#SO COURT ANOTHER TENDER MAIDEN

[librarycard]

crying in my car again

[multiverse-sparkles]

old money, old soul

༄ you loved him in a different lifetime; and your soul yearns for him.

༄ modern aegon ii targaryen x reader

was it possible there was a lifetime where you'd loved so dearly; felt the tender brush of his hands on your skin as he touches upon you, basked in his reverent gaze, brimming with so much awe and wonder that you could almost taste it on your lips?

it wasn't the first time you'd woke with a start— clutching a hand to your chest as short, gasps of breath leaves you, a feeling of emptiness and hurt overwhelming all sense of reason as you mourn for the silver haired man in your dreams.

he was so beautiful yet so melancholy. a boy, barely a man in your earliest dreams, yet his eyes were devastating in it's sadness. oh, but he was all the same yours. you held him in your arms as he wept in his grievance of being unloved, of the circumstances which he was born into.. he would tell you his fears, and you would soothe him with the gentlest hand he's had all his life. you would tell him you love him dearly, and he would know you meant every word because you had the same heart.

you were his reprieve. his world kept in soltitude, free from the intrigues of the court and his family that were bent in taking everything good in his life. no crown, or titles, or coin could ever compare to you. you held his world in your tiny hands, and his entire being; every good that were left in him was in you.

in your little home, he was no prince. he talked of his interests with the outmost heart. he laughed freely, with his head thrown back, with a genuine and free spirit, without all the burdens of his mother's expectations and without the fear of being hunted down and chased for his claim. in your home, he was not unloved. he was adored, and praised. he was comforted and held like he deserved.

he loved you. passionately. with his whole heart. he uttered promises of his devotion to your skin, building you up in the most sinful way possible, until you were melting in his arms... he adored you so. aegon adored you so.

that ache in your chest festers like a untreated wound; oh aegon. your sweet love, who would beg for you to never leave him. to never part with him, mouth full of your name in his breathy, pleading gasps. only in this dream, his eyes were filled with nothing but tears, his devastation plain as a day as he held you in his shaking arms, crying out your promises to one another. refusing to believe you'd part from him.

as everything good in his life, they'd found you. those who wish to harm him were countless, but he cared little about anything to warrant a reaction so visceral, he declared himself king to avenge you.

the maiden in the forest.

he was unwilling. so unwilling that he refused to believe you'd never come back to him. so unwilling that he heaves, struggles to breath as he pressed his cheek into your pale face, undeterred by all the blood, "promise me we will never part." his voice was low, different from the many times before but altogether, the same. "tell me we would never part, my love. tell me." he begs.

"we would never part." you vow, cupping his cheek, your touch was fleeting, "i shall find you in every life time." you whisper, fingers curling around his silver strands with meager strength.

"i will have only you..."

you peel back the covers, padding your way into the bathroom. in your reflection, it was evident that you had woke crying, your eyes were swollen and red from the dreams. or were they memories? could you even differentiate from memories and your real life anymore? were you so... lonely that you'd taken into dreaming for a man who's devotion to you transcends lifetimes?

you were unsure. but you'd wandered into the kitchen, many times that month, staring blankly at nothing in particular, hoping the yearning leaves.

"are you sure you're okay?" the soft, worried voice came from behind you, and you looked back to see your dear friend in the dim light of the kitchen, looking incredibly worried. "are the dreams still bothering you?" helaena places a hand on your shoulder.

you shrug your shoulders, "they don't bother me, ena."

"yet you sit at our kitchen, depressed beyond reason everytime." she respond, playfully. "we need a new routine." helaena tuts.

"you're not about to drag me into your lavish summer home." you warn, glimpsing the mischievous light in her eyes. she'd often clamored for you to join her and her family's summers in a sunny villa somewhere in italy.

so you've heard there's never a dull moment, with several children from her father's marriages, and general family affairs. helaena was as mild mannered as they could come, but even she comes back from summers spent with the rest of her family smoking to ease some tension. you'd held her drunk ass up enough times to know her family spelled nothing but chaos.

"oh, i'm about to do exactly that." helaena nods, grabbing onto your arm with a grip that has your reeling.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"His plaything"

Pairing: Prince Nuada x Fem. Reader (Human / Third person POV)

Themes: Dark | Smut

Warnings: Dark! Nuada | Dub-Con | Power imbalance dynamic | Degredation | Explicit language | Spanking | Penetrative sex | Rough Sex | Oral (Male receiving) | Cream pie | Angst

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary: Nuada searched for a means to satisfy his physical needs. The opportunity presented itself in one of the mortal servants made to serve at court.

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥| Minors DNI. You are responsible for the media you consume. | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

Nuada was a disciplined elf. He spent hours pouring over books and stone tablets in his lord father's great library. When he was not reading, he was sparring.

The crown prince was a warrior without peer, so the singers said. Even when he was but an elfling, it was said no match could be found for Nuada's gift with spears and swords. His father, the high king of all elves, considered him to be the greatest warrior of their people. And the most accomplished. The prince was not just gifted with the blade and well-read; he was also skilled in craftmanship and music and even dancing. It was a strange thing indeed, to see such a brutal warrior glide across a hall like a feather on the wind.

Handsome and charming and dangerous in equal measure, the prince never wanted for company. Nuada was always surrounded by beautiful maidens, all of them vying for his attention. He was unwed, you see, and was expected to take a wife. That was one of his duties: to marry a maiden of the highest birth and produce an heir. The prince understood this. He was more than willing to pledge himself to marriage, but he just needed time to find a bride worthy of him. Until then, he decided, he would find other means to satisfy his needs, for he was a warrior, and as disciplined as he was, he had a warrior's many appetites.

Of course, it must be said that the prince would never sate his hunger by taking another elf to bed. Oh no. Nuada abhorred the very notion of sullying one of his own people that way, no matter how lowborn the elf in question may be. He turned his eyes to the servants instead. They were all mortal hostages taken by his lord father after a great and terrible war. King Balor tolerated them as well as he could manage, and turned a blind eye to how they were treated, provided certain decencies were observed. Those decencies were simple enough: No torture. No working servants to death. No forced couplings. Alas, these edicts had many and more cracks to find if one knew how to find them.

And Nuada found one precisely to his liking.

"Why are you whimpering, little mortal? He grunted. "I thought a good little whore like you wanted nothing less than being bedded by the crown prince Bethmoora."

Whore. That was the choice word he called her, among other things. And yes, y/n did desire the crown prince ever since the moment she first saw him. Her dreams had been haunted by sweet and tender visions of him wooing her before bedding her. She thought that should her dream ever become reality, he would be as generous and courteous and gentle with her as he was with the ladies of his father's court. Such blissful ignorance only lasted until he caught her looking one night while serving his dinner. The prince only waited till his guests took their leave of him before asking her to sink to her knees. He had caressed her cheek, almost in affection, and insisted she open her mouth for him. Not knowing what was expected of her, y/n obeyed. So much had changed since then.

She jolted when he slapped her thigh. His hand was large and had been roughened by centuries of fighting and wielding weapons. It left a mark all of its own. He slapped her thigh again and dug his nails into her flesh. Y/n licked her lips. The prince was expecting an answer.

"I whimper out of pleasure, your highness," she replied as fast as she could, hoping it would please him. She may have felt some pleasure; it was true, but it was so little. The prince would slake his lust upon her body and chase his release, and show little care for her own. As soon as he was satisfied, Nuada would order her to dress and leave.

"You are not lying to me, yes? You do know what happens when people lie to me, yes?"

"I know, your highness. I am not lying, your highness."

Nuada grunted and grabbed her hips, muttering indencies in her ear the entire time. His hands left bruises wherever they touched. Sometime he held her so hard her body would be sore for several days after. Then there were the things he called her, not caring about how they might make her feel. Y/n would not have minded any of it had he shown any interest in her during the act. Or showed concern for her after it.

"Such a good little whore," he said, picking up his tortuous pace and thrusting even harder, filling her as deeply as he could. His nails dug into delicate skin, leaving bruises in their wake. "But you must be fucking silent. I like you that way. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your highness." Y/n lowered her arms and rested her head against the pillows. That allowed the prince to find another angle. He rammed her and found a new place that made her moan long and deep.

"I said be silent!" He barked at her and soon lost himself in her flesh. Nuada moaned and grew drunk on the sound of his thighs slapping against hers. He chose well, he thought. Y/n was meek and discrete and obedient, a maiden who had not known the touch of men until him. She was so soft, her skin warm, and her cunt plush and sinful whenever it fluttered and tightened around his cock. Then there was that sweet little mouth of hers. Nuada enjoyed seeing it swollen and glistening with the remnants of his spend.

The bed creaked softly. Y/n bit her lip and buried her face in the pillows. A heady mixture of pleasure and pain overwhelmed her even as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. They had sprung from the knowledge that she was a mere plaything to the prince, someone he could use and throw aside once someone worthy of him was in the offing. And there would be someone worthy. Nuada would take an elf-maid hailing from only the highest of births for a wife. She, on the other hand, was a mere mortal, the only child of a petty king who dared to march against King Balor.

"If only your pathetic father could see you now," Nuada grunts and stops just long enough to reach over to gather her wrists. One hand tightens over them, keeping them behind her back. The other curled around her hair. He tugged hard whenever he sheathed himself in her. "A slut servicing her master."

Her father had been allowed to live on the condition that she be sent to court as a hostage. He had no say in where she was placed or whom she had to serve. He was not allowed to know, either. Perhaps this was a mercy.

The air grew thick and heated. The room felt uncommonly warm. Y/n's neck ached from Nuada tugging her hair. Her entire body trembled with each violent thrust. Tiny beads of sweat formed over her skin. Her breath had reduced to shallow gasps and pants. A sweet tension gathered in her core. She was close. So close. But the question remained: will the prince let her have her pleasure just this once?

That was not to be. Nuada felt the coiling in his belly. He was on the precipice of his release, and he had no intention of spilling his seed in y/n's slick heat. As glorious as that would be, he did not wish to risk planting a halfling bastard in y/n's belly. The elves were the children of the earth. The golden blood of the true ancients and the elder gods flowed strong in their veins, and Nauda would never dream of mingling his blood with that of a lesser creature. He drew back and got out of bed, pulling y/n with him as he did. She knew what was to happen next and did well to hide the sadness welling within her.

"Open," he commanded, after she settled on her knees.

Y/n obeyed, letting her mouth go slack while he sank his length all the way in. She kept still while he set the pace, her breath filled with the clean scent of him. His cock was warm and heavy on her tongue. Y/n tightened her lips just enough, just as he taught her the first night. He moaned. She opened her eyes. His head was thrown back, and his mouth was slightly parted. Nuada moved, fucking her mouth and grunting whenever that sinful tongue of hers glided along his member. He sighed wistfully, grabbed at her hair, and went faster and deeper, delighting in the little gagging sounds she made. All y/n could do was keep her hands on her thighs and let Nuada enjoy himself. She was not allowed to touch him during the act or speak to him unless spoken to. He delighted in that too, for he believed that was where mortals like her belonged. Silent and by the feet of their betters.

A few more moments were all it took. "Fuck," Nuada muttered while his cock throbbed and twitched and a warm torrent of his spend spilled onto y/n's tongue. He pressed himself hard against her lips while still riding the high of his orgasm, groaning one last time before finally pulling his cock out of her mouth. The prince ran a thumb over the servant girl's lips, pleased to find them glistening and swollen as always.

"Swallow," he commanded, and brushed a thumb over her tears. He brought it to his mouth, as if to savor the taste. "Swallow my spend like the good whore that you are."

Y/n obeyed, trying not wrinkle her face when the salty essence of him washed down her throat. She knew Nuada would not let her leave until she had swallowed every last drop. Nuada grunted in approval when she opened her mouth and he found it empty. He lifted y/n to her feet and kissed her hard on the lips, his fingers digging into her skin. When he pulled away his eyes glinted in savage triumph.

"Get dressed, and then get out," he said without even looking at her. "I have had my fill of you this night."

Y/n gathered her clothes. Her fingers trembled, as if they had all turned to thumbs. She fumbled with the lacing on her dress, the ties of her neat little apron. She glanced at him. Many a turn of the moon had come and gone since their first coupling, and the prince could not bring himself to even pretend to show her a shred of kindness and respect. Y/n sniffled and looked away.

Nuada made a sound of disgust. "Spare me the sad little doe eyes. I will not fall for it. Now get out and get one of the others to draw me a bath."

Y/n slipped into her shoes and fled into the cold and empty darkness, finding it a welcome relief to the prince's company.

[candied-boys]

Another - Rio x F! Reader Part 2

When Emma chooses another, Rio has to go home without her... But there's more awaiting him than just forgotten memories...

Themes: hurt and healing, facing the past, learning to love again, aka angst with a happy ending!

Warnings: angst, Rio route spoilers, eventual smut, written from Rio's POV

Part 1

You had wondered now and then.

As memories of your identity had begun to resurface, being betrothed was an obvious possibility for a prince. However, after having received the items found with you that rainy day, you dismissed the idea. The ring was never meant for a lover. No sentimental memorabilia lay tucked into the pockets of your long-forgotten coat.

Surely, had you a wife you would at least remember. Or so you assumed. Very incorrectly it appears.

The first question that comes to mind is not why you can't recall her, but why your ass of a brother never mentioned her. The answer wells up as swiftly as the anger surging within — because having mistresses is not only normal, it is expected. The one who brought you into this very world was your father's mistress. There was never any reason for Silvio to comment on your loyalty, or lack there of.

When your vision at last returns to perceiving the outside world, you are met with a brave face. Tears run down her youthful cheeks, yet she smiles to hide the heart you have broken.

“It does not matter, Your Majesty. That His Highness has returned safely is the only important part. I am sure there will be many more years ahead to make new memories than remedy the few we have left behind.”

A hand slips from yours to rest gently on the young woman's shoulder before your mother introduces her as if you are complete strangers.

When you were but eighteen she was brought to court to be an attendant to one of the late queen’s many ladies in waiting. She worked her way up through the ranks over the years, eventually earning her position as maiden in waiting to the second lady of the house — your mother.

At the time your mother was still mistress to the king and you an illegitimate bastard. Even if treated as a prince, naturally there was no chance of you being wed to a legitimate princess of another country. As both the daughter of a dear friend and being from a noble merchant family it was a favourable arrangement for all.

You grew up anticipating such a union, yet you still managed to forget.

“There is someone else you should meet, Valerio. One you'll be forgiven for not recognizing,” you mother finishes with a tender smile.

A subtle nod from her in the direction of the maid standing by the door. A deep breath from the lady you have just been told is your wife. A click, footsteps, and a nurse carrying a little girl no more than two.

Voice as sweet as a songbird she chirps, “Mammina!” and reaches out from the nurse's arms to be held by the one she clearly adores.

Those brilliant hues soften. The tears from earlier nowhere to be seen. Disappointment and heartache have been replaced by love and affection.

“Questo è tuo papà, piccina mia,” you hear her coo at the child before directing her gaze to you.

“Papà?” the little girl repeats, blinking at you with bright blue eyes identical to your own.

“Sì, papà,” her mother answers softly with a smile.

At this the small creature reaches out towards you with tiny hands.

“What does she want?” you ask cautiously.

“To be loved by her father…” your mother answers instead.

Steadying your heart with a shakey breath, you open your arms to the child. She leans in eagerly, climbing into your embrace. She is far heavier than you imagined for being so small. Tiny arms cling to your neck in a surprisingly strong chokehold. The world's softest skin rubs against yours where her chubby cheek nuzzles into you.

“Does she have a name…?” you query like an idiot after what seems an eternity of silence.

“Valerie, for her father…” a nervous voice tells you. “I hope you don't mind. She was all I had left of you after you disappeared… By the time she was born we all thought you would never return, so we named her after you…”

Shaking your head what little you can under the vice grip, a smile steals across your lips and a whispered thank you slips past.

Popping out from beneath your chin, the little girl squeaks, “Gioca con me, papà!”

“No, no, bambina. Papà is busy. We shouldn't bother him…” her mother fusses, a fear stricken look in her eyes as she reaches out to take the child back.

You can only imagine how you must have treated her in your past life to earn such an anxious reaction.

“It's okay…” you counter as tenderly as you can and keep the girl in your arms. Patting her little head you continue, “The least I can do after being absent so long is play with Valerie… Shall we go for a walk in the gardens perhaps? There is much we should discuss.”

Some gentle reassurance seems needed from your mother to convince the young lady she is not a burden. The weak smile you attempt is not returned, but she does walk at your side when you leave the room.

Your memories after your twelfth birthday are as coherent as shattered porcelain. When you try to fit the pieces together they make certain shapes, but they are unclear and riddled with innumerable gaps. For someone who should be so close to you, the missing shards are too big. Your stomach churns with self-hatred at the mere thought of the person you used to be.

Seeping into your lungs, the salty breeze soothes your nerves the moment you step outside. No roses perfume the air. Whether that's comforting or painful you cannot decipher. The palace courtyard being the location of several dark memories, you skirt the plaza in favour of the shaded willows and at length find the old trees with a poorly cared for bench beneath their tendrils.

Only once seated do you notice the lady at your side remains on her feet. You wince at the idea that you may not have allowed the person you were supposed to treat as an equal to rest next to you without permission in past years. The fact that even now you lacked the courtesy to offer her a seat first tells you exactly how fickle your loyalties still are.

Before you can correct yourself, Valerie steals your attention as she wriggles out of your arms and off the bench, running away as soon as her tiny feet touch the ground. Her mother lays a gentle hand on your shoulder when you jump up, keeping you from chasing after the child in a panic.

“She'll come back,” she explains, a soft look that begs you to trust her, as if you have never shown faith in her before.

“Please… Sit with me,” you plead, wishing you could, of all the memories you have lost, also forget how unkind your true nature is.

This time lending her a gloved palm, you offer her the bench first. Retaking your own spot, you wait anxiously for those bright blue eyes to return from whence they disappeared round the hedges.

Sighing and running your hand through golden locks, you wonder aloud, “Where do we even begin…”

Timidly she offers to recount her upbringing, not expecting it to spark memories, but hoping it may help you get your bearings. You agree appreciatively and listen until the two-year-old appears at your knees with a flower clasped in each hand.

“Per mammina!” the little one offers, voice as sweet as a wind chime.

“A pansy. Grazie, bambina.”

Turning to you, she holds out a yellow flower on a long stem. “Per papà!”

“A daffodil. Thank you, Valerie,” you answer with a soft lilt — unfamiliar even to you.

As the excited girl runs off again you ask hesitantly, “Does she really know I'm her father or…?”

“Well... I never dreamt she would meet you. Even so, I still wanted her to know and love her father… I take her to view the royal galleries often… and I’ve shown her the portrait in my locket every morning since she was born… I think that's why she recognizes you, but perhaps that's my wishful thinking…”

A great many pieces hang in that gallery. Most of the ones you had posed for had been commissioned in your childhood, or so you recall. Undoubtedly there should be a few more though — one for your coming of age, one when your mother became queen consort, and… one for your wedding…

“So, she never calls anyone else that… Not my brothers, or other blonde haired gentlemen…?”

“Well, she doesn't see her uncles often, but she knows them from the paintings hung in the galleries too. I'm sure she doesn't really understand the difference between the word father and a name, but she's never called any other man papà…”

Like an anchor snagging on a rocky seabed, some part tucked away deep in your heart is steadied — grounded.

“I tried to tell her as much as I remembered to keep you alive in her heart…” she continues, her gaze cast down. “And in mine…”

Dozens of questions swirl like eddies; what was your relationship like? Who were you as a man, a lover, a husband? What does she expect from you now? But the first to break through the whitecaps is far more direct.

“Did I ever… love you?”

In the pause that rises like a tide, you find yourself unconsciously admiring the first gift from the daughter you didn't know you had until half an hour ago.

“Perhaps not passionately, nor even platonically — for you've always been far beyond my realm in intelligence — but in your own way, you took care of me…”

Though you wonder what that could possibly entail when she seems so fearful of you, you're too ashamed to ask. Instead you change the subject to the little child who now returns, her arms full of blossoms the gardeners will undoubtedly find missing later.

“I see… I can assume from Valerie's existence that we at least consummated the marriage. Did we… have such relations often?”

Caressing the head that bobs level with the bench as the happy creature lays out flowers one by one on the seat between you two, she answers, “You were a gentle lover. Never demanding. You only visited my chambers once in a while. The last time was about a week before you went missing.”

Frowning at your own behaviour you turn to find her gaze. “Did I have a mistress? Was there a reason I visited so little?”

“Not that I know of,” she answers evenly but avoids meeting your eyes. “Though, I've heard you took one while in Rholodite.”

Choking back the bile scalding your throat you manage, at length, to string a few words together. “She was never... I... love her… ardently… but she… has never returned my feelings…”

“I see… She must be an incredible woman to have earned your affection.”

The pain in her forced smile is tangible despite her attempts to hide it by focusing on the little girl babbling about the vibrant colours of the stolen flowers.

“Was I that miserly with my attention towards you?” The question stings as it slips past your own lips.

A cool spring breeze shakes the willows, but the rustling isn't enough to cover the hurt as she answers, “I… generally… tried to stay out of your way…”

You watch in silence as Valerie runs off again with giddy laughter and grass-stained palms.

“In plain terms… I pushed you away.”

Picking up the blossoms one by one, a bouquet begins to take shape as she arranges them in her hand.

“You could say that, yes. There was only one time you relied on me…”

“And that was?”

“To collect evidence against the late queen for attempted assassination…”

Part 3

🧡🫣🧡Tag list: @drachonia @outtayourmouth @maries-gallery @lamiefromage @tele86 @queengiuliettafirstlady

[gemsofgreece]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMF3Gy5pj/

I think that's a misinformation video about women in Sparta. During marriage i believe they shaved their heads so that they were associated to male soldiers, unlike most women in Ancient Greece who styled their longer hair to appeal more to the beauty standards of that time, like depictions of Aphrodite.

So i don't think it had anything to do with sexuality, especially since back then they didn't have a word for that. It's was just a tradition they had that differed from the rest.

Man this is so stupid and it’s crazy how much it has spread once again. I did some research on it and I found that the source is “cracked.com” and it is based on a book where the author (called Dover or something) simply said that this idea “was worth pondering”. And now of course most everyone sucks it up like crazy.

I like how nobody has even a moment’s doubt that this suggests that apparently not a single man in Sparta has ever been anything other than gay or that apparently not a single woman in Sparta has ever been desired (unless it’s another girl I assume hehehe) and apparently men could close their eyes in front of boobs and vulva but they drew the line at long hair on a woman’s scalp. I mean, okay, I understand westerners are fascinated by the different views on romantic and sexual relationships in classical antiquity but they have blown this shit out of proportion to a ridiculous degree.

I like how they say women shaved their heads so that their husbands would feel like they were sleeping with men but it escapes them that:

Spartan men had long flowing hair or braids so women shaving their heads for their gay husbands kinda defeated the purpose

Lol

Spartan maidens and unmarried women had long hair and dressed lightly, almost provocatively in order to entice a suitor. Therefore they did not try to hide their femininity when actively looking for a husband. They also married at an older age (19) than women in other places in Greece, therefore they might as well have had more matured feminine figures in their early marriage than the average.

As to why they shaved their heads during the wedding and kept it short afterwards, I do not know and there is obviously no conclusive scientific answer to this but I can think of alternatives that are a little more realistic given Sparta’s peculiarities than this western sex obsession suggests.

There is one symbolism that is very widespread when a woman cuts her hair in old cultures, and it has survived until recently; that of a woman grieving. Of denying her female beauty and refusing the joys of youth and love. In Sparta, cutting off the hair might have symbolised that the rosy carefree era was over for the woman. It was time to leave her own family behind and dedicate herself to giving birth to strong boys (and get rid of the weaker ones) and making them even stronger, more hardened and very disciplined until it was time to start their military training in the ripe age of 7. Happy tender motherhood wasn’t what was expected from Spartan women. We know that Ancient Spartans interpreted childbirth and motherhood as the war destined for women. Women dying in childbirth were honoured as men fallen in battle. Therefore cutting the hair probably meant that the woman had transcended into a new state, a serious, solemn and grave one, with no room for frivolous vanities and other “womanly concerns”. Is this what you also meant by saying “they were associated with soldiers after marriage”? Of course on a more superficial level it could also be a sign that the woman was married, therefore she shouldn’t be courted by another man.

Anyway, I am no historian but I think my (our) theory is better than that nobody in Sparta could get it up at the sight of long hair (on a woman).

[marciabrady]

How would you rank ‘One Song’, ‘Once Upon a Dream’, and ‘So This Is Love’ aka the most top tier romantic duets Disney had ever produced?

This is such a great question and I really don't want to cop out but I'll never be able to choose between the original four princesses ever so it really just depends on my mood/what I need to listen to! All three are some of my favorite songs ever, so I'll just list what I get from them/why I listen to them at different times and for what reason:

I'm Wishing/One Song: I'm Wishing is the first song I ever remember hearing. I was obsessed with the echoes and it's the only song in English my grandparents know- it was Adriana's favorite, too! There's such a magical quality to it and I love, for as mythical a Princess as Snow White is, her very human lyric of "I'm dreaming of the nice things he'll say." It really does remind you that, at the heart of it all, Snow White is someone who's been abused and neglected but still has a tender heart, in spite of her circumstances, just wants someone who will treat her with affection for a change. Her wish is very human and, beyond imagining what he should look like or about the riches he possesses, she just wants to be loved and feel safe around someone. It's such a vulnerable, soft moment, and to be countered with One Song! One Song is so steadfast in its dedication and what everyone wishing for love could ever hope for- someone you're in love with, being respectful but still consistent and unwavering in declaring their love for you. The lyrics have such a hold on me- "one song, my heart keeps singing, of one love, only for you." It isn't beauty or innocence that draws the Prince to the Princess- but, in this fairytale universe, they truly are meant and made for each other. She isn't just going to be tossed aside for another pretty face or Princess, this is truly the only love of the Prince's life, which is why he continues to venture through all the seasons while riding in the forest, searching for his lost love when Snow White is thought to be dead. I listen to this when I need to feel more solid in the belief that my soulmate is out there and that I'll know it when I see them, but also that it'll be easy- I won't be riddled with thinking of how to maintain their interest or reach out to them or how to overcome my anxiety. If they're as interested as I am, things will naturally progress and the strength of that unity and bond will overcome any other temporary hardship that might fall in our path during the courting period that would dissuade any other lesser relationship. True love isn't fragile- it isn't something that'll go away if you say the wrong thing, or don't happen to be somewhere one day. True love is strong and withstanding and everlasting.

So This is Love: THIS SONG. Not to sound like a 2010 gif but all the feels. Cinderella just got to the dance by the skin of her teeth after having to fight for her right to go all day and after being assaulted and ripped to literal shreds by her abusers. She's a spirited and lively girl, but the harsh encounters she's made contact with that day are understandably giving her slight social anxiety. She's the only young maiden to go to the ball without a chaperon, as we see, and she's late to the proceedings. She doesn't stand in line, but plans on spending the night by herself, surrounded in the marvels of the building- when he approaches her. To this point, every physical encounter we've seen with Cinderella is other blatantly violent or borders on being violent. The stepsisters pushing their fingers in her face, her dress being ripped off her body, being on the receiving end of sneers and mockery and insults. When the Prince first reaches for her hand, she's startled and it's almost as if she thinks she's going to be hit...because that's what all of her interactions have played out as, thus far. She's never been on the receiving end of a warm touch or a loving motion or an act of tenderness. She's been ridiculed and humiliated and demeaned...she probably never thought she'd ever experience love and, when she does- the floating notes of Ilene's voice rising higher and higher and higher are ethereal and so elating and gratifying. For the first time in her life, she's made the discovery of what love truly could be, and the Prince, too, is transformed by it- this rich boy who was bored by all the luxuries surrounding him realizes that it's love that's more important than all the treasure in the world and the only thing that can make him feel alive. The spurts of energy and silent affection they carry for one another is so beautifully compelling and to think Cinderella got to experience this after so many years of pain is so emotional for me. I listen to this when I'm at my lowest and am convinced I'll never again feel those butterflies in my stomach that bring you to the sky when you're in love, or that happiness that makes your smile spread so wide on your face before you even show any teeth- the type that makes your cheeks warm and pink and tuck your chin into your chest- and it works, like a charm, every time in showing me what could be just around the corner and how much that would change my entire life, even if nothing else in my life actually changes.

Once Upon a Dream: Where to even begin lol you all know that Aurora is the Princess I identify with the most and this song is the prime example of why. She's an innately romantic princess and is filled with so much love for her elders and the animals and the world around her, but she still wants to experience romantic love. Forced into total social isolation, she's devoid of any human contact and has to resort to her very vivid imagination to generate any stimulus or feelings of sensation...and I think all of us online folk know that outlet a little too well, whether it's fanfic we're indulging in or reader insert writing or roleplay or fan videos or anything. She sings by herself, with a mockup dream Prince, and connects her desires with those of her subconscious- which elevates it all to me. She sings of her dreams and what happens at night and how there's a nagging knowledge that all of her illusions will disappear once she awakens, but the emotional perplexity and depth to her dreams and the desires of her heart tell her that it can't just be an illusion though she logically knows it is. It's really fascinating in a way where most people you meet will never be able to even understand this depth to Aurora, but then again they probably wouldn't have spent enough time with her to deconstruct it to this extent...but I digress. So, for her song- which is so unreal and otherworldly but also anchored by the support of the world in the knowledge of the distinction between the dream world and the waking one- to actually be interjected by that very figment of her imagination coming to life and sprouting her own words back to her is soooo unimaginable and entrancing and exciting, especially considering Phillip doesn't just sing her own words back to her- it really does feel as though she, too, is the person he sees in his dreams every night and it fills you with all these new colors and images and feelings that Aurora's verse does, despite the fact that they're identical lyrics. I listen to this one so often, because it represents so much of the intimacy and sensuality and how realistic us dreamers are forced to be while still maintaining our soaring spirits and so many other qualities that would take me forever to list out. But I mainly listen to this one when I feel like I need the wants and cries of my heart to feel heard and to embrace that intimacy I mentioned earlier

[atinylittlepain]

WIP wednesday

phew it's been a while - thank you to @wannab-urs and @nerdieforpedro for tagging me :)

this is a snip from a new joel project im working on that i shant say much about, but here you go

The kind of voice that’d make you give it all up. No money, no home, no family, just that voice, and following it wherever it takes you. He steps a little further out toward the stage, sweat starting to bead on his forehead and stick his shirt to his skin, hazy and strange, and he can see the profile of her face now, the way her hands play circles around that guitar of hers, nearly obscured by all that hair, dripping down over her bare shoulders. A stillness to it all, no frenetic tap of her foot trying to chase the beat, no pinched taut muscles curling her over the microphone. She’s calm up there, he thinks, comfortable, letting her voice pitch and dip and flicker out over the close, warm crowd.  Go court another tender maiden And hope that she will be your wife For I’ve been warned and I’ve decided To sleep alone all my life He only realizes how far he’s leaning out from the wing when someone grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him back to keep him from tripping over himself and right onto the stage. Only a quick glance to know it was Bob, and then his eyes are back on her. He doesn’t want to miss anything. He doesn’t want to stop looking at her. And there’s something haunting, haunted in her voice, a dark softness that is achingly bittersweet. Ghosts in her voice and he’d like to get to know them.

i feel like everyone has already done this lol, so open tags, would love to see what folks are working on

[rosecrowned]

♡ ⊱ @fatedtruths ⊱ ❝ I will have you beside me, what other protection do I need? ❞ --- from loras !

ㅤㅤㅤLIPS  FALL  OPEN,  LAUGHTER  SPILLING.  There  is  no  knight  on  this  earth  as  fearsome  as  her  brother  in  her  eyes.  The  Knight  of  Flowers  some  call  him,  but  no  rose  has  ever  had  sharper  thorns.  Her  arm  laces  with  his  so  easily,  a  posture  taken  a  thousand  times  before,  as  if  they  were  born  tied  to  each  other.  The  gods  at  least  had  the  grace  to  not  have  them  born  as  twins,  for  if  they  were,  surely  they  would  only  be  more  inseparable,  as  one  limb  is  to  another  of  its  joint.  ❝ Shall  I  fight  away  the  vicious  hoard  of  giggling  maidens  for  you?  They  do  tend  to  flock  to  you  when  court  is  in  session.  It's  rather  sweet,  how  devoted  they  are  to  their  favorite  knight.  ❞  Bittersweet,  in  truth,  how  they  will  never  know  that  those  devotions  cannot  be  returned.  Her  brother's  heart  still  belongs  to  a  king  in  his  grave,  for  all  she  can  tell.  What  a  horrid  thing  it  must  be  to  grieve  in  silence.  Voice  softens,  tenderness  in  her  eyes  as  she  speaks  again,  ❝ Oh,  for  all  our  jests,  you  know  what  I  mean,  Loras.  I  worry  for  you.  Perhaps  a  break  from  public  life  would  suit  you  for  a  while,  especially  with  how  Cersei  seems  intent  to  provoke  our  family  one  way  or  another.  ❞  And  it  is  not  his  protection  from  swords  and  arrows  of  which  she  worries  most,  but  rather,  protection  from  himself.  ❝ If  you  were  to  ask  for  a  brief  leave,  I  am  sure  it  would  be  granted.  Knights  of  the  Kingsguard  may  serve  in  other  ways,  even  out  of  view,  and  the  king  has  no  shortage  of  those  ready  to  attend  him.  ❞

[a-song-for-ages]

Lady Heart-Tender | (Aemon Targaryen)

alternatively called; Lady Tender Heart, or World in Idyll

|

Summary:

In which, Aurelia Tyrell would very much rather continue to live in the bubble that is Highgarden and watch the world fall in love around her… than seek out love and a future for herself. 

|

One

|

|

"The King is coming!"

Aurelia was laying beneath the canopy that the servants put up to shield her from the bright summer sun - the green grass tickled her, but was strangely cool against her flushed skin. 

Aurelia didn't understand a word of what her mother had been saying, for she had been absentmindedly singing along with the bard who was playing one of her most favourite songs - a love-tale of Rhaenys and Aegon, oh how it made her heart turn. 

"Yes?" She asked, propping herself up by her forearms, relishing in the strangely pleasing way the grass hurt her skin. She stared at her flushed mother in curiosity, her head tilted.

"The King - and the Queen," her mother said, gasping as she placed a hand over her chest, waving the letter in the other hand in front of her face, no doubt to cool herself down.

"Are they to have another child?" Aurelia asked innocently, secretly wondering how the Targaryen siblings still found each other attractive enough to get it on. She thought of herself and her brothers - and while the many sons of Lord Thames and Lady Daphne Tyrell were handsome beyond measure... Aurelia simply found them revolting.

"No! Even better!" Her Lady mother said, before she came beneath the shade of the canopy and leaned herself against the extra chair set aside for the bard's feet. It wasn't in use, but Aurelia found that she quite liked sitting with her legs on another stool as she brainstormed and wrote her poetry, so she assumed the bard must have liked the same while exercising his art.

"Twins? A boy and a girl?" She asked. "They'll marry them to each other, no doubt."

Lady Daphne threw her only daughter a look that told her to hold her tongue while she caught her breath.

"Oh, I am getting old," she sighed, slouching herself on the chair, before she sat upright, and said, "But that isn't the matter - you are well aware that we are to host your Uncle Laurent's wedding festivities, hmm?" 

Aurelia nodded, sitting up enthusiastically.

Her Uncle Laurent was her father's only brother - and he was far younger than her father, but not so young to spend his free time with her or her older brothers, but old enough to be well past the marrying age… if there was such a thing for a man. He was in his mid-thirties, but thanks to the Tyrell looks, he seemed to be in his late twenties, and was quite handsome for his age, appearing more as an older brother to his nephew Calix (for he was said to be a clone of him), than an Uncle. 

She was excited though, not only because his marriage meant a call for celebrations… but because his marriage was only possible because of her. 

She was the one who introduced his betrothed, the Lady Ellin Casswell, to him on plenty occasions - not to forget, mentioning Ellin Casswell to him all the while feeding him his most favourite sweets when he was away from any work her father had given him…

And, it greatly helped that the Lady Ellin was the older sister of her good friend, Lady Lora Casswell, who wished for her sister to marry, so that prospective husband's could be sought for her - 

The Lady Ellin was far older than most maidens were when they married - she'd already reached her twentieth nameday, and was without any worthy suitors. 

The Casswell's, who had only two daughters, and one baby boy, were quite protective of their daughters, and refused to marry them to anyone below their worth.

But Lady Lora complained that not only was her father stubborn - but so was her sister Ellin, who cared not for the frivolities of court or festivities (unlike Lora and Aurelia and any other maiden in the land of marriageable age.)

The Lady Ellin was a simple woman - she enjoyed her books and her reading and her studies of botany and the various plants that could be used in healing. 

Lora told Aurelia she thought her sister would have done well as a Silent Sister, but… the Lady Ellin had never worked a day in her life, and had no intention of doing such. 

So, knowing much of the Lady and her Uncle - who was not interested in listening to the gossips of women (she did not understand how, though, because it was her favourite form of entertainment!) - the Lady Aurelia set herself to work… and after a long year, her Uncle Lord approached his father on the topic of lands in his possession and name, and with regards to inheritance - all of which shocked her father, who joked that he had the feeling his brother wished to steal his wealth - which he clearly did not, for the Tyrell brothers, while there was many years present between them, were close as a tight knot.

So Lord Laurent Tyrell told his brother of his secret courtship with the Lady Ellin - and her Lord father was the happiest he'd been in months, for his brother was finally becoming a man, and would settle down and be able to experience the joys of being a father - soon, probably. Aurelia didn't know the specifics, nor did she care for it, because everyone - the Tyrells and Casswells - were pleased and thought the couple a fine match. 

And of course they were a fine match - if they were not, Aurelia would not have bothered wasting her time on meddling with them, and they would have surely never found their way to each other, were it not for that meddling of hers.

All in all, Aurelia was pleased - more than pleased with herself, and it seemed, from the look on her mother's face, that there was more good news to grace their house.

"The King Jaehaerys," she breathed in, "and the Good Queen Alysanne, are to pay a visit to Highgarden," she had to stop herself from squeeling, not managing to prevent herself from crumpling the paper in her hands, "and to stay for the week of the wedding festivals!"

Aurelia's eyes widened.

"Oh," was all she said, not entirely sure how to react to the news that the King and Queen of the Realm were to come - no doubt with their dragons - to Highgarden, where they'd be staying under the same roof. 

Aurelia felt slightly worried, but she could not feel that way for long, because her mother said -

"And their sons are to be in attendance, and part-take in the Tourneys!"

"Oh," Aurelia repeated, eyes widening a fraction as she leaned towards her mother.

"They've only two sons of age, am I correct?"

"Yes, well, no, there is the younger son Vaegon - but he isn't of importance right now."

"But he's a prince," Aurelia pointed, a brow slightly raised as she leaned back on one arm.

"Who is of more importance, is the oldest son - Aemon, the crown prince."

"Hmm," Aurelia nodded, thinking of the Prince. She didn't know much of him - no specifics, just that he was incredibly handsome, and tall, and skilled in the sword… but that was akin to all the knights she knew of in her family - except her brother. Aurel was short, or, he was the shortest man-boy in their family. Standing beside her friend Lora, who was truly short for a girl, he towered over her. (So Aurel was of normal height, not tall, and not short either… and Aurelia? Well, she was only two inches shorter than him - a thing he never let her forget, even though she was born a day before him.)

What she also knew of the Prince, was that he rode a great red beast, whose name she did not know. She so badly wished to know it, but, she did not wish to obsess over dragons once more - as Aurel did when he was a child. He'd come to her room in the hour of the wolf, and prod her awake so as to tell her facts he'd surmised and theorized regarding the Dragons of Valyria - along with the disappearance of many dragons of Westeros, ones that were present before the coming of the Targaryens. 

A reminder of her twin in their shared youth only made Aurelia realise one thing - if it was true that the King and Queen were to visit for her Uncle Laurent's wedding… then that would mean there would be a possibility of their dragons accompanying them, and as exciting as that was, Aurelia could not help but dread the renewal of her brother's interest (and perhaps, even obsession) over dragons. 

"We have much to do, Aurelia, much to prepare… You, mostly, my dear," her mother said, standing up from her seat and approaching her daughter.

"You must be on your utmost perfect behaviour," that brought a funny look to Aurelia's face. Her behaviour was anything but perfect. "For we've not mere Lords and Ladies to impress, my love, but the Royal family to leave a lasting impression on."

That brought Aurelia to widen her eyes, her mother's plans setting in clearly in her mind, "But mother -"

"And most importantly, the Crown Prince," she said, tapping her daughter's chin and smiling, before she let out a happy laugh and said, "I should think you'll be in need of more dresses. Perhaps more mature ones -"

"But I've already an entire closet prepared for Uncle Laur's wedding week!" Aurelia said, getting up and dusting her dress down so as to remove any wrinkles, all the while she walked after her mother.

"The Prince has been of age and in want of a wife for quite some time now -"

" - mother!"

"I believe he's about Tommard's age - but, no, that would not be right. Twenty one? Would that be twenty one? Is Tommard to be twenty one this year?" She asked around, voice shrill, bringing a servant or two stopping in their tracks so as to look at her and see what help she needed of them. But they could not help, for they did not know much regarding the prodigal son that was Tommard Tyrell, who spent most of his adulthood venturing off to different lands, gaining different experiences and insights on the other people halfway across the world (see: Essos).

"Yes, he is -"

"Oh my son, I should write him. Someone remind me to write to my son!"

Lady Daphne then went on walking, talking aloud to herself while Aurelia trailed after her, calling, "Mama! Mama! Mama, could you wait for a minute, please!"

"Yes, my little sunflower?" Her mother faced her with a happy smile on her face.

"The Prince - you mean - I don't understand. Why could you possibly wish for me to marry the Prince?"

Lady Daphne laughed shortly, sarcastically, perhaps, as she said, "Why, I thought you were smarter than I, my love - the Prince, is the Prince. That is reason enough to want to marry him!"

"But Mama," Aurelia whined, holding onto her mother's sleeve to stop her from running off, "you and Papa said you wanted me here - at home, with you."

"Not forever, my dear. We wish for you to marry, and marry well -"

"But to someone in the Reach, better yet, Highgarden!" She reminded her mother, raising her brow as if that could jog her memory. "Not to someone so far away as King's Landing!"

"My love," Lady Daphne said, placing a hand on her daughters cheek, before brushing away a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Your father and I know that joining the Royal Family is a thing we simply cannot pass up on -"

"So it is not settled then?" Aurelia asked. "I am not betrothed?"

"No, no," her mother said, rubbing her daughter's arms in a means of comforting her. "Not yet, at least. If all goes well, then you shall be a Princess of the Realm -"

Aurelia opened her mouth but could not find herself arguing with the title. It was a grand one - Princess of the Realm. It tasted rich, like how gold and silver was worth.

"But - I do not wish to move so far from you, from my family, from home."

"My love," Lady Daphne sighed. "Your father and I," she struggled. "It seems we've sheltered you far too much. You're well past sixteen -"

"But I don't look it," Aurelia pointed out. "Papa says my cheeks make me look like a new born babe!" And for emphasis, Aurelia pinched and pulled her own cheeks.

"My love… you will not look as young as you are forever. Time will go on, and you will grow, no doubt more beautiful than you are, but there will come a time when that beauty will fade."

Aurelia sighed. She knew that - which was precisely why she favoured the brain over brawn. Alas, it did not mean that Aurelia liked the taste of the truth that dripped from her mother's words.

"And when it comes to time - it is of essence, of value. Not many Lords will appreciate waiting around for the only daughter of the Reach."

Aurelia stood straight as she looked to her mother and said, "If a man is in want of a thing then he shall exercise whatever means necessary to attain it - and patience, Mama, is one of those means!"

Lady Daphne sighed and looked at her daughter, only caressing her hair as she said, "Perhaps I shall leave it to your father. After all, the both of you tend to be stubborn on the same things." 

Lady Daphne simply bade her duaghter goodbye and turned to leave, while Aurelia looked on at her mother's retreating back and asked with a smile on her face, "Does that mean I've nothing to worry about?"

Lady Daphne laughed. "You've nothing - but I've everything to worry of!"

And Aurelia smiled, deciding to go back to the garden, where she laid back down and stared at the parapet… unable to find peace, even in the soothing tunes the bard played for her.

Aurelia had always wanted to marry, and have many, many children, but -

She never wished for it to happen so soon… let alone have a Prince of the Realm be a prospective spouse of hers.

This entire thing was too stressful for the laid-back Aurelia, who only wished to sing, and dance, and write poetry, and live her life in the gardens of her parents' estate… never did she wish to leave, and never were her parents keen on parting from her… 

Until her mother made mention of the Crown Prince Aemon.

|

Aurelia will never stop being a mood. Some may like her, some may not, but honestly, I'm just writing this as a feel-good fic or whatever.

If there's any mistakes then oop ignore itttt.

Also, Calix is played by Douglas Booth and I have Tom Sturridge in mind for my man's Laurent - love this dude. (Because he's meant to be portrayed by Tom Sturridge - no other reasons loll.)

[vigilantdesert]

Seeing the other woman perched in a chair, she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to quietly slip up behind her. Smiling to herself, she leaned over the back of the wingback, arms sliding around her lover’s neck, gloved hands lazily crossing over one another as the queen leaned in. Lips skimmed past the captain’s ear, a soft and breathy giggle of amusement escaping the Hylian royal before she craned her neck to press a tender kiss to the other woman’s cheek, soon trailing lower to place a second at the crook of her neck.

“What are you reading?” she inquired, smiling softly as she nuzzled the sea maiden’s neck with the tip of her nose.

Urbosa found the queen's chambers much cozier than she'd expected, given the formality of the rest of the castle. Perhaps it was Zelda's mere presence that turned the suite into a home. It was dangerous - the longer she stayed ashore, the harder it would be to pull her back to work when the ice in the harbor broke. But for now, she was more than pleased to hunker down with the queen, contentedly caught in her web.

She smiled at the first touch, letting her head loll to one side so her love had easier access. She lazily reached one arm up, caressing Zelda's cheek before looking up to meet her gaze.

"Just a log from last year. Nothing important," she hummed, leaning up to reciprocate Zelda's string of kisses with one of her own. "I assume court finally freed you from its grasp?"

[minaturefics]

Inclinations

Request: Hi! If it's alright for you/if you can do something with that, may I request a fic with Gimli where reader is his sister/a sisterlike person to him, she accompanies him to Rivendell and then she get a crush on Legolas (or another elf)? Wether or not it is requited is up to you

A/N: Hello! Thanks so much for waiting, sorry it took ages! It's a bit less involved and romantic, since they only just met, but I hope you enjoy it! 😊

Legolas x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

2.9k words

---

“Gimli,” you groused and swatted his hand away from your head. “Why are you fussing?”

“We’re meeting the elves, girlie. Can’t let them think they do braids better than us.”

You sighed and looked at Gimli in the mirror. He pulled a face and went back to tugging at your hair. You glanced out of the high windows at Rivendell. Birds chirped over the everpresent sound of rushing water and faint music. The trees rustled in the cool breeze, spilling their orange and red leaves over the roads and paths. The air was perfumed with some sweet scent, probably from the bunches of unfamiliar flowers that hung around the elven town.

Gimli added a few silver beads into the ends of your braids and smoothed your hair down. “There. Now you look like a proper dwarf.”

“But I’m not a dwarf.” You gave him a rueful smile.

“You’re as much of a dwarf as I am.” He chuckled and squeezed your shoulders. “They would not have let you come with us, here, if they did not think so.”

You pressed your lips together. From the moment Gloin found you in the Blue Mountains, half-starved and delirious with cold, Gimli had almost never left your side. When the beds had grown too small for you, he had handcrafted one to fit your size. When others murmured around the dining table, he had silenced them with a fist on the stone. His hands were always there to steady you, his witty comments always there to make you laugh. 

It seemed too heartless to tell him that you thought the only reason they allowed you to join the company was because they wanted you out of the mountains.

“Will they not think it strange? For me to be in the company of dwarves?”

“No stranger than that Ranger fellow.” He lowered his voice. “I have seen him walk with an elven maiden. And he is certainly not an elf.

Your eyes widened and he nudged your shoulder with his. “Don’t be gettin’ any ideas. If anyone wishes to court you they shall have to suffer my axe first.”

You laughed at him and shooed him out of your room. “I will meet you with the rest downstairs. You should see to the other dwarves.”

He gave you a nod and closed the door behind him. You shook your head at Gimli’s parting words. There were things to be done in Rivendell; there was no place for tender feelings among them. And even if there was, who could there possibly be who could stir your heart?

You ran your fingers down the braids he had given you. They felt more elaborate than what you usually wore and you smiled to yourself. You smoothed your tunic down over your chain mail and left your room.

Rivendell’s halls were long and winding, with high ceilings and arched doorways. The light stone and creeping plants were so different to the cosy dimness of the dwarven halls. You glanced at the sun in the sky. There was still some time left before everyone was due to meet with Elrond. You wandered down a corridor and out onto a balcony overlooking the valley.

For a moment, you thought you were alone, but something shifted in the corner of your eye and you turned. 

Someone stepped out from behind a nearby pillar, feet silent on the stone. He was tall and lithe, with soft blonde hair that fell like silk down his shoulders. His eyes drifted from the trees to you, brown eyes shifting amber in the late morning light. 

“Oh,” you breathed, blinking. “I was not aware there was someone else here. I do not mean to intrude.”

“You are not intruding, my lady,” he said. “I was merely admiring the beautiful scenery.”

He walked up to the bannister and you came up beside him. “The trees this time of year are quite a sight,” you said. “There is something so lovely about the oranges mixed with the evergreens. The trees from home are high and white, and we do not have changing seasons.”

His eyebrows rose. “You are from the Blue Mountains?”

You stiffened. The elves were not known to take kindly to dwarves. Would he treat you with the same indifference? “I came with the small company of dwarves. My… brother, Gimli, is among their number.”

“I see,” he murmured. “You are to join us then, at the council.”

“We have some news, and some questions we hoped will be answered.” You took in his fine silver robes; he did not look like a common elf. “And you, my lord?”

“I am from Mirkwood, and I am afraid that we bring ill news from our parts. But perhaps such things can be left for later.” A smile tugged at his lips and he turned back towards the valley. “I would not sully such a moment with grim tidings.”

You glanced at him, eyes wandering from the slope of his nose to the angle of his jaw. He was handsome yes, but he did not seem as distant as the elves in Rivendell. He felt as though he was more a child of the earth and sun, than that of the sky and stars. 

“Is this the first time you have encountered an elf, my lady?”

A flush rose to your cheeks. “No, but it is the first I have encountered one such as you.” His soft brown eyes met yours, eyebrow raised in a silent question. “I would not embarrass myself by attempting to explain. Though I assure you my words were not meant in offence.”

A smile spread across his face, like a beam of light breaking through a dense canopy. “You may keep your secrets, but there is one I wish to know: that of your name.”

You glanced away from him and muttered it into the wind. He repeated it and your heart stuttered it in your chest. How different it sounded, rounded out and smoothed over by his elven tongue. “And yours, my lord?”

“Legolas Greenleaf, I —”

“There you are, girlie,” Gimli called out to you and you turned. Your brother’s expression melted from surprised to thunderous. “Elf.”

Legolas’ tone turned cool and distant. “Dwarf.”

You went to Gimli’s side and placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “What is it, brother?”

“It’s time.” He turned away and jerked his head.

You followed after him, sparing one last glance behind you. Legolas was bathed in gold, and his shifting eyes were trailed on you.

--

Legolas wandered through the trees, his fingers outstretched to graze their rough barks. Moonlight danced in the small clearing, gilding the leaves and dappling the ground in its silvery light. Owls hooted in the branches and crickets chirped in the undergrowth. His thoughts drifted to you and he sighed. 

He had hoped to speak with you after the Council but it seemed as though it would not happen. You had volunteered to go along with the Fellowship but Gimli had sprung to his feat and pushed you back into your seat. Elrond had welcomed you to join, but Gimli glowered and grumbled about discussing it at a later point. 

You and Gimli did not show at dinner, and just a few moments before Legolas left for the forest, he heard raised voices coming from your chambers.

The image of you wandering out onto the balcony stirred something in him. How you looked with your curious eyes, bright in the sun, and your thin armour, strong and elegant. You were a mixture of curves and edges, the soft flowing line of your hair, the glint of your sword’s hilt at your side.

How he wished he could have had a moment more in the sun with you, could have the time to ask you of the Blue Mountains and to speak of Mirkwood.

He heard muttering behind him and he turned to find you stomping through the forest, your arms folded across your chest. You looked up, eyes wide, and stuttered a quiet hello. A smile tugged at his lips. “I take it your talk with your brother did not fare well.”

“He does not wish for me to join the Fellowship. He says it is too dangerous. But why should I not? Do I not have the right for my land just as the men do?” Your eyes blazed in the dim. 

“You do,” he said, and your shoulders deflated a fraction. “But perhaps his reluctance stems from the fact that you are his kin and not because you are a lady. There is no other from the dwarven envoy who is joining us.”

“Perhaps,” you muttered and kicked at a pile of leaves. “I will be going along, and he cannot stop me.”

Legolas’ heart lifted at your words. There would still be time to speak to and get to know you. He glanced at your frowning face. “I will not intrude on your anger if you wish, though I find a walk in the woods always helps to calm me.”

Your eyes lifted from the ground and met his. “I am the one intruding on you once again, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “There is enough space on the path for two, and I would be happy to have your company.”

He gestured with his hand and you fell in step with him. He took in everything about you. Your bright laugh when you told him about the prank you and Gimli pulled on Gloin, your sharp wit when you countered him on battle tactics. The way you looked in the moonlight, skin luminescent and scars gleaming silver. 

The path widened out into a clearing with a small fountain and a stone bench that ran around it. He sat, and you followed, and the both of you lapsed into silence. He could feel the warmth radiating from your body, could hear your slow, quiet breaths. He turned his head and looked up at the moon and the stars. 

When was the last time he sat in comfortable silence with someone? The journey to Rivendell was swift and fraught with discussions on Gollum, and the time with the high elves was filled with polite conversation and music. He glanced at you. He had gathered from Gandalf that you had grown up with the dwarves, saved from freezing to death by Gloin. Did you find him boring? The dwarves had a boisterous, colourful, warm culture. The elven ways, while full of grace and beauty, seemed washed out in comparison.

He wondered about the people you had left behind at home, just like he had. Was there someone waiting for you at home? Someone who your thoughts drifted to? It would be too forward to ask you, too delicate of a conversation for so early on in the acquaintanceship. 

“It will be a long way to Mordor, and the road will be wild and treacherous,” he muttered. “If you wish to send a message home to someone before we leave…”

“I have already said my goodbyes to my parents, and Gimli is here with me.” You sighed and leaned back a little. “What other news, the rest of the dwarves can bring back.”

His pulse leapt to his throat. There was no other, it seemed. A smile spread across his face and he looked away. 

“Shall we keep walking?” You rubbed your arms. “It is a chilly night, and I am growing cold where we sit.”

“We can return to our rooms, if you wish. The night is getting late, and we shall have to begin preparations tomorrow.” He stood and reached to unfasten the brooch at his throat. “Here, this will keep you warm on our walk back.”

You hesitated, fingers reaching and then drawing back from the fabric. “Will you not be cold?”

He chuckled and draped the cloak around your shoulders. “We elves do not suffer the heat and the cold as you humans do.”

You thanked him quietly and wrapped it closer around you. The conversation drifted to other things, the cheekiness of the hobbits, the mischievous wisdom of Bilbo, and he soon found himself standing in the corridor where your paths diverged. You shrugged the cloak off and he shook his head. 

“Keep it. Our road will turn cold and snowy soon, and the elven weave is light but warm.” Your eyebrows rose and your lips parted. “I do not doubt the craftsmanship of the dwarves, but at the very least it shall be an extra layer.”

A shy smile spread across your face and you nodded. “I thank you. I shall have to find a way to return such a gift.”

“What gifts we give, we give freely, but…” He swallowed and forced his eyes to stay fixed on you. “I shall be grateful if I could have the chance to walk with you again.”

Your smile widened and warmth filled his chest. “I would like that as well.”

You bid him goodnight, and he watched you vanish down the dim corridor, his cloak swirling around your calves.

--

“You can’t be serious.” Gimli tugged on his pack’s strap harder than he should have. “He’s an elf.”

The two of you stood on one of the balconies, preparing your gear for the journey. The late afternoon sun streamed through the trees, and the sound of the hobbits laughing drifted up from the courtyard below. You turned your attention back to your pack, rearranging Legolas’ rolled up cloak to make room for a cooking pot. “He’s one of the fellowship.”

Gimli groaned and shook his head. When you had returned to your room that night, wrapped in Legolas’ cloak, Gimli had taken one look at you and stormed out of your room. Every opportunity alone since then was a chance to question you.

The animosity between the dwarves and the elves were no secret, and you were a dwarf in all but in birth. Were you betraying your family somehow, by spending time with Legolas? There were no tender words exchanged between the both of you, but the promise of them lingered in the air. It was in the soft gazes he sent you across the dinner table, the gentleness in his voice when he spoke to you. But perhaps you were seeing into things that did not exist. Since that evening, Legolas had not sought you out.

Why would someone like him choose someone like you? Your hands were callused, your hems frayed. What could you have that would match the grace and beauty of the elves? You swallowed and gave Gimli a weak smile. “Do not fret, brother. I am sure he means nothing but friendship with our association.”

“And friendship is more than enough, do you hear me?” He elbowed you. “Now, I must see Gandalf about going through Moria. Balin would love those little hobbit troublemakers.”

He wandered down an arched corridor and left you with his overflowing pack. You laughed and began to loosen the straps. Someone cleared their throat behind you and you turned to find Legolas standing with his hands behind his back. 

“Are you nearly finished with your preparations?”

The pack’s straps fell from your hands. He was looking at you again, with that softness in his eyes. “Almost, I was just fixing my brother’s belongings. He seems to have overstuffed his bag once again.”

He glanced behind him. “And you brother, will he be returning soon?”

“I do not think so. He has gone to find Gandalf.”

“I am a little relieved then. I do not think he holds me in very high regard.” He walked closer, coming to a stop beside you, a smile playing about his lips. “And I suspect he is responsible for keeping you occupied in the evenings.”

Was Legolas looking for you all those times Gimli suggested sparring or going over the maps? Did he know Legolas was seeking you out? “If it was intentional, I was not aware.”

His brows drew into a frown. “I was afraid that I had offended you in some way that evening. I thought perhaps you were avoiding me.”

He was worried about such things? Perhaps it was not just the hope of your foolish heart that he might feel tenderly towards you. “No, no… If I had known you were searching for me I would have gone to you.”

A smile broke across his face and he laughed. “Let us hope then, that your brother will not wield his axe to keep me from your side at the campfire.”

Your heart lifted at his words. There would be chances in the future to walk by his side, to talk by his side. You grinned at him. “My brother could not stop me, no matter what he wishes. I go where my heart tells me to go.”

“And where does your heart lead you now?” His brown eyes danced with mirth.

Your lips parted, the words at the tip of your tongue. You shook your head and smiled, turning away from him. They did not need to be spoken aloud, not yet perhaps. The back of his hand grazed yours and your eyes drifted back to his eyes. By your side, you thought, and your smile widened at the knowing look in his eyes. 

[acourtofmenandthirst]

Runaway (Part III of III)

Eris x Reader, finally finished the last part! It took me a lot longer than I wanted, so I hope you all enjoy the final chapter. I am hoping to have more one-shots posted soon! Part II here.

Warnings: Smut, angst, domestic abuse

Word Count: 11.3K

Years and years passed, yet the two of you remained the same. Lovers at night, feigning strangers during the day. You had spent nearly every night in Eris’s bed; he indulged in you, worshiping your body and your moans, while your hands were wrapped around his tender cock. 

You had managed to get your hands on some contraceptive tonic, one that masked his scent on you. It worked well enough thus far - none of the others noticed anything out of the ordinary, though Callula had her suspicions. She had eventually stopped questioning you, instead settling for keeping tabs on you from afar, inquiring only when she knew you disappeared for the night and were late for work the next morning. It was never enough to raise suspicion, though, as many of the staff left during the evenings, either to spend the night amongst each other or frolicking through the Autumn Court.

You and Eris began to be more careful, too. 

While you maintained the storyline that you were having a secret affair with one of the farmhands in town, never revealing too many details such that nobody could sort out exactly who, few grew curious. You were a nobody. Callula managed to keep the secret well enough. And Eris - well, Eris could do nothing wrong. He could do what he pleased. No one was in a place to question the High Lord’s son - any of the young males, in fact. Eris certainly led by example; his younger brothers cavorted amongst the Courts themselves, as he once had. But only the youngest was foolish enough to fool around with another Autumn maiden, though, rubbing it right under Beron’s nose. 

Since that night Eris had bedded you, he had hardly been able to let you go since. Each evening, he’d winnow to your room, whisk you away, and have you returned before the sun rose the next morning. When that was not enough, he had found the perfect opportunity to have you again when you were assigned to clean his bedchamber. His hunger for you could not be satiated; he was a starving man. He’d contemplated it daily: that bond that drew him to you.

That’s what it had to be. He couldn’t be convinced otherwise. He’d never felt anything like that before, and in his now 300 years of age, he’d heard many tales of the Mother’s fated bond: the unmistakable tightness in his chest, pit in his stomach, the thought of you and only you swirling through his mind at all times. 

But Eris was no fool. There would not be anyone who could keep this information quiet. Better to live with this fear held close to his chest than to endanger you with the knowledge. Surely, he assumed, you would have told him if you felt the same pull of the bond, slicing deep through the center of your chest, as his did. 

…

Lately, Eris had become busier, making it difficult to find the time to see you in the evenings. Court tensions increased and Eris had been sent across the Courts with Beron to mitigate any drama. The day you heard that the High Lord and his eldest son had returned from weeks away at the other Courts, preparations for their return began early. Time drew by slowly as you knew that despite their return, you would not be able to see him until late that evening; not until the whole estate was asleep. You managed to busy yourself sewing anything and everything you could get your hands on, from hand embroidering the skirts of one of Lady Autumn’s new dresses, to mending training clothes. Despite all of the Vanserra males’ maturity, they had still managed to cut and beat each other bloody during their daily brawls. With each garment you scrubbed the dark stains from, though, you wondered if it truly was the brothers’ rivalry, or perhaps their vile father. 

After supper, you helped wash the dishes and polish the silver. You had waited until they served the last of the wine before you headed off to bed. To your surprise, that’s where Eris was waiting. He sat upright on your small bed, perched atop the sheets with his immaculate posture. His pointed ears perked up as you slammed the door shut, breath taken out of your lungs at his surprise visit. A small smile pulled at his lips, his brows raising slightly in amusement. 

“By the gods,” you hissed, pressing your body against the heavy door. “Someone could have seen you!” 

He simply rolled those russet eyes, waving off your concern with a throw of his hand. “And do what exactly?” His smile grew. “Something I should be worried about? Please, (Y/N), I do not know you to jest.”

It was then your turn to scoff. You moved to join him on the bed, standing between his parted legs, cupping his sharp jaw between your fingers. “You’ve been away a long time, my Lord,” you mused. “Maybe I’m funny now.”

His hands wrapped around your waist, squeezing your hips, bunching your dress up between his fingers. He tilted his head upwards to look at you, throat bobbing slightly as his eyes bore into yours, waiting. He held the small smile that pulled at his lips, instead frowning, following with: “I cannot stay long.” 

Your brows furrowed. Upon return from travel, without fail for the past hundred odd years, he had hurriedly taken you back to his own bed, eager to waste no time. “What’s the matter?” You asked as you fiddled with the collar of his shirt. 

“I have to manage my brother.” Brother. Not brothers. He had told you of Lucien’s rebellious spirit. How he enjoyed wandering between Courts, befriending and sleeping with whom he pleased, with no regard for their status, or where he left his mark, for that matter. Many women of the Autumn Court had been jealous of those the foxy male bedded, some born of Autumn and others not - some not fully Fae, or even Fae at all. Things which Beron would find displeasing, and would be enraged to find out. 

Eris had managed to keep it at bay, drawing Beron’s attention away from the youngest Vanserra by instigating Court drama. While growing up as a rowdy male, Eris did quite enjoy spurring up the High Lords, relishing in any opportunity to tease their courtiers, but nowadays he did so out of necessity, to keep Beron’s simple mind occupied. While his father was not stupid, he was easily distracted, especially when the possible threat of another Court challening Autumn - even if that threat was falsely planted by Eris.

“Is the female at her antics again?” Eris sighed at your question. It was seemingly much easier to keep Beron blind to Lucien’s previous affairs - despite him running rampant through all of Pyrthian. His most recent conquest had been a woman from the countryside of the Autumn forests. From what Eris could tell - and from what his guards had been able to inform him - the Lesser Faerie female had taken a liking to Lucien. She completely encapsulated him, teasing the male until she hit that soft spot inside of him. Only an audacious female such as herself would be able to break through Lucien’s turbulent youth, commanding his attention so much that even Eris wondered if they were mates. 

“He has not a care in the world,” Eris groaned. Jealousy laced his tone, burning his lips as he spoke. He had spent hundreds of years pining for you, his own mating bond banging against his ribcage, pleading for confession. Allowing himself to indulge in you went against his intuition; he knew what Beron would do to him if he found out his son was fucking a Lesser Fae - let alone being in love with one. What is love anyway? Neither his father nor his mother knew such love. Mates were chosen by the cruel Mother, who seemed to have no interest in matching for emotion. 

The Mother must be evil, after all, for mating his mother to his putrid father. For mating him to you, and endangering your life in doing so. He almost thought he would be better left without a mate, but it physically pained him to stay away from you.

Despite this pain, however, Eris could not spend the night. He had to make sure Beron did not get his hands on Lucien tonight, for he might kill him. 

…

“Don’t go,” he groaned, wrapping his arms tighter around you, holding you taught against his chest. 

Your legs twisted in the light sheets, trying to wrestle yourself from his grip. “I have to,” you drew out, planting your hands on his shoulders. He found your half-hearted attempt almost laughable, pushing weakly against him while somehow also burying your face impossibly closer in the crook of his neck. Through a small smile, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You relaxed against him, giving up your attempts to get out of bed - if just for now. You had maybe an hour before the sun would rise, before you were expected back in the servants quarters. 

Eris smelled of oak and leather - the smoky and sweet personification of crisp Autumn air and fresh morning dew. You relished in his presence, cherished these moments in his bed between just the two of you. The two of you and no one else; not a care in the world. 

It would only last through the night, though. Before the others began wondering where you were; before Eris was required for Court business. “I have to go before daybreak,” you murmured, cheek rubbing against the scars adorning his pale skin.

“If I had it my way the sun would be gone.”

You craned your neck upwards, a smile pulling at your lips. “Suddenly a Night Court enthusiast now, are you?” 

He scoffed. “Again with the jokes, my dear. You may get in trouble if you speak of that territory again while in my bed.”

Your arm curled around his neck, twirling a red lock between your fingers. “I’m not afraid of you or your punishments,” you try back, leveling his gaze. 

“Care to test the waters?” He mused, hands sliding over your spine, resting against your hips. He pinched your ass, causing you to jump in his arms. You playfully swatted at his chest, rolling on top of him, resting your legs on either side of his hips, straddling him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he whispered, challenging you by grinding his hips upwards into you. 

You bit your lip, pressing your hands to his chest to steady yourself. “You would finish,” you muttered, wiggling your hips in response. His fiery brows rose, revealing his piqued interest. “But we don’t have time for that.”

He groaned again, tightening his grip on your hips and moving you back and forth against his hard dick. “I can be quick,” Eris grumbled. “And you know how quickly I can get you off, too.” His hands drew over your hips, fingers tracing patterns against your skin until he drew closer to you the apex of your thighs.

You winked at him, pulling one of his hands away from your leg and up to your breast. “Maybe you can convince Thesan to delay the dawn.” He pinched your nipple in warning, not appreciating the High Lord’s name on your tongue. “Besides, Eris, you aren’t that quick.” 

He rolled his eyes, again idly drawing circles against your breast. “Don’t act so mad about it, (Y/N),” he teased, before reiterating his earlier warning: “no Court discussion here.”

“Not even Autumn?” You wondered aloud, tilting your hand to the side. 

“Politics bore me. You’re supposed to be my distraction.”

“Distraction?” You mimic, mocking him. “Is that all?” You knew how he meant it - or knew at least how he did not mean it. You weren’t just a distraction, Eris just had a certain blunt way of speaking. 

“You are my escape, (Y/N). And one day I will make sure everyone knows.” He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles one by one. 

“Everyone?” 

His red eyes bore into yours. “Everyone.”

…

Months spent lying low with Eris. The two of you had a pattern for years. Nightly rendezvous, some evenings spent in his bed, others wandering through the forests under the moonlight. 

All so excruciatingly planned by the eldest Vanserra so nobody would find the two of you. 

The youngest, on the other hand, was not so careful. 

Everyone knew of his galavanting with the female. Eris told you what word traveled between his brothers. You told him the rumors spread through the servants quarters. It wasn’t long before Beron caught wind, before a plan began stirring in the High Lord’s mind. 

It tormented Eris, you could tell - it was written all over his usually smug face. He had a good mask, one that he wore in front of courtiers and his father. Around you, however, he had learned to drop it. To allow himself to feel freely, stop hiding his concern, his emotion. Despite that, he still wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve. You’d figured out how to read him, but you knew he lay awake at night, still holding you in his arms, tracing patterns on your back, while his mind was wide-awake and working. 

“I taught Lucien to fish in this river,” Eris stated to nobody in particular as he stared at the river before you. “Right up stream.”

You curled yourself further around his arm, the two of you perched atop a rock beside the water. Your legs were tucked under you, folded beneath your dress, hidden from the cool night air. Eris placed his heavy wool coat over your shoulders, his arm slung across your lap, playing with the bunched fabric of your skirt. He had been quiet the whole night - more so than usual, no snarky remarks or suggestive comments. His hair was tousled by the wind, cheeks tinted red from the cold - maybe from his boiling blood; he was nearly radiating flames. 

“How did that go?”

He shrugged, shoulder rising and falling ever so slightly, you wouldn’t have noticed it if your cheek weren’t resting against his bicep. “He liked to jump in and catch them with his hands.” You stretched your neck and rested your chin on his arm, catching a glimpse of the small smile that played at his lips as he replayed the memory in his mind.

“Who taught you?” A mindless question, though one you knew would elicit a response from him. What kind of response, though, you weren’t sure.

He let out a low laugh, sadistic. “Do you think my father would have spared the time?”

You bit your lip, watching his throat bob. “Did you teach your other brothers?”

“I taught them all.”

You studied the way his jaw clenched, as if working through a thought. You knew he held a soft spot for his youngest brother, but you weren’t sure why. Beron had treated all his sons poorly, you’d known Eris to take the brunt of it. He carried that ruthless reputation proudly on his shoulders, making sure to live up to those expectations when his brothers stepped out of line. While the five younger males were equally afraid of Eris as Beron, Lucien liked to walk that line. 

Maybe Eris had protected Lucien too much - it was something that kept him up at night. If Lucien had felt the true power of Beron’s wrath, he wouldn’t act out so much, and wouldn't be such a burden to Eris - wouldn’t require as much shielding. “Why such a soft spot for him? Do you protect him because he is the youngest?”

He held his tongue, unable to release the bitter comment that was poised ready. He knew why Lucien needed the extra protection. His mother had confessed the moment she found out she was carrying the babe. She begged Eris for help. But he didn’t know what to do. For once, there was no Court training, no plan of action, no instruction for how to handle the situation presented to him. Though as a matured male, Eris did as his mother asked: he protected them both. He kept Beron busy, kept him as oblivious to the situation as possible. Eris took his youngest brother under his wing, keeping him out of Beron’s line of sight; his mother was safe - she was going to take that secret to the grave, as Eris would. 

“He needs it the most,” Eris breathed. You drew your fingers along the back of his hand, tracing the bones and veins that ran stark against his skin. 

Eris jumped first. 

He shot to his feet, faster than you could even turn around toward what startled him. He took a step before your sitting form, his back turned to the calm river, now staring down whatever it was in the forest. You peered around his leg blocking your view, heart jumping into your throat. 

Eris stood frozen, though the lick of flames was gradually crawling up his left hand. You rose slowly behind him, struggling to find even footing atop the slippery rock you stood on. You were square behind his back, hidden completely behind his broad shoulders. As his right arm reached behind him, resting on your hip, ensuring you were safe, shielded by him, your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, now bunched up and half untucked from his pants. The wool coat suddenly felt heavy; you almost wanted it to drag you down to the forest floor and bury you in a pile of leaves. 

Hundreds of years. You were both so careful. You had successfully avoided this moment, this fear that lurched into your heart and the dread that found itself in the pit of your stomach. Peering around his arm, you squinted to the woods beyond, but saw nothing. 

The snapping twig caught your attention, though, as the figure appeared from the shadow. 

His long fiery hair whipped around behind him, strands flying loose around his pointed ears and jacket collar. He stood broader than Eris, though a few inches shorter. He was so casual. How Eris always stood tall, chin lifted with exquisite posture, his brother seemed much more at ease during his midnight stroll - though, perhaps it could be the wine clutched in his grasp. 

Lucien’s smile disappeared at the sight of his brother, though. Same went for the woman beside him. 

She clutched at Lucien’s empty hand, her dark hair hanging in front her face, but no doubt still recognizing the tall male before her. Her hand remained in her lovers as she bowed to your male. “Good evening, brother,” Lucien stated simply, nodding in his direction. 

The flame went out in Eris’s palm, he tilted his neck to either side, reading a harsh pop from the top of his vertebrae. The brothers’ gaze did not drive from each other’s stare; Lucien had the same burning red hair as his brother, though his eyes were lighter, bore a golden hue. He was tanned, no doubt from escaping his Court duties that would have kept him entrapped in castle walls, much like Eris. As the woman stood straighter, she inched backward, not unnoticed by either male, taking a position behind her own mate, just as you had. 

It felt like an eternity the four of you spent staring at each other. 

Though Eris only nodded at his brother, unsure - for maybe only the second time in his life - of what to say. He’d been caught; the most important secret of his life had come to light, albeit only to his brother, but he was not sure what the response would be - Lucien’s response or his own. 

“I’m afraid we haven’t met.” Lucien’s red eyes saw beyond Eris, where you were half untucked from behind him. You nodded back, not trusting yourself to respond, unsure of if you should even speak or tell him your name. 

Eris spoke up before you had to. “Watch where you tread,” Eris nearly growled. He wasn’t sure if it was his anger or protective instincts that kicked in. He wondered if he would be more irritable if you were mated - if someone merely acknowledged you and Eris would go mad. Maybe if you had been mated to him, he wouldn’t be jumpy when another male spoke to you. But you were unmarked territory, as primal and pathetic as it sounded: you were his to protect. 

“Looks like I am treading just about as carefully as you,” Lucien retorted, tilting his head toward you. 

Eris took a step toward the younger male. The ruthless eldest Vanserra had the reputation of being the most sadistic, sure. You could only imagine what that would look like turned on his own brothers, or any other male that dare cross his path speaking of his mate with such a tone. “You know I will only be able to protect you for so long.” Beron was catching on to Lucien’s trail, quickly, at that. He was not pleased with the youngest’s unbecoming reputation, or how that that made the Autumn Court look: if Beron could not control his son, how could he hold power of his Court? These words need not be spoken between the two brothers. It was said before, and it did not need reiteration. 

Lucien offered an eye roll in response, though could not help the smirk. You weren’t sure if he actually was drunk, or if he was simply snarkier than his older brothers. “I do not need your protection, Eris. Much less protection from my own father.” Eris shifted on his feet before you. His hand on your hip did not falter, though you did inch from behind him ever so slightly. “I did not think you much of a hypocrite,” he then stated matter of factly, a now almost genuinely seeming smile crawling on his lips. 

“Though our matters of handling our private business seems quite different, no?”

Lucien just smiled and shook his head, it seemed almost in disbelief - that Eris would really pull that card, while he stood before the younger male in the exact same situation. 

Eris continued, dismissively, “Enjoy your evening, Lucien.”

With that, it was time to leave, and the long haired male had no objection. Eris did hold power amongst his brothers, no matter how casual the other male acted toward him. Lucien’s arm wrapped around the female’s waist, pulling her close against his chest before winnowing away. 

Your hand remained splayed on his back, staring at the tree line beyond. “Do you think he will say anything?” You asked, tilting your head up to look at the male who turned to face you, towering over you, head hanging low, russet eyes locked to yours. 

He shook his head as his warm palms cupped your chin, thumbs stroking against your cheekbones. “He knows better,” Eris breathed, leaning forward, pressing his lips against yours. 

“I won’t say anything, Eris,” you promised. His forehead rested on your own, his warm skin contrasted the chill that had set in from the night air. Your hands slid up his forearms, resting against his wrists, brushing your own thumbs over the backs of his knuckles. “But the others talk, and word spreads fast.” 

Drama was only ramping up, rumors stirring rapidly as other servants spotted Lucien and his lover. They were not secretive, no doubt; but you hadn’t thought they were so careless. “He needs to leave Autumn if he wishes to be safe with her. Beron will not rest until he takes care of this problem.”

“Where will he go?”

“He has his alliances,” Eris grumbled. “And I my own.”

…

Red. 

The flames. 

The blood. 

The fiery red hair in front of you as he dragged you through the halls. 

The whole Autumn Court was about to burst into flame. That’s what it felt like. Eris was nowhere to be seen. The whole Vanserra family had been called away, none of them had been seen for days, actually. Rumors spread rampantly through the halls. Some said they heard screaming all day. All day and all night echoing against the stone walls. Whose - you didn’t know. A male. A Vanserra male. You’d heard there had been many voices, many cries for help and pleading - begging. 

It was well into the night. Tensions ran high, nobody knew what was going on. Callula kept everyone busy for the past three days. Nobody left the servants quarters, only allowed between the kitchens and laundry. For Eris to have disappeared with no warning, without a trace, it was unlike him. 

You couldn’t sleep, though, you were sure nobody could. Not with the gossip stirring through the halls, the haunting screaming through the dungeons below even the servants quarters. Pacing back and forth in your room, you couldn’t even find anything to busy yourself with; it took all your consciousness to just not rip your hair out. 

You flinched at the sound of pounding boots down the hall. Wincing again when the door burst open, slamming against the stone wall, with nearly enough force to shake the whole estate. 

He was out of breath, chest heaving raggedly, struggling to get air to his lungs. His clothes were tattered, blood stained his chin and dripped down his neck. His wrists were chafed and the skin had been scraped off, looking as though he’d been straining against metal shackles. Before you could even open your mouth to ask, he grabbed your hand and dragged you out the room, expertly weaving through the cold dark hallway. Before you could blink, he had dragged you outside, the moonlight shining against the stone path before you, leading directly to a knight in shining silver armor sitting atop a horse - with wings. 

Eris began nearly hauling you toward the man, but you planted your feet firmly to the ground. He turned back, if only for a millisecond, hooking his arm around your waist, now half carrying you to the stranger. “You have to go,” he stated, his voice cracking. 

“Fuck no!” You twisted against him, his strong arms still holding you against his chest. “I am not getting on that thing!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his palms nearly burning your skin through your clothes. “Please, (Y/N), please. I need you to.” Releasing you, just for a moment, his hands flew to your cheeks, pulling your face to his, catching your lips in a hasty kiss. “You have to go.”

“I’m not leaving. Whatever’s going on - Eris - I can - ”

He held you still, bringing his face close to yours, red eyes blazen. You’d been intimidated by Eris, back when you were young and all you knew of him was his reputation. But by the gods, you’d never been afraid of him. Panicked and hurried, so frazzled that he didn’t even know what he would be able to say to get you on that damned horse. 

“Why are you trying to hide me?”

“I am trying to protect you!” He sucked in a deep breath, lowering his voice. He didn’t have much time, not before he had to get back to Lucien - to get him out. He licked his lips, tasting the blood that he knew was stained all over his mouth. “I love you and you’re - ” my mate “ - mine to protect.” 

You swallowed, eyes wide at his confession. One that came hundreds of years after you met. Something you knew all along, but never heard. Not once had the confession fell from his lips, no matter how many times it crossed his mind. “I love you, Eris.” 

He pressed his lips to you again, a kiss that tasted like metal and nearly had your teeth clanging together. “Helion will keep you safe for now.”

“Helion?” You blurted, frantically staring back and forth between Eris and the soldier atop the horse, as your lover prepared to hand you off in the arms of the stranger. You’d never been out of Autumn; you’d barely been off the estate grounds. To be handed off to a stranger, taken to a new territory - without knowing what the fuck was going on? He was simply mad. 

Eris shook his head. “He’s…” He didn’t even know the right words. Refraining himself from his signature eye roll, he finished: “an old family friend.”

With another bloody kiss, he took a final look at you, lips now tainted red, brows contracted in confusion - possibly anger - and those doe eyes staring back at him, now brimmed with tears. He gripped your waist and hoisted you up to the armor clad soldier, who held you in front of him, trapping you in his arms. 

Your heart was racing, throat sore from screaming as the horse ran away in a gallop, suddenly taking to the air with those massive wings. Over the man’s shoulder, you saw Eris disappear back into the castle, preparing for another fight. 

…

You were so sick. For months. You weren’t able to leave the new bed you had been given, the small bedroom you found yourself in after your flight to the Day Court. You managed to get sick three different times on the way, somehow forcing yourself to apologize to the soldier who held you through a mess of tears. 

Your new quarters were considerably bigger than that of Autumn; the sunlight shone through the large window, the walls were bright and clean, bed plush and soft. One of the older Fae had explained to you the events of the past week, you had no doubt there were stories roaring through the halls even nearly three Courts away from home. 

If you had managed to eat any of the breakfast she brought you, you would’ve been sick again. Lucien’s lover had been tortured and slain at the hands of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, his own brothers held him to watch. Your breath had caught in your throat, guilt stabbing you in the gut. Had that been what Eris had protected you from? Cauldron boil you, was that truly your first thought? Lucien’s mate had just been killed at his own father’s hands, and you were thinking of yourself. 

But that was exactly why Eris had been so painstakingly careful. Each night he spent awake, plagued with the fears the future would hold for you and him. You’d now realized that with each planned step Eris took with you, he was cursing his brother for being so utterly fucking careless. He’d cursed himself day after day for not warning Lucien more. For not beating it into him - what Beron would do. Maybe he had been too overprotective of Lucien. Careful for the High Lord to get his hands on that babe the moment he was born. 

The only calm Eris had was knowing Lucien would be protected in the Spring Court, and that you would be safe in the Day Court. Beron was already suspicious of Eris’s cooperation with Lucien, his absence from Jesminda’s execution did not go unnoticed. 

After months of laying low, wallowing in his own guilt, and trying to get back on his father’s good side, Eris had managed to write you. He chalked it up to being careful, unsure if his correspondents would be tracked between Courts, that it took him so long to prepare the first letter to you. In reality, he wasn’t sure what he should even say. How would he be able to explain his actions? For sending you away with no explanation, into the arms of a stranger to fly to a land you’ve barely heard of, let alone step foot close to. 

When you received the letter, though, you felt nothing but relief, knowing he was even alive. He apologized - profusely - and briefly explained the events of that night. With Autumn in an uproar, he’d only be able to write to you; there were no chances to see him in the foreseeable future, this would be the only contact the two of you could have. 

You sighed at your own responses, grimacing at your handwriting on the coarse paper, shaky and childlike, nowhere near as immaculate as Eris’s fine cursive. He knew you had never been formally educated, and seemed to not care, but it still made your cheeks heat. You had heard word of a new High Lady who couldn’t read - so surely your handwriting was nothing to be ashamed of. 

…

Despite your comfort in the Day Court, you still missed the Autumn Court; the crisp cool air, the red trees, the rain, and even the mud that clung to your boots after a late night stroll with Eris. Even though you’d spend the first few years of your life dreaming of escaping, running away to another Court - to experience the rest of Prythian, you’d managed to fall in love with Autumn. No doubt also thanks to the male you had also managed to fall in love with. 

Your new life - new, temporary, life - was an interesting change, though. High Lord Helion did not rule by fear or with hatred. He was open and loving and a free spirit; so much so that it took you a good while to grow accustomed to his lewd comments. He hosted a variety of visitors from each Court, and held wild parties, some which lasted for days, and others that began and ended in the confines of his bedchamber. 

Once you began working with the others, you quickly became acclimated to the different style of Day; learning how to sew the more freeing garments, crisp white togas which Helion seemed to prefer. You’d never thought you’d see so many wearing so little. While your talent for embroidery and tailoring did not seem so useful here, the High Lord took interest in having you serve a different purpose. He was enthralled with your Autumn Court traits, the freckles he normally encountered only in Summer. He wanted you as waitstaff, serving drinks and meals, so he could ‘appreciate Autumn,’ since he rarely liked to visit - understandably so. He’d offered you reprieve in his bedroom, though when one of the other staff had reminded him of the circumstance of your stay, he had extended the invitation to both you and Eris. “He is always so interesting and… stiff,” he said with a smile and wink. “Tall but very fit. Could be quite the challenge.”

Despite his seriousness, he did manage to pull a laugh from you - the first genuine laugh from you in the months you’ve been there. It felt like forever ago, that you had last seen Eris. You hadn’t been apart for this long ever, since before you officially even spoke. But the two of you wrote each other quite frequently, each evening rereading his previous letters, keeping them bound with a red string, tucked under your pillow for safekeeping. You’d been able to write each other a few nights each week, recalling events from the past few days, anecdotes from your evenings spent together, and the occasional confession of what Eris missed the most about you - and what he missed doing to you, exactly. 

He was not so thrilled to hear what Helion would like to do to him, though. 

Amongst Helion’s smaller, more frequent gatherings, word quickly spread that the High Lord would be hosting a grand ball; a party which all the High Lords and families and courtiers would be invited. Your heart learched at the news, and although you were much busier with preparation, your mind was occupied with thoughts only of your lover. Not only memories of those nights spent together, but also anticipation, just to hold him in your arms again. Would you even have time to be together, would he even dare to get close enough to you? With all the prying eyes and his father being so close?

You didn’t allow yourself to think much of it, deciding that Eris would take the reins once he arrived. Whatever he decided to do would be the safest option - with little insight to Autumn tension, you weren’t sure how on edge Beron still was, or how tight he held the leash he had on his sons. 

…

Although you were set to serve at the ball, you could not have been more thrilled to attend. You’d never seen a party of such stature, never being allowed upstairs at any of the Autumn events. You’d been dressed in fine white linen, bunched fabric falling over your shoulders and down your back, cascading in waves over your legs. You’d been adorned in gold jewelry, and a few pins that held back your long wily hair. 

Never had the staff been treated with such respect, nor had you had such fine jewelry - that which would raise suspicion in the Autumn Court. You weren’t sure anyone would even recognize you, skin now much brighter and radiant, due to the bright sunlight throughout Helion’s estate and whole court. You knew the Vanserra sons nor the High Lord or his wife would recognize you; you just wanted Eris to. 

“Every radiant, my dear,” Helion complimented, offering you a wide smile as he took a drink from the tray you carried through the hall. You’d been weaving through the crowd of people all night, the boisterous orchestra making it difficult to hear the High Lord, despite how close he was to you. “Don’t forget my offer, young (Y/N). I might like to see what spice the Autumn male brings tonight.” 

“I will extend the offer, your highness,” you giggled back, offering him a bow before turning to find your next path through the crowd. 

But there he was. 

At the end of the room, shoulders squared to you, red eyes blazing. He looked utterly immaculate. Firey hair tamed, the strong column of his throat hidden beneath the collar of his jacket - one that you had sewn by hand. The same deep crimson as his eyes, with gold embellishment curling around his neck and lapelles like the fire that roared through his veins. With the amount of people moving in front of you, you thought you may have to rise on your tiptoes to keep your gaze directly set on him. But he stood a whole head taller than everyone else. 

You could smell him from where you stood. 

Swallowing the now forming lump in your throat, you set the tray down on the table nearest to you, not taking your eyes off your male until you pivoted toward the nearest door. You walked with your shoulders back and your head high - a female on a mission. But gods Eris walked so fast. His legs were so long and he walked so forcefully, you could almost feel the heel of his boots hitting the floor. Before you were halfway to the endgame at the end of the room, you felt him hot on your tail. He was nearly radiating heat, you felt his breath on the back of your neck. 

He had to clench his hands into fists to keep himself from touching you. 

The second your hand was on the doorknob, Eris nearly ripped the door open, slamming it shut behind him. The two of you ended up in a narrow hallway, one you were sure nobody would use during the discourse of the evening. 

You barely had the chance to turn and face the male before his hands were on you. His hands found your hips first, pulling you snug against his front, backing you up until you were pressed firmly between him and the wall. You gasped as his lips met yours in a desperately sloppy kiss. 

He had no patience. No control. He’d waited months - he’d starved for you. 

That string in his chest nearly sliced through his heart, burning with each breath he took; consumed only by you. 

You moaned against him, hands climbing up his biceps to his shoulders to his cheeks and then hair, pulling at the ends of those red locks, pulling his mouth against yours harder, ever closer to you. His hands splayed against your back, fisting at the loose white fabric that barely covered you. “What are you wearing,” he groaned through a sigh, as he grabbed your ass, hoisting you up against the wall, strapping you there, finally pressing himself between your legs. 

You cursed as you felt his hard cock between rutting against you, no doubt the pure lust you scented earlier. “Too much, Eris,” you moaned, linking your legs together behind his back. Too much. The thin scrap of fabric draped over your most delicate features. Too much. Take it off. 

He barked out a laugh before capturing your lips in his again, sinking his canines into your bottom lip. “I much prefer you in Autumn red, my love. Or better yet, nothing at all.”

His lips found their way to your jaw and down your neck, spreading sloppy licks and hot kisses across the expanse of your throat. Your head fell slack against the wall, hands searching for anything to hold onto to anchor yourself to him, fisting at his hair, his shoulders, his jacket. You wanted to touch him anywhere and everywhere, yet he kept you encased in his arms. 

“Gods,” you hissed, yanking his head off you by a fistful of hair, crashing your lips to his. “More.” He hummed in response, his tongue sliding sloppily over your own, drunk on the taste of each other. With one arm still holding you against the wall, his other slid between your bodies, squeezing your breast on the way to his trousers, unbuckling his belt and dropping the waistband of his pants to his knees. 

He laughed against you, that beautiful, near sadistic laugh deep from within his chest. “So desperate, are we?”

“Yes, Eris,” you breathed, eyes falling shut and chest heaving with desire. “Yes, yes, yes!” You became a blubbering mess in tempo with how he ran the head of his cock through your folds. 

“I missed you, (Y/N),” he confessed, leveling his gaze to meet yours as he slowed his movement, painstakingly drawing his dick back and forth against you. You clenched around nothing, anticipating the sweet relief you’d feel in that pit at the bottom of your stomach, the one that had been yearning for him since you’d left. 

At his confession though, your hands fell from the death grip on his hair, and you moved to hold his face between your palms, cursing yourself for the tears that threatened to spill over the brims of your eyes. His cheeks had hollowed, the scar over his cheekbone now ever starker against his pale skin. He hadn’t been sleeping much, you could tell from the dark purple moons under those glowing eyes. He’d simply been a wreck without you, berating himself each day that passed without you by his side. But you were safe. He could live with the knowledge that you were Courts away, taken care of, well-fed, and sleeping soundly, if it cost him that gods damned burning in his chest and pang in his heart. 

Smoothing your hand over his wild hair, you moved to brush those locks back and your palm fell to the nape of his neck, and you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. One which he breathed you in, seizing this opportunity to push into you, pulling the air from your lungs in a soft gasp, one that was matched by the man before you. He sighed against you, catching you in another kiss. Eris nearly shuddered at the sudden warmth around him, knees locking himself in place, sheathed inside of you. 

Your legs drew closer around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer into you, until you felt his thighs flush against the backs of yours. He pulled out, earning a wine from you before he quickly snapped his hips back up, hitting deep inside you. 

You bit your lip from yelping out, somehow forgetting how deep he filled you, just how long he was. “Gods, Eris,” you breathed, eyes shut, head fallen back against the wall. 

He took advantage of your exposed throat and chest, attacking you with sloppy licks and kisses across the column of your neck. He picked up the pace, now rocking in and out of you quickly; your toes curled at the friction, Eris’s fingers slid underneath your bunched up dress, fingers digging into your ass, holding you steady against the wall. 

He fucked you quickly and hastily, unsure of how he’d even been able to go so long without you, without the taste of your lips or the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock. His breath was ragged, chest heaving as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, mumbling a prayer of thanks to Helion himself, for throwing the ball, allowing him if only just an evening to spend with you. 

Eris didn’t even try to stop himself; as soon as he felt you clenching around him and heard that little sigh as you came, so did he. His knees buckled, halting inside of you and holding you firmly against the wall. He trailed a line of kisses along your collarbone, trying to regain his breath before he let you onto your own feet.

Your own legs were wobbly and you found yourself clutching his biceps to keep yourself upright. You gazed up at the man before you, sweat beaded off his forehead and red hair curled around his temple. His hands cupped your jaw, pulling you in for another kiss. You pulled back slightly, eyes drawn to the door behind him as the music changed, much louder than before. “I’m not going back in there,” Eris whispered, thumb still stroking over your cheek, forehead pressed to yours.

You quirked a brow and held back a huff of breath. “But Eris, they’ve just started dancing and - ” and I know how much you love to dance. 

That’s what you would have said. And he knew that’s what you would have said, so he cut you off before you had the chance. “I’m not going back in there, and neither are you.”

In the security of your tiny hallway - though actually not secure at all - Eris danced with you, twirling you around and holding you close to him, relishing in the muffled noise from the next room. The orchestra was muted, so much so that you could almost hear his heart beating against his chest where your ear was pressed up against, nestled safely in his arms. You couldn’t dance, you had barely been afforded the chance to watch such dancing in the Autumn Court, the kind which you knew he was trained in since he was a young Fae, what nearly all High Fae were taught. And he’d teach you some day, if you wanted to learn. Someday when Beron was long gone and he was free to parade you around on his arm. He’d throw you parties and buy you gowns and he’d dance with you all night long.

Eris spent that evening in your small bed, not an ounce of sleep shared between either of you. He stayed awake the whole night with you, listening to your tales from the Day Court, making love to you, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, promises of the day he will take you back to Autumn. But in the back of his head, while he ran his fingers through your wild hair, pulling free any tangles from the evening’s activities, he fought back those guilty feelings that plagued him during your evenings spent together at home. 

Perhaps you were safer here, he thought, over and over and over again, throughout the whole night. You told him tales of your new friends, the snarky comments Helion made - and though they infuriated your jealous male, you had laughed - that cute giggle alongside the pink blush against your cheeks. The only thing he would be able to offer you was your old miserable life, spent in the basements of the Autumn Court estate; nights away spent in secret, though much different than before. Beron had gone savage; his youngest son had defected, he was waiting for the other six to do the same. 

For you, things would not be better. Not yet. 

Maybe not ever. Eris didn’t have a plan. He didn’t know how to overthrow his father - he couldn't - not by himself, at least. Killing Beron would require allies, it would require a plan. Neither of which he had. 

… 

He had kissed you goodbye, the longest, most painstakingly slow kiss he had given you. It was truly a goodbye, and when he had winnowed back to Autumn the following morning, he’d thrown up all over his shining boots and polished floor. His heart had actually broken, fully split clean in two, by nobody other than himself. 

You were simply endangered at the Autumn Court. 

He didn’t know if it would actually someday be better for you. 

…

He hadn’t written to you in days.

Weeks.

Months.

One night was all Eris had spent with you. And then he was gone without a trace. 

You hadn’t heard anything from him, and nothing from the others around you. Autumn gossip was not so easily spread to the Day Court, not that it was of any interest to them, anyway. You’d written him, though. You weren’t sure if he received your letters, if he simply read them and discarded them, throwing the paper aside as he apparently had done to your relationship. You knew the male was cruel, but you didn’t think he was quite capable of treating you like that. 

Maybe he never received your letters at all. Perhaps his mail was being intercepted, your letters never reaching him, and his you. 

That’s what you were going with, at least. You’d have no way of finding out. You’d have no way of finding out if something had happened to him, either. If there was a reason he didn’t get your letters. If he was chained in the dungeon, cast out to Spring Court with his brother, or anything worse, at the hands of his father or his other brothers. 

Surely, you would have heard that.

You fought through the ache in your chest, the deep growing pit in your stomach that kept you awake all night, the void between your legs that seemed to crawl up out of nowhere, plaguing your thoughts when your mind drifted to thoughts - memories - of Eris. You kept up your daily tasks, doing nothing but serving and sewing, then going back to your quarters. Your new friends noticed, but knew better than to pry. You kept your affairs with the Vanserra son to yourself, though there had been few rumors of your relationship with him. Though they didn’t ask, they knew something was amiss, and would bring you food to your quarters and tried to pull you from your desolation. 

You’d entertained them, allowed them to pull you from the Day Court Castle to explore the lands beyond. You visited beaches, countrysides, prairies. You’d never seen sand before, but the sun burned it so hot that it scorched your hands and bare feet. It reminded you of Eris. Everything did. Everywhere you went, you kicked yourself for picking out things everywhere you went that reminded you of him. You also wished he could be there to explore all of this with you. 

Then you remembered it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. 

Just you.

But while you were discovering the world, Eris wasn’t doing much outside Autumn. He appointed all his travels to the court emissaries and his brothers. The sight of the sun made him sick, and he nearly outright refused to leave his bed on anything but stormy days. 

He fought himself daily, fought against the bond that screamed at him to go get you, to take you home. Why should he get to live out the same life that had gotten his brother exiled and Jesminda killed? He shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve peace or an ounce of happiness. He’d been a cruel male, tormenting his brothers until they followed his every order and did not pose a threat against him. 

He removed all the paper and pens and quills from his room, the mere sight of them making him want to vomit. He had to force himself to not write to you, not to seek you out, not even to think of you. Though, the latter was impossible. He reread your letters every night, staring at the scribbles on the pages until he couldn't make out any of the words, until it read like utter nonsense. He licked the envelopes where you had, simply because he missed the taste of you. 

…

You hadn’t forgotten how he looked, the scar that ran jagged under his eye, the marred skin of his throat, where each freckle landed on his equally blemished chest. You hadn’t forgotten his smell, his taste. Hasn’t forgotten even the taste of the bitter Autumn tea, and even that of the Winter Court he used to share with you. 

It was the little things that kept you up at night, the mysterious feeling of deja vu when you awoke from a dream, a retelling of your love story. You had begun to crave that feeling again, though. The feeling of his hands on your body, of his tongue running across your hips, his hands in your hair, the feeling of him hitting that spot deep inside of you. One you thought nobody would ever be able to reach.

 Nobody could, in fact. No one could fill you like Eris, no one could make you feel like he did. There was no trembling, no soaring feeling in your chest, no coiling in your gut. You’d craved the way he made you feel, craved that full feeling, one that left your hunger satiated. 

But you were starving. 

Months turned into years, and you felt utterly emaciated. With no hint of anything from Eris, you finally freed yourself from the confines of your heart and tried your luck mingling with some of Helion’s other staff. Much like their High Lord, they were fun. Not a care in the world, minds seemingly only fixed on partying and fucking. 

Despite their best efforts, you weren’t pleased. Eris was the only man you’d slept with, but he was good, better than good. He was made to fill you, and you were made for him. You’d gone back to the stableboy who tended to the Pegasuses, he who had taken to you the most. Even though he took your mind off Eris, if only for the evening, you went back to your room each time with that stabbing feeling in your gut. You felt guilty for using the male, though, in his defense, he could be using you for the same reason. For no reason at all, perhaps. Day was so different from Autumn… no feelings, no guilt, just… fun.

But you had quite an acquired taste. One that only a certain Autumn male could fit that mold. 

You had come to terms with that fact early on. 

It took Eris a few more years, though.

…

One day he found himself strolling right up to Helion’s front door. His heart was beating out of his chest, fists clenching at his sides with anticipation.

He caved. 

He wasn’t too mad about it.

He was fucking nervous.

It wasn’t you who answered the door, there was some feeling deep in his gut that it would be. That would be just his luck. 

“Sir,” the man spoke through his surprise at his unannounced visit. He bowed and straightened, stepping aside for Eris to enter the foyer. “I will alert Lord Helion of your visit.”

Eris almost brushed right past him; he was prepared to run through the whole estate to find you, scour every room and hallway to find you. As his eyes scanned the large space, golds and whites nearly blinding him, he found nobody else. He didn’t have a response, didn’t have a conversation prepared for Helion. He came for you. 

Before he could respond, the doorman was gone, already disappearing through the hall to fetch his High Lord. 

He almost thought Helion ran to see him, with how fast he appeared in the doorway. “Eris,” he announced, voice booming across the room, echoing off the gilded walls. “So lovely to see you.” Eris nodded once at the man, shoving his hands in his pockets. “How great to see you without your father, he can be so miserable.”

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Eris merely responded, trying to politely poise a smile, but failing miserably. 

Helion brushed him off, giving the male before him an up-and-down look. “You Autumn males always look so sharp. Can’t be comfortable, can it?”

Eris shrugged his shoulders, his pressed jacket and neatly placed collar remained unwrinkled. “I manage just fine.”

Helion’s smile did not falter as he quickly changed the subject. “I am assuming you’re here to see your fair maiden. I quite like her here in my Court.”

Eris huffed a breath, blood boiling at the comment. He eyes Helion’s gown, flowing freely as he guided Eris down the hall, reaching up to clasp a hand on the taller male’s shoulder. “She is much more suited in my Court.”

Helion cracked a smile, my Court, he quite hoped the eldest Vanserra son would someday rule Autumn Court. Despite his reputation, he was still a step up from Beron. And even though you had not been too vocal about your relationship with Eris, Helion knew that if you and him had such a romance, he surely could not be that bad of a male. In fact, he was reminded of his own affair with Lady Autumn. Eris had the same eyes as her, that same fear of Beron - Helion could not miss it. “I am glad you are back for her,” he confessed, pivoting down a different hall. “I know a fine pair of mates when I see it.”

Mates.

Eris stopped dead in his tracks as Helion winked at him; the High Lord burst out laughing as Eris stood petrified beside him. “Did she - ”

Helion brushed him off again. “I know,” he chucked. “I am quite intuative.”

Eris simply stared at the man, mind racing a million miles a minute, heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Helion continued, though, leaving Eris a few steps behind him. Finally reaching the kitchen, Helion strode right in, pushing open the door and greeting the first few servants he encountered. 

But there you were, at the opposite side of the room, leaning against the counter as another female chopped vegetables, laughing. Eyes shut, smile wide, a full laugh from deep in your chest. 

Fuck. 

He had made a grave mistake. Had you laughed like that while you were with him? Was Autumn truly so depressing, leaving you miserable under the fall fog. His breath left his lungs, seeing you so full of color and joy.

He didn’t have time to wallow in his own thoughts. The room went utterly silent - everyone froze at the sight of the foreign man, no scuffing steps, no clanging of pots and pans, no chatter - the laughter stopped. 

You straightened up, standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck around the room, looking for the show stopper.

And a show stopper he was.

Eris’s red hair was untamed, curling around his temples, red eyes wide, staring directly at you. He towered above everyone in the room, you swore his cheeks turned red at the attention. He folded his arms over his chest, but did not move an inch, his face remaining stoic and fixed on you. The others began to follow his line of sight across the room, landing on you. Whispers spread quietly, hushed tones and gasps filling the silence. They’d known you from Autumn, and turns out the rumors of your stay were true - none actually believed the Vanserra son brought you to the Day Court - none knew why, either, but you were sure they’d be able to figure it out soon. 

“(Y/N),” Helion quietly said over the gossip. He nodded his head toward Eris and quickly ushered everyone back to their tasks. 

Everyone stepped aside, parting like the sea to allow you a clear path toward Eris. Saying nothing, you walked around him, entering the hallway and heading straight toward your quarters. Taking the hint and thanking Helion quietly, Eris followed two steps behind you. 

You cleared your mind - or tried to, at least. You breathed in for five seconds, out for five. Despite trying to regulate your breathing, your heart was beating out of your chest. Anticipation twisted in your stomach, your shoulders felt heavy as you carried yourself down the hall. His footsteps tormented you, the sound of his riding boots echoing in the hall. 

You counted the seconds that passed until you found your room, allowing Eris inside before you shut the door, pressing your back against the white wall. You waited for him to speak first, which he didn’t seem to plan to do. He stared at you, chest heaving, standing awkwardly in front of the window. You simply raised your brows at the male, blinking away the stupid tears that pricked at the backs of your eyes. Pure frustration ran through you - they were angry tears.

That’s what you were telling yourself, at least. Abandonment tears. The man that dropped you here and left you here without a trace. 

“(Y/N),” he whispered, not trusting his own voice to speak at a normal volume. 

“What makes you think you can come waltzing in here - ” you couldn’t help yourself exploding at him, immediately yelling as soon as his mouth opened. 

He crossed the room in two steps, reaching for you, trying to kiss you. You would have pressed yourself further against the wall if you could, instead opting to crane your neck to the right, staring at the wall until he dropped his arms in front of you. 

“(Y/N),” he tried again. “He killed Jesminda. He tried to kill Lucien - and me, too. I couldn’t let him get his hands on you. You know what he would have done.”

“Why did you leave me here?”

He would have flinched. He didn't know what stopped him. Your words hit him like a ton of bricks, though he should have expected them. It was the question he came to answer, after all, but he hadn’t prepared a speech, and he didn’t have an answer. “I did not intend to leave you here. I was scared of what might happen if I brought you back. I couldn’t bring you back to the Court with everything how it was… it would have been a death sentence.”

You rolled your eyes. “You decided to leave me here when you stopped writing. When I didn’t see you for years, Eris.” You spat his name with bitterness, never once had he heard you say it with such malice. “I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?” He repeated numbly, unable to stop his brows from raising. 

You nearly rolled your eyes. “Don’t act like it's beyond Beron. I didn’t hear from you, didn’t see you. I didn’t actually think you were capable of such a thing.” You crossed your arms over your chest, leveling his stare as best you could through the tears. You felt the words slice through him, but had no intention to stop. You needed him to feel as angry as you did, as you had for the past few years, waiting for him to return.  “I know you’re cruel but not that - ”

“(Y/N).” His voice reverberated through the room. “You were better off without me!” His anger turned to resentment - pointed only at himself. “You would have been killed if someone found out. You were miserable there. I didn’t want to keep you as a secret, (Y/N), but that’s what it had to be! You deserve more than that.” He spewed every explanation that came to mind. It was all for your own well-being, but he was so blinded by his own selfishness that he left you in Day all alone. With no explanation. His gut twisted as he continued, but he couldn’t stop himself. Nearly 500 years he’d lived with this knowledge, but it seemed to be the only explanation that would make sense: “But I came back now because you’re my mate and I need you - by gods, (Y/N), I need you so much.” 

He had fallen to his knees before you, head now level with your center. His hands reached up and fell on your hips, again bunching the fabric of your dress, what he used to do so much during your time together. His brows knitted together and his eyes softened. “It hurts so much, (Y/N). I should have told you but I knew it would make it worse. It would be so much worse for you to be stuck with me forever.” He shook his head, dropping his forehead against your lower stomach, nearly in pain. “I couldn’t do that to you. Not with the state of my Court.” 

Mate? You chewed on the word. Is that what that feeling was, deep in your chest? Not longing, not heartbreak; all the illness you felt looking at another male, the sickness deep in your stomach as you spend the evening with the stableboy. You had a mate. You had a mate and he was nowhere to be seen. 

The man pleading before you, bowing on the floor of your servant’s quarters: your equal. 

“Eris,” you whispered, hand raking through his red hair, curled locks tangling in your fingers. “My mate.” The words tasted good on your tongue. Like home. Exactly what you had been missing for years - ever since you left Autumn. Your home. The muddy forests and dark clouds had never felt more comforting. Rainy mornings spent in Eris’s bed, wrapped in his arms, listening to his breathing and the soft cracks of the hearth. 

“Gods, (Y/N), I need you. Come back to me.” His eyes were squeezed shut against your white dress, afraid of your response. Your hand fell to his sharp jaw, curling around his chin and pulling his head up to face you. His red eyes met yours and he almost sighed with relief at the smile on your lips. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “There has been no one else in my bed since our last night.”

Your stomach dropped. A sword of fire and guilt twisted its way through your heart, down through your stomach and womb. But there had been for you. You had been so desperate to fill that need inside of you, to relinquish that pain. You didn’t know it was a pain carved out in the hollow of your chest that only he could fill. You knew why you had felt so guilty. One day your mate would be back for you - you should have known. It was your body telling you so. 

But the thought of you betraying him and to fail to honor what you two had… he read the shame on your face. It was his own damned fault - nothing he could blame you for. Not with the way he left you. The way he read all your letters, begging for him to return to Day. You begged him for one last kiss, a visit, a letter - anything. He saved each piece of scrap, tucked safely under a pile of swords in his room. “(Y/N), I ache for you.”

“Eris,” you whispered, the tears falling down your cheeks matched the ones reflecting in his red eyes. “Take me home.”

[howlingday]

"Hey, Renny?"

"Mm?" Ren didn't turn from his position of cutting potatoes for tonight's meal. His childhood friend, Nora was tapping two meat tenderizers together, pretending they were lovers. She did this often in the stone kitchen, especially when the other servants were elsewhere in the castle.

"Do you think Jauney is happy?"

Ren blinked, then set down the knife. He turned to face her. Nora was sitting on the ground, wearing her black Ursa pelt over her shoulders, two meat tenderizers in her calloused hands. "What do you mean, Nora?"

"I mean, ever since Pyrrha," Nora made an uncomfortable face, "you know, Jauney has been really grumpy. Our fights aren't as fun anymore, he doesn't laugh at my jokes, and he's been especially angry at the people at his royal court."

Ren sighed. "Lord Arc has been under a lot of stress, Nora. He is the lord of these lands, and he doesn't have as much time to enjoy himself since winter is due in only a few months."

"Hm..." Nora tapped her chin in thought. "What if we buy him a whore?"

Ren blinked, then returned to his potatoes. "...No."

"Well, I'm stumped!" Nora stood as she exclaimed. "He has all this stress, but he can't get it out. It's not healthy!"

"I wouldn't worry about it, Nora. The harvest festival will be soon, Lord Arc will find have fun, and he will go back to his usual self." Ren grabbed the good potato slices from the cutting board and placed them in the pot of water. He slid the rest into a separate bowl with his knife.

Nora set the meat tenderizers on the stone counter. "Okay, but if he's still grouchy after the festival, I'm buying him the best whore lien can buy!"

"You're going to buy who what?"

Ren froze in place as the familiar voice spoke. He turned, facing the lord if this castle and his employer. He looked the same as he did when they first met; deep, blue eyes, under a mop of shaggy, golden hair and above a chin of golden stubble, and wearing a black Beowolf hide over his shoulders, hiding his muscular.

"Oh, hi, Jauney!" Nora jumped with joy.

"L-Lord Arc!" Ren gave a deep bow, hiding his blush from being embarrassed. "What a pleasant surprise! To what do we owe this honor?"

Jaune passed a glance between the two, silently judging them. He then smirked, reminding Ren that, though he was his lord, he was also a cherished friend. "What's this about buying a whore?"

Ren's face continued to flare. How much of the conversation did he hear? Ren lifted his head to face his lord, and saw his amused grin. Ren sighed before speaking once more. "We were just discussing our shared concern for your well-being, Lord Arc. Nora was simply providing a solution for your stress."

"By buying me a whore?"

"Yes!" Nora proudly exclaimed.

"N-No, my lord!" Ren countered.

Jaune simply laughed. "So which is it? Am I getting a whore or not?"

"I-" Ren choked out.

"Lord Arc," came a cry from another room, "are you here, sire?!"

Jaune sighed. "Sounds like more bad news. Before I leave, what do you think it might be?"

Nora answered before Ren could speak. "Maybe one of those creeps are coming for a visit again."

"Now, Nora," Jaune chided, "just because Queen Salem's Inner Circle are unlike us, it doesn't mean that they are to be treated any less than us."

"But they are creepy! Especially that stinger-guy!"

Jaune was silent for a moment of thought. "I suppose you're not wrong there."

"Perhaps, Lord Arc, the whores have caught wind of our plans?" Ren asked with a small smile.

Jaune barked a laugh. "Maybe they did!" He sighed before stepping towards the exit. "I'll go see about the shouting." He suddenly stopped a few steps from the door. "Oh, but before I leave, what is tonight's supper?"

"Tonight, you are having chicken stew with carrots, potatoes, and onions." Ren answered, filled with the confidence fitting of the Lord Arc's personal cook.

"Sounds good! Nora, are you coming with?"

"On my way, Jauney!" Nora skipped to Ren and kissed his cheek. "Bye, Renny! Jauney and I are gonna go get bad news!" Nora then skipped out of the kitchen, following her lord.

Ren sighed and returned to his task. One day, someone's going to have a problem with Nora's casual attitude. Until then, however, Ren would mind to his cooking.

Jaune made his way to the main hall, where the shouting was coming from. He walked in and found his messenger, Russel open his mouth to shout once more, only to shut it upon seeing his lord. The young man was wearing an undecorated black Grimm pelt, a sign showing that though he was a member of lord Arc's defense, he had yet to prove himself worthy of any notable position.

"Yeah, I heard you. Are we under attack?"

"Have the whores caught wind?" Nora asked as she stepped in.

"I- what?" Russel asked in confusion. He then shook his head. "No, my lord, I have just recieved word of a small force on their way to the castle."

"How small?" Jaune asked.

"Just three; a man and two women."

Nora scoffed. "Just two women? Please! I'm ten times worth any woman!"

"Y-Yes, but there's more."

"More?" Jaune asked.

"Yes, my lord. You see, the woman leading them is described as a raven-haired maiden in a red dress."

Jaune clenched his teeth, and felt his breath grow shallower. "What color were here eyes?"

Russel swallowed the lump in his throat before answering. "From whatever men survived their encounter with her, described her as a witch with amber eyes."

"Jaune-"

"Nora," Jaune interrupted, "alert the rest of the castle. I want everyone ready for whatever happens next."

Nora nodded. "Yes, my lord!" Russel paled further. When dame Nora, the most crass of Jaune's closest charges and his right hand, spoke formally to lord Arc, he knew the danger was real.

"Russel," Jaune spoke, breaking the messenger out of his stupor. "What did you mean by, 'whatever men survived their encounter'?"

Cinder yawned as she passed through the hamlet on her steed. The black beast bellowed smoke from it's ember-lit maw as it trudged forward. Emerald glanced between her lady and the people who cowered in their houses. Mercury grinned with delight as he watched people flinched at meeting his gaze.

When he saw a pretty girl, his grin shifted to a wide, predatory smile. They would weep at the sight of this, hiding behind their husbands, fathers, and brothers with the same amount of fear. He chuckled every time.

"Mercury," Cinder spoke, "what do you think you're doing?" She didn't meet his eyes when he looked up. She faced forward, her face as indifferent as it was when they entered the hamlet.

"I'm just having fun." He defended.

"Your 'fun' is upsetting our beast. Continue," her gaze finally met his, amber eyes alight with wrath, "and I will have my fun with you." Mercury flinched and faced forward. "Besides, you'll have plenty of time for fun once we reach Arc's hovel."

"Does he know we're coming, ma'am?" Emerald asked.

"I have sent more than enough messages to ensure that he will greet us personally."

"And if he doesn't?"

Cinder looked around. Every door was shut. Every window filled with at least one person. Every home with a family as small as two people or as big as four generations. She smiled.

"Then I'll just have to send a bigger message."

Nora stood outside the gates, the cold autumn wind biting her skin. She liked this, though. It reminded her that she was hardy, tougher than the supposed "ladies" who would rather hide and let someone else fight their battles.

She looked up and saw gray clouds combining, gathering together to choke out whatever blue and light remained in the sky. It was going to rain soon, but again, she didn't care. If she became sick, she would just power through it, like she did all things. Plus, Ren would wait on her, hand and foot, as he always did before. She smiled at the thought.

The sound of running footsteps returned her focus to the road leading to the castle. Another messenger showed up, this time with singed clothes. What was his name again? Duck?

"Reports from the nearby village; two-"

"Women and one man are approaching the castle." Nora interrupted. "Yeah, we heard."

"The woman leading them was also riding a black monster we've never seen before! What do we do?"

Nora looked him up and down. He was pudgy, kind of short compared to Ren and Jaune. He wore an unmarked Grimm pelt like the other one, except his was burnt, and slightly smoldering. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Go inside, get cleaned up, and get ready to fight."

"Yes, dame!" He rushed past her after giving a salute. She hated formality, especially getting them.

It has been three years since the day she "earned" her title. She remembers because it was given to her by the Black Queen herself as a reward for turning her back on everything she cared for. Two nights after she and Jaune surrendered to her after that monster murdered her best friend, Pyrrha.

Nora pulled out a spyglass and peered down the road. No one was approaching. Nora began grinding her teeth. She put away the spyglass and turned towards the castle.

"Looking for someone?"

Nora turned towards the voice. The voice of the murderer from that night. Atop a Grimm twice her size, sat Lady Cinder Fall in her red dress with golden accents. She had a wry smile on her face, like a tyrant out of a fairy tale after telling them their hero had died. Like she had after slaughtering her friends.

"No." Nora answered, glaring at the murderer. "I was looking for something, and then you showed up."

"Referring to a lady as a thing?" The assassin to Cinder's right said. "Sounds like treason if you ask me."

"No one asked you. Besides, what I was going to ask you was, 'how's your knees?' You know, after I broke them?" Mercury stepped forward, but a snap of Cinder's fingers brought him to heel.

The woman stepped forward instead. "We request-"

"Demand, Emerald." Cinder corrected.

"-Demand an audience with Lord Jaune Arc. Is he available?"

Nora eyed the woman carefully. She didn't remember seeing her. Was she there that night, or did she join after that? "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Emerald repeated.

"Uh-huh."

Cinder slid from her steed and stepped towards Nora. "There's no need to be rude." She checked her fingernails. "After all, we're all on the same side, right? We both pledged our loyalty to Queen Salem, no?" She lowered her head to be level with Nora's, smiling. "I mean, unless you feel another example should be made."

"Like burning more of our messengers?"

"Like burning another champion."

Nora reeled back a fist. Mercury crouched like a wound spring, while Emerald drew her twin, curved blades. As the Grimm began salivating a glowing red liquid from it's maw, Nora swung forward.

And Cinder kept smiling.

"Lady Fall!" A voice called from behind, stopping Nora from connecting her punch. Nora turned and saw Jaune walking out from the castle gates, arms wide open and a smile on his face. "I wish you had contacted sooner! The castle is an absolute mess, and there's only enough food for one helping for the four of us."

Cinder stepped around Nora and approached Jaune with the same gesture. Nora watched as they hugged. "I do apologize, Lord Arc, but our matter was so urgent, it had to be done without much warning. Why, I recieved the news before the crow of this morning's rooster!" The two shared a laugh. "And don't worry about dinner, we won't be long."

Jaune wrapped an arm around Cinder's shoulder and guided her inside. "And send you home on empty stomachs? Oh, no! I insist! Come, my cook was preparing a delicious chicken stew."

"Can you stew a chicken, Lord Arc?"

"I can't, but my cook can!" The laughter echoed from inside.

"Don't wait up." Mercury taunted as he stepped past. Emerald followed quietly. Nora eyed the Grimm as it stood there. She turned and walked inside.

She hated formalities, but she hated this even more.

Lady Cinder Fall, protege and student of Black Queen Salem, was impressed by the dinner. The dining hall itself, though not as large as her majesty's, was certainly large enough to house an army. And based on the large number of occupants currently eating before her, it did.

Cinder sat at a long table next to Lord Arc, her other side occupied by Emerald and Mercury, and Lord Arc's side occupied by his two lackeys, the girl from outside and some burly meathead he never met. In front of her were rows of soldiers, messengers, guards, and castle staff eating from their plates and bowls.

"More wine?" The young man in a green robe asked, holding a bottle of red wine. He looked as young as Lord Arc, and had a pink strip of hair in his bangs.

"No, thank you." Cinder presented a soft smile.

"I'll have some!" Mercury said, shaking his empty glass.

Cinder rolled her eyes and turned to Lord Arc. He sat quietly, looking out to his subjects with smile. His glass and bowl were empty, save for a few drops remaining of his wine and soup. "Lord Arc," Cinder began, immediately getting his attention, "regarding the important business we must discuss."

"Oh, of course. But can it wait until after dinner?" Lord Arc asked. "It's like my father once said; 'politics only aid indigestion.' And considering this is urgent news from her majesty herself, it could only be something political, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Her majesty, Black Queen Salem, has tasked me to deliver a message for you."

"Oh? And what might this message entail?"

"Queen Salem requests to know your intentions as Lord of the eastern coast."

"I... I'm afraid I don't understand the question." Lord Arc grew tense, she could tell. She could also see how close his protectors were listening in. "When Queen Salem graced me with the task of acting as lord of Vale's eastern coast, I thought I was to simply act as she would have me."

"Yes, but she's curious as to your endgame. Surely, you don't intend to simply live the rest of your life alone with no legacy; no songs of great deeds left to outlast you twice over?"

"...Lady Fall, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid I'm just not ready for your proposal to wed."

Cinder laughed. It was fake, but she tried to make it sound genuine. "Oh no, Lord Arc! This isn't a marriage proposal. But her majesty is concerned you may not be... up to the task."

"Is this a question of my loyalty?"

"Perhaps," she smirked, "but I feel a test is more appropriate."

The sound of liquid splashing suddenly caught Lord Arc's attention. He stood over Cinder and he gritted his teeth. Wearing her smile, she turned to watch as Mercury poured a third bottle of wine onto the servant's head. His hair was soaked and matted as he continued to bow.

"Damn, out again." Mercury said in a bored tone. "What was this wine called again?"

"The Rouge Rogue, sir." The servant replied. "Aged for twenty years from the-"

"Boring!" Mercury cracked the bottle over the servant's head. He fell with a thump, the bottle shattering and cutting his scalp.

"REN!" The girl screamed as she rose, unknowingly signaling the rest of the castle to not only rise as well, but rise with weapons in their hands. The soldiers and guards rose with swords and axes, while the servants, both too young to speak clearly and too old to stand without a cane, held forks and knives in their hands. "I'LL KILL YOU, YOU SONUVA-!"

"SILENCE!"

Everyone froze in place and stared as Lord Arc, master of this castle, roared his prominence. His face was red with rage, but his hands, held aloft, were stiff. The crowd was silent, save for Mercury, who just laughed. Jaune stepped from the table and approached him.

"Clean that up."

"Is this guy serious?" Mercury said. "I'm an agent of Black Queen Salem, the most powerful creature who ever lived, and he thinks he can give me orders?" He then spit on Lord Arc's face. "Touch me, and I'll burn this whole damn castle to the ground. Hell, might have some fun doing it, too!"

Lord Arc turned towards Cinder. She continued to smile. "Don't look at me, Lord Arc. It's as he says; he's an agent of Salem. Harming him will have consequences from her majesty herself."

Lord Arc faced Mercury once more. "Is that true? You serve only Salem?"

"Pfft!" Mercury scoffed. "No shit, dumbass! I don't serve 'Lady' Cinder, or you! The only person I answer to is Black Queen Salem herself."

"I see. That will make this so much easier."

"Make what easier?"

"This." Lord Arc backhanded Mercury and sent him sprawling to the ground. He spit out a tooth as he got to his hands and knees. "Apologize."

"Y-You can't hit me!" Mercury staggered to his feet. "I serve-!"

Lord Arc backhanded him again, this time sending him over the table. The servant named Ren stood by the table and watched silently, his hand covering his bleeding scalp. Lord Arc glanced to him. "Take some servants and return to the kitchen. Have your wounds tended."

"Y-Yes, my lord!" The wounded servant signaled to the other servants and five of then set down their utensils to before rushing to tend to his wounds.

Lord Arc returned his attention to Mercury. "Apologize." Mercury murmured as he rose to his knees. "Apologize." Lord Arc repeated sternly.

Mercury Black kneeled before Lord Jaune Arc, his head bowed. "I am sorry, my lord. I repent and beg that you forgive me."

"You are a murderer and coward. You attacked my castle, murdered my subjects, and aided in the assassination of my fiancee. I can't remember how many times I hit you that night, but it was never enough to make you stop. And now you come to my home again to commit the same crimes, only to bend your knee at only two strikes."

Cinder's smile had grown to a predatory grin as she watched Lord Arc pass judgement on Mercury. Her keen eyes saw what led to this moment as well. This was what she came here to see.

"Mercury Black, in your path of bloodshed to your current standing as an agent of the Black Queen, you have proven that you have only grown more cowardly and pathetic in your services." Lord Arc grabbed Mercury by his hair. "Return to Salem, and tell her of your failures. Only then will you be forgiven." He then pushed Mercury away, tears streaming down the assassin's face. He looked to Cinder. "I believe it would be best for you to leave."

"Must we, though?" Cinder replied. "You would send is back in the middle of the night, storm clouds brewing above as we speak, with only myself and Emerald capable of fending for ourselves?"

Lord Arc held a pained face of guilt. Good. That will make things much easier.

Jaune stood on his balcony and watched as the storm clouds rolled across the sky. As Lady- No, as Cinder predicted, the sky was black, with no moon or stars to shine. Thunder bellowed in the distance as lightning flashed in the clouds. No rain, though.

He sighed and looked to his land. Everything was dark, so he could not see far, but what he could see pained him. He saw the tree where he would spend his summer days napping. The same tree where he met her.

He stepped away from the balcony and into his chambers. He walked to his bed and glanced at his weapon to it's side. He nodded to it's presence and sat on his bed. He replayed the night's events in his head.

He started from checking on his longtime friend in the kitchen. His wounds were cleaned and treated. All that was left was for time to heal. When Nora stomped in full of rage, Ren calmed her as best as he could. He felt guilty allowing his friends to suffer as they had, even when Ren noticed and told him not to.

Before that, he had to see to his guest's quarters. Mercury had not yet broken from his adjustment, which Jaune felt neither pity nor shame. Perhaps the punishment will be enough to change him for the better. Cinder and her fellow female companion aided in bringing him to their room. What was her name? She was so quiet at dinner, but she was close enough to Cinder to sit next to her at dinner.

Regardless, Cinder stated the quarters were satisfactory for the night. Once confident in their comfort, Jaune exited to allow them to rest. He didn't care for their company, but as Lord of the castle, he would serve only to anger his queen by leaving her inner circle to fend for themselves in the storm and darkness.

A knock on his chamber door awoke him from his reminiscing. He hurried to the door and opened it, finding an unexpected visitor.

"G-Good evening, Lord Arc." The young woman of green hair from before spoke nervously in her white nightgown. Perhaps his display earlier had frightened her, or maybe his very presence simply put her on edge. Nonetheless, he greeted her kindly.

"Good evening," he replied. "I apologize, but I don't believe I caught your name."

"My name is Emerald. Emerald Sustrai, Lord Arc." She was nervous. Though, with Summer's End so close, it would not be surprising that she was cold as well. "I wished to have a word with you."

"This couldn't wait until morning? It's late, and it has been a long day for us both, I'm sure."

"Yes, but I wished to discuss what happened today with you, if you don't mind." Jaune looked around the corners, seeing no guards. Only torches lit along the walls. "May I come in?"

Jaune rubbed his chin, and felt stubble. He hummed to himself a little at the feeling. Had it really been so long since he last shaved. He then sighed, remembering his guest, and stepped aside, gesturing with an arm for her to enter. As she entered, Jaune caught a faint scent of lavender from her. He hummed once more, then shut the door.

"What did you want to talk about?" Jaune asked as casually as possible. It would be best to keep her at ease. "Your trip, your mission, or-"

"I wanted to ask about your semblance."

Jaune blinked. "My semblance?"

"Y-Yes. You used your semblance on Merc earlier, and I wanted to know how it worked."

"To find a weakness?" Jaune asked with caution. He stepped towards his bed, not revealing his back to her once.

"No! It's just..." Emerald gulped. Was she sent to spy on him?

"Just what?" Jaune repeated. "The only times people want to know about the abilities of another is to either gloat their superiority, or to exploit a weakness from a gullible opponent."

"W-What if I told you mine? Just to make us even?" Jaune seated himself on his bed. He then waved for Emerald to continue with his hand. Emerald sighed and held out her hand. Her eyes focused on it. Suddenly, as though from nowhere, a flower grew from her palm. It was a small lavender, in size and shape, but it casted no shadow as Jaune watched. Emerald stepped forward and help the delicate plant in front him. Jaune tried to pluck it, but it died in his fingers, fading away as he touched it.

"Illusion." Jaune stated. "Your semblance tricks a foe with an illusion you desire them to see." He chuckled. "It's certainly impressive, but judging by your breathing, it requires a lot of concentration to maintain."

"And... what of yours, Lord Arc?" She said, still catching her breath. "That was... no illusion... that made Merc bow to you."

"Supremacy." Jaune answered. "When I strike an opponent's aura, their will ebbs away, eventually forcing them to submit to me. Depending on how strong one's will is, I will either have to hit them once, or multiple times."

Emerald gulped. "I... I see."

"Now that I've answered your question, I have a question for you." Jaune stood, his frame towering over Emerald, his blue eyes squinting. "What are you doing in my room so late in the night, Emerald Sustrai?"

Emerald didn't speak. She didn't dare look in his eyes. Was her plan found out? It was supposed to be a simple in and out reconnaissance mission. All she had to do was get information on Lord Arc's semblance and report back to Cinder. She wasn't prepared to fight; she left her weapons in her room, concerned she wouldn't have been able to hide them from the man. Now, she was vulnerable.

"Are you going to answer me?" Emerald remained frozen, like a rabbit in a tiger's cage. "Would you like for me to answer for you? Nod if you do."

Emerald wanted to shake her head, if only to be given more time to think of a lie. But she didn't. Like a fool, she nodded.

Lord Arc circled around her. "I'll bet you thought you were clever. Sneaking in, taking what you came for, and then retreating to celebrate your conquest." He stopped in front of her. "But you made one mistake in coming here." Emerald shut her eyes, expecting the worst.

She heard the bed squeak. "I'm just not in the mood." Emerald opened her eyes and saw Lord Arc lounging back on his bed. "Don't get me wrong; you're certainly beautiful, and on almost any other night, I would have ravaged you until all I could think was lavender, but I'm just not interested."

Emerald stood there, blinking. "Er, so you're saying I'm here to...?"

"Are you not a whore?"

Emerald's cheeks flushed. "Wh- No!" She didn't mean to scream, but she couldn't control herself due to the indignity of it. True, she is a liar, a thief, and, in some instances, a murderer, but never a streetwalker. "I'm not a whore!"

Lord Arc sat up. "Then why are you here?"

Emerald cursed herself. Her pride got the better of her. She coughed into her fist as she spoke again. "W-What I mean is, I don't think of myself as a whore. I prefer the term... escort."

Lord Arc's cheeks flushed. "Oh, I am so sorry! I... I had always heard it spoken as- W-Well, in any case, I humbly apologize."

Emerald saw an opportunity. "W-Well, you should! I can't believe your friends paid me so well to 'entertain' you, only for you to insult me!" She turned her back to him and stepped towards the chamber door.

"Wait," Lord Arc called out, "before you go, allow me to apologize in full." Lord Arc reached into a location she didn't see and heard him walk behind her with a jingle in his hands. He placed a hand on her left shoulder and moved his right hand to in front of her, a hefty bag of coins in his palm. "I hope you can forgive me for my rudeness."

Emerald took the coins. "Hm, I'll consider it." She then kissed his cheek. "But only because you're so kind." She then stepped out of his chambers and down the hall, sashaying her behind for show, certain his eyes were on her until she turned the corner. She then sighed in relief.

"This better be worth the trouble." She whispered to no one.

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto The little bird was scared. She always thought lady Vivienne was more than a pretty face and a naïve heart, a treasure that was hard to keep at a court, even if the court belonged to the capricious, but essentially kind and blissful Duchess. Fear. It made Orianna's nostrils flair. The poor cursed maiden was eaten by it, even if she didn't know the true faces of her enemies. Even if her extraordinary, radiant, blazing beauty could protect her long enough to flee. Or to strike. "Pray, my lady Vivienne..." the sun-eyed vampiress' voice acquired the notes of a lullaby. Such gentle tones usually soothed the children, and what more was the noble lady before her? In a way she was even more vulnerable than the mask that Orianna played out, her secret exposed and bare, in a way that no flesh could be... No one would wonder that a Toussaint lady put the troubles of other higher than her own plight, young Vivienne could as well fall into her trap and dissolve into her arms. Truly, she meant her no harm, she desired the cursed maiden only as an ornament, a study. Not as a prey. Her blood on the snow would be such a waste... "That was the reason why I stayed at that...that...horrid, forbidding place," a little shudder, a circle of hands around her own frame, hidden deep enough in the winter lush darkness so no eye would catch that the damsel-in-distress had no shadow... "The night was approaching fast and...it was a desolate, lowly place...I would not dare to cross the mountain pass in the desolation of the shadows and snow," the flowery language, something to remind of home, to lull one even farther into the story. And, ah, Orianna knew how to spin a scary fairy-tale and keep her children hungry for more, as their hearts were beating faster with dread and delight. And wasn't the charming ataman a wandering knight from the old tale, a noble heart hidden under a ragged cloak? The glazed forest gave just the perfect backdrop, and von Everec appeared both glorious and mysterious, the ugly gore covered by the shadows, hidden from the maiden's shy eyes. Vernon, true to his old profession ( and a new skin ), cut a completely different figure. The Temerian regained his human shape and appeared by her side as noiselessly as a breath of falling snow. Orianna found a certain charm in that, and shot the wolf, the man a quick glance, bright and warm. In case he would believe her act. Two cursed men, yet how unique each one was in his own doom... Does lady Vivienne try to protect me? the sun-eyed froze, as still as the snow beneath her bare feet. Why, this trembling little bird! A part of Orianna longed to break into a dry, sharp laugh. Further into the woods, and their little drama looked more and more like a comedy. What they lacked was an eager knight errant. By the Unseen, let it all be a clever ruse. To calm a cursed bird-maiden, a tender lady she knew enough of to pick up the right voice, the right song was one thing. To keep three men from a fight was another. "Ah, my lady!" Orianna struggled gracefully to her feet and danced across the snow, careful to leave a string of footprints. But not towards brave and foolish Vivienne. Towards Olgierd von Everec, praying to the moon, to the Unseen, and the general spirit of Toussaint in the most fervent, unreasonable and respectful manner, that the ataman would play along. They had plays and ballads in the North, after all. And the plot was as old as death itself. "If not for master von Everec's sword and courage I would not have escaped alive. He spilled the blood for me, and took those lives in payment for mine. Please, fear him not...but..." At the theatric pause the crimson-haired vampiress lost the last of her strength and tried to faint gracefully into von Everec's arms.

"...but trust him as I do!" If Vernon laughs now I will lock him in the most narrow and cold kennel when we return. If the famed knight would not cut us all to pieces before that, of course.

“Lady Orianna.” She was quick to stand up on the rock she was settled and perched upon, bowing down and giving her the respect she deserved and with that, concern. A noble lady, walking within such a dark and horrid place, with such scoundrels with her as well, poor company for one so well respected and liked as well, poor company indeed.

It held her where she was to be worried for her own safety.

Why was Orianna here, and with two brutes, more beasts than anything she has ever seen.

These were not fair and true, noble knights of their land.

These where bandits, she knew the type, they were filthy, they held lust within their eyes and they seemed to be .. what if they have captured Orianna and where taking her through the forest to harm her and shame her beyond all words, it happens, and without any true knights here to offer protection what was one meant to do, and now they have found her as well, how the heart trembles and breaks at the thought that Orianna had dragged her to share her cruel and unusual fate in the dead of night.

“Are you safe, are you well, you look to be in distress, have those rogues harmed you!”

So many questions.

As her golden eyes flicked back and forth between all three of them, too much happened for her mind to piece together a story that makes any sort of sense, and yet what did it even matter, what was one meant to do. Tell the truth, that she had seen Orianna in the dead of night with monsters, beasts, poor company running through the forest under the pale moonlight, who would believe such a story and if they did. What would they ask?

How did you know of this?

Why were you there as well?

What slander are you spreading LITTLE BIRD!

“You are a long way from any tavern.” As she moved and dropped down from the rock and onto the grass, to elegantly walk across it as she looked at the odd man with her, with the scars and wound he wore, he was no knight .. he was no hero .. he was no protector of any maiden at all, he was a villain, from stories new and old, those you are told about to be scared off and avoid at all costs no matter what. “ … Von Everec … is a fallen house and a name of shame and holds no honor, he is dangerous.” As she moved quickly to cut between the woman and the man and raise her hand, sharp little claws showed and pushed him back and away to pull on her hand and hide behind her to protect her.

She could not do much, except within court, but she would not stand aside when someone else was harmed.

For now she did not look behind her to the women with her, she kept before her to ensure she was safe and shielded from harm, and she stared down this brute before her.

“He stinks of death.”

It tickles the senses she has, too much blood, it was horrid, truly horrid in every single way possible. “Be gone with you.” As she narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call upon my champion.” As she would risk everything, everything at all if needed, and she would ensure the safety of the maiden with her.

There were few people she trusted within this world, but there was one that was her champion and would protect her no matter what, like this monster or as a human, he was an honorable man like none other.

“Gregoire de Gorgon! Help us!”

[jaskierswolf]

Title: What the Heart Desires

Prompt: Fuck or Die

Pairing: Gerlion

Rating: M

Warnings: Not explicit dub con - They both want it but cannot revoke consent, pre-smut, sexual content.

Written for @whataboutthebard event. I didn't give it a banner because I did not actually wreck the bard. It's more a hurt/comfort prompt using the smut idea 😂

_

Geralt never got into this sort of mess when he was alone. He had his problems, but they were normally angry mages that were pissed off at Yennefer more than him, or a close call with a monster that tried to make him their breakfast. Those were the normal sort of troubles that Geralt faced, and he’d made peace with that. Sure, he could live without them but he was a witcher. He’d always known his life wouldn’t be an easy one.

And yet he’d managed to live decades of his life without having to interact with the fae.

They were tricky creatures, but they were sentient and Geralt refused to take contracts on known fae, and quickly refunded those if he figured it out mid-hunt. The fair folk were not to be trifled with, bargaining with them was just as dangerous as killing them, so Geralt had taken Vesemir’s lessons to heart and just stayed away.

Dandelion, on the other hand, was a mess.

He’d swanned straight into the fae’s court without even realising, and gotten himself captured, forcing Geralt’s hand. So now they were both facing in each other in the middle some fantastical, decadent court room, completely in the nude and about to fuck for the first time in front of a troupe of fae.

The horny little shits.

“Sorry,” Dandelion mumbled for the hundredth time, looking anywhere but at Geralt.

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t need to do this.” Another argument they’d already been through but Geralt humoured the poet. “You can leave me here. It’s really not that bad.”

“I do, and I want to. I’m not leaving you, Dandelion.”

“But-”

“I am not leaving you.”

In truth, Dandelion would have fit in perfectly with the fae, his elven blood and sharp cheekbones gave him an inhuman beauty, and the startling bright blue of his eyes did, on occasion, glow just like the fae. Then there was his hair, long golden curls that a fair maiden would die for.

He was beautiful, and Geralt had secretly loved him for many years. There was just something natural about loving Dandelion, his easy smiles, his sparkling cornflower blue eyes, his charm. Geralt had fallen for the poet without even realising, and gods, how he’d imagined their first kiss.

It was supposed to be perfect; a tender confession of love in a picturesque location, a kiss worthy for a poet. But it had never been the right time. Geralt had always found excuses, reasons to hide his feelings, keeping their relationship platonic… safe.

But now all of that had been taken away from them by the bastard creatures that were watching them with keen eyes. Geralt’s medallion hummed steadily against his skin and he knew without a doubt if this went wrong the fae would kill them in seconds.

He just had to make sure Dandelion knew the truth before…

Before it was too late.

“I want this,” Geralt repeated, cupping the poet’s face in his hand. “Not like this, but you, I want you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Dandelion’s eyes widened and despite everything, broke into a brilliant smile; the kind Geralt had fallen in love with. “Oh, you daft old thing, why didn’t you say anything?” he sang and launched into Geralt’s arms.

“Hmmph,” was Geralt’s only reply as Dandelion’s lips were on his.

The poet’s lips were as soft as Geralt had always imagined, and they parted so perfectly beneath Geralt’s. One hand cupped the nape of Dandelion’s neck, threading into the soft curls that had always taunted Geralt. Every time Dandelion combed or curled his hair, Geralt wanted to touch it. The poet had a habit of chewing at the ends when he was nervous, drawing Geralt’s attention to his pretty pink lips.

He was almost irresistible.

But now Geralt didn’t have to.

He kissed Dandelion in the way he’d been wanting to for decades, soft, tender, desperate, and they were soon lost in the taste of each other. Until the fae queen cleared her throat behind them, and Dandelion fell to the floor with a pained cry, his hands grasping at his chest.

“This is all very touching, witcher, but you made a deal.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Dandelion gasped from the floor. “I love you.”

Geralt reached out to his bard, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him to his chest. He glared fiercely at the queen, starting to wonder how many of her kin he could slay before he was struck down, but Dandelion would want that.

They had no choice.

“I love you too, and I’ll try not to hurt you,” he murmured in Dandelion’s ear.

He just hoped that one day they could love each other without any regrets.

And one day he would have his revenge.

-

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire

[leiccsters]

The exquisite passage of her hand, clawing and palming the rigid outline of his arousal, would have been consolation enough.   Robin shut his eyes, words coming to him in dull, delayed oozes of consciousness, his thoughts waylaid by the wicked thrill coursing through his veins.  Still his hands saw need to ground at the fleshy mounds of her backside, leaving her cream skin pinked with the webbed patterns of his groping fingers – like a nun’s arse, after a brusque flogging, blooming like a summer poppy, a virgin’s fierce blush, his touch, his clawing digits, tattooed against a Tudor’s untouchable flesh.  He wonders not if her ladies will catch sight of them as they lather her body with precious oils and fragrances, for her simpering maids were easily enough bought and flattered into silence – their blind-eyes keeping his neck squarely attached to his shoulders.

For once, a clever retort failed Dudley, eluded the quick strokes of his mind.  Elizabeth had slain the eloquent, charismatic courtier within and usurped him with someone ravenous, bucking his hips against her hand, his pelvis driving with instinctual thrusts, his teeth sinking into the fullness of his bottom lip to restrain a gruff snarl from tearing from his lungs.  A hiss tainting his words, followed by the shaking of his head, Robert concedes: ‘I would try. Even if I was forced out, I would try.’   But as her soft, damp hand continued to explore the throbbing length of him, Dudley’s brow knotted with a need to maintain his restraint, and complete and utter ecstasy at the feel of her fingers stroking him, coaxing him out of his breeches, until he stood at full alertness; his sulky, sensuous mouth slightly agape.

This – an open-aired, rose-scented rendezvous – was not the warm, wood-paneled rooms of Hever, those ancient stone walls containing the mingling cries of pleasure they keened into the air as Dudley’s dark head delved between Elizabeth’s legs.  It was not the hunting lodge, many miles out from Hampton Court, they’d found abandoned – and made their own, christened its vacant wilderness with tender couplings, the twittering of birds and gentle susurration of the ancient elms of London an orchestra to their private depravities.  But still, Elizabeth would find Dudley’s lips crushingly eager, his breath patched, nose pressed up against the crook of her neck, his dark and determined gaze cradling hers with a hungered intensity.  She would feel his sweat-slick skin against hers, every callous, the curve of his fingers squeezing at her sweet virginal thighs, prying them apart so that his knee could butt between them, the rough-hewn fabric of his trousers sliding against the needy heat of her core: a delicious irritant to her touched-starved centre. 

‘But you are no blushing bride,’  Robin growled low, taking a fistfull of Elizabeth’s hair to yank her head back, tipping her oval-face toward his.  The intensity of Leicester’s gaze blazed even through the darkness; though his fierceness, his aggression, could not have belied the obvious love and tender affection that bled from his voice.  ‘And though you are wild for to hold, I’ll see fit to torment whoever takes your sweet cunt’s maiden voyage.’  His lips quirked into another devilish smirk as he seized another kiss, deep and decadent, pushing his tongue in her mouth as she stroked him to glory, thumbling the pearl of desire that dripped forth from a mushroom head, her thighs falling around his. 

Dudley mourns the absence of her hand around his cock, the firm grip around his sizable length, given way to the bracing coolness of the night’s fresh air.  His eyes then snapped and shuttered to alertness, irises expanding in wild dilation, as Elizabeth sank to her knees, a tide of gilded-brocade rippling about her, and took him from stern to stern.  Taming falcons such as she was a practice of patience and Dudley had come to anticipate Elizabeth’s reservations, especially at court.  But her sweet, wet, suckling mouth around his hardened shaft robbed him of all rigid reason; his shoulders slumped forth, one hand matted in Elizabeth’s long, autumnal mane, and the other buried in the lushness of the rosebush, bracing against hard brick.  At the sound of her tongue gently lapping and sucking at him, Dudley breathes out a sigh, the boundless impatience of a promised lover, of profound joy. 

His gaze traveled downward; he bites his lip at the way her mouth, formed in a perfect bow, releases his cock to the balmy air, before sheathing it within her warm lips again, again, again; taking him, liberating him, with torturous ministrations.  It was a wondrous marvel to see her so transformed, his blessed virgin; her cheeks blooming with their covert coupling, her neck scratched with bites and bruises shorn from his own lips – easy enough to blame on a clumsiness that everyone knew Elizabeth did not possess.  The truth rankled at him like a thorned collar – there would never be justification for this sin; she would never be his wife and he would always be her servant, but with God’s mercy, Dudley could accept it.

Blissful visions of vivid color burst behind his lids, guiding him ever closer to the release he so desired. 

‘Fuck, Elizabeth.  Do you enjoy bringing me thus?  Sucking my cock and robbing me of all earthly reason?  Do you see what you do to me, my sweetheart?’ 

His member twitched with an indication of a forthcoming climax, a deep grunt escaping him.  Perhaps she enjoyed it – this wave of power she held over him.  Perhaps he enjoyed it, too – equally, if not more.  

Before he could release his seed into her mouth, Dudley hauled Elizabeth up by her arms and pressed her back against the hardness of the garden wall.  ‘Whores tricks,’ he says, his hands once more finding purchase under the layers of her kirtle,  the pad of his finger grazing against the cluster of slick, pulsing nerves found at her core.  ‘Let me show you how a princess of England ought to be pleasured, Bess.’

His reaction may have deserved a different answer to the one she gave, but Elizabeth was in no mood to split her personality towards the one sculpted by the sharp talons of her mother’s falcon. Did she not risk everything to see him? She was no girl, no woman to be touched as he had touched her — she was England, born and bred. She was Britannia. Boudicca. She was every woman and man born upon those shores, then how, pray tell, was she meant to deal with the longing that caused an earth-shattering ache between her legs, her bones and upon the beating of her heart that shook with each determined exhale. 

Extending her neck, oblivious to her own place in the world, her hand grapples for him, her mouth parting in the same manner one would split a peach as she moaned for his embrace before he, in his stubborn manner, turns from her with the same expression as a man would wear when losing a round of cards. It was frustration then, or something akin to such an emotion, that left Elizabeth to fall slick against the garden wall, her hands clumsy as she sought the sturdy leverage of the brickwork, her fingertips tangling for just a moment into wild flowers that had fought against the human construction to part through the mortar; nature prevailing against the menace of intrusion. 

What else could she have said? He knew. She knew. It didn’t matter how much she wanted him — or  how many nights she had spent dreaming of him when caught in a sleepless night. With her heart drop with a thump into the bottom of her stomach, Elizabeth sought his true self through the vain naivety of manhood, then against all logic, she allowed him to take advantage of her benevolence, for did he think that the hardship stood alone against him? Indeed, perhaps physically it was all too obvious that he bore such a heavy task, but Elizabeth still ached in a similar tug of the heartstrings, her gaze lingering upon his own as he approached once more – and yet, against her better character, her lips remained shut in some tense action of a jaw clenched. 

“Do you think I am a fool?” She asked, through the tremble of her sweetened lips, her hands flush against his chest as he went to hold her again, his embrace a torment to a body that yearned to submit. “A Monk cannot be married… You would be a terrible Monk, we both know that,” Elizabeth whispered, her throat tightening at the facts that began to push their way into view, to destroy the original torment filled only with wanton lust, for to mention his marriage was against her own happiness, to even think of whom waited for him with a life to offer for his own entertainment was enough to leave the clouds to turn from heavy rain to furious thunder. And yet, she could not help but fall her brow against him, her torment ever present as her hands cascaded down his chest to the taut fall of his hose.

With a slow, steady breath, she seemed to once more contain herself — the deft work of her fingers made haste as they untied his breeches, a hand slipped between the material to come against the warmth of heated flesh. No, no. If he were to return to someone else that night, then let it be sure that she remained upon him in mind, body and soul — and with a determination, she took his hardness into the cup of her hand, working his length with certain jerks of her hand as her lips found the neat throb of his neck, the dark glare of her gaze shot over his shoulder as she looked to the shadows for any sign of an intruder, an ever present will to be in charge of all that she could touch taking some command as her head tilted towards his before drawing his lips into her own, her warm breath yet sticky with what she wanted more than anything else. How was it fair that anyone else could make such a mistake? To fall unnecessarily in love with a man she could never boast off? With her eyes closed, she mapped his cock, his lower stomach and hip bone with her hand, knowing the path across his skin as well as she had mastered her tongue in all languages but his own.

 “Dare I count the ways how I would have you if there was nothing standing in the way? I would love you so fiercely, with more intent than any woman may ever boast of a silken lover. Do you hear me, Robin? Will you try to understand?” Her voice strained, as if teetering on the edge of a slovenly beg, before she pushed his breeches from him, lowering herself by the slight bend of her knees to risk all exposure to the weather, as she took his arousal between her lips in an act performed only ever behind the safety of locked doors.