#Sights from a Steeple

[uwmspeccoll]

It's Fine Press Friday!

This Friday we turn once again to our recent donation from the estate of artist and book collector Dennis Bayuzick with an edition of Nataniel Hawthorne's 1837 short story from Twice-Told Tales, Sights from a Steeple, printed here by Ronald Keller in 1988 at his Red Angel Press in Bremen, Maine, with an original 38 x 18-inch color wood engraving by Keller, printed in an edition of 100 copies signed by the artist/printer.

The engraving sits folded above the text, but can unfold and surround the text when opened. Hawthorne writes as an observer sitting in his lofty perch of a steeple in a New England seaport, presumably Salem, where he describes the surrounding countryside, distant sea, and gathering storm clouds. The text was printed in hand-set Plantin type, with Caslon titling, on Frankfurt paper, with the wood engraving printed in green, blue, and black on Sekishu paper.

View other books from the collection of Dennis Bayuzick.

View more Fine Press Friday Posts.

[hairmetal666]

Never in a million years did Steve Harrington think he'd be standing in the drama club room in front of Eddie the Freak--who's sitting on a goddamn throne with his full lips pulled into a smug grin--asking to be taught how to play Dorks and Goblins. Yet, here he is, face a burning shade of crimson, as he explains for the sixth time what, exactly, he needs.

"Munson, it's not that hard. Henderson wants me to play in the--the game thingy they're doing when Will is home for a visit."

"Yeah, Harrington, and I stop listening every time you call it a game thingy. You obviously don't care about this at all, so why should I waste my time helping you?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "What if I pay you?"

Munson's face goes through a complicated series of changes before falling into a neutral mask, no smirk or teasing smile to be found. "You'll pay me to teach you dnd? Are you fucking kidding?"

"No?' Steve draws a hand through his hair, watches as Munson's dark eyes track the movement. "I thought you might help me out cause those kids never shut-up about you, but I'm willing to put money on it."

"Huh," Eddie says. He steeples his fingers under his chin. "Maybe I misjudged you, Harrington."

Steve lets himself smile at this. "I don't think you did. I don't give a shit about this game."

"Didn't take you for one to have a bunch of nerdy child friends."

"I'm their babysitter," he says, realizes immediately it was a mistake.

Eddie cackles until it turns into a full-bodied laugh, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "You are something else, Harrington," he manages.

For his part, Steve hopes Munson hasn't noticed how bright red his face is. "Does that mean you'll help me?"

"I guess," he rolls his eyes. "But if you're just screwing around, I'm out."

"No, yeah, totally," Steve nods too hard, sends his hair cascading into his face. "Sounds good. How much?"

"Huh?" Eddie tilts his face up, giving Steve a perfect view of the smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"I said I'd pay you. What's the going rate for dnd lessons?"

"Oh, nah, free of charge, Harrington. Henderson would eat me alive if he knew I made you pay."

The smile they share is soft, tentative, and Steve doesn't notice the swathes of pink decorating Eddie's pale cheekbones.

---

They meet up in the drama room after the last bell. Eddie is waiting on the throne with his feet propped on the table, sipping a Mt. Dew. His eyes widen when Steve walks into the room.

"You're on time," he says.

Steve scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Eddie shrugs, sets his feet on the floor. "Just wasn't aware that the King put a lot of stock in punctuality."

"C'mon, man, I'm trying not to be that guy, and I'm definitely not king of anything. Unless maybe it's Family Video, but even then, that's Robin."

"You're kind of weird, Harrington, you know that?" Eddie's dimples bracket his smile. The sight does weird things in Steve's chest.

"I've been told, yeah." Steve smiles back. "Where do we start?"

They start with dice, with a character sheet.

"Chaotic-good human Paladin?" Eddie asks.

He shrugs. "That's what Dustin keeps screaming at me. I got no idea what any of it means."

"That's not entirely true," Eddie says. "You've kept up with me so far."

"Yeah, that's you. Dustin rambles and then accuses me of not listening when it's over my head. When he goes on long enough, I start to get a headache right here," Steve rubs the spot between his eyes.

"That kid," Eddie says with the right combination of affection and frustration. "I don't know, you seem to have picked up on some of the stuff he said. You have a solid idea on gameplay, at least. I'd say you're doing pretty good."

"Thanks," Steve laughs. "No migraine yet, so that's a point in your favor."

"Migraines?"

"Head trauma."

"Byers?"

"And Hargrove."

"That was Hargrove?" Eddie asks.

"Hit me in the head with a plate."

"What the fuck."

"He was pissed that Max was friends with Lucas. He came after them. I couldn't just let him--I think he would've killed Lucas."

Eddie nods, hands fiddling with a die. "No wonder those kids love you," he says.

"We've been through some shit together."

"Guess it makes more sense why you wanted to learn dnd."

"As much as it pains me to admit," Steve rolls his eyes. "I love to make those little shitheads happy."

"Well, based on the way they talk about you, you succeed."

"You too, you know?" Steve offers. "All I've heard about the last three months is 'Eddie's so cool,' 'Hellfire's so fun.'"

"Jealous?" Eddie laughs.

"Completely," Steve admits.

"Don't worry, Harrington, I'll make a nerd out of you yet."

---

They meetup after school every day they can over the next two weeks. At first, Steve is surprised that he doesn't really mind spending so much time with Munson, that he actually, kind of, has fun. And the more time they spend together, the more Eddie infiltrates his space. Leans into Steve's side as they sit next to each other, brushes their hands together, hovers over his shoulder, faces nearly touching, as he checks stuff on Steve's character sheet.

It makes Steve feel--well, it makes him think of what it would be like to run his fingers through the soft gloss of Eddie's curls; wonders what that plump mouth would be like pressed against his own; can't stop thinking about if Eddie is as vocal in bed as he is everywhere else. He knows he also likes guys, has for a while, but he's never in his life wanted someone this viscerally; so much he can feel the ache of it in his teeth.

It's the last day before the campaign for Will, and Steve is fucking sad. He thinks maybe Eddie is too. He's at least quieter than normal, explanations not at their usual fever pitch. An hour before they usually call it quits, he claps his hands together (too gently, too unlike himself), says, "That's it, Harrington. You're not going to be more ready than this."

"Right," Steve says. Can't help his eyes from darting over Eddie's face, aching to know what he's thinking. "You'll be there tomorrow?"

Eddie bends his head over his notebooks. "Nah, I don't need to intrude."

"But--"

"It's okay, Stevie. I get that it's family only." He looks like he really means it, but his eyes are sad, don't shine like they should.

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, just nods, and then there's nothing else. They stare at each other for a few very long, quiet seconds, before Eddie says, "I'll see you around, Harrington."

"Right, yeah. You too." And he walks out of the drama room with the heaviest heart he thinks he's ever had.

---

Steve thinks he won't miss Eddie. That if he doesn't dwell on those hours spent with Eddie, learning dnd, that the missing will go away.

It doesn't.

Which is how he finds himself back at the high school on Wednesday, standing in front of the drama room door, willing himself to go inside. Eddie's on the throne, the typical notebooks and binders and Mt. Dew cans clustered around him, but he's not engrossed in imagining up a new campaign for Hellfire. No, his head is in his hands, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

His head pops up, and even in the low light, Steve notices the silvery tracks of tears down his cheeks.

"Steve! What are you--" he hastily wipes at his face with his shirt sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

Steve's acting only on instinct, crossing the room and dropping to his knees, taking Eddie's jaw between his palms, thumbing away the wetness on his cheeks.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asks.

Eddie's laugh is wet. "Nah, Harrington. I only have myself to blame for this one."

"Can I do anything?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry?"

"You, Steve Harrington, kind and compassionate? Learn dnd to make your little nerd friends happy? Who are you?"

"I'm just me, man," Steve blushes. "But, uh, I came to thank you." He's still holding Eddie's face in his hands, can't help but notice the way he flushes, how his dark eyes dart away from Steve's.

"I really liked hanging out with you," Steve says. This close to Eddie, his mind doesn't quite feel like his own. All he can think of is big eyes, soft curls, full lips.

"Yo--you did?"

"So much," Steve whispers. He doesn't quite remember moving, but now their foreheads are pressed together, warm breath mingling, lips almost, almost touching.

"I liked it too," Eddie breathes. After a few seconds, he laughs. "Knew I'd make a nerd out of you, Harrington."

"Shut-up," Steve laughs.

"Make me," Eddie says, and it's just that easy. Steve crosses the space still separating them, presses his mouth against Eddie's.

The kiss is slow, exploratory, the gentle discovery of how they fit together, the promise of all the things they can do in the future, all the pleasure they can bring.

"I'm not a nerd," Steve says when they part.

"No, you're right. You're like a nerd by marriage. Nerd-in-law," Eddie giggles. His eyes are bright, face pink, the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

"Shut-up," Steve giggles right back.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, the dare obvious, and Steve doesn't hesitate to kiss him again.

"You wanna get out of here?" Steve asks when they part, significantly more breathless, jeans significantly tighter, than when he arrived.

"You're gonna have to role persuasion for that, Stevie," Eddie smirks.

[gnvrkhuroo]

insatiable desires pt. 1

leon s. kennedy x f. reader

warning: EXTREMELY DARK SMUT. NONCON, DUBCON, CNC. possessive behavior. praise & degradation. master-pet/slave relationship, size kink, corruption kink, jealousy, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, tummy bulge, dacryphilia, slight bdsm, hair pulling, slapping, spanking, brat taming, dumbification, manipulation, overstimulation, marking, love bites, branding scare.

this part is purely smut and i guess a bit of introduction to their relationship (?), the plot and story begin in part 2.

(not proofread & lowercase intended)

note: the following content contains explicit and adult-oriented language and themes. this piece is fictional and solely intended for the reader's satisfaction and imagination. the author does NOT condone or endorse any real-life activities that may be depicted. reader discretion is advised. mdni.

please bear with me for a bit, as i haven't written for a while. however, i intend to improve my writing with every part of this series.

you've tried everything. exploring every possibility in your relentless pursuit of pleasure, yet it remains unfulfilled. you want—no, you need the real thing — a real cock. not a cold silicone dildo or a vibrator but a genuine connection with a man who can satiate your deepest desires. someone who not only comprehends the hidden desires that you are yet to find in the corners of your mind, but also your current fantasies. a man of experience, confidence, and the ability to surpass your expectations, while respecting your boundaries and limitations.

driven by this longing, you made a bold decision one fateful day. you set your sights on a formidable individual, a man whose reputation precedes him. with unwavering determination, you sought to approach leon kennedy, a figure who held the key to unlocking your satisfaction, as they say.

and so, he invited you to his penthouse, seated comfortably behind his wide desk, he reclined his swivel chair. his piercing blue eyes alternated between the document resting before him and the person who stood before him—you.

leon smirks, leaning back further in his chair, his fingers steepled together. his piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, his voice smooth and confident. "let's go over the agreed-upon rules one last time." he reaches forward, picking up the paper and clearing his throat before reading out loud.

rule number one: you will address me as "master " at all times, without exception. disobedience will result in punishment.

rule number two: your body is mine to do as i please. you will obey any and all orders given to you immediately and without question. failure to do so will result in punishment.

rule number three: you are to be completely submissive and obedient at all times. any displays of resistance or defiance will be met with consequences.

rule number four: trust and honesty are crucial. you will communicate your desires, limits, and boundaries clearly and openly.

rule number five: "red" will be our safe word, a word that will signify the need for an immediate halt to any activities. and for situations when you cannot speak, a double tap from you shall serve as your signal for me to cease.

rule number six: consent is given and assumed between us. we have entered into this agreement willingly and with a clear understanding of the dynamics at play.

rule number seven: any physical marks or bruises left on your body will be solely at my discretion. i may use them as a reminder of your submission and my ownership.

rule number seven: you will wear the collar i have provided you with at all times when we are together. it symbolizes your submissive status.

rule number eight: aftercare is of utmost importance. i will provide care and comfort after each session, tending to your physical and emotional needs.

rule number nine: limits and hard boundaries will be respected. any acts or requests beyond those limits will not be entertained.

rule number ten: discretion is crucial. our arrangement and any activities that occur between us will remain strictly between us.

rule number eleven: i shall provide for you as long as our contract is in effect.

rule number twelve: communication is key. if at any time you have concerns, questions, or suggestions, you are to bring them to my attention.

rule number thirteen: exclusivity is expected. you will be mine and mine alone. you will not engage in any form of sexual activity with others without my explicit permission.

rule number fourteen: this agreement is subject to periodic review and amendments as we see fit, but any changes must be agreed upon by both parties.

rule number fifteen: above all, remember that your role is to serve and please me. your submission and obedience will be rewarded, but disobedience will not go unpunished."

leon finishes reading the rules and proceeds to enlighten you now with the punishments in order for disobedience and failure to follow the contract. the severity of the punishments depends on the nature of the transgression.

"for minor offenses, i may choose to administer a spanking, using my hand or other implements of your choosing. a whip, a belt, or even a paddle. the sting and the marks they leave will surely remind you of your place.

for more grave offenses, i might decide to deny you pleasure, subjecting you to a period of denial and frustration. teasing you, torturing you with pleasure until the brink, only to leave you unsatisfied.

for severe transgressions, humiliation. i will expose your deepest, darkest secrets, making you feel vulnerable and exposed. in front of me, or perhaps even in front of others, if i deem it necessary. the shame you feel will be a harsh reminder of your place.

another form of punishment i enjoy is forced orgasm. i will push you to your limits, overstimulating your body with pleasure until you are begging for mercy. but i will continue, without pause, until you are broken, trembling, and completely at my mercy."

and, of course, there is always the option of physical pain. whether it be through flogging, caning, or even more extreme methods, like branding.

the act of marking you permanently, etching my ownership into your very flesh. it would serve as a stark reminder of your place and your commitment to our contract. for the location, i have chosen the upper back, just below the neck. it is a prominent yet easily concealable area, allowing you to exhibit your mark when desired or to hide it under clothing when necessary."

"as for the design, a simple symbol of my choosing will suffice. an intricate "L" intertwined with a fierce dragon, symbolizing power, dominance, and the unbreakable bond between master and slave." leon's voice lowers, his gaze intensifying as he locks eyes with you.

"and now, the method. we shall proceed with scarification, using a heated branding iron. the sensation of searing pain, the sizzle of flesh meeting metal, will etch the memory of my ownership permanently into your being."

setting the paper back down on the desk and swiftly sliding it across the table towards you. he studies your face carefully, waiting for your response.

after thoroughly reviewing the contract and deeming it satisfactory, a surge of confidence coursed through your veins. without hesitation, you grabbed the pen from his desk, eager to finalize the deal with a flourish of your signature.

"done."

without wasting another precious moment, leon reached for his desk, deftly pulling open a drawer to reveal a thick and vibrant pink collar. with a determined gaze, he rose to his feet.

his fingers idly toying with the collar's texture as he approached you. then he pressed his lips tenderly against your forehead, a gesture filled with affection and a hint of dominance. it sent shivers down your spine, amplifying the anticipation that already hung in the air.

circling behind you, his hand delicately brushed your hair over your shoulder. with a confident yet gentle touch, he wrapped the collar around your neck, securing it in place. the buckle clicked, its snugness striking the perfect balance between leaving a mark and allowing you to breathe freely.

"who owns you, pretty thing? tell me,"

"you do, master. all for you."

"mmm, such sweet devotion," leon purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his hands trailed down your body, his touch both possessive and tender. he gripped your waist firmly, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to elicit a gasp from your lips.

leaning in, his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his voice a low, velvety whisper. "you belong to me now. your body, your pleasure, all for me." his words sent a jolt of desire coursing through your veins, your body growing more submissive under his commanding presence.

leon slowly guided you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body. he sat down on the edge, his gaze fixed on you with hunger in his eyes. "strip for me, pet. show me what's mine," he commanded, his voice laced with an intoxicating blend of authority and desire.

your hands shook slightly as you began to undress, the vulnerability and anticipation electrifying every movement. leon's eyes drank in the sight of you, his gaze washing over your exposed skin, appreciating every curve and contour. his lips curled into a wicked smile, his own arousal evident.

as you stood before him, bare and vulnerable, leon's hand snapped out, the sound of a sharp slap resounding through the room. a mixture of pain and pleasure ignited within you, your body responding to the delightful sting. "you've been such a good pet, haven't you?" he taunted, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "but we're just getting started."

without warning, his hand tangled in your hair, roughly pulling you towards him. his lips claimed yours in a fierce and possessive kiss, his tongue dominating yours as he explored the depths of your mouth. the taste of him consumed you, his taste lingering on your tongue as you gasped for breath.

breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "you're mine, and i'm going to make sure you never forget who you belong to," he growled, before pushing you back onto the bed, positioning himself above you.

leon's lips crashed into yours once again, the hunger and desire intensifying with each passing second. his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with a possessive grip. as your tongues danced together, the room filled with the sound of your muffled moans, consumed by your shared lust.

his fingers trailed down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. with a firm yet gentle grip, he squeezed your ass, the sting of the slap still lingering on your skin. "you like it rough, don't you? tell me," he demanded, his voice filled with a mix of dominance and eagerness.

a shuddering breath escaped your lips as you mustered the words, your voice a mere whisper. "y-yes, master. want it as rough as you want," you admitted, your submission fueling the fire within him.

in response, he threw you onto the bed. leon gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, holding them firmly in place. his kisses descended from your lips, trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of love bites and marks in his wake. the combination of pleasure and pain sent waves of electricity through your body, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

his hand slipped between your thighs, teasing your slick folds with his fingers. with a wicked smirk, he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "do you want me to claim you, pet? to make you mine in every way?" he murmured, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

desire surged through your veins as you nodded eagerly, your voice barely above a whisper. "y-yes, make me yours completely," you pleaded, your words punctuated by a moan as his fingers slipped inside you, expertly exploring your depths.

leon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt your wetness coating his fingers. he moved them in a slow and calculated manner, curling them to find that sweet spot that would elicit delicious moans from your lips. each movement of his hand was designed to bring you pleasure, to make you crave more.

keeping his eyes locked on yours, he pulled his fingers out, only to thrust them back in, setting a rhythm that matched the growing heat between you. each stroke was deliberate, leaving you on the precipice of pleasure, but never quite pushing you over.

his voice was a commanding whisper as he spoke, hot breath cascading over your ear. "so obedient and responsive," he growled, his voice dripping with authority. his fingers quickened their pace, plunging deep into your core, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

leon's smoldering eyes bore into yours, relishing in the sight of your submission. he pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit your most sensitive spot. your moans filled the room, echoing the pleasure that surged through your body like an electric current.

with a flick of his wrist, he removed his fingers from your dripping entrance, making you whimper in need. he brought them up to your lips, the scent of your arousal filling your nostrils as he traced your lips with his fingertips. "open," he commanded, his tone demanding your unquestioning obedience.

as your mouth opened, he slid his fingers inside, fully coating them with your taste. "suck them clean, pet," he ordered, his voice laced with the promise of retribution if you disobeyed. without hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, cleaning off every drop of your essence.

satisfied with your obedience, leon withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a glimmer of sadistic pleasure dancing in his eyes. "perfectly made just for me," he declared, his voice filled with lust and dominance.

a cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he unbuckled his belt, the sound of leather sliding through metal sending a shiver down your spine. holding the belt firmly in his hand, he let the leather coil against his palm before he loomed above you.

his strong hands gripped your hips, flipping you onto your stomach. "you're going to feel every strike of this belt," he warned, his voice filled with a mix of authority and sadistic pleasure. yet, he paused. "color."

"g-green."

without further delay, leon brought down the belt, the leather hitting the exposed skin of your backside with a resounding crack. the sting and burn left you breathless, each strike toeing the line between pleasure and pain. your moans filled the room as he continued his relentless assault, marking your skin with red welts that matched his voracious desire.

he leaned in closer, his voice husky and dominant. "such a good girl," he praised, his lips brushing against your ear. "you're already so wet for me, so eager and ready to get fucked rough."

he released his pulsing cock from his pants, his touch sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. his hand moved with a purpose, stroking his length firmly, the sight and sound of his hand gliding along his throbbing shaft filling the room.

leon's cock throbbed in his hand, the veins pulsating with anticipation. each stroke elicited a soft grunt of pleasure from his lips, his grip tightening around his shaft. it was a sight to behold, his arousal on full display.

with a teasing smirk, he pressed just the tip inside, relishing in the way you gasped and writhed beneath him. "you want it, don't you, pet? beg for it," he commanded, his voice a low growl of dominance.

an intense desire coursed through you, driving you to please him even further. "please, n-need you inside me, master," you pleaded, your voice dripping with desperation.

leon's dominance ignited within him. before you could prepare yourself, he shifted his body, his throbbing length pressing against your slick fold and without warning, he thrust himself inside you with a forceful intensity. pleasure mixed with pain as your body adjusted to his size, and a guttural growl escaped his throat. he set a rhythm, his movements powerful and relentless, his grip on your hips leaving bruises in his wake.

you gasped loudly, your hands gripping the bedsheets, nails digging into the fabric. "o-oh fuck, leon," you moaned breathlessly, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and surprise.

suddenly, leon's hand came down hard on your ass, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. the sting of the slap sent a jolt of pain and pleasure coursing through your body, a reminder of your place and the rules you should follow.

"address me properly, pet," he growled, his voice filled with a potent mix of warning and desire.

tears glistened in your eyes as the pain radiated through your ass, your skin tingling from the impact. "i-i'm sorry, master," you whimpered, your voice laced with both regret and desire. "please, forgive me."

leon's hand ghosted gently over the now reddened flesh, his touch contrasting the previous harshness. "you know better," he chided softly, his tone a twisted blend of affection and dominance.

with a shift of his hips, he resumed his forceful thrusts, his cock pounding into you with a relentless pace. each stroke brought a mix of sensations driving you further into submission. as your body trembled against him, you vowed to never forget his title again.

leon smirked, relishing in the sight of your desperate and needy state. "hm... you liked that, didn't you?" he taunted, his voice filled with a mix of sadistic pleasure and satisfaction. "of course you do, fucking slut."

with each forceful thrust, he drove himself deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he claimed you completely. his body moved with calculated precision, his hips meeting yours with an insatiable hunger for dominance.

the sound of skin slapping against skin resonated through the room, the bed creaking beneath you. your moans filled the air, mixing with his growls of satisfaction. his relentless pace pushed you to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure as you clung to the brink of release.

but leon wasn't done with you yet. with a sudden change in position, he flipped you onto your back. "now you're going to take it just how i want," he hissed, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

his free hand moved to your throat, hand gripping the collar firmly but not enough to cut off your oxygen. "look at me," he commanded, his eyes locked with yours. "i want to see you. look at me in the eyes as i claim you as mine. fill you up with my seed, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"y-yes!" you exclaim in ecstasy, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, on the brink of spilling over.

as your eyes met, he could see the hunger, the desperation reflected in your gaze. his hand traveled up to your face, his thumb brushing gently against the corner of your eye, capturing a tear. he brought his thumb to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he licked it clean, savoring the taste of your submission.

"there it is... such a beautiful sight," he murmured darkly, his voice filled with a mix of lust and superiority. your tears only spurred him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more frenzied.

leon's thumb found your clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive nub, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. the combination of his skilled fingers and the overwhelming pleasure he's forcing onto your body had you on the brink of release, your breaths coming in sharp gasps.

his hand released your throat and trailed down, his fingers tracing a path along your collarbone until they reached your pert breasts. with a firm grip, he kneaded them, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, relishing in the way they filled his hands.

with a smirk, he leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking on it with an irresistible intensity. his tongue swirled around your sensitive bud, creating delicious friction that made you arch your back in pleasure. he alternated between gentle and rough bites, leaving love bites in his wake. the mix of pain and pleasure sent shivers down your spine, igniting a primal need within you.

"m-more, master," unable to hold back any longer, you moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair, encouraging him to take more of you. the sensations were overwhelming, a perfect blend that brought you closer to the edge.

he couldn't resist the urge to give you a sharp bite, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of your breast which sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, earning a yelp from your trembling lips. his hot breath ghosted over the bite mark as he murmured, "beautiful."

his mouth left a trail of wet kisses and love bites along your chest, marking you as his possession. he could sense your desire building once again, your body begging for release under his touch.

with a sinful smirk, he released your breasts from his mouth. his fingers circling your nipples, tugging on them lightly before sliding down your body to grip your thigh. hoisting your leg over his shoulder to grant him deeper access and allow him to pound into you harder.

with half-lidded eyes, you gaze at leon, intrigued by his furrowed brows and the intensity of his gaze fixed on your lower region rather than your face. leon's thumb grazed against the bulge in your lower abdomen, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. his teasing caress only heightened your desire, leaving you yearning for more of his delicious domination.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered huskily, "seeing my cock bulge reminds me that you exist to serve me. you are mine, my plaything. every thrust, every swell of my cock inside you... it's a constant reminder of how deeply you've submitted to me."

with a swift motion, he thrust his hips forward, driving his bulging cock deeper into you, aching against every inch of your inner walls. the sensation was both pleasurable and torturous, a sweet torment that left you craving more of his merciless control.

"do you like feeling that bulge, my pet?" he asked, his voice laced with satisfaction. "does it make you feel owned, completely at my mercy? my cock stretching you, filling you, pushing you to your limits."

leon smirked at your trembling form, relishing the power he held over you. he firmly guided your hand to press against the bulge on your stomach, ensuring you felt every pulsation and throb of his cock as it filled you completely.

"such a good girl," he praised, his voice laced with wicked satisfaction. "feel that? feel how deeply i'm inside you? the proof of our connection lies right here."

he tightened his grip on your hand, making sure you couldn't pull away, as he thrust his hips forward, causing his cock to press even harder against your hand. every movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you, reinforcing the intoxicating control he had over your body.

"you'll take everything i give you, won't you? every drop of my seed belongs inside you, isn't that right?" he commanded, his voice filled with sadistic delight. "but not just yet, pet. you don't get to cum until i give you permission."

with that, leon withdrew his slightly, a sadistic smile crept across leon's lips as he held himself still, teasing you with just the tip of his hardened length. he savored the sight of your desperation, relishing in your need for him to fill you completely once more.

your whine of frustration and need only fueled his sadistic delight. with a cruel twist of his hips, he pushed himself deep into you once again, his length plunging into your eager depths. the sudden fullness made you gasp, a mixture of pleasure and relief flooding your senses.

but just as quickly as he had given you what you craved, he pulled back, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. a whimper escaped your lips, the anticipation and desire consuming your thoughts.

he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

he shifted his rhythm, alternating between deep, agonizing thrusts and shallow, teasing motions. the anticipation and frustration built within you, driving you to the brink of insanity. your body writhed beneath him, involuntarily seeking the release it so desperately needed.

leon began to thrust slowly, torturing you with every languid movement, pushing you to the edge of orgasm only to deny it. he wanted to see you quivering with need, desperate and helpless under his dominant control.

leon was merciless. he reveled in your torment, denying you the climax you longed for, pushing you to the edge and then pulling back. his eyes danced with sadistic delight as he watched the desperation and need etched on your face.

"master, please," you pleaded, your voice filled with desperation. "i'll do anything. please let me cum."

"no, pet," he sneered mockingly, his tone dripping with authority. "you do not get to cum until i allow it. and i must say, i'm quite enjoying watching you squirm and beg for it."

he continued his calculated torture, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each torturous stroke. your body trembled, juices dripping down your thighs as you teetered on the precipice of release.

submissively, you spread your legs wider, silently offering more of yourself to him. you desperately hoped that your actions would be enough to convince him. finally, when he deemed you had suffered enough, leon's rhythm shifted once more. his movements became rough and forceful, pushing you over the edge.

each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your walls tightening around his thick cock. you could feel him deep inside you, his size filling you to the brim.

as your body quivered beneath him, on the precipice of release, he continued his ruthless assault. your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tumbled over the edge into a mind-shattering orgasm. the waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath his dominating presence.

"l-leon!" you cried out his name, your pleasure mingling with his dominance, creating a symphony of ecstasy.

as your body shuddered and twitched beneath him, leon continued his relentless rhythm, prolonging the blissful torture. with a groan, leon reached his peak. he buried himself deep within you, emptying his hot essence deep into your waiting womb. you felt the pulsations of his release, his thick, potent seed filling you completely.

his eyes boring into yours as he slowly pulled out, relishing the way your body clenched around him leaving you feeling empty and yearning for more. the mixture of his cum and your juices dripped down your ass, a reminder of the intensity of your encounter.

leon's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smile as he scooped up the small amount of leaked cum and pushed it back inside you. his finger slid in smoothly, the wetness mixing with your own arousal. "don't waste a single drop of your master's cum, pet," he whispered throatily, his voice filled with a possessive hunger. feeling the tightness of your walls around his digits, he slowly withdrew his fingers.

leaning in close, he gently wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of his hand, his touch both comforting and possessive. "mmm, such a good pet," he purred, his voice laced with mocking affection. "i can see it in your eyes, how eager you are to please me. those tears only make it more enticing. you crave my approval, don't you?"

he caressed your cheek with a gentle touch. "and you'll do anything for my praise, won't you, my little slave? you'll endure pain, pleasure, and humiliation just to hear those words of approval spill from my lips."

a smug grin on his face as he watched your teary, half-lidded eyes and obedient nod. he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

"mine."

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (addendum)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: honeymoon

- Next part: rook's rest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak

The gates of King’s Landing swung open with a grand flourish as you and Aegon returned from your whirlwind tour of the realm, greeted by the thunderous cheers of the gathered crowds. Banners fluttered in the breeze, the sigils of both Targaryen dragons and Lannister lions emblazoned proudly on the fabric, while the people shouted their king’s name.

Aegon, ever the showman, soaked it all in with a wide grin, waving dramatically to the people as though he had just conquered the Seven Kingdoms single-handedly. You, perched beside him on horseback, had to stifle a laugh. For all the pomp and spectacle of this homecoming, you could tell Aegon was already itching to extend the party.

As you rode through the streets, the capital bursting with energy, Aegon leaned toward you, his grin widening. “Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with excitement, “I’ve decided. We’re not done celebrating yet. We’ve shown the rest of the realm how to have a proper feast—now it’s time for King’s Landing to see what real revelry looks like.”

You raised an eyebrow, though you could already sense where this was heading. “Aegon,” you said, half-amused, half-cautious, “we’ve been feasting for weeks. Surely the court could use a break.”

Aegon shook his head, waving off the notion as if it were absurd. “Nonsense! The people deserve a celebration fit for a king—and queen,” he added with a wink. “We’ll carry on the festivities for the rest of the moon! Feasts, tourneys, music in every corner of the city! They’ll be talking about it for years.”

Before you could respond, the gates to the Red Keep came into view, and the sight of the familiar walls made your stomach flip slightly. You could already imagine the look on Alicent’s face when Aegon announced his grand plans.

Sure enough, not long after you dismounted and entered the throne room, there stood Queen Alicent, her face set in a stern frown as she waited for the two of you. Otto Hightower stood beside her, his expression unreadable but his fingers steepled in that calculating way of his. And just beyond them, Aemond loomed in his usual silent, brooding manner, his single eye watching everything with an intensity that never seemed to fade.

As you and Aegon approached, Alicent wasted no time. “Aegon,” she began, her voice tight, “I trust your tour went well, but it’s time to return to the business of ruling. The capital cannot afford to indulge in more distractions.”

Aegon, still riding high on the enthusiasm of the crowds, waved a hand dismissively, his smile unfazed by her scolding tone. “Oh, Mother, lighten up! The people love a good celebration, and we’ve been giving them the best across the realm. It’s only fair that King’s Landing gets to enjoy the same.”

Alicent’s frown deepened, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Aegon, the treasury is not bottomless. Another month of feasting and revelry will stretch our resources thin. We must be responsible.”

Aegon scoffed, leaning back against the nearest pillar as though the very idea of restraint was foreign to him. “Responsible? What’s more responsible than keeping the people happy, hmm? A happy people don’t rebel, Mother. Besides, we’ve got plenty left in the coffers.”

Alicent opened her mouth to argue further, but before she could get a word in, Otto Hightower cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes flicked between you and Aegon, and to your surprise, his lips curled into a small smile.

“Aegon is right,” Otto said calmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “The celebrations have been well-received across the realm. They have strengthened alliances and fostered goodwill. Extending the festivities here in the capital would solidify that image. A generous king is often a beloved one.”

Alicent shot her father a sharp look, her displeasure obvious. “Father, the court—”

Otto raised a hand, silencing her. “The court will adjust. We can manage the expenses for another moon. This is a time of transition, and maintaining the support of the realm is paramount.”

You glanced at Aegon, whose grin had only grown wider now that his grandfather had weighed in on his side. He turned to you, his expression triumphant. “See, Y/N? Even Otto agrees with me. The feasting continues!”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly torn between her frustration and her inability to counter Otto’s logic. You could practically see the internal battle playing out behind her eyes. Finally, she let out a sigh, though it was filled with exasperation.

“Very well,” she said, her voice tight. “But keep it within reason, Aegon. The court cannot afford your excesses forever.”

Aegon beamed, clearly taking that as an outright victory. “Of course, Mother. Reasonable revelry. I can do that.”

You bit back a laugh, knowing full well that “reasonable” and “Aegon” rarely went together, especially when wine and celebrations were involved.

As the conversation moved on to other matters of state, Aemond approached, his usual brooding expression firmly in place. He stood beside you, his presence silent but somehow more intense than anyone else in the room.

“You’ve returned, I see,” Aemond said, his voice low as he glanced at you, the edge of his mouth quirking ever so slightly. “I trust Aegon kept you… entertained.”

There was something in the way he said it that made you smirk. “Entertained? That’s one way to put it,” you replied, keeping your tone light. “It was certainly more… lively than I expected.”

Aemond huffed a quiet laugh, though his gaze remained fixed on the gathering. “I can imagine. My brother never does things by halves.”

You smiled, glancing sideways at him. “And you, Aemond? I imagine you would have preferred a more… subdued tour?”

Aemond’s eye flicked toward you, the corner of his mouth curling slightly. “Perhaps. But sometimes it’s necessary to indulge in… excess. When the occasion calls for it.”

There was a brief pause, a moment where the weight of your words—his words—hung between you, unspoken but present. Aemond’s eye lingered on yours for just a beat longer than was necessary before he turned his gaze back to the court.

Meanwhile, Aegon, now fully engrossed in discussing the details of his extended celebration with Otto, called out over his shoulder, “Come, Y/N! We’ve got a feast to plan. Tourneys, music, and of course, more wine! We’ll make this a month to remember.”

You gave Aemond one last, lingering glance before moving to join Aegon, the smirk still playing on your lips. King’s Landing was in for quite the spectacle—though you had a feeling the real entertainment had only just begun.

The festivities in King’s Landing were in full swing. The courtyard of the Red Keep was alive with music, the clatter of goblets, and the sound of laughter. The scent of roasted meats and fresh bread wafted through the air as courtiers danced, drank, and mingled under the golden glow of torches.

Aegon was, unsurprisingly, at the center of it all. His goblet of wine was never empty, and his laughter echoed through the courtyard as he moved from one group of guests to another, basking in the glory of his extended celebration. You stood by his side, entertaining the courtiers with your charm and grace, though your attention occasionally drifted to the antics unfolding around you.

Aemond, as was his habit, stood on the sidelines, his brooding presence a stark contrast to the revelry around him. He watched the festivities with a quiet intensity, his single eye scanning the crowd, though every so often, his gaze seemed to linger in your direction just a bit longer than usual.

It didn’t take long for Aegon to notice.

He was halfway through another story—one you had heard more times than you could count—when he suddenly paused, his grin faltering for a moment as he caught Aemond looking your way. His brow furrowed slightly, and he turned his head to squint at his brother, his expression somewhere between confusion and suspicion.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what had caused Aegon’s sudden silence, but before you could ask, he leaned closer to you, his voice low but loud enough to catch the attention of anyone nearby.

“Is it just me,” Aegon slurred, his tone a mix of amusement and indignation, “or has my dear brother been stealing glances at my beloved wife all night?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden accusation, and glanced over at Aemond, who stiffened slightly, his posture going even more rigid than usual. His eye narrowed, and for a moment, it looked as though he was about to brush off the accusation with his typical icy calm. But instead, he responded, his voice more defensive than even he likely intended.

“I was not stealing glances, Aegon,” Aemond said, his tone clipped, though the way his eye darted between you and Aegon betrayed a hint of unease. “I was merely… observing.”

Aegon, clearly emboldened by the wine, let out a loud, exaggerated gasp and clutched his chest dramatically. “Observing? Oh, dear brother, that sounds an awful lot like admiring to me!” He leaned closer to you, his arm snaking around your waist as he grinned wickedly. “I knew it! You’ve been eyeing my beautiful queen this whole time!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though you tried to stifle it, glancing over at Aemond, who now looked as though he wanted to throttle Aegon or possibly sink into the nearest shadow and disappear. His jaw clenched tightly, and he met Aegon’s gaze with a steely glare.

“Aegon,” Aemond said through gritted teeth, “I have no interest in your drunken fantasies. You’re imagining things.”

But Aegon, now fully enjoying the moment, wasn’t about to let it go. He grinned even wider, clearly thriving off of Aemond’s discomfort. “Oh, I don’t think so! I see the way you look at her—like a cat eyeing a piece of cream. You’ve always had that brooding look, but this…” He gestured between the two of you with his goblet, sloshing a bit of wine onto the floor. “This is something else entirely.”

You glanced between the two brothers, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Aegon was clearly playing it up, but the way Aemond’s usual cool facade had cracked just a bit was… well, more amusing than you cared to admit.

Aemond straightened, his expression darkening as he stared down at Aegon, who was now swaying slightly but still grinning like a mischievous child. “You’re drunk,” Aemond said flatly. “As usual.”

“And yet!” Aegon hiccupped, pointing a finger dramatically in Aemond’s direction. “Even in my drunken stupor, I can see it clear as day! My own brother, pining for my wife! Oh, the betrayal! The scandal!”

You finally let out a laugh, shaking your head as you placed a hand on Aegon’s arm, trying to calm him down. “Aegon, you’re being ridiculous. Aemond isn’t pining for anyone.”

Aemond shot you a brief, grateful glance, though his jaw was still set tight. “Precisely. I have better things to concern myself with.”

But Aegon, in full performance mode now, wasn’t about to let the matter drop. He turned to the crowd of courtiers, raising his goblet high as though addressing the entire realm. “Ladies and gentlemen! My own brother, the fearsome Aemond Targaryen, reduced to a lovesick puppy!” He paused for dramatic effect, his grin widening even more. “Do you think he’s jealous of my charm? My wit? My—”

“Your lack of self-control, perhaps,” Aemond cut in, his voice sharp, though his eye gleamed with a hint of amusement now. It seemed that even he couldn’t entirely resist the absurdity of the situation.

Aegon waved him off, laughing. “Oh, come now, brother! Admit it! You’ve been watching her all night, haven’t you?”

Aemond’s eye flickered toward you again, just for a brief moment, and then back to Aegon. His lips pressed into a thin line, but finally, he let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit.

“I was observing,” he repeated firmly, his voice calmer now. “Not pining.”

Aegon threw his arm around you, pulling you close and grinning like he had just won a great victory. “Ah, well, as long as it’s only observing, I suppose I can forgive you. After all, I’d be staring too if I weren’t already married to the most beautiful woman in the realm.”

You rolled your eyes, patting Aegon’s chest as you tried to gently pull away from his overly enthusiastic embrace. “That’s quite enough, Aegon. Let’s not make a spectacle out of your brother.”

But Aegon, never one to miss an opportunity for a little more drama, held up his goblet in a mock toast. “To my brother, Aemond, the most observant man in the realm! May he continue his not pining for many more years to come!”

Aemond huffed, though a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he raised his own goblet in a grudging toast. “To Aegon,” he said dryly, “and his complete lack of sense.”

The courtiers, sensing the tension ease, burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join them, shaking your head as Aegon leaned in to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek.

As the night continued, the tension between the brothers faded into the background, but you couldn’t help but notice that Aemond’s gaze lingered on you just a little longer than before. Whether it was “observing” or something more, well, that was a matter for another night.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*steeples fingers together* what if Foul Legacy was the size of a plushie.

he comes to you quite literally in a box, left on your doorstep during one of the few times you're not at work. it's a neat little box, tied smartly with a bow- but the airholes throw you off a bit, and when you pull the package inside and open it you're greeted with a tiny, snoozing creature at the bottom. he's purple and black and blue all over, armored and secure- apart from his face, which shines a vibrant crimson with two twin horns curving upwards. the little monster stirs when the sunlight hits his mask, sitting up with a yawn too big for his mouth and blinking drowsily at you with a single crystalline eye before perking up and letting out a cheery peep. all you can do is watch as he happily hops out of the box and crawls onto your lap, sniffing and nibbling curiously at your hands.

it seems you have a new roommate.

you never find out who left the box, but this beast- this Foul Legacy, as he calls himself, scrawling it for you carefully on a piece of paper- is a welcome reprieve from your daily routine and job. you can carry him around wherever you go, cozied up in your arms or perched on your shoulder as he trills and chirps and admires the sights around him in awe. no one asks questions- you wonder if from afar he looks a bit like a very strange cat- and you've even dared to bring him to work a couple of times, tucked and hidden away in your bag. he sits on your lap whenever he can, sprawling himself out over your legs and stomach and taking up as much room as possible, and in return you hug and squeeze him like a comforting plush, the sound of his buzzing purrs helping calm your frazzled nerves.

he later reveals that he can shift into a larger form, and suddenly you're the one being squished and hugged to his heart's delight.

[captain-hawks]

ask me

barbatos x f!reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about Barbatos' forked tail, and he's well aware, so he decides to show you exactly how he likes to use it over tea one afternoon.

word count: 2.2k

content: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, smut, masturbation, tail kink, penetration in both holes, tail sex, praise kink

“Ask me.”

The smooth, low tone of Barbatos’ voice softly nudges you away from your idle thoughts, and you glance up from where you’d been staring down into the depths of the cup of tea in your hands. 

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Ask you what?”

A ghost of a smile plays across his lips as he tilts his head to the side, casually running a gloved finger along the filigree adorning the lip of the mug. As if in answer, his tail winks into view for a moment as his demon form pushes to the surface, twin tips twirling together before disappearing back under the table. 

Your heart rate picks up at the sight, and your fingertips dig into your thigh as you stretch and rotate your ankle in an attempt to stave off the desire to bounce the nervous energy right out of your leg. 

“The servants are a chatty, nosey bunch,” he muses, steepling his hands together as his green eyes sparkle.

Not quite trusting yourself to respond otherwise, you launch another question as you evenly ask, “Are they?”

He raises his eyebrows slightly and nods, leaning in slightly as if he’s readying himself to share a secret with you. “Leave anything out in the open, and they’re certain to see it.”

It doesn’t take much guesswork to figure out what he’s getting at. You’ll never forget the horror of tiredly walking back into your room at the House of Lamentation after a long day of classes last week to discover you’d left a new toy right on top of your sheets.

Asmo had excitedly drug you to a naughty looking little shop in town when he’d found you loose-lipped and horny enough one night to blurt out that one of the things you missed most about the human world were vibrators. Needless to say, you’d worn yourself out that night as you shamelessly plunged your new purchase into your needy hole, bringing yourself over the edge thrice before you finally collapsed beneath the sheets, tossing the sticky toy aside and quickly falling asleep.

And it would have been fine, really. 

You’d have no issue earning yourself a whispered little reputation at RAD for masturbating, for fuck’s sake. You certainly weren’t living in a house of angels, after all. 

The issue was the specific vibrator that you’d chosen. The one you’d been unable to look away from after your eyes landed on it across the store, subtly clenching your thighs together the entire way home as you felt the weight of it in the shopping bag knocking against your leg with each step.

When Asmo saw the immediate glazed over look on your face the moment you walked into the store, he had gleefully explained that the Devildom’s selection of vibrators and dildos might be a little…kinkier than you were used to seeing in the human world. 

Kinky didn’t even begin to describe it.

But there was one particular thing nestled amongst the shelves of monstrous cocks of all shapes and sizes that you couldn’t look away from: a teal-coloured vibrator shaped like a forked tail. 

To your surprise, Asmo said nothing when he met you at the counter with a basket full of his own purchases—he simply offered you a mischievous grin as he nudged a small bottle of lube toward the cashier for you as well. 

It was only later, safely in the darkness of your bedroom, that you let yourself think of it. 

Think of him.

Face buried against your pillow and tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes, Barbatos’ name was a silent scream on your lips as you fucked yourself with the toy, one end of the tail stuffed into your cunt while you slid the other into your ass. 

You came so hard the first time you nearly blacked out, holes squelching wetly as you greedily chased two more orgasms while the demon butler’s face flashed in the forefront of your mind. And you’d left the evidence like a beacon right on top of your bed when you’d rushed out the door for class the next morning, not sparing a single thought for the servant that would likely be in to tidy up your room in the afternoon. 

Something brushes against your bare ankle, bringing you back to the present, but you can’t bring yourself to look at Barbatos. Not now that you’re certain he knows you purposely bought a fucking vibrator that looks like his goddamn tail. 

As if he can feel the mortification pouring off of you in waves, Barbatos lays a gentle hand on top of yours. “Ask me if I enjoy using my tail on my lovers.”

You suddenly wish you’d taken Solomon up on his invitation to join him in researching teleportation spells. Turning your hand over, Barbatos begins to rub a comforting circle with his thumb into your palm, patiently waiting for your response.

One could say it’s difficult to want for anything with seven demon brothers willing to dote on you day in and day out during your stay in the Devildom, especially when you live with them. But, in perhaps the most cliché manifestation of the age-old adage of wanting what you can’t have, you’ve found it a battle in and of itself to stop thinking about Diavolo’s elusive butler. 

At first, it was his deep voice that set you off-kilter, the tone stroking its way down your spine like liquid fire. Paired with eyes that always look like they know more than they let on and a disarmingly handsome face, the brothers and Lord Diavolo himself are hard-pressed to maintain your attention at the times when Barbatos skirts about the edges of the room, unnoticed by some but always seen by you.

While your time spent in his presence has been meager in comparison to how frequently you see your housemates, Barbatos often makes the most of it with playfully witty remarks that leave you reeling long after he leaves and kind gestures that make your heart ache, like the way he made sure the House of Lamentation was stocked with your favorite tea after you made an offhand remark about it one day. 

With a menagerie of demons eager to monopolize your attention, you were nearly ready to accept defeat in the face of an impossible conquest—because in what world was Diavolo going to let you seduce his fucking butler?

Your plans to stamp out the burning embers of your little crush went to hell in a handbasket the day you saw Barbatos flash into his demon form though, unfortunately. As if seeing his elegant horns wasn’t enough to get your heart positively racing, you’d outright choked on your soup when the real star of the show revealed itself—that goddamn fucking tail. 

Levi had patted you on the back as you gasped for air, vegetables and broth launching an assault on your throat as your wide eyes took in the sight of Barbatos threateningly pointing the forked appendage in Mammon’s face as he held out a hand for the money he owed Diavolo. 

Once you saw that teal, forked tail in all of its slithering glory, there was no going back. The only direction you could spiral was further down into a frustratingly horny purgatory, wondering whether or not it would be uncouth to proposition the demon butler to fuck you with his tail. 

And now, it’s the steady reassurance in Barbatos’ eyes as he squeezes your hand that allows you to let the words tumble from your mouth before you can think better of it, “Do you enjoy using your tail on your lovers, Barbatos?”

What can only be described as a devilish smile curls at the corners of Barbatos’ mouth, and he briefly darts his tongue out between his lips before coyly responding, “In many ways. Was there a specific one you had in mind?”

Your mouth goes dry, confidence faltering at the insinuation in his tone. “I…” you trail off, unable to muster up the filthy thoughts about the male sitting in front of you that have long-since taken up residence in your head.

A contemplative noise escapes his lips as he shifts into his demon form, slowly pushing both of your teacups aside as his tail slithers up onto the table. Your breath hitches in your throat as he lazily flicks the forked edges before pressing it closer to you, the surface of it cool and smooth as it ghosts along the curve of your jaw.

“I’ve been told the secretion has a…pleasant flavor,” he muses, eyes glittering with delight when you unconsciously part your lips at the feeling of his tail now prodding against them. 

Sweet, viscous liquid that vaguely reminds you of honey, though more slick than sticky, hits your tastebuds as one forked tip presses against your tongue. 

And fuck does it taste good. 

You let your jaw relax, and Barbatos readily accepts the invitation, slipping his tail further into your mouth as the other tip caresses your throat. A fresh spurt of the sweet nectar pours onto your tongue, and you greedily gulp it down, moaning softly as you begin to suck on his tail. A soft growl of encouragement rumbles in Barbatos’ chest, plates and mugs clinking in protest when he tightly fists a hand in the ornate tablecloth. 

“And there’s also this…” he adds, tail sliding out of your mouth and trailing down your chest, effortlessly flicking open the buttons of your RAD uniform. 

Knowing full well Lord Diavolo could return to the Demon Lord’s Castle at any time, it’s a battle in and of itself not to cry out at the feeling of Barbatos squeezing your breasts with his tail. But once he uses the twin tips to tease both of your peaked nipples at the same time, the shameless whine you let out can’t be helped, not in any realm. 

Meeting his gaze, you try to steady your breathing as you ask, “Where else?”

Barbatos licks his lips. “Would you still like me to…show you?”

You nod, and his tail disappears under the table, wrapping around one of your ankles and tugging your crossed legs apart. One forked tip pushes your skirt up and out of the way and then tugs aside your underwear, the other spreading your thighs so wide that you slip down in your chair slightly.

And the moment that Barbatos slides his dripping tail through your equally slick folds, your body trembles with a jolt of searing hot pleasure, and a moan so wanton and desperate tumbles from your lips that you know you’ll never be satisfied again without this—

The feeling of one end of his tail firmly massaging your swollen, throbbing clit, the other teasing at your entrance.

The desire written plainly across his face as both tips curl around one another before he begins to ease them into your cunt.

The way he leans across the table and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, fangs scraping against your skin as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts.

The damp material of the chair beneath you, sodden with the combined arousal leaking from his tail and your wet heat.

The softly uttered, “Beautiful,” as you whimper his name. 

The feral, possessive snarl of frustration that escapes him at the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

…the way Barbatos continues to fuck you with his tail even as Diavolo unknowingly strolls into the room with a grin on his face, seemingly none the wiser to the activities hidden beneath the long tablecloth. But after he deftly snatches the last biscuit off of one of the plates in front of you, he offers you a sly wink before turning on his heel and leaving, none too discreetly closing the doors to the sitting room behind him.

You’re nearly on the verge of making a comment about what just happened, but all rational thoughts leave your head when Barbatos quietly rasps, “This is my favorite place to use it, though,” just as a forked tip nudges at the tight ring of muscle nestled between your asscheeks.

He pauses, just for a breath, and you whimper, “Please.”

Appendage covered with both of your fluids, Barbatos begins to stretch your asshole open. If you weren’t so busy moaning and whining unintelligible sounds, begging him to go deeper, you’d laugh at the thought of the silly vibrator now tucked away in your room. Because while the toy had certainly felt good, you know now that nothing can compare to the exquisite pleasure of Barbatos using his real, dexterous tail to fuck both of your holes at the same time. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, reaching across the table once more to stroke your face, thumb sliding across your cheek. “So wet for me. You take me so well.”

You shudder at the praise, hardly able to contain yourself as a wave of pleasure like you’ve never felt before rises up inside of you. And when Barbatos curves his tail so that the part not ruthlessly plunging into your fucked out holes rubs against your sensitive bundle of nerves, you tug on the tablecloth so hard the teacups go crashing to the floor, your entire body shaking with the force of your orgasm. 

Barbatos lets you catch your breath a moment before he pulls his tail out of you, and you can’t help but whine at the emptiness that follows. 

Smirking, he brings the forked edge coated in your cum to his lips and licks it clean before purring, “I have some other things I can show you, if you’d like.”

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

[theskit]

Stickers AU

Anyone linking here from the previous posts or wanting to use the links on this post to go back/forward to the other parts and not wanting to spoil the surprise stickers, after using the link, click on my blog name to go to the actual post, as direct linking takes away the readmore cut. I'll take this out and fix it if I can find out how. Sorry!

Part 6

《Prev Next》

Danny floated along as he caught his breath. Okay, so jump scaring the Red Hood *might* not have been the best plan he'd ever come up with, but man, was it funny!

It was getting kind of late, though. He should probably start making his way back to the hotel. Any more vigilante pranks would have to wait for another time. Good thing the conference was on a long weekend. He had one more night to try his luck before they left Monday afternoon for the drive back to Amity.

Pulling up the map on his phone, Danny started making his way back. Just over halfway there, he jolted to a stop, catching sight of a rippling back shadow. Batman's distinctive silhouette was marked briefly against a building wall before being almost lost again in the perpetual dimness of the city rooftops at night.

Well, well, well, looks like he might have the chance to bag all the bats and birds of Gotham in one night, leaving tomorrow to hunt down in Bludhaven for Nightwing.

Eeeeexcellent. Danny pulled himself straight in mid-air, steepling his fingers and druming them together in classic Evil Villian style, grinning in a manner that would have shown entirely too many teeth had he been visible.

Now, this would require *true* stealth if he wanted to both get a sticker onto Batman's utility belt, as well as help himself to a batarang or two. Because Ellie was right, there would be no greater souvenir from his time in Gotham than a batarang from *the* Batman himself.

Choosing a sticker and prepping it, Danny sidled up to where Batman was staring down at a building that was probably not as vacant as it looked if it called for that much concentration. All the better for him if Batman was distracted though.

Moving by inches, carefully controlling his breathing so as not to make a sound, Danny made it to Batman's side. Batman was... probably? right handed, most people were, so he was gunna make an educated guess that the sharp throwing objects would be on the left side of the belt.

Getting ready to make the grab and stick, Danny nearly jumped out of his skin as Batman moved his arm and draped his cape over the space where Danny was standing intangibly right next to him, in a gesture that seemed more ingrained habit than conscious thought.

O-KAY! Time to go before Batman had a chance to recognize that there was no one where he very obviously expected someone to be. Robin, maybe?

Thoughts to think another time! Moving with all the speed and precision he could muster while his heart was still attempting to leave the city without him, Danny swiped one hand through a series of belt pouches while the other oh-so-gently tapped a sticker to the front buckle.

Not even stopping to see what it was he'd swiped, Danny made a quick exit, stage left, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Batman was jolted out of his concentration when he felt a nudge at his belt as his cape settled against his side once more. Whirling to the left, he scanned the rooftop but saw no one.

Which was entirely unexpected as his instincts were *sure* a small presence had been snug up to his side, like a young Dick or Tim when they got tired or a bit overwhelmed while on patrol and wanted to hide in his cape.

But neither Dick nor Tim, or even Damian (though Damian had never actually done so) was small or young enough to have done that in *years*.

A quick inspection found his belt pouches missing a handful of batarangs, some candy he kept on hand to help soothe distressed children, and the extra just-in-case comm unit. As well as the addition of a glowing sticker, much like the one currently decorating the batmobile, somehow placed on the buckle despite him neither seeing or hearing anything.

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 25

Part 1 Part 24

“You mean blood draws this thing?” Hopper asks. He’s finally seated at the table, no longer looming over Eddie where he sits, like he’s just picked him up for possession and taken him in for questioning. Again.

“We don’t know,” Barbara  says. Nancy chimes in, “it’s just a theory.” All three of them ignore Eddie’s shouted “Yes!” As if he isn’t the only one that’s seen the thing more than once.

Hopper steeples his fingers in front of his nose, looking like he’d rather be almost anywhere else. Eddie can’t blame him. He also wants Hopper to be anywhere else. 

“We’ve got a plan,” Nancy says. “To test the theory.”

Hopper sighs, closing his eyes and pinching his brows, the same way he does when he catches Eddie selling pot outside of the high school. Or at the trailer park. Or at parties. “Let’s hear it then.” He doesn’t open his eyes. Nancy starts speaking anyway.

Eddie, having been mostly absent last time, tunes in for the conversation. She wants to jerry rig the house with bear traps. Like they’re in the Looney Tunes and she’s trying to catch the road runner. Hopper doesn’t seem all that impressed. Neither does Wayne.

“No,” Wayne says. 

Hopper still hasn’t opened his eyes. Maybe he was so shocked by the slap dash plan that he gave up and went to sleep. 

“Excuse me?” Nancy says. 

Eddie bristles at her tone, but Wayne doesn’t even twitch. “You’re kids,” he says, like that’s all there is to say. 

“But, Steve –”

Joyce jumps up from where she was still huddled with her sons to tower over the table in all her five foot nothing furry to shout, “this is not yours to fix!” It works to shut them all up. “It’s not you kid’s responsibility to save another kid.”

“But, Mom,” Will says. 

Eddie wants to echo the sentiment. Wants to beg. Steve saved their lives, and they’d left him. She wants them to just leave him there? Again? “I know, baby. We’ll get him.”

“Anyone called the boy’s parents?” Wayne asks, but it comes out barely as a question. He already knows the answer, even before Hopper scoffs.  Everyone at this table does. 

“Like anyone even knows what country they’re in,” he replies while Joyce bristles, like the thought of anyone’s child being left like that leaves her seething. 

“Enough of that,” she says, waving her ends in a cutting motion in front of her. “How are we going to get that boy back?”

Will stands up and storms out of the room. Eddie’s never seen the kid be anything but polite. Eddie stands to follow the tug at his sternum telling him to keep the kid in his line of sight. 

“Will?” Joyce calls, trying to follow as well until Jonathan tugs her back by her arm with a quiet murmur he can’t make out. 

The house isn’t large. He can hear the silence reverberating as he follows Will. The best plan they have so far is Nancy’s game of mouse trap. If it means saving Steve, Eddie’s ready to form an alliance with the devil he knows. If it means saving Steve, he’d be willing to do worse. 

“I could go back to the lab,” Hopper says, voice barely carrying down the hallway. 

Will’s sitting on a bed when Eddie finds him. It’s small with a blue comforter on it, covered in little cartoon planes. There’s a poster of Jaws on the wall, D & D minis on a bookcase. This might be the coolest kid alive.

Eddie takes a seat beside him, the mattress squeaking as he huddles into it. 

Will’s hand is dangling between his knees, cradling a walkie talkie. He doesn’t look over at Eddie, just keeps staring at it like it’ll crackle to life at any second. 

“Whatcha got there?” Eddie asks quietly as voices raise in the other room. Eddie wonders if this is what it would’ve felt if he’d had a baby brother back when voices were always raised in his house. He wants to scoop this kid up and bolt out the window. 

Will barely seems to notice the noise. He’s still just staring down. When he finally drags his eyes up, it seems like it takes effort. “I want to call Mike.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Who is Mike?”

Will’s eyes shift back down. “He’s my Steve.”

Well, Eddie has no idea what that means, but he can glean some things: Mike is important, and Will wants to talk to him. “So, call him.”

Will’s shoulders curl in. He cradles the walkie talkie to his chest like it’s a baby. “He thinks I’m dead.” It comes out of his mouth bitter. 

Eddie reaches out, clasps his shoulder gently. “Then, I bet he’d love to hear that you’re not.”

Slow as molasses, Will raises the walkie talkie up to his mouth, holds down a button and speaks. “Mike?” he asks. “Do you copy?”

He decompresses the button. The silence trickles back in as they both now stare at the walkie talkie, waiting for something to happen. “Maybe he didn’t hear yo–” Eddie starts to say, conjuling, when a frantic, prepubescent voice crackles through the little speaker.

“Will?!” A voice asks, overlapped by another saying , “–didn’t say over, Mike!” before the fuzzy sound stops abruptly. 

Will waits a second before pushing the button again, and speaking, “I’m here, over.”

“Where are you?” presumably Mike asks. “We’ll come get you!”

Will smiles, eyes brimming. “It’s okay,” he says, voice lighter than Eddie’s ever heard it. “I’m home.”

The silence lasts longer now, until a new voice filters through. “Yeah, yeah, I’m glad you’re back, Will,” attitude dripping even over the static of the line. “Now, the bad men have got us pinned down, you gotta help us.” it says, before tacking on a quick, “over.”

“Bad men?” Eddie asks, looking over at Will, hoping this is some ill-timed inner-circle game. 

But Will looks confused. Panicked. “I think we should go get Chief Hopper.” Will says.

Great. Another fucking problem. Eddie regrets ever being dragged back through that goddamn hole in the tree. 

Part 26

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Soft Sighs in the Late Night, Red Eyes in the Early Morning

Very simple little story of you getting snacks for König when he works at night and learn he's being deployed. Not so sad, just a slice of life kind of work.

TWs: references to combat

Wordcount: 1.4k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Soft Sighs in the Late Night, Red Eyes in the Early Morning

You always liked scurrying into König’s office when he was working. He didn’t often take his work home, but on the rare days he did you liked to bring him snacks and drinks while he studied the fine print of military contracts.

You creaked open the door and crept up carefully as you took in the sight of König by the yellow architect’s lamp. Placing the tray down, he paused his writing and looked up to you with a smile.

“Has it been that long already?” he chuckled as he leaned back to take a better look at you.

“Guess so,” you smiled, taking your place on the stool he left out for you and leaning on the desk.

König was always subtle in how he flipped his papers over when he put his fountain pen down. Once, you’d been offended by how he hid his work from you. Over time, you realized it was safer for him to keep his papers covered. He’d told you once of a man who’d had his wife kidnapped, and after meeting the shell she became, you decidedly left the papers unchecked.

He steepled his fingers over the pages and gave you a grin, “So, what has my little mouse been up to today?”

You sighed, “Work was hard. Aaron kept complaining about the new marketing campaign that head office has been working on. He kept going on and on about how it was stupid and nobody would ever buy into it.”

“He’s the one who is stuffy, ja?” König asked.

“He’s the one who was going on about how he bought his first home when he was twenty,” you groaned.

“Oh, that one,” König rolled his eyes, “I sometimes wonder what his Kinder think of him.”

“Last I heard he tried to send his son to some wilderness survival camp for smoking a joint with his friends,” you rubbed your temples, “I really try not to tell people how to parent their kids, but I just couldn’t let that go.”

“Did his son end up going?” König cringed.

“Thank God he didn’t,” you took a cracker from König’s snack bowl.

“Those are my snacks!” König huffed.

“Gotta pay the tax,” you munched away happily.

König grumbled as he scooched the bowl closer to him. It was a nice attempt, but you stole another cracker regardless. You only relented when you reached for a third, only for König to swat your hand away like some pesky fly.

“Rude,” you sniffed.

“The ends justify the means,” König replied dryly.

You rolled your eyes at that. König would be the type to quote Machiavelli, wouldn’t he? Sometimes you couldn’t believe him.

“Why did I ever marry you,” you rested your cheek on one hand.

“Because I’m a good provider,” König answered as he took a cracker into his long fingers, “though you do your fair share.”

“My fair share?” you scoffed, “I think I do a bit more than that!”

“You do,” König acquiesced, “but I’m still the provider.”

You decided that today wouldn’t be the day you tried to tackle König’s misogyny. You could always do that tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever it came up next.

“So, can you tell me anything about what you’re doing tonight?” you slumped down so your chin lay on the desk.

“A bit,” König smiled faintly, “it’s mostly just about an upcoming project in Serbia.”

You frowned, “You’re getting deployed soon?”

König gently brushed his hand through your hair with a faint smile, “I’m sorry, but it shouldn’t be long.”

“You always say that,” you grumbled.

“This is just a one week job. We’re protecting someone in a car convoy. It’s nothing too exciting,” König assured you, “they tell me that I probably won’t even see any action. It’ll just be a security job.”

“Can you tell me who you’re working for?” you asked hopefully.

“Nein,” König pressed a kiss to your forehead, “not until after. Then I’ll tell you everything I can.”

Of course, everything he could was always terribly limited, but that didn’t particularly matter. You were more interested in the stories of his day-to-day life than the grand plans of the powers that be.

“Do you know who’s coming with you?” you asked.

“Nikto is one,” König said, “and Askel.”

“Isn’t Askel kinda weird?” you scrunched up your face.

“Not weird,” König grimaced, “he’s just too chatty.”

“Maybe that would be good for you,” you pointed out.

“Maybe,” König shrugged, “but I like the quiet. Nikto is good; Nikto is very quiet.”

You nodded and nestled your head against his bicep, closing your eyes and taking a moment to breathe in the moment.

König brushed your hair through his fingers mindlessly. He seemed lost in thought, as he usually was before deployment. You hated the thought of coming home to an empty home for the next month, but you knew that this was just a part of dating König. You could never escape the shadow of KorTac.

“So, how long will you be gone?” you asked.

“The mission says one week, I’m thinking that it should be three,” König murmured into your hair, “it won’t be as long as the last.”

You cringed. You didn’t handle the last one well. You didn’t think you could deal with that again so soon after the last.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

You burrowed your face into his arm.

“You always promise.”

A low chuckle.

“And I’m still here, ja?”

You sighed. He was right, he was still here. It didn’t mean you didn’t notice the new scars that decorated his body. He tried to hide them, but you always found them eventually. Thankfully, he didn’t tell you how he got them. Well, not unless they were funny.

“So, no Horangi to set you on fire again?” you giggled.

“No,” König let out a long sigh, “thank God for that. My ass still hurts thinking about it.”

You laughed and hugged him close, getting in all the love you could before he left.

“Will you be leaving soon?” you whispered into the dark cotton sleeve.

“Soon,” König admitted, “I’ll be leaving soon. Most likely in a month.”

“Promise me you’ll be okay.”

“I’m always okay,” König laughed.

“Please,” you insisted.

“Then I promise, little Maus,” König kissed you gently, “I will be okay.”

You held him close a little longer, not wanting to let the moment go. König let you, knowing full well it was all you had to hold onto until he came back home. He hated leaving. He hated it every time. But if it was to keep you safe, to keep a roof over your head and food on the table, he’d do it a thousand times. You were worth every scar upon his body just to see you sleeping safe in bed when he’d come back home.

Konig Dump

Regular Stories

[nebulousbrainsoup]

Insurrection

Chapter 1: Catalyst

⛧ SUMMARY: One choice, made to fan the flames of love, may be the spark to start a war. ⛧PAIRING: vampire!kang yeosang x hunter!reader ⛧GENRE: fantasy, angst (so much angst), smut ⛧AU/TROPE INFO: fantasy au, vampire au, forbidden lovers, hurt no comfort ⛧WORD COUNT: 4.8k ⛧TAGS/WARNINGS: major character death (i'm so sorry), blood, violence, lots of emotion, mental breakdowns, pet names ([my] love, darling, love, Sangie), protective!yunho and protective!yeosang, treating vampires as unseelie fae, not beta'd ⛧RATING: mature ⛧A/N: for @a1sh1teruu; happy christmas from your secret santa! very sorry i'm a few days late; life has been interesting lately and this baby got away from me! i hope i didn't go too hard on the angst you asked for, but i did ask for your hard limits and, uh... i'm an angst writer first and foremost. (if i did go overboard, please please let me know, and i will whip you up something warmer and fluffier.) this did begin as a standalone, but the lovely @kwanisms convinced me to make it a series, so here we are! there will be a few more installments; a prologue and at least one sequel. even if no one else does, zerda, i hope you enjoy this. much love, orion <3 ⛧ smut tags under the cut ; banner by momther ki (kwanisms) ⛧masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

⛧ SMUT TAGS/WARNINGS: sex as a distraction/coping mechanism, yeo has vampire speed and strength (don't look too close i didn't logic), sensitive pointy ears, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (boo), multiple orgasms (fem), pet names (Yeosangie, Sangie, baby, darling, love, my pretty girl ), mentions of exhibitionism & sharing if you squint, lack of aftercare bc they're both exhausted

In hindsight, perhaps you should have seen the signs. You had never seen Yeosang eat, no matter how many cafés you frequented together. He had been known throughout the village for his strange attire, the reverse of the seasons; he was covered from chin to fingertip to toe in the summers, while the dark winters found him showing a bit more skin. His pale complexion or the way he could throw you around in the bedroom without breaking a sweat may have given him away to you if you had paid closer attention. You hadn’t, though, and now you paid the price.

Your elders stood in a semicircle in front of you, stony faced, and your blood ran cold. Gideon glowered at you over the top of his steepled fingers, jaw tight.

“Kill or be killed, Y/N,” he spat, “the decision is yours. Kang Yeosang will not be able to protect you from us.”

It took every fiber of your being to hold back the shiver that threatened to tear down your spine. Your mind swirled as you bowed your head respectfully, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Something churned in your gut as you met his eye; whether or not his words would ring true was still to be determined, but you knew he and the rest of the council would try their absolute hardest.

“I understand, Elder Lewis. I will begin my preparations immediately,” you agreed, turning on your heel to see yourself out of the room. Three of the five sat straighter at your promise, one smiling proudly. You sighed in relief; so long as most of them believed you, you would survive the night. You could warn him and, if you were lucky, run.

For most, Yeosang and the rest of his coven were nearly impossible to find; he had told you some story ages ago, but now the secrecy made sense. Few were trusted with a map to their home, and you were thankful tonight to be one of those elites. Strategically placed vines guided you through the trees like flags, their leaves blending into the color of the evergreens’ needles to the untrained eye. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you hurried through the snow, fists clenched at your sides. The path was familiar and though time seemed to drag on in a blur, it felt like you arrived in seconds. The trees parted to a familiar, comforting sight; three cabins and a grand hall circled around a small clearing, and you beelined for Yeosang’s front door. 

It was his roommate, Yunho, who opened the door and tried to greet you but you pushed past him, body and mind set on your comfort. You practically collapsed into Yeosang’s arms, a small, pained sound leaving you as he bundled you into his embrace. His quiet questions and murmured comforts were lost on you. Your mind was running at a thousand miles a minute, a million questions running through your mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were vampires?” The first inquiry fell from your lips thoughtlessly, and you felt the air disappear from the room. Yunho’s footsteps halted where they were parting to allow you privacy, and you could feel the tension spike. The silence rang louder than any scream. “And don’t try to deny it; I’ve seen the evidence.”

“Who… how did you find this out, sweetheart?” 

You scoffed, shoving him away from you and taking a step back. Behind you, you heard Yunho shift to his friend’s defense, but a sharp glare from Yeosang seemed to halt him. “I’m a hunter, Yeosang. You’ve known this; don’t play dumb. My elders showed me your files today,” you paused, turning over your shoulder to glance at Yunho. “All of ATEEZ’s files.”

You watched as the elder coiled like a spring, ready to strike, still pinned in place only by your boyfriend’s scathing stare. Silence once again stretched for what seemed like an eternity, heavy across your shoulders. Finally, Yeosang broke it.

“Leave us, Yunho.”

“Absolutely not.” The reply was immediate, the taller boy standing straighter, his chin high. “I’m not leaving you alone with a hunter.”

You scowled, hearing your boyfriend growl a warning. You knew his expression must match your own. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my girlfriend alone.”

Yunho opened his mouth to speak again but this time, you were the one to silence him. “I understand your worry and I appreciate your drive to protect your coven. I am not here to hurt Yeosang; I am here to… to ask for help,” you admitted, turning back to glance at your lover. “I forgot to even grab my knife before I left, if I’m being honest.” Yeosang let out a strangled noise of protest, worry painting his face, and you held up a hand to keep him quiet. “The elders… Gideon gave me a choice today. Kill or be killed. And I… I don’t want to do either.”

You could see Yeosang’s heart breaking, the corner of his lips curling down and his brow furrowing. “Yunho, please,” he murmured, “let us figure this out.” He gave no response, but a moment later, you heard the front door click shut, and Yeosang was bundling you back up into his arms. 

The moment you were alone, you shattered into pieces. You grasped his shirt in fists as tears flowed like waterfalls down your cheeks, his grip around you tightening like a vice. Sobs wracked your body violently, and you thanked the gods for Yeosang’s strength as, despite your knees buckling under you, you remained upright. He muttered quiet reassurances into your hair, hands running soothingly up and down your back. 

When you calmed, he gently guided you back, eyes soft and open as he cupped your cheeks and wiped the tears from them. You screwed your eyes shut and gripped onto his wrists like a lifeline, willing a fresh wave of emotion back. 

“It will be alright, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out together. You can stay here for as long as you like, and we’ll protect you like our own.”

You whined in protest, eyes blinking open slowly. Sniffling, you shook your head. “I can’t ask that of you. If I’m tracked down, they’ll kill you all too. Hongjoong wouldn’t be willing to take that risk for a simple little mortal, much less one who has trained her entire life to hunt and kill him. He would be crazy.”

Yeosang giggled quietly, smiling gently. “I think you’ll find he is a little crazy when the situation calls for it. He trusts you like one of us already; he allowed me to show you the path here. You will be welcome.”

Hesitantly, you nodded, resigned to accepting your lover’s offer. There was little else you could do. “I will need a few things from the stronghold. I can go back to gather them tonight, and return tomorrow.” 

Peeking over your head and out the window, Yeosang frowned. It had been nearing nightfall when you had arrived, and the thought of you unarmed and stumbling through the dark forest unnerved him. He pulled you against his chest, carding a hand into your hair to scratch at your scalp. 

“Stay with me tonight, love. Let this be the first night of our new lives together. Let me protect you.” You felt your shoulders relax with every word he spoke, a soft smile playing at your lips. He had already convinced you but he continued, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Let me distract you.” 

You let your tongue flick out over your lips, drawing his attention back to them as you grinned. Hands slipping up his chest, you pressed closer to him. “What better way to spend our first night together?”

Yeosang grinned, tugging you in to crash your lips together. You hummed happily as you melted against him, one arm draping over his shoulder while the other carded into the hair at his nape. He held you to him tightly still, sighing against your mouth as you melted against him. 

“Take me to bed, Yeosangie,” you muttered when you parted for breath, and he was more than happy to oblige. Strong arms braced under your thighs and lifted you in one fluid motion. Before you had time to think, you were in his room with your back pressed to the mattress, and you let out a squeak of surprise. Your lover was grinning at you when you pulled away. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I assume you’ll be using all of your fancy vampire powers at every turn, hm?” 

“Maybe not all of them,” he teased, pressing kisses up your jaw. “I’ll only bite if you ask nicely,” he purred into your ear, his silky baritone sending a shudder down your spine.

You whined, tugging him back up by his hair to lock your lips, legs wrapping around his middle to pull him impossibly closer. He groaned, low and broken, as you ground against him, losing himself for a moment before he pinned your hips down to the bed. 

“Tonight is all about you, my love,” he hummed, hands running down your thighs as he sat back on his knees. You pouted up at him and he couldn’t help but grin, kneading at the soft flesh under his fingers. “I’m going to take my time with you and savor this. No more quick nights at the tavern, hm?” 

You shuddered under his touch, eyes flickering to the door. “What about Yunho?”

The grin on Yeosang’s face was purely wicked and heat ran through your body. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure the whole coven can hear you.” 

Despite his promise to take his time, Yeosang stripped you down quickly, tugging your shirt off and trousers down to leave you in only your undergarments. The moment he could, he leaned down, nipping at your inner thigh and grinning triumphantly at the sound it pulled from you. His lips quickly found their way to your throat as he let your legs fall in favor of slotting himself between them, lips attaching themselves to your throat. The drag of his teeth over your pulse had you whining into his ear, breath ghosting over the subtly pointed tip. It was Yeosang’s turn to shudder, all of his blood rushing south at the feeling. He sighed, burying his head against your shoulder as he gathered himself.

Or tried to, because a moment later, you were tucking his hair behind his ear, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin, and he was choking back a moan. “C-Careful,” he muttered, reaching up to grab your wrist and halt you. “They’re sensitive.” 

“I don’t see the issue,” you hummed, drawing his gaze back up. You were grinning down at him and it was a pretty sight, but the mischief twinkling in your eyes had Yeosang wanting to wipe it from your face. 

Pinning your wrist to the bed, he slipped down your body at lightning speed, face level with your clothed core. In an instant, his tongue was pressed against you, and you let out a choked shout at the wet warmth that joined your own arousal. Yeosang grinned proudly once more, letting his teeth graze lightly over your heat as he sat back. That particular friction was foreign but pleasant, pulling a pretty little whimper from you.

“Do you still not see the issue with playing with sensitive areas, love, or shall I continue?”

Not one to be upstaged, you huffed a sigh, the corner of your mouth ticking up in a grin. “I don’t think I quite get it.” 

Yeosang chuckled, leaning back to lap a stripe up your thigh. Nipping at your hip, he slowly began a path up your body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You sighed, the sound like music to his ears as you turned to putty beneath his hands. 

Your bra was the next garment to leave your body, tossed carelessly to the side as his mouth descended on your chest, lips quickly closing around your peaked nipple. One hand bracing himself, the other lit a contrastingly cool trail down your torso, coming to rest over your underwear. A quiet squeak left you and you squirmed under him, his icy fingers bringing a delicious new sensation to your warm arousal while his lips worked over your other breast. 

“Sangie,” you gasped out, one hand tangling into his hair and tugging encouragingly. “More, please.”

Chuckling lowly against your skin, he obliged, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side to slide his fingers through your wetness. You whined and writhed under him, hips seeking further stimulation—this wasn’t enough. The pad of his finger circled your clit and you jolted, a pitched whine leaving you that had Yeosang’s control snapping in an instant.

He needed more, and he needed it now. More of you, more of your lovely little sounds, more of your warm body pressed against his cold one. 

Pulling back from your chest with a wet noise, he sat back on his heels, tugging his shirt off and tossing it away from him. Your remaining undergarment was pulled off and discarded as he stood, quickly ridding himself of his final layers, too. He drank you in with a gaze that made you feel like prey, delicate and helpless underneath the ancient power that coursed through his veins. Pride swelled in his chest as he took in your open-mouthed, hungry stare. He chuckled to himself and ran a hand across his broad chest, letting you drink in the sight of him. His grin only spread as he watched you turn away from him, shy. 

“My pretty girl,” he hummed, running his fingers up the insides of your thighs as he settled between them again. 

Your pretty little whine had him preening as he lowered himself to your core, grinning up at you. Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he held eye contact and sighed against you as you shuddered, before his tongue flicked out to tease at your slit. He delighted in the way your hands flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you urged him closer. His sharp, calculated gaze remained on you as he flattened his tongue against you, humming happily at the taste of you. His eyes rolled back in his head, finally slipping shut as he began to lose himself in the ecstasy that was your essence. 

Your sounds only grew as he began to eat you out in earnest and they went straight to his cock; Yeosang found himself rutting into the mattress within minutes, desperate to find any amount of friction. His pride fell to the wayside as he gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, fucking his tongue into you with fervor. He barely came up for air as he buried his face in your pussy, pleasured moans leaving him as he chased both of your peaks. Your tugging on his hair was what brought him back into his mind and, though he shot you a glare, his fingers quickly replaced his mouth. 

You were gasping for breath as he sat upright, grinning proudly while your legs dropped to rest over his elbows. “What’s the matter, love?”

“C-Can’t, g’nna cum,” you gasped, hands coming to rest over his biceps as you melted back into the mattress.

“Oh, well if that’s all,” he hummed, slowly lowering himself back down. You whimpered, hands tangling back into his hair at the warmth of his tongue and the chill of his fingers, but gave no further sounds of protest as he dove back into you. Within seconds, your legs were clamping down around his ears and he was opening his eyes, drinking in the sight of your ecstasy as he worked you over the edge. With one final suck to your clit, he sat back on his heels and drank in the whine that left you, sighing happily.

“Gods above, you taste good,” he murmured, licking his lips hungrily.

“Yeosang,” you whined, hands clawing up his arms to pull him close, “need you baby, please.”

“Need what?” He grinned, shifting up to cage you in completely, his cockhead teasing at your folds. You whine, shifting lower, and he clicked his tongue as one hand came to rest over your throat, stilling your movements.

You whined, blinking up at him with wide, doe eyes, and he had to bite back a growl. “Your cock, Sangie, please.”

He grinned down at you devilishly as he pressed into you, drinking down every whine and moan that spilled from your mouth as he sealed his lips with your own. When he was finally sheathed within your warmth, he sighed happily and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his and he felt secure, safe, as he began a slow and deliberate pace.

“So long as you’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his speed building. “I will protect you. What is mine is the coven’s and what is the coven’s is mine.” You clenched around him, and he groaned lowly, his eyes squeezing shut. “We keep our own safe.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, the air crackling electric between you as you climbed to your second peak at record speed. The way his speed built in tandem with the passion of his words had you squirming, clawing for him. He shuddered, too, as your walls spasmed around him, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He sat up straight and sheathed himself in you fully as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, his hips rolling in tiny circles to prolong it. 

With one last kiss to  your forehead, he pulled himself from you and collapsed to your side. He gave himself to the count of ten to bask in the warmth as he felt himself quickly falling into the meditative state he considered “sleep,” emerging from the brink of it to clean you. You sighed, basking in the attention, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat as he crawled back into bed with you—tired, cuddly, smiling, perfect you. He prayed you were asleep as he whispered into your hair.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hid your grin in his chest and fell asleep in his arms.

When you awoke in a bed that was not your own, the curtains around you pulled shut, you startled. Yeosang was laid next to you reading, and as you stirred, he glanced up from his page. “Good morning, darling.” 

You smiled, turning over to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning when he flushed and turned back to his book. “Good morning, Sangie. What time is it?”

“Just after sunrise.” 

Huffing, you pushed yourself up from the bed. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late. I’ll have to hope no one has a route in this direction today,” you muttered as you went about gathering your clothes, strewn about the room. “And that no one decided to hang around near my room.”

Yeosang set his book aside, frowning. “I’ll come with you.” 

“You will do no such thing, Kang Yeosang,” you protested, continuing on before he could speak. “The moment you are within firing distance of the castle, the elders will see you taken out. Stay here and speak to Hongjoong; I’ll only be gone a few hours.” He frowned deeply, eyes tracking your movements carefully as you tugged back the curtains an inch. “It’s bright out today, anyway. You wouldn’t be very comfortable past the treeline.”

The fight was over before it had really started, logic winning out over Yeosang’s protective nature. You were right; in the full sun of the day, with the snow reflecting it back up at him, he would be weak. Not only would protecting you be a challenge, his presence might hinder the speed of your mission.

“Alright. I’ll speak with Hongjoong. I’ll give you until noon to be back before I start looking for you.” Grinning, you bounced back across the room, leaning down to press a kiss to Yeosang’s lips. He hummed happily as he carded a hand into your hair, gently tugging you back for more. 

With a hand on his shoulder, you kept him at bay, chuckling quietly to yourself. “You had enough of me last night, love. You can have more tonight, but you have to let me go get my belongings.”

The sigh that left him was half-hearted at best, and you huffed another breath of laughter. “Fine. Be safe and hurry back.” 

“I will.”

As the door shut behind you, something unsettling stirred in his gut. For inexplicable reasons, he felt as though you were lying.

“Yunho, you met this girl. Can we trust her?” Hongjoong questioned, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he leaned back in his chair. He looked relaxed, at ease in the safety of his own chambers, only the twitching of his jaw giving away his current inner turmoil. 

The man in question thought for a moment, shrugging and giving a small nod. “I think Yeosang coming back in one piece today is a pretty good sign.”

He nodded slowly, mulling the request over. It was a great risk for the coven to take in a mortal, both to the mortal and the coven. Word had spread on one occasion they did such a thing, and they had been forced to move rather abruptly. Y/N’s upbringing as a monster hunter added another convoluted layer to the whole ordeal; she could be playing them to spy for her order or, if they truly were on the hunt for her, she could end up getting them all killed. But no matter how stoic and strict he may look to outsiders, Hongjoong had an undeniable soft spot for his coven. So, as Yeosang stood there, a determined and pleading look on his face, the elder vampire caved. 

“Fine. But let her know that she will be expected to pull her weight. She can stay with you and Yunho until we figure out other living arrangements,” he conceded, huffing an annoyed sigh that held little weight. “Now go tell the others.” 

Yeosang beamed, practically bouncing toward the door and flinging it open. Wooyoung, who had just started up the front porch steps, startled and fell back against San.

“Y/N is coming to live with us!” He blurted out, and the pair shared a confused look. “It’s a whole long story. Speaking of, have either of you seen her? I can’t wait to tell her.”

Wooyoung recovered before San did, blinking back into himself and sharing a bright smile with his friend. “That’s great! I can’t wait for her to meet everyone else. Sannie, I think you’ll  really like her. I haven’t seen her around today; is she here?”

“She went to gather her things from the hunters’ stronghold. She should be back any minute.” Something unpleasant coiled in Yeosang’s gut, and he frowned. “You didn’t happen to see any hunters on your way back in, did you?”

San and Wooyoung shared a look that had Yeosang’s blood running cold. “We did,” San confirmed. “They were headed away from here, though. We didn’t bother with them.” 

Behind him, someone stirred, and Yeosang spun on his heel, eyes pleading with Hongjoong as he approached. “She said she’d be in danger if she ran into other hunters. We have to look for her.”

Resolutely, Hongjoong nodded, turning back over his shoulder. “Yunho, get Jongho. San, Wooyoung, go get Seonghwa and Mingi. We’ll head toward their stronghold and work outward—stay in pairs, stay out of sight, and do not eng—”

Before the leader could finish his sentence, a sharp scream echoed through the forest, and Yeosang’s eyes widened. He went rigid for a moment, keen ears twitching as they scanned the forest, tracking the echoes until he could pinpoint a near exact location of origin. He was moving before he could think, dashing down the path and into the treeline. Dodging trees and leaping over fallen branches as he tore through the brush, the warning shouts of his coven fell on deaf ears. They would follow, he knew. He only slowed for a moment when he caught the scent of your blood in the air, tripping over his own feet before pushing forward with even more purpose. 

In hindsight, he should have realized that your familiar yell was not one of fear, as he had been so worried about. He should have taken even a moment to breathe. 

You were still upright when he barreled into the clearing, wrestling with another hunter for what looked to be a blade. Your face was twisted in a grimace, desperation and anger marring the features he was so used to seeing alight with joy. He called your name and you turned, the panic-stricken look you sent him sending confusion and hurt lancing through him. He was here to help; shouldn’t you be happy to see him?

In hindsight, he should have realized why your cry was so familiar to his ears. Maybe he would have registered that it had been full of pure, white-hot rage; the same rage you directed at him during your first meeting.

Time slowed, and with the snap of a wire, Yeosang understood. 

The bolt burned as it pierced through his ribs, and his vision went white with the pain as he toppled forward, falling to his hands and knees with a shout of his own. This time, there was pain in your exclamation; he couldn’t quite make out the words, but he heard the break in your voice that he knew, all too well, meant tears were brimming. He tasted iron as he coughed, distantly registering the shadow of black that splattered the snow in front of him. 

It had been a while since he’d seen his own blood.

More shouts echoed as he fell to his knees, vision going black for a moment. When his sight returned, you were in front of him, and Yeosang’s brow furrowed. Humans like you, as far as he knew, couldn’t move that fast. He glanced over your shoulder, gasping—when had the coven gotten here?

Another blink, and he was on his back, staring up at your distressingly heartbroken expression. Your hands cupped his cheeks for a beat, and he melted into the fleeting feeling, grumbling in disapproval as they streaked down his neck to his sides. About halfway to his hips, they stopped, and the pain that sparked through him had him coming back to his senses, a shout choked behind his teeth.

“Leave it,” he hissed, and you made a pained noise. The iron crossbow bolt had embedded itself firmly and, despite his protests, you gave it another tug. This time, Yeosang shouted, bolting upright and batting your hand away from him. “Barbed,” he croaked, falling back to his hands and knees. “You’ll rip me up if you take it out.” 

“And it’ll poison you slowly if I don’t,” you urged, reaching for him. “You can heal the injuries, please.”

Yeosang frowned deeply, eyes squeezing shut as he took stock of his body. “Not… quickly enough.” 

“Please let me try,” you begged, hand settling below his wound. “Please give yourself a chance. Let me give you a chance, Yeosang, please.”

Oh, how weak he was for you. 

Swallowing thickly, he screwed his eyes shut and nodded, rolling once more onto his back with a wince. “If it pleases you.” 

“None of this pleases me,” you shot back, choking on a sob around your words. Your grip solid around the arrow’s shaft, you gave a strong tug, and Yeosang shouted through gritted teeth as it came free. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” you breathed, cupping his face.

“No more… apologies. This is not your fault,” he muttered between coughs. His mouth felt wetter than usual and he turned, dizzy as he watched more black mar the white ground. “Oh.” 

“Stay still, Sangie, please, let your magic work. Don’t make things worse. Just… stay here. It’ll be okay.” 

You didn’t sound sure. Yeosang huffed a laugh, coughed. “I won’t heal… fast enough,” he muttered, rolling once more onto his back. “H’ngjoong s-said… You can stay with us. Make sure he keeps… ‘s word.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. He was so tired all of a sudden. Distantly, he could hear you calling to him, could feel your hands on his cheeks. He smiled, leaning into the warmth of your palms, a stark contrast to the chill surrounding him. The world was turning to white noise; Yeosang sighed. 

One voice, familiar and filled with venom, cut through the roar. He was just used to listening for his Captain, after all, and he heard him clear as day now.

“You have just declared a war.”

Everything went quiet.

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[lulublack90]

Prompt 17 - Dumbledore's Office

@wolfstarmicrofic November 17, word count 489

They’d all been sent up to Dumbledore’s Office by McGonagall after the aftermath of Sirius’s prank had been discovered. They didn’t have any proof that it was one of the Marauders, but who else would have had the nerve to blow up the potion's lab? So the four of them stood in silence before the headmaster's large wooden desk as he stared at them over steepled fingers.

“I take it that none of you will be coming forward to take responsibility for the catastrophe in the dungeons, I take it?” Dumbledore asked, his periwinkle eyes sparkling in the light of the numerous candles and blazing fire which lit the room. None of them answered. The other three would never grass on him. They were more than friends. They were brothers, and brothers never told on each other. Well, his chosen ones didn’t, his actual brother would sell him out without being asked, little snake. “Well then,” Dumbledore said sadly. “I shall have to use other means to find the culprit.” Sirius felt his blood run cold as he imagined all the horrible ways that could be used on him, most of his own mother had used against him to gather information. But Dumbledore simply raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the room was cast into darkness. “Ah, there we are,” Dumbledore chuckled to himself as Sirius began to glow in the dark. What in Merlin’s name?! “The potion Professor Slughorn was brewing has the side effect of covering anything in the vicinity of its cauldron in a thin layer of luminescence, only seen in total darkness unless the surface was protected prior to being exposed to the vapours. Two weeks detention, Mr Black, and you will be helping Mr Filch clean the mess you made.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Sirius sighed, he’d been caught glowing-handed and saw no need to argue. 

“Er, so if Sirius blew up the lab, then why does Remus have…” James said and Sirius assumed everyone turned to look in Remus’s direction. 

His lips and neck shone in the gloom. Lines of glowing fingerprints lined the fabric around the front of his trousers and two very obvious handprints shone brightly from where Sirius had squeezed Remus’s arse earlier.

“Oops,” Sirius snickered as he watched his handprints hurrying from the room. The lights reignited around the room, causing Sirius to squint as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. 

“You are all dismissed,” Dumbledore told them, his face oddly blank. Sirius didn’t need telling twice and raced from the office. 

“Moony, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it’d do that!” He shouted down the corridor after Remus. Remus responded by sticking his middle finger up as he strode around the corner and out of sight. Oh, Sirius was in so much trouble. “Remus!” He shouted again, running down the corridor after him. He’d deal with James and Peter later right now, he needed to grovel. 

[novaursa]

Legacy (homecoming)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how some events may differ from the canon.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (rating will go up in the next chapter)

- Previous part: at the gates

- Next part: union of fire and gold

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The gates of King’s Landing yawned wide, the distant hum of the city swelling as Tywin’s procession made its way through the crowded streets, each step bringing you closer to the towering silhouette of the Red Keep. The city itself hummed with anticipation, citizens craning their necks and whispering as they caught sight of the crimson and gold banners, and you—an unexpected figure in the sea of Lannister colors, the silver gleam of your hair unmistakable in the sunlight.

Tywin rode with unyielding purpose, his gaze set firmly ahead, unaffected by the stares and murmurs that followed in your wake. To him, this moment was simply the next step in a carefully orchestrated plan, a display of strength and purpose. But for you, the weight of returning to King’s Landing—the city you had once called home—settled over you like an iron mantle, heavy and cold.

The Red Keep’s gates loomed ahead, the courtyard within brimming with lords, knights, and courtiers, all waiting to witness the arrival of Tywin Lannister’s procession—and more importantly, the return of the Targaryen princess. The horses clopped over the cobblestones, hooves echoing against the high stone walls, and as you entered the courtyard, you felt the weight of countless eyes upon you.

Standing near the front was Cersei, her face an unreadable mask, her posture regal as she observed the procession with a cold, assessing gaze. Beside her stood Joffrey, his eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, a twisted smirk tugging at his lips as he watched. In the background, partially hidden behind the guards, you could see Sansa, her face alight with something close to hope as she strained to catch a glimpse of you.

To Cersei’s left stood Myrcella and Tommen, their expressions a blend of innocence and curiosity, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of you—a figure from stories and whispered rumors, now standing before them. Myrcella’s gaze held a quiet, cautious awe, while Tommen fidgeted nervously, his hand clinging to his sister’s sleeve.

Further back, Tyrion observed the scene with a wry smile, his gaze flickering between you and his family, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Pycelle stood nearby, his usual simpering expression firmly in place, though his gaze was sharp as he took in the proceedings. Littlefinger’s expression, however, was unreadable, a slight smile playing at his lips as he watched with calculating interest, his eyes glinting with the promise of future schemes.

The Hound stood near the edge of the gathering, his gaze narrowed and suspicious as he observed the procession, while Varys watched with a serene smile, his fingers steepled before him as he took in every detail with his usual, unsettling calm.

Standing beside the Kingsguard, Jaime’s gaze was unwavering, his expression a mixture of mild intrigue and something else—a flicker of unspoken unease, perhaps. By his side stood Barristan Selmy, the old knight’s eyes softening just slightly as he caught sight of you. He was the only familiar face in the sea of strangers, and a brief, quiet warmth flickered in his gaze—a silent acknowledgment of the child he had once watched grow, now returned to the city that had once been her home.

As the horses came to a halt, Tywin dismounted with practiced ease, turning to offer you a hand as you followed suit. You accepted, maintaining your composure as you dismounted, feeling the weight of every gaze upon you. Tywin’s grip was firm, a silent reminder of the role you were now expected to play. He turned to the gathered crowd, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable authority.

“Ladies and lords of King’s Landing,” he began, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, “today, we welcome a woman of both legacy and loyalty. Lady Y/N, of House Targaryen, who has agreed to join with House Lannister.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, some surprised, others curious, and a few outright displeased, though none dared speak openly against Tywin’s declaration. Cersei’s eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking to you with a thinly veiled contempt, though her expression remained composed. Joffrey’s smirk widened, his gaze alight with a cruel amusement, as though he were witnessing some private joke.

At Tywin’s signal, you stepped forward, feeling the weight of the silence that had settled over the courtyard. Every face was fixed upon you, each expression a mixture of curiosity, expectation, and judgment. You met their gazes with quiet strength, refusing to let the weight of the moment unsettle you.

Jaime stepped forward, his voice laced with a touch of sarcasm as he addressed Tywin. “An interesting addition to the family, Father. I imagine King’s Landing will have plenty to say about it.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked to Jaime, his expression impassive. “Let them say what they will. What matters is strength, not opinion.”

Jaime’s smirk faded, and he gave a slight, almost mocking bow. “Of course, strength above all.”

Barristan’s gaze lingered on you, a quiet pride evident in his eyes, though he offered nothing but a respectful nod, a silent acknowledgment of the history you shared. He understood, perhaps better than any here, the significance of your return, the journey that had brought you to this point.

Cersei stepped forward, her tone laced with icy formality. “Welcome to the capital, Lady Y/N. I trust you’ll find the Red Keep… accommodating.”

You met her gaze, keeping your expression composed. “Thank you, Queen Regent. I look forward to becoming reacquainted with the city.”

Joffrey let out a short, mocking laugh, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. “You look… different than I imagined, Targaryen,” he sneered. “But I suppose time in the North changes people.”

You held his gaze, refusing to rise to his bait. “Perhaps,” you replied calmly. “But some things remain constant.”

Tyrion cleared his throat, stepping forward with a half-smile. “And who can truly say that’s a bad thing, Joffrey? The court has been dreadfully dull in recent months. I daresay Lady Y/N’s presence will be a refreshing change.”

Joffrey shot Tyrion a glare, but before he could respond, Cersei placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression a warning to hold his tongue.

Pycelle shuffled forward, his voice a soft murmur as he addressed Tywin. “A most… impressive addition, Lord Tywin. The city is honored to welcome back Lady Y/N.”

Tywin gave a curt nod, his attention already turning toward the Red Keep’s entrance. “Lady Y/N is to be treated with the respect due to her station,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I expect each of you to remember that.”

With that, he inclined his head toward you, a silent command to follow him into the castle. You cast one final glance over the gathered faces, catching Sansa’s wide-eyed gaze as she watched you from the edge of the crowd, hope and longing evident in her expression. You allowed yourself a small, reassuring smile, a silent promise that you would remember her, that she wasn’t alone in this city.

As you turned to follow Tywin, the murmurs resumed, the lords and ladies of King’s Landing falling into hushed speculation as they watched you enter the Red Keep beside the lord who had both taken you and brought you back to this place. 

As you step into the Red Keep, the familiar scent of stone and iron fills the air, bringing back memories of a different time, a different life. The halls, once alive with your family’s history, seem colder now, stripped bare of the relics that once honored your bloodline. Every step echoes in the vastness, bouncing off walls that used to be adorned with banners of Targaryen black and red, with dragon heraldry that had been synonymous with the strength of your house.

The skulls of dragons once hung from these walls, each one a reminder of the legacy your ancestors had built through fire and blood. Now, they are gone, their absence a glaring silence, an erasure of everything your family once represented. Robert Baratheon’s influence lingers here, like a shadow, each vanished skull and stripped banner a testament to his efforts to erase the Targaryen legacy from these walls.

As you continue through the echoing corridors, Tywin moves beside you, his gait steady, his face impassive. His eyes flick toward you every now and then, observing, but he says nothing, his silence both oppressive and dismissive, a silent reminder that this is now his domain. But you don’t need his words to feel the weight of his authority here. It emanates from every corner, from every guard who nods in deference as he passes.

Then, you reach the Great Hall, and your eyes land upon it—the Iron Throne, looming at the far end of the room like a dark shadow, forged from a thousand swords taken in conquest. The sharp, unforgiving angles of the throne gleam in the dim light, each twisted blade and jagged edge a reminder of the blood that had been shed for it.

The sight of it sends a chill through you, your mind flooding with memories of your father. You can almost see him sitting there, the Mad King himself, his presence once a dark and foreboding force in this hall. The throne had seemed a throne of power then, of invincibility. But now, standing before it again, you see it for what it truly is—a twisted seat of ambition and madness, a cage disguised as a throne.

Your expression must betray something of what you’re feeling because Tywin’s gaze sharpens, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “A particular look in your eye, Lady Y/N,” he remarks, his tone measured. “The Iron Throne holds some… personal significance, does it not?”

You keep your gaze on the throne, but the faintest trace of a bitter smile tugs at your lips. “Significance?” You consider the word, rolling it over in your mind. “Perhaps. But not in the way you think, Lord Tywin.”

He watches you, his expression unreadable, waiting for you to continue.

You take a breath, your voice low and calm, though each word carries the weight of years of contemplation. “That throne is cursed,” you say, your gaze unwavering as you take in its sharp, merciless shape. “It’s brought only ruin to those who’ve sought to claim it. My father, Rhaegar… so many before them. It promises power, but it takes far more than it gives.”

Tywin’s expression remains impassive, though his eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of curiosity beneath his steely gaze. “A pragmatic view,” he replies, his tone smooth, neutral. “And yet, there are those who would see it as the pinnacle of ambition, the ultimate prize.”

You glance at him, unflinching. “The ultimate prize, perhaps, but at what cost? I pity anyone who sits upon it, thinking it will bring them peace. The throne’s iron edges do not forgive, and its curse spares no one, no matter their strength or resolve.”

For a moment, Tywin is silent, his gaze shifting from you to the throne, a faint glint of something inscrutable in his eyes. “Peace is a luxury for those who lack ambition,” he says, his voice low, carrying an edge of steel. “But you may be right, Lady Y/N. That throne demands much from those who sit upon it… as do all seats of power.”

You allow yourself a small, ironic smile. “Power can be a burden, Lord Tywin. I imagine you understand that better than most.”

A ghost of a smile flickers on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “A burden, yes. But one I bear willingly, because it is necessary. The Iron Throne requires control, discipline… traits your father sorely lacked.”

You say nothing, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. He’s right, in his way; your father’s madness had been as much a product of his ambition as it was of the throne’s dark allure. But you can’t ignore the bitter truth of it either—the throne had twisted him, consumed him, just as it had done to so many before him.

Tywin studies your face, perhaps gauging your reaction, before he continues, his voice softened but still laced with authority. “It is wise of you to understand the nature of power, Lady Y/N. It will serve you well, especially here.”

You meet his gaze, the unspoken challenge clear in his eyes. “I intend to make it serve me, Lord Tywin,” you reply, each word deliberate, a quiet promise to yourself. “But not at the expense of my own soul.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, something close to approval flickering in his eyes before he turns away, gesturing toward the throne as though dismissing its shadow. “Come. There is much to be done. You’ll find that in this place, survival is as much about perception as it is about action.”

As you follow him, you cast one last look at the Iron Throne, the twisted monument to ambition and ruin, and a quiet resolve settles within you. Tywin may seek to shape your future here, to use you as a piece in his plans, but you will not be a pawn. You’ve seen what power can do, the cost it demands—and you intend to pay only what you’re willing to lose.

The procession that had gathered to witness the arrival of Tywin and Lady Y/N lingered in the courtyard, slowly filtering into the Red Keep. The crowd thickened as lords, knights, and courtiers pressed forward, eager to gossip about the spectacle they had just witnessed. Amid the murmurs and whispers, Cersei led her children through the throng, her posture stiff, her eyes narrowed as she absorbed the scene. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the tightness around her mouth betraying her displeasure.

Tyrion trailed behind her, a bemused smile tugging at his lips as he surveyed the retreating backs of his father and Lady Y/N, disappearing into the shadows of the Red Keep. He turned to Cersei, his tone light and conversational, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Well, I must say, I already like the princess,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for Cersei to hear over the noise.

Cersei’s gaze snapped to him, her expression icily dismissive. “Like her? She’s no longer a princess, Tyrion. Whatever claim she once had died with her family.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Perhaps,” he allowed, tilting his head. “But she’ll soon be Lady Lannister, won’t she? Our dear father’s intended.” He gestured ahead, where Tywin and Lady Y/N had disappeared inside. “That gives her quite a bit of significance, whether you care for it or not.”

Cersei’s expression darkened, her jaw clenched as she continued to push forward through the crowd. “The title means nothing,” she snapped, her tone laced with venom. “It’s a convenience for Father, nothing more. A Targaryen with a different name is still a Targaryen.”

Tyrion’s smile widened, his gaze dancing with mischief as he pressed on. “Oh, I don’t know, dear sister. Father looked upon her rather… softly, wouldn’t you say? It’s rare to see such tenderness from him.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed, her steps slowing as she turned to face him fully, her face a mask of tightly controlled fury. “Softly?” she repeated, her voice low but sharp. “Don’t be absurd, Tyrion. Our father sees only what’s useful. If he’s brought her here, it’s because he can wield her like any other weapon.”

Tyrion feigned a look of consideration, tapping a finger against his chin. “Maybe. But one does wonder, doesn’t one? A young Targaryen princess spirited away before Robert’s armies could reach her… kept safely hidden in the North all these years, only for our father to bring her back to his side now.” He paused, letting the implications settle in, before adding, “One might think he’s been holding onto more than just a strategic asset.”

Cersei’s eyes blazed with fury, her knuckles white as her grip tightened around Myrcella’s hand. “You’re suggesting that Father… that he feels something for her? Tyrion, that’s ridiculous. She’s a Targaryen.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion replied, his tone thoughtful. “A Targaryen indeed. But beautiful, poised, intelligent… I daresay she’s aged remarkably well, wouldn’t you agree?” He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “It does make one wonder if his sentiments toward her survived from… a time long past. A time when she still called King’s Landing her home.”

Cersei’s expression twisted in revulsion, her fury simmering just beneath the surface as Tyrion’s insinuations hit their mark. “Enough,” she hissed, her voice low and seething. “Our father would never—”

Tyrion raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression innocent. “Of course, of course. It’s all simply conjecture, Cersei. But… Father’s affection for her does seem oddly persistent. After all, he could have let her fate fall to Robert, like the rest of her family. But he didn’t.”

Cersei’s face was a mask of barely contained rage, her voice a dangerous whisper. “Father has no affection for her,” she spat, though her words seemed more for herself than for Tyrion. “He saved her because it suited his plans. That’s all it’s ever been.”

“Oh, of course,” Tyrion replied, his voice a blend of amusement and feigned understanding. “Though it is interesting, isn’t it? The lengths he went to secure her safety. One might almost call it… care.” He gave her a pointed look, the corner of his mouth quirking. “But as you say, it’s all for convenience. Nothing more.”

Cersei’s nostrils flared, her face white with fury as she clutched Myrcella’s hand more tightly, her gaze filled with an icy wrath that could have frozen steel. “If you think for one moment that she has any place here, that she’ll ever truly belong—”

Tyrion interrupted, his voice suddenly colder, cutting through her rant. “You can rage all you like, dear sister, but the fact remains. She’s here. She’s his choice. And you’ll have to contend with that, whether you want to or not.”

Cersei bristled as she turned sharply away from him, leading her children forward through the crowded entry. Tyrion watched her go, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips, his gaze lingering as she stormed ahead, her regal composure now cracked.

As the procession continued to disperse and people funneled into the Red Keep, Sansa lingered at the edge of the crowd, her eyes fixed on Lady Y/N as she moved with Tywin into the keep. Her heart felt like it was caught between hope and disbelief, watching her old friend—someone she’d thought she might never see again—now returning under such strange circumstances.

Next to her, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, shifted, his gravelly voice cutting through her thoughts. “Never thought I’d see one of the silver-haired shits back in these walls,” he muttered, his tone laced with disdain. His scarred face twisted into a scowl as he watched the procession fade from view.

Sansa bristled, turning to him with a hint of defiance in her blue eyes. “She’s not like that,” she said firmly. “Lady Y/N isn’t anything like… like the others.”

Sandor gave her a sideways look, a snort escaping him. “Oh? And what makes this one so different, little bird?”

Sansa lifted her chin, meeting his skeptical gaze. “She’s kind, and she’s smart. She always looked out for us in Winterfell.” Her voice softened as she recalled the memories, her mind drifting back to the long winters, the quiet conversations by the fire, and the gentle way Lady Y/N had treated everyone, even those who were often overlooked.

“She taught me how to read better,” Sansa continued, a small, wistful smile touching her lips. “And how to use a needle. She always said it was important to have skills of our own, even if we were highborn.” She glanced back toward the doors, hoping for one more glimpse of her friend. “She was patient… with all of us. Even Jon.”

Sandor raised an eyebrow at that, crossing his arms as he looked her over. “The bastard, too, eh?”

“Yes,” Sansa replied, nodding. “Lady Y/N treated him with respect. She never looked down on him for being born… differently.” Her voice softened with a note of pride, remembering how Lady Y/N had been a friend to Jon, treating him as an equal when so many others had cast him aside. “She made him feel like he belonged, like he was part of our family, just like the rest of us.”

Sandor watched her, his gaze narrowing slightly as he took in her words, a faint flicker of something softer in his otherwise hardened expression. “Doesn’t sound much like the Targaryens I’ve heard of,” he admitted gruffly.

Sansa looked up at him, her voice soft but unwavering. “She’s different. She’s not like her father or any of the others. She’s good, and she’s brave.” She paused, glancing back at the keep’s entrance. “I know she’ll try to make things better here. Somehow.”

Sandor snorted again, though his tone held a trace of grudging respect. “Good intentions don’t mean much in a place like this. This keep eats ‘good’ and spits it back out. And if she’s fool enough to let her guard down, the snakes’ll get her like they do everyone else.”

Sansa’s lips pressed into a determined line. “She knows what she’s walking into,” she insisted. “She grew up here. She’s strong. She has to be.” Her voice wavered slightly, her worry leaking through, though she tried to hide it.

Sandor observed her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “Strong or not, little bird,” he muttered, his tone almost a warning, “the Red Keep isn’t the same as it was back then. It’s full of monsters now. And it’s got a way of taking even the strongest and tearing them down.”

Sansa’s gaze hardened, a rare flicker of defiance in her eyes. “Then I’ll help her,” she said quietly. “If anyone deserves a friend here, it’s her.”

Sandor looked away, his mouth pulling into a bitter line. “Friend or no, it’s not kindness that keeps you alive in this place, girl. Best keep that in mind.”

But Sansa’s mind was made up, and as she stood there, watching the doors of the Red Keep close behind her friend, she felt a surge of quiet resolve. She would stand by Lady Y/N, as Lady Y/N had once stood by her.

As the last of the crowd filtered into the Red Keep, three figures lingered by the entrance, watching the procession with expressions as varied as the roles they played in the court. Grand Maester Pycelle, stooped and slow, adjusted his robe with one hand, his gaze fixed on the distant figures of Tywin and Lady Y/N as they disappeared into the inner corridors.

“She’s changed,” Pycelle murmured, his voice low and reflective, his fingers stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I remember her as a child, one of the last from that silver-haired line… She was softer then, gentler.” His tone held a trace of nostalgia, though his eyes betrayed his underlying suspicion.

Beside him, Littlefinger tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “And yet she returns to us now, poised, perhaps even sharpened by her time in the North,” he mused, his gaze keen as he studied the entrance where she had vanished. “Not entirely surprising, is it, to see a Targaryen rise from the ashes?” He chuckled, glancing sideways at Varys. “Some things never quite stay buried.”

Varys, ever watchful, allowed himself a small, enigmatic smile. “Indeed, Lord Baelish. The North has a way of… tempering those it holds in its embrace. Fire needs only the faintest spark to reignite.” His gaze was distant, thoughtful, but his tone carried a note of something else, as if he knew more than he would ever say aloud.

Pycelle’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his fingers twitching at his side. “One can only wonder at Lord Tywin’s decision to bring her here… after so long,” he said, glancing between the two men. “And at her readiness to return, given… everything.”

Varys’s smile didn’t waver, though his eyes glinted with something sharper. “Perhaps that readiness is precisely what makes her interesting, Grand Maester,” he replied smoothly. “Change, after all, is a curious thing. It brings opportunities, and dangers, often in equal measure.” He adjusted his robes, casting one last, thoughtful look toward the halls before nodding to himself.

Without another word, Varys moved forward, his soft steps carrying him toward the path Tywin and Lady Y/N had taken. The shadow of his form slipped into the corridor, his presence as unobtrusive as the whispers that had followed the princess’s arrival.

Littlefinger watched him go, his smirk lingering as he leaned closer to Pycelle. “Never one to miss an entrance, is he?” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “The Spider is drawn to threads of power like a moth to flame.”

Pycelle grunted, his gaze drifting to where Lady Y/N had vanished. “Perhaps… but she is no longer the child I once knew. That much is clear.”

Littlefinger’s eyes gleamed, a calculating light flickering behind them. “Then we’ll just have to see how much fire she brings with her, won’t we?”

As they turned and followed the last of the crowd into the depths of the keep, each man wore his own expression—a smirk, a frown, a hidden smile—as they silently prepared themselves for the shifting tides that Lady Y/N’s return would surely bring.

Tywin walked beside you, his steps steady and his expression as severe as ever, though there was a certain satisfaction glinting in his eyes as he escorted you to the chambers that had once been yours. The old stones of the keep seemed to resonate with memories of another time—a time when you were younger, before your life had taken the turn that led you North.

As you approached the familiar door, Tywin paused, gesturing toward it with a nod. “Your chambers,” he said, his tone neutral but laden with finality. “I instructed the servants to keep them as they were. I trust you’ll find them… adequate.”

You met his gaze, a mixture of gratitude and wariness in your expression. “Thank you, Lord Tywin.” You opened the door, casting one last look at him as he continued, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Be prepared, Lady Y/N. The ceremony will be held tomorrow, without further delay. I expect everything to be in order.” His words hung in the air, and with a slight bow of your head, you stepped into your chambers, leaving him in the corridor.

The door closed behind you, and Tywin took a moment to collect his thoughts, turning away only to find himself face-to-face with Varys, who seemed to have materialized from the shadows like a wisp of smoke. Varys offered a polite, knowing smile, his hands folded serenely in front of him as he inclined his head in silent greeting.

“Lord Tywin,” Varys began, his tone light yet holding a hint of something sharper. “It seems you’re finally seeing to the business you began all those years ago.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, acknowledging Varys with the barest nod, a flicker of recognition passing between them. He allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile, a rare gesture from him. “You’ve been helpful, Varys,” Tywin replied, his voice low and deliberate. “It was thanks to your… discretion that she reached the North unharmed. And now, here she is, as she should be.”

Varys’s gaze sharpened, his smile widening ever so slightly. “I suppose all things have a way of coming full circle, don’t they, my lord?” he murmured, his tone laced with something unreadable. “One might even say it was… destined.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, his expression remaining cold and impassive. “Destiny has little to do with it. This was carefully planned,” he said, a touch of irritation coloring his tone. “Plans that would have reached fruition long ago, if not for… the late king’s foolishness.”

Varys inclined his head, his gaze fixed on Tywin as though studying him. “Ah, yes. I remember that fateful moment. When you approached His Grace with an offer—your daughter Cersei for Prince Rhaegar, and the hand of your intended bride-to-be, Lady Y/N, for yourself.” He paused, letting the words linger. “A proposal fit for uniting two great houses.”

Tywin’s expression hardened, his mouth pulling into a thin line as the memory resurfaced. “Aerys scoffed at it,” he replied, bitterness seeping into his tone. “Dismissed it as though I were some minor lord begging favors. He lacked the foresight to understand the power that would have brought to the realm.”

Varys’s smile softened, though his eyes remained sharp, a glint of intrigue dancing within them. “I was there, Lord Tywin,” he reminded, his tone gentle but pointed. “I recall how he laughed. Called it… presumptuous, if I remember correctly. ‘The lions do not deserve the company of dragons,’ he said, or something along those lines.”

A muscle in Tywin’s jaw clenched, though he maintained his steely composure. “Aerys’s madness blinded him to reason, to the strength and stability that alliance would have offered. His own ruin was the inevitable result.” His gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a cold murmur. “But the years have passed, and now that alliance will be forged regardless.”

Varys regarded him carefully, his expression thoughtful. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? How the years shift things, bring them back into one’s grasp when least expected.” He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, his voice almost a whisper. “And yet, one wonders… is it only alliance that drives this union, Lord Tywin?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Varys, catching the insinuation in the Spider’s words. “Be careful with your words, Varys,” he warned, his tone a low growl. “I am not one to be trifled with, especially on matters as… personal as this.”

Varys raised his hands, a placating smile on his lips. “Of course, my lord. It was merely an observation.” His voice softened, almost sympathetic. “A man like you—a man of ambition, discipline, control. And yet… she was the one thing you desired that Aerys denied you.”

Tywin’s gaze remained cold, his jaw tightening, but he did not speak. The silence was enough, however, a telling pause that did not escape Varys’s notice.

The Spider inclined his head, his voice barely above a murmur. “Well, the past is just that—past. And tomorrow, the Seven Kingdoms will witness the union you once sought, and they’ll see the power that House Lannister wields.” He offered a small, deferential bow. “I only wished to… congratulate you on the achievement, Lord Tywin. Few would have waited as long.”

Tywin’s eyes flicked over Varys, a flicker of guarded satisfaction glinting in his gaze. “Then you understand that loyalty to me now is… essential,” he said, his voice steely and unwavering. “Remember that, Varys.”

Varys met Tywin’s gaze with an unreadable smile, the faintest hint of something calculative in his eyes. “Loyalty, my lord, is always my pleasure.”

With a final, respectful bow, Varys stepped back into the shadows, his form blending seamlessly into the dimness of the corridor, leaving Tywin alone in the cold, echoing halls of the Red Keep—a place that was once a part of his ambition, and would soon become the legacy he’d crafted with ruthless determination.

The familiar scent of old stone and lingering traces of incense filled your old chambers as you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you. The room was untouched, eerily preserved as though it had waited all these years, as though time itself had stalled, frozen in the hopes that you would one day return. The faint light filtering through the high, narrow windows cast a muted glow over the furniture, your bed, the silken tapestries—details you remembered from a lifetime ago, details that now seemed like relics from someone else’s past.

Your fingers trailed along the edge of the bedpost as you moved further into the room, touching the soft fabric of a tapestry depicting a scene of dragonfire and ancient Targaryen battles, the reds and blacks faded but still vivid. This was your heritage, woven into every inch of the room, a reminder of everything you had lost and everything you had once been.

You sank down onto the edge of the bed, and in the silence, the memories flooded back, unbidden and sharp. The room held traces of your mother’s gentle voice, whispering lullabies to soothe you when you were small; the ghost of Rhaegar’s presence, always calm, always watching over you like a quiet storm; and even little Viserys, running through the corridors with a child’s wild energy, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. Memories of them filled the room like apparitions, haunting and fragile.

A sob caught in your throat, breaking the silence as the weight of it all settled heavily upon you. You hadn’t let yourself feel this way in years—had forced yourself to be strong, to push down the grief and the loss, to survive in the North as someone who could endure. But here, in this room that had once been yours, the walls held every moment you had loved and lost, and the defenses you’d built began to crumble.

You let the tears fall, hot and silent, streaming down your face as you sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the fabric of your skirts. This place—this room, this keep—was supposed to have been your home. It was here you’d learned to walk, to speak, to laugh. It was here you’d heard your mother’s soft voice, comforting you in the dead of night. Here, where Rhaegar had sung you songs, his quiet voice carrying a warmth and love you’d thought would last forever.

“Oh, Rhaegar,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you spoke his name. “How different things might have been.”

You thought of his soft, contemplative gaze, the weight of his hopes for the future, his belief in prophecy and destiny. You had been so young, so hopeful, and he had shared that hope with you, filling your heart with dreams of what the Targaryens could still be, what they could achieve. And yet, like everything else, those dreams had vanished, consumed by fire and blood, leaving you adrift in the wake of destruction.

And Viserys… sweet, spirited Viserys. You could almost hear his laughter, the way he’d cling to you, babbling on about how one day, he’d be king and you his most trusted advisor. You’d promised him you would stand by his side, that he would never be alone. But you’d left, sent away to the North, where you couldn’t protect him, couldn’t guide him as the world shattered around him. He’d been only a boy, barely old enough to understand the weight of his name, yet the world had crushed him beneath it.

A fresh wave of grief overcame you, the memories too painful to bear, too vivid to ignore. You buried your face in your hands, allowing yourself to mourn—mourn for your family, for the future that had been stolen from you, for the home that no longer felt like yours. The walls that once offered safety now felt like a tomb, filled with the ghosts of those you’d loved and lost.

In a moment of pure vulnerability, you whispered to the empty room, a question that had haunted you for years. “Why?” Your voice was barely a whisper, choked with tears. “Why did it all have to end like this?”

But the silence that answered you was deafening, heavy with the weight of all that had been lost.

After a time, you forced yourself to breathe, steadying your hands as you wiped your tears away. You knew Tywin would not tolerate any show of weakness, and tomorrow—tomorrow, you would marry the man who had orchestrated your survival and, in a way, your return. You would face the future with all the strength you could muster, because there was no other choice.

But here, for just a moment, you allowed yourself to grieve. To honor the lives and memories of those you’d left behind, and to let the walls of this room bear witness to the heartache of a Targaryen who had come home, only to find it hollow.

[fruitcoops]

Needy

Day 6: Peanut, go back to the ren faire (or don't, you're not exactly suffering). Characters belong to @lumosinlove and header is from @noots-fic-fests!

Day 5 Halloween movie: Scream (1996). Cunty California FinnLo, you have my whole heart.

Rated M for suggestive content; TW for heavily seasoned dreams

CRACK.

“Mr. Knut. Austenian values exhibited in Pride and Prejudice.”

Leo just…stared. He could do nothing else. “Uh.”

Disappointment radiated off a single arched brow. “What period did Jane Austen live in?”

“The. Um.” Oh, his brain was gone gone. “Regency.”

“Did the people of the Regency era condone outward expressions of sexual behavior?”

I most definitely do. “No,” Leo managed to stutter out. “Probably not.”

“Thought I’d lost you for a second there. So.” The yard stick, still poised where it had come down on his desk, gave a creak as Finn leaned close and braced his free hand on the edge. His bare forearm flexed below his rolled cuff. Tortoiseshell frames made the cut of his hazel eyes even sharper. “What values are presented in Pride and Prejudice?”

“I…” The collar of Finn’s shirt looked starched to perfection. The front fit across his chest and shoulders like a glove; Leo could see the faint shadow of a cotton undershirt. His mouth watered. Finn smelled like old books and leather and his spicy going-out cologne. Books. He was supposed to be thinking about books. “I have no idea.”

Finn pinned him with a look. “Distractions aren’t permissible in my class, Mr. Knut.”

That shirt would be straining across Logan’s back. The fine silver chain of his necklace would—

Christ alive, Finn was wearing the necklace.

“Are you listening?” Finn asked with wry patience. He moved to lean back against the wide mahogany desk at the front of the classroom, ankles crossed. The yard stick moved in hypnotic circles between his fingers. “You’re a star student, Mr. Knut. These aren’t difficult questions for you.”

Leo swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“I don’t tolerate lackluster effort when I know you can do better.”

“Sorry.”

Finn nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one knuckle. Leo’s throat went dry as bone. “Mr. Knut,” he began, rocking easily into a step. “I don’t know what is taking up so much of your attention recently, but if it’s affecting your performance in my class, I think we need to have a talk.”

Oh god yes please. “We do?”

“It’s becoming a concern.” Finn rounded the far edge of the desk. His thumb tapped a pattern on the flat grain. The yard stick was abandoned, and Finn’s full attention fell on Leo like a floursack filled to bursting.

“I’m s—”

“Apologies aren’t necessary,” Finn said with a shake of his head. Twin lenses flashed in the glowing light of old-fashioned lamps, refracting honey and whiskey when he came to a stop once more in front of Leo’s desk. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

The soft sympathy would be unbearable. Shiny buttons shone in Leo’s direct line of sight, but the abs weren’t safe either—below them sat the polished buckle of Finn’s leather belt. His trousers were pressed and tailored to each round of his thighs. Leo dragged his gaze back to Finn’s face, guilty and so turned on his hand was starting to hurt where he gripped the side of his chair. “I don’t know,” he lied.

Finn looked at him over the frame of his glasses. “Really?” He smiled as if Leo was amusing, somehow, all pearly teeth and pointed canines this close. “I’m not gonna bite you. Give it a shot.”

“I have no idea.” If Leo threw himself forward, he could take that belt buckle between his teeth and beg.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Back-talking is rude.” Finn’s voice took on a firm undertone. His fingertips steepled on the edge of Leo’s desk, neat nailbeds going white from the light pressure. Leo wanted to look straight down the loose neck of Finn’s shirt and shove those graphite-smudged fingers in his mouth all at once. Instead, he stayed frozen. “Mr. Knut, I think I’ll take that apology now.”

Leo opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“I let you get away with a lot in here.” The timbre of Finn’s voice raised goosebumps down his back. Leo forced himself to look up again. He could smell the cologne. Could taste the way Finn tasted when that freckle on his lip was properly worshipped. Could feel the drag of thick red hair under his palms. “Are you listening?”

“Hmm.”

“I can’t let you get away with everything,” Finn sighed. “And it’s hard, but rudeness has to be punish—”

--

Leo shot awake and upright like he had been blasted out of a cannon.

“Glasses,” he blurted, slapping at Logan’s arm with blind clumsiness. “Glasses, Lo, the shirt.”

Logan grumbled and mumbled and pushed himself up, one elbow tucked tight to his side. His necklace dangled down toward the sheets. Every blink looked painful. “Quoi?”

Leo grabbed his chin with one hand. That seemed to wake Logan further—enough to get both eyes open, at least, though a look of sleepy alarm was defused by the smush of his cheeks. Leo’s heart hammered. He could feel his pulse everywhere. His head spun and his dick twitched. “You need to hide Finn’s glasses,” he ordered, out of breath. “We need to put them away.”

Logan squinted at him. “He needs them. To see.”

Leo groaned and released him, flopping back down with an arm across his eyes. Even his pajamas felt like too much. “I need them gone.” He pulled both hands down his face in a long drag. “To live.”

Finn made a low noise next to him. Leo’s pulse slammed—he chanced a peek. “Penguins,” Finn muttered. His eyes were shut. Copper lashes fluttered and went still. He shifted and pushed an arm under his pillow, burrowed into it, and fell quiet. The curve of his shoulder caught the moonlight. Leo needed to bite him so bad.

He made a soft, aching sound and looked back at Logan. He would understand the combination of desperation and sudden self-awareness brought on by unfortunate Finn-related dreams. “I need to him to spank me with a yard stick.”

Logan stared at him for a long moment, then bent to kiss Leo’s forehead. “I’ll hide the glasses.”

[another-lost-mc]

discipline

it's all fun and games until mephisto thinks you need to be brought to heel.

pairing: mephistopheles x gn!reader

content: nsfw. sexually suggestive comments and insults. yandere elements (reader) including obsessive thoughts/behaviour, stalking and invasion of privacy. degradation, pet names, slut shaming, hurt with malicious comfort.

word count: 3.1k

Mephistopheles makes it very clear during your first meeting what he thinks of you. His voice drips with disdain and it’s obvious that he has little respect for humans, and even less interest in you personally.

He acts like he’s better than most demons, like he’s more dignified and above his baser instincts, but you can see the truth whenever you manage to catch his gaze. When he looks at you, his eyes betray a primal instinct to kill you or possess you.

Part of you wants to tempt him, to see what he would do to you if he had the chance. You’re fascinated by him and curious about what those dark desires in his eyes truly mean for a human like yourself living in the Devildom. It’s a dangerous game to play with a powerful demon like Mephisto, but the mere thought of it leaves you breathless.

You see glimpses of Mephisto at RAD between classes, but it’s difficult to get close to him. He avoids Lucifer as much as possible; when Lucifer or his brothers are hovering around you, that means Mephisto is usually nowhere to be seen. It’s common knowledge that he’s still very busy working for the newspaper club, even though rumors of his demotion circle widely throughout the school.

Most of the demon brothers don’t care for him, especially Lucifer, so asking them about Mephisto isn’t very useful. However, you do learn a bit more about Mephisto and his family from other classmates at RAD: he’s part of the upper Devildom nobility because of his family’s wealth and influence, and he has close connections to Diavolo. It’s more than you knew before, but it’s not enough.

When the RAD newspaper puts out a call for more volunteers, you don’t hesitate to apply. Mephisto sneers at you when he realizes why you’re sitting in the newspaper club’s office with the advertisement in your lap.

You didn’t expect a lengthy interview process for a volunteer position, but he insists that a lackluster human like yourself might not be a good fit. He asks about your previous experience and for samples of your work, smirking when he knows it’s an unfair demand when you’ve only just arrived in the Devildom.

Mephisto looks too smug and handsome for his own good, and you know he’s about to launch into a scathing rejection of your application (and you personally). Luckily, another demon in the room points out that even humans can still be good for the tasks no one else wants to do, like sorting documents or folding.

You smother a laugh when Mephisto glares at his club acquaintance for interfering. He knows that denying you now would look petty, and word might reach Diavolo that you’re not being treated fairly. He might despise you, but he hates the thought of disappointing Diavolo even more.

You can’t risk losing this opportunity to get closer to him. “Give me a chance, I’ll do anything I can to help,” you say as confidently as you can, and you hope it doesn’t sound too much like begging.

He steeples his fingers under his chin. “Show me how useful humans can be, then.” It’s a challenge, a taunt, and a threat rolled into one drawl of his sharp tongue. The wide smile he gives you is fake and mocking, and all you can see is the tips of his fangs when he licks his lips.

The sight makes you shudder, but not for the reason he thinks it does. He thinks you’re trembling in fear, when you’re secretly wondering what it would be like to run your tongue along those sharp fangs yourself. You’ve never been more aroused in your entire life.

True to his word, Mephisto is determined to make you regret volunteering for the newspaper club. He tells you to do the most boring, tedious chores while barely sparing you a glance. You know what he really wants: he wants you to give up to show everyone that right he was about how useless you really are. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction, and you wear smiles as bright and fake as his own every time he barks at you to do something.

You’re determined not to give up and let him win this little game you’re playing. Unfortunately, you’re no closer to getting to know him better. He avoids spending time with you as much as possible. When you end up in the same room together, usually for club meetings, he gives you orders like you’re his personal servant. Otherwise, he stonewalls all your subtle attempts to lure him into conversation.

You’re at a stalemate, and you’re not sure how to proceed. That’s why it’s nothing less of a shock one night when Mephisto reaches out to you unexpectedly. You didn’t even realize he had your number - he refused it every time you hinted he should have it for club business.

Barbatos gave me your number. There is a mandatory emergency club meeting one hour before class tomorrow to discuss the special edition of this week’s newspaper. Don’t be late.

He doesn’t respond when you thank him, but you don’t expect him to. You save his contact info and go to bed feeling motivated to make a good impression when you see him.

The next morning you arrive at RAD, one hour early like he asked, carrying a box of warm donuts from Madam Scream’s. Most of the demons in the newspaper club yawn and happily accept a sugary-sweet pastry from you. When you offer the box to Mephisto so he can take the last one, he turns his nose up at you and starts the meeting like you aren’t even there.

Feeling slightly deflated, you set the box on a table and take an empty seat while he and the new club president discuss upcoming assignments and deadlines. This week’s special issue is celebrating - well, some sort of holiday in the Devildom you’re not familiar with. As usual, you’re given the tasks no one wants, the ones that will keep you on campus long after classes end. You plaster a smile on your face when Mephisto asks condescendingly if you think you can handle it.

The meeting ends just before the first bell of the day rings, and everyone starts to shuffle out of the office. While you’re gathering your belongings and putting them in your bag, you happen to see Mephisto stroll out of the room after he swipes the last donut from the box. It’s a victory - a small one - but a victory nonetheless.

At the end of the school day, you assure the demon brothers you can get home on your own before heading to the newspaper club’s office. Mephisto wasn’t kidding when he said it was going to be a busy week, for you, anyway. There’s stacks of printouts to be folded, and you know it’ll take at least two nights to get through everything by yourself.

You’re about to sit down at one of the desks and get to work, but you realize someone’s left their computer behind by accident. You think it might be the club president’s, since the laptop is on his desk, but when you look closer, you realize it’s Mephisto’s. The screensaver wallpaper is a portrait of his family, and your first thought is that you think he looks a lot like his mother. It’s the most dignified family photo you’ve ever seen, given the exquisite clothing and jewelry they’re all wearing, and Mephisto has never looked more handsome. 

It’s almost an automatic response to get your D.D.D. so you can take a picture. You’re giddy with excitement and drop your phone onto the desk by accident. It lands on the keyboard and brings the machine out of screen saver mode. He doesn’t appear to use any kind of password protection and you can’t believe how lucky you are. It might be arrogance on his part, or maybe he truly has nothing to hide. Whatever the reason, his poor judgment is your gain and you sit down at the desk and casually browse the contents of his document folders.

You don’t know how much time you have before someone finds you snooping in Mephisto’s belongings, but it turns out his computer isn’t the treasure trove you thought it would be. It looks like he primarily uses it for RAD or newspaper club activities. There are a few random photos of him and Diavolo, or him and other demon classmates you don’t know very well. You take pictures of those with your phone; you can’t risk using his computer to email anything to yourself directly.

When you're finished, you make sure to leave the machine exactly the way it was when you found it. You run out of time, and realize you didn't get as much newspaper club work done as you wanted to. You still consider it a productive evening, though - your phone has several new photos of him for you to crop and admire from the comfort of your bedroom later on.

The next day, the newspaper club president catches you outside of class and asks you about your progress - or lack of progress - with your assigned tasks. He doesn’t seem too upset, but he’s concerned maybe it’s too much work for one person. You don’t want to give him or Mephisto the satisfaction of thinking you can’t handle it on your own.

“Oh, I’m really sorry about yesterday. Lucifer asked me to help him with something so I had to leave early.” It’s a lie, but a believable one - most of RAD’s students know by now that you often end up entangled in the demon brothers’ affairs. The newspaper club president accepts your excuse and seems content with your promise to stay later tonight to make up for it.

You walk into the newspaper club office that evening, fully prepared to fold and sort newspapers until you’re numb with boredom, but you freeze in the doorway when you see Mephisto is there. He’s standing at one of the desks facing away from you, and he seems to be looking through some papers. He doesn’t acknowledge you, but you set your bag down on the floor - loudly, on purpose - so he knows you’re there too.

(Oh, he knows. He could smell you coming down the hallway.)

For all your banter and bravery, you can’t help the way your anxiety spikes. You’re rarely alone with him, and you have no idea what to say. There’s a good chance he’ll find some excuse to ridicule you no matter what you do, but you don’t want to give him any reason to leave. It’s better to let him ignore you, so you can bask in his presence and admire him in secret. At times like this, it’s better that he forgets you’re there.

You decide to stay quiet and attempt to focus on what you came here for. You reach for a stack of newspapers to start folding–

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” his smooth voice asks quietly, breaking the awkward silence.

You drop a handful of newspapers on the floor in surprise. You kneel down in an instant, scrambling to pick them up before they’re ruined. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

You suddenly feel the weight of his powerful aura and when you look up, Mephisto is standing a few feet away from you, arms crossed and eyes blazing.

“Do you think I’m so stupid that I wouldn’t notice someone accessed my personal documents? I know you were rifling through my computer when I forgot it here. No one else was here in the office last night, except for you.” His voice is sharper now, laced with threat. The heels of his boots click on the floor with each slow, purposeful step he makes toward you.

“Did you find whatever it was you were looking for? Something to try and blackmail me with, or to get me in trouble with Lucifer?” he spits the name like it’s venom on his tongue and there’s fiery anger in his eyes.

You scramble backwards to try and keep some space between you, but eventually your back hits a wall and you’ve no place left to go. You realize at that moment you don’t want to die, but he seems to have convinced himself you were trying to hurt him somehow. He couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re not sure what to say.

“It’s not what you think,” you try to explain, desperate to persuade him that whatever mad conspiracy he’s imagining is false.

“Then enlighten me, human,” he sneers angrily, “because I’ve run out of patience for you.”

Your D.D.D. chimes where you’ve left it on the desk. He glares at you with his hands on his hips. “Oh, is that how you saved copies of my documents to give to your precious Lucifer?” 

“No, don’t–” you say hurriedly, but he’s too fast - he already has your D.D.D. in hand and he’s swiping the screen to unlock it.

“Once I have proof for Lord Diavolo, you’ll wish you never….” His voice trails off, and his brows knit in confusion. You panic when you realize what he’s staring at: the wallpaper you made with the photos you took from his computer last night.

After a few moments, the baffled look on his face morphs into a sinister smirk and he points the phone in your direction.

“It all makes sense now,” he declares scornfully, eyes widening with newfound understanding. “Your annoying persistence, all your pathetic attempts to try and be friendly and helpful.” He leans forward and the lecherous expression on his face makes your stomach roll. “I didn’t take you for a demon fucker.” 

You don’t realize you’ve started crying until he crouches in front of you and flicks away a tear that’s rolling down your cheek. He’s not gentle, and his glove scratches unpleasantly against your skin. Usually he looks at you with annoyance and contempt, but now his eyes are brightened with amusement at your expense; you’re not sure which is worse.

“Now, now, don’t cry,” he coos with false sympathy. “I know you’re only human, but you need to be stronger than this if you want to survive here.” He’s still catching the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes, but you know he’s not trying to comfort you. He’s enjoying your humiliation.

It’s hard to think properly when he’s this close to you. Your emotions are spiraling and you feel overstimulated by his presence. You wanted him, but you weren’t expecting this.

He waits until you stop crying, then he tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. It’s hard not to squirm under his scrutiny. His eyes seem to pierce into your soul, and you can’t look away even if you wanted to. There’s a mean tilt to his smile when he asks, “Are you so desperate for demon cock that the seven princes you live with aren’t enough to satisfy you?” 

Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, but the implication makes you shudder. You’ve never thought of any other demons that way, and the very idea of it is repulsive. He still looks amused, but his question seems genuine, too. It feels like he’s trying to figure out the puzzle that is you and your interest in him. Honesty might be the best approach, even if he kills you for it.

"I’m not interested in them like that,” you admit shakily. “I don’t want anyone else.” You’re desperate to convince him whatever he’s imagining about you and Lucifer or his brothers isn’t true.

“I assumed Lucifer would’ve claimed you for himself by now,” Mephisto admits slowly, like he’s not sure he believes you yet. His eyes trail down your body like he’s seeing you as a living, fuckable person for the first time, rather than some tedious little insect he wanted to crush beneath his heel.

“I’ve only wanted you,” you whisper, and it’s the truth, your vulnerability exposed because whether he realizes it or not, you’re utterly consumed by him.

He cups your cheek, and he’s surprisingly gentle despite the cruel smirk gracing his lips. “Do you want me to take care of you?” he offers. “I bet Lucifer won’t like that,” his mocking tone warns you.

He’s giving you one last chance to reconsider, but Mephisto doesn’t realize you’re already too far gone to turn back now. When he’s finished speaking, his lips curl against his fangs and you whimper at the sight.

To Hell with it. You lean forward and grab the sleeve of his RAD jacket. “I don’t care about him. Please, I’ll do anything you want.” You sound so pathetic, and it reminds you when you nearly groveled like this to join the newspaper club just to be close to him, but you can’t help it. Why bother denying yourself what you’ve wanted this whole time?

He brushes your hand away and stands up before you realize what’s happening. He’s quiet while he regards you, whimpering and cowering at his feet. When he suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you up too, you lose your balance. He catches you and you melt against him like it’s meant to be.

You’re overwhelmed by the intimacy of being close to him. You don’t stop to wonder why he lets you lean against his chest so willingly.

One of his hands strokes your head, and it would be patronizing if it were anyone else but him. He nods towards the piles of forgotten papers you were supposed to fold tonight. “Look at this mess. You still have so much work left to do, pet.”

The word sounds filthy rolling off his tongue, and you can’t bite back the breathy moan that escapes you when you look into his eyes. They glitter dangerously, filled with the same deadly arousal you saw the first time you met him, and you realize you’ve lost this game, after all.

You were always destined to lose against him, you just didn’t know it.

You watch quietly when he reaches for your uniform and starts flicking the buttons of your jacket open. “Perhaps I can be lenient with you tonight, as a reward for your honesty,” he murmurs as he pushes your jacket off your shoulders and onto the floor.

You shiver when he leans forward, his lips brushing against your ear when he speaks. “Now, why don’t you show me just how useful you can really be.”

read more: mephistopheles masterlist | obey me! masterlist

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Teeth

Part 12

Masterlist

Warnings: nothing, not a damn thing 🤭

There's a near painful casualness to the joyful way you greet him in the morning.

Standing by his car, arms crossed, his impassive expression seems to lighten when he catches sight of you leaving your apartment.

"Hey Billy!" You say, noting the subtle way his hands flex when he reaches for your door, opening it for you.

He says your name in return, a low sound, that goes straight down to your toes and back up before stopping in your chest.

You smile, thanking him as you duck into the passenger seat of his car, automatically pulling on your seatbelt.

You're vibrating with excitement, maybe too much, the knowledge that he touched himself while watching you gives you a power you didn't know you craved until now.

"I hope your night wasn't too bad." You knowingly tease, watching him swallow as he begins driving.

"It was actually pretty decent," he murmurs, eyes fixed forward, focused on the road, "Though, one of my neighbors gave me quite an eyeful."

You already have your response locked and loaded.

"Oh no," you murmur with false sympathy, "Must have been quite a shock."

"It was."

You hum, nodding your head.

"I guess, that's kind of a consequence of having neighbors." You turn to eye him, "Sometimes you just see things."

He spares you a glance, your expression calm and polite, as if you didn't touch yourself with your curtains open for him to see last night.

"Maybe you're right." He concedes.

"Of course I am."

He smiles.

.

"How have you two not fucked yet." Dani says, deep in thought.

"I don't knooooow." You whine, flopping onto your couch with a huff.

After thinking for a moment, you speak.

"Maybe he just doesn't like me." Your voice is muffled in the couch but she hears you anyway.

"We're not looking at this the right way." Dani suddenly says, which makes you raise your head curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when he first offered you the job, didn't you specifically say that you wouldn't take the job if he wanted to fuck you?"

You groan, burying your head back into your couch.

Was this what it had come to? Your own words being thrown back at you?

"Yes." You answer.

"So what if this is just him doing what you asked."

You let out another frustrated sound.

"You're telling me that I'm the reason I'm not getting fucked senseless right now?"

"...Yes?" Dani says, a little chuckle escaping her when she sees you wriggle angrily on the couch.

"What do I doooooo." You fake cry, raising your head to give Dani your best sad face.

She leans forward, a brightness in her eyes, that gets your undivided attention.

"Here are your options, one, turn up the heat, flirt with him, wear prettier clothes, make him notice you. Option two, get him jealous, turn your attention on someone else and then see if he tries harder to keep you close. Lastly," She leans back, steeples her fingers like the mastermind she is, "forget about him and maybe actually move on because there is a possibility that he's just not that into you."

You groan in frustration.

You didn't like any of those options, wearing nicer things meant being noticed by not only Billy, but other people too. Making him jealous implied that you had to be willing to get to know another person, which you were not.

And forgetting about him? Is probably what you should have done from the start.

"Can't I just parade naked in front of my windows for the foreseeable future?" You ask, watching as Dani's focused expression morphs into a grin.

"You could, but I doubt it would get you fucked."

You swallow.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you would have been fucked by now."

Oh, how you hated when she was right.

.

"I overslept I'm so sorry." Is what you say to Billy when he sees you, rushing out of your aparment building. You do look slightly disheveled, as if you didn't have time to smooth your look into perfection like you usually do.

He smiles, opening his car door for you as usual, and listening to the breathless way you thank him.

When he gets into the car, he can still hear your overzealous breathing.

"You're alright," he tries to reassure you, "It's okay to be a few minutes late."

"Sorry, I just- I'm sorry if you were waiting long."

"It's okay, no need to apologize." He finishes, turning on his indicator so he can pull out onto the street.

"Do you mind- is it okay if I finish doing my makeup?" You ask, he can hear the worry still laced in your voice.

"Yes, of course," he says, keeping his voice even, trying to soothe you.

You breathe another word of thanks before pulling out your mascara from your bag.

Billy fights the urge to watch, with rapt facination. He finds the idea of it intriguing. He's curious to see your little routine, wonders how much it would differ from his own.

He quietly loves the domesticity of it all, him driving to work while you feel comfortable enough around him to apply your makeup.

At a traffic light, he can't resist turning to look at you.

You glance back, touching up your mascara before closing it.

"What?" You ask, rummaging in your bag for something else.

You're beautiful, he wants to say, with and without makeup.

Out loud he says,

"I'm just fascinated by the process."

You smile at him.

His heart stops when you pull out a tube of red lipstick.

It's not just red, red is an understatement. It's crimson, it's burgundy, it's the colour of spilt blood on fresh snow.

He swallows as you swipe the wand over the pout of your lips.

When someone blares their horn, he turns his head back to the road, driving off when he realises the lights have turned green.

He tries not to look, worries he might get lost in it.

The predator stirs within him, demanding he stop torturing them both.

He takes a shuddering breath.

"Are you okay?"

He's unable to respond, eyes fixed on the road.

The beast thinks about how the shade would look smeared across your mouth.

"Billy?" You say, concern heavy in your voice.

He sighs.

"I'm fine."

He's not.

.

It's a fast drive to work, and he avoids looking at you the rest of the way there.

When he parks, and you get out, he's already walking away from you, heading in the direction of the basement security booth, directly opposite from the elevators.

"See you this evening." Is all he says, not even sparing you a glance back.

You huff.

.

An emergency conference meeting puts you in his path once more.

There's an hour till lunch, and Billy tries not to fidget as he waits patiently for you and the rest of his team to show up.

He hears you laughing with someone outside as you draw nearer to the meeting room and his mood sours further.

When he sees you, he almost wants to fucking collapse.

Your mouth draws his attention, the vibrant shade catches his eye, makes his stomach flip.

You smile at him, and he nods evenly in return, looking down at his phone, trying to distract himself from staring at you.

Your mouth is divine, he wants to lean in, press his mouth to yours, feel the desire build inside of him until it has nowhere to go but out. He wants to rub his nose against yours, he wants your lipstick smeared across his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his cock-

"Mister Russo?"

He doesn't startle, simply moves his eyes to stare firmly at the man that dared interrupt him from his thoughts of you.

The man in question swallows.

"What do you think?"

He sucks in a deep breath.

Turning to look at you, you meet his gaze head on.

God, that's a lot of fire.

"I'm assuming you can justify your actions?" Billy says to you.

"Of course I can." You say evenly, confident, like you know exactly what you're doing and everyone else is just in the way.

"Well?"

The corner of your lip twitches, you were just playing with everyone in the room, weren't you?

You turn to look at Phil, his IT managing director.

"If I told you what I was going to do, you would have taken action to stop me. Even indirectly, sometimes just the knowledge of a potential security breach would put you on edge, which puts your team on edge. The best attack is one done unexpectedly."

Phil shakes his head.

"You're the person designing the system, you work here, of course you're going to understand how to get around our protocols."

You pause for a moment, looking right at Phil, who, to Billy's credit, doesn't show any outward expression, despite the scent of intimidation rolling off of him.

You're playing with him, and you look so much like a predator in this moment that Billy feels his heart swell.

"It sounds to me, that you're making the assumption that security breaches are only ever going to come from people who lack the skills to beat the system. And while, sure, majority may not have the skill, we need to consider the possibility that one day, someone might."

Phil is unable to form a rebuttal, and after a minute he mutters.

"Someone should at least know when you plan to rip into the same system you design."

You nod, clicking your pen and pulling out your notepad to write something down.

"Noted. I'll send Mr. Russo a heads up."

Phil turns to look at him, and Billy feels the need to placate both parties.

"Not to worry, I understand the systems are still being set up and understood. Hopefully, we come out of this stronger."

He nods at both of you, feels a little bit more proud of what he's building.

"Have a good lunch." Phil bids, before walking out of the conference room.

You reel on him as soon as the door clicks shut, eyes full of passion that it startles him.

"Holy fucking shit Billy I just came up with the best fucking idea."

He stares at your animated form for a second, before he can't contain his humour, tilting his head back and laughing.

"There's no time for laughing, Russo! Get it together- look-" You move across to his side of the table, right into his space and drops your little notepad into the spot in front of him.

He squints, but your passionate handwriting makes zero sense.

"Did you make a note to tell me before you try to break into my system?"

He looks at you, your expression moves from one of excitement to confusion.

"What? No- fuck that- I mean, respectfully, sure I'll warn you but-" You glance down at the notepad, while he continues to just look at you.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, what if someone really good tries to hack the system? Better than me I mean."

Billy is seriously doubting at this point that there is anyone better than you.

"If we make it look like it's reasonably difficult, someone trying to get access won't question it. Someone smarter, will just think that we lack the brain power for a sophisticated system."

His eyes draw to your mouth, he's trying hard to focus but some of his essential blood supply is currently making his cock swell.

"So you're suggesting, we offer a fake room full of information to hide the real room?"

"Yesssss," You hiss happily, looking down before tapping your pen to your mouth.

The universe has no mercy for him, he watches the pen smudge your lipstick.

It's beyond him, he can't stop himself, his hands reach up to cup either side of your face.

You make a little sound of surprise, being distracted from your complicated thought processes, suddenly focused on him.

Your eyes are wide, and fixed right on him. He takes pleasure in that, wants your focus on him, and him alone.

.

His hands are warm, as usual, holding your face gently as he looks at you.

Was this it? Was he going to kiss you?

He sighs, takes a step closer so that your bodies are right against each others.

Your stomach flips, you almost want to beg.

"This colour is beautiful on you." He murmurs finally, his thumb reaching out to swipe gently at the edge of your bottom lip.

Your breath catches, you think about taking his thumb into your mouth.

Your brain stalls as you stare at him.

He tilts his head, smiles, deep in thought.

"What do we say?"

"What?"

"When someone gives a compliment, what do we say?"

"Th- thank you." You stutter out.

Ever patient, he nods.

"Good girl."

Your mouth parts in shock.

He pulls his hands away, taking a step back.

"Enjoy your lunch." He bids, before leaving you alone in the conference room with parted lips and damp underwear.

.

You lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, fingers curled around your necklace, deep in thought.

You wonder who the panther is, wondering if you knew them at all.

You try to turn it over in your head but there's too many things you don't know, and not enough information.

You don't even know where to start looking for this information, searches online giving no real help beyond the realm of fantasy.

But this wasn't fantasy anymore, shapeshifters were real, a fact.

It made the world that much more dangerous.

Or maybe not, considering that most of your troubles had come from human roots anyway.

You sigh, rolling over, and sucking in a deep breath when you come face to face with the panther.

You raise your head, looking around.

Had you fallen asleep?

The panther hums to get your attention, leaning in until the top of his head brushes your cheek.

"Hey kitty." You greet softly, hearing the rough purring start up as the panther settles its body next to yours.

You sigh softly, pressing your face into his fur, giving his ear a little kiss, and feeling it flick gently.

His tail smacks against your knee as it waves in a haphazard direction.

You smile, tossing an arm over his back, sighing in bliss when you can almost feel the softness of his fur like he's really here with you.

You lay like that for a bit, on your side, curled against the panther when suddenly a human hand reaches for you.

It grips your jaw, turns your head up and away from the panther.

Billy, with warm fingers and a gentle smile, doesn't hesitate to lay his mouth across yours.

You groan, pressing your head up and firmer against his mouth, desperate for a taste of him.

He pulls back for a moment, before giving you another quick kiss and he's gone, leaving you tucked against the panther for the rest of the night.

You wake up in the morning, curled around a pile of your pillows, disoriented, looking around for your panther before the realisation hits you, that you'd only been dreaming.

.

.

.

[ssaeri]

your god won't hear you

☆ tags: m!sydney x gn!reader, just a little fallen!sydney, slightly corrupted!sydney, he’s still strawberry blond because I don't want to dye his hair, it's that temple scene where he gets protective of you, I cut out the good night scene because I got lazy, SFW, but the game itself is 18+ so might be suggestive due to the nature of the game, ft. f!jordan, ft. m!sirris ☆

The temple is quiet at night.

During the day, there is always movement: supplies to be transported, shrubs to be cleared, sheets to be washed. But once the sun slips in the sky, a sigh of silence settles over the space, and one by one, robed figures roam along the perimeter, leaving flickering candles in their wake. Sometimes, you sought solace in the embrace of the holy, letting the murmured prayers wash over your frayed nerves like a soothing balm; other times, you skirted around the edges of the temple, the weight of sin heavy on your skin.

Today is an instance of the former. You get to the corner of Wolf Street when the warning bells start tolling, signaling ten minutes before the start of the evening service, and you watch as temple members rush to complete their chores. For once, you're not among them. One lithe initiate pulls sun-dried habits from the laundry line, rolls them into a pile, and stuffs them into her basket in a rush. The head nun of housekeeping is not going to appreciate the unnecessary wrinkles; you've earned her ire enough times to know that ironing out every individual crease is another form of earthly torture. Meanwhile a tall monk hefts bags of hedge trimmings over his shoulder to deposit by the roadside, and when he sees you, he waves with a shy smile.

Cute.

You wink back. You don't know his name.

A line of initiates not much younger than you push open the wooden temple doors with a loud creak, and you cut across the street to trail in behind them, smoothing down the tattered remains of your overalls and hoping that you’re decent enough to not draw stares. A chant has already started. Half of the candles are lit. You're afraid to make a sound.

Like you said, the temple is quiet at night.

Your eyes strain to scan the pews until they land on a familiar figure in a corner of the main hall, knelt in prayer, head bowed over clasped hands. Strawberry blond hair—colored burnt umber in the low light—spills over one shoulder.

Bingo.

The monk to your right greets the entrance with a murmured Welcome to the temple, his eyes closed, his steepled fingers pressed to his lips. You side-step him. You also tiptoe around the sleeping drunkard in the back pew who clutches an empty bottle to her chest, the rumbling exhales smelling of liquor.

Your boyfriend doesn't greet you when you settle down near him—a respectable distance of two and a half feet minimum—but he’s fighting back a smile and you wait patiently for him to finish reciting his lines. As Sydney mouths the last few words, his eyes flutter open and crease at the sight of you. You loved his glasses, but you must admit that he looks better like this, adoration for you unfiltered.

“Good evening, my love,” he whispers, reaching across the space to brush the back of your hand. You catch it in his retreat and intertwine your fingers. “What are you doing here?”

“Praying,” you say simply, though you are clearly not.

Still, he hums in accord, squeezes your hand, and resumes his previous posture. At the altar, Jordan finishes setting up the religious artifacts and does a sweeping glance of the space. You wonder what she sees. Monks on the side processing with a sweet-smelling thurible. Initiates carrying the remaining piles of scrolls to the back rooms. Nuns walking around with a donation basket. Temple-goers lining the wall to confess their sins and seek grace. Jordan’s gaze eventually lands on you, and you swear you see an infinitesimal nod of approval before she descends to her usual place in the first pew, pearl-white and spun-silver robes setting her apart from the rest.

Jordan leads the congregation into the next set of prayers by chiming a golden bell that echoes eerily in the space. The temple isn't empty, but the vaulted ceiling, extending into darkness, morphs the sound into something resembling the pained groan of spirits. You kneel, too, feeling wood against bare skin, the holes in your overalls fresh from a forest adventure. You wouldn't call yourself a believer, but you'll take all the help you can get in this town.

You pray for salvation. For the orphanage. For the math project that you still haven’t finished. Sydney’s expression is concentrated now, troubled by the thoughts that plague his mind, but you can’t spend too much time dwelling on it because your own thoughts drift to hopes for the future and how things could be better. The next hour passes quickly behind closed eyes, and with every exhale, you feel your burden lighten.

The calm is interrupted by a nasal:

“A token of appreciation from the faithful, hm?”

The voice comes from a stout nun who stops in front of you, holding out a donation basket and barely missing your elbow. While her smile is neutral, she scans your outfit with thinly veiled contempt, and it's in that judgmental expression that you realize why she's so familiar—it's the one who always has a bone to pick with you and your faith. She swears that you're a fraud (you are) and that you treat the temple like a playground (you do) and that you’ve been tempting temple members in the chambers (you have)—but honestly, that is beside the point. As a woman of the veil, couldn’t one expect more grace from her?

Sydney reaches in front of you to drop in a crumpled £10, which the nun accepts with a sniff of her upturned nose. Tacking on your best customer service smile, you make a big show of rummaging for your wallet and pulling out the crispest £100 you have, courtesy of your last customer at the massage salon.

“Of course, Sister. Anything to support the temple,” you say with conviction you do not feel. “Perhaps this can help buy new curtains for the west wing.”

At your emphasis, the nun flushes down to her neck and stalks away without another word, coins rattling in her basket. You swear she's muttering something about you under her breath, but it doesn't matter; you've clearly won. There’s a beat of silence before Sydney leans over, shoulders shaking.

“Did you know the curtains were burned down last week because she knocked over a candle in her sleep?”

“Why do you think I said it?”

A suppressed laugh that makes his eyes twinkle.

“Oh, you are bad,” he says, and his mirth makes your skin tingle pleasantly.

“Thanks, I try.”

The golden bell rings again, and as one, the congregation sits back onto the pews to shift into the next prayer. It’s one that you kind of know. The language is foreign, some ancient tongue that you never learned, but the cadence is almost melodic, so you mumble along and hope that it’s enough. Their god is a forgiving god, right? Surely your intentions will win over your execution.

.

.

Another hour or two passes in this way. At some point, during another break, Sydney turns to you and asks what you're praying for. For peace, you reply vaguely. Honestly, as it grows later, you've just been trying not to nod off, the lingering effects of treasure hunting in the lake wearing down your muscles. Your watch reads almost midnight, and soon Sirris will emerge from a hidden corner, offering you a ride home before he returns to the Danube mansions with his son. You're banking on it; walking home at this hour would probably invite some unwanted encounters.

Suddenly, there’s a new warmth at your side. A slender man, dressed in a monk’s habit, leans in close and sneers as his chest brushes against your shoulder. A light but intentional caresss. You tense, biting back a yelp of surprise. He takes that—your silence, your stillness, your deer in headlights look—as a sign to continue, resting a hand on your exposed thigh. The tattered overalls. The bastard leans closer still.

“Don’t cause a fuss,” he murmurs, his sickly sweet tone edged with the promise of threat, “or I’ll say you attacked me. Who will they believe?”

Certainly not you. You've been carefully balancing your notoriety; photography sessions with Niki are now monthly instead of weekly, chef shifts at the local café are limited, no more cabaret shows on Friday nights—you’ve even started wearing conservative clothing to keep a low profile. But none of it feels like it’s enough, especially when you still get recognized on the street for your nightclub shifts and the growing list of crimes that have you in hot waters with the police.

This guy? He has a golden pendant around his neck, the center inlaid with a blue gemstone. You're not familiar with the colored rankings, other than the fact that Jordan’s pure diamonds denote her as the head of this temple, but just having a gemstone places him higher than your initiate level, marked by the plain gold cross pendant that dangles on a simple chain.

Before you can say anything, though, Sydney lifts the hand off your thigh, holding it in a crushing grip. A smile is frozen on his face. Despite not being directed at you, the barely masked fury and crazed eyes send a chill down your spine.

“Belief won’t matter because I’ll attack you for real,” he says lowly. Slowly. Letting the words sink in like stones in water.

And unlike yours, Sydney’s reputation does hold weight in the temple. There’s rumors of him being Jordan’s successor decades down the line, but even without the help of those rumors, you know that Sydney is ready to send this man to hell and back for daring to touch you, much less threaten you. Sydney’s grip is steady; the man’s fingers tremble and redden, seconds away from snapping. Sydney’s hand has been around your neck before, but it was always gentle, never more than a loving pressure. Now you lightly brush your sternum, wondering what it would be like to have this energy turned on you.

The man’s life must flash before his eyes because suddenly he has the strength to rip his hand away and scurry to the back of the temple, the worn monk habit swishing at his ankles. Smart move. You don't know who he is, and honestly, you can barely recall his face, but you doubt that he'll be bothering you for a long time.

“Fucking heathens,” Sydney spits at the retreat.

He waits until the man’s figure completely disappears into the shadows. Sydney isn’t much of a fighter, but from the straight line of his shoulders, you don’t doubt that it’d change in a heartbeat.

Then his attention is on you, and his anger crumbles. “Are you alright, love?”

He cups your face in his palms, and you lean into the touch.

“I’m okay,” you say, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

If this happened a year ago, you would’ve been shaking in your boots, bewildered at the audacity of the stranger, but ever since Bailey insisted on weekly payments, you’ve…seen the world. For better and for worse.

Right on time, Sirris strolls over, blissfully unaware. He swings his car keys from a finger. “Ready to go, kids?”