#But this scene was among my initial requests

[hannieehaee]

18 + / mdi

content: idol!mingyu x idol!reader, established relationship, jealousy, possessiveness, afab reader, smut, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, creampie, etc.

part 1

wc: 2410

a/n: ppl rlly liked my first gyu x idol!reader fic so i decided to make a pt. 2! im working on a long fic for idol!gyu x idol!reader rn (its a diff universe from this one tho hehe) which should be out this month <3

masterlist

it's been a bit hard.

dating an idol as an idol would really seem like the ideal situation, except when it wasn't.

yeah, you had been absolutely ecstatic upon finding out mingyu had been carrying a torch for you for years. you had felt the same, only ever entertaining your other friends' flirting out of mere desperation for the man to finally notice you. after he suddenly blew up, declaring his love for you, you thought it'd just be smooth sailing from here, except you hadn't really thought much past that.

maybe you were being unreasonable. i mean, you had never dated a fellow idol before! maybe it was all in your head. or maybe you just weren't too used to the dynamic just yet. you weren't too sure. but you had no idea how much longer you could take watching mingyu flirt his way through life anymore.

fans, staff, other idols, male or female, you name it. mingyu simply had an overly flirtatious demeanor towards absolutely everyone. you, personally, always kept a very clear line in fan service, or any other type of flirtatious scenarios (sans your previous attempts to make mingyu jealous). mingyu did not afford you the same courtesy, consistently following requests to call fans his girlfriends and even going as far as initiating the flirting in both fancalls and physical fan meetings. okay, maybe this was something you could put up with. these interactions were very short lived, so they never went too out of hand, but these were not his only offenses.

you looked past the flirting with idols, chalking it up to being played up for the cameras for entertainment purposes. you looked away whenever it went far enough to have fans speculating online. you knew idols were professionals at delivering fan service, always wanting to give people something to talk about. hell, you did it too! this was a bit annoying to watch, but you trusted your boyfriend and your idol colleagues, so you let it slide. it was other things that were harder to look past.

was there any need for him to flirt up a storm among all the female staff members? he was behind the scenes, for fucks sake! there were no cameras nor any benefit from entertaining their giggles and subtle touches of his muscles as they pretended to be interested in what he was saying. you knew your boyfriend probably didn't realize that he was flirting, having simply grown too used to doing it that it was second nature to him by now, but it was still frustrating! specially when no one knew that mingyu was taken. as far as any of his staff members knew, mingyu was still just your best friend, and any sighting of the two of you together (always accompanied by another member of the 97s or a fellow group mate of his to avoid suspicion) was always assumed to be strictly platonic. even now, as you walked into his dressing room, only to find his stylist - and a few of the members' stylists - flocking around him as he told some stupid joke that probably wasn't even funny.

it was sickening, really. the way none of them saw how desperate they came off. how none of them realized that if they all flirted with him at once, it truly had no effect, as he wouldn't pay special attention to any of them in particular. you felt like a hater, but being real, you were starting to become one. you watched him for a good five minutes, wondering if he'd ever notice your presence from across the room. when he did, he immediately went over to you, cutting off any of the girls who had been flirting with him in favor of welcoming you. he was amicable, giving you a simple hug. but his eyes told a different story. anyone who knew mingyu knew those eyes were reserved for his loved ones. that made you calm down a bit, even hugging him back and daring a short peck on the cheek.

today was yet another shoot at the hybe building. you had the fortune of belonging to the same company as your boyfriend, which meant you could stop by whenever you wanted (as long as you kept a low profile). you'd often drag jungkook along with you for appearances' sake, but had decided to go solo today. gyu was clearly happy to see you, interrupting his stylists to take a quick breather with you, heading over to one of the empty changing rooms and finally indulging you with less platonic affection.

"baby! wasn't expecting you today?", despite that, he was clearly enthusiastic to see you, attached to you like a magnet now that he had locked the door behind you, making sure no one was around to see his affections towards you.

"yeah, clearly ..." you couldn't help but grumble, disconnecting yourself from him.

mingyu didnt give you much of a chance to create distance between you, immediately holding onto you again, this time by wrapping his arms around your waist, yours instinctively leaning against his hard chest.

"baby, what's wrong? what do you mean?", a pout made its way to his face. of course he was unsuspecting. the mingyu you knew was far too into you to ever seriously hit on someone else when he had you.

you responded with a sigh, "mingyu, do you have to flirt with every girl you meet?"

"w-what? what are you talking about?"

"did you seriously not notice all those girls giggling at every word you said? they all want you, gyu. and you never put a stop to it."

"i dont .. the stylists? baby, ive never flirted with anyone in our staff, what? i work with them, of course i'm nice, but its always strictly platonic, you know that."

"the fact that you dont even realize it!", you separated yourself from him again, facing away and crossing your arms across your chest like a petulant child.

"baby ..."

"no, gyu. i'm not in the mood. i came to see you, but again, you're hitting on some other girl."

he wrapped his arms around you for the third time now, pulling your back to his chest as he nuzzled his face on the crook of your neck. he was trying to break you down before you even managed to get fully angry at him

"princess, i'm sorry. i swear i didnt realize i was doing it. i- im just too friendly, i guess. why would i wanna flirt with anyone when i have you right here, hmm?", the kisses he began leaving along your neck did not help matters. he knew your weak points.

"forgive me, baby? please? don't want any of them. i'll tell them. i'll tell everyone, okay?"

"gyu ..." you whined, but still angled your neck for hin to keep kissing, leaning against his hold.

"yeah, pretty? i'll tell the whole world. it's just you for me," he paused, letting out a quiet chuckle as he shook his head, "it's kinda funny, though. now you know how i felt any time the boys would flirt with you."

"gyu! how is it my fault they liked me? and i only flirted with jungkook one time before we were ever together."

"and? still hated seeing you with anyone else. you're mine. you've always been."

he turned you around then, holding you close to him as he looked into your eyes. he smiled at you, kissing your nose before chuckling at your whines of annoyance at him. even when you wanted to be mad at him you couldnt. he'd always turn the situation around and swoon you somehow.

"let me show you, baby? show you that you're mine? maybe we can show those mean mean stylists too, huh?", okay, he was just teasing you now, lips drawn way too close to yours as he ran his hands up and down your back.

"gyu ..." you whined, making no effort to actually pull away.

"you'll let me. won't you, baby?" his eyes were glued to your lips, in a similar fashion to your own. you knew he could tell how badly you wanted him to close the gap, but you refused to make the first move. then he'd win. he'd be the voice of reason, which was something you just couldn't have.

"c'mon baby, just kiss me. you know you wanna. dont you wanna show them ill all yours? maybe leave your lipstick print all over my face for them to clean up? give me a hickey to- hmph!"

you had to shut him up eventually. he was driving you crazy. but he was also right. knowing you could make a statement about your relationship without actually having to explicitly say anything about it sounded too good to pass up, so you might've gone a little extra nastier with your kissing, running your lips all over his mouth, letting your tongue do all the work for you. mingyu had no complaints, even turning pliant under your touch.

huh.

he wanted you to be jealous, didnt he? he mightve not flirted on purpose, but now that he knew you were jealous he mustve felt some type of ... pride? at knowing how badly you wanted him to be yours and yours only. well. in that case, you were gonna give it to him.

you're not sure how it happened, but you ended up sitting on him, both your shirts thrown off as you ground on his lap as he sat back on the couch. the lower part of his face, along with part of his neck, were covered in lipstick stains, matching the smudged red along your own lips. you had left a few hickeys (okay, maybe five) on his chest area, not wanting to make the stylists work too difficult. the are with most damage, however, had been his hair, as you had messed it up in all directions possible through your incessant pulling. his hairstylists might have had complaints, but mingyu sure didnt have any. he kept moaning and sighing against your lips, hands guiding your hips from the moment you sat down on him.

"baby ... give me more ... please," you didnt blame him for growing frustrated at the lack of action. you yourself felt like you were at the precipice of pleasure, just needing to sit on him to find the way to your climax.

you helped him lower his pants enough to free his cock, playing with it for a bit before allowing it to slip under your skirt, panties shoved to the side in favor of creating a safe passage for his dick. you couldnt help the loud whine of pleasure you let out at the intrusion, feeling accompanied by mingyu and his own groan.

"gyu! shit ... feel so good- so big ..."

"i know, baby ... so pretty n so tight for me ... how could i ever want anyone else when i have my pretty girl so perfect for me. hole so wet and needy ..."

you cried at his words, speeding up as you angled yourself back to allow your clit to grace against him, making your eyes roll back even more.

"that's it, pretty. gonna cum for me? gonna let me fill you up, beautiful? that'll- fuck ... that'll show them who i belong to, huh? all yours, baby. just like y- you're all mine."

"yours! gyu, fuck! y- yours!"

"and im yours, baby. dont forget."

he kept poisoning at you from below, dragging your hips so you'd bounce up and down at a pace that had your toes curling. he always knew how to fuck you in ways that had your mind going completely blank, like right now. neither of you paid mind to the dressing room next door that was full of staff who could likely hear your muffles whines against each other's lips. you relished on it, even, knowing that once you walked back in the room they'd know who mingyu really belonged to.

"cum, baby. need you to cum so i c- shit ... so i can fill you up."

"almost there, gyu, just ... fuck! just like that! i'm cumming! gyu!"

"yeah, shit. gonna fill you up now, okay, baby? want you to keep it all in. show them im yours, yeah?", his hips never slowed down despite being you being on top. you were now just a rag doll he was using for his own pleasure. nothing had ever felt this good.

he filled you up soon after, with most of it spilling out due to the massive size of his load. he used his fingers to push it back in, then lifting them to your lips for you to lick clean, which you did with no complaint.

"oh, baby ... my nasty girl. how could i ever look at anyone else when i have my nasty baby so desperate for me? hmm? you're perfect for me, angel. dont care about any girl that flirts with me. you're all i want," he used his fingers to push down on your tongue as he said this, groaning at the way you sucked and sucked while looking at him with wide eyes.

"gyu ..." you whined as soon as he left your mouth alone.

"but im still sorry, angel. i didnt realize it bothered you. i get it. kinda wanna fight any of ur male fans when they get a little too friendly with you. that rookie at mnet last month? wanted to take him out back for the way he was looking at you when you performed."

"gyu!," you knew your boyfriend had been jealous of your friend group due to their former crushes on you, but he'd never told you that he felt the same way about literally any man you'd come across as an idol.

"what? im just saying, i get it! im also possessive and jealous. thats why we compliment each other. now come on. lets get you dressed, baby. gotta go have a very awkward conversation with my stylist so she can fix everything you just did to me."

"me?! look at me! im covered in cum!"

"hmm yeah. so pretty, angel. you better have it all in you by the time we get home, yeah?"

you huffed, but agreed, rolling your eyes at the innocent peck that landed on your cheek as he helped you look presentable.

you knew things would be awkward around his staff from now on, but it had been worth it.

[hemmingsleclerc]

The Leclerc Family in the Paddock

-charles leclerc x fem!reader

Leave your honest opinion guys, this is my first imagine ;)

The sun was seen in all its splendor in the paddock. It was race day and the teams had arrived at the circuit. Among the drivers preparing for the Grand Prix, Charles stood out for the presence of two special people next to him.

Y/N, Charles's long-time girlfriend, walked hand in hand with him through the paddock. The couple had recently become parents to a beautiful baby girl and today was the first time they had taken her on a race. Wrapped comfortably in a Ferrari red baby blanket (Charles' request), little Emma Jules Leclerc was a little bundle of joy in her parents' arms.

When Charles and Y/N approached the Ferrari garage, the media took notice. Microphones and cameras were all around them, eager to capture the family moment. Charles, with a huge smile, introduced Emma to the world.

"We're very excited to have Emma here with us today," Charles said, his eyes shining with joy. "It's a special day for our family, and we wanted to share it with everyone who has supported us all these years."

Y/N added, "She's already a little racing fan, just like her dad. Maybe one day, she'll be in the driver's seat too."

The interviewers couldn't help but applaud the adorable family scene. After the initial talk about emma, the conversation turned to the race that was about to begin. Charles, focused, was about to go for victory.

The Monaco Grand Prix ended and Charles started in P1. Ferrari fans burst into joy and the team celebrated their well-deserved victory. When Charles got out of his car, he ran to celebrate his team and wrap up his girlfriend and little daughter.

However, the interviewers later couldn't resist asking about the meaning of having his family present.

"It's an amazing feeling to win with Emma and my future wife, Y/N, here at my home race," Charles said, his eyes reflecting exhaustion and excitment. "They are my biggest fans and having them in the paddock today made the victory even sweeter."

''¿Wife to be?'' the interviewers asked in surprise.

''Yes, we're getting married'' Charles said as he looked at you with pure love in his eyes.

The interviewers couldn't help but smile at that beautiful scene.

Y/N, standing next to Charles, shared her perspective. "Charles is not only a phenomenal driver; he is an incredible partner and now a loving father. We are on this journey together, supporting each other every step of the way."

[dud5tiny]

Intertwined Fates | K. Akabane

✶Pairing: Karma Akabane X reader

✶Summary: Where you find yourself in a complicated situation, and the redhead comes to your aid, or where Karma cares more about you than he lets on.

✶Contains: Physical violence and bullying, Emotionally intense content, Scenes of confrontation and aggression, Karma being Karma.

A/n: English isn't my first language, so forgive any mistakes. My account is new, so I'm still tweaking it to my liking, but I'm accepting requests！

You and Karma always got along well, which is peculiar given his arrogant and proud personality.

You met before he joined class 3-E. Your personalities were distinct, with you being reserved and having few friends, while Karma was, well, Karma, with his teasing and sometimes tasteless jokes. To be honest, he didn't even notice you at first, as your reserved nature didn't make you stand out among the students.

Until one day, Karma overheard you arguing with a student from your class. From the context, this student was humiliating a 3-E student, and without hesitation, you defended them. Since that day, Karma started paying more attention to you.

He was somewhat pleased that you seemed to disdain the educational system as much as he did. He kept an eye on you during class, discreetly. You never exchanged words until the teacher assigned pair work.

Actually, the teacher allowed students to choose their partners. As you didn't talk to anyone and Karma had a reputation for violence (and honestly, students were afraid to team up with him), you didn't have much choice but to work together.

Initially, you felt uncomfortable, maybe unsure how to start a conversation or simply because his presence seemed intimidating. Karma understood he had to take the first step, initiating a discussion about the assignment and how you'd tackle the problem given by the teacher.

The project went well, with Karma doing most of the work, and you providing comments and help whenever you could. You didn't want to be dead weight and let Karma take all the credit. By the end of the class, the work was finished, and you felt more at ease around Karma, engaging in conversation about books and shared interests.

You genuinely thought you'd never interact with the redhead again. Before, you hadn't spoken, so why would it be different now? It was a surprise when, the next day, he sat near your place, which was previously unoccupied.

After that, you became friends, of sorts. No one in the class seemed interested enough to pursue friendship with you, and Karma scared off other students, preventing them from getting close due to his mischievous temperament. The outcast students got along.

Karma noticed that, behind your reserved nature, you talked quite a bit, especially when discussing things you enjoyed, like books or movies. You had to admit (to yourself, because honestly, this guy's ego is already too big), your mornings became more enjoyable because of the interaction with him.

So, it was a huge surprise when you received the terrible news that Karma Akabane would finally be transferred to 3-E for beating up a high-ranking student. You were aware of his violent reputation, and you had seen him in fights before, but the principal had never made a big deal about it until now.

You hadn't had any contact with him since then, and your days returned to being as monotonous as before, which didn't go unnoticed by a group of students who, for fun, decided to pick on you.

You had never been bullied, and initially, you defended yourself against the boys' insults by simply ignoring them. This continued until things escalated; insults worsened, and the turning point was when one of them pushed you during PE, claiming it was an accident.

You returned home with a bleeding knee that day, with a strong desire to punch all of them in the face. But honestly, you were outnumbered, and you didn't want to risk being transferred to 3-E, so you did nothing.

Until one day, things changed. Today was a student assembly, where everyone gathered in the main hall to hear announcements from teachers and sometimes the principal. Students lined up according to their classes; you were in 3-C.

Mockery against 3-E started early, and you decided to ignore it and not join the malicious gossip about them. During the assembly, you occasionally looked towards the 3-E line, searching for a red-haired head among the students, but he wasn't there.

Knowing him, he must be somewhere far away from here, which left you feeling somewhat sad because these days you felt lonelier than usual. Despite enjoying his company, with the constant teasing from the boys, your days were terrible.

After what felt like endless minutes, the assembly ended, and students began heading to their respective classes. You looked around, determined to go buy something to drink from the standard vending machines scattered around the school. You walked to a machine near the court and pressed the button for your favorite juice. It took a while to drop, and you were so focused on your thoughts that you didn't notice a group of boys approaching until one of them quickly grabbed your juice.

You looked startled by the sudden action, but soon anger started to replace the surprise.

"Funny," you said in an ironic tone. "Now give me the juice."

I'm not in the mood," replied the blond, who seemed to be the leader of the group. He opened the juice and drank it. "Horrible, how can you drink such disgusting stuff?"

The boys behind him laughed, and you tried to find humor in the whole situation. The blond made a face at your lack of reaction and poured the juice on the ground.

"You know, I really hoped you'd defend yourself, scream, or even resort to aggression, but you do nothing. Playing with you is not as fun anymore."

"Great, how about leaving me alone?" The blond finished pouring the juice on the ground before crushing the can.

"No, I think it's time to step up the game."

You didn't understand his words at first until the can was thrown forcefully at your head, making you take a few steps back from the impact. Laughter increased when the blond grabbed your wrist and pushed you with all his force into the juice puddle.

You felt your knees scraping on the ground, and you were sure they would be bleeding again. You tried to stand up, but the blond pushed you even more, making you fall completely face-first on the ground.

You tried with all your might to get up, but the boy's strength was superior to yours. You had never felt so weak and humiliated before. You hated crying, especially in front of others, but in this situation, you couldn't prevent tears from forming.

You suppressed them; you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of crying in front of them.

"Going to cry?" The blond laughed, pushing his weight even more on you. "Hey, Yaru, take a picture for me."

"Ah, man, I left my phone in my bag, hold on, I'll be right back."

You watched Yaru go towards the corridors. This blond had to be a complete sadist to act so maliciously. You had never harmed anyone, always keeping to yourself, just existing. You wondered if this was some kind of punishment for something you did in the past.

You didn't believe much in karma, but you started to doubt it now.

"Yaru is taking too long, don't tell me he chickened out and ran away?" One of the boys laughed.

"Hope not, the bitch here isn't a very comfortable pillow."

The boys laughed again, and you just wished all of it would end. Maybe if you were stronger and smarter, you could have asked for help and avoided these incidents, but nothing could be done now.

Soon, footsteps could be heard, and you just wished this Yaru guy hadn't found his phone. The boys were distracted, so it was a surprise when Yaru fellto the ground, injured and bruised. Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the tense air.

"What the hell is going on here?"

You felt relieved recognizing that voice, one that belonged to someone more imposing than all those boys. Honestly, anyone could see the relief on your face for seeing the redhead there.

The sudden presence of Karma made the laughter cease instantly. The boys stepped back, and you looked at the redhead, who stood before them with a furious expression.

"Oh, look who showed up," the blond said, trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes showed nervousness.

Karma advanced towards them with surprising speed, grabbing the blond by his shirt collar and pulling him off you.

"You filthy pigs don't even pick targets that can defend themselves. How pathetic can you get?" Karma's voice was low and threatening.

The other boys began to retreat, realizing that the situation had drastically changed. Karma's sharp gaze passed through each of them before returning to the group's leader.

"Come on, pour juice on my head now," Karma challenged, with a sarcastic smile.

The blond stuttered, unsure how to react. At that moment, Karma let him go, but not before giving him a shove that made him fall on his butt. Karma crouched down, eye level with the blond, and held his chin firmly, forcing him to stare into his golden eyes.

"I could kill you right now, you know, but I don't want to do it in front of my friend," his grip tightened, "This is my first and only warning. If I find out that you and your shitty gang laid a finger on her again, know that a punch from me will be a caress compared to the beating I'll give."

Karma finally let go of the blond, who looked at him in fear. He stood up and stared menacingly at all of them.

"Get out of here before I change my mind."

The boys needed no further encouragement. Hurriedly, they distanced themselves, leaving you and Karma in the tense silence of the corridor.

Karma approached you, observing the contained tears on your face. His severe expression turned into genuine concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently touching your shoulder.

You nodded, unable to contain the gratitude in your eyes. He smiled sideways, as if the situation wasn't a big deal.

"By the way, if you ever need help dealing with those idiots again, I'm here," he reassured with a comforting smile, "Have they been bothering you for a while?"

He sat on the ground, not caring whether it was dirty or not. You felt like you couldn't form any words without letting the tears roll, so you just nodded.

"You should have talked to me as soon as the teasing started. We may not be in the same class anymore, but I'm still your friend."

Karma looked at you, and he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty for distancing himself. He liked 3-E; the people were much friendlier, and he even made one or two friends. But he missed the long conversations with you, and how the chat never seemed to end when it was just the two of you.

When the assembly was over, he was looking for you because he wanted to invite you out, watch a movie, go to a café, anything. He just wanted to spend quality time with you.

You'll never know how much self-control he had to not beat those boys to a pulp and send them all to the hospital because he didn't want your perception of him to change. And despite his reputation following him, you didn't seem to mind.

Karma snapped out of his thoughts when he realized his uniform was wet. He took off his blazer and put it over your shoulders.

You thanked him as he extended his hand.

"Let's go," He said, taking his hand and pulling him up.

"Where are we going?" Your voice was still a bit shaky, but your desire to cry was fading. The presence of the redhead was reassuring to you.

"Anywhere. Let me kidnap you from this terrible school for a morning," he said with his typical mischievous smile, and you chuckled, looking towards the school gates.

Unnoticed by you, if you had paid attention to the redhead, you would have noticed how much his smile widened just by making you laugh.

Maybe everything would be okay as long as you were with him.

A/n: Aaaa just Karma Akabane, hope I managed to capture the essence of our mischievous redhead. Don't forget to like because it helps a lot with engagement. Thanks for reading!

2023 © DUD5TINY — All rights reserved. Plagiarism, copying, translation, modification, editing of my stories, whether within or outside of Tumblr, is strictly prohibited!!

[moonselune]

I'm not the same anon who requested for BG3 ladies being jealous with gn!Tav but could I request for the same prompt with Halsin, Rolan, and Raphael?

I am such a sucker for these jealous prompts hehe

Halsin:

Halsin stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as another druid, a younger and enthusiastic one, guided you through the intricacies of natural magic. Initially, he appreciated the help and the camaraderie among his kin. However, the other druid's overly keen interest in you began to grate on his nerves. He observed the way the younger druid's eyes lingered on you, the way he touched your arm a bit too often under the guise of instruction.

As the younger druid placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning in to explain something with a little too much enthusiasm, Halsin's patience finally snapped. With a calm but commanding stride, he approached the two of you, his presence imposing and undeniable.

"Enough," Halsin's voice was firm, his eyes locking onto the younger druid. "Thank you for your assistance, but your presence is no longer required."

The younger druid stammered, clearly taken aback by Halsin's sudden assertiveness. "B-but Archdruid Halsin, I was just-"

"I said enough, have you no respect for your Archdruid?" Halsin's tone brooked no argument. The younger druid quickly apologised and excused himself and retreated, leaving you and Halsin alone.

You looked at Halsin, a mixture of surprise and concern on your face. "Halsin, my darling, what was that about?"

Halsin took a deep breath, his expression softening as he turned to you. "I apologize, my heart, if I overstepped, but his intentions were not entirely pure. I could not stand by and let him disrespect you."

"Oh really? Definitely not because a certain bear of mine is feeling a bit jealous?" You mischievously smiled as you stepped towards him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his protective nature. You placed your hands on his chest and looked up at him.

He stalled, his eyes darting as he tried to think of something to say. "I uh-"

"-Because it's not often 'Archdruid Halsin' comes out," You continue to tease, and you saw him blush, you laughed and pinched his cheek, going on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "I kind of like him."

"Oh really?" Halsin smirked, placing his hands on your hips. His demeanour more relaxed knowing you were not upset with him.

"Really." You affirmed, pressing your lips to his once more, Halsin pulled you into the embrace, his large hand cradling the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. Not caring who was around, he picked you up and you happily wrapped your legs around his waist and he walked you to your shared quarters where the Archdruid was to make another appearance.

Rolan:

Rolan watched from a distance, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowing as another magic user, an enchanter, flirted with you under the pretext of discussing magical theories. The enchanter's smooth words and charming smile made Rolan's blood boil. He tried to remain composed, but the sight of the enchanter leaning in closer to you, laughing at your jokes, and subtly touching your hand was too much to bear.

Rolan's fingers twitched, his magic simmering just beneath the surface. He knew he had to intervene, but he wanted to do so without making a scene. As the enchanter leaned in even closer, Rolan made his move. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he cast a minor spell, creating an illusion of a sudden downpour over the enchanter.

The enchanter yelped in surprise, stumbling back as he was drenched in the illusory rain. You turned, equally surprised, and saw Rolan standing there, a satisfied smirk on his face. The enchanter quickly excused himself, muttering about needing to dry off, and fled the scene.

You approached Rolan, your brow furrowed in confusion. "Rolan, did you do that?"

Rolan shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "He was bothering you. I thought it was time he left."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. "You know, you could have just asked him to leave."

Rolan's expression softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Maybe, but this way was more fun." He reached out and took your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "Come on, let's go somewhere quieter."

"Okay, jealous," You smirked, bumping into his shoulder as you walked hand in hand.

"Me? Jealous of that pathetic display?" Rolan laughed but you could tell behind his bravado there was a modicum of insecurity, and you pecked your lips onto his cheek. He couldn't help but blush and squeezed your hand, "Come, let me show you some real magic."

Raphael:

Raphael watched from a distance, his sharp eyes narrowing as another cambion, a rival, fawned over you. The cambion's smooth words and flirtatious behavior made Raphael's blood boil. He could see the discomfort in your eyes, but you were too polite to outright reject the advances.

Raphael's patience wore thin as the cambion continued to push his luck, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. In an instant, Raphael was beside you, his presence commanding and filled with a dark aura.

"Is there a problem here?" Raphael's voice was cold, his eyes glaring at the cambion.

The rival cambion's confidence faltered under Raphael's intense gaze. "I was just talking to-"

"You were pestering," Raphael interrupted, his tone dripping with menace. "And I do not appreciate anyone making my beloved uncomfortable."

With a snap of his fingers, Raphael summoned a portal, its fiery edges crackling ominously. "I think it's time you returned to where you belong."

The cambion barely had time to react before he was sucked into the portal, sent back to the pits of hell. You looked at Raphael, both relieved and slightly unnerved by his swift and brutal reaction.

"Raphael, was that really necessary?" you asked, your voice tinged with light concern. Someone in your relationship had to be empathetic.

Raphael's expression softened as he turned to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "No one disrespects you in my presence. I would do anything to protect you."

"Or do you mean nobody flirts with me in your presence? Don't think I can't see through your little valiant act..." You commented, you couldn't help but relish in the idea that Raphael was jealous. Though you were quick to add your appreciation for his intervention.

"Oh dearest, you're mine, and if the nine hells don't already know that.. well, something has to be done." Raphael purred as he pulled you towards him, crashing his lips into yours before you could dwell on exactly what he meant by that.

Hope y'all enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 6: The Flight of Dragons

18+ | 7.5k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Dragon riding, Targcest, Courtship

This chapter was a real whopper at just shy of 7500 words! It was affectionately titled 'dragon date' as I was writing it, and that is exactly what it is. Daemon and Ryna take their dragons Caraxes and Silverwing to the skies and have a bit of fun. It's no secret that I love dragons, so I had an especially good time writing this scene. I hope the imagery of it comes across well. Told from Daemon's POV. P.S. Has anyone ever read the book The Flight of Dragons that the chapter is named for? It was my first exposure to dragons when I was maybe 5 or 6 years old and I have been in love with them ever since.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

Comment to be added if I missed you! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @immyowndefender @purple-1995 @claud012 @tent4yu @xcinnamonmalfoyx

“Seven hells!” Daemon burst out in genuine surprise, whipping his head to stare at the girl by his side. The carriage shook against the cobblestones as they were ferried by a small accompaniment to The Dragonpit. Among the contingent of some five or six men escorting them was Ser Erryk Cargyll, Ryna’s newly appointed guard - likely assigned just to ensure that the Rogue Prince behaved himself.

Initially, Viserys had been amenable enough to his request to take the princess out dragonriding, but his brother’s habitual nitpicking soon became apparent as time went on, and he imposed additional conditions for their outing.

“You must be back when the sun is directly overhead,” the king had originally demanded. Thankfully, Daemon was able to convince him that sundown was a much more realistic expectation, but immediately his brother sprang back with another stipulation. “You must land in the presence of a chaperon.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Daemon had balked at the ridiculous requisite, but his brother would not be moved.

“You must not be alone in the wilderness unaccompanied,” Viserys had retorted with indifference to his plight. Suffice it to say, Daemon didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. It seemed they would be having their picnic by the water as Ryna had originally suggested, or at least somewhere close by enough that their babysitters could follow.

Ryna clutched a brimming basket packed with foodstuff in her lap, looking down and fidgeting with the red cloth that covered it. It had been prepared for their luncheon rendezvous by the kitchen staff, likely with more food then they could ever possibly hope to eat on their own. Perhaps they could share with the nursemaids who would soon be overseeing them as though they were children.

More interestingly though, was the tale his little princess had just been regaling him with of how she tamed the majestic beast known as Silverwing, a dragon that had gone unclaimed for nineteen years since the death of Queen Alysanne.

“Are you mad?” he spat with a mix of shock and awe, focusing back on what his niece had just said.

“I won’t lie, there was a part of me that was terrified in that moment,” she explained, her features brightening with excitement as she spoke. “She dwarfed me and I felt like a kitten in her shadow, but there was also something knowing in her eyes, something that spoke to me. She voiced without words that we were one in the same and somehow… I just knew that I had to stand my ground.”

“But to chase after the beast, into her lair after she denied your initial advance, without the aid of the Dragonkeepers and with no battle training is not only dangerous, it is foolish.” He couldn’t help but feel protective of her even retroactively, but there was a strong sense of pride welling in his chest as well. It was a brash action that he himself would have taken.

“It is simply the way it must be done at times… If you are tame a beast akin to a god. They will not accept you if you cannot prove to them that you are worthy. That you are just as powerful as they are. And even still, there must be a bond, and I sensed that connection with Silverwing already. We had encountered each other many times on my visits to Dragonstone, and when I was six and ten I could no longer deny the call I felt to claim her.” She sounded almost like a prophetic seer in her explanation.

Daemon knew she was right though. How could one expect to tame a dragon without being as willful and bold as they were. And yet, it had been incredibly perilous of her to attempt alone. It was something he could never have dreamed the small girl would do, but he would certainly never accuse her of being a weak, mewling pet. No, not after that story and how she had stood up to Rhaenyra as well. His beloved niece was a fierce Valyrian warrior, fire made flesh, demanding what was owed to her from one of the most fearsome and magical creatures known to existence.

“Worthy indeed,” he let out a low scoff, though he was clearly impressed by the tale. “To tame a dragon such as Silverwing in such a daring way is truly astounding. I would wager that my dear brother would have fainted on the spot if he had witnessed his daughter performing such a feat.”

Ryna turned to him looking a touch sheepish as though she were recalling Viserys’ reaction on the spot. “He was not pleased when he found out that I had sailed across the bay to Dragonstone without his leave. But he could not complain for long when he found out that I had returned with a dragon of legend.” She smiled enthusiastically, seemingly proud of her subjugation - not just of her dragon, but also of her father’s ire.

Daemon chuckled at the thought of poor old Viserys upon realizing what his daughter had accomplished. “Oh, I expect not. But, he must have been overjoyed in the end, having another fierce mounted dragon in the hands of the family.”

His eyes began to wander over his niece thoughtfully, a feeling of respect fluttering through his mind and down to his heart. She looked so lovely, so noble sitting there beside him with such a resolute countenance.

And then suddenly and without warning, he blurted out the uppermost thought that would not escape his head, “You are very beautiful, Princess.”

Her gaze shifted from looking out the carriage window back towards him, a startled surprise in her slack lips as her eyes focused on his. “T-thank you, Uncle,” she replied with a girlish sweetness, her cheeks blushing slightly with the compliment.

The prince let out a low hum, enjoying the soft blush that spread across her porcelain skin. Daemon leaned over to her just as the coach took a jolting turn around a tight corner, hitting a rock and sending her sliding into him further. He relished in her proximity, so close that he could smell her delicate scent.

“No need to thank me,” he murmured softly, letting his cheek fall against the soft tresses atop her head for a moment and feeling a sense of intoxication as a result from the honeyed smell of her shampoo. “I’m only speaking the truth, my little dragon.”

She smiled shyly as a sense of quiet pervaded the royal coach. It was not an awkward silence, but a contented moment shared by two who truly appreciate each other’s company. His arm snaked naturally around her shoulders, pulling her snugly to his side. The feel of her warm face nestled against his chest sent his mind spiraling back and forth between gentle affection and primal lust. It was hard not to think of doing unspeakable things to her just then, but the sounds of trotting hooves and wheels scraping against cobblestones helped to distract him from his desires.

Eventually, the carriage slowed as they neared the entrance to the massive gates atop Rhaenys’ Hill and while Daemon found himself loathe to part from her company, even temporarily, he was also rapt with the idea of seeing his little Ryna mounting an incredible beast like Silverwing. He stepped out of the carriage, jumping to the dusty ground below and offered his hands up to take the basket first and then helped his niece down as well.

Ser Erryk had already dismounted his steed and was standing at the ready to assist, but Daemon couldn’t help but resent his presence. He tossed the basket against the knight’s chest and offered his arm to Ryna with a slight scowl. He did not harbor any malice towards the man, in fact Cargyll had served under him quite faithfully when Daemon had been Commander of the Gold Cloaks. But, he still wasn’t sure if this Cargyll twin would be loyal to him or the king in the event of witnessing any untoward behavior, and thus he begrudged the intrusion.

“Meet us down by the overlook. Across from the harbor. We’ll land there,” Daemon barked as he pointed off in the direction he meant to fly. The Kingsguard nodded solemnly in return.

With Ryna at his side, they started toward the open maw of the Dragonpit. Daemon mused on their approach that the back entrance looked more like a yawning cave with jagged stone teeth than its name suggested. The warm air of the city, carried up by the sea and mixed with the sulfurous reek of dragonshit blew through the opening and assaulted their nostrils.

Several Dragonkeepers stood at the entrance in reception. Three were attending to Caraxes, who reluctantly allowed himself to be led out into the open, while a couple others stood guard at the mouth of the pit. The massive wyrm hissed with displeasure as it came fully into view, its scaly hide gleaming bloody crimson in the light of day. Caraxes’ neck extended out into the air with a roar as Daemon approached and it gave him a measure of comfort, a reminder of who he was if ever there was one.

He let go of Ryna’s arm to close the gap between him and his mount. His hand reached out to stroke the great Blood Wyrm on his snout, soothing the temper of his dragon and earning a low, content rumble from deep within the beast’s chest. Caraxes’ eye fixed on him with the flicker of recognition, a connection born from years of shared adventures.

“Lykirī, Caraxes,” he reassured the great creature - Be calm. The giant serpentine creature seemed much happier now that it was surrounded by two Targaryens. “You remember my niece, old boy. Don’t you?”

Another grumble escaped Caraxes’ maw, louder and louder until eventually it came out sounding like the beast was purring. Its head reached out for the young girl in all his fearsome glory, the long slender neck stretching to sniff at the familiar Valyrian blood that coursed through her veins.

Daemon felt something inside of him brace. Caraxes had never defied him as such to bypass his hold for another. Though it wasn’t crossness that gave him pause, but a split second of worry. Yet, Ryna was already taking those steps to close the distance between them, meeting his dragon without hesitation as though it were a domesticated pet. She stood beside her uncle, her fingers resting right beside his own against Caraxes’ hard, yet flexible scaling.

She is fearless.

She had a confidence about her in the presence of this great wyrm that she did not exude in other areas of her life. Perhaps it had been squashed by her family after years of neglect, but here in the shadow of his dragon, it was all too obvious that she had the makings of a fierce dragonrider. She might even be capable of claiming more than one beast, should she desire it. He couldn’t help but smile as the awe struck him.

Caraxes’ head pressed in towards them in what was undoubtedly a demanding plea for affection and Daemon could do nothing but chuckle as the great beast sought after the attention of his sweet niece. “Looks like he’s just as fond of you as I am,” he commented with a measure of amusement in his voice.

Ryna smiled with a childlike glee present in her eyes as she suddenly pressed her cheek directly against the flat spot before Caraxes’ eye. The dragon grunted and settled, pushing into her gently as if in approval.

Then it is not only me that is enthralled by you.

He felt a pang in his chest, almost akin to jealousy. She had ensnared not one, but two beasts with her beguiling innocence and effortless beauty. It was an amazing display to the point of being surreal given she had not been this close to Caraxes for many years. Daemon couldn’t deny the rush of affection and lust he felt at the sight, mixed with the slightest bite of envy. An envy not to share in her ways, but to selfishly keep them all to himself.

“He is magnificent,” she finally said, replacing her cheek with her hand on Caraxes scales. She beamed with a pride that can only be felt by those adept at taming a creature as wild and fierce as a dragon.

“Yes he is,” Daemon responded with a measure of warmth in his voice. “Magnificent and brutal,” he noted, running a hand along the outstretched neck of his wyrm.

Ignoring his owner’s touch completely, Caraxes gave a few adoring nudges against Ryna’s palm. The Blood Wyrm practically begging to be pet and scratched now, purring like an oversized house cat for the girl’s attention. You enormous whore. I’ve never seen you so desperate before.

Ryna obliged his pleas for care, rubbing the tips of her fingers into the scaling enough to massage the musculature down below, but taking care not to snag her nails on the edges. Caraxes was certainly eating up all the attention, groaning and grunting with every touch. Daemon was definitely starting to feel a bit jealous by now.

“You’d think he’s never been pet before in his entire life until now with how he’s carrying on for you,” he said with a hint of contempt, shifting his gaze to the dragon’s massive golden eye. Daemon shook his head and rested a hand on Ryna’s waist, staking his claim lest Caraxes get any ideas about who she belonged to.

A low grumble came from within the red wyrm’s chest, a mostly silent acknowledgment of Daemon’s presence, but no more than that. Still Ryna kept at kneading all of over the dragon’s face and clearly Caraxes wished her to continue with her pampering, but Daemon had enough of it.

“Come now, sweetling,” Daemon interrupted the display. “Caraxes is not the only one craving your attention.” He spoke in a sultry low tone as he gently pulled her away from the beast. His dragon gave an unmistakable grumble of protest, a displeased moan that sounded like a child being denied their favorite toy. “Besides, you still have to introduce me to your Silverwing.”

“Oh yes! I almost forgot,” she said with a shocked look of remembrance. “Sorry for getting carried away. I just love them so.” Ryna gave Caraxes a wave goodbye and then peered around to the idling Dragonkeepers. “Why haven’t they brought my dragon out as well though?” she mused with a furl of her brow.

Daemon eyed the men at the entrance to the pit and a sudden sense of alarm overcame him. The keepers looked far too nervous and unsettled and he had been too preoccupied watching Ryna with Caraxes to notice it until now.

They left Caraxes and approached the huddle of keepers at the entry that led down into the Dragonpit.

“Skoriot iksos Silverwing?” Where is Silverwing? She asked with confusion. After all the Dragonkeepers were typically consummate professionals that revered the dragons as gods. It was unlike them to not have the great beasts prepared when it had been requested.

“Ziry jāhor daor rȳbagon.” She will not listen. The response came first from the eldest keeper present while the two much younger and inexperienced men around him cowered their heads slightly.

“Iksos ziry nykeēdrosa iemnȳ? Is she still inside?” Ryna didn’t seem entirely surprised.

“Daor, ziry-“ The keeper began but was cut off by a deafening screech. No, she-

The beating of large wings sent air in all directions, kicking up the dust as everyone’s gaze shot to the air to take in the spectacle. The massive, pale dragon’s scales shimmered, almost blindingly opalescent in the sunlight as it hovered directly above them, sending the keepers retreating into the eye of the cave. Silverwing darted in the air, crashing down to the side of the landing with a few more shrieks, causing the earth to tremble beneath them.

“She does not like to be chained,” Ryna explained with a mild embarrassment as she rushed forward to meet her dragon before it could cause anymore ruckus.

Daemon stood back, watching with a mixture of wonder and concern as Silverwing let loose her displeasure at being confined for so long. The great silver beast had a reputation for being the tamest and most friendly dragon in Westeros, but clearly living in the wild for so many years had changed its disposition.

As Silverwing roared and snarled at the keepers who had run to seek shelter from the enraged beast, Daemon turned and held his hand up to stay Caraxes who had become unnerved by the display of a larger dragon’s aggression. Once the crimson wyrm calmed, he took the chance to observe Ryna. It seemed his niece had no fear in her when it came to these winged creatures.

“Rāpirī!” she called out loudly, the sound cutting through the dragon’s complaints as her neck stood straight with awareness. Be calm!

Silverwing’s rigid stance visibly relaxed as the princess approached, taking several lurching steps forward to meet her halfway. Daemon was surprised by the tone that erupted from her small frame in the wake up such an imposing beast.

“Daor, Silverwing! Konir sagon daor ñuhoso naejot sagon!” No, Silverwing. That is no way to act!” Ryna’s tone was strict and chastising, but the way she embraced the dragon was anything but.

The dragon towered even Caraxes in size and yet it acted docile when faced with his niece. He had to laugh as he walked across the yard slowly, watching the beast press the front of its head against the height of her entire body and somehow failing to knock her over.

“How is she not crushed under the weight of that beast!?” Daemon pondered aloud with a smirk as the scene unfolded before him. It seemed like a completely ridiculous sight, even by his standards, to see a dragon envelop the form of a little girl and have her not suffer even a single broken rib.

He kept his distance, not wishing to agitate Silverwing as she enjoyed the moment of finally being free of the cramped confines of the Dragonpit. Yet, he couldn’t resist smirking to himself as he saw his young niece standing tall with her hand resting upon the top of the great dragon’s head.

After some moments had passed, Ryna turned back to him with a look of delight upon her face, her hand motioning in circles to pull him closer.

“Don’t worry, Uncle,” she said encouragingly. “She was just a touch ornery with the keepers, I think.”

Daemon had to laugh at that. “Ornery is putting it lightly,” he replied, walking closer to join them. “I think I’d use something more potent. Perhaps savage is a more apt description.” Daemon jested as he took position not far behind Ryna marveling at the sheer mass of the dragon’s enormous body.

Silverwing’s bright orange eyes watched him discerningly, but she had obviously decided to take her rider’s lead in trusting him for the moment. In the sun, the dragon’s scales appeared almost white, the spine and underside of her wings were pearlescent with hues of coral pink shining through the most. The flicker of silver lined the underside of each scale and Daemon could tell the beast would be just as gorgeous in the dim twilight as well.

She was a beast of both grace and beauty, no doubt, but Daemon could also sense the sheer power and ferocity that exuded from this dragon. Silverwing may be docile for the moment, but appeared like a creature that would bring ruin and death to her enemies if given the chance. “A glorious wyrm, to be sure,” he admitted as his hands came to a rest at his hips.

“She certainly looks like she belongs to you, sweetling. Pale as snow and just as stunning,” he added with a thoughtful grin.

“Uncle…” she turned her head back to him, a rose in her cheeks at the compliment. “You must stop praising me so. I don’t know how to handle such flattery.”

“Surely you’re used to praise by now,” he teased as his eyes scanned her form up and down in a predatory manner. That beautiful blushing face and those pouty lips that beckoned to be bruised and used. “I’d wager you’ll handle it just fine, sweetling,” he answered in a suggestive tone. His eyes lingered over her delicate body for a second longer before he returned his gaze to Silverwing.

“I’ve heard this beast was quite docile, even obedient, when last it was ridden by the Queen Alysanne,” he inquired curiously. “Why has she become so easily agitated?”

“I’m not sure,” she pondered, stroking down the neck of Silverwing with the flat of her hand. “It could be that she is restless and misses her mate, Vermithor. They had been bonded for decades and even after the passing of their riders, remained so upon the Dragonmont. But, it might be that she is no longer accustomed to being bound after living free for so long. It is difficult to say, but I may stop forcing her to be chained. It is getting more dangerous for all involved. Save me, of course.”

Ryna then took him by the wrist and led him closer. “Shh… Shh, Silver. Renīs,” -Touch, she warned the giant white beast as she prepared to place his hand upon her dragon’s hulking face. Silverwing let out a low growl, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she watched Daemon carefully. He was not weary of the creature, but wished to give it the space it needed, regarding it back with his own calculating expression.

“It is alright, Silver,” she let go of Daemon’s hand and continued to coo, almost using the tone one might speak to a young child with. “He may be a rogue, but he is with me.”

The great silver dragon continued to rumble and hiss, her orange eyes fixed on Daemon with doubt, but Ryna’s soothing voice started to calm her into a tolerant complaint of his presence.

“Oh, she’s very protective of you, hm?” he teased with a smirk on his face. “But she should know that I would never dare harm her precious rider.”

“Perhaps you should tell her that yourself… And maybe she’ll even believe you.” She quipped back with a playful leer.

“And what might persuade her that I’m a man worth trusting?” Daemon chuckled at his niece’s jest as he looked back to Silverwing. Those blazing, fiery eyes continued to stare at him, almost like they were peering deeply into his soul. He took a step closer to the dragpm, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

“Don’t worry, riña,” -girl, she stepped forward and clapped the side of the dragon’s massive jaw. “He might look dangerous, but he is actually quite sweet once you get to know him a little better. A little mischievous too. But that only serves to keep things interesting.” She gestured for him to come even closer as Silverwing relaxed considerably.

A little mischievous? That is the understatement of the century.

“Sweet, you say?” he barked sarcastically while shifting his gaze to Ryna. “I don’t think that’s a word many people would use to describe me,” he teased as he continued to carefully advance, closing the final distance between him and Silverwing.

The giant eye flicked to her rider for a moment before shifting back to Daemon as he raised his hand up slowly to touch her. Finally, he lowered his palm down upon the scales below her snout. Silverwing rumbled slightly and then settled, finally relenting her fussing over his nearness. He couldn’t help but marvel at how soft her scales were, like touching snow in the summer, but supposed it was balanced out by the fearsome spikes that protruded out from around the crown of the dragon’s head.

“There we are, girl,” he whispered as his hand stroked over those fine as silk scales, coming to rest along the curve of her jaw. He turned to the princess with a smug smirk, unable to help himself from gloating. “I guess I’m not such a lost cause after all.”

Ryna rolled her eyes playfully, running her hand down the throat of her mount. “I knew she’d accept you. She’s mine after all, isn’t she?”

“Indeed, sweetling,” he replied as his hand brushed lines along the underside of Silverwing’s jaw, taking care to avoid the jagged spurs jutting out. Just as you are mine. The words danced on the tip of his tongue, holding back a possessive smirk from forming on his lips.

Daemon’s focus shifted to his niece as she ran her hands over Silverwing’s smooth plates of shining armor. He couldn’t help but imagine how those same sweet hands would feel upon his body, caressing his chest and running through his hair. He was still conflicted with how to balance the lust he felt for the girl and the confines of the courtship. A line he was not supposed to cross yet, no matter how tempting it was.

“Now that everyone is at peace with each other. Shall we go flying, Uncle?” Ryna asked with a smile, grazing her hand against his for a moment as she stepped back away from the towering silver white dragon. “I think this shall be the best courting date that was ever had.”

The brief contact of her fingers touching against the back of his knuckles felt like fire upon his skin.

“The best, sweetling?” he replied with a wicked grin as he followed her in giving Silverwing space. “Oh, I could think of a few ways to make it even better.”

His niece shook her head at him with a telling expression of both desire and impishness. “Ebrot, Silver!” she boomed with authority. Down.

The giant scaled beast lowered it’s neck down, it’s chest practically touching the ground as she spread her wing out like a step ladder. Ryna climbed up the hard alula of her dragon’s outer wing with the deftness of a seasoned thief, sliding into the saddle with a thump. The saddle appeared just as he’d expect, made for a princess with a royal blue fabric lining and a frame made of oxidized silver that looked magnificent against the creature’s milky skin.

Daemon had to bite his tongue to keep his expression nonchalant as he watched that great power between Ryna’s legs, making it look like Silverwing’s back was her very own throne.

And she makes it look so good.

Giving the princess one final glance, he nodded and turned on his heels to stride over to where Caraxes was, already waiting for him and impatient to take to the skies. Daemon hauled himself up into the leather saddle as the Blood Wyrm let out a sharp screech of excitement that echoed across the Dragonpit and likely the streets below. He settled his knees onto either side of the beast, straddling the saddle and gripping the rein in his fists as he urged Caraxes back towards Ryna.

The dragons hissed and spat, each giving off their own intimidation tactics as they attempted to vie for dominance, but were stymied by their riders.

“Daor, Caraxes!” he bellowed like thunder and the crimson wyrm rumbled once more before settling. As the beasts calmed, Ryna walked Silverwing beside him so that they were both facing each other.

“Now, Uncle… There’s just one question left to answer.” Ryna smirked mischievously. “Do you know what it is?”

Daemon gave his princess a look of annoyance, pretending as if he was too distracted by the antics of their dragons, but there was no hiding the grin of anticipation that soon pulled at his lips. He knew damn well what was coming his way, almost like a child understands without instruction that a game is near at hand.

“Enlighten me, sweetling,” he answered in feigned ignorance.

“Who will be faster?” she challenged him as her eyes grew wide. Her hands clutched the reins of her saddle tightly and she shouted, “Sōvēs!" ordering Silvering to fly.

Oh, you ’re on, r i ñītsos. Little girl.

As the immense silver dragon bolted forwards, great wings unfurled as she lunged into the sky, Daemon’s competitive nature kicked in and he ordered Caraxes to quickly follow suit. The crimson beast took off into the air with a powerful leap, its wings flapping furiously to gain speed as he gave chase to Ryna and her mount.

He could just barely hear her shouting through the current of wind assaulting his ears, "Vēzot! Vēzot!" urging the creature 'Up, up!'

“We can’t let her beat us, now can we, Caraxes? I’ll never hear the end of it!” he yelled to his mount with an amused laugh. He then ordered his dragon to climb into the sky as well, goading his smaller, more agile dragon forward, “Aderī! Aderī!” Faster!

Daemon gained on her swiftly, only a beat behind her as Ryna soared higher and higher, finally reaching the boundary of the clouds and pushing through. In a crest of hazy fog, they were both above the canopy of mist in direct reception of the blazing sun. Caraxes let out a sharp cry of pleasure as the warm sunlight washed over them, both dragons now gliding through the clear air with ease.

His bride to be’s dragon shone like a rainbow after a storm, breathtaking in its splendor and he could not help but feel awed by the sight of it. But, even the beauty of Silverwing’s gleaming scales could not deter his focus as his eyes locked onto Ryna’s, watching as she sat astride the great dragon as if it were an extension of her own body. Her flowing hair was golden in the light, illuminating her with a radiant glow that made her look like a goddess.

The princess’ playful smile, soon became a bit more serious as she returned his gaze, an unspoken promise of more to come. He was so captivated that he almost forgot about their race. Almost.

“You may be lovely, Niece, but you’re not going to win!” he yelled out, a teasing lilt to his voice despite the volume.

She turned back with a beaming smile and shouted "That's what you think!"

Ryna pulled back hard on the reins with a devious look on her face.. "Embrot, Silverwing!! Down!" The dragon rolled up once more and then dove back down into the clouds and Ryna let out a screaming cheer as they descended.

As the shimmering pearl of a beast dove into a dizzying free fall, Daemon’s eyes widened in surprise watching them disappear beneath the cloud cover, cursing under his breath, “You little cheat!” She wasn’t going to play fair it seemed, which suited his own nature just fine.

He urged Caraxes into a steep drop in hot pursuit of the princess, the great red serpent’s wings tucked close to its muscular body as they hurtled through the cool air. His heart was racing with excitement, the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he chased after Ryna through the billowing white haze.

Truly, this very feeling was what life was all about for those of the Valyrian bloodline: the adventure, the daring, and the freedom. Those who could ride dragons and knew the boundless liberation of flying could never truly find happiness with a ground laden person. He’d hoped to find that connection with Laena, but supposed the salt and sea that coursed through her veins, her steady flow, had a way of drowning out the fire in his own. Daemon had been restless with her, reclusive and entirely unlike himself, but now it seemed he’d found the fire he was meant to burn together with and it felt sublime.

A great whoop escaped his lungs as the clouds parted and he emerged through the bottom of the fog bank. The sensation was addictive, like the most concentrated milk of the poppy, the feeling of freedom that flight brought to his life mixed with the very thrill of the hunt as he pursued Ryna. He hadn’t felt this good in years, as if somehow all of his confliction, all of his struggles had suddenly gave way to clarity. He could see his path clearly and knew exactly what he wanted.

He had smoldered for Ryna for quite some time, but those embers had now been stoked becoming a raging firestorm of lust, desire, and need that spiraled forward without restraint just as he now cut through the air towards his goal.

The crimson wings of Caraxes spread as the dragon slowed its descent, hovering directly above Silverwing as its nostrils flared in and out taking great heaping breaths. Daemon’s cornsilk head was now almost directly above Ryna, looking down at her as a great smirk formed on his lips.

“You will not beat me that easily, you little minx!” he shouted, though his playful tone was heavily tinted with the thirst of the battle-high.

The princess threw her head back to look up at him, her lips loose with a wide smile as she brazenly reached a hand up. Daemon felt a jolt of heat rush through him and pool low in his belly as he gazed down at Ryna below him. She looked so radiant, her face flushed with exhilaration, her silverspun hair streaming, whipping wildly as she rode upon the back of her majestic silver dragon. It sent an aching throb through him, seeing his future bride looking so wild and free.

Gods, she is glorious.

He didn’t think he could reach her, but he extended his arm to Ryna anyway, feeling as though he might slip right out of his saddle if not for the downward motion holding him in place. The tips of their fingers grazed against each other for the slightest of moments as her mount’s great wings streamlined even more against the opaline crusted body, causing her to dive faster.

Daemon laughed out loudly, not angry at all by her cunning little tricks, but rather more amused than anything. For all her sweetness, the princess certainly had a playful streak to her and he very much enjoyed it.

“You little brat…” he said under his breath, grinning as he told his dragon to go after her. “Follow her, you big red brute!” Caraxes let out a great screech in response and took off after Silverwing once more, gaining fast as they headed down towards King’s Landing.

The pair of dragon riders glided over the city, circling and looping around one another, neither truly gaining the upper hand as the competition between their mounts turned into a game with no real rules nor rituals. They danced around one another, Silverwing twisting and banking beneath Caraxes, keeping him constantly on the defensive as Daemon took advantage of his mount’s greater maneuverability, testing the limits of his agility and speed.

It must have been a sight to behold for all the commonfolk down below and if rumors had not yet circulated of their coming union, then they most certainly would be spreading like wildfire now.

They swooped past the massive dome of the Dragonpit before pulling back up, their great beasts twisting and twirling through the air as Ryna shot towards the River Gate and over the Blackwater Rush. She followed the path alongside the river and Daemon pursued close behind. The princess was already slowing to look for a spot free of trees to land upon along the edge of the Kingswood.

The princess was already slowing to look for a spot free of trees to land upon and he took the opportunity to speed past her. For he knew exactly where their destination was, a large clearing that preceded a rocky outcropping that overlooked the Blackwater Bay on the boundaries of the Kingswood. Daemon rushed ahead, satisfied that he would win the race and ordered Caraxes to land, “Ninkiot!”

The Blood Wyrm flared his wings wide, slowing his descent as he landed on the soft grass with a heavy thud that shook the earth. Caraxes let out a triumphant shriek, sharing in the joy of victory as he lowered his body to let Daemon dismount from his back. His legs were a little wobbly as he jumped from the beast, a slight disorientation as he stepped on solid ground again. He pat his mount proudly on the head as he turned to await Ryna’s arrival.

Silverwing glided down near the treeline, wings outstretched and hovering for a moment before landing with a crash like thunder. The princess climbed down from her silver dragon’s back and turned towards him, face bright and exuberant from the thrill of their little race.

“I have never flown with another rider before!” she shouted from across the way, striding swiftly to meet him. “Tell me, Uncle… Why has it taken me so long to experience the delight of such play?”

As she made her way towards him, he drank in the sight of her. The way her hair curled in silvery gold ringlets, wind-swept from their flight and the flush of her cheeks. Her eyes gleamed with a happiness he could not remember seeing on her beautiful face since youth.

Daemon felt a pang of guilt well up as he thought of all the years of missed opportunity. How much time he’d wasted when they could have been spent together like this.

It matters not. You ’re mine now.

He opened his arms as she approached him, giving Ryna a charming smile. “It’s been long overdue, my sweetling,” he replied, pulling her against him in one fluid motion, their chests pressing firmly together without a hint of space between them. The heat from her skin permeated through the fabric of their clothing and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

Daemon pulled back slightly, gazing down at her for a moment. “You’re a very fast flyer, Niece. I had a hard time keeping up with you,” he teased, his voice a low rumble. He wrapped an arm around her slender waist as they walked together towards the edge of the cliff that looked out over the water.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Ryna said ignoring his playful jab. She gasped softly as the sun broke through the clouds and caused the sea to sparkle before them.

He stood at her side, arms encircling her waist, hunkered down slightly so he could prop his chin on her shoulder. The ocean breeze whipped at their hair, stirring the air and bringing the salt of the water to meet them.

“Hm, gevie,” Daemon whispered, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. Beautiful. But, he was not speaking of the sea. He savored the feeling of her closeness, the scent of her skin, perfume, and hair all enticing him to bury himself in her and never leave.

Thankfully, the babysitters hadn’t yet arrived and they would be allowed a moment of reprieve from the intrusion of onlookers. Surely Ser Erryk was speeding ahead at full throttle to watch over them at the king’s behest, so they likely wouldn’t have time to do anything much.

As if reading his mind, she turned towards him, her small hands creeping up his chest slowly. Ryna looked up at him, her eyes heavy with desire and her lips parted enough to invite him in. Daemon was powerless to resist her silent request, his breath quickening as he ran his thumb across the plump redness of her lower lip. His gaze flickered over her face, lingering on the pale shine of her lilac irises before finally joining their mouths.

A deep, guttural moan rumbled in his throat as a familiar heat spread throughout his body. He deepened the kiss, pulling Ryna closer against him, their hips aligning as he pressed his arousal into her involuntarily, the need taking him over.

She gasped a soft little moan against his lips and he wondered if she had ever felt a man in this capacity. He’d had her pretty close to him on the night of the banquet, but with all of those skirts bunched up beneath her, Daemon doubted she had actually felt anything discernible. It would be hard to mistake it for anything else now though and her startled response made him want to throw her down on the grass, to see what other sounds he could coax from her innocent mouth.

Her body stiffened ever so slightly as his tongue invaded her mouth, tasting her sweetness eagerly. He pushed his tongue in deeper, wanting to consume every little whimper and movement she made. Daemon gripped her tighter, his hands resting firmly in the curve of her hip as he pulled her flush against him. She felt so good, like a missing piece that had finally found its rightful place in his arms.

He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging and pulling it between his teeth before burying his face back into the crook of her neck. His lips traced a slow, searing path across her jaw and down to her slender throat as his hand moved up her bodice, greedily clutching the soft mound of her breast.

Fuck, she feels so good. So soft and supple.

The feel of her tight little body pressed against him was already driving him wild. He was aching to sink his teeth into her neck, that smooth expanse of milky flesh calling to him. He could imagine the whimpers and mewls his sweet Ryna would make and it caused his blood to rush even faster, pumping into his cock as the fabric of his breeches constrained him painfully.

Slow it down, you lecherous bastard.

The audible rumble of wheels and hooves was now fast approaching from down the banks of the river. Daemon gave her breast a final gentle squeeze, reluctantly releasing his lips from her skin with a final kiss to her shoulder as he stepped back. It was an agonizing thing to do and the desperate look on her face was almost as painful as the taste of her still persisting upon his lips.

He was playing a dangerous game, attempting to see how far he could push himself before he lost all control.

“We must stop,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can hear the carriage. Our nursemaids will be here soon.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ryna looked down the length of the clearing, her cheeks flushed and her chest still heaving from the excitement.

Daemon raked his fingers through his blond locks, trying to collect himself. He felt light-headed and shaky, the effects of their heated encounter still fresh in his mind, and not just the heavy petting, but the incredible race they’d just had on dragonback as well. This courtship was a torture levied upon him by his self-righteous brother who wanted nothing more than to watch him squirm.

He would stay within the boundaries of the game if not just to spite Viserys for saddling him with such a burden in the first place.

And then a thought occurred to him causing a wicked grin to cross his face as he considered the ways he might further bend the rules.

“I have something in mind, sweetling. Other means of continuing our play,” he suggested, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Oh?” she asked with a curious lilt in her tone. “Are you up to no good again, Uncle?”

The prince laughed, his dastardly plan coming more fully to fruition in his mind. “Perhaps a little,” he replied lifting her hand up to his lips. He placed a soft kiss upon her fingers, watching her carefully with a mischievous smirk upon his face. “Can you keep a secret, sweetling?”

“Of course I can,” she agreed quickly. “What is royal life without secrets and subterfuge?” Ryna giggled, matching his expression with her own of shared deviousness.

Daemon gave her a nod, satisfied with her answer and pleased by her guile. The princess was a quick study, eager to please, and most importantly, easily molded with the pliability of youth.

“Good. I have an idea,” he said, leaning close so that his lips hovered just a breath away from her ear.

The carriage finally peeked out from around the bend of the forest, following the path beside the river just as he finished whispering the last of his plans in Ryna’s ear. It was risky, but if he failed at his brother’s imposed game, there was nothing to stop him from simply eloping with his niece directly into another exile. It was not an ideal situation, but such a back up plan meant that he could never truly lose the match.

They both stood to face the small caravan as it neared with scheming smiles on their faces. Read Chapter 7

[galacticlamps]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thefandomdirtymind]

could it be a request from Sanji? where he is the reader's protector because she also sank on the ship and survived with him? And when Luffy offers him to join his crew, he tells him that he's not going to leave without her? I am in doubt if I want them to be a couple from the beginning or to use the best friends to lovers?

A/N IMPORTANT:  HI awesomemikaus ! Thank you for your request ! I choose the Best Friend to lover trope and give it a jealousy twist, I really enjoy working on this even if that was kinda challenging due to a lot of dialogue and dancing around the already existing scene. I hope you will like it and you will send me other request !

Shoutout to : @alienstardustwrites !

Better late than never

OPLA - Sanji

Sanji / OPLA Masterlist and Coming Soon

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

—

Many situations in life could push people to become close. A mutual friend, a job, a common interest or like in the case of Sanji and you, a major tragedy. 

The abordage by Zeff crew alongside the sank of the ship, as you were both children would have scarfs people way more tougher than you. But, luckily you had each other, keeping you sane and safe while you were stuck on the damn rock in the middle of the sea.

Again those days, as you were both working for Zeff at the Baratie. You would wake up in the middle of the night after your recurrent nightmare, searching the hand of Sanji for reassurance, just like when you were still lost at sea, laying against each other. Of course, as you grow up and are now safe in the security of your own room, you would calm yourself by just looking around you. But, some nights, when the nightmare took a turn for the worst. Sanji had many times, without a word, welcoming you in his bed, holding you until you could fall back to sleep.

Reciprocally, the blond cook would also often reach for you, particularly after a frustrating fight with Zeff or when his own nightmare caught up with him. Those nights, as he inserted himself in your bed, his whole body shaking against you, you would turn yourself, caressing his hair until he relaxed enough to finally close his eyes, haunted by horror you know he survived before you arrived in his young life.

As for the kitchen, your close relationship, often mistaken, had brought few interrogation and funny situations among the crew. Among other things, many bets on when the staff will find you finally making out and when, or an initiation for the new hire consisting of trying to ask you out, pushing the protective instinct of Sanji to often scare the crap out of many new cooks.

“ Sanji, this one was just trying to be nice “ You protested, rolling your eyes as the poor new cook who’s just complimented your dessert returned to his station. 

“ No love, he was flirting and trust me you deserve better than that “ He replied, finishing his own plate. 

“ Should I go tell the same thing to the blond you had spotted at table eight? “ You playfully asked.

“ Oh mon coeur, don’t be jealous, you know you’re the most important woman in my life” He laughs, kissing the top of your head before heading to the heating lamp.

Letting escape a small laugh as you roll your eyes because of him for the second time. Even if you know it was the truth, you couldn’t stop yourself wondering  for how long you will still be that important to him. 

After all, you had eyes and had been perfectly able to see that your best friend is perfectly attractive and with the flirty mouth of his, one day, one of those ladies will respond favorably to his sweet talk. Then what. 

Of course you had tried, one of those nights when you were safe between his arms, to share with him your fears. But, half-asleep, his thumb doing a small circle in the middle of your back, he kissed your forehead before encouraging you to sleep. 

“ You’re out of the line ! Go serve the tables. Out ! “ You heard Zeff shout. 

Turning your head, seeing Sanji unhappily removing his cook uniforme, you sigh, sharing with the man a compassionate gaze as he passes the door to the dining area. 

—

You didn’t expect him to come back with such a large smile on his face, nor having such an acid and strange feeling in your stomach when you heard him talk highly about the ginger angel he was serving. You had seen him inflating himself over some woman before, but not like that, not with that look on his face. 

Without realizing, your mood became sour and your answer was more short and sharp than usual. 

“ Y/N how much time before the eclair are ready” 

“ They will be ready when I say they will be ready Patty !” 

“ Damn girl, I hope your pastry is sweeter than you because for once I enjoy more Sanji than you right now” The blue haired cook replied, passing behind you.  

“ Fuck you Patty ! “

The blond cook had too had his own taste of your temper, having his own full blow as he was entering the kitchen at the end of the shift. 

“ Hey Y/N did see the face of Zeff when I gave him the I Own You note” He laughed, not noticing at first your gloomy attitude. 

“ Don’t notice no, must have been too busy, you know cooking and covering your part. “ You stiffly answered. 

“ Y/N are you okay ? Did you have a fight with Zeff or Patty ?” Sanji asked, concerned by your attitude. “ Jamie is at the bar today should we go take a drink. Or, I can mix you one here if you want“ He offered, trying to reach your hand in reconfort.  

“ No, i’m fine and I’m neither in the mood to been overprotected or had a sad party above a drink “ 

“ Y/N…what happened ? “ Sanji asked, now really concerned.

“I’m fine I tell you ! You, go take that drink , find that gorgeous perfect ginger angel and Let me breathe “ You end up shouting, exiting the kitchen. 

Hesitating to chase after you, his own humor darkens. Sanji ends up smoking alone at the small table of the kitchen, sharing with the new chore boy his old dream about finding the all blue, while you will finally have the good word to describe it in your novel. 

“ So that girl earlier was your friend ? “ Luffy kindly asked. 

“ Yes, my best friend even if the word is weak, she is way more than that for me” Sanji replied, memories filling his mind as the white smoke danced before his eyes. 

“ Oh so you and her…are like soulmate or lover?“

“ Damn If I had a Berrie every time I heard that” Sanji laugh” Y/N and I are…We are…it’s complicated “ He finally exclaimed, finishing his cigarette. 

“ I don’t do complicated but you should join my crew ! “ 

“ Join your crew “ Sanji chuckle “ Y/N and I are like a package deal chore boy, I would never leave her behind “ 

“ Bring her with you, she seems fun ! “ 

“ Well, she is, when she’s in a good mood “ He replied, his gaze fixed on the rotative door of the kitchen, his mind fixed on you.  

—

That night, as you were trying to sleep, you heard the familiar sound of your door open and softly close,before feeling the bed bend under the mass of another occupant. 

“ A Nightmare Sanji ? “ You simply asked. 

“ No, more a concern keeping me awake. You seem really upset today” 

“ That’s nothing “ You brush away, keeping your turn back to him.  

“ The chores boy has offered me to join his crew “ Sanji confessed, chuckling a little but still serious. 

“ So you leaving ? “ You asked, your heart falling in a pit in your stomach, a sour taste filling your mouth.

“ No, Zeff needs me, needs us…but I admit I had thought about it for a moment. Finding the All Blue Y/N, but I can’t, I own the old men our lives ”

Turning yourself around, meeting his clear blue eyes, you gently inserted yourself in his arms.

“ You don’t want to talk about today ? “ Sanji insisted, his arms adjusting themselves around your lying form. 

“ No, I had a talk with Jamie, it was enough, now I just want to sleep and forget today, all of it” You replied, your eyelid becoming heavier, the reassuring warmth of his body putting you gently to sleep. 

“ What, Jamie? Why did you come talk to me ? “ 

“ Sanji, please “ You pleaded, your head filling the crook of his neck trying to find a comfortable way to sleep.

“Do you want me to leave ?” He strangely asked. 

“ No, please stay, i’m really comfortable “ 

“ Goodnight Y/N ”

“ Night Sanji “ 

—

The next morning was for Sanji, one of the strangest of his life. Waking up by your side wasn’t new for him, but, as you were still asleep, the light of the sun illuminating your features beautifully, he advanced a hand to caress your hair. Scaring away the new cooks  who try to seduce you and shut down bets about your romantic life was always fun and game, after all you were way too good for those wannabe cooks. So,why he couldn’t stop to think about you and Jamie, and why he felt so uneasy and angry about it.

Leaving a kiss on your forehead before heading to his own room to change. The strange feeling following him like a cloud,didn’t dissipate, even when he was keeping himself busy helping with the morning prep. He soon regretted, as the day became even more unusual, ( stitching up with Zeff an unconscious swordsman with moss hair)  and dangerous ( Jumping in a fight with Arlong and his fishman attacking the restaurant. Keeping an eye on the kitchen to make sure you were safe ), to not take a moment more to keep you against him while he could. 

But the most difficult of all was his own personal battle with Zeff. Why the stubborn old man couldn’t see that his place was there with you and him. 

“ Little eggplant, for how long will you hide your head in the sand? Staying here is abandoning your dream and if you don't take a good look in front of you you will miss the best treasure here. “Zeff argued, watching Sanji angrily collecting the plates.

Anger bubbling like lava into his stomach, the pile of dirty dishes in his hand, trying to keep himself busy even during the verbal fight, Sanji faced his mentor. 

“ You need us Old man and you don’t know what you talking about “ He replied, his contradicting feeling flashing a sweet vision of your sleeping self.   

“ I know what love is little eggplant, you can play the friends card all you want, but I know she’s the one who'll keep your nightmare away. When she will have a partner, little eggplant, do you think they will allow you in their bed ? “ The chef asked, knowing perfectly where to push his proteger to make him move. 

“ She would never leave me behind “The blond said, his lips a tight line, trying to ignore the invasive thought that, just yesterday, you had preferred talking of your problem to Jamie than him. 

“ She will not, but a mermaid like her deserves to be loved and cherished, little eggplant. If  you don’t, somebody else will. You will not be able to keep her to yourself forever. Take her with you, treat her right and find the All Blue.If it’s my permission you need, go, she’s in the kitchen “ 

“ Fine ! “ Defeated Sanji shouted, putting down the piles of plates, before kicking a chair,  heading for the kitchen. 

You were indeed where the old chef had said, cleaning slowly your station since every cooking activity had been shut down since the attack.

“ Y/N love, make your bag the old man don’t need us anymore, we will find the All Blue. “ The blond cook said, gently taking off your hand the dishcloths.

“ What...what’s happened ? “ You asked, confused. The last time you had seen Zeff and Sanji was after the Fishmen had left and the old chef hadn’t said a word about kicking them out.  

“ We will take the offer of the chores boy and leave this place “ He simply answered, collecting his knives. 

“ Sanji...I think it’s better if I stay here “ You confessed,every fiber of your body protesting against the choice you made. 

“ What...Y/N “ Sanji stops,facing you, his heart skipping a beat. “ It’s our dream…” 

“ I know, but those days I...Sanji I can do it anymore… watch you flirt with all those women ,wondering ,which one will be the one who will fascinate you enough to take my place. That ginger girl will be lucky Sanji.” 

“ Nobody will take your place, Y/N, please I need you “ Tears rolling of his eyes, his heart arching as the words of Zeff making more and more sense “ I can’t do it without you “ 

“ Sanji, you’re the best cook in all the east blue you…” You sadly smiled, your own tears rolling on your cheeks, but your encouraging speeches had been quickly cut by his warm lips against yours giving you the longest due kiss of existence, his hand cupping your face. 

“ No, I can’t because nothing makes sense without you” He answered, his arms embracing you. “ If you stay I stay, if you go I go. I’m really late I know but, I love you, I think from the time on that damn rock, when you were just a little girl in a torn dress to now. Je t’aime Y/N “ 

Emotions were colinding in you like an avalanche as you reach for his lips, smiling uncontrollably against his mouth. 

“ Better late than never “ You whispered between two kisses. “ I love you too. But I swear if you call me Madam or one of those generic nicknames you used, I kick your ass.” 

“ No worries, I had a better one for you Mon amour “ Sanji laughed, kissing your cheeks. 

Lost in your own bubble of happiness, you didn’t hear the double door opening until the intruder shouted. 

“ CREW, THE BOSS MAN WINS THE KISSING BETS WITH THE LOCATION - IN THE KITCHEN IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING PASTRY !- “ Patty shouted, returning without another word in the dinner room. 

Bursting in laughter, holding you thigh, Sanji meet your gaze, the unanswered question floating around you. 

“Sanji, let’s find the All Blue together” You said. 

—

As the Merry Going  was slowly leaving the Baratie dock,  Zeff and your colleague shouting goodbye and advice. You couldn’t believe you were finally off to write your novel and travel the world, Sanji by your side. It had taken you a long time to finally see and admit your feelings to each other but now that it was done, you couldn’t wait to live that next chapter of your life.

“ I have talked to Luffy and we have a room for ourselves, our own bed. “Sanji happily said, taking your hand. “ No more nightmare night and I can’t wait to wake up by your side everyday” 

“ Me too” You simply responded, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. 

—

BONUS: 

Few years later, as Zeff was opening a letter you had sent him from the Grand Line by special Seagull post, a small card fell on the table. In the photo, a little girl, not much older than one year old was holding a whisk, laughing, his characteristic almost white blond hair covering one of his eyes, and your cute nose already distinct in his tiny face. In the bottom of the card, you had written Zelinda (Vinesmoke) Y/L/N . 

Crushing under his thumbs the fat tears of joy menacing to roll on his cheeks, Zeff takes the picture and puts it on the message board, his old heart full of love for his two love birds.

---

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[matan4il]

Update post:

The International Court of Justice has rejected the request of South Africa to stop any future Israeli military activity in Rafah. The provisional measures that were given less than a month ago still stand, and the ICJ determined for now, they're enough, while also saying Israel does have to comply with them (I think it's funny to say Israel has to do something it was already doing, but okay).

After Israeli Minister of Defense presented the names of, and info on, 12 UNRWA workers who were a part of the Hamas massacre, he also shared that at least 30 more UNRWA workers were personally involved in assissting the massacre or participating in post-massacre terrorist activity (such as kidnapping living or murdered Israelis, keeping the hostages imprisoned, or moving them from one hiding place to another). You can find more info on the extensive ties of UNRWA workers with Palestinian terrorist organizations in my UNRWA tag.

In continuation to this, a video was published showing an UNRWA worker, called Faisal Ali Musalam Naami, with the help of another Hamas terrorist, kidnapping the body of a murdered Israeli to Gaza. Israel has indicated that Naami was a social worker, and was eliminated by the IDF on Oct 16. BTW, I saw the vid first airing on Israeli TV before they realized they hadn't blurred the body. I can't even explain what it was like watching it, something about seeing the sagging limbs being dragged just made the whole thing even more inhumane, so the impact is different than if you only watch the blurred vid, as much as I know it was done to preserve the dignity of that murdered man, and as much as I agree with that.

I mentioned the other day that the IDF has arrested at least 60 terrorists from among the people coming out of the Nasser hospital in Khan Younis. This number has now been updated to 100 terrorists. Among them, the Palestinian reporters have claimed that the Nasser hospital director was arrested as well, but the IDF has denied this. In comparison, the IDF announced it officially on Nov 23 when it did arrest the director of the Shifa hospital director due to his collaboration with Hamas.

In addition to IDF soldiers finding a copy of Hitler's Mein Kampf among the possessions of a Hamas terrorist in Gaza, we have now been presented with another antisemitic conspircay book found there. This time, it's a book called (in Arabic) 'End of the Jews' and it was written by Hamas' co-founder, who is also the former Foreign Minister of the Palestinian Authority.

The book's cover is described as showing "swords and daggers piercing through Stars of David, and Jews drowning in blood."

As antisemitism continues to rise all around the world, at the same time that people deny its very nature, the Jewish Book Council has launched an initiative to track down antisemitic incidents targeting Jewish authors, both those who are pro-Israel and those who are accused of it in spite of being silent about the Jewish state, or targeting the Jewish visitors at book events.

In Israel's northern community of Margaliot, a chicken coop was attacked by Hezbollah fire, and an entire flock was killed. In an interview, the coop owner said he doesn't believe the place can be restored. The on going attacks by Hamas on Israel's southern agricultural communities, and by Hezbollah on Israel's northern ones, when taken together, is a real threat to the food security of all 9.8 million Israeli citizens.

This is 35 years old Matan Lior.

He provided the sound, illumination and electricity infrastructure at the Nova music festival. Because of his job there, he was among the last to leave the scene, guiding others to evacuate. When they found his corpse, it was in a car, bending over another women, trying to protect her with his own body. May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[doodle-pops]

Snowflake

Fingolfin x reader

A/N: Finally, some nice and soft Fingolfin content. I wrote this all the back in 2021, and it’s among some of the oldest pieces I have collecting dust.

Warnings: none, fluff and comforting

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: You convinced your tedious at-work husband to take a break from all his duties.

The snowfall outside the cabin was a sight to behold, its unpredictability adding to the charm of the moment. As you sat snuggled up in blankets by the cosy fireplace, the howling wind outside carried with it a cascade of soft, pristine flakes that painted the world in a tranquil white. The snowflakes danced in the air before settling gently on the ground, muffling the sounds of the forest beyond.

It was as if nature itself had decided to join in on your quest for serenity, providing a serene backdrop for the break your husband had so graciously taken from his demanding role as King. The beauty of the winter scene served as a reminder that sometimes, amidst life’s chaos, it was essential to embrace moments of stillness and tranquillity, and that’s precisely what you were doing in this peaceful cabin retreat.

Sitting beside the cosy fireplace, nestled in a multitude of blankets, you listened to the haunting wail of the wind outside the cabin you and your husband had chosen for your retreat. The snowfall this year had been unpredictable, and despite that, your husband, who usually had a bustling schedule, had decided that it was best for both of you to take some time off for yourselves. It had been a peculiar request at first, given his workaholic tendencies. You couldn’t help but feel a tad nervous, fearing that this idyllic scene might suddenly vanish like a fleeting dream.

In the past few days, you had been waiting for him to abruptly spring up and rush off to work, but it had yet to happen. At this moment, you found yourself wrapped in layers of blankets, your husband peacefully napping by your side. He had been engrossed in reading earlier until your fingers started to caress his hair, luring him into a peaceful slumber. You didn’t attempt to prevent him from drifting off; after all, it was only the second day at the cabin, and he was still recovering from the immense workload he had endured.

As you gently ran your fingers through his hair, he shifted closer to your touch, letting out a contented sigh. It was an unusual sight considering he wasn’t typically one for physical affection. Throughout your courtship and into your marriage, you had been the one to initiate such moments. Watching him lay on your lap, cocooned in blankets, was a rare and beautiful experience.

“Who would have thought that you’d be so exhausted after your demanding duties as King? Perhaps you should have heeded my advice to rest more often,” you gently chided, a mix of scolding and gratitude for him finally taking a break, as you reminisced about your request from a few months ago. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his stubbornness. It felt as though he was awake and listening, for in that moment, he let out a deep sigh and wrinkled his nose as if responding to your query. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had done so, fooling you into thinking he was asleep when he was quite the opposite.

Continuing to gently stroke his hair, you reached for your mug filled with steaming hot tea and brought it to your lips. Much to your delight, the tea remained wonderfully warm, even though more than fifteen minutes had passed since it was made. You let out a satisfied sigh as the comforting warmth spread through your body, adding to the overall cosiness of the moment.

After a few more soothing sips, you carefully placed the cup back on the nearby table. Your hands then shifted to deftly remove the book from his grasp, cradling it in your own. With a smile, you picked up where he had left off, your eyes dancing across the pages as you lost yourself in the captivating world of words and stories.

As you delved deeper into the text, a familiar tune began to escape your lips, a melody that had once been sung to you during the long, cold, and perilous nights while crossing the treacherous Helcaraxё. This hauntingly beautiful melody has always brought you immense comfort, soothing your anxiety during the harshest of times. Now, it had evolved into a cherished ritual, particularly effective in moments like this when you sought solace with him.

His eyes remained closed, his breathing steady, but you knew he was listening, his heart attuned to the melody and your presence. The combination of the enchanting tale in the book and the melody weaving through the air wrapped both of you in a cocoon of serenity, pushing aside the worries of the world and allowing you to savour the peaceful stillness of the moment.

Aroused from his slumber, Fingolfin turned his head slowly, sleep still evident in his eyes, and offered you a sleepy smile as he awaited your response. Shifting from his position on your lap, he sat up at your side, pulling the blankets around his waist and over his legs to keep warm.

“You know,” he began in a gentle tone, “the whole point of taking time off was to reduce our stress, not to invoke it. So why hum that tune?” His sleepy smile persisted as he spoke.

You continued to stroke his dark hair, smoothing out the minor tangles he had acquired during his nap. With a thoughtful expression, you responded, “Well, considering that we’re taking this break because you’ve been feeling stressed and tired, I thought it would be the perfect time to sing it, don’t you think?” You punctuated your statement with another soft hum.

Blinking slowly to shake off the remnants of sleep, Fingolfin leaned in to peck your cheek and then your forehead. He pulled you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around you. Setting your book aside and adjusting the blankets to cover both of you, he arranged them to keep you warm as you settled on top of him on the couch.

“Well then, if that’s the case, I believe it would be a wonderful idea for you to join me for a nap, don’t you think? It might help alleviate some of that stress,” he suggested with a warm smile. Without waiting for your response, he gently pulled you closer, his legs enfolding you in a surprisingly tender manner. This behaviour always caught you off guard during your cuddle sessions; you expected to be the one clinging to him, not the other way around. But it seemed he was determined to ensure you napped together.

“It appears I have little say in the matter, my love,” you playfully remarked, your laughter filling the air as he lowered his head to pepper kisses on your forehead, nose, and eventually your lips. The kiss on your lips lingered, conveying his deep contentment. Breaking away briefly, he met your gaze, an intimate exchange that never failed to make your heart race. Then, he leaned in once more, gently rubbing his nose against yours in the most affectionate and tender manner.

Sighing in response to this sweet gesture, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to succumb to the euphoria of being enveloped by your beloved on a chilly winter day. Nestling into his chest, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the delightful scent of mint and hazelnut. With the soft backdrop of snowfall and the gentle crackling of the firewood, the two of you drifted into a peaceful trance, wrapped in each other’s loving embrace.

Masterlist

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[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night they went to Rita's

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: alcohol/drinking, this was meant to be just fluff and a drunk Az but smut somehow made its way in so did both possessive and pouty Az

summary: Mor shares bad news with Valeria and the two decide they are in need of a fun night out. Rhysand invites himself and brings Az and Cas along. The finally go to Rita's and they all get a little carried away with shots.

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here. this turned out to be waaay longer than I originally planned and I also wasn't happy with some scenes so I rewrote them a lot, which is why it took forever to update.

**

As the sun dipped, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, Valeria found herself seated before her piano in her room. The open balcony doors welcomed in the cool, refreshing breeze. A week had passed since her haunting violin performance. She hadn’t seen her father since that night, avoiding him like a plague.

But this moment was different. She wasn’t performing for her father. Instead, she played solely for the love of the instrument she cherished the most–the piano.

Noctis, her devoted bird, perched on the music stand let out a chirp and shook his wings in encouragement. She took a deep breath, her fingers hesitating over the keys before they found their place. They tentatively pressed against the piano’s keys until a slow melody emerged from her fingertips.

As the last note dissolved into the air, she felt a cool caress dash across her cheeks and swept her hair aside, curling against her ear to whisper to her. Beautiful.

She turned in time to see Azriel sit beside her, his wing extending and curling around her to accommodate the both of them on the piano bench. Her wings were glamored–something Azriel noticed she did more of since Mallory’s death.

His hazel eyes glimmered with admiration as he looked down at her. She returned his gaze with a warm smile. “Would you like to play?”

“I’d rather listen to you.” He replied smoothly.

She spared a glance to Noctis who observed the Shadowsinger curiously. “I think Noctis wants to hear you play,” she teased and Noctis chirped in agreement.

Azriel rolled his eyes in mock frustration. He knew he was not going to win this one so he bowed his head at her, silently conceding her request. Velaria beamed, resuming the melody she had been playing moments ago.

Azriel’s own fingers glided effortlessly across the keys, his own crafted melody harmonizing seamlessly with hers.

He knew how to play the piano thanks to her. After learning that Shadowsingers do not sing, despite their name, she had offered to teach him. She insisted that if he wouldn’t sing aloud, he would have to sing with his heart. Their lessons began shortly after he moved in with her family.

Cassian and Rhysand weren’t as welcoming of him initially so he was grateful for her. They spent their evenings after dinner practicing and despite their youth, she was always patient with him. Their sessions gradually tapered off as Rhysand and Cassian grew warmer towards him. He only played the piano occasionally, usually at Valeria’s request.

Azriel never forgot the night he met Valeria, the memory forever engraved into his mind. She had met his shadows, looked into their darkness and smiled. She embraced the very thing many feared. He watched as his shadows danced around them as they played the piano, warmth pooling into his heart as she welcomed their cool touch, a fond smile gracing her lips. 

“Perhaps you’ll sing for me next?” Valeria mused as their song came to a delicate end.

His shadows twirled in excitement, almost eager at the thought of hearing their master sing. He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Even his shadows were in her favor today. 

Valeria’s laughter filled the air and his heart fluttered at the delightful sound. He loved seeing her happy and cherished every moment that made her smile. It had taken all his willpower to contain his rage toward the High Lord the night he broke Valeria’s heart. He hated the way she’d pale at the sight of her father after and he hated having to show loyalty to the cruel man as his spymaster. It was unfortunately the only way he could remain close to her.

“What?”

Azriel blinked. He hadn’t realized he had been staring at her in a daze, his thoughts lost in the moment. “Nothing,” he mumbled, trying to sound casual, though a gentle flush warmed his cheeks.

“You’re adorable.” Valeria said softly, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. An affectionate gesture that brought a rush of warmth to his heart. 

“Adorable?” His response carried a hint of surprise. He had never been described that way. His fingers reached out to her face, coaxing her to meet his gaze that had darkened slightly. “I don’t aim to be ‘adorable’.”

“Tell me, then. What do you aim for?”

Your heart, he wanted to answer. Although, he could not bring himself to say those words aloud. A part of him feared that she did not want him the way he did. That perhaps she only desired him physically but he could not go back to how things were before. Not when he already had a taste of her perfect lips. Her soft skin and breasts, her pretty cunt as she came on his tongue...

If all she wanted was his body, he would gladly keep giving it to her. He would rather have her the way he did now than not at all. He leaned in further, his breath fanning her face and lips ghosting over hers. 

“Your pleasure.”

He was then claiming her lips, his grip still firm on her chin, as his words ignited a heated desire in her stomach. He kissed her softly and slowly, taking delight in the way she melted into him, wanting to press against him.

By the Mother, he would never have his fill of her. He craved her. Desperately. And all the time. The inexplicable pull toward her had not dwindled one bit since he first felt it and a part of him wondered if she could feel it too.

He released his hold on her chin and placed his hands at her hips instead, shifting her onto his lap. His lips parted from hers as he pulled her back flush against his chest, one arm wrapping itself around her waist. The movement caused his wings to brush against the piano, making it sing clumsily and scaring Noctis at the abrupt sound. The bird flew away, accompanied by some of Azriel’s shadows, toward the open balcony.

Azriel brushed her long hair to the side, deciding to claim another of his favorite spots–her neck. His cock strained against his pants and he was sure she could feel it pressing into her. She tipped her head towards his shoulder to allow him easier access as he kissed her neck, easing his way down.

He already knew the spot she was most sensitive to. His teeth grazed her soft skin before sucking, smirking against the curve of her neck when he heard her let out a quiet moan. The sound had his cock throbbing and aching. He was filled with the urge to elicit more moans from her, louder ones.

His mouth did not leave her neck nor his arm from her waist as he used his knee to spread her legs further apart. His free hand lightly traced his way up her leg, then her thigh, his shadows bringing the skirts of her dress up with him. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal and when his fingers ghosted over her core, he could feel just how wet she was for him.

“Do you still find me adorable now?” He whispered against her skin.

“Yes.” Her reply was quick and breathless and his shadows reported that she was smiling.

“Wrong answer.” He told her, his fingers leaving the spot she needed him most and resting at her thigh instead.

She whimpered at the loss and grinded against his thigh, coating his pants with her arousal. He responded by tightening his hold on her waist, large hands splaying across her abdomen to keep her from moving.

“Azriel?"

He nearly shivered at the way she said his name. “Yes?” He murmured, grazing his nose against the curve of her neck and inhaling her scent.

“I don’t just find you adorable. I find you enchanting. Beautiful..."

Valeria grasped the arm wrapped around her and he reluctantly let her pull it away, keeping his other at her thigh. She wrapped both of her hands around his larger one. She pressed tender kisses along the back of his hand, drawing stars along his scars with her lips.

"Every part of you is beautiful.”

Azriel was glad she could not see him as her words had brought a deep blush to his face. His hands had always been a haunting insecurity of his. Yet, she loved them, reminding him every chance she could. His wings fluttered around her.

He decides her words were good enough, fearing that if he let her continue he’d melt into her completely. The fingers that rested at her thigh continued their trail to her dripping core and her breath hitched as he rubbed against her sensitive clit. He teased her entrance before eagerly sliding two fingers in.

“Do you know how pretty you are?” He praised her as he thrusted his fingers into her, his thumb grazing against her clit. “Spread for me and dripping for me like this.”

“Not as pretty as you.” She gasped as he abruptly slid another finger in.

“Fuck,” he breathed into her neck, curling his fingers and eliciting a moan from her. “Do you know what you do to me? The things you make me feel, the things you make me want to do to you..."

"Show me. Please."

Azriel was then carrying her to her bed. He hovered over her, wanting to be able to see her beautiful face as he buried himself into her. His shadows brought her skirts up again, pooling the thin fabric at her waist. He wasted no time in ripping her underwear off of her in one smooth motion before pulling his aching and throbbing cock free. Its tip was angry and seeping with precum as he fisted his generous length.

“Are you sure, princess?”

“Yes, I’m ready. I can take it.”

Valeria licked her bottom lip, remembering the first time she had taken him into her mouth and the delicious sounds she had drawn out from him as he came down her throat. That mouth of hers would be his downfall, Azriel thought with a curse as he recognized the look on her face. He spread her legs wider, pressing his tip in slowly and torturously until he was filling her up completely.

They both let out a moan as her walls fluttered around him. 

“That’s it, my pretty girl.” Azriel leaned down, tugging the top of her dress down to expose her breasts. He took one into his mouth, kneading the other with his hand as he began to move with slow but deep strokes.

His wings unfurled behind him, casting shadows across her body as they fluttered in pleasure, his thrusts picking up in pace. She was already a mess for him, her soft moans and the sinful sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Her final breaking point was when his thumb reached down to rub against her clit again. He pulled away from her breasts to watch her. Her beautiful face was contorted in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as he made her see stars.

Azriel’s breaths started to grow heavy, sweat glistening on his forehead as he felt his release surface. He let out a deep guttural sound as he spilled into her, his abdomen clenching and hips stuttering.

Valeria’s eyes opened at the beautiful dark sound that escaped from him to find him gazing down at her. The way he was looking down at her had her coming undone again, her walls pulsing around him and eliciting more whimpers from him as she milked his cock for every drop. 

Her teary eyes, wide and wild, locked with his, her breath hitching as pure shock flashed across her features briefly. In that moment, it was just the two of them, filled with unyielding desire for one another. That intangible silver and gold thread radiated from the very depths of their intertwined hearts. 

“Valeria,” Azriel couldn’t hold himself back any longer, three simple but powerful words hovering over the edge of his lips. “I—fuck.”

“Az?” She called out softly, watching as a shadow curled against his ear. 

He kissed her lips softly, an apologetic look on his face when he met her gaze again. He pulled out of her, nearly groaning at the sight of his cum seeping out of her. The desire to lap it up with his tongue, to have her coming undone for him for the third time was strong. But his shadows notified him that there were footsteps approaching. 

“I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, his eyes swirling with an emotion Valeria couldn’t quite place.

“It’s okay.” Valeria was reassuring and full of understanding. 

Yet she couldn’t help the ache in her heart as he disappeared into his shadows.

With a slight wince, she hastily got up and ran to her restroom to clean herself up. She adjusted her dress to cover herself back up again, discarding her torn underwear. She placed a glamor–a skill she had perfected– over herself to cover the scent of cedar and sex. She barely had enough time to compose herself before she heard the doors to her room burst open without a knock in warning.

She slapped her warm cheeks and took a deep breath, feigning nonchalance as she walked out of her restroom. But there was an inner turmoil within, her heart still heavy with the words Azriel had wanted to say.

“Oh Val! I’m so sorry for missing your performance! My father locked me away for a week!” Mor exclaimed, rushing toward her cousin and dramatically throwing her arms around her. She then pulled away, choosing to sit on Valeria’s bed with guilt in her deep brown eyes.

“It’s alright.” Valeria brushed off, her heart still racing from Azriel.

Mor frowned. It was evident by the look in Mor’s eyes that she knew all that transpired last week and she wasn’t surprised, considering Keir had been present when she confronted her father. 

Valeria shifted uncomfortably, not wanting the memories of that night to resurface. Her eyebrow furrowed as she pushed thoughts of Azriel away and processed Mor’s initial words. “You said your father locked you away?”

It was now Mor who shifted uncomfortably. Her gaze fell, landing on all the jewelry that adorned her hand. She absentmindedly twisted one of the rings on her finger—a simple gold band with a small engravement of illyrian wings. Valeria recognized it as Mallory’s. 

“He punished me for talking back to him.”

Valeria walked toward Mor, cursing the world for bestowing cold fathers upon them. She could sense there was more to it. While she would not be surprised that Keir would punish her for merely breathing, Mor’s eyes were telling that there was more to the story.

When Mor finally looked up, there were tears brimming her eyes. “I’m engaged, Val.”

Valeria’s eyebrows rose in concern. “What? To who?”

“Beron’s prick of a son. Eris.”

Valeria’s eyes widened. The heir to the Autumn Court had found his bride after all, and an immediate rush of anger coursed through her. She knew Mor had no desire to be married, dreading the day her father would force an engagement upon her. It was a day Valeria dreaded for herself too. Being a female in Prythian unfortunately meant being sidelined, deigned to breeding and parties and child-bearing. 

 “Engagements can be broken off as quickly as they are made,” Valeria told her, gently brushing a loose blonde curl behind her hair in a comforting motion. “We’ll find a way to get you out of this.”

“Thank you.” Mor’s eyes met Valeria’s warm violet ones.

She knew she could count on her cousin for anything, whether it was something as fun as learning how to pierce each other’s ears, having a shoulder to lean on when needed, or sharing their deepest secrets–secrets that not even Rhysand knew. Valeria would gladly be her partner in crime. Whenever, wherever.

 Mor’s gaze then fell upon Valeria’s neck and let out a gasp. “Val…what is that?”

Valeria’s hand shot up to cover her neck, the exact spot Azriel had been fixated on earlier. The marks Azriel would leave on her body were usually covered by her clothes. This was the first time he had marked her neck and in her haste to cover the evidence of her scent, she had forgotten all about the physical evidence. She felt the heat rise to her neck before she could control it, mentally cursing herself. 

Still, she desperately attempted to feign nonchalance.

 “Nothing.”

“That is not nothing!” Mor insisted with a teasing smile. It was as if a flip switched inside her, her earlier sadness and grief replaced by curiosity and amusement. “That’s a hickey, isn’t it?”

Sensing the lie about to unfold on her tongue, Mor gave her a look.

“Why ask if you know the truth anyway?”

Mor squealed in excitement, urging Valeria to join her on the bed. She hadn’t heard any good gossip in weeks and she wanted to know more. “Who?”

“I can’t say.”

Mor’s jaw dropped and she let out another gasp as realization dawned on her. Valeria hated how intuitive her cousin could be, how quickly she could read her. She was glad Rhysand was not the same when it came to things like this, despite his daemati abilities.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Valeria’s silence was enough of an answer and Mor, with an amused laugh, dramatically threw herself onto the bed. “Val, you naughty girl!”

When Mor turned to look at Valeria, she found her cousin with her hands clasped over her face in sheer embarrassment, attempting to conceal the blush that colored her cheeks. “Tell me everything! Now!”

Valeria dragged her hands across her face, sending Mor a deadpanned look. “Aren’t we supposed to be discussing how to get you out of your current predicament?”

“You two fucked didn’t you?”

“Mor!” Valeria exclaimed sheepishly.

Mor’s eyes were glittering with delight. She propped her head on her hand as she looked at her mortified cousin. “Is it true what they say about Illyrian wingspans?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Yes.”

And then Valeria was collapsing onto the bed as Mor had done, the two girls laying side by side as they burst into laughter. 

“How?” Mor was then asking.

“I don’t know. It just happened.” Valeria replied with a shrug, staring up at the stars and fairy lights hung over her bed. “He wanted me and I wanted him and I know it’s wrong. I should’ve saved myself but I didn’t want my first time to be with whoever my father–” She winced at the mention of him “--deems worthy. There is very little I have a choice in but this, this is something I wanted to have control over. It may be silly but I wanted my first time to be special.”

“I have always felt something for Azriel. I never saw him like a brother the way I do with Cassian.” Valeria continued, feeling her heart pounding at her throat. She had never voiced her feelings aloud and it was terrifying but there was a weight being lifted off her shoulders–one she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying for a while.  “I thought that maybe it was just a crush but after the first time we slept together, I wanted more. I still do. I want him. All of him and all the time and I’m scared…”

Mor frowned. “Scared?”

“Of what this could mean, of where this will lead us.” Valeria said, her eyes glistening and heart aching. “There’s also a lingering thought…that while he does care for me, it is all driven by attraction and other...” Valeria struggled to find the words. She didn’t want to say it out loud, voice her suspicions.

It wasn’t a lack of trust towards Mor. She trusted her with all her heart. But because saying them aloud would make them more real and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face it all yet.

"Other forces.”

The words that had almost slipped from Azriel’s mouth…she had an inkling of what they could be. They were words she was yearning to hear, she was sure of. Words that would mirror what she feels for him but something snapped in her earlier when their gazes locked. She wondered if he had felt it too, if that’s what had spurred him to dare to say those words and if it did, it brought a terrifying sense of uncertainty to her…

“Stop that.” Mor’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “What you and he have is not merely attraction or inspired by forces beyond our control. It can’t be. I’ve seen the way he looks at you since our first solstice together.”

Valeria allowed Mor’s words to comfort her, desperately clinging to them. She knew she should talk to Azriel but she didn’t want to let her insecurities and unease destroy what they have. Perhaps, it was selfish of her. But she would rather have him the way she does now than not at all.

Mor sat up with a sigh. She was happy for Valeria but also worried, knowing that the High Lord would not be accepting of the relationship between her and Azriel. There was also still the pressing matter of her engagement to Eris and all the implications that would follow. Her having to move to the Autumn court–away from the two people she loved most, Valeria and Rhysand. Not to mention having to give herself to the cruel prick and bear his children to secure him an heir.

No, she grimaced at the thought. She refused to allow that to be her future, a thought lingering in the back of her mind already. She turned back to look at Valeria, who remained laying in the bed. “Well, we’re fucked aren’t we?”

Valeria chuckled humorlessly in agreement. “Should we raid my father’s wine stash?”

“Are you sure you want to piss him off even more right now?”

“Fuck him.”

Mor then grinned as an idea sparked within her mind. “Let’s go to Rita’s!”

“Yes!”

“Absolutely not.” 

Mor and Valeria whipped their heads at the intruding voice. They found Rhysand, who had appeared just in time to hear Valeria’s offer at raiding their father’s wine stash. He was leaning against the doorway with a smirk on his face and arms crossed. He hadn’t meant to sneak up on them, the door to her room was left slightly open. Anyone could’ve easily walked in.

His violet eyes were sparkling when he added:  “Not without me.”

Mor’s grin widened. “Invite Az and Cass.”

It was decided then–that they would all go out to Rita’s for fun and a very much needed night out.

Mor winnowed back into Valeria’s room after being gone for a couple of minutes. In her arms, she carried a towering assortment of dresses. When Valeria had complained of having nothing to wear–despite her actually having plenty to wear, something Rhysand had annoyingly reminded her of–, she hadn’t expected Mor’s enthusiasm to let her borrow something of hers. 

Valeria could barely see her cousin’s face and couldn’t help but laugh. With a huff, Mor threw the pile onto the floor and began to go through it, picking out the dresses one by one. She showed them to Valeria, who seemed to shake her head no to every one of them, until finally, something caught her eye.

Mor squealed in excitement and then insisted on allowing her to do Valeria’s makeup, reminding her that she had to cover up the hickey before anyone else noticed it.

**

The night was sparkling when Azriel spotted Valeria. When Rhysand had invited him and Cassian to go out tonight, his initial answer was no. That is, until he found out that Valeria was going. Always the gentleman, he had been waiting for Valeria and Mor to arrive to walk them inside while Rhysand and Cassian found them a table inside RIta’s.

His gaze darkened as his eyes swept over Valeria. The dress she wore was sinful, short and tight, exposing the luscious skin of her legs. The legs he was in between earlier, drawing wave after wave of pleasure from her...

“Hey, Az.” Mor called, pulling his gaze away from Valeria. The blonde motioned to her mouth. “You got a bit of drool there.”

His heart skipped a beat, body tensing as he was reminded he had to be more careful.

Valeria smiled at him, brushing her fingers against his hand as he guided them through the entrance. “Don’t mind Mor,” she whispered to him. He would have to ask her later but for the moment, Valeria’s calm demeanor was reassuring to his worries.

Azriel would’ve allowed his body to relax had it not been for the ravenous eyes that fell upon Valeria and Mor when they entered. His wings curled around the two females on either side of him with a glare, making Mor roll her eyes.

If he thought the dinner party with the High Lords was torture, boy did The Mother have something even more tortuous in store for the night.

**

The vibrant colorful fae lights cast playful shadows as Valeria and Mor moved effortlessly on the dance floor. The upbeat rhythm swirled around them, pulling them into the heart of the pulsating music. Laughing and swaying, they were engulfed in the euphoria of the club.

Mor, with her carefree spirit, spun around, her laughter filling the ear. “We should take more shots!”

“Yes!” Valeria was quick to agree, finding Mor’s energy infectious.

Grasping her hand, Mor led Valeria to the bar. Valeria let out a curse once they reached the counter. “I left my bag with Rhys.”

Mor’s lips curled into a smirk. “Oh my sweet Val, we’re not paying for our shots.”

She then placed her shoulder on Valeria’s, prompting her to turn slightly to her right. She found a handsome young male watching her with an appreciative gaze. He smirked at Valeria when he realized he finally got her attention. Mor leaned in to whisper in Valeria’s ears. “He’s been staring at you all night.”

“I’m not interested,” Valeria whispered back, offering the male a timid smile.

Mor giggled. “It doesn’t matter. Just act like it so he can buy us drinks! Quick, he’s coming!”

Valeria barely had enough time to act nonchalantly as the male approached them.

“Hello, beautiful.” He greeted her.

Valeria looked up. When she took too long to respond, she felt a slight shove from Mor. “Hi,” she managed to breathe.

“Allow me to buy you and your friend a drink.”

Valeria’s lips curled into a smirk that mirrored Mor’s. Was it really this easy? She found herself nodding at the interested male, teasing him as she leaned in to tell him what Mor and her wanted. The bartender was quick to prepare the shots, handing them out to the three of them.

The male licked his bottom lip, his gaze not leaving Valeria as the three of them raised their glasses. “To–”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey!”

Valeria glared as Azriel appeared out of nowhere and snatched the shot glass from her hand, downing it himself in one big gulp. Unlike the fae male, he didn’t wince as the amber liquid burned his throat. He glared daggers at the male, who was too close to Valeria for his liking. 

Mor’s eyes darted between the two males and she downed her shot before Azriel could take hers too.

The male chuckled. “It’s alright, I can just buy you another one.”

Azriel’s lips curled up in a snarl. He stood tall in front of the male, towering over him and blocking his view of Valeria. His eyes were dark and full of rage. “I believe I told you to fuck off.”

“Azriel!” Valeria called to him sharply but he did not falter.

“You should’ve told me you had a boyfriend, gorgeous.”

“He’s not her boyfriend.”

It was Mor who had replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

Azriel let out a growl, his fists clenching at his sides and a flash of hurt crossed his eyes. His shadows coiled and slivered up his shoulders, ready to strike like a venomous snake. The male was smart to take that as his sign to leave, recognizing that the glaring male in front of him was both an Illyrian and Shadowsinger. Someone not to be messed with.

But the male couldn’t help but glance at Valeria once more. “I’ll see you around, gorgeous.”

Azriel turned to the two females. A glare was still etched onto his face. Valeria felt his wing against her shoulders, shielding her from the male’s lingering gaze. She noticed the way it twitched, sensing he was irritated. She bit her lip, finding a sliver of delight in Azriel’s jealousy and a heat daring to pool in her stomach.

“What the fuck, Az?” Mor whined. “We were just trying to get free drinks!”

Azriel directed his gaze towards her, glare still on his face but now waning.  Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of golden coins, brashly throwing them onto the counter. Mor’s eyes lit up at the sight.

His eyes were locked on Valeria’s when he spoke. “If you want a drink, you ask me.”

“Alright, then.” Valeria replied, holding his gaze in challenge. “Then take a shot with me.”

So Azriel did and then they were taking another.

After two more shots, the three decided to head back to the table they had picked out, surprised that no one else had taken it as Rhysand and Cassian were no longer seated there. Valeria shuffled into the booth beside Mor and Azriel seated himself across from them.

Valeria’s eyes darted around the hall. She couldn’t find her brother at the bar nor the dance floor. “Where’s Rhys?”

“Fucking some girl in the alley.” Azriel answered with a nonchalant shrug.

Valeria choked on her drink at his bold words. She had only heard him speak that way when it was just the two of them in the intimacy of her room.  “And Cas?”

“Also fucking that same girl.”

Mor’s eyebrows knitted together while Valeria’s eyes widened. It was Mor who spoke next. “What about Tanwyn?”

“He says she doesn’t mind sharing.” Azriel shrugged again, uninterested in continuing the conversation. He was already accustomed to Rhysand’s and Cassian’s sexual endeavors. There was a short time, back when they had just discovered the pleasures of being with a female, that the three of them would bring a female back to the training tents to share. 

Azriel had stopped joining them. He had stopped seeking pleasure with other females shortly after as he could no longer find the release he desired with them. He brought his drink to his lips as he looked at the reason why, who was sitting right across from him and avoiding his gaze.

“What about you?” Mor dared to ask, although she had an inkling as to where his desires were.

His gaze was still locked on Valeria as he spoke, his shadows dancing around him.  “I realized I don’t like sharing.”

**

Valeria and Mor had returned to the dance floor. They had tried to convince Azriel but he did not give in, not even when Valeria had given him an adorable begging look. The music throbbed in their veins and they twirled to the rhythm. Their care and worries dissipated as they enjoyed the sheer fun of the moment. 

A sentiment that Azriel, who had decided to watch them, did not share. He didn’t know what drink he was on but he could feel his heart pounding in his ears and the world begin to spin. He was still mulling over the male from earlier. He couldn’t blame him for being interested in Valeria. She was beautiful, after all.

What stung had been Mor’s words. He's not her boyfriend. While him and Valeria shared many intimate moments together, she was not truly his and he knew he was selfish to believe she could ever be.

 Rhysand joined him at the booth moments later, reeking of sex and alcohol. He wore a smug grin on his face.

“What a shame you didn’t join us, Az.” He said, wiping away the glistening remnants of his endeavor on his mouth with his thumb. “What a tasteful little thing she was.”

Azriel only hummed in response. His eyes returned to the dance floor to the exact spot Valeria and Mor had been dancing in. His gaze softened, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes as they caught Cassian, who rushed toward the girls enthusiastically. He watched as Cassian swayed his hips to the music, almost grinding against Mor in a playful manner while Valeria, who danced in front of Cassian, cheered them on.

Azriel didn’t know when it happened but after engaging in light conversation with Rhysand and returning his attention to the dance floor, he found a shirtless Cassian. It wasn’t long before the dancing male had found a table to climb on. He waved his shirt around with one hand, a drink in his other. He chugged the drink in his hand as he moved his hips sensually, eliciting cheers from the dancing crowd. Mor and Valeria were among the crowd, throwing coins–the ones Azriel had left with them–at the dancing Illyrian.

“We should stop him.” Rhysand mused.

“Yes, we should.” Azriel quipped.

But neither of them made a move to do so. 

They continued to watch their best friend make a fool of himself, bursting into laughter when Cassian lost his footing and fell off the table. Cassian had made his way back to their table, wings hanging low, clearly distraught over the way his performance had ended. His words were slurred as he complained to Rhysand and Azriel.

Rhysand and Azriel were in the middle of consoling the defeated Illyrian when Valeria and Mor appeared. Their hands were full as they carried shot glasses.

“A round of shots to celebrate the best performance ever!” Valeria exclaimed with a grin as she clumsily raised her glass.

Cassian’s head lifted from the table. “The best performance ever?”

“Best performance ever!” Mor echoed, encouraging the rest to grab a shot.

Cassian’s eyes lit up as he took the remaining shot glass. They all grinned at each other as their glasses clinged, cheering for Cassian and then they were downing the amber liquid in one go. The night continued on, full of more dancing and drinking.

Valeria had lost count on how many shots they had taken but it was enough to have them all stumbling their way out of Rita’s. She let out a curse as she looked at her brother and friends behind her, realizing they were too drunk to winnow back to the Moonstone palace and too far away from the House of Wind to fly. 

Rhysand, who couldn’t remember his name but could remember all the lyrics to an old song, clung onto Cassian, who joined him in singing out loud. Mor was stumbling right behind them, lost in a fit of giggles. Valeria allowed them to walk ahead of her before she proceeded to continue but a large membranous wing came into her view, halting her in her step.

“Let’s fly back?”

Valeria laughed as she looked up at Azriel, who now stood in front of her. “I think we’re too drunk for that.”

“M’not.” Azriel objected with a hiccup.

Valeria raised an eyebrow at him and he responded with a defiant look on his face. She watched as he unfurled his wings, preparing to push off the ground. She reached forward in an attempt to grab his hand and stop him. He made it almost five feet into the air before he lost his balance and came crashing down.

“Az!” Valeria exclaimed but she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped from her.

She ran to Azriel to make sure he was okay, relieved that his injuries were nothing but a bruised knee. He looked up at her, still on his knees. His shadows danced around him, some reaching out to caress her face in a loving manner.

 A sly grin formed on his face. “Looks like I’ve fallen for you.”

Valeria blushed. “Yeah, sure.”

“Sure? What do you mean sure?” Azriel’s lips pressed into a pout. A sight Valeria found absolutely adorable. “Are you mad at me?”

He was then wrapping his arms around her, burying his face into her stomach. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Valeria ran her fingers through his soft hair.

“I’m not mad at you.”

 “I love you.”

They said in unison.

Azriel’s three words hung in the air. She froze, her fingers no longer brushing through his hair, eliciting a small whimper from him.

“You’re drunk, Az.” She replied, her voice soft and quiet, opposite to the beating of her heart. “I’m drunk.”

“I still mean it.” 

The fingers embedded into his hair made their way to his chin. She coaxed his gaze to meet hers as she lifted his chin up.

His eyes, glossy and tinged with red, still shone with an unmistakable longing and admiration–feelings he held exclusively for her. She reached out to lightly brush his cheek with her thumb.

“Then, I love you too.”

His eyes fluttered shut at her touch. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

“I want you to be my boyfriend too.” 

Azriel inhaled sharply, his thoughts a swirling tempest like the shadows around him. He wasn’t sure if the alcohol was to blame entirely. He wondered whether her words were genuine or merely an agreeable response.

**

Valeria didn’t know how but by some miracle–perhaps thanks to the help of Azriel’s sober shadows–they found themselves in the middle of his room. His arms were still around her and head still resting on her stomach. She crouched down to shift one of his arms around her shoulder, looking at his shadows for help. They complied and together, they heaved him onto his bed.

The room around her was spinning and she lost her balance for a moment, the effects of all the alcohol still strong. She blinked the room into focus and her eyes darted around. She had never been inside Azriel’s room at the Moonstone palace.

It was neat and simple, adorned with dark shades of blue and black.

Her heart swelled when it landed on his nightstand and she recognized the worry dolls she had gifted him years ago, neatly placed. She noticed some were missing but she caught sight of one of them peeking out from his pillows.

When her gaze traveled back to Azriel, she found him propped on his elbows, looking right at her, awakening the butterflies in her stomach. His black dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned, revealing the tattooed muscled skin below. His dark hair was tousled and earring glimmering under the fae lights. His eyes were hooded, clouded with admiration and lust.

He looked absolutely sinful.

Azriel smirked at her, spreading his legs further for her. There was a devious glint in his hazel eyes as he glanced to his lap and then back to her. “Won’t you join me in my bed, my pretty girl?”

Valeria bit her lip. Her legs were moving before she could form a proper reply. She didn’t hear the thud against the door or the footsteps behind her, too consumed by her desire.

But she did catch a figure out of the corner of her eye. 

“I’ll be your pretty girl, my pretty boy!” 

Valeria swayed on her feet as Cassian swept past her. He dashed for Azriel and threw himself on the bed. Azriel let out a groan, cursing under Cassian’s weight. It was then that Valeria heard Mor’s voice and she turned towards the open door just in time to see Rhysand face plant on the floor.

**

Cassian had been the first one to wake up, finding himself cuddled against Azriel’s back. Mor was on Cassian’s side, curled up against a pillow, snoring softly. When he sat up, he grimaced at the pounding in his head but also at the drool he had accidentally left on one of Azriel’s wings. 

His eyes had then darted around the room, remembering that Rhysand had been the one to winnow them back to the Moonstone palace. It had taken a couple of tries to get them to the Moonstone palace due to Rhysand’s inebriated state. He had winnowed them to Windhaven right outside of Lord Devlon’s camp on accident first and then to the Sidra before finally succeeding. As soon as they had arrived at the Moonstone palace, Cassian had insisted they–him, Rhys and Mor–sleep in Azriel’s room as his bed was the largest and comfiest. 

Cassian couldn’t help but let out a chuckle when he found Rhysand near the door. He remained on the exact spot he had face planted on. Except, he was laying on his side. 

But where was Valeria?

A slight frown formed on his face as he searched for her. He could smell her so he knew she had to be in the room too. Something prompted him to look to Azriel again. He followed the curve of his wing–the one that didn’t have Cassian’s drool. His eyes widened, lips pressing into a taut line.

Hidden beneath Azriel’s wing and curled into him was Valeria.

His hands were pulling at Azriel’s shoulders, forcing him to lay on his back. Valeria shifted, turning the opposite way. Azriel let out a groan, squinting his eyes. “What the fuck, Cas?”

“Get up.” Cassian almost seethed. “Now.”

**

tag list:  @justrepostandlove, @kemillyfreitas, @thelov3lybookworm

A/N: pls don't hate me for az and val choosing to live in ignorant bliss and not communicating with each other. they will communicate soon! I just couldn't help myself with a drunken confession, who knows if they'll remember it the day after. also, it ended up working out with having a both slightly possessive and pouty drunk Az (:

[katerinaaqu]

What kind of tender words that are used between friends in greek myths? I am genuinely interested at how tender they could be that people saw it as romantical?

Hmm there is plenty since the ancient Greek writing was supposed to be emotional in the first place. I analyze some of it to my post about Achilles and Patroclus;

OK your question is very good to be reminded of of course and have them gathered around once more. So here are some examples;

Words that come from the ancient word φιλέω-ώ (filèo or filò). The verb means "to love" but the word of love here can be used in various contexts including friendly love or family love or even romantic. An example of course from the Iliad and Achilles:

But what pleasure/happiness is left of me when my beloved companion is lost?

(Translation by me)

In the passage Achilles is using the term φίλος (fìlos) which here means "beloved" or "dear" and goes along with the term that stands for "companion" (which be analyzed further down). The same word is used for any type of tender relationship (with friends family partner or even country and land). In fact the term φίλος is used for example in Aeschylus to signify the tender companionship between Orestes and Pylades which doesn't present such passionate scenes between the characters to indicate relationship also we see characters like Menelaus using it for Odysseus again without sexual or romantic implications or from Thetis to her son. But obviously in the passage of Achilles it is much more passionate. And in this context is also used to the full degree φίλτατος aka "the most beloved". Here's an example from Eurypedes's "Orestes"

This one is the most beloved (here: to me) among the mortals

(Translation by me)

Throughout the play Orestes and Pylades have an amazing bond of companionship and friendship. This is the passage of Orestes describing what Pylades is to him. Between them though there isn't the same intensity or passion that one could place between Achilles and Patroclus so the nature of their relationship seems to be what it seems: tender and close friendship. And of course partnership.

And speaking of which the second word in this passage is:

The word ἑταῖρος (etèros) which stands for "comrade" or "companion". As a word is used to all kind of contexts from a friendly relationship to partners in the army or war or in a trip. For example one of the most famous examples of someone using that word is no other than Odysseus himself to refer to his crew:

And I immediately rushed back to my swift ship where I found my comrades grieving severely

(Teanslation by me)

So the word itself is resembling in both use and meaning of the word "another" it was also often translated as "your significant other" which is why also one translates the word as "partner" on occasion and used for husband and wife but obviously that is not the way Odysseus uses it vs Achilles using it of course to the passage I initially quote.

The phrase κεχαρισμένος/η θυμῷ (keharismènos/I thymò) which means "dear to my heart". The phrase is used in various contexts that seem to be interpreted as lovers but also used between characters such as Telemachus and Nestor's son Peisistratus (who also reside to the same room and bed thus leading many interpret their relationship as romantic or of sexual nature) or even as known in the Iliad Briseis uses the same phrase to Patroclus seen from my analysis above.

The phrase though is being used in various of contexts where we hardly assume any friendship yet alone romance (see my funny post where Agamemnon uses that phrase to refer to Diomedes)

So as you see in this context reminds me of good old comedies when men were addressing each other as "hi honey!" Or "certainly, darling" in one way so it is more like a phrase to point towards companionship in that context rather than any sort of fully lovey phrase. The phrase though has been used equally by characters like Telemachus with Nestor's son Peisistratus with whom they share a room and apparently is indicated they share a bed. It is unclear if that indicates that they have some relationship apart from the natural closeness between two people of the same age. Although many readers indicate the passage where they sleep together in the same bed as sexual might as well be the same as...any sleepover young people might have. But as I mention to the example of Agamemnon, the phrase is not necessarily used in a sexual or romantic manner.

"Same as my own head/as my own life". This phrase is used for devotion and expression of outpost love aka that you love someone equally to your own life. As a phrase it was linked with various of characters with of course the most prominent one being Achilles:

The one I valued most of all of my companions, equal to my own life!

(Translation by me)

Achilles uses the phrase I highlight with word ἶσον -> equal and ἐμῇ κεφαλῇ -> my own head (aka "my own life"). The phrase is used in a different manner and a different word in the Greek tragedy "Antigone" where the heroine is opening the play with a very passionate and tender speech towards her sister:

Oh my most beloved sister Ismene

(Translation by me)

Here the word κάρα which means "head" or "heart" depending on the translation is used with the same principle only this time to express deep sisterly affection rather than the talk between lovers.

So here are some examples that are being used both for relationships that are interpreted as romantic and some platonic examples (either friendship or family). I will be happy to elaborate further on some extra examples in comments or reblogs if needed but this is a small sample.

Hope it helps 🙏 🙂 ☺️

[woahiwrite]

Hi there! So if your uncomfortable with doing this request, it’s no worry at all. But if you aren’t, I was wondering if you could do a reader with ADHD x Bi-Han? Especially one that is very forgetful and struggles with that part of themself? Maybe first impressions? Look forward to seeing more of your work!

Bi-Han with an S/O who has ADHD

Warnings: Spoilers for Bi-Han's Tower Ending! Otherwise it is just fluff, I do not have ADHD so I "consulted with the Elder Gods" (my friend), so these are mostly based off of her! Gender neutral reader

Shoutout to my bestie for helping me write this(she basically wrote the whole thing I just edited it and added more onto it) she's a real one🤞🏾. Thank you for enjoying my writings!

• So Bi-Han at first will probably get easily irritated

• We all know how Bi-Han is

• You cut him off while he's talking?

• He's giving you a glare

• You forget something simple or move on with a task before it is complete?

• He let's out the most annoyed sigh, but he will redirect you to what was supposed to be done

• That is in the beginning though

• Explain to him why these things happen, how you are trying your best and aren't ignoring him or just slacking off

• It will take him a while, but, he will begin to understand

• Now if you are with him in important Lin Kuei meetings, and you wish to say something while he is speaking, all you need to do is tap his arm

• He'll understand

• Though he may still let out a small sigh

• Your input is always important to him, your insight a valued one, much like Cyrax and Sektor

• Which leads to another point

• If you are doing a task on your own, sometimes you might leave before it is complete, moving on to something else that catches your attention

• Bi-Han often watches you as you work for this reason, not hovering, but, keeping a watchful eye

• Think of the scene where he is watching Sektor work on the Cyber Lin Kuei in his tower ending

• He'll guide you back in the right direction, reminding you to finish fully before moving on to something else

▪︎"Not yet."

▪︎"What's wrong?"

▪︎"It is not finished, do not move on."

• He's a little rough, but he's got the spirit

• Whenever you successfully complete a task by yourself, and nobody is nearby, you are graced with a kiss on the head and met with a proud gleam in his eyes

• (Bi-Han may bring you up as a role model to Lin Kuei initiates, if you feel comfortable with it)

▪︎ "They are among the best of the Lin Kuei, it will do you well to be like them."

• If you ever have emotional outbursts, Bi-Han is there to listen

• He may grow visibly agitated, but he will not open his mouth, he does not want things to escalate

• Bi-Han never wants to fight with you, after all

• Instead, he'll swallow down his comebacks, and instead open his arms for you

• His embrace is sure, steadfast, you know he is always there for you to rely on

• Once you've spoken on everything you'd felt the need to, he does not make a big show of things

• Instead, he kind of acts like nothing happened

▪︎ "Alright, you can let go now."

▪︎ "So, Sektor has made some advancements in his work."

▪︎ "Huh?"

▪︎ "Walk with me to take a look."

▪︎ "O-okay."

• He used to get irritated when he had to repeat the same things to you over and over again

• Though, he doesn't get irritated anymore

• Instead, he gives you reminders

• His most used one is leaving you a letter, he usually gets up and out of bed a while before you do

• A mix of Grandmaster activities and also because Bi-Han likes to "always be prepared"

• Though he also gives reminders before bed

• When you both are comfortable, his arms snug around your waist, he will remind you of the activities of the day to come

• With a small kiss on your head to close the message

[autumnslance]

The Unsundered and Tempering

There's apparently some kinda post going around ruffling jimmies about the Ascians versus the Ancients, with extreme assumptions about a society we see precious little of ourselves in game and mostly get informed of by people still grieving it millennia later.

Most of them antagonists, that like many other antagonists and allies, folks seem to want to take at face value for a lot of what they say, while often ignoring what they do and how, while speaking.

This is something I have noticed among fandom and roleplayers for decades, so it's nothing new, but there's a lot of times the text of any situation is making it clear that even if a character isn't outright lying--even thinks they are being "honest"--that is not necessarily the case.

It also comes back to making sure one is using all the available information--goodness knows I've made a fool of myself before by missing scenes or text that did explain someone's position on lore and characters!

Regardless of how one feels about certain plot points, storylines, or characters, they all inform each other in canon. Different characters say different things at different times in different company. A scene from two expansions ago may inform a new patch cutscene. Actions may contradict words. It all works together.

For an example, since it's come up elsewhere, I've had doubts about how Tempered the Unsundered were from the moment Emet-Selch claimed it, due to one of the last scenes in ARR, cutscene #5 in "Before the Dawn" where we see Lahabrea and Elidibus speak just before Urianger arrives in response to the Emissary's request for a meeting:

Lahabrea: The earth is fertile, and the seeds well sown. By my will, they shall reap salvation unlike any the world has known. Elidibus: By His will. Lahabrea: …By His will.

The Ascians in ARR and HW spend a lot of time telling the WoL about their One True God. Here though, in a moment of privacy before the Archon's arrival, Elidibus has to remind Lahabrea to check his ego as his actions are for Zodiark, not himself.

This is an early indication, alongside Nabriales's actions in the previous patch quests, that not everyone's on the same page in regards to the Ascian agenda. Nor is Zodiark's hold on each red mask absolute--even the ones initially at His summoning.

EDIT: Not to mention Fandaniel's actions in their entirety in Shadowbringers and Endwalker; killing one's god to usher in the end of the world is not the act of a tempered man!

Further doubt is placed on Emet-Selch's claim by Tiamat. We get more of her situation in the Shadowbringers patches, in the "Righteous Indignation" cutscene:

Tiamat: Recall, mortals, that it was I who did first summon my beloved, praying with all my being to bring him forth. You who contend with eikons cannot well be ignorant of the consequence. Alphinaud: …You too were exposed to his influence. That you are yet in possession of your own will is testament to the indomitable strength of your soul. Alphinaud: But were you to meet with Bahamut again, you fear you might succumb. Tiamat: Indeed. Ask the dragonslayer, and he will tell thee the power we of the first brood wield. Were I to lose myself to the eikon's influence, all would pay the price. Tiamat: But it is of little matter. For even had I the strength to resist, I yet lack the strength to break my shackles. This prison shall be my tomb. Alisaie: On the matter of Bahamut's influence, at least, I believe we can be of some assistance. Alisaie: If you're afraid of being enthralled, don't be─we have a cure. And while we've never tried it on one such as you, its basic principles are universal. Tiamat: Speakest thou in earnest? Alphinaud: There is no future for those bound to the past. Alphinaud: That you committed a terrible sin, I do not dispute. But if you feel remorse, you may yet make amends. We offer you that chance. Take it, or you will forever remain a prisoner, not of these cruel shackles, but of your own guilt. Tiamat: A chance to make amends… To lay Bahamut's memory to rest… Tiamat: When our own star faced annihilation, Hydaelyn granted us sanctuary. And now your foes would bring about Her destruction. This I cannot allow. For the debt I owe to Hydaelyn, and to all who have suffered for my sins…I shall fight with you, children of man.

Tiamat is a victim of the purposefully corrupted summoning magic the Ascians distributed. Yet she is not entirely enthralled by the Bahamut she summoned; she fears she would be if she were exposed further to a primal. Tiamat, as a Great Wyrm of the First Brood, is more akin in her aetheric composition to the Unsundered than most others on Hydaelyn. She knows she is influenced by the primal she summoned, and part of her remaining bound is to protect herself and the world from that consequence.

And then she chooses the cure and to move forward with her life, when given the option. As do other enthralled figures among the tribes when granted the option.

While there wasn't yet a cure when still fighting the Unsundered, entreaties to end their crusade and move forward fell on deaf ears--but I doubt very much it was due to Zodiark's influence entirely, and more their own stubborness after having clung to this course for ages.

The first cutscene of "Unto the Heavens" in Endwalker presents finally the intersection of original creation magic and modern summoning, as preparations are made to board the Ragnarok:

Livingway: You've done a fine job of readying the Ragnarok, but for it to take flight, we'll of course need the power of the Mothercrystal. Livingway: Given its immense size, however, transporting it would be an absolute logistical nightmare. Not to mention we'd need to shatter it into tiny shards for feeding to the engines. Livingway: But a brilliant idea came to me: we convert the crystal's energy into forms that can transport themselves! Urianger: Thou wouldst employ summoning…or should I say its precursor─creation magicks. Thancred: Care to explain for our benefit? Urianger: As you may have witnessed at Bestways Burrow, the Loporrits are capable of creation magicks, which they use to shape the moon's environment. Urianger: Yet simple though they make it seem, 'tis a highly advanced and exacting art. To perform it correctly requireth that the wielder holdeth the object in his mind's eye in clearest detail. Alphinaud: Hence the ancients' meticulous management of concepts. Urianger: Drawing upon this art, the Ascians conceived of summoning as we know it. Urianger: A derivative that replaceth the complexity of concepts with the simplicity of zealotry to make manifest a creation. Y'shtola: I see… By combining the Loporrits' magicks and the tribes' faith, we convert the Mothercrystal into primals of purer form and greater obedience. Y'shtola: Summoning as it was intended, one might say. Livingway: Indeed, indeed! Livingway: While Hydaelyn gave us the ability to use creation magicks, She forbade us from using it to make anything possessed of a soul─or similar. Livingway: She didn't say anything about fulfilling the desires of others, though. So! Borrowing our friends' faith, we'll create deities using the Mothercrystal's power, and send them to the Ragnarok! Alisaie: Am I the only one here concerned about the risk of being turned into a tempered minion? Livingway: Oh, right, I was getting to that… From what I've read in Sharlayan tomes, it appears the Ascians incorporated an additional nasty element into their summoning method: the fervent desire to assimilate others into one's belief. Livingway: Beings thus created are instilled with the selfsame desire, and use their powers to enthrall people─starting with the summoner. Livingway: In contrast, our creation magicks─the original and the best, accept no substitutes─don't incorporate any of that rubbish, so there's no risk of tempering. I mean, if the being was on the scale of Zodiark, you might feel a little “tug”…but I think we'll be safe enough.

From what we get here, summoning is quite obviously an offshoot of the original creation energies of the Ancients, but twisted by the thinness of the sundered mortals' aether and using faith and collected aether as a substitute. The tempering part was a later, intentional addition, possibly after the Unsundered had opportunity to examine the effect of Zodiark's summoning on themselves and extrapolating that.

Now, is some of this likely retconning to explain discrepancies in how characters acted and how tempering has been used? Probably! There was supposedly a rewrite of the main Ascian/Hydaelyn/Zodiark storyline, inherited from 1.0, which Stormblood allowed the time and consideration going forward on how they wanted to resolve this long arc. There's a lot in ARR and HW that has been recontextualized to fit, though some things still stand out a bit oddly; they did as good a job as they could, especially given the many years and writers involved.

But from the more recent writings, the intention is not to excuse the Unsundereds' actions with "they were tempered." And the final proof comes from Emet-Selch in Ultima Thule in cutscene #4 of "You Are Not Alone", having been through the preliminary wash cycle of the Lifestream long enough to have had various enchantments removed from him, while yet retaining his self before that too is washed out before reincarnation:

Alisaie: You're leaving!? Emet-Selch: Of course. The encore is finished, and I will not suffer myself to live again by Hydaelyn's magick. Emet-Selch: But more than that, the future you seek is not the past we loved. That is why we fought. And why I lost. Emet-Selch: But though you defeated me, my ideals are inviolate. Invincible. Emet-Selch: Spare me your pity. I have no use for it. If you would do something for me─save our star. Emet-Selch: See this tale to a triumphant conclusion, and with elation in your hearts, bid the final curtain fall. Emet-Selch: Only then may it rise again and a new tale begin─with new parts for all to play.

Through Shadowbringers, Emet-Selch claimed to want to cooperate with the Scions, while only giving bits and pieces of carefully considered information, and moving the goal posts whenever they did prove to him they were able to pass his tests and meet his expectations. It is not until this moment where, his duty to fight finished and the fate of his beloved world in any form at stake, that he is truly honest about what he did and why.

(I may also have an analysis WIP about comparing him and The Sandman's Morpheus and that stubborn refusal to change his mind and ideals, but it's slow going)

So while we mostly do have to go by what characters say, directly to WoL or to other characters in other scenes, each conversation cannot be taken in a vacuum; it is taken into account with their other conversations, with their actions, with other characters' input. And sometimes, the writers change direction, and new information will overwrite the old, even as it builds off of it.

The game is not consistent about Tempering and Summoning, though the double acts of Shadowbringers and Endwalker's story tries to clean that up. I just seriously doubt, from all the evidence, that the Unsundered were as entirely under Zodiark's thumb as say, one of Ifrit's over-hammered thralls and therefore not responsible for their choice and actions, the plans they made and came up with and clung to in stubborn guilt and grief and rage for so long they couldn't do anything else, even when presented proof of other options and chances to change or move forward.

Because another thing ShB and EW have shown us in both MSQ and in the Pandaemonium storyline, is who these men were, to become the Ascians we know, and how their own beliefs shaped them individually when faced with such loss--and how in each case, those past, pre-Zodiark selves would look at the eldritch beings they became by the Seventh era, and be horrified. Not because of any god's influence, but what they were capable of on their own.

...Well OK, Lahabrea already had a pretty good idea of what kind of monster he was capable of becoming. He also chose the worst way to handle it, and never seemed to learn from that. Elidibus and Emet-Selch though, while adamant in their beliefs, were also warped by what they chose to do and be, to where Elidibus even refused to remember his past to avoid the pain, tunneling into his duty with no wavering. Only Emet-Selch chose to remember, wallowing in it, acknowledging the monstrosity of his actions...and choosing to commit them anyway.

EDIT ADDITION: Relevant lore info directly from Banri Oda on Tempering and many other things.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Fever. Dream.

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett Rated: G - romance, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending Word count: 10.1k (sorry!)

Summary: A twist on An Offer from a Gentleman where it's Sophie who falls ill on the escape from Cavender and in her fever, confesses things to Benedict.

Author's Note: This is an anon request fill (my first!). I loved the idea of reversing roles in the fever scene, leading to caretaker Benedict and an important reveal. Thank you Nonny, I hope you enjoy this! 💙

Sophie’s mind was blank to everything except one imperative: run. Despite how her joints ached and her lungs burned, she had to get off Cavender grounds. It was her only chance to escape prison, transportation, and the brutality that would no doubt be exacted before she was handed to the authorities.

Her feet didn’t fail her, propelling her to the road until the lights and noise of Cavender House were barely perceptible through the trees. As the roar began to fade from her ears she had to pause, wracked by a new bout of coughs. It was going to be a long walk to the nearest village but it was her only choice. In the cool night air under moonlight diffused by gathering clouds, she set off.

As she walked slowly with waning strength a sense of dread crept over her. She had attacked a gentleman. For a penniless maid such as herself it was an offense worthy of imprisonment on the other side of the world. But she had simply refused to fall prey to Phillip Cavender. With his parents away he had invited the most vile assortment of noblemen to fill the house with drink and smoke, shouts and chaos. She would have left as soon as his parents did, knowing how vulnerable she would be to his unwanted advances without Lady Cavender on the premises. But the cold she was combatting had settled into her bones leaving her weak and bleary. With no locks on the doors of the servants’ quarters, she had angled a chair in front of hers and sat upon her bed, praying that Phillip would find distraction with one of the many hired ladies in attendance. 

Her prayers were not answered. Phillip had come banging into her room, easily shoving the chair aside, and began pawing at her. She had tried to reason with him, tried to beg him to leave her alone, but his slippery smile only grew wider as she struggled. Then some primal corner of her mind snapped to attention and took control of her body, making everything both crystal clear and numbingly distant at the same time. She knew, definitively, that she was going to get out of that situation no matter what it took. No matter what behavior she had to exhibit and to whom. Her knee moved before she commanded it to, driving swiftly up between Cavender’s legs.

She saw his eyes widen with pain for a split second before he doubled over, wheezing. When he tried to lunge for her again, her arm flew on its own, planting her fist into the side of his jaw. Cavender hit the floor with a thud, groaning as he began to roll across the boards. After the initial shock of her own actions, Sophie flew into a panic, stepping over the crumpled man to throw her few belongings into a bag and then tear away out into the night.  

Now she trudged, trying to ignore how poorly she felt as she pushed onward toward the village of Rosemeade where she knew she could find an affordable bed for one night. What would happen to her after that was unclear. She certainly could not work in another household of the ton, lest word spread to find her. Maybe, she hoped, Cavender had drunk enough that he would not remember what had happened but she could not rely on that. Perhaps he would be too embarrassed to tell anyone. Then she may be able to work quietly in a home far away. But she could never be sure that Cavender would not visit that household someday and find her. No, as long as she stayed among the gentry she would always be at risk. There was nothing for it, she would need to change her occupation. She could find work in a city somewhere doing…something. 

As she began to contemplate the many dangerous and demeaning ways poor women might make money in a city, Sophie heard the fall of hooves approaching behind her. Her stomach sank. It could be Cavender or someone he sent after her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a single rider on a white horse moving at no great speed. The Cavenders did not own any white horses but nevertheless, she began to dart off toward the trees. She knew the rider had already seen her and how futile a chase would be but it was her only fleeting chance at freedom.

“Hello there?” The rider called out, his voice gentle, somehow familiar.

She paused. He certainly did not seem to be chasing her. Something within was telling her not to run. Where did she know that voice from? But she was not about to have a roadside chat with a stranger in the middle of the night. She needed to get to the village. She continued to walk along the side of the road, eyes forward, her steps purposeful but not frantic.

Naturally, the rider caught up with her in short order and slowed his horse to match her pace. “Good evening, Miss.”

He sounded polite enough but it didn’t stop Sophie from feeling a stab of annoyance. She was going to have to converse with this person, delaying her arrival to safety. Exhausted and unable to hide a grimace, she turned to look up at him. For a moment she could only see his silhouette, a tall shadow, with unruly hair and a high collar. Then her eyes adjusted and his features emerged in the moonlight. Dear God, it was Benedict Bridgerton.

She froze, every sound and every feeling melting away until all she could see was him. She didn’t even breathe as she stared. She had been fleeing for her life, running from torment, facing a hopeless future, and then suddenly Benedict Bridgerton appeared on a white horse like a knight in a fairy story. She wondered if she had fallen in the road and dashed her head on a rock because why else would she be seeing him unless she was hallucinating or in heaven?

Holding her breath for such a long moment had its consequences and she began to convulse and cough loudly, finally breaking eye contact as she bent over, fighting to catch her breath.

“Are you alright?” his voice was concerned as he stopped his horse and dismounted. Sophie dragged in a steadying breath. All she could think was that those were the exact words he had last said to her before she ran out of the masquerade so many years ago. She had heard them, echoing over and over in her dreams. Of course she recognized his voice. Straightening and swallowing to soothe her raw throat she nodded, looking him squarely in the eye, waiting for him to recognize her. 

“It’s a bit unusual for a woman to be walking the road alone so late at night. Do you work at Cavender House?” He held the reins in his hand, looking her up and down.

She continued to wait silently, jutting her chin so that he might see her better. Surely he would be able to tell. Maybe it was too dark for him to see her properly.

“Miss?” his face was growing increasingly concerned.

She wasn’t sure if she knew how to form words anymore, but found herself replying, “Not anymore.”

“Oh,” Benedict frowned. This night was not turning out at all how he had anticipated. Cavender’s party was not exactly the bacchanalia he had been promised. Benedict had always found him to be a weaselly sort of fellow, but he had grown so bored with the stuffy events of the London season that he would have accepted any invitation that got him out of the city. Rather than finding distraction in the amusements on offer, he had been repulsed by the callow attendees, their slovenly overindulgences and blatant disregard for the women hired to entertain. He had seen his own share of raucous parties to be sure, but there was still such a thing as taste in how one enjoyed themselves and what he had discovered was that Cavender and his friends were lacking in it.

He had managed to extricate himself, tired and wanting nothing more than to throw himself into a bath at his nearby cottage. But now there was a strange young woman in the road and he was not one to ignore a soul in distress. The nearest village was at least two miles away and she was alone, carrying nothing but a small bag which, he guessed, was everything she owned if she had just left the employment of the house. From what he could see of her in the moonlight she was lovely, with a short crop of hair and large, luminous eyes. He had the oddest sensation that they may have met before, though he didn’t know how that was possible. Perhaps she had worked in a household he had visited.

“Something drove you out of the house in a hurry.” He was doing his best to seem trustworthy.

Sophie continued to stare, unwilling to believe that he didn’t recognize her even now that they were standing so close. 

Benedict was running out of ideas to get her to speak so instinctively, he reverted to humor. “I’ve just come from there myself. Between you and I, it was turning my stomach to be around that bunch of louts. Plenty of drink, plenty of frivolity, but certainly no sense of taste.”

“No,” Sophie rasped, beginning to understand how he came to be there. It had indeed been a tasteless party, led by a tasteless host. She was reassured that Benedict wasn’t of the same ilk as Cavender, given his poor opinion of it. For the past two years the memory of him had been the only thing giving her the motivation to press on through the toil of each day, the dream of him and the fantasy life they may have shared together if she had been born legitimate. If it had turned out that he was no better than Cavender, she would have nothing left in her miserable little life. Not even the memory of the masquerade to treasure. But here he was, miraculously comforting her by the roadside, an avenue to safety. 

She opened up to him, surprised at her own words. “I was treated roughly so decided to leave.” Not the whole truth, but enough to explain why she was walking through the night.

Benedict’s brow furrowed with concern and he nodded. “May I ask your name?”

Her name. The name he had begged her for at the masquerade. Now she would tell him for the first time. “Sophie Beckett,” she croaked.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Beckett. Are you headed to the village?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “To the Wayside Inn.”

“Would you permit me to take you there?” He chose his words carefully. He didn’t know what this woman had endured at Cavender’s but if it was enough to send her hiking out into the road at night it must have been awful. Being approached by another man was likely the last thing she wanted but if she trusted him, he’d rather it be him escorting her than God knows who else. If she declined, he would leave her be.

“Yes.” She agreed so readily it surprised him. 

“Excellent,” he smiled. “I will drop you there and continue on.” His cottage was in fact a mile closer than the village but he didn’t mind. He would rest easier knowing she was safe. He held out his hand. She did not take it. She just continued to stare at him curiously, her head cocked to the side. “Are you certain you’re all right?” he asked.

And that’s when Sophie realized. When they first met her face had been covered by a mask. Her hair had been longer and powdered to a lighter shade, lovely tresses that she had since sold to a wigmaker. She had grown scrawny in the intervening years of hard servitude. It was two entire years ago and they had only spoken for an hour or so, outside in the dark of the Bridgerton House garden. She understood now. He didn’t recognize her. How could he? She was not the same woman he had met on that magical night. 

She finally took his hand, her thoughts racing. Should she reveal herself? Would he believe her? As she followed him silently he led her to the horse and patted the beast gently. “This is Danae. Not as comfortable as a carriage I’m afraid, but certainly faster than walking.” He grinned, his lopsided smile crinkling his eyes and she felt her legs falter. 

As her mind whirred Sophie moved automatically, lifting herself onto Danae and perching sideways behind the saddle. Benedict looked up at her, the cheeky grin still playing on his lips. “Where are my manners? I’m Mr. Benedict Bridgerton by the way.”

She almost said “I know,” but caught herself. Her voice cracked as she feigned ignorance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

He glanced down at her legs. “If it would be easier, you can sit astride. No need to stand on ceremony with me.”

Benedict was on his most gentlemanly behavior. It was only right that he escort this quiet, poor young woman away from the fiend Cavender’s house and to a place of safety. It was also ridiculous to force her to ride sidesaddle. Firstly, she was not even properly in a saddle, and secondly, it was a most awkward feat that he had never understood how women managed. He genuinely wanted her to be secure and comfortable while they rode. But he also couldn’t help finding something alluring in the way she lifted her leg and swung it around to sit astride. 

Sophie caught a flicker of something devilish in his eyes as she repositioned herself on Danae. It forced a smirk across her own face even as the debate raged within her on whether to tell him that they had met before.

Benedict mounted into the saddle and took the reins. He was an inch away from her now, his broad back and dark hair filling her vision. She could see the fine velvet texture of his coat, the glint of the moonlight off the waves of his hair, and she could smell his cologne - sandalwood, fresh parchment, a walk in a green forest. She closed her eyes, breathing him in, her every sense engulfed by the man in front of her. Was this a dream? Was it a nightmare?

“Hold on,” he said over his shoulder. Sophie’s eyes flew open. Oh God, she hadn’t thought about this when she agreed to ride with him. She would have to hold onto him, to wrap her arms around him and press their bodies together. She didn’t know if she would be able to bear it but there certainly wasn’t any way to avoid it now. With great trepidation, she settled her bag securely in her lap then lightly rested a hand on either side of his torso.

She could hear him chuckle under his breath. “Tighter than that or else you’ll fall off, Miss Beckett.” Gently, he pulled her hands across his chest. Her palms rested against the buttons of his coat and she trembled as she realized she could feel him breathing. 

“There we are,” she could hear the smile in his voice. Then he signaled to Danae, tapped her with the stirrups and they set off in a gentle, steady trot. 

They encountered no one else on the road and the night was silent save for the trills of evening insects. This was nothing like the masquerade where they had so much to say to one another. But Sophie reminded herself that this was different. She was a maid and he was a gentleman of the ton. They shouldn’t have anything in common now.

She couldn’t spare too much energy on the debate raging within her because a coughing fit was pressing against her ribs just as insistently. She allowed one small, rasping cough and tried clearing her throat to fight it down. Benedict tilted his head back toward her.

“Is that bag all that you have?” 

“Yes,” she admitted. “This is everything.” But speaking released another hacking cough and she turned away, desperate to maintain her composure though she was starting to feel woozy.

“Are you unwell, Miss?” Benedict asked. 

“I’m fine,” she gasped, certain that she sounded unconvincing. It was getting harder and harder to mask how ill she truly felt. She was growing more weary with each passing minute and had to focus to stay upright with the canter of the horse. 

Benedict flicked the reins, his eyes ahead but his mind focused entirely on the woman behind him. What a strange night. As eager as he was to return to his home, he also felt singularly invested in seeing Miss Beckett safely delivered to the inn. While rare enough to have a stranger riding on Danae, with her arms wrapped around him he felt the oddest tingling sensation across his skin where she was touching him. The heat of her against his back nearly made him shudder. There was something about her he couldn’t place. He stole a glance over his shoulder. There was something familiar about the curve of her cheek as well…

“Have we met?” he blurted out.

“No,” she choked, her answer instinctual as a spike of fear shot through her. “I don’t believe so.” But she admonished herself as soon as the words left her lips. Didn’t she want him to recognize her? Wasn’t she hoping he would come to his senses, leap off the horse, gather her in his arms and declare his love? Didn’t she want him to carry her off to the life of her dreams?

But that was precisely the problem. They were just dreams. In her dreams she knew Benedict Bridgerton. In her dreams he loved her. Loved her enough to marry her despite the circumstances of her birth and the chasm of a class divide that existed between them. These were dreams and nothing more. In reality she barely knew this man. He had flirted with her at a masquerade when he believed she was a debutante. They had shared a kiss, one that had stopped her heart with all of its passion, but perhaps he had kissed many ladies at many balls. Just because it had been special for her did not mean it was special for him. Perhaps it was so insignificant that he never again thought of the lady in silver. If she revealed herself to him now, there was a fair chance he would feel honor bound to return her to Cavender House, or perhaps to Araminta. Either way she would end up in prison for theft or attack. Quite the opposite of a dream come true. 

It was best if he did not recognize her. She didn’t know if she could survive his rejection or retribution. She would be grateful for this second meeting that they had, though she railed against fate that it felt like a bittersweet joke being played upon her. She would enjoy the sight and feel and smell of him, the sound of his voice, for these brief moments, rounding off the dreams she had carried with her for years, then allow him to leave her at the inn and once again exit her life. It was heartbreakingly painful but she knew it was for the best.

As if the sky acknowledged her sorrow, she suddenly felt the plop of fat raindrops spattering her shoulders. 

“It’s raining,” she observed, immediately scolding herself for sounding obtuse.

“Of course it is,” he said wryly. “Because we are out in the open. If we were in a carriage there wouldn’t be a could in the sky.”

“How close are we to the village?”

“Just under an hour,” he frowned. “Though the rain may slow us down.”

Sophie was just about to announce that she could tolerate getting wet when the heavens opened up in earnest with a crack of thunder. Within minutes both of them were soaked through, pummeled by rain that obscured the road and turned it muddy.

“I have a cottage up ahead,” Benedict called back to her. “It’s closer than the village. We can shelter there with my housekeepers.” 

“Alright,” Sophie didn’t know if he could hear her over the deluge or even cared to wait for a reply because he had already kicked Danae to set off at a faster pace, driving her forward into the blinding storm and making for a small turnoff.

Sophie tightened her arms around him to hold on. She wasn't sure which part of her was tied into worse knots, her body, which was heating up as her throat began to ache, or her mind which continued to wrestle with this entire situation. Now she was being taken to Benedict’s home. Would he recognize her in better lighting? Would she slip up in their conversation and reveal herself? What would his housekeepers think of her? How quickly could she leave and continue on to the inn?

As her mind filled with questions, she was gripped by a new wave of coughs. Deep, rumbling ones that felt like they were borne out of a furnace in her lungs and were cutting her throat with razors. Benedict felt a pang of concern as he realized her pale hands were shivering against his chest. He winced as she convulsed against his back, her every cough reverberating into him. 

“You don’t sound well.” He shouted over the wind.

“I…” Sophie gasped. “I have a cold. But I am alright.” Her voice faltered again as more hacking overtook her.

“We’re almost there,” he assured her. “Hold on tight.” Then he kicked Danae again, snapped the reins and she broke into a full gallop, splashing through the puddles of the country lanes as they wound through hedges and over a small bridge.

Sophie clung to Benedict, nestling her head against his back both to keep the rain out of her eyes and because she was losing the strength to stay upright. Her throat was torn raw, her chest wracked, and she could feel the portentous chills of fever starting up her spine. She told herself to keep a clear head at least until they reached the cottage. Then she would no doubt become a burden as she asked to rest until she was well again. She hoped his housekeepers would be kind and accommodate her, and she hoped her illness would not delay her in their company too long. She closed her eyes, cognizant only of the rocking of Benedict’s body in time with the horse’s strides. Even in the tumult of the storm he felt so solid, so safe.

Sophie was wheezing by the time they slowed and she opened her eyes to find they were sheltered under a small stable attached to a building. Everything was cast in shadow with no lanterns or candles lit anywhere. She moved to pull away from Benedict but found her arms stiff with cold. Her every bone ached, her skin was on fire, and her clothes were so heavy with rain that she felt she couldn’t rise.

Deftly, Benedict pried her arms open and hopped to the ground then looked back at her, extending his hands. “Allow me.”

Sophie appreciated his concern but did not want to burden him nor humiliate herself any further. She opened her mouth to decline his assistance but another round of coughs bent her double over the saddle and next she knew, he had wrapped his arms around her, slid her off Danae and was carrying her toward a side door. If she had been in any other state, Sophie knew her heart would be fluttering uncontrollably with this turn of events, but now it just fluttered because she was trying to regain her breath.

All was dark inside the house as Benedict kicked loudly on the door. He called out. “Mr. Crabtree? Mrs. Crabtree? Hello?” But it was obvious no one was on the premises. 

“Dammit,” Benedict cursed under his breath. “They must be away for the night at their daughter’s. Serves me right for not telling them I was coming. Miss Beckett…”

Sophie met his eyes, now so close to her own, and they only contributed to her breathlessness.

“Would you wait here a moment?” He gently set her upon her feet. She could stand just fine despite the weight of exhaustion threatening to pull her down to the earth. She clutched her small bag of belongings, realizing it was as sopping wet as she was.

“Of course,” She rasped, her voice raw.

With a quick nod Benedict dashed out of the stable and back into the rain, darting around a corner of the house. This night had grown so strange Sophie didn’t know what to question anymore. Whether it was serendipity or misfortune that Benedict found her in the road, that a storm had driven them to seek shelter, that his home was nearby, and that they found themselves alone together. If she had been a proper lady such a situation would have been scandalous. But for a gentleman to be alone with a maid in his home? She doubted anyone would bat an eye. Assuming they could get inside, she vowed to keep to herself. She would light the fires, rest in the servants quarters and be on her way in the morning. She hoped the Crabtrees would have returned by then. She hated leaving Benedict alone but knew that she couldn’t trust herself in his presence any longer than absolutely necessary. Not because he would do anything, but because she would fall even more desperately in love.

Benedict reappeared, jogging to her side as the rain continued to pummel him in sheets. Once under the stable roof he tossed his head, sending water flying from the dark waves of his hair and leaving it charmingly tousled. Sophie despised him a bit for looking so attractive even when he appeared half-drowned. With a crooked grin he held up the brass key he had retrieved from somewhere and successfully unlocked the door to lead her inside.

Before Benedict even lit a candle Sophie could tell this was not a cottage. Despite how he had made it sound, this was not the thatched roof country home she had envisioned. This was a manor house with six bedrooms at least. With marble floors and gleaming wood everywhere, this would only be called a cottage by the wealthiest of people who didn’t know the common meaning of the word. 

Spying a small door near the stairs, Sophie assumed it led to the servants’ level. “Thank you, sir.” She couldn’t stop herself from shivering as she spoke. “I will light the fires and then find myself a bed downstairs.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Benedict moved to her side with a candle in hand. She could see his face clearly for the first time. She held her breath seeing how simultaneously similar but still how different he looked from the vision in her dreams. On the night of the masquerade he had been wearing a mask, the same as her, and she had only seen his full face for one fleeting moment after the gong had sounded and before she had run away. She had had to construct his face in her mind from that single image and often found it easier to remember him in the mask. But here he was in the flesh. His mouth was the same as her memory, his eyes the same bright hue but their shade something ephemeral, ever changing. They were always a different color in each dream and even now she wasn’t sure how she would describe them. But they were gentle and delightfully creased at the corners. Seeing all his features together, they were greater than the sum of their parts. He looked older now, slightly more world-weary and like he smiled less often. His hair too was shorter, lending him an air of increased responsibility, making him look less wild and boyish.

“Come with me,” he ordered and began walking up the curving staircase, making sure she stayed close behind. He led her into a bedroom richly decorated with a four-poster bed, upholstered armchairs and a tiled fireplace. She assumed it must be his bedroom.

“This is a guest room,” he explained, as if reading her mind and quashing her presumption. “And it is yours for the night.”

With comic timing, Sophie doubled over with a new bout of coughs. She was indeed overwhelmed by the generosity of his offer. She hadn’t slept in a room so luxurious since she was very small and newly welcomed into her father’s home. These days she only had the privilege to observe such places as she cleaned them. Benedict gently took her bag and set it on a chair. Then he moved about, eyeing her with concern as he lit more candles in sconces on the walls and holders by the bedside. 

Sophie tugged at the knot of her cloak, hoping that losing the weight of it would grant her some relief. “Here,” Benedict stood behind her and pulled the garment from her shoulders, hanging it on a hook nearby. “Now, you’re soaked through. You’ll have to make do with my clothes, I’m afraid. I don’t keep any spare frocks around my bachelor lodgings.”

Sophie’s mind started to reel. She had a nightdress in her bag but knew it would be wet. “That’s quite alright, you don’t need to…” But before she could protest or formulate any kind of plan, Benedict had stepped out then reappeared with a set of folded clothing; a ruffled white shirt and a pair of linen trousers. He set them on the bed then crouched at the fireplace, plucking a nearby candle and holding it toward the wood already stacked within.

“I’ll get the fire going too.” He stayed focused on the task at hand, not turning as he spoke. “You need to warm up. Go on and change.”

A shiver ran down her spine but not from her illness. She was rooted in place. “Sir, this is most improper.” Her voice was a pathetic croak even to her own ears.

Even without seeing his face she could detect his smirk. “Would you prefer I leave you in the cold and dark for the sake of propriety?” He challenged playfully. “You can trust me to keep my back turned, Miss. You need to get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia.”

“I could say the same for you.” She volleyed back.

His head turned just far enough that she saw him arch a brow. “Do you want me to take mine off now too?”

Mortified, Sophie gaped like a fish then scurried into a far corner. She could hear him chuckle but true to his word, his eyes stayed focused on the spreading embers in front of him. She didn’t have the energy to protest further. She knew he was right, though he had a cheeky way of expressing his concern. She really was desperate to get out of the heavy layers of freezing fabric. Quick as she could, she started to peel them off: shoes, stocking, dress, chemise. She jumped into the pair of trousers he had provided, their outrageous length pooling around her ankles. All that was left were her stays. She had to sit on the bed to prevent the trousers from falling as she tried to loosen the laces. Not only were her fingers rigid with cold and slippery with rain but reaching back pushed her lungs into an uncomfortable position and she fell helplessly into another series of rasping, gagging coughs.

Benedict’s ears perked but he stayed where he was. “Is it safe to turn?”

Sophie continued to fiddle helplessly with her knots. “I can’t…” she gasped. “I can’t untie my stays.”

After a pause, he asked softly. “Would you like assistance?”

Sophie froze, her heart pounding as she looked over to him. The fire was now taking off in the grate as Benedict crouched in front of it. Why had she said anything? What else did she expect him to do than offer to help her? Was it that she had reached the end of her tether and just wanted to sleep in warmth and comfort as soon as possible? Or did some deeper, more devious part of herself want him to undress her?

“Yes.” She breathed, her body reacting before her mind could reason with it.

Slowly, Benedict got to his feet. Still facing away, he stripped off his jacket and dropped it on a chair by the fire where it started to drip onto the floor. Sophie was transfixed, shamelessly cataloging how the muscles moved in his back and arms. He wore a beautiful blue waistcoat, navy with a delicate gold brocade and a blue silk cravat. His shirt was so wet as to be transparent and it clung to the contours of his arms. That dangerous little whisper within her was hoping to watch him remove more but he only rolled up his sleeves then walked over to her, gesturing for her to stand and turn around in front of him.

She thought she saw something spark in his eyes when he beheld her in nothing but her stays and his trousers, clutching them bunched at her waist, but it could have been a reflection from the fire. The room was growing warmer but she didn’t know if it was the flames or the rush of her own blood as she stood before him trembling. She closed her eyes as he silently went to work pulling at her laces. He was gentle, his long dexterous finger making quick work of the bindings and pulling them wide as the garment loosened around her ribs.

“God, no wonder you can’t breathe.” He mumbled. 

Sophie bit her lip, ashamed to admit to herself that she hoped to feel his touch, for his fingers to brush across her arms or the palms of his large hands to press against the skin of her back, soothing her, holding her, tempting her to…something.

“Alright now?”

His voice snapped her out of her fantasy and her eyes flew open. He hadn’t touched her, only performed the task as requested. “Yes, thank you.” She rasped, holding her stays to her chest and shooting a glance over her shoulder. He had turned away again and was facing the door. In a moment she wriggled out of her undergarment and slipped his billowy ruffled shirt over her head. She felt like a child, swimming in adult’s clothes for play.

“Tell me what you need.” He urged.

Another tickle in her throat made Sophie swallow. “Only…only water.”

“Of course.” Without a look back Benedict stepped into the hall, closed the door and was gone.

Sophie climbed into the bed and it positively enveloped her. A plush mattress, thick feather pillows and piles of soft blankets, it felt like absolute heaven. She couldn’t remember sleeping in such comfort and her weakened body went limp, grateful to be cradled so perfectly. Exhaustion would claim her soon. It was too much work to puzzle through everything that had transpired or what she should do next. All she wanted to do now was sleep. With a clearer head, she could piece things together in the morning. Abandoning her confusion, she allowed herself to accept it all as something like a dream. The handsome man she loved rescuing her on horseback, carrying her to his door, seeing tracts of her skin that should have been reserved for a husband alone. Fate’s bittersweet joke was more insidious than she had suspected, but a part of her was still grateful for it.

Benedict returned a few minutes later. Knocking softly, he entered the room carrying a small tray. He had also changed, wearing the same ensemble he had lent to her. With tousled, towel-dried hair and his shirt unbuttoned low he looked like sin. Sophie instinctively pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Comfortable?” Benedict grinned at her, placing the tray on the bedside table. A pitcher, a glass and a suspicious amber bottle.

“Sir, you are far too generous.” Sophie found that her voice was nearly spent. She sounded horrid, which was an accurate reflection of how she felt. “Really, I will be fine. I will…find some way to repay you.”

Benedict waved away her sentiment, kneeling to her level. “You can repay me by getting well. Do not worry about owing me anything. This is for my benefit as much as yours. I could not in good conscience leave you on the side of the road any more than I can allow you to perish under my roof. I’ll send for the doctor first thing tomorrow.”

Sophie vaguely thought of objecting, not wanting to involve more parties in this strange scenario but she was too distracted by Benedict uncorking the bottle. “In the meantime,” he continued, “brandy has always had a medicinal effect for me. In small doses of course.” He cracked a lopsided smile as he poured a splash into the glass and handed it to her. Sophie sat up, weakly returning his smile as her fingers wrapped around his to accept it. Benedict didn’t remove his hand but helped guide her gently as she drank down the spirit. Her fingers tingled where they met his. He did the same with a glass of water next. She was so worn through that she was grateful for his help and for the fleeting chance to feel his skin.

With heavy eyelids she sank back into the pillows, barely able to mumble her thanks.

“Try to get some sleep.” Benedict said softly. She nodded, feeling herself drifting into a comforting darkness. The last thought she registered was that Benedict didn’t leave, but was pulling a chair over to the bedside and watching her intently.

—

Heat. That is what lifted Sophie out of her calm slumber. Sweltering heat burning through her very skin. Eyes closed, she didn’t know where she was but she knew that she felt smothered. She tossed, attempting to kick aside her covers but only seemed to entangle herself further. Every bone issued a pang of protest as she moved, stoking the fire that seemed to have replaced her blood. Her head throbbed. She groaned and gasped, fighting to find air that didn’t feel stifling.

As she started to thrash she was dimly aware of something on her forehead, pressing on her one moment and removed the next.

“Oh God, you’re burning up,” a voice murmured beside her. Whoever it was, she wanted to answer in the affirmative and ask them to help free her. But she hadn’t found her breath and didn’t know up from down.

“Here.” The voice spoke again and then something cool was laid across her forehead. A rush of relief stilled her movements. She was still burning, her whole body pulsing with waves of heat, but now she had a focal point, something to orient and distract her from her discomfort. The coolness moved, smearing down the side of her face and onto her neck, being pressed into her skin. “Does that feel better?”

It did indeed. It calmed her enough that she was able to drag her eyes open. Everything she saw swam just out of focus. She was in some kind of ornate room but had no idea how she had gotten there. She wouldn’t be lying in such a nice room at Cavender House. Maybe she was in Penwood Park? She turned to see who was beside her. Perhaps that would help solve the mystery. 

Her eyes did manage to focus on the figure kneeling at her bedside and her breath hitched. It was him. Him. The man she had met one beautiful night and who now lived entirely in her dreams. It all made sense now. This was a dream. Benedict Bridgerton was with her, as vivid as he had ever looked, dark hair tousled, soft lips parted, bright eyes meeting hers. She was grateful to her mind for painting such a lovely tableau to live in, even for just a moment. It was Benedict who was dragging a cloth across her skin, giving her relief. Of course he would be her savior in her dreams. 

She smiled faintly and closed her own hand over his where it rested at her neck. “Thank you, Benedict.” She could only manage a whisper.

He grinned back in return, the grin that made her lose all sense. One of the reasons she would always recognize him without a mask. “No thanks necessary.”

This may have been a dream, but if it was one where she could converse with him, she wanted to tell him the things she could never say to the real Benedict. She wanted him to know how much their evening had meant to her. “You were so kind to me.”

He moved the cloth back up to her forehead, dabbing lightly. “Any gentleman would do the same.”

“No,” Sophie pouted. “They all stayed in the ballroom.” It was only Benedict who had followed her out into the garden of Bridgerton House and struck up a conversation during the masquerade. Even though every bachelor of the ton had stared at her agog when she arrived, she hadn’t given any of them the opportunity to request a dance. Too anxious with the dawning realization that her dancing skills were inadequate, she had swiped two flutes of champagne and ducked out into the garden. She hoped the bubbles would instill her with courage and she had been clumsily mimicking the dancers she could see through the windows, attempting in vain to teach herself the quadrille when Benedict stumbled upon her and her world was turned on its axis.

Dream Benedict’s brow furrowed and he placed the cloth on the table beside him. He leaned in closer. “What was that?”

“You found me outside.” She stated plainly. Surely he remembered.

“Yes, on the road.” Tentatively, he took one of her hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“In the garden.” She insisted. He had taken her second glass of champagne. He had revealed his own disdain for dancing and they had laughed together.

Dream Benedict seemed at a loss. “I’m not sure what you’re…”

“It was Handel,” Sophie sighed, hearing the music again in her mind. The soft melody that had spurred them both to stop snickering and give it a try. That memory was growing more vivid now, calling her back as it had so many times before. “The moonlight. Thank you for teaching me to dance.”

Benedict’s skin suddenly went ashen and he dropped her hand. His eyes began to dart frantically over her face but the rest of him was paralyzed. “You… No, you…”

Sophie was already stepping back into the garden, her mind too distant to register anything more than that his sweet face was beside her. She brought a hand to his cheek, willing him to recall everything they had shared and to understand her gratitude. 

She smiled, eyes glassy. “It was all I wanted. One night. Happy. Like a dream…”

Benedict watched in shock as her voice faded and her eyes fluttered closed again, her hand falling limply back onto the bed. He was nearly convinced his heart had stopped until he felt it pounding again at full force, pushing him back on his haunches as he all but collapsed on the floor. He felt sick. He felt blind. He felt insane. Was he feverish too? Was this all some hallucination? Was this strange woman some faerie or witch that had ensnared him in a spell to taunt him with what he wanted most in the world? It was impossible that finding his lady in silver, the quest that had seemed so hopeless it had been calcifying his heart for two years, could be so easily concluded. That he could happen upon her on a country roadside at precisely the right moment. 

But Sophie was a maid, not the glamorous woman of the ton that had captured his affection. And yet she knew all the details of the masquerade. Details no one else could know. None of it made sense. Until he remembered the numbness. The telltale sensation that started in his limbs and spread into his torso, infusing him with an acute awareness that something significant was about to occur. It had happened only twice before. The first time was moments before his father had died and the second time was on the night of the masquerade - a certainty that he had to go out to the garden, and that was when he had found her. 

That tingling sensation had hit him again earlier this evening just after mounting Danae to escape from Cavender’s. It had frozen him in the saddle for a moment but he chose to ignore it. Maybe he was lightheaded from the smoky air indoors or his jump onto the horse. Maybe he was falling ill. Or maybe his wiring was well and truly ruined after two years of trying to soothe his heartache with too many liquors, teas and herbs. He hadn’t thought there was any chance something fateful could happen on his ride home down a country lane. But it had. 

Was it possible that it was the most fateful night of his life? 

He was broken out of his thoughts by Sophie shifting again under the covers. She was mumbling, writhing with her eyes closed as the feverish heat continued to pour off of her. He moved back to her side and scrutinized her face, his heart racing faster as details began to fall into place. Her hair was different than his lady in silver and she was thinner, but the shape of her face was the same. Her lips were the same. The gamine little point on the end of her chin was the same. He panted, desperate to see the color of her eyes but knew that it would have to wait.

Her breath was growing shorter and her teeth were beginning to chatter. He held her by the arms, sending out a silent prayer that she could fight her way through until morning. He would do anything to make sure she awoke. He would not be reunited with the love of his life for a few cruel minutes only to have her snatched away again.

—

Turning away from Benedict in the ornate bedroom, Sophie stepped forward into the garden at Bridgerton House. There was Benedict again, this time back in his tails and blue demi mask with his tireless smile, reaching out until she slipped her silver-gloved hand into his. The air was soft with moonlight and fragrant with wisteria. He wrapped his arms around her.

“You’re trembling.” When he spoke Sophie could hear an echo, a second voice repeating him somewhere distantly. She had trembled in his arms that night, wracked with nerves and excitement.

Benedict guided her hands, one onto his shoulder and the other into his outstretched grasp. She felt his fingers wrap around hers and hold tightly, the sensation so realistic she could feel the heat of his palm.

“Hold onto me. That’s it.” Again two voices spoke in stereo.

Sophie gripped his hand and was confused. Her bodice feeling a bit too tight and her skin a bit too hot. But she had been in this dream so many countless times before, she knew she was safe. 

Benedict smiled down at her and she realized for the first time what color his eyes were. They were the color of their love story. They were blue - his family color and his favorite hue. They were green - to match her own and her favorite hue. They were grey - shimmering like the moonlight under which they had met. They were a kaleidoscope of everything she treasured. 

“I’ve got you.” He assured her, his voice echoing somewhere far away. And then they began to dance. This was her favorite moment. All she had to do was give herself over and let him lead her, spinning her through the steps as music drifted out of the house nearby. She could lose herself in his arms and find happiness, however fleeting. If this was all she could have of Benedict Bridgerton anymore, it was enough. Not enough to stem her yearning but enough to make her feel that her life had at least one mote of joy within it. 

As she swayed she gazed up at him. The most handsome man she had ever met. The man who made her believe in love at first sight. The man that she both celebrated and regretted meeting every day. The memory of him filled her with so much delight and torment equally. She could never decide which was less painful: to have known him and lost him, or to never have known him at all. 

He held her tight and spoke again, but this time his lips did not move. It was only the disembodied voice, sounding as if it were right by her ear. It was pleading, desperate.

“Do not leave me. Not again.”

Bewildered, Sophie declared in her heart that she would never leave. Then as Benedict spun her under his arm the moonlight grew brighter, refracting off the embellishments of her dress until she was swirling in a silver cloud. Everything became gauzy and faded into light.

—

The next sound Sophie heard was birdsong. A gentle backdrop to the cozy, nestled feeling she had upon waking. She blinked her eyes open to find herself in the bedroom of the cottage, the memory of the prior evening catching up to her. She had been exhausted with her cold and had fallen asleep. Now, happily, the sun was shining through the bedroom window. Her muscles were still sore as she sat up and her throat felt as if it had been slashed and burned, but she was clear headed. 

“Good morning.” Benedict’s deep voice made her snap to face him. He was sitting in a chair at her bedside, scrutinizing her in an odd fashion. It didn’t appear that he had slept at all.

“Sir.” Sophie nodded at him, finding that her voice was a pitiful rasp.

He leaned forward and studied her face so intently that it made her self conscious. Was he that concerned for her wellbeing? Had her sickness done something dreadful to her skin? With a sharp breath he finally sat back, his brow stern.

“How are you feeling? Your fever broke a few hours ago.”

Sophie didn’t quite recall having a fever, though she had felt one was likely to start. Thankfully she had slept it off. She drank from the water glass beside her. “My throat is worse for the wear but I will be fine.” She offered him a small smile. “Thank you again for…”

“Who are you?” He cut her off, something suddenly harsh in his tone.

She stared at him, confused. “Sir?”

“Did you give me your true name?”

Sophie couldn’t fathom what was happening. “Yes. Why do you ask that?”

“Because you kept so much else from me, I had to know if your name was a lie too.” His words were clipped, his nostrils beginning to flare.

Oh God, did he know? How could he?

“Sir, I…”

“It’s you.” His voice was tight, his eyes fiery. “From the masquerade.”

Sophie felt her stomach plummet to her feet. Her mind wiped blank. 

“I didn’t recognize you, so changed and in the dark. But I see it now. Your eyes in the daylight. I have not forgotten your eyes.”

As he glowered at her, Sophie stuttered. Her mouth moved but no words would come out. She had wanted him to recognize her, so why did it feel so terrifying? Why was he so angry?

Benedict continued. “You were delirious. You confessed it in your fever. You thanked me for teaching you to dance.”

Betrayed by her own fever addled brain. Everything inside her sank. Maybe if she hadn’t been such a dreamy romantic this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if she had learned to school her emotions and not cling to the memory of him so desperately, she wouldn’t have gone talking about it when she was half mad. Embarrassed and ashamed, she managed to babble, “I didn’t…I’m sorry…”

Benedict learned forward again, his brow knotted with confusion. “Where have you been all this time? How are you a servant?”

Sophie’s stomach did another flip as her previous fears flared. If he learned the truth he might cast her out. He may send her back to her stepmother or her rancid employers and both of them would see her rot in a jail cell or a foreign land for the rest of her days. She had to be tactful but couldn’t bring herself to lie to him when she saw the pain in his eyes. “I’ve always been a servant. My life is…complicated. I had no right to be at the masquerade. I snuck in.” She hung her head in apology.

“Why?”

Clearly her explanation wasn’t enough. Over the past two years she had often asked herself the same question. Why had she snuck into the ball? Why had it felt so imperative to her at the time? She had risked so much for something that seemed so frivolous. Except she knew the answer if she was honest with herself. It had been worth it. It had been the happiest night of her life even if it was the cause of so much subsequent pain. With her identity now discovered, she had nothing left to lose by telling him the truth.

“Have you ever chased after a dream? Allowed yourself to imagine, even for a short while, that you were more than what your birth made you?” He shifted at that, something softening in his gaze. They had spoken at the masquerade about how they each hoped for more in their lives; some way to distinguish themselves that was entirely of their own doing. She hoped he understood. “I only wanted to see it,” she sighed. “To dance and laugh. I didn’t expect any of this would happen. I didn’t expect to meet you, or to feel…”

“What did you feel?” Benedict pressed forward, searching her eyes.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Love was a bridge too far. So she gave him her assessment of her feelings rather than the raw feelings themselves. “Foolish.”

He frowned, leaning back. “Is that why you ran away?”

She tugged at her fingers. “If you had realized I was an imposter you would have turned me away, or reported me. Or someone from my house would have recognized me. I had to leave.”

“You fled London entirely!” His voice raised, looking incredulous.

Sophie stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“I searched for you. For six bloody months!”

“You searched for me?” Sophie went numb. There was no way she had meant that much to him. She was a servant easily enamored by a handsome, wealthy gentleman. But he had his pick of young ladies. She could not have left such an impression on him over the course of one evening. “I…I had to. I was found out anyway and I was punished. I had to leave, I had nowhere to go.”

“You had me!” Benedict jabbed his fingers into his chest, sounding frantic. “I would have looked after you.”

Sophie couldn’t help but scoff. “No you wouldn’t…”

“I fell in love with you, Sophie!” The silence that followed his shouted declaration was deafening. They stared at one another, breathing heavily. Benedict with exasperation and Sophie with disbelief. He couldn’t be in earnest. Either she was still delirious or he was mad. A man like him did not fall in love with a woman like her, or at least would not want to pursue her after learning who she truly was. She was a servant but not a fool. 

Fighting against the choking feeling in her throat, she spoke slowly. “You didn’t fall in love with me, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir.” He growled.

She appealed to his reason. “You don’t even know me, Benedict. We are from two different worlds. There could never be anything real between us.” Her heart clenched as she laid it out plainly, tears beginning to prick her eyes. “It was best for both of us that I left you alone.”

Benedict stared at her, eyes aflame, his jaw jutting around as if he were chewing his own tongue. Then he suddenly stood, turned on his heel and marched out the door.

This was the end. Sophie let the tears roll down her cheeks as she planned her next steps. Her limbs were still heavy but she would have to get up and dress quickly. She hoped her clothes were dry but even if they weren’t, she needed to leave. She could walk to the village from here. She could make it down the stairs without him seeing her. She needed to leave before he tossed her out or contacted the police. She should never have agreed to get on his horse. This was the heartbreaking but predictable conclusion to her dreams. This was the ironclad confirmation that she must stop reaching for things beyond her station.

Before she could muster the strength to swing her legs to the floor, Benedict reappeared in the doorway. He carried a stack of papers, uneven, varying in size and texture. He held them gingerly in both hands like priceless artifacts. As he walked toward her Sophie shrank back, wondering what on earth he was doing.

Benedict looked her in the eyes, an unreadable expression on his face, something like reluctance and yearning simultaneously. He reached the bedside and slowly started to spread the pages out before her, separating them to lay across her lap and the whole of the mattress so she could see each one. She gasped. 

It was her. 

They were all pictures of her. 

Dozens of them. Charcoal sketches of a faceless woman in a cascading ball gown. Renderings of a face hidden by a mask with dark lips and starry earrings. A study of gloved hands, another of the curls of her coiffure. Oil paintings of a woman facing away in a dark garden. Watercolors of swirling blues and silver, some painted by his own fingers, abstract and without imagery but she knew what they signified. She held her breath and touched them in awe, her hands shaking. Tears streaming uncontrollably, she looked up at him, speechless.

“I have thought of nothing but you for two years,” Benedict’s voice was unsteady with emotion. “I couldn’t let myself forget you even though I didn’t know your face. You are all I can see. You are in every line I draw, every sky I paint. You are all that inspires and delights me. Don’t tell me that isn’t real, and don’t tell me you spared me any suffering by leaving.”

Swallowing hard, he knelt on one knee and took her hand in both of his own. “In my life, I have endeavored to be guided by one thing,” he paused, looking into her eyes. “My heart. And it is telling me that finding you again is not a coincidence. It is crying out for you. I know the circumstances are not perfect. I know our match would not be traditional.” He nearly spat the word. “But I have never put much stock in tradition or society. I must do what my heart bids me to, above all else. Let me show you the love and comfort that you deserve. We can find a way. Please do not condemn me to live the rest of my life as a broken man. Please, Sophie.”

Sophie’s mind was spinning. She didn’t know if there was air in the room because she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know if she was lying or standing because she was floating. Her pulse was pounding so hard that her hand throbbed between his. In one moment everything she had ever wanted was placed before her for the taking. The love of Benedict Bridgerton. A life with him. A future. Something full of joy. It was too perfect, too unreal. Could it be this simple?

“This is real?” She asked him, her eyes dancing with a hopeful light. “I’m not still dreaming?”

Benedict grinned. “It is real. I love you Sophie, and I am begging you to stay.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

[stupidrant]

It's reassuring to see more people point out the matter of Angrboda not having the same experiences as Atreus with social interaction, let alone courtship given years of isolation and total loneliness (with no one around but her unstable grandmother who wouldn't even speak to her, would torture her animals&call Angrboda "nothing" and express regret she didn't throw her to the wolves right after birth). Furthermore, I personally was never in the "Angrboda is oblivious to Atreus's crush" camp (it didn't cross my mind at all when playing the game). I was glad that the game didn't go a cliched route with boy's one sided pinning and girl not giving him time of the day (stories that overpopulate media because heavens forbid women - fictional or real - actively show or spell out their interest for a male character).

Not only was their interest in each other - including blossoming romantic feelings - completely mutual, but Angrboda could not be MORE open about her own feelings for Atreus. The scene where she initially rejected the flower was the only moment of misunderstanding of his intentions on her part. And it had everything to do with her not realizing the implications of this gesture of attention (again, due to lack of socializing/lack of knowledge on courting customs in Atreus's realm). Once Angrboda gained minimal experience with human interaction and a support system in the form of not just Atreus but his nearest and dearest she carefully kept that flower among her treasured paints (symbols of her self expression).

Her actions and behavior immediately after Angrboda turned down the flower are also telling (and admittedly, the decision to pluck a flower on the territory Angrboda nourished, taking care of every inch of Ironwood and every living thing there, was a remarkably silly - albeit genuine and cute - move on part of Atreus; like I said before, it's akin to someone plucking a flower from another person's garden, then giving it to said person, whom the garden belongs to, as a "gift"). Few scenes later Angrboda continued to tease and joke with Atreus, took him to see fireflies (Classic Romantic build up scene TM), told him how glad she was he came there, protected him from Gryla (not just with magical paint but literally shielding him with her own body - just took a screencap of that and squealed), verbally let him know - twice - that she didn't want him to leave, initiated physical contact with Atreus several times (Atreus only instigated it once, in the very end) and opened up to him about her trauma of losing both parents, just to make him feel better (right after enduring another trauma of being denounced by the only family she had left).

In every scene where Atreus takes a step towards her Angrboda either reciprocates or expresses sadness and dejection when he gives her promises she doubts he would keep. Precisely because she'd want nothing more than for him to keep them but knows it's unlikely because of the prophesy and other circumstances . She thanks him for inviting her to come with him but notes her animals need her - and Atreus himself must have realized it was an impossible request at that point; she tells him she was glad he came to Ironwood but when Atreus promises to visit her later Angrboda instantly grows crestfallen (although moments earlier she had been exited to share a beautifully lit and glowing evening with him) and sorrowfully asks "when". Making it clear that obviously she'd love to see him again and "won't be busy after Ragnarok" - but she doesn't believe she'd still be on his mind then and that Atreus would even spare her a thought after everything he's bound to go through.

When Atreus takes her hands in his in the end Angrboda originally looks dumbfounded - another gesture of courtship she's not used to and has no experience with - but she doesn't take distance or pull away. Quite the contrary, she reciprocates physical closeness (leaning towards his face) but tries to dispel the intimacy of the moment by taking their interaction to a safer and more familiar - for her - territory by asking Atreus about the giant visions. And then the first thing Angrboda does is acting, yet again, for the benefit of Atreus when she softens the impending separation for him and Kratos ("it's for you too"). When they say goodbye Angrboda hugs him tightly (we now know she told him she would "miss him" - another display of affection, completely unprompted, from her) and gives him her marble. It's blatant that she has feelings for him and doesn't hide them but she doesn't know how to conventionally transform them into romance just yet.

Even kratos catching on and asking mimir abt it like how can one truly deny anything at this point 😭

[jj-stay]

The Bittersweet Journey of Regretful Stray Kids

Hey lovely readers! It’s [jj-stay] here, and I’m beyond thrilled to share my latest fanfiction with you all. This one’s all about our favorite Stray Kids members and their reactions to walking out on an argument with their significant other. Get ready for a blend of fluff and romance that’s perfect for anyone 16 and older.

📖 Word Count: 614 (Perfect for a cozy read!) 💌 Request Status: Nope, this one's just from my heart! 💑 Pairing: Stray Kids x Reader (Get ready for all the feels!) 🌈 Genre Vibes: Fluff, Romantic (With a hint of drama) 🚨 Trigger Warning: Argument, walking out on an argument 🛑 Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real-life actions or events is purely coincidental.

Introduction

In this Tumblr fanfic, we dive into how each member of Stray Kids reacts after walking out on an argument with their significant other. Watch as they navigate their emotions and learn the importance of communication and maturity in relationships. and more loving relationships.

Enjoy the story, and don’t forget to like, reblog, and share your thoughts! Your support means the world. 💖😊

Chan (Bang Chan):

Chan storms out of the argument and immediately goes to his sanctuary: the room for music Hours pass as he empties his entire being into his organizations, involving music as a type of therapy. However, as the days pass, he begins to experience a gnawing sense of emptyness inside. It occurs to him that staying away from the issue won't make it vanish. Bringing boldness, he chooses to connect with his, not entirely set in stone to have a transparent discussion to repair their relationship.

Minho (Lee Know):

Minho, the self-reflective individual he is, withdraws into solitude to consider the dispute. He replays the scene to him on many times, wrestling with sensations of disappointment and yearning. He finds himself missing his significant other more than ever as the days turn into weeks. At long last comprehension the significance of correspondence, he bites the bullet and expands a genuine statement of regret, promising to move toward future struggles with development and understanding.

Changbin:

Changbin, who is well-known for his love of music and lyrics, expresses his anger and frustration through his writing. The turmoil he was going through, a mix of regret and longing, is reflected in each verse. However, as he pours his heart onto paper, he understands that words alone won't patch the fracture among him and his life partner. He takes the first step toward reconciliation by putting his pride aside and asking for forgiveness and promising to learn from his mistakes.

Hyunjin:

Battling to find a sense of peace with his activities, Hyunjin withdraws into isolation, consumed by culpability and self-question. He grapples with the information that keeping away from a conflict just demolishes what is happening. With a full breath, he sets out to stand up to the issue head-on, contacting his better half with a genuine conciliatory sentiment and a guarantee to discuss transparently and truly later on.

Jisung:

With his delicate and smart nature, Jisung replays the contention to him, investigating each word and activity. He's spooky by the inclination that he let his soul mate down. Still up in the air to offer to set things right, he starts a sincere discussion, recognizing his mix-ups and promising to improve the situation for their relationship.

Seungmin:

Seungmin hurls himself entirely into his examinations and responsibilities, expecting to divert himself from the waiting contention. He is aware, however, that ignoring the problem will not solve it. He takes the initiative to contact his partner, ready to address their issues in a mature and comprehensive manner because he recognizes the significance of communication.

Felix:

In spite of his endeavors to stifle his feelings, Felix winds up consumed by lament and strife. Incapable to bear the heaviness of unsettled struggle any more, he contacts his, not entirely settled to make things right. He vows to be more open and vulnerable in future conflicts with a newfound courage, realizing that communication is the key to a healthy relationship.

I.N. Jeongin:

Conflicted between lament and dread, Jeongin battles to handle his feelings in the outcome of the contention. However, as time passes, he realizes that remaining silent only serves to widen the gap between them. He takes a shaky breath and offers his partner an olive branch, ready to listen and openly communicate in order to repair their relationship.

Conclusion:

After a heated argument with their partners, we've seen each Stray Kids member deal with regret and uncertainty throughout this fanfic journey. Through reflection, correspondence, and a ton of soul-looking, they learn significant illustrations about the significance of open correspondence and development in connections. It's an excursion of development and understanding, and we as a whole are curious to see what happens.

Note from Author: It has been an emotional roller coaster to write this piece, and I hope it reaches out to you all. Your support and feedback mean the world to me. How about we continue spreading affection and understanding in our fanfic local area!

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