#Bow your head if you wish to keep it: IC asks

[sepheroth]

“Sir! Help! That monster stole my doll! Please rescue her! She’s precious to me!”

The instant he'd heard her pleas to be helped Sephiroth's head turned and he walked over to survey the girl and before that his gaze dropped, turned to stare ahead of him. He'd spotted said monster. From a distance, one would have thunk that this fiend was an ostrich. To the untrained eyed, it was. However, it hadn't taken him long to deduct that he'd known the type. Levrikons were known for inflicting poison, and judging by the looks of it, this girl didn't seem to appear at all hurt by it. Despite that she appeared saddened that her doll was gone. "Stay here. I'll get it for you." He says while his eyes were somewhat distracted by the sight of the very same fiend she had mentioned. He'd not just leave her like this. He'd taken off after it, he's careful to not go about this without any planning. The speed and movement he'd gone he didn't actually bother to simply saunter or stroll. Those things were known for their quickness due to casting haste on itself. They were irritate and aggressive. That and the fact it liked to hop and skip around. And shriek. Exactly what the feathered beast did as noticed him. Suppose it knew why he was there or at least, or that it knows he was here for a fight. Between it's beak the doll was rests. After chasing it around, Sephiroth knew that as a mage he could simply cast an elemental spell. An ice one. At least with ice the doll had less of a chance to be damaged. So by casting Blizzaga, it'd freeze in place. Long enough for him to leave the rest to sword before it would thaw. Perfect chance to deal it physical damage with his sword before the levrikon would come to and decided it still had some fight left in it. By the time it does, it's weakened and moving slower. Much easier for him to defeat it. He was just fortunate that this monster wasn't gargantuan. Retrieving the doll once it was slain, he'd return back to her. Both him and the doll were perfectly left unharmed. He'd level down to her height with a smile on his face. "Here you are. Try to be a little more careful, alright?"

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 7: Firsts

Kyle bought you lunch before your set time. To make sure you ate, he said. He still asked about five times if you felt like you ate enough or needed water even after sitting across from you while you downed a to-go container of pad se ew and your fourth ounce bottle.

You just laugh and point to a piece on your knee. “Babes I got this with nothing but a trenta iced coffee and two hours of sleep in my system. I’m fine, I promise.”

John made a baffled noise at that. Kyle looked like he was going to throw up. That look remained as he went through the process of setting up in John’s studio room. Kyle is meticulous about it. Each step done with care. You feel a bit silly sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.

“Just breathe. It’s fine.” John murmurs in a low rumble that somehow has you relaxing more than the indented party.

“It’s almost more scary doing someone I know.” Kyle huffs.

You laugh. “Can’t be worse than the blown out piece of shit on my left arm. C’mon, I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got this.”

John nods, sitting on the other side of you.

“Besides, even if it sucks I’ll still be honored to be your first real apprentice tattoo.” You pipe up.

Kyle chuckles, low and unsure. Part of you wants to give him an out, to say he doesn’t have to, but you can see the set of his jaw even as his eyes flick between his supplies and the stencil in his hand nervously. He’s determined as much as he is scared. There’s no getting him out of that headspace until he’s done.

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. Plus, you already mentioned having him do a matching one on the other side when he’s ready for it. Easy practice.

“C’mon, at least get the stencil on before you have a panic attack.” You try to keep your voice light, turning your back to him.

Kyle sighs. You hear his stool roll forward as he scoots in close to place it. John shuffles around to stand over him. A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the other mean thoughts.

You pointedly ignore the heat that shoots up your spine as Kyle’s hands feel out the shape of your thigh to get it centered - keeping your eyes forward as he slowly presses the paper against you. You could swear a thumb traces the curve of your cheek as he smoothes it but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Good job, kid.” John claps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as soon as the paper is pulled away. You turn around in the mirror to check it, expecting to probably have to move it, but from what you can tell it really is perfect.

“Damn, dude, on your first try!” You grin, clapping happily.

Kyle nods stiffly, but you see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. You unceremoniously clamber onto the table, moving around so your back doesn’t hurt from laying flat for the next few hours with your arms folded under your head.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without freaking out and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You jokingly bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

Kyle levels a look at you, something heated as his lip catches between his teeth. It’s only there for a moment, gone as soon as he turns to his tools. Replaced by a laser focus.

“Alright.” John settles back into his seat on your other side. “Let’s do one line and then see how we all feel.”

Kyle nods. You shuffle a little to make you’re you’re as comfortable as possible for the next however long. You know it’s going to be a while even if it isn’t a simple design. He’s new and precise with means slow.

The familiar whirr of the gun starts up. You shut your eyes, waiting, hoping that you aren’t projecting any more tension into the room than Kyle is. The needle stings when it finally touches you, but not as badly as you braced for. His touch is light.

He pulls the gun away and let’s put a giant sigh. “How y’feel, luv?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m all good. You?” You tilt your chin a bit to meet his eye.

“Better now that it’s started.”

“Good.” John nods, chest bumping your leg as he leans forward to look. “Looks good. Keep on.”

The room is nearly silent as he works. You turned down the music before coming back so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed - at least that was your reasoning. You’d get overwhelmed. Kyle is more levelheaded than you are, though.

“Thassit.” John smiles - or at least that’s how it sounds in his voice. “Her skin takes ink so well, yeah?”

Fuck, that totally should not do it for you. Gravelly voiced British bastard. You keep your eyes locked onto the flash on the far wall as you attempt to cool down.

Kyle just hums, seemingly unable to talk as he concentrates. He probably is with how dialed in he looks. You take a break before he gets to shading, stretching and getting some water. It takes a while, but not as long as you assumed. You start to get that ache in your skin partway through the shading - that feeling when your nerves are so tired from firing off pain receptors they just all sort of start burning dully.

However long later Kyle pulls away. “I… think it’s done?”

“You think?” John challenges.

Kyle sighs before speaking with more finality. “It’s done.”

There’s a few beats where John assess and you hold your breath. He points to a couple spots where Kyle’s hand slipped a bit or he applied too much pressure, but when you check it out in the mirror yourself you don’t see that all. Perfectionists.

You can’t help but squeal and jump, clapping happily and barely standing still while Kyle puts the saniderm on. You’re just to happy! Not only did Kyle get his first tattoo done but now you have brand new (free) cute ink to show off. Kyle looks tired, though, so you try not over overwhelm him while he cleans up. Concentrating like that with anxiety must have really taken it out of him.

You sort of forget about your promise of a reward for the next week. Too busy focusing on taking care of your new tattoo. The only downside to the placement is sitting in your office chair itches - especially once you take the saniderm off. You’ve mostly taken to standing while working and wearing shorts and skirts to let it breathe. It’s worth it, though. You’ll have to ask Kyle how soon he wants to do the other one. Without being pushy, of course.

You quietly hum to yourself as you get the cash drawers ready to lock away in the backroom safe. Triple checking the bags and making sure tips are divided correctly, etc.

“Hey, lovie.” Kyle saddles up behind you suddenly, hands on your hips.

You jump. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. A hand slips down your hip, palm tracing the hem of your tennis skirt to lightly rest over the little bow. “How’s she healin’?”

“It’s, uh, it-“ You stutter, eyes wide and skin hot. If it were Johnny, you’d laugh and swat him away - maybe let his hand wander to your ass first - but Kyle doesn’t do this. Not that you don’t like it - the problem lies in that you’re liking it too much. If the patter of your heart is anything to go by. “It’s good. Not itching yet or anything.”

Kyle hums. “Good.”

“Th-that all?”

“Think you forgot somethin’.” He turns you around, hands firmly planted on the softness of your waist. When you just give him a bewildered look he continues. “I was promised a reward, I think.”

“O-oh?” Your face burns, eyes wide. Is he serious? Part of you wants to say no - to push him away. You’re coworkers, after all. Until your eyes meet his, so big and warm and his lips forming a perfect pout. “John….?”

Kyle chuckles ans crosses his chest. “John won’t care. Cross my heart.”

He gives you a moment to mull it over. You don’t think he’s making fun of or bating you - Kyle wouldn’t do that. There’s no way he’s interested either. That’s one delusion you can firmly plant in the ’purely imaginary’ category.

Whatever. What do you have to lose from a little back room make out?

Your lips meets his. Fuck, they’re soft. He steals your breath - greedy and gentile. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, much less kissed well. One of the hands on your waist moves to your low back as Kyle leans into you. Your hands grapple onto his shoulders to steady you. He takes advantage of your gasp at being tilted back to swipe is tongue between your lips.

You mould together, breaths heavy and tongues dancing. A needy, pathetic little part of you wishes the hand that drifted from your waist to your hip would hook under your thigh. That Kyle would tilt you all the way back onto the desk and throw your leg over his shoulder, eagerly pushing up your skirt-

An ‘I love you’ dances on the tip of your tongue and you reel back harshly, hand flat on his chest to separate you.

“Alright?” He murmurs, eyes half lidded and dark.

You swallow roughly and nod, breathing hard. “I, uh, I need to finish the safe.”

Something passes across his face briefly as your eyes flick between his. Whatever it was, it’s replaced by his usual easy smile as he returns to standing at his full height, the hands on your waist steady you before disappearing. Your stomach drops as they go.

“See you tomorrow.” Kyle murmurs, pressing one last little peck on your cheek before striding away, leaving you alone in the back room with a hot face and whirlwind thoughts.

Fuck.

A/N: brought to you by the time a tattoo artist told me my skin takes ink well in the most haunting bedroom voice I’ve ever heard😵‍💫 killed me right then and there

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @jiyascepter

Soothing Your Aches

Jotun!King!Loki x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: Your caring husband is always there to soothe your aches - no matter when or where.

Warnings: protective!Loki, pregnancy stuff, nudity, bit of suggestive smut, fluuuff

Word Count: 1,7k

a/n: This lil' oneshot is based on an idea from @eleniblue ! I just had to write it, because it's so sweet! Also, I'm so sorry it took me sooo long to get this posted... Hope you like it nevertheless. 🥰

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

"Have you seen the queen?" Loki addressed one of your personal guards, Ivan, as he was rushing down the corridor towards the throne room; emerald green cape flying behind him.

Ivan nodded. "Yes, my king. Your wife was searching for you. I told her you were out in the city." The king of Jotunheim nodded. "Where did she go?" "I saw her going into the direction of the royal chambers, your majesty."

Loki snorted, "I just came from there, Ivan. She isn't there." and gritted his teeth; feeling the anger - caused by his worry, rise within his body. The king just couldn't help himself. It was the fault of his instincts to protect what was his - like so often.

Loki took a deep breath; trying to control his temper. "You have one job, Ivan! Keeping an eye on the queen and her safe whenever I'm away is the only task you've been burdened with - and you fail." The king shook his head, while Ivan obediently lowered his head. "I apologise, my king, I-" The young Jotun tried to explain, but got immediately interrupted. "She is pregnant, for the Norns sake! This isn't just about my wife anymore!"

Ivan swallowed visibly; fear reflecting in his ruby eyes. Loki still tried to keep his anger at bay; knowing that this was the first mistake of your guard. He tried to have mercy.

"I-I know, y-your highness, b-but-" Ivan got interrupted once more. "You are dismissed for today. Now get out of my sight, before I change my mind."

The guard knew that this was his king showing forgiveness and mercy, so he bowed, "T-Thank you, m-my king." and quickly left.

Loki took another deep breath, before he decided to ask one of the maids about your whereabout.

"Tola," his deep voice caused the blond haired maid, who was currently cleaning his presence chamber, to jump slightly and shriek up. "King Loki! Apologies!" She curtsied. "You scared me a bit." Loki shook his head. "I should apologise. I didn’t mean to scare you... Do you know where my wife is?" She nodded. "Sure, my king. Queen Y/N told me that she was going to take a bath in the royal bathing chamber. I offered my help, but she wished to be alone."

A relieved breath left the Jotun's lips. "Thank you." Tola curtsied once more. "Of course, your highness." With a curd nod, Loki turned on his heels and left again; his feet leading him straight towards the bathing chamber.

He could already smell the scent of your soaps and rich oils miles away. It caused him to smile.

Once he entered the bathing chamber, warm, wet air and slight steam welcomed him - alongside your beautiful voice humming an old Norse song.

It's been a long day for the king and all he wished now was to spend time with you and especially to take care of you, as well as the growing offspring within your womb.

Loki quickly started to undress, until he wore nothing more than his loin cloth. Sure, he could've joined you completely nude, but the king didn't wish to 'pressure you' into something. He wanted to take care of you - and if it would include making love, he wasn't going to complain. If not, Loki was more than alright with it.

Smiling, he rounded the corner to face the big pool you were in; leaning against the edge with your head tilted back and eyes closed. One hand held onto the edge, while the other was cupping your swollen belly; gently stroking the wet skin.

Loki watched you for a moment; admired the absolute stunning woman he had married.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you, my queen?"

Your eyes immediately flew open at your husband's words and you looked over; meeting his beautiful ruby eyes.

You smiled.

"No, of course not. In fact, it is highly appreciated. Please do join me, my king." Loki ran a hand through his now damp curls and proceeded to step inside the water and swim over to you.

You welcomed your husband with open arms, of course, given the fact that you hadn't seen him almost the whole day.

"Hello," you whispered against his lips; crossing your arms behind his neck. Loki smirked; wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as your almost five-month-bump allowed. "Hello, Flower." The gap between the two of you quickly melted away, as your lips moulded perfectly against Loki's.

After exchanging several much needed kisses, Loki settled behind you against the quite comfortably built pool edge; pulling you back against his bare chest.

"How are you feeling today, love?" He asked in a gentle voice. His hands came to rest underneath your belly; supporting the weight of your bump. "Honestly?" You sighed. "It could be better. The muscles in my back hurt, just like my feet do. I have stomach cramps already the whole day and felt very dizzy this morning. That's why I decided to take a bath; hoping it would relax my muscles and ease the pain at least a bit."

Loki nuzzled the wet skin of your neck and pulled you even closer against him. "Apologies, Flower. I hate to see you in pain and struggling." Your husband's lips trailed a path of soft kisses from your shoulder up to the shell of your ear. You couldn't help but smile; feeling the butterflies within you running wild. Wild for this man.

"Can I do something for you, my queen? I wish to help." Your smile even widened. Loki was the best husband you could've wished for. "Especially since I am the one to blame for this..." You could practically hear the smirk and playfulness in his voice - and giggled. "Don't say this like we both didn't wish for it to happen." "Well... Point taken." A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, before he breathed another kiss on the side of your neck.

"Now, how can I help, Flower?"

"Hmm..." You thought; being already way too lost and addicted to his touch. You barely saw him today, after all... "Perhaps a massage later? But for now, just hold me, please. I enjoy your warmth and touch-" You felt a nudge against your abdominal wall and bladder, causing you to smile. "Just like the twins," you completed your sentence.

Loki hummed behind you; thumbs starting to trace a pattern in the naked skin on the underside of your bump. "As you wish, my darling."

After the bath, Loki wrapped you up in a big, fluffy, warm towel, and even carried you back towards your shared chambers.

"There we are..." He said; gently kicking the door shut with his foot. You just smiled with your head tucked in the crook of his neck; inhaling his scent. Loki set you down on your spacious marital bed and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, before he quickly crossed the room in order to tend to the fireplace. The fire was still burning. Loki just had to make sure it was enough to keep you warm.

"Are you warm enough, my queen?" You nodded; giving him a loving, but definitely drowsy smile. "Currently, yes. Now come here, please..." Loki smiled, "In a moment, Flower." and winked, before he vanished in the bathroom, in order to fetch the best massage oils in the whole kingdom. You received them from a healer on Asgard.

Your husband took the comfortable chair, which stood a bit offsides and actually served as an extra seating possibility in front of the fireplace and sat down beside your side of the bed. His free hand inched closer to your body, while he threw you a smouldering look.

"May I unwrap you, Flower? I heard you are in need of my hands." Mischievous, naughty scamp, you thought with a giggle. "Please do, dear husband."

Loki helped you to free your upper body of its confines, but made sure that your legs and feet were still covered in furs and keeping you warm.

"Turn on your side for me, my love." You did what he said; presenting him your bare back. It was a bit of an awkward angle, but there was no other way than this for a massage. You couldn't turn on your stomach - for obvious reasons.

"There we go." Loki squeezed some oil on his big palm, made sure to coat his other palm as well and then started to gently massage your uptight muscles. "Mhhh..." You sighed as he worked on a particular tight knot. The king chuckled lowly. "Your reaction tells me that I must be doing something right. Does it feel good?" You giggled; nodding. "It always feels good when you touch me, my king. No matter the situation." "Thank the Norns then that I enjoy touching you very much. No matter the situation." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "Win win situation, sweetheart."

After Loki massaged your sore and aching back, you felt way better and relaxed - but your husband wasn't finished yet.

"Would my lovely wife turn on her back again? I think there are cramps who need to be eased as well..." You smiled; following his instructions once more.

The king's eyes travelled from your face down the length of your upper body; lingering on your bump for a moment longer, before his ruby eyes returned to meet your Y/E/C ones.

"You are stunningly beautiful, my queen. Absolutely radiant. Perfect, for me." You couldn't stop your cheeks from redding at his words. "Thank you." Loki leaned over to kiss you lovingly, then began to gently rub the oil in the skin of your belly as well.

You never thought that it would feel this good, but it did - and the babies seemed to enjoy it as well. You could sense it. "They pretty much enjoy the touch of their father," you giggled; looking at Loki. He smiled; nodding amusingly. "I can positively feel it, yes." You giggled again. "Now shush, my queen. Rest and just enjoy," he teased you a bit. "Yes, my king." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes; trying to be calm. You were kinda surprised that it worked that well.

In fact it probably worked too good...

"I'm relieved to see that this seems to help you." Loki got no response. "Flower? Love?" Frowning, he lifted his head - only to see that you slept in. The king smiled; placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and made sure to tuck you properly in.

Tags: @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @smolvenger @hisredheadedgoddess28 @icytrickster17 @chennqingg @glitchquake @princess-ofthe-pages @crimson25 @elegantcheesecakecrown @buttercupcookies-blog @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @herdetectivetheorist @loz-3 @brokenpoetliz @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @jennyggggrrr @lady-rose-moon @lovingchoices14 @salvinaa @irishhappiness @sheris532 @princessdragon23 @xxannyxx @kimanne723 @mandywholock1980 @the-holy-trinity-l @loki-laufeyson223 @vbecker10 @buttercupcookies-blog @comicalivy

[shogunish]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟱]

synopsis. megumi believes that the greatest stroke of serendipity is his dad and you tucking him into bed.

words. 1.4k

warnings. none!

note. living off of gojo crumbs these days..life is not gojo-ing the way it used to gojo 😔💔

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family tasted like honey. thick and sweet and easy to spread out, even though it was a pain to wipe the excess of it off the spoon.

megumi knew what honey tasted like, but it was too sweet for his tastes until the evening his dad tucked him into the sheets and the dim lights of the lamp dipped the room into golden hues. kuro and shiro were curled up at his little feet, keeping megumi warm and cozy like a cocoon of fur.

a teddy bear — one that satoru had won for him at a fair — was in megumi’s arms while he stared at his dad with eyes like that of a doe. innocent and pure, but a little sleepy around the edges. “where’s [name]?” megumi pouted, blinking his big eyes.

a look of surprise flashed across satoru’s features and yet..he wasn’t surprised at all. the kid was so attached to you, always wanting you in this little home and asking about your whereabouts. he had been devastated when satoru explained why you couldn’t come over because of your period and even wrote you a little card, wishing you a speedy recovery for your tummy aches.

“she’s washing the dishes, little man,” satoru explained calmly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you need anything from her?”

a beat of silence. then, megumi nodded his head once slowly. “yeah. it’s important.”

affectionately, satoru ruffled a hand through megumi’s messy locks and chuckled like he always did: so carefree and easy-going. “fine. i’ll get her. wait a sec, yeah?”

megumi eagerly waited in his bed with his black eyes round as the moon and shimmering like the night sky just outside his window when his dad came back with you in tow. the mattress dipped underneath your weight and some more as satoru took a seat right next to you on the edge of his bed.

this was the picture megumi wanted to see for so, so long.

his papa being next to his mama, tucking him in and wishing him a good night.

“papa told me you wanted to see me?” you asked with a gentle smile sitting upon your lips, voice soft as silk and warm as..honey.

yeah, maybe honey wasn’t too bad if you were there.

the innocent words of a mere child got stuck in megumi’s throat. dark eyes darted about the room, plump cheeks reddened like ripe apples on a warm summer day and for some reason, his heart was pounding under his ribs. instead of hurrying him, you waited patiently for megumi to find his words that had gotten lost in his throat.

“can you tell me another story?” megumi mumbled into his precious teddy bear with the fancy bow wrapped around the neck.

ah, how sweet of a kid megumi was. you swore your heart melted like ice-cream in the sun and turned into nothing but a puddle.

“you tell him bedtime stories?” satoru inquired. lips pulled into a warm smirk, he couldn’t help but feel curious what his son and the cute babysitter were up to when he way away for work.

“i do,” you confirmed, “every evening, i tell him a story until he falls asleep.”

satoru chuckled. “you’re lucky, buddy. [name] never tells me stories when it’s bedtime for me.”

at that, megumi giggled. “papa’s jealous.”

was this what family was like?

to have mama and papa sitting on the edge of his bed, tucking him in and being so playful with each other? to go on walks together and have mama tend to his scraped knee while papa was busy scolding the stones megumi had slipped on?

megumi never wanted to let go of that feeling. ever. not even homework could ruin the warm, fuzzy feeling of honey in his tummy.

nonchalantly, you waved a hand in front of satoru’s face, brushing his feelings of so-called jealousy off. “anyways,” you said, “let’s see what tonight’s story will be..”

behind you, you could feel satoru pouting at the way you dismissed him like he was nothing but a fly on your shoulder and maybe he even whispered to megumi how cruel women could be, but you paid his antics no mind.

“ah.” your face lit up when you came up with a little story. “a long, long time ago, there lived a princess far away from home. all she wanted to be was a child, but her big bad brother forced her to become the wife of a king of a culture foreign to her. but despite her hardships, she wasn’t alone. you know why?"

a gasp fell from megumi’s lips; the kid was obviously hooked from the very moment you opened your mouth. “tell me! what happened to the princess? did a prince rescue her?” he asked, wanting to know all the details about the world you had made up in your head just for him.

shaking your head, you smiled and leaned in like megumi’s excitement was rubbing off on you. “even better. she was gifted three dragon eggs that would eventually hatch and bring magic back to the world…”

while the princess was starting to conquer the world with her dragons and make a name for herself, megumi fell asleep. his little eyes felt like lead and all that could be heard were his soft snores and an occasional sniffle. the teddy bear was still held tightly by megumi though. not even an apocalypse could rip the plushie from his hands, you and satoru thought.

“so dragons and princesses? that’s what you’ve been telling my son about?” satoru inquired once he closed the door behind megumi’s bedroom and it was just the two of you on his couch, watching the last scenes of some mediocre rom-com play out.

“so you are jealous,” giggling, you nudged satoru playfully before relaxing back into the soft cushions with a sigh making it past your lips.

it was a little moment of peace before you’d go back to your own home. the more you were with the gojos, the more you noticed that your four walls lacked some life. sure, a couple of plants lived on your shelves and on the window sill, but they weren’t a little kid asking for cookies right before lunch or dogs barking in their sleep or satoru who’d keep you company on the couch.

home was nice, but this..this was family. life.

“maybe a little bit,” satoru joked and stretched his arm along the backrest, so close to your shoulders. how badly he wanted to just pull you in and relive the moment you snoozed away on him, but he refrained from doing so.

like there was an invisible line he didn’t want to cross.

satoru blamed the rapid beating of his heart on the way you handled megumi. how couldn’t he feel a little attracted to you when you got along with his son so well? it was just the hormones, he wanted to tell himself but the budding feeling in the soil of his heart spoke otherwise.

it wouldn’t be long until that sprout would grow roots and bloom into something that would fill the cavern of his chest; lungs, arteries, heart and veins. all of it would be in full bloom.

while satoru could rip out the budding something like it was weed, he chose not to.

“you know, there is a little party that my company holds and i thought it’d be nice if you became my plus one,” satoru spoke in soft tones before settling his sky blue gaze on your surprised face. he could watch the cogs in your head processing his words and then– ah, it clicked.

“..are you sure? i don’t think i’d fit in well.” furrowing your eyebrows, you immediately thought about all those men in suits from brands you couldn’t even pronounce and their curled mustaches, their wives draped in diamonds and everything fine.

it was a world you didn’t belong to and yet..

“let that worry be mine,” satoru assured you with an easy shrug of his shoulders and a smile on his lips which was so easy on the eyes. “you’re the only person who could make that evening interesting and there’s free food.”

“i’m in.” you immediately agreed.

satoru blinked in surprise.

so all it took for you to accompany him was the promise of free food.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon, @risuola, @ayanominitrash, @lordbugs, @phoenix666stuff, @hotvinimon, @stevenknightmarc, @sukunasleftkneecap, @erigaur, @lu-lynds, @staryukis

[lovebugism]

hi bug!! for blurbcember, how about ❝ don’t tell anyone, but, i spiked the eggnog. ❞ where shy!reader is by herself at a work holiday party, maybe she’s new or just really shy and doesn’t talk to many people, and steve/eddie goes up to her and jokes about spiking the eggnog to break the ice and flirt with her bc he has a crush on her and wants to make her laugh 🥹 totally not based on what i wish would happen to me at my work’s holiday party lmao

ah this is so cute! :D i decided to do this one for steve so i hope you like it!! — steve harrington spends the company holiday party flirting with shy!you (friends to lovers, shy!reader, fluff, 1.9k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The quiet mouse and the personality hire walk into an office holiday party.

It’s like the start of a really bad joke.

You try to be as enthusiastic as you can about the whole thing, but spending the last half of your day socializing with coworkers who've never looked your way before now isn’t exactly thrill-inducing. Neither is having to hear “Oh, I didn’t know you actually spoke” a thousand times over.

You just don’t want the lecture about being a team player just because you have a harder time talking than most people do. Everyone knows you’d rather be at your desk, anyway. That’s what you do best — keep your head down and get your work done.

But Steve Harrington? He’s totally in his element.

He flits around the common area with a drink and a smile, making people laugh without even trying. It’s hardly fair.

You don’t know how he does it — or why he chooses to waste his charm on you. You’re hardly deserving of his dumb jokes or his pretty smile, but he’s stuck to you like glue, anyway.

He leaves your side only once. To get you another cup of eggnog because you were too scared to cut through the crowd for seconds. “Here you go,” the pretty boy croons as he hands you the plastic cup with a strong, golden hand.

You mutter a small “thanks” under your breath when you take it from him. At least, Steve thinks you do. You’re so quiet it’s hard to make the words out sometimes.

He pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows — a deep evergreen with a cream stripe around the chest, lined with several little Christmas trees — and leans against the wall beside you.

He towers over you in every way imaginable. It makes it hurt not to cower when he looks your way. Most of all, when he beams at you.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks suddenly, nose scrunched and honey eyes sparkling.

Your brows pinch momentarily in confusion before going lax again. “Sure?”

He leans closer to you, his warm scent engulfing you instantly — like morning coffee and woodsy cologne. It’s suffocating, in the nicest of ways, to be this close to him. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but I did actually spike the eggnog,” Steve whispers beneath the cheesy holiday music and distant chatter, quiet enough for only you to hear. 

You laugh before you mean to. 

He laughs because you are.

“I actually wouldn’t mind that,” you joke with a shy shrug.

“It’d make this whole thing a lot more tolerable, right?” he scoffs and brings his cup to his mouth. The heavy cream of the eggnog clings to his cupid’s bow before he licks it clean again.

You get quiet for a second, momentarily lost in how pretty he is. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“I think you’re the only person I know that’d rather be working than be here.”

“Well, I’m not really a—” Your mouth opens and closes like a fish until you find the words to say. That happens a lot. It’s why you find it easier not to speak sometimes. “—A social butterfly or whatever, you know?”

“I thought you were gonna say people-person.”

“That, too.”

Steve thinks for a moment, flits his eyes to the ceiling, and juts out his pretty pink lips. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “Well, I don’t think that’s totally true.”

Your brows furrow. Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as you thought. “No?”

“No,” he says confidently and with a shake of his neatly styled hair. He swipes his fingers through the intentionally messy strands. Then he shrugs. “Well, I mean, maybe. But I would say you are a Steve-person, you know?”

Your face screws up. His attempts to flirt with you don’t land.

He quickly tries to explain himself. “I just mean that— you know— that you don’t let everyone know you the way you let me know you.”

He gets all shy about it, but you think he might be right. 

Steve Harrington is more than just magnetic. He’s the kind of person that draws you in and opens you like a flower. An ounce of his attention feels like being basked in sunlight. He’s as handsome as life, too. Something holy, maybe. 

It’s his divinity that draws something out of you, you think.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re different from everyone else,” you shrug instead of elaborating on the dramatic religious metaphor in your head. Your gaze falls to the untouched cup between your palms. It’s easier to look at but much less interesting than the melting honey in Steve’s eyes.

He grins all sweet even though you’re not looking at him to see it.

“You mean prettier?” he jokes.

“Yeah,” you scoff and smile before you realize it. “No one’s competing with those dimples, Harrington.”

He beams. It basks you in golden sunlight. 

Something about the way he looks at you is comforting. Nostalgic. It makes you feel safe. Makes you feel brave enough to raise a trembling hand to his scruffy jaw and poke gently at the dimple in his left cheek.

“You just make it easier to talk. I guess.”

“Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I love hearing you talk.”

You squint playfully up at him. “Is that because you’re usually the one talking all the time?”

He nods. “That’s exactly why.”

You laugh, and it sounds like stars falling over his skin. 

“It just feels easy to me, you know? Being around you and everything,” Steve shrugs to pretend like you don’t stir something sort of poetry in his chest. “I just think you’re cool. Exactly the way you are. And, you know, when you apologize for being too quiet or too complicated or whatever— it makes me wanna kick the world’s ass for making you feel that way. ‘Cause you’re, like, one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

For a second or more, you’re not totally sure what to say. And not in the way you usually are. This is different. This feels like there’s sunshine in your throat, and you can’t speak a word through it. This feels like being so choked up you could cry.

No one’s ever been this nice to you, you think. No one’s ever been so kind to you about the thing you hate most about yourself.

You swallow through the sun rays and muster a wavering smile.

“See what I mean?” You try to laugh, but the words get caught in your throat. You cough once to clear it. “I have to talk to you because no one else will say such nice things to me.”

“And that’s just a shame. ‘Cause saying nice things to you is basically my favorite hobby.”

You laugh again, even though he’s not really joking.

“Like, if I could get paid to do it, I’d be out of this shithole in a second.”

You smile up at him, so wide it makes your eyes squint and your nose scrunch. No one else could stir such a loud emotion from the quiet you are. No one else but Steve.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Epilogue: It’s Not Over ‘Til You’re Underground]

A/N: We've finally reached the end of the Oregon Trail, besties!!! Enjoy this one last treat to celebrate the conclusion of Martyrs 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Both the series title and epilogue title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 4.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Autumn is the harvest, ripping up roots, preparing for the starving time of winter, and so you step through the threshold of your new life as the world is ending again.

“I knew the chances,” Sophie says when you tell her what happened; but she can’t look at you, because of course she wishes it was Rio who made it to Odessa instead, and you don’t blame her. She breaks down and leaves the house, and you sit there—silent, sorry, self-loathing—for a long time with Rio’s weeping parents and Aegon’s arm draped across the back of your chair. But then Sophie comes back inside, and through tears she says it’s nice to meet you in person at last, and then she asks if you’d like to hold Rio’s son.

Here it is commonplace to see M16s and AR-15s, marijuana growing in gardens, a myriad of flags flying from homes—Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024, American flags, rainbow flags, porcupines of the Libertarian Party—and order is maintained by an elected council of longtime Odessa residents. For anyone to be allowed into the community, somebody already here must take responsibility for them, and so the seven of you—eight, counting Ice—spend the first few months sleeping on Rio’s parents’ living room floor and eating meals out of their cellar, enough self-stable food to last for years. You join the construction crew and help build houses, Cregan cuts down trees and fishes and hunts, Helaena shows Aegon how to garden and Sophie teaches Luke to bake bread. There are no doctors here, but there are several unlicensed midwives and a veterinarian named Ian Whitted. Rhaena studies under him—attending every appointment and taking copious notes in the spider notebook Helaena gifts her, sharing what she learned from Aemond—and before long her sutures are quicker and cleaner than Ian’s. Daeron, considered too young and inexperienced for the most dangerous work, is posted with his compound bow inside the village to serve as a guard. He resents this until he realizes there are far more women to flirt with here than out in the forest where wolves and bears prowl and the dead rove with incurable hunger.

You work from dawn to sunset; you work so you have no time to think. The baby doesn’t feel real, and neither does Aemond being gone, and the future is so unimaginable you’d rather not try to imagine it at all. Because you’re a good shot, they want you for patrols and raids of nearby towns to search for supplies, and you take every shift you’re offered until Rhaena says you have to stop. She tells you that each time you leave, Aegon watches the door until you walk through it again, that it’s not good for him, that it’s not good for you either. She says you can’t keep running from what’s happened.

“I’m not trying to run away,” you tell her where she’s cornered you by one of the wells, lilac twilight sky and glimmers of stars, hoots of owls and children laughing as they roast marshmallows over crackling fires. “I’m trying to find my way through.”

“Fine,” Rhaena replies firmly, no room for argument. “But you’re going to do that in here where it’s safe.”

The new houses have wooden walls and kitchen fireplaces made of stones, beds with feather mattresses, plots for gardens and pens for ducks, chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, turkeys, cattle. Helaena and Cregan move into one cabin, Rhaena and Luke share another, and you have the last to yourself, the first time you’ve ever lived alone. Aegon and Daeron float around between the houses, more often than not ending up in yours as the sun is dipping below the tree line into the west, Daeron carving wooden cutlery with a hunting knife, Aegon cuddling with Ice on the deerskin rug, luring you into disastrous baking attempts and games of Uno and telling stories about Washington D.C., Djibouti, Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae, Diego Garcia, Saratoga Springs before the dead began to walk.

Thanksgiving dinner is at Rio’s parents’ house, Sophie’s baby sound asleep in his blue sling, candles flickering and Ice lying beneath the table to gulp down scraps that fall to the floor: roasted turkey, hazelnut stuffing, buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, salad with homemade ranch dressing, pumpkin pie for dessert.

“God, I miss chilidogs,” Aegon mutters beside you, and you laugh—a real laugh, loud and helpless, a lightness flooding into your arteries and the marrow of your bones—for the first time since Aemond died.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says, pouring you a small glass of moonshine distilled with apples and cherries and cinnamon. Everybody else has already had a taste except Aegon. He doesn’t drink anymore, doesn’t smoke the weed people grow here, only keeps a few tobacco plants in your garden to enjoy on rare occasions.

“I can’t,” you tell Sophie, staring at the amber-colored moonshine. You are over three months along and will be showing soon. It materializes all at once, shifts from a hazy apparition to something in full focus: next Thanksgiving you will have a fatherless infant of your own.

Sophie is puzzled. The glass of moonshine waits untouched on the table. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” you say.

Aegon chokes on his pumpkin pie. “You’re what?!”

And everyone except Helaena drops their forks and leaps up to engulf you: How long have you known? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell us? How can we help?

You stop lifting heavy things and stay off of ladders. Helaena brings you kale and mushrooms, Sophie knits you baby clothes, Rio’s mom makes you candles infused with essential oils, lavender, chamomile, ginger, and you lie and say they make a difference. Aegon helps you build a crib; you don’t need his help, but still, he insists. Smiling to himself, he etches two words into the headboard: Mini Chips. Wheat is planted in the fields to the north of the village. Scrap metal is scavenged for the blacksmiths to melt down to make nails and bullets. You learn to sweeten desserts with honey instead of sugar and to hold your hand flat when you feed the baby goats so they won’t nibble your fingers. You wait for winter to thaw and summer to come back around again.

It is what people would call a bad birth: hemorrhaging and lots of stitches, Rhaena squinting in the glow of the flashlights trying to piece you back together, rain outside and no lidocaine. You can’t stop crying. You feel like you’re going to die, and you’re shaking too badly to hold your own child, and you want Aemond. He would know what to do, he would know how to make the world go quiet. And the truth that he will never meet his daughter hits you over and over again like cold lethal waves, like bullets that pierce the heart.

Aegon is here instead, and you want to cling to him but you can’t; if all the others could die, so can he. But even when you look away from him to stare at the wall he stays, his hand clutching yours and never complaining even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave bruises that paint him maroon and indigo, tilting glasses filled with fresh pomegranate juice against your lips, asking Rhaena and Ian what you will need from him as you recover. Slowly the house empties and everyone goes home, but Aegon stays through the night and never leaves again.

Harmony cries a lot, as if she already knows she’s lost someone. She has trouble nursing and only sleeps for a few hours at a time. People are always coming in and out of the house: Sophie with handknit clothes and blankets for the baby, Helaena with flowers and fruit and vegetables, Rhaena with loaves of Luke’s fresh-baked bread, Cregan with firewood. At first Aegon is better with Harmony than you are. You love her, of course, and you mourn for the life you cannot give her; but you can’t shake the feeling that someone left her on your doorstep, this fragile bewildering creature you are so unequipped to soothe. Yet Aegon picks her up and she stops crying. He carries her around the house and murmurs nonsense—rules of golf, sailing knots—and she gazes up at him mesmerized; and in the peace that grows from him like weeds, wild and inevitable, you can heal.

Aegon helps you walk for the first week after the birth. He brings you meals, overflowing plates you can never finish. He respectfully averts his eyes when you nurse the baby and when he passes the bedroom as you’re changing clothes, slowly and inelegantly, every muscle feeling shredded. He falls exhausted into bed beside you with his arms crossed over his chest so he won’t reach for you in his sleep. You keep waiting for him to start craving marijuana and moonshine, to meet someone who makes him wayward again while you are left here alone, morose and unglamorous and bleeding. You care about Aegon—entirely, violently—but you are convinced you’ll never love a man again. Perhaps love is something that is always doomed to be broken, ruinous, poisoned.

When Harmony is about four months old, you begin to see Aegon differently. You can’t stop staring at the way his hair shags over his eyes when he’s bent low in the garden, you hide behind walls and listen each time you catch him singing to himself, you feel a dark desperate sense of loss when other women flirt with him, though Aegon is never more than polite in return. You find excuses to touch him, and he always acquiesces: Let me bandage the cuts on your hands, let me dab honey on your sunburn.

One night you wake to find Aegon with Harmony in the kitchen, humming and rocking her in his arms as he paces back and forth across the wood floor in his bare feet, the full moon radiant through the window, the fireplace crackling. He glances over when he notices you standing in the doorway and says: “I think this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Aegon?”

“Yeah, Chips.”

“I’m in love with you.”

At first he is startled, and then he smiles in the firelight, a slow mischievous curve of the lips that puts stars in his eyes and shows his teeth. “Took you long enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly ten years ago, you were learning how to be a builder at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, salt and sun and sweet tea and humidity that lies heavy like a second skin you can’t shed. Today you are hammering nails into boards that will be a wall of the new meeting house, twice the square footage of the old one. The community here keeps growing.

“Watch out for your fingers, Zack Attack.”

 Zack looks over at you. He’s a kid, nineteen, and he’s only been here a week. He left Beaumont, Texas with a group of thirty people, one of them the cousin of a council member here. Twelve were left when they arrived. “Huh?”

“You’re holding the nail too close to the bottom,” you say. “If you swing the hammer and miss—and you will miss, everyone does sometimes, even me—you’ll crush your fingers against the wood. But if you hold the nail up near the top, the hammer will kind of knock them out of the way as it comes down, and you won’t have to worry about Rhaena or Ian popping your bones back into place.”

“Oh, cool! Thanks!” Zack readjusts his hands. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“The Navy.”

“Right. That makes sense.” He gives you a crooked, conspiratorial grin. “I heard you’re a good shot.”

“I am, I guess.” You don’t do patrols anymore, but you’re on the list of people to call when there’s a security breach, and you go because you have to. If Odessa is ever overrun, that will be the end of the life you’ve made here. The last scare was two months ago, a hoard that wandered up from the south, probably out of Klamath Falls. Someone knocked and you answered, leaving Aegon standing in the doorway with troubled eyes, Noah in his arms asking: Where Mama go? And Aegon had told him She’ll be back soon, buddy, but of course no one had known if that was true.

Now Zack says admiringly: “A real killer.”

You smile and give him a slap on the shoulder as you start climbing down the ladder. “I’d rather be a builder.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah, my kids probably miss me.”

“See ya tomorrow. Bring more of Aegon’s raspberry crumb muffins.”

You laugh. “If there are any left.”

Down on the ground, bumblebees orbit tufts of wildflowers and cats prowl for mice. Sitting cross-legged on the grass are kids rubbing nails against bars of goat milk soap; it makes them go into the wood easier. They play the same way you did as a child: in the dirt, in the wild, tracking animals and building dams in the creek. They wave as you pass by. Everyone knows each other here. Everyone knows what you can do with the Beretta M9 in your holster.

Beside one of the wells, Daeron is helping a flock of tittering, blushing women pull up their buckets and plucking stray blades of grass and pine needles out of their hair. He is easily the most eligible bachelor in Odessa, and in no hurry to take himself off the market. By the schoolhouse, two teenagers are petting Ice as they listen to Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman and rap along to Gold Digger: “You will see him on tv, any given Sunday, win the Super Bowl and drive off in a Hyundai…”

But at Sophie’s house, the song you hear is Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, drifting from a battery-powered boombox containing one of Rio’s dad’s cassette tapes. Aegon is already here and dusted with earth, your children clamoring around his legs as he chats with Sophie at the edge of the garden: zucchini, snap peas, tomatoes, strawberries, spinach, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, kale. When Aegon sees you, he lights up and says to the kids: “Look! Look who’s here!” And you crouch down and open your arms so you can catch all three of them as they barrel into you on small, wobbly legs.

The second birth was much easier, the third only lasted an afternoon. Opal, three years old, is named after a gemstone that Sophie told you symbolizes hope and clarity; Noah, two and with unruly blonde hair like Aegon’s, shares a name with the man who started over when the world flooded and all the generations before were lost. You pick him up before he can trip over his own feet.

“Mama, come see!” Harmony shouts, grabbing your free hand and dragging you to a hutch full of fluffy, multicolored rabbits. Aegon is walking over to join you, his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his lips, long blonde hair and stubbled cheeks.

“Are these the new meat rabbits?” you say without thinking, and Aegon widens his eyes at you.

Harmony peers up with a worried frown. She’s getting too smart to be shielded from such harsh realities. “Why did you call them meat rabbits?”

Aegon swoops Harmony off the ground to distract her. “Because they’re so excited to meet you!” he says as she giggles and kicks through open air.

“What are their names?” you ask to change the subject.

“Arrax,” Opal says in her toddler lisp, pointing to a grey one. And then, indicating a rabbit with long, reddish-tan fur: “Morning.”

“Those are such nice names!” you gush, a bit perplexed. Children have a certain mystery to them, one foot still in the Great Beyond, wherever souls wait to be born and reunited.

“And this one is Sunfyre,” Harmony announces proudly, reaching through the wire to scratch its straw-colored coat.

“Sunfyre?!” Aegon says. “Well now you’re just making shit up.” A pause. “Stuff. You’re making stuff up.”

“And Sunfyre is married to Dreamfyre.”

“Cute,” Aegon says. “Incestuous, but cute.”

“The post-apocalypse dating pool is limited,” you remind him.

“Have you met the Texas people yet?” Sophie asks you as she wanders over to the hutch in a handknit yellow dress, wearing elephant earrings that Rio once mailed home to her from Djibouti.

“Yeah, some of them are working on the meeting house. They seem really nice. And apparently they know how to barbeque, so that’s exciting. New recipes!”

Sophie smirks. “When they dropped by to introduce themselves, I had to have the whole conversation again.”

“Well…you did name your kid Otter.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sophie says, chuckling, showing her palms. “I did not name him Otter.”

“You named him Bryan Otter Osorio. And you call him Otter.”

“Because he’s a little kid and it’s a perfectly fine nickname for now! And then when he’s older…you know…he can decide who he wants to be.”

You smile. “Sure.”

“I think it’s great, personally,” Aegon says. “I’m hoping I’ll get to name my next one Softshell Turtle.”

“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “And what if it’s a girl?”

“Softshell Turtle is obviously unisex.”

Sophie is laughing and shaking her head. “I hate you guys.”

Helaena and Cregan arrive to pick up their children, two sets of twins, all named after species of butterflies: Skipper, Adonis, Tiger, Sara. Rio’s parents bring them outside to the garden to be collected. They and Sophie like to keep the house full of children, especially now that Otter is getting older. And when they need meat or firewood or their roof patched, they know who to ask.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophie tells Helaena and Cregan as they wrangle their brood. “I’m mortified. Adonis ate Harmony’s oatmeal raisin cookie and made her cry, so Otter smacked him in the head with his golf club.” Aegon has carved miniature, lightweight clubs out of pine wood for each of the children; they zip around putting acorns and walnuts. “Adonis was freaked out but I think he’s fine now. I couldn’t find a bruise or anything. Again, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“You okay, buckaroo?” Cregan asks, and his oldest son—brunette man bun, already pestering his dad to take him hunting—nods adamantly.

“Duh. It didn’t even hurt.”

Cregan guffaws and turns back to Sophie. “See? No harm done.”

Otter trots out of the house, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up from a nap. Harmony immediately runs over to hug him. He’s already six inches taller than her and is always giving her gifts that end up on the fireplace mantle at your house: flecks of quartz, pinecones, bracelets woven from buttercups.

Sophie asks Otter: “Did you think about what you did earlier?”

“Yeah,” he replies cavalierly.

“Would you do it again?”

“Probably.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie exhales, exasperated.

You beam down at Otter. “He’s exactly like Rio.”

“Yeah,” Sophie says wistfully, combing her fingers through his dark curly hair. “He really is.”

Rhaena and Luke happen to be strolling by and stop to say hello. Luke teaches English classes at the schoolhouse, founded the Cultural Preservation Committee, and writes and directs a new play each month. When he is in the lull between original ideas, he draws from pre-zombie pop culture. The June production is Free Britney.

“Hi!” Rhaena says, waving. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” All the adults offer greetings and confirm they’ll swing by her and Luke’s cabin in a few hours. Then Rhaena shields her eyes from the sun as she sighs incredulously. “Do you realize there are ten women due in the next two weeks? I spend all day rushing around because they’re panicking about Braxton Hicks contractions. If I get one full night’s sleep between now and mid-July, it’ll be a miracle. Am I the only human alive who knows how to use the rhythm method? I explain it! I give lessons!”

You laugh and say: “I think people just really want babies, Rhaena.”

“They’re so sweet,” Helaena coos as she snuggles Sara against her chest.

“Gotta repopulate the planet,” Cregan adds.

Rhaena is disturbed. “I don’t feel ready for that.”

“Totally cool,” you assure her. “Helaena and I are keeping the average up.”

That night, logs pop and hiss in the fireplace and wind howls outside through the forest. On the walls are photographs of Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, drawings that the children have scribbled of you and Aegon. Propped in one corner of the living room is Aegon’s acoustic guitar; Harmony’s current favorite song for him to play is Big Girls Don’t Cry, though a slightly censored version of Fergalicious is a close second. Tomorrow is Aegon’s birthday. You have a cake hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets—cinnamon, honey, buttercream frosting—that you baked this morning before leaving for the construction site, along with 35 small homemade candles dyed green with chamomile. Every year he assumes you’ve forgotten, but you never do. You’re so thankful he was born. You are eternally finding new ways to convince him of this.

All five of you cuddle up in the big bed for story time. You begin as you always do, struggling to capture the kids’ attention as they crawl around giggling and rolling on top of each other: “Hey, hey, everyone look at me. You remember what we say.” Harmony knows this part my heart, Opal has the words mostly right, Noah gives it a solid effort as he mauls on a teddy bear Sophie knitted for him. “You’re beautiful. I love you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“What story should Mama tell tonight, huh?” Aegon asks as you open the book of fairytales borrowed from the makeshift community library, another one of Luke’s projects. “The Little Mermaid, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Beauty and the Beast…oh wait, I think I might be in that one…”

Harmony says to you: “Tell the story about how Aemond saved us from the tower.”

Children understand death here. People get infections, people succumb to cancer or heart attacks or strokes or diabetes, people go out on raids or patrols and never come back, one man contracted rabies from a bat bite and was—at his request—euthanized via gunshot. Harmony is aware she had a father before Aegon, but that he had to go to heaven early, and so Aegon is her father now and loves her completely. She knows Aemond’s face from the photographs Helaena took from the beach house on the Pacific Ocean. She knows the kind of person he was from the stories she’s been told. Harmony envisions a fantastical castle keep instead of a stark metal transmission tower draped in dead wires, and she’s a bit unclear on the chronology of when she entered the picture, but she has heard about the journey to Odessa. Aegon’s map, annotated with glittery green gel pen ink, hangs on the kitchen wall.

You close the book, looking at Harmony: your hair, Aemond’s eyes. “Okay. I can tell that one.”

“Mama…” Her little forehead crinkles, questions she is at last getting old enough to start asking. “Why do some people have to go to heaven before they’re old?”

You hesitate, trying to decide how to explain; and now embers are glowing hot and scarring in your throat. It’s a fire that cools and rekindles but never burns out. Aegon speaks instead. “Because they’re heroes, Mini Chips,” he says gently. “They go to heaven so other people get to stay here longer. Aemond went to heaven so you and your mom could live here in Odessa with me.”

“So Otter’s daddy was a hero too?”

Aegon leans down to kiss the top of her head, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Not just a hero, you think. A martyr. Someone who dies for a cause.

Harmony is patting your arm with her tiny outstretched hand. “The tower, Mama. Tell us about the tower.”

Now you are there again with Rio: sixty feet off the ground and clinging to metal beams hot enough to put blisters on your palms, cascading June sunlight and wild emerald fields, blood and madness behind you, the mirage of Oregon ahead, believing without reason that someone out there will save you.

And they will; they will.

[bts-princess7]

Revenge

KTH X Reader

Summary: When your friend starts acting better than you, you decide to get back at her by seducing her boyfriend.

Genre: Mostly smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: unprotected sex, dom!Tae x sub!reader, rough-ish, slight choking, comparison, oral (m & f), boob play, aftercare.

A/N: lmk if y’all want a part 2 and if u have any requests feel free to send them in!

“I’m on my way, are you home?” You spoke to your friend through your phone, making your way to her apartment. Except, you knew she wasn’t home. She had classes until 5pm and it was 3:30 now.

“I still have class for more than an hour,” she sighed into the phone. “But Taehyung is home today so he can let you in. I’ll let him know.” You smiled to yourself, but of course you knew that already.

“Alright, thanks!” You wished her good luck in her class and hung up, shoving your phone into your purse.

You purposely asked your friend to come over today because you knew she didn’t end classes until 5pm and her teacher always ran classes late, you also knew that on Wednesdays her boyfriend, Taehyung, was always home at noon.

Your friend had been a total bitch lately, inviting her boyfriend out on girls nights, acting like she’s better than you because of him and putting you down constantly. It wasn’t his fault of course, he was gorgeous and always apologized when she’d tricked him into going out with the girls.

Her attitude has been really getting on your nerves recently, and you knew exactly how to get her back. You had to get to her through her boyfriend, that was her most obvious weak point. If she ever knew her precious boyfriend was buried in some other girl it would ruin her, and it’s not like this is the first thing you’ve tried. She’d never reacted to you saying it to her face or making it obvious with body language, so this was a last resort that you weren’t opposed to.

You buzzed into the apartment and made your way to the top floor where your friend’s apartment was. You knocked on the door, shifting your bag slightly so that you could hike your skirt up a bit. It only took Taehyung a few seconds to open the door.

“Hey, y/n, come on in!” He moved to the side and flashed you a friendly smile.

“Hey Tae, sorry I’m so early.” You apologized, bowing your head slightly and moving past him.

“Oh don’t worry about it, you’re always a delight to have around.” He promised, following you as you sat down on the comfy leather couch. You took your bag off and set it on the coffee table, sending a puff of your perfume in his direction. “I- um..” he stuttered, thinking about what he was going to say. “I wanted to apologize about the other night, I have to stop going along with her.”

“It’s not your fault, Tae. It’s like she only calls these girls nights to invite you,” you raise and eyebrow at him, making him blush.

“What do you mean?” He asks, leaning closer subconsciously.

“We’ll all she does is talk about you,” you rolled your eyes. “Anytime I try to talk to her our conversation somehow always leads to her talking about you.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a curiosity that you couldn’t fully read. “I didn’t know she spoke about me that much, it must be tiring hearing about me all the time.” He chuckled, you smiled back at him.

“Oh it’s fine, I think it helped me get to know you better,” you shrugged. He nodded, letting out an awkward laugh. “Do you mind if I have something to drink?” You asked, batting your eyes.

“Oh, yea of course.” Taehyung got up and you followed him to the kitchen. You went over to the window and leaned a little so that you could see farther, knowing your skirt was riding up.

“Do you want-“ you heard him take a sharp inhale and you turned to look at him. “Ice.” He finished. His cheeks were rosy and he tried his best to keep his eyes on yours and away from your ass.

“Sure thing,” you smiled at him innocently, standing up straight again. He nodded, swallowing hard and turning back to the fridge. The veins in his arms on the surface of his skin as he pressed the button for the ice. “Thanks Tae,” you took the glass and brought it to your lips.

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “So uh.. what are you girls up to today?” He was referring to you and his girlfriend, you took a step closer to him, your hands brushing together on the counter. He left his hand there, not flinching away.

“She asked to hang out and I was only free today, we might go swimming.” You shrugged, you had your bathing suit on under your clothes, which weren’t very heavy to begin with. You wore a white dress shirt your dad gave you and a small flowy black skirt.

“Oh that sounds fun,” he said, barely paying attention when your fingers started playing with his own. Your fingers tangled with his, your hand fitting perfectly into his larger one. “Your hands are soft.”

“Yours are warm,” you replied, teeth coming out to bite your bottom lip. You pulled away and you heard him sigh, you finished your water and put it in the sink. You scratched your back, purposely pulling on the string of your bikini.

You gasped, reaching around with your opposite hand. “You okay?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brows.

“The back of my bikini came undone,” you pouted, starting to unbutton your shirt. “My roommate helped me tie the back, I can’t do it on my own.” His eyes widened when you pulled the front of the shirt open, your top barely covering your nipples, hanging loosely off your shoulders. “Can you help me?”

“Yea, sure.” He moved forward a little too quickly, he helped you get the shirt off your arms and he threw it on the counter behind him.

You took a step closer to him so one of his legs has between yours, his fingers gently brushed your back a few times while he was tying your top back on. His hands moved up to move your hair over your shoulder.

“Is that too tight?” He asked, running his fingers under the string.

“It’s perfect,” you turned back to face him. When you turned, you purposely stumbled over his foot and lost balance. He grabbed your hips and somehow ended up pinning you to the counter, you gripped onto his shoulders to stabalize yourself.

At that moment he lost it, the look in your eyes burning holes into his own. “You’re perfect,” he growled. Taehyung put his hands on the counter behind you, pressing his body against yours. “There’s no way you came here just to hang out with Aerra,” he licked his lips, smouldering eyes staring into your soul.

“You’re right, that’s not why I came here today.” Your eyes wandered down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. “Aerra’s just been talking about you so much that I have to see what all the hype was about,” you admitted. “And I figured that this might stamp down her huge ego.”

“Huh, so you came here, dressed all slutty just for me, is that right?” He tilted his head, smiling at you with a mischievous hint. “I bet you purposely loosened your top huh? Just so I would touch you,” he tsked.

You moved your hands down his torso, hooking your hands in the waistline of his jeans and holding his hips against yours. “That’s right,” you licked your lips, thumbs rubbing the skin that was dented in the shape of his v line. “What are you gonna do about it? Gonna tell you shadow?” You pouted, mocking the man who was practically on top of you.

“You’re so wrecked,” he smashed his lips to yours. You moved your lips passionately against your own, hands creeping around his neck and to the back of his head, keeping his face close to yours. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, his warm hands squeezing your bare skin.

Taehyung moved his hands down to your hips, moving back for a fraction of a segment. “Jump,” he instructed. You complied immediately, and he lifted you onto the counter.

You grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him back against yours, one of his hands came to rest on your thigh. One of his hands came up to grip your face, he pulled away from you and held your head at an upward angle.

“You smell so good,” he breathed, attaching his lips to your neck with a neediness you’d never experienced before.

“Uh Tae,” you moaned, his soft lips sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck. His lips wandered from under your jaw to your shoulder, leaving red blotches that would likely turn purple. “I wonder what else your mouth can do,” your breathing was shaky as he pulled back.

“Yea baby?” His hand moved farther up your thigh, thumb slipping between the fabric of your bikini and your core. His thumb rubbing against your clit expertly, making your body twitch and grab onto his arm.

“Oh my god Tae, please, please I need you.” You begged, looking up at the man in front of you.

“Come with me,” he helped you off the counter and rested his hand on your ass, leading you down the hallway and into his bedroom. “Strip for me,” he demanded, moving past you to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

You poked your lip with your nail, your hands travelled down your body, pulling at the hem of your skirt. As soon as it was loose on your hips you let it slide down to the floor, you pulled the string of your bikini and pulled it over your head. “Closer, baby,” he requested.

You complied, moving close enough Taehyung so that you stood between his legs. His hands ran up your thighs, going up to your waist and settling on your hips, he was eye level with your tits.

He brought one of his hands up and squished your breast between his fingers, cupping it in his hand and moving closer. His lips brushed against the plush skin of your breast, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

His tongue swirled around your nipple, feeling it stiffen in his mouth. His hand moved to your other breast, twirling your nipple between his fingers until it stiffened.

As soon as he popped his mouth off, you bent down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. Compliant, he raised his arms and let you pull his shirt over his head.

You crawled on top of him, pushing him down on the mattress and straddling his lap, you leaned forward, flattening your palms on his chest and bringing your lips back to his.

This kiss was softer than the one before, his lips were gentle on yours, making your stomach flutter. The kiss was so genuine that you forgot what you were trying to do in the first place.

You rolled your hips down on his, feeling the obvious tent in his pants. “You’d better not take your time,” he threatened. “Remember, you wanted this. Coming here, dressed like the little slut you are. So desperate, aren’t you?” He teased, diving back into your lips just to take one in between his teeth.

Taehyung grabbed your hips and flipped you over, kneeling over you, he looked into your eyes. His beautiful chocolate eyes were clouded with lust, lust curated just for you. “Just for you,” you whined. “Need you Tae, so bad.”

“Fuck, y/n,” he groaned. You bit your lip as he moved down the bed, watching as he unbuttoned his jeans and discarded them on the floor. Your mouth watered at the sight of the bulge in his boxers, he leaned back on the bed, pulling the strings on the side of your bottoms, throwing them over his shoulder.

Taehyung got on his knees in front of you, grabbing your hips and pulling your folds against your face with a roughness that made you clench around nothing.

“You like that baby? Like being manhandled by me, huh?” He teased, planting a chaste kiss to your folds, licking your taste off his lips. “Pretty pussys so wet for me, all mine.”

He licked a stipe up your core, making you shiver. “Oh fuck!” You moaned, hips bucking into his mouth in search for more. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. Uh please don’t stop!” You begged, reaching down to twist your fingers in his fluffy brown locks.

“Taste so good,” he groaned against your core. You opened your mouth to ask something, when he already had. “So much sweeter than Aerra,” his tongue dipped into your hole, causing you to clench around his tongue.

You felt him smirk against you, he forced his tongue in and out of you a few times before moving back up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. “Oh my god, I’m so close,” you whimpered, feeling weak against his tongue.

Clenching more and more often, you felt a foreign warmth build up in your stomach. No man had ever made you feel that way before, you never expected this from him, although you weren’t surprised he was as good as he was.

Just when you were about to reach your release, you felt him pull away from your core. You whined, but Taehyung stopped you with a finger to your lips, hushing you. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna give you something better,” he promised.

Taehyung moved back and pulled his boxers off, you crawled towards him, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes, this was a wonderful angle for him. “You want this cock, you needy slut?” He spat, taking his cock in his hand and slapping your cheek with his tip.

You nodded, opening your mouth for him. You stuck out your tongue, he rested the tip on your tongue, letting you suckle on the tip. You licked the pre cum from his tip, the bittersweet taste was addicting.

He pushed his hips forward, you took half of him before you couldn’t take anymore. You wrapped your hand around the part you couldn’t take in your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks around him, pulling a delicious moan from him. “Work that tongue, baby,” he groaned.

Taehyung wrapped his hand in your hair, pushing your head forward and making you gag on his cock. You worked your tongue along his slit, making him let out a lewd string of moans. “So good, so much better.” He held your head still and thrusted into your mouth. “That’s right, fucking cock slut.”

You moaned around his cock at the nickname, he pulled your hair down, forcing your head to look up at him. He looked into your doe eyes and felt as though he was in love, your beautiful eyes looking up at him so innocently while your mouth was filled with cock.

“Lay back,” he instructed, letting your hair fall loose as you leaned back and caught your breath. Taehyung climbed over top of you, gathering your slick and saliva and coating his cock, pumping it twice before lining the tip up with your hole. He pushed his tip in slowly, already earning a moan from you.

“So big,” you complained, wrapping your hands around his arms, which were on either side of your body.

“It’s only the tip, baby.” He cooed, fingers brushing with your own gently. “Be a good little slut and take it,” the softness in his voice disappearing almost completely.

You let out a whimper, he eased into you the rest of the way, you moaned lewdly as he bottomed out. “Holy fuck, you’re so big,” you moaned, feeling him stretch you open.

“And you’re so tight,” he groaned, pulling his hips back and thrusting back in harshly. “Such a pretty pussy, so tight, squeezes me so well, what a shame she doesn’t get taken care of.”

Dropping down to his forearms, your hands slid up to his biceps, which were clenched deliciously as he thrusted into you. “I bet she doesn’t make you feel this way,” you taunted, squeezing his biceps. “Bet her pussy doesn’t pull you in as good as mine,” you whined, staring up at him with a look of pure need.

“Fuck, you’re so innocent.” Taehyung groaned, speeding up the pace of his hips. His pelvis hit the back of your thighs and you were sure they were going to be red by the time he was done with you.

He pulled out, easily flipping you onto your stomach. “Get on your knees,” he harped, you propped yourself up on your knees. Taehyung’s hand came down and layed a smack on your ass, you let out a moan as his hand soothed the red handprint he left on your skin. “You’re kinkier than I thought, you like getting slapped huh? Want me to make sure you’re mine? Is that it?”

“Yes, yes!” You cried, feeling him push back into your core. “Dominate me, make me yours!”

A string of whimpers left your mouth as he picked up the pace, the bed rocked beneath you, but you didn’t care. Anyone working wouldn’t be home and even if they were, you didn’t care. All you wanted was him, you needed him. “You feel so good on my cock, baby. Wish I could have you on me all the time, wanna have that pussy whenever I want.”

The thought of him using you made you clench around him, making him let out a moan you were sure you wouldn’t forget. “Tae, Tae please let me.. uh please let me ride you!” You begged, looking back at him. He pulled his lip into a smirk, pulling out and sitting down on the bed. He leaned against the pillows and watched you crawl to him, he bit his lip when you straddled his lap, rubbing your lips against his length.

“Put it in, you slut. Ride me like you want it,” he instructed. You grabbed the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. You sunk down on his cock, you moaned, he watched as his cock disappeared inside you.

Taehyung’s hands ran up your thighs, massaging them as you lifted yourself up and dropped back down on his cock. You leaned into him, arching yourself against his chest and holding onto his shoulders. “Ride that cock, baby. How does it feel inside you?”

“Good, uh it’s so good!” You moaned, your legs shaking as you picked up your pace. His hand slipped between your bodies and found your clit, he rubbed circles around it was you bounced up and down. Your movements became sloppier, legs shaking the closer you got to your orgasm.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, holding you up and fucking into your hole with rough thrusts. He rolled you onto your back, wrapping his hand around your neck to pin you to the mattress. His hands squeezed the side of your neck, restricting your airflow enough that you could breathe, but just barely.

“So close, baby. So close to filling you up,” he moaned, the thought making you clench. “Look at that, look at my cock in your stomach.” You looked down, his cock creating a bulge in your stomach every time he bottomed out.

“Oh my god, Tae. Fuck, fuck I’m gonna cum!!” You cried, digging your nails into his arms, sure you left a mark.

“That’s right, you cum on my cock.” He told you, twirling his fingers around your clit, your thighs squeezed around his hips, trying to close from the pleasure.

With a tight squeeze of your walls around him, you came, moaning his name as your arousal dropped out of you. “Tae, so sensitive, fuck, Taehyung!”

You were losing your mind as his hips rutted into yours as hard as he could, chasing his own release. “Gonna cum in your pussy, gonna fill you up so much your walls are gonna be painted white.”

“Tae please, please fill me up.” You begged him, feeling so overstimulated you could barely register what was happening.

“Yes, yes, gonna cum!” He groaned, stilling his hips deep in your core and finally letting go. He moaned your name, spilling his seed in you. “Oh god you feel so fucking good, where have you been?” He took a deep breath and pulled out, laying down beside you.

Taehyung pulled you against his chest, you wrapped your legs around his, taking in a deep breath of his delicious cinnamon scent. “So, am I better?” You asked him, running your finger under his jaw.

“Fuck yes, best pussy I’ve ever had.” He pressed his lips to yours, kissing you with a softness you weren’t expecting.

The two of you lay together for a minute or two, before he sat up and stretched. “What are you doing?” You asked, grabbing his shoulders and using them to pull yourself up, your legs burning. “Whoof,” you rubbed your legs, trying to ease the pain.

“I figured that we should get cleaned up before Aerra gets home,” he gave you a smirk. “You might have actually convinced me to make a few decisions,” he stood up, scooping under your legs and waist to lift you into his arms.

His cum dropped out of you slightly, landing on his leg as he walked to the bathroom. Your arms were around his neck, snuggling close to his nape as he held you in his strong arms.

“You’re her whole personality, I’d love to see how she’d survive without you.” You joked, he chuckled and set you down on the counter.

Both of you got cleaned and back into your clothes just in time for Aerra to come through the door. She smiled and takes to you both, blissfully unaware.

At least for now.

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Ten - In the cold light of day, many things are bound to change.

Ch 11

The drinks had addled his mind, but not as much as the scent of you, the feel of you, the taste of you has. He wishes to taste you again, and again, to hear you scream his name, to feel your teeth bite down on him, marking him as your own.

You drew blood, his ferocious lioness, broke the skin of his arm, marked him well. He hopes it stays, if not he will have to bring you to climax again and again until it does.

Jon curls his arm around you, basking in the warmth of your skin, in the way you draw nonsensical shapes on his chest. Your hands are so soft, your nails perfect, there has never been dirt or blood under them, and no callouses cover your palms. Those very palms which he brings to his lips, kissing them reverently. The sun shines down on you, the call of the morning birds floating in through your open window.

“Now, will you tell me who got you drunk?” You ask, smiling at him with the radiance of the sun.

“Both had a hand in it, though I must admit the presence of Joffrey did not help matters.”

You sit up, the smile slipping from your face, a storm cloud pulled over the sun. “You must leave, now, now Jon, back to your post.” You slide from the bed and gather his tunic and your stockings, throwing the flimsy fabric under the bed and his tunic to him, then you rummage around for a night shift, quickly slipping behind a folding screen and changing.

He pulls his tunic on, just in time for the knock at the door, your aunt’s voice calling through the door.

“Dear y/n, are you awake?” Her voice is sickly sweet, and it makes his head ache.

You grab a robe and wrap it around your night shift, throwing yourself into a chair by the long dead fire, pretending you had been reading.

Jon opens the door, giving the Dowager Queen a bow, ignoring the way the world spins as he lifts his head once more.

“Aunt Cersei, is there something I can help you with?” You ask, looking up at her with an undeniable air of innocence.

She scans the room, her eyes narrowing at Jon. “Leave us.”

Jon bristles, but at your nod leaves, taking his post up at the door, looking around before pressing his ear to the crack in the wood.

“Is it not odd that he spends so much time in your chambers?” He hears your aunt ask.

“I do not think so, Uncle Jamie spends much time with you in your chambers, and that is not odd.” You say, your voice light, your tone cheery.

“We are siblings y/n, of course it is not.” Cersei’s words have ice threaded within, and Jon bites back a laugh. You always know just what card to play.

“People will talk y/n, you must stamp out this childish affection you have for him, it will scare away potential suitors.” She scolds, her heels clicking as she moves about the room.

“If it scares them away then they are clearly easily frightened, I do not wish to marry a coward.”

“Do not confuse jealousy with cowardice, sweet girl.”

“I am not.”

“Do not think me a fool, I know it is enjoyable to take a guard to bed, but you are unmarried still, you cannot take such risks.”

He lurches away from your door, leaning against the wall, his head spinning. When was the last time he had drank so much? Surely it has been years, and the occasional glass of wine he has with you was clearly not enough to keep up his tolerance.

It is hot in the hall, his skin feels feverish, and he pushes up the sleeves of his tunic, before realizing how it exposes the bite mark on his arm. He strokes his fingertips over the skin, smiling to himself. Then the guilt comes, barreling towards him like a battering ram. What has he done? Stripped you nearly bare, feasted upon you, and marked you like a savage. What was he thinking? Shame comes next, overtaking the heat lingering from the alcohol, coloring his skin, and worsening the pounding in his head.

He needs to apologize. As soon as Cersei has left your chambers, he will do so. Will ask that you forgive him, that you pretend it had never happened, he was so close, too close, dangerously close to taking more than a simple taste. If you had asked him to bed you? He does not think his strength of will would have held. Perhaps if he was sober. But then he never would have done as he had without the courage gifted to him by an overindulgence of spirits.

He stands behind you as all gathered watch Margaery and Joffrey join hands, smiling and laughing at the players. You pick at your food, your hair curled gracefully, your wrists, fingers, neck, and ears adorned with jewels, a show of wealth, of power by your father.

“Do try to eat, My Lady, or you will not have the stamina for dancing.” He urges softly. It is not dancing he fears you will not have the stamina for, but placating Joffrey. It is his wedding; all must bow and grovel before him.

You do as he asks, averting your eyes when the dancers make a mockery of your father, of his injury during the Battle of Blackwater.

Margaery’s laughter rings high and clear at something Joffrey says, and a dislike for the woman grows in his chest. He knows she is playing a part, but could she play it in a way that does not worsen your pain?

Gifts are brought out, swords, books, gold, jewelry, spices, all tossed aside by Joffrey who demands more and more. It is not until the gifts have run out, and the music begins again, does Joffrey call for you.

You approach the head table, curtsying and congratulating him on his wedding.

“Cousin, I noticed I did not receive a gift from you.” Joffrey says, toying with a wine glass in his hand.

You put on a secretive smile, your mask slipping into place. “Ah, yes well, I gave it to your Lady Wife directly, it is for after the wedding.”

He laughs, beckoning you further forward, his arms outstretched. “A loyal subject you are cousin, your generosity is noted.”

You return his embrace easily, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Your happiness is my own, My King.”

“I shall have to return your generosity. I know my mother spoke to you about lining up some new suitors for you, after the wedding celebrations have finished, I will send out a notice to all our bannermen.”

You blink in surprise but keep a radiant smile on your face. “I thank you, but please do not rush your festivities for me.”

Jon can see the ease in your form when Margaery embraces you as well, holding you a moment longer than needed before pulling back with a bright smile. “You honor us, dear cousin.”

“I hope she strangles him with my gift.” You grumble, once you are far enough away from the head table, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in your gown.

“Her arms are far too small, perhaps her brother will do it for her.” Jon jests, pride swelling in his chest at your small smile.

He watches as you dance, catching your eye mid-twirl, your fingertips barely brushing against your partner’s. You look so beautiful, and he is impatient, bouncing slightly on his heels, knowing that he has claimed your next dance. The song ends and Jon wastes no time, nodding at your previous partner and taking your hand in his, falling in step with you as the music swells, a new song beginning.

“You did not tell me your aunt spoke of new suitors.” He says, his fingers splayed on your midback, hidden among the throng of dancers no one will see.

“I did not because it will not come about, she will forget, or my father will dissuade her.” You say, leaving his arms for a moment to spin out, your skirts flaring around your ankles like waves, the fabric a muted red, the embroidery golden, but duller. It is more bronze, catching the sunlight in a way that reminds him of Grey Wind’s eyes.

You spin back into him, and his hands ghost over your hips before returning to their proper place. “Let us pray he succeeds.”

You smile, a true smile, he knows you love dancing, that it lightens your heart. “If he does not, then will many houses lose their sons? Your blade will taste blood once more?”

He cannot help but smile back, leaning into your game as he lifts you in time with the others. Your weight is nothing, a mere feather to him, and for a moment you look like a goddess suspended in the air. “Yes, I suspect you will find me far more bloodthirsty than before if I must stand by and watch little lordlings fall all over themselves to impress you.”

You giggle, and brush your fingers over his forearm, where the imprint of your teeth still remains, much to his delight. “I think I am perfectly capable of enduring a bout of blood thirst from you.”

He goes to retort, to teasingly call you a little minx, his personal temptress, his beloved and beautiful tormentor, when a giant pie is wheeled out before Joffrey and Margaery.

You stop, along with most of the other dancers, to watch as Joffrey cuts into the pie, doves scatter into the air and servants whisk plates of pie around. A plate is set before your place at the table, from the spot Joffrey had cut into, and you pick it up, but decline another other on Jon’s behalf.

“Perhaps I wished for a slice of pie, My Lady?” He teases, his voice low, mindful of those around you.

“You will not like it; the latticing is flavored with almond oil.” You take a bite, then wrinkle your nose.  “Gods, that is awful, and I like almonds.”

His heart lurches in his chest. You remember he does not like almonds. He had said it only once, during his first year in your service, and yet you remembered.

“Now you see why I avoid them.”

You put your plate down and took a sip of your wine to wash out the taste.

Then Margaery screams, the sound shattering the merry ambiance, startling the wine glass from your hand. Joffrey is choking, his face turning red then purple, his hands at his throat as Margaery screams again. Jon faintly hears Lady Olenna Tyrell’s call for aid, then Joffrey falls, crashes into the table, his face and fine doublet covered in pie. The kingsguard rush forward, the maester as well, lifting the boy-king as Cersei’s eyes sweep around the room. Accusations are flying around the room until finally someone is able to escort the Dowager Queen away.

You sit frozen, your eyes locked on Joffrey, your gown splattered with wine. A flash of gold, Tommen, Jon notes, darts past, unnoticed by you.

“Ser Jon, escort my daughter back to her chambers.” Tyrion orders, his hand on Ser Jamie’s forearm, the far taller man leaning on his brother and the table for support.

Ser Loras has gathered Margaery up in his arms, guiding his sister away from her deceased husband. The guests, still frightened and confused, arguing amongst themselves as the kingsguard try and fail to calm them.

“Tommen, where is Tommen?” Ser Jamie asks, his eyes wide, wild with fright as he vaults over the table.

That startles you into action, and you follow him, screaming your cousin’s name.

Jon moves to follow as well, but Tyrion’s hand on his calf stops him. “Jamie will protect her, if need be, the wheel has already begun to turn.”

His heart is in his throat, hands clenching and unclenching, his eyes constantly moving, scanning the Great Hall.

Finally, you reappear, Ser Jamie at your side, Tommen in his arms, the boy’s face red and wet with tears. You coo over him, his smaller hand in yours as you walk back to the side table, keeping Joffrey’s body out of Tommen’s sight.

Tommen is eight namedays old, but he looks younger held in his father’s arms.

“We should retire to the Queen’s solar; our family must stand together if we are to survive this tragedy.” Ser Jamie says grimly, his jaw set, his eyes a dark shade of emerald like yours are filled to the brim with unspoken emotion.

“Well said, Brother, the pride must stand together.” Tyrion says, giving Tommen a small smile.

Jon falls behind you and your family, hand on the pommel of his sword. Was this part of the plan? He cannot imagine Lord Tyrion would poison his own nephew, no matter how horrid the boy-king was.

The Dowager Queen’s wailing could be heard through the door, and Ser Jamie passes Tommen off to you, the boy now on his feet sniffling, and holding onto your skirts.

“Allow me a moment.” Ser Jamie says softly, easing the door open and slipping inside.

You smooth down Tommen’s hair. “It is alright.”

Tommen nods solemnly, far too solemnly for a child so young. “Now it is.”

You bite your lip and look up towards the ceiling, tears collecting on your lashes.

Jon longs to reach out, to comfort you, but he cannot, not here, not now.

The door to the Dowager Queen’s solar cracks open, and one by one the Lannisters head inside. Jon moves to join you, but Ser Jamie stops him, taking a step further into the hall and closing the door behind him.

“Jon, if I might speak frankly with you?” Ser Jamie looks down at his boots, his eyes red.

“Aye.” A pit forms in his stomach.

“I am sorry.”

“For what, Ser Jamie?”

The eldest Lannister purses his lips, a habit of yours as well, one Jon has never known where it came from, but now he does. “I have not done right by you; I have encouraged you to make the wrong choices.”

If a woman is your heart’s desire, then it matters not if she is married, if you are, if you have vows or codes preventing you. A man must always seize his heart’s desire lest he dies never having known, never having even tried.

Ser Jamie’s words to him those many nights ago as they shared drinks and stories had emboldened him, given him the strength to go to your chambers and act.

“Honor, duty, it will keep your head attached to your neck, and it will keep your heart in your chest where it belongs.” He places his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I like you Jon, you are a good man, an even better swordsman, but she is my niece…”

“I would never dishonor her.” Jon says, and it is true, he would not, he had slipped, overly indulged himself, but soon Tyrion would announce your betrothal, and his actions would not seem dishonorable, not even in his memories.

Ser Jamie’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and he looks Jon in the eyes, a desperation in them. “I know you will try not to, but y/n is a Lannister, she is more my sister her aunt, than her mother. They are persuasive, stubborn, and beautiful, many men have fallen at their feet, many more will. Ensure you are not one of them, not again.”

“You know?” Jon asks, before he can stop the foolish words from escaping.

“I all but sent you to her that night, I wanted…” He looks away, and Jon is struck by the shame, the agony he sees in the older man’s expression. “I wanted her to know what it is like to be loved. My sister will marry her off to a wealthy house, it is what she thinks best for y/n and there can be no promise of love in her marital bed, but with you? I can see you love her Jon, and I fear she returns your affections, so I hoped that perhaps one night would be enough to sustain her in her years to come. I did not think of the consequences.”

“I did not take her maidenhood.”

Shock ripples across Ser Jamie’s face.

“I will not chance leaving her with a bastard, I will not tarnish her name.”

Ser Jamie’s head drops, a sigh of relief audibly flowing through him. “You are a good man, Jon Snow. Better than I.”

“My Lady speaks of you fondly; she does not think you a bad man.” Jon says, and it is true, you adore your uncle, even if what he has done with your aunt disgusts you.

Ser Jamie smiles sadly and squeezes Jon’s shoulder before he lets go. “My sweet niece, beautiful and perfect, everything like her mother in looks, but in her ability to forgive me? That is all, Tyrion, I do not deserve the grace they give me.”

“Then it rests upon your shoulder to act in a way that makes you deserving of it, does it not?”

Ser Jamie laughs, the sound hollow, stained with grief, worn down by time. “I suppose it does.”

Jon inclines his head towards the door. “Shall we?”

“I must ask you to wait out here, this is a family matter.” Ser Jamie says, his voice soft, almost apologetic.

“I understand.”

 “Worry not, I am sure y/n will bite my head off for separating the two of you.” Ser Jamie then gives him a smile and pulls open the door, disappearing inside.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo

[munsonsmixtapes]

Eddie Munson Masterlist Two

Eddie x inexperienced!fem!reader

Buzzing With Excitement (18+)

Take Care of Me (18+)

It's So Easy to Bite With Your Hands Pinned (18+)

request: Eddie shows you what rough sex is like after you break up with Steve (18+)

Requests

request: Eddie helps you relieve your boredom at work (18+)

request: You and Eddie realize that you're the right person but at the wrong time for each other

request: Eddie tries to scare you with a Ghost Face mask only to find that you’re actually attracted to him with the mask on (18+)

request: You and Eddie have a very big fight and just when you think he's gone for good, he comes back to ask you a very important question

Professor Munson gives you a special tutoring session (18+)

Eddie gets with your ex best friend Chrissy and just so happens to overhear you call her out and he reveals that you were the one he liked all along

Eddie is head over heels for nerdy!you

There's a miscommunication between you and professor!eddie when you see him flirting with Chrissy Cunningham, another student

You take a very inexperienced Eddie ice skating

You'll Fit Right In

You carry around a stuffed animal from your childhood and Eddie assures you that he doesn't care

Eddie recalls your night together as he tells the others that he "doesn't know what those stains are" on his mattress even though he very much does (18+)

You and Eddie miss your holiday photo shoot because he just can't keep his hands to himself (18+)

You and Eddie buy a Christmas tree for your first apartment together

You give clumsy!Eddie your phone number

Eddie helps you with your nightly routine that helps you fall asleep

A day in bed with Eddie the morning after the two of you hooked up

You and Eddie are convinced that you hate each other until you realize that it's just the opposite

Swiftie!you has Eddie listen to All Too Well (10 Minute Version)

You buy Eddie a ring and aren't sure whether or not he likes it until you notice that he never takes it off

You and Eddie fake date to get Chrissy's attention until you realize that it's not fake anymore

You decide to surprise Eddie by wearing a bow and he wants to show you just how appreciative his of his gift

You're Eddie's daughter's babysitter and the two of you slowly fall for each other

After someone reveals that you have a crush on Eddie, he tells you that he feels the exact same way

Billy Doesn't Know Series

part one (18+)

part two (18+)

Halloween

As You Wish

Is Somebody Gonna Match My Freak? (18+)

I'll Be There For You

request: you and Eddie carve pumpkins that look like each other

Headcanons

How dad!eddie would behave on your daughter's first Halloween

Eddie SFW alphabet

Eddie NSFW alphabet (18+)

Modern!Eddie x swiftie!reader

[sepheroth]

She's wearing tight clothes that show off her curves which hopefully manage to make Sephiroth get in the mood. She sways a lot with her hips while walking towards her husband and places a hand on his cheek. "The kids are at school and you have a day off... perfect for some fun time for us"

Hardly any effort was needed but it was not as though he'd not valued it. Already he'd seem to be in a particular mood...Of some sorts, although he wasn't sure why he was careful with how his mind proceeded him. Strange, even in moments such as this he found difficulty in cutting the binds of reigns of control. His eyes dared to not stray far from the details of her body, the way that her hips swayed, the way that her clothes showed off her hips. A pulse. A twitch. A tingle. Shortly after the occurrence played out his eyes fell unto her while he watched her. His hand reached to place itself on top of hers. "....You don't have to tell me twice." His brain dismissed everything else as he his hand smacked her rear. It was always oh, so fun to witness the jiggle. He laughed inwardly to himself.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Loving Memory: A Retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon

The woman striding across the ballroom floor takes my breath away. She is perfection in human form--regal and statuesque, with hair like a raven's wing, skin like a fresh fall of snow, and ice-blue eyes that can captivate a man's heart.

And the gown! It makes her beauty seem almost divine. It shimmers and swirls like rivers of gold, making the icy-white marble of the floor and walls glow with the light of the sun that has not shone here for a month of days. I nearly fall to my knees, but I am a prince--soon to be a king--so I merely bow over her hand, lead her into the dance, and thank heaven for our impending marriage. Jorunn knows I do not love her, but at moments like these, I have no doubt that I shall.

We whirl through the dancers, the lords and ladies assembled for our upcoming wedding, all of them flawless in form, wearing suits and gowns of impossible beauty--a rainbow of velvets and silks, gold and jewels. My betrothed outshines them all. I feel clumsy and common in comparison, and marvel yet again that I am deemed worthy to join--and soon rule--this court.

When the dance ends, I bring Jorunn to the refreshment table, where we take glasses of sweet blue punch.

"You should drink your tonic, darling," Jorunn says, removing a small silver flask from a pocket in her skirt.

"Must I?" I ask, glancing to the watching crowd. I usually take the tonic before bed, in private. I don't relish my future subjects knowing that their king is an invalid.

"You must have your strength tonight," she says, pouring what looks like a double dose into my punch. The icy blue liquid turns a murky amber.

I down the drink in one gulp, cringing as the bitter aroma fills my head. I swear I can feel it coursing through my limbs. They feel heavier than they had a moment before. My head feels murkier.

It passes in a moment, and once again I'm overjoyed to be here, with her, in this impossibly beautiful realm.

I kiss Jorunn's cheek and thank her for her watchfulness. I feel as if I could dance all night.

The music starts up--an enticing melody of flutes and strings--but just as I pull Jorunn into the dance, a commotion starts at the other edge of the crowd. The music stops, and the crowd parts to reveal...something...crossing the floor. Some kind of animal has entered the ballroom--smaller than a bear, larger than a dog, with patches of fur in every shade of white and black and brown.

As it comes nearer, I see that it walks upright on two legs--two human legs, with two small, white human hands poking out from the folds of the fur.

"What is it?" I ask Jorunn. "Who let it into the ballroom?"

"I did," Jorunn says. "She is my invited guest."

I bow my head in embarrassment. "I'm...certain she's quite charming."

Jorunn pushes my shoulder, gently urging me toward the girl. "Dance with her, Eirik."

"I?" I yelp. How could a prince--a future king--demean himself by dancing with such a creature before all his subjects. "Why?"

Jorunn tilts her head toward me and murmurs, "Because I keep my promises. This girl is the one who gifted me this dress, and in return all she asked was a dance with you."

"A strange boon to demand from a woman about to be married," I say. Stranger still that Jorunn granted it.

"We aren't wed yet," Jorunn says playfully. "I can't keep you all to myself, no matter how much I may wish to." She urges me toward the girl. "Go on, my love. It's not too much to ask."

Despite myself, I feel a pang of pity for the creature. She gave away a dress fit for a queen and had to appear in this ballroom in a bundle of furs. Such unselfishness merits a few minutes of kindness. "For your sake, my dear," I say, bowing over Jorunn's hand. "And for hers. I assure you I'll take no joy in it."

Jorunn smiles. "I've no worries on that account."

#

Fighting a feeling of revulsion, I approach the girl, bow, and offer my hand. "Might I have this dance?"

The girl--she barely reaches my shoulder--looks up at me. A white face appears from within the furry hood--a pointed chin, high cheekbones, a determined mouth, and defiant green eyes.

The woman faintly smiles, and my heart stops. In this palace of perfection, she seems so real. Not ice and gold and glamour, but sun and earth and, oh, a million ordinary, beautiful things I haven't thought about since I came to this place.

"Who are you?" I gasp, the words slipping out before I can think.

Her eyes go wide--confused and dismayed. She throws back her hood, revealing yellow hair. Not golden or raven or mahogany or any of the awe-inspiring shades that make the people of this realm so beautiful. Just yellow. But it is braided into a crown about her head that suits her better than any jewels.

Those green eyes meet mine. "You know me," she says.

I stare into those eyes, which seem to hold something I haven't known I've lost. If I know this girl, I can't remember her. My past before this palace is a murky haze--standing in such brightness makes everything else seem dim.

I shake away the threads of memory before I go mad from trying to grasp them. "Forgive me," I say, "but if we've met, I can't recall."

I signal to the musicians to start the music, and I sweep the fur-clad maiden into a waltz. She is silent as we dance, gazing up at my face as if trying to memorize me.

I say, trying to be kind, "That's a wondrous cloak you wear. I've never seen its like."

It's not a lie. It seems to be made of the skin of every beast there ever was. I see white fur, black fur, brown fur, some solid, some speckled, some striped, all stitched together in a haphazard pattern, as though someone was desperate to make use of every scrap.

The woman looks down. "It is all I had left to me, after..."

I kindly wait for her to speak.

"I've had a great loss," she finally says. "I have searched ever since to find you."

"If there is anything I can do for you," I say, "you need only ask. You have done a great service for my bride."

The girl stumbles.

I catch her and help her upright. "I am sorry. Did I trip you?"

"No," she gasps, grasping her side. As we slide into the dance again, she looks up into my face. "Do you truly not know me?"

"I wish I could say otherwise," I say, and I mean it with all my heart. There is something about this girl that makes the world seem larger than I realized. "Perhaps if you told me your name?"

She shakes her head. "I can't. Even if I could, what good would my name do if you've already forgotten my face?" She bows her head with a strangled noise, and I see tears streaming from her eyes. "I spent so many months imagining this moment. I hoped you'd be overjoyed to see me. I was afraid you'd hate me. But I never imagined...this. That I meant so little to you that you've already forgotten me."

"There is much I have forgotten," I say, before I can remember that none are supposed to know of my affliction. "This place, it...dazzles the mind. There are many things I wish I could recall about the world beyond this realm. If I knew you there, I am certain you were well worth remembering, and it pains me to say that I do not. But whatever we had before, I am glad to know you now."

She wipes her face against the fur on her sleeve. When she looks up at me, her eyes hold something like hope. "Do you think--"

The music slows to a stop, and before we can finish the step, Jorunn steps between me and the girl. She places one hand on the girl's chest and pushes her away. "You've had your dance," she says. "Now trouble us no more."

The girl steps away, but she takes a hesitant glance back at me.

I smile gently. "Thank you for the dance. I will remember your face next time."

Those words put a determination into her gaze that seems instantly to dry her tears. "I will see you again," she says and disappears into the crowd.

For the rest of the night, I dance with the queen of the realm at the top of the world, a peerless beauty with the radiance of the sun who lays a kingdom at my feet. But my thoughts are on a girl with green eyes, wearing a coat made of all kinds of fur.

#

At the next night's ball, Jorunn wears a sleek gown that gleams with the silver radiance of the moon. It makes her seem ethereal, a woman of wondrous mystery. But she is not the mystery I find myself pondering.

"You seem distracted tonight, Eirik," she says. "Have you taken your tonic?"

Upon my denial, she pours a dose into my punch glass. After one swallow, my racing thoughts begin to slow. What does that strange girl matter? I can be happy here, with this incomparable queen at my side.

A commotion begins on the other side of the ballroom, and the many-furred girl appears among the crowd. I take a hasty swallow of the tonic, but set down the punch glass while it's still half-full.

I look to Jorunn, whose eyes are narrowed toward the girl. "Another dance in exchange for tonight's dress?" I ask.

"Two," Jorunn says. "She drives a hard bargain."

I squeeze her hand. I know my duty with this marriage. She has no need to be jealous. "I will do what I must," I say. "We must keep our promises."

I smile as I approach the girl. She smiles in response, and it makes her more radiant than Jorunn's dress. Again, I am struck by how real she is, practical and solid in a world of wisps and dreams.

"You returned," I say, as I whisk her into a waltz.

"I said I would," she replies.

"I'm glad to know you keep your promises."

She winces, and tears spring to her eyes.

"Forgive me," I say. "I don't wish to cause pain."

"No," she says, shaking her head and wiping her tears into a furred sleeve. "It is no more than I deserve."

"You have broken promises?" It seems cruel to ask, but I think she might welcome the question. It could shed some light on the past that she wants me to remember.

"Only one," she says. "But it destroyed everything."

I remember what she said about her cloak last night. It was all that was left to me. I have suffered a great loss.

"We all break promises sometimes," I say, trying to soothe her.

"Not like mine," she insists. "I did the one thing I was asked not to do. I betrayed the man I loved, and now he is lost to me."

"And he is why you have sought me out? You think I can convince him to forgive you?"

She looks into my face for a long, long moment, step after step, turn after turn. "I don't think," she says at last, "that he knows there is anything to forgive. And that's the worst thing of all."

How can this man be lost to her if he doesn't know she betrayed him? Has she run from her failure, rather than face disgrace?

I know well the temptation to hide from dishonor. Don't I hide my own affliction? This girl has no kingdom to run, but she still has pride to protect.

"Tell him," I say.

Tears flow freely down her cheeks. "I can't."

"I can help you."

"You can't!" she says, dropping my hand. She buries her face in her sleeve. "I don't know why I came."

I place a hand on her shoulder, and fight the strangest urge to turn it into an embrace. "Forgive me," I say. "You come to me for help, and I only cause you pain."

She wipes her face and swallows down a sob. "It's not your fault," she says. "Here I am, wasting our dance by crying."

The song fades to a close. "I still owe you another." I find myself panicked at the thought she won't take it.

"You do," she says, with a wet little laugh. My heart leaps at the sound of it. "Will you give me a chance to compose myself?"

"Take all the time you need," I say, leading her to a seat by a towering window that looks out upon the vast snow plains and a gorgeous spectacle of northern lights. She sits in the soft wing-backed chair and looks out the window, while I stand behind her leaning over the headrest. Despite knowing Jorunn for months, I have yet to have a moment with her that feels this...comfortable.

In the blue-black night, ribbons of violet, blue and green dance and flicker across the sky. The girl snuggles into her robe and gazes upon them with wonder.

"Have you ever seen such lights?" I ask. No matter how many times I see them, they never lose their appeal.

"Many times," she says. "Perhaps not quite this beautiful. Though they are lovely when seen from outside." She lays her head contentedly on her arm rest, using her furs as a pillow.

Her phrasing surprises me. "Do you often travel at night?"

"Night after night after night," she says. "Day after day after day. I never stopped. I climbed mountains, crossed rivers, rode the backs of all four winds."

"To find me," I say. "To find the man you love."

She startled and sits up, looking me straight in the eye. "Yes," she breathes, quivering with excitement.

"I wish I knew how to help you," I say. "You must love him very much."

Her shoulders sink. She sighs. "More than you may ever know."

"I only pray my wife and I can know such love."

She examines me closely. "You mean the princess. Do you mean to say you don't love her?"

It seems improper to speak of such things, and yet I find myself able to tell this girl things I couldn't tell anyone else. Why should I speak less than the truth? "Ours is a political match," I say. "I find her beautiful. I respect her strength. I appreciate her care for me. Love can come with time."

"What would she need to do to make you love her? What would you want in a wife?"

Someone who can come into a ballroom clad in furs and not feel shame. Someone who knows how to laugh and cry. Someone who loves to watch the northern lights. Someone who travels night and day to apologize to a man she betrayed.

In the end, I choose the diplomatic answer. "I don't know that I can ask for more than what I already have."

#

The girl is quieter during our second dance, carefully content. Her tears are stored away and she will not risk letting them out again.

Now that I'm not distracted by the mystery of her identity, or my lack of memory, or her sorrow over her lost love, I am able to focus on the dance itself, and I find that she is a marvelous dancer. Not so supernaturally graceful as Jorunn, but surprisingly easy to dance with, especially considering that she is wrapped in furs. The woman follows at my every touch, stepping smoothly through turns, patiently waiting if I stumble. I don't stumble often. My limbs feel lighter tonight, my head clearer--strange, given that I've had only half a dose of tonic.

"How did you come to have such wondrous dresses," I ask, "when you have only furs to wear yourself?" The question that had been easy to dismiss last night now seems impossible to ignore.

"You meet lots of strange people when you travel the world," she says with a smile. "They were gifts from some of the most marvelous old women I've ever met. Of course, I've had no occasion to wear them."

"A royal ball is not reason enough?"

"Not if I can't get inside. I'd rather have the dance than the dress."

A dance with me, worth more than a gown of celestial wonders? All for the chance I could help her reconcile with her lost love?

"I am sorry to have been such a disappointment."

"You're not that," she insists. "It's been wonderful just to see you."

"Worth a trip around the world and two wondrous dresses?"

"Not quite," she admits with a smile. "But enough for now. There's still time."

The music slows and falls silent. I bow her out of the dance. "Not for us, I'm afraid. I can give you no more dances."

"Tomorrow, then," she says, smiling over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd.

Something about her glance--the twist of her hair, the angle of her head--sparks what might be a memory in my mind. Those green eyes flashing. That mouth open in a laugh. White flakes flashing around her as she runs through the snow, while I follow her--strangely--on all fours.

I cannot explain the memory or remember her name. But I do know, whatever her name is, or whatever she was to me, that somewhere in the past, in some way, I have loved her.

#

The next evening, the last night before our wedding, Jorunn wears a deep blue dress that shimmers with the light of the stars themselves. It is breathtakingly beautiful, but coldly, distantly so--like the woman who wears it. She doesn't smile like the girl with the furs. She doesn't converse while we dance--we can't think of anything to speak of. I can think of no part of my heart I could share with her as I did with the girl last night. I wonder how I thought I could ever grow to love her.

Tonight, Jorunn's offer of the tonic seems, not considerate, but overbearing. Last night I had only half a dose, and I felt better than ever. After Jorunn pours a dose into my punch, I barely sip at it, and when her back is turned, I dump the rest into a potted plant. There will be no more dances after our wedding tomorrow. If I'm to help the girl find her lost love, I want my mind to be as clear as possible.

The glance Jorunn gives the strange girl as she enters the dining room is cold enough to freeze. The girl doesn't seem to feel it through her furs. When Jorunn hands me off, her behavior toward the girl is sullen and hostile.

The girl smiles and curtsies. "The dress is stunning on you, majesty."

"It ought to be, for what it cost me." Jorunn starts to stride away, but then turns around and levels a fierce finger toward the girl. "Not a moment past the stroke of midnight."

The girl bows her head. "I know the bargain."

"Until midnight?" I ask, as I lead the girl into a dance.

The girl smiles. "For tonight, at least, I have you all to myself."

We dance a few dances, while the girl asks me on occasion if I remember anything about my life before. I have flashes of images that might be memories, but nothing that will help the girl in her search. After a while, the girl grows warm in her furs, and we leave the ballroom for the cold quiet of the balcony.

Together, we gaze at the stars and across the vast plains of snow. I remember seeing her like this, on a sunlit balcony in a faraway palace. I wanted to kiss her then, but I couldn't. Probably because she loved another. Just as I am promised to another now.

"Please," I ask in a low whisper. "Can't you tell me your name?"

She shakes her head with tears in her eyes. "Please stop asking. If you don't know it on your own, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It is part of the bargain."

Does Jorunn know who this girl is? "The queen isn't here."

The girl squeezes her eyes shut against some memory. "I have seen the consequences of breaking promises to her. I will not risk it again."

It destroyed everything.

"Your lost love?" I ask.

She nods.

How could that great queen separate this woman from the man she so faithfully loves? What role could Jorunn possibly have in this spat between lovers?

We start down a staircase that leads to a stone path through the snow around the palace. The light from the ballroom windows pours out over us, shining on the girl's furs. The cloak I wear is mostly decorative, and I find myself wishing for furs of my own.

I wore a coat of white fur, thicker than thick.

The flash of memory has no bearing on the mystery I'm trying to solve.

I ask the girl, "If Jorunn knows of your lost love, why do you come to me for help? Why do you not ask her?"

"Allowing me to speak to you is all the help she is willing to give."

I do not begin to understand the complicated politics of this realm. When I am king, I will have to learn, but I will rely on Jorunn for a long while.

"After our wedding, perhaps, I can ask her to help..."

"After the wedding, it will be too late!" She storms down the path. "You'll be married to a woman you don't love! She'll have trapped you forever!"

I try to soothe her. "She won't be able to stop me from speaking to you."

She throws her hands in the air. "You don't understand! You'll never understand!" She is sobbing now. "It was hopeless from the beginning! You can't see the truth about her, or me, and I've no way to tell you! I've doomed us all! I don't deserve redemption, or mercy, or even compassion! I'm the faithless wife who threw away love!"

As she speaks the last words, something flies off her hand, flashing golden as it spirals into the snow. The girl flees down the path, silently sobbing.

I dive for the divot in the snow where the item fell. I pull out a small golden ring set with amethysts and emeralds and ice blue diamonds--the northern lights captured in stone. The ring glitters on my palm, round and flawless. I remember its every facet.

By the One who made the sky and stone, I pledge my heart and soul to you.

Clutching the ring, I race after her and call out, "Karina!"

#

I stood outside a cottage, trapped in the form of a white bear. The girl with a crown of yellow hair faced me fearlessly and agreed to be my bride, sliding the golden ring upon her left hand.

#

Short sunlit days on a beautiful tundra. She would ride on my back for hours, laughing for sheer joy as we raced across the snowy fields.

#

For nearly a year, she shared my bed. I was man by night and bear by day. She was forbidden to see my face and did not mind.

#

A year and a day, and the curse would be broken. Eleven months after our wedding, I woke to hot wax dripping on my shirt, from a candle she held over my face.

#

The palace dissolved into dust, and the troll queen arrived to claim her lawful prize. My wife screamed my name as I disappeared into a whirlwind of magic and snow.

#

In the shadows and snowbanks far from the palace, I grip Karina's shoulders and gaze deep into her familiar, beloved face. "Karina," I breathe. "I remember."

"Everything?" she asks, as tears stream down her face.

"Everything," I say, and kiss her senseless.

#

Karina and I sit huddled together beneath her coat of furs. I have told her of my months of imprisonment, of the magical tonic the troll queen forced upon me until I thought myself a willing captive. Karina has told me of the harrowing journey she has taken--the three dresses she received from three magical women, the way she rode the backs of all four winds to find me. If there was ever anything to forgive her for, the devotion she has shown in finding me more than absolves her.

I kiss her again as she finishes her tale, finding joy in finding her so real, in knowing my own mind and knowing her.

My own.

My beloved.

My wife.

It is like falling in love all over again.

"I'm so sorry," Karina says again. "I should never have listened to mother. If I hadn't burned that hateful candle--"

I silence her with another kiss. "If you hadn't betrayed me, I wouldn't have this moment. Meeting my wife all over again." I press her to my heart. "I could have no greater joy."

"But you're getting married tomorrow," Karina says. "By the terms of the curse, you must wed Jorunn."

"Trust me," I say, "and all will be well. So long as you will let me borrow your wedding ring."

#

In the bright light of midday, the ballroom has become a wedding chapel, filled nearly to bursting with lords and ladies and lesser subjects. I now know them for what they are--trolls whose perfect human appearances are nothing but glamours over huge, thick, ugly faces. My would-be wife is ugliest of all, her cruelty coming out upon her in black boils upon her snow-white face and long, pointed nose. The glamour hides her face for now, but it cannot hide the malicious triumph as she gazes upon me--her pet and prize. Her wedding to me will give her dominion over a human realm, and allow her kind to wreak havoc across the world of ordinary men.

She wears the golden sunlight gown, but in daylight, it seems dim and colorless. Even her flawless glamoured face is ugly when I compare her to my ordinary, beloved Karina. My wife is somewhere in the crowd, I know. She has promised to be here, and I trust her to keep her promises.

I do my best to play the magic-addled prince as the highest-ranking of the lords reads aloud their marriage ceremony--endless lists of the glories this alliance will bring to our two realms.

At last, the high lord cries out, merely for form's sake, "Is there any impediment to the marriage between this man and woman?"

"Only one," I shout, stepping away from Jorunn.

Jorunn's expression is black. I can almost see the troll's face beneath the glamour. "Eirik, what is this?"

"Under the laws of troll-kind," I tell the crowd, "Queen Jorunn can wed me if she keeps me here for a year and a day. But there is another law--as would-be husband to the queen, I have a right to set a standard for my bride. If she fails to meet it, all bond between us comes to an end." I stride across the dais to stare into Jorunn's black eyes. "All bonds," I say. "Matrimonial, moral, and magical. Isn't that right?"

Jorunn seems a heartbeat away from tearing out and eating my eyeballs, so I turn to the lord performing the marriage rite. "Isn't that right?"

The troll lord blinks at me. His human form looks like a jittery old man. "That is... technically correct," he says. "But I don't believe this is the right time."

"There is no better time!" I say. "The very last moment when I can see if she is worthy to be my bride."

Jorunn is proud, regal, icy. She steps toward me. "What is your challenge?" she demands. "Make it anything, and I will meet it."

No doubt she thinks she can. I have seen what her magic can do. If I set an enormous challenge--moving a mountain, emptying a sea--she will accomplish it easily. Fortunately, the challenge I plan is impossibly small.

"In the human realm," I say, "we marry under another law--older and more sacred. This marriage rite is bound by the words of a man and woman, and symbolized in the exchange of a pair of rings." I brandish the Karina's ring and hold it high. "By that law, my lawful wife is the one who fits this ring, and I can wed no other."

I search the room for Karina, but I can see her nowhere in the teeming, agitated crowd.

Jorunn stride toward me and snatches the ring from my hand. "Is that all?" she sneers. "Any woman can do that."

Her glamour has fooled even herself. She has forgotten that her hands only appear slender. Trolls can change the forms of others--into a white bear, for instance--even addle the minds of others into believing in changes that aren't real, but their own bodies are impervious to magic. Any alterations to themselves are mere glamours. Beneath her glamoured image, Jorunn's hands are as thick and blocky as any troll's.

Jorunn is unable to slip the ring onto so much as a fingertip.

In rage, she throws the ring onto the floor. It bounces down the stairs and lays flat at their base. "A trick!" she cries. "He has set an unfair challenge! Find me a woman who can fit that ring, or else the challenge is void!"

In the snowy plains outside, I hear the wind building in strength--a whistle, a howl, and at last a roar that bursts open the wide doors of the ballroom. The wind blows the crowd of trolls toward the walls and down to the floor, leaving an open path down which a tiny, yellow-haired girl, clad in a cloak made of every kind of fur, strides fearlessly toward the dais.

I climb down the stairs, pick up the ring, and go down on one knee to offer it to Karina. This time, I can do it with human hands.

"My lady," I say, gazing up into her smiling eyes. "Will you take this ring?"

I slide it upon the fourth finger of her left hand. It fits perfectly.

I kiss her in triumph as Jorunn roars with rage.

Her roar is soon drowned out by the roar of a wind that surrounds me and Karina, lifts us into the air, and carries out the ballroom doors. Soon, we are soaring over snow-covered plains, and before I can fully understand that I am free, the pointed towers of the troll's icy palace have disappeared from sight.

Karina lays on her stomach, the pale blue currents of wind keeping her aloft. She helps me to do the same. While I marvel at this miraculous wind, she is perfectly at ease, and I realize she has done this. My ordinary, unmagical, entirely human wife has saved me.

"Eirik," Karina says, "I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine."

#

The North Wind takes us far beyond the tundra where I lived with Karina as a white bear, beyond even the cottage where she lived with her parents, and to a castle in a rocky mountain range that I remember from my boyhood. As the wind sets us upright on the ground before the main doors, I laugh for joy.

"Am I...?" I ask, barely able to believe that I'm standing in this place, where I can recognize every rock and flower that emerges from the melting snow of the springtime ground.

The North Wind now looks like a man--huge and old, with an impossibly large beard. "Prince Eirik," he says, "I have brought you and your bride to the lands of your family."

The full understanding of my freedom comes upon me. Not only am reunited with my bride, not only am I free of enchantment, but I am home, able to move about in the ordinary world like any ordinary man. After so many years of magic, I can think of nothing more wondrous.

I sweep Karina up in my arms and point her gaze toward the door. "Come, my love," I say. "I've waited a very long time to take you home."

[irkimatsu]

Alright- another request- I just can’t get enough of your writing!! Not my fault it’s so addictive. Anyways

Overlord Husk with an extremely physically affectionate pet reader. I can see reader trying to discreetly get some affection/reassurance (bc they need to-) but without being too obvious about it, they don’t want to be teased by husk after

I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing - and thanks again, so so much, for the fanart! I still keep staring at that art of my Mazzie, it's so good!

I hope what I've written is to your liking once again! Reader gets snuggly with Overlord Husk during a game after the other players make her uncomfortable, Husk's other clients get a little whiny about it, Husk does not care. Of course he'd never tease you for wanting his attention; hell, he probably wants affection from you as much as you want it from him! (I do use she/her pronouns and "girl" in the fic, but the actual gender doesn't really matter, you can mentally replace those words easily if you want)

Overlord Husk is busy, and you know you shouldn’t interrupt him. His games are always important, influencing what resources he has at his disposal and which business deals he can make, and tonight’s game is especially so, against some high-ranking mob members looking to strip the Gambling Demon for everything he’s worth. He doesn’t need you distracting him from something so crucial.

Instead, all you can do is allow him to distract you. His mouth is stretched into a permanent cocky grin, his teeth tightly gripping an expensive cigar. His strong paws gently hold his hand of cards as his golden eyes flick over each one, determining what he has to work with this round.

You wish so deeply that his paws weren’t busy. His arm should be encircled around your waist, paw resting securely on your hip, as the other paw gently combs his claws through your hair…

“Hey, girly!” one of Husk’s opponents calls out, snapping you out of your daydream. “Get me another drink!” He punctuates his request by shaking his glass at you, a half-melted ball of ice rattling around at the bottom.

“Yes, sir,” you say reflexively as you take his glass and head to the counter at the back of the room.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Husk warns, his dark voice creeping pleasantly across the back of your neck as you prepare the requested drink. You dump the used ice into the sink, use a pair of tongs to place a fresh one in the glass, and then start filling the glass with the expensive whiskey Husk had brought along specifically for this game.

“Oh, who cares how I talk to a pet-”

Husk’s deep growl echoes through the room as you approach the table again, drink in hand.

“Jesus Christ! Okay, I get it!” He swipes the glass from your hand and takes a long gulp without the slightest acknowledgment. You’ve gotten so used to the lack of manners in these games that you barely notice.

“Could you top me off too, doll?” Husk asks, his voice so much smoother with you than it is with his companions, as he offers you his empty glass.

“Of course, sir,” you say with a smile and a bow that you hadn’t offered to your previous client. You go back to fill this glass with the same whiskey, this time without ice; he always complains about how ice will only dilute the taste.

“Thank you,” he says, still smooth, as he takes the glass from your hand. Your heart skips a beat as his claws graze against your hand, but all too soon, he’s pulled his hand away and you’re left longing for him even more strongly.

“Me too, me too!” shouts a third player. This one doesn’t sound like he needs any more whiskey, but it’s not your job to cut people off; Husk will decide if you shouldn’t serve someone, and until he says anything, you’ll follow the orders you’re given. You pour another neat glass for this one, deliver it to his spot, and turn away before giving him a chance to provide a response that you know won’t happen.

You’re surprised to see Husk with his ears flattened, his growl threatening to turn into a hiss.

“Lay a finger on her and I will slit your fucking throat.”

You turn around to see the client you just served with his face frozen in terror, his hand hovering a mere inch from your ass. He immediately yanks his hand away from you and turns his attention back to the cards in his hand, as if trying to pretend that didn’t just happen.

You hope you’re done serving drinks for now; you’re starting to feel rather uncomfortable with this particular batch of opponents.. With no other requests forthcoming, you return to Husk’s side, trying not to stand so close that it’s awkward.

You’d love to stand closer, but at the moment, you’re his assistant, nothing more. You can beg for all the attention you need when you go back to the penthouse, but for now, Husk has a cold reputation to maintain.

Cold… the atmosphere during these games is always so cold, with players focused on nothing more than fucking each other over for the sake of a bigger prize. The other players rarely acknowledge you, and you honestly prefer it when they don’t; it’s easier to handle them when they ignore you for the sake of their cards, instead of leering at you like you’re a piece of meat.

You just wish Husk wouldn’t ignore you, too. He could leer at you all he wanted… not that he ever would. Sure, he stares at you plenty, and you know some of the raunchy things he thinks of when he does; he’s asked you to re-enact some of them for him in private, after all. But his expression is always too soft to call a leer, too full of reverence for you.

Surely he can’t show that softer side around important clients-

But just as you think that, his eyes are on you, his pupils widened. He’s set his cigar down into his ashtray, allowing him to give you a much smaller smile with only his fangs visible.

“You wanna sit with me?” he asks you in that smooth, heart-melting voice of his.

“I’m fine standing,” you insist with a polite smile.

“Come on, I see how you’re looking at me,” he says. Fuck, are you always so obvious? “Have a seat.”

The chairs in here are in no way meant for more than one person; your only choice is to sit on top of him. You gently lower yourself onto his knee, trying to keep a respectable distance, but as soon as you’re in a sitting position, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his lap.

“That better?” he asks.

Much better. You think it, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you reposition yourself so you can rest your head on his chest, lightly nuzzling against the shirt buttons you wish you could unfasten.

“How come you get to touch the goods?” asks the client who had tried to grope you a few minutes ago.

“I’m the one she made a contract with, not you,” Husk says shortly, clearly with no patience for stupid questions.

“Controlling asshole. Shouldn’t you let her decide? Hey, girly! You wanna come hang out in my lap?”

“No,” you say simply, your voice muffled by Husk’s shirt.

“Do you wanna stay here with me?” Husk asks, his voice so easily switching to the kind timbre he reserves for you.

“Yes, please,” you respond, hugging his waist and nuzzling again.

“Don’t let the girl get too cozy!” A glass slams down onto the wooden table. “I need another whiskey!”

“Go get it yourself,” Husk snaps. “She’s busy.” His claws gently stroke your scalp as he presses a fleeting kiss to your head. “Mind if I get back to my game, doll?” he asks.

“Mmm-hmmm…” you agree. Being this close to him, nuzzling into the fur that peeks out from the top of his shirt and breathing in his woody cologne, is so comforting that you’re already starting to drift off. “As long as I can stay here…”

“Of course. I’m more than happy to keep holding you.”

You stay relaxed against Husk’s chest, tuning out everyone’s voice except his. Is it just you, or is he speaking more quietly now that he has you so close? It’s definitely not your imagination that he’s been letting his cigar burn in the tray instead of continuing to smoke it.

You’d expect the other clients to make fun of Husk for coddling you like this, but maybe they’re all afraid of being mauled to death if they say anything.

Maybe you don’t mind helping out during his games so much, if this is how he’ll reward you from now on.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @jiyascepter

Through The Years

Áki x Sađi

Jotun!King!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: This story takes you and Loki on a journey through the twins life. From their first steps all the way to their first time falling in love.

Warnings for this Chapter: Áki being his sassy self, royal things? fluff, suggestive smut/light smut, food - a lot, mutual pining? Loki and Y/N being the best supportive parents ever. Let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 5,1k

a/n: Well... We reached one of the most important chapters... Áki is finding the man of his dreams! 🥰 I love this whole chapter very very much. It turned out just how I wanted. Also, this is my first time writing male x male, so... Pls go easy on me. ☺️

Kudos to @eleniblue , because she helped me plan out this whole story. Without her, this wouldn't exist.

❄️ Chapter Four ❄️ Chapter Six ❄️

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter Five - Áki Finding Love

It was one of these days again, where the five-minute-older twin was on search for something to eat, aside from the regular meals. Áki had always been a little hog - since he was an infant. Well... Keeping the trained body of his and compensating all that energy he needed for training, a lot of food was required. That was just how it was.

So, the young prince made his way to one of his favourite places in the whole palace... The royal kitchen.

It was one of the few places, which were always busy. The kitchen was bustling with staff almost the whole day. Only at night was it completely, entirely quiet inside the big room. But when the prince rounded the corner and stepped through the open, beautifully crafted swinging doors of the kitchen, there were several Jotun's running around. Some of them cooks, some of them maids, some of them kitchen helpers - as per usual.

Áki knew everyone who worked there, of course. After all, he was the part of the royal family who spent the most time in this place of the palace. And, the staff knew him... "Greetings, your highness," addressed him first an older lady, wearing a white apron and a smile. Atla - she was a kitchen helper and already worked here for ages. Áki returned the smile and gave her a nod, before he continued his journey through his own personal paradise - and paradise was smelling delicious.

"My prince," the head cook greeted him as well, and took a small bow. "What can we serve you today? We've got a lot of food today." The young Jotun bit his lip in a thinking manner, before he answered: "I don't know yet. I'll keep on looking." Another bow from the head cook. "As you wish, my prince."

Áki's feet led him to the cool room, in which he finally found his 'object of desire'... Cake. Blueberry cake, to be precisely. Perfect for an afternoon snack. Having the good manners his parents taught him, he asked of course first, if he could have a bite of the cake - and who was the staff to deny him this? So, he took a big slice from the cake in his hands, smiling happily. But just when he made his way out of the cool room, an accident happened... Therefore, that the prince had to close the door, he had his back towards the main room. Turning around and walking away, his hard, muscular chest suddenly clashed against a not so strong and not so muscular chest, causing the cake to get sandwiched between his and the other Jotun's torso. Cream and blueberries were smeared all over Áki's bare chest, before it dripped to the ground, like the rest of the cake. And not just the cake... The poor man he crashed against with all his strength was send to the floor as well.

"I-I'm s-so s-sorry!" The man on the kitchen floor apologised immediately. The horror in his eyes was clearly visible, since he knew exactly who was standing in front of him and what he had gotten himself into. But the prince said nothing at first; had his eyes only settled on the poor soul who had crashed against him.

Áki had never seen the young Jotun before. Not here in the kitchen or elsewhere inside the palace. He must be new...

He was tall, but not quite as tall as Áki. His physique was not exactly the one of a warrior. He was a bit sturdier. Strong, but not muscular. His golden-brown hair was long; clearly reaching his shoulders, but currently tight up into a bun. Shocked, wide ruby eyes looking up at him. "M-My p-prince, I-I'm so clumsy, I..."

The prince was like frozen in time for a long moment, but he didn't know why. Just when his brain had caught up with the situation he was in, and Áki was about to say something, the head cook walked into the scene. "Sađi, you clumsy, feckless boy! What did you do?!" Sađi looked up to his boss with fearful eyes. "I-I-I..." He stammered; trying to somehow explain himself. The head cook leaned down and grabbed him by his arm. "Get on your damn knees and apologise to the prince, will you?!" He hissed at the younger man - inaudible to Áki, before pushing him forwards onto his knees.

Sađi was visibly a bit overwhelmed by the situation - and quite afraid of his chief; small tears gathering in his deep ruby eyes. "A-Apologies, your h-highness."

The pain in the young Jotun's eyes didn't go unnoticed by Áki. The usually so tough warrior's demeanour shifted. He squatted down and placed his hand on Sađi's shoulder. "You're forgiven."

That was the first time Áki's and Sađi's paths crossed. But it shouldn't stay at only one encounter, oh no...

Sađi had made a lasting impression on the prince. Áki couldn't put a finger on it, what exactly it was that kept the simple kitchen helper on his mind. It was just how it was. Perhaps it was the reason why his feet lead him more often than before to the royal kitchen? Just to get a glimpse at the attractive young Jotun, which had undoubtedly caught his attention?

The prince had noticed quite early in his teenage years, that he was more into men than women. His brother, you and Loki knew that, of course, but it wasn't a problem. Why should it be? Everybody accepted it - and Áki the way he was.

"You are my son, Áki. That won't change. Neither does the love I feel for you. If you like men, you like men. If someone can understand this, it's me." His father had told him with a smile and wink; hand placed on his shoulder. Áki liked to think back to that day. It had been an important moment in his life.

"What can we do for you today, my prince?" The head cook asked Áki, but the prince's attention was somewhere else; eyes directed on the Jotun with the long golden-brown hair. He watched him cutting some vegetables. A smile tugged at the warrior's lips, whenever Sađi swerved from side to side to change his cutting tactics. Or when a frown crossed his features, when the vegetables didn't want things to go as he did.

"My prince?" The head cook addressed Áki again, which caused him to shortly break his stare. "Yes? What did you ask?" "What we can do for you today, your highness." Áki's eyes started to travel immediately again. "I, uh... I'd like to have something sweet." "Something sweet?" Áki nodded, checking Sađi out, who currently had his back towards them. "Mhm, yes... Something sweet. Dessert." He just couldn't help himself. "Dessert?" "Yes." The cook nodded, "Of course, my prince." and turned around.

"Sađi! Prepare some dessert for the prince! ASAP!"

The Jotun nodded frantically. "Yes, Sir!"

Áki watched then with a smile, how the handsome kitchen helper ran from one point to the next, hurrying to finish his given task. Áki found it utterly cute how much effort he put in it. Just for him.

About five minutes later, Sađi approached the prince cautiously; trying to appear as polite as possible. "Dessert, your highness." Áki smiled and took the plate from his hands; ruby eyes boring into the matching ones of Sađi. "I thank you." Sađi swallowed and flashed the prince a small smile as well. "I hope it is to your liking." "Oh, I am sure it tastes delicious." With those words, the warrior turned on his heels and left the kitchen again.

Their next encounter was only a few days later. A very fateful encounter, to say the least. Perhaps it was destiny...

The night had settled over Jotunheim. It was past midnight so everyone was asleep. Everyone, except Áki. The prince had just woken up to a rumbling stomach; signalling him to get some food inside him. So, that's what Áki did. He stood up and made his way - like so often, to the kitchen. It wasn't the first time, that he took a little trip to this place of the palace at night, but it's been a trip he didn't do in a long time. Usually, he kept some food in his chambers, but someway somehow led his feet him today to the kitchen - and what he found there, was something he didn't expect even in his wildest dreams...

A dim light was shining on the dark hallway; coming undoubtedly from the kitchen. With furrowed brows, Áki sneaked to the big room. One hand was resting on the dagger, which was in the pocket of his dressing gown. Ready to face whatever danger or thief lurked inside, the warrior stormed the room - only to find the young Jotun, on which he had casted an eye.

"What in the name of Yggdrasil are you doing here?"

Áki's voice echoed through the kitchen, causing Sađi to yelp up and flinch. He was so frightened, that he threw with shock the onion he was holding in his hand away. "P-Prince Áki, I-I..." He stammered, turning beet red. The prince crossed his arms over his chest, stepping closer. "Again, I am asking... What are you doing here? Or should I go, get the guards?" Sađi's eyes widened even more. "O-Oh, no, no, by the n-norns, please don't! I-I need this job, I... Please! I-I'll tell you everything! Just p-please don't get the guards!" "Alright," said Áki and leaned against a kitchen counter. "Tell me."

The young Jotun nodded and took a deep breath. "I-I am practising." Áki frowned. "Practising?" "Y-Yes, because I wish to become a cook. I-It is my biggest dream, b-but I can't reach this dream without practicing. And the head cook doesn't let me practice, s-so I sneak inside the kitchen at night, t-to practice. N-Nobody usually ever comes here at night..." "Well, I do." Áki pointed out; stepping closer to the kitchen helper, causing Sađi to swallow hard. "So, you'd like to become a cook, yes?" "Y-Yes, your highness."

Áki nodded towards the several pots and pans standing on the stove. "Show me what you got then." Sađi was a bit confused at first. "W-What?" "Show me what you got." "O-Okay. I-If you wish, my prince." With a shaking hand, he took a small plate and put something from the dish he cooked on it, before handing it Áki, who tasted it on an instant.

Full of fear and anticipation, Sađi gazed at the warrior prince. He started to nod. "Yes... Tastes not bad. Needs improvement, but it's definitely not bad. You got talent, I see." "T-Thank you, your highness." Áki thought for a moment, as an idea crossed his mind. "I have an offer for you. A deal..." He started, circling the Jotun like a predator its prey. "A d-deal?" "Yes," he hissed, causing a shiver to run down Sađi's spine. "I'll tell nobody about your little... trips here at night. I'll let you keep on practicing. And as a quid pro quo, I'll get to taste and eat the wonderful dishes you cook. Do we have an agreement, Sađi?" The aspiring cook nodded with a small smile. "Yes, yes, absolutely! I thank you, my prince."

From that point on, the two men meet often at night in the royal kitchen. Sađi to improve his skills as a cook and Áki to quench his hunger. Over the days, weeks and months, Sađi's cooking skills improved - and not just that... Their relationship as well. They went from barely knowing each other to way more. The lines of royal blood and not royal blood slowly but surely blurring. While Áki let his guards more and more down and stopping his princely behaviour, Sađi got more open and confident.

And when the prince was really bold one night and asked Sađi, if he had a girlfriend, the kitchen helper blushed in the deepest shades of red and told the warrior that he was more into boys and not girls.

This fateful night caused the sexual tension to grown undoubtedly between them. Every accidental touch left a prickling, sizzling sensation behind, which caused both men's skins to burn. It was like an ever-burning fire, which was indelible.

At one point Áki just decided to act on it. He started to leave his dressing gown at his chambers, attending the nightly meetings only in his sleep shorts and giving the young cook more to look at; subtly urging him on to make the first move. It threw Sađi off track, of course, but not even with all the confidence he had gained over the weeks did he dare to make said first move. So Áki had to do it - or optionally making Sađi cave in. Both ways would work for the prince just fine...

"Now you have to slowly add the wine," Sađi explained; looking happily, but concentrated at the prince. He was in the zone; definitely enjoying what he was doing. Someday, Áki had asked him what exactly he was doing and how he was going to do it, and since that night, Sađi explained happily every step of a new meal he learned and practiced to cook. Áki though, mostly didn't pay attention. At least not to the young Jotun's instructions. He was way too distracted by Sađi himself...

"Add the wine?" Áki asked, eyes glued to Sađi's hands, which gripped the bottle of wine. "Yes, but slowly." He added some of the wine to the pot, causing it to steam. "Have you seen how much?" "Mhh," the prince answered absent-minded; had only paid attention to the bulging veins in his crush's hand and certainly not to the amount of wine. "What's next?" "Next, you have to stir the sauce and slowly add a bit more wine. Look." Sađi demonstrated what he had just explained - and Áki saw the first opportunity tonight to make his move.

While the aspiring cook stirred the sauce, Áki stepped even closer towards him. He placed himself behind Sađi, so that he could look over his shoulder; all the while pressing his bare torso against Sađi's old, shabby chef's jacket clad back. His arms sneaked around the Jotun. One hand landing on top of Sađi's (The one which was stirring the sauce.), and the other on the edge of the counter; literally caging the man. It caused a soft, almost inaudible gasp to leave the gold-brown-haired Jotun's lips. But Áki heard it, of course and started to grin.

"Do you need help with that?" The prince whispered in Sađi's ear; making sure to keep his voice as deep and husky as possible. The cook shivered. "I-I-I, uh... Actually n-not, b-but, uh, s-sure," he stammered. A sign that Áki's move had been fruitful. He had clearly put him off his stride. "Alright." Áki added and slipped his fingers through Sađi's, in order to help him stir the sauce. The longer the warrior's touch lasted, the more started Sađi's hand - which held onto the bottle of wine - to shake. Something that didn't slip Áki's attention as well. "Now, now what is the matter, young Sir Bjørnson? Are we nervous?" Sađi swallowed hard; his Adam's apple bobbing. "I-I-" Áki smiled; happy to be able to get such a reaction from the cook. If there was something he was good in, then it was fighting - obviously, flirting and seduction. The mixture of yours and Loki's genes clearly playing a big role in this one...

"Or... Is it the touch of my body against yours?" Áki breathed in Sađi's ear. "Am I too close to you, or... Too far from you?" Every hair on Sađi's neck was standing up at the prince's words. He had a hard time to control his breathing. "Hm?" To test the theory, Áki took a small step backwards, to bring some space between his and the young male - who let out a small whine immediately. Once the realisation dawned on him, Sađi's eyes widened. But he just couldn't help himself. It just had slipped past his lips - just like the soft moan, when Áki pressed his body back against his, "Ahh, I see... Too far." including his hips.

Sađi's eyes went shut at the sudden, very intimate contact. This only made it worse - in the best way possible. He felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and Áki was the one in control; deciding whether he was going to fall - or not.

"Better?" Áki asked in a low voice. A question which the young Jotun could only answer with a shaky nod. "Good. Now where were we? Ah, the sauce, right. Continue, please."

Sađi's head started to spin. How dare he? How dare he brings him in such a situation? How in the nine realms would he be able to keep cooking, with the handsome prince's crotch pressed against his bottom? "M-My p-prince, I-I-" His voice was so hoarse, it died in his throat.

The prince grinned even wider. Almost. He almost had him. "Yes?" "I-I... Can't, I..." Time to make the final move, thought Áki. Quickly - before Sađi could even react, he had spun the gold-brown-haired Jotun around in his embrace. Two hands gripping now the edge of the kitchen counter; pinning the surprised cook between the warrior's body and the cool, hard furniture. "You can't, huh? Well... Is there something else you'd rather do than cooking?" Sađi's mouth opened and closed, but no words were leaving his lips. The warrior smiled, "Go on, say it. I know you want me to." and leaned closer to his ear once more. "But I won't do it, unless you tell me to."

And with that, the dam finally broke. Sađi fell off the cliff; free falling. "K-Kiss... Kiss me."

Áki's heart skipped a beat. Finally. Finally! "Very well." Within the blink of an eye, Áki cupped Sađi's cheeks with both hands and literally slammed his lips on the young man's. Sađi was immediately enchanted by the kiss; hungry lips searching for more. It had been long overdue.

The prince soon brought his body into the game; pressing it against Sađi's and trapping him even more. The Jotun whimpered into the passionate kiss at the sudden friction; hands clawing into Áki's muscular waist.

Only when it was hard to breathe for them, did they break the kiss. Both panted; lips red and kiss swollen. In a rather bold move shifted the warrior his hands, until they landed on the cook's bottom; pulling him even closer against himself and creating more friction. "Spend the night with me," he spoke in a low, seductive voice, almost growling. Sađi's eyes widened. "S-Spend the night with you? I-I don't know, I..." His words caused Áki's heart to sunk. "Don't you... want to spend the night with me?" Sađi quickly shook his head; clearly noticed the sad tone in the Jotun's voice. "No, no, no, norns, no! I want nothing more than to do just that, but..." Relief flooded the warrior's veins. "But what?" Sađi sighed. "My prince, I-" "Stop," Áki interrupted him immediately. "It's Áki for you. No title, no formalities." He nodded. "Áki, I... I don't know if this is a good idea. You are the prince and I am... me..."

The prince shook his head. "I don't care, Sađi. I just want you. We can keep it secret and no one has to know, but please... Don't deny me. I waited so long for this. All I longed for was to kiss you. Touch you," he said, running one hand over Sađi's broad back. "Feel you. Hel, I lost count of how many times I touched myself to the thought of you." Those words send another shiver down the cook's spine. A tingling sensation formed in the pit of his stomach and gathering in his crotch. Sađi blushed, eyelids fluttering. "Y-You did that?" "Mhm," Áki purred and Sađi swallowed.

"I'd say, we clean here up as fast as possible and then take a trip to my chambers. What do you say? You'll even get a free room tour. And perhaps I take you into my bathing chamber as well." He winked, causing Sađi's knees to buckle. "I'd love to, my pri- Áki." The prince smiled, before sealing 'the deal' with another passionate kiss.

This was one of many nights the two men spend together in secret. It was more than just a one-night-stand. Áki had fallen for the handsome kitchen helper already a long time ago, even before he started to bed him. And the warrior was certain, that what he felt was, without a doubt, love.

As for Sađi, it took him some time to sort out his feelings. Was it just fun? Was it serious? He was torn a very long time, but in the end, Sađi couldn't deny that there were indeed feelings involved. At least from his side. He struggled quite a bit to interpret Áki's signals and unfortunately got them wrong. One oppressive thought led to the other, and at some point, it escalated and Sađi couldn't take it anymore...

Sađi was the last one in the kitchen today - like so often. After all, he was still nothing more than a helper and the other kitchen staff loved to leave the cleaning up to him. His dream of being a cook not yet palpable.

It didn't take long for the prince to join his lover, like he did whenever he got time and was not busy with royal duties. Making sure, that nobody was around, Áki stepped over to Sađi, who was currently cleaning some pots and pans. "Do they still leave you alone to clean up their mess?" It wasn't really a question from the warrior; rather an assessment. Áki wrapped his muscular arms loosely around Sađi's torso; chest pressed against back. The prince angled his head, tried to catch the aspiring cook's lips, as he looked over his shoulder - but Sađi avoided Áki's attempt for a kiss and turned his head away. "You know that they never stopped it."

Áki frowned; noticed immediately that something wasn't right. "What's wrong?" Sađi shook his head, "Nothing." and stepped away from the prince. Áki didn't believe a single word, of course. "Oh, come on, Sađi. Tell me what's wrong. I am not blind." The young Jotun answered nothing, just kept on cleaning up the mess. Áki shrugged his shoulders; was quite a bit offended. "Fine. If you don't want to talk, I'll leave." The prince turned on his heels and marched towards the open doors. What he didn't see coming, was Sađi's voice, holding him back. "We can't do this anymore." The warrior stopped dead in his tracks. Frowning, he slowly turned to face the golden-brown haired man he fell so deeply in love with. "What do you mean?"

The handsome kitchen helper took a deep, shaky breath. "This. Us. It has to stop." Áki was utterly confused. "Us? Why? Why does it needs to stop? Do you..." He swallowed. "Do you not... enjoy yourself?" Sađi shook his head, causing a few strands to break free from his loose man bun and to fall into his face. "N-No, I... I do enjoy it. What we have is... thrilling. Magical, wonderful - but..." Tears gathered in his beautiful ruby eyes. "I can't do this to myself anymore, because it breaks my damn heart every time." Áki still wasn't able to follow his words. "It breaks your heart? Why?" Sađi buried his face in his hands; almost desperately, that the oblivious prince didn't catch what he was trying to say. "You are the prince, Áki! I am a mere kitchen helper and wannabe cook! Just think about what the people - your people would say about this! Or the king and queen!" He scoffed; shaking his head. "I get that you are free to sleep with whoever you wish. I guess it's your privilege as a member of the royal family, but... I don't want to be your lover anymore. I don't want to be just another man on a long list of affairs. I'm not the only one you are bedding - and it destroys me, because..." Sađi paused for a moment; drawing in another shaky breath. "Because I fell in love with you! And I'd rather leave, before my heart gets entirely broken."

With those words, the aspiring cook threw the towel he was holding inside his hands on the kitchen counter, passed by a literally stunned Áki and headed straight for the door. But just like Áki before, he got stopped. The prince needed a moment to collect himself, though. His brain needed to process first, what his ears had heard. But once it did, a warm feeling spread throughout his whole body - and he smiled. "Sađi." He spoke up firmly, causing the other Jotun to stand still; freezing in his movements. "I won't let you walk out of that door." "W-What? Why?" Sađi's face mirrored confusion, as he turned to look at the warrior. Seems like they both had been oblivious to the other's feelings...

"Because I love you, you blind, silly boy."

Sađi blinked. Stunned. "I... You... W-What?" He definitely needed a moment to process that. "You... You love me?" He asked; disbelief swinging in his voice. Áki just smiled and stepped closer to his lover, gently taking Sađi's hands in his. "Yes, I do. Perhaps since the first time I had ever laid my eyes upon you." The helper blinked again, then looked at their intertwined hands. "I-I-I-" "Ah.Ah," the prince interrupted him, while walking Sađi towards the next wall. "Less talking..." He pressed his body against the cold stone surface; hands wandering to the helper's hips. "... and more kissing." With a smoulder only his father could do better, Áki's lips found Sađi's, asking them for a dance.

Áki's and Sađi's worlds were suddenly more than just alright. They had found each other, were helplessly in love and enjoyed the rare time they had together. Nevertheless, they decided to keep this a secret at first, except for one person. Váli. Váli was the only person who knew, since Áki loved his twin brother dearly and shared everything with him. But the secret itself didn't stay a secret for long anyways...

It was time for dinner in the palace. Áki was the first one to find his way to the dining hall, of course. You were a little late, and Loki and Váli not present, since they were away on Svartalfheim for some royal duties.

"Hey," you greeted your son warmly, placing a hand on his muscular biceps, before you sat down. "Hey, mom." "Sorry for the delay." Áki smiled, "No worries. I learned to wait." and winked, causing you to giggle. While you and your son ate, you talked about anything and everything. You enjoyed the moments you could spend with your sons, since they definitely lived their own life's by now.

Mere ten minutes later, dinner got served - and for the first time by none other than Sađi. When Áki saw his boyfriend walking towards the table, together with two other servants, his heart sped up. Of course, he was more than happy to see him, just like Sađi was, but the two of them tried hard to not let it show - which turned later out to be not really successful.

It was simple gestures. Things the two men didn't even realise. The subtle smiles, lingering gazes, eye contact, hand brushing... They didn't notice - but you did. After all, you were Áki's mother and it was kind of in your instincts to notice everything, right? You more than once bit your lip in order to hide the smile. Your son had seemingly found love - and you couldn't be happier. To be entirely sure, though, you decided to address him.

Once dinner was over and there was no servant left - just you and Áki, you took the initiative. Áki already stood up, though and was on his way to leave, when you stopped him. "Áki, hey, wait a minute, please." Your son waited, of course; turned to face you. "Yes, mom?" You patted on the chair beside you, smiling. "Take a seat." Without hesitation, Áki did what you ask him to. Full of anticipation what you were going to say, he looked at you. You reached out your hand and brushed a lose curl of his raven hair behind his ear. He looked so much like his father. You smiled even wider. "So... Who is he?" The prince frowned. "Who is who, mother?" You nodded towards the closed doors, which led to the kitchen. "The handsome servant with golden-brown hair."

Áki turned red on an instant. "I-I, uh..." "I know you two tried to be inconspicuous, but... Let's say it this way… It didn't quite work out." Your son cleared his throat; knowing that their secret wasn't a secret anymore. "Well, mom... His, uh... His name is Sađi and he works here as a kitchen helper. But he aspires to be a cook." "Sađi... Beautiful name - and an aspiring cook? What a perfect match for you." You smiled. "So, it is something serious between the two of you?" He nodded; unable to suppress a smile. "Yes. We are together." "That is wonderful, son. I'm happy for you." Áki smiled bashfully. "Thank you, mom." The so confident prince suddenly wasn't so confident anymore. "It... It isn't a problem for you that he's 'just' a kitchen helper and no prince or of royal blood?" You shook your head and placed your hand on his. "Why should it? Quite the opposite... I'd love to meet him properly one day. As long as you love each other... That's more important than anything. Than status or heritage. Believe me when I tell you, I know what I am talking about - and so does your father." Áki smiled. "Thank you, again. And yes, I promise you, you are definitely going to meet him properly one day."

Another smile crossed your face, as you leaned over to hug your son. A gesture which he returned gladly. "Áki... I am so proud of you. Just... Look at you. You've grown into a strong, confident young man. You are proud of what you are and who you love. It's beautiful." The prince almost started to cry when he heard this. "Oh, mom, I..." He hugged you again; now even tighter. "And your father is proud, too. I hope you know that." He smiled. "Yes... I know." "I love you." Your son backed up from the tight embrace to press a kiss on your cheek. "And I love you."

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33 - Dragon vs Dragon

Part 34

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

The first time I saw snow I was the right age of fourteen years old.  

Dismounting my horse the wind was catching my hair that matched the color of my hair.  My brother had made the journey with me and Ser Barriston.  “I’m proud of myself that I came prepared for these chilly winds and snow.” I smiled wearing a white fur cloak over an all black outfit. 

“It is a pleasure to have you visit the wall my ancestors created.” Lifting my head upward I saw a northern man with gray eyes and dark brown hair.  The figure made his way down the snowy steps bowing to my brother. “My prince.” 

Rhaegar smiled dressed in all black clothing making his hair the only white thing aside from the snow. “Thank you for your time, Lord Stark.” 

“My princess.” Brandon Stark brought my gloved hand up to his lips kissing it before he gestured to the wooden elevator pulling structure. “Would you both care to see the wall?” 

“Very much, Lord Brandon.” Sending him a kind smile following him onto the elevator.  Scanning my eyes out the gap of the elevator holes seeing the winter landscape was far as the eye could see.  “Have you ever traveled South,  Lord Brandon?” 

“No I haven’t , my princess.  My place is in the North after all Winter is Coming.” 

My brother raised a brow, chuckling lightly. “Coming you say.  What is this then that falls from the sky and is shivering my bones?” 

“This is only a light summer snow, my prince.  In winter it will cover all you see.” 

Brandon lifted the sliding door up allowing us to step out the leg first.  My boots crunched against the packed down snow until I stopped walking standing on the edge of the ice wall.  “This is truly incredible, Brandon.” 

“My ancestors brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall.  His grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons,  the greatest power in the world,  refused to cross it.”  

Rhaegar glanced at the North lord believing in most things that couldn’t be seen. “Do you think the stories they say are true about wildlings and White Walkers?” 

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” The eldest Stark son asked him a question back. 

Rhaegar raised a brow. “What does it keep out?” 

“White Walkers.” I replied to his question with a childish smirk on my lips. 

Brandon nodded in agreement with my answer. “The army of the Dead.” 

“Do you one day think we will have to face the creatures beyond the Wall?” I asked him feeling soft droplets of snow falling down onto my hair with a small crown formed with my hair.  The North was a foreign land to me yet in a way I didn’t shy away from the challenges it may throw at me. 

Brandon turned his body to face me. “Tis hard to know what we will face in the coming years, princess.  Northerners only know two things: to fight hard and be loyal to their own.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, my lord.  Especially if I ever am given the chance to become Queen.” I smile fondly at the North lord.  Unknown to me that was the day my brother knew I might make a good ruling queen, learning how the other side of the world works. 

Traping through the dark hallways of the dragon castle I halted in my steps outside my sister's chamber door.  Knocking on her door I held the dagger loosely in my left hand behind my back.  The big door creaked opened revealing my sister's face in the light of the burning torches in the darkness.  “Sister, what are you doing here so late in the night?” 

“We need to talk through some things.  May I come in?” I questioned her doing my best to show no emotion when I spoke to her.  I wanted to but was unsure of the direction she truly wished to take us in at the moment. 

She stepped aside allowing me in before closing the door once I was inside her chambers. “What do we need to discuss this late of an hour?”

“What exactly is your plan?  Are we going to help Jon Snow or ride South and attempt to dethrone Cersei Lannister?” 

She knits her brows at me. “The Iron Throne is my destiny.  Although I suppose I should say it’s our destiny now that I know you’re alive and well.” 

“I don’t want it though.” 

She questioned me. “Why not?” 

“I don’t have to tell you anything until you answer my question.  Especially considering the Lannister fleet, the old Valyria houses and a whole army of dragons are under my command not yours.” 

My sister glared at me. “How dare you speak to me that way.” 

“A dragon vs a dragon.  You’ve faced someone who’s your equal.  That’s why you refuse to answer my previous questions.” I challenge her with a teasing look. 

Daenerys crossed her arms over her chest. “I will send my army and fly with my dragons to Kings Landing and remove Cersei Lannister from my throne.  Once she is gone the wheel will be broken once and for all.” 

“Until the day comes and the people start to see you as they saw our father.  A queen mad with power and three deadly dragons ready to burn the city to the ground.” 

She brought a hand up to her forehead. “You clearly don’t know me at all.” 

“You don’t know me,  sister.   You don’t know the smallfolk like I do.  You don’t know the Northerners like me.  It appears you don’t know a great many things I’m afraid to say.” 

My little sister spun on her heels heading towards the door about to throw it open and push me out. “I think it's time you leave my chambers, sister.” 

“Oh I’m not going anywhere until you tell me your course of action.” Leaning my back against her small table set up in the corner.  Wrapping my fingers tightly around the dagger handle for strength.  

Daenerys whipped her head around. “I already told you my course of action.  The Iron Throne is mine and I will take it.  With fire and blood I will take it!” 

“Then you’ll shortly lose it to someone else who seeks to take it from you.” 

She dropped her hands to her sides, still confused at what I was telling her. “What in the seven hells are you trying to tell me, Vaella!” 

“There’s a prophecy you weren’t taught.  A prophecy that only the Targaryen heirs were told.  If you wish to be the ruler to the Iron Throne then you must understand it.”  Striding across the room meeting her in the middle I drew the blade out from behind my back and in her line of sight. “The Song of Ice and Fire Aegon the Conqueror called it.  A great winter that hurts everyone including our enemies.  I believe he was talking about the Night King and his army.” 

Dany rolled her eyes. “The current enemy is Cersei Lannister who has declared war, not some myths of walking dead men.  What are we going to do about her?” 

“If you could take the throne without bloodshed would you-“ 

“Are you not angry that she sits on our throne?  That she’s taken our destiny from us.” She cut me off sharply. 

Scoffing at her I could feel a fire burning deep down inside of me. “We should declare war against her because we’re angry.” 

“No.  But we can’t do nothing when she has stolen our throne.” 

Pushing myself past her I almost got by until I saw her wrap her hand around my wrist spinning me around to face her. “Dany, let me go.” 

“Why do you wish to support Jon Snow so badly?” 

Meeting her purple gaze I sucked in a breath. “If we don’t have the support of all the houses then what’s the point in trying.  It’s just a throne of swords and a fancy title.  Whoever sits the throne should have earned the name and not simply been born with the popular family name.” 

“You know I can’t ever tell whose side you're truly on mine or someone else’s and it ends this instant!” She bared her teeth managing to snatch the dagger from my hand pointing it directly at my right eye. 

I grunted holding her wrist that held the dagger back just enough where she didn’t stab me through it.  “I’m not on any side.  I’m concerned for the entire realm.  We have to come together to fight the Night King.” My other hand was pushed against her chest with her freehand gripping onto the fabric of my cloak holding me close to her body. 

“I've only ever had faith in myself not anyone else and certainly not some bastard from the North.  That will never change except for my faith in you!” She bared her teeth at me without dropping the blade. 

Glaring at my little sister with no fear I spat in her face. “I'm right here, sister.  I gave you your name, alas it doesn't matter anymore if you wish to kill me.  So go on, do it.  Kill me!” 

“I've sent traitors away for less.” She muttered back to me. 

Raising my chin I kept waiting for her to stab me in the gut or something along those lines. “You can't do it can you.  You've only ever had someone else or your dragons kill someone.  Now that you have the chance you can't strike me because I'm your sister.” 

“You've told me I've done things wrong.  What would you suggest I do with a seemingly traitorous woman like you?” 

Growling in her face the fact that she held a blade near my eye was forgotten. “I'm your older sister for one.  So you should show me some respect and realize I know more than you do about the people of Westeros.  I know how they think because I've lived as a smallfolk, I've spoken with northern lords at the Wall, I've seen what Wildfire or dragons can do to a person, I've been raised as a princess and know the political side too.  My point is that you need me.” 

“What would you me do if I don't wish to kill you but greatly seem to need your help?” Dany asked me, lowering her hand holding the knife and stepping away from me. 

Holding out an open hand to her I declared in Velaryon. “Ivestragī īlva letagon īlva ānogar. Daor rȳ dīnilūks yn rȳ nykeā vow īlon mazverdagon naejot jemēla se se gods. ( Let us bind our blood. Not through marriage but through a vow we make to ourselves and the gods.” 

“Ao se nyke issi vēttan hen perzys. Syt bona mērī īlon shall udrāzma hēnkirī. ( You and I are made of fire.  For that alone we shall rule together.” My little sister placed Aegon the Conquerors dagger back into my hand,  dragging it across her palm with blood dripping onto the floor. 

Sliding the blade across my palm I met her gaze, holding my bleeding hand up to her. Aegon's dagger being held tightly in my other hand. “īlon letagon jemēla rȳ ānogar. ( We bind ourselves through blood.” 

“īlon letagon jemēla rȳ ānogar. ( We bind ourselves through blood.” She clasped her bleeding hand with my own, instantly staring into my purple eyes that matched hers. 

Cersei wouldn't have one dragon to face, now she must face two. 

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-three

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

el's thoughts: i love this part so muchhh enjoyy

masterlist

“What if I say no, Brekker?” It was mere posturing, Matthias knew that. The time for protest had long passed. They were already jogging down the gentle slope of the embassy roof toward the druskelle sector, Wylan panting from exertion, Jesper loping along with ease, and Brekker keeping pace despite his crooked gait and lack of cane. Y/N had never wished more in her life than right now to have been born a Healer.

“What if I don’t give you this last bit of myself and my honor?” Matthias continued.

“You will, Helvar. Nina is on her way to the White Island right now. Are you really going to leave her stranded?” questioned Kaz.

“You presume a great deal.”

“Seems like the perfect amount to me,” Y/N snipped.

“These are the law courts, right?” Jesper said as they raced over the roof, catching glimpses of the elegant courtyards below, each built around a burbling fountain and dotted with rustling ice willows. “I guess if you’re going to be sentenced to death, this isn’t a bad place for it.”

“Water everywhere,” said Wylan. “Do the fountains symbolize Djel?”

“The wellspring,” mused Y/N, “where all sins are washed clean.”

“Or where they drown you and make you confess,” Wylan said.

Jesper snorted. “Wylan, your thoughts have taken a very dark turn. I fear the Dregs have been a bad influence.”

They used a doubled segment of rope and the grappling hook to cross to the roof of the druskelle sector. Wylan had to be looped into a sling, but Jesper, Kaz, and Y/N moved easily across the rope, hand over hand, with unnerving speed. Matthias approached with more caution, and though he didn’t show it, he did not like the way the rope creaked and bowed with his weight.

The others pulled him onto the stone of the druskelle roof, and as Matthias stood, he was struck by a wave of vertigo. More than any place in the Ice Court, more than any place in the world, this place felt like home to him. But it was home turned on its head, his life viewed at the wrong angle.

Y/N on the other side of Kaz, stood with her fists clenched. This was the home for all the druskelle and wolves who sought to kill her kind. The home of the men she was raised to view as monsters. In the distance, she could hear the wolves barking and yapping in their kennel by the gatehouse.

Kaz secured another coil of rope to the roof’s edge and prepared to rappel down to the shore.

“You know what to do,” he said to Jesper and Wylan. “Eleven bells and not before.”

“When have I ever been early?” asked Jesper.

Kaz braced himself for the descent and vanished over the side. Matthias waited for Y/N to scale down first before he lowered himself.

The shore surrounding the ice moat was little more than a slender, slippery rind of white stone. Kaz perched there, pressed against the wall and frowning at the moat.

“How do we cross? I don’t see anything.”

“Because you are not worthy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “We’re also not nearsighted. There’s nothing there.”

Matthias began edging along the wall, running a hand over the stone at hip level. “On Hringkalla the druskelle finish our initiation,” he said. “we go from aspirant to novice druskelle in the ceremony at the sacred ash.”

“Where the tree talks to you.” Y/N scoffed.

Matthias nearly rolled his eyes, “It’s where we hope to hear the voice of Djel. But that’s the final step. First, we have to cross the ice moat undetected. If we are judged worthy, Djel shows us the path.”

It took Matthias two passes along the wall before his fingers found the carved lines of a wolf. He rested his hand there briefly, feeling the traditions that connected him to the order of druskelle, as old as the Ice Court itself.

“Here,” he said.

Kaz shuffled over and squinted across the moat. He leaned out and Matthias yanked him back.

He pointed over to the guard tower on top of the wall surrounding the White Island. “They’ll see you,” he said. “Use this.”

He scraped his hand along the wall and his palm came away white. The night of his intuition, Matthias had rubbed his clothes and hair with the same chalky powder. Camouflaged from the view of the guards in their tower, he’d crossed the slender path to the island to meet his brothers.

Now he, Kaz, and Y/n did the same, though the other two noticed Kaz slip his gloves away first.

Matthias stepped onto the secret bridge, then heard Kaz and Y/N hiss and curse under their breath when the icy water brushed at their ankles.

“Chilly, Brekker?”

“If only we had time for a swim. Get moving.”

Despite his taunts to Kaz, by the time they were halfway to the island. Matthias’ feet had gone almost completely numb, and he was keenly aware of the guard towers high above the moat. Druskelle would have come this way earlier tonight. He’d never heard of any aspirant being spotted or shot at on the bridge, but anything was possible.

“All this way to be a witchhunter?” Kaz said from behind him. “The Dregs need a better initiation.”

“This is only one part of Hringkalla.”

“Yes, I know, then a tree tells you the secret handshake.”

“I feel sorry for you, Brekker. There is nothing you hold scared in your life.”

There was a long pause, and Y/N thought Kaz wasn’t going to answer at all before he finally spoke up. “You’re wrong.”

The outer wall of the White Island loomed up before them, covered in a rippling pattern of scales. It took a moment to locate the ridge of scales that hid the gate. Only a short while ago, druskelle would have been gathered in this niche of the wall to welcome their new brothers ashore, but now it was empty, the iron grating chained. Kaz made quick work of the lock, and soon they were in a slender passage that would lead them to the gardens that backed the barracks of the royal guard.

“Were you always good at locks?”

“No.”

“How did you learn?”

“The way you learn anything. Take it apart.”

“And the magic tricks?”

Kaz snorted. “So you don’t think I’m a demon anymore?”

“I know you’re a demon, but your tricks are human.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, ‘Impossible!’ They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it in ten minutes. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss, and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake all night, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“You love trickery.”

“I love puzzles. Trickery just happens to be my native tongue.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at both boys, fighting the urge to smack them over the head.

“The gardens, right?” She looked at Matthias for confirmation. “We follow them to the ballroom. Let’s go, we haven’t the time to waste.”

Puzzles and magic tricks weren’t something Y/N has had the leisure to waste time and ponder how those things are done. Not at least since she was a child. Her heart clenched at the sharp reminder of the life that was stolen from her and the life she was made for.

Just as they were about to emerge from the passage, two guards rounded the corner—both in black and silver druskelle uniforms, both carrying rifles.

“Perjenger!” one of them shouted in surprise. Prisoners. “Sten!”

Without thinking, Matthias said, “Desjenet, Djel comenden!” Stand down, Djel wills it so. They were the words of a druskelle commanding officer, and he delivered them with all the authority he’d ever learned to muster.

Kaz quickly noticed the heat radiating from Y/N’s hands and motioned for her to stand down as Matthias grabbed the first soldier’s rifle and head-butted him hard. The druskelle collapsed. Kaz slammed into the other soldier, knocking him over. The druskelle kept hold of his rifle, but Kaz slipped behind him and brought his forearm across the soldier’s throat, applying pressure until the soldier’s eyes flickered shut, and his head fell forward as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Kaz rolled the body off of him and stood.

The heavy reality of the situation settled over Matthias and Y/N followed quickly. Kaz hadn’t picked up a rifle. Matthias had a gun in his hands, and Kaz Brekker was unarmed. Tension filled the air and the former druskelle fell into contemplation. The Inferni shot Kaz a questioning look and only received a shake of his head.

“Helvar.”

Y/N’s stern tone snapped him out of his thoughts and he lowered his weapon.

A faint smile touched Kaz’s lips. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do if it came down to this.”

“Neither was I,” Matthias admitted. Kaz lifted a brow, and the truth struck Matthias with the force of a blow. “It was a test. You chose not to pick up the rifle.”

“I needed to be sure you were really with us. All of us. And I have an Inferni on my side, who do you think would win this match?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t shoot?”

“Because, Matthias, you stink of decency.”

“You’re mad.”

“Do you know the secret to gambling, Helvar?” Kaz brought his good foot down on the butt of the fallen soldier’s rifle. The gun flipped up causing Y/N to smirk. He’d had it in his hands and pointed at Matthias in the space of a breath. He’d never been in any danger at all. “Cheat. Now let’s clean up and get into these uniforms. We have a party to go to.”

“One day you’ll run out of tricks, demjin.”

Y/N walked past him swiftly. “You better hope it’s not today.”

~*~

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