#However she must touch every living creature that she comes across

[houseofhyde]

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached. 

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts. 

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track. 

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him. 

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so. 

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure. 

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life. 

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother. 

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

[blinddreams24]

Literature

A Mermay Prompt

Masterlist

Prev / Next

“Uuggghhhhhh!” You groaned, lying dramatically across a boulder. It had been so long since you’d read something and it’s not like you could just find a book. You lived in water now. You know, the one thing paper can’t touch. And reading online was out of the question too. Water and electricity mixed just as well as water and paper. Beaching yourself to ask someone on land wouldn’t end well unless you were insanely lucky and you were starting to like those odds.

“…What is it, y/n?” Nightmare interrupted your thoughts.

“Nothing…”

If Nightmare had glasses, he would have looked over them at you. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be acting dramatic about it. Either tell me or go groan at Killer.”

“…”

“. . .”

“Mmmm-Do you know what books are?” You propped yourself up on the rock you had draped yourself over.

Nightmare looked down at you, amused. “You miss your old hobbies.”

Stars that was fast. “Yeah. You know what books are?”

He smiled. “Little one, I was alive when they invented the printing press. Yes, I know what books are. I’m disappointed they haven’t made one that can exist in the sea.”

“Right? It’s stupid and frustrating!” You huffed, flopping across the rock again.

Chuckling echoed through the water. “Grow to be as old as me, and you won’t need new stories. I know more tales than you could have possibly heard in your lifetime.”

You perked up and looked at him. At your sudden positivity, Nightmare gave you a side eye. “…Can you tell me one? Please?

He laughed. “I guess I could since you were so polite. Hm… Did you know that the oceans weren’t quite so big originally?”

Intrigued with a dumb smile on your face, you shook your head.

“Well, as I said, the oceans used to be much smaller. For every drop of water there was an inch of land and all the land was connected. A land dweller could traverse the entire world on foot if they so pleased. Among those on the land were the gods and goddesses, only four of which I will speak of in this story for time’s sake.

“The goddess of life and the god of creation brought flora and fauna to the land and sea, bringing beauty and grace to an otherwise barren canvas. Their work echoed down for thousands of generations into the life you see today.

“However, the god of death brought rot and violence for all things must come to an end with time. He left much space for Life and Creation to work with before a person died of old age as he became complacent in his job and would rather rest than work.

“The last goddess, the goddess of emotions, took the emotions of creatures and beings and gave them empathy, letting them understand each other better. A man would grieve and another’s empathy would encourage them to comfort him.

“Because of the gods’ efforts, the world entered a state of peace and balance. Many lived on the land and in the water and trade existed between the two. Some of the gods also decided to change form to live in the water.

“But human and monster kind misunderstood the goddess of emotions’ responsibility. They believed she was the reason they felt pain and anger so they attacked her.

“Nym, the goddess of emotions, was gravely injured and, with help from Life, was turned into a tree by the water that you may know now as the Tree of Life. Before she perished, Nym split her power in twain, placing them in the form of two brothers of the sea. The guardian of positivity and the guardian of negativity.”

You gasped. “This is about you??”

Nightmare gave you a patient smile. “It is but a story, little one. As I was saying;

“The goddess of emotions managed to live in the form of the tree. Life looked after the Tree and it bore fruit of two kinds, dark and light, respective to Nym’s children, that had powerful capabilities when consumed. Life set the children in charge of each type of fruit, claiming that they were in charge of protecting the fruit and the Tree together.

“But the men and monsters discovered the Tree that Life guarded and argued amongst themselves. ‘Surely, if Life herself guarded the Tree, it must have the key to immortality!’ They said. ‘But let us not make Life angry, lest she forget us and leave us in the hands of Death.’ So they approached as friends. Life was fooled by their friendly faces and introduced them to the children of the Tree. Upon meeting, the men and monsters tried to befriend the guardian of positivity, all the while the guardian of negativity avoided them. He did not feel safe near them.

“One day, the guardian of negativity was beached under the Tree and Life and the other guardian weren’t nearby. The men and monsters of the land, seeing only one guard by the Tree, attacked the child and cut down the Tree, taking its fruit. Half dead, the guardian of negativity ate one of the fruit and it gave him power. But the power came at a cost.

“The guardian went into a frenzy and grew into a leviathan that dripped with hate. He tore apart the land dwellers and ate as much fruit as he could find before attacking the Tree that gave him life and vanishing into the deep. When his brother arrived he found his mother destroyed and Life weeping over the stump. He somehow found one last apple and, in an effort of revenge, ate the apple and pursued the guardian of negativity.

“The goddess of life cried over the loss of her friend for so long that the skies opened and it rained across the entire world. A great flood of tears drowned the world in water and salt, making the oceans toxic when consumed. The sudden growth in tide tore apart and destroyed the land, devastating entire kingdoms.

“The guardian of positivity was still chasing his rampaging brother, getting closer as time went on. The fruit had made him a leviathan as well, granting him powers he had not yet used. When he finally caught his brother, he was met with a monster the likes of which none had seen before. A snarling beast that destroyed everything in its path.

“When he called to his brother in challenge, the beast turned on him, ready to destroy. The fiercer of the two guardians easily overpowered his brother, forcing the guardian of positivity back against the shore where, when he was struck, he was turned into a statue of stone for five hundred years.

“Enraged and slightly wounded from the fight, the corrupted guardian retreated into the depths of a great crevasse where he finally came to his senses and realized what he’d done. Grieving the loss of his family, the guardian didn’t leave the crevasse for six hundred years when a stupid shark siren ignored the territory markings and entered the leviathan’s domain. However, despite his stupidity, the siren was rewarded for his bravery with a guardian by his side. The leviathan ventured out into the world for the first time since his frenzy to gaze upon a vastly different ocean.

“He quickly discovered that his brother was alive and had escaped his stone prison as that very brother attacked him on sight. Another battle was raised by the twins that flattened and sank part of the land.

“But the corrupt guardian lacked his rage from his last fight and had another problem to look after. The stupid shark siren was attacking his leviathan brother!”

You giggled.

“Cease your laughter. The idiot could very well have died.” Nightmare gently scolded. “The guardian learned that day that someone else’s life is more important than an old grudge. The guardian, for the first time in his life, turned tail and fled, the shark siren in tow.

“The grudge between to two brothers still hasn’t ended, but they each found their own new family to care for.”

“…”

Nightmare turned back to whatever he had in his hands.

You shot upright. “That’s it??”

He raised a brow at your outburst. “Were you expecting some sappy ending full of forgiveness and reconciliation?”

“Have you talked to your brother?? Maybe he misunderstood what happened! You couldn’t have just stopped talking to him because of a fight!”

“Do land dwellers not cut ties over complications such as these?”

You paused. “…They do. You’re right. But you should still talk to him!”

“What is there to speak of? He attacked me after the Tree fell.”

“Sounds like you attacked each other.” You pointed out.

Nightmare looked down at you. “If you wish to pick apart my tale, I will not share another with you. Now go. The boys are waiting on you.” He shooed you away.

You huffed but obeyed, swimming away in the direction you could hear Killer chattering someone’s ear off.

Nightmare had a brother. And a mom and adoptive mom by the sounds of it. Though you didn’t know what happened to Life besides that she cried the oceans into existence. You hoped she was okay. If Nightmare was still alive, maybe she was too.

And Killer met Nightmare first, apparently. Crazy shark tried to get himself killed twice. Once by Nightmare and once by… if his name was Dream, you were gonna punch the god of puns or something. Positive and negative. Oh my stars. If his name was anything but Dream you’d be shocked. Everyone had a weird name down here.

Behind your tail, Nightmare smirked as he sewed the last few words of his tale into a sheet of kelp, careful to get the spelling correct.

“New family to care for.”

[podcastenthusiast]

A new series about each spawn sibling's first night at the palace (minus Aurelia, because I hate writing Cazador, but she's in this one a lot.)

POV: Astarion/Second Person

Next up: Violet

--

Your first night at Cazador's palace is not the hardest you will experience in the coming centuries, not by half. It is, however, the night you most strongly believe there is some way out of this. You cling to that false hope as if it could save you. You just want to go home.

But your family buried you. You died and woke up six feet underground and clawed your way you out. Now you're trapped here.

None of it feels real quite yet.

A tiefling woman enters the room carrying a wash basin and a cloth which she sets down before you. Her eyes are glowing. Perhaps you are actually in the hells.

"The master says you are to be clean," she tells you, emotionless. "You will be given one set of new clothes. He wants you presentable for your first hunt."

Hunt? What in all the gods' names is she talking about?

"You're a vampire," you realize. There are more of them.

"Vampire spawn," she corrects. "Just like you."

"I'm not...I'm not a monster."

"You are to be clean," she says again.

You must look a dreadful state, to be fair. Maybe that is why this body doesn't feel like yours anymore. Fingernails broken and knuckles split, caked with dried blood and dirt.

You peer into the water. No reflection looks back at you. Scrubbing your hands vigorously, the cold water turning red, you try to suppress a wave of rising panic.

"Master Cazador wants you completely clean. Your clothes are filthy; take them off," the tiefling says, like it's nothing, when you show her your now spotless hands.

"What? N-no! I--" Your useless pleading is cut off by a painful cough. Your throat is still and raw. You screamed yourself hoarse in that coffin, and retching up grave dirt didn't exactly help either.

Cazador, the "master" himself, soon sweeps into the room.

"Is our newest addition settling in well, daughter of mine?"

"Y-yes, Father," the tiefling replies.

"And yet my orders have not been followed. I must say I am disappointed. This one has such...potential, doesn't he?"

He draws nearer, uncomfortably so.

"Let us see him. You want to see, do you not, child?"

Her eyes glow like embers. "Yes, Master."

"Don't touch me!"

You kick the basin hard, splashing murky water across the floor under Cazador's feet.

"Insolent boy," he snarls. "Have you not understood yet? We do not need to touch you. We are connected, you and I, sire and spawn. Blood-kin, if you will, in the truest sense."

Pain lances through your mind. You watch, helpless and horrified, as your very own hands move without your input to strip off first your shirt, then your trousers and undergarments.

You stand there all but frozen, your body exposed and vulnerable, completely laid bare. Cazador's cold crimson gaze scrutinizes every inch of your flesh. What he might be looking for, you don't know. Imperfections?

More likely he simply enjoys watching you squirm.

"Acceptable," he declares after a while. "You may dress once you have shown me you can behave as a respectable member of this family should. Do not forget I saved you from a rather untimely end. The polite thing, the noble thing, would be to thank your rescuer."

You meet his eyes.

"Fuck you," you spit.

The ensuing blow to your empty stomach is unexpected. Your knees buckle. In that moment you feel Astarion Ancunin the living man begin to slip away. You are a naked, shaking heap of limbs upon the wet tile floor. You are sharp teeth and shattered pride. A pathetic creature.

"Louder, boy, I did not hear you properly."

"Thank you, Master," you gasp out, unsure if it is compulsion or ordinary fear driving you to say the words.

"Manners, at last. Clean up this mess, both of you."

And with a strangely dispassionate kick to your ribs, he departs.

The tiefling quickly gets to work washing the floor, as instructed. You can't seem to move. You haven't ever scrubbed a floor in your life, anyway; you don't plan to start after death.

"It is easier if you obey him," she says softly.

A lesson you won't thoroughly learn until one dark, silent year of torturous hunger and solitude.

"Is he always like that?"

The tiefling shakes her head but, before you can feel relieved, adds, "The master was very merciful. Perhaps because you are new. I do not know."

"You call that mercy?"

"Yes. I do. Now, we must clean. I should not be talking to you. You are going to get us in more trouble."

She flings a towel at you, perhaps with more force than necessary. You feel the faintest stirring of renewed hope. There might be a person still in there somewhere after all.

"We're family, apparently, aren't we? I don't even know your name."

Her hands briefly falter but she continues scrubbing at the same steady pace. She doesn't speak for a long time.

"...Aurelia," she whispers.

"Lovely. My name's Astarion. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, Aurelia, but, well..."

Aurelia makes a broken sound you think could generously be called a laugh.

"I have not been called that in such a long time."

"How long have you been here?" you ask, decidedly uneasy.

She shrugs.

"Is it just you and...him? Are there others?"

"Start helping me clean up your mess, Astarion. Then I will answer your questions. I may also report to the master that you demonstrated adequate obedience."

Hm. Clever girl.

"Fine. I suppose I would like to cover myself sooner rather than later."

The pair of you work in awkward silence. You get the feeling Aurelia has grown accustomed to the quiet, that she believes it's safer somehow. Familiar. She never asks you any questions.

Eventually, you are permitted to get dressed. The outfit provided for you is of finer quality than you dared to anticipate, not altogether unlike the silk garments probably gathering dust in your wardrobe back home. Unless, perish the thought, your things were donated to the less fortunate. Mother always has been a bleeding heart.

You don't let your mind drift to memories of home. You must focus solely on what is in front of you, on survival, and finding a way to free yourself.

"Aurelia?"

"Yes, brother?"

Ugh. That is definitely not happening. Not ever. You refuse to play house with these freaks. Bad enough you have to sleep in a dormitory with your new "sister" like you're at boarding school again.

"Aurelia, I can't see my reflection. Be my mirror. How do I look? Does this color bring out my eyes?"

She stares at you.

"It clashes with the red. You need something like a light blue, not magenta."

You stare at her.

"Aurelia...firstly, how do you know that, and secondly, are my damn eyes red?!"

"Shh! The master demands a quiet house."

"This is my home too, now. I can be as loud as I want."

"Pretending you are not scared won't make it so, Astarion."

"Want to bet?"

Aurelia shakes her head, frowning like you're a lost cause.

"I have my own orders. Come find me when you are ready to listen," she says, turning to go. "Red as blood, by the way."

"I-- What?"

"Your eyes. They are red as blood. I used to make dresses, I think. Colors were important."

She spills the scraps of her half-remembered mortal life at your feet and scurries out of the room, as silently as she'd come.

Alone, the grief and despair threaten to overwhelm you.

How do you mourn your own life?

You don't have much time to find out, as it happens. Soon enough, Cazador calls for you.

It is a very long night.

[aeonilua]

Well Guys, I finally did it.

After several months, I finally got to write the first page, the very beginning of the whole story just like I promised!! AAAAA!!! (♡´❍`♡)*✧ ✰ ｡* Im genuinely so excited, i cant wait to write the next first chapters. Happy belated birthday to our favorite fire birb!! (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡. He deserves some appreciation and he will receive it, I know he will.

This is called Gods Reborn, just like the name of my AU. hope you enjoy it! ^w^

Prologue

In the earliest days of earth, giants roamed the earth.

Not just giants, but gods.

Ancient deities in the forms of great creatures that could touch the sky and shake the earth with every step they took. All of each were made from an essence of life itself and with that, they were the very forces of nature.

Some of them soar through the skies and played amongst the clouds, their piercing sounds of battle cries and their way of mirthful laughter filling the air. Some of them wandered and hid within the deepest depths of the sea, dwelling and moving all around the planet through the oceans as their pathways, for the water is their guide, their power and their home. Some of them are the very mountains themselves, they camouflage into the earth, the howling winds within the peaks are the sounds of their slumber and the rumbling quakes are the signs of their awakening.

These creatures, the kaijus as they are called, have been here since the beginning of time. They have seen the first and the last ages of the dinosaurs, they have seen the first sunrise and first moonrise, they have seen the first storms and the first plants sprout from the ground.

They have seen many things and have been through many things, and the coming of humanity is one of them.

During this age, humans have looked up to them, have worshipped them as gods and guardians but there were some they have seen them as terrorizing monsters. These humans have witnessed and came across these titans, they have made stories of them, carved and painted them into stone and walls of caverns, silently hoping that one day, as generations go by, they would be found.

As time went by, the kaijus have watched over humanity. The rising of civilizations, the creative cultures and ways of life they have developed, the wars they fought and the alliances they’ve made, the gods and spirits or whatever supernatural forces they chose to follow, so much they have seen within humanity.

Some kaijus have grown weary of them, some had adored and sworn to protect them, some were just simply neutral about their existence.

But things began to change.

As the ages of colonization, modernization, and spread of religion emerged, it became a sign that humans were beginning to take over the world, the home of the kaijus. The ones they have once been admired and feared as powerful gods were now turning into nothing but strange beasts that must be taken down and it brought dread and betrayal to them. One day, the daikaiju grew weaker, their form and their power, and soon, they suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. The only traces left of them being the stories documented down, the carvings and paintings left on walls, and nature itself.

However, this was not their end, for Mother Earth has decided to given them another chance.

They will be reborn and live once more but in the form of humans. For a lesson and reason they will have to figure out.

Among the kaijus, there was a burning soul that Mother Earth had in her mind the most for the longest time. A Titan brewed and created from the very magma and power of her core, who could touch the sky and shake the earth all at once.

His name was Rodan.

This bright little spirit, warmer than the sun itself, was so special to her. He always has been. She had sensed great potential within this one, an opportunity to greatness awaits him within his upcoming lifetime as a human.

Yes, she had loved all her children dearly, but she had felt so much fondness and hope for the fire Titan. She had been heartbroken to know of all the pain and suffering he will have to go through the majority of his life, she had seen it from the very beginning. However, she also knows that it will not last forever, for she had seen into his future and couldn’t be any more proud of him.

Rodan will change everything for them; the kaijus and humanity all together. He will restore balance to the world. He will make the kaijus realize their true selves and make them aware of their full potential of who they are. He will find peace within himself and will come across others who will bring goodness and joy into his life. Truly, a bright future awaits, for all of them.

He could save them. She believes, truly deep within her soul and heart, he will.

He just won’t know it yet until he gets there…

[elegyforiphigenia]

HAPPY NEW YEAR - or, punchdrunk ramblings.

The snake slithers round and digs its venomous fangs into its own flesh. Polluting its own body with destruction self-forged, the reptile has crafted a circle. Soon, the snake dies, but it is not afraid. Death is a little like shedding a skin, and it has experience in that. The old cloak falls to usher in the new. Across the city, bells toll out, heavy in their swinging gait of religion that does not understand it is not welcome in these halls. At first, singing for death, they are sombre creatures. Then, a lighter melody infects them, swelling across with joy – there is no longer death, for birth has come, and just as fear rings in the bells of death, hope tickles the bells of birth, for they forget death holds just as much life as first breaths. It would be an extraordinary thing – if it did not hark this repetitious cruelty. For some, perhaps, it is lovely: certainly, the mother who stands mourning too many of her children might rejoice in the knowledge that the circle will soon encircle her, and she will forget all these woes and she will hug her children to her breast once more. Another mother, however, might perceive it as the most monstrous creation: she watched her daughter die, and just as she gained vengeance for it – well, no time to dwell on that, for she must endure that horror once more. Both must watch their kin condemned, farewell consanguine dearest for they’ll slit you sanguine.

It must be nice to live in a world where the year, no matter the torment, will always culminate hopefully; where it seems as if you are gifted with a blank slate and a glass of prosecco beaming up at you with bubbles of promise. Oh, the bubbles will flatten, and your stomach will slowly begin to go queasy, realising it was all only a façade of the night, but nonetheless – you remember. Does it feel nice, to hold in your memory how the flames lapped at your skin? Lucky you, who might go forward with the knowledge to not tempt fate and touch fire. There’s a thing, some argue, called muscle memory; riding a bike is a bit like that, it gets ingrained in you, and even after a long while, you’ll never forget. You might argue that we get muscle memory: instinct kicks in with each time we forget and relive our steps. Perhaps in that there’s prophecy. With each new replay, each old hour of the damned, the suggestion lurks under that we will remember…but tell me this, you in your white masks spelling out nothing, does it ever change? It does not. You do not care. You are content, complicit to chain us to time, he who guards us and never lets us roam his vast majesty. Don’t worry, though. I’m not angry. I won’t chase you; even if I wanted to, even furies cannot outrun the hourglass before it tips again.

Small mercies. So some might say. We do not remember that we will relive. If riding a bike is muscle memory, then some experiences oppose this theory: the pain is forgotten so that we might willingly rebirth it. Childbirth is one of those things. Over and over again, women will endure a layer of hell, screaming and shattering and squelching out those darling first breaths as they breathe out agony. Would anyone want to stagger again into that cycle if they fully remembered the breaking? It’s a little loss. Something barely manageable. How could we endure it if we knew it would never end? The show must go on; the lotus eases the muscle. It’s sweet, doing nothing, it’s sweet, not remembering. But even then, we’re being lulled into the Lethe, and under its tides, we’ll never sleep. Even small mercies can go fuck themselves when every good is countered by evil twice the impact – even as I stand thankful that the pain goes, it swings battering round again; even as I reunite, all is snatched away again; even as I dream, there is always monsters.

Dismal words to hear; clawing misery into eyes till they bleed and wish that they, also, could be made to forget. But know this: just as the snake gnaws at itself, it defeats the evil, and just as monsters chase dreams, the dreams will always be chasing the monsters – that is how a circle keeps going, onwards and onwards and onwards. The melody swells in my chest, even now. Just as I perish, I am birthed again, and the ash paints me alive.

[embersfromtheinferno]

Pairings: Nicholas Crowley / Rudy McGuire

CW: Crude Humor, Mentions of Blood, Sexual Themes

Word Count: 739

Part 1 / 2

Bewitching the Witch

Various creatures lived within in the bayou, alligators and cottonmouths scoured the tree lines like bloodthirsty dogs whilst hidden beneath thick layers of algae and debris. A shack, decaying and dilapidated, was situated in a shallow body of water off of the bank. However, in spite of its seeming lack of life, a man sat upon an old, rustic chair inside its oaken walls. On top of desks strewn with medical supplies and bottles of various preservative chemicals, there were shelves full of various trinkets and books, foxed medical diagrams lining the walls, and other items all about him. Beyond him was a single mortuary table, a bucket beneath one end and various instruments at the other. He was no doctor by any means, more or so a cruel experimentalist, and the marshes brimmed with potential.

Because of his reputation, very few came to visit, wavering off of the unmarked path in turn for another. However, this night was different, as a heavy knock broke the overbearing silence. Arising from his chair, he set aside a leather-bound book upon the mahogany table, drifting towards the door as his fingers fumbled with the latch. A faint creak sounded as the door swayed on its hinges, bringing in frigid air from the outside, cold enough to make one’s ballocks shrivel. Before the man stood a lady adorned in silken robes, hardly reaching his chest in terms of height. As his eyes glanced over her face, a glint of recognition could be seen within his eyes.

“Ms. McGuire! Please, come in.” The gentleman spoke, taking the woman by the hand and leading her into the warmth. She had taken off her hood, settling down upon an old, wooden chair not so far from his own. He shut and latched the door behind him, placing both of his hands into the pockets of his dress pants as he sat upon his rustic chair, turning his head towards the woman and giving her a melancholic smile.

Her eyes danced across the room, analyzing every nook and cranny, fascinated by his utter morbidity. Yet, in spite of the overwhelming stench of decay, she had come to expect as much within her trade. McGuire was a necromancer, and a charlatan, no stranger to nightly affairs. Yet, aside from sharing a similar trade as her colleague, she found the man endearing, far beyond her casuals. He was, of course, no paying customer, as he only accompanied her in her travels as an assistant, nothing beyond that.

“You’ve completely outdone yourself, doctor. I must say, it certainly has been a while since we’ve last spoken, has it not?”

“Ah, it’s nothing more than tools of the trade, my dear. Please, excuse the mess, I haven’t had much time to myself to tidy up.”

Hastily, the man arose from his seated position to begin collecting the various items strewn about the shack. To look unprofessional was one thing, but to look unprofessional in front of a woman was another. His frantic charades drew a soft chuckle from McGuire, surely he believed she thought less of him this way. However, she had instead risen to her feet and had cautiously approached from behind, laying velvety hands upon his shoulders, gently pressing the palm of her hands into his tense muscles.

“Relax, doctor, you can get to that later. Right now you should be focusing on interacting with your guest, should you not?”

A shiver rocked through his spine, the touch of warm, silken hands upon his cold flesh unnatural and foreign, yet oddly welcomed. Gentle hands massaged into his back, skillful yet so very careful, as if she were dealing with a delicate poppy, and as much could’ve been true. Crowley was an undead, his state alone had driven him into isolation, hardly leaving without something to cover his face and body. When he had first met Rudy, he was astonished that she hadn’t been perturbed by him in the slightest, she was, instead, rather curious of him, and that same curiosity lead to her endearment.

“You’re very tense, doctor. . . Tell me, when was the last time you’ve had a mistress?” The warmth of her breath brushed by his ear as her lips hovered only inches beyond him, another quiver rushing down his body as he stood there, vexed by her movements.

“I’ve never had one, my dear. . . Though, you could certainly be my first.”

[kakusu-shipping]

More playing horror games with my 4 year old niece because she requested it and then proceeded to kiss my monitor as soon as she saw Leshy

[mint-yooxgi]

Gilded Gold - Yandere!Vampire Prince!Jaehyun X Reader

Yandere AU, Vampire AU, & Prince AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Smut (Someone goes a little feral at the end there)

Pairing: Jaehyun X Reader

Words: 22,845

Warnings: Jaehyun is pretty sadistic and manipulative in this one, as such there is a lot of violence and gore mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It’s finally here! Omg, after months (again) of nothing, I'm really happy with the length of this one and how it turned out. Certain scenes are really good in my opinion, so hopefully you enjoy reading them just as much as I enjoyed writing them. I’ve nearly had this idea planned out for almost a year, so I'm happy that I've finally finished writing it all out. Tbh, certain scenes are pretty self indulgent... Anyways, I do really hope you enjoy this one, please do let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated!

“Is everything prepped and ready for tomorrow?” He asks, expression stern as he looks towards his adviser. 

“Yes, my Prince,” with a nod from the adviser, a smirk begins to slowly spread itself across Jaehyun’s lips.

“Perfect,” a dark look takes over his features, smirk now fully formed as he thinks over his plan once more.

Tomorrow will change everything, and he can hardly wait. For too long he’s waited, watching in the shadows until this day would come. Until finally, he can have everything that he’s ever wanted. Tomorrow, he’ll finally have you.

From the first moment he saw you all those months ago, he knew he had to have you. The way you so willingly went out of your way to help your neighbours with their little market stand only confirmed to Jaehyun that you’re a kindhearted individual. However, if it weren’t for the way you cussed out an older man for attempting to hit on your younger sister, he would have assumed you to be too soft. That is what intrigued him: that you could look so innocent on the outside, but on the inside, contain a strong, level-head, is what drew him to you.

Since then, he’s been sneaking out of the castle at least five times a week to find you, and once he did, he couldn’t stop himself from simply observing you. He became another shadow in the night, and you were none the wiser as to the monster lurking just outside of your window.

The day he learnt that you had no potential suitors, he swears he had never been happier in all his long years of living. It took him a bit of persuading, but he eventually convinced his mother to let himself actively pursue you. She was a bit wary at first, having never met you, nor even having heard of you before. The fact that you’re a mere human, and a commoner, no less, concerned her greatly. However, he made sure to take care of everything before your arrival. After all, you’re his responsibility now, and he’ll make sure to take care of you in any and every way that he can. 

Soon, the whole kingdom will know that you are meant to be his, the Crown Prince’s very own betrothed. The announcement might turn some heads, considering everyone is aware of the vampire society, and how the creatures of the night reign over them, but he’s counting on the support from those whom support interspecies relationships. It will be a huge step in a positive direction for his family to bring a common human into their inner circle. Not that you would have a choice, whether you know it or not.

That night, he barely gets any rest, too excited for what is to come tomorrow. He has it all planned out, the outfit he’s going to wear, how he’s going to make a grand entrance when meeting you for the first time, as well as the first thing he’s going to say to you once he sees you. 

His eyes flash red. Fuck, he finally gets to see you in person with you actually aware of his presence this time. Oh, how he can hardly wait to see your reaction when you gaze upon him for the first time. A smirk slowly tugs at his lips as he envisions the scene in his head, your awestruck face, the wonder shining in your eyes, and the way you’ll bite your lip as you take him in with the realization that he’s all yours.

Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

That next morning you are awoken by the sound of your mother answering the front door. Muffled voices reach your ears as you bury yourself deeper into the warmth of your comforter. The sound of your door creaking has your eyes flinging open as your mother storms into your room.

“Get up! There’s a royal advisor at our front door asking for you, personally,” she tears your blankets off of you before moving over to your dresser to pull out some of your nicest clothes. “Apparently he has a message from the Prince. For you.”

“For me?” Your head is reeling at the thought of a royal advisor visiting you with a personal message from the Prince himself. What would the Prince want with you? You have no idea.

“Yes, you,” your mother tuts at your confused look as you clamber out of bed. “Now hurry up and get dressed. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Without another word, your mother leaves your room, heading back downstairs so as not to keep the advisor alone for too long. She would have made your sister keep him company, but she had to go to work this morning.

Squinting at your now closed door, you shift your gaze over to the outfit she has so meticulously picked out for you to wear. The clothes are quite literally the nicest ones you own, and your frown deepens. What message could possibly warrant you wearing your nicest clothes?

Yawning, you rub at the sleep still in your eyes. Screw formalities, it’s just a message, it can’t be that serious. Forgoing the outfit, you quickly head to the bathroom to freshen up and at least make yourself look presentable. No matter what this message turns out to be, you’re going to hop right back into bed afterwards anyways, so you see no point in getting dressed.

Making your way downstairs, you hear soft chatter coming from the front room, and as soon as you enter you can feel your mother’s scrutinizing gaze on you for not changing. You briefly make eye contact with her before turning your attention to the unfamiliar man standing across from her. You can already tell from his proper stature and from the royal emblem hanging proudly on the left side of his uniform that he’s the advisor.

“Ah, good, you must be Miss (Y/n), it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he bows to you. “My name is Minho, and I come bearing a message from Prince Jaehyun himself.”

You bow back respectfully, nodding for him to continue as your mother smiles almost nervously from the side of the room.

“You are to be moved to the castle immediately,” he says as your eyes go wide. “You are to be betrothed to Prince Jaehyun effective immediately.”

“Excuse me?” Your jaw has dropped, disbelief clear on your face.

“You are to be moved-“

“No, no, I heard you,” you cut him off, “I meant, what the actual fuck?”

“(Y/n)!” Your mother scolds.

“What? You’re telling me that this completely unprompted visit is to tell me I am to become the prince’s fiancée without any say in the matter?” You ask, incredulously.

“I apologize, I should have been clearer,” Minho clears his throat. “You do get a choice, as it is the Prince’s intention to court you first. However, in doing so, it requires you to come stay at the palace for the time being.”

“I-“ your mouth gapes like a fish out of water, “do I have a choice in this?”

“Of course!” Minho immediately responds. “I understand this is very sudden, and probably very confusing, but the Prince promised to explain everything once you have arrived to the palace for the day. We really shouldn’t keep him waiting too long.”

“I-“ you’re about to object once more when your mother cuts you off.

“Go with him, sweetie,” you frown at the look she’s giving you. You don’t think you’ve ever heard her voice sound so tense, completely different to how she looked when she first entered your room not ten minutes ago. “He told me you would have to leave immediately, so I’ll send a few bags with your stuff later this week.”

“But mom-“

“No buts,” she smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and the Prince chose you, no less. Please be on your best behaviour.”

“Great, then it’s settled!” Minho smiles, beginning to exit the room in order to walk towards the front door. He places a hand at the small of your back and guides you along with him, with you too stunned to say much else. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he bows to your mother once at the door, “we’ll be in touch.”

With those words, he is leading you out of the front and to the car that awaits at the end of the driveway. By now, a few of your neighbours have stepped outside their homes to view what is going on, and you can see them whispering to themselves as you are ushered into the back seat. You only wish you got to say goodbye to your sister before you had to leave.

“Guess leaving is so urgent that I can’t change out of my pyjamas, huh?” You joke, a hint of seriousness to your tone as you cross your arms. 

Minho soon slides into the front seat beside the driver whom has been waiting in the car this whole time.

“I’m afraid not, Miss,” he replies, pulling out his phone. “We’re on a tight schedule today.”

You sigh, leaning your head on your hand as you look out of the window. You see more neighbours watching the car go down the road as you drive off, and you begin to wonder how you even got into this mess. Though you will admit, a part of you is intrigued. To catch the eye of the Prince, the Vampire Prince, no less, is causing your heart to race. 

You’ve seen a few photos of the Prince before in passing, and he does look very handsome, so a part of you is curious to see if that’s actually true. Another part of you feels excitement at the thought of being sought after by the prince himself. Maybe that’s why you’re not putting up more of a fuss at this matter. A sigh escapes your lips at the thought, and you begin to wonder what exactly is in store for you once you arrive at the castle.

About forty-five minutes later, you arrive at the palace. Your breath is quite literally stolen away as you gaze upon the fortress in awe, taking in the arches and crevices in the architecture, along with its massive size.

“If you think the outside is grand, just wait until you see the inside,” Minho chuckles, noting your gaze of wonderment.

His words manage to pull you out of your admiration of the palace and back to the steps in front of you which lead up to the front doors. Shaking your head slightly, you clear your thoughts. You’re sure you’ll have plenty of time to admire and explore the castle once you get settled inside.

“So, uh…“ you trail off, following Minho up the steps, not knowing what to ask first.

“I’ll be leading you to your personal chambers while you’re going to be staying here, then some servants will be coming to prepare you for lunch with the Prince,” Minho explains, and you nod along absentmindedly, still too distracted by the grand stonework of the building, of which is much more intricate on the inside. “I’m sure His Royal Highness would gladly take you on a tour of the premisses, given how intrigued you seem to be by the grounds already.”

At this you can feel your face heat up in slight embarrassment, “sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, Miss,” Minho smiles at you assuringly. “It’s quite nice to see someone admiring the architecture once more.”

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head slightly in curiosity.

“Oh, it’s just been quite a while since we’ve had a new guest who’s admired the detailing as you are,” he says.

“Must not get many new guests then,” you mutter, but he still manages to hear you.

“No, not really,” he sighs, eyes soon going wide as he’s come to realize what he’s just said, clearing his throat in the next moment. “I mean, I’ve said enough already.”

You simply hum in response as he leads you through some side corridors and up another set of stairs. You can feel your legs burning at the amount of flights you’ve climbed, not used to the amount of steps yet. Once you reach the tops of the stairs, you find yourself resting your hands on your knees in order to catch you breath.

“One second,” you hold up a finger, indicating to Minho to stop and let you catch your breath.

“Alright, but we really mustn’t delay, Miss,” he says, worry flashing briefly in his eyes, but it passes so quickly that you do not see it.

After a few moments, you right yourself, taking a deep breath before nodding at him to continue. He nearly breathes a sigh of relief as he continues to lead you down the hallway you’re now in, checking his watch on the way and noticing he’ll make it just in time. It’s important for everything to go according to schedule today, or so the Prince has reminded him countless times, along with the other staff. Everything has to be perfect.

Leading you to a set of doors near the end of the hallway, Minho pushes them both open to reveal a large room full of everything you could possibly think of. You’re pretty sure this room is the size of your entire main floor of your house, complete with a four post king sized bed, privacy screen which looks like it leads to another part of the room, along with various shelves, desks, and cabinets spread throughout. To say you are awestruck would be an understatement.

You take your time wandering around the room, opening one of the side doors to find an adjacent bathroom built for the gods. A large tub rests on one side, along with a set of double sinks, a large mirror that takes up the entire wall, along with a huge shower which you believe also works as a sauna. You are hardly able to believe what you’re seeing, this is all so unbelievable. To think, your lifestyle quite literally has changed in the blink of an eye. 

Now, if only you could see what rests behind the privacy screen. You’ve avoided opening the doors so far due to the fact that you’re unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. In the back of your mind, you hope it’s not another room. More particularly, that it’s not the Prince’s room.

The whole time that you spend exploring your new room, Jaehyun stands just off to the side beside the privacy screen where you cannot see him. A smirk is ever present on his face. He could smell your scent getting closer with every step you took down the hallway, only serving to make his dead heart race in his chest. He cannot help how his mouth salivates at the thought of you now only being one room away, nothing more than a thin set of doors standing between your bodies. He can hardly wait to meet you.

After a few more moments of you taking in your new room, you turn to look at Minho, “so, uh, am I allowed to see what’s behind those privacy doors,” you motion to them with your head, “or is that part off-limits?”

Your attempt at a joke earns a small chuckle from him, “actually, I believe the Prince should be joining us soon.”

“Is that the Prince’s room?” Your eyes widen as your suspicion is all but confirmed. You know you’re expected to become close with him, but you aren’t expecting to be literally sharing a room.

“Oh, no!” Minho is quick to answer, to which you breathe a small sigh of relief. “I believe His Highness went to inspect the second portion of your room earlier, before your arrival, in order to make sure everything is up to his standards.”

“Ah, I see,” you nod in understanding. “Glad to know he’s taking such precautions for me.”

Of course! He wants nothing but the best for you, after all. It’s what you deserve. Jaehyun’s smirk only grows, and he takes your words as his cue to finally make his presence known, and finally enter the room.

Ever so slowly, you notice a shadow forming behind the semi-transparent screen. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, racing at the prospect of finally being able to meet the Prince in person. Little do you know, that this is not the first time that the Prince will be seeing you.

Just like a scene from a movie, the doors part, Prince Jaehyun stepping through the threshold. His gaze lingers on the ground briefly before finally looking upwards to lock gazes with you. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your heart skipping a beat, all of which does not go unheard by Jaehyun, only serving to make him more smug during this time. Besides, the smirk resting on his features only adds to his charming good looks as he takes a confident step forwards, slowly making his way over to you.

The whole time, your eyes never leave his. Again, to say you’re stunned would be an understatement. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a finer looking specimen in your entire life, and from the looks of things, he can read your expression like an open book. 

For a brief moment, your gaze rakes over his entire body, and you have to stop yourself from inhaling sharply once more. He’s wearing the finest embroidered suit that you’ve ever seen in your life, the sharp gold thread contrasting with the black fabric. You know the suit must have cost a fortune, just from the design alone, not to mention the materials. The detailing of the floral design, combined with the surrounding leaves is stunning, but what catches your attention the most is the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt beneath the suit jacket. You can see the smooth skin of his chest on display, only serving to make you lick your lips in admiration, anticipation lingering in your chest. For what, you aren’t quite sure, but fuck, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think he was extremely attractive.

His chest swells with pride. He knew you would react like this, only confirming to him that you also find him as attractive as he finds you. Well, considering all the peasants you had to endure back in your hometown, he’s not surprised. As if any of them ever stood a chance with you. Well, not if he had anything to say about it.

So far, everything is going exactly how he has planned it to, and he couldn’t be more happier in this moment. Minho was on time and everything, though Jaehyun worried at one point that you were running behind schedule. He cannot let that happen, everything needs to run like clockwork in order for things to be perfect.

The one thing that he wishes more than anything that he could do right now would be to take you into his arms, but he knows that would be overstepping boundaries at the moment. The last thing he wants to do is scare you off on the first day. After all, since you’re going to be spending eternity together, he doesn’t want to push you away now.

You don’t mean to stare as you have been, but you cannot help it. With wide eyes and slightly parted lips, you continue to stand there, almost dumbfounded by the current events. By now, you are most certainly regretting not listening to your mother to change into your nicest clothes. Meeting the Prince while still in your pyjamas is making you feel a bit self-conscious. How embarrassing, to meet him while you’re still in your sleep clothes.

On the other hand, Jaehyun thinks that it’s so endearing that you’re still dressed in your pyjamas. Were you that excited to meet him that you couldn’t even wait to leave, meaning you forwent changing? How adorable.

“Miss (Y/n), may I formally introduce you to Prince-“

“Jung Jaehyun,” he cuts Minho off, taking your hand into his own in order to bring it to his lips and kiss the back of it tenderly. Oh, how soft your skin feels against his own. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Introducing yourself, your voice is a bit airy, still breathless due to everything that you’ve encountered so far. You’re especially impressed with the way he’s held himself, “the pleasure is all mine, Your Highness.”

“Please,” he smiles, running his thumb over the skin on the back of your hand before releasing his hold on you and returning his hands to his sides, “call me Jaehyun.”

You smile back politely, thoughts running through your head a mile a minute. All the while, your nerves begin to grow, and you begin to ponder why exactly it was you that he chose. You don’t necessarily think you’re anything special, but Jaehyun would beg to differ.

“Um, I was told that we were going to be dining soon?” You ask, shifting slightly from foot to foot as you attempt to break the small silence that has settled over the three of you. You figure Minho is probably avoiding saying anything right now out of respect for you and the Prince.

“Ah, yes,” Jaehyun nods once in confirmation. “That is, if you’re willing to join me for lunch. Of course, I’ll let you change first, unless you’d prefer to stay in those.”

At the motion of his head towards your choice in outfit, you can feel your cheeks heating up once more in embarrassment.

“Oh, uh…” you avoid his gaze for the first time today, and he can’t help but be reminded of how cute you are as you add quietly, “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

He simply quirks a brow in response, “has Minho not shown you your wardrobe yet?”

“No, I-“ you smile sheepishly, “I didn’t get a chance to pack any of my own clothes before I left. I mean, I didn’t even have a chance to change.”

He chuckles this time in response, “come with me, Princess.”

You cannot deny the way your heart positively flutters when he calls you that. A fact which only makes him smile subtly. You haven’t even known him for more than fifteen minutes and he already sets your heart racing. A fact which only serves to stroke his ego even further. This is going even better than anything he could have ever planned.

Leading you over to a side door that resides in the second half of your room, of which you notice is a lavish seating area complete with a chaise, he opens it. A grandiose closet is revealed to you, filled with the most lavish pieces of clothing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. Dresses, shirts, skirts, you name it, line the shelves. Rows upon rows of accessories cause your eyes to widen even further than they already have. You cannot help the surprised gasp that escapes your lips as you take it all in.

“Is this-“ you blink, attempting to wrap your head around everything as you try to get the words out, “is this-“

“It’s all for you, Princess,” Jaehyun smiles at your wide eyed expression.

“I-“ you turn to him, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assures you.

“Honestly, I’m torn,” you bite your lip nervously.

He simply quirks a brow at you to continue, despite the fact a frown wants to pull onto his features.

“I’m torn between ‘I can’t accept this’, and ‘thank you so much’,” you admit, and you hear him chuckle once more. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Minho tense.

“Always so humble,” he hums. “Don’t worry about it, it’s a gift.”

“I-“ you take a deep breath, “thank you.”

He smiles, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants, “just promise me that you’ll use it.”

You notice how he motions to the closet with his head, and you immediately nod, “of course.”

“Good,” he nods once. “Well, I’ll let you get ready. Maria and Greta should be arriving soon to prepare you for lunch.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, a soft knock sounds at your bedroom door, signifying the arrival of the two aforementioned women. He could hear them walking down the hallway and figured now would be as good a time as ever to take his leave, even if it will be momentarily.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess,” with those words, he walks out of your room. 

The two women whom have been patiently waiting in the hallway to come in now step inside as Minho steps out of the room following Jaehyun. You notice that they look somewhat nervous, approaching you carefully as if you’re someone to be cautious of. You send them a reassuring smile, introducing yourself shortly after.

“It’s nice to finally meet the woman the Prince has been talking non-stop about,” Maria admits, seeming to relax more now that you’ve talked to the two of them.

“Maria,” Greta hisses while elbowing her partner. Your brow furrows, it seems as if they’re not allowed to talk about that in front of you.

“He’s talked about me?” You question as they move you into the closet to pick out an outfit for the day.

“Oh yes,” Maria nods. “He’s been very… excited for you to come visit the palace.”

“I won’t warn you again,” Greta narrows her eyes at Maria disapprovingly.

“Am I not allowed to ask about it then?” You frown.

“Oh, you can ask any and all the questions you’d like,” Greta answers, pulling a simple gown down from the racks. “We’re just not supposed to talk about certain things.”

“Like the Prince?”

“Listen dearie,” Greta sighs. “If you knew what’s best for you, you’d run, and run far.”

Her words only serve to confuse you even more, especially at the nervous expression Maria now wears on her face.

“Is there something I should know?” You ask as they help you into the dress.

“Don’t listen to Greta, dear,” Maria pats your arm gently once the dress is secure. “The Prince is a wonderful gentleman, and from the looks of things, he’s completely smitten with you.”

“But he hardly even knows me,” you mumble as they start to work on your hair.

“He knows you better than you think,” Greta’s voice is barely above a whisper. In fact, it’s so faint, you don’t catch all of what she says.

“Pardon me?” You catch her gaze in the mirror they have you sitting in front of now.

“All the more reason for you to get to know him better,” she corrects herself with a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Maria manages to change the subject shortly after by asking you questions about yourself, and her telling you small stories about her life. The two of you are able to connect well quickly, and you know that if she continues to look after you while you’re here, you will have a friend in her. Greta, on the other hand, you’re not so sure about.

Not only does she continuously look at you with worry in her eyes, she scolds Maria any time she thinks Maria has overstepped any sort of boundary. The amount of times Maria has begun to tell you about the Prince, only for her to be cut off by Greta soon after is astounding. Hopefully you can get some answers from the Prince himself. After all, you are going to lunch together.

“There, all finished,” Maria smiles warmly at you as she helps you stand up.

“Thank you,” you smile back, smoothing out the front of your gown subconsciously.

“Come now,” Greta says, checking her watch, “or else we’ll be late.”

“Oh dear, we wouldn’t want that,” Maria suddenly looks worried. “We’ll lead you to the dining room. His Highness should already be waiting.”

“I guess I shouldn’t keep him waiting, then,” you joke as you three move to exit the room.

You fail to notice the brief glance the two of them share as Greta says, “no, you really shouldn’t.”

Without another word, you all make your way down the hallway, them leading you to where Jaehyun has instructed them to meet him. As he hears you approaching, a small smile tugs at his lips. He can’t wait to start his forever with you, and today is day one.

“Ready for lunch?” He asks, turning around just as you walk up to him.

You nod, humming your eagerness. You can’t wait to see what they decide to serve to eat, you are in a palace after all. Besides, the company is wonderful so far, and you really want to get to know him better.

Lunch with Jaehyun passes by far too quickly for either of your likings, and before you know it, you’re both finished. To say that you enjoy your time with him would be an understatement. Not only was the food delicious, but you also got to do what you wanted and get to know him better. One thing you know for sure, is that he has a beautiful smile, of which you hope to see more of. Plus, he’s got the cutest dimples you’ve ever seen.

After lunch, he gives you a tour of the castle, and once again, your breath is stolen from your lungs. The whole time you spend admiring the architecture, Jaehyun spends admiring you. His dead heart races in his chest every time he looks over to see that awestruck expression on your face. You’re so beautiful, and the fact that you’re admiring everything he shows you so far, along with how grateful you’ve been towards him, assures him that he’s made the best choice in choosing you as his fiancée.

Every so often, his hand will brush against your own as he walks with you through the castle. You cannot help the rush you feel each time he does this, his touch both innocent and teasing at the same time. Each brush only makes a subtle smirk pull at his own lips, knowing he already has such an effect on you.

All too soon, the afternoon comes to an end and he’s leading you back to your room for the evening. He’s told you that you’ll more than likely be meeting his mother tomorrow, so you should get as much rest as you can, considering how hectic the day has been for you.

“If you ever need me, I’m just down the hallway to your left,” he tells you, of which you find yourself nodding in response. “If an emergency ever arises, come and get me. No matter the time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, lips twitching upwards in a half smile. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he returns your smile. “I’ll always be here for you.”

By now, the two of you have stopped just outside of your bedroom door. You stare deeply into his eyes, and you can see the sincerity reflected in them. Your lips part slightly as you take a small step backwards as he continues to stare intensely at you, almost as if he’s in a daze.

Before you know it, he’s blinking as if to clear his head while clearing his throat, “well, I’ve got a few things to attend to before dinner. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat for then. In the meantime, feel free to do whatever you’d like, just let Maria know where you’ll be.”

“Sounds good,” you smile once more.

“See you later, Princess,” he grins, grabbing your hand in order to place a gentle kiss onto the back of it, successfully making your face warm. Without another word, he takes his leave. 

Watching his figure disappear down the hallway, you let out a blissful sigh. Lunch was enjoyable, and you can’t wait to see what else he has in store for you. Not only that, but you can’t wait to further explore the castle and find your favourite spots. Hopefully you can find a little nook to read some of the books from the massive library that caught your eye while you explored with Jaehyun.

Entering your room, you bite your lip. The only thing you’re particularly nervous about would be meeting his mother. Based off of what he’s told you about her so far, she can be very picky about mannerisms, and it can be difficult for anyone new to impress her. Maybe that’s what Minho meant by no one new has come to the palace for a long time. You just hope you can make a good impression, or at least good enough for her to at least tolerate you. After all, if you’re to marry her son, having her like you would be a huge success.

“You okay there?” Maria’s voice manages to pull you out of your own thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you reply absentmindedly, walking further into the room as the door falls shut. Your brow furrows slightly as you notice Greta isn’t with her this time. “Where’s Greta?”

Maria stiffens ever so slightly, “she has this afternoon and evening off.”

“Ah, makes sense,” you nod, moving to sit on your bed.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Miss?” She asks politely.

“Not at the moment, thank you,” you shoot her a grateful smile. “I think I might just nap, I am a bit sleepy.”

“Alright, well, I’ll help you change,” 

“No need, I can do it myself,”

“No, please, I insist,” she’s already begun to move around your room and grabs a fresh set of clothes for you to change into. “After all, it’s what I’m here for.”

“Well, okay,” you sigh softly, allowing Maria to help you change.

Once done, the two of you just sit together in your room talking about anything and everything. She tells you that her family has always served the Jung’s for as long as she can remember, but she doesn’t mind it here. Apparently, the job pays really well, and they get ample time off.

Before you know it, there is a knock on your door and another servant is there holding a tray for you piled high with plates containing your evening meal. You thank them and move to take the tray from their hands, but they insist on putting it down for you. They set everything up for you on the table in your room before bowing respectively and leaving you to your own with Maria still patiently standing off to the side.

Sitting back down, your eyes rake over the food now resting in front of you. This is one of your favourite meals, but Jaehyun couldn’t possibly know that. Could he?

“The Prince made special preparations for you before you came,” Maria says, noticing your stare.

“This is my favourite dish,” you comment.

“I take it everything is to your liking, then?” She smiles.

“Of course, but I still don’t understand how he knows this is my favourite dish,” you say.

“If I’m not mistaken, I believe he was informed by your mother,”

“He’s talked with my mom?” Your eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“Oh, I mean, Minho was told by your mother, who in turn told Prince Jaehyun when he got back to the palace today,” Maria is quick to correct herself.

“Ah, I see,” you turn back to the food spread out in front of you. “Oh my! Where are my manners? Would you like anything?”

Maria almost looks caught off guard by your offer of sharing your food with her, “oh, no, thank you! I couldn’t.”

“Nonsense,” you shake your head, pushing one of the many side dishes over to her. “I don’t like eating alone, anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice is hesitant, gnawing her bottom lip in worry.

“Of course,” you confirm. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“Thank you, Miss,” she graciously accepts the dish, grabbing a set of utensils to join you in eating.

You simply smile at her in response, happy to be sharing your favourite meal with someone else. Her presence brings you comfort in this still unfamiliar place, of which you know will take some getting used to, despite the tour you took today. After all, you are alone, and far from home.

Meanwhile, Jaehyun paces in his study. He sent Minho to gather Greta for him just before you came to meet him downstairs for lunch that day. He overheard what she told you, and to say he was not impressed would be an understatement. Is she trying to make him look bad in front of you? No matter, he’ll dispose of the problem soon enough.

“Minho, I still don’t understand what’s going on-“ Greta’s voice gets caught in her throat once she is escorted inside the study to see Jaehyun now leaning against his desk with his arms crossed.

“Your Highness,” she bows respectively. “How may I be of service to you?”

“I have a favour to ask of you, Greta,” the way he says her name sends a shiver of fear running down her spine: full of venom and malice.

“Y-yes, sir, what is it?” Her blood is rushing through her. She’s heard of the Prince’s famous glare but never having been on the receiving end, there’s nothing that could have prepared her for the look of bloodlust in his eyes that came about so suddenly.

“I want you to run, Greta,” he pushes himself off the edge the desk, staring directly into her eyes, “and run far.”

A gasp escapes her lips. He heard.

“Well?” He hums, tauntingly, amusement shining in his eyes as he stares at her now trembling form. “What are you waiting for? That’s an order.”

With a shaky nod from her, she’s bustling out of the room and down the hallway. He can still hear the sound of her racing heart even after she makes it to the floor below him.

The malicious grin never leaves his lips as he begins to make his way out of his study. Currently, he is a predator stalking their prey. This’ll be fun, he hasn’t had to chase his prey in a while, and he cannot wait to tear into her throat. How dare she even suggest that you run from him. He would never hurt you. 

Anyone else, on the other hand? Fair game.

“Are you really sure this is necessary, my Prince?” Minho nervously watches Jaehyun as he passes through the doorway into the hall.

“Of course,” Jaehyun smiles, but it only serves to unnerve Minho as Jaehyun’s eyes flash red in the next moment. “She nearly lost me what is mine.”

In the blink of an eye, Jaehyun is gone from his sight, and Minho can only breathe a sigh of relief that he’s left unharmed this evening. Once Jaehyun sets his mind to something, there is no changing it. No one can stop him when he’s on a warpath, and Minho is just glad that he isn’t on the receiving end of one of the Prince’s violent episodes.

It takes Jaehyun mere seconds to catch up with Greta, who has been able to make it into the grand foyer before the main doors. He slams her against the wall, hearing a few of her bones fracture due to the impact. Her whimpers and pleas for her own life fall on deaf ears, even as more servants shuffle passed. They all know not to get involved, lest they want to suffer the same fate as Greta. Too many have learned that the hard way.

The last thing she sees is Jaehyun’s malicious smirk, fangs on full display as he tears into her throat. Once he’s sure she’s dead, he tosses her body aside, letting the blood spill over the floor. He spits the chunk of her neck he has in his mouth onto her body, a look of pure disgust on his face as he glares down at her corpse.

“Somebody clean this mess up,” he snarls out as he turns his back to her body. The others are frozen in fear, but his growl manages to have a few snapping immediately to their senses and rushing over to Greta’s dead body. “Now!”

He doesn’t stick around to see if they remove her or not, opting to head straight to his room for the evening. He wants to see you again, but he knows that it might be too soon. Besides, with his emotions heightened at the moment, he would potentially be putting you in danger. At least he’ll still be able to smell your scent, and hear whatever it is that you’re doing. That’s enough for him, for now.

A smile tugs at his lips as he faintly hears you conversing with Maria about something that happened to you during your childhood. He knew placing Maria with you as your personal assistant would be a good idea. Greta was his mother’s choice, and he had a feeling she was going to be nothing but a nuisance for him. Nothing is going to get in his way of winning your heart. Nothing. Everything has to go according to plan.

The following morning, he does a brief check of the front foyer to make sure everything has been cleaned properly, and that nothing remains of the events of that previous evening. The last thing he wants is for you to see something like that. Seeing that it’s been cleared of any evidence, he smiles, making his way back upstairs to finally greet you for the day.

To be quite honest, he is a little nervous himself for you to meet his mother. She didn’t exactly approve of him essentially stalking you, what he just calls taking a keen interest in making sure you’re doing alright. If Greta was any indication of how his mother will act, he knows she’ll probably devise a plan to take you away from him, or worse, make you afraid of him. After all, she knows exactly how her son can be.

Knocking gently on your door, he can hear your soft footfalls as you walk closer to him. He can’t wait to see you, and when you open the door to reveal yourself he most certainly is not disappointed with what he sees. How you look more beautiful every time he sees you is a mystery to him. One thing he knows for sure though, is that you’ve enchanted him since the moment he first laid eyes on you.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he smiles, noticing how you react positively to his words.

“Good morning,” you greet back politely, a small smile gracing your own features.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, noticing Maria has already remade your bed.

“Quite,” you nod, smile only widening as you look at him. “Did you?”

“I did indeed,” he hums in response, though he would have slept better if you were in his arms. “Are you ready for today?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you let out a nervous chuckle as you step into the hallway, closing the door gently behind you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you the whole time,” he assures you, extending his arm out for you to loop yours with his. “Let’s get going.”

“Yes, let’s,” you hum back, taking his arm as you begin to walk down the hallway. “Any advice for me before we meet you mother?”

“Just be your usual charming self, and I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he squeezes your arm slightly, causing you to look over to already see him smiling at you.

You say nothing but choose to nod in understanding. You just hope your usual charming self doesn’t do or say anything that might embarrass you.

The two of you make idle chat as you make your way to the throne room to meet his mother. He manages to make you laugh, loosening your tense shoulders slightly as you relax the more he’s able to distract you. The whole time, he observes you fondly, glad to know that he can ease your nerves slightly, even if you’ve only officially known each other for a day. If only he could help you to relax in any and every other way he knows how.

All too soon, you’ve arrived just outside the doors to the throne room. Minho already stands waiting outside the grand set of double doors for the two of you, announcing your arrival to the queen as the doors part for you to walk through. 

Your heart races in your chest, nerves momentarily returning as you’re faced with the task at hand. This is one of the most important moments in your mind, for if his mother doesn’t approve of you, you do not know what will happen. That being said, you want to make sure to make the best impression you can on his mother, no matter what happens.

Walking into the room, you see his mother already sitting on her throne, watching the two of you as you approach where she is seated. Her gaze is scrutinizing, though it seems as if she’s watching he son more closely than she’s watching you. A fact which confuses you slightly since you would have assumed she would be more interested in how you hold yourself around her son rather than how her son holds himself around you. However this may be, you’re only grateful for the momentary relief you feel as you finally stop just before her throne.

“Mother, I’d like to formally introduce you to the woman whom I’d like to become my betrothed,” Jaehyun introduces you, telling her your name shortly after.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” you say, bowing politely in introduction to the queen.

“Please, Your Majesty sounds so formal,” the queen waves her hand slightly in the air as if dismissing the remark before leaning forwards slightly in her throne, “call me Cathy.”

“Huh,” you muse, “like mother, like son.”

“Oh?” Cathy’s amusement is clear on her face as she looks from Jaehyun over to you.

“Yes,” you confirm. “It seems not liking titles runs in the family. Jaehyun’s also told me to call him by his name instead of his title.”

“Has he now?” Cathy leans back, eyeing her son suspiciously. That’s very unlike her son, as he only ever allows people to call him by his title, no matter who they may be. You must be important to him then, a fact which only causes her worry for you to grow. None of her son’s other playthings ever got to address him by his first name. “And has he been treating you alright so far?”

Jaehyun’s eyes narrow ever so subtly at his mother, for he knows what game she’s playing. Like hell she’ll catch him slipping up.

“He’s been nothing but a gentleman since I’ve arrived,” you respond, and if your words don’t fill his chest with pride, nothing else will. He can hardly wait for you to see what else he has in store for you.

“I see,” she hums, placing her hands gracefully in her lap.

“I’d also just like to thank you very much for your hospitality, and for letting me stay at the palace during this time,” you bow deeply once more. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sweetie,” she smiles. “Anything for the one my little Jaehyunnie has been so obsessed with lately.”

“Mother,” Jaehyun’s reaction is a warning to her, but to you it just sounds like a boy being embarrassed by his mom.

You giggle, and normally he would think it’s the sweetest sound, if not for the circumstances. “So I’ve heard.”

“Ah, I see,” Cathy grins. “He’s already told you all about how he-“

“Are you quite content, mother?” Jaehyun interrupts, eyes flashing his warning towards Cathy who only appears to be amused at his antics.

“Oh, indeed,” she smiles back, though you fail to register the malice hidden behind her lips. “I was only hoping to be joined by Miss (Y/n) here for some morning beverages. I’d love to get to know her better, if she’s alright with that, of course.”

Before Jaehyun can even respond, you’re already speaking, “I’d love that.”

“Excellent!” His mother stands, descending the stairs and coming to stand before you. Having her this close really makes you realize the amount of power and regality she possesses. She extends her hand out for you to take. “If you’d be so kind as to join me.”

“Of course! Thank you,” you take her hand, allowing her to lead you out of the throne room as your arm slips out of Jaehyun’s grasp. With one final glance back, you see Jaehyun already staring after you, an unreadable expression on his face.

Turning back around, you notice Cathy leading you towards the gardens. Once outside, you see a nice table already set up facing the fountain, some of the finest cups and plates already set on top. Letting go of your hand, she motions for you to sit with her, a servant already pouring what looks like a steaming cup of tea for each of you.

“Thank you,” you repeat your words from earlier once you’re seated, graciously accepting the cup that is handed to you.

“I’m so glad you could join me this morning for a little girl talk,” she smiles, tilting her own cup in your direction in a mock ‘cheers’ gesture, of which you mirror.

“It’s nice to be invited,” you reply, taking a sip of your drink.

“I want you to know that you can come to me for anything, dear,” she says, looking you directly in your eyes and you’re momentarily stunned by how sincere she looks. “Absolutely anything.”

“Oh my,” you blink a few times in surprise, “that’s awfully kind of you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” her gaze lessens in intensity, allowing for your shoulders to relax slightly, not that you had even been aware of tensing them. “I know how my son can be, so your safety and happiness is my number one priority.”

“Thank you,” is all you can say, and you’re starting to feel like a broken record, but you truly are grateful for her words. Though, you don’t quite know exactly what she means by her most recent ones. Jaehyun, to you, seems like a really nice, caring guy, so the knowing look she sends you when she says that only serves to confuse you. Besides, she seems a lot nicer than what Jaehyun had made her out to be, of which you find a bit strange. Perhaps she’s just putting up a nice front for your sake at the moment. Either way, you’ll make sure not to do anything that would warrant her to dislike you.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Cathy sips her tea, leaning back in her seat to get comfortable as she watches you.

The rest of the morning is spent with the queen, getting a feel for each other and learning all about the other. She listens intently to everything you have to say and she looks genuinely so intrigued by you. The more time you spend with her, the more you seem to relax around her. She’s nothing like how Jaehyun described, which only makes you believe that that’s his familial side talking. Perhaps they’re not as close as the media makes them out to be.

By the time lunch rolls around, you find yourself eating alongside the Queen in the dining room, Jaehyun nowhere to be seen. Noticing your curious gaze, she mentions that he has some diplomatic council meeting to attend to, but he’ll probably be joining you for dinner that evening. You simply nod in response, continuing on with your conversation with the Queen.

Another hour passes with you spending time with Cathy, and the both of you enjoy this so much that you plan to make your little girl talk a weekly thing. You end up leaving with a smile on your face, as if a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders as you head back to your room. Honestly, you cannot wait for next week to be able to spend more time with the Queen, as she’s nothing at all like you were expecting. It’ll be nice to have another person that you can consider a friend while you’re staying here.

Making it back to your room, you’re greeted by Maria who seems to have been patiently waiting for your return. She asks you how your day has been so far, and you tell her honestly that you had a lovely morning with the Queen. 

“I’m a little surprised though,” you admit.

“Why’s that?” She asks, brow furrowing in slight concern.

“Jaehyun told me that she was a hard woman to please,”

“Really?” Her voice comes out in mild disbelief. From what she knows of the Queen, she’s a lovely person through and through. The Prince on the other hand… though she would never tell you that. Not that she could without risk of losing her life and everything she holds dear.

“Still, I’m glad we made such a connection today,” you smile. “That’s good, right? Getting his mom to like me is a step in a positive direction.”

“Of course, Miss,” Maria returns your smile, though it seems a bit forced. She has to be extra careful around you now with how she acts and what she says, after all, by now, every servant in the castle has heard of what happened to Greta last night.

“By the way, how’s Greta doing? I haven’t seen her since yesterday,” you wonder aloud, almost missing the way Maria’s shoulders seem to tense at the inquiry.

“Oh, uh, about that,” Maria says, eyes shifting nervously around the room. She’s just grateful she’s facing away from you at the moment. “Greta took a vacation to go visit her family, so she won’t be back for a while.”

“Ah, I see,” you hum. “That’s nice, hopefully she has a lovely time with her family.”

If only you knew what kind of condition she was in when her body was sent back to her family. Maybe then you would have heeded her warnings.

“Yeah,” Maria replies, somewhat breathless. “Hopefully.”

The next few weeks pass by in a blur for you, each day bringing about a new adventure with Jaehyun. So far, he makes you very happy, and you’re beginning to settle into things at the castle. You especially look forward to the weekly girl talk dates with Cathy, of which she’s asked you to start calling her ‘mom’. Each time she does, you smile shyly and your heart warms, though when you told Jaehyun, he seemed quite shocked.

You’ve also discovered that some of the servants are humans and others are vampires, which was a bit of a surprise to you since you thought all of the servants were humans. At least most of the one’s you’ve encountered so far are. They’ve all been super nice to you, except for the odd one that either looks at you with pity or worry in their eyes. A few even go so far as to attempt to warn you against something, but Jaehyun always appears before they can finish whatever it is that they have to tell you. Whenever this happens, you can never understand the fear that seems to take hold of their body, eyes pleadingly looking towards Jaehyun. Oddly enough, you usually never encounter them again, only hearing brief mention of their names from passing servants.

Of course Jaehyun won’t tell you the amount of teeth he’s pulled, eyes he’s gouged out, or even tongues he’s cut off because of this. No, never. He always has to be the perfect prince in your eyes, keeping you blind to everything that might scare you away from him.

What really sets him off one day is when the two of you had just come back from riding your horses through the grounds. The stable hand, Shotaro, had given you a hand helping you off of your horse. Instead of Jaehyun being the one to help you, he was forced to watch as another male held your hand delicately and smiled at you softly.

Having had a few previous interactions with the vampiric stable hand, you thought nothing of this. A simple friendly gesture to you was near treason in Jaehyun’s eyes. Only he should be able to touch you like that. How else is he supposed to charm you and show you how much of a gentleman he can be towards you? How he can provide for you, even in the most basic of ways?

Luckily, Maria was waiting to lead you back to the castle in order for your weekly girl talk with the Queen. Using this opportunity as you’re walking away, Jaehyun rounds on Shotaro, already seeing the vampire visibly stiffen at the deathly gaze that is sent his way. In the blink of an eye, Jaehyun is in front of him, grasping the same hand Shotaro used to help you down from the horse.

“Scream, and I will end you,” Jaehyun seethes, not giving a second thought as he crushes Shotaro’s hand in his grip, hearing the bones snapping beneath the pressure. The tears he sees threatening to fall from this pest’s eyes only serve to widen the sadistic smile on Jaehyun’s face. “If you ever touch what’s mine again, your hand won’t be the only part of you I shatter. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, my Prince,” Shotaro stutters out, fear pouring off of him from every angle.

“Now, you better go get that hand of yours fixed up,” Jaehyun tilts his head slightly, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “We wouldn’t want any bones to set and start healing in the wrong place, now would we?”

“N-no, my Prince,” he shakes his head, clutching his broken hand to his chest as soon as Jaehyun releases his grip.

“Good,” Jaehyun hums, a dark expression taking over his features. “Now, get out of my sight.”

Immediately, Shotaro flees the scene, fearing the Prince might inflict more of his wrath upon him. How you haven’t noticed Jaehyun’s eccentric behaviour yet is a mystery. Then again, he purposely keeps you blind to everything bad about his personality, only willing to show you the good parts. Those good parts which are only reserved for you.

Meanwhile, you have just been softly conversing with Maria as she walks with you back up to the castle from the stables. It’s then that you realize that you’ve been walking alone with her for the past two minutes, causing your brow to furrow slightly.

“Where’s Jaehyun?” You verbalize your thoughts, and just as you’re about to turn around to look for him, you feel his comforting hand on the small of your back.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I had to check up on something back at the stables,” his smile is dazzling and you can’t help but nod your head in understanding as you smile back at him.

Naturally, your arm slides around his, the two of you walking comfortably back into the castle with Maria at your heels. Soon enough, the two of you enter the throne room, a large smile breaking out onto your features as you greet the Queen. A smile which Jaehyun wants only for himself.

“Are you finally going to join us today, Jaehyunnie?” Cathy asks, standing from her seat and making her way towards the two of you.

“Oh, I’d love that,” you look towards him with a hopeful expression, eyes wide.

“Not today, unfortunately,” the look you’re giving him almost makes him change his mind immediately, the pout causing him to gently cup your cheek in his hand, running his thumb over your skin. “Maybe next time.”

“Alright,” you sigh, slightly disappointed. You love spending time with him, almost as much as he does with you. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he smiles, placing a gentle kiss onto your forehead as he reluctantly steps aways from you, only to see his mother observing him carefully. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Okay,” you respond, eyes following his figure as he turns and walks out of the room, gaze lingering ever so slightly on the doors even after they’ve closed behind him.

“Ready to go, dear?” Cathy’s voice manages to pull you out of your daze, you nodding in the next moment and following her out into the gardens for your weekly girl talk session.

The afternoon passes with the two of you conversing about how you’re liking staying at the palace so far. You tell her honestly that you’re having a wonderful time, and that everyone seems so nice, except for the odd few who seem to avoid you like the plague. She seemed to only hum in response at that, though you’re not quite sure why.

“How’s your family? Have you been writing to them like I suggested?” Cathy sips her drink, looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, I completely forgot,” you meant to send them a letter last week after she had suggested it, but you got caught up in the plans Jaehyun had made in the afternoon that you forgot all about it. Besides, he didn’t quite look too enthused when you mentioned writing to them, but that could just be your faulty memory. “I should write them today, I do miss them greatly.”

“Would you like to visit them?”

“I’d love to,” you smile softly, not believing it to be possible. “But-“

“Excellent! I’ll make arrangements for you to visit them tomorrow,” Cathy interjects, a chipper expression on her face.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” at this point you know not to question her decisions.

“Nonsense,” she places her hand gently on top of yours which has been resting on the table between the two of you. “It’s the least I can do. After all, with how much you talk about your family, I can tell they’re important to you.”

“They are,” you confirm, looking over to meet her fond gaze.

“You have a kind heart, (Y/n),” she hums, shifting her gaze to look out over the garden. “Guard it well.”

You can only smile in return, thoughts running wild as to you finally being able to go visit your mother and your sister since you first arrived at the palace two months ago. Finally, you’ll be able to catch up with them and tell them all about what’s been going on in your life. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can introduce Jaehyun to them as well.

That evening, after Jaehyun has bid you a goodnight, he storms into his mother’s chambers. Throwing the doors open, a loud bang reverberates throughout the room, a few passing servants looking on in fear. Sending a dangerous look their way, Jaehyun manages to scare them off before rounding on his mother.

“You promised to let her see her family tomorrow?” He seethes, voice booming as there’s no fear you may overhear. After all, your room is all the way on the opposite side of the castle.

“Oh, Jaehyunnie, what a pleasant surprise for you to drop by to finally come visit your dear mother,” she feigns interest, sparing him a side glance before going back to her nightly routine.

“Spare the small talk, mother,” he spits, brows furrowed in anger. “Why would you do something like this?”

“Are you that obsessed with isolating the poor girl?” Cathy hums, tilting her head questioningly at her son. “She needs to socialize with other people, she can’t just stay around you the whole time.”

“I’m the only one she needs,” his voice is low, a growl threatening to rise up his throat. “The only one she’ll ever need.”

“You do not own her,”

“I know,” he snaps. “I’ve worked too damn hard to let her go now.”

“You have a lot to realize before you should even think about calling her yours,” Cathy states, hearing her son let out the growl that he had been holding back this whole time. She only looks amused by his reaction. “You cannot control her.”

“Everything’s gone according to plan thus far,” he retorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Besides a few minor set backs which have been disposed of.”

“Ah, yes,” she muses. “I’d appreciate if you stopped mutilating my servants, let alone killing them.”

“It’s no less than they deserve,” he counters.

“And what does your beloved think about that side of you?”

A brief moment of silence settles around the room, speaking volumes in Cathy’s eyes, until he breaks it.

“She doesn’t know,” Jaehyun watches his mother move around her room carefully, eyes narrowed in distaste. “She never will."

“My child, there will come a day when her eyes are opened to see your true colours,” Cathy warns, pausing in her step to turn and look down upon Jaehyun with her nose upturned. 

“Is that a threat, mother?” His eyes hold a crazed look in them at the mere idea of you finding out the truth. Hell, even the thought of you being taken away from him sets his instincts into overdrive, causing his eyes to bleed red and another growl to escape his throat.

“It’s not a threat if I only speak the truth,” she replies calmly, only causing his anger to flare more than it already has. “Do not expect her to return with you after visiting her family tomorrow. I have been keeping in touch with them regarding this entire situation and they know the lengths you are willing to go to ensnare her. The lengths you have already gone. I don’t know what you told Minho to tell her mother that first day that has her so terrified of the consequences, but her sister, Lori, was it? She seems to have a level head on her shoulders.”

Jaehyun’s blood boils, eyes filling with fury as they remain red, “you’ve been doing what?”

“Warning them about you and devising a plan to free the lovely Miss (Y/n) from your clutches,” her brow quirks as she watches her son fume before her very eyes. 

“I’ll kill them if they so much as even try,” he hisses, chest heaving with every breath as he is thrown into this situation. He’s come this far, there’s no way he’s letting you go now.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Cathy’s voice is steady, firm in her command of the room. “Enough blood has already been spilt on your account.”

“Clearly, there hasn’t been enough,” Jaehyun growls, eye flashing once more at his mother.

Rising to her full height, the Queen does not take the underlying threat from her son lightly, “you dare threaten me? Let’s not forget who brought you into this world and who taught you all that you know. Be careful, boy, lest your ambitious lust go to your head.”

“I don’t care who you may be to me, mother,” he seethes, straightening his back and matching her ferocity with his own, “but if you so much as even attempt to take what’s mine away from me, I’ll kill you.”

Without another word between them, Jaehyun is storming out of his mother’s room, leaving her standing with a shocked expression on her face. Never, in all of her long years of putting up with his antics has she ever seen him look this serious, this deadly about something in her life. Her worry only grows for you as she thinks of what he may have in store for you in the future. Going forward, she’ll have to be extra cautious, preparing herself for whatever her son has planned to come.

The next morning, you wake up bright and early, excited to finally go visit your family again after being away from them for so long. You hardly got any sleep at all last night, considering how excited you are. Being able to catch them up to everything going on in your life will be like a dream come true, and besides, you never did get your clothes from your mom that she promised to send to the palace, and you really miss your favourite sweater.

“You’re awfully happy this morning,” Maria comments as she does your hair for the day.

“I am,” you agree. “I haven’t seen my family in months and I can’t wait to introduce them to Jaehyun.”

“That’ll be lovely!” Maria replies, though you catch her grimace in the mirror.

“What is it?” You question, eyes wide with concern.

“Nothing to worry yourself about,” she tells you, shrugging off your inquiries.

“Clearly it’s something,” you counter, to which she sighs.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the Prince will not be joining you right away this morning,” Maria admits, to which your expression drops slightly.

“Oh,”

“But don’t worry! He told me to tell you that he’d be along as soon as he can,” Maria continues, giving your shoulders a quick rub in encouragement. “He just has a few things to tend to first. You know, political duties and such.”

“I understand,” you nod, still visibly disappointed you won’t be arriving at the same time, nor travelling together this morning.

“Come on, dear, let’s get you changed,” she gives your shoulders one final pat before leading you to the closet to finish getting you ready for the day.

After a quick breakfast with the Queen, you’re being ushered into the back of a car to head back home for the day. The whole car ride over feels like an eternity, the scenery not being able to distract you one bit. 

Restless wouldn’t even begin to be able to describe you, your eyes flitting everywhere inside the car, then out the window, only to repeat the same process over and over again. Even your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing in anticipation, fingers toying with the edge of your shirt just to have something to do.

Eventually, after what feels like hours to you, you arrive in a familiar neighbourhood. Once the car is parked, you step out onto a familiar driveway, a smile gracing your features as you breathe in the fresh air. The driver has only been instructed to drop you off since Jaehyun will be by later, accompanied by Minho to take you back to the palace. Once he sees you’re safe, he’s starting the engine once more and pulling out of the driveway. This way you can have some privacy before the Prince arrives. Cathy made sure of that.

Making your way up your front porch, there’s a slight spring to your step, pushing open the front door in the next moment and calling out a cheerful ‘I’m home’! Oh, how good it feels, too.

“(Y/n)?” You hear your mother’s voice sound from the kitchen before her head is peeking out from the doorway, eyes wide with disbelief. “Is that you?”

“Hey, mom,” you greet, kicking off your shoes and running over to embrace her, her arms already spread open in anticipation.

“It’s so good to see you again, sweetie,” she says, hugging you even closer than before, almost as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear in a moment’s notice. “When the queen sent notice last night of you coming to visit this morning, I could hardly believe it.”

“More like you couldn’t believe it,” Lori’s voice sounds from the entranceway behind you, causing a large grin to spread on your face as you turn around to face your younger sister. “Where’s the Prince? I’m surprised you two aren’t joined at the hip.”

You roll you eyes at this, “it’s lovely to see you, too, Lori. I’ve missed you so much.”

She merely sticks her tongue out at you in response, coming over to squish you in a hug in the next second. “Yeah, yeah, I missed you, too.”

Despite her grumbling, you can tell she means what she says, if the tightness of her hug is anything to go by. You can tell she’s also missed teasing you, just as you’ve missed teasing her.

“If you must know,” you say, pulling away from Lori after a long hug. “Jaehyun will be coming by later, he’s just got a few things to attend to first. He sends his regards, though, for the time being.”

“Wow, first name basis with the Prince,” Lori whistles lowly. “That’s a shocker considering I’ve heard that he doesn’t let just anyone call him that.”

“Lori,” your mother shoots a warning look at your sister.

“What? It’s the truth,” she shrugs, only causing you to chuckle.

“Well, we are pretty close,”

“I’ll say,” Lori hums. “Speaking of, has he ever told you why he chose you, or how he even found out about you in the first place?”

“Lori, my word,” your mother shoots her another look, as if to tell her to quit while she’s ahead.

“Mom, it’s okay,” you chuckle, voice nothing but reassuring. “I always knew my little sister was concerned for me, no matter how badly she tries to hide it. As a matter of fact, yes. I have asked him before.”

“And?” She motions with her hand for you to continue.

“He told me that one day while he was out he saw me and overheard the conversation I was having with Jaemin - remember how we always banter back and forth?” Seeing her nod, you continue, “anyways, he apparently appreciated my wit and humour and decided to learn more about me. Well, here we are.”

The smile you send your mother and sister only serves to unnerve them slightly. They’ve been told not to tell you that Jaemin has gone missing since you’ve left for the palace.

“You believe him?” Lori gives you a ‘really’ look, brow quirked in disbelief.

“I have no reason not to,” you shrug.

By now, the two of you have sat down at the kitchen table, your mother busy with preparing lunch for all of you.

“You know how crazy that sounds, though, right?” She goes on to say. “After eavesdropping on your conversation he suddenly wants you to move to the palace so he can make you his wife? That’s very strange.”

“I mean, I was a little weirded out at first, but after he explained himself I felt better,” you say, leaning back slightly in your chair in order to relax. “I trust him.”

At your words, Lori only seems even more suspicious, your mother distracting you long enough for her to hide her concern.

“That’s nice, dear,” she smiles at you. “You must really like him, then.”

You hum in agreement, “I really do.”

“So,” your mother begins, sitting down to join you two at the table as the food heats up on the stove, “tell us everything.”

It takes you about an hour and a half to explain everything that’s happened to you since your arrival at the castle all those weeks ago. The whole while, your mother and sister listen patiently to what you have to say, chiming in here and there with little comments of their own. Your mother seems happy for you, but you can tell your sister isn’t all that convinced. Her comment about the Prince not being everything he seems to be certainly is enough to rub you the wrong way, putting a slight damper on your mood the longer you spend at home.

“All I’m just saying is that he seems too nice, from what you’re telling me,” her eyes hold the same suspicion you can hear clearly in her voice.

“He’s given me no reason to suspect otherwise,” you counter, a slight furrow to your brows.

“Yet he’s never once suggested visiting us, and when you do, he’s nowhere to be found,” Lori quirks a brow at you.

“It’s not his fault he has duties to attend to,” you defend him, upset that your sister doesn’t seem nearly as happy for you as you thought she’d be.

“Does he always have ‘duties’ to attend to when there’s something you want to do?” A knowing look is sent your way, as if she already knows how you’re going to answer. “If you’re always alone there, then why don’t you just come home? It sounds to me like you’d be better off that way, anyways.”

“No!” You immediately counter, crossing your arms in front of your chest, hurt that your own sister would even suggest something like this. “That’s not the case. He’s been nothing but caring and respectful towards me since I got there. I don’t expect him to wait on me hand and foot all the goddamn time. It’s nice having some space every once in a while, too.” You can tell you’ve momentarily stunned her with your answer as she looks at you, dumbfounded. Taking this opportunity, you continue, “if all you’re going to do is shit on my happiness, then I won’t bother to come home at all. I care about him and I know he cares about me, and all you’re doing is making your jealousy clear. I don’t want to move back home, I want to stay with him. I-“ you swallow, gathering your courage to utter your next words, “I’m in love with him.”

A soft gasp leaves your mother’s lips, “sweetie.”

“What?” You turn your attention to look at her, noticing how she’s already staring at you with an unreadable expression on her face, your sister sitting frozen in her spot at your admission.

“You love him,” comes your sister’s voice. Not a question, but a mere statement of facts, of which causes you to gape slightly before closing your mouth and steadying yourself. You let out a breath that you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I do,” you confirm, staring both women down as they stare back at you. Your mother with a dumbfounded expression, your sister with a stern gaze that feels as if it’s boring into your soul.

A moment of silence passes over the three of you as they let your confession sink in, only interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” your mother sighs, heading towards the front door to see who it could be.

“He has you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?” Lori sighs, causing whatever last thread of patience you had to snap at her remark.

Your snappy retort dies in your throat as soon as you hear a familiar masculine voice coming from the front door, Jaehyun politely introducing himself to your mother after being invited inside.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Lori mutters, shaking her head.

In an instant, you’re standing, the scraping of your chair against the floor enough to cause Lori to look up at you in surprise at the sudden action. You say nothing as you head out of the kitchen and towards the front door, Lori following shortly afterwards with a frown prominent on her face.

To everyone’s surprise, you start to slip on your shoes. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Minho shoot you a worried look while your mother and sister share a glance. However, none look as concerned as Jaehyun does right now.

“Is everything alright?” He asks lowly, hand finding purchase on your lower back as you right yourself after fixing your one shoe.

“Fine,” you respond shortly, to the surprise of everyone in the room. “Thanks for lunch, mom. It was really nice seeing you again.”

You move over to give her a brief hug. It takes her a moment to return it, unsure of what exactly has transpired in the past minute to have you rushing out of the door so soon. You seemed so excited for them to meet the Prince earlier, so this only serves to increase her worry.

“Of course, dear,” she answers. “Is everything okay?”

You pull away, giving her a tight smile, “just a bad headache, is all.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to lie down for a bit? You just got here,” she frowns, worry evident on her features along with a hint of what looks like sadness.

“I’m sure,” you reply, sending her a weak smile in return. 

One thing you’ve always been horrible at is hiding your emotions. Anyone can read them clear as day on your face, especially right now. That’s one thing Jaehyun has learned about you during your stay at the palace, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t find out what happened. For now, he’ll simply go along with your wishes, playing the part of the concerned lover. Good thing, too, otherwise if a moment longer had passed, he probably would have torn Lori’s head from her shoulders for causing you such distress.

Even though he’s only just entered the house, he’s been outside far longer than any of you have suspected. Of course he overheard what the three of you had been talking about, and your family’s attitudes certainly rubbed him the wrong way. He knows his own mother definitely has something to do with the way Lori is acting. Thank fuck she won’t be a problem any more.

The only good thing his mind has latched onto at the moment is your loving confession. He has to remind himself to stay in control of his emotions for the time being, lest he want his plans to be ruined. After all, things are going far better than he could have ever hoped on this end.

“Okay, sweetie, if you’re sure,” even though she doesn’t look convinced, she doesn’t push the issue. “Come and visit again soon!”

“We will,” you give her another small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Giving one final nod to your mother, you hardly even spare Lori a final glance as you bid her farewell, the both of them waving goodbye to you from the front porch. Once seated in the backseat of the car beside Jaehyun, you let out a sigh.

“Is everything okay, Princess?” His voice holds nothing but concern as he motions for Minho to raise the privacy screen.

You finally meet his gaze, and he curses whoever was the one to cause you pain, “honestly, not really.”

He shifts closer, placing a comforting hand on your knee, “did you want to talk about it?”

A few moments pass by in silence as you attempt to calm yourself down. Taking a deep breath, you meet his gaze once more.

“She called you a devil,” he inhales sharply at your words, feigning shock. “And I know how much you hate that word, let alone being called such a thing. I just couldn’t sit there and listen to any more of Lori’s bullshit slander of you.”

“I see,” he says, lips tugging downwards in a frown. On the inside though, he’s surprised that you even remembered him telling you that offhandedly one of the first times you went horseback riding together. It warms his heart that you would remember a detail like that of himself. Though, this only serves to confirm to him even further that you’re perfect for each other.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize for your family’s behaviour. “I just couldn’t stand how she was talking about you, or the fact that I felt like they were invalidating my feelings.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assures you, shifting so that his hand can now gently stroke your back as you lean forward to rest your elbows on your knees.

“I was looking forward to you meeting them, too,” you pout, disappointment clear in your voice. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s alright, Darling,” he sends you a reassuring smile. “If I’m being completely honest, I’m kind of glad we left early. I don’t think I would have had the heart to be proper company to your loved ones.”

This time, it’s your turn to look at him in concern, “is everything okay?”

“Not really,” he shoots you a weak smile, his facade cracking just as he had planned from the moment you decided to leave your house as soon as he had arrived. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” You cup his cheek tenderly, and he leans into your touch, briefly closing his eyes as he revels in the way your skin feels against his, though you take it as him seeking comfort for whatever it is he’s about to tell you.

“It’s my mother,” he pauses, swallowing a fake lump in his throat. “She’s been murdered.”

“Oh my god,” a gasp escapes your lips, a hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock.

“I was only just informed minutes before I arrived at your house,”

“Oh, Jaehyun,” your eyes hold nothing but sorrow as you embrace him, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re doing an awful lot of apologizing today for things that aren’t your fault,” he comments, wrapping his arms securely around your waist as he pulls you closer into his chest.

“Still,” you whisper into his neck, “I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother was a wonderful person.”

A hum is all you receive in response, his grip tightening ever so subtly around you as he feels you start to shake slightly. He knew the two of you were close, but he wasn’t expecting you to shed actual tears when you learnt his mother had passed. Perhaps it’s the combination of emotions from your family mixed with this sudden news that has you curled up in his arms, seeking his comfort as much as you are comforting him. Either way, he’ll use this to his advantage, loving the feeling of having you pressed so close to him, clinging onto him like he’s the only one you’ll ever need.

Quietly, he shushes you, telling you that it’ll be alright. You’re quite surprised at how well he’s taking all of this, though you can tell he’s glad for the comfort you provide him during this time. However, what you fail to see is Jaehyun glancing briefly towards the window, eyes flashing as he catches his reflection in the glass. A look of smug content resides on his features as he continues to stroke your back in comforting circles.

You manage to fall asleep about halfway through the car ride back to the castle. Your head is resting on Jaehyun’s lap as he gently strokes his hand over your hair. A smile pulls at his lips when he hears you hum in content, shifting yourself closer to him in response.

Growing up the way he did, getting everything he ever wanted or could ever ask for, and hardly ever receiving punishments for his actions, he’s used to others shouting and crying about how unfair he can be. The amount of people he’s seen beg for their life with tears in their eyes has never made him blink one time. However, seeing you this upset, with tears in your eyes has made him promise himself to never see you cry again. You’re the only person in this universe he cannot stand to see in pain, and he will do anything and everything in his power to make sure that this never happens again. You deserve nothing but happiness, of which he knows only he can give you.

The news of the Queen’s death spreads throughout the nation like wildfire. Many demand answers as to how something like this could have happened, as well as who would do such a thing. Luckily, Jaehyun had prepared for this. A few servants, both human and vampire alike, that had tested his patience for far too long took the fall, information leaking that the murder was an inside job long planned out by said servants.

Jaehyun played his part well, condemning the criminals for their vile acts and taking his precious mother away from him, as well as the precious matriarch away from the citizens. The best part is that you were there the whole time comforting him and making sure he was okay. 

Those were some of the best days for him, being able to stay by your side nearly twenty-four seven, being able to hold you in his arms as you slept beside him. Fuck, he can never get enough of you: your soft skin beneath his fingertips, the way your body feels pressed against his own, the way you stood by him and offered him condolence when he needed it, and especially the way you smell. There were a few times he nearly went feral during the night due to your scent spiking with arousal. He could tell you were having some pretty nice dreams about him, for the one time you moaned his name in your sleep, nearly driving him insane.

He only wishes he had done this sooner, maybe then your sister wouldn’t be even more suspicious towards him. The letters from her only seemed to increase after his mother’s death, but he has no time for them, nor does he even want to entertain them. Maybe then he can finally have you all to himself without worrying about what your stupid brat of a younger sister might do to take you away from him. No matter, he’ll make sure to dispose of her soon, if she doesn’t stay in line.

Approximately two weeks after his mother’s funeral, Jaehyun takes you on a small picnic beneath the willow tree that overlooks the gardens. The place is secluded enough that you know you won’t be disturbed. After all, after the commotion of the past few weeks, it’s nice to just get away for a while, especially with just the two of you.

Currently, his head is resting in your lap, the two of you finally able to relax and enjoy each other’s company without interruptions. Glancing down, Jaehyun catches your gaze.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today yet?” He smiles softly up at you as he watches the evening sun kiss your skin.

“Hmm,” you pretend to ponder his question, gazing out over the gardens as you teasingly tap your chin. “I don’t think you have.”

“It’s a shame, then,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. “All the stars in both heaven and on earth could never compare to your beauty.”

The way he looks at you, like you’re his entire world, sets your heart racing in your chest. You bite your lip, looking away bashfully.

Sitting up, he lets out a small chuckle at your reaction. How can you be so cute?

“Don’t hide that pretty face from me, Darling,” cupping your chin gently in his hand, he turns your head to face him, noticing how you avert your gaze slightly in embarrassment. Pride swells in his chest as he knows only he can get a reaction like this out of you. Only he can make you feel this way. “From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one for me.”

“Jae,” the whisper of his name from your lips sends a shiver down his spine.

“Getting to know you over these past few months has only confirmed my first thought I had of you,” he tells you, stroking his thumb slowly over your bottom lip as you watch him carefully.

“Oh?” Your gaze becomes hooded as you watch him, his own eyes focussed on the way his thumb is caressing your lip. “What might that be?”

“You’re perfect,” his voice is low, seductive, as he moves his hand to the back of your neck, thumb now stroking the nape.

“You must not have met many good people, then,” you lightly joke, the corner of your lip twitching upwards as your eyes flick to his lips, noticing how the space between the two of you grows ever smaller by the second.

“No,” he replies softly, “I haven’t.”

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, thumb rubbing his cheek tenderly as the two of you continue to stare into each other’s eyes. A moment of silence passes between the two of you before Jaehyun is breaking it.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,”

You barely have time to finish your words when his lips are on yours, the hand he has placed on the back of your neck pulling you in closer. His touch is soft, lips delicate over your own, as if you’re the finest piece of glass that needs to be handled with the utmost care. Your eyes flutter shut.

This tender moment is enough to steal your breath away, something that Jaehyun never fails to do when you’re alone with him. How you got him of all people to fall for you is still a wonder, of which everyday you’re thankful for. Ever since he’s come into your life, you’ve never been happier. Each day with him is another where he makes you feel special. He cherishes you, just as you have come to cherish him, but more than all of that, he makes you feel loved.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead on yours, the hand on the back of your neck holding you in place as your eyes open to see him already gazing at you fondly.

“Like I said,” he breathes. “Perfect.”

“I could say the same about you,” you hum, pecking his lips once more and causing him to smile.

He hums back, content with how this evening is going so far, and with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he pulls away from you, albeit a bit reluctantly. If he’s honest with himself, he’s a bit nervous. The question he’s been meaning to ask you this entire evening sits at the tip of his tongue, unwilling to actually be formed into the proper words.

“I love you,” this is not the first time he’s told you this, but it still sets your heart aflutter. Maybe this time will be the time you say it back.

“I know,” you hum, lips tugging upwards as your eyes reflect the same love and want shining in his own.

“Even though we haven’t know each other all that long, no one makes me feel the way that you do,” he begins, again, somewhat nervously. You take his one hand into yours, letting him know he can take all the time he needs to in order to form the words he wants to say to you. “You mean the world to me, and I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. I know it sounds ridiculous, but my life changed the day you stepped through those palace doors, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. You’ve changed my life for the better; you make me want to be a better man.”

“Jaehyun,” his name is but a whisper on your lips as he pulls out a ring from his pocket.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming mine?” He asks, gaze locking on yours as your hands come up to cover your mouth in shock. 

All you can do at the moment is nod your head, a large smile breaking out onto your face before it morphs into a slight smirk as he slides the ring on your finger. “Does this mean I get to call you mine?”

“You can call me whatever you’d like,” he grins, eyes hooded as he pulls you onto his lap to admire the ring now glinting on your finger. “My perfect bride.”

Your giggle is like music to his ears as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is more heated, full of passion and longing with an undertone of a promise of what is still yet to come. 

Jaehyun could not be happier than he is in this moment with you. Everything has gone according to plan, and soon, he’ll get to call you his wife. Not that you would have had a choice in the matter, even if you had denied him. Now, you’re his, indefinitely, and nothing can change that. Now, he’s never letting you go.

As the sun begins to set in the distance, it’s your turn to rest your head on his thigh. He’s currently feeding you some red grapes, of which he’s been told are your favourite.

“What else we got?” You ask after a having a few more grapes.

“Hmm, let’s see,” he digs through the basket, pulling out and listing the different food options. “Why, do you not like the grapes?”

“I do, don’t get me wrong,” you smile reassuringly at him. “I’m just not the biggest fan of red grapes.”

“I thought they were your favourite,” Jaehyun replies, a small frown pulling at his features. Who was it again that told him that red grapes were your favourite? Ah, that’s right, Ben. If he had known they weren’t your favourite he would have never even dreamed of having them packed for you.

“Nah,” you scrunch your nose slightly while shaking your head. Jaehyun would think it’s cute were not for the situation he finds himself in. “Green grapes are where it’s at.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles, though you don’t registered how it looks slightly forced.

Shooting him a smile back, the two of you turn your attention back to the sunset before you, making small comments here and there about the way the light reflects off of the surrounding areas. You feel completely at peace. Jaehyun on the other hand, is suffering from inner turmoil at this mistake. Something that is so small could have meant a world of difference to you, and the last thing he wants is to screw things up this far into your relationship. How is he supposed to be the perfect lover if he can’t even get your favourite foods correct?

The moment he bids you a goodnight and your door shuts behind him that evening, he’s speeding to the kitchen. The staff, whom had been finishing up for the day are startled by his sudden appearance. Immediately, they bow in respect, a few of the cook’s nerves spiking in fear that what they had prepared this evening did not please him.

“Where’s Ben?” His voice booms throughout the room, eyes deadly as they scan the area for the aforementioned man. 

“He’s just gone to dispose of the trash, Your Highness,” one of the cooks tells him.

“How fitting,” he muses, already thumbing the coin in his pocket which he had grabbed from the cellar on the way here.

The side door to the kitchen creaks slightly when it opens, a lanky man walking through in the next moment. Sensing the tension in the kitchen, he freezes, the door falling shut behind him. Noticing Jaehyun standing at the opposite end of the counter, he immediately bows.

“Your Highness,” 

“Red grapes, huh, Ben?” At Jaehyun’s words, Ben stiffens, already knowing something must have gone wrong for the Prince to be in the kitchen this late.

The rest of the staff share brief glances towards one another in confusion as they watch the scene before them play out. None are willing enough to move for fear of the Prince’s wrath.

“Do you know what this is?” Though his voice is calm, Jaehyun is far from it, only able to maintain his composure due to the fear radiating off of everyone in this room. He loves knowing the power he holds over each one of their insignificant little lives.

Ben eyes the coin now poised in Jaehyun’s hand warily, the metal glinting ever so slightly in the light of the kitchen.

“A coin, Your Highness,” Ben answers as Jaehyun looks at him expectantly, obviously wanting more than just that as his answer. “The ones which you use to pay us.”

“Very good,” he feigns amusement, eyes narrowing harshly in the next moment. “Now tell me, what’s the point in paying you when you provide me with the wrong information?”

Ben looks stunned momentarily, “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.

“Red grapes, Ben,” Jaehyun tuts. “Red. Grapes.”

It seems as if something clicks in his mind, “oh, yes, (Y/n)’s fav-“

“You dare speak her name in my presence?” Jaehyun’s voice booms, a few of the younger staff now visibly shaking in fear at his outburst. “Do not taint my love’s name with your tongue.”

“My apologies-“

“Silence, you scum,” he hisses between clenched teeth. Jaehyun’s anger currently knows no bounds, only serving to worsen the longer he has to deal with this situation. Taking a breath, he seems to visibly calm down slightly before speaking once more. “Did you know, Ben, that she prefers green grapes over red ones?”

It is then that Ben realizes his mistake. The information he had gathered proving insufficient and false. He starts to shake, unsure of what is to become of him now.

“I’m sorry, my Prince, it will not happen again,”

“You’re right,” Jaehyun smirks. “It won’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an engagement party to plan,” he turns to leave the kitchen, tossing the coin he’s holding in his hand in the air once before catching it between his fingers. “Oh, and somebody clean this mess up.”

In the blink of an eye, Jaehyun has flung the coin through Ben’s head, a dull thunk being the only sound heard as his now lifeless body falls to the floor. The whole kitchen remains silent, no one daring to even move a single muscle until Jaehyun has turned the corner, nothing but the coin embedded in the wall serving as a reminder of his presence mere moments ago.

The following week passes by in a blur to you, the whole castle bustling from the news of your confirmed engagement to the Prince. Now, there is cause for celebration instead of remaining in the period of mourning that had plagued the nation previously. You only wish his mother was still here to see it all.

You’ve planned to host an engagement party this coming Friday evening, and you can hardly wait. The two of you have been discussing plans for the event, and you don’t think you’ve smiled brighter than you have been these past few days. Jaehyun has been with you every step of the way, sharing in your excitement at the date grows near.

All too soon, the night of the party arrives and you’re dressed in the finest materials you’ve ever worn. Quite a few diplomats and vampires from surrounding kingdoms are coming to wish you a congratulations on your engagement to the Prince, and to say you’re nervous would be an understatement. You just hope you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of so many important people.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, cannot wait to show you off. Finally, he gets to profess his love for you in front of so many others, finally letting everyone know that you’re his and his alone. If anyone so much as dares to take you away from him, he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to keep you and make sure you never leave his side. Nothing, in all of the world, could tear the two of you apart.

Luckily, the evening goes by without a hitch, passing by much quicker than either of you two expect. Though, you have to say, you’re glad. With the way he’s been looking at you all night, the end of the party could not have come sooner.

Making your way back to your room, you think back to the events of the evening. A smile tugs at your lips as you recall the way the two of you danced, the way he held you close in his arms and made you feel loved. You couldn’t ask for a better man to have come to sweep you off of your feet. You only hope that the night doesn’t end here, and from the dark look you still see swimming in his eyes, you have a feeling that it’s only just begun.

With the way Jaehyun has been looking at you this entire evening, you swear he wants to eat you whole. His eyes are dark, a smirk on his lips as he backs you into the wall of your room, hands finding purchase on your hips as he leans into your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed in bliss as he allows your scent to cloud his mind. A growl escapes him, finally allowing himself to indulge his fantasies, revelling in everything you. “All mine.”

You cannot deny the way your heart positively flutters at his words, and from the way his grip tightens, you can tell he is enjoying each and every one of your reactions. After weeks of tensions rising, interrupted moments and longing glances sent each other’s way, you know what you want, and you what you want, is him. Badly. 

“I hope you don’t mind, Princess,” his voice is low, nose ghosting over the skin of your neck until his lips come to rest right beside your ear, “but tonight,” he hisses as you pull him closer, “tonight, I’m going to make you mine.”

Bringing his lips to yours, he steals a kiss, loving the way you hum approvingly in response. He loves all the reactions you’re giving him, he thinks they’re so cute. The way your heart is racing in your chest, excitement rolling off of you in waves, sets his own dead heart racing. He can smell your arousal building, a fact which only makes his chest swell, a growl of approval building from deep within.

He could get lost in you. The feeling of your lips on his, your scent, your touch. Everything about you drives him wild, and tonight, he finally gets to show you exactly what you mean to him. He’ll treat you like the royalty you are; whom you are meant to be.

Breaking the kiss, he leans back slightly to rest his forehead on yours, staring deeply into your eyes. You can see the love he has for you shining in them, along with the lust and desire swirling within his irises.

“I’m addicted to you,” voice nothing but a whisper, he cups your cheeks in his hands, “I can never get enough.”

“Then don’t,” your soft reply has his eyes widening slightly. “Because I don’t think I could ever love another as much as I love you.”

He swears his dead heart has once again stopped beating in his chest as he lets your words sink in. You love him. You finally told him that you love him.

A smile breaks out onto his face as he claims your lips with his own. You love him, and that’s all he’s ever wanted. Everything he could have ever asked for has just been granted to him. You’ve fulfilled his every wish, and tonight, he’s going to finally make you his, in every meaning of the word. Tonight, you’re his Queen, and his alone.

“Fuck, you don’t know how happy you’ve just made me, hearing you say that,” he says against your lips, needing to feel every inch of your skin beneath him soon, or he might just go crazy. Your giggle is music to his ears as he litters your face with kisses, “I love you.” He hums contently. “My Queen.”

Your breath hitches as you hear him call you that for the first time. You cannot deny the way your stomach clenches at hearing him call you that, and from the slight upturn of his lips, you know he heard your reaction loud and clear.

Feeling a surge of confidence wash over you, you look into his eyes once more, smirk dancing across your own lips. 

“Then fulfill your promise and make me yours,” you purr. “My King.”

A shiver runs down his spine at your words, and he cannot help the snarl that escapes him, “with pleasure.”

In the blink of an eye, he has you pinned on the bed, hovering over top of you as he trails his lips over the skin of your neck. Pinning your hands at the side of your head by your wrists, he takes this opportunity to start sucking marks into your skin, biting down occasionally. Although he doesn’t let his fangs out yet, he makes sure to leave his marks. He wants everyone in the kingdom to know that you’re his, that he’s finally claimed you for all to see.

The sound of tearing fabric registers in your mind, and you glance down to see that Jaehyun has torn both your dress and his shirt from this evening from your bodies, eyes drinking in every curve of your figure beneath him. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as they harden from his touch.

“Beautiful,” he hums.

Giving your chest a slight squeeze, he emphasizes his approval, only serving to make you become bashful. In the next moment, you attempt to cover yourself with your arms, but he’s quicker. Grabbing your wrists, he pins them beside your head once more.

“Ah-ah,” he tuts, a gleam to his eyes, “don’t you dare hide from me.”

Before you can say anything in response, his lips are on yours as he successfully steals your breath away for the nth time that night. Ever so slowly, he parts from you, trailing kisses down your neck and to your chest, where his hands have returned to cupping your breasts gently. 

A shiver runs down your spine once you feel him take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking lightly as his tongue flicks over the pert bud. His opposite hand works at the other, making sure neither goes untouched. Your satisfied hum is all he needs to hear to know you’re enjoying yourself so far. Smirking against your skin, he trails kisses from one breast to the other as he takes his time to make sure each gets the attention you deserve. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll be screaming his name in ecstasy all night long.

A hand in his hair catches his attention as you guide his head back up to yours, lips meeting in a heated kiss. He can never get enough of you: your taste, your touch, your everything, and he’ll take everything you’re willing to give him, and then some.

Slowly, he grinds himself into you, your legs parting naturally for him to fit between them. The gasp you let out when you feel his hard cock rubbing against your core is music to his ears.

“Feel that, baby?” He hums, nuzzling his nose against your neck and scenting you once more. “That’s all because of you. You have no idea what you do to me.”

The breathless whisper of his name you let out sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine. His one hand grips your thigh, pulling you against him as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him in to kiss you again as he continues to grind himself into you.

Breaking away, he nips at the skin of your neck, trailing kisses down your body. The whole time, he mumbles against your skin about how he just needs to taste you, your panties being ripped off of your body not even a second later.

The full force of the scent of your arousal hits him as he settles between your legs, a pleased growl echoing from within his chest. He can already tell his eyes have bled red, your slight gasp confirming it when you meet his gaze.

Trailing kisses up your thighs, he notices how your chest rises and falls with each breath in anticipation. A smirk dances at his lips as he sees you close your eyes momentarily the closer to your entrance his mouth gets. 

Testing the waters, he licks a tentative strip up your core, watching your every reaction and drinking it in. Fuck, if you aren’t the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life, and he’s sure to let you know.

At his words, you cover your face in slight embarrassment, feeling every breath he makes hit your core and send little jolts throughout your entire body. From the chuckle you hear him let out, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“No, no, no, none of that,” he reaches up and pulls your arm down so you’re no longer covering your face. You meet his gaze once more, and your heart nearly stops at the carnal hunger you can see shining within them. “I want you to watch me as I devour you.”

A moan slips passed your lips as you watch him bring a hand up to spread your lower lips, tongue slowly dragging through your folds all the while he stares deeply into your eyes. Every sound you make, every reaction, is his tonight, and his alone.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucks a few times before flicking the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. He alternates between this and bringing his tongue down to circle your entrance before thrusting it in to collect your juices, massaging your inner walls at the same time. Like hell he’s going to let anything go to waste, not after he’s waited this long to finally have you all to himself.

Your hips start to move in time with his tongue, and he lets out a snarl as your hand comes to tangle in his hair, only serving to pull him closer into you. His tongue continues to work you up in every way he knows how, wanting you to know that only he can please you like this. Only he can make you feel this good.

His eyes never leave yours the whole time, even when he starts to pick up the pace. Every twitch of your inner walls lets him know he’s doing something right, taking the opportunity to slide a finger in using his free hand. Now, he focusses his tongue on your clit, licking and sucking as his finger massages your inner walls. The way you’re clenching around him only makes him that much more eager to finally be inside you after all this time.

By now, multiple curses and moans of his name have slipped past your lips, whines only serving to becoming louder as he adds a second finger. Each movement he makes is precise, and you can feel the pressure building with each moment that passes by. With each flick of his tongue, you swear it will be the push you need to fall over the edge, but he purposely slows his movements, wanting to keep you on the brink for as long as possible and prolong your pleasure. By the time he adds a third finger, you feel as if you’re just about ready to fall apart.

“That’s it, darling,” he coaxes, moving his fingers along your inner walls in time with each flick of his tongue, the pressure within you about to snap. “Let yourself go.”

His words are all you need to hear in order to feel yourself falling over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you as a scream of his name tears from your throat. A smirk on his lips is the first thing you see once your vision clears, chest heaving with each breath you take as he laps up every last drop of your essence with his tongue.

“Such a good girl for me,” he hums, removing his fingers in order to crawl up your body and place them at your lips. “Suck.”

Immediately, you part your lips, taking his fingers into your mouth and tasting yourself on them. A moan bubbles in your throat as your tongue swirls around his digits, echoed only by his own groan as he sees the blissful expression on your features.

Taking his fingers out of your mouth, he kisses you once more, pulling your body impossibly closer to his own. He needs to feel every inch of you pressed against him, not wanting to leave any part of your body unexplored this evening.

“Jaehyun,” his name falling from your lips is one of the best sounds he’s ever heard in his life, and he could never tire of it. “Please, I need you.”

Those words are all it takes for him to be ripping off his pants and lining himself up with your entrance. He can’t help but tease you a bit, dipping the head of his cock into your folds to collect your wetness before pulling back out again just to hear you whine. You’re so cute when you’re needy for him.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make you feel so good,” his voice is a low drawl that sounds right beside your ear.

Your arms are already wrapped around his torso, nails digging into the skin of his back as you feel the need to bring him closer. The next thing you hear is him let out a small chuckle, feeling him beginning to stretch you out in the next second as he begins to push into you.

Your mouth falls open in a soundless gasp as you feel him stretching you out. His own breath falters as he feels your walls pulsing around him, the soft warmth of your flesh feeling as if it were made for him. Considering the fact that you two fit perfectly together, he swears that’s the case.

He has to remind himself not to move before you’re okay, every instinct in his body screaming at him to ravish you as soon as he’s seated in you fully. However, he’s in no rush tonight, wanting to take his time in order to make the sweetest love to your body. Something only he can do.

As soon as he sees you nod, he’s resting his forehead against yours as he pulls out slightly and gives a shallow thrust to start. His movements are slow, precise, each movement of his hips a sensual grind to make you feel every inch of him buried within you.

“I fucking love you, you know that?” His voice is rough, strained as he attempts to control himself for the time being. This is your first time together, and he wants to make sure it’s special for the both of you, something neither of you will forget. 

You let out a gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, “I love you.”

This is all he could have ever wanted, and more, as he begins to pick up his pace. His lips meet yours once more in a searing kiss, all of his passion, love, lust, and want for you being conveyed wordlessly through every movement he makes.

When his lips aren’t on yours, they’re sucking marks into the skin of your neck, teeth nipping at the skin shortly after. As he increases his pace, his one hand comes up to grab yours, fingers intertwining as the other grips your waist, holding you to him as close as possible. The way your free hand drags down his back, nails biting into his skin lets him know he’s doing all the right things. Your legs wrapping around his waist only serve to pull him that much closer into you, a pleased rumble escaping his chest.

Shifting slightly, he adjusts the angle he’s hitting you at, hearing your sharp intake of breath as he hits a specific spot inside you.

“Fuck, my King, right there,” your voice is desperate as it comes out, eyes closing in bliss as your head is thrown back.

The snarl that tears from his throat is feral, your words snapping any last bits of sanity he had left in his body as his hips snap into yours. 

“That’s it, Darling,” he growls, eyes bleeding red once more as he takes in the beautiful expressions you’re making for him, “let your King take care of his Queen.”

The hitch in your breath at his own words causes a tightening in his abdomen, and he knows he’s getting close. He has to remind himself that you’re still only human as his grip tightens on your hand and waist, not wanting to hurt you, but needing you to feel just how desperate he is for you. Everything about you drives him insane, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t treat you like the Queen you are.

With each thrust, he can feel your walls twitching around him, signalling that you’re getting closer to your second release of the night. Bringing his one hand down from your waist, he uses his thumb to circle your clit, feeling your whole body shudder beneath him as you near the edge.

“Come on, my Queen,” his chest rumbles in content each time he says those words, voice dangerously low. “Come with me. Come for your King.”

The way his thumb flicks at your clit, combined with his words and the angle he’s hitting inside of you is enough to push you over the edge for the second time that night. Seeing you shake beneath him in ecstasy, combined with the sinful way you’re moaning his name has him following shortly after, a loud cry of your own name escaping his lips.

Lazily thrusting into you a few more times as you both come down from your highs, he makes sure you’re okay before pulling out of you. In the blink of an eye, he’s got a damp washcloth ready in his hand, wiping you down gently while whispering soft praises in your ear, telling you how good you are for him, and how much he loves you. You can only smile softly in return, finally able to catch your breath once he returns from disposing of the washcloth.

Crawling into the bed, he tucks you both under the covers, pulling you close into his chest in the next moment. His hand strokes over your back gently as he places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispers. “My Queen.”

“And I love you,” you hum. “My King.”

Silence settles over the two of you as you each take comfort in the other’s embrace. Eventually, sleep overtakes you, leaving Jaehyun to watch over your sleeping figure with a smile on his face.

“Always and forever,” he whispers, allowing his eyes to close and his whole body to relax as he succumbs to his own darkness.

Dawn comes and Jaehyun manages to wake before you do, appreciating the way the morning light cascades over your naked form, painting you in golden hues for him to adore. His eyes trail over your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he remembers the events of last night. Licking his lips, he inhales the scents of the morning deeply, positively growling at the way you’re now covered in his scent.

As it should be. As it will always be. From this point onwards, you’re his and he’s yours, and last night serves as a confirmation of that fact. Now, you’ve given yourselves to each other, and all that’s left to do is set the date for the wedding.

A few minutes pass by with Jaehyun simply admiring you. Very lightly he traces his hand over your back, loving the way you shiver underneath his fingertips, for it only makes him recall how you were trembling beneath him in bliss merely hours before. He could stay like this with you forever, but unfortunately, he needs to attend to some final arrangements for the royal announcement of your wedding ceremony.

Letting out a small sigh, disappointed he has to leave you for the time being, he slides out of bed. The glint of the ring on your left hand in the morning light catches his gaze, only causing a small smile to form at his lips. Last night could not have been more perfect.

Moving as silently as he can so as not to disturb you, he exits your room.

It takes him longer than he would have liked to get ready that morning, his movements feeling a bit sluggish the more he has to move around. It’s almost as if his senses have dulled slightly for the time being, for his hearing isn’t as sharp as it usually is, nor his sense of smell. Perhaps these are simply side effects of his mood, for he knows when he’s overcome with emotions he can never think straight, let alone react in an orderly manner.

Making his way through the castle, he finally enters the throne room, having requested to meet Minho there to discuss everything that still needs to be done for the upcoming ceremonies. However, what he isn’t expecting to see is another person standing with their arms crossed in front of their chest beside a very nervous looking Minho.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jaehyun’s voice practically booms across the room, demanding their attention.

“Your Highness, I’ve been attempting to escort Miss Lori out of the castle and back to her home, but she simply will not go until she speaks with her older sister,” Minho explains, words coming out rushed as he looks towards Jaehyun frantically.

“Is there anything I can help you with? Your sister is currently still resting in her chambers,” Jaehyun continues to play the nice card. He’s gotten this far despite not needing anyone’s approval, but that still doesn’t mean he won’t try for you.

“Cut the bullshit, you’re not fooling me,” Lori narrows her eyes at him, only causing Jaehyun to raise his brows amusedly.

“Is there a reason that you’ve come to talk with your sister then?” Jaehyun asks, already bored with this conversation, yet still feigning interest and concern. Again, he’d do anything for you, even if it means something as trivial as this.

“I’ve come to collect my sister and take her back home,” Lori answers. “Away from you.”

Jaehyun’s expression falls, immediately darkening at the threat apparent in her voice, “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in here.”

“No, I don’t think you understand your situation,” Lori counters, causing Minho to send her a look filled with nothing but distress. “I’ve seen through your little ‘nice guy’ act long ago thanks to your mother, and I’ve finally come to save my sister from whatever you plan to do to her. She’ll listen to me this time, she always has. I’m taking my sister back home with me, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

The confidence in which she says those words irritate Jaehyun to no end. Though, he supposes he finds this situation rather ironic, causing him to let out a few laughs in disbelief. How dare Lori threaten him of all people. Like she could ever do anything to tear the two of you apart now, considering what occurred last night. After all, the two of you are to be bonded for life.

“You came all this way to threaten me? Me, of all people?” He chuckles maliciously, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think I’m just going to let you waltz in here and steal what rightfully belongs to me? That I’d even let you near what’s mine?”

“Your threats don’t scare me, I know you won’t do anything to me,” Lori raises her chin in the air in defiance, a smug look resting on her face. Clearly the letters his mother had sent her are still giving her a false confidence on this matter.

In a flash, he’s in front of her, holding her in the air by her neck. The hold his hand has around her throat is firm enough for it to be a threat, but not hard enough to completely block her airway just yet. “You underestimate the lengths I am willing to go to keep what is mine. I’ve spent too long planning everything out and making sure things run smoothly in order for things to get where they are now. I’m not giving my love up so easily.”

“Then, obviously you wouldn’t harm her own sister!” She manages to choke out, gaze darting off to his right as if something, or someone has caught her eye. His grip only serves to tighten ever so slightly as his eyes flash red.

“Wouldn’t I?” He hums, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I mean, considering I disposed of my own mother who got in the way, what’s a measly little human girl compared to that?”

Minho can do nothing but watch as this event unfolds before his very eyes, taking a few steps back in order to give the Prince space to do what he has to. His own heart is pounding in his chest out of fear, so he can only imagine how Lori feels in this very moment.

“It’d be so easy for me to cover up your death, so don’t flatter yourself,” Jaehyun seethes, eyes crazed as he stares into hers. “I’ve done everything I can to rid myself of nuisances in my way. So, what’s one more?”

Shifting his predatory gaze, he locks eyes with Minho, waiting for the advisor to speak and confirm his words.

“Yes, Your highness, you’re correct,” Minho swallows nervously, he’s never seen Jaehyun like this before. The intense insanity in his eyes nearly has Minho stumbling over his own feet despite standing perfectly still. He knows something must have happened last night after the engagement party, otherwise there’s no way he would be looking like that right now.

“You’re nothing,” he hisses. “A measly little human whose life will end at the flick of my wrist, worth no more that the servants I’ve killed beneath my feet. Poor Greta, only wanted to warn the love of my life about me, and look what that got her,” he feigns a pout, “only her throat ripped out.”

Lori gasps, remembering how you mentioned to her that one of the servants you met on one of your first days here seemed to have suddenly disappeared, never to be seen again.

“Not to mention the countless other lives I’ve taken for even looking at my love the wrong way. Or maybe, perhaps I should say poor Ben, who only got his skull run through for providing the wrong information about my love’s favourite foods,” Jaehyun tuts, shaking his head. “Bastard could have ruined everything. Just as you are trying to do.”

Lori can feel the breath being squeezed out of her lungs as Jaehyun slowly crushes her airway. She attempts to claw at the hands around her neck to no avail, legs kicking out uselessly beneath her. 

“Don’t you ever think for one second I’d let you take away what I’ve worked so hard to achieve,” he spits, venom dripping from every syllable as he crushes her throat, bringing his other hand up and tearing her head off in the next moment in his anger. “Worthless scum.”

Lori’s head hits the floor with a loud thump, her blood pooling around her now discarded body as lifeless eyes stare up at Jaehyun in fear. He shakes his head in disgust, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe off the blood that had managed to get on his hands. 

“Clean this up,” he orders, turning to Minho to see him nod once in understanding.

Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. So much for his pleasant morning. 

Turning around, Jaehyun sighs, eyes still closed. His face is still contorted into an expression of annoyance, brow furrowed as he takes a deep breath. He can feel his whole body tense as he recognizes a familiar faint scent in the air.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, realizing in horror that you stand in the open doorway of the throne room. Your hands are both raised over your mouth, as if to cover a silent scream as tears stream down your face. He can feel his dead heart falter in his chest as he watches you. The fear you look at him with is something he never ever wanted to see from you, especially directed towards himself.

A few moments pass by with the two of you just silently observing the other. Jaehyun hates how it’s only now that he can seemingly hear the loudness of your racing heart, your scent becoming stronger the more time you spend staring at one another. All that he had worked so hard to create, everything he’s done to impress you, to woo you and make you fall in love with him, is now ruined. It’s only all confirmed when he sees you turn and attempt to run away from him.

In an instant, he’s run to you, caging you in his arms and holding you tightly. Your screams and protests are falling on deaf ears as he holds you to his chest. His attempts to quietly shush you and calm you down are not working, with you only seeming to struggle harder against him, spouting insults and curses at him. 

“Sweetheart, please,” he sighs, “I need you to calm down.”

“Calm down?” You’re hysterical at this point. “Calm down? You just murdered my little sister in front of my very eyes and you have the audacity to tell me to calm down?”

“I did it for us,” he replies calmly, voice sounding completely opposite to how he really feels inside at the moment. “She would have only gotten in the way.”

He’s not entirely sure how you managed to sneak up on him, but he assumes that he didn’t hear you due to his dull senses this morning. The fact that you’re covered in his scent is probably why he didn’t smell you right away, too. Either way, he’ll do his best to steer the conversation in a direction which suits him, considering he doesn’t exactly know how long you had been standing there for. However, your next words only serve to confirm just how long you had.

“And I suppose your mother, Greta, Ben, and who knows who else were all collateral, too?” You retort, anger and disgust shining in your eyes which only causes his grip to tighten ever so slightly around you.

“Yes,” he answers, but he isn’t stupid enough to believe you’ll willingly accept his reasonings. “They were. I don’t expect you to understand why I’ve done what I have yet, but if you think I’m ever going to let you go, you’re mistaken. And before you say you hate me, I just want you to think back on everything I’ve ever done for you since you’ve been here. I want you to remember all the moments we’ve shared together, especially the good ones. Especially last night,” a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers those words lowly in your ear before trailing his lips down your neck, pressing them against the same spot he did the previous evening. Your struggling lessens as he continues, “I’d never do anything to harm you, I think my actions towards you have shown that. I never wanted you to be scared of me. Why do you think I never showed you this side of me yet?”

“You really are a devil,” you spit, finally giving up your attempts to escape his hold for you know that it’s futile at this point. You’ve long been trapped in his clutches, you just only wish you’d realized it sooner.

“A devil who loves you,” he hums, nuzzling his face deeper into your neck and breathing in your combined scents. A shiver goes down his spine. At least now he doesn’t have to worry about hiding this side of himself from you any longer. Plus, you now know what he’s capable of; what he’s willing to do for you. What he’s always been willing to do for you. “I always get what I want, so don’t even think about leaving me. You sealed your fate the moment you agreed to become mine.”

“I hate you,”

He simply chuckles, “that’s not what you were saying last night.”

“Yeah, well, things change,” you reply, refusing to so much as look in his direction as he holds you from behind.

“That they do,” he hums once more, clearly amused by your stubbornness. In the next moment, his eyes are going dark, expression deadly serious as he turns you around to stare deeply into your eyes. A shiver goes down your spine. “One thing that hasn’t changed though, is the fact that whether you like it or not, you can never escape me. I love you, and I will always love you, so you better get used to that. After all, a King should never be without his Queen.”

[smoochi-modest]

✿ [ Wilted ] ✿

—> Genshin Impact - [ Xiao x Reader ]

—>  [ Fem! Reader. Blood. Gore. Character death. Fluff into angst, with a rather bitter ending. ]

—> Description - [ It all started with a promise, and now here you were. It seems Xiao will never escape his karma, he thought. The hope you once gave him began to escape within his tears. ]

—> Note - [ 2,231 words - I hope you enjoy;; it'll be one of the few times I write angst, I can't bring myself to hurt him more. ]

" Xiao... you're immortal right? "

Head rested peacefully on the adepti's shoulder, you couldn't help but smile fondly towards the boys face. Xiao had been staring back at you for quite some time now, you were unsure why but you hadn't been bothered to ask. Feeling safe under his watchful eye.

" I am still able to die, just not by time. " Xiao said firmly to you in response, his normally sharp glare found itself to soften the moment you lock eye contact. A feeling of nostalgia bubbled beneath the surface of his skin.

"Mm... That's no good, that means you'll have to die in pain. Right?"

He was taken back by your words for a moment, a frown creeping onto his features. Brows furrow while listening to you patiently. He opened his mouth, only to shut it once more for you to continue.

"I mean... You're already going through enough pain as it is."

He was. And he knew it hurt not only him, but you as well.

"Will you be alright when I'm gone...?"

No. He wanted to say oh so desperately. Closing his eyes, Xiao leaned his head to the side, nuzzling on top of your own while he whispered gently.

" Please do not utter such words. "

Then there was silence, within the heavy atmosphere there was clearly something plaguing your thoughts. He feared it would trap you in a world similar to his own, a place full of pain and self doubt.

" . . . "

" I am an adepti, not a child. "

" . . . "

Yet again more silence, that is... until you shot up from your seated position, knocking your heads together on accident while whining in the process. You lifted a hand to your head, muttering small curses. But now wasn't the time for that! Brushing off the complaints, you make light of the situation. A new idea found it's way in that pretty head of yours, as he stared at you rather irritated by the sudden bash of skulls through your unexpected excitement.

" Wait! I got it! " You seem to beam, " I'll just reincarnate as soon as I am dead! Then I could embrace you just like this, all over again! "

Xiao scoffed, looking to the ground as a sudden warmth found its way across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. A rose red hue, adorning his face.

" Reincarnation doesn't work like that, you have no say in how long it takes for you to return. "

This seemed to make you pout, sitting yourself back down, you take his hands in your own. The sudden connection, brought him to lift his head slightly to have a glance at your expression. Your fingers intertwining with his.

" Fine then! Just watch me, Xiao. I'll prove you wrong. "

"I'll even promise you!"

That day was forever imprinted in the back of his mind, staring down solemnly at your gravestone. He couldn't remember the last time he felt your touch, oh how he craved to feel it again. Wishing to go back in time, and replay everything all over again.

Xiao missed the way you'd hold his hands ever so delicately, bringing each knuckle to your soft lips. With each kiss, came so much unfamiliar warmth. He wishes he could have told you just how special you were to him, but now it was too late.

You were always the one to nurture his hands, the way you'd caress them with your thumb- leaving tingles behind. You'd claim time and time again, that those hands weren't only used for bloodshed. But for love as well.

His hands let him eat Almond tofu, grasp onto your face while peppering you with soft love pecks. He can almost hear you giggles still, whenever you'd try to push him away out of embarrassment.

Now he awaited for your promise to come true... he's waited nearly a decade now, or had it been more? Visiting your grave whenever he had the time, he treated your gravestone like it had truly been you. Leaving flowers behind, all different colours. Some white camellia, all the way to some dandelion he picked from the ground during his travels.

Ever since that day, the fateful day of your demise- Xiaos life fell into shambles. Feeling tears swell up beneath his mask each day as he slaughtered all his inner demons, along with many threats that came too close to the city of Liyue. His life didn't feel the same, forgetting what he had done on a regular biases without you by his side. So much pressure weighed at his faltering heart. A pressure that almost made him feel equal pain to his karmic debt.

He longed for a day to come where he could have worn the mask and danced with you in his arms — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers he heard once before, long ago. Before he had met you.

The once glittering sun found itself to rest behind the ocean's view, darkness consuming your gravestone and him along with it. Allowing the moon to grace Xiao with it's knowing call, a sign of more pain to come, a call reminding him of his duty that he must serve for the rest of his lifetime. He bid your grave a farewell after adjusting some of the fallen flowers.

Everything around him seemed to be void of any sound, slashing away at potential threats in his path. Piercing monsters abdomens like it were a kabob, before ripping his weapon of choice out in swift motion, allowing blood to spill out of the inhumane creature. Spinning his jade-winged spear to rid of any remaining traces of blood or guts, the ground had been painted in the horrifying colour which you seemed adore. A rose red.

There had been very few times where Xiao was caught off guard, however it was during this onslaught that something abnormal began to sprout like a rose bud. A harsh force knocked him off his feet, collapsing to the ground as he winced in pain. A weight then followed, hovering over him as a small hand grasped his throat. Choking on his breath, his piercing gold eyes widen at the sight ahead of him.

There sat a young girl, resembling his fallen lover. He couldn't allow this inconvenience to halt him from his duty, yet Xiaos mind began to churn still. Ripping the mystery girls hand off his throat, he kicked her off of himself. Quickly standing back up, in a more defensive position.

The two opposing figures stare at each other with undecipherable expression. Both wearing their own masks. His of an Oni, hers of a butterfly. The broken mask only covered the top left half of her face, and he prayed his eye's were playing tricks on him. A familiar colour of messy hair, lips coated in blood as it appears she had previously bitten herself while taking the impact of his kick. But what really through him off was that single eye. An eye that resembles your exact image. But why here? surely this couldn't have been you, he pleaded for it not to have been you.

" Wait! I got it! " You seem to beam, " I'll just reincarnate as soon as I am dead! Then I could embrace you just like this, all over again! "

" Fine then! Just watch me, Xiao. I'll prove you wrong. "

Feeling a sudden rush of pain course through his veins, Xiao stumbled backwards. Clutching onto his mask, desperately trying to snap himself back into reality. A low growl seems to rumble from his throat as he gasps, picking up his lowered head, the girl had yet to approach him.

After one more glance, the adeptus made up in his mind that it must have been you. The way those now empty eyes pierce into his tainted and damaged soul. It sent shivers down his spine, a feeling he had been unfamiliar with. Was this fear? He had no idea. Afraid that this was the fate you two had met, was this his karmic debt returning to torture him in every possible way?

Xiao could understand why he was brought back into his world of inner demons, but why... why were you here? you didn't do anything to deserve this. The girl he once knew, wished to live a happy life, one full of flowers and pillow talks. All that innocence, silly promises that seemed to make his heart flutter all came crashing down.

Fighting through the pain, he got back into a protective stance. You noticing his caution, slowly approach him. This caught him off guard, and that was his first mistake. Allowing your expression alone to throw him off. A single tear seemed to stray down your cheek, lunging forward at him with impressive speed. He lifts the shaft of his spear ahead of himself, protecting himself from the blade you pulled out from your hip. Deflecting it and jumping back, it was clear the boy had no interest in harming you.

" If you are who I believe, please listen to the words I say- argh! " Another sharp pain shot in the back of his head, interrupting his futile attempt to have a conversation with the reborn you. Xiao was unable to accept the fact you had become something so opposing to the angel you once were. Old memories of you smiling in his direction ate at his rotting sanity.

He knew this had to be you, a you that Xiao wished he didn't have to see. Your figure was covered head to toe in blood, hair knotted as you seemed to huff out shallow breaths. It was clear your body had been worn out from whatever you previously were doing.

" Please, you made a promise to embrace me once again. So why are you standing so far away, don't you remember?! "

His normally calm nature seemed to crack, a voice unbearable to hear. The way it would crack mid sentence, he was at a breaking point. Not wanting to harm his love.

The silence between the two of you felt like hell, air so heavy he could hardly breathe.

Xiao knows all too well, he had the upper hand in a one on one fight with you, but harming you was the last thing on his mind. Pleading once again, realizing his voice didn't seem to reach you at all.

He missed those small talks.

The screams all sound the same.

After another moment of silence and hesitance, you crouched down. Fingers tracing the ground without removing you gaze from his. He asked for your gentle stare to return, the way you look at him now with such emptiness- it truly hurt.

Its the old voice in his head that held him back.

Realizing what you had been attempting to do, it was his time to lunge forward. Pushing you away from the graphic pile of your now comrades bodies.

Xiao managed to gain a firm grip on your wrists in a single hand, while you were trapped beneath him. You squirm, thrash and scream in a desperate attempt to escape. Each shout felt like a knife had been plunged deep into his heart.

He hated to see you like this, the mask once keeping his face hidden found itself to dissolve in thin air, allowing you to see his saddened expression. Brows furrowed, tears streaming down his once expressionless face, his body began to quiver knowing what he had to do for this all to end.

"Will you be alright when I'm gone...?"

His unoccupied hand reached for his spear. Lifting it up above your form beneath him. He wanted this to be quick, a painless death... but that pain would only transfer back to him. Know that the hands you once adored, would be your own bitter end.

" How are your hands so soft, Xiao?? smooth~" You coed " I could touch them forever... " You brought his hand up to nuzzle your cheek into its warmth. Your smile always felt contagious, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as well.

Pitiful hiccups erupt from the boy, unsure how to handle the flood of emotions.

After a while, your struggle seemed to end. Not realizing what he had done. The ear piercing scream you let out, went unheard by the boy who was so focused on old memories, his head pounding. Opening his eyes, they widen in shock.

There you were, blood spilling from your chest as his eyes focus on the weapon now dug deep within your chest where your heart was.

The same weapon he used to slay evil, the weapon he used to protect you with a long time ago. Now, the weapon that he coated in your blood.

A sudden sense of distraught met the boy, crying out for you only to hear his own echoes. Still sat on top of you, he removes the weapon. Throwing it to the side as he clutches your body close to his own.

Blood and tears merge together.

Embracing you just how you promised, he wrapped one arm around your waist while the other allowed his hand to hold your head against his shoulder, nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck. Your blood painted his torso, staining his clothes.

You used to adore hearing his heartbeat on late nights like this... oh how he wished he could hear yours in this moment too.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Part I

A lamb in a den of lions, he thought, watching the newcomer as she settled in, ordering whiskey neat. A fool, for sure.

A fool she may be, perhaps, but even fools could be dangerous. Eren had known that the young woman was a Hunter from the moment she entered the bar (everyone else had, too) but something told Eren that she was hardly cut from the same cloth as the average Bane of Creatures. There was something in her movements— a predatory grace in her stride, perhaps, or a stiff, straight posture, with muscles tensed and ready for action— that betrayed her power to him; but for all that, she really was lovely, and the image of a rabbit caught in a patch of bramble came to mind whenever he looked at her.

Sitting in a corner, drinking his B-neg, he watched the woman as she sipped her drink, checking over her shoulder now and then. She was wary— as anyone with good sense would be— but she didn't appear frightened, and Eren's curiosity was piqued. It wasn't every day that someone so bold happened across his path, and it became harder and harder for him to resist the urge to approach her.

Eventually, Eren gave in to his curiosity— he never had been very good at or even particularly fond of restraining himself— and when he came silently up behind her, the newcomer didn't even notice his presence until he murmured a greeting close to her ear.

"Hello, little love," he said, and she startled in her seat. "Are you lost?"

She turned around then, her eyes big and bright in the dim lighting of the bar, but by the time she managed to look at the spot where Eren would have been, he was already seated on the barstool beside her. Eventually, though, her eyes found his, and when their gazes met, Eren was amused to find no fear in her visage.

"Far from it," she told him, turning her body towards him. "I am precisely where I mean to be."

Eren blinked, nonplussed.

"Curious," he said, leaning forward so that she could see the sharpness of his teeth as he spoke. "Do you fancy yourself a wolf among sheep, little Hunter? Did you really not think we would know you for what you are the moment you crossed the threshold of this place?"

Any normal, human ear would have missed the way her heart leapt in her chest, but Eren missed nothing. The fear he had hoped to inspire in her was present after all, but her face never moved from its impenetrable mask— an affectation that was somehow both soft and steely at once.

"That's not what I'm here for," she told him, widening the distance between her knees as she readjusted on the stool. "I'm here to discover the truth."

The truth— what an odd notion!— and yet Eren sensed no lie in her.

"You're a strange one," he told her, but forced himself to relax his posture to appear lazy, almost drunk. "Most Hunters— even ones so pretty as yourself— shoot first and worry about the truth later. What's your name?"

Her nose crinkled. "It's polite to give your own first."

Sharp, he thought, watching her closely. Names have power.

"Eren Jaeger."

"Eren Jaeger," she echoed, then extended her hand. "My name is (Y/N)."

That name sounded familiar to Eren— and though most names did after living a few centuries, this one seemed to hit closer to home. He knew that name, and knew it well…

"What's your surname?"

(Y/N)'s eyes flashed with an emotion that Eren didn't catch.

"Kirschtein," she replied, averting her eyes. "I'm Jean Kirschtein's great-great-great granddaughter."

And damn if Eren didn't want to laugh. Perhaps his nosiness into the posterity of his old acquaintances really was as bad of an idea as Armin always seemed to imply.

"I see," he said, and he truly, truly did. "Then you know who I am— what I am— and what I've done."

More than that, if she truly did know who he was, it was unlikely that she had come without a specific purpose in mind.

(Y/N) nodded, confirming his suspicions. "I was digging around in my family history and— well— I read what my grandfather wrote, and I just— I wanted the truth."

So wide-eyed, so innocent— so alive. Eren could see now her resemblance to Jean; if they were not similar in looks, she had his sharpness, his humanness… and, as he always had Jean, Eren envied her for it.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure you know that you don't get something for nothing," he told her, sipping his drink just to watch the expression on her face as he let the warm blood slide down his throat. "And that dealings with me can be dangerous."

"Jean Kirschtein loved you, Eren Jaeger," she told him fiercely and with such conviction that Eren nearly choked on his drink. "To take such a tone with me, to threaten me, the last living remnant of him, is the most disrespectful thing I've ever heard."

Eren was about to say that he didn't owe her, Jean Kirschtein, or anyone else any sort of respect, but she plowed on, unwilling to let him say his piece.

"You broke his heart a million ways by doing what you did, but— but he was your friend through all of it, no matter what side each of you were on," (Y/N) continued, passion aflame in her eyes. "I can't even imagine what inspired such a love, such a loyalty from him that he would forgive you for the horrors you caused. That's what I'm here to find out— what you have that a man such as him would find you redeemable."

The reproof in her words stung, but Eren was too old to argue. She could never understand what it was like back then.

"I understand more than you think," she snapped, and Eren actually flinched. "I understand that you hurt the woman my grandfather loved immeasurably, and that he forgave you for that even though he never even particularly liked you. I understand that you were ready to sacrifice the world for that selfsame woman, for Jean, and for all the others. I understand that you're a monster who loved and was loved back, but I want to know why."

How? Eren thought, shaken.

How had she known his thoughts? It was as though she had seen straight through to his innermost being.

Without speaking, she answered his question. (Y/N) took a hand and rolled up her left sleeve, presenting to him a scarred marking in the shape of a pentagram.

"My grandfather didn't settle down with just anyone," she told him, holding his gaze. "I come from a line of powerful witches, all of whom possessed strong claircognizance. Paired with my nature as an empath, you can assume I know what you're going to say before you say it."

Eren hummed, trying to appear less perturbed than he was.

"And yet you hunt Creatures for a living; strange, since you're practically one of us yourself."

(Y/N) glowered. "I hunt monsters that prey on my people, not Creatures. No innocent has died by my hand."

The unlike you went unsaid, but that didn't mean that Eren didn't hear it anyway.

"Don't get high-and-mighty with me, girl," he told her roughly. "Knowing is one thing, but experiencing what we experienced is another."

"I'm not here to judge you," she replied. "I told you, I'm here for truth, nothing more."

"And I told you that the truth doesn't come for free," he told her darkly. "You must give me something in return."

(Y/N) set her jaw.

"What would you have of me?"

It was a mean, base request. Eren was wicked for even thinking it, and vile for wanting it— but looking at the great-to-however-many-degrees granddaughter of a good man that he had once known, seeing the vitality that brought a flush to her cheeks and thumping to her heart, he knew he couldn't pass up this golden opportunity.

It had been so long since he'd had a Companion.

"Become my cupbearer for six moons," he told her, crossing his arms. "Starting with tonight, the moon becomes new; let me drink from you until six of these have passed, and along the way, you will learn what you want to know."

(Y/N) eyed him warily.

"Can you assure my physical safety?"

Eren grunted, almost amused. It was a bit late to be worrying about that.

"I think you know that I can."

"And will you let me continue in my duties as a Hunter?" she asked, her eyes searching his own as if she would find the answer to her question there inside the same eyes he'd had since he was nineteen. "Completely uninhibited?"

"That depends. Will you kill Creatures in the discharge of your duties?"

(Y/N) made a face. Eren had forgotten how expressive mortals could be, but he found that being reminded was not altogether unpleasant.

"You know I will," she replied, "But you have my word that any killing won't be unprovoked."

Eren supposed it was as close to a compromise as he could expect.

"As you wish it, so shall it be."

He turned away, signaling to the bartender for another drink, but a lightning-fast hand shot out to grab his wrist.

"Swear it," she demanded. "I need us to be Bound by it."

The meanness in Eren finally won over. He reached forward, grabbing (Y/N) by the neck, and the silver rings on her fingers burned him as she pulled at his hand to try and restore her breath. Eyes from all around the room were on the two of them— had been, since the very beginning— but it was only once the Hunter before him began to look appropriately humbled that he withdrew.

"Do not touch me without my permission," he said, "And I will return the favor."

(Y/N) looked at him then, but there was still no fear in her eyes. Anger, yes, but no fear.

She must be mad, or foolish one, he thought, considering her for a moment. I always have been partial to mad fools in general, but…

Something about her seemed different, and Eren didn't know what to do other than accept what she had to offer. Heavens knew he was getting the better end of the deal anyway.

"Swear it," she repeated, this time more quietly. "Give your word, and I will be your cupbearer."

Eren brought his hand up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. At his will, the nail tip of his forefinger sharpened, hardening into a point; he used it to draw an 'X' onto the skin just over where his heart rested inside his chest, cold and dead. Blood welled into the cut— precious little, compared to that of a human, but still enough to run down his chest in smudges— and it was by that blood that he swore. He spoke the terms of their agreement, then took the blood from his wound with the pad of his finger and marked the same spot over (Y/N)'s own heart.

"Satisfied?" he asked, their faces almost touching, and (Y/N) shivered.

"Yes."

Her warm, living breath fanned over his face with her reply, and Eren took the moment to close his eyes and appreciate the scent and sensation of it.

"You may think you're satisfied," he told her, pulling away, "But you don't know the meaning of the word."

She eyed him warily, but before she could speak, he added, "In six months' time, I'll ask you the same question, and it is then that you will truly know what it is to feel satisfied— satiated in every way."

"As you say."

It was a throwaway comment, nothing more than a dismissal, really; but Eren felt like it was the start of something truly remarkable.

[qm-vox]

So You Want To Play A Fairest

(Portrait of Erin Peters by cantankerousAquarius. The character originally appeared in Night Horrors: Grim Fears, published by White Wolf; catch my take on her in New Avalon)

Previous Articles: So You Want To Play A Beast, So You Want To Play A Wizened, So You Want To Play An Elemental, So You Want To Play An Ogre, & So You Want To Play A Darkling

You ever wonder, flipping through a Monster Manual for D&D, or a Bestiary for Pathfinder, why nymphs and hags are both always, always, women? It’s older than you know. Dig into the sordid history of tabletops and you’ll find sylphs that Gary Gygax wrote, Chaotic charmers who use mind control to reproduce with non-sylph men; you’ll find the legacy of the matriarchal drow, who follow a mad goddess, and you’ll find the medusae, whose sexual dimorphism is so complete that their men are beautiful and can turn stone into people.

Dredge deeper and you’ll find the tales that Gygax and his wretched ilk based such creatures off of.

You ever wonder why we assign such powerful Gender to creatures of beauty and horror?

Fairest don’t. They know, every time they wake up from a nightmare that is also a wet dream. They know, every time they get hit on at the bar and have to decide how they’re playing this. They know, every time they look in a mirror and see not their own face, but the ten thousand horrors that made it beautiful.

If you are very patient, and lucky, and kind, they might tell you why.

If you aren’t, they may show you.

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost and Winter Masques, as well as Swords at Dawn and Night Horrors: Grim Fears. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for sexual violence, sexual slavery, abuse, gaslighting, addiction, substance abuse, self-harm, self-image problems, mentions of fascists & fascist ideology, and just, so very much incel bullshit.

Bonus Material Part Two: The Seeming Part

The end of this article, just past the customary Sample Fairest, will include some additional material intended to help you select a Seeming for your character and otherwise build them up as one of the Lost, much as So You Want To Run A Spring Court included material for Courts as a topic.

Take Me To Wonderland - Fairest Overview

Fairest is the fourth Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost and possibly the most confused about its own identity. Its sections in Winter Masques present depths and nuance that are completely absent in core, essentially making Winter Masques required reading for Fairest players in a way that no other book is - especially since Fairest keep getting written in a particular way alluded to in the Ogre article, which I will expand on later in this article. Fairest is numerically well-represented in canon and popular in the fanbase, home to many memorable character concepts, but its bones with folklore and tradition are weaker than it fronts as.

Ogres and Darklings claim an innate relationship to physical violence; so too do the Fairest claim a relationship to violence. The violence of Perception and its dark twin, Judgement; of Rumor and its mad dog, Prejudice, the violence of Lies and their merciless master, Truth. Fairest, alone among the Lost, have casual access to the resources of a society that refuses to service or acknowledge Changelings, and with access to that society comes both opportunity and temptation. To be Fairest is to wield power that many other Lost cannot, but the opportunity that power offers is a lie; a Fairest can smile until her face breaks like a mirror, but she’ll never be “sane” enough for the masses to see her as anything but a useful pet.

Life’s Lush Lips - Homecoming As A Fairest

Fairest can make the dubious claim of having the least clear memories of Arcadia amongst all the Lost, with Darklings and Beasts jockeying for second place. This isn’t to say that the experiences Fairest have are necessarily more intense or more inherently traumatic than that of other Lost, but rather that the abuse Fairest suffer is so emotional, so targeted at their perception of their selves and their situations and their self-image, that the memories which do form are inevitably colored by those emotions, coloring the dreams they have of Arcadia with both the emotional resonances they had at the time and with their later attempts to grapple with their own trauma and transformation. For many Fairest, who cannot trust even their strongest memory dreams, attempts to understand their own Durance must rely either on the word of their Keepers (and Faeries lie, oh, how they lie), or on reverse-engineering their own behavior to try and conceive of a trauma that could cause it.

Inevitably, however, some things are seared into their minds. For almost all Fairest, their Keeper is high on the list of things they remember with absolute clarity. Other facts, shattered and scattered, vary more widely. Erin Peters remembers stretched years kept in a cold, dark room lit only by her own hatred; every detail of her cell is scorched onto the back of her eyes, but the otherworldly balls her Keeper took her to blur together like food coloring in syrup. The slaves of the Candle Countess have terrible nightmares of the choices they were confronted with, the decision, offered over and over again, to become complicit in the Countess’s cruelty or to be victimized by it. Metallic Flowering from the Shining City struggle not to use drugs to mimic the rush of pleasure they’ve grown used to receiving for performing their jobs well; they also scream in terror if people touch them. A Draconic and a Shadowsoul both remember being used for the sexual pleasure of alien horrors; the one dreams of coiled scales and terrible teeth, the other a lifetime of lurking in an alien maze, tasked to perform the duties of a living trap for the “wicked” and “unwary” who had not yet shed the last vestiges of kindness.

There are no “wild” Fairest. For worse and worse still, to be Fairest is to have been defined by the inescapable and all-consuming attentions of your abuser, and it is this more than anything that other Lost so often fail to understand about the Fairest. Their Keepers heap them with reward and punishment, manipulating the Fairest with honeyed praise, godly wrath, gaslighting, neglect, withholding food, wondrous rewards, drugs from beyond the realms of earthly pleasure, and other hooks and crooks designed to make the Fairest dependent upon their abuser. It is hideously effective, and the first obstacle, maybe even the mightiest, that a Fairest faces to their escape is the simple horror and joy of being alone again. Their masters will try other tricks to keep them in place - tempting them with pleasures, horrific punishments, oh-so-sincere apologies - but before a Fairest can escape into the Hedge she must face, in her mind’s eye, the lonely flight back to the Iron Lands.

The memories that draw Fairest home often have parallels to their experiences in Arcadia. A slave in the Shining City bites into an otherworldly pastry and recalls her grandmother’s pie in its place; the bride of the Demon Lover, curled up under the sheets, thinks about the broken smile of the boyfriend she left behind at home. A Dancer remembers the roller rink where he fell in love with skating, while across the endless tides of the Fairest of Lands, a Shadowsoul holds on like grim death to years of work at haunted houses, scaring kids for fun and for Halloween. Fairest, so famous for their skill at words, struggle to articulate to other Lost why this should be so. Darklings assume it’s because these memories are less intense than Arcadia, and that the Fairest are fleeing to safety. Beasts get it a bit more right by thinking that these memories taste like home. The truth of the matter is that those memories have an intrinsic and nameless meaning; the highs and lows of Arcadia are divine, flawless, absolute, and therefore worthless. They are the proclamations of merciless gods. What draws the Fairest home, more than pain and pleasure they can have on their own terms, is the understanding that those gestures - for weal or for woe or for anything else besides - were made because someone cared about them, personally. Once they fully internalize that their abuser views them as disposable, the Fairest comes home to someone who won’t.

Three Kiths And Flowering Is One And A Half Of Them - Fairest Kiths

Yeah we’re about to be like that about it.

All Fairest can excel in the social arena; their Blessing can be used to flare almost every social roll in the game, and Fairest can never be caught off-guard in a social context (they suffer no untrained penalties to social rolls). With the sole exception of Empathy (usually rolled with Wits) and sometimes Streetwise, there’s no time a Fairest can’t fall back on their words and expect to win through or at least buy time. This is, as you might imagine, a godsend when it comes to attempts to pass in mortal society; Fairest can usually front, charm, bluff, or Manners(tm) their way through things like renting an apartment, nailing a job interview, asking their roommate to do the FUCKING DISHES, or getting stopped by a cop, but both the books and the fanbase miss something here. While Fairest are superb at active social events, they’re no better at keeping a lid on themselves (Composure-based rolls) than mortals are - and given both the nature of their trauma and the fact that they are, you know, Lost, Fairest have a lot more to keep a lid on day-to-day than the human society they’re trying to blend into. Thankfully, Fairest are pretty good at being able to politely leave a situation and go somewhere else to scream, shout, cry, or have a psychotic break, as appropriate.

Of course, Fairest can’t make something from nothing. As discussed in So You Want To Play An Ogre, you can’t win a social game someone else refuses to sit down to, and social rolls shouldn’t be mind control. All the Glamour in the world can’t make your roommate do the FUCKING DISHES if they’re deep in the throes of executive dysfunction, nor can it make the cashier at Walgreens fail to card you for wine when their computer literally won’t advance without an ID. People who are keyed up about honeyed words or whose own trauma came at the hands of manipulators and abusers might refuse to play that game on the terms the Fairest is setting, which makes it hard to, as it were, turn this problem into a nail. Lurking down this path as well is the specter of becoming like the masters who made you this way; if you get used to saying what will get people to listen to you, eventually you start seeing people as enrichment puzzles that dispense the things you want. Madness waits down that road, and it waits for Fairest with a giant spiked bat, thanks to their Seeming Curse.

There’s no pretty way to say this so I won’t: Fairest are always on the verge of losing their minds. Their curse hits them with a flat penalty to all rolls against losing Clarity, which means that Fairest lose Clarity faster than other Lost and they do so more consistently. This necessitates a balancing act with avoiding becoming heartless manipulators; Fairest must engage in control-seeking behavior in order to stay mentally well, must be able to trust and rely on people close to them, structure their lives, and anticipate important changes or they end up on the fast way down. Other Lost often don’t understand this need or the Fairest curse to begin with, and so Fairest end up in unofficial support groups for one another, similar to those run by Darklings except no one will admit it’s a support group even at gunpoint. Woe fucking betide the friend or life partner who gets between a Fairest and her “book club”, “girls’ night”, “D&D campaign”, or other excuse for this vital community support.

Fairest Kiths are...bad. They’re bad. This is the part of the article where I’m supposed to talk about thematics and symbolism and metaphor, and I cannot do that here, because they are bad. Fairest has three viable Kiths that are actual Fairest Kiths, one that’s a Beast Kith who got lost and wound up here by fucking mistake, and a pile of garbage bigger than my self-esteem problems. I’m almost tempted to only talk about those four Kiths and save myself the time but I suppose I should show the work like I’ve done for all the other Seemings, so here we fuckin’ go I guess.

Flowering - This is it. This is the Fairest Kith. If you want to roll any other kind of Fairest you must first pass the trial of justifying why you’re not playing Flowering. In theory, Flowering draws its mythic heritage from nymphs and dryads, charming flower sprites, Knights of Flowers, and the like, but in practice Flowering’s only mechanical effect is 9-again on Persuasion, Socialize, and Subterfuge with no qualification or requirement, which doesn’t just make you better at everything Fairest is good at, it makes you better when you spend Glamour to flare it too. Want to represent a biobahn sith’s hypnotic dance? Flowering works. Want to create a vampiric Fairest with a sultry voice? Here comes Flowering. The siren at the bar who smells like sea air and gunpowder? Flowering. Everything is Flowering. Even the things that aren’t Flowering are Flowering because all Fairest Kiths have a social focus, which is Flowering’s undisputed arena of mastery.

Bright One - In theory, Bright Ones represent beings of light in the vein of Victorian fey (which...ugh...Victorians), but their Goblin Illumination is, how you say, useless, only becoming vaguely useful for a total of 2 Glamour as a passive defense that took you 2 turns to set up. Anything you want to represent here can be found in Flowering and with Elements or Communion (Light).

Dancer - You know how Flowering gives you bonuses on all social rolls? Would you like those same bonuses but on 1 less skill and only on rolls that “involve physical grace”? No? Run Flowering here and give your character a Dance specialty in one or more skills.

Draconic - One of the game’s premier melee options and a Beast Kith who took a wrong turn and ended up getting a free makeover intended for someone else. Draconic in theory represents Fairest as dragons, monster girls, demons, and in general at their most physical, but that idea sorta...falls down a bit? Draconic’s bonuses are all about Brawl and all the sample Draconics are swordsmen, which might suggest to the discerning reader that someone in the office wasn’t reading their own fucking game. Draconic Fairest don’t make bad melee boys if you invest in Lethal Mien, but honestly this is Dual Kith bait; slap it on your Hunterheart or your Razorhand and go apeshit.

Muse - Close but no cigar. In theory Muses are, well, muses; figures of inspiration, mentorship, teaching, creative fire. Their Kith Blessing is strong but requires access to mortals, which is complicated and roundabout on the best of days. If you have an idea that you think is Muse-shaped, use Playmate instead.

Flamesiren - Behold, we enter the realm of Okay(tm). Flamesirens are what Bright Ones wanted to be, and their hypnotic aura is actually a pretty neat tool; with cunning you can make it a one-sided penalty, and even if you don’t it’s an interesting method of de-escalating a social or combat situation by subjecting everyone to the tar pit that is your presence. If your concept involves light and color and you’re resistant to Flowering, Flamesiren will do more than nothing.

Polychromatic - Polychromatics don’t have a lot of roots in mythology; their modern inspirations are, well, Manic Pixie Dream Girls. But they get a shout-out here for being the only Fairest Kith who can muster up decent emotional defenses; not only can they magically boost their Composure rolls (and non-Composure rolls to resist magical and mundane emotional attacks for that matter), but others get a flat penalty to Empathy rolls against them, which makes them talented dissemblers. You’re still probably better off with Flowering - in a world of passive Kith Blessings, Polychromatic’s is extra passive - but I can see this Kith passing muster, and even being worth the two dots to Dual Kith in-house.

Shadowsoul - This one’s insane. Ostensibly Fairest Does Darkling, Shadowsouls get their Wyrd to Intimidate rolls which could be the whole Kith on its own and still be worth the slot, but in addition to that they get 9-again on Subterfuge (matching Flowering and Darklings there) and access to Contracts of Darkness, one of the most powerful in the game line, as an Affinity Contract. Is your Fairest spooky? Would you like them to be spooky? Here’s your one-stop shop.

Telluric - This is a Kith made of ribbon bonuses. In theory related to stars and celestial light, Telluric’s bonuses to rolls “with precise timing” isn’t...really worth considering. Run ‘em as Flamesiren and move on.

Treasured - In theory also able to muster emotional defenses, Treasured are Fairest who are literally made into works of art. They’re Okay(tm) but in their niche are beaten out by Polychromatic with a better effect for less resources.

Playmate - The last Real Fairest Kith(tm), Playmate appears in Night Horrors: Grim Fears where White Wolf tries to sell it as Peter Pan, but its powerful team-oriented bonuses mean that Playmates are useful anywhere Muse is wanted and more places besides. The front woman of an indie rock band could be a Playmate; so too could be an idealized baseball captain, the director at your local theater, the middle manager of a sinister conspiracy, or the night shift lead at a research lab. Do people do a thing in teams? Playmate does that thing.

And She Had Huge Titties, I Mean Massive Badondadonks, Absolutely Enormous Bazoggahoggas - Lost’s Canon Fairest

Remember when I said we had to get back to this after So You Want To Play An Ogre? Now we’re getting back to this. I’m not gonna re-state my caveats from that article and I’m not really gonna go back over the bit about So White Wolf Was Run By Fucking Nazis because, in all honesty, I do not have the fucking time to restate all of that in new words. Give thanks that OPP got out alive and let’s get right down to it.

Fairest have a very consistent characterization in canon that is only really challenged in Winter Masques; the narrative put forth in Lost is that Fairest, being attractive, have an uncomplicated power which privileges their lives. Which is a rather bloodless way to describe how White Wolf kept writing and publishing Fairest as heartless abusers and manipulators getting their jollies and emotional needs met by casually destroying their fellow survivors, manipulating them through sex appeal, outright lies, cattiness, cruelty, and betrayal. Much as simply queering Ogre does not help Ogre in and of itself, queering Fairest only takes you from incel and Nazi propaganda about women into...incel and Nazi propaganda about twinks, femmes, & in general anyone with the temerity to be found attractive by straight white people.

I’m not bitter, you’re bitter.

So what do you do at your table, with your Fairest concept? Lemme open up by saying that like, Fairest qua Fairest is perfectly solid, and if it wasn’t there wouldn’t be an article here; Fairest has a lot to say for itself about feminized violence, about your personhood being reduced to a product for the consumption of others, about emotional abuse & neglect, gaslighting, and sexual assault, but the conclusion White Wolf arrives at (”Fairest have unalloyed power over mortal and Lost society and they abuse that power”) is super fucking obtuse and betrays a serious lack of concern for what the Fairest undergo. It ignores the way a Fairest’s ordeals will force her to confront her relationship to her own gender and alter her willingness and ability to be consumed, disconnect her from her former society while also isolating her from her new one, and these questions are important for you if you’re looking to play a ‘classic’ Fairest.

But that leaves some hanging questions. Male Fairest face the almost inescapable fate of “failing” maleness on patriarchal terms; even the most strapping, broad-chested, athletic Adonis of a Fairest has become a man of layered words and reflexive empathy, whose Manly Stoicism(tm) is a cracking facade at best and entirely abandoned in a more typical circumstance. Men who become Fairest thus face a second journey after their escape from Arcadia; confronting what being men means to them and building their gender identity back up from the rubble it’s become. The temptation to accept success on society’s terms is always going to be present, and it’s always going to be offered like it’s possible, but it’s a losing game for these Fairest; they simply cannot be the men that other men demand they become.

Now, the discerning and loyal reader is surely about to ask, hey Vox, where’s the butch Fairest I was promised back in the Ogre article, to which I respond WE’RE GETTING THERE but I gotta use this as a bridge to talk about something that cuts across Fairest of all genders, be they cis or trans. Lost 1e makes a lot of hay out of the idea that Fairest “are rarely conventionally attractive”, and core even provides some interesting written concepts for that...which make it into exactly none of the art. Every published Fairest is conventionally attractive for various definitions of conventional, be it as a supermodel or a waif, but that leaves the question of Fairest who genuinely are not - and, tragically, Fairest who were not, and were then made into someone more easily consumed by their Durance. You know what I’m about to say, and I know you know I’m about to say it, but I’m gonna say it anyway: all bodies are beautiful, but Fairest know well that beauty and attraction aren’t the same, and neither are beauty and happiness. All Fairest, from the roundest bear to the most wide-eyed waif, are the products of Keepers who valued their bodies in that state, and that idea is going to haunt them day in and day out for the rest of their extended lives. There is no such thing as a Fairest with an uncomplicated relationship to their body, and that White Wolf seems to think that an uncomplicated relationship is their default state is...disgusting, frankly.

Which brings us, at long last, to butch Fairest (also bear Fairest but I’m gonna stick with the one set of terms or I’m going to go mad and this will never be published), who have a complicated journey ahead of them. On the one hand, the assertion of control and ownership over their own bodies, their own identities, cannot be overstated. On the other hand, elements of those bodies are going to be completely out of their control; a nascent butch Fairest may well hit the gym to get swole only to discover that she literally, physically cannot, that she has been Assigned Dex Build At Durance. Hauling your corpse out of Arcadia with an extremely feminine appearance shaped by your Keeper might complicate attempts to present in a more masculine manner or even just to appear androgynous, and those complications can be discouraging. For those that stick to it, this journey will take them two places; one is the bared-teeth, bloody-knuckled assertion that this life is theirs and you can have it if you can fucking take it, and the other is into the ranks of the Freehold’s retained warriors, usually in Summer or Autumn, though a vibrant representation of Spring knights will make it seem as if Spring has more butch Fairest than it actually does. These Fairest are aware, or will become aware, of how much of their job involves de-escalating or pre-empting violence; a focus on Physical stats or skills is not necessarily common, but hyper-specialization therein likely is. A butch Fairest is a lot more likely to have, say, Brawl 4 (Multiple Opponents) and no other Physical skills than she is to have Brawl, Weaponry, Athletics, and Stealth, in part or in whole because her first weapon of choice is going to be an Intimidate roll.

At every turn you’re able to, challenge White Wolf’s narrative about Fairest by asking yourself what your Fairest wants, why they’re this way, what they’re frightened of, and how the way they behave relates back to these. They’re not products; they’re people, just as hurt and Lost as the rest of their peers.

Princesses And Pastries - Fairest In The Courts

Fairest have a complex relationship to the society of their fellow Lost. On the one hand, they have the same need for community, support, companionship, understanding, honesty, and material aid as all Lost; a Fairest is not magically proof against being homeless, against starving, against the dangers of existing in the modern world without things like a photo ID or car insurance, and Freeholds provide all of these things. On the other hand, the thing most Fairest fear most, even if they can’t articulate that fear, is their own power - social influence, emotional trust and betrayal, status, political power, and authority. Fairest are all too aware that being good at this game does not make them immune to it - after all, that’s the lesson they learned at the hands of their Keepers.

What follows from this is a complex dance of interactions that each Fairest in some ways has to feel like she’s managing on her own, even if she’s not (and she rarely is; those support groups exist for a reason). If you give a Fairest a doughnut in a social setting, she will lick that doughnut even if she doesn’t intend to eat it right away, solely to hear someone else say something along the lines of “well it’s yours now”. As Fairest filter into Freehold society and take up social roles at all levels of power - officers, messengers, ‘ambassadors’ to mortal society, secretaries, pledge-smiths, teachers, monarchs - their responsibilities and rewards become their doughnut. That Fairest make a big deal out of both their job and the benefits that come with it is rarely, as other Lost sometimes think, about aggrandizement or reveling in power for its own sake; it’s about the sheer relief and assurance of hearing someone say, to the Fairest’s face, that this is her doughnut and no one is going to take it from her.

Younger Fairest tend to flit between two or three Courts; their initial selection may be based entirely on friendships, Vibes, or a gut-check decision based on an initial pitch by that Court, and Fairest can go quite far even in a Court that doesn’t quite actually fit their needs. Eventually, though, those Fairest who survive their youth will gravitate towards a Court whose ideals speak to them, even if its current social order isn’t living up to those ideals. If they’re going to be condemned to live as exiles in the world of their birth, the Fairest can at least be the person she wants to be, god damn it. Fairest aren’t any more or less vulnerable to a toxic Court environment than other Lost, but they’re good at detecting it beforehand. Unfortunately they’re also good at telling themselves they can change it.

Spring - Though early Spring joiners are of course rare in general, Fairest are among those Lost who more commonly choose Spring as a first Court. Spring’s highly social focus and chaotic internal organization is almost tailor-made for the skill set of your average Fairest, but therein too lies a sense of threat; for many Fairest, Spring can remind them of their Durance, and their joining of the Court is as much motivated by fear of a powerful cultural body as it is by any genuine Desire, maybe even more so. Many such Fairest end up caught in Spring’s middle-road trap, spinning their wheels without recovering or worsening more or less until they finally die, but when Autumn can sniff out the fearful ones it puts a lot of work into cooperating with Spring to get them out and where they can be helped.

Summer - More Fairest dabble with Summer for dreams of glory, or because they want to believe in Summer’s apolitical sales pitch, than ultimately stick with Summer. Those that do stay often serve as officers, as the Sun’s Tongue or the Arrayer of Distant Thunder, and as Court sorcerers. Fairest skilled in Contracts of Separation can make for surprising Jaegers, hounding their prey down more like a private investigator or a serial killer than a traditional hunter, but while striking this is fairly rare. Fairest who stick with Summer are those who are looking for its high ideals and are often among those rare Summer Courtiers who can competently articulate both those ideals and their pitfalls without falling prey to cynicism and bitterness.

Autumn - For those Fairest who hurt others to feel safe, Autumn is waiting. The Leaden Mirror can be attractive to young Fairest because it’s easy to perceive Autumn as atomized, defined by personal relationships rather than webs of political influence, but when the Fairest discovers those webs the existence of Option Two: Resort To Violence as an acceptable tool to the Ashen Court is perversely reassuring rather than threatening. The image of the Fairest as a witch, tempting and threatening, clings to them in Autumn but it’s honestly not their most common role; Autumn employs its Fairest as rumor-mongers, the Other Woman who seems a little too familiar with your husband, therapists & counselors, oneiromancers, and ambassadors to Hedge communities. The work Autumn does is harsh on Clarity, and Fairest are especially vulnerable to that harshness, but if the Court invests the time in helping its Fairest members, the self-awareness and self-confidence it offers can be a godsend that no other Court can give them.

Winter - As the Court which is actually selling what Fairest think Autumn has - to wit, the ability to simply say “no” to all social interactions with no justification required - Winter has a strong undercurrent of Fairest membership at all tiers of its power. Fairest often end up directly involved in Winter’s money-making enterprises, and flourish as Squires and Armigers with their fingers on the pulse of the Court’s morale. Winter’s hands-off approach displays a tremendous amount of trust in its Fairest from their perspective, and the demeanor of the Coldest Court - Winter’s indifferent equality - has a potent, merciless appeal. The trap of drowning in Sorrow sucks more than a few Fairest under, but if their peers can be there for them there’s always a way back out.

This Is Not A Pipe - Fairest And Lost’s Themes

My many thanks to Izzie M for her extensive help on this section. I’m not sure I’d have been able to grapple it down, emotionally or intellectually, otherwise.

Fairest go through some intense shit, and the shit they go through can never fully be addressed, never fully be recovered from. It’s no mistake that Fairest, like Wizened, are among those Lost likely to never fully gain resolution with or from their Keeper, and this is because they embody the dark truth that no matter how much progress you make, how much you heal, your trauma has changed who you are as a person and you will be dealing with it until you die. But, as alluded to extensively above in the discussion of Fairest and gender, Fairest also embody the way in which society will attempt to stamp you, mold you, turn you into a product to be consumed or an archetype to be placed into its churning machine, and its attempts to reshape who and what you are and can be are, in themselves, a form of trauma and abuse.

Fairest deal a lot in expectations. They’re expected to be perfect victims, they’re expected to be happy (because they’re beautiful and attractive, because they can front as Doing Okay, because they have a form of access to ‘normal’ society), they’re expected to want romance and sex (since everyone else wants those things out of them), to perform emotional labor, to be available, intimate, understanding, to keep up appearances. Fairest escape the chains of their Keeper only to be clapped in the chains that extend into the eyes and minds of their peers, and they cannot move without hearing the clink of them.

Fairest are primed to represent victims of ongoing emotional abuse and neglect; sex slaves and victims of child abuse might find themselves in Fairest, as might husbands or wives of abusive partners (and boy, re-living my bullshit there was a bonus prize I didn’t want to receive for writing this article), children pushed to over-achieve (here overlapping with Elemental) until they break, pastor’s daughters and cult kids (here overlapping with Beast), and others. However, Fairest also hit their thematic stride when talking about trauma from a society that will not give you an exit. A trans person is first punished by society for “failing” to perform their assigned gender, then made to perform their new one to expectations that they cannot set, do not control, and do not consent to; such a person might easily be Fairest, as might a man breaking under the expectations of Maleness, a college student losing their mind in finals week with no one to help, or even more ‘ordinary’ sex workers expected to perform emotional and physical labor for a society that rewards their work with violence and dehumanization.

Fairest are people with complex internal worlds and they damn well know it, but the temptations to let others define them are numerous; society promises all manner of rewards for being who and what it wants you to be, for wanting the things it tells you to want, for being the kind of person who wants and does those things. To be Fairest is to know at any time you can start faking it and receive those rewards insofar as they’re actually on the table, but it is also to know, every second of every day that you’re performing that role, that it is fake. If you can’t find a community with which you can be genuine...well. You can always get more hurt, and in this way Fairest also bring another theme of Lost into focus: that the Lost owe compassion and understanding to their fellow victims, because failure to care can only hurt both them and everyone in their blast zone.

Feet Pics For Legos - Coping As A Fairest

Fairest are among those Lost who are most concerned with their day-to-day social interactions and safety rather than their immediate, very physical environmental safety. They are perhaps the Seeming most likely to live in a group setting (in an apartment with roommates or romantic partners, in a house shared between multiple households, splitting the bills in a condo, with their parents), and are definitely the Seeming most comfortable with the idea of living with mortals who aren’t ensorcelled. Indeed, Fairest don’t tend to do well living alone; even a Fairest who wants or needs a private place to be, choosing to keep a home in which others cannot lay a claim, will likely crash at friends’ places, sleep over at the Freehold commons on some pretext or another, stay the night with a lover, or otherwise have a place to flop down while surrounded by other people. Having other people - their greatest reality check - around the place helps keep the Fairest centered in the real reality, better able to pick apart the mortal from the Wyrd from their own unrelated hallucinations, and a Fairest who is isolated - or who is permitted to isolate herself - quickly begins to dissociate and may soon be incapable of caring for herself until someone can get her back into the present.

Those invited over as guests to a Fairest’s home may note a lot of concern for those she lives with. She likely schedules the event well in advance, is clear about the boundaries of those she lives with (”That’s Brenda’s room, the door stays shut.”) and in general treats her communal home with a lot of respect and love. Respecting these boundaries and in turn having her own respected is very validating for the Fairest and is vital to be able to feel safe and at ease in her own home, and impressing their importance on guests further reinforces that this is, as it were, her doughnut. While not dismissive of their own literal physical safety per se, a Fairest’s anxieties rarely center around her body being violently attacked by strangers. For those that do have such anxieties, they may choose to solve that problem by simple expedient of rooming or living with someone large and scary.

Another detail of note which is touched on in Winter Masques is that Fairest tend to seek out life’s little pleasures. Though they are not necessarily wealthier than other Lost, how a Fairest chooses to spend her money tends to follow particular patterns. Rare is the Fairest who doesn’t have clothing they like, a phone that works, a wallet or purse that can actually hold all of their stuff, and in this regard most Fairest without a special interest in fashion as a hobby in and of itself will have an aesthetic that is self-expressive but serviceable and hard-wearing, but any place the Fairest haunts, frequents, or lives in will get little touches everywhere. Fairest spend the little bits of extra money for good toilet paper, soft soaps that won’t hurt the skin, good shower supplies, high-quality razors, boots that won’t wear through - and they spend their serious money on their hobbies and preferences. A Fairest with a passion for cooking scrimps and saves to get a fully-stocked kitchen; a Fairest who likes building and connecting invests in Legos or Hot Wheels and creates elaborate environments for them. A gamer Fairest has headphones that can vibrate your constipation away and a fiber optic connection to ensure that lag will not stand between her and your doom. The reasons for this are manifold, and Lost’s canon writing suggests that Fairest seek pleasure to alleviate a desire to return to Arcadia. This is, to put it mildly, a stupid assertion; rather, the Fairest provides her own pleasures in part because it is one of the most emotionally clear ways to lick the doughnut, and in part because it reminds her that she can be happy under her own power, can seek pleasure, stimulation, engagement, without placing herself at another’s mercy - ironically making it easier to go out every day and do exactly that as a member of her various societies.

As a Fairest settles in she tends to look for “her” people, and quite often they’re good at compartmentalizing this, wearing different hats and having different feelings about those hats without feeling fake or distressed about the bare fact of that. She’ll have her personal friends and family, like her housemates, her girlfriend, maybe her mortal family, her neighbors, and then folks like her Motley (which are like her personal friends and family, but In The Know), her fellow Fairest and the Freehold broadly, her work friends and fellow hobbyists. A Fairest who does, say, sex work, thinks of herself as a Sex Worker and understands herself in the context of that broader social group. It can be a lot! Many Lost barely have a handle on being a member of both the Freehold and a Court, and the way Fairest flit to and fro between many communities, slipping seamlessly from one role to another, can be exhausting to watch - but by doing so the Fairest also builds bonds between those communities, highlights their common needs and interests, draws them together over their similarities and strengths. Darklings and Wizened get a lot of the work on the ground done, but it’s often a Fairest in the role of whistleblower, figurehead, and champion all at once.

After all, this, too, is her doughnut.

Example Fairest - Clara Belltower, Spring Playmate

Clara Belltower is a mime.

Well, no, not exactly. Clara Belltower is a self-employed porn actress, erotic script writer, and director, whose primary thing is mimes, clowns, and more broadly circuses and performance venues. She came back from Arcadia eight years back fleeing life as her Keeper’s Stepford Wife, and ran face-first into the money issues that haunt the Lost in general. What started out as a practical choice in new career - and an attempt to find and express an identity not created for her by her abuser - became a creative passion that has stayed strong with Clara and propelled her to status in the Spring Court, which retains her keen eye for decoration, direction, and theatricality in service to its high rituals and revels. Clara’s livestreams and online presence are also a convenient avenue for the Freehold to launder its less legal revenue streams, which has endeared Spring’s “silent siren” to the Winter Court and cemented her as a mover and shaker.

Clara’s ambitions reach beyond erotic miming, as talented as she is at both creating and purveying such. She has her eyes on four different strip clubs in Freehold territory alone whose owners and operators need to fucking go, and she wants Winter’s help making it happen; further, she wants the Freehold to take over operation of those establishments for the benefit of the workers. Clara’s vision is popular in Spring and has its supporters in Summer too, but the Declining Seasons have been cool on the concept, citing a need to maintain subtlety and avoid entanglements with the mortal world that might invite the eye of, say, the IRS - or mire the Freehold in a protracted war with local police departments. Clara’s passion burns with a righteous simplicity, envisioning a Freehold that is active in improving the city around it - if the cops want to throw down, bring it on! Her influence over Winter means the Coldest Court cannot simply dismiss her desires, but neither is it willing to go to war. Something is going to have to give, soon.

This concludes the Fairest portion of the article. Some additional thoughts on Seeming follow.

Bombing Your Own Position - Choosing Your Seeming

So it’s been six articles and I’ve talked about the ways various Seemings can represent responses to the things which traumatize us; neurodivergences for which society abuses us, the machinery of capitalism, violence, prison, and more. But how do you go about choosing your character’s Seeming? The obvious choice is to make a character that puts a lot of yourself at the table; to seek out a Seeming that reflects your own traumas, your own issues, your own anxieties and struggles, and then grapple with them in this fictional context. But RPGs can be an emotionally challenging medium, and you may well not want to deal with your own bullshit during your magic trauma fairy game. That’s valid!

Now, the second obvious piece of advice is to think about your proposed character’s themes and traumas and then select a Seeming from there, but this can get complicated. Many Lost players feel as if they need two Seemings, and to those players I say: no the fuck you do not. But it is true that people are messy and do not fully resolve, that the broad spectrum of the world of sorrow and loss is not easy to fit into 6 discrete categories whose creation was often managed by, not to keep repeating this point, fucking Nazis. I have found in my experience that it can be helpful, when you’re torn between two Seemings or you have a character you’re sure is this Seeming even though they look like or could be that one, to ask yourself why the character is not the other option. Why is this alluring and sensual Darkling not a Fairest, what makes this brutal and violent Wizened not an Ogre? This question naturally leads to others about their abuse and their reaction to it, and can start your momentum for writing your concept out.

As an addition, while I’ve spoken of various Seemings as being well-equipped to represent specific traumas, they don’t own those traumas. Elementals are metaphorically autistic, but there’s nothing stopping you from running an autistic Fairest or an autistic Beast instead. Rather, those Seemings outlined as being “for” or “about” certain traumas are those whose selection will make those traumas thematically central, cause you to return to them as a topic over and over by virtue of being who and what they are. Real people have complicated problems which intersect with one another, spawning new problems that are more strange than the sum of their parts, and it’s both valid and interesting to write your Lost that way - just keep in mind that it’ll still be complicated at the table too.

Van Helsing Hate Crimes - Seeming Politics

White Wolf spent a lot of time waffling back and forth on whether or not Seemings represent distinct cultural and political identities in a given Freehold, drifting towards ‘yes’ when the writers thought about the way Blessings and Curses create consistent, measurable differences between Lost of various Seemings, and towards ‘no’ generally whenever they were asked to actually outline a Lost society such as a sample Freehold or Entitlement. Some Entitlements are locked to specific Seemings, often times with little thought as to why, while other times Seeming-based power blocs are alluded to as worldbuilding elements (such as in Lords of Summer) without much in the way of supporting detail. Why should these things happen, when, how, what does the buildup of this violent fracture in a Freehold society look like?

On the whole, I have taken the stance in these articles and in my own worldbuilding that some amount of fantastical prejudice exists amongst the Lost, but that the systems of oppression have not taken root. Maybe it’s idealistic of me to view the Lost as unwilling or unable to produce internally racist power structures that create an underclass for the benefit of an appointed elite, but in general I feel as if Freeholds are too small, each individual member too precious by simple dint of being a living being in a physical body, for this kind of evil to flourish. That said, you may have also noticed that I identified two Seemings - Darklings and Fairest - as explicitly self-uniting and in some senses self-governing on the basis of common traumas that they often cannot fully explain to outsiders, and indeed community with people that understand your bullshit without you having to say it aloud - that is, those who share a Seeming with you - can be invaluable to all Lost. Ultimately, however, I want to advise against looking at Seemings the way that, say, Vampire: the Requiem looks at Clans, and instead to treat them as reactions to trauma rather than a kind of alternate racial identity.

Next up: So You Need To Write A Fetch

[inkandpen22]

Young Hearts Divided (1/?)

Pairing: Sirius x reader / James x Female!Reader (this comes later- the tea)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6k (she short~think of it as an introduction)

Part Summary: Y/N is a fellow Gryffindor Fifth Year with the Marauders. She has always been close with the boys, especially Sirius, but sometimes they can be bad influences... 

A/N: as always, thank you for reading! If you guys have any suggestions or requests you’d like to see, let me know! I’m down for anything rn :) 

Masterlist

Late! Late! Late! I’m late! I hurry down the steps of the tower into the Common Room. I suppose this is what I get for staying up late listening to muggle music with Marlene. How kind it would’ve been of her to wake me up too when she probably rose like a peaceful princess this morning. I at least would expect Lily to help a friend out! Nope, instead, I’m sprinting through the halls of Hogwarts with one shoe on, my hair disheveled, and my books hardly staying in my hands. I completely missed breakfast and now have to run straight to DADA across the bloody castle! 

Professor Flitwick stops writing on the board and peers over his shoulder when I stumble into the room. My peers whip their heads back and stare at me like a fish in a bowl. Sirius and James are sitting right in front of me with childish grins across their faces. Sirius starts giggling and Remus leans across the aisle to swat him on the arm. 

Professor Flitwick clasps his hands together with a deep exhale. “Miss Y/L/N, it’s on you to join us. Take your seat,” he instructs, gesturing to your empty seat next to Marlene toward the back of the room. 

“Sorry Professor,” I mutter, swiftly sliding into my seat directly in front of Sirius. 

As I pull out a roll of parchment and get settled, Marlene begins to bombard me with her questions. “Where have you been?!” 

“Sleeping!” I snap in a whisper. “No thanks to you!” 

“Dreaming about Bowie?” Marlene giggles, nudging me with her elbow. “Told you he’s stellar! We should listen to him again tonight!” 

“And keep me up all night?” I snicker, looking ahead to scribble down Flitwick’s notes. 

“You still haven’t heard this one group! My cousin sent me-” 

Marlene is cut off as a crumpled piece of paper hits the back of my head. Knowing exactly who it’s from, I ignore the wrinkled ball on the floor by my ankle to catch up on my notes. Marlene picks up the paper, much to my annoyance. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glance back at Sirius as she unravels the ball. I continue to listen to Flitwick, hoping he doesn’t write me up for being tardy. 

“Want me to read it to you?” Marlene asks, all gushy with enthusiasm. 

“Does what I say matter?” I sass in a grumble, knowing she’ll read it anyway. 

“He wants you to meet him at the tree by the lake after class,” she informs as she scans the sheet. 

“Can’t,” I answer plainly. “I have potions.” 

Marlene sighs in disappointment, glancing back at Sirius with a frown. On my behalf, she writes down my answer and hands back the note. Turning back toward the front, she fiddles with her quill not even attempting to take notes. I, however, am writing like a lunatic struggling to make up for lost time. 

“Oh come on Y/N,” Marlene whines quietly. Her silence lasted about ten seconds. She tugs on the sleeve of my shirt while glancing upfront every so often to make sure Flitwick isn’t looking.  “You haven’t missed a day of class yet this term! Skipping one class won’t kill you!” 

“You’re right,” I mumble, keeping my attention ahead. “But what if McGonagall sees us or literally anyone else? I can’t get written up again! I’ve been to detention twice now this year because of the Marauders. Friends don’t get friends in trouble.” 

She huffs, dismissing my reason as not good enough. “You’re only young once Y/N! It could be fun!” 

“Why don’t you meet him then?” You suggest sarcastically. 

Suddenly, I feel another tap of a ball of parchment this time hitting my back. I take a deep breath to compose myself. If we anywhere else, even the library, I would probably smack the boy. Taking note of my frustration, Marlene cautiously reaches for the ball resting between the back of my chair and my back. She raffles the paper and skims the sheet. 

“Do you want-” 

“Ugh, just read it!” I bark under my breath, but loud enough for Lily and Alice to turn around in front of me. I mutter an apology and they face forward again. It takes every bit of me to ignore the stifling laughter of Sirius and James behind us. 

Marlene clears her throat, making the duo quiet down. Then, she recites Sirius’s note. “We will not be seen. James gave me the cloak.” 

I snicker, shaking my head at the words. “Ha, yeah okay! How does he plan on making Slughorn not mark me inexcusably absent?” 

“He… um…” Marlene stutters. “Good point.” On that note, she scribbles down my answer and leans back to hand the paperback. 

Sirius won’t have a valuable answer, thus will leave the matter alone. He will enjoy his free period doing who knows what with James while I go to potions. Shall I recall the two times I got put into detention because of Sirius Black? Okay, here it goes...

The first time was really for all of the Marauders. I suppose it’s my fault I’m friends with them. They were out late sneaking around with their stupid map to jot down a hidden tunnel Remus had discovered that day. I played watch and distracted Filch long enough for them to run into the Common Room. What that got me was detention from Filch. The boys felt remorseful and thankful that I didn’t throw them to the wolves, especially Remus and Peter. Sirius bought me chocolates and placed a rose on my bed every day for twelve days until I had a full bouquet. 

The second time was after the Gryffindor v. Slytherin quidditch game a few weeks ago. There was a party in the Gryffindor Common Room after the win as per usual. Sirius was drunk and wanted to go for a swim in the lake. I had been rather intoxicated myself, but not enough to jump into a lake filled with all sorts of creatures! Alas, Sirius dragged me from Gryffindor tower and we snuck around the castle to get to the lake. Filch and some of the Prefects were on their rounds, so we had to hide around corners. Sirius would slowly turn the corners first, holding onto my hand to keep me close, just in case. Then, he would glance back at me with a mischievous smirk before booking it down the clear halls. Jump ahead half an hour and we get caught in the Black Lake in nothing other than our underwear by a very disappointed McGonagall, not one of my proudest moments. 

I remember her words exactly. “Mr. Black, why must you pull Miss Y/L/N into your shenanigans? Two weeks’ detention, both of you! You’ll be cleaning classrooms until they’re spotless!” 

The two longest weeks of my Hogwarts career. Well… at some points. Sirius had his moments when he made the hours slip by. There was the time we were cleaning Slughorn’s classroom and had a water fight. We got all of the textbooks wet that Slughorn left out on the desks. Sprout heard us from the hall and walked in on us dripping wet head to toe. Sirius was standing behind me, holding a now-empty bucket over my head. Her face was priceless! 

“Y/N? Y/N!” Marlene pokes my side, snapping me out of my daydreaming. “I’ve been saying your name!” She huffs, holding a new note from Sirius. “What do you want to say?” 

I frown, “what does it say?” 

She rolls her eyes, “I just read it to you... I guess somebody wasn’t paying attention.” 

I mumble an apology and look up at the chalkboard to see that Flitwick has jotted down at least ten more points. I check out for two minutes tops and he does all that?! Forget it, I’ll just copy Lily’s notes later. We all know she’ll have them perfect. James copies her every day during lunch anyway. I sit back in my seat with a sigh of defeat and contentment. I accept my defeat and call it a day. Looking over at Marlene, waiting for her to read me the note again. Impatient, I take the paper for myself and look over it. 

Have Lily tell Slughorn you’re not feeling well. I have something I want to show you…” 

Thinking it over for a moment, I consider the pros and cons. Cons: I could get caught and three strikes don’t look great on my transcripts. I want a career at the ministry, I can’t risk ruining that. Pros: it could be fun. Whenever I allow myself to have free time, Sirius and I have the best time. I mean, even in detention we had fun. He’s one of my best friends here. In fact, he was one of the first friends I made, after Marlene. Leaning forward in my chair, I pick up my quill and scribble down my answer. Marlene peaks over my shoulder, eager to see. 

Okay. 

Keeping a close eye on Flitwick to make sure he isn’t looking, I fold up the paper neatly in my lap. When the professor turns toward the board, I reach my arm behind me, handing the note back to Sirius. While I keep my attention, I feel Sirius’s warm hand glide over mine to take the folded parchment. It lingers there for a mere second, his fingertips grazing as far as my wrist unnecessarily. A faint, uncontrollable smile forms across my lips at the feeling of his touch. Marlene is right, we’re young, I should be living more. I think Sirius can help with that. 

[anghraine]

“the voices of the sea” - fic

I wrote a thing! There might be errors, since I wrote it very quickly, but it was fun (in its way). It’s part of the Aranorverse, where the explicit throwbacks in LOTR (Aragorn, Denethor, Imrahil, and Faramir) are genderbent (as Aranor, Andreth, Imraphel, and Míriel).

In particular, it’s a very belated sequel to “cloven shield and broken sword,” in which Aranor found a dying Boromir:

She remembered him tugging at her leggings, demanding to know but what next? And she remembered him in Lothlórien, haughty and suspicious until he began to speak of Míriel, the sister he had loved and protected through all the days of their lives. Boromir the tall, the fair, the bold, had died, and his treasured sister lived on; what was Aranor’s grief to that?

May the news of his loss come to you swiftly and kindly, jewel-maiden!

The dream always began the same way.

Míriel stood in a city of white and gold, grander than Minas Tirith, grander even than Osgiliath of old, though its domes and towers were similar enough in form that she knew she looked upon the work of Dúnedain. Most of the people around her, however, belied the impression, with their bright hair and soft features—or so it had once seemed. They were handsome, but in a way that unsettled her, like overripe fruit covered in sweet cream. Some particularly disturbed her: tall men in long red tunics, leading lines of bound prisoners towards a building beneath a particularly large and glittering dome.

The prisoners would not have looked out of place in Minas Tirith. Míriel’s stomach turned as smoke trailed up from the dome.

The first time, she still knew not what she saw at this point. It was strange and disagreeable, but little worse, until the winds began to blow. Míriel’s black hair whipped around her face, rain splattering on her head and cheeks and the ground, where it pooled into large puddles. Nobody seemed to notice her. Men came running from what looked like a harbour, shouting things in a language she couldn’t quite understand; her impression of their thoughts was dark and clouded, enough that she shrank back. 

But she was not a shrinking sort of girl, not really. The prisoners had drawn her attention again; the red-robed men seemed to be distracted by the newcomers and the prisoners had seized the chance to struggle with their bonds. She ran over to them.

“Who are you? Do you come from Gondor?” she asked.

No one answered. No one so much as acknowledged her existence. But as the water splashed over her sandalled feet, the prisoners broke free and fled, chased futilely by only a few of the robed men. She caught a single familiar word amidst all the clamour: storm.

Yes, of course. It must have come on very unexpectedly; everyone appeared to be dressed very lightly for this kind of weather. Míriel was herself; her thin tunic soon soaked through, and her skin went numb. The sky grew darker; she almost thought she saw the shadow of some enormous creature flicker across it. And the steady fall of the rain turned into torrential sheets of water that blasted through the streets, scattering the people on them.

Míriel ran as quickly as she could, like the rest, but instead of retreating into houses or flying to the ships, she turned and scrambled towards the clearest sign of refuge: a mountain near the city, rising clear and pure above its buildings. Smoke puffed from its summit, which struck her as wrong in some way.

She was a child at the time, her steps short, but somehow or other, her feet brought her out of the city and to the side of the mountain before the driving wind and rain could wholly flood the city and its environs. Ahead of her, a small woman in an embroidered white tunic, with sparkling bracelets about her wrist and a golden collar at her throat, clambered up the sides of the mountain. The air was hot, hotter than it should be, but Míriel could think of nowhere else to go. She struggled up the mountain after the woman.

“Can you hear me?” she called out. “Let us help one another!”

To her surprise, the woman looked back—but her fair face, though not unsettling in the way of the others’, was filled with utter terror. She didn’t seem to see Míriel at all, her pale grey eyes wide and staring. 

Míriel followed her gaze, and gasped. Water was rushing out of the city and drowning the green valley below, rising with impossible swiftness. Míriel was not craven, but at that, she turned back to the mountainside and struggled to scramble up its ledges, ignoring the pebbles that pressed into her feet beneath her thin, drenched sandals. Now, she could not look back, and she ignored the horror that filled her mind.

They never did make it to the top of the mountain. But they reached a high enough point that Míriel could see past it. Water was flooding beyond it, too, pouring through forests and rising over hills from every direction.

Even as Míriel gazed upon it, the storming water splashed up into foamy waves that roared beneath them. This did not, however, prepare her for what happened next.

To the west, all the waves seemed to join together into one, towering and impossibly enormous. But it grew still larger, cascading up and up and up and up, above Míriel and the woman, above the mountain itself, above everything. The hills and valleys, forests and cities, all fell under its heavy shadow. Míriel’s very blood felt cold, her her breath coming in small, frightened pants as the wave’s inescapable darkness deepened.

The woman, clinging to rocks, screamed something that Míriel half-understood. Then the wave began to crash down on them.

In Míriel’s bedchamber, her eyes flew open. That time, the first time, she promptly burst into tears and cried until Boromir came running, thinking she was ill. He managed to console her, but within a few nights, the dream came again, and then again within a few nights of that. So it continued, on and on, through the years that followed.

The horror of it never really abated. Yet she grew accustomed to it, in a way: to the sight of Númenor in its most terrible hour, only made worse by the understanding of what came next and why, to the glimpses of her namesake, the rightful queen. Indeed, nothing but the wave itself left so strong a mark on her mind as Tar-Míriel’s face, so beautiful and so terrified.

She, Míriel of Gondor, would never forget her, or Númenor, or where the folly and evils of their people had led. She could never forget. Perhaps that was the purpose of the dream. Perhaps it was a warning of what victory could mean in the end, however improbable victory might seem in her waking hours. Perhaps it was something else yet. But it never stopped haunting her.

Nearly thirty years after the first dream, though, it changed. Míriel dreamed again of Armenelos and the Meneltarma and the shadow of death rising inexorably above all. But there was no waking. The wave slowly began to collapse over them, foam and droplets spattering her face before it reached her. Míriel stood tall and straight, refusing to cower, allowing herself no further weakness than blinking the water out of her face. She opened her eyes to more water, feeling it slosh about her bare ankles.

But it was now deep into night beneath a pale moon, just bright enough for her to see that the water in which she stood flowed smoothly past the familiar shores of the Anduin. The terror of the Downfall had shifted to an overwhelming sense of peace.

As she watched, she saw a small boat come floating up the river. In colour, it was a peculiar, shining grey; in design, she could not recognize it. Nor did she expect to, for it cast a dim light all around it. Though nobody appeared to be rowing or steering it, it continued on its serene course without interruption.

Míriel felt a distinct desire to draw nearer the boat, to understand what could possibly explain all this. She thought of resisting the desire; she might have—but it did not strike her as foul in the way of the Enemy’s arts, so she dared approach. 

The boat slowed as she came near, within hand’s reach of the prow. Her instincts warned her against touching it, but she saw illuminated water filling the boat, and a warrior who first appeared to be sleeping in it.

Míriel gasped.

“Boromir!”

She knew at a second glance that he was dead. Anyone might have, without need of fallen Númenor or any other powers of this world. His chest had been pierced with many wounds. His sword lay broken on his knee, and others at his feet. His black hair had been carefully laid over his shoulders. She recognized everything he wore except a lovely belt of linked golden leaves, and his face was not only restful, but beautiful, even more than in life.

She and her mother had already feared the worst, when they heard the echo of his horn coming from the north, unaccompanied by any news of him. But it was one thing to fear, and another to see.

“Where is your horn?” she asked, as if he might somehow answer. 

The boat kept floating under her gaze, drifting past where she stood in the water. 

“Where are you going?” she cried. “Oh, Boromir!”

It passed on, down the stream and fading into the night, towards the sea. Míriel stood alone in the water. No priest of Sauron, no Faithful prisoner, no doomed queen or frightened citizen intruded upon her notice. No brother, either. 

She tilted her head down to stare into the clear river-water, her reflection a dark blur at this hour. With her hair hanging loose around her face, obscuring the sight of the shore, it reminded her of peering into the waters near Dol Amroth on a calm night. Perhaps it had reminded her father of the sea he missed, too. Oh, the sea, the sea! Must it always be the sea?

She felt tears slide down her cheeks—as if the occasion required more water, when Boromir was gone and forever consigned to the fate of Men. They would never see him return. She would never feel his great embrace once more, nor listen to him with their mother, nor ride out to the Pelennor with him, nor ever again see him laugh among the knights of Dol Amroth. Míriel squeezed her eyes shut.

She pressed her fingers to her face, rubbing away tears, and opened her eyes again. She felt no surprise at the sight of her bedchamber in Minas Tirith. Yet she was not lying in bed but sitting upon it, her hands still pressed to her cheeks, as if she had actually woken some time before, or never slept at all. Míriel rose, shaking out her dry shift, and walked over to her window, which looked westwards.

Boromir had risked death constantly; it was his duty and right as Captain-General and heir to the Stewardship. She had always known this. She had certainly known it when he set out on his errand, driven by a dream of his own. Yet, in some way, she had not known—not understood—and now—

Now, she must tell their mother.

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust | 5 - culmination

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

🔖 a/n - aaah some stuff finally starts going down in this chapter, thanks y'all for staying patient through the last four chapters. please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates! enjoy!

—

  “Admittedly,” Zhongli sighed, “I may have gone a little overboard with the food.”

   You both peered at the carnage leftover from your feast, the table strewn with at least half of the meal left.

   “Are you full?” Zhongli inquired. He wasn’t smiling, but there was unmistakeable amusement in his voice. You nodded — a few minutes ago, you’d felt like you could have eaten everything on the table, but the physical limits of your stomach betrayed you. “Very well. Let’s clean up, then I will show you around the house. How does that sound?”

   It still took you by surprise, each time he asked you for your opinion. “It sounds good, Mr. Zhongli.”

—

   The first time you touched him was as he handed you one of the plates, as you thumbed over the intricate blue-white markings and felt your fingers brush.  You didn’t know it then, but it would not be the last.

   He was wearing his gloves, and so it was really leather that you’d touched, but it was electrifying all the same. You winced, searching his features for any displeasure. It was not your place to so much as gaze upon a noble of  half his status without permission, let alone touch — you’d been taught that lesson, quickly and very early on.

   “Please take this to the kitchen,” he requested, as though nothing had happened. You obeyed with slow, deliberate steps, squashing even any thoughts of dropping the fine china. Gingerly — how in Celestia was even the inside of his fridge elegant? — you set it down, closed the door and almost jumped out of your skin. He was standing right behind you, arms crossed as he studied you, features unreadable.

   “Tell me a little about yourself, Hansi.”

   Small talk? Or a test? Surely, certainly, he wasn’t genuinely curious? You felt naked under his probing gaze, still clad in that plain white dress. Had it really only been a day since you’d met Zhongli? Every second with him seemed to stretch over the length of a millennia. Instinctively, your hands wandered to your chest, feeling for your Vision. Wasn’t there. Wouldn’t help you even if it was.

   I grew up in a shithole with a dozen other people. I stole, robbed, dredged myself through life, you imagined yourself saying to him, just to get sold to a nobleman who thinks I’m too stupid to understand his intentions. 

   By the way, three nights ago, Rex Lapis smoked up something real good and gave me a Geo Vision I don’t know how to use.

   “There is nothing to know about me,” you said, instead, “save that I am bound to you in loyal servitude, and that I will do as you please, Mr. Zhongli.“

   “Hm.” Zhongli hummed, a low echo. His golden gaze rend you through Then, rather abruptly, he said, “Let’s begin the house tour, shall we?”

   Somehow, his curtness stung. Had you said something wrong? What you’d said — that was the textbook response you were meant to give, no? Regardless, you nodded your obedience, swallowing the fear you felt, as always, at his displeasure.

—

   You almost expected there to be a dungeon of some sort hidden behind one of the doors, some skulls, maybe a poor chained up Hilichurl or two.

   What you didn’t expect was so many rocks. 

   And paintings. And scrolls, and trinkets, and jewelry, arranged carefully upon display stands in each room. You remembered how cluttered the drawers were that you hid your Vision in. In the daylight, now that your mind wasn’t clouded with as much fear and fatigue, you were realizing just how much stuff Zhongli owned.

    (Vaguely, it brought to mind images of dragons — the billowing, fire-breathing, treasure-hoarding creatures you’d read about in one of the many storybooks you’d stolen. You shook that image out of your head. Zhongli was plenty intimidating, even without a set of horns and fangs.)

   “—and this is the bathroom,” Zhongli said, pushing open the door. The bathroom, on its own, was bigger than the shack you’d shared with four other families growing up. In the middle of the room, the dark marble floor gave way to a large, circular bathtub — it looked a little like a pool. “You are free to use it, and anything in it, whenever you’d like.”

   The idea of a hot bath was heaven, but you were a hundred percent certain that your current state — dirt-caked fingernails and unkempt hair and all — was all that was keeping you safe. If you got nice and clean, who was to say what he would decide to do to you?

   No, you would avoid taking a bath as long as you could.

   Zhongli closed the door, and hesitated. “Hmm. There is less than I thought to show you,” he admitted. “These other rooms are simply full of items I’ve collected over the years, and I’m sure they would bore you.“

   “It would be my pleasure to hear more about them,” you said, quickly. You wanted to keep him talking; as long as he was talking, he was doing nothing else. Besides, you found yourself growing more and more intrigued about Zhongli — only so that you could read him better, you promised yourself.

   “Well, then far be it from me to deny you your pleasure,” he said. “What would you like to know more about?”

   You glanced around, gaze landing on a small, glass standing display case. Two gemstones sat side by side in it, both a rich, translucent gold — like his eyes, you thought. “What are those?”

   “Cor Lapis,” he said, and you heard a hint of something in his voice. Pride? “They were a gift, from someone close to me.”

   “Are they worth a lot? They’re so pretty.” You bit your lip. They were probably worth more than the average Liyue merchant would ever earn. Pretty? Really?

   “In terms of Mora, yes, they are worth no small amount,” Zhongli replied. “However, their value far surpasses material currency, for these are prime Cor Lapis samples from Mount Hulao.”

   “Hulao... in Jueyun Karst?” You’d heard the rumors that floated between drunk fishermen and merchants, of the dangers of the mountain, of those who entered and came back changed. You had never put much stock in them — drunk men would say just about anything.

   “Yes. And as I’m sure you know, Jueyun Karst is a dangerous place to venture into, without the proper precautions.”

   “Dangerous… even for you?” You glanced at the Vision hanging off his waist. You couldn’t imagine a situation where Zhongli would ever be forced to break that collected facade of his.

   “For any human.”

   You found yourself enjoying the light conversation — you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to another person like this. “Who gave you these?” You tried to smile, and it came easier than you expected. “They must have been really nice, to give away something so expensive.”

   Immediately, you regret opening your mouth. Zhongli’s eyes darkened, and his face fell visibly.

   “Yes. She… was certainly very kind,” he said, quietly. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Couldn’t.

   Was? You wanted to kick yourself. Of course you’d manage to bring up his dead friend in your first real conversation with him. The next seconds of silence were almost unbearable. Finally, you spoke up with the first thing that popped into your head. “So, you like rocks?”

   By the Archon, weren’t you on a roll today.

   You were pleasantly baffled to hear him chuckle, a deep, throaty rumble from the depths of his chest. “Yes, one could say that I am fond of them.” He said, amidst soft laughter. “And you?”

   “I don’t know much about them,” you admitted, “but the ones you have are beautiful, Mr. Zhongli.” So was his laugh.

   “Is that so?” He asked, the previous conversation seemingly forgotten, as he strode over to a case across the room, “perhaps you will find these to your fancy as well — these pieces of Noctilucuous Jade were mined from the deepest mines of the Mingyun...“

—

   By the time Zhongli had finished regaling you about his rock collection, the sky outside had become a smear of pink and orange, the sun drifting barely over the horizon. You hadn’t even noticed the time — Zhongli simply had the kind of voice that demanded wholehearted attention.

   “I seem to have gotten carried away again,” Zhongli smiled. Was it just you, or were his smiles coming more frequently? “Thank you for being such a good listener, Hansi.”

   You nodded in response, not quite sure what to say to that. The praise had a strange, warm feeling spreading through your chest.

   “All that’s left of the house is the library upstairs,” he paused, the tacit question clear on his lips.

   You froze. Ever since you started stealing to survive, you’d made a point to sell everything that couldn’t be eaten. Jewelry, hairpins, no matter how pretty, no matter how much your heart ached to put them on, went straight to the pawn store. But you could never sell books. You couldn’t bear to give up the worlds within them, the promises that one day you would be able to live as freely as the heroes of those stories.

   So you stole. First from Wanwen bookstore, then when the owner learned to watch for your grubby hands, from bags and pockets and homes. You devoured them like hot meals, kept them under the floorboards of your corner, read them out loud to the kids who lived with you, read them till the dirt from your fingers had smeared the words to unrecognition.

   You wanted to see Zhongli’s library, so badly that it hurt.

   But to tell him this would be to admit to him that you’d stolen those books, that you taught yourself a skill that someone of your social class didn’t deserve to learn. Something you weren’t worthy of.

   “I can’t read anyway,” you lied.

   “I see,” Zhongli said. “Then, shall we go and get some dinner? Are you feeling well enough to make a trip to Liyue Harbor? I know the most splendid restaurant.”

—

   You thought that things were going relatively well, that you were doing a fine job of squashing the unease and distrust of Zhongli that still gnawed at the corners of your mind. You were giddily excited, even, to be going to a restaurant for the first time.

   So, as you two arrived at the outskirts of Liyue, close enough to hear the bustle of nightlife, you certainly weren’t expecting the sudden wave of emotions that knocked you clean off your feet.

   It had started small — the unrelenting reminder of how out of place you would look at the restaurant. How out of place you would look in public, next to Zhongli in all his regality. Then: how out of place you truly were — how absurd of you to have started warming up to Zhongli when you knew, with every fiber of your being, what all men like him wanted; when you knew that one day he would grow impatient of waiting for you to offer it.

   If you took his dinner, his food, his kindness, what would you begin to owe him?

    Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. The bile that rose through your throat was hot and bitter, and you doubled over and retched noisily into the nearest bush. Vaguely, you could hear Zhongli’s exclamation and his footsteps approaching, but you couldn’t stop until your stomach was empty once again.

   You flinched violently at his light touch on your shoulder. “Hansi,” he said, and you were baffled at how genuine his concern sounded, “what happened? What’s wrong?”

   “I don’t know,” you whispered, and it was true. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

   “Please don’t apologize. Can you stand?” Zhongli asked, voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you home.”

   You nodded. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

   “Nonsense, your health is infinitely more important.” He said. “Do you think that you can walk?”

   Once again, you nodded. You let him lead you home.

—

   When you reached the front door of the house, Zhongli’s hand on your shoulder firm and gentle, something had begun — deep in your heart — to fester. The fear, the confusion, the things that had fallen into place but didn’t quite fit together — it had all been boiling too long, too hot. 

   “Mr. Zhongli.” You said, as you stepped through the door, once again greeted by a warm gust of air. 

   “Yes, Hansi?” He asked, close behind. His hand on your shoulder was suddenly heavy, and hot. You shrugged it off, whipping around to stare him in the eyes.

   “Please, just— do whatever you’re planning to do to me.” You said, knowing that if you lost your momentum now you would never get it back.

   “I beg your pardon?”

   “I’m not a child. We both know what I'm here for. When I lived on the streets, two pieces Mora would have earned any nobleman a night -- let alone... however much you’ve spent.” You were vaguely aware of how many lines you were crossing with each word, but there was no stopping the words flowing from your lips now. You could feel your heart thrashing against your chest, anger warming your bones. 

   “We both know that I have nowhere to run, no way to defend myself, so just DO it already. Be cruel, hit me, whatever, do your thing so that I can stop holding my Archon-damned breath and waiting for the inevitable. What exactly are your intentions with me, sir?”

   You paused to catch your breath, and the horror set in suddenly. Your temper had always been the bane of your well-being — you just had to let it get the best of you, every time, didn’t you? Why couldn’t you have just bided your time and waited for his patience to run out later rather than sooner?

   Zhongli stayed silent, face pulled into a frown as though he was pondering over your words. Time seemed to slow into a viscous fluid, drowning you in its wake. You glanced down the hallway at your room.

   If he raised his hand against you, would you be able to make it to your room? Would you be able to grab your Geo Vision before he caught you, and would you even be able to use it against him, against the years of experience he’s had with his? You knew the answer to all of those questions: a resounding no.

   Would he let you live if you apologized? You opened your mouth to beg.

   “My intentions with you...” he said, brow pulled down over heavy lids. “Hm. It seems that I must apologize.”

   You let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. For the umpteenth time since your meeting with Zhongli, you wondered: What?

   “I have been trying to let you acclimate to your new life at your own pace, whilst moving on from your old.” Zhongli’s pursed lips were the only sign of discomfort in his composed features. “I did not know that such concerns were going through your head, though I should have seen that your seeming lack of fear was but a facade from your incredibly strong character.”

   In the corner of your eye, you saw your hands trembling. You tried to get them to stop. They would not.

   Zhongli swept on. “The circumstances of our meeting are... unfortunate. In time, you will understand my intentions in orchestrating our meeting, but for now -- you have been put in a very uncomfortable situation. I am remiss for not having acknowledged this much earlier.”

   What?

   Zhongli cleared his throat. “Hansi, please listen to me. While you are under my roof, I will never lift a finger to cause you any harm, physically or otherwise. And for as long as you are a part of my household, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are never again touched by hunger, frost, hardship. That you will never be subject to the kind of fear that’s making you tremble,” he reached out slowly and took your hand, “like this.” 

   He had done all the speaking, but it was you who had lost the breath from your lungs. Each of his words was a low rumble, earthquakes in their own right. You didn’t know if you believed him, but you so badly, badly wanted to, with every inch of your shaking body.

   “I do not expect you to believe me, right now,” he said, as though reading your mind. He let go of your hand, and it fell back to your side, still shaking. “However, you will soon come to learn that I never break my word.”

   You were beginning to see why Rex Lapis had chosen to grace this man with a Vision. He commanded — no, demanded — your attention, your respect, your trust, your entire being. There was more to him than the rich, lonely nobleman he seemed to be; in that moment, you had never been more sure of it.

   “Is there anything else you would like to ask me, Hansi?” Zhongli asked.

   You shook your head, mutely. There were a lot of things you wanted to say to that, but the swollen words stuck in your throat. “Thank you, Mr. Zhongli,” you said, and hoped he heard everything behind it. 

  Tomorrow morning, you supposed, it’d be alright if you had that bath.

[fettsvette]

When She Wakes Up

Fatherhood was never something Boba Fett had envisioned for himself, nor had he particularly wanted any part in it. That all changed when he met his daughter for the first time.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Sintas Vel Words: 2.2k Rating: General Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

  Mando’a terminology

ke barjurir gar’ade, jagyc’ade kot’la a dalyc’ade kotla’shya - ‘train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger’

  ba’buir - grandfather

bu’ad - grandchild

buir - father

ad’ika - little one

kov’nyn - headbutt/forehead press

    -

  “I slipped on myself, no help from anyone else

I fell in love 

And I was humbled

  There she is

Isn't she everything?”

  Frank Turner, “There She Is”

    -

  She was so kriffing small .

  Boba didn’t think he’d ever seen another human being this tiny, this helpless. 

  Not that he’d been around very many babies in his lifetime. 

  There had been the infant clones on Kamino during his childhood, of course, but his father had never let him stray too close to the lab facilities. Not that he’d wanted to, anyway. The rows and rows of little bodies, floating suspended in translucent goo, as well as the hundreds upon thousands of children that shared his face, and the men who shared his father’s, had always scared him a bit. 

  Boba Fett didn’t consider himself to be someone who often felt fear. He could count the times on one hand, most of them occurring during his earliest years, instances of cautiously peering around his father’s leg at strange visitors or waking from imagined terrors in the night, wailing for Jango to come to his rescue from the other room.

  But he’d never felt as scared as he did in this moment, right now, gazing down upon this little pink-hued creature wrapped in a blanket of nerf-wool, fast asleep and dreaming. His daughter .

  He hadn’t even been this terrified when Sintas had first told him that she was with child, his child, nor when she’d begun to experience violent bouts of nausea every morning, nor when her belly had begun to tellingly swell beneath her clothing. Boba had felt strangely detached from the situation for the entire nine months of the pregnancy, and it was only in hindsight that he realized he had been afraid . He and Sin had only been married a year - barely knew each other, really - and they were both so young. So young. They were hardly more than children themselves. And now they were responsible for another life, this fragile creature curled in a plastene bassinet, gently tinkling mobile of miniature stars and planets hanging overhead.

  Sin had said that the name ‘Ailyn’ meant ‘graceful.’ She couldn’t remember in what language, but she’d seen it in a mothering book somewhere, some sickeningly sweet maternal tome she had browsed through in a secondhand shop in town. The child - a little girl, they’d discovered - would take her surname, ‘Vel.’ Boba hadn’t protested when Sintas had made the announcement - yes, that’s what it had been, she hadn’t even asked his opinion - nor had he questioned the decision. It would be safer for the baby, Sin had elaborated, and Boba had agreed. Yes, the baby’s safety. Our baby. Although his wife was just as involved in the bounty hunting trade as he was, Boba had already made quite the name for himself, at only sixteen. He had enemies, heartless barves who wouldn’t hesitate to harm an innocent infant solely to exact their revenge. One of the reasons he’d settled down on Concord Dawn in the first place was to escape that unforgiving life, and bestowing the decidedly infamous name of ‘Fett’ upon a defenseless babe was no way to honor that choice. 

  So ‘Ailyn Vel’ came to be.

  Boba hadn’t been there for the birth. He’d been on duty with his fellow Journeymen, out in the middle of nowhere keeping watch over one of the many agricultural sectors that had fallen victim to pirates as of late. His comlink had crackled to life as he and the squadron under his command had been patrolling the bush, the superior officer on the dispensing end ordering him to get back to base at once; his wife had gone into labor, and it wouldn’t be long now before he became a father. A father . His comrades had congratulated him, pounded him on the back and wished him well.

  ‘Ke barjurir gar’ade, jagyc’ade kot’la a dalyc’ade kotla’shya!’ one of his fellows had shouted at him as he roared past on the speeder bike that would take him back into the city. ‘Train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger!’ 

  Boba wondered if he was strong enough to raise a daughter, let alone train one.

  By the time Boba had arrived at the medcenter, Sin had already given birth. He’d missed it by several hours. The child was healthy, robust, had been squalling like a Kowakian monkey-lizard and waving her tiny fists in the air, seeming almost enraged at having been unceremoniously evicted from her dark, warm home - or so the attending medical droid had claimed. The machine had greeted him in the hall outside of the center’s maternity ward, already aware that he was the husband, the father; whether it was due to information that had been provided upon Sin’s admittance, or because of his noticeably frazzled state when he’d arrived - drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, helmet tucked precariously under his arm - he couldn’t be sure.

  Sintas hadn’t stopped bleeding afterwards, the droid had told him, and several medics had to intervene. Sensing Boba’s rising panic, his urge to smash its hydraulics against the wall and force his way into the birthing room beyond, the droid had clarified that she was fine now, recuperating comfortably, but that it was unwise for her to receive visitors at the moment. Yes, that included the husband, but he would be allowed to go in soon. The newborn girl, however, had been whisked away to the medcenter’s nursery to be poked and prodded by the maternity droids, to be bathed and swaddled and left to rest until it was time to be brought back to her mother.

  And there Boba found himself, standing in the otherwise empty nursery, gazing at this prone form tucked away in a sterile cradle, sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of the man peering down at her. Boba allowed himself to exhale a shaky breath. His daughter. Ailyn.

  “Would you like to hold her, Master Fett?” 

  The metallic voice’s inquiring tone jerked him out of his dazed stupor. The droid stood at his side, searching his face with an uncanny mechanical imitation of human compassion. At first Boba stared, not quite understanding what the droid meant, until it stooped and lifted the baby from her cot, holding the swathed infant out to him. 

  Boba had never held a baby before, and had no idea how to proceed. The droid had anticipated this and shuffled forward, holding the newborn in the crook of one durasteel arm, guiding Boba’s hands - his rough Journeyman’s gloves having been stuffed haphazardly into a pouch in his flight suit - into the proper positioning with its other.

  “Support the head; the muscles in the neck are underdeveloped at this early stage of life. Keep one arm under the body, and the back must be kept straight - raise the infant level to your chest, like so. I shall leave you with her momentarily while I confer with our staff on the mother’s condition. Please wait here.” 

  And suddenly, Boba was alone in the room, his daughter in his arms. Ailyn snuffled at the sudden change of positioning, the sensation of soft human touch versus the cold alloy of the nurse droid. Boba gave a start, expecting her to start shrieking, but she simply let out a soft coo and turned her head to the side, closer to her father, drawn to the warmth radiating from his body. The newborn was small yet compact, a tuft of downy black hair already present atop her head, long lashes framing eyes still tightly squeezed shut, pouty lips pursed, dreaming milk dreams. 

  Boba stroked the side of a finger along the infant’s rosy cheek, downwards from her closed eyes to the soft bow of her mouth. Soon the little face would be marked on each side by distinct tattoos, three dark stripes arching across her skin, the qukuuf of the Kiffar - her mother’s people. Ailyn already bore the shape of Sin’s face, the high cheekbones and sharp chin. Her nose, however, was a perfect copy of his own - the bridge flattened, and slightly upturned at its tip. Boba found himself musing if this child would also inherit his Concordian accent, the same one he’d acquired from his father. A fierce ache lit a fire in his chest at that thought, and he wished Jango had not been so brutally cut down in his prime, that he could have met his son’s own little one, that he had lived to see himself become a ba’buir, with a bu’ad to fawn over and spoil endlessly . He briefly wondered if this very moment had possibly been mirrored sixteen years prior, between his father and newborn self. Had Jango Fett been nervous before being presented with his baby son, needed help learning to cradle him, worried that he wouldn’t be a good father? Boba found the idea strangely comforting. Shifting his hold on the baby gingerly, Boba hesitantly reached one digit out to poke at a little fist that had freed itself from its swaddlings. He couldn’t believe how tiny the fingers were, curled over as if in deep concentration - the little knuckles, the miniscule fingernails. It was while studying these details, perfect miniatures of his own hands, Boba heard a sniffling grunt, and flicked his view to the baby’s face.

  Her eyes were open.

  They were her mother’s eyes, Sin’s eyes, bright blue and already alert, and Ailyn was studying him intensely. Slowly, almost as if she was experimenting with the newfound use of her hands, she reached out and grasped Boba’s index finger, clutching with surprising strength for such a small creature, and she blinked up at him slowly. 

  Boba’s heart seemed to momentarily stop, and his vision instantly blurred over with hot tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, was beginning to think it was no longer within his capabilities. After a moment, he spoke, and he was surprised at the level of emotion in his voice.

  “Hello, Ailyn… I’m your buir . I’m going to take care of you. I won’t ever let anything happen to you, I promise you that. I swear it on my life, ad’ika .”

  Boba bent to press his lips to the crown of her head, taking in the sweet, clean smell that only newborns seemed to carry. Not wanting to relinquish this feeling just yet, he touched his forehead to hers in a gentle kov’nyn , choosing not to notice the tears that had soaked into the baby’s blanket as he closed his eyes in pure paternal indulgence.

  “Master Fett?”

  Boba turned at the call, Ailyn cradled in his arms, to regard the medical droid standing in the doorway. He didn’t know how long it had been there, silently observing him and his daughter, but he found that he didn’t really care. He hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand before readjusting his hold on Ailyn, wordlessly regarding the machine.

  “My apologies, Master Fett, but I’ve just been informed that Mistress Vel is awake and well enough to receive visitors. I can take you both to her now, if you wish.” The droid offered, extending its arm and bobbling its head subserviently. 

  Boba looked down at Ailyn - her eyes were shut again, his finger still enclosed within that tiny fist. He had only just met his daughter, but he already knew he would do anything she asked of him, gladly give up his life for her. Was this what fatherhood meant? Was this how his own buir had felt upon being presented with his son, so long ago in Tipoca City? Not taking his eyes off his newborn daughter, Boba nodded silently, and stepped forward to let the droid escort him down the hall, where Sin - his wife, the mother of his child - awaited them.

  There was still much that Boba Fett didn’t know about Sintas Vel - their courtship and subsequent marriage had been a whirlwind, and stars … now they were parents - but he knew that she was beautiful, and a crack shot with a blaster, and that he trusted her at a time in his life where he thought he could only trust himself. And he knew that he loved her, and that he loved Ailyn, this incredible new life that they had created together. 

  Perhaps that was more than enough.

[mandalorewhore]

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter  (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily​

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man. 

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew  something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

    You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to  not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake. 

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again. 

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off  as a droid. 

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment. 

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason.  Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

    “I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness. 

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond. 

    “Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

    “Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

    “O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

    “Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine. 

    “Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops. 

    He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.” 

    There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.” 

    A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?” 

    “That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

    “Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you. 

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

    “16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous. 

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind. 

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer. 

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

 You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions. 

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

    You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?” 

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?” 

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze. 

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet. 

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness. 

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away. 

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling. 

“You can carry it from now on.” 

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit? 

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire. 

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry. 

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

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

 You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you. 

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

          But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on. 

You wish they would fear you like that.

          Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

          “Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

          “I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

          “Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

          “It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

          The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

          “Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector. 

          Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

          Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

          “She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you. 

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

          Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip. 

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job. 

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology. 

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome. 

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time. 

    “I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger. 

    “Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted. 

    “My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose. 

    After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

    “I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.” 

    You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

    “I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

    “Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

    This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

    “On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this. 

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.” 

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously. 

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it. 

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants.  He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.” 

He waves back. “You as well, girl.” 

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------   

    It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

    Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere. 

    As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

    It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

    Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about. 

    Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path. 

    It’s almost funny how quickly things go south. 

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated. 

    “I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

    You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison. 

    The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement. 

The blast misses by a few inches. 

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

    You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

    Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

 As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here. 

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof. 

He saved your ass. Again. 

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there. 

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about. 

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is. 

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it. 

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

    He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?” 

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street. 

----------------   

The walk back to the Crest is short.

 You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall? 

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you. 

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp. 

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot. 

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it. 

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot. 

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that. 

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles. 

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again. 

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him. 

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan. 

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now. 

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire. 

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach. 

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead. 

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal. 

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian. 

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.” 

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that. 

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath. 

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit. 

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game. 

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-” 

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life. 

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-” 

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt. 

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims. 

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement. 

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words 

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours. 

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing. 

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.” 

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator. 

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.” 

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks. 

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness. 

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

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

     It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

    The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this. 

    “Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly. 

And so you do.