watching the display while you are watching her. She is in complete awe. She pauses her teasing, biting her cheek to hold in a groan then leans over to grab something from the bedside drawer. The one with several toys and accessories you keep closeby.

You hear shuffling and one item is set on the dresser. She returns to her position before you can question it. She ducks down for a kiss, giving you a little bit of sweet affection before claiming you. The both of you moan into each other's mouths, enjoying the passion preceding your pleasure.

Sevika is the one to pull away. She has to see your face when she enters you. You're so wet it only takes some repositioning of her hips for her to slide inside. Half the length slips right in before Sevika can resist the suction of your pussy.

"Oh," both of you moan. Sevika is set on completing her earlier mission, making you wait to take her full length. And there is no way you'll ruin it now. You clenched around her as she forced you to be patient. Sevika pushed herself to the hilt in after a short wait, not able to resist all the ways she wants to make you lose your mind. 

"Sevika!" your shout echoes off the walls and your arm reaches up to grab onto her. Your fingers end up digging into her shoulder. You wait for her to begin moving but she doesn't so you whine at her. Pouting is not the most effective tactic on Sevika but you're so horny you can't think to do anything else.

"I just have to take a moment," her voice is as teasing as it gets. You look up at her to pout more but what you see is her using one hand to tighten the straps on her harness, pulling it tighter on her hips. Before you can even react, she begins thrusting.

She fucks with a power that is so special to her. She isn't going full force, starting at a comfortable pace but there is desire and carnality behind her thrusts. Each push and pull of her hips is so deliberate and precise. Thrusts meant to make you contort for her. Her pace doesn't slow or quicken, but she does reposition your legs whenever you get close to cramping.

The steady stimulation works you up, the notes of an orgasm beginning in your abdomen. "Sev.." you don't finish moaning her name when her lips find yours. There's only one word for it, possessive. Her teeth nip your lips between harsh kisses.

"That's right," she huffs between kisses. The snapping of her hips increases in speed. She reattaches your lips. The new stimulation adds harmony to the impending orgasm. With a couple more thrusts, you're cumming for her. Your orgasm drowns over any other noise, playing its own tune through your body. Sevika hears you reacting beneath her but she doesn't relent.

"Sev! I'm cumming!" You groaned into her mouth.

"Your legs aren't shaking. So I don't care."  Her hips continue their pace through your orgasm and don't stop after you're done. She pauses for a moment and you think you've been spared then she pushes up and hooks your ankles over her shoulder.

She resumes her thrusting but now it's messy, uncoordinated, quick thrusts. She needs this. And evidently so do you because less than a minute later you're cumming again, tears leaking from your eyes, legs shaking.

It's a sight for Sevika, really. Your pussy convulses and cream coats her strap. Your skin is hot, your eyes are rolled back, eyelids fluttering. Your breasts bouncing as she fucks you. She is sure if she looked behind her, your toes would be curled. Pressing a kiss to your calf, she orgasms with you, her's lasting noticeably shorter.

"There you go. Now you're really cumming." She says as she watches you come down from your high. With a warning she pulls out then presses another kiss to your calf before exiting the position. She moves to stand on the side of the bed, loosening her harness and slipping it off. Next, she is bending down to grab your face in both hands and kiss you. There are three words you would use to describe this kiss; caring, passionate, possessive. She is the one to pull away. She has a task she needs to complete.

"Want a massage, baby?" She purrs.

"Hmm?"

She picks up the item she retrieved from the dresser earlier, which you completely forgot about. It was a massage oil, purchased a couple months back. The massage oil was really only ever used for aftercare. Not only that, but it was only ever used if Sevika really needed the aftercare. So of course, you accept the offer.

Sevika had explained it to you before. That she needs to take care of you after sex because she has to reassure herself that you know she cares. It's a bit hard for her to believe you trust she cares about you more than anything especially when you get into intense scenes. 

"I knew I was going to be rough, hence me getting out the bottle beforehand, but…,” she pauses and shakes her head, “I said 'I don't care' to you during that. It's getting to my head a bit," she admits.

She moves to your left thigh and drops some of the oil onto your skin, then rubs it in with her flesh hand. Her way of avoiding eye contact. She hates having to be vulnerable and having someone look her in the eye at the same time. So you compromise. 

"Sev, you know me so well. You know exactly what to do to make me cum as hard as possible. And you know exactly what to say. You did everything you knew to do to give me that best orgasm. And you did. I'd say that's really caring." Your words do reassure her, as they always do.

"Thanks. You're... perfect." She sighs. She feels much better but still wants to take care of her girl, "Whatever you want, baby, let me know. I really want to take care of you tonight."

"You already are, Sev." 

[valalice]

જ⁀➴ FOR THE FAME. a violet modern musician au

punk rockstar!vi 𝑥 popstar!reader

summary. the music industry—known for its raw creativity, dazzling performances, and turning anyone into an overnight sensation. but what comes with newfound success is being able to maintain a steady stream of traction around your name (whether it's good or bad, because all press is good press. right?), for some artists it comes naturally, becoming chart climbers release after release, while for others they struggle falling down the charts and becoming known as just a one hit wonder. now, when two artists under the same label are both getting sly criticism from blogs commenting on their declines, their managers have no other choice but to curate a classic pr stunt to regain their public appeal again, while creating buzz around their respective upcoming projects. what could happen when the industry's rebel and sweetheart become the unexpected pair of the year?

warnings. fluff, angst, and eventual smut. modern au. fake dating. enemies to friends to lovers. slow burn. reader's stage name is angel, you guys can honestly change it if you'd so like since it's rarely used. no use of "y/n". musicians: powder, ekko, claggor, and caitlyn. choreographer!mel. producer!jayce. homophobia and talk of internalized homophobia & comphet. addiction: alcohol & substance abuse, as well as talk of rehab. inaccurate knowledge of the music industry. social media extras & extended scene cuts. please check each individual chapter for appropriate warnings!

a/n. i'm am beyond excited to finally share this series with you all! this series started as a one off idea, and, well it turned into this. i know some have expected this, i've been throwing out teasers (more will still come) for some time. and to be honest i should not even be posting this series right now, but i cannot contain it for much longer, i'm just eager to get it out for people to enjoy! and is it hypocritical for me to be posting a series with the amount of drafts and request in my inbox? perhaps! but i promise that i will try my best to dually post between the series and other works! i'm still working on a posting schedule, so be on the look out for polls!

biggest thank you to @topimpabunny for dealing with my rants constantly, and bouncing ideas back and forth off of each other. truly, everyone thank her, because without her this series wouldn't even exist! another big big thank you to @veramores my wife, my best friend, for putting up with me yapping her ear away for like over an over. but nonetheless she is also apart of this series for giving me different perspectives on things. lots of love to the both of you <3

main masterlist ⋆ vi masterlist ⋆ read it on ao3

table of contents ◞ TRACKLIST

' 🅴 ' indicates smut

prelude ♪ popularity contest.

label mandated events. everyone dreads them, but social networking is a must; an art form managers have mastered and a sport to artists in order to thrive in the competitiveness that is the music industry. and it’s here where the two of you were closer than you had even thought.

track one ♪ sold your soul for . . . this? ( releasing february 14th on all music platforms )

with albums set to release during the summertime, meetings ensue to keep the artists on track. however, unpleasant news is shared that gives wake up calls when careers are on the line. oh, and a not-so-meet-cute happens between the bubbling popstar and spunky rocker.

track two ♪ the master plan.

uh, oh! looks like the track is still being produced!

extras ◞ DELUX EDITION

social media post

coming soon!

exposed ◞ BEHIND THE SCENES

discography ⋮ series playlist. reader's. vi's.

meet the artist ⋮ reader ꒱ vi

WANT A FEATURE?

comment on this post (and this post only) to be added to the 'for the fame' taglist! (i'm no longer responding to individually to each person who asks to be on the taglist, but i do see the comments and you are added!)

[bunnyluvx]

spending rainy nights with you.

featuring: vlad dracula ţepeş x gn!reader.

summary: you're reading late at night, and your husband grows impatient waiting for you.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

tags: fluff | one-shot | vampire! reader | established marriage | clingy! vlad | you fight like an old married couple (you are an old married couple)

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! finally a new fanfic after 4 months. i'm really proud of this one so i hope you all like it! thank you to everyone who gave me advice, i really needed it. i appreciate you all so much! p.s i made the dividers featured, so please do not use them.

date started: 5:02PM, december 31st, 2024. date finished: 5:56PM, january 8th, 2025.

ib: @creativepromptsforwriting ♡ | wc: 2.9k | ao3

Darkness cradles the Earth in a loving embrace while the clouds cry. The moon cannot give its glow for beings below, and the stars are unable to watch the wonders of the night unfold for long without the clouds covering their view. It has been this way all evening, rain pouring down anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, stopping for around the same amount of time before starting again. The plants and animals of the forest are grateful for the sky's nourishment, and the clouds feel so encouraged by nature's gratitude that there are no signs of this pattern letting up anytime soon.

You appreciate the weather, too, for it is perfect for reading. At the moment, you find yourself sat in one of many libraries in the castle. The rocking chair that you find yourself in is rather comfortable, and the book in your hands pulls you further into its story with every word you follow. In your most comfortable nightwear with a blanket on your lap and a cardigan around your shoulders, not many other things come to mind when you try to think of a better way to spend your evening.

"I'll be to bed soon, dear. I'm almost finished with this chapter." Your voice breaks the comfortable silence and echoes across the wooden shelves enveloping you in your little corner to reach the ears of the rather large man that is making a very poor attempt to hide.

Standing not far from you, partially behind a bookcase, is your husband, Vlad Țepeș. You've felt his presence for the past few minutes, deciding that you would wait for him to speak first, but as quiet lingered in the air, you quickly realized that he wasn't going to announce himself. Your history with Vlad goes far beyond your marriage, for the two of you were some of the first vampires to ever walk the Earth. You were good friends for a very long time, and to save the novel-worthy story, you found each other after many years of being separated and romance fiercely set ablaze. No divine being could send you someone that's close in comparison to him, and he could say the same about you.

There are a few more moments of silence before you feel wind hastily rushing against the back of your neck, followed by large, strong arms tightly wrapping around your shoulders and cold skin resting right where the air had just wafted past you. Many would find it hard to believe that Count Dracula is a clingy lover, but this behavior is of no surprise to you. For as long as the two of you have been together, Vlad has always craved closeness. When he is without you for a certain period of time, he searches the castle to take his rightful place by your side once more. He didn't have to look for long tonight, for he knew exactly where you were.

You have been obsessed with this book that you found in the library, and while he is glad that you are enjoying it, it is taking your attention away from him. This is not something that pleases Vlad very deeply, so he is planning on making some changes tonight. "You've been in here for hours. Come to bed, now." His deep voice comes with a rumble from his chest, tone composed of a gentleness reserved for you alone.

His plea does not go unheard, for you know that all he wants is for you to snuggle up with him and doze into night's comfortable slumber together. Fondness takes hold of your heart as a small, tender smile curls onto your lips. It's difficult to refuse him such an innocent ask, but it is just as difficult to pull yourself away from the narrative in your hands, so you assure your beloved, "There isn't much left. You'll be alright a few minutes more."

This earns a disappointed groan from Vlad, burying his face further into your neck. "How much more is there?"

You tilt your head and take each remaining page between your fingers until you find the next chapter, and when you find your answer, you tell him, "Three pages."

Another groan grates from Vlad's throat, prolonged from the previous one as he nestles impossibly further into your skin with his large frame leaning against the back of the wooden chair. "Remind me why we sleep at night." Your darling requests, peaking up at your face.

"Hey, you don't have to sleep at night if you don't want to. It was your idea to change your sleep schedule so that we could match," You grant Vlad his request and recall the commitment that he made to sleeping throughout the night so that the two of you would be able to be together when the sun comes up.

You have preferred day to night for as long as you could remember. You have no reason for favoring daytime other than feeling that the Earth is so much more lively and bright. The plants are so vibrant beneath the sunlight, and there are so many things that you want to experience that you wouldn't be able to otherwise. Vlad always knew that you enjoyed day more than night, therefore adjusting your sleeping schedule accordingly; As a result, Vlad told you that he was going to start sleeping through the night too. At first, you were a bit worried about such a major change to his routine, but he insisted that he wanted to see the world through your eyes. This has been the arrangement ever since, and you cannot help but feel so smitten by the idea that he is willing to introduce such adjustments to his agenda in order to be with you.

With this transition in his life, Vlad knew that he was going to be groggy. While he has a substantial amount of energy compared to most vampires, this does not exempt him from needing the same amount of sleep. Have no doubt when he swears that there is nothing that he would change about dedicating himself to your lifestyle. You were right when you said that it was his choice, but unfortunately, it does not cure the fatigue that he often finds himself with when he stirs from his night's rest.

In attempt to adjust to the pattern he promised you, he likes going to bed early. Vlad tries to be tucked in anywhere from seven to nine P.M, and typically, you are by his side. You go to bed around the same time that he does, if not a little later, so when he was preparing himself for bed without you, he got worried. He figured that you would come to bed soon, so he laid down in attempt to fall asleep. As the hours ticked by with still no sign of you, he became restless, eventually making the decision to go look for you.

A defeated huff leaves Vlad's lips as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck again. One of many reasons why he fell in love with you was because of your smart mouth, and you pick the most bedeviling times to use it. "I know that," He mumbles lowly, peaking back up at you before resting his chin on your shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You know that I can't sleep without you. Please, come to bed." The count pleads again, sweeter this time.

You almost give in to his honeyed words, their innocent warmth daring to bewitch you. Nevertheless, you keep your composure while your eyes remain on the page before you, as they have throughout the entire conversation, "You will be just fine, dear. Only a few minutes longer."

Vlad has learned much about patience in his life, especially when he found you again. All good things come to those who wait is something that the dark-haired vampire has commonly watched play out, so normally, this wouldn't be the end of the world for him. He would do naught more than pout and refuse to detach himself from you until you came to bed. Tonight, however, Vlad will not be indulging in your distractions. Quick to stand, sending a blast of wind against your back once more, the count steps to your side before lifting you up into his arms. You yelp at the unexpected change of location and almost drop your book in the process, barely being able to catch it by its spine before holding it closed to your chest and leaning against your husband. "Vlad!!" You exclaim, laughter tickling its way from your lungs moments after.

"No. I have had enough. You are coming to bed with me." The vampire declares as he begins to make his way towards the library's exit.

"Vlad, put me down!!" You demand, only moderately annoyed with him as you flail in his grasp in attempt to escape, "Right now!!"

"Nope. So sorry, my dear, but your book is going to have to wait." Vlad proclaims, lips tilting upwards in a cheeky grin as his head turns to the side so that radiant red eyes can meet yours, "Your husband requires your attendance to the nightly snuggle session. You're late."

Any attempts you're making to escape the security of this man's arms are greatly failing you, so you decide to admit defeat now rather than later. His strength serves well, and while you are grateful for it most days, this is a good example of the cons of being married to one of Earth's most powerful vampires. He can, and will, wrangle you around whenever he pleases. Your bottom lip pokes out from its place as you lean against the man's chest, determined to uphold your front of unwavering stubbornness.

Amused by your dramatics, Vlad rolls his eyes playfully and allows them to close while a chuckle vibrates up his chest and past his lips. He opens them again to admire your sullen expression, musing, "Oh, come now. I can't be that bad of a cuddler since you're pitching a fit."

Your pout is quick to dispel from your face, a long sigh expelling from your lungs just afterwards. You avoid eye contact as you agree with him, "No, you're not."

Another chuckle escapes the mouth of your lover, a sound that you are secretly glad to hear that reassures you that he isn't taking you seriously. He draws you closer to his chest as he softly murmurs against your forehead before placing a kiss to it, "Don't worry, you can read more tomorrow."

You sulk and avoid eye contact for a bit before dropping the act. It wasn't much longer before you arrived into your shared bedroom, the door coming open to reveal a sight that has grown comforting to you over the years. The room is decorated primarily in red and black, as you both adore the colors, but there are a few distinct shades around too which sets apart your individual styles. Assorted trinkets rest across dressers and shelves from the many travels that you two have taken over the years, gifts and ornaments that you've made for each other through a plethora of shared anniversaries that always bring a smile to your face every time you pay mind to them.

Variously styled mirrors, decor, and paintings hang on the walls. There is no real purpose for the mirrors other than to enhance the elegance of the room, as they are too high for both you and Vlad to see anything from. The paintings, however, hold much importance to both of you. Each illustration that lays across your walls tells a story from one of your memorable moments together. Vlad personally hired the best artist he could find to perfectly capture your most treasured experiences, and whenever you are having a bad day, all you have to do is look up to brighten your spirits.

Your husband walks over to his side of the bed and holds you above the center before dropping you onto the soft surface, causing you to puff out an exhale before your laughter sings into the air. You lay yourself across the bed and remain still while Vlad adjusts the canopy draped over the wooden post by his pillow before he launches at you. With no time to move away, he plops over your stomach, the impact of his weight causing you to wheeze. You look down at him with an astonished grin on your lips as he lays in momentary silence before lifting himself off of you to settle onto you comfortably. You sit up and adjust all of the pillows behind you before leaning back against them, prying your book open again before it is promptly snatched out of your hands and slammed onto Vlad's nightstand. You laugh and try to reach for it, imploring for its return, but that is quickly shut-down by the vampire hovering above you, "No. Sincerest apologies. You'll get it back tomorrow."

Slowly, he stations himself on top of you with his head against your abdomen just under your chest. He is mindful of your body language to ensure your comfort, and when he descends his full weight with no awkward shifting or complaints from you after a few minutes, he concludes your contentment with the position and nestles his head against you with closed eyes. Your arms lift as he gets himself cozy, and once he relaxes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders while your fingers begin to comb through his hair. A smile graces the vampire's lips as your touch serves to soothe all worries away from his mind.

You cannot stop the smile that grows onto your own face as you watch his lips curl up. No soul, alive or dead, can say that they have experienced Vlad Țepeș' joy the way that you do, and for this, you are grateful. Vlad has spent so much of his life keeping up a cold, merciless profile for all vampires that dare to step to him, but charades with you are unnecessary. All of the walls that he spent centuries building are torn to shreds in your presence, and no matter his methods, they could never withstand your blinding iridescence. There is comfort in your arms that he has never found in another, and this tranquility that he has the luxury of being the only person to experience is something that he holds close to his heart. This is not something that you do knowingly, for it is who you are. You are a constant source of peace that quells the ever-roaring fire in his soul to a quiet crackle. You are what inspires him to be curious about the world, you keep his thirst for knowledge abundant with your differing perspectives, and he firmly believes that your ideas could change the world.

It's truly a shame that your eyes cannot convey the amount of love that you hold for this man, but they are doing their best. Your gaze displays your overwhelming adoration for him, and he surely feels how loved he is. When you look at him, Vlad knows that he is admired in every way he never dreamed of. Your eyes do not have to meet for him to know that you look at him like he is the greatest thing in the world, and that is all you could ever wish for. You finally decide to break the silence after watching him rest for a bit, teasing him, "Is this going to be your spot for the night?"

Any thoughts that Vlad was having before you embraced him have completely vanished. Now, it's just you, him, and your warm bed. All he can muster out is a low, "Mhm."

You giggle as you recognize his sleepiness and lift your legs slightly, asking, "Then can we at least get under the covers so that we don't freeze to death?"

A lazy, amused smirk curls onto Vlad's face at your suggestion, his nostrils flaring in a huff. "I'm not even sure that we can freeze," He admits.

You chuckle and move your hands from his hair onto his back to pat it. "Well, I don't want to risk finding out. So come on."

An agitated groans leaves your comfy husband before he begrudgingly eases himself off of you so that you could get under the covers. The two of you adjust the pillows to their normal spaces and you shake off your cardigan to toss it aside before you slip your legs beneath the sheets. A corner of the sheets lay open, and you lift them up to welcome him inside. Vlad's lips form a gentle smile, and his eyes soften affectionately at the sight before he climbs into the covers and rests himself back on top of you. Your fingers return to threading through his hair, a blissful sigh respiring from his lungs as he resumes a comfortable position. You look down at the top of his head with the same benevolent expression that you wear every time that you look at him, and your voice comes out soft when you say, "Goodnight, my dearest. I love you."

The words that you tell him every night are words that he could never tire of hearing. When you say it, he knows that you mean it, and it fills him with ease to know that when you wake up in the morning, he will get to hear you say it again. "Goodnight, my darling. I love you too." Vlad returns the sentiment, falling into an inescapable slumber with you not far behind him.

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 11

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: very brief daemon cameo here. but he'll be back next chapter. please leave comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Upon Daemon's abrupt leave, the king named Rhaenyra his heir and she has since then set out to look for a suitable match. Though the crown princess was loathe to leave, you envy the fact that she is permitted to leave King's Landing at all.

There is a knock on your door. "Princess?"

You open the door and smile at the knight, "Erryk."

Erryk nods and tries to smile back at you. It is hard, considering you look like you have been crying. He tries to lift your spirits by saying, "I am flattered to know I am now set apart."

You take his arm after closing your door, "you have always been set apart, good ser."

The two of you walk off and break fast together. It is silent, as it has been for two moons now. You have not told him any stories since your husband's leave. You barely speak at all, in fact. Most of the time you lock yourself in your room and he pretends he does not hear your sobs. To say he is concerned is an understatement.

And, of course, there was another matter.

Once more, in silence, you walk down the halls, this time with him trailing behind you. You are headed for your father's office. Once there, you knock on his door, and he answers.

Erryk hotly eyes Otto before nodding in regard, "Lord Hand."

"Has my daughter eaten?" is all Lord Hand ever says, to him or his brother.

"Yes," your ward replies each time.

Erryk watches as your father takes your hand and links it in his arms. He leans towards you and gentle speaks, as he has ever since you threw yourself into the sea. He even rubs your knuckles as you walk off to the maester's ward. Yet, through it all, Erryk finds no comfort in this new found gentleness your father offers. He is deeply suspicious, but for your sake, he tries to convince himself your father has changed.

Each day, without fail, you and your father visit your maester together, and each day, without fail, he worries for you more and more.

Erryk straightens up when the door to the maester's opens. He is quick to come to your side and offer his arm as you wave your father good bye. Otto does not regard you before walking off. He never does.

You smile at Erryk once it's just the two of you. The latter asks, "how are you feeling?"

You notice the lines on his forehead, and it makes your lips flatten. You tilt your head, "same as I felt yesterday," you place a hand on his cheek, "and the day before... so do not worry for me."

"Forgive me, princess," Erryk lowers his gaze and pulls your hand away, "but such a thought cannot comfort me for you have been nothing but sad since Daemon left."

You clasp your hands together, "that's hardly his fault."

"Is it not?" Erryk questions rather harshly.

"Not really..." you offer a soft smile, "none but my brother remembers the days prior to my sadness." You chuckle under your breath, "and even then, I am aware he feeds me honeyed words"

Erryk gulps when you take his arm. He wants so badly to caress your cheeks as you bring a beaming smile to your face.

"Do not torture yourself trying to make me happy," you raise your brows at him as you lead him off, "you did not meet me happy, Erryk, and it is not your job to make the impossible happen."

You examine his expression as you make your way back to your chambers. You had hoped he could find some sort of comfort in this truth, but he looks only more worried. You sigh, "would you like to know why it is I visit the maester everyday?"

Erryk knits his brows, "I only like what you want."

"..."

"And if my lady wanted it, she would have already told me why her father brings her to the maesters daily."

You carefully mutter his name.

He stares at you for a moment, hand itching to clutch your cheeks. He holds himself back but mutters your name with such a softness, it makes your skin prick with goosebumps.

Your breath hitches and you have to look away. You huff and lick your lips, "I am with child."

He stops in his tracks.

You pull away to stand before him. You feel incredibly self-conscious as his face contorts.

"My-" he starts by then bows his head, "Seven bless you for the fortunate news," he slowly looks up at you, "congratulations."

You slowly raise your brows, "you congratulate me yet appear so frightened."

"No," he shakes his head, "I am not frightened... merely... shocked."

You aimlessly look off.

"... and perhaps... worried."

You chuckle, soft and dry, "worry will do none of us any good."

"Does the prince know?"

You look back at him. You shake your head, "no one knows."

He clenches his jaw.

"I plan to tell Arryk next," you rub your belly, "soon, I will be showing... and I do not want you to be frightened."

There is much Erryk wishes to say, much he wishes to promise you. I promise to sever any hand that rises harm you or your child. I promise, so long as I breathe, to do all I am able to assure your safety. But he says nothing because he knows you will cry. He says nothing because he can sense that you are frightened.

You begin to walk off again and Erryk wordlessly follows. You look back at him, finding him in deep thought with his gaze lowered. You turn to your fingers and fidget with them, "I did not want to announce it in case it does not last."

You can feel him looking at you.

"Even now, we do not know what the future holds."

He clenches his fists tightly, "princess-"

You turn.

"-I know it means nothing, but I believe you are stronger than you think. I have seen it, your strength... and your happiness, however small and fleeting you may think it."

Your eyes water. You reach out for him and squeeze his hand, "do not hold yourself in such low regard. Your words mean everything to me, Erryk."

You walk back to your chambers and invite Erryk inside. He remains stood by the door as you get quill and parchment. You have been writing daily two letters— one, which comes easy:

𝔐𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔢'𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔫𝔬𝔬𝔫. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯, 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔚𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯.

... and another which takes far greater effort and attempts to complete:

𝔗𝔬 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔯 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩-𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔱. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔵𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨, 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔟𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩. 𝔇𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔪𝔢? 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔣 ℑ 𝔲𝔭𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔬𝔣𝔣. ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔡. ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔶𝔬�� 𝔣𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔭𝔱 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔪, 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰

In the end, this is what you sent:

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. 𝔐𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲, ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔵𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔶, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢.

—of course, after reading it aloud to Erryk, just to be sure it was appropriate.

Erryk has only ever assured you that whatever it is you mean to tell your husband is more than appropraite, but for once, he offers that you add something. "Perhaps you should tell him that you're... you know."

You spare him a glance as you seal your letters with wax and shake your head, "why? Do you think he would return if I did?"

No. Erryk does not hold him in such a high regard.

"If he wanted to respond, he would. No matter what I have to say, I cannot change his mind if he's already set it," you stand, "and again... we don't know what the future holds."

You were right.

Woe is you who understood the inner workings of your husband. Daemon was in the middle of chewing tough, flavorless meat when he received your latest letter. You were right about not being able to change his mind about writing to you, but you were wrong in thinking your words wouldn't bring him to write back.

It would have, that is, if he ever read them.

The prince goes to Caraxes and feeds him what remained of his food. He then goes to his tent and chucks your letter along with the rest of it. He lies down in his cot and wonders what you write to him about. He wonders if you miss his touch, then touches himself to the thought of you.

A moon passes. Though you knew neither your maester nor your father would ever trick you into believing you were with child when you were not, the truth of it all only set in upon catching a glimpse of your bare body in the mirror. You had taken a warm bath in the evening because you felt sore, and upon seeing how big your breasts had become and how your belly protruded in a way it has not, you realize why you were so sore and just how real it was that you were carrying a child.

It was terrible that upon your awareness of the changes in your body, so much started to change. You found it harder to fit into your clothes as your breasts and arms required much more space than normal. Your face began to change as well, and you could scarcely recognize your own reflection with how swollen you looked. What's worse, is that your skin began to break out with painfully deep pimples.

You knew that you shouldn't be picking at them, but you couldn't help yourself, so you did, and soon your face, your neck, and even your back was littered with red blotches. You were so horrified with the way you looked, you barely left your room.

It was then Alicent began to worry.

"Just place it there," Viserys points haphazardly from where he sat.

"Here?" Alicent places the figure near some tiny stone trees.

The king looks, "no-" then comes behind her, guiding her hand from behind. Alicent tenses when his other hand comes to her waist. Viserys moves her hand and Alicent finally places the figure. The former smiles, "there."

Alicent catches her breath as the king pulls away.

Viserys sits and continues carving out the piece he had at hand. After a few moments, he notices Alicent staring at him. He quirks a brow, "something wrong, my dear?"

"Have you heard from your brother?"

He releases his block and leans back on his chair, "no."

Alicent nods, lowering her gaze.

"Why?"

She shakes her head.

"Come now," Viserys stands, "you can tell me."

Alicent looks at him when he takes her hand. She presses her lips as she feels her heart race. Her voice trembles, "m-my sister."

He hums, "has something happened to her?"

She rapidly shakes her head, "I barely see her anymore. She stays in her room days on end."

"I see," he nods, "did she and Daemon argue before he left?"

"I-" she shrugs as the king pulls away, going back to his chair, "I don't know."

Viserys spares her a look before picking up his block.

"I do know that she feels abandoned. First, Gwayne, now the prince," Alicent sighs, "she has no one."

"She has you."

She shakes her head, "she and my brother have always been close, close in a way twins are, close in a way I can never understand. She does not regard me as dearly, I don't think."

This makes his brows furrow. He tilts his head, "that is not true. Many a man would regard you dearly, Alicent."

Her throat tightens.

"And your sister is not a man," Viserys raises a hand, "does she not like to pray?"

Alicent nods slowly.

"You might want to invite her to the temple. It might cheer her up."

The girl rubs her hands together and nods. She then curtsies and heads for the door, that is, until Viserys stops her.

The king rises and takes her hand, "eager to leave, are you?"

"N- I-"

"I don't bore you, do I?"

Alicent shakes her head, "n-no! Not at all, I simply--"

"I jest," Viserys chuckles, pressing a kiss at the back of her hand, "go to her." He rubs her knuckles, "she is most fortunate to have your affections."

Alicent curtsies again and leaves.

As she makes her way to your chambers, she sees one of your servants and calls for her. The servant girl is quick to greet the lady and Alicent notices the letters in her hands.

"Have you gone to my sister?" she asks.

The servant girl nods, "yes."

"How is she?" the red haired girl sighs.

"She... is her normal self," she nods slowly.

Alicent shakes her head, "... sad?"

"Yes," she agrees.

"Who are those for?" Alicent motions to the letters she was holding.

"These?" the girl raises, "ah... your brother and good-brother, milady."

"Oh," she tilts her head slightly, "does she write to them often?"

She nods, "everyday, milady."

"Oh," she blinks. There is something about this comforts her and... hurts her. She thinks about what she confessed to the king, how she was aware you did not regard her so dearly, and yet, there was an ache in her heart to know her sister would not seek solace in her during this time.

Alicent dismisses the servant then comes to your chambers.

The Cargyll stood outside your door greets her, "my lady."

"Ser..." she nods, "Erryk?"

"Arryk, my lady."

"Ah, yes," she lowers her head, "forgive me."

"An honest mistake," he smiles, "you are here for your sister, yes?"

Alicent nods.

He turns and knocks on your door, "princess. Your sister, Lady Alicent, is here."

"I-" she steps forward and raises her voice, "wish to invite you to pray at the temple."

Arryk turns to her and smiles. Alicent smiles back and they both wait for you to respond. Only, it seems you are really taking your time.

She begins to pick at her nails and the minutes pass. She sighs, turning to ser Arryk, "maybe she is asleep."

He shakes his head, "she does not sleep at this time. She is probably changing."

"How do you now? Do you go inside to check on her?"

"I only come inside when she needs help with something," he nods curtly, "or, if perhaps, I feel sense danger in the air."

Alicent tilts her head, "but how do you know?"

"The princess is a creature of habit. Though she is good at concealing her emotions, you can only hide so much from someone who watches you closely."

"How close do you watch her, ser?"

Arryk is taken aback by the question. It was in all accounts innocent; Alicent meant nothing more that what she said, but it did not feel such to the knight. It feels as though he was caught staring longingly at you right this moment. "W-What?"

He is thankful Alicent does not get to clarify herself because you finally emerge.

Alicent perks and deflates all at once upon seeing you. You smile at her through the lacy, black veil you have covering your face. She returns your embrace as you hug her, but she cannot help but knit her brows at you, or rather, that veil on you.

"You look well, sister," you smile, taking her hands.

She takes a moment before replying, "and you...'re wearing a veil."

Your smile flattens.

Alicent is quick to shake her head, "it looks good. Very stylish."

You contain your frown and take her arm, "I am most pleased to have you here."

The both of you begin to walk off and Arryk follows after. Alicent asks, "you are?"

"Of course!" you give her a look, "why, you are normally with the princess-" you raise a finger, "-which I do not have any qualms with. Most people dream to have a friendship that you both have. But I am glad you have a moment to spare for me."

Alicent's brows raise.

"Rhaenyra is doing better now, I hope?"

"Yes," she nods slowly, "she can now talk about the queen without weeping."

"Better than I ever was," you squeeze her arm.

Alicent offers you a soft smile.

The sight of her face brings you comfort, "I have missed your company, and your pretty face, my pretty girl."

She chuckles.

"You inherited our mother's beauty and left none for me—"

"That's not-"

"—especially none for Gwayne."

Alicent chortles and you giggle in response.

Arryk smiles, feels his heart clench at the tender display before him. Thank the Seven for Alicent Hightower.

"You should join us, sister," Alicent squeeze your hand, "Rhaenyra enjoys your company as much as I do."

You shake your head, offering her a kind smile, "I would not want to infect you with my bitterness."

For a moment, Alicent wants to ask if that was why you were wearing a veil, but she decides against it.

Arryk stood a few paces away from you as you prayed in the temple. Both you and your sister were on your knees with your hands clasped and eyes closed as you recited your prayers.

"Lastly," Alicent mutters, "we pray for Daemon's safety-"

You open your eyes and turn to your sister.

"-that he, as well as the Velaryons and their fleet, may find swift victory so that they may all return to their families."

You unveil yourself, "seven hear us."

"Seven hear us," Alicent ends, bowing her head for the final time.

You try not to think of the acne staring back at Alicent when she turns to you, but her initial reaction to seeing your face makes it quite hard. She does you a favor of not saying anything regarding it however.

You squeeze her hand and whisper, "there is something I must tell you."

She gives you a solemn expression.

"I am with child."

Her eyes widen and her lips part.

"Of course, father knows, but I have not told anyone, save my wards," you shake your head, "it is why my skin is littered with blemishes, and why I do not wish to come out of my room."

She frowns, calling out your name softly.

"Not even my husband knows, Alicent," you shake your head, "and I did not tell him because-" you eyes begin to water, "because the chances of a miscarriage is still high."

Alicent can feel your fear, your worry.

"But gods, I feel like I will go mad if I keep this in any longer," you break down into a sob.

She immediately seals you into an embrace. Arryk is immediately alerted by the sound of your cries. He observes for a moment but does not act, knowing you need this moment with your sister.

Alicent feels her chest tighten, not because of how tightly you embrace her, but because of how evidently you needed this hug.

"I want to go home," you mumble.

She nods, "I'll take you back to you-"

"To Oldtown," you sniffle, taking in her scent. She smelled like your mother and it made you wonder if your presence ever felt comforting for anyone, or if you just inspired distress, "this is not my home."

"Sister," she tries to look at you, "you are married to the prin-"

"And where is he?" you blurt, pulling away.

Alicent frowns at the redness of your eyes and the wobbling of your lips.

"I feel nothing but emptiness here," you place your hand on your belly, "I do not want that emptiness to manifest within me-" you shake your head, "I do not want my bitterness to kill my unborn child."

Alicent's cheeks instantly become wet.

You wipe her tears away and frown, "will you try and help me convince father to send me home?"

She stares at you, "sister..."

It is an impossible ask, and you both know it.

"Please," you brush her red locks, "he has always favored you."

Alicent does not know if that was true. She lowers her gaze and shakes her head, "I... I will try."

Your lips wobble as you watch worry manifest on her features. Guilt begins to choke you, "forgive me for asking much of you, my baby sister."

Alicent shakes her head quicker then steels herself away, "no. I-" she nods, "I want to help."

You squeeze her hands, "do not force it if it is too hard."

Later that evening, Alicent builds her nerve and visits the Lord Hand's office. The moment she enters the room, she knows she's made a mistake, for he was in a sour mood.

"What?" he snaps, head in his hand.

It was too late, however. He will be cross if she says she's changed her mind, he will be cross if she lies and presents him with something unimportant, and he will be cross if she tells him what she actually came here for. She takes a breath, might as do it, "it's regarding my sister."

Otto immediately perks, eyes squinting, "what of her?"

"She... asked me to ask you if she could... continue the rest of her term in Oldtown."

The man tilts his head, eyes widening in disbelief, "I beg your pardon?"

"She sai-"

"She told you she's carrying?" he points a finger.

Alicent tenses. She gulps, "yes."

"When?" he snaps, coming to a stand.

"J-" she watches her father walk over, "just today."

Otto's face is hard as he recalls how you begged him not to make a spectacle of your childbearing, lest your body fails you. He thinks there is something to be said about how you were now willing to divulge this information with Alicent. He raises his brows, "who else knows?"

Alicent feels cornered. It does not feel right to divulge this information.

"Did she tell Daemon?" he places his hands on her shoulder.

She stammers, "I-... I do not know."

Otto examines her daughter. He thinks she knows more than she lets on but does not pursue it further. He sighs, caressing her cheek before pulling away, "you know, you both know, I will not allow such a thing."

He walks back to his desk and Alicent takes in a deep breath.

"If she is here, then I can see to her needs."

"She needs the warmth of home," she says.

Otto sighs as he sits down. He motions vaguely to his child, "this is her home. She's married to Daemon Targaryen."

"But the prince is not here," she steps forward, "she can return when he does."

He tilts his head. He knows her boldness comes stems from her love from you. That is why he says, "and do you really think she can return if she leaves?"

Alicent's face falls. It is incredibly subtle, but Otto catches it nonetheless.

"If your sister were to go to your brother in Oldtown, what do you think the Rogue Prince will say?" her father leans on the desk, "you bore witness to how he acted when your sister came to Gwayne when he was knocked off his horse at the tourney. Do you think he will enjoy the fact she retreated to him in this time? Do you think he will care enough to retrieve her once he returns from the Stepstones? Or will he squander in brothels and sire a thousand bastards?"

She begins to pick at her nails.

"And what of your sister's child?" Otto raises a brow, "what if she loses the babe during the journey to Oldtown? What if she loses the babe once she's there? Who then is to be blamed?"

"I-"

"And what if the baby does not inherit a single Valyrian trait?" he leans back on his chair, "what if the babe looks like a Hightower and Daemon decided to accuse her of infidelity?"

"But she would never-"

"I know that," Otto raises a finger, "you know that. Does her husband share in this knowledge?"

"..."

"It would look like she left to hide her sins."

Alicent's heart begins to pound.

"Do you understand the risk, child?"

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

Otto sighs and stands again, "I understand you mean well."

Alicent is at the brink of tears as her father approaches her again.

"But there is no way for your sister to go to Oldtown," he ushers her to the door, "without risking much." Lord Hand opens the door and gives his daughter one last, "not unless the king allows such a thing."

Alicent takes in her father's features. He smiles softly at her. Her stomach feels uneasy.

"Go to bed, Alicent," he strokes her hair, "your sister is mine to worry about, not yours."

The door closes.

It was a shock that Alicent came to you the next day, telling you that you were set to leave for Oldtown at noon. You were overjoyed and sealed your sister into the tightest hugs, "I can't believe you convinced father!"

Alicent rubs your back, softly muttering, "...I really didn't."

"Oh but you did," you chuckled in between sobs, "I owe you my first born's life."

She pulls away and shakes her head, "d-don't- don't say that."

You frown at the worry that over her face. You shake your head, "very well. Forgive me for burdening you with such a thought."

So it was that you left that day for Oldtown. You were grateful the king graciously allowed you to bring both your wards along with you. You would have been less so, had you known Alicent requested it specifically, even less had known it was not actually your father that she had convinced but the king himself, and less than that to know she was able to do so because she had been visiting him oft since the queen's passing. You would outright abhor it had you known Alicent's relationship with Viserys was borne from your father's encouragement.

Your unawareness of this made you deeply cherish the moment you saw your twin brother's face. You were exhausted from the travel, much more than usual, and yet an energy burned within you when you saw Oldtown's heir.

Gwayne outright laughed and pointed at you as you sobbed on your way over to him, "what in god's name is on your face, twin?"

You felt nothing but affection from his blatant mockery.

He coos as he pulls you into a hug once you are close enough, "now, now. I cannot have a princess weeping in my arms." He is relieved by the warmth of your being. He has not been embraced so tenderly since you've been separated. "Not an ugly one at least."

"I am with child, you miscreant," you mutter against his chest.

Gwayne's rubs your back as his face hardens with worry, "I know. Father wrote to me."

You sniffle and pull away. You glare at him, "yet you still dare to be mean to your beloved sister?"

"Spare me your tears," he says rather genuinely as takes in your wet face, "your cry-baby attitude will get nowhere with me."

Your lips wobble at the sentiment.

Gwayne actually starts feeling bad, but then you release a soft laugh.

"You fucking rat," you scratch your eyes as you break into a giggle.

Your twin gasps, turning to your wards who were approaching. Lord Hightower raises a brow at them, "are you aware your lady has a vulgar mouth on her?"

"Please, Gwayne," you shake your head, "I'm a fucking princess."

The laugh that leaves your brother is ugly, loud, and real.

Yes, your unawareness made you cherish every moment you spend in Oldtown. It was still hard to be with child; there were the food aversions and cravings, soreness, sickness, and mood swings that haunted you, but the spirit of emptiness remained in King's Landing. Now that you were free from the scrutiny of court, from the politicking of your father, there was a lightness within you that you had not felt in a long time.

You recounted the things you and Gwayne used to do when you were younger, then caught yourself imagining your child doing the same. Suddenly, you didn't feel so terrified by the thought of bringing a child into this world. The Cargyll twins can attest to the shift in your demeanor.

It was a shame that a moon's worth of happiness disappeared in an instant all because of a single letter.

Gwayne comes to a stand from his spot upon seeing you react so physically to whatever it was you were reading. The Cargyll twins, who were breaking fast with both of you, stand to attention as well.

You clutch your chest as your other hand crushes the letter you just read.

"What is it?" your brother asks, "what has happened?"

"It's Alicent," you feel your chest tighten.

Gwayne comes to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder. He is alarmed by your tension, "sister, sister. Breathe."

You clutch your belly. It's much pronounced now, and you know it adds to your struggle to breathe.

"Breathe," your twin repeats, "that's it."

You manage to calm yourself, but soon tears begin to fall from your eyes, "Gwayne."

"Yes, I'm Gwayne," he squeezes your shoulder, "what's happened to Alicent?"

You shake your head and look up at him, "she's getting married."

The man pulls his head back. His brows knit, "married? To whom?"

Your breath hitches as you push yourself up to a stand, "to the king."

Whatever confusion he had regarding your reaction instantly dissipates. This match reeked of politicking, politicking from the Hand of the King. Gwayne clenches his jaw as helps you up. He feels the same emotions he did upon learning of your own betrothal. History was repeating itself, yet now, your brother's chest is tighter. He had always believed your father wouldn't be so cruel to willingly give you to the Rogue Prince, but now... he realizes this was something he wanted to believe.

Gwayne calls your name out as you begin to walk off, "where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" you snap.

You despise every second spent on the way back to King's Landing. You are exhausted when you return and you are loathe to see your father waiting for you.

Otto calls your name and greets you with a smile. His glee is genuine. He is wholeheartedly pleased to see how much better you look from your visit to Oldtown, "I am glad to see time with your twin has livened you, my girl."

As true as that may be, it was your anger that livened you in this moment. You despise him as he takes your cheeks and kisses your forehead. You destest him as he grins.

"I have missed you."

You wish you hated him more as not to be so affected by this. Your nostrils flare, "where is my sister?"

His face falls slightly at your complete ignorance to his greeting. He pulls away, "getting ready for her nuptials."

You stare at him. The burst of affection he had for your wanes enough for him to recognize your look, your glare. It was written all over. Anger. Defiance. Hurt. It could not be contained.

"Am I not enough for you, father?" you quip under your breath as your eyes begin to water.

Otto looks around then takes your hand, "let us speak insi-"

"Is it not enough?!" you break free from his hold. You seethe, "—that I am about to deliver you a royal grandchild and you should require my baby sister to do the sa-"

"She is not a baby," he quips.

You clench your jaw, "she just turned ten and-"

"She is in ripe marrying age."

You turn away from him. You are about to walk away, and he knows it. He cannot stand it.

"She did this so you could go to Oldtown," he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you.

You give the Hand one last look before going to your sister.

Alicent is equally overjoyed and worried by your appearance. Just as she assures you that you didn't have to come all this way, you silence her by telling her, "it is not too late."

Your sister is frozen in her spot as you explain the plans you have for her to escape her marriage with the king. She can tell that you have thought about it greatly, considering the speed and detail in which you speak it. The only thing that manages to quiet you is the way she says, "it is done."

"W-what?"

"I am decided," Alicent shakes her head as her eyes begin to water, "do you not notice how your plans to save me demand your suffering?"

Your brows knit, "I will suffer no more than I already do."

She sniffles as she speaks your name, "when mother died... I watched you writhe in pain. None but Gwayne ever offered you true comfort."

"And you!" you clutch her cheeks, "you foolish girl! Do you not understand, I wish to free you from-"

"We are all of us destined to be a prisoner," Alicent mutters as tears fall from her eyes, "us, more than most. If not the king, I will be married off to another man I do not want."

You clench your jaw, "Ali-"

"At least if I am queen, I can save you from Daemon."

Your heart stops. You rest your forehead on hers, "you stupid little girl."

Your words burn her. She watches as you pull away, finding the tears staining your cheeks.

"If you are doing this for me, and you marry him... I will never speak to you again."

Her face drops.

"Did I not tell you that I should be the one to do such things for you?"

"Sister," she takes your hand, "... I am stronger than you."

"... oh."

"I can help."

You lower your gaze and nod. You pull away from her and walk away.

Less than a fortnight later, your sister marries the king and is proclaimed the new Queen of the Seven Realms.

[fudgecake-charlie]

"They think I’m the least dangerous person in this car, do they? Well, they’re about to learn very differently."

Decided to redraw a moment from On the Getaway Mile by Odaigahara on AO3/ @droidofmay !

This may have taken a ridiculous amount of hours condensed into a few days and I went through it drawing cars and car interiors, but this was an absolute blast to do :D I hope I've done the fic sort of justice.

Process shots and long comparison rambles under the cut!

Welcome to my secret lair!!

I spent roughly... 18 hours working on this, the majority during this week and over the past three days, so I need to share my toils with people <3

Character/car references and page thumbnails! Featuring an incorrect scene placement and bad camera position. I reread the scene and placed it properly in the actual page. I hate drawing cars!! I was actually the most worried about panel placement when I started this— I was a guy who only did non narrative/illustrative panel pages and layout-less comics, but it wasn't that bad with a script! I could separate beats into panels, note which panels should be emphasised/larger, and assembled that into a page.

If you compare the fic with this comic, you can see how much dialogue I edited and moments I cut out. I couldn't fit it all on without having to draw even more pages, I wish I could though! Poor Mumbo only gets one line here. I'm so sorry my darling man <3 I also gave him a slight cyborg design because his implants are really important for his character and I needed some way to visually show that, even if it's not canon/mentioned.

The colouring method for this was really fun! It's similar to my aggie rainbow painting method but with less steps, hence narrow value range. It looks pretty and gets the vibe across well though.

Rapid fire points!

I was planning to do 3 different fic comics! Not anymore!!!

This is absolutely for the hotguy comic zine applications. <3 "Can I try rizzing you up // PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE" /ref

I drew page 2 first, then 3, then 1. I think you can tell!

Mumbo is sitting on the wrong side and should have his seatbelt on. He's also not carrying the stolen laptop as described.

It's explicitly noted that Mumbo cannot scan Grian like he can with Scar. Whoops!

Transmissions from the Foundation are via Mumbo and Scar's implants, but I couldn't think of a good way to portray that.

Despite guns and weapons being mentioned, I somehow didn't get the opportunity to draw a single one.

I love hand lettering. I also hate it! I will continue to do it.

Here are the no colour pages as a thank you for scrolling <3

[willofthequill]

Sleep Sweet

Welcome back to another adventures in Mouse's Mini-verse! It's Father's Day and the one year anniversary of the start of my Daddy Duty series! I cannot believe I have been writing these silly stories about Mouse and Sukuna for a year! I have had such a blast working on this series, and I have no intentions or desire to stop! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, given Kudos, likes, or reblogs! I appreciate you all and hope you have many happy days ahead!!

If you prefer to read this story on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Daddy Duty Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 3 year old daughter with reader. Monkey is their infant son.

Summary: Sukuna is home alone with both children for the first time when the battle for nap time begins.

WC: 1300+

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' but not described and no pronouns used for reader, use of the word 'boob' in a reference to breast feeding, kiseru smoking (outside away from kids), but it is all around fluff and SFW.

Fic Divider by: @strangergraphics

“Mama definitely does it better, Papa,” Mouse said from where she sat across from her father on a zabuton. Her legs were crossed as were her arms across her chest. Sukuna recognized the scowl across her face as being a mirror of his own. 

“Does what better, Mouse?” Sukuna asked, trying to soothe the fussy baby in his arms. 

You and Uraume had decided to go to town together, leaving him alone for the first time with both of his children. He had scoffed at you when you asked if he could handle it. Of course he could! 

A few hours in and he had already decided that going forward he owed you a night of absolute pampering for every time he was away. As the minutes dragged by he decided he owed you for all the past trips he had gone on too… How did you do this for sometimes weeks at a time without any aid? 

Every time he got Mouse occupied, Monkey cried. Every time he got Monkey satisfied, Mouse was getting into something…

“Puts him to sleep,” she said, giving him a look that questioned his level of intelligence. 

“Well, Mama has certain… abilities that I do not,” Sukuna said as he tried again to get Monkey to take the bottle.

“Yup! He likes the boob. Papa got boobs, but them not food boobs.”

“I do not have boobs. I have pectoral muscles. But otherwise, your assessment is… accurate.” Once again, Sukuna was flabbergasted by the conversations he wound up engaging in.

Mouse puffed out her cheeks and pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes on her baby brother. She suddenly sat up with a big smile on her face. “Mmmm, Papa! I has an idea!”

Oh, he couldn’t wait to hear this. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I take a turn to try to make him go sleepy, now. Please and Thank you, Papa!”

Unless her idea was to smother her brother, she could not do worse than he was. Fuck it. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

“Let's go to the bedroom, Papa!” Mouse got to her feet and did one of her little jumps, signaling her level of excitement. He hoped he did not regret this.

Sukuna stood with Monkey in his arms and followed Mouse to the master bedroom. She clambered up onto the bed and laid on her side. Mouse patted the bed next to her and gave him instructions. “Monkey needs to go here, please and thank you, Papa!” Mouse instructed.

He moved to kneel on the soft mattress and gently laid the baby down on his back next to his sister. “Alright, now what?”

“Papa do something else, please and thank you” she said, resting one hand on her brother’s stomach. 

“Do something else?” Mouse strikes again with her infamous audacity.

Tuna jumped up on the bed and made his way over to the two demon seeds laying in the middle of the giant bed. He moved to wiggle himself between Sukuna's knee and Monkey’s side so that the baby was sandwiched between a bossy toddler and a kitsune with a death wish. 

Mouse gave him a grin and the hand on Monkey’s stomach gave him a thumbs up. “I gots this, Papa! I the big sister, remember!”

To his surprise, Monkey was already starting to fuss less. He let out a dejected sigh and shrugged. “Fine. But you are not to pick him up and I am only giving you 5 minutes.”

“10 minutes.”

“7 minutes,” he countered.

“6 minutes!” she countered back.

“Done!” Who was he to tell her she had short changed herself? An image popped into his mind of the look that you would shoot him when Mouse told you about this exact conversation over dinner tonight… Mouse was right. You were scary. “7 is bigger than 6, Mouse.”

“Then I wants 7 minutes, please and thank you,” she said before she began shushing softly at Monkey.

“7 minutes. And-”

“I no pick him up, promise, Papa.”

Sukuna leaned over to give both of his children gentle kisses on their foreheads and he was pulling away when Mouse said his name. He glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes suddenly starting to get heavy with tiredness as well. “What do you need, Mouse?”

“I need to kiss you too, Papa,” she gave him a tired but toothy grin. She rubbed her face against the soft pillow case and lifted her hand from her brother’s tummy to reach for him.

Sukuna felt his heart melt at the sight and leaned forward. He let Mouse pull his head down so she could place a gentle kiss on his nose. He smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead again, one of his hands reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Sleep sweet.”

Sukuna moved to open the shoji door to the back yard. He stepped outside to sit on the engawa and loaded his kiseru as he listened to Mouse quietly singing the song you sang to them every night at bed time. 

He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and breathing the hazy mist out his belly mouth. 

He smirked as he remembered the first time he had done that in your presence. He had expected you to be at least mildly disgusted or slightly disturbed. He had expected to see that adorable look you got on your face when you were perturbed by his actions.

But oh no, not his precious one. Your eyes had lit up like fire works in the dark of night and you had immediately handed the kiseru back to him, demanding he do it again. And again. And he did. 

Sukuna would do anything to see you smile and laugh like you did that night. If it meant spending several moments behaving like some damn street performer doing cheap sleight of hand tricks for a few coins, then so be it. 

The same went for his daughter and his son. Anything to protect you guys. Anything to see you smile. 

He was unsure how long he had been lost in his thoughts when his name was called softly from the bed, calling his focus back to the present. He set his kiseru down and headed inside. Noting the quiet of the room he made sure to keep his footsteps light as he approached the bed. 

“Good job, Mouse,” Sukuna praised, seeing that Monkey and Tuna were both sound asleep beside her. 

“I can’t sleep though, Papa,” she said softly. Just like her brother had not long before, Mouse was now fighting her own nap. 

“And why not?” he asked, arching his brow.

“I need Papa cuddles, please and thank you, Papa,” she said, yawning. She moved the hand from Monkey’s belly to point directly behind her at his side of the bed. 

“And why should I?” Sukuna asked, two hands on his hips and two arms folded across his chest.

“Because Papa loves Mouse!” she said, matter of factly. Monkey started to stir and Mouse rubbed his belly, humming softly and whispering. “It okay, Monkey. Oneechan is right here. Oneechan always be right here. Papa be right here soon too.”

She really was your daughter through and through. 

“You are lucky that is true.” With a sigh he laid down next to her, wrapping one large arm across his children and even letting his fingers rest on Tuna’s back, giving the kitsune’s fir a few gentle strokes. “You did good too, Tuna.”

“Shshh, please and thank you, Papa. Don’t wake the Monkey.,” Mouse said in a whisper as she  fit her head under his chin like usual. In a sleepy voice she said, “Sleep sweet, Papa.”

He adjusted his head to kiss the top of her head before resting his chin on it again. “Sleep sweet, Mouse. Now stop talking.”

“Okay, Papa.”

His daughter just had to have the last word. He grinned as he let his own eyes close. That’s my girl.

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Rotting Sunflowers (Genshin Impact)

Pairing: Capitano x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of rotting, suggestive

A/N: He's here!! This is the SFW version <3 If you'd like the NSFW one (f!reader, m!reader, and nb!reader versions available), head on over to my AO3

Request Status: Open

Capitano had been by your side since you became emperor. He was a gift from your parents' for your coronation before they retired to the countryside manor. One of the strongest knights in the nation, he used to be stationed up north before moving to the capital. He was now the Head Knight and your personal bodyguard.

You didn't know what you would do without him. He was strong, resilient, kind, and a welcome ally amongst traitors that had weaseled their way into your court. There wasn't a day that went by where you didn't seek out his wisdom. He had become your rock. But as a rock, he never cracked around you. He never showed his face and never talked about his past. He was focused solely on the present and the future.

"Master, you have been lounging an awful lot these days." Capitano said, leaning over you. "Are you alright?"

You hummed and opened your eyes. "Am I not allowed to rest?"

"I suppose not. But you must not neglect your duties, Master." 

"Do I have to go to the meeting?"

"You skipped the last three."

You were currently laying down on the couch in the reading room. You had been spending time here often, wanting to get away from the sudden onslaught of meetings and revisions of petty laws. Capitano was at your side, like usual. He peered down at you. You couldn't see through his dark mask, making you frown.

"Capitano…"

"Yes?"

"I want to see your face."

He let out a sigh. "My Empress, I cannot. I told you, it is not suitable for royalty to see."

You pouted and crossed your arms. "You follow every command except that one… Typical."

"Please, just accept my reasoning."

"Fine."

You huffed and sat up. You had been dallying for too long. You knew that you needed to get up and actually do some work. The council said there would be a ball tomorrow. They had been working on it for over three months. You had decided to take a step back. You were never one for balls and all the socializing that came with it. Everyone was always trying to get in your good graces to stab your back later. You would never allow that to happen.

Capitano stayed close to your side. He was tall, intimidating, and was one of the reasons people rarely tried anything physical against you. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. He may have been your knight, but you yearned for more. Not only would he make an amazing emperor, but a great husband as well. You wanted him and only him.

"The Empress has arrived." Capitano announced as he opened the door to the meeting room.

You walked in with your head held high. "Good afternoon, everyone."

Less than enthusiastic greetings graced your ears as you sat at the head of the table. You sat down and leaned back in your seat. Your eyes scanned over each member of your court. It wasn't really your court. Your parents may have crowned you as the ruler of this country, but they still pulled the strings through the court. It wasn't ideal, but there wasn't much you could do about it either. It would take ages to replace all of them.

"Good afternoon, your majesty." The man to your left, Ivan, cleared his throat. "We have updates to give you."

"Good." You hummed. Capitano stood closely behind you. You sighed softly at his comforting presence. "Update me on the working trade agreements first."

Ivan shuffled the papers in his hands. "Most of the regions have agreed to the new terms."

"Most?" You reached your hand out for the papers. 

He handed them to you. You started to shuffle through. The worst thing about being the new ruler of this nation is that no one expected you to rule. Despite all the classes, the training, studying anything and everything you could, no one believed in you. The first thing you did after your coronation was go over every single policy and agreement with other regions. You never thought your parents fully took advantage of the region's resources. And you wanted to fix that.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw which region hadn't agreed yet. "Natlan? I thought we had good rapport with them."

"We do." Ivan said. His tone was almost… nervous. "They will agree after tomorrow."

You looked over at him. "Do they want to talk about the agreement at the ball?"

He didn't answer. You frowned. Something was wrong. You looked over to the rest of the court. They were all avoiding eye contact. Capitano must have sensed something as well. He moved from behind your chair to next to you. You crossed your arms.

"What are you hiding?"

"Tomorrow isn't a ball. It's a wedding."

"What?"

"Your wedding."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Your wedding? You had absolutely no interest in getting married unless it was to one person and one person only. Your heart thudded in your chest. No one else spoke up. This ball they were planning for three months was actually a wedding. You tensed up and slammed the papers down on the table. Everyone flinched.

"You planned my wedding behind my back?!"

Ivan quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. "We had to, Empress! You would have never agreed otherwise!"

"Of course I wouldn't have!" You hissed. "Who even is it?!"

"Prince Ororon of Natlan. He won't ascend the throne, so we thought it best if he married you."

You could feel your face turn red in anger. "You thought best and didn't even ask me!?"

Another court member spoke up. "Your majesty, it's stated within the laws that the ruler of our great nation must be wed. It's been two years since your coronation. We cannot wait any longer."

You silently cursed to yourself. That damned law was one of the many traditions you couldn't change. You thought you could distract them, but your time had run out. If you were to deny this, you'd either be cast out or beheaded. Neither of which seemed like a good alternative.

You felt Capitano's hand on your shoulder. That just made everything even worse. How could you marry someone when the man you loved was right there? You gritted your teeth and squeezed your fists together. You wanted nothing more than to tell everyone to shove this marriage up their asses.

"Your Majesty…" Ivan cleared his throat. "You must marry."

A glare appeared on your face. "I know I must! It doesn't mean I'll be happy with it."

"Please stay calm." Capitano murmured softly. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Someone just tell me the details of tomorrow."

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over wedding details. You felt like your head would explode. And yet, through it all, Capitano stayed by your side. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pure heartbreak. You wanted to run away with him. But you couldn't abandon your people. Not after all the hard work you had done. 

You paced in your room anxiously. Capitano watched you as he stood by the wall. The wedding was planned down to the very minute detail. You wouldn't even meet Prince Ororon until you were walking down the aisle. A frustrated groan left your lips as you continued pacing.

"Master, please do not be angry."

You shot a glare at Capitano. "I have every right to be."

"You cannot let them do this to you. You are not being married off. Someone is marrying you. You will still have just as much power."

"That power means nothing if I am forced to marry someone I do not love."

Capitano shook his head softly. "We must all do things we do not want to do."

You rolled your eyes and stopped in front of him. "Not helping."

"I will still be here, Master."

That's right. Capitano has to watch you marry a complete stranger when he was the one you should be marrying. You realized all your time had run out. You turned to him fully and walked up to him. He straightened his broad shoulders. He gazed down at you through his mask. That stupid mask…

"Take it off." You said. Your voice was soft yet firm.

"I told you, Master. You do not want to see my face."

“Please…” You murmured, you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. “I want to do this. Before it’s too late.”

Capitano sighed but it broke him down. How could he not when you were to be wed tomorrow? You were already devastated by the marriage. This would change nothing. So he leaned back against the wall and slowly took off his helmet. His face was scarred with what looked a black rot. Blue lightning shaped streaks shot diagonally down his face. 

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek. “So handsome.”

“Master, you flatter me. But I know how I truly look.”

“Handsome.” You repeated sternly. 

"This is a face marred by a curse that I must bear."

"What happened?"

His eyebrows furrowed as if painful memories flooded his mind. "There was a war. Long… long ago. I live with the consequences of that war. And now I'm the decayed and disfigured man you see before me. I am but a husk of who I was before."

Your heart broke at his words. You couldn't accept that he thought of himself like that. You didn't say anything and only gazed up at him. He shook his head and raised his hand to cover yours. You couldn’t help yourself. You have waited long enough. You didn’t want to stop at seeing his face, no matter what he said. With a soft sigh of longing, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

Capitano didn’t know what to do. He lifted his hands up and away from your body. You kept kissing him, savoring the feel of his lips. His hands were frozen in midair as if he didn’t want to touch you. After a long moment, you pulled back and stared into his deep blue eyes. He stared back. 

“I love you, Capitano.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t say that, Master!”

"I can." You whispered. You leaned in and kissed his scarred neck. "I need to. Please… Please say it back."

Capitano didn't answer for a moment. A wave of anxiety washed over you. What if he didn't feel the same? What if this whole time you pined over him, he never developed feelings for you? Just the thought of that squeezed at your heart. But it didn't last long. Capitano cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He leaned down and kissed you passionately.

Nothing else mattered at that moment. You pushed the wedding out of your mind. You focused only on Capitano. Your head tilted to the side as you deepened this kiss. His lips were rough yet loving at the same time. Your arms wrapped around him as he pushed back against you. Heat slowly filled your body. You wanted him. You need him.

Capitano pulled back, making you whine at the sensation. He stared down at you. "I love you."

Those were the only words you ever needed to hear. Your eyes welled with tears as you pulled him down again. Tonight, you would only focus on him. He would take over your world. You would live out your dreams of being his and only his. Just one more moment of happiness before your life was ripped away from you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You looked at yourself in the mirror. The white dress sparkled in the morning light. It fit like a glove. It was absolutely perfect. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to smile. Your hand shakily smoothed out the fabric of your dress. Memories of last night wouldn't leave your mind. It was all you could think of.

"Master. It's time."

You turned around. Capitano was in his ceremonial wear. His face was once again hidden by his mask. And yet, you could still see his face. You nodded slowly. You wanted to pretend that you were marrying him. Not a stranger. But real life wasn't as kind. Your shoulder straightened and you walked to the double doors. Behind those doors was the start of the rest of your life.

"Are you ready?" Capitano asked softly.

"I have to be."

"Master…"

You couldn't bear hearing anything else from him. "Please, open the doors."

He hesitated but did as you said. The doors opened, revealing the decorated room filled with people to witness a new age. Your eyes focused down the aisle. There stood Prince Ororon. He was tall, pale, with dark blue hair. His eyes met yours. You steeled yourself. This was it. With one final breath, you walked away from Capitano and towards your new husband.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Dug into my drafts for @russingon-week. Sort of a follow up to this conversation between Fingon and Fingolfin and this one between Fingon and Maedhros about thralldom, trust and betrayal.

1609 words, M, implied Maedhros/Fingon

Warnings: violence, minor character death

On Ao3

The guard standing before Maedhros’s door was gone, which should not have happened without Fingon’s knowledge. Behind the door, something crashed. It took a fraction of a second for Fingon to draw his dagger and kick the door open.

Maedhros and the guard, locked in a struggle, turned to him. The guard was the first to recover. He pulled Maedhros to him and put the knife against his throat.

“Close the door,” he told Fingon.

Fingon did. It creaked like brittle ice breaking underfoot.

“Let us not be hasty,” Fingon said, approaching, his gaze trained on the pearl of blood on Maedhros’s throat.

“You will not convince him,” Maedhros said.

“Quiet!” the guard yelled.

The bloody pearl rolled down the knife and another one took its place.

“Do not come closer,” the guard told Fingon.

Fingon stopped and raised his hands.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Let us talk. Will you tell me your name?”

The guard hesitated for a moment, frowning as if he was trying to remember. “Alwedon,” he said then quietly. “It was Alwedon, but I have none now.”

“I am Findekáno. Fingon in the language of your people.”

“I know who you are.”

“Alwedon, please do not do anything careless. Whatever has happened, whatever is on your mind, I shall help you. I give you my word.”

Alwedon’s hand shook around the knife. Fingon imagined his feet frozen and stuck to the ground, so he would not try to lunge for the weapon and wrestle it away. A corner of his mind was trying to understand how Alwedon could have slipped past their defenses, joined their forces, and volunteered to stand guard at Maedhros’s door without anyone suspecting anything.

“What would I do with your word?” Alwedon said. “Give me your dagger instead.”

“Do not be foolish, Findekáno,” Maedhros said.

Alwedon’s knife pressed closer to his skin. Whatever color was on his face was swiftly draining away. His knees were close to buckling. What would happen if he fell? Would it confuse Alwedon or startle him into striking? Would Fingon be quick enough to stop him?

Slowly, he put his dagger on the bed, taking the opportunity to come a few steps closer to Alwedon and Maedhros.

“I have no other weapons,” he said. “Now it is your turn. Will you lower your knife? I am here. I shall help you.”

“You cannot reason with him,” Maedhros rasped. “He is what you suspect me to be.”

“Russandol, please!”

“He speaks the truth,” Alwedon said. “I am no longer myself. I cannot fight it.”

“You must,” Fingon urged. “You can. Do you have a family, Alwedon?”

“Family? I think… I had a brother. Yes, a brother.”

“Think of him. Think of meeting him again. I have a brother too. I would never be the same if I lost him. Think of returning to your brother. Returning to yourself.”

“It is not possible.”

“There must be a way. We only have to find it. Trust me, please, I shall do my best to find it. Do you believe me, Alwedon?”

Fingon could plainly see the struggle in Alwedon’s eyes. Despite what his instincts were screaming, he did not move. He had learned patience.

A thin red ribbon was adorning Maedhros’s throat when Alwedon lowered the knife. Tiny rubies slid down his neck. He shook and did not fall. He lived.

Fingon let out a breath, running a hand over his face. But his relief was brief. A low moan shook him, and he jerked his head up in time to see Maedhros pull the dagger he had left on the bed out of Alwedon’s eye. The body must have made noise falling, but Fingon didn’t hear it as though it fell on soft snow.

For a moment, he and Maedhros stared at each other, his bloodied dagger clutched in Maedhros’s hand.

“Why did you do it?” Fingon whispered.

“There was no saving him. He was a thrall.”

“He lowered the knife.”

“He was still eying it. He could have attacked you next. What use would there be to kill me? You must have been his true target.”

“You cannot know that!”

“I do,” Maedhros said, gesturing with the dagger. “Why are you dismayed? Is this not what you will do to me if I turn out to be enthralled?”

Fingon breathed through the ice water.

“Give me the dagger,” he said.

Maedhros looked at it as if he had forgotten he was holding it. He did not move.

“Russandol, please,” Fingon said, “give it to me.”

Slowly, Maedhros extended his hand.

“Here,” he said.

Fingon had to step over Alwedon’s body to reach it. He forced himself to look at him, to commit his face to memory. He remembered none from Alqualondë.

The moment he moved to take the weapon, Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him to his chest with surprising strength, pressing the dagger to his throat.

Fingon opened his mouth to say something, but he was falling into an ice well. The cold froze his lungs and his tongue, swallowed all his words. Instead, Maedhros spoke.

“Despite all your fears and doubts, still you are not cautious enough,” he said. “Taking the dagger from my hand was a mistake. You should have told me to drop it and move away.”

The dagger stuck to Fingon's skin, cold with blood, but Maedhros’s chest behind him was warm, and so was Maedhros's arm around his waist. Fingon swam to the warmth and resurfaced.

“Will you drop it now if I ask?”

A heartbeat, two, three. Maedhros’s fingers slowly loosened around the hilt, and the dagger fell by Fingon’s feet.

Maedhros’s right arm was still wrapped around his waist. Fingon breathed out, didn’t move.

“You should not have taken the risk,” Maedhros said. “You should not have waited for me to drop it. You should have remembered what I told you about my weaknesses.”

“I remember.” Fingon turned in his hold to face him. “Your shoulder.”

His hand hovered over Maedhros’s right shoulder but didn’t touch it. Maedhros still flinched as if the non-touch pained him.

“Your ribs.”

The back of Fingon’s hand brushed over the place Maedhros had shown him.

“Your right knee.”

Fingon bent down and caressed the knee with a thumb. He picked up the weapons and rose. Maedhros was swaying. What need Fingon had for his weaknesses when he could bring him down with a gentle touch?

He caught Maedhros before he could fall and guided him back to bed. For a moment, he, too, was overcome with knee-buckling weariness, the kind you feel when you trek over uneven ice for days in search of your camp while the cutting wind is blowing against your face, the kind when you cannot take a moment to lie down because you will never rise again. Fingon closed his eyes and rode out the wave. The exhaustion relented, and sudden, dizzying clarity took its place.

Fingon called in people to deal with the body and with the cut on Maedhros’s neck. He sent someone to his father with the news. The sooner he knew about it, the better. Maedhros was watching the commotion with an absent, empty gaze as if he had not just killed someone and deemed himself justified.

Fingon had to recount the events to Fingolfin when his father arrived in haste. He left out what happened after Alwedon’s death. There was no need to lessen Fingolfin’s almost non-existent trust in Maedhros.

“How can we be certain,” Fingolfin said, “that he did not kill that poor Sinda to silence him? Perhaps he could have told us something about him. Perhaps we could have learned how far the Enemy’s hold reaches. Was it truly necessary to kill him or was it his unrestrained bloodlust that drove him to slay the wretched soul?”

“He was in thrall to the Enemy,” Fingon said. “There was no saving him. He was going to attack me next.”

It seemed to placate Fingolfin, and he agreed to allow Fingon to return to Maedhros’s chambers again without a fuss. Maedhros’s unseeing gaze brushed over Fingon when he closed the door behind him.

“You lied to your father,” he said mildly.

“Not unless you lied to me.”

“I have told you,” Maedhros said, “you should not believe a word I say.”

“So you have.”

Fingon sat on the edge of the bed. It made Maedhros blink and finally focus on him.

“Where is your dagger?” he asked.

“I left it outside.”

Maedhros stared, more shaken than he had looked with a knife at his throat.

“Did you not see what happened here?” he asked. “What I did?”

“I saw it all very clearly.”

“I slaughtered someone.”

“I was there.”

“I threatened you.”

“I remember.”

“Then why?” Maedhros whispered.

Fingon shrugged.

“By treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass,” he said. The same stubborn determination he had felt when he had heard the Doom roused his heart again. He smiled at Maedhros. “If I am to be betrayed, so be it. I shall not live in fear.”

Like your father. The words never left his lips. Once, he would have flung them at Maedhros without remorse and felt righteous. Now he was silent.

Maedhros looked at him for a long time. Fingon held his gaze and wondered once again what he was looking for. A sign of deceit? Reassurance?

“I envy you,” Maedhros said finally and added nothing else.

But when Fingon moved closer to him and offered his hand, Maedhros grasped it like a man drowning.

[dinsbeskar]

[Never] Sleep Alone (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron’s obsession with you knows no bounds. He claims you, body and soul, in your waking and dreaming, so now it seems only right he takes what is his.

Can be read solo, can be read alongside my In The Dark series // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Sleep Alone by Bat For Lashes, Closer by Nine Inch Nails (that song is so Sauron coded!!), Oral Hex by Bludnymph (I've listened to nothing but horny EDM for a week)

Warnings: 18+ only!!! Smut!! Consensual Non Consent (CNC). S*mmo k!nk: he fucks you while you're asleep, but there is consent in place. Toxic relationship tbh, they're a little codependent/obsessed with one another. But also v soft, toothache soft. P in V sex, oral sex (female receiving), male masturbation, cockwarming, bodily fluids, creampie, maybe a lil breeding kink if you squint, praise kink, a little emotional manipulation (it's Sauron so??)

A/N: idek guys. I'm a sleepy girl, and I've been listening to s*mmo audio, this kinda just happened. But it does seem like a natural escalation, considering I've written Sauron as stalking you, and claiming you in your dreams. So tbh this isn't that far of a stretch. However I will not be offended if you guys nope out, totally fine!!! But I will not do the whole kinkshaming thing, sorry we're not here for it. Don't like, don't read! :) okay enjoy!

thesaurus.com my beloved, how many different words can we find for sleep lmfao

Word Count: 3k!

He loves watching you sleep.

And sometimes he follows you there, into your dreams.

But sometimes he just lies awake beside you, gazing at your sleeping form, prone and vulnerable, his alone to protect and worship.

When you wake, you usually feel the weight of his gaze on you, the warmth of his body pressed against you, but lately Sauron has taken to rising before you, depriving you of morning cuddles, which frankly will not do.

"Where did you go?" You ask him softly, as he climbs back into bed after much pleading on your part.

"What do you mean, love?" He replies, brow furrowed, as he kisses your shoulder, rubbing your back in slow circles.

"In the mornings, when you abandon me to a cold bed, where do you go? What could possibly be more important than your wife's comfort?" You turn over to face him, meeting his gaze.

"Does it matter, my love? I always come back if you call." He tries to handwave your question away, but his evasion only makes you more curious.

"No, really, I need to know, what are you doing that cannot wait until I rise?"

He huffs an exasperated sigh, still running his hands over your bare skin, trying to avoid your gaze.

"Please. While you're here, I want you all to myself, I don't want you leaving me without forewarning me." You hate how needy he makes you, how desperate for his presence you are.

He regards you for a moment with that intense stare that makes your toes curl, and you feel him on the edges of your mind, feeling you out for whatever he has to tell you.

"You can tell me, after all this time, there are no secrets between us." You are starting to get concerned now, what could it possibly be?

"I love you. So much, unbearably so sometimes. My affection for you knows no bounds, and if it were possible..." he trails off, studying you for your reaction, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously.

You can't help but beam, your smile spreading wide and lighting up your whole face. You know how he feels about you, because you feel exactly the same way. Emboldened by your radiance, he continues.

"If it were possible, my lust for you is so many times greater." There is a glint in his eye now that thrills you to your core, as you realise that perhaps it would have been less dangerous to leave it well alone.

"And when you're asleep, my love, wandering your dreams without me at your side, I cannot help but want to be close to you." He draws closer to you, every firm plane of his body pressed against you, fingers softly tracing your curves as you shiver under his gentle touch.

"I cannot resist you. I have tried, but you defeat me every time." You raise your eyebrows at his words, still a little confused, but your cheeks grow hot at his flattery all the same.

"You are so close to me, so vulnerable to my gaze, to my touch," he punctuates every pause with a kiss to your neck, forcing your eyes to flutter shut, listening to his confession.

"And if I wanted to have my way with you, to ravish you while you sleep, I could do so." Your eyes fly open, meeting his pitch black gaze, as goosebumps arise at the nape of your neck, heat pooling in your abdomen.

"But I resist." His heartbeat matches yours, racing in tandem as he edges closer to revealing his nightly activities.

"I take myself in hand, and imagine it's you instead."

Your heart pounds as you slowly realise what he might be asking for, your thighs rubbing together in anticipation.

"Your hand, your mouth, your hot wet cunt. But nothing compares to you, my love, imagination can only take me so far." His eyes are dark, pupils blown, as he grinds his cock against your ass.

"It is to thoughts of you that I fuck my own hand, yearning for your touch, unable to wait until morning when you rejoin me in waking."

"And that is where you go? Why do you not wake me, love, if you suffer so?" Your heart aches at the thought of your husband so deeply bereft, even with you by his side.

"Not always." He kisses your neck softly, stroking your side.

"Sometimes I lay next to you, breathing you in, inches from the very flesh I need to claim, spending my seed anywhere but inside you," he murmurs, his hot breath tickling your ear, "where you deserve it."

Your breath hitches and the throbbing in your clit will no longer be ignored. You reach down to take the edge off, but he takes your hand and presses it to his lips with a tsk.

"If I cannot have you when I wish, you certainly cannot, my love."

You whine and squirm against him, but he holds you fast.

"So when you wake, I am simply making myself presentable to you, my darling, that is where I am when you're searching for me, still walking the line between dreams and reality."

The idea of your husband satisfying himself as you lie beside him, blissfully unaware, has you rocking against him softly, the familiar coiling sensation beginning in your abdomen as his words ignite your insatiable desire for him.

"It can be so... pitifully lonely, watching you slumber, my love, but I never wanted to burden you." He smirks against your neck, his hands beginning to roam across your body.

"It would never be a burden, you are my husband, I want to please you, as much as you please me." He works so hard for your pleasure, that it would be remiss of you not to reciprocate.

"You need your rest, beloved, you cannot not entertain me all hours of the night." He chuckles softly, probing your mind for the seed he has planted, nourishing it to fruition.

You ponder for a while, the blood rushing to your cheeks as you come upon a solution that sends bolts of arousal to your core.

"Perhaps... no, it is foolish, forget I said anything." You murmur, worried that he will think you depraved.

"What, my love? Come now, are we not one and the same soul? You can share anything with me." With you still facing away from him, he does not have to fix the expression on his face, a wicked mixture of glee and anticipation as his idea comes tumbling from your lips.

"Perhaps, you need not wake me. Perhaps, you do as you will. If I wake, then so be it, but I would not have you suffer unnecessarily, my love." You're sure your face is glowing, how red and hot it feels; you're glad you're facing away from him so he cannot see it.

His long pause has you rattled, and you're about to lose your nerve and tell him it was just a foolish notion, when-

"You would have me... defile you, while you sleep?"

You can hear his concern, his bewilderment, but you cannot see the glint in his eye, the dangerous delight that paints his handsome features.

"If it disgusts you, love, please think no more of it, forget I said a word." Shame begins to course through you, nausea building even as arousal pools in the pit of your stomach.

He pulls you close, nose in your hair, and breathes in deeply.

"I could never feel anything other than utter devotion to you, my sweet wife. You think only of me, and offer yourself freely. How could I feel anything but adoration?"

Your heart swells, reaching out for his, his love smothering you like a blanket, encompassing you in his warmth and devotion.

"We would need some kind of... signal. To let me know what you want when you cannot tell me yourself." He might want you wholly, body and soul, but he wants you to be a willing participant, even when dreaming.

You nod, musing on what could be the most obvious sign that you were happy to have him claim you while you slept.

"Perhaps, underwear on, I attend to my own affairs." He murmurs in your ear, pulling you ever closer. "However, underwear off, I can ravish you as I please?"

It's a question, technically, but he knows you will agree.

"That does seem simple enough, and one could not mistake any intentions with such a... deliberate sign." With his arms still wrapped around you, you are beginning to fall asleep, but you turn around as much as you're able, craning your neck to kiss him softly.

"I love you." He whispers into your kiss.

"I know." You smile, rubbing the tip of his nose with yours. "I love you too."

You roll over and allow him to cuddle you, pulling his arm over your body tighter, holding his hand until you fall asleep. He regards you all the while, eyes fond, cock hard.

~

He traces his hands over your sides, gently, so softly, so as not to disturb you. You need your rest after all.

He peels back the sheets delicately, and you fidget a little; he holds his breath, staying still for a moment, but you remain sound asleep. Thank the Valar you're a deep sleeper.

He breathes a sigh of relief, before pressing on with exactly what he wants to do to you.

The night is warm, so you're covered only by a gauzy nightgown, the fabric of which is so thin, he can already tell you've forgone underwear.

This is the answer he needed to the question he can't ask you while you slumber.

You had agreed that wearing nothing under your slip was the sign he was free to do as he wished with you.

He trails his fingers up your thighs to find your cunt is already wet and waiting for him. You must have come to bed thinking of him; the thought frankly makes him weak, makes him want to wake you and ravage you until the sun rises.

But he won't ruin the fantasy on the very first night, at least not intentionally.

He spreads your thighs, being careful not to jostle you too much, wanting to satisfy everything you spoke about, for you and for himself.

He's always loved the taste of you, and while he loves bringing you pleasure, the simple truth is he can't get enough of you, and would spend days between your thighs if you let him, for purely selfish reasons.

He noses your clit, drinking in your scent, flattening his tongue and devouring you whole. He delves into your folds, sucking at your clit, looking up occasionally to see if he has disturbed you. Thankfully you remain asleep, though for a moment he would appreciate your trembling thighs wrapped around his neck.

He wonders if he can bring you to orgasm while asleep; perhaps a goal for next time.

But he is achingly hard for you, having resisted touching himself as he savoured your cunt. He strokes his cock once, twice, then lines himself up with your entrance, still watching and waiting for you to wake, sure that you will.

Sauron is sure he has never been more aroused than this very moment, admiring the view of his sweet, trusting wife, so vulnerable beneath him, allowing him to do exactly as he wishes while she gets her valuable rest.

His fingers slip inside you so easily, it's as if he belongs there, and he quickly replaces them with his aching cock, the head running over your folds before slipping inside your tight wet heat.

He groans, perhaps a little too loud, but he cannot bring himself to care while he is buried to the hilt inside you. He grasps your hips and adjusts you slightly, sliding right in, his balls slapping at your skin. He tries, he really does try to keep quiet, but you move in your sleep, trying to roll over, and he moans, long and loud, from the added sensation of you tightening around him.

"I'm sorry, darling, did I wake you?" He whispers after pausing a moment, half hoping you won't respond.

You grumble a little, pressing your hips harder into his, but you seem to fall back to sleep while his hips have stilled.

He resumes rolling his hips, hesitant to fully plunge his cock into the depths of your cunt, rocking in and out of you as you clench around him.

He has to be so quiet, he doesn't want to disturb you, but he needs this, needs to fuck you senseless even while you're not awake, the depths of his lust for you seemingly endless.

The fact you were unperturbed by his confession only made him love you more, that his depravity was shared in the other half of his soul. And the way you offered yourself to him so freely; his heart always sang for yours, but at that moment, your song was all he could hear.

When he is fairly sure that you're peacefully asleep, he ruts into you once again, his cock painfully hard as he draws out his own pleasure to save your slumber.

You clench around him, your body used to his ministrations, responding to his touch almost as if you were awake.

The only noises that can be heard in your chambers are his own deep breathing and the soft, wet sounds of flesh on flesh as he pounds into you, reassured by your continued repose.

He feels his orgasm draw closer, heat in his belly that threatens to engulf him whole. He throws back his head and gasps, his balls drawing up, readying for his release, as he kneads your pliant flesh, relishing in your curves. He reaches up under your slip, cupping your breasts in his large hands, thumbs circling your nipples. At this point, he no longer cares if you wake, thrusting erratically inside you, leaning down to lick and nuzzle your neck, to breathe in your sweet scent.

Your throat bared, he has the urge to sink his teeth into your soft flesh, to wake you with the unearthly pleasure that his torture would provide. That urge pushes him over the edge, spurting inside you, his thighs shaking in the effort not to collapse on top of you.

It is your tiny whimpers that bring him back to the present. He props himself up on one hand to find your eyes wide open, a sleepy smile gracing your face.

He smirks, drawing you in for a languid kiss, before he resumes lazily rutting into you, cock still hard and weeping, still ravenous for any sliver of pleasure you will grant him.

You let out a moan as he hits the sweet spot inside you, your toes curling with pleasure. He cannot help but regard you fondly, your eyes screwed shut, as you try to keep up the ruse for him even now.

He leans down to kiss the tip of your nose, before drawing back to ravage your cunt the way he knows you like best, circling your clit with his fingers.

Angling his hips the way he knows will torture you best and playing your clit like the master musician he is, he brings you to the edge of orgasm before halting altogether. You whine and squirm and pull his hips into you, but he nips your ear in warning.

"Not yet, love, together." He urges you breathlessly.

In response, you clench your walls around him, drawing a guttural groan from deep within his chest.

"Please, love, please, come with me." You murmur, tracing the contours of his back, digging your fingernails into his smooth skin.

You can feel his peak approaching again, as his lips on yours become more desperate, his tongue delving into your mouth as if searching for the meaning of life in your body.

"That's it, sweet girl, come for me, come now." He groans; he fills you again, spending his seed exactly where you both want it as you clutch at his skin, the coil in your belly releasing in a blazing heat that renders you speechless.

"Good girl, you deserve it, don't you? My sweet wife, not a drop wasted," he smirks, claiming your lips again, swallowing your desperate moans.

He languidly rolls his hips against yours, guiding you through your orgasm as your thoughts continue to evade you, nothing in your head but the feeling of your husband inside you.

You both finally fall back against the pillows, sated for now. He moves to pull out of you but you hold him fast, slinging a leg over his and refusing to let his cock leave you empty. He chuckles and pulls you close, your head on his chest, his iron embrace so comforting after the exertion of the evening.

"How long were you awake?" He asks with an affectionate smile.

"How long did you know I was awake?" You respond with a playful smile, sleepily tracing his jaw.

He hums, conceding the point.

"We can always try again," you murmur, sleep coming to claim you swiftly.

"I'm sure we will." His heart is so full that it feels tender, as if one more soft word from you would shatter it to oblivion.

"Love you, more than anything," you whisper, as if on cue, as he can do nothing but hold you and feel his black heart ache for his impossible love of you, kissing you softly before nestling his face in your neck.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 33 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: Fingering, nudity, consent is sexy

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, eyes wide and tearful, daring from where he held your wrists, then to his crotch, hardly looking different from it had before and then up to his eyes. 

“No,” he said again, “I don’t- You don’t need to do-” 

You pulled your wrists from his hands, his grip slack enough to let you do so easily, though he could have kept you in place. Leaning back, you wrapped your arms around yourself, hiding your chest as you curled into yourself. 

You had been being a silly girl again. 

He didn’t want you like that.

“I’m sorry, I- I thought-” You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you looked everywhere but at him. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Your knees shook as you stood, looking for anything you could use to cover yourself instead of standing before him naked. Tears dripped down your face, leaving burning trails of shame on your cheeks. Angerly, you batted them away, not noticing Alastor standing until his hands rested on your forearms and then on either side of your face. 

Thumbs caressed your cheeks as he looked into eyes that refused to meet his. “What’s wrong?” he said, “Talk to me. Why are you crying?” 

“It’s-” you forced yourself to smile, a bitter laugh you had intended to sound sunny bubbled from your chest. “It’s nothing. I’m just being a silly-” 

“Talk to me,” Alastor reiterated, smile nearly wiped from his lips. “I cannot fix it if you do not talk to me.” 

“I- It’s silly, I’m just being-”

“I’ll be the judge of that, but if it has you in tears, I doubt it’s truly silly so, stop saying that.” 

You braved looking at him, peeking at the warm brown eyes that held nothing but worry. His eyes begged you to trust him, to open up to him, to give him just a little more. “Why don’t you want me?” 

The words were so soft that Alastor nearly didn’t hear them. For a moment, he stood there simply looking at you as the impact of what he had done, what it had made you believe, washed over him. 

“I do, ma cherie,” Alastor said simply. 

“You don’t.” You were nearly weeping again as you shook your head in his hands.

 The buzz of the electricity in the lights and the ticking of the wall clock seemed deafeningly loud. The sound seemed to drown out the roar of your pulse in your ears. You hugged your arms around you tighter, trying to shrink away. It was silly to think he would want you in the way a man wants a woman. 

“I do,” Alastor insisted, leaning down to be more on your level. “I wouldn’t touch you in these ways if I didn’t.” 

It was a lie, he knew that, but it was a lie he felt alright telling. He’d touched many women he couldn’t care less about, simply to see to it he had the right kind of reputation as a man or to manipulate them, to get something from them. 

The difference was he didn’t dread touching you. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to hear the sounds you made. It wasn’t the right time for him to examine why touching you wasn’t a chore, why he wanted to. 

“Why don’t you want me to-” You didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a harlot. “You’ve felt every part of me and I- I haven’t felt you. You haven’t tried to- to take me.” 

“That has nothing to do with-” Alastor’s thumb smoothed over the damp skin under your eye as he tried to calm you. 

At some point, he made a mistake, and you were hurting for it. He hoped to protect you, to comfort you, yet you were in tears because he failed to read your needs well enough. He had been selfish, taking his entertainment in pleasing you without considering what he could have been saying with his actions… or lack of action. 

“If you don’t want me, that’s fine.” You spoke over him, wet eyes darting to the floor. 

“I do,” Alastor pulled your chin up, forcing you to look at him as he spoke. “But Cher, what I do isn’t about me. I’m after your pleasure. I want to see you pleased. I want to bring you pleasure you never thought possible.”

“What about you?” You pressed, “If you do, why don’t you what to be pleased? Why don’t I ever feel-”

“I don’t need to be,” Alastor pulled you into his arms, holding your naked body to his bare chest as he backed you both back to the couch. When he backed up against it, he let his legs fold, pulling you down with him. He sat with you in his lap, keeping your body close to his. You were mildly aware of the slick smeared around your pubic area and thighs, surely smearing into his trousers as he shifted you in his lap. 

“What does that mean?” You wiped the tears away, “Can you not?” 

“I can,” Alastor was quick to assure you before falling silent. Seconds that felt like hours ticked off, marked by the deafening sound of the clock. 

“Then why?” You whispered, too scared to ask if you were not pleasing enough to his eyes. Perhaps there was something wrong with you. There had to be, though he was too kind to say it.. 

“I don’t…” Alastor paused, head falling back against the couch as he sighed, taking his glasses off and letting the wall across from the couch become fuzzy. 

He wanted her; he knew that. He wanted her not as a friend. He wanted her as a wife. He wanted her as a partner. He wanted her as his everything, and so she deserved to know what she was getting by picking him. 

“I’m not consumed with the need to seek pleasure,” Alastor settled for saying, eyes straight ahead. “I can. I’m perfectly capable of functioning but I just… don’t. The drive isn’t consuming. I don’t need it.”

“I don’t understand?” you whisper, scared that if you spoke anything closer to normal volume you would shatter this moment of vulnerability. 

“I don’t need it. What I need is for you to feel good. Your pleasure consumes me. Seeing to your needs drives me. I am satisfied with that.” 

“And that’s why I dont… don’t feel you?” 

Alastor shrugged, “I avoid that, when I don’t…” He hesitated, looking for the right word, “need it. It’s distracting.” 

Silence ticked on as both of you seemed to wait for the other shoe to drop. “You need my pleasure?” You asked finally. 

“Like air to breathe,” Alastor said simply. “It consumes me. Burns through my thoughts. It’s shameful how it haunts me.” 

“What if… What if I needed your pleasure?” you braved resting your hand on the center of his torso, feeling his warmth and the muscles bunched under. 

“You’ve been doing just fine,” Alastor rested his hand on yours, running both up his chest as he wrapped his fingers around yours. 

“Just because I- I am doing that, that thing you make me do, doesn’t mean I’m not wanting more. It feels unbalanced.”

“I don’t need anything,” Alastor kissed the palm of your hand, “All I need to balance it is know you’re pleased and satisfied, that I am giving you something he cannot.” 

“What if I’m not?” You tried to will the tears from your eyes, but they still flowed down your cheeks anew. “What if I want more? What if part of me isn’t satisfied?” 

“You don’t need to do anything for me.” 

“But what if I do?” You turned, facing him better and resting both hands against his chest to brace yourself. “What if I need to please you so I can feel like- like I’m more than I am in this?” 

“You wish to?” Alastor asked carefully. “Truly? Not because you feel you have to? Not because you think I’ll leave without it? Not because you’ve been made to believe your worth is based on it?” 

“I want to,” you pressed. “I want to know what it’s like to- to do those things with a man who loves me, who cares… with a man I love.” 

Alastor was quiet for a moment before pulling you to his chest, nestling you against him. Hot skin burned against you while you waited for what he would say, to see if he would reject you again. He took a slow, deep breath and let it out with a sigh. You waited with your eyes locked on the mark you had left on his neck, scared to push harder and yet terrified of what he would say.

“I want to,” you whispered, slowly running a hand down his chest. “If you’ll let me, if I can?” 

Alastor hooked a finger under your chin, pulling you to look at him as he spoke. “The moment you do not want to anymore, you stop. I don’t care if I’ve not… reached completion. It’s for you. For your enjoyment. Do you understand me?” 

You nodded but Alastor sat frozen still until you squeaked out a soft word of agreement. As soon as you did, Alastor leaned forward and captured yours in a sweet kiss. His hand ran down your back and you gasped into the kiss. He wasted no time slipping his tongue between your parted lips. 

Timid fingers ran along the buckle of his belt as he leaned back, pulling you with him. His hands were so strong as they lifted you, pulling you softly until you were straddling his lap. The smooth fabric of his trowsers under your naked legs, core hovering over him as he tasted you, drinking up the small sighs you let out while his hands roamed your back, holding you. 

Bright brown eyes looked back at your still wet eyes as you pulled back, feeling his hand slide down and cup the swell of your ass. Leaning forward, you tried to remember all the ways Alastor had turned you into a gasping mess as you kissed his jaw and down his neck. 

Hot, open-mouthed kisses you hoped were not just a pale imitation of what he did. You gasped as his back arched a little, his eyes closed as his head fell back as your lips moved over the surely sore place you had bitten him. 

There it was. You felt it. Just a twitch, but it was there as your teeth ghosted over his skin. 

Alastor pulled you tighter against him as his hand reached down from behind, running between your legs. Fingers caressed your folds as you kissed his neck, tentatively running teeth over flesh. Growing bolder by the moment, you worked the belt buckle free as you softly bit his neck, just above where you had sunk your teeth in before.

“You don’t have to do that,” Alastor whispered above you.

“Do you not like that?” You whispered back, grasping midway through as his fingers plunged into you from behind, three wide and spreading your opening easily. You rocked back into his hand before you understood what you were doing, sinking his fingers deeper into you.

“I-” Alastor started before changing direction, “It’s not needed,” 

“That’s not what I asked,” you whispered, grazing him with your teeth again as you felt the twitch of him. 

“I just need a few moments to feel you enjoying yourself,” Alastor said as he worked his fingers in and out, long arms giving him the reach to do so while you were working your mouth on his neck. 

Whatever his feelings on you biting him, you knew it got a reaction even if he wouldn’t talk about it. That’s alright, you decided as you moaned in his ear, his other hand caressing your clit from the front. In time, you would learn every way that Alastor liked to be touched. 

“You’re so wet,” Alastor whispered, head leaned back and Adam’s apple bobbing. You couldn’t help but kiss it. “You’re dipping.” 

Looking down your body and between your legs, you saw he was right. Shame burned through you for a moment, only to be quickly replaced by something else burning as you watched the long, clear glob of slick swaying from your opening. Alastor’s fingers continued working in and out of you as you watched the glob reach his pants. 

You hadn’t realized the orgasm was sneaking up on you until it hit. Your arms gave out, and you had little chance but to ride it out, laying on his chest as your legs trembled and twitched, The weight of your body and the force of his hand working in and out of you was all that kept you on your knees though they spread wider, lowering you closer to him. 

Your pubic mound grazed him as you twitched, rocking with his hand as waves of pleasure coursed through you. You gripped his trousers as if they would somehow ground you as you cried out against his neck.

There was another twitch, stronger, and something remained as you ground against him. It was happening. He was responding to you. That realization caused you to clench around his fingers, still working in and out of you with lewd squelching sounds as a second orgasm chased the first. 

It was too much and god; you craved more. You felt like every part of you was breaking apart with the force of it as you felt him again, becoming firmer under you while you cried out his name. His focus on what he was doing was razor sharp, head to the side to give you room as you writhed in his lap. 

Part of you wondered if he was trying to work you to the point of insanity so that you’d not have the energy to please him. Perhaps he was, but you could feel him now and that kept the fire inside you burning. You needed to have him, though you did not know what you were doing in practice. 

It terrified you how much you wanted something that you knew caused pain. For him, with him, the pain would be worth it. You wanted to suffer through the pain if it made him feel even a fraction of how good he made you feel. It would be worth the pain. 

And what if it didn’t have to hurt? What if being with a man as a woman didn’t have to be painful? What if the pain was something unique to your husband? What if he brought the pain knowingly? 

Tears gathered in your eyes as you reached out for something to keep you from floating away. His hands working on your sensitive skin wouldn’t be able to keep you grounded. All you could think of was gripping him with your teeth as he worked you through the high, since your hand wrapped around his arm and the waistband of his pants wasn’t doing enough.

Your mouth opened as you gasped, head pulled back as he continued working his fingers into you. Your body ran from the sensations as you partially laid against his shoulder. The smell of him surrounded you, the soft skin of his neck brushed against your lips as you tried to catch your breath. And then, you acted without a thought, sinking your teeth into his neck, near where you had bitten earlier. 

Alastor groaned at the feeling, hips bucking up into you before he caught himself. His hand gripped your hip to hold you steady as the twitch under you became something more solid, something that held promise, though you didn’t understand what of. 

“There you go, dear.” Alastor whispered, his voice full of gravel as you let go of him with your teeth. “Are you pleased to have me awake for you? What are you going to do now?” 

In truth, you didn’t know what to do next. You wanted him, but being with him was something you didn’t know how to do. He kept letting you lead. You were walking an uncharted path, and it terrified you not to be following his lead, to not have him telling you what to do. 

“You’re in control,” Alastor said, grabbing your hand from the waistband of his pants. He guided your hand down between your bodies to where he was straining against his pants. Your slick was warm under your fingers as you wrapped them over his covered shaft. “There it is.” 

“I’ve never,” you whispered, looking up at him. “I want to, but-” 

“Do you want me to guide you?” He offered, throwing you a life raft.

“Please?” You whimpered, wanting to be so much more for him. 

“Alright,” Alastor slipped his fingers from your still fluttering hole and leaned you back. “Unbutton my pants, then unzip them.” 

You did as he asked, moving slowly and looking to him for reassurance as you pulled the opening wider. The trail of hair reaching to his naval was rooted far below his waistband, short and neat. With timid touches, you shifted his pants until he sprang free. 

For all of your marriage, you had done your best to avoid looking at your husband’s manhood. It had caused and promised pain. It wasn’t something you had touched, but it had touched you plenty of times. The general shape and form of what men carried wasn’t something surprising to you. 

Anxiety rolled in your stomach as you came face to face with Alastor, standing tall between your bodies. This would bring you pain. It would hurt you. You would endure the pain if it would please him, if you could return just a fraction of what he did for you. 

Alastor was a tall man, though lean. You hadn’t known what to expect since he had been sizable while flaccid. Now that he was harder, he was larger there, too. His tool would have looked cartoonish on a smaller man, but right on him. It twitched under your gaze, as if responding to the way you examined it. 

“Did you just wish to see it?” Alastor asked as he watched you. 

“No, I-” Your face was so hot it felt like it could light a match. 

“Let’s start together then, shall we?” 

When you timidly nodded, he took your hand in his. You trusted him. Alastor would not hurt you any more than he must for you to give him the pleasure you wanted. He could guide you. You would suffer through whatever pain that would come, you would weather.

Alastor wrapped your hand around his manhood. Your hand was so small in his that he nearly covered it with his own. It wasn’t the hard steel that you had known to be rammed into you, but you didn’t brave asking why his skin felt so soft under your fingers. You had already pushed him for so much. If you asked anything more of him, it would surely be too much. It was better to not ask questions. 

His hand guided yours in caressing the length of his shaft as he spoke. You could feel each vein as he ran your hand over his soft skin, toward the slight mushroom shaped tip. A drop of wetness smeared under your fingers as he guided them over the slit at his tip before he brought your hand back down his shaft. His grip tightened over your hand as he guided your hand on a slow journey up his length again. 

“I’m sensitive here, but it’s not likely you’ll hurt me, at least not without trying.” 

Each pass of your hand along his length had him twitching and becoming firmer in your hands. He watched, eyes trained on your face as he took his hand away. Reaching up, he caressed your face, urging you to loop up from your task. 

He pulled you toward him as your hand worked timidly, but independently, along his length. There was a flush on his cheeks, ever so slight as his lips met yours. To kiss him more soundly, you had to raise up on knees planted on either side of his legs.

Each time your hand worked down his shaft, quickly turning to velvet covered steel in your hand, his tip brushed the inside of your thigh. The head of his cock and part of his shaft smeared in your spilled slick, leaving traces of the moisture gathering at his tip in the process. 

It would be so easy to seat him inside you, you realized. You loved Alastor and because of that love, things like this felt good. That was what he had taught you, shown you. It had felt good to have his fingers inside you, to have his tongue inside you. It would surely feel good to have him inside you, too. 

You hadn’t realized how close you had come to spearing yourself on him until his lips pulled from yours and his hands gripped your hips tightly, halting your slow sinking before the head of him could do anything more than brush against your lips. 

“No,” Alastor’s voice was thick, naked of accent and full of gravel. “No.” 

That one word caused you to flinch back from him, shock and fear crossing your face. You had misread. You hadn’t understood. You had thought-

“I’m sorry, I-” 

Alastor shushed you with a kiss, leaning up but not letting his grip on your hips weaken. “It isn’t that I do not- that it isn’t something I want with you, if you wanted it. And you clearly do. You’re dripping on me even now.” Your face flushed as you realized he was right. You could feel your slick dripping onto his cock and your hand around it. 

“I’m so-” 

Alastor cut off your reflexive apology. “It’s not a bad thing. It means you want me. But Cher- I can’t. We can’t. We can do anything and everything but that.”

“Why not?” You struggled to not whine and to hide the hurt from your voice as it felt like a vice was gripping your heart in your chest, threatening to crush it. 

“I’ll not have intercourse with you while you’re still married to him. I can’t- I won’t risk my seed taking root and him acting as father to my child.” 

“Then we’ll never-” 

“Not while you’re married,” Alastor leaned up, kissing you hard as he guided you to sit on his thighs. His cock stood tall and imposing between you, still held in your hand. “What else would you like to do? How else would you like to give me pleasure?” 

You were not sure what to say or do. “What do you like?” 

“I like whatever you’ll enjoy doing. I am yours to explore, to learn what you like to do with.” 

“You had- you used your mouth on.. on me, before.” You whispered, too timid to meet his eyes. “Is there something like that for me to do to you?” 

Alastor was silent for a moment before speaking, “If you’d like. Not all find the act enjoyable to perform. Men and women both can use their hands to bring themselves and eachother to completion. And their mouths on eachother to do the same.” 

“I want to,” you decided, not sparing a second to think of the logistics of what you were asking to do. All you were focused on was the fact that Alastor had used his mouth on you, bringing you to the height of pleasure that you were only just beginning to learn existed. If he could do that for you, knowing surely what bodily functions happened in that region, surely you could do the same for him. 

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[starlitiris]

“Imperfect Hatred” ~ (Sebastian x Reader)

Summary: A little while after you pass Sebastian’s shop, you mysteriously run into him again. And just in time, by the looks of it.

Notes: The prompt for this chapter was suggested by LukeySkywookie in the comments on the last chapter on ao3!

If it ends up being a terrible then I blame the fact that I worked a 9 1/2 hour shift yesterday. Yippee!!!! A little heads up, you might be out of character if you hate squiddles and not-so-imaginary friend

Also the title was inspired by Ultrakill i LOVE REFERENCING THINGS WITH CHAPTER TITLES please enjoy my goofy ass writing <3

ALSO NOT TO MAKE THE NOTES TOO LONG BUT I PROMISE I’M WORKING ON MORE PAINTER x Y/N JUST HANG IN THERE COMPUTER KISSERS I GOT U

~ 🦈 ~

Sebastian was just out scavenging for data and supplies when he stumbled upon you by pure, unfortunate coincidence. He didn’t think the navi-path would lead you in this direction, but alas, here you are. Lovely. Just when he was finally enjoying some alone time.

He watches you search through all the drawers and shelves in the room. You shove whatever you can find into the bag given to you by Urbanshade with the intention of collecting assets. A smile paints your face when you find an orange vile alongside a stack of files and USBs.

How pointless. You’re just going to die soon, anyway. Don’t you get that by now? Any kroner you’ll get from having that crap on you is completely useless. It does nothing for you. You can buy all the supplies and ferry coins you want with that stuff, but you’re still going to die. You always do. Why bother picking things up after you pass his shop? Are you really that stupid? He’ll never understand you.

As much as you frustrate him, he finds your ignorance and determination… amusing. If he were in your position, he would’ve given up a long time ago. But here you are. Nearing your 50th death, and still aiming for that crystal with a stronger will than what you started with. He cannot fathom why.

You had no idea he was watching you. The only way you would know he was there is if he wanted you to know. Large as he may be, he’s gotten very good at sneaking around undetected since the lockdown started. He’s a lot more quiet than you would think.

Whilst pondering your infuriating inability to simply give up, he decides it wouldn’t hurt to stick around for a bit. Just to see how you get on. And to collect anything you might have missed while making your way through the blacksite.

When you enter the next room, he follows not too far behind. He watches you check for dangers, collect assets, and move on to the next room. He keeps stalking you, watching you repeat this process every time you open a new door. This was all routine for you – something you were now able to do without giving it much thought. Aren’t you miserable, doing this day in and day out? You really are a pain in the ass.

You could feel his eyes on you. An uneasy feeling of being watched that you couldn’t shake crept up your spine.

This experience wasn’t new to you by any means. Something was almost always watching you, if Urbanshade wasn’t. Cameras were littered all over this wretched place. But this time, something just felt… different. And you couldn’t for the life of you explain why.

You had gotten used to the feeling of being watched by now, but the unfamiliarity that you couldn’t quite place your finger on unsettled you. It had you looking over your shoulder more frequently than you usually would.

Sebastian took notice of this. Not that it bothered him, though. You wouldn’t be able to find him. He knew that. It did mean he would have to be more careful to stay hidden, however. He didn’t want you to know who your new stalker was.

You kept trying to ignore the feeling, forcing yourself to stop looking over your shoulder after some time. It was just making you feel more paranoid. Whatever was watching you, if anything, definitely wasn’t going to show itself if it hadn’t by now. You just hoped it wouldn’t be what ended your run.

Soon enough, you found a temporary distraction from that paranoid feeling. A little red remote, hidden away in a small locker. A soft gasp leaves you, and you pick it up.

“Imaginary Friend!” You smile, handling the little toy with care. You’re about to press the button on it, but you stop before you can push down on the soft silicone. You frown. “Aww… I probably shouldn’t. I’m sorry my beautiful angel princess, but I don’t want you whispering about things crawling in my skin while I’m already feeling really paranoid. Sorry…” You gently place the remote back where you found it.

Wait.

Pause.

You actually like that thing?? What the hell is wrong with you?

Sebastian grimaces as you walk away from the locker, genuinely looking sad and guilty- what the hell is wrong with you??? That thing is FREAKY and WEIRD, and you’re apologizing to it when it probably can’t even hear you?? What on earth do you have to be sad about?? It probably doesn’t care, and likely doesn’t even know you found the remote!

You sigh a big, sad sigh and look for the next door to open. You are fucking strange. Sebastian shakes his head at you. What a moron.

A few rooms later, you find yourself in a large area with all the lights out.

“Great,” you mutter bitterly and pull out your flashlight. You traverse carefully through the open area, making sure you don’t trip or bump into anything. You groan, loud and annoyed when you reach the door to the next room and find that it needs a keycard. Wonderful. Splendid. Time to backtrack.

Sebastian stifles a chuckle. Your poor idiot.

After searching around for almost 5 minutes and wasting nearly all of what remaining battery power you had in your flashlight, you finally hear that satisfying buzzing sound that emits from the keycards for some reason. You sigh in relief and turn off your light, hoping you can find it on sound alone.

You follow the buzz, inching closer and closer until you reach a wide cabinet with a single thin drawer right beneath the top of the furniture. You eagerly open the drawer and scan the interior for that stupid piece of plastic. You’re barely able to spot it in the darkness, but you see it on the far right end of the drawer. You move in to grab it, but stop when a loud hissing starts right in your ear. You look up and are met with one of many familiar glowing white faces, inches away from yours. You jolt and stumble away from it as soon as you process that you were toe-to-toe with a squiddle.

“Dammit!” You look at the keycard after the squiddle calms down, then look back to where you saw its face. It is standing directly in front of the keycard. “Why can’t you just move??”

Sebastian had to cover his mouth so he didn’t snort out loud at your persisting misfortune. He’d like to see you get out of this unharmed.

This has happened to you once before. You know if you're quick, you can just grab it and go. You can do this. It won’t be fun, but you can do it.

You take a deep breath to brace yourself, then quickly move forward and slap around the inside of the drawer to find the keycard again.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” You repeat as the hissing starts up again, getting louder with each passing second. After desperately failing to pick up the piece of plastic way too many times, you’re able to pick it up and throw yourself back just in time before the squiddle attacks you. You let out a big, exasperated breath.

“Fuck!” You look at the squiddle again once you’ve recollected yourself. “Sorry, buddy… didn't mean to invade your personal space like that.”

… What.

Did you…

Did you just apologize? To the squiddle?

The Not-So-Imaginary Friend is one thing, but the squiddles? Those are actual threats. They can, and have, killed you. More than once. You have their full document to attest to that. Hell, it could’ve been this specific squiddle that caused one of your past deaths. But you are honestly, sincerely apologizing to it for ‘invading it’s personal space’? You have GOT to be braindead or something.

You unlock the next door.

Sebastian is baffled. Baffled, and quite frankly, very angry with you. There is no room for kindness down here. Nobody wants to be your friend, nobody wants to see you succeed, and nobody wants your goddamn apology. All this place has ever known is misery and hostility. Everything is out to get you. You have over 40 deaths at this point to prove that you aren’t naive to that.

This place has tortured you. Not once has it ever shown you a fraction of the kindness he’s just witnessed you showing it. Since the first time you arrived on that submarine, you have been burned, drowned, electrocuted, beaten, consumed, crushed, mutilated, drained of life, and shot dead more times than you could count.

Even Sebastian himself has killed you once before. Given you might have deserved it – even though he was egging you on as well that day – but even after that, you still try to be nice to him when you have it in you to be. You’re polite to him. You never try to touch or climb him like he’s some animal at a petting zoo. The run he killed you on was the only time you ever flashed him with the flash beacon. On most of your runs, you buy shit you don’t even need if you have the data for it. He knows you only do this to give him more research. He doesn’t understand why, but he knows you do it. Nobody needs a lantern and a normal flashlight when they already have a hand crank one.

You are kind. You’re kind, determined, gentle, considerate, funny… a breath of fresh air. He desperately wants to understand how somebody like you can exist in a world so cruel and unforgiving.

He can almost admit that he’s fond of you. Almost. Maybe he would be able to if you didn’t make him so angry.

It’s every man for himself down here. Why don’t you get that?

Why waste your time caring about anybody but yourself?

You won’t survive like this.

You haven't been surviving.

If there’s any chance at all that you could get that crystal and leave with it, he’s certain you won’t be able to do it if you keep going on the way you have been.

It doesn’t do you any good. He would know better than anyone.

Nobody is on your side.

The next couple of rooms are uneventful. The lights were all out, so you didn’t have to worry about anglers or Pandemonium. You had put a new battery in your flashlight at this point so you could see where the hell you were going. You were back into your rhythm. Look for dangers, check drawers, find the next door, repeat. Like it’s second nature to you.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you enter a room with the lights on. You turn off your flashlight, and proceed with your routine.

A gross, wet sound assaults Sebastian’s ears – or lack thereof. Looking in the direction of the sound, he spots exactly what he expected to see.

A wall dweller. Gross.

He looks back toward you to see if you heard it as well, only to find you still opening drawers for loose assets. Apparently you hadn’t, then.

Sebastian watches the wall dweller slowly creep up behind you while you’re none the wiser.

He stares. Intently.

You’ll hear its footsteps any second now, surely.

Surely.

… Why are you still checking drawers.

Sebastian squints. The wall dweller is nearly on your heels- are you not paying attention?? Where is your head?!

A wave of panic washes over Sebastian as the wall dweller is right on your tail, reeling back with an open mouth to kick you down and take a good chunk out of your neck.

You’re looking through yet another drawer.

The wall dweller lifts its leg.

It braces itself to kick the back of your knee, and-

KRRKNCH!

The loud sound startles you, and you whip around immediately to see what it was.

Sebastian was behind you, snarling over… what you think used to be a wall dweller. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.

You stare, shocked.

He makes eye contact with you.

He looks panicked for a brief, fleeting, almost unnoticeable moment before he stands up straight to recollect himself. He wipes the wall dweller remains on his hands off on his jacket, cringing in disgust at the carnage he caused.

“Why don’t you pay attention next time? Considering what I almost just had to witness, I’m shocked you even made it this far,” he snaps, ignoring how befuddled you are to be seeing him outside of his shop.

“You.. when the hell did you get here?!” You question, rightfully confused.

“I was just passing through. And by the looks of it, you’re lucky I was,” he mockingly grins.

“Really? Just passing through?” Something in you doesn’t want to believe him.

“Yyyup.”

“I’ve never seen you outside of your shop before,” you state, your tone indicating disbelief.

“I have a life outside of my shops, you know. How do you think I stock up after you expendables leave me empty handed?”

“Well… okay, I guess that’s fair. I know you scavenge around for things, I just never expected to run into you while you were doing it.”

“Yet here we are.”

“Right…” your gaze drifts back down to the, uh… splattered wall dweller remains on the ground. “Ew… uh, thanks for that by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies bluntly.

You step to the side to make some distance between you and the carnage- and then a realization strikes you.

“Wait, why didn’t you just let it kill me? If you did, you could’ve just looted my corpse again. It’s not like you haven’t done that plenty of times before. Don’t you want me to fail?”

He stares at you. Usually he’s quick to respond to anything you have to say to him, but it seems you might have actually stumped him for once. You weren’t exactly sure why, though.

You stare at each other in silence for a little too long before Sebastian finally speaks up.

“... Well. Some of you expendables like to eat this disgusting shit, don’t you?” He picks up a dweller chunk off the ground. “I just figured since I’ve seen you freaks eat them often enough, and they’re usually so hard to come by, I could start hunting them down once in a while and sell chunks of them for a good price! Smart business move, no?” He grins again, seemingly back in character.

You blink. “... Okay, yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“See? I’m just scavenging. Nothing more to it. This is purely for my benefit, not for yours.”

You frown, annoyed and unamused. “Right. Got it. Thanks.”

He hums with a cheeky smile before turning around to leave. “Well, I best be going. See you real soon, Expendable.”

“Wait!”

He halts, glancing over his shoulder to find you removing your bag from your person.

“While you’re here…” you hand Sebastian your bag. “Want this?”

He’s staring again. At you, then at the bag. Then back up to you.

“… What do you want?” He asks, turning to face you once more.

“Nothing. I have everything I need, really, and I don’t want you to have to re-scavenge for whatever I would buy off of you here. So… take it.”

You’ve stunned him again. This time you figure it’s because you’re basically offering him free money.

Once again, he is trying desperately to understand you. But he can’t. He never does, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why are you like this? Why are you so kind to him, even in moments like this? And why does it make him feel so…

“Sebastian?”

Your voice interrupts his train of thought.

He rudely snatches the bag out of your hand. “Don’t expect me to give you anything for this later,” he warns.

“I won’t. Consider it a thanks for saving me,” you smile.

“I wasn’t trying to save you.”

“I know,” you assure him and make your way to the next room the navi-path is leading you to.

He watches you.

You wave to him as you walk off, facing away from him as you do. “See you soon, fish sticks!”

He watches until you’re out of sight.

A strange, fluttery feeling occupies his stomach. You did this to him. He hates it.

He hates your stupid nicknames for him. He hates your stupid face, and that stupid smile you give him almost every time he sees you. He hates your teasing, and your little playful remarks that you send his way when he’s being an asshole. He hates your stupid laugh. He hates that he’s memorized the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you do. He hates all the little things you do to show that you care and don’t want to upset him. He hates that you express that same kindness to other occupants of this hellscape that deserve it more than he does. He hates that you’re an unstoppable force that won’t quit no matter how often he discourages you.

He hates you. More than anything.

And yet…

For some reason…

A part of him still can’t wait to see you again on your next run.

[somuchforahobby]

whiskey on ice, sunset and vine

Summary: A runaway lady ends up in the Volkvolny, will the Captain figure out the truth of who she is? Tags: Fluff, angst Warnings: AI style correction + HOW DO SAILORS SHOWER? I am deeply perturbed Word count: 6k Read on AO3 GIFS from @goatsandgangsters

you should think about the consequence

Ten days had passed since she abandoned the comforts of her assigned bedroom, fleeing into the night with nothing but a handful of jewelry and a few silver spoons to sustain her.

Crossing the Fold had been her most costly venture yet, requiring the sacrifice of an entire sapphire necklace. Now, she wandered the bustling decks of the True Sea, scanning the ships and deliberating which one to board.

The Seahorse was one possibility, though the absence of other women among its pirate crew made her skin crawl. She doubted her dignity—or her steely gaze—would be enough to keep them at bay. The Alexandrite was another option, but the captain’s thinly veiled suggestion that her only sleeping quarters would be his cabin churned her stomach. Then there was The Volkvolny , a vessel infamous for many reasons, though chief among them was the magnetic charm of its captain, Sturmhond.

She had yet to meet this enigmatic figure. After a long stroll around the docks, she finally spotted him: chin held high, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed with confidence, and a smirk that screamed self-assurance. She approached him, keeping pace as a tall, broad-shouldered man suddenly barred her way, placing an axe at her neck. Unflinching, she extended a hand, offering a pair of diamond earrings to the captain. Her face remained shrouded by a heavy cloak.

“Please,” she said softly, her gaze fixed downward.

The captain sighed, waving a hand to dismiss the axe. Without breaking stride, he continued walking.

“I need to get to Ketterdam,” she urged, falling into step beside him.

“Not going there,” Sturmhond replied, his tone casual. His hands stayed clasped behind him, and he didn’t so much as glance her way.

“Please, I can pay you very well.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I ain't in this for the money, dear.”

As they neared his ship, her desperation flared, coloring her cheeks. “Please,” she implored, her voice faltering. “I—I can—” She swallowed hard, trying and failing to project confidence.

“If you so much as suggest any other form of payment,” he interrupted, his gaze sharp as he turned to look her over, “I’m afraid I will stop listening. Do not disrespect me or my ship.”

Finally, he came to a halt and faced her directly. “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone firm but not unkind. Beneath the cloak, her features were still obscured, but when she met his eyes—striking and green, alive with curiosity—she saw his youth. He couldn’t be more than three or four years older than her. And handsome, very.

“Why are you so desperate?” His gaze probed her face, seeking answers she dared not give.

“My—” she hesitated, clearing her throat and lowering her eyes as if burdened by shame. “My father is very ill.”

He exhaled slowly, scrutinizing her for a moment longer. “I am traveling to Bhez Ju. Hop in if it suits you.” With that, he resumed his path.

She reached out and grasped his wrist, placing the earrings into his hand. “Just take me out of here,” she murmured before slipping past him and vanishing onto the ship.

sink & drown & die

“I would like a name, at least,” the Captain said, creeping up behind her. The ship was already far out at sea, and she leaned her chin on the rough wood of the deck.

“You cannot have it,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the endless stretch of deep blue. Her thoughts drifted to the possibilities ahead and the choices left behind.

“Then I’ll call you whatever I want.”

“Seems fair, Captain.”

“All right, Duchess.”

That made her turn to him. “Pardon me?”

“It’s my best guess,” he said calmly. “There are no princesses in Ravka—just two princes. And the earrings you used to pay your way? Not the kind of thing a commoner owns.” His sharp eyes scanned her from head to toe, as if piecing together a puzzle.

“Maybe I’m Prince Vasily disguised as a woman, trying to escape my duties to the Crown,” she joked, masking the sudden wave of panic rising inside her.

Sturmhond let out a bark of laughter so loud that heads turned across the deck.

“Or maybe I am the young Prince Nikolai, the one no one can seem to find. Perhaps he now roams the world as a woman to avoid detection.”

His laughter faded, but his amused expression lingered. “I don’t think so.”

“How would you know?” she asked, smiling at the boyish gleam in his eye.

“I just would,” he replied, the flush of his recent laughter still coloring his face. “Prince Vasily isn’t nearly as pretty.”

“And you think I am?”

“I’m only saying I have eyes,” he said with a shrug, leaning on the railing in a more relaxed posture. “And I also don’t think you’re the young prince.”

“How can you be so sure? Nobody knows what he looks like. For all I know, he could walk past me, and I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“This ship has carried all sorts of troublemakers, but this would be the first time it’s carried a traitor to the Crown. Not recognizing a prince would be a punishable offense—prison-worthy, at the very least.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying their exchange.

She raised her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m just a commoner. I’ve never met any of them.”

“Is that how you know their names?” he asked, leaning closer, his green eyes sharp. “By never meeting them?”

“Everyone in Ravka knows their names.”

“I’ve never heard a commoner say the young prince’s name before.”

“Well,” she countered, “I’m speaking to a captain. I wasn’t about to call him Sobachka .”

He sighed, and the boyish smile faded. “Very well. If you’re not noble, then you stole the jewelry.”

The accusation sent a chill down her spine. “I’m not a thief.”

“Then you’re noble-born,” he said, his tone sharp, like it was something to be ashamed of. She took a step back. “And you’re running from something. I want to know what.”

“Or what?” she shot back. “Are you going to kick me off your ship? I don’t think you’re keen on turning back just to do that.”

He sighed, tilting his head with a sly smile. “Kicking you off doesn’t require the ship to go anywhere near land, Duchess.”

Her stomach turned, but she refused to flinch. Gathering every ounce of bravado she could muster, she stood her ground. “Well then, do it.” She shrugged off her cloak. “I’ve been dying for a swim anyway. It’s getting a little warm out here.”

The Captain’s gaze flicked briefly to her gown before he smirked. “I’m afraid it’s just me, dear.” He stepped closer, leaning toward her ear. “Enjoy the sun and our banter all you like, but I’ll know the truth before we reach Bhez Iu.”

there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have

Tired of her restless nights, she returned to the deck and lay down on the floor, gazing at the stars.

Of all the things she hated about life on a ship, this was the one solace that made it feel bearable.

“What are you doing?” Sturmhond’s voice interrupted her reverie as he looked down at her.

“Gazing at the stars.”

“May I?” He gestured to the spot beside her.

“Of course, it’s your ship.”

He sat down first and then, as though reluctant or uncertain, stretched out beside her. “Now, what are you looking at?”

She raised her hand, pointing toward a star cluster. “The Stag. Have you heard the stories?”

“Indulge me.”

“The stories say it’s an amplifier for Grisha. Allegedly, it can be found in Tsibeya. Hunters and Grisha alike claim to have spotted it deep in the woods.”

“Is that your favorite?” His coat lapels brushed against her forearm.

“No, it’s the Firebird.” Her hand shifted westward.

“And what’s the story for that?”

“It’s another magical creature from Grisha mythology. But no one has ever seen it. Nobody even knows what it looks like.” She turned her head to look at him, wonder brightening her eyes. “What’s your favorite?”

“The Double Eagle.” He motioned north. Two large, shining stars appeared, one above the other, each flanked by three smaller ones.

“A bit corny for you, isn’t it?” She smiled as she turned to him.

“Well, you don’t know me, Duchess.” For the first time, she heard the familiar Sturmhond edge in his tone.

“That’s true.” Her gaze returned to the horizon.

“How are you holding up?”

“I keep telling myself this is better than where I was before.”

“And where was that?”

She scoffed lightly. “Nice try.”

“The first weeks are always the hardest,” he said with a sigh. “But think of this as temporary penance for what the future holds.”

“And what does the future hold?”

“Only you can answer that.”

i can’t say anything to your face

After three days at sea, she couldn’t take it anymore. She longed for a hot bath. All she could smell was salt and fish, and she craved the long, steaming baths she used to enjoy every day.

She had asked Tamar about it, but the woman had only pointed out a corner where she could wash herself with a bucket of water. Tamar had even offered to stand guard to make sure no one disturbed her.

But she’d never washed like that before—not that she could remember, anyway. It had always been proper baths, prepared by servants. Sometimes, she would even indulge herself, asking one of them to wash her hair.

The memory of that luxury hit her hard, a reminder of the life she had left behind in her search for freedom. Whatever that word even meant for a woman in this world.

Despite the discomfort, she washed herself, feeling a small wave of relief as the grime and the smell finally disappeared. Changing into one of the few clean outfits she had left, she hung the little bag that carried her jewels at her waist and left the washroom feeling lighter, clean at last. She thanked Tamar and made her way back to the deck.

Leaning against the railing, she heard footsteps behind her and turned instinctively, fear sharp in her chest.

“Just me, Duchess,” the Captain said, raising his palms in surrender. “I see you’ve grown accustomed to our facilities.”

“As much as I can, yeah,” she replied. Her wet hair clung to her back. “I’ve never taken a bath like that before,” she admitted, her eyes drifting back to the sea.

“Ah.” The Captain paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “A unique experience, I presume?”

“Quite so,” she said, though her voice held a hint of doubt. “It made me wonder what I’m even doing here.” She hadn’t told him who she really was or why she was running, but her resolve to keep up the facade of commoner was weakening. The weight of her choices was pressing down on her, and she couldn’t help but question if she’d made the right one.

“Why did you do it?” he asked gently. When she didn’t respond, he sighed and began speaking again. “I served upfront for a while.”

She turned to him, surprised. He was looking out at the ocean.

“At first, I did it out of ego—I wanted to prove I could be strong. Then it was for patriotism. And finally, it was back to ego again,” he said with a small sigh. A confident smirk crossed his face. “When I returned home, everyone praised me, admired me—but life was dull. There was no adrenaline, just…” He paused, searching for the right words. “…obligations and duty. So, I became this. I wanted freedom, excitement, adventure, I suppose.” His eyes remained fixed on the deep blue sea.

“I wanted to be free,” she confessed, her voice quiet as she turned her gaze to the waves. “I was betrothed. Against my will, of course.” Tears pricked her eyes. “At first, it seemed like a good idea, but then I got to know him, and Saints, he’s terrifying.” She drew a shaky breath, steadying her voice. “When I saw what my life would be, I realized I didn’t want it. I wanted to travel the world, to learn, to be someone on my own. So, I ran. But now…” Her voice broke. “Now I don’t know if I made the right decision. For all I know, I could end up dead in Ketterdam or beaten by some drunk trying to take advantage of me.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It’s stupid. I’m chasing a freedom I know doesn’t exist. Not for people like me.”

“And what type would that be?” His voice was soft, caring—absent of his usual smugness.

She glanced at him. His eyes were warm, kind. For a fleeting moment, she didn’t see the cocky Captain Sturmhond but instead a man straight out of a fairy tale. She considered telling him everything but stopped herself. “A woman, of course,” she said, keeping her response simple. It wasn’t a lie, though it wasn’t the full truth, either.

“In my territory, you will always be free, Duchess,” he said, his tone sincere. “For whatever that’s worth.”

He hesitated, as if remembering something. “There is a bath on this ship, in my cabin. Feel free to use it whenever you like. I’ll make sure you have all the privacy you need.” With that, he turned and walked away.

touching my hand in the darkened room

A few nights later she took in his offer; filled the bath with clean water and indulged herself with the expensive lavender soaps the Captain had.

The Captain’s cabin was a small corner of luxury amidst the ship’s roughness. The man clearly had taste—every detail in the room gave it away.

After finishing her bath, she stepped out of the chamber and found the Captain seated at his desk, reading.

“Hey, thank you for the—” she began, but he looked up, a smirk already playing on his lips.

“You’re very welcome. Please, use it anytime,” he replied smoothly.

“I don’t want to distract you—” she started, but a flush crept up her neck as his gaze lingered.

“Please do. I beg you,” he said, leaning his elbow on the desk and resting his chin in his palm, watching her with a flirtatious smile. “Would you join me for a drink?” He rounded the desk to the bar, serving two cups before returning to his chair and placing both glasses on it.

“Gladly.” She walked toward the desk, glancing at the scattered papers. “Perhaps you could give me something to read so my days and nights on this ship become more bearable,” she said, leaning on the desk beside him.

Sturmhond leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing her face as if memorizing it. Though desire danced in his gaze, he shrugged casually and asked, “Can you read Shu?”

“I can.” She took a sip from her ambar drink.

He nodded, pleased. “Then you can help me translate this,” he said, handing her a letter.

Her eyes scanned the paper. “Where did you get this?” she asked, recognizing it as a private communication between Shu militia.

“That’s not part of the job, Duchess. Tell me what it says.” He downed the liquid and raised from his seat to get another.

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I can sell that information to Ravka,” he replied without hesitation.

“Am I to believe you have no other interest but the well-being of your homeland?” She sat further into the desk.

“What can I say? I’m still a patriot, after all.” He stood between her legs, holding her gaze before returning to his chair to grab a pen and paper.

She sighed, studying him for a moment. “Well then, this one says the camp is stationed just outside Bhez Ju, asks about the new routes, and wishes a blessed birth for the receiver’s firstborn. Aww, you got in the way of the well wishes.” She nudged him lightly with her knee, his hand steadied her briefly as if he was incapable of letting her near.

“They got in Ravka’s way of peace first,” he said, focused on writing down her translation. “Does it say where they’ll march next?”

“No, but it’s very descriptive of the first time they attended a birth.”

Sturmhond scrunched his nose. “You can keep those details.” He flexed his fingers, signaling for her to return the letter. When she did, he signed the translation, sealed both papers in an envelope, and pressed wax onto it with a ring. “Thank you for your help.”

She straightened and gave him a mock-stern look. “Anything for my Captain.” Her eyes wandered to the maps spread across his desk. “So, how do you know where we are?” She was currently sat over the Southern Colonies depicted on the map.

He sighed, his eyes never leaving her. “It’s a mixture of facts.”

“Such as?”

He rested his jaw on the palm of his hand while gesturing loosely with the other. “Wind, time, currents, stars, squallers.”

“Where are we right now?”

He leaned forward, circling a spot near the shore of Os Kervo. “Somewhere here.”

“Are we stopping in the city?” she asked nervously.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you want to?” His eyes fixed on hers, and he leaned closer, his left hand graced hers.

She swallowed, her nerves heightened under his intense gaze. “No.”

“Then we won’t.”

“Thank you.”

He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Anything for my Duchess.” He smirked.

She pushed away from the desk and walked to the door. “Good night, Captain.”

When she glanced over her shoulder, he was still smirking.

“Good night, Duchess.”

you should take it as a compliment

“So there was a war between the Fjerdans and the Shu?” she asked Tolya, sitting across from him on the deck.

Since the Captain had yet to provide her with any reading material, she had turned to Tolya. Unable to sleep in the common hammocks, she spent her nights immersed in the poems and sonnets he kindly shared. Every morning, they would discuss what she had read.

“Indeed. That is why the Shu warrior promised his beloved never to raise a sword again—because he would shed the blood of her kin.” Tolya’s eyes gleamed as he explained the stories behind the sonnets and the political context in which they were written. She found herself drawn in by his gentle, dark gaze.

“And did they ever get together?” she asked eagerly.

“I don’t think they did. The author was charged and hanged for treason.”

She gasped. “How terrible.”

“Almost as terrible as not having a maestre on board,” a third voice cut in, breaking the moment.

Tolya was on his feet in an instant. “Captain, I was making sure the Duchess was comfortable at your ship” he said respectfully.

“As thoughtful as always” 

“Excuse me Captain” Tolya acknowledged him and then turned to her, “Your Highness.” 

“Wait” Sturmhond called, a grimace on his face. “The right way to address a Duchess is ‘your grace’, ‘your highness’ is only for the royal family. Make sure you know the protocol if you pretend to court her.” The Captain fixed Tolya with a stare.

“I do not—please forgive me your grace.” Tolya’s face was flushed, he nearly ran after getting a dismissal nod from Sturmhond.

She sighed, glaring up at the Captain for ruining her peaceful morning conversation. “I like talking to him.”

“I like his work better,” the Captain replied, masking a flicker of jealousy in his tone.

“It’s nice to share a conversation about something as beautiful as poetry,” she retorted sharply.

“Then you really are one of a kind,” Sturmhond quipped, settling into Tolya’s seat across from her. “Do you like poetry?”

“Why, are you going to recite some?”

“Nah. I prefer doing rather than saying .”

Her cheeks warmed at his words. Turning away, she summoned the courage to speak. “You didn’t give me any reading material.”

“I gave you a job, but you haven’t been back since.”

She looked back at him, her eyes full of disbelief. “Am I to visit your chambers every evening and return late at night to the bunks? Not exactly the reputation I’m interested in building.”

“You could stay the night if that suits you better,” he said with a cheeky grin, his tone infuriatingly casual.

She stood abruptly, but before she could leave, he caught her wrist. “Nobody on this ship is going to speak about you, because nobody on this ship is going to speak about me. I need your help with those translations. Help me, and I’ll consider your travel paid—and return your jewels.”

“Can’t I translate on deck where everyone can see?” she countered.

He didn’t release her wrist, instead toying with her fingers with his free hand. “No. That correspondence is confidential.”

“Then why are you showing it to me?”

“Because I have a feeling you’re just as patriotic as me.”

“Then you’re mistaken.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “when we arrive at our destination, you can leave this ship without a coin to your name—or you can do so with a pretty pair of diamond earrings. It’s up to you.”

She scoffed. “What makes you think I’ve run out of jewels?”

His gaze quickly swept over her surroundings, but before he could respond, she cut him off with an icy “Excuse me, Captain.”

He released her hand, and she walked back to her hammock, determined to lose herself in her reading once again.

but if you’re single that’s honestly worse

She had read every book Tolya owned, and after the incident with the Captain, he no longer discussed them with her. Bored to death, she decided to head toward the Captain’s cabin in search of something—anything—to read.

She knocked once. The quietness of the sea amplified the sound of footsteps approaching the door.

He opened it, bare-chested, a sheet draped loosely around his waist. His eyebrows rose at the sight of her.

“Duchess,” he greeted, his voice a ragged breath.

She blushed and turned away instinctively. “I am sorry, my apologies—”

“Is everything okay? Do you need something?” His voice was heavy with exhaustion.

“No, uh—” She turned back to face him. His hair was disheveled, his cheeks flushed; it was clear he wasn’t alone tonight. “I was just bored and thought you might need help,” she added, though the sight of his darkening crimson cheeks made her smirk. “Translating some documents, of course. But I see you’re busy, so—good night.” She turned to leave, but a female voice rang out from inside the room, cold and clipped, telling him to send her away.

“Duchess,” he breathed again, stopping her in her tracks. She turned back, eyebrow raised.

“I do need your help with some documents,” he insisted, voice firmer now. “Give me a few minutes.”

He shut the door, and she heard muffled arguing within. A moment later, the door flew open again, revealing a slender woman glaring daggers at him.

“I am DONE with you, Sturmhond. You’ll drop me off at Os Kervo and NEVER see me again. Keep your fancy little bitch!” the woman snapped, storming out without sparing a glance at the so-called ‘fancy little bitch.’

Sturmhond leaned against the doorframe, now fully dressed, his boyish features darkened by the dim light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she offered.

He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

Extending a hand to her, he silently invited her in. Against her better judgment, she took it.

Later, she refilled their glasses and returned to the correspondence. Sitting on the left arm of his chair, her legs dangled near his forearm.

“The General Ito will be out of office this winter,” she translated, and he scribbled it down.

“Does it say when Colonel Sazaka will take office?” he asked, leaning toward the letter in her hands.

“Hmm, yes! The first week of spring.” She pointed to a word on the paper.

Taking a sip of the amber liquid in her glass, she dropped the letter onto the desk and turned toward him, a sly smile on her lips.

“Captain,” she began seductively.

He raised his eyebrows, expectant.

“I haven’t translated anything about Colonel Sazaka yet.”

Caught, he smirked and turned away.

“You can read Shu!” she accused, angling her body toward him in mock outrage.

He covered his face with one hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “You caught me.”

Her legs were crossed between his knees, and his left hand absentmindedly traced lines against her calf.

“Why am I here, Captain?” she asked softly.

He finally met her gaze. With a tug of her ankle, she slid into his lap, her hands resting on his neck while his settled instinctively at her waist.

“I don’t like reading Shu,” he admitted, voice low.

Their faces hovered inches apart, the sweet burn of whiskey lacing their breaths. Her lips inched toward his, but he pulled back the slightest bit.

“I have certain standards” he said, his eyes half closed

“oh?” she smiled playfully, “and those are?”

“I need a name,” he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly.

She sighed, “You can’t have it.”

He rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Please.”

“You can call me Duchess. Or little fancy bitch. Whichever you like most,” she teased.

“A name. Just a first name,” he pressed, his breath grazing her neck—a beggar at her feet.

“I could ask the same.”

He lost the battle against his own will, kissing her neck softly before answering, “Kolya.”

“That’s not a name,” she retorted and he resumed his path on her collarbones. “But I like it. Kolya.” She smiled and looked down on him, a boyish glint shone in his eyes. “My father calls me Krasotka”

He smiled, “And he is right.” He kissed her collarbone, “I just want to protect you.”

She mused on his words, her expression softening. “That’s what my father said before selling me off to the highest bidder.”

He scoffed, biting on her neck causing her to tremble. “I can make a very high bid.”

“You wouldn’t win.” Her voice wavered, a sigh of resignation.

The tiniest laugh left his throat as he continued his path towards her mouth. “Try me,” he whispered, his nose brushing against her jaw, poised for her surrender. “Even if I do not win, I can still give him a bloody nose.” She felt his smile on her skin, “and give you a pretty good night.”

She leaned back, cradling his face in her hands. “I bet you would.” She scoffed in amusement. “But I would never let you near him, knowing the cruelties he could do to you.”

Rising from his lap, she turned and walked out of the room.

“Krasotka” He called, not ready to give up, “what makes your fiance so terrifying?” 

Her hands went limb at the question, her body suddenly afraid again. She answered firmly, “Power”.

She walked out the door. This time, she didn’t look back.

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Sturmhond had made the announcement earlier that day: they would reach the Os Kervo docks by evening and depart for Bhez Ju the following morning. Anyone who wished to could spend the night in town.

The Duchess knew the risk was too great for her. Instead, she handed Tolya two silver pieces of cutlery and asked him to bring back as many books as he could find. Then, she stayed behind in the bunks, hoping solitude would grant her some much-needed rest.

Sleep came, though briefly, until rough hands yanked her arms above her head. Her legs were pinned down, and another set of hands began to lift her dress. Panic surged through her as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Don’t make me hurt you!” one of the sailors barked. His breath reeked of alcohol. She couldn’t see the others clearly, but their laughter and slurred voices confirmed they were equally drunk. She kept screaming until a filthy hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound.

She writhed, tears streaming down her face, desperate to break free.

“Where are the jewels?!” the man hissed, his face inches from hers. Her sobs came uncontrollably now. “Tell me, and I won’t hurt you,” he continued, voice venomous. “Easy, princess. Just tell me what I want to know. Understood?”

She nodded, trembling, trying to steady her breath.

When he removed his hand from her mouth, she screamed again.

“You little bitch!” He slapped her hard across the face.

Then, suddenly, a gunshot shattered the chaos. Three heavy thuds followed, and the weight pinning her down vanished.

She lay motionless, too numb and terrified to open her eyes. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She didn’t dare move, certain the pain would start any moment—or that she was already dead.

“Krasotka?”

The familiar voice pierced the haze. She was alive. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she felt the cold air on her exposed legs. Curling into herself, she hugged her knees tightly and finally opened her eyes.

Sturmhond knelt beside her, his face etched with concern and gentleness. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as sobs wracked her body.

His hand rested on her back, steady and reassuring. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

She glanced past his shoulder and saw Tolya standing nearby. Then her eyes fell on the scene around her: the two men who had pinned her down lay unconscious, while the one who had lifted her dress had a fatal gunshot wound to the head.

“Kolya” she murmured, leaning her head against Sturmhond’s shoulder.

“Can I take you out of here?” he asked softly.

She nodded against his shoulder, and he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to his cabin.

He set her down carefully on the bed and took a step back. “Would you like to wash?”

She nodded.

“I’ll find something for you to wear,” he said. “Do you want me to bring Tamar or one of the girls?”

She shook her head.

He sighed, opening and closing a few drawers before returning with two pieces of soft cotton fabric. “This is the best I can do for now. I’ll ask Tamar to find you something in town tomorrow. Will that be all right?”

Kneeling before her, he searched her eyes.

She looked up at him and nodded.

She emerged from the bath dressed in Sturmhond’s oversized clothes—a military green shirt that fell to her upper thighs and matching pants that barely clung to her hips. The loose fabric concealed the small bag tied around her waist.

He was waiting for her outside, seated at his desk.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“You should stay here until we reach Bhez Ju,” he said. “I’ll take the bunks.”

“Thank you, but you should stay. I’ll sleep on the chair.”

He sighed. “I may not look like it, but I am a gentleman. You will do no such thing.”

“If you’re not here, I’m just as vulnerable as I am in the bunks,” she countered. “It’s you they respect, not the cabin.”

“And what about your reputation?” he asked, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“I’d rather be a living whore than a dead virgin.”

Her bluntness struck him silent for a moment. “Fair enough,” he finally said, standing. “But there is one thing I need from you, Duchess.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“A few days ago, you announced to the entire ship that you’re carrying valuable jewels,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need to know what you have, and if you wish, I can keep them in my safe for the rest of the trip.”

She stood, lifting her shirt just enough to untie the small bag from her waist. His gaze darted away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Once she was covered again, she handed the bag to him.

He placed it on his desk, undoing the red ribbon and carefully opening the velvet pouch. His breath caught as the jewels spilled onto the wood.

“How did you get this?” he demanded, holding up her engagement ring. The kindness in his eyes had been replaced by urgency and something darker.

“I didn’t steal it.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “How did you get this?”

“How do you think?” she replied sarcastically. “A man on one knee, as usual.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“There’s nothing usual about the Crown Prince kneeling.”

Her breath hitched. “How—” Her mind raced for an explanation. “The whole ‘Duchess’ thing is funny and all, Captain, but I don’t know where you got the idea I was engaged to the Crown Prince.” She forced a confident tone.

“I know because I’ve seen this ring every day of my life.”

Her heart pounded as she held his gaze. The realization struck her like a blow. “Wha—how?”

“This is my mother’s ring,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “I can’t let you keep it.”

Her world tilted. All this time, she had believed herself free, only to find the chains tightening around her. “It’s mine!” she snapped, reaching for the ring.

He stepped back, his expression firm. “It’s one of the most precious heirlooms of the Lantsov dynasty. I can’t allow you to pawn it off for some muddy apartment in Ketterdam, Princess.”

“It was given to me!”

“Yes, for you to marry Vasily! Not to give away at some ratty city across the world.”

“Captain—Nikolai,” she corrected herself, his name feeling foreign on her tongue. His lips tightened. “I beg you, don’t take me back there.”

“I wish I didn’t have to. But I can’t let you keep this, and I certainly can’t leave you in Bhez Ju. You could be recognized, kidnapped, or worse, become a prisoner in a war bargain. No, you’ll stay with me, and we’ll return to the Palace.”

His words carried the weight of a prince, not a privateer. The sadness in his eyes was undeniable.

“I must take you back to Os Alta,” he finished.

“How is it that yesterday you were ready to fight my fiancé, and now you want to hand me back to him?” She asked, hurt.

“I can do both, darling.”

Her defiance flared. “I’ll go out there and tell everyone who you really are. Let’s see how your crew feels about their beloved Captain being just a spoiled prince.” She stormed toward the door, but he blocked her path, his back to the latch.

“You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because then we’d both be prisoners on this ship.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his touch measured. “You must return. We both have a duty to Ravka.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Yet I’m the only one who’ll lose control over my own body, forced to bear children for a monster.” She turned away from him, retreating to the bed, her back to him.

unless you wanna come along

"Krasotka." Nikolai sat at her feet on the bed.

Days had passed since their fight, and since then, she had stayed in the cabin day and night. Nikolai brought her food, and Tolya brought her books. But her sadness and anger wouldn't let her leave.

Every night, the Prince would try to talk to her, but she ignored him just the same.

"Rodnaya," his voice weary, she lay with her eyes open, not looking at him. "Zolotse, please."

"Calling me your playboy pet names doesn't change the fact that you're taking me to my deathbed right now, sakharok ." She bit back her anger.

His eyes showed pain. That too-clever fox nowhere to be found. "I don't want you to marry him either."

She sighed sarcastically. "You could've fooled me."

"It is my duty."

She took a long breath. "I wish I were having this conversation with the resourceful Captain Sturmhond. He'd know what to do. But sweet little sobachka will only do what his mother wants." She turned her back to him, tears welling in her eyes.

"Sturmhond would ask you to marry him."

The mere words stung her head. She sat up instantly to look him in the eye.

"He would make a stop at Os Kervo, overpay some monk to get you married to him. Claim you were both drunk, didn't know who you were, and consumed the marriage, of course. He'd send a letter to Os Alta, then ride there and deal with it." There was determination in his eyes.

She weighed the plan. "You offer me another cage."

"A kinder and wider cage, yes."

"And the reputation of a whore."

"A wife who can travel with her husband on any of his quests, see the world alongside him. Yes, a wasted lady who married the first drunken idiot in front of her, but didn't you say you'd rather be a living whore?" His smugness returned, a familiar smirk on his face. "I'd also become an irresponsible idiot who stained his family's honor for lust."

She sighed, suddenly touched by his offer. "You'd stain your honor to save me from your brother?"

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "I'm willing to stain it just to hold your hand."

Her hands circled his neck in an instant; she clung to him as tears streamed down her face, but with a completely different sentiment than before. "Thank you."

His hands caressed her back softly, unsure of how much touch he was allowed. "Anything for my Duchess."

She pulled away from him and laughed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Thank you, Kolya."

"You must know," he murmured, feigning shame, "you'll get a smaller ring, since you won't be queen and all." He searched her eyes carefully.

She laughed, the sound filling the room with a new lightness. "Can I be co-captain?"

"Ahhh," he searched for words but failed at the sight of her teasing smile.

"Yes, Captain?" she insisted.

"You can be whatever the fuck you want when you're with me." He answered with all the smugness of Sturmhond, though a sign of Kolya's kindness was hidden in his eyes.

"Come here." She flexed her index finger. He obliged. "Care to put your plan into action?"

His eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips, a smirk already halfway formed. "So desperate?"

"Shut up." She kissed him fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her and pushed her against the mattress.

"Can I get a name now?" he asked, gasping for air.

She smiled against his lips. "Yeah, you can."

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

What You Like

Marc Spector x F!Reader x Steven Grant • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc gets in his head about being with you, Steven talks him through it.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: There was a post about Marc talking Steven through his first time with reader, which I adored and couldn't stop thinking about. And then my brain went... but what if... the other way around? (I'm so sure I reblogged the post, or maybe it's in my queue, but I cannot for the life of me find it. Please if you know the one I'm talking about, let me know! I really would like to link it here. Also I'm so sorry I forgot who wrote it as well.)

Warnings: oral, fingering, so much swearing, some self loathing from Marc, I have used 'mate' far too much, as well as 'yeah?', kind of Marc being sort of into Steven talking to him, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2213

“She doesn’t like it so much like that, if you tilt your head to the side a little and-”

Marc snaps his eyes open and glares at Steven in the far-off mirror. “Fuck off.” He thinks hard, and Steven doesn’t have to hear him to read his expression.

“I’m just trying to help, mate.” He holds up his hands like all he had done is hold the door open for him or something. 

Marc glares harder, about to flip him off when you pull back from the kiss. 

“You okay?” 

Marc swallows, “Sorry, I, erm…” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed his distraction.

You smile at him and stroke his cheek. "You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you shift a little on the bed, giving him a fraction more space.

“No, no, that wasn’t…” he gives you a small smile in return and leans forward again to kiss you. “Steven, I need you to be quiet now, okay?” 

“I was just-”

“Steven.”

He tuts. “Okay, okay, I promise.” 

Marc inches a little closer, recovering the space you’d previously offered up. His thigh nudges against yours and you let out a little moan into his mouth as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip. 

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, anxiety like eels swimming in his belly, you were Steven’s girlfriend (and technically, his now? Or was that too forward?) you’d been in this bed, with this body before. And strictly speaking, Marc had looked in on you and Steven a few times in more… intimate moments. Accidentally, of course. 

This should be fine. Practically second nature. 

He tries to clear his head, to be more in the moment, and runs his hands down your back as he presses closer, leaning into you slightly to urge you to lay back onto the mattress. 

You move with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him against you. Parting your legs slightly so that he can situate himself between them. 

He nips lightly at your lip, licking softly but confidently into your mouth as he just grinds his hardening cock against your core. Oh, and your barely muffled moan is delicious, the way you dig your fingers into his shoulders makes his head spin, if-

“Oh, that’s a good move. She definitely likes that.” 

“Steven! For fuck’s sake! I trusted you to be quiet!” 

“Sorry!”

Marc tries not to let the interruption show, but he jumps a little when Steven speaks and it’s impossible for you to have missed it. A small thorn of anxiety settles in his chest, piercing between his ribs. 

“Kiss her neck, she really likes that.” 

“Steven-”

“I’m just giving helpful tips!” He can feel more than see Steven shrug his shoulders. “You’re the one without any game.”

“Without any game? I’ve got more game than you.” 

Steven sorts. “Unlikely. When’s the last time you got laid? God only knows. I, however, had sex this morning.” 

“Steven.” 

“Just saying.” 

“Yeah, well, I'm gonna be having sex in a minute, so shut up.”

There was a moment of blissful silence and Marc let out a breath of relief. 

You hooked your legs over his hips, urging him closer and bucking up so that you could grind against him. The heavy drag of his jeans sending sparks of pleasure along your spine. 

He slips his left hand down, sneaking the tips of his warm fingers under your top and stroking at the soft skin of your side. 

“She’s ticklish there.” 

“Steven-”

You can’t help but giggle a little, squirming away from his touch and breaking the kiss. “Sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“You’re ticklish.” Marc finishes and you nod smiling. 

“Sorry.” You mouth again. 

Marc shakes his head and smiles as he leans back down. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” He moves his hand away from your side. 

He’s barely pressed his lips against you for a second before Steven speaks again. “Told you.”

Marc inwardly grunts, rolling his eyes as he kisses along your jaw to your neck. He nips lightly at your skin, before sucking gently.

“Bit lower mate, that’s the spot.”

Marc scowled but followed the instruction, hatching onto the spot Steven suggested and you moan loudly, arching your back off the mattress. 

“See, she really likes that. Now if you just move your hand down and-”

Marc clenches his jaw instinctively, letting his frustration bubble over. Unfortunately, your neck is still between his teeth when they snap shut. 

You let out a little gasp of pain and Marc nearly blacks out from panic, instinctively moving to jerk backwards and away from you. But your arms tighten on his shoulders, your thighs clenching around his hips. 

You whimper and buck against him instantly. “Marc, fuck, please do that again.” 

He relaxes, tension easing out of his limbs as he growls faintly and does as you ask. 

“It’s okay mate, really. She’s not made of glass.” 

“Steven. I’m fucking gonna-”

“Hey,” Steven protested, “look, I don’t mind when you’re watching us go at it all the time, yeah?” 

Marc flushed. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t think you’re being sneaky about it either. I can tell.” 

“I don’t mean to, it’s just…”

“Just what mate?” 

“It just… happens.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

Marc stays quiet, knowing that whatever he says won’t make him look good. He tries to ignore Steven, to just focus on you. To grind against you just right. But he could feel Steven hovering just in the background. 

You run your hands through Marc’s hair, pulling highly as you writhe under him and he can’t help but risk a sneaky look up at you, at how your eyebrows are pinched together, eyes closed in pleasure and…

Was it real? Or was it just for show? Did you always look like that when Steven…? He thinks back trying to recall the memories of watching in as much detail as possible. 

“Marc.” Steven’s voice is soft. 

But he doesn’t answer.

“Stop getting in your head about it, yeah? She’s here with you. She likes you. She wouldn’t pretend to be into something she doesn’t, ‘kay?” 

Marc swallows, trying to take Steven’s words on board and calm his quickly spiralling thoughts. 

But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right, it’s all stiff and unsettled. Like his joints are just a fraction out of place. 

You can tell. He’s so sure that you can tell. Even if you are moaning and writhing against him, you must know. Must sense it. How out of alignment he is. How much of a failure. 

“Steven?"

There’s a fraction of a pause before he answers. “Hmm?” 

“What does she like?”

He can feel Steven’s frown. 

“What does she like? What should I do? You were full of tips a second ago, don’t lea-”

“Move your hand down,” his voice is a little softer than before. Compassionate. And Marc knows his emotions have bled through. “Slower.” 

Marc slowly runs his hand down your body, careful not to tickle your side, stopping just short of the top button of your trousers. 

“Kiss lower on her neck, just above her collarbone... that’s it.”

Marc feels a little warm at the praise, giddy even. 

“And just start to undo her trousers, yeah?”

He flicks the top button open and you whine, bucking up against him. You urge his face up with your hands so you can kiss his lips and slide your tongue into his mouth. A deep shiver runs along Marc’s spine, forcing his hips to buck mindlessly. 

You pull back for a second, just to lift your top up and over your head before dropping it to the side and his breath catches in his throat. 

“Trousers.” 

Marc all but jumps despite the soft tone of Steven’s voice and he quickly snaps his eyes away from your skin to focus on undoing your pants.

You grin at his eagerness and help him by wiggling out of your trousers and kicking them off your feet. You kiss Marc’s neck, your hands moving desperately to his jeans. 

“Touch her.”

Marc lets out a little moan as you suck on his pulse point. “Wha-”

Marc’s left hand moves under Steven’s control, slipping his fingers under the elastic of your panties and pressing two thick fingers inside of your heat. 

You gasp in surprise, your thighs twitching at the sudden intrusion, shifting wider to allow him easier access. 

Steven strokes two fingers languidly against your walls for a second, enjoying the little tremors and flutters before placing his thumb on your clit. “Can you feel that?” 

Marc nods inwardly, “fuck.”

“See how wet she is?” 

“So fucking wet.” 

Steven smiles, continuing the long, slow strokes for a second before retreating back and leaving their hand once more completely under Marc’s control. He falters for half a second before he quickly resumes the tortuous pace set up by Steven. 

You gasp and whine, flinging your head back against the pillow as you arch up your hips towards him, trying to buck and urge him to move faster. 

“Go nice and slow… yeah… like that…” Steven whispers in his ear and there’s something strangely comforting about it, something exciting at having him there, right with him. 

Marc bites his bottom lips between his teeth, watching your face with rapt attention. 

“Nice slow circles and nice slow strokes.” 

“Slow circles.” He mutters under his breath, almost inaudible. He glides his fingers back and forth, barely leaving you before pushing back in, revelling in the sound of your wetness. 

You buck and whine, grabbing hold of his forearm like you were hanging onto a lifesaver. “Marc- ah, please!” Your words are cut off by desperate half choked sobs. 

He continues to circle your clit gently, barely allowing any pressure so that you can only just feel the slightly calloused glide of his thumb. Your thighs started to shake, your movements becoming sloppy. 

“Take her panties off completely, yeah? She’s gonna cum in a second, you’re gonna want to see.” 

Marc obeyed without thinking, using his free hand to pull them down and groaning softly when you lifted your hips as best you could to help him. 

Fuck you looked so pretty laid out all before him- before them. 

You moaned particularly needily, already looking fucked out of your head and Marc hissed, unable to stop himself as he hurriedly leant down and flicked his tongue along your clit. 

Your little high-pitched cry made him go light-headed. 

“Fuck, god yeah, give it to her.” Steven’s arousal bled into his own, making him dizzyingly high. “God, make her cum, make her cum in our mouth Marc, please.” 

“Marc, oh god, please!” You whine at almost the same moment, your and Steven’s voice blending together in a harmony that made Marc’s dick throb. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth for a moment before running board, flat licks over it, continuing his fingers slow pump as he brought you maddeningly close to the edge. 

Steven moaned loudly, “fuck Marc, please, please, need to taste her cum. Then we can fuck her together, yeah? She feels so good, she makes the best little noises,” he groaned again, “she tastes so sweet doesn’t she?” 

“So sweet,” Marc mumbled against your pussy as he kept moving, kept sucking and licking and practically humping the mattress with his eyes pinched tight in pleasure. 

“Marc,” you whimper and pull on his hair with your free hand, urging him on, “you’re so good at this, so good, ‘m gonna cum-”

“Fuck, Marc, yes.” 

He couldn’t help himself, simply couldn’t. Found himself opening his mouth and letting the words spill out before he had even registered them. “Steven’s here too.” 

“Oh shit!” You gasp, your voice raising in pitch as your orgasm crashes into you, seizing your limbs in pleasure and whiting out your vision, before leaving you boneless and breathless. 

Marc stops moving slowly, trying to prolong your bliss for as long as possible. He bites his lip nervously as he sits up, your release and his spit covering the lower half of his face. Fuck, why had he said that, why had he gone and fucked this all up-

You smile up at him, still trailing your fingers through his thick curls. “Steven’s here too?” 

He nods as heat rises to his face. He stares down at your knee. 

“Look at her, mate.” 

He doesn’t move until you gently tilt his chin up with your hand. 

Your soft smile makes his heart ache. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispers. “Is that… okay? That he’s here?” 

You nod, your grin widening as you sit up and kiss him. It’s messy and deep, and Marc just melts into it. He whines against your lips as you wrap your arms around him, stroking your tongue with his own as you lick into his mouth. 

“Now, how about,” you say between kisses, your fingers tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. “I get you out of these clothes and suck both of your dick.” You pause and pull a silly face at the odd-sounding, but technically correct singular use. 

Marc giggles and nuzzles into your neck. 

“Say yes mate!” 

“Yes please.” He mumbles as he sucks a love bite into your skin. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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