#Elegance in Fancy Ink

[fancybendy]

//Finally I have finished the Human Ref for Nathan //dead

(In the Studio - 'Naked' - Before the Machine, BATDR, Fancy Vers)

[written-in-flowers]

Her Tamer: Demon!Yunho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Demon!Yunho x Fem!Reader | side pairings: Yunho x OFC, Yunho x Mingi, demonline x Reader

Genre: Smut, angst, slight fluff | AU: demon au

Word Count: 12k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary: Following the death of his father, Yunho ponders over Hell's obvious unfair class system. When you make numerous attempts to get him in bed, he decides to try correcting your bratty behavior.

Tags: poly relationship, established relationship, bisexual sex, mentions of death/loss, mentions of illness, general angst, class separation, rough sex, brat taming, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, degradation, cuckquean, light bondage, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, breast play, exhibitionism, pet names (slut, bitch, whore, good girl, baby), facial, cum swallowing, panty sex, "just the tip", edging. Yunho simping over his actual woc!gf, Yunho generally being pissed at rich people because we should eat them.

Previously on Pretty Lady

Pretty Lady Masterlist

****

He never hated a sunrise before. The orange-yellow rays gradually pushed the night back up into the sky, breaking through and over the trees in the distance. The front courtyard remained dimly lit, though in a few hours its splendor would be in full light. Yunho used to hike up the mountains back home to bask in its warmth. The hot air would blow in from the molten lake where natural gold endlessly churned. His kin would come out from the main grounds, carrying metal poles and large vats to collect gold nuggets that washed up onto the lake overnight. They’d be turned into coins to be put in circulation. Yunho didn’t work at the mint, but he’d sit and watch them work until it was time to go. 

Like today. He stared away from the window to the uniform hanging on his closet door. Black and white, he wore the uniform every single day since he arrived at The Black Keep. Every morning, before sunrise, he’d bathe and fix up his appearance before pulling on the uniform. He’d go down to the kitchen where he’d snag a quick breakfast, then set about scheduling everyone's duties for the day. By the time anyone else arrived, he’d already have the chore chart finished, and be ready to get to work. Yet, today he could not bring himself to do it. 

“Yunho?” Mingi’s deep voice came from somewhere behind him. “Is everything okay? You weren’t in the kitchen.”

“Sorry. Overslept.”

“Overslept? You? Impossible.”

Yunho hardly slept at all, to be honest. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

“Hey,” a hand touched his shoulder, the warmth radiating through his thin nightshirt, “I know it’s been a rough few days for you, but at least it’s over now. Your dad’s at rest. He's not suffering anymore.” 

Yunho didn’t want to talk about it. He stared down at the letter on his desk. The creases in the paper became more pronounced from him constantly folding and unfolding it, but the ink was bolder than ever. 

‘My dear Yunho, 

I’m afraid this is my last letter to you. As you know, the holy pestilence I caught in the mortal realm has finally taken its course. The doctors tried all kinds of treatments and methods, but no amount of magic will undo what that priest had done. Don’t worry about me, my boy. Your Pop has lived a good life here in the old mountains. I may not have been a rich demon, but I lived as well as we could. 

I love you, Yunho. You are my greatest achievement, my greatest treasure, and my greatest love. Everything I have done was to try giving you a better life. I wanted you to have the things I never did, and I like to think in small ways I accomplished that. You left our home and went on to be more than I ever imagined for you. You got out, son, and that alone makes me proud. 

Please, do not mourn me, Yunho. Celebrate me. Go buy the good stuff and enjoy a few drinks. Buy a rare hunk of meat, cook it in some fancy elegant sauce, and eat it. Hell, go to one of the nicer brothels and splurge on the high price girls. Buy that girl of yours something pretty. Buy everything and anything you want. Bet money on winning horses or hounds. Don’t mope or cry about me. I didn’t get to live, so I want you to do it for me. 

Love forever, 

Pop.’ 

He received the news of his father’s death shortly after the letter's arrival. A messenger came to give him his father’s belongings, which wasn't much, but now sat in a box in the closet. He planned on selling the house to someone or perhaps renting it for some extra cash. His father wouldn’t have wanted him to hang on to the past. Sadly, the past kept wanting to hang onto him. 

Yunho has been working for most of his life to keep himself and his father fed. Despite his father's title of ‘Lord’, the family fortune had been squandered centuries before Yunho had been born. The only treasures left to them were their old decrepit mansion and a few family heirlooms. After years of scrubbing floors and cleaning clothes, he had the opportunity to work in a lord's household as a footman. From then he became a serving man, a butler, assistant, and finally a household manager. He moved from house to house serving the elite who looked down on his family. When he came into Seonghwa’s employ, his father couldn't have been happier. 

“Hey, my boy is going to work for the son of Asmodeus! Ain't that something?”  

He’d made good money. Very good money, and most of it went back home to his father. Unfortunately, his father's gambling problem took hold of him, causing him to own more money than he's worth. From what his cousins told him, a lord offered him a job possessing souls in the mortal world. Yunho wished he'd been told beforehand; he could have talked him out of it. Possessions aren’t easy, and only the well trained can perform them successfully. He told Yunho it was good money: fifty gold for every soul brought down. Yunho said his father was too old; he'd be going to his “nap” soon. His father argued that he still had it in him and to not worry. Things had been going okay, from what he’d told Yunho, until a priest got in the way. 

He doesn’t know what kind of magic the priest used, but it’d landed his father in the hospital. The doctors told Yunho that holy magic is deadly to their kind, just like holy weapons, and it would kill his father. He liked to think that he’d at least get paid for the gig. He didn’t. The lord who sent him never planned on paying him, but instead passing off his father’s hard work as his own. Yunho would have killed him were he not high born. 

“You should get ready,” Mingi said. “The Masters haven’t woken up yet, so you still have time. That big ball thing starts tonight, so they said they want to get to the hamlet early to get settled in for the weekend.”

Yunho groaned at the realization. Today was the first day of Prince Asmodeus's private ball. The Passionate Heart Ball was simply another excuse for the nobility of Hell to get together and indulge in all sorts of debauchery. Servants are not allowed to attend on a guest level, but do accompany their masters to serve. Seonghwa normally let Yunho stay behind to manage the keep, and he'd take someone else, but this time he insisted Yunho join them. He claimed the house didn’t feel right without Yunho there. His father would say that having a lord's trust comes in handy in the long run, but Yunho did not see how. Leaving the window, Yunho went to a wash basin by the mirror. He splashed cool water onto his face to soothe the heat rising inside him. 

“It wasn’t as if he was a young demon, Yunho,” Mingi said, watching him change out of his nightshirt. “Your father was four-hundred centuries old and close to taking his Big Nap; he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. He shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with possessions at his age.” 

“Don’t blame my father for falling victim to the greed of high borns.” 

“I’m not,” he said, “But I am saying that your dad’s in a better place, somewhere, maybe. I don’t know where we will go when we die.”

“Neither do I,” and that scared him. 

Picking up his uniform shirt first, Yunho thought about when he first heard what happened. He had been wrapped up in Mingi’s arms, enjoying his warmth and closeness after a long day, when Linette came into his room. Anxious, the young demon told him he had a phone call. It was his father. Yunho remembered how frail he sounded; his deep voice croaking and weak from his drained powers. He’d assured Yunho he’d be alright; that with some medicine, rest, and proper care, he’d be back on his feet in no time. The doctor Yunho spoke to disagreed. 

‘The magic stayed in him too long. He should have come straight to us after the exorcism, but he went home instead. We don’t know how long he has, but we’ll do our best to save him.” 

Yunho never felt so helpless before. Seonghwa gave him leave to be with his father without question, but that had been the worst part. Seeing his father, a strong demon of greed, so sickly and frail tore his heart in two. He’d thought to ask the lord who gave him the job for assistance of some kind, but he didn’t even answer Yunho’s calls. When he visited him personally, he was rejected with laughter. It was the least he could have done. It was another example of how the rich exploited and abused the poor without a care in the world. 

He checked himself out in a nearby mirror. His uniform fit him like a glove, since he’d paid to personally have sets tailored. Tailored clothes were an unheard of luxury back home. The clothes normal people wore either came from secondhand shops or were made from cheap fabric. Looking over the small corner dresser, a ring caught his eye. His father's opal and silver ring sat on the top, and his heart dropped. His most expensive possession, it had been passed down from Jeong to Jeong for hundreds of years. It was the last symbol of their status. Yunho slipped it onto his ring finger, fondly recalling the first time he ever saw it. 

“This has been in our family since before Lucifer. I would never give this up. Not for all the gold in the world.”

“Don't you look good,” said Mingi, likely trying to lighten his mood. 

Were he not plagued by his own thoughts, Yunho might have playfully flirted back. Not today. Not when the world felt so lifeless and grey. He may have not been the best parent, but Yunho did not hate his father. They had ups and downs as all families do, yet hate never crossed his mind once. Not even when his father gambled away his money on hounds and horses. He couldn't envision himself hating his father. Mingi’s arms went around his waist, and he rested his head on his shoulder. Yunho felt a lump swell in his throat, threatening to burn his eyes with tears. 

“He was a good man,” he whispered. “A good man who they took advantage of.” 

“I know,” he said softly, kissing the crook of his neck. “We should eat,” Mingi said, idly playing with his dangling earring, “Maybe a bit of-”

“-Did you know he was a jester before he was forced into Possessions?” Yunho said bitterly, tears glazing his eyes. “He was a jester for Lord Authos, this demon in the mountains. The man used to make a complete fool of my father, forcing him to perform tricks and jokes for the entertainment of others. I remember once seeing them throw rotten food at him in a game.” Yunho recalled the memory so vividly, it might have happened yesterday. “They thought it’d be funny,” he said, hate in his voice, “To see who could get the most hits. My father…” the resentment burned deep inside him, “He had to stay attached to a wheel and take the humiliation because those high born scum-”

“-Easy, love, easy,” Mingi soothed him softly, rubbing his arms and nuzzling his neck. “Not all high borns are like that. Our masters wouldn’t do anything like that-”

“-Yes, they’ve done worse,” he said. “Before YN came, they used to feed servants to the beast in the greenhouse. Hongjoong carries around a fucking whip to remind us who is in charge, and that he could whack us whenever he damn well pleases-”

“-He doesn’t do that anymore-”

“-I don’t care,” he spat, hands curling into fists. “Let’s not forget the demons who get thrown into the arena to die for the entertainment of the rich. They have to fight for their lives just to get back to freedom.”

“They were criminals, Yunho-”

“-Then why not punish them as criminals should be punished? Why is a man who stole a loaf of bread forced to fight his way to freedom? Did these bastards ever stop to wonder why he stole that bread?” 

“Yunho, please, calm down,” Mingi said again, still comfortingly. 

“And her,” the word came in a hiss through his teeth, “That woman treats us like playthings.”

“That isn’t true, Yunho,” he said a bit more firmly. Yunho forgot; he is your bodyguard and very fond of you. 

“Oh no? The woman is constantly flaunting and flashing her body at me, hoping I’ll give into my weakness again and fuck her brains out,” he said, remembering the last time he indulged you. He’d wanted it, of course, but after his father’s death, a high born woman is the last person he wishes to pleasure. “I’m surprised she isn’t pregnant with all the times she’s ridden cock.”

“Yunho, that’s enough,” Mingi said, moving away from him. “I know you’re angry and grieving, but don’t you dare start on her. She’s been nothing but kind to you. Okay, so she gets a bit horny, but who here doesn’t get like that? We’re all incubi and succubi, if you’ve forgotten. It’s in our nature to be that way. I recall you not saying ‘no’ whenever she managed to get you in bed, or were you pretending to make her happy?” 

“Of course not. I won’t deny I enjoyed every second, but…we are nothing to them,” he said, keeping the thickness from his voice. “We’re toys for their amusement. We can be disposed of, dismissed on a whim, and punished for the smallest infraction, and nothing would be done about it. Nobody would raise a hand or speak a word. We might not wear collars, but we’ll always be slaves to them.” 

It was true. His father proved that over and over throughout his childhood. When Authos saw his father’s potential in the coin factory, he brought him into his household as the jester. Yunho remembered every punishment he witnessed whenever his father did not perform well. Seonghwa and his brothers might not engage in the same amusements, but they never spoke against it either. They went to the arena, enjoying the benefits of their station. They did not protest when they witnessed poor treatment in front of them. If they did, it was said with annoyance or boredom. 

“Let’s get something to eat, huh? Otherwise, we’ll be starving when we get there.” 

“I don't think I can.”

“Just try.”

Yunho supposed he could. The pair left the servant's quarters for the kitchen, which was starting to come to life. Other servants walked around in their uniforms, preparing for The Masters and Mistress to wake up for their usual routine. He saw Cook and Linette already arguing across the island counter, and the footmen fighting about who gets to drive the Masters to the hamlet. The laundress stood near the scullery, scolding a maid so harshly the girl might burst into tears. Yunho did not have it in him to intervene in any of these spats. He walked by Cook and Linette to a cupboard pantry, where he normally fixed his own breakfast, but couldn't find the desire to eat. 

“-Master Seonghwa asked for a special breakfast,” Cook's rough voice reached from behind him, “And that's what I'm making. She's going to just have to swallow it.”

“Lady YN doesn't want the prefixed breakfast. She wants her own.”

“Master Seonghwa is the Duke, so his orders trump over hers,” he retorted. “Yunho,” he called him, “Come here and tell this Imp-”

“-Imp?!”

“-That I ain't taking special orders today. Master Seonghwa has requested a pre-fixed menu, and that's what I'm following.”

Yunho sighed deeply, pinched the space between his eyes before finally turning around. “What does Lady YN want?” he asked Linette. 

“French toast with strawberries, hashbrowns and eggs,” she answered. “She doesn't want to eat what Master Seonghwa has picked.”

“Too fucking bad,” hissed Cook. “She can't get her way all the time. There's rules in this keep, last time I checked!”

“Cookie, enough,” Yunho said, patting his shoulder. “Linette, Cook is right. Master Seonghwa asked for a specific type of breakfast, and Cook has already gone about preparing it.”

“She's not going to-”

“-I'm sorry, but Cook is starting to fix everything,” Yunho said, trying to keep himself calm. Why did you have to complicate everything? Why couldn't high born people make everyone's lives easier and take what they’re given? The rest of them have to. “She will have to eat whatever-”

“-She's the Mistress of this-”

“-Tough shit,” he nearly snapped. “Master Seonghwa is the Master, A Duke of Lust, and an Heir to Asmodeus’s throne. His word is law around here. Even with the title she holds now, she's going to have to come to heel once in a while. If she has an issue with that, she can take it up with one of the Masters.” 

Takenaback by his response, Linette did not speak at first. “She said-”

“-I don't care,” he cut her off again. “That's my final word on the subject. Franny!” He called the laundress, “Keep shouting at that girl, and I will give you something to cry about! They are just sheets! They can be washed again!” He turned to the four footmen near the back door, “Edgar, you are driving Master Seonghwa, Hongjoong and San. Mingi will be driving Mistress YN. Daniel will valet for the Masters, and Joseph will valet for The Mistress. If I hear any more bickering, everyone is getting a whipping from me personally!” He looked to the room at large, “It is six o'clock in the morning, how can you all have the energy for this nonsense? Am I running a house staff or a nursery?!” 

He left the kitchen without another word. Yunho began wishing he had not left his room. He squeezed his eyes tight, his instincts carrying him to Seonghwa’s bed chamber, as he pictured his father’s last moments. He’d told Yunho to go home. He said he didn’t want him to see him this way. His aunt and cousins stayed behind to watch over him for Yunho, and called him regularly now that they had a phone. He pictured his father, broad and strong, laying brittle and pale in his bed. His usual warmth, Yunho remembered, slowly turned cold and stiff as time passed. It sapped life from him slowly. That lump came back to his throat and he forced it down. 

He couldn’t help thinking of the lord, Lord Authos, who was part of Prince Mammon’s court. Clearly wanting to gain favor with the Prince, he offered the possession job to low income workers who wanted to earn some extra money. Authos could easily have done it himself, but he felt himself too above such work. All nobles did. It’s why they didn’t do their own housekeeping or cooking. 

He walked into Seonghwa’s apartment, and already sensed a shift in the air. Yunho moved to the bedroom doors where he heard your soft moans. Of course. When are you not throwing yourself at the nearest person? It was likely with some kisses and teasing, you'll get your own breakfast and disrupt everyone else's routines. You didn't care. Why should you? An inconvenience to one is not an inconvenience to a lord or lady.  

He stopped himself. You weren't to blame for his father's death. You didn't even know. He hadn't told anyone aside from Mingi, Seonghwa and Linette. Mingi was right. You might be a bit overzealous with your desires, but you never forced yourself on him even with your new abilities. You’ve always treated him with respect and compassion. You’re certainly different from other ladies he’d served, and he shouldn’t take his anger out on you or any of his masters. 

But, a part of him simply could not help it. 

Yunho decided to tidy the room instead. He had no desire to interrupt and possibly be drawn into the act. He only wanted to push away the thought of his father lying helpless in a hospital bed. When he heard your final climax, he stopped fluffing pillows and knocked on the door. 

“Enter,” Seonghwa panted from behind the door. 

As expected, both you and Seonghwa laid tangled in one another. Fully nude, neither of you bothered covering yourselves when he entered. Not that he expected that. His eyes scanned over your body, taking in your shape and size from afar. The usual urge to fondle and kiss you came to him, but he’d learned long ago how to control those impulses. If he stopped to indulge every time he felt a trickle of arousal, he’d get no work done. He didn’t have all the time in the world like some people did. 

“Good Morning, my lord, my lady,” Yunho bowed. 

“Morning, Yunho,” you smiled at him. “Ooh, I like the ring. It’s new.” 

“I thought I’d try accessorizing today,” he half-lied. 

“It looks good. Is that a real opal?”

“It is.” 

“Greed demons only wear real gems,” said Seonghwa. “You’ll never catch one dead in imitation stuff.”

“What did Cook say about my breakfast, by the way?” you asked, sitting up and stretching. “I sent Linette to ask him about it.”

“What breakfast?” Seonghwa asked before Yunho could respond. “I already sent him a menu for today.”

“I saw it,” you said, “But I’ve been craving french toast with strawberries and powdered sugar lately and thought it was a good day to have them.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but Cook only prepared the ingredients and supplies for Master Seonghwa’s fixed menu,” Yunho said. “He doesn’t have all the ingredients to make anything off that menu.”

“Well, can’t he just get it? The market isn’t that far. He can send someone to get the stuff, and he can make it.” 

‘Or you can stop being a brat and eat what you’re given.’ He thought sourly. 

“He doesn’t have anyone to spare,” Yunho answered honestly. 

You left Seonghwa’s side to kneel in front of him. In the morning light, your divinity glowed. He swept over your naked breasts, following a trail to your center where you kept yourself trimmed. Having just had Seonghwa, he spotted a distinct wetness on your inner thighs. When he met your eyes again, you gave him that typical flirtatious smirk of yours. A high born woman was the last person he saw himself pleasing today. No doubt you’d now use your seductive powers to get what you want from him. 

“But, surely with all your influence around here,” you said, reaching for his hand, “You could just talk to him for me? You’re one of the only people he actually listens to.”

“Because we respect the chain of command,” he replied, “Which is what we’re doing here. Master Seonghwa made an order, and we’re only following it.”

“I’m the Mistress around here. I think I have a bit more power than I used to, right?” You massaged his hand delicately, giving him a small pout. “I shouldn’t have to beg a servant to get what I want.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he slipped his hand from your grasp, “But unless Master Seonghwa changes his mind, then there’s nothing we could really do for the situation.”

“But Yunho,” you brought him close, your naked body against his clothed one, “Aren’t I your goddess?”

He knew you’d use that line. The image of you taking advantage of him crossed his mind. You’d undress him, kissing down to his crotch where you’d eagerly suck him. If he couldn’t enjoy Linette’s lovely body or Mingi’s soft lips, he’d at least get yours. It’s not as if you’d say ‘no’. Everyone in the keep knew you could go for much longer and didn’t mind multiple lovers. But, he thought of the work he had to do downstairs. 

“You are,” he said, though it wasn’t your face that came to mind these days, “But goddess or not-”  

“-Kitten,” Seonghwa cut you off, “How about you start a bath for us? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Or Yunho can do it with me,” you suggested, “Like he’s supposed to.” 

“YN,” his voice came more firmly, “Go, please.” 

You gave a short huff of contempt, but then slipped from the bed. 

Yunho busied himself tying back the curtains behind him when Seonghwa spoke. “It’s not her fault.”

“You spoil that girl,” he said, roughly tugging on the golden chords. “She might be a lady, but there’s a hierarchy around here, and you’re in charge. Not her.”

Seonghwa chuckled, “Try telling her that.”

“I’ve never understood the point of having a set routine if it is constantly broken,” he said. “She never eats when or what everyone else does. She never dresses accordingly. She never-”

“-Yunho, she isn’t to blame,” Seonghwa said harshly. “As you said, she’s a Lady of Eden-”

‘A whore of Eden, more like.’ 

“-And you’ll respect her.” 

‘Why? She doesn’t respect herself.’

He stopped himself again. 

“I’m sorry about your father, Yunho, but he entered into that agreement. He knew the risks before he went up there.”

“The man didn’t even pay him,” Yunho seethed. “He risks his life going up there to collect souls, and the bastard doesn’t pay him. He laughed. He fucking laughed.” His voice cracked, thinking of the highborn lord's wheezy laughter. “I asked him to pay up, and he laughed.” 

“Authos is a demon of greed.” 

“He knew my father could not disobey his orders, and took advantage of that for his own gain.” 

“Again: are you really that surprised?”

“It doesn’t make me any less angry.” 

“I know it doesn't, but lashing out at others is not going to heal anything. It’ll only fuel your anger more.”

“Good. Somebody should be angry.” 

“Carry on with your duties, Yunho,” he said with a sigh. “I want everyone on the road by nine o’clock. The hamlet is far, and it’ll take forever to get there. See that Cook makes YN’s breakfast, please.” 

“Yes, my lord.”

He bowed and left the room. Seonghwa didn’t understand. He has never had to answer to anyone, not even his lecherous, indifferent father. If Yunho’s father had refused the task, he would’ve been whipped or worse, and then forced to go. Authos knew his father needed the money. He knew about his father’s gambling debts; he knew about the loan sharks that constantly dogged him, and how deep in the hole he’d gotten. Yunho’s salary combined with his did not make the cut. None of them understood that. Right as he walked out of Seonghwa’s apartment, a high voice called out to him from nearby. 

“Yunho,” Master Hongjoong stood by his open door, tying his black robe around his waist. Cherry red hair slightly tousled from sleep, he still had the bleary eyed look of having woken up. “Yunho, make sure Cook brings out the riesling for breakfast. Seonghwa prepared a light breakfast, from what he told me.”

Wine for breakfast? “Of course, my lord. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thanks,” he beamed, then escaped back into his room. 

It wasn’t long before the third master of the house appeared. A towel draped over his shoulders, sweat matting his black hair, Master San grinned at him happily. “Yunho, glad I ran into you,” he said, dabbing his forehead. A morning run. How nice to have such leisure time. His father would be getting ready to amuse the lords right now. “Can you make sure that Cook makes my eggs over medium? Over-easy is too runny for me.”

“I’ll let him know right away, my lord,” he bowed. 

“Thank you, Yunho.” 

At least he gets a ‘thank you’. He never received that from other lords or ladies. Yunho knew, as he walked back to the kitchen, that he was incredibly lucky. If he worked for any other lord, he’d be whipped on the spot for his attitude. Seonghwa might sympathize after his childhood in the slums, but he was still part of the upper class. The nobility. The people who made other peoples’ lives miserable simply because they could. One would think that kind of treatment would be given to sinners and mortals, not their fellow demons. 

“Cook,” he approached the demon by the stoves, flipping bacon on a flat-top grill, “Master Seonghwa has approved of Mistress YN’s breakfast order.”

“What?!” he growled at once, cutting up the bacon with his spatula, “You’re toying with me, boy.”

“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to send someone to get the ingredients for it.”

“I don’t have enough hands,” he gestured to the four cooks around him. “The market is an hour away from here. Tell him I can’t.”

“I’ll send one of the servants, then. Master Seonghwa is the Master of the House. He gets what he wants.”

“Hmpfh, they all get what they want,” he grumbled. “Back in my day, the women did what the men told them or else got a black eye. He lets that little nympho-”

“-Cookie,” Yunho said sternly, “Don’t get riled up again or you’ll irritate your hip.” From what he knew, Cook sustained his lifelong injury from holy magic centuries ago. It never healed right. 

He took the chopped bacon off the grill, “Alright, alright. What did she want again?”

It won’t heal his wounds, but it could be fun to see their faces. “She said french toast with blueberries and cream.” He then added, “And don’t shoot the messenger, but Master Hongjoong asked for chardonnay with his breakfast wine and Master San wants his eggs over easy.” 

He growled, fangs flashed for the briefest moment. “Any other special requests while you’re here, Jeong?”

“No. Everything else stays as is.”

He gruffed, then went back to the grill. Yunho walked to the coffee station where the servants prepared their own drinks. He mused over how his father loved coffee, and what a luxury it was to the lower classes. One might think greed demons draped themselves in precious metals and gems, wore fine designer clothes and drove flashy cars. The ignorant thought they drank fine wines and ate rare and exotic dishes. It might be true of the wealthy, but not the poor. Not like him and his father, who had nothing. Yunho worked hard to get the things he had now, while people like Seonghwa and his brothers simply received it. Stirring fine sugar into the rich, dark drink, he recalled what his father once told him. 

‘Enjoy the finer things slowly, Son. We don’t get them very often.’ 

He’d said this when he caught Yunho greedily shoving chocolate in his mouth. Another rarity. Yunho normally lets his resentment float away in the air, but not today. 

****

The feast disgusted him. Standing by the kitchen door, he watched maids take plates of food upstairs. Chilled fruits, fresh baked goods, steaming breakfast potatoes, sausages and bacon, and various types of jams and spreads went by him on silver platters. Fresh squeezed orange juice, cold milk, and hot coffee were carried up in carafes. Seonghwa, San and Hongjoong would be eating a special kind of frittata with zucchini and fresh herbs, accompanied with rations of bacon and crusty bread. His father usually ate a hunk of bread or a bowl of cornmeal mush with mint tea. Hardly the food of kings. 

Or dukes. 

“The wine Master Hongjoong requested, sir,” a servant said to Yunho, showing the bottle for his inspection. 

“Perfect,” he grinned. “Thank you, Diana.” 

Yunho typically then worked with the housekeeping staff to tidy up the apartments, but instead, he went upstairs behind the maids. He wanted to see it with his own eyes. He saw the masters and mistress sitting at their dining table, a table decorated in a fine cloth and real silver candlesticks with fresh flowers. This dining room was larger than the poor mountain shacks back home. He watched the servants put down the trays around the table, then the magic began. 

“Um, Yunho,” you said first, staring down at your plate, “I’d asked for strawberries and sugar. This is, like, the opposite.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” 

In front of you was a stack of fluffy slices of french toast with cream and jam in between, topped with blueberries. He knew people who’d be more than grateful to have such a sweet, filling breakfast. Yet, you pouted over the slight change. 

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said. “Cook must’ve misheard me. He’s been distracted lately. His hip must be bothering him again.”

“Then Cook must be really off, because I asked for my eggs over medium,” said San, who examined his eggs. “Didn’t you tell him about it, Yunho?”

“I did, of course, sir.”

“He also got the riesling and chardonnay confused,” said Hongjoong, who sipped the drink from a wine glass with a silver stem. Real silver, not painted wood. “But, no big deal. It’s still just as good.” 

Your disappointment healed something inside him. “I guess this is okay,” you said, cutting into it and taking a bite. “It’s amazing either way. Like, Cook is a genius.”

“The man’s been around since before Lucifer’s fall. He worked for Beelzebub before our dad hired him. It's why he gets away with everything.” 

“Tell Cook thanks,” you told Yunho, “And that I hope his hip gets better. He’s a mean ol’ grouch, but he’s our mean ol’ grouch.” 

You took a big bite of the french toast, cream ending up on the sides of your mouth. Seeing the mess brought images of the last time you put him in your mouth. It’d been sloppy and rough, involving him choking you with it. He had indulged you because you’d kissed him beforehand. You’d learned how to control the dosage of your kisses, knowing light pecks only lasted an hour while deep kisses kept one going all day. Yunho did see the downsides even if other people did not: it was physically taxing and draining. He didn’t have the time for that. 

Not with you, anyway. 

“Will you be requiring anything else, my lords?” he asked the family at large. 

“No, thank you, Yunho,” Seonghwa answered, picking up the newspaper he’d been handed. “You may finish packing up.”

He left the staff to clean up after breakfast service, and started preparing for departure to the meadows. While the family went off to enjoy their day, everyone else kept working. His father never had a day off. Jesters are meant to be “on” every day from sunup to sun down. He only stopped when his masters went to sleep; the same fate his son shared now. The only difference was Yunho got Sundays off. 

Such was the life of the lowborn. 

“On a scale of one to ten,” Mingi said when he approached the carriage outside, “How disappointed are you that your little plan backfired?”

Yunho sighed, “About a three. In the end, it was childish and petty. Deep down, I shouldn’t be blaming them for what another demon lord did.” 

“You're lucky Master Seonghwa can’t read your mind. You'd be in trouble for sure.” He then said, “How about you, me and Linette get a drink tonight when they've gone to sleep? Asmodeus has the best bartenders who can sneak us the good stuff.”

“Alright.”

Everyone got into their places when the front doors opened and the four masters came out. Seeing them in their tailored clothes and expensive jewelry, smelling of fine perfumes, his resentment for the higher classes grew. He watched Hongjoong and San slide into your carriage while Seonghwa rode alone. What sort of change had you demanded now? He didn’t care. He’d be riding with Linette and some of the staff. At least, that was what he thought. 

“Yunho,” you called to him sweetly, “Come ride with me.”

He noticed the short sundress you'd thrown on, and couldn't look away. The deep V neck line plunged between your breasts, making them more noticeable to him. The last time he touched them came to mind, your hard nipples being teased by his tongue. Linette had been there, stroking him while you both shoved your tits in his face. 

“Oh, I'm already riding with-”

“-And now you can ride with me,” he saw the glimmer of flirtation in your eyes. “I know you got my order wrong on purpose,” you said with a sly smile. “You can make it up to me in the car.”

“He's already riding with me,” Seonghwa poked out his head from his carriage window. 

“But Seonghwa-”

“-He is my butler. He rides with me.”

You huffed, and walked off. Yunho couldn't ignore the pang of disappointment. He watched your dress swish along the backs of your thighs. If he couldn't have Linette and her sweet lips, he could at least have enjoyed yours instead. 

“Yunho, come along now.”

Unable to refuse, Yunho climbed inside the carriage. He'd been looking forward to riding with the others. There are so few chances for down time in their line of work, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He hadn't spent much time with Linette, and he would've liked to be with her. Seonghwa pulled out a deck of cards as the carriage began rolling. Yunho’s lip curled slightly knowing how this ride would end. 

“She can be incorrigible,” he said, expertly shuffling the deck. “I suppose the railing I gave her wasn't enough.”

“She is part succubus, sir.”

“We're both incubi, Yunho, and we can control it just fine.”

“She might still be trying to control that part of herself. It's hard to learn that when everyone enables her.”

“We enable her, hm?”

“Yes, my lord. If she is accustomed to getting what she wants, then she'll  see no reason to control her urges.”

“Is that why you're always rejecting her?”

“I reject her because not all of us have the time in the world. We have work to do.” 

“But when you have no work and are stuck in a carriage with her for a long trip?” he suggested, a knowing glint in his eyes. “She loves big ones, and you're…considerable.”

“Well, if that were the case, I wouldn't mind indulging her.” He'll admit, the idea of you half naked, moaning and bouncing in his lap sounded nice. Though, Linette sounded so much better. “She's…”

“A horny nymph that knows exactly what to do to lure you into her bed,” Seonghwa finished amusedly. 

“Yes.”

“You should have seen her when you left,” he said. “She whined that she wanted you to join. I explained to her what has been going on with you, and she stopped after that.” Seonghwa eyed the ring on Yunho's finger. “That is a nice ring though. Where did you get it?”

“Family heirloom,” he answered. Glad to have a topic aside from you, he grabbed at it. “It came with my father’s things. It belonged to one of my ancestors; I don't know which one. It was the most expensive thing he owned.”

“It must’ve been hard for him,” he began dealing out cards. “Greed demons love money and gold.”

“But not all of us have it,” he said, picking up his hand as it came. “I sent him money every payday to keep him at least comfortable, and he gambled a good chunk of it away. He was drowning in his debts, and always needed money.” 

“What about your mother? You never talk about her.”

Yunho’s heart ripped another hole. “She was killed by an angel,” he said. “She was a demon of wrath.”

“I thought you were pureblooded.”

Yunho shook his head, “They told me they met in the inner city at a gambling den. She was a guard; my father was a jester.” 

“Well, that explains your strength ability,” he huffed, putting a card back and picking up another, “Can that be the reason you leave my Kitten so sore when you’re done with her?” he smirked. “She tells me you become a different person when you’re hard.”

“I suppose. Her kisses only make it worse.”

“Ha, that they do,” he snorted. “She knows the power she holds and isn't afraid to use it now. It’s how she gets her way.”

“That and that she has you wrapped around her fingers, sir. I never knew a Son of Asmodeus to cave to his submissive’s charms so easily.” 

Seonghwa smirked, “She’s very persuasive, as you well know. You oblige her.”

“She’s my mistress. I have to cater to her every whim.” 

“Then, you can cater to her at the party. I'd like you to come with us,” he said next. He hissed when Yunho showed his winning hand, and took back all the cards. He started shuffling again as he said, “My father's butlers are fine, but they don't know us the way you do.”

“I'm not going to be a toy,” Yunho said sternly. 

“You won’t be,” he assured him. “You’ll be there to serve, not to entertain.”

“Both are the same thing to that crowd.” 

“Not with me. Now,” he started dealing the cards again, “Let’s put in bets this time. It makes things more interesting.” 

By the time they reached Asmodeus’s territory, Seonghwa lost a ring, a watch and most of his money. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t play against someone who can block me from their mind,” Seonghwa said, chuckling at his misfortune. It must be nice when one doesn’t have to worry about going broke. 

The sun shone high above the flowery meadows that stretched for miles, smelling of wildflowers and fresh air. It made for a romantic, tranquil sight as they drove through the dirt road. He imagined the flowers might carry some sort of alluring enchantment to draw people closer to his massive mansion in the countryside. They would be travelling to the countryside home reserved for the three masters. A hamlet set on the side of a large lake, there were two distinct areas: the main house, and the servant’s house. Yunho couldn’t help noticing the much larger main house could easily fit more people, while the servant house was smaller. 

Clearly, the royal ego needed the extra room. 

“I forgot how gorgeous this place is,” Seonghwa softly grinned. “When was the last time we were here, Yunho?”

“Four years ago, my lord.” 

The ride from the keep gave him a chance to cool down, so now his exhaustion finally hit him. But, there was work to be done. His own belongings would have to wait until the family was settled in. Immediately, Yunho began directing the footmen on where the masters’ luggage belonged. Seonghwa took the bedroom that overlooked the gardens; Hongjoong preferred the lakeside view, and San favored the room facing the meadow. Since it’s meant to house guests, you took up the room beside Seonghwa. No doubt he will discreetly tell you about the hidden door connecting the two bedrooms. Yunho unfortunately knew about the servant pathways behind the walls. To avoid disturbing the family and their guests, servants used these paths to get from one part of the house to the other without being seen. Cook told him the ones back in the keep were used for that before Seonghwa took over. 

He spent the afternoon preparing the different bedrooms, and then went to the kitchen for lunch service. He’d been inspecting the produce for bruises or rot when Linette appeared in the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare come to me with any special requests, girl,” Cook warned from the large walk-in cooler. “The menus are already set.” 

“She just wants a snack tray for lunch,” Linette said. “Green grapes, sliced ham and turkey, those little cheese cubes, and some crackers. Don’t say you don’t have them, because you do. She put it on her list.” 

“What’s wrong with what I am serving?” he asked, affronted. “It’s going to be a masterpiece. How could she want a silly snack tray instead?” 

“She isn’t that hungry after the breakfast she had,” she shrugged. “Can’t you just do it? She’s our mistress, and we have to go along with her wishes.” 

“Damned woman,” he grumbled, grabbing his apron and going back into the walk-in. “All the work we have to do and now I have…never in my years have I…should’ve stayed with Beezelbub…” 

Yunho felt her eyes fall on him, and he ignored her gaze. He pictured those big brown eyes surveying him from afar, likely trying to read his mood. If anyone other than Mingi stirred something inside him, it was Linette. 

“Yunho?” she walked over to him, “How are you?” 

“I’m well.”

She came around the counter to stand next to him. Yunho sometimes forgot how beautiful Linette really was. Enchanting and charming, the natural light highlighted her golden dark brown skin, and gave her curls a shine. She’d worn it back in a high slicked up ponytail, letting the curls fall freely at the end.  He gazed over her full lips, recalling their sweetness from the lip balm she wore, and thought of kissing them. He thought of holding her smaller frame in his large one, drowning his senses in her. Everything in his heart weighed him down, and he longed for a quiet moment with her. 

“No, really,” she said. “How are you feeling? I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you since your father passed.” 

“I said I’m well.”

“Yunho,” she drew closer to him, “Please, don't shut me out.”

Yunho paused, feeling her warm hands on his arm. “It’s a lot,” he admitted, putting the apples in a bowl. He swallowed back the lump again. “I’d rather not get into it right now.” 

“Okay,” she nodded. “We can talk later tonight then? Mingi wants to get drinks from the bar. The three of us could drink together and catch up.” 

A smile broke his stone face, cheeks getting warm. “Catch up, hm?”

“You can call it that, if you want,” she smirked. “I personally call it a bit of stress-relief,” she said in his ear, lips brushing the outer edge. “Your girl has been extra good lately. Shouldn't I get a little reward for that-”

“-Don’t,” he cut her off, “Or you might get it sooner than you intended.” 

She smiled, “Is that a promise?” 

He finally turned to see her. She no longer wore the black and white uniform of the rest of the staff. Hers was a light lavender that ended around her thighs. The first three buttons remained unopened, and from the right angle he saw her ample cleavage. When he really looked, he noticed a golden chain just beneath her collar. His heart warmed knowing that she wore the ring even under her clothes. Golden with the words “my beloved” engraved inside, it had been his mother’s wedding ring. She wore it in a necklace since it might get lost with the type of work she did. Yunho didn’t mind. Her simply wearing it made him happy. 

“Will you be entertaining tonight?” he asked, unable to control the slight possessiveness he felt over her sometimes. 

“Mistress YN said I could if I wanted,” she said. “There will be a lot of good looking lords and ladies there, but I don't want any of them.” She paused, “Will you be going or staying here?”

“Master Seonghwa wishes for me to go,” he replied. “On a serving basis only, not entertainment.”

“Shame,” she pouted, “I thought we could sneak away once they all start drinking and have our own party somewhere.” She glanced at Cook, who had his back turned, and leaned in closer, “I miss you in my bed. Mingi comes to me still, but I miss having you. It’s not the same.” 

“I haven’t been in the mood.”

“Even for me and Mingi?”

“Yes. I haven’t…felt up to it, that’s all. It isn’t you,” he added when he saw her frown. “You are the most beautiful woman I know, it’s that…”

“You’re still upset,” she finished for him. “I understand. It’s why I haven’t bothered you, but after I saw you explode in the kitchen,” she smiled bashfully and looked away, “I’ve been kind of turned on.” 

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you break like that before,” she said. She looked back up at him, “It was sexy. You’re usually so cool and calm even when you’re angry. Seeing you be so open turned me on a bit.” 

“If your mistress keeps pushing my buttons, you might see more of it.” 

“Maybe I can push them too?” 

She moved to press against him, but then a ringing bell caught their attention. Yunho saw the bell in Seonghwa's bedroom ringing, and wondered what he could possibly need now. 

“Later?” He turned to Linette. 

“Later,” she said, “If our mistress doesn't swipe you from me first.”

She tiptoed to kiss his cheek, then walked back over to Cook. Yunho put off his work to go to Seonghwa’s bedroom. Standing outside the door, he heard voices rising. 

“-I told you not to bring that thing with you! I specifically said it! I said ‘Kitten, bring whatever you like except that beast’!’”

“Oh, leave her alone! She's not hurting anyone.”

Yunho knew right away what Seonghwa referred to: Minnie, the miniature version of Octavius you'd created. The untrained plant slunk around your bedroom, being treated more like a dog than a plant. It hissed and growled at everyone except you. She bit and nearly strangled one of the footmen. She liked tearing up furniture, leaving her slimy trails everywhere, and eating everything in sight. Seonghwa warned you to keep her under control and properly train her. From what Linette said, it was not going well. Yunho didn't think you'd bring her with you. 

“She tore up my couch cushions, YN, and nearly killed one of the footmen,” he replied firmly. “I can't believe you brought her when I said not to.”

“I can bring her wherever I want,” you argued. “She's my baby.”

“She's a menace,” he retorted. “Look, she's eating my boots!”

“Minnie, no! Bad girl!”

Yunho heard a low growl be soothed into a soft purr. “She doesn't know any better,” you said. “She's only a baby.”

“A baby who needs proper training.”

“I have been training her. She's a work in progress.”

“I don't want her here. I told you to leave her at home.”

“I'm not a slave anymore. I don't have to listen to you if I don't want to,” you'd remarked. You sounded like a child. Yunho told him it was a mistake to let you keep it. “It's too late to send her back. I'll keep her in my room, I promise.”

“Fine,” he said defeatedly. “Just get her out of here before she eats the rest of my stuff.”

Opening the door, you stood slightly startled to find him there. In your arms was the bulbous green and purple plant with its thin vines acting like arms. No eyes, Minnie used the long tendrils to feel her way around. Yunho once told Linette he didn't see the beast lasting long. Either it wilts away and dies, gets lost or finally hits the masters’ last nerves.

“Yunho,” you said, taking in his presence, “Can you see if Cook has any spare meat for Minnie? She's hungry.”

“Yes, my lady.” The damn thing was always hungry. 

“Awesome, thanks! You can just bring it to my room.”

You beamed appreciatively and walked away. Yunho entered the apartment to find Seonghwa flopping down into a chair. He immediately went to work fixing a drink for his master, who took it gratefully. 

“I can't believe she brought that thing with her,” he groaned. “Now it's going to destroy the house.”

“I'll ask Jongho to keep a close eye on it, my lord.”

“I specifically asked her not to,” he continued, taking a drink. “She never listens.”

“Perhaps you should start reigning her in more,” he suggested. “You are the Master of this household. Not her. She should at the very least listen to what you have to say.”

“Are you saying I should spank her more often, Yunho?” he leered. “Or would you like to do it yourself?”

“If you wish to pass the job onto me, then I will do it, my lord.” The thought of you across his lap, weeping and whimpering as he spanked you hard crossed his mind. “She could use one.” 

He imagined you, so high and mighty, kicking your feet and wriggling as his spanking grew harsher. You'd get wet, no doubt, seeping from both holes as your arousal grew. Unlike his masters, he wouldn't give you the pleasure you needed until you earned it. A proper lesson isn't learned if there's a reward at the end. 

“It'd be a delicious sight, huh?” he asked. 

“She's…” 

“Been teasing you all morning. I've noticed. You're the hardest one for her to get into bed. I imagine it bugs her.”

“I have work to do. Was there something you needed from me, my lord?”

“Yes,” he said, drinking from his glass, “Can you make sure lunch is served in the garden? It's gorgeous outside and I'd like to enjoy the view.”

That was all? He called him away from Linette for that? “Yes, sir.” 

He bowed and went back towards the kitchen to relay the order. With everyone busy working on lunch service, Yunho went into the walk-in for strips of beef for the plant. He thought of giving the order to Linette or Jongho, but they were busy attending to your room. He put a few slices on a silver platter.

“I know you aren’t taking my Grade A, prime beef up to the beast, boy,” Cook said as he chopped onions. “That's dinner.”

“I only took a small portion,” Yunho said. 

“Why can’t you just find a hellcat or a bird and use that?”

“I’m sure it’ll find one eventually. Cook,” he sighed defeatedly, “I don’t like this any more than you. We must make do with what we have on hand.”

“Hmpf.” Despite his reaction, Cook knew he was right. “Back in my day,” Cook gruffed, pushing the onion aside, “Ladies had hellcats and hounds, not plants that eat everything in sight.”

“Oh, that’s not true and you know it,” Yunho chuckled, walking past him. “Mistress Minyoung once had a two-headed snake that kept strangling everyone, remember?”

This lightened the old demon’s mood somewhat, and Yunho went back upstairs. 

Entering your room, he should have known what he'd really be walking into: you half naked on the chaise couch by the window. You'd stripped off your dress to reveal the hot pink lingerie underneath, showing off the body he drooled over. 

“Ah, you brought Minnie's food,” you smiled, strategically laying on your front, hugging a pillow so he saw your whole figure. “Minnie, baby! Lunch!”

Minnie slunk from a leafy bed in the corner towards Yunho. She hissed, baring sharp fangs and waving her tentacles, and went for his ankles. Yunho nearly kicked her before tossing the food away. When she went towards it, he scowled before turning back to you. His eyes lingered on your chest again. He already knew of their softness and sensitivity. He loved flicking his tongue on them to hear you whine his name. Yunho could not help worshipping you every time he indulged. The only woman whose body beat yours was Linette, whom he adored. 

“Thank you, Yunho,” you said, making a point to grind as if getting into a comfortable angle. “You're always so helpful.”

“It's my job, my lady. If that is all, I have work.”

“You work too much,” you said, “That's not good. All work and no play?” 

“Not all of us have the luxury of getting to play all day,” he said as calmly as possible. Why did you all insist on wasting his time? “If you need nothing else-”

“-Not even a few minutes for your Mistress?” You pouted as you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs. He could see your shaved cunt through the flimsy underwear. “For your goddess?” you teased, giggling at his rosy cheeks.

He stepped forwards, walking to where you sat, “That depends…” Yunho suddenly wrapped his hand around your throat, keeping you in place on the couch, “Do you deserve it?” 

“Yunho…”

“Because sluts like you should work for what they want,” he said, his other hand going down your body to your center. Long fingers danced up and down your slit, prodding through the fine fabric keeping you apart. “If the masters won’t do it, I’ll gladly take up the task for them.”

“Yunho,” you said, surprised but not displeased, “What's gotten into you?”

He bent down to you, then said in a low voice, “You. You have been teasing me all day,” he traced lazy circles over your center which caused you to wriggle under him. “You've been flashing those tits of yours at me. You've been suggestive and forward. I bet if I'd ridden with you, I would've been the one getting a ride.” He gave your sex a light tap, sneering at your reaction. “Pathetic little slut,” he said, tapping it again, “Sex is all you think about, isn't it? Hm?”

“Yes,” you murmured, breath getting heavier as your arousal built up. 

“Well, so do I,” another smack, “And you don't see me dropping my pants every two minutes to get off. Some of us don't have the privilege of such free time.” He slapped your pussy once more, harsher than the last. “We have to work. We have things to do,” he gave another slap, “You should be more aware of that.”

“Yunho,” you whined, “Stop. It hurts.” 

If it truly did hurt, you would've forced him off you with your vines or sic your pet on him. Yunho knew you did want it. You'd been wanting it all morning. 

“It's supposed to hurt,” he said, rubbing your stinging center soothingly. “It's a punishment. I mean a real one, not what Master Hongjoong does. You're not going to get any dick from me. Only good sluts get my dick in them.”

“But I'm your-”

“-Right now, you're a bratty bitch who needs to learn her lesson,” he smacked your pussy again. 

He then roughly rolled you over onto your front, and lifted your ass into the air. Your soft giggle and surprised yelp told him you wanted this. If he truly sensed you didn’t, he would stop. Even if he resented your social class, he’d never hurt you on purpose. 

His large hand holding your wrists behind your back, he began landing hard spanks to your buttocks. Your cries sent blood pumping to his cock. They were the pathetic, childish whines that spankings produced; you wriggled around in every spank, but did not do much to escape him. Yunho grew harder seeing your cheeks move to the quick, hard hits. The feeling of his fingers hitting it felt good. The movement gave him that power he desperately wanted over you. He knew you'd be positively wet when he finished, begging to be touched at the very least. He wouldn't give into you.

“I'm not your boyfriends,” he said. “I won't fuck you just because you want it. You have to earn that with me.” 

The room became louder with the sounds of your painful cries and his hand meeting your ass. Touching it with the back of his hand, he felt the tender heat coming off them. Hongjoong always kept his spankings short nowadays, honestly holding back more than he did with regular maids. Yunho wasn't like that. Everyone received the same punishment the same way. He smacked your ass and the backs of your thighs a bit longer before stopping. 

He slackened his grip and gazed over you. He saw you laying there breathless, and eyeing his bulge. You must think you’ll be getting him now, but he’d love to deny you that. Not even Linette received a single inch when she misbehaved with him. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, hand smoothing over your tender ass. 

“I’m telling Seonghwa,” you cried, sniffling softly. 

“I asked you a question: have you learned your lesson?”

“I’m your mistress. You’re supposed to do what I say.”

Yunho shrugged, “Clearly not.” 

His hand fell down faster, swatting each cheek until you were wriggling away from him. Whenever you drew too far up the couch, he dragged you back down. Seeing your wet panties, he pushed your legs apart and started slapping it again. This caused you to jump, quaking from the lighter smacks he put to it. 

“Now?” he asked, rubbing your swollen sex and feeling it throb on his finger tips. 

“It’s not fair,” you sobbed into the cushions. 

“It sounds more than fair to me,” he replied, “Maybe I should do it in a way that you’d understand.”

Tugging off his tie, he bound your wrists together with an intricate knot. “Stay still,” he said, giving your thigh a smack when you shimmied away from him. He withdrew his cock from his pants, feeling it pulsate in his hand, and pressed it to your flimsy underwear. “If you even try to cum, I’m stopping,” he warned, softly groaning at your swollen lips against his tip. “This is for me to enjoy, not you.”

“You’re supposed to do what I say. I want you to fuck me.”

“And you’re supposed to stay still,” he spanked you once more, “Or I leave and give my cock to somebody else.” 

“It’s mine!”

“No, it’s not.” 

He rolled his tip around your clit, tapping it lightly and tracing it. You quaked under him, and he heard your frustration. It didn’t bother him at all. 

“Your masters are going to punish you,” you cried, sobbing when he smacked your ass once more. “Really, really, bad, for what you’re doing to me.”

“Psh, are you kidding me?” he chuckled, enjoying the light feeling of your panties on his cock. “They’d probably stay and watch. You asked for this.”

You kicked your feet, nearly escaping him before he maneuvered you to have your legs together. This folded you in half, him straddling your legs to keep you in place. He continued teasing you through your underwear, wetting his cock in the process. He’ll admit, he was tempted to stick himself inside you, but he knew better. That’d be giving you what you want, and you wouldn’t get that here. Once they were wet enough, Yunho pushed his tip into your hole. They only let him go an inch or so inside, but that was enough to please him. 

“Yunho!” you cried, “Please put it in.”

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You have to do it.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” 

When you tried pushing back into him, he stopped. “What did I tell you?” he slapped the side of your thigh. “Huh? What did I say about staying still?”

“Keep going!”

“What did I say, bitch?” he asked more harshly, “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“Seonghwa!” you called out, and that only made him harder. “Yunho’s being-”

“-Your boyfriend isn’t going to help you,” he said. As much as he didn’t want to, he pulled away from you. “If you’re going to keep being bad, you’re not getting anything now.”

“No!”

“I told you what would happen, and you continued to be disobedient. There’s consequences to bad behavior.”

“San! San, help!”

“Keep calling him, nothing’s going to happen.” He got off the couch, “Maybe I should leave you here to think about your behavior. I’ll come back when you’ve understood it better.”

“Hongjoong will punish you for me. You’ll see,” you spat back, still playing with him, “He’ll whip you for doing this to me.”

“You talk too much,” he sighed irritably, grabbing his handkerchief. He roughly stuffed it into your mouth, “You should learn to keep your mouth shut. Good girls speak when they’re spoken to. Now,” he began putting himself back in his pants, “I’ll be back after lunch. We can continue this then.” 

Right as he planned to leave, someone else walked in. Linette, holding your snack tray, stood in slight shock as she spotted you on the couch. She took in your puffy eyes and guessed what might have happened. 

“Yunho,” she said, her eyes wide, “What are you doing?”

“Mistress YN has been a brat. I’m simply correcting that behavior.”

“You could get into real trouble for this. Mistress, are you okay?” She put her tray down and walked over to you, removing the handkerchief. “I promise Yunho isn’t like this really. He normally asks first or knows if you want it. Please, don’t feed him to Minnie or send him to the greenhouse. He’s been going through a lot lately, and-”

“-Linette, it’s okay,” you sniffled, giggling. “Really.”

“It is?” she asked. “I…Um, okay…Well, let me untie you. Your lunch is-Yunho! What are you doing?”

He sometimes loved his strength. Lifting her from the floor, Yunho placed Linette on the coffee table next to the chaise. On her back, he had full access to her body. The arousal she’d likely been feeling all day flared up at the touch of his hands. His dick hardened even more once her tits were in his hands. 

“What are you doing?” she asked again, laughing softly at his eagerness. 

“I’m going to show our mistress what good girls get,” he said, kissing her neck. 

“Yunho!” Linette giggled, but doing nothing to stop him as he tore at the buttons of her dress.

Soon, he saw the white bra covering her soft breasts. He roughly tugged it down to start sucking and licking her dark nipples. The smooth skin slowly tightened at his tongue, which he moved along with slow swirls. Yunho glanced over to see you watching with a frown, biting your lower lip as the sight kept you going. It felt good. For once, a high born wanted something from him and not the other way around. He kissed further down Linette’s body, feeling her soft stomach and thighs to discover her bare sex inches from his face. 

“No panties,” he growled, kissing her inner thighs as he knelt at the other end. “Such a good girl.” 

“I wanted to make it easier for you,” she said, her back arching when he licked at her clit. “I’ve been wanting your dick in me all morning.” 

“So has your mistress,” he kissed the spot of essence coming out of her. “She’s been teasing me since I woke her up today.” He looked over at you, “Good girls don’t tease. Only bratty girls do, isn’t that right, Linnie?” he went back to licking her folds as she answered. 

“Yes, sir,” she moaned, propping up on her elbows to watch him eat her out. 

“I’m telling my boyfriends what you’re doing,” you said, pouting. “Then they’ll tell you that you have to fuck me.”

“That’ll only be after they’ve each had their turn,” he replied, enjoying Linette’s sweet taste. He chuckled when she squirmed at his rapid flicking. He held her in place as he continued, licking her in swift circles. “Linette never gives me sloppy seconds,” he said, “Not even with Mingi. She lets me have the first round, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” she whimpered, biting her lower lip. “I always fuck you first, sir. I love your cock so much. Please, can I have it now? I’ve been a good girl.” 

“You always are.”

He stood up, pushing her legs far apart and plunged into her. Yunho gazed over at you, and saw you become breathless. In your position, you couldn’t do anything to stimulate your pussy. You could only watch and imagine it being you. Yunho lifted Linette’s legs so you saw his thickness stretching her out. It reminded him of the first time he saw you with someone. It had been with San in his apartment, where he took you on the dining table. Yunho knew then he’d do anything to have you wrapped around him, but you’d belonged to his masters, so you were therefore unattainable. 

Then he looked down at Linette. Panting and whining, she played with her breasts while he thrusted. While sex with you was fueled by your kisses and touches, Linette’s was natural and meaningful. He bent down to capture her lips, opening them to brush on her tongue. His arousal burned deep inside him the longer her walls dragged along his length. She felt so good. You felt equally good. Were it not your punishment, the three of you would be on the couch together. 

“I need you,” he whispered to her, kissing her neck and kneading her tits. “So badly.”

She started pushing down to meet his hips. He stayed still as she tightened her pussy and easily milked him. Euphoria pumped through him like a drug. He started pumping Linette faster, relishing in the sounds she made as he angled himself to hit her g-spot repeatedly. 

“Turn me around,” Linette pleaded, legs resting on his shoulders. “I love it when you fuck me from behind. You go so much deeper that way.”

When Linette guided him back inside, he grabbed her full, round cheeks. She cried out at the sharp smack he gave, and she knew what to do. Hands flat on the table, legs spread apart, she stayed still as he continued his steady pace. He turned to see you watching, slightly squirming as your arousal continued. 

“You see, YN,” he said, “This is what good girls get to have.” He made long, slow strokes that made Linette claw at the table, “They get to have every inch of my dick inside them. No teasing. No edging. Just each inch and every drop of cum I can give them. Doesn’t that sound nice?” He chuckled when you nodded, “So, you'll behave from now on?”

You nodded again. He noticed something crawling in the corner of his eye, and he instantly stopped. “That thing is not fucking you,” he said firmly, despite the Linette’s whining. 

Minnie had slunk to your couch, likely smelling your juices, and wanting to feed from you. It had already made its way up one leg to your center, wriggling a tendril at it. You shivered as the creature’s vines tore off your panties with ease. 

“Minnie, no,” you kicked at it, “Bad girl. No feeding.”

Minnie growled, angry at being denied, but persisted. She strapped herself to your thighs, then slithered a tentacle over your cunt. In your compromised state, you couldn’t reach to rip her from you, so Yunho did it. The beast hissed and tried biting his arm, but he tossed it away before it could do anything else. 

“That’s the first good thing you’ve done since I walked in here,” he said, still pumping into Linette. “Maybe you are learning.” 

“See? I can be good too,” you whimpered. “Can I have it now?”

“Not yet,” he said. He looked down at Linette, “Linnie hasn’t finished yet.” He grabbed both her arms to hold behind her, effectively bouncing her on his cock, “Such a sweet girl,” he grunted, mesmerized by the sight of her ass meeting his hips, “A sweet girl with an even sweeter pussy.” 

“And it’s all yours!”

“All mine?”

“Yes!”

“Good. As it should be.” 

“Please, Yunho,” you pleaded, “I promise I’ll be a good girl from now on. I won’t tease you anymore. I’ll give you my pussy only when you ask. I’ll do whatever you want. Just come fuck my tight, wet pussy, please.” 

“But, I have Linette right here,” he said, slamming into her to prove his point. “And her pussy is the best I’ve ever had.” 

“But mine is good too,” you shook your hips for him to see your glistening sex, “Even if it’s just the tip again. I want it so bad.” 

“Stop whining. You’ll get your turn.” He continued pumping into Linette, watching her ass ripple whenever his hips hit hers. “Linnie was good first. So, she gets it first.” 

“Sir, can I cum, please?” she asked through her whimpering.  

“I don’t know, can you?”

She grunted, almost laughing, “May I cum, sir?” she corrected herself. 

“You may.” 

He loved hearing her orgasms. He drowned you out for a moment to savor the loud moans she released. Her warm cum thickly coated his cock, the tightness clenched as it sucked him into her. Yunho held her to him closely, his fingers working her clit until she finished. After a few more pumps, Yunho went back over to you. With your panties in shreds, he had no trouble plunging inside you. He showed no tenderness with you. If you didn’t moan loud enough, he smacked your ass until he heard you cry again. If you whined or pleaded, he stopped. 

“Do you promise to be a good girl from now on?” he asked you, lifting your head from the couch by your hair. 

“Yes,” you sobbed. 

“Yes?” He started being rougher, tightening his grip and pounding faster. 

“Yes, sir! Yes, yes, yes, sir!”

“That’s a good whore,” he smiled, changing his angle when he heard you getting closer. “That’s it. Make me cum,” he forced your head back onto the bed, “Tighten that hole and milk my cock…There you go. See? That’s not hard, right? You can be good when you really try.” 

He kept going, the sensitivity working through his entire length, and he looked over at Linette. She’d remained on the coffee table, on her back with her legs spread. Yunho’s jaw dropped seeing her so exposed, biting her lower lip and teasing her nipples. This offering couldn’t be ignored. Once he felt your orgasm approaching, he pushed deeper. 

“I know you’re not cumming before me,” he growled, slowing his pace. “Good girls don’t cum without permission. I thought Master Hongjoong might’ve taught you that.” 

“I ca-an’t help it,” you cried, “It feels so good.”

“Then you better learn how to help it,” he said, going back to his previous pace. “Because you’re not getting a drop of cum if you do. You want my cum, don’t you? I know you love cum.”

“I do, but…oh my god, fuck, that feels…”

“Don’t do it,” he warned, but not slowing down. “Don’t you dare…”

“Fuck, I’m so close! I can’t stop it! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Thighs shaking, fingers gripping the tie around your wrists, you couldn’t stop the waves coming over you. Yunho felt your sex tightening, milking him as he pumped in and out of you. His cock became coated in you, the movement making your juices thicker and whiter, and he thought he might cum from seeing it. Yet, he kept himself in check as you finished shuddering. In a few final twitches, you slumped against the back of the chaise and took deep breaths. 

“Yunho,” you breathed when he pulled out, “Cum in me.”

“Good girls don’t get my cum…” 

Linette came over to him when he sat on the edge of the couch. She didn’t need to be told what to do. Mouth on his tip, she sucked and licked while stroking his length with both hands. The twisting motions combined with her lips brought him to climax in seconds. She moaned at the thick streams filling her mouth, slurping and swallowing them greedily. Linette never left a single drop behind. Yunho’s hands curled around the edge of the couch, his knuckles turning white as his body tensed. Her mouth and hands elongated the sensitivity coursing through his shaft and tip; he groaned through his teeth, jaw clenching and hips thrusting up into her. When he finished, he took in how beautiful she looked. 

“Show me,” he said, and grinned when she opened to show her empty mouth. “Good girl.” 

Gently, he untied you and let you uncurl from your position. He took you to the bed where he rubbed your stiff muscles and bottom with a healing salve he kept on hand. As he smoothed the aloe-concentrated paste on you, he muttered sweet praises and soft kisses to soothe you. You gradually fell asleep in his arms after being stuffed by your snack tray. Finally leaving you to rest, Linette cornered him outside the bedroom. 

“I really enjoyed that,” she whispered, arms going around his torso, “I think I like hard Yunho. He makes me a bit scared and extremely horny.” 

“Does he now?” he smirked, holding and kissing her softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A thought came to him, “Let’s go to my room. I’m exhausted.”

“What about lunch service?”

“Cook will manage it for me,” he took her hand in his. Going to a large portrait in the corner, he revealed the secret passage behind it. “I just want to be with you right now.” 

Her smile made his heart flutter and he kissed her again. An afternoon wrapped in his favorite person sounded so much nicer than tending to a bunch of high borns. 

They could make do without him. 

****

A/N: Aaaaand it's back! Sort of haha I really like Yunho and Linette, so I hope you guys do too. Feel free to reblog and like <3

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 7

When Kara receives a text from Lena that her ride to the restaurant has arrived, she half expects to see Lena waiting for her inside. She's only a little disappointed when to find the seat empty. What's more strange is that the driver doesn't take her to a restaurant, but rather a hotel.

Before she can wonder if maybe the restaurant is inside the hotel, a young woman emerges from the lobby and approaches the vehicle.

"Kara?" she asks a little breathlessly. Kara nods. "Hi, I'm Jess, Lena's assistant."

"Oh," Kara says, her stomach dropping. "Did she need to reschedule, or...?"

"Oh! No! Nothing like that, she's upstairs waiting for you." Jess hands her a keycard, offering a congenial smile. "Penthouse."

Blinking in surprise, Kara accepts the card with numb fingers. "And I just..."

"Yup! Staff and security are expecting you, so just go on in."

"Oh-kay..."

Jess holds the lobby door open, but doesn't follow her inside. When Kara pauses to look back, the woman is slipping into the same car Kara had just exited. As the car pulls away from the car, Kara takes a moment to collect herself.

This is fine. This is happening. And she's fine. She can do this.

Drawing her shoulders back, Kara presses further into the lobby, navigating herself to the bank of elevators with minimal fuss. When she presses the button for the penthouse suite, the car doesn't begin to move until she swipes her keycard against the sensor.

Catching sight of herself in the reflection of the doors, Kara feels flushed but exhilirated. For the first time in a long time, she feels... desirable.

When the elevator doors open, it spits her out directly into the middle of an expansive living space. Though a savory aroma fills the air, there's absolutely no one in sight.

"Hello?"

"In here!" Lena's disembodied voice calls from Kara's left. Kara drifts towards that direction, eventually turning a corner into a kitchen area bearing evidence of intensive cooking. Lena looks up from a saucepan she's stirring to grace Kara with a warm smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Kara echoes. Lena wears a stained white apron over what looks to be a black jumpsuit, pants long and elegant against her fair skin.

"I figure this is probably not what you expected for tonight, and I should have warned you, but I promise the food'll be as good as any restaurant's."

Only then does Lena seem to actually absorb what Kara is wearing. Green eyes widen minutely, then track up and down Kara's figure.

"Wow," she breathes.

A rush of pleasure floods Kara. She'd been mindful of her look even beyond the dress. She'd left her hair in a chignon, exposing the understated dangling earrings that brushed her bare neck. A gold cuff encircles her right wrist, catching the light as she leans against the island between them.

"Wow yourself," Kara returns in a low voice. She gives a teasing smirk. "I admit, when you said 'something fancy' I didn't think you meant chef boyardee."

Lena blinks, then throws her head back in a peal of delighted laughter. By the time she turns back to the pan, she has to scramble to save whatever is cooking.

"Oh shit!" she curses, still giggling as she  fumbles to turn off the heat. "That was close--- you're a menace!"

Kara lets her grin linger, watching Lena slide the pan onto a trivet. Then it's her turn to stare when Lena removes her apron, revealing a neckline that swoops lower than her sternum, accented by several strands of long, delicate chains looped around her neck. When Lena removes her hair tie, long hair spills around her shoulders.

With the intense styling from the show, her hair is soft and silky, as dark as ink in the overhead lights-- which Lena soon dims as she nods towards a small table set up with a pair of place settings.

"The wine cabinet is on that side. Care to pick something while I serve up?"

Kara readily obeys, if only to have a moment to calm her racing heart. She settles on a white she thinks will pair with the chicken she'd seen in the pan. She pretends not to see the label, one she does not recognize that she's sure is worth her half her yearly salary.

"Oooh, good choice," Lena observes when they converge at the table. As Kara sits, and Lena leans a little to deposit a plate in front of her, the inner curve of one breast becomes visible for the briefest moment.

Kara clears her throat, waiting for Lena to take her seat across the table. "You're full of surprises today," she tells her host.

"Let's just say I like to keep a girl on her toes." A mischievous glint sparks in Lena's eye as she lifts her wine glass. "To you," she toasts. "For making a certain niece slash goddaughter very happy."

"To both of us, then," Kara counters. Their glasses clink, and she's suddenly struck by how intimate her circumstances currently are. It's quiet in the penthouse, the only noise the sounds of their forks and knives clicking.

"Thank you," Lena says quietly. "For coming. I should have told you I didn't intend to bring you to resturant."

"I understand," Kara reassures her. "I can't imagine what the press would say if we were seen together--"

"What? NO. That is NOT what I meant." Lena leans forward, placing her hand on Kara's. "Are kidding? I would have absolutely zero shame being seen with you."

Kara flushes. "Oh."

"I wanted to spend time with you," Lena continues. "But being out there... it would mean sharing myself with the entire city. And the only person I want to share myself with tonight is you."

Her words descend to a low rumble, a tone that sends heat straight to her groin. She shifts in her seat, subtly adjusting in an effort to ease sudden arousal. It doesn't work.

"I hope you know how highly I think of you."

Kara's brow furrows. "That's part of what I don't understand. You don't... you don't know me."

She expects a denial, a claim of some profound connection that somehow explains everything. But Lena doesn't do that.

"You're right. We don't know each other very well. But do you know what I see when I look at you?"

"Honestly... no," Kara confesses. "I really don't."

"I see a busy woman who took time out of her evening to take her niece to a concert. Someone ran into a celebrity and didn't ask for a single thing except directions. And I see someone who saw a phone number on the back of a ticket, and had the courage to call it."

Lena gazes at her with even focus. Kara does her best to hold eye contact, until a flush creeps up her neck.

"I want to know more," she continues. She shrugs, lifting her wine glass to her lips. "Does it have to be any more profound than that?"

Kara considers her words, and to her surprise her anxiety about the whole thing begins to ease. Maybe Lena is right. Maybe Kelly is right too.

Maybe, sometimes, it's nothing more than two people enjoying each other's company. And sometimes, it doesn't need to be anything more than that.

"No," Kara agrees softly. "I suppose it doesn't."

The woman in front of her brightens even more, somehow. Lena leans back in a dignified sort of slouch, and Kara feels herself respond in kind. Her muscles loosen, and her grip on her fork eases.

"In that case," Lena says, "we have a whole evening ahead of us. Whatever shall we talk about?"

Kara meets her gaze, and relishes the energy she channels into it. Time to meet Lena exactly where she is.

"Anything you like."

---

'Anything' ends up spanning Kara's work, her family and even her limited travels, and she can't bring herself to feel self-conscious about how little it is. Despite having three times the worldliness at half her age, Lena listens with rapt attention, drinking it in.

It's easier to share than Kara thought it would be. She goes on and on, but it doesn't feel like too much, even when she figures it should be. Still, she makes a point to redirect the conversation to Lena, when they transition from the table to the couch for their second glass of wine.

"What about you?" Kara asks.

Lena snorts. "What about me?"

"Well, do you like to travel?" Kara settles into the cushions, letting her legs stretch a little. She notes the way Lena's gaze flits towards them for a brief moment before lifting back to Kara's face. "I mean, clearly you do travel, but do you like it?"

To her surprise, Lena shrugs. "It's part of the job. I don't really ever get the tourist experience, though. I think this afternoon is the closest I've come to it."

"Well, I'm always happy to be your travel guide to National City." Kara grins. "Next time I'll show you the karaoke bars I went to in college."

Lena stares at her, eyes sparkling pleasantly. "You said next time."

Instead of denying it, or trying to explain it away as a slip of the tongue, Kara tilts her head. "I did, didn't I?"

"You know..." Lena purrs, shifting to sit a little sideways, letting one finger brush the skin of Kara's shoulder. "I only had dinner in mind when I invited you out tonight."

"Mhmm," Kara hums.

"But ever since you showed up wearing this..." Lena's finger strokes the strap of Kara's dress. "I can't stop thinking what it might look like on my floor."

Kara's breath catches.

"No pressure," Lena continues, voice deep in her throat as she leans a little closer. "I just want you to know that you look.... ravishing." Lena's nose bumps the skin of Kara's neck. "And that I'd love to make you feel so, so good..."

Before she can think twice about it, Kara turns her head to meet Lena's lips with hers. Almost immediately, Lena gives a little moan, her hand coming up to cup Kara's cheek, deepening the kiss.

Kissing Lena feels less like fireworks, and more like a languid descent into velvet bliss. Lena feels soft, tastes sweet, and responds to Kara as though she lived inside her brain. Just as Kara reaches to tug Lena closer, the woman levers herself over to straddle Kara's lap. Now, both of Lena's hands are on Kara's face, and Lena's long hair brushes Kara's chest as she perches there, chin dipped to give Kara all her attention.

It's not until Lena's right hand begins to drift down towards Kara's chest that Kara pulls back for air.

"Wait," she urges breathlessly.

Lena pulls back immediately, concern plain over flushed cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, it's-- you're-- it's fine," Kara stumbles over her words. It's a struggle to form any words, let alone rational ones, past the cotton of desire stuffed between her ears. "It's just-- I haven't--"

Lena's brow furrows. "Ever?"

Kara barks a laugh. "No. Just a while." Letting her head fall back against the cushion, she sighs. "I don't want to do anything we both might regret..."

"Regret?"

Suddenly, Lena sounds small. Young in a way she hasn't before. Kara opens her eyes in time to see Lena's brightness dim, a shutter close behind her eyes.

"No, hey--" Kara reaches for her, but Lena pulls back, refusing to meet her eye. "Lena..."

"If you don't want this, you've got a shitty way of saying so."

Kara blinks in surprise at the shift in the woman's tone. But it's not anger that undercuts her words, but hurt.

"Not wanting isn't the problem," Kara murmurs. She reaches for Lena's wrist, and this time she lets her. "Usually, it is. But not this time. Not with you."

Lena looks at her, expression guarded, but says nothing.

"But I'd be lying if I wasn't afraid of what where this might lead. If tonight isn't... enough."

What had Lena said before? That she felt drawn to Kara... and if Kara were a magnet then Lena is the sun, with a gravitational field that could swallow planets-- and Kara-- whole.

"So... what do you want?" Lena asks soft.

"You." The answer is an easy one. "But maybe, whatever this is..." Kara waves her hand, encapsulating whatever invisible string was drawing them together. "Maybe it can last for more than tonight?"

Finally, Lena features soften into a timid smile. "Pen pals are cool too."

"Pen pal--!" Kara's incredulous exclamation gets swallowed by another kiss, this one soft and gentle, lingering.

"Friends, then," Lena murmurs. She looks into Kara's eyes, her gaze unfathomably deep. "And a reason to come back to National City."

When Kara leaves that night, Lena kisses her cheek one last time.

"You have my number," she murmurs, letting her hand run the length of Kara's arm as they part. "Use it."

When their fingers tangle together, Kara gives Lena's a squeeze goodbye.

"I will."

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The Diary of Tom Riddle- Diary! Tom Riddle x Reader - P3

pairing: Tom riddle x Fem reader

warnings: Horcruxes, Manipulation, Tom being Tom, side effects of being possessed.

summary: 16-year-old (y/n) finds a mysterious black book on the floor of after it slips out of Ginny Weasleys caldron, curious, she picks it up and keeps it-which leads to one thing after another and discovers the book is far more than it seems.

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 4-

=

Thankfully, as she woke up, (y/n) hadn't moved from her bed throughout the night. She sighed and slowly sat up, rubbing her face, drawing back the curtains of her bed, seeing her roommates all up and getting dressed for the day. It was a Sunday, so it was Hogsmeade day for years 3 and up.

Hogsmeade sounded fun.

(y/n) looked at the diary and grabbed it, popping open her ink well and grabbing her quill, flipping open a book to the now blank page she’d been writing in the night before.

“Morning Tom.”

Tom took a moment to respond, her ink disappearing into the page as his elegant scrawl appeared in its place.

‘Good morning (y/n), did you sleep well?’

“yes I did, thankfully. Woke up where I should be too, in my bed.”

‘Very good. Are you feeling better?’

“yeah, much better, thank you. Im going to go to Hogsmeade today, would you like to come with?”

‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to do much, would I?’

(y/n) hummed in thought, Tom had a point, as he could only see what she wrote/illustrated in the book.

“good point, but I could maybe bring you to the bookstore there and get some ink you’d like?”

‘I don’t eat the ink (y/n)’

“not what I meant but that’s a very funny visual thank you.”

(y/n) giggled to herself, imagining the book eating the ink instead of just absorbing it to write back to her.

“I meant like, would you like some fancy ink? I saved up some money from my allowance and can get some good ink from the store if you would prefer it?”

‘How…generous of you, (y/n)’

“thank you :)”

Tom took a very long moment to respond, as if he was thinking long and hard about her offer. Finally, after a few minutes, he wrote back-though he did so while (y/n) was getting dressed for her outing to Hogsmeade, putting on an oversized sweater for maximum comfort.

‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt if you brought the diary along, I certainly don’t mind good inks to write with, I myself was never able to afford more than the most basic brands.’

(y/n) tilted her head a bit, a smile growing on her face. Tom was opening up to her a bit! Okay-play it cool-don’t overreact.

“aww really?”

‘I don’t need your pity (y/n)’

Oops.

“not pity! Im sorry! Just…idk”

‘What in the merlin does ‘idk’ mean?’

“Oh-I don’t know-its an abbreviation.”

‘Why don’t you just write ‘I don’t know’, it’s not hard?’

“idk, just easier.”

She felt like she could hear him sigh, which made her giggle and she finished getting dressed before writing to him again.

“okay okay, im going to go eat, ill be back to grab you before everyone heads out to Hogsmeade.”

Tom didn’t respond so (y/n) closed the diary and put it back on her bedside table, capping her ink well and cleaning her quill before leaving her room, heading out to the great hall for breakfast.

-

Hogsmeade, thankfully, took the rest of the events from the night before off (y/n)’s mind as she went from store to store, starting at the book store and writing down ink brands and types to Tom, who eventually picked out a non-expensive India ink, but it was definitely more costly than the usual ink she got.

She closed the diary and put it back in her bag, taking the new ink to the front and buying it, the shopkeep wrapping it in paper and then giving it to her in a paper bag.

She counted how much money she had left as she walked down the main path of the village, nodding to herself as she pocketed the coins. She had enough to do someday after Halloween candy shopping.

She hopped straight into Honeydukes, where loads of other students were buying their own discounted candy, and quickly got some candies that were under the discount.

Including a bag of candy corn, and it was the type made in shop-which was even better.

“What is it with you and candy corn (n/n)?” one of her friends that had accompanied her to Hogsmeade asked teasingly, attempting to steal one of the candies (y/n) had bought.

“It’s good!” (y/n) defended the candy, holding the box to her chest. She knew candy corn wasn’t a worldly liked candy-but it was hers and her dad's favorite, so it not only tasted good to her, but it also was nostalgic.

(y/n)’s friend snickered, taking a caramel apple lollipop from (y/n)’s bag full of discounted Halloween candy. (y/n) rolled her eyes, the two catching up with the rest of their friends, hanging out at the three broomsticks for a while before heading back to the castle.

Upon getting back to her dorm room, (y/n) poured out the candy onto her bed and spread it out, sorting it and eating a few pieces here and there as she separated the chocolates from the hard candies, and the lollipops from the taffy.

She took out the diary and the new well of ink, opening the wax around it and setting it aside, testing the ink on her actual notebook before writing to Tom.

“back from Hogsmeade! Using the new ink as well :)”

‘I can tell, it’s far smoother than the ink you were using before.’

“I’m glad you like it! I also got a lot of candy from honeydukes, they were having a day after Halloween sale, I got nearly 5 pounds of candy for one galleon.”

‘Sweet tooth?’

“big one.”

(y/n) smiled brightly as she continued her conversation with Tom, which turned to her asking Tom what his favorite candy was…is.

‘I haven't tried much candy if I must be honest, though I do like treacle tarts.’

“yum, those are pretty good”

“great now Im craving treacle tart thanks Tom.”

‘You’re welcome, (y/n)’

­-

(y/n) happily painted on some Slytherin green and silver face paint onto her cheeks, today was the first quidditch game of the year, and the Slytherin team had gotten a new seeker-the spoiled as fuck Draco Malfoy, who everyone knew bribed his way in but he still wasn’t a terrible flyer-and brand new brooms.

The whole Slytherin house was excited, ready to win the first match of the season against Gryffindor, since they hadn’t won a game against Gryffindor since Harry Potter joined the team the year before.

“You almost ready (y/n)?!” her friend called from the bathroom as she herself finished her makeup.

“Yeah!” (y/n) said, hopping to her feet after pulling away from her desk mirror. “I’m all done!” she wrapped a scarf around her neck and hooked her arm with her friends and they all went down to the quidditch pitch together, the roar of excitement already humming through the stands.

The game started quickly after that and it was exciting! The Slytherins were walloping the Gryffindors easily-quickly overtaking them 90-30. (y/n) whistled and cheered for her team, throwing her fists into the air with each score. “Woah what the fuck?!” she heard her friend suddenly exclaim and (y/n) turned to see where she was looking, her brows furrowing as a bludger began to deliberately chase Harry Potter.

“Is that a rouge bludger??” (y/n) said, her lip curling in confusion. “What the hell they’re like-impossible to tamper??” (y/n) and her friend stopped paying attention to the game as a whole, watching in near horror as Harry was chased around by a bludger.

The Weasley twins tried to bat it away from him but it kept coming back.

“that’s not good-we should tell a teacher-“ (y/n) stuttered, turning to head off the stands, maybe catch Madam Hooch’s attention and stop the game before someone got hurt. (y/n)’s friend nodded and followed her through the crowd of Slytherins and down the stands.

Just as they reached Madam Hooch, the bludger had slammed into Harry’s arm as he reached for the snitch and he hit the dirt soon after; though he had the snitch in hand, Gryffindor had won the game. “Oh shit,” (y/n) muttered under her breath, looking at Harrys very broken arm, as Madam Hooch blew the whistle, ending the game.

The Weasley twins somehow caught the tampered bludger, getting it back into the box and locking it down. Madam Hooch instantly saw to it, and while that all happened-the idiot Lockhart…erm…mended Harry’s arm.

“Ew,” (y/n) muttered as her friend gagged at the rubber look Harry’s arm had taken. Lockhart hadn’t mended shit; he’d removed Harry’s bones!

“That is so nasty,” (y/n)’s friend muttered, and (y/n) nodded in agreement, heading back to the castle after Headmaster Dumbledore told everyone the match was over and to head back to the castle while Harry, and any other injured players, went to Madam Pomfrey.

“Gotta be honest, Gryffindor deserved that win, I mean-odds stacked against them, with those new brooms and that bloody bludger, they won. Shame Potter’s arm got broken for it though.” (y/n)’s friend ranted as they walked back to the common room, (y/n) nodding in agreement. “I have to wonder who tampered the bludger? I mean Madam Hooch checks them right before the game, and if it wasn’t tampered then, how could’ve someone hexed it within the minutes before the game began?”

(y/n) shrugged as her friend continued to rant. “Maybe someone tampered with it mid-game? Because it wasn’t doing it at first, if it was tampered with before the game-it would’ve gone after Harry straight away? Wouldn’t it?” (y/n) suggested, walking into the common room after several other students and her friend nodded, tapping her chin.

“That does sound logical, though I’m not sure how or why anyone would do that, I mean-he’s just a 12-year-old kid? Who’d want to charm a bloody iron magic ball to hurt him?” (y/n) shrugged in response to her friend's rhetorical question.

“Someone fucked up,” (y/n) answered anyway and her friend sighed, the two entering their dorm room. Her friend went to wipe the Slytherin-themed makeup off her face while (y/n) went to her bed and grabbed the diary.

“Potter almost got killed by a bludger at the quidditch match today.”

(y/n) could almost feel the sense of ‘!!?!?!’ from Tom as he hurriedly wrote back to her.

‘Who starts a conversation like that? also what? how? I never liked Quidditch but I’m sure those Quidditch gear chests are impossible to get into?’

“that’s what I said, I think someone jinxed it mid game because it wasn’t going after him at first.”

‘How odd. And it was going after Potter specifically?’

“yeah! Only him, the Weasley twins kept batting it away from him but it would go right back after Potter. Its really weird.”

‘I cannot tell you it isn’t, because it is very odd.’

“yeah”

(y/n) perked up as her friend came back out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go get lunch, you coming?” her friend asked and (y/n) nodded.

“Yeah, lemme just wash my face,” (y/n) said, looking back down at the diary and telling Tom she had to go, setting the book down on the bedside table and going into the bathroom to wash her face.

-

(y/n) woke up very late that night, a ringing in her ears as she opened her eyes, feeling kinda nauseous. She groaned lightly, realizing she’d fallen off her bed, her head pounding as she attempted to get up, pressing her palms to her eyes as they ached.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, rubbing her face. She’d never fallen off her bed before, but considering the odd dream she had-she wasn’t surprised. She eventually got to her feet after the nausea had passed and climbed back into bed, yawning.

She laid back down, but couldn’t get back to sleep. Her mind kept going back to that odd dream. She had been walking through the halls of Hogwarts, at what seemed to be a late hour, and went into one of the bathrooms and…spoke a strange language-a hissing language, and the…sink had come apart??? After that she woke up, having fallen off her bed mid weird dream.

She huffed and drew the curtains around her bed, grabbing her wand, the diary, and her quill. “Lumos,” (y/n) murmured and the tip of her wand began to glow and she opened the diary, flipping through pages and pages of notes, and doodles.

She dipped her quill and began to write to Tom.

“I fell out of my bed,”

‘And why is that so important to tell me? It’s late I’m sure, you should be asleep.’

“you’re right but I cant get back to sleep, I had a weird dream and woke up after falling out of my bed, which ive never done”

“or at least I havent done since I was a kid?”

‘Interesting. What was your dream about if I may ask?’

(y/n) wrote down what she remembered from the dream, and then added a small detail she hadn’t realized till now.

“it felt like I was having an out of body experience, or like I was watching through someone elses eyes? You get what I mean?”

‘I suppose I do, though im sure there’s nothing to worry about, everyone has odd dreams sometimes.’

“have you ever had an odd dream?”

‘Yes, I’m not divulging that information though, you’ll tease me relentlessly about it.’

“no I wont!”

(y/n) huffed as Tom didn’t respond, and she could imagine the expression of ‘sure you wont’ on his face. She wished she knew wha the looked like…wait maybe she could find him in the gallery! He did say he was a prefect in his time, maybe there was a picture somewhere of the 1942-1943 prefects.

“you’re no fun.”

‘Go to sleep (y/n),’

“fiiiine, goodnight Tom.”

‘Goodnight, (y/n)’

-

“A first year got petrified?!” (y/n) asked in a hushed tone, her eyes wide as she gripped her friend's hand tightly as they walked to breakfast Monday morning.

“Yeah, apparently it happened Saturday night, or well, early Sunday morning if you think about it that way-but Professor Dumbledore found him in the middle of the night-just-stone still, petrified.” (y/n)’s friend rambled and (y/n) frowned, squeezing her friend’s hand tighter.

Early Sunday morning…she’d had that weird dream and fell out of her bed Sunday morning.

“What time did the first year get petrified?” (y/n) asked and her friend shrugged.

“Dunno, I’m only telling you what I heard from the grapevine, all I know is Sunday morning, a first year got petrified.” (y/n) huffed nervously in response, swallowing harshly, that weird feeling of paranoia returning to her gut.

Just a coincidence, just a coincidence. It had to be; besides, she’d just fallen out of her bed this time, she hadn’t sleepwalked, she hadn’t even left her dorm room.

…right?

-

“I’m leaving.” (y/n) huffed as dumbass Lockhart came onto the long dueling stage that was set up lengthwise in the great hall, replacing the house tables. Her friend grabbed her arm as she attempted to escape, tugging her towards the edge of the stage-making them be front and center.

“Oh, come on (y/n)~ it’ll be fun!” her friend said cheerfully, she’d didn’t understand why (y/n)…disliked ‘Professor’ Lockhart, even thinking he was hot.

It was one of the few things (y/n) vehemently disagreed with her on.

“it’ll be cringe as fuck that’s what it’ll be.” (y/n) grumbled, crossing her arms as she pouted. She expected maybe Professor Flitwick to be the head of the dueling club, but noooo it had to be the obvious fake Lockhart.

Though-Professor Snape had agreed to…help Lockhart in a demonstration, and that, was going to be fun.

(y/n) couldn’t help the peal of laughter that came from her as Snape sent Lockhart across the dueling stage, her friend gasping as Lockhart landed with a thump. “Is he okay?” her friend asked and (y/n) just snickered with the rest of the Slytherin members of the club.

“Who cares? That was funny.” (y/n) chuckled, smirking as her friend gave her a glare. After that everyone got paired into groups, Lockhart nearly putting the little 1st and 2nd years with the 5th and 6th years attending, Snape correcting that mistake and putting (y/n) against a fellow 6th-year Slytherin, though (y/n) hardly knew his name.

“Remember, disarm only!” Lockhart said and (y/n) rolled her eyes, bowing her to dueling partner with her wand at her side and then holding it out in front of her, her other arm over her head for balance.

The dueling began moments later, and spells shot out of their wands every other moment. (y/n) began with the disarming charm, expelliarmus, but her opponent blocked it and returned with a Stupefy. (y/n) went to block but it felt like she wasn’t in control of herself anymore, she stepped to the side-avoiding the spell-and held out her wand in a grip that wasn’t her own.

“Relashio!” With a wave of her wand her dueling opponent was forced to drop their wand and then (y/n) twirled her wand again. “Depulso!” A blast of white magic flew towards her dueling opponent and they flew back, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

There was an intense satisfaction that ran deep in her bones for a split moment, and an odd feeling to finish her opponent off-but that quickly went away and (y/n) pocketed her wand, rushing over to her dueling partner. “Are you okay?” (y/n) asked, offering her hand and her dueling partner chuckled painfully, rubbing their lower back as she helped them stand.

“I’m okay-that was wicked casting though,” (y/n) only nodded in response, licking her teeth as the dueling groups were stopped, a green haze in the air from the dueling 2nd years. She began to leave the great hall as Potter and Malfoy began to duel, only stopping when she heard a strange hissing coming from the stage.

She turned, the hissing sounding too familiar, coming from Potter as he…hissed at a black snake? Her ears began to ring, her vision going a bit blurry as she stared at Potter, the boy hissing at the snake before Snape destroyed it.

What the fuck?

That was the same hissing she’d heard in her dream on Sunday.

-end of p3-

im very happy with this part and i hope you guys are too-taglist!!!

@dracosslxt4eva @dream-your-own-way @slaggylemon

@slytherinbackintomyroom @starryhiraeth @larallott

[gr1mstar]

⁰¹’ Love letters - Nanami

▸ synopsis: it's the three-year anniversary of your relationship. arriving home, you notice a gift, a bouquet of flowers and a letter on the table. your boyfriend seems to have prepared a surprise for you.

▸ contains: nanami kento x reader, fluff, sfw, love note, letter, established relationship, just enjoy a sweet nanami, 1.1k words

▸ notes [MUST READ]: this is a series, and yes i take requests on who should i do next. also, for everyone the flowers, gift and letter are different based on their character and personality (or how i see them). so… who should i do next? [can be from jujutsu kaisen or attack on titan] it’s going to be valentine’s day soon so :))

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, the cool touch of the tiled floor grounds you. The scent of home surrounds you, a mixture of comfort and the promise of relaxation. The day has left you drained.

The living room lamps cast a warm glow, welcoming you. The familiar sight of your home unfolds — the worn-out couch, the comforting knick-knacks on the shelves and the sweet aroma of your boyfriend's cologne.

As you made your way to the kitchen, ready to see what you have in the fridge, you noticed something new on the kitchen counter. A vibrant bouquet of cyclamens stands tall in a crystal vase, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze from the open window.

Beside the flowers, you saw a neatly folded letter. Your name, written in an elegant handwriting, adorns the sealed envelope. Intrigued, you pick it up, fingers delicately tracing the edges as if unlocking a secret.

‘It has to be Kento," you told yourself, starting the process of opening the letter without ruining the envelope.

A letter. Handwritten, at that. After looking again at the flowers, you decided that it was time to read what your boyfriend left for you on your anniversary.

It was a shame you two didn’t have the day off, deep down wanting to fake a cold just to call your workplace to stay home. But Nanami assured you that the day was not going to be wasted, planning a fancy dinner and then a movie at his apartment.

‘It seems like he has tricks up his sleeve.’

Taking out the letter, you could see something else in the envelope. A mix of emotions floods you – surprise, joy, and a touch of disbelief. The destination reads "Malaysia," a dreamy place that now lies within your reach, a surprise awaiting on the kitchen counter.

In this moment, the weariness of the day evaporates, replaced by the excitement of the unexpected surprise.

“My boyfriend is the best, isn’t he?” you spoke to yourself, fingers on the plane tickets.

Malaysia was a destination both you and Nanami wanted to go on vacation at least once in your lifetime. But because of your schedule and his sorcerer job, you didn’t really have a lot of time to accomplish that wish of yours.

After a few moments of silence, you decided you were ready to read the letter you received, hoping that tears would not come out of your eyes.

His handwriting was beautiful and really neat. You could guess that he used a special pen to write the letter with. Your boyfriend used blue ink, every letter being almost symmetrical. You wished you wrote this beautifully.

‘Should I read this out loud? In my head?’ you asked mentally, your eyes looking at the letters on the paper. ‘Whatever, it doesn't matter.’

Dear my loved partner,

Every day I miss you is another day I fall harder in love with you.

I love you.

When I tell you that, I don’t say it out of habit. I say it to remind you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. No matter where you are, a part of me will always be with you.

If I could, I would carry all your burdens, all your pain, all your stress, all of your heartache. I’d be sick for you. I’d be sad for you. I’ll do all of this and more just so I’d know you were smiling, happy, free from all the weight you carry.

I’m so proud of you, baby.

I’m not usually good with words, you see. Today I tried something new. Being our third anniversary together, I thought I needed to make something worth remembering. I know it’s not much, but I wanted you to know how I feel about you.

I needed you to know how much I'm addicted to you.

From the moment I met you, my life has been transformed in the most incredible way. You bring me so much joy and love, I can not explain in words. And so, I promise from the bottom of my heart that I would show you how much you mean to be everyday, for the rest of our lives.

I know I’m not perfect. I make mistakes and my jobs are eating my time. The time I should spend in your arms. But baby, I promise you that every ounce in my body screams for you, and your love.

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.

I love you. Today, tonight, tomorrow and forever. If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If I were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one.

I will kiss you every time you start to worry about your health and get lost in your own fears. I will always text you back whenever you text me, even if I’m only one room away from you. You will always have someone to lean on whenever you need it. I’ll always be there even when you don’t need me to be.

I want to see your kids growing happy and healthy. I know we don’t have kids now and we are not even married but I think I can’t resist much longer, because I love you so much that I want to spend every second of my life with you.

You’re the person I want to tell how my day went. You’re the person I want to share my happiness, sadness, frustration, and success with.

Because you’re the person who taught me how to love another person, how to cherish someone without fearing that they would leave me.

So, thank you.

I know you are worried about me and how maybe one day I will not come home. I thought about it for sometime now, and I think it’s time to quit, this time for real. A few years back, I didn’t have a place I could call home and so risking my life was not something I was concerned about. But now, after you became my home, I can’t do that anymore.

My love… I don’t think you understand how beautiful you make my world, just by existing in it.

I had never met a soul who could speak my language. Until there was you.

You, fluent in me.

Again, thank you, love.

I wish you a wonderful night and I confess that I can’t wait to see your pretty face at dinner.

With unconditional love,

your soon-to-be-husband, Nanami Kento ♡

*Cyclamen - Eternal cycle of life, which makes it the perfect flower that means forever. In Japan, cyclamen holds a special place as the holy flower of love.

© 2024 gr1mstar — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

[jadeshifting]

— HOGWARTS CLASS FAVORITES & NON-FAVORITES

( AKA 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS … DAY 10 )

Icicles — What is your occupation in your DR? Your coworkers? (Or if student, your classmates?) What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of your occupation?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

a STUDENT at HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT & WIZARDRY

every part of my Hogwarts life is either a polished gem or a glaring nuisance—there’s no in-between, and i wouldn’t have it any other way. my academic experience is a mix of glamorous highlights and deeply petty frustrations, all colored by my passion for my studies (and unmistakable flair for dramatics)

CLASS FAVORITES

— POTION BREWING . i adore the simmer of bubbling elixirs and the snap of sharp, exotic scents—it’s chemistry meets witchy mischief

— LATE-NIGHT LIBRARY CRAWLS . there’s nothing quite like the whisper of pages in the Restricted Section at midnight and the thrill of finding spells that aren’t technically allowed

— WRITING ESSAYS WITH A MAGICAL FOUNTAIN PEN . ink that sparkles with a faint shimmer? my parchments are practically pieces of art

— CHARMS CLASS PRACTICAL EXAMS . a chance to show off my wand work with elegant, graceful flourishes that make my magic look like a ballet dance

— PERSONALIZING TEXTBOOKS . annotating margins with sharp quips and cheeky insights, plus enchanting my covers to look more luxurious—every book screams i was here

— WINNING MAGICAL THEORY DEBATES . watching someone crumble under my razor-sharp logic is intoxicating—intellectual combat at its finest

— LEARNING RARE SPELLS . anything obscure and tricky makes me feel like a prodigy (bonus points if it’s not exactly legal)

— QUILL SHOPPING . picking out sleek raven-feather quills that glide like liquid moonlight over parchment

— WINNING HOUSE POINTS . watching those emerald gems spill into Slytherin’s hourglass because of my brilliance? mwah

— TRANSFIGURATION CHALLENGES . the art of turning a teacup into a kitten feels like alchemy for the soul (and i love showing up classmates with my technique)

— PERFECTLY ORGANIZED NOTES . i charm my parchment into a flawless layout, complete with color-coded highlights that rival the most meticulous Ravenclaws

— IMPRESSING PROFESSORS . watching their eyebrows lift as i deliver a particularly brilliant answer feels like snagging a trophy

— SILENT HEXING PRACTICE . perfecting subtle wand flicks to cast spells with zero sound—it’s deadly elegance

— POTION BOTTLING . i spends extra time arranging my concoctions in sleek, jewel-toned vials—presentation matters

— TUTORING FRIENDS . while i try to be chill, so i’d never admit it, helping a mate ace a spell gives me a quiet, smug glow

— WRITING IN FANCY COLORS . deep emerald green and shimmering gold inks make my notes feel like royal decrees

— SNEAKING SNACKS INTO STUDY HALL . charm-conjured warming spells keep my contraband pastries just right (it’s fuel for genius)

— HOLIDAY-THEMED CLASSES . a transfiguration lesson where we turn goblets into snow globes? Hogwarts at its festive finest

— QUILLS THAT RUN OUT MID-ESSAY . very few things ruin a writing flow like needing to whisper-shout Replenish at an inkpot mid-thought

— CUSTOMIZED CALDRON GEAR . my engraved silver stirring rod and emerald-green scales are the high fashion of potion-making

— MAGICAL THEORY DEBATES . turning academic discussions into verbal duels—extra points if the professor lets it go on long enough for me to leave my opponent speechless

— FLAWLESS SPELL PRONUNCIATION . watching others trip over incantations while mine roll off her tongue like silk? that’s just witchy excellence

— ACE MARKS IN TRANSFIGURATION . when McGonagall gives a rare nod of approval, it’s like being handed the academic version of a crown

CLASS NON-FAVORITES (anti-favorites? hm)

— GROUP PROJECTS . the bane of my academic existence—carrying lazy tagalongs while maintaining my high standards is not the move

— HISTORY OF MAGIC LECTURES . Binns’ droning voice could put a banshee to sleep—i spends the hour doodling and muttering hexes under my breath

— UNNECESSARY OWL STRESS . i’m already going to ace everything; the professors need to stop pretending this is a life-or-death situation

— POORLY WRITTEN TEXTBOOKS . when a spell description is so convoluted it literally makes me twitch—who approved this drivel for the curriculum?

— MANDATORY STUDY HALLS . i don’t need structured time; i’ve already done the work—let me live

— CLEANING UP AFTER POTIONS . the bubbling, sticky mess after an advanced potion experiment makes my arms sore to think about

— THE ASTRONOMY TOWER STAIRS . dragging myself up those endless spiral stairs for star charts feels like cruel and unusual punishment

— GRYFFINDOR BOYS’ BRAGGING . listening to overzealous lions gloat about Quidditch victories in class when they clearly didn’t study for the upcoming test

— RAVENCLAW PERFECTIONISM . nowhere near as bad as the Gryffindors, but watching eagles over-analyze a single question until they spiral into a panic is both grating and exhausting to witness

— UNRULY POTION INGREDIENTS . slippery, wiggly, or overly smelly components? A hard no

— UNFORGIVABLY UGLY WIZARDING FASHION . the student who wore a clashing house scarf and mismatched robes still haunts my nightmares

— CARELESS WAND FLICKS . students waving their wands around like toys? a disaster waiting to happen

— CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES’ SMELLS . as much as i adore all of the creatures, the scent of burnt Blast-Ended Skrewt tail is a hard pass, personally

— LATE OWL DELIVERIES . nothing like a screech owl dropping an overdue textbook in my lap mid-breakfast

— END-OF-TERM ESSAYS . five feet of parchment on Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration? i’m convinced this absolutely qualifies as academic hazing

— HISTORY OF MAGIC NAP PATROL . Binns droning on and on about stuff i already know is a snooze-fest, but the fact that i know he’ll notice if i fall asleep—tragic

— SLOPPY SPELLWORK . watching someone fumble a first-year level basic spell makes me want to hex them into next week—standards, people

— PROFESSOR SPROUT’S DIRT OBSESSION . planting is fun, but endlessly digging in soil for Herbology feels more like a detention than a lesson

— UNFINISHED ASSIGNMENTS ON SHARED TABLES . if someone’s half-baked essay ends up under my notes when i’m trying to work, it’s going straight to the fire

— OVERACHIEVING GRYFFINDORS . watching them grandstand in Defense Against the Dark Arts just makes me roll my eyes—calm down, hero

— QUILL THIEVES . borrowing my enchanted, gold-tipped quill without asking will literally get someone on my watch list

— MUD EVERYWHERE AFTER QUIDDITCH PRACTICE . tramping through puddles to get to flying class while the quidditch team cheers? absolutely not

— ACCIDENTAL SPELL MISHAPS . being in the blast radius when someone botches a fire-starting spell isn’t the kind of hands-on learning i signed up for

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[becasbelt]

Dear Stranger,

Summary: There are letters addressed to her. Dozens, all written in Caitlyn’s elegant script and dark blue ink.

And Vi can’t help herself. She gathers them up and starts to read.

-

Vi discovers the letters Caitlyn wrote to her during their time apart.

Words: 5.7k

Rating: T

Notes: Hello this was basically just an excuse for me to get my thoughts oriented on what Caitlyn's mindset must have been like during her dictator era, and then it turned into a bit of a hurt/comfort monster. Enjoy!

“Cait?”

Vi pokes her head into the office, looking to see if Caitlyn was working at her desk. The lights are off and the computer dark, but Vi shrugs and steps into the room to get a closer look anyway. The fancy back of the desk chair was high and wide enough to hide Caitlyn completely, thanks to her slender frame and the fact that, like, ninety percent of her height came from her legs (which, Vi wasn’t about to complain about at all), and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d fallen asleep reading through files.

She crosses the room and peeks around the side of the chair, then huffs when she finds it empty. Most of the time when she couldn’t find Caitlyn, she could find her here, working until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Or she’d find her in their bedroom, but Vi had already checked there, too. Maybe she should check the kitchen? Did Caitlyn even know how to cook?

As Vi turns to leave, her elbow bumps against a box perched precariously on a filing cabinet by the desk, sending it crashing to the floor, lid popping off and papers flying everywhere.

“Shit,” Vi mumbles, immediately crouching down to gather the papers up. She has no idea if they were arranged in any specific order. Knowing Caitlyn, they probably were, but Vi tries not to think about that.

She’s rifling through pages, flipping them around so they’re all oriented the same way, when something written at the top of one catches her eye, making her freeze.

Read the rest on AO3!

[nayziiz]

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 3

As Carlos expertly parked the Ferrari right in front of the restaurant, Lola couldn't help but notice the large reserved sign that stood prominently in their designated spot. It was a subtle yet unmistakable indication of the evening's extravagance, a gesture that left her momentarily awestruck.

As Carlos stepped out of the car and came around to her side, offering his hand with a warm smile, Lola felt a rush of gratitude wash over her. Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be guided to the front door, the soft glow of the restaurant's exterior casting an enchanting aura over the scene.

With each step they took, Lola couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation building within her. This was no ordinary dinner—it was a night of luxury and indulgence, a world apart from her usual haunts. And as they reached the entrance, she finally understood what Carlos had meant when he said it was a fancy restaurant.

Stepping inside, Lola found herself enveloped in an atmosphere of opulence and grandeur, the elegant décor and soft lighting creating a sense of intimacy and sophistication that took her breath away. She had never been here before, nor had she ever been anywhere remotely as fancy. In that moment, she realised just how out of her element she was.

But as she glanced up at Carlos, his hand still clasped firmly in hers, she felt a sense of reassurance wash over her. Despite the lavish surroundings, he made her feel grounded and at ease, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of luxury that surrounded them. Lola was a simple girl in many respects. His Ferrari may have caught her eye, but lavish things were never her end-all or be-all.

As Carlos pulled out her chair with practised elegance, Lola couldn't help but feel a flutter of appreciation at his gentlemanly gesture. Taking her seat, she offered him a grateful smile as he pushed her chair in, his warm gaze lingering on her as she settled into her seat.

As she removed her jacket, revealing the sleeveless top she wore underneath, Lola caught a flicker of surprise in Carlos's eyes. She couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her pale skin, a hint of curiosity dancing in the depths of his eyes.

For a moment, Lola felt self-conscious under his scrutiny. She was used to the curious glances and whispered assumptions that often accompanied her appearance. But as she met Carlos's gaze head-on, she felt a sense of defiance rise within her. She was who she was, and she refused to apologise for it. To her surprise, Carlos's next words caught her off guard.

“I was almost expecting tattoos.” He admitted, his tone tinged with curiosity and genuine interest.

Lola's lips curved into a wry smile at his observation. It wasn't the first time she had been mistaken for someone with inked arms, but she couldn't fault Carlos for his assumption. After all, appearances could be deceiving.

But as she glanced down at her unblemished skin, she felt a sense of pride swell within her. Her arms were a canvas waiting to be painted with the colours of her choosing—a blank slate upon which she could write her own story.

“I guess I'm full of surprises.” She replied with a playful glint in her eyes, her words carrying a hint of mischief as she met Carlos's gaze. “You sure know how to treat a girl.”

Carlos's smile faltered for a moment at Lola's comment, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience. If only she knew the truth—that his busy schedule often left him with little time for anything beyond work, let alone finding someone to share a meal with.

As he watched her peruse the menu, a wave of admiration washed over him. Despite her initial hesitancy, Lola had agreed to go on this date with him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for her willingness to give him a chance.

But beneath her flirtatious exterior, Carlos sensed Lola's underlying hesitation, her guarded demeanour a stark reminder of the walls she had built around her heart. And as he met her gaze, he knew that he had to tread carefully if he wanted to earn her trust.

“I'm glad you think so.” Carlos replied with a soft smile, his voice laced with sincerity.

After a few quiet moments, Carlos attempted to divert the conversation to a different topic.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary preferences, so I thought this place might work well.” Carlos explained. Lola's smile widened at Carlos's explanation, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“That's... very considerate.” She replied, her voice soft with appreciation as she watched him study the menu.

As she observed him, Lola couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of nervousness that seemed to linger beneath his confident facade. It was a stark contrast to the boyish charm he had exuded the day before, and she found herself feeling strangely drawn to this new side of him—the vulnerable, uncertain Carlos who stood before her now.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Carlos closed the menu and set it aside, his movements deliberate as he met Lola's gaze.

Lola pondered the menu for a moment, her gaze flickering over the tantalising array of options before her. With so many delicious choices, she found herself feeling indecisive, unsure of what to order.

“What're you having?” She wondered, turning to Carlos for guidance.

Carlos considered the menu thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the descriptions of each dish with keen interest.

“I was thinking the Fillet Moutarde.” He replied, his voice laced with anticipation as he met Lola's gaze.

“I think I’ll have…the pork belly.” She eventually told him and placed the menu on his. Carlos nodded in understanding as Lola made her decision, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“The pork belly sounds delicious too.” He remarked, his tone warm and encouraging as he reached for her menu.

As he glanced over the menu once more, Carlos couldn't help but notice Lola's hesitation. He sensed her uncertainty, her desire to make a good impression despite feeling out of her element. And although he admired her willingness to try new things, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the realisation of just how stark the differences between them truly were.

“Good evening, sir. Good evening, madam. Can I offer you our wine list?” The waiter asked as he glanced between the pair.

“Good evening.” Carlos greeted the waiter with a polite nod, his gaze briefly meeting Lola's before returning to the waiter. “Thank you, but we won't be needing the wine list tonight. Perhaps just two glasses of Coke, please?”

Lola's heart skipped a beat as Carlos declined the wine list, a surge of gratitude washing over her. She appreciated his consideration. The waiter nodded understandingly and retreated with a polite smile, leaving Carlos and Lola alone once more.

Lola's chuckle bubbled up uncontrollably as Carlos made his suggestion, her amusement dancing in the air between them like a playful melody. The waiter nodded in acknowledgment before hurrying off to fulfil their request for sodas.

“Coke?” Lola asked, her chuckle finally escaping her lips in a soft, melodic sound. Carlos flashed her a sheepish grin.

“Well, I don't drink and drive.” He assured her with a playful twinkle in his eyes. Lola's laughter subsided, replaced by a thoughtful expression as she considered his question. 

“Mmh, I see. I don't really drink, at all, actually.” She confessed, her tone laced with honesty. Carlos arched an eyebrow in curiosity, his interest piqued by her revelation.

“Is that more of a health reason?” He wondered, his voice gentle and probing. Lola hesitated for a moment, considering her response carefully.

“Partly.” She admitted with a shrug. “I crashed my bike on my way home from a party back when I was at university. Ended up breaking my ankle, so I just never had a drink after that again. It usually takes just one small mistake and the next thing you know, everything is upside down.”

Carlos listened intently as Lola shared her story, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and admiration for her resilience. His gaze softened as he absorbed her words, a newfound understanding dawning within him. Lola's experience had left a lasting impression on her, shaping her choices and guiding her decisions in ways he could only begin to comprehend.

“And yet you still get on the bike.” Carlos countered, his tone filled with admiration for her courage. Lola nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. 

“There's something uniquely satisfying about controlling a powerful machine, especially when every ride is different and unpredictable.” She added, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As Carlos listened to her, he couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with Lola. He too had experienced the thrill of controlling a powerful machine, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pushed himself to the limit on the racetrack.

But despite his success in the world of Formula 1, there was still a part of him that yearned for something more—for the exhilaration of the unknown, the thrill of the chase. And as he looked into Lola's eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing stir within him. For in her, he saw a kindred spirit—a fellow seeker of adventure, a lover of the open road.

As the waiter interrupted their conversation to take their orders and serve them their Cokes, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment at the interruption. He was eager to learn more about Lola—to unravel the layers of complexity that lay beneath her outward appearance.

“So, what is it that you do when you're not out riding?” Carlos wondered, his curiosity piqued as he met Lola's gaze. Lola smiled warmly at his question, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

“I work in software development, so I help create apps and programs.” She answered, her voice tinged with pride. Carlos's eyebrows shot up in surprise, impressed by Lola's profession.

“Wow, not just pretty, but smart too.” He mumbled, completely enthralled by the woman sitting across from him.

Lola chuckled at his remark, a blush creeping into her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. She had always prided herself on her intelligence and hard work, but to hear it acknowledged by someone like Carlos was truly flattering.

Carlos had been out of the dating scene for what felt like an eternity. Sure, there had been a few attempts here and there—dates set up by his fellow drivers, Lando and Charles—but none of the girls had ever captured his interest quite like Lola did. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he knew there was something special about her—something that set her apart from the rest.

As he sat across from her now, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness wash over him—a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was a different kind of adrenaline, one that left him feeling more on edge than he ever did preparing for a race. But despite the nerves, there was also a sense of excitement—a thrill that coursed through his veins with every word she spoke.

He found himself mesmerised by the movement of her lips as she talked, the pale pink colour matching her complexion perfectly. It was a small detail, but one that left a lasting impression on him—a reminder of just how captivated he was by her presence.

As he listened to her speak, Carlos couldn't help but marvel at the way she lit up the room with her laughter and enthusiasm. There was a warmth and sincerity to her words that drew him in, leaving him hanging on her every word.

As Lola spoke, she couldn't help but notice the intensity of Carlos's gaze, his eyes seemingly fixated on her lips as they moved with each word she uttered. It was a subtle yet unmistakable gesture—one that left her feeling both flustered and intrigued.

For Lola, this wasn't just any ordinary date. It had been a while since she had ventured into the world of dating, and she found herself feeling equally unsure about how to navigate the conversation and experience. But despite her nerves, there was also a sense of excitement bubbling within her—a feeling she couldn't quite shake.

As she spoke, Lola couldn't help but feel a surge of self-consciousness wash over her, wondering if Carlos could sense her uncertainty. But as she met his gaze, she found herself drawn to the warmth and sincerity reflected in his eyes—a silent reassurance that she wasn't alone in this.

With each passing moment, Lola felt herself growing more comfortable in Carlos's presence, her laughter and enthusiasm flowing more freely as they shared stories and exchanged banter.

“Tell me what you do for work.” Lola insisted as she took a bite of her pork belly.

Lola's curiosity was piqued as she took a bite of her pork belly, her gaze fixed on Carlos as she awaited his response. She had sensed a hint of mystery surrounding his occupation, and she was eager to unravel the enigma that lay beneath.

“Well... It's, uhm, a bit difficult to describe without sounding crazy.” Carlos began, his voice tinged with a sense of hesitation. Lola's interest only grew as she leaned in slightly, her attention fully captured by his words.

“I drive for a living. Essentially, it's just one car, really, but it gets upgraded all the time and I kind of have to see what works and what doesn't.” He continued, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to articulate the complexities of his profession. Lola furrowed her brow in confusion, trying to make sense of his vague description.

“Like a mechanic, then?” She countered, her curiosity getting the better of her. Carlos nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I suppose in a way, yeah.” He admitted. “I work with the mechanics to make the car perform better.”

“That's so interesting.” Lola nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity as she absorbed Carlos's explanation. “And, you said you drive a Ferrari because you work for Ferrari?”

Carlos nodded in affirmation, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah. But, I've worked for McLaren and Renault previously as well.” He added, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. Lola's interest only grew as she listened to Carlos's words, her mind buzzing with questions. 

“How did you get into the whole car industry?” She continued, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“My father was a professional rally driver... I guess he still is.” Carlos chuckled, a fond smile gracing his lips as he reminisced about his childhood. “And I was just always around that space, so it just felt like a natural career path.”

Lola nodded in understanding, her gaze softening as she listened to Carlos's words. She could sense the deep connection he had to the world of racing, the influence of his father shaping his passion and driving him to pursue his dreams.

As they continued to savour their meals, Lola found herself lost in thought, reflecting on Carlos's words. Although she had been hesitant at first, her meal was delicious, each bite a symphony of flavours that danced across her palate.

Glancing over at Carlos's plate, she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the sight of his meal. It looked ten times more appealing than hers, each dish expertly crafted and artfully presented.

“Would you reconsider taking me for that ride?” Carlos wondered, breaking the silence after a few moments, his voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

“On the bike?” Lola asked, her eyes widening in surprise as she almost choked slightly on her food at his unexpected request.

“Yeah, on your Yamaha XYZ.” Carlos chuckled again, a playful glint in his eyes as he purposely named it incorrectly. Lola couldn't help but playfully roll her eyes at him before breaking into a smile.

“Have you ever been a passenger on a bike before?” She asked, her curiosity piqued as she met his gaze. Carlos shook his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“When I was a kid.” He informed her, his tone laced with amusement. Lola laughed at his response, the sound melodic and infectious.

“Alright, we'll just go through some basics before we ride anywhere.” She replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

-----------------------

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg

[lilyofporcelain]

DWC - 11 Feb - Day 3 - Suspicious / Salutation

Dear Ankalei—

No. That was not going to do. It sounded far too stiff. Far too… artificial, even. Laeynna wasted very little time in striking a sharp line of dark purple ink through the letters in elegant script so carefully crafted by her hand.

My Lady Luridveil—

Gods. That was worse. Somehow. Maybe it was the notion of just writing the family name. Never mind that she’d done so when she was writing to her father. But apparently multiple glasses of red wine made getting through that substantially easier. Or she was simply full of it and had no excuses for her cowardice. That opening also couldn’t work. One more line scribbled out.

Sister—

Something about that word made bile threaten to rise from Laeynna’s stomach right into her throat. What right did she have, really, to refer to Ankalei in such a familiar manner? There was no doubting that Ankalei cared about her. For her. If she hadn’t, she certainly wouldn’t have gone poking around Fancy Cakes and doing investigation. And she definitely would not have sent Zaihne to fetch her. But just because Ankalei cared about her did not necessarily mean that Laeynna had the right to start acting familial.

At least, she certainly didn’t think so. It was one more line she crossed out and then with the tip of quill, she simply kept crossing it out, as if through the sheer force of ink alone, she would utterly eradicate the very notion from her mind. And from the parchment that she easily tore. The pressure of her hand so great, the tip of the nib snapped, flinging off into a direction where she heard it ricochet off of some other metallic trinket before it landed elsewhere.

“Oh, for the love of…”

Laeynna sighed, lifting her hands into her dark, messy hair. She’d been sitting for… what was it, hours? Hours, she was certain, on an early morning in which the sun had not yet entirely poked itself out to greet the world, though was definitely threatening to do so. She was not yet presentable for the day and had no real plans to make herself so. At least not yet. Dressed in a rather simple dressing gown of white, she looked—and felt—like a mess.

Rising from where she sat, bare feet crossed over a dark wood floor and she stretched her arms over her head just until she could feel the gentle strain and pull on muscle that sent a minute rippling ache right into her shoulder. “Why am I so awful at this?” She wasn’t asking anyone in particular. If Andaeros was up, it was because he was in the washroom likely doing his morning rituals of trimming the hairs that graced his cheeks and his neck. If he wasn’t up then she had been doing him the extra courtesy of staying quiet to let him have some peace and likely much-needed slumber. And if Rags was going to be presenting any kind of response, it was likely to sound as scraggly as he looked.

Drawing in a breath to centre herself, Laeynna held it and shook her head. Her hands slowly dropped back to her sides and she freed the same exhale she’d held captive. Hopefully with it, some of the worry and anxiety that nibbled along her insides. Why did it seem like it was easier to write her father than it had been to write her twin? Tilting her head, her gaze fluttered over to the kitchen counter where she’d put on a kettle for tea. She’d already had one cup, but seemed about ready for another. Slowly making her way over to it, what once was empty was filled with a steeped black tea and as she leaned onto the counter, she curled her slender, musician’s fingers around the porcelain, comforted and soothed all at once by its welcoming warmth.

She knew why it’d been easier. Sort of. In truth, she cared more about her sister’s opinion than her father’s. Reknon and Seilahs would not live forever. Ankalei now, most likely, would. There was also the notion that it was… Well. Frankly horrifying to face the woman she had so unforgivingly done away with. She still couldn’t remember what had happened, just as she had told Andaeros when she made such a fated confession. After discussing it with him, even, Laeynna found herself thinking about it a lot. Where once it had lingered in the back of her mind, it now had a place in the forefront. Ankalei would know. But would asking only dredge up the past? Was it not more important to acknowledge that, regardless of reason, there were no excuses, no validation, no legitimate reasoning for what she’d done? Was it not better to acknowledge it and, as her other half had urged, seek forgiveness?

Provided Ankalei was willing to give it.

Understanding the past, some might have argued was worthwhile, if only to apply to the future. But Laeynna had never had another moment in time like that. She had never again lost herself and she certainly was very much not the same person she’d been then. Many, many things had changed. Would anything like it ever happen a second time? She didn’t think so. Most likely not. She couldn’t know for certain, but when she lifted a hand and eyed it, trying to imagine what blood must have stained it, she knew she didn’t want anything like that to happen. Which meant she wasn’t going to allow anything like that to happen.

Not again.

With a gentle furrow in dark brow, her mouth pulled to one side, in somewhat a childish sort of manner. She was no closer to figuring out how to start her letter, though, or what to include in the body of it. She was good at diplomacy and whilst she could have relied on that, it felt so… impersonal. She didn’t want to be impersonal with her sister. On the contrary, she wanted to bring Ankalei to the apartment to have tea and coffee and cake with her and Andaeros. She wanted Ankalei to be a part of her life. She wanted to… to… to make up for all of the time that they’d missed out on, though she understood that wasn’t exactly possible. Even if it was, there was potential that Ankalei would not want that. It was too easy to get caught up in what she hoped would come out of such a correspondence. Too convenient to let herself hope too much with a heart that was not at all practised with experiencing hope.

Simple was going to be better. No outright apologies. Gratitude and acknowledgement for Ankalei’s part in Laeynna’s current state of affairs. And a very gentle invitation that involved no expectation or pressure. An invitation for conversation. She drafted the bare minimum ideas in her head, thinking that she was, as usual, best when she put her most logical foot forward. The balance between the mind and the heart was a most complicated one and as someone who had very rarely used her heart in the past, she found herself agreeing with the comparison Andaeros had once made of it.

He had, at one point in time, resonated with the notion that the heart was a muscle. Without its use, its strength diminished and thus, an ache when it began to carry weight or strain. And like any other muscle, it would need to be practised. He’d not said the next part, but Laeynna had inwardly reminded herself that for her heart to grow strong, it would require patience, time, and understanding. She could not hold those same ideals for others, if she could not first hold them for herself.

As if feeling her resolve fortify, Laeynna lifted her cup of tea and making way back to where her pile of parchment waited, several with unfinished, scribbled letters marking her frustration at an inadequate display of colloquial elegance, she sat back down. Setting her cup down as warm and tranquil companion, she located a new quill, lightly brushing the tip of her forefinger along its nib. She’d make certain it was ready for when Andaeros sought to seize his day.

Besides, they had one more left to write. Together.

— @daily-writing-challenge

(Soft mentions @andaerosdawnflare.)

[blaiddllodi]

it occurs to dorothea that, after returning her birthday gift, dimitri might not be eager to receive one from her in turn. and who could blame him? wounded pride, lingering offense, the sting of embarrassment—all things to consider. yet, it’s a simple matter of fairness, she tells herself. no matter how complicated her own feelings, his kindness that day had been undeniable.

it would not do to sit on a debt, and so, it is only right to return the favor.

an unassuming package is left at his door. cream-colored paper, smooth to the touch, is carefully folded and tucked at the edges. not the elegant wrapping she’d originally planned for him, but it will do for the sake of anonymity. no name attached either.

some reminders are better swept beneath the rug, surely.

inside the package, nestled carefully in a bed of soft tissue, are saddle bags—well-made, sturdy, and practical. the leather dark, the stitching neat and reinforced, designed to withstand the harshest of journeys. tucked into one of the pockets, folded beneath the lining, is a small piece of parchment, its edges worn slightly from handling. the note is simple, accompanied by a hand-drawn map:

I found this spot a while back. It’s an abandoned grove—nothing fancy, but secluded, and it rarely sees visitors. A good place to get away from people when you need to. I have no use for it anymore, and I thought a prince might appreciate a little bit of normalcy in his life. Wishing you a happy birthday.

in the corner, almost like an afterthought, a final line hastily added. the ink is smudged where the sender had rushed to finish:

You’re welcome to ignore this, if you'd like. I'm sure it reads like a poorly planned ambush attempt.

It wasn't so terribly surprising, to receive gifts on one's birthday, but what was unusual was that there was no identifying marker. In general, if one wanted to send a gift to curry favor - or even to send a threat - one wanted one's identity known.

There was something about the handwriting that he couldn't quite place...

Asking around, too, had netted him with no answers and so Dimitri was left somewhat flummoxed, with a pair of very nice saddlebags - a thoughtful gift, and from someone who must have known him well - and a map.

The area was not one that he knew, which surprised him, but aligned perfectly with the intention of the note's author. A place to be in peace, to be unseen but for a few moments, that seemed to be the true gift, and he had to wonder if the other person knew precisely what that meant to him, in all his time at the Academy, and on this earth.

[fancybendy]

Left to right: Fancy, Bun, Nathan, Vidal, Dandy I HAVE BEEN DRAWING OKAY JUST- other fandoms But I BRING YOU- WIP OF SOME BENDY KIDS- @grimmixxart ( designed the lovely Dandy for me a long time ago and I just now have drawn him cries)

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

How the Light Attaches to a Change of Heart (ao3)

It’s been three years since Rhys demanded Nesta move to the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands. That day, she walked away and never looked back, choosing a new life for herself on the continent. But something’s not right, and when she returns to Velaris for Elain’s birthday, she figures out what she was missing all along. (For @nessianweek day 5! Title taken from the Marianas Trench song The Death of Me)

There were times when Nesta Archeron thought she had it all.

When she returned each night to the apartment she had by the river, for example, feet sinking into plush carpets as the sun set beyond wide glass windows offering a vista of a city she’d never once thought to see when she was human. When she was paid handsomely each month, two hundred gold coins heavy in her palm, or when she rifled through the papers on her desk and found the deeds to her apartment, her own name penned in ink at the bottom. Times when she found herself in a fancy wine bar, sipping expensive vintage at a marble counter— so vastly different from the dive bars with the sticky floors and low light she’d once drank herself to oblivion in.

A distant memory, now.

So much had changed since then— since she’d last stumbled down a darkened alleyway in Velaris. 

She’d gained so much since then.

Hadn’t she?

Ever since that day at the River House, when Feyre had sat shedding silent tears as Rhysand delivered his ultimatum, when he told her to move the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands. 

He hadn’t given her a third option.

So Nesta had found one. Had made one for herself when she boarded the next ship for the Continent carrying nothing but a half-empty suitcase and a letter of introduction provided by - of all people - Lucien Vanserra. Within days she’d found herself accepting a job as advisor to the continental monarchs— an ambassador between the continent and the Night Court, Lucien’s counterpart across the sea. 

And her life was… elegant, now.

The kind of life she’d imagined herself living, once. Back when she dreamed of foreign skies and unfamiliar coastlines, a land beneath her feet that hadn’t damned her or ruined her or broken her— where there was salt in the air and the scent of wildflowers on the wind. Vallahan had given her all of that and more, a thousand opportunities and a hundred different paths, and it was enough, she told herself each morning as the sun filtered through the clouds and gilded the mist that hung on the river.

It was enough. 

Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t home, not quite, but it was enough. 

She certainly had more now than she’d ever had in the Night Court, where her grief had kept her in a chokehold so tight she could barely breathe. It was easier now, the weight no longer so crushing, and she’d even gotten herself a cat— long-haired and white, named Tristan after a white knight in some legend she’d grown up with.

It was enough.

And it didn’t matter that it felt hollow, that her victory felt short-lived. It didn’t matter that there was a burn in her chest, a creeping kind of loneliness that dimmed the brightest edges of her fledgling happiness. Something was missing, something lacking, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

She had enough.

She hadn’t been back to Velaris since. 

Three years had passed, and her only contact with her sisters had been letters. She wrote monthly to Feyre— ambassadorial business only at first, but the distance made things easier between them, let old wounds heal, and before long Feyre was asking how Nesta fared on the Continent, and Nesta was answering in earnest. Their letters contained post-scripts now, a few brief lines each month that had no bearing on politics or business at all, just two sisters trying to mend a couple of broken bridges, attempting to salvage whatever relationship they had left. 

Nesta never asked about him— the one she’d left that day at the docks, his eyes burning with tears he didn’t shed and a face lined with a grief so complete it told her everything he’d never quite managed to say out loud—

No.

She shook the memory away, pushing it down, down— all the way back to the furthest reaches of that void inside her, where there was no hope of it clawing its way back up again. And with a deep, trembling breath Nesta looked instead at the letter sitting idle on her glass coffee table— the one that she had opened, read, and promptly cast aside. It had lain there for a week now as she tried to figure out what to do with it, the deep purple seal haunting her every time it caught her eye. 

On the wide sofa opposite, Tristan’s fluffy tail flicked as he too looked at that little square of ivory parchment, green eyes narrowed and head tilted as if he could sense, somehow, that that letter was about to take Nesta away. 

Because it was Elain’s birthday soon.

Her twenty-fifth birthday. A significant milestone, even if she was no longer human, and even though for the past few years Nesta had only ever sent Elain a birthday card and a gift, this was different. Feyre had planned a party, and the letter on the table was an invitation— a tentative one, in which Feyre asked cautiously if Nesta thought she might find it in her to attend.

Nesta’s first instinct had been to answer with a resounding, definitive no.

But then she’d looked around at her empty apartment, at Tristan curled up on her velvet sofa, and felt that old pang in her chest, the one that said something was still missing, even if her heart was far more mended now than it had been when she’d left.

There was something hollow inside, right where her heart should be, and if Nesta thought about it for long enough she knew that the reason she was so empty boiled down to messy dark hair and hazel eyes and an argument on the dock before a departing ship, but—

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

Tristan made a small noise of discontent as Nesta sunk into the cushions beside him, and as she stroked her fingers across his ears, down his neck and over his spine, she figured that she could go back— accept Feyre’s invitation and spend a weekend in Velaris. Just a weekend, just for Elain. She could put on a smile, smooth and serene, and wish Elain a happy birthday in person for the first time in three years. 

And at the end of it all… well, would it really matter if the smile she hid behind didn’t quite reach her eyes?

Would they even notice?

***

The ship had been a bad idea.

Feyre had offered to winnow her to Velaris, but Nesta - stubborn Nesta - had refused, preferring to make her own way to the city, and oh, she regretted it now.

The docks had been an assault.

Each step she took over the creaking wooden boards had reminded her of the way they had shook as he had rushed after her, quaking beneath his leather boots as he reached for her hand. The call of the birds overhead reminded her of how they had cried that day, circling above as she spiralled below, and—

Her heart tightened, something in her chest breaking, cracking, all over again. Just like it had three years ago. 

Like she hadn’t been away at all.

The city beyond the port hadn’t changed either, she realised as she made her way to her sister’s sprawling estate by the river. It was all the same— the same shops still lined the riverfront, the same lemon verbena scent hung in the air, and working her way through the winding streets from the edge of the city to its heart, she found herself retracing old steps, passing the corner where her apartment used to be and walking the same path she’d taken that cold Solstice night, when the snow had fallen in drifts and he had walked her home.

Her breath hitched. 

No, Velaris hadn’t changed— but she had, and idly she wondered if she would find herself still absent from Feyre’s walls when she stepped over her sister’s threshold. If she would walk through that hallway for the first time in three years and find herself still erased, no space left for a portrait of her to fill.

She turned the corner, the River House sitting straight ahead, and wryly she shook her head. What would it matter if she did, she wondered? If the paintings that lined Feyre’s staircase hadn’t expanded to include her? Nesta had been the one to walk away, after all. She’d left, moved on, and refused to come back even though for the first year Feyre had sent invitations to come back for Solstice and Starfall both.

Nesta had ignored them all.

And by the time she’d made her way up that stretching driveway and reached that painted door with the shining bronze knocker, she’d begun to wonder whether she ought to have ignored this one too— if it had been a good idea after all, accepting this invitation. The walk between the docks and the house had done nothing but tie her stomach in knots, familiar grief rising up to meet her like an old, unwelcome friend, and all she could think of was how broken she had been the last time she had stepped foot in this city, how desolate and desperate. Standing on that wide marble step at the foot of her sister’s front door, suddenly Nesta paused. Hesitated. 

There was laughter drifting from an open window, the gentle buzz of conversation, and all she could think was… 

Did she knock?

The rest of Rhysand’s Inner Circle tended to let themselves in, as though this were their home as much as Rhys and Feyre’s, but it was different with Nesta. It had always been different with Nesta, like she had always been some kind of stranger to them, never so much at ease as the rest. 

But she was here for Elain.

Nesta allowed that thought to steel her, even though her throat closed as her fingers stretched towards that knocker. Finally she made herself lift it, letting it fall back against the brass plate with a loud, dull thud.

The laughter beyond that painted door quieted.

Not only had Feyre organised Elain’s party, she’d also organised a dinner the night before— a small, intimate gathering before the bigger party tomorrow. Nesta knew with certainty that she’d find all of Rhysand’s closest inside, all of those who had judged her harshest, and as she waited on that elaborate front step, she could only imagine why the room beyond the door had turned still. 

It was like Solstice Eve all over again, when they hadn’t wanted her there, not really, and she’d stepped into a room so thick with tension it had been almost unbearable. And what if Feyre hadn’t really expected her to accept this invitation? What if she’d only asked as a courtesy, and now that she was here and couldn’t turn back, what if Nesta walked into that room and was met with falling smiles and downturned eyes, just as she had last time? What if this was the wrong decision, and she wasn’t ready to be back in Velaris at all? What if the home she’d been searching for all these years was just a myth, a dream she’d never be able to hold in her own hands?

She had just about convinced herself to turn back around when the lock clicked open.

The door was pulled open, and suddenly Feyre was standing there, colour in her cheeks and a glint in her eyes, her parted lips splitting to reveal a wide, bright smile that was a world away from the welcome Nesta had received that fateful Solstice night. 

She had expected an awkward and stilted hello, but instead…

Instead Feyre lurched forwards, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her into a fierce hug as she said, almost breathless, “I’m so glad you came.”

There was some kind of silent apology contained within that hug, some semblance of regret and understanding, and it took Nesta a moment - one where she did nothing but blink in surprise - but eventually she gathered herself enough to cross an arm across Feyre’s back, returning the embrace she hadn’t expected. 

“I…” Feyre pulled back, her smile turning soft as she glanced over her shoulder to the hallway behind her and the sitting room beyond. “I didn’t tell anybody you were coming just in case you changed your mind, but…” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she repeated.

Nesta offered her a weak smile, and didn’t look up to the stairs, to the portraits lining the walls. She didn’t want to know yet— didn’t want to see if her sister had missed her at all.

Instead she followed silently as Feyre ushered her inside, letting her sister take her suitcase and place it at the foot of the stairs. It wasn’t lost on Nesta that everything seemed to still the moment that Feyre led her through the sitting room door— that the conversation died, a hush settling over the room that was broken only by a glass being placed down on a table a little too hard.

She almost winced, and for an agonising moment time seemed to slow, but then Elain was rushing her, a high-pitched gasp slipping from her painted-pink lips as she hurtled forwards in a whisper of silk and rose-scented perfume. She grabbed hold of both of Nesta’s hands and pulled away just enough to take her sister in, holding her at arms length to study her from head to toe. When she spoke, her words were hurried, her tongue tripping over itself as her eyes danced. 

“Nesta— I didn’t know you were coming, nobody said anything and— oh, I can’t believe you’re here! You look well— are you well? Truly? You said you were in your letters, and Lucien said you seemed it, but still—”

“Let her breathe, Elain.”

Her sister stopped to take a breath as Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder, a gentle smile curving his lips as Elain lifted a hand to cover her mouth, fingers curling against her lips. Nesta smiled— at the casual intimacy, the affection, the way Lucien’s russet eye sparked as his hand lingered over the fabric of Elain’s dress. 

In his other hand, he held a cut-crystal wine glass, refracting the light and making it dance across his bronzed skin. With a single raised brow, he held it out and pressed it into Nesta’s waiting fingers. 

“It’s not as good as that bar downtown,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But we’ll take what we can get.”

He winked, his golden eye shining in the late afternoon sun, the honeyed light that spilled in through the wide windows. Nesta gave him a small smile. Sometimes she ran into him in a small wine bar in downtown Vallahan, when he was in her city on business. Sometimes, they shared a drink together.

Sometimes they shared several.

He pressed a kiss to Elain’s hair now, bringing a flush to her sister’s cheeks as she swatted at the hand he still had resting on her shoulder. Nesta’s heart twisted. At least Elain was happy, she mused as she sipped her wine, tasting the richness on her tongue, the smoothness of the vintage, and willing it to serve as some kind of distraction. And would anybody have guessed, she thought dryly, that it would be Elain and Lucien to work things out first? To find happiness in one another against all odds, whilst Nesta and Cassian were…

Well.

There was no Nesta and Cassian.

Not anymore.

With Elain and Lucien at her side, Azriel was the next to offer her a soft hello, Nesta. His scarred hand patted her once on the shoulder, and though his face was expressionless, those shadows of his twined about his neck, and the look he gave her said he recognised the falsity of her facade and saw through it as easily as anything. But he said nothing, merely slipped past her as Rhys gave her brisk nod and a tight smile, as if he was at least trying to be civil. Feyre’s doing, Nesta suspected. And perhaps the distance had done them all some good, she thought wryly, because soon Amren was approaching her with a glint in her eye, slender fingers toying with a sapphire as large as duck egg hanging from a chain at her neck. Her raven-dark hair shone as she tilted her head, and when she said, it’s good to have you back, Nesta half thought her words were genuine. Even Mor made some degree of effort, her bracelets clinking as she too rose to greet her.

But he was the last.

Cassian.

She hadn’t let herself so much as think his name for the past three years, hadn’t let her mind stray so far, and there was no escaping it now, no escaping him, or the way her chest suddenly felt unbearably tight, like it was bursting with all the things she did and did not want to say, all of the things she’d regretted in the time they’d been apart. She had needed to leave— for her own good, she had needed to walk away three years ago. But gods, it had broken her— had taken her away from something that could have been beautiful. 

She blinked as he rose from his chair, pretending not to notice the way her sisters suddenly found somewhere else to be— Elain tugging on Lucien’s hand and whispering something about fetching another bottle of wine from the kitchen, and Feyre clearing her throat and saying she’d better take Nesta’s things upstairs to her room. All of it faded into insignificance as she felt the press of his gaze on her skin, his lips parting in something like surprise— something like agony. 

She’d had the entire journey across the sea to think of what she was going to say when she saw him again, and still she came up empty. The words in her throat dried up, slipped through her fingers like mist, and standing there entirely alone as he approached…

It was a harsher kind of torture than anything even Azriel could inflict. 

And gods— he hadn’t changed. He was still Cassian, with hair a mess of waves falling to his shoulders, his left ear still pierced with a single garnet. His hazel eyes were still that depthless swell of gold and green and brown, and when he stepped closer, his familiar scent engulfed her, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

Her mouth went dry, and this— this was the reason her life on the continent always felt just a shade shy of complete. It didn’t matter who she took to bed or how many fine things she owned. Nothing mattered, because nobody else had ever looked at her the way he had.

Unbidden her mind went right back to that battlefield. She hadn’t thought of it in years - actively tried hard to avoid thinking of it most days - but there she was, dragged right back again as those eyes widened, dark eyelashes framing a hazel that was fraught with the same kind of pain they’d held when he lay dying beneath her, her hands trying to staunch his bleeding as he promised to find her in the next life. Her heart lurched and something like regret swarmed thick in her gut. Not regret for leaving but rather… regret for what could have been. A grief for the love Nesta had almost touched, the devotion she’d brushed with her fingertips just before it had slipped from her hands.

Cassian cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, making his messy strands even messier. Nesta’s heart thumped once in her chest, and even though she cursed the damn thing, she didn’t move away, didn’t turn from him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he began at last, his voice hoarse. 

Nesta shrugged. Swallowed. “I’m here for Elain.”

His eyes shuttered. “Of course you are.”

Because she couldn’t be here for him. She wouldn’t go down that road again. Couldn’t. 

Stay, he’d asked, as the salt-air breeze carried off the sea shifted his dark hair across his forehead, as that same garnet earring winked in the sunlight. He’d held out a hand, then. Fingers outstretched, a silent plea.

I can’t, she’d answered, and the guilt had almost destroyed her, had broken her heart so thoroughly there could never be any hope of making it whole again. She had wanted to stay— more than anything she had wanted to stay, but there had been no place for her here back then, and nothing but grief and sorrow waiting for her. 

“Well then,” Cassian said briskly now, drawing back an inch. It was over— the conversation, whatever had lingered between them. It was over, dead and buried and beyond repair, and though Nesta hadn’t expected him to welcome her warmly… something inside her wilted, withered, when he refused to meet her eyes. “I suppose it’s nice to see you again, Nesta.”

Nesta.

His voice was flat— detached, like he couldn’t wait for this to be over, and gods— he’d never called her Nesta. It was always Nes, or sweetheart, or princess. It hurt. More than it should and more than she expected, and the cracks in her heart she’d papered over suddenly felt like deathless chasms, too wide to bridge and too deep to fill. 

And maybe she should have opened her mouth— maybe she should have begged him to understand. Maybe she should have raged, screamed, asked him why he thought she’d left in the first place. But her mind was blank, and before she could so much as ask how he’d been, Elain was reappearing, bottle in hand and smile on her face.

Cassian took another step back, his face as empty and as cold as the space in Nesta’s chest, and she could do nothing but let herself be dragged over to the sofa by the windows, so far away from the warrior who turned and clung to the shadows now, as if hoping they might hide him, might save him. Azriel handed Cassian another drink, one he knocked back as his fingers gripped the glass so tight his knuckles were white, and still Nesta said nothing, forcing herself to focus on Elain’s excited chatter as she lowered herself to the cushions. When Lucien joined them, she spoke at length about her life on the continent, about her apartment and her work, infusing her voice with a joviality she didn’t feel, an optimism that escaped her, and a lack of regret that was so false it made her throat feel tight.

And all the while she ignored the pulling in her chest that begged her to turn around, that pleaded with her to find the warrior on the other side of the room.

Because if the look on his face had made anything clear as they spoke, it was that Cassian did not want Nesta to find him. Not now— not ever again. 

***

She managed to ignore him throughout dinner.

Feyre had placed her at the other end of the expansive mahogany table, between her and Elain, like it might shield her somehow. Or shield him, she wasn’t sure. Either way, Lucien sat across from her, and over a candlelit meal of roasted chicken, Nesta kept her attention far from that other end, never daring to so much as turn her head more than an inch to the side. And it might have worked, might have helped her forget just a little bit of the anguish still swarming in her gut, had it not been all too easy— had there been anything but silence from the seat he’d taken.

He was quiet, subdued, and even though Nesta had spent the entire journey across the sea dreading the sound of his booming laugh, she found its absence to be a pain all of its own.

Because she was the reason he didn’t laugh— the reason he’d switched to whiskey from wine and drank deeply from his glass, like mixing his spirits might help, somehow. 

And when dinner was over and they returned once more to the large sitting room at the front of the house, Rhys pulled out another expensive bottle of wine and uncorked it. But with so many people inside the air grew quickly stuffy, and she wanted nothing more than fresh air. So she made her excuses and got to her feet, murmuring a quick I’ll be right back to Elain as she slipped through the doorway and headed for the back door in the kitchen.

But stepping outside, Nesta found Cassian already standing half in darkness, right beside her sister’s wrought-iron patio set, as though he was too restless, too agitated to sit. There was a fresh glass in his hand as he looked out towards the river, and his face was lined with something like grief, the moonlight drifting across his thinly pressed lips, and he didn’t turn to look at her. Like he couldn’t bear it. 

Nesta stilled, the silence growing thick, awkward.

“I’ll leave you—” she began, at the same time as he said, 

“I’ll go—”

The words died, leaving behind a thick silence, stretching between them uncomfortable and unwieldy. Never before had she been speechless around him, but now…

What was there to say?

She lingered for a moment before turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said again, finishing her sentence this time. She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath of the cool night air, biting her lip as she faced the house, the windows glowing with the warm, golden faelight from inside.

She heard the sigh Cassian let loose, felt in it every piece of his agony. He didn’t answer, didn’t say a word, and yet even though Nesta turned back to the house, her steps were slow— like some part of her was wondering if he would stop her.

Her hand had just closed around the door handle when he spoke. 

“Did you—” He started, running a hand through his hair. “Did you find someone?”

His voice was strained, almost cracking, and even in the darkness Nesta could see that he gripped his glass so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t break beneath his fingers. He didn’t look at her, kept his eyes forward, out to where the moon gilded the river silver.

After a minute Nesta shook her head. “No.”

The silence stretched, and she found herself stepping forward, taking in the cut of his jaw, the way it was clenched tight, as if he’d been hoping her answer would mean something.

“Did you?” she asked.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh.

“No, sweetheart.”

The old nickname fell from his lips easily, but it wasn’t the same as before. Years ago, it had been said with a kind of teasing, a kind of flirting that always accompanied a glint in his hazel eyes, but this…

This was almost mournful.

“Not after you,” he added a moment later. He looked at her, and maybe it was the wine she’d had, or the whiskey he was drinking, but he swallowed and Nesta could swear that she saw him steel himself. “How could there ever be anybody after you?”

“We weren’t anything,” Nesta said, but her heart thumped against her ribcage and she knew that her words were false.

Cassian only shrugged. “We never got a chance.”

She might have asked him whose fault he thought that was— demanded of him why he thought she’d left in the first place. After all, he’d pulled away from her long before she boarded that boat. He’d been the one to wrench his wrist from her grip during the war, the one to gift another woman lingerie at Solstice. But in three years she’d never quite managed to silence that small, small voice in the back of her mind, the one that whispered, quiet in the dark, what if? 

What if she had stayed? What if he had taken her hand that day during the war, what if he’d stayed by her side on Solstice? 

What if?

Nesta looked down at her hands now and somehow found the strength to ask, almost hesitantly, “And if we did?”

“If we did what?”

“Got a chance?”

Cassian shook his head ruefully. “Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, Nes. What’s the point in going over all this again?”

His voice was low, pained. Grief shone in those hazel eyes, heartbreak written all over that beautiful face. Nesta had forced herself to forget, over the past three years, the way he’d looked when she boarded that ship for the continent. She’d refused to remember the way he’d begged her to stay.

Is training with me such a terrible option? he’d asked, his hand fisting over his heart as his eyes widened, begging her to reconsider. Is it so awful that you’d walk away from me— from us?

There is no us, she’d said, and her voice had been cold because it had needed to be. Her back had been straight and her shoulders back because she’d needed to get on that ship, needed to spend some time away.

It had never been that training with Cassian was the problem with the options Rhysand had given her. It was that he’d dared to give her options at all, to think he had a right to interfere.

And— her heart had broken because how could Cassian not see it? He’d chosen Rhys over her the moment he’d expected her to bend to Rhys’ demands, the moment he’d stayed his tongue and let Rhys lecture her like she was some kind of… delinquent. Cassian had fetched her from her apartment to the River House, knowing all along the ultimatum she was to receive, and as Rhys had laid out her options - as if the choice was anything more than illusory - her heart had cracked because Cassian hadn’t said a word in her defence.

She’d been angry— heartbroken and angry, and that day at the docks…

There is no us.

No lie haunted her like that one.

Cassian sighed now, tipping his head back. He drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the table, eyes sliding to her slowly, as if he were afraid to look at her for too long, afraid she’d melt away into the darkness, like she’d never been here at all. 

“I don’t know,” Nesta whispered at last, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I even…”

“What?” Cassian said sharply. “Why you came back? Or why you came out here?”

Weary, she sighed. “What do you want from me, Cassian?”

“Nothing,” he countered, but she didn’t think she imagined the bitterness in his voice. “I never wanted anything from you, Nes.”

I have no regrets in my life but this— that we did not have time.

Her words tuned to ash in her mouth, and Nesta felt her heart breaking all over again, the wound she’d thought years healed suddenly rupturing, tearing back open with the kind of brutal force that once had her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle.

“I couldn’t stay,” she whispered. “You know I couldn’t stay.”

She expected him to argue, to fight back, but Cassian… 

He dipped his head, lips tugging downwards. Sorrow limned his face, the same kind of heartbreak that ravaged her own chest playing out on every beautiful plane of him, every line of him she’d tried so hard to forget these past three years.

“Tell me you’re happy,” he murmured. “Give me that, at least.”

“Does it matter?” she countered, because despite how much she so desperately wanted to tell him that yes, yes, she was happy… she couldn’t make herself speak the words, couldn’t lie to him now, because as much as she liked her life on the continent, there was too much missing for her to truly feel… happy.

He turned to face her fully now, his eyes seeming to burn beneath the starlight. “Of course it matters. It’s all that I ever—“ He hissed, cutting himself off. He shook his head, and found the strength to finish, “It’s all that I ever wanted.”

Nesta looked out to the river. Thought of her apartment, overlooking a different river, in a different city.

“I have a fancy apartment now,” she said softly. “Right over the river in Vallahan. You’d…” She faltered, but when she looked at his face, the eyes that hadn’t yet left hers, she continued, “I think you’d like it. It’s better than my last one.”

He huffed a sardonic sort of laugh, blinking slowly.

“I have a cat too,” she added.

“A cat?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

“Mhm.” She smiled a little. “I called him Tristan.” She swallowed again. “Maybe you could…”

She fell into silence, and Cassian’s brows furrowed. 

“Maybe I could what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nesta said, shaking her head. Stupid— stupid to think it, to even suggest it—

Cassian stepped closer, raw emotion on his face that Nesta didn’t dare name. It looked… it looked like hope, and damn if that didn’t break her heart all over again. He shook his head again.

“No,” he whispered. “Tell me. Maybe I could what?”

“Maybe you could come visit sometime,” Nesta said, in a voice so low she could barely hear it herself. She didn’t miss the hiss of breath that slipped through Cassian’s teeth though. Didn’t miss the way he stilled.

“I’m surprised you’d want me to,” he countered.

“I always wanted you to,” Nesta said, letting her eyes drift closed for just a moment. “I always… wanted you.”

Maybe it was the time away. Maybe it was the distance she’d had for so long. She didn’t know what it was, but it was easier, somehow, to speak honestly to him now. Maybe it was the space she’d needed to deal with her pain, the time she’d needed to grieve and to heal. It felt easier now, to tell him what she wanted. Far easier than it had been that day on the docks three years ago.

Slowly, Cassian lifted a hand. He brushed his knuckles across the back of her cheek, a slow, fragile smile curving the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d touched her in three years and— oh fucking gods, how she had missed that gentle brush of his hand across her cheekbone. 

“I’d drop everything to come see you,” he said gently. Quietly. “Just tell me when.”

Nesta turned her face into his palm, her lips brushing the top of his wrist. Her eyes had snapped to his this moment he’d reached for her, their gazes locked, and she was unable to look away now, to see anything but him. 

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes searched his— looking for something, some answer she’d been seeking all this time, and though neither of them moved, neither said a word, volumes were spoken with the way neither took a step back. Cassian’s beautiful face looked like he’d shatter if she so much as turned her face away, and Nesta felt her heart steady in her chest as that hollow place inside her suddenly began to warm, to feel less like a void and more like a place where comfort might be harboured.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry, and Cassian tracked the movement, his gaze breaking, dipping to her throat as it bobbed.

“I’m so sorry, Nes,” he said, so softly it was like he was afraid his voice would break. His hand fell away from her face, and Nesta suddenly felt cold. “For all of it. The moment you got on that godsdamned ship I knew that I should have done more—  that I should never have let Rhys order you about like that and—“

She stopped him with a palm of her own against his cheek. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she murmured.

His eyes slid closed, and she might have whispered his name, or he might have whispered hers, but without thinking her thumb brushed across his cheekbone, her palm lying flat on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he turned his face into her palm the way she had just done with his. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, like it was a confession— like something he’d kept inside for so long that it hurt, now, to let it out. “More than anything, I missed you. So much I—”

He cut himself off, lowering his brow until it was barely an inch from hers, but Nesta shook her head, dared to raise his face to hers. “What?”

His eyes opened, burning. “So much I almost went to the continent myself to beg you to come back— to come back to me.”

She didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That there had been nights where she’d dreamed of him doing just that? That every morning she woke and hoped she’d find him waiting at her door? That even now, every time she walked by the docks in Vallahan she scanned the boats coming into port, just in case he’d be stepping off the deck of one of them? She couldn’t find the words, and as his breath whispered across the skin at her wrist, she shivered. Every single nerve in her body felt alive then, more than it had in three entire years.

“I missed you too,” she confessed.

Cassian dared to lower his chin, to press a kiss to the soft skin of her palm— then another to her wrist, his hand rising until it covered hers, his warmth sinking into her bones as he kept her touch pressed to his cheek, like he couldn’t bear the thought of her pulling away just yet. As his fingers slipped through the gaps between her knuckles, he let out a rueful laugh.

“Why are we doing this, princess?”

“Doing what?” she asked, trying not to think of how his lips brushed the heel of her hand when he spoke.

“Dancing around it,” he said, letting her hand drop and pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. She mourned the loss of that touch, but not for long— his hand slid to her waist, his palm settling at the curve of her ribs. “Ignoring the fact that the past three years have been hell for the both of us.”

“I didn’t say it had been hell,” Nesta muttered tartly, and Cassian let out a bitter huff of a laugh as his hand rounded her waist, falling to the small of her back as he pulled her that last inch closer.

No, it hadn’t been hell. Not for the most part. And yet…

With his other hand Cassian traced her jaw, moving over her cheekbone and up to the curve of her ear, where he tucked back an errant piece of hair that had escaped her braid. His touch was soft— slow and reverential, but his hand fisted in her dress at her back. She braced her palm on his chest and he dipped his head, bringing his brow to rest, at last, against hers.

“I’m not letting you go this time,” he murmured. “Not without a fight.”

Her heart skipped— stumbled, and it suddenly felt like there was no air in this entire city, like she couldn’t breathe at all. It was all she’d ever wanted, she supposed. For him to fight for her the way he’d promised he would on that battlefield. 

She smiled as his nose nudged against her cheek, her palm sliding across his chest, feeling the muscles covered by that thin shirt that did nothing to hide the definition beneath. Gods, how had she walked away from this— from him? How had she survived without this, the feel of him beneath her hands, of his warmth encompassing her as he held her so close to his chest that she wasn’t sure where she began and he ended? 

Wandering, her fingers traced a path over his collarbone until her arm wrapped around his neck, her fingertips just barely brushing the edges of his wings. He hissed, both hands resting on her waist now, gripping her tight.

And there was nothing left to say - she couldn’t make her mind form sentences anyway - so Nesta tilted her head back, and when Cassian opened his eyes… 

She was left stunned, for a minute, by the raw emotion in the hazel, the way he looked at her like he saw every part and piece of her and wanted it all. He looked like he was holding himself back and Nesta…

Nesta didn’t want that at all.

So she rose onto her tiptoes and hauled his face to hers, crashing into him like a wave breaking against the shore. His lips met hers, rose to the silent challenge she issued, and gods, his kiss wasn’t soft or gentle— it was three whole years of longing and missed opportunity. It was everything she’d ever lost, every piece of him she’d given up, contained in the swell of his lips against hers— every time she’d stopped herself before she could remember the sound of his laugh or the way he called her sweetheart, every time she woke from dreaming with his name dancing on her tongue, like she wanted nothing more than to speak it aloud. Every ounce of anguish and every kernel of heartache was healed by that kiss, by the way he claimed her so thoroughly she wondered if his name had been scarred across her heart all this time.

He moved against her, so perfectly in sync it was like he was made for her. His hands stroked her waist, brushed her ribs, and as her hands delved into his hair, she felt every inch of him flush against every inch of her, and oh gods— the taste of him eclipsed anything and everything she’d ever known.

She’d had lovers over the past three years but none of them— none of them compared to this, to him, to the way his hands skated across her middle, down to her hips to bring her closer, eliminating any remaining space between them as his thigh pressed against hers, as his hands roamed, as she tasted him on her tongue, all lips and teeth and heat, precious, precious heat, warming that hollow space inside she’d felt for so long.

She might have moaned into him, might have let herself lean into his touch and melt in his arms— he might have moaned her name too, whispered it as he crashed against her, but she could barely hear, barely think, barely knew anything beyond what he was doing to her.

Only when her chest grew tight from the lack of air did she pull away, and even then— she twisted her head to the side, her cheek pressed against his lips as she drew air into her lungs, her chest heaving.

He’d stolen everything, every breath she’d had, and she clawed them back now, trying desperately to bring herself back from the edge of the brink—

But she looked at him, and those hazel eyes had her falling all over again, reaching back and framing his face with her hands, pressing her palms into his cheeks as she brought him back to her for another soul-searing kiss.

Gods— there was nothing sweeter than this, than him, than the way he breathed her name as he backed her up against the wall.

With a thumb beneath her chin he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until Nesta wasn’t sure which way was up. Distantly she was aware of her hands falling from his face and landing on his shoulders, scrabbling at the fabric of his shirt as she all but clawed at him, so desperate for every last inch of him, like she’d been starving for three whole years. 

Cassian was a warm weight against her, moving a hand to the small of her back to keep her from pressing uncomfortably into the brickwork, and just that - that small, simple gesture - had her heart squeezing in her chest to the point of pain because…

She loved him. 

Oh gods, she loved him.

It was what she’d been running from ever since that day on the docks, what she’d known the moment she’d left, and all the time she’d been away hadn’t changed a thing. Hadn’t dulled the spark he’d ignited, the one that couldn’t be extinguished, no matter how hard she tried. 

Three years— and it hadn’t changed a thing.

He was still the only one that made her feel like her head was over her heels.

He was home— she knew that, felt it when he took her into his arms at last. He was everything she’d been missing, everything she’d been chasing. It was right here, all along, and no wonder she’d never found it on the Continent, no wonder there had always been an empty space in her chest, right where her heart should be. He’d held it all along, all this time.

Still, Cassian wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her as though he was afraid that if he let her go, she’d leave again.

But Nesta wasn’t going anywhere— not this time. She’d figure things out— find a way to keep her apartment on the Continent, to keep the parts of her life that had healed those deep, deep wounds she’d been dealt by the Cauldron and the war and everything else that had sent her running from these shores three years ago.

She’d do whatever it took, because she didn’t think she could go back to being without him— without this.

Breathing hard, she tangled her fingers in Cassian’s shirt, pushing closer and rising on her tiptoes so the crown of her head nudged his chin. Oh, he reminded her of magic— of all the stories she’d wanted to be true when she was a girl. Of knights and princesses and wondrous, marvellous beauty. Of a love so great the world turned vapid in its wake, one that redefined the heavens and stars above and made life itself worth living. She’d forgotten what it felt like when he held her, forgotten what his touch did to her, but beneath that Night Court sky, suddenly she remembered. And…

Home.

In his arms, she found home at last. 

So as the moon shone silver on the river and laughter echoed from inside the house, Nesta let Cassian kiss her again, let herself be lost in every inch of him. And when he tilted her chin up towards the sky, Nesta looked into those hazel eyes and let him remind her what it was to be loved, to be held, to be cherished— 

To be home.

[judeandcardan]

Lured (Part-1)

He hated her defiant wicked mouth even worse, which was always ready to spew insults at him. And in the deepest, darkest, most secretive cranny of his brain, he thought of bringing his own cruel mouth against hers, her soft pink lips against his own, to shut her up once and for all.

Read it on ao3

Cardan stared long and hard at the textbooks sprawled in front of him. He sighed — rather dramatically — and picked one of them, flipping it open to reveal a bunch of scribblings about the constellations and their meanings. He threw it away in sour distaste. He hated learning about things as impractical as constellations. He scoured the other books, none it seemed took his fancy any more than the first one. He huffed. Why did he have to learn about all these measly things? Shouldn’t being royal pardon him from his useless studies? He thought bitterly.

He thought of his lectures, of Valerian, Nicasia, and Locke. His mind on its own accord, unbidden, went to the mortal sisters. Even thinking the word “mortal” left a bitter taste in his mouth. He shook his head, determined not to sully his day with even the mere thought of the Duarte sisters.

He abruptly stood up from his tall elegant wooden chair, stalking off to the low bookshelf kept just beside his bed, to procure his copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass bound in one pretty green leather hardcover with intricate gold lettering made on it, stating its title. He sat back on his table keeping the book that Vivienne had lent to him months ago on the side of the table. Ever since then he had read it as many times as he could and naught a reading went by where his treacherous mind didn’t stray to Jude, Vivi’s very much mortal half-sister.

He hated Jude. He hated her. He hated her dull brown locks of hair. He hated her light-brown eyes — which he never got to look into closely enough to determine the exact color of them — that always gleamed with hatred at him. He hated the swell of her breasts and the sway of her hips. He hated the sound of her name and how it rolled off his tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, like poison. He hated even the shape of her name, the loop of the letter ‘J’ in it. He hated her mere existence, that sometimes when she was near, he thought he might just combust into flames. He hated her defiant wicked mouth even worse, which was always ready to spew insults at him. And in the deepest, darkest, most secretive cranny of his brain, he thought of bringing his own cruel mouth against hers, her soft pink lips against his own, to shut her up once and for all.

Distinctly he heard a satisfying snap of something brittle nearby, he looked down and clutched between his fingers was a quill. Well, a broken quill now. Beneath it was a sheet of yellow parchment with the name “Jude” written repeatedly on it over and over again until the whole parchment was full of it and ink stains. Cardan brought the yellow parchment delicately closer to him to inspect it with sharp scrutiny. In some places, he had pressed the nib so forcefully that the paper had torn. Rage, shame, and worst of all, desire flared up in his stomach engulfing him whole. He quickly folded the parchments and stuffed it in between the pages of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass repressing any feelings he felt in the past minute beneath the surface.

He then slowly, languidly, strolled towards his bed, seemingly without any care of the world. He then carefully laid down on it, smoothing out its crumpled satin sheets, he made sure to think of anything but Jude. He thought of the wide expanse of the midnight black night sky outdoors with millions of glittering stars adorning it like diamonds. He thought of the evergreen trees with their deep gold everapples and their sweet, intoxicating taste. He thought of the turquoise ocean, the one where Nicasia’s mother — the Queen of the Undersea — lived, the one where he visited with her when he was in — or at least what he thought he was in — love with her. He then thought of the cold breeze swaying his soft white linen shirt as he drank his red wine peacefully sitting on fresh earthy soil, flipping the pages of a book. He thought of—

Just then there was a sharp knock at his door, breaking Cardan out of his — Jude free — thought train. Cardan grumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed with the interruption.

“Yes?” He called out with his head resting comfortably on his soft pillow. Yet, there was no reply but more insistent knocking.

“Who is it?” Cardan asked again. This time the knocking stopped and instead the elegant gold doorknob in the shape of a gargoyle twisted ever so slowly as if urging Cardan to stop it, but he remained silent unable to say or do anything, as the door eventually flew open.

In front of him — or well rather the door — stood an elegant young lady togged up in a beautiful ombré ball gown, its color deepening from white near her throat, through the palest blue to the deepest indigo at her feet. Over that was stitched the stark outlines of trees, just the way Cardan saw them from his window as dusk fell. Over them, little crystal beads were sewn to represent stars. The lady’s face — or well half of it — was covered by a pale blue mask encrusted with diamonds.

She looked at him with fierce eyes, a fire in them so similar to Jude, he thought with a surprised blink. Her eyes which were the lightest shade of honey brown he had ever seen, looked at him from under her long thick brown lashes behind her mask. Her lustrous brown hair fell in cascading waves down her back. Her breathing was hard almost as if she had been doing some kind of physical exertion before coming here, unannounced, in Cardan’s chambers. The rise and fall of her chest accentuated her generous breasts, clad in the tight material of her gown.

Catching Cardan starting at her breasts, the woman smirked wickedly. Her lips were painted the deepest shade of coral. Cardan gulped. A strange mixture of desire and dread pooling in his stomach.

“Who are you?” Cardan asked, his voice breaking at the end as the woman took a step forward towards him. The woman didn’t reply.

“What do you want?” He asked breathlessly, not expecting a reply and indeed there was none. The woman merely tilted her head, as if curious to what he was going to say or do next. He didn’t do either of those things but simply stared at her, in awe of her beauty. The woman seemingly bored with him proceeded to move across the room, her skirt trailing after her. She stopped near Cardan’s table. Slowly, carefully, she picked up his Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass hardcover book kept on his table. She examined it closely, bringing it closer to her eyes, her expression remaining hidden beneath her mask. Then, she precariously kept the book back in its place and turned towards him to access him, just like a wilder fair folk might assess their prey. Her cold gaze swept over him, making Cardan shudder from the sheer intensity of it.

She stepped towards him, it took Cardan everything in him not to shrink back from her. Suddenly, she was by his side, sitting on the edge of his bed. She held up a hand and Cardan watched, awestruck, as she brushed back a stray strand of hair falling on his face.

“I—” Cardan began, his breathing shallow but the mysterious lady having none of that, held up a long slender finger over her own plump lips, shushing him, making him gulp. She smiled a wicked smile at seeing his reaction, showing off her perfect white teeth. She then slowly but surely brought her perfect coral lips to his unworthy mouth.

Cardan became as still as a marble statue. Her mouth was surprisingly soft against his. But after what seemed like too soon she broke off from him. She stared at him, her face as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. Cardan daringly brought his shaking hand to her neck, beckoning her forward for another kiss. He was like a fairie starved for another sip of his favorite wine, begging for it. Fortunately, the woman, sitting beside him, was more than happy to serve it to him, if her smile, slow and sensual, was any indication at all.

Encouraged, Cardan brought her face closer to his by the hand still kept on her neck. Stopping, just as they were close enough for a kiss. He stared into her eyes, which seemed to hold all the answers, and promises, of the universe within them. Such a deep shade of honey was in them that Cardan was reminded of Jude as she spread honey over her bread, sitting on the white blanket with the stupid red stripes over it which she brought with her at every one of her lectures to sit on, laughing at some silly joke with her twin. Appalled by his traitorous thoughts of the rash mortal, he finally brought his lips to the exquisite-looking female, driving all his attention to the feel of her lips against his.

He groaned into her mouth, the sound embarrassingly desperate. Cardan could even feel the woman’s lip curve up into a smug smile against his. The woman never once breaking their kiss, moved to straddle his lap, rubbing herself against him, making Cardan moan with pleasure and desperation. Bringing her as close to him as possible, Cardan kissed her hard and rough something the woman was more than happy to retaliate with her own brutal kisses. Their mouths slipped together effortlessly, teeth over lips over tongues.

Seemingly done with kissing, the woman moved to place some hot, open-mouthed, sloppy kisses against his jaw and down his neck. Cardan was sure that by the next night, there would be a variety of bright red marks blossoming his pale skin that he would have to glamour them away but he couldn’t care less at the moment, as the woman’s mouth moved lower and lower until it reached the collar of his loose linen shirt. She looked up at him with inquisitive brown eyes and Cardan nodded, knowing what she was asking for. Nimble hands unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, showcasing his defined pale muscles. He wouldn’t describe himself to be particularly muscular but rather lean muscular but that seemed to please the lady enough as she continued the journey of her kisses down his chest, stopping just above his waist.

Leisurely, tantalizingly, taking her precious time, she slowly undid the silver buttons of his breeches, dragging them down slowly, her nails lightly scraping against his skin, the sensation weirdly pleasant. Surprisingly, she kissed him again. Long yet slow. Teasing yet sensual. Reverent yet careless. Cardan sighed into her mouth as her calloused hands gently moved through his smooth black hair, making her giggle into his mouth at the sound. A corner of Cardan’s soft mouth quirked up by her tinkling laugh. He almost thoughtlessly, caressingly fondled her sharp jaw with his thumb. The touch so reverent that it scared him. Even with Nicasia never had he ever truly been vulnerable. Even as they lay bare, with their limbs entangled, their breathing hard and their faces flushed with ecstasy had he ever felt this exposed as he felt now, with a stranger. A stranger wearing a pale blue silk mask.

Her small hand slithered down his chest, down his stomach, and came to rest on his waist. She cocked her head to the side, looking up at him, asking him for his consent. He nodded fervently, desperate to be touched. By her, his mind added automatically. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice as she uncertainly gripped his hard length, making him let out a harsh animal-like sound from the back of his throat. Breathing wildly, he looked down at the woman, her pupils were dilated, the black swallowing up the deep honey of her eyes, and a self-assured smirk graced her mouth. Cardan watched, mesmerized, as she slowly, more confidently, started moving her hand up and down his length.

Cardan threw his head back, pleasure and hunger humming through his body in wild waves of desire. Hunger for something more. Hunger for her. Hunger to have her body as close to him as it was possible. Hunger to have her moan his name in frenzied bliss as she pleasured herself with him.

He could still feel her rough hand move up and down over and over against him. Squeezing and caressing him from the base to the tip but what he wasn’t ready for was for her to take him in her mouth. He gasped as he felt the warmness of her mouth surround him. He watched in rapt attention — careful not to blink so as not to miss anything — as she took him whole in her mouth. He watched as she bobbed her head on his length, sucking when necessary. He was so close. So close to reaching his sweet long awaited climax, but just when he thought he could hold himself back no longer, she stopped and with a resounding ‘pop’ removed him from her mouth. He thought that he might have groaned with frustration and as the woman’s mouth connected with his lips again, his frustration only heightened with each brush of lips. The kiss was chaste but filthy at the same time. Almost as if she was apologizing to him for not giving him his sweet release but also promising something much better as her hands roamed his chest with reckless abandon.

Abruptly, she stood up, away from him, making a noise of protest, he said, “Why—” but the sentence died on his tongue as she tortuously slowly, began undressing herself. She first slipped off one of her flimsy sleeves then the other and then pushed the dress down all together until it pooled in a mess of blue at her ankles. Stepping out of it, she was left standing just in her underclothes but it was of a very different kind, he realized with a start. When he came to think of it, her curves were far too voluminous to belong to any fey. But all thoughts left his head as she reached behind her back and the strange blue under cloth covering her breasts fell to the ground. He almost groaned at the sight of her bare perfectly round breasts. Then, she pushed down her underwear until she stood naked in front of him. Before Cardan could so much as utter a single sound she straddled his waist again, kissing him, hard and hungry, parting his lips with her own, delving her tongue between his mouth.

Then, detaching her rosy swollen lips from his equally swollen ones. She moved to kiss his neck again but before she had time to do anymore, Cardan flipped them over so she was lying beneath him with his arms supporting his weight so he didn’t crush her completely but looking at her he couldn’t think that she could be crushed by anyone, but still he held himself up by his arms, anyway. Just in case.

The woman’s eyes went wide like saucers clearly surprised but pleased by this new change of position. He threw a lazy smirk at her and she laughed one of her rare laughs — rough and low — throwing her head back and exposing her neck to him. Cardan immediately began peppering the woman’s neck with kisses and her laugh turned into a long drawn-out moan. Pleased with himself, he made his journey down her neck and onto her chest, paying special attention to her breasts with his mouth, eliciting sounds sweeter than the sweetest of wines from her mouth.

One of his hands moved down to her thighs, nearing the region between her legs. He teased the woman mercilessly by never quite touching the spot he knew she ached the most. Just when he thought she might yell at Cardan with frustration and anger he finally gave in and touched her. He cursed under his breath. She was soaking wet. He tried to not let that get into his head but the rush of knowing that he caused this was as heady as the strongest of wines, if not even more so.

He parted her folds, rubbing small circles on her clit as she made sounds sweeter than everapple which fell on his desperate ears, instantly going to his throbbing length. He inserted two fingers inside of her, making her grasp and scratch his back hard enough to draw blood. Soon enough, he moved his head between her legs too, his tongue licking and sucking, determined to make her come. She tasted so sweet and bitter at the same time. Like poison, he thought.

He continued his ministrations till he felt her clench around his long slender fingers, obviously reaching her release. Her moans filled the room, echoing around it until she quietened, and then gingerly Cardan removed his fingers from her and moved up to kiss her, sweet and slow. He knew she could taste her own arousal on his lips but she didn’t seem to mind, she simply kissed him back, her fingers threading through his soft black hair.

She lightly pushed him back, surprised Cardan looked at her but seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes he laughed and lifted himself up from her to lay on the other side of the bed. She soon enough followed him to move over him, kissing him lightly before positioning her sopping heat over his length. She slowly as if keen on tormenting him even further, took him inside her. Whimpering, she slid even further down him, making Cardan groan loudly and grip her hips in a desperately poor attempt to hold onto any shred of sanity that he currently possessed.

The woman, once adjusted to the size of him, began to move more swiftly on him. Soon, her movements became reckless, wild, hasty, and brisk, that even Cardan had trouble keeping up. Fairies never did what this woman was currently doing with him. Fairies tumbled, they frolicked, they made love, they took hours to discover each other’s bodies, never in haste, always taking their precious time and Cardan never complained, he liked it, but currently lying beneath this woman as she took her sweet pleasure from him, he didn’t know if he could go back to the ways of the fair folk. He didn’t want to go back to the ways of the fair folk.

Cardan watched as if under a spell — though that wasn’t possible as no one knew his real name — as the woman’s movements began to waver, her release obviously close. Deciding to take matters into his own hand, he flipped the woman again — with her laying on her back and him hovering above her.

He slammed into her, never had he ever been this wild while making love, if one could even call it that. He was so out of control and he loved every second of it. It was the most free he had ever been since, well, forever.

The woman gasped under him, her eyes scrunched up, face down. He tilted her head up with one of his slender fingers and said, “Open your eyes, please.” He was practically begging but he didn’t care because she listened to him and opened her mesmerizingly stunning eyes, her eyes that were now so dark and filled with desire and reckless wildness, that even staring at them almost made him come.

“I—I can’t hold on much longer,” He murmured, hot against her ear. Apparently, that was enough for her to fall over the edge as she came around him, pretty little moans falling from her mouth. Just by the sounds alone he soon followed her into the sweet blissful afterglow daze.

He lay still against her, his breathing hard. When he finally calmed down, he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, she was watching him. He smiled, and she smiled back a toothy smile. She looked without any care in the world as she lay beneath him, a small, genuine, smile plastered on her face. Cardan was sure he looked the same. He never knew you could feel this kind of feeling, this sweet nothingness, that he was currently feeling with anyone, let alone a stranger, yet here he was, freer and happier than he had ever been his whole life.

“I—” He began, then reconsidering, “It just occurred to me that…we just made love and I haven’t even seen your face.” And Indeed he hadn’t. She still wore her pale blue mask, hiding her whole face, except her deliciously swollen red mouth. He was proud to see that he had done that to her, but looking at it, he noticed that the smile she wore slipped off. He panicked, fearing he had said the wrong thing and ruined this beautiful moment he was having with her, one where he was not a prince but just a mere boy laying in the arms of his lover that he just met, but then, she smiled slightly and he felt his worries evaporate in thin air.

She slowly lifted her arms and then her head, just an inch, from the pillow where it currently lay, to undo the knots tying her mask together. He watched as she gently removed it from her face and he stilled immediately. His breathing stopped, it even seemed that his heart had altogether stopped beating itself too. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He wouldn’t believe his eyes. But as he stared at the woman’s face it could not be denied that she was who he feared she was. Jude.

He abruptly threw himself off her, horrified. The woman, no, Jude, just slanted her head as if in mild confusion, as if she couldn’t understand why he was freaking out. He wanted to yell at her to get out of his chambers but all he did was point an accusing finger at her and hiss, with all the vehemence he could gather, “You.”

Jude stared at him for a moment, then laughed, as if the whole ordeal was beyond hilarious to her. Lifting an amused eyebrow at him, she said, “Yes, me.”

“I—I will—” He stuttered stupidly, at a loss of words.

“You will what?” She asked, mildly interested. She stood up from the bed to stand in front of him and tilted her head as if waiting for him to continue and finish his sentence. He stared blankly at her, he also didn’t know what he was going to say because all he could think about at that moment, was Jude, standing naked in front of him. The familiar pit of desire opened up in his stomach once again but he closed it up. What he couldn’t stop though was glancing, for a fleeting moment, at her luscious lips, but unfortunately for him, Jude, who never missed anything, of course, saw this and smirked.

“Oh, Cardan,” She said, leaning in towards him, close enough for a kiss. His eyes fluttered shut automatically in anticipation, in want. He closed his eyes even harder as if somehow that would make this any less real and hide his growing desire for her.

“You really do want me,” She whispered, her mouth mere inches apart from him, “and you hate it.” With that, she brought her dangerous mouth to his own traitorous one. She kissed him, slow and rough, and he let her.

xxx

Cardan woke up with a start, cold sweat coating his pale skin, desire running wild through his body like a fast-flowing river ready to drown anything that came in between it. He looked around his room, trying to look for Jude, but then it dawned on him that he had been dreaming. It all had been a dream. Kissing Jude was a…dream. Making love to her was a dream. He shook his head as if somehow trying to rid his head of the ungodly image his brain was currently replaying, one that featured a very cloth-less Jude. Ungodly and not real, he reminded himself furiously.

He took a couple of deep breaths, willing himself to calm down, trying to think unpleasant thoughts about Jude, but none currently came to his mind. He was in a lot of trouble, he thought, appalled.

Horror, shame, anger, and worst of all stupid hope pooled in his stomach. He threw himself off his bed, opening up the shelf where he kept all the alcohol he possessed. Well, all the alcohol he possessed in his chambers, at least.

He grabbed himself a bottle of red wine, immediately opening it up and chugging it from the bottle straight. He couldn’t be sober for this. He wouldn’t be sober for this. When the familiar, soothing, taste of wine filled his mouth did he finally calm down. The sweet and bitter wine — like her, he thought but abruptly dismissed — guzzled down his neck and into his stomach, cooling down the intense feelings that seemed to overwhelm him until he couldn’t breathe.

xxx

Later that night, as he took a fairie with long ash-blonde hair and brown barky skin to bed, he thought of Jude and he hated every single second of it.

[whitherwanderer]

3 // tempest

// 487 words. Anger isn't pretty and Sawyer isn't trying to be.

Yours is not the domain of ‘loveliness’.

You do not turn heads when you enter a room. You pull at skirts with discomfort. Your steps are less a glide and more of a march, and your hair doesn’t keep elegant curls’ like the other girls’ does. While they flit from group to group, greeting and giggling, you try to put on forced smiles and what conversations you manage to strike up are short, light, usually end with one of you excusing yourself to find a drink or get some air.

You understand there is no expectation for a lowborn midlander to rise to such fanciful heights as the Haillenarte socialites, but your well-meaning godmother tries to encourage you regardless, extolling the virtues of a well-connected woman. She pulls you into conversations with the elders who politely oblige, and you speak of your work in the manufactory, only to be given the polite, yet disinterested compliments about how proud you should be. You are reminded sorely that these are merchants and magisters whose hands have scarcely been sullied by ink, let alone oil, and you are ever more aware of your hyuran stature as they tilt to look at you.

Most have already heard about you. Critical. Overly serious. Disagreeable. A little stormcloud of a girl, your free-wheeling mother once teased, and though she meant it lovingly, the words haunt you well into your midlife. All things that a young woman should endeavor not to be, and yet you cannot convince yourself to put on the wool long enough to fool the flock. You were not born soft and delicate. You pulled at your lips in the mirror one day and found sharp teeth. But instead of reaching for the file, you tested your bite.

You were not the first, of course. Other little girls like you had long found their fangs and grew into them, offering up their swords in service: Of the sky, from the sky, for the sky. How you envied their silver armor, all of them walking together in one shining sea. No one questioned if they belonged. If their teeth had merit.

Why couldn’t someone value your anger, then? Were storms not a blessing for the farmer? Was this not the city whose matron goddess was exalted as Fury?

You pour yourself into your work. Mad scrawl turned metal, metal turned machine. This endless churn of concept, design, prototype, product appeals to your critical eye. Your seriousness demands the respect of your peers, and your disagreeable attitude is no worse than any of theirs. You fashion weapons for the weary because you have no wool to warm them and pray to Byregot that it is enough. Bark and bite are tools where charm avails you naught, and you hope the Fury smiles.

Yours is not the domain of ‘loveliness’. But a storm needn’t be lovely to draw all eyes to its brilliant light.

[spockandawe]

Hello! I've been thinking about binding some danmei novels in my native language, but I don't know where to start. I found your blog recently and find it very inspiring! I was wondering if maybe you could share with me what tools and materials would be good to get started with?

Sure!!!! So, I'm on mobile and don't have links at hand, but if you go back through my bookbinding tag, there are other replies I've got about the materials for making a book specifically. The renegade publishing blog also has resource documents that walk through the bookbinding process and include links to educational materials, etc. So for here, I'll focus on the danmei side of things!

So, a fun feature about these books is that they tend to run LONG. I've seen a number of people try to take up bookbinding in google docs, and honestly, it's doing things on hard mode. For many danmei, it's basically impossible. I think my EARLIEST earliest attempt at svsss began in gdocs, and that's not a super long novel, but gdocs was choking on it. A word processor on your desktop is going to be your best bet. Personally, i invested in a microsoft office license, because it was familiar and i could afford it. But the free parallel to that will be libre office, which does basically everything word can do, with just minor differences.

On the fancy end of bookbinding software, affinity, indesign, and microsoft publisher are also names you may hear tossed around. These can do fancier, more artistic layouts, but also come with a heavier price tag. And because i had webnovels on my radar from the start, i wanted something ROBUST. I wanted to be able to dump all of the husky and his white cat shizun into a single file and work from it. And i did eventually do that! Being able to typeset a single file rather than repeat each step across several is great, especially since i tend to tweak design choices as i go.

For danmei, you're also going to want a robust printer. I have a color laser that's been an absolute beast of a machine, but a black and white laser can get you a long ways, and monochrome designs can be very elegant. You don't want an HP brand printer, their toner subscription practices are downright predatory, but Brother and Canon are names I've seen recommended highly. You probably don't want an inkjet printer, because long books take a LOT of ink. The one exception would be if you can find an affordable ink tank printer.

And the last major thing i can think of is that if your main computer is a laptop, consider typesetting with an external mouse and keyboard! Danmei novels are split into lots of short chapters, frequently split across just as many web pages, with lots of footnotes to format, and laptops are convenient but not ergonomic. Doing too much on there is just asking for a repetitive strain injury. I've done it, but often paid for my sins in pain! And your laptop keyboard may start complaining too, I'm almost certain my first typeset of mdzs was the nail in the coffin for my last laptop's keyboard, haha

I hope that helps! Best of luck to you! Ive found binding cnovels to be EXTREMELY rewarding, even though my original reason was because these things would NEVER be licensed in english 😂 I'm delighted to see people experimenting with it for other translations in other languages, I really hope it goes well for you!!!!

[nuwonuwo]

VilEpe short fic, in which appleboy writes with a quill

Fandom: Twisted-Wonderland

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit/Epel Felmier

Warning: Some suggestive imagery

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Each tick of the clock was another iron weight pressing down on his nerves. The ink was scented with a veneer of lavender just thin enough to feel like a slow strangling by silk gauze. Epel did not dare look up from the parchment, or to his right at his dorm leader intently watching him from the bed. He focused with penetrating intensity on the strokes of fresh ink shimmering in the warm golden light, the peacock feather that made up the quill pen in his hand.

One more dip into the inkwell, one more line of spells learned in class intermingled with complete nonsense.

Earlier, Vil had asked him to come to his room for a photoshoot. That night, he was to don a white ruffled shirt with a cravat and sit at Vil's desk, writing absolutely anything (short of profanities and other such inelegances) with a peacock feather quill. The usual magical pen would produce the same penmanship for less work, he was about to argue, but he held back for fear of being subject to worse — perhaps actually having to wear a fancy brocade waistcoat and a knee-length jacket on top of the shirt.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The photoshoot was done, Rook with his camera and his endless supply of flowery praises was sent away, but Epel wasn't yet allowed to leave. It was thus just he and Vil together in suffocating silence, the former's composure teetering on the brink of shattering.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Go on, keep writing. Fill the page," Vil said, a low, silky hiss that shook Epel to his bones. He could not afford to even let out a whimper, much less allow any falter in his quill strokes; to do so would be to let Vil win yet again.

His stiff hand reached up for another dip, but he was held back.

Hot breath lusciously caressed his neck, elegant fingers softly stroked his quill-holding hand. Epel's body gave a very visible shudder; Vil had already risen from the bed and was right behind him. "That'll do for today. You did better than I expected," Vil whispered into Epel's ear, dangerous, smooth, dark like the scented liquid filling the inkwell. "Your hands are born for classical writing implements. To hold a quill, touch parchment, wear a signet ring. Can't have those elegant hands do nothing but farm apples and roll around in dirt, can we? You can go now... but your quillmanship still needs work."

Epel's sleep was certain to be anything but peaceful that night.