#THE LORD OF FORTUNE — SILLINESS.

[yeliuxi]

姻缘的天纹‌

Jing Qi takes his son to the market, and tells Luta of the palm reading he gave Wuxi when they were youths. Looking back now, it seems his predictions weren't actually that far off. (But not until Wuxi gets to tease him about it, of course.) (For Qi Ye Week Day 1: Fortune-telling/Poetry)

Rating: Gen Words: 1.3k Read on Ao3 (or keep reading below the cut :3)

Jing Qi brings his son with him to the market the next time he goes out, at Jing Qi's own insistence that Luta get to see the shadow puppet performers that will be in town for a week. Wuxi wasn't there to catch them sneaking from the Great Shaman's estate, but he's sure their household staff have noticed by now, and have already gone to tell Wuxi that they've left by themselves.

Luta, who has grown to now reach Jing Qi's upper arm, walks by his side, eyes wide as he takes in the bustling market around them. The days have started to grow hotter in this late spring, making the weather almost unbearable when combined with the humidity. Though they're not quite at the season for heavy rainstorms, the weather is still unpredictable this time of year. Jing Qi fans himself as he walks, keeping an eye on the cloud-dotted skies above.

"Diedie, look!" Luta suddenly says, pointing. Jing Qi follows his gaze across the crowded street. An older man has set up a stall with a low table, the large sign hung above it advertising himself as a diviner. The fortune teller is currently visited by a young man leaning over the small table with an eager expression, holding out his hand to be examined.

Palm reading.

Luta looks back at Jing Qi, almost hopeful. Jing Qi smiles. He's already well-known around the Great Shaman's estate for being indulgent and lenient toward Luta, and many would expect him to simply take him over to have his fortune told, but...

He listens a bit, enough to hear the old man cite all the correct palm characteristics and their meanings--but even Lao Qi could have spouted the same thing off. There's reading, but no true divination. Jing Qi crosses his arms, watching with Luta as the man rambles about having a marriage to a woman of great beauty and virtue, all due to his long heaven line.

Jing Qi huffs, shaking his head. "Don't listen to that man, Luta," he says instead.

Luta looks up at him, not quite disappointed, but clearly a bit surprised at his unasked question being rejected.

Besides, no one else is allowed to mess with his son except for Jing Qi.

"You don't need to see someone else to tell your fortune. Do you know why?" Jing Qi asks, letting his mouth slip into a conspiratorial smile as he leans over toward Luta.

"Why?"

"Because your Diedie is already quite skilled in divination," Jing Qi says, matter-of-fact. He straightens up again, nodding as he fans himself.

"Really?" Luta looks up at him with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

"Really," Jing Qi says. "I once divined your teacher's fate when we still lived in Da Qing, and all of what I said came true, you know."

"But Diedie, what did you divine for him?" Luta asks, stepping closer as another person passes close by, a goat in tow.

"I read his palm, and could tell he was a very sentimental and infatuated person," Jing Qi says, smiling. "I also could tell that he would be very lucky in his love, and that it would come with many benefits. The one he admired would be very loyal and good-looking."

Luta looks him up and down after he finishes, eyes growing as round as full moons.

"Really?" comes a deep, familiar voice from behind them. Jing Qi feels his smile widen as he turns around, watching Wuxi approach. Wuxi, despite the heat, has been at the temple, and is dressed in black for the occasion. He carries his staff with him as he comes to a stop beside Jing Qi and their son. "You told me that the person I married would be a very loyal woman..."

Jing Qi shrugs as he continues to fan himself, smile turning indulgent. "Ah, Wuxi," he says. "Does it matter the gender? Everything else is true, except for one minor detail."

"You said that our journey would have many benefits, not my marriage," he says.

"Did it not?" Jing Qi asks, closing his fan to gesture around with it.

Wuxi kind of smiles, then, his lips curling ever so slightly upward. "Of course it did," he says, his gaze landing upon Luta.

"Care to join your very loyal woman and the benefit of our journey, then?" Jing Qi offers, gesturing to the path ahead through the market. Luta beams when he realizes, belatedly, that he must be the "benefit."

"Laoshi," Luta says, abandoning Jing Qi's side to attach himself to Wuxi's. "Come on! Diedie said he would take me to a shadow puppet show."

"Yes, yes," Jing Qi says. "We should get going."

Though Wuxi has taken the role of the stricter teacher in their current arrangement, he is, nevertheless, just as helpless to do anything but allow Luta to lead him away and down into the heart of the city. Jing Qi trails after them, lagging just a bit behind.

Yes, one could say there were many benefits to this... Especially for Jing Qi, it would seem.

He's loved children since his first life. Or he thinks he did; though it's a bit hard to remember, Jing Qi doesn't believe that he ever disliked them, or found them to be nuisances. But he's not so sure when having a child started to appeal to him. He wants to say it was before this lifetime, some part of some other life he no longer remembers clearly, but he does know, with certainty, that he has wanted a child since before he swore off marriage.

Refusing to marry would, of course, mean no children, unless adopted. But it was much too dangerous. Jing Qi could not raise a child in the capital. He certainly couldn't take Jiang Xue in...

"Diedie," a voice calls. "Are you coming?"

Jing Qi looks up, realizing that at some point, lost in his thoughts, he stopped walking entirely. Some of the passersby have split paths around him, no one seeming to pay him much attention.

"I'm coming," he says, walking quickly to catch up. Beside him, Wuxi shoots him a questioning glance.

"What were you thinking about?" Wuxi asks, voiced hushed, while Luta is distracted by the street vendors calling out to the crowd, drowning out the conversation around them.

Jing Qi hums. "Just that we're lucky to have Luta," he says. It's only half of a lie.

Wuxi returns his smile. It seems private, somehow, even walking in the most crowded part of the city, pressed close to each other to squeeze through the rest of the pedestrian traffic. "And he is lucky to have us."

Jing Qi sighs, turning it over in his head. Though the Great Shaman would have to select a child, chosen out of an entire generation, to be his student eventually, it was Jing Qi that happened upon an orphan one day, almost pleading with Wuxi to take him in.

(It felt like a second chance, in a way. And who knows how many of those he'll be given in this life? He's already had too many.)

It was an untraditional way for the Great Shaman to choose a student, he was told. But it was also, as far as he can tell, untraditional for the Great Shaman to take a male consort. Why should this be any different?

Jing Qi smiles and takes Wuxi's hand as they continue through the market.

He couldn't have foretold how his life would be now, how lucky he would be, even as Lao Qi. But that brat Wuxi might have, even as a teen, with his convictions that he would get Jing Qi to come with him to Nanjiang.

And he did. Wuxi wasn't so far off after all, but Jing Qi was still pretty close.

[clowndensation]

SON BOY ALLOWED

[stolenslumber]

though the stars walk backward (sjy) (preview)

Your first encounter with Jake Sim ends with ketchup on your clothes and his burger in his friend's lap. The second encounter doesn't go so smoothly, either. He thinks he might have gotten the hang of it by the third time, but as the saying goes: there is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

PAIRING: sim jaeyun x female reader GENRE: college au, one-sided enemies-to-lovers (the e2l part is short-lived lol sry), friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, fluff, romance, jake as a star soccer player but also loser physics nerd WARNINGS: swearing, eventual kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes, familial angst/generational trauma (it's present and it's heavy but it's not suuuuuper heavy) WORD COUNT: ~2.5k (preview); final word count is, again, btwn me and god PUBLISH DATE: reallyyyyyyy hoping to get this out before my next semester starts but We'll See About That...

“Don’t freak out, but I think the girl you stare at in the library is staring back at you.”

Jake freezes with his burger halfway to his open mouth. “What? Where? And I don’t stare at her in the library—”

Jay nudges his friend’s jaw upwards. “I said don’t freak out.”

“At least he didn’t turn in her direction,” Sunghoon offers. But he says it while looking disdainfully at the ketchup dripping from Jake’s burger onto the dining hall table, so Jake isn’t all that comforted by it. 

Instead, he repeats “Where?” through gritted teeth. 

“At your four o’clock, but I wouldn’t get too excited about it.” Jay squints. “I’m pretty sure she’s glaring at you, honestly. Okay, seriously do not freak out, but she’s coming over here…”

Jake tries to figure out what to do with himself as you approach with alarming speed— should he fix his hair, or tuck his shirt in? Damn it, he doesn’t even remember if he’s wearing something clean today. Before he can fully comprehend it, you’re standing in front of him, looking as pretty as ever in a silky dress that floats down to your ankles. 

Your mouth opens to say something, and there’s a deep furrow between your brows that Jake longs to smooth out, but then his hands clamp down on his burger, and— “Oh shit, dude, I’m so sorry!” 

Bright red ketchup decorates the front of your pristine white dress.

Your jaw drops, as does your gaze, fixated on the ugly red splotch spreading over the fabric covering your stomach. Everything you’d been meaning to say to him flies out of your head, replaced by blood rushing in your ears as your anger grows at the foolish oaf in front of you. “This is dry clean only,” you hiss.

Jake drops his burger in Jay’s lap, ignoring his friend’s squawk of indignation. Hurriedly, he wipes his hands on some napkins and tries offering them to you before cowing under your withering glare. “I am so sorry,” he repeats. His arms flail at his sides before he picks up the cardigan lying next to him and hands it to you. “You have a library shift coming up, right? Please feel free to wear this until you can get home and change. I have class until two, but I can take your clothes to the dry cleaners afterwards. I’m really so sorry!”

Your mouth shapes around air a few times as you work out exactly how to respond to him, but then your phone buzzes to remind you of your library shift— it is coming up— and you decide that you’ll deal with this— and him— later. Unhappily, you grab the proffered cardigan. “Two o’clock. Don’t be late.” And then you twist on your heel and depart, leaving Jake to stare sadly at the swish of your hair against your back.

“Are you gonna take my clothes to the dry cleaners, too?” Jay intones dryly from beside him.

Jake groans and sinks back down into the booth, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head repeatedly. “I can’t believe that just happened. I have to walk into traffic now.” Before Jay can say anything else, Jake tacks on, “And yeah, give me your pants.”

“Damn, take me to dinner first. Oh, wait, I guess you did offer me food.” Jay plucks the burger out of his lap and deposits it onto Jake’s plate pointedly.

Sunghoon lets out a whistle between his teeth. “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone fumble so badly. Like, seriously, that should be studied in a lab.”

“I got nervous!” Jake exclaims. 

Sunghoon chortles. “Clearly. Cute girl comes over, and you not only call her dude, but you also squirt ketchup all over her.”

Jake kicks him in the shin, hard. “Can you not pile on?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Sunghoon holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Was that the first time you interacted with her?”

Unhelpfully, Jay pipes up. “Unless you count staring at her in the library interacting, I’d say yes. Speaking of, how do you know her schedule, bro? You’re creepier than I thought.”

Jake jabs him with an elbow. “My class got canceled once and I saw her at the library then, okay? Some of us actually have homework, Socrates and Warren Buffet.” He rolls his eyes at Sunghoon (philosophy) and Jay (business) in turn. “And again, I don’t stare!”

A few hours later, Jake stares at the back of your head.

He’s not in his usual spot in the library, which is a round table near the windows on the mezzanine level— straight line of sight to one of the reference desks, but he did not pick that spot on purpose, no matter how much his friends like to joke that he did. He’s been sitting in that spot since the first day of his freshman year; he’d chosen it because he like being able to see out into the quad, and the noise level in that area is perfect for him (not too quiet, which would make him fall asleep, and not too loud, which would just make him want to join in on wherever the fun was). He couldn’t have known that you would show up halfway through last year, get a job as one of the students manning the reference desk, and then occupy the exact spot his eyes tend to rest on when he zones out.

And he really couldn’t have known that you would be so pretty.

It doesn’t help that you’re in practically all of his classes this year, and he’s had the opportunity to talk to you every day for the past two weeks if he wanted to. He’s not the most shameless person in the world (Sunghoon), but he’s also not scared of his own reflection (Heeseung), so why couldn’t he have just introduced himself like a normal person on the first day of classes and avoided this whole ketchup fiasco?

Someone comes up to the desk to ask a question, and your head tilts toward them as the afternoon sunlight frames your face just so; Jake gulps and thinks, Oh yeah, that’s why. So pretty. And dizzyingly smart, if the way he sees your pencil fly over quizzes is anything to go by.

As if sensing his eyes on you, you twist around fully to catch him staring after you’ve answered the question of the person in front of you. Jake blinks deer-in-headlights eyes at you; if this was a cartoon, there would be a ?! above his head.

Your own eyes narrow at him and you jerk your head in your own direction. Get over here.

Jake gulps and straightens up before shuffling over to you. He kind of feels like he’s walking to the gallows, but on a flower-lined path, because his cardigan on you softens you around the edges, and you look right at home in it. 

“Heeeeeeey.” He raises a hand and waves at you, even though he’s right in front of you. He winces before you can even raise a skeptical eyebrow at him, but then you do, so he grimaces. “Sorry, that was weird. Uh, hi.”

You nod curtly at him. “Hi. I’m done in two minutes. Thanks for being on time.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he mumbles to the floor. Luckily, you don’t catch it because you’re packing away the problem set you were doing in between answering student questions, which he chances a glance at because hey, he’d been having trouble with page 157.

Of course, you catch that. “What are you, twelve? Do your own work.”

“Wait, what? Hold on a second, I’m not trying to cheat off of you— hey, wait up!” He scrambles to catch up with you where you’re already halfway down the stairs. Panicked, he speeds past you and plants himself in your path, greeted by your look of supreme irritation for the second time that day. “I wasn’t trying to cheat off of you,” he says, more firmly this time. “I was just gonna ask you how you did with page 157, because I was having some trouble with it earlier.”

You scoff and slide to the left to go around him, only to be met by him mirroring you. “Are you serious right now? Get out of my way.”

“We’re going to the same place!”

“Yeah, and now I’ve remembered that I can pay for my own dry cleaning. Move.” You go right, and he follows.

“I’m still coming— I gotta take Jay’s pants there. I dropped my burger in his lap earlier when, well, you know.”

You go left again, and he follows once more. “Okay, for real? Let me go, asshole.”

Jake drops his backpack off his shoulders and hoists it onto his knee, rummaging around in it while still blocking your path. You think he’s officially lost it, but you’re also never one to miss an opportunity, so you feint to the right and then go left, but he’s faster and blocks you again with his head halfway buried in his backpack. Damn it, he’s good. You don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until he looks up at you and smiles sheepishly. “Soccer team,” he explains. Oh— that reminds you why you were approaching him at the dining hall in the first place, and real anger resurfaces in your blood. 

“Like I care,” you snap. You’re about to just shove him down the stairs and call it an easy day when you’re met with a crumpled piece of graph paper waved in front of your face. “What the hell is this?”

“Next week’s problem set! See, look, I finished everything except the problems on page 157, and I did get started, but I just wanted to check if I was on the right path, okay? I promise, I wasn’t trying to cheat off of you.” He frowns. “These aren’t even graded for quality. It’s just a submission for completion.”

Your eyebrows climb up your forehead. Though his handwriting is shit, you can see that he’s telling the truth. The fact that he’s doing the problem set for next week probably should have tipped you off in and of itself, but what surprises you is the simple elegance with which his calculations come out. “Hey, how’d you do that on number 89 on page 151—” You cut yourself off. “Never mind. Fine, I believe you. Can you move now? We’re blocking the entire stairway.”

Jake seems to finally notice the build-up of annoyed students in front of and behind you both. “Right, oops.” He zips up his backpack and slings it over one shoulder before descending the stairs with quick steps. He turns around and tilts his head quizzically at you when you don’t follow. 

Truthfully, you’re trying to decide if you should make a break for it and go up the stairs so you can take a different set of stairs down, but then you realize how childish that sounds. So, it’s with less dignity than you’d like that you meet him at the bottom of the staircase. But you don’t stop where he’s standing; instead, you breeze past him so smoothly that he finds himself staring at the back of your head for a few seconds before springing into motion after you. 

“Soooooo… dry cleaner’s?” He offers you a tentative smile once he’s fallen into step with you.

You seem to have made your mind up about something, because you turn to him with a dazzling smile that knocks the breath right out of his lungs. “Lead the way.”

“O-Okay.” He’s taken aback by your sudden about-face, but he’s not going to question it.

He tells you that he’s happy to drive there, and you’re perfectly agreeable about it. You even start talking about the problem set that had been the source of such strife just minutes earlier. At the dry cleaner, you give him the biggest surprise yet when you ask for his number. Obviously, he gives it to you, and he has to pretend like he isn’t perturbed by the cryptic, almost manic look in your eyes when you promise that you’ll be in touch.

But then you’re gone without so much as a goodbye, and it’s only when he gets back to his place that he realizes he doesn’t even know how you got home, and he can’t text you because he doesn’t have your number.

Still. A win is a win.

ball sports (derogatory) (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon) 

jake: this has been the strangest and possibly greatest day of my life

sunghoon: ur preaching to the choir ketchup boy

sunghoon: yizhuo told me i was hotter with blonde hair

sunghoon: so like hell yeah she thinks im hot but hell no now i have to dye my hair back

jake: ????? did i ask

jake: i’m talking about MY day

jay: she actually did not say you were hotter with blonde hair. in fact none of those words came out of her mouth 

jay: you asked if she liked your new hair and she said no

sunghoon: hop off my dick tf????

heeseung: so what happened jake

sunghoon: oh i can tell u this it’s old news

sunghoon: jake fumbled his first interaction w/ the girl he stares at in the library

jake: BUT she asked for my number and said she’d be in touch!!!!

sunghoon: right so u can pay for her dry cleaning bill

jake: OR maybe she wants to be friends

jake: to lovers<3

jay: idk she kinda looked like she wanted to take you out when she was coming over to us at lunch today

jake: LIKE ON A DATE?????

jay: no like

jay: lethally

women’s rights and wrongs (you, minjeong, aeri, somi)

you: so you know how i was gonna confront jake today

yizhuo: yeah i heard that went poorly

yizhuo: sunghoon said something about ketchup????

you: nvm all that. i have a Better Plan. i’m gonna ruin his life

minjeong: cool

somi: noooooo he’s hot

you: HE RUINED MY BROTHER’S LIFE

somi: girl u have to let that go

somi: ur brother is 10 and made it to the B team for club soccer

somi: i think he’ll be fine

you: BUT HE SHOULD’VE BEEN IN THE A TEAM. I SAW JAKE’S BEADY EYES SINGLING HIM OUT UNFAIRLY

somi: he actually has like insane puppy dog eyes

you: anyways i’m going to systematically but subtly make his life more and more difficult as soon as i start assistant managing his soccer team on monday. but he will never know it’s me bc i’m going to be so nice and normal to his face BUT ACTUALLY i’m gonna make him my bitch

yizhuo: “nice and normal to his face” u have the worst poker face i’ve ever seen

minjeong: technically speaking if ur an assistant manager aren’t u THEIR bitch

[driofaire]

your dating service:

Date with Rook. Date Fee: $15 Customer Comments: "I want to do...more with Rook... (Person in 30s)"

Date with Shi'ndra. Date Fee: $8.99 Customer Comments: "The only thing Shi'ndra talked about was anime. (Person in 60s)"*

* Note: He protested vehemently against the anime accusation, and did, in fact, stress that it was legos, actually.

[missriggie]

"I will use this."

-Rook to Solas (probably) 9:52 Dragon.

[dent-de-leon]

the Lord of Fortune faction in Veilguard being very pirate themed…..oh I know Kingsley Tealeaf would love it—

[luckyjak]

wait I wasn't thinking this through far enough.

does picking Grey Warden mean Rook is an actual Grey Warden??????

Dragon Age: The Veilguard - Meet the Factions

"Major players on the stage of Thedas, any of these factions could prove useful allies throughout your story. Your faction choice will influence your Rook’s backstory, conversation options, and potentially the balance of power on this divided continent."

Grey Wardens - Veil Jumpers - Shadow Dragons - Lords of Fortune - The Mourn Watch - Antivan Crows

[source]

[prokopetz]

Something I love about The Far Roofs is how much of a swerve its premise is if you're coming to it uninitiated.

Okay, so there's these talking rats with a culture of swashbuckling heroism – basic Redwall/Reepicheep stuff.

Also, there's a magical realm called the Far Roofs which exists above every human community, and that's where the rats go adventuring; a little weird, but you can see the precedents in popular fiction. It's like wainscot fantasy taken to its logical-yet-absurd conclusion.

By default, the game wants you to play as a fictionalised version of your (presumably human!) self and go up onto the Far Roofs to have adventures with the rats. All right, now it's coming together: it's like isekai fantasy meets The Muppet Show, with you as the obligatory human character, right?

Then we get to the nature of those adventures: the rats have this whole culture built around questing against beings they call "the Mysteries" – beasties with names like Harpy and Goblin and Unicorn. So basically it's a bunch of muppety rats on the roofs fighting Dungeons & Dragons monsters, and you go up and help them do it. Great.

And then you get to what the Mysteries are actually like, and... well, I'm going to let the following excerpt carry the weight here. (This particular bit of text also appears in a previously published work by the same author, so I'm not giving anything away that's still under wraps.)

Unicorn, which is named Numinous, dwells three steps away and beyond the world, but most often in the Farthest Roofs, where the Steppes of the Sky come down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court. There it is stepping upwards from the world, as it has always been stepping upwards from the world, caught in a moment of transcendent glory that does not complete. It simply is. Melanthios heard the footsteps of Unicorn. Melanthios heard the ringing of Unicorn’s bells. So Melanthios chased Unicorn off to the Farthest Roofs, and Melanthios did not return. Anton and Karel, who were his sons, were wiser than their father. They heard the bells but they did not follow. Instead, they memorized the scent. They gathered swords, and ropes, and nets, and they went out. They brought food and water and all manner of gear. They clung to the roofs with all four feet wheresoever after Unicorn they went. It proved no good. Anton looked up, and Karel to his brother. The world came down— That’s what Karel said. He had time to look away. He had time to bury his head in his paws. He did not see the fullness of Unicorn’s presence. He only saw Anton his brother become unreal. In the light of the moment of the Unicorn, Anton became as a paper figure in the fire. His reality burned out. His shadow seared into the roofs behind him. Where he’d stood, for just a moment, the Steppes of the Sky came down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court; and Anton was gone away. So Karel ran and Karel ran and Karel ran from the Unicorn; and all his life, he envied but was more fortunate than his brother.

These are gods. You're going up there to kill God.

Like, it's still silly wainscot fantasy with funny talking rats, but there's that tension. It's like if Fraggle Rock occasionally took a hard turn to serious cosmic horror – Lord Dunsany by way of Jim Henson – and that tonal juxtaposition was treated as something unremarkable.

Basically what I'm saying is go back The Far Roofs.

[seaheaded]

𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄

cregan stark x fem!reader

synopsis: everything you had from the moment you joined the dance of the dragons was ash in the wind — a metaphor you remembered queen rhaenyra using. yet, even after the losses, you could not find in yourself the will to give up on the world so easily. surprisingly, the wolf of the north seemed to care about your thoughts.

7.4K words

warnings: mentions/descriptions of death and war, violence and blood (brief), fire and blood spoilers, light angst, some canon divergence, making out, english is not my first language.

notes: i wrote this out of nowhere idk i was bored and paused my other works to write some silly stuff. i hope you guys enjoy it :))

“His eyes find you with the ease a compass points North.”

If you were not familiar with the princess — even in familiarity there were limits to be found in your interactions at times — you would not have scoffed at the words when she said them. In truth, you were glad she found you to be an amusing companion, or you would find yourself in a complicated position compared to the one you were in now.

I found a friend in her. Those were the words she used to describe you to her grandfather, Corlys Velaryon, when she demanded to remain close to you during the time of your arrival at the Red Keep. She sat beside the bed you woke up on, with a gentle smile and a tray on her lap, that she passed to you with both enthusiasm and worry.

You fainted outside of the Gate of the Gods, she told you then, as you ate bread and cheese for the first time in so long, savoring it in silence.

After that, Baela told you about the euphoria taking over King’s Landing as she helped to dress your aching body in clean clothes. It was unexpected, the joy spreading across the city, and spoken about with bewilderment. However, you understood it. Growing up like the rest of the small folk — as one of the most fortunate ones before you lost your parents two years prior — , you could relate to the relief of finding something to believe in again. Hope, as faint and ephemeral as it was, meant a lot when you barely had reasons to keep you standing on the ground instead of lying below it. Their fight differed from the soldiers’, but they fought for life nonetheless.

It was strange to think that if you were still one of them, you would probably sing about the events you were now part of in taverns. Would you ever find amusement in such songs again?

Following the people and most of the dragons, the euphoria had died as well, by the hand of the subject of almost every conversation winding the halls of the Red Keep since his arrival: Lord Cregan Stark.

Indeed, he was the formidable warrior you had heard about. With his army, he marched into the castle, his large sword in hand and a scowl that displayed pure frustration, alarming all.

You could comprehend why he was mad. Time was precious, after all, and he had spent his coming to King’s Landing, only to meet crumbs of the battle he and his men were promised. However, Stark’s judgment poured like ceaseless rain from that moment on, and you deemed his behaviour overly brutish at times.

The only thing that comforted you in those days was the company of Baela and Rhaena.

You shook your head.

“He looks at me that way because he suspects me,” You replied, watching the skirt of your dress getting kicked with each step. “I’m afraid he wants to chop my head off.”

Baela paused in her steps, pulling you to do the same.

“Do not say things like that,” She frowned at you. “Out of all people, you are the least deserving of any sort of punishment.”

This matter had been discussed before. According to Baela and Rhaena, Lord Stark may have brought the harshness of winter with him and cast it upon all people residing in the castle, but you would not be a subject of his penalty. They would not permit it.

Unfortunately, even with their reassurance, you found yourself tense as you rested your head on the pillow. Aside from the fact that he was still considering taking the lives of those he deemed traitors, and you did not wish to give him a reason to think of you as disloyal — as Rhaenyra once did — , you were still cautious about trusting your unconsciousness at night.

Clicking your tongue, you resumed your walk, and Baela fell into step with you.

“I apologise,” You said. “I just feel… Well…”

The gardens were finally coming into view, and you raised your gaze to the colorful landscape. Something inside you turned. All you could think of was the way the grass looked after the lethal kiss of dragon fire that night in Tumbleton. The smell, the smoke.

Addam. Dear Addam, the best of you all.

You still saw him and Seasmoke at times, the image of bodies on the burned grounds unwanted, but constantly plaguing your dreams.

“Hey,” Baela’s voice was gentle again.

Her hands found yours. Only then, you noticed they were shaking.

“Harm will not find you here, okay?” She continued. “And the way lord Stark looks at you... I think it holds mere curiosity. He is interested in you. Do not fear.”

There was no denying that you were a different sort of creature, compared to the royals and soldiers he knew. You were a bastard descendant, turned into a dragon rider, turned into a knight. But what even were you entirely? And why would he care about that?

“How do you know?”

“I have eyes,” Baela teased you. She intertwined your arms again as you entered the garden. “Do you not wonder what he thinks? From what Jace told me, he is a reflective man beneath the rest.”

You snorted. “Oh, you mean the way he walks like a bear, and that frown he has that is more like two bricks above his eyes?”

Baela’s small laughter grew louder like the chorus of a song people would stomp their feet to, and you found yourself giggling with her.

She tossed her head back. “Bricks—”

“Good morrow.”

You jumped like two scared chickens at the sudden voice coming from behind, and the laughter turned into gasps.

Cregan Stark’s scowl was adamant, it seemed. Even in the presence of Princess Baela’s lively laughter, it did not quiver. You would only judge him for it, or maybe laugh at the precision of your previous comment, if you did not feel guilty. He had undoubtedly heard your jest.

“My lord,” The two of you greeted together.

Cregan Stark stared at you as if he expected something else to come out of your mouth, causing your blood to boil beneath your skin.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Baela’s drifting between you and the man. She had a small, close-mouthed smile adorning her face. You wanted to pinch her to drop it.

“I suppose my lord wants a moment alone with the dame?” She asked.

Cregan Stark blinked, turning to her.

“I would, princess. Thank you.”

“Is this even suitable?” You asked as your anxiety grew, but the whisper passed by like a needle falling into the sea.

Still, you took the opportunity of the lord’s attention on the princess while she walked away to make him out.

It was hard to notice anything about him with the fleeting glances you exchanged before, but now, the light breeze of the morning caused his brown hair to dance over his face, although he did not seem to mind. Part of being a northerner is becoming used to harsher winds, you supposed. He wore his leathers, heavy garments compared to the ones you saw in the south your entire life, but the fur cloak in which he arrived at the castle had been discarded. That way, the emblem of his house caught your attention more than before, gleaming under the sun.

You looked away from the wolf on his chest when he turned back to you.

“Dame,” He nodded in greeting.

Since you were knighted by the late queen Rhaenyra, the word was attached to you. You preferred being called by your name, the way you grew up used to, and the way Addam, Baela, Rhaena, and Prince Jacaerys did it — although the last one spoke it with some disdain for some time.

Perhaps, the dislike for the title showed in your face against your will, because the lord frowned.

“Have I offended you?” He asked.

“No, my lord. I have something else on my mind.”

“May I ask what that is?”

“You may, but I will not answer.”

The scoff he let out possessed a hint of mirth, and was accompanied by a squint of his eyes, wandering over your visage.

Once again, you turned your head away. This time, you picked a leaf from the large bush beside you and twisted it in your hand for a distraction.

You hoped he would simply say what he wished to say and be done with it.

He cleared his throat. “I have been meaning to ask you a few questions.”

“Go on.”

“But why would I ask questions that you will not answer?”

You shrugged. “I will not answer that question, but you can ask others.”

“And you will answer them?”

You pretended to consider. “Perhaps.”

He hummed.

“Did you expect the words that would be said about you when you became a dragonseed?”

That was the last thing you imagined he would ask.

Was he indirectly asking you if you had become one for the recognition? You hoped not, because you already felt bad enough for being the only one alive at times.

“What do they say about me?” You asked, but the question held no real interest.

“That it is a surprise that you are alive,” He paused, thinking. “They started to call you ‘the last dragonseed’ after you survived the battle In Tumbleton.”

There it was again, the unhappiness of recalling that event causing you to feel sick.

“Nothing special about that.”

“I would say there is.”

“Are you accusing me, my lord?”

He hesitated, blinking a few times. “What?”

Your exhale trembled.

“I am aware that my dragon did not interact with the battle the same way the others did, but it was not for the lack of trying. She protected me, and fought briefly.”

Even after almost turning on you after the clash with Vermithor and Tessarion, you could not think badly of Silverwing. She had not offered herself to be a weapon the way you offered yourself to be a soldier.

You feared her cries would forever echo in your mind.

“I will not ask about that,” Lord Stark said, strangely compassionate. “My curiosity lies in your journey to the Red Keep.”

“Well," You gathered yourself. "I went to different places. I tried to find my dragon, or a way to Princess Baela. To no avail, of course.”

“So, you walked back to King’s Landing.”

You nodded. “I thought I would find Queen Rhaenyra here. I wanted to share with her the details of my friend's brave deeds, but she was already dead, and so was her brother.”

"Your friend?"

"Addam of Hull."

He nodded.

After another silent moment, he spoke. “I did not mean to accuse you of deserting battle or fleeing, dame. I simply am not familiar with you.”

But you wish to? You thought. How strange.

“I see,” You picked the leaf apart with small pullings. How could you change the subject and stop talking about those damned days? With a lighter tone, you tried. “I thought you were judging me from the moment you saw me, honestly.”

He frowned. “What is there to judge you for? You fought hard. Or so I’ve heard.”

“From who?”

Cregan Stark shifted in place, taking one of the hands from behind his back and levelling it up against his ribs as if he was measuring something as tall as them. “A boy. Very young. He has a wild look in his eyes.”

“The Blackwood boy?”

“So, you are acquainted. ”

“Barely. We met briefly after the battle.”

You pulled a piece of the leaf again.

“He said you were not the most skilled soldier…”

Something was missing from his sentence.

“But?” You lifted your gaze to him.

“It is a rather memorable description.”

“Tell me.”

“He said something along the lines of you making up for the lack of prowess by swinging your sword around manically, the way unfaithful husbands do with their cocks. Only yours is deadly.”

At first, you did not even move, taking in the words that had apparently come out of a child’s mouth.

Then, the bark of laughter that left your mouth shocked both of you, and you brought both hands to your mouth to muffle the sound. You had heard real and hurtful insults before, so if this was supposed to be one, it did not affect you. It had the opposite effect. You could not stop laughing.

Like unfaithful husbands do with their cocks? What sort of menace was the young boy to talk about people this way?

You wheezed, letting the feeling subside before attempting to speak again.

“I apologise, my lord. This is the most ridiculous way someone has ever described me.”

The corner of his lips twitched, giving into a smirk that made him look younger and somewhat teasing.

“So you didn't,” He said.

“What?”

“Expect the words said about you.”

You smiled and shook your head. “No. Did you?”

“Of course not,” He said with a small laugh. “But you seem delighted to hear it.”

"I take no offense in it, my lord. I have always been better with a dagger, anyway. Never had the money to buy, or the time to practice with a sword before going to Dragonstone.”

“You have some skill with the dagger?” His curiosity seemed to have spiked again.

“Certainly not as much as you do with a sword,” You replied quickly, warning him. Then, you jested. “Don’t make assumptions about me so quickly, my lord.”

He did not answer for a few seconds after that and simply looked at you again. Yet, you could notice the weight of the thoughts running through his head. The coldness of his eyes had melted completely, replaced by a light you were not familiar with.

“Perhaps you should follow your own advice,” He said, quieter, as if you were not alone in the garden.

There was no bitterness or mockery in his voice.

Cregan Stark was a quick learner, you noticed. He did not break the walls around you with the sort of honesty that made you angry, he walked to the gates with the sort that made you comfortable to comply.

So he did hear it. You were both mortified and thankful he was not being mean about it.

“You are a strategist.”

“You keep up with it quite well.”

“I agree.”

He huffed another low chuckle.

“I believe we have both been studying each other,” He said. “But I would prefer it if we did it differently from this moment forward.”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you mind coming closer instead of running away from me?”

Your heart sang.

Cregan Stark was no bastard, but what a bastard he was for causing that.

“I would like that, my lord.”

The nightly breeze was a welcome remedy after a nightmare. It hit your sweaty skin like a bath of fresh cool water on a warm day.

Tonight, it felt cooler. Winter was indeed beginning to influence the weather. Even then, the breeze was not any less welcome than on other occasions.

You rested your forearms on the balcony, humming a song as you watched the city to prevent yourself from thinking about the memories that had recently tormented your mind and heart.

Oh, tell me Sabine

Are your leaves still green

What did you last see

The Stranger or Catherine?

Sabine, was she heaven?

Did her honey usher pleasure

They say you never relished me

But not why

You leaped into the sea

Your corse’s roots run

The ground bursts for dirt

Tell me where to hide

From your song

My worst wrong

Your first love was sow in barren

Yet your arms I see growing

Catherine you won’t reach

For your sake

Refrain from longing

Your humming was soon joined by the sound of steps coming from the dark hall, where you paced mere minutes ago, and when you tilted your head to find the owner of the sound, you quickly turned away so he would not see the giddy smile stretching over your face.

You would not admit it, but you expected it to be him. Not deep down, but all over. Painted on your face with warm cheeks, on your arms and back with a shiver.

When his steps came to a haunt with the squeak of his boots against the floor, you greeted him, still watching the scenery.

“My lord.”

He did not answer, but a couple of seconds later, he appeared beside you.

You had noticed before that Cregan Stark could be silent when he wished, but it did not stop surprising you when he was suddenly there.

“Was that you singing?” He asked.

“Humming a tune, not singing. But yes.”

“The Leaves of Sabine.”

His amused and mischievous expression came back when your gaze snapped at him with wide eyes.

“You know The Leaves of Sabine?”

“It is certainly not a northern song, but my late wife was infatuated with it.”

He stopped, wetting his lips, and you could see the recollection of a memory passing by him.

“She used to say she would sing it to Rickon, my son.”

The wind cooled your skin again.

You were never as informed about Cregan Stark’s life as someone from court or interested in gossip would possibly be, so the mention made your smile fade.

You thought about his little boy. Did his father sing to him?

Yours did.

At first, you wanted to step back from asking anything, but you remembered the eagerness to keep you close that the young man had exhibited these past two days. He did not have to speak for you to notice he wanted you there, but he never refrained from commenting either.

Not to mention the obvious…

Would you mind coming closer instead of running away from me?

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. It's okay, now.”

You swallowed. “Maybe you should sing to little Rickon, then.”

“Me?” He asked, incredulous. “It would cause the poor boy to cry, not to sleep.”

If a year ago, you were told that Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, would pour a newfound joy over your now shattered life and make you laugh freely around him, you would be careful to never cross paths with the person delivering the message again, for you feared people that spit crazy beliefs on others’ faces.

Now, there were you. Smile squinting your eyes and shoulders shaking.

“That only makes me want to hear you sing more, my lord.”

“Oh, no. I would do anything you asked but that.”

You bit your cheek. “Would you?”

He was already watching you when he agreed with a nod. Waiting, you noticed.

“Anything?”

“Go on.”

You thought. “No, but I will remember that, my lord. When I want something, I will tell you.”

“I will wait, then.”

You wished to know what went through his mind when you did not hold back from teasing him this way. He varied from holding everything inside or pouring it out in small but heavy amounts. You never knew what it was that he kept — though you enjoyed imagining it was the same you did.

“What brought you here in the dead of the night?” He asked, changing the subject.

The answer came meeker than you wanted to.

“Nightmares.”

“I see.”

He did not touch the subject, and that was something you appreciated.

You knew that he read you easily, the way you liked to believe you did him, but he did not hover, did not push you to speak of your pain. You wondered if he knew about avoidance as you did, having lost his family members in such a short period — for a man like him.

Aside from that, you wanted to know if he secretly waited for you to let your secrets out. Does he wonder what I have seen? Does he not know it already? All had heard of Hugh’s betrayal, of your and Addam’s escape, Tumbleton’s tragedies, and dragons dancing in the sky. In the company of young Benjicot Blackwood, he would certainly hear the details about those.

But your person? The life before? Your parents?

You caught yourself hoping he would be around for a long time, so you could both discuss intimate matters like those, and wanted to punish yourself for such desires.

Before you could attempt to shift the subject, he moved. His body was now turned to you, and you could see his hand finding something in the pocket of his pants.

He revealed a small, grey handkerchief.

“May I?”

Without thinking much of it, you nodded.

The fingers of his empty hand found your chin. His touch was lighter than the breeze. He tilted your head up just barely, and brought the handkerchief to your face.

You observed the way his expression became strained with attention, contrasting his hands as he patted your sweaty skin dry softly.

The fabric touched your forehead first, following a pat down to your cheeks. Then, he paused, turning the handkerchief around and passing it to his other hand, repeating the process on your other side. When he reached the area around your mouth and chin, his lips parted and his blue eyes met yours for a brief moment before patting that, too.

“There,” He sighed the word when he was done. “Your neck?”

“No need,” You mumbled, feeling shy. “Thank you.”

Then, he turned the handkerchief on his hand, folding it the way it was when he pulled it out of his pocket. Your eyes traced the movements.

“Would you…” You gestured towards the fabric “I could clean it for you.”

He shook his head.

“There is no need,” He said, placing the handkerchief back into its place. “I do not mind.”

“You don't mind the sweat?”

“Cleaning it myself.”

“Oh, right,” Find me, Stranger. I am ready. “Of course.”

He glanced back at the passage of the balcony, the moonlight casting shadows into the dark hall beyond it. His eyes then shifted to you, descending from your face to the hand that he was now reaching out for.

“My lady.”

Before you could protest, his lips pressed against your damp skin with a kiss.

You dared not move for the short moment that seemed to end it too soon for you to savor it, but when he released you, you pulled the sweaty hand back, covering it with your own.

The apology in your expression must have been evident, because Cregan Stark shook his head once again, and before taking his leave, he repeated:

“I do not mind.”

You stood on that balcony longer than you prided yourself on. Alone, catching the breath that had been petted and kissed away. Then, as your mind went back to his firm voice and gentle touches while you made your way back to your chambers, you realised…

He had addressed you as a lady.

It would be deadly silent if not for the sound of the thunder outside and Baela’s impatient pace, which without a doubt reflected the worry in her mind.

“He cannot do such a thing,” She said, “Aegon will be king. He commanded him to spare Corlys.”

“Sister,” Rhaena sighed.

The two of you sat at the round table, facing Baela.

Rhaena rested her arm on the table long ago, and now she lifted her hand to massage the spot between her brows. The meeting in the throne room had taken a toll on her the same way it did with you and Baela, but it revealed itself through exhaustion and anxiety, rather than restlessness.

You, on the other hand, rested both arms on the table, eyes fixated on the wood and mind drifting back and forth towards Corlys Velaryon’s honesty and Cregan Stark’s determination. What I did, I did for the good of the realm. I would do the same again. The madness has to end, were Corlys' words.

You did not doubt that the murder of Aegon II was not a bad decision. Yet, more than that crossed the mind of the Warden of the North.

Now, it was hard to think about him with affection. Your first impression had drifted back and covered him like smoke when he sat on the wooden bench in front of the throne and condemned Corlys to death.

You had not played the game as long as he or your beloved friends did, but you could feel yourself moving the pieces on the board as you had learned to do as one of the dragonseeds under Prince Jacaerys’ training.

There were still conclusions to be made, but you were certain of your decision when you first spoke.

Baela and Rhaena had spent the past minute discussing the current state of things, so your voice silenced them.

“I will speak to him.”

Your gaze shifted, from the table to the sisters, waiting for an answer. Their faces were confused. It was visible that they were not expecting you to come forward.

Rhaena called your name, extending her hand so you could hold it. Her thumb caressed its back, and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“Do you think he will listen to you?” It was Baela who asked. It was not in a mocking manner, but rather a perplexed one. “He does not seem to enjoy being told what to do.”

Gathering all the confidence you had left, you shook your head.

“I will not tell him what to do,” You said. “I will speak to him, and let him know he is wrong.”

“I have a feeling that he would appreciate that even less,” Rhaena said.

“What other choice do we have?” You asked, caressing Rhaena’s hand back. “I do not want to see your grandfather die, too. I am not a princess, or a lady, but…”

Cregan Stark had called you a lady before. He had demonstrated affection and respect that night in the balcony, and on every other small interaction. You appreciated it, and wanted to believe he was better and smarter.

Baela approached you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“You understand that we both see your sacrifices, do you not?” She asked.

You were ready to reply, but she cut you.

“I do not speak of your growing affection for the lord as a sacrifice for us,” She said. “But the way you hold back from giving yourself to him entirely. I can see it. I know what it is like. But he… He might not be as you believe, and I do not want to see you hurt because of it.”

“Are you asking me not to try?”

She hesitated. “I am doing my best to think about your feelings. I do want you to try, but you are our friend, and I want you to remember that.”

“My apologies, but I do not see how you could convince someone so stubborn,” Rhaena said.

“Baela convinced him to spare her rescuers earlier,” You shrugged.

It was impressive. You were used to Baela’s intrepid nature, but seeing Cregan Stark smile and letting her ‘keep her dogs’ as she waved a sword around and threatened those trying to harm the men who had saved her raised your spirits.

“This is different,” Rhaena said.

You sighed. “I know. But Aegon’s wish to spare him has not been heard.”

There were no other ideas. All of you seemed to fall into a silent agreement that nothing else would grow in that soil.

“You will speak to him, and if he does not change his mind, do not let it break your heart, do you hear me?” Baela warned you. “He is a stubborn and cold man, beneath it all.”

Funny.

To you, it was the opposite. He was stubborn and cold outside, while the flicker of warmth and kindness hid inside.

But there was something to be doubted about Cregan Stark’s person, indeed: How far did that stubbornness, pride, and control go?

You nodded.

What was the threat of a broken heart to someone who had experience in putting it back together?

Ice, the sword, was magnificently frightening. Its blade was wider than your palm, and even on Cregan Stark’s back, the length did not contract to one less threatening.

Now, it rested over his lap.

“My lord.”

His gaze lifted from the blade he sharpened, ceasing his motions.

“My lady.”

“Dame.” You corrected.

He traced your face, trying to unmask the reason behind your sternness. In truth, you had planned to speak kindly, but you would be lying to yourself and him with false gentleness. You did not wish to lie today.

“Aye,” He said, carefully. “May I ask—”

“I would like to question you instead, my lord,” You said. You held your skirts, approaching the small sofa where he sat. You stood in front of him. “May I?”

“You may,” He responded immediately, but the puzzlement in his tone was clear.

“Are you aware that Corlys Velaryon opened the gates for you and your men even after the end, my lord?”

The confusion quickly became annoyance. Cregan Stark turned his head away from you, analysing your question.

When he lifted his head, he was scowling again.

“So, that’s what this is about?” He asked. “You are here to interrogate me on behalf of the traitor of kings.”

You frowned.

“Aegon II was a usurper and a threat to the realm.”

“What does that change about Velaryon’s actions?”

“It was not a simple betrayal. Do you know what Aegon was like?”

“This is not about Aegon II.”

“No?” You asked. “Why would it not count?”

“I would have to spare Lord Strong, and all the others if I thought this way.”

“It is not the same.”

“On that, we agreed. Corlys Velaryon’s betrayal was worse. At least the others were not turncoats.”

“Both times, I know he asked for peace. Is it not the same you are doing now?”

“I am serving peace, not asking for it.”

“This is what he did by poisoning Aegon. And it was not his direct action or command, either,” You shook your head. “It is clear to me now. You took control to make up for not being able to meet battle after deciding to march two years later, did you not?”

He got up then, laying the large sword on the sofa and turning to you with a posture less restrained than the one he usually had. Just like the day the doors opened to the large wolf of the north. Bitter.

“Do you feel remorseful for that, my lord?” You continued. “Is that the reason why you are so adamant—”

“My absence was justifiable, and so is my sentence for Corlys Velaryon. Do not toy with me.”

“The future king agreed to spare him.”

“He is a boy. The reason why he agreed was because of the whispers of his sisters.”

“His sisters seem to understand the needs of the realm, then.”

“Oh, indeed,” He said, sarcastically. His eyes sharpened. “They whisper in your ear too.”

You bit your tongue. “I am not a child.”

“Yet you let yourself be manipulated?”

“I do not let myself be manipulated, I chose to be here. Do you think I needed to be tempted to speak to you? That I was scared to come?”

“You seem out of place to me.”

“I am not,” You bit back. “Although, I can see you feed off the fear you have cast upon the others.”

He shook his head with surprise. “I am protecting the future of this land.”

“Yet you would let it bleed again!”

“In what way would I do that?!”

“The execution of Corlys Velaryon will only provoke revenge. His son, Alyn, possesses navy power and could easily blockade multiple cities. You know that. It should not be difficult to understand that this would only extend the war you wish to end.”

In the short absence of your argument, the sound of fire flickering in the fireplace became as loud as the storm brewing, mingling with both of your heavy breaths, which only now did you come to realize were closer than ever before — although not as close as once you had wished.

“Is that the point you came here to make?”

His voice was quieter now, thicker with hesitation. He was tired of speaking loudly as you were before.

You swallowed, drifting your gaze to the wolf on his chest.

You were tired too. For too long now, in fact.

“Yes.”

“If it was not for the good of the realm, would you let me proceed?”

You thought of Baela and Rhaena’s faces. The burnt scar across Baela’s cheek. My friends. Girls who had lost so much in this war, once again losing family and watching battles unfolding.

The understanding of such pain came with the will to not let it befall those you adored without trying to stop it first.

“I see your argument, my lord,” Your tone was hushed as well. You lifted your gaze to his. “If not for the good of the realm, the will to see you would be weaker, perhaps. But I would still be here. I have seen King’s Landing from places that you never had to. It is the main reason why I am here. But I care about my friends, too. I would never forgive myself for not trying to protect them.”

Not again.

“My last question is: as you look forward and see the deaths, do you care?”

“You forget that winter has come, dame.”

“Or do you? When my city becomes ruins, who do you think I will blame?”

That silenced him.

He took a step back, blue eyes slightly wider.

“If…” You fisted your skirts, shutting your eyes. When you opened, you did not let it waver. “If you would do only one thing that I ask for, my lord, let it be this. Do not sing for me, but let the city do it with songs of peace.”

The rain washed the blood of Larys Strong’s decapitated head, but it kept flowing from his body. Then, when you least expected, Cregan raised his sword again and sliced off his clubfoot.

For some reason, that made you hiss like you had not done when the head fell.

“Small favours, I suppose,” Came the voice of Benjicot Blackwood, who stood beside you. He looked up at you, raising his eyebrows. “Imagine having to worry about a foot in hell.”

You did not reply, but tilted your head at the comment.

“Who is it now?” He asked the other woman beside him. His aunt, Alysanne.

“The Velaryon,” She whispered, in a way you could barely hear above the heavy rain. “Now, shut up. His family is here.”

Her eyes met yours above the boy’s head, and she offered a polite smile that you tried your best to return.

Your lips trembled, and you knew it was not only because of the cold. If not for the rain, the tears falling down your cheeks, which matched Rhaena and Baela’s, would be a clear sign of your grief. Not only for Corlys Velaryon, but for the city you never grew to love, but learned to mourn for those who would never find anything better.

They would die there.

Rhaena stood between you and Baela, an arm intertwined with her sister’s, and her other hand holding yours. Her head was raised, but her eyes were cast down.

Baela, on the other hand, stood and stared. She was like a statue in place. On the receiving end of her piercing stare, stood the warden.

Cregan was soaked to the bone. His hair was glued to his face, and his cloak would protect his body if he had chosen to wear it, but he did not. The cold walked with him there.

He watched the body of Larys Strong be dragged away, then tossed his head up, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes from the downpour. He did not look tired, but the job was not welcoming in that weather.

Then, he turned around, and extended his arm as if to motion the guards to stop.

Everyone watched intently as he approached them.

“What is going on?” Benjicot asked for no answer.

Cregan then walked back to the center of the patio, raising his head for all to see him.

“The Sea Snake will not die today. As the hand of future king, Aegon III, I will grant his wishes to spare him.”

Immediately, the crowd erupted into enthusiastic and bewildered conversation.

Your head snapped to Rhaena. She let out a surprised cry, embracing her sister tightly as her hand pulled you closer to them.

“I thought you said you did not manage to convince him,” She said, loud only for the three of you to hear.

Baela smiled, victorious, hugging you with one arm.

“It was what I thought it happened,” You said, completely lost. “He was stubborn like you said.”

“What did you offer him, then?”

“Offer?” You frowned. “I… I didn't offer anything.”

When you looked back to find the man, he was gone.

You bolted through the halls.

The fabrics of your dress felt heavy in your hold, even heavier now that they were wet after standing under the ceaseless rain for a long time, and dripped water behind you as you followed the path from the previous evening — the one that led to Cregan Stark’s chambers.

That day had awakened dark, and so were the shadows being cast by the columns and window frames, limiting a bit of your vision as you tried not to misstep your way up the stairs.

There were no men outside his doors, so you pushed the heavy wood without knocking.

He walked out of the right side of the chambers quickly. He had Ice in his hands, but when he saw you, the desperation in your face, and the quickness of your breath, he lowered it.

His gaze studied you briefly, then he offered a polite nod, the same one he gave you the first time you talked.

“Dame,” He greeted.

You did not think before letting your feet take you forward. You did not speak, or greet him back. Instead, you welcomed yourself over him.

He froze when your arms embraced his shoulders, but you did not move away.

“Thank you,” You exhaled into his wet hair. Your head was nested over the covered space between his neck and shoulder.

You could not see him or his reaction to this, but you hoped it was not a scowl. Please, you thought. Although, you did not know what exactly you wanted either. Anything, perhaps. Whatever he had to offer.

You felt one of his arms wrapping around your middle, glued to his, and the other half of his body turning as he extended his arm. Then, came the sound of Ice’s blade, resting somewhere.

Lastly, his other hand found your head, caressing your soaked mane.

“You spared him,” You said, still stunned.

“You asked me to.”

You opened your eyes, exhaling in the comfort of his embrace. Then, you separated yourself from him.

His reaction was immediate, His arms rested beside him, and he stood erect and serious. The soldier he was.

“Did you spare him, and the city, because I asked you to?” You questioned, quietly. “I came to talk and make you see my side. I only pleaded for your mercy out of desperation.”

“You did,” His eyes darted between yours. “Make me see, that is. I apologise for my reaction, I… I think I am used to my authority and not to being told what to do.”

A tired smile crossed your lips before it fell.

“I did not tell you to do anything.”

“Yes, I know,” He agreed quickly, taking a step closer. “What I mean is that, even then, I find myself willing to do whatever you want.”

“I know you are no fool,” He continued. There was hesitance between his phrases, as if he was figuring out what he wanted to convey. “You see the way I look at you.”

The question flickered in his eyes. You responded with a nod.

“I also find myself thinking that this is not enough,” He sighed. “When you tried to convince me to spare Corlys Velaryon, I imagined you were being selfish for your friends. Then, you spoke of the city, of ruins, and I discovered the selfish one was me. I am not the best man in the world, and I will admit that much.”

“I am selfish, too,” You whispered.

He hesitated even longer this time. “For agreeing with my point about treason, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That does not make you selfish. You are more considerate. You are kind. And… you were right.”

When your eyebrows shot up, he nodded.

“We got here too late. There was nothing left for my army. I was spiteful.”

“You were not entirely wrong for what you did,” You said. “You put an end to the war.”

“It would relent, if not for you pointing this out and making me understand,” He looked down. “I could not let myself be the cause of more destruction, nor your hatred. I did not come here to be that man.”

You closed your mouth, understanding it.

Deciding to consent to your wishes, you stepped forward as well, until you found him as close as he was on the previous night.

Your hands found one of his, enveloping it and bringing it close to you. Then, you lifted your head.

This time, there was no mirth, no confusion, and no anger. He was there as he was, and you could feel it in your bones.

“I am not the best person in the world, either, Cregan.”

His gaze fell to your mouth when his name came out of it.

“You are better than me.” His other hand came to rest on your face, and he smiled at you. “If I were you, that night on the balcony, I would ask you to be mine immediately.”

You mimicked his actions, removing one of your hands from his and bringing it to his face. “Well, you did spare Corlys Velaryon. In exchange, I would like to give you the only thing I have to offer.”

He understood your words instantly.

“I did not do that because I wanted something from you.”

You almost threw your head back, not being able to contain your laughter this time.

“That is exactly why I am here,” You told him.

“Tell me, then,” He asked. “That you want to be my lady.”

You hesitated.

“Will you listen to me when I talk about my nightmares and the person I was before I became a knight?”

“Every day,” He promised. “Will you let me take care of you and ask for your counsel?”

“I will.”

All that was left for you to do was mold yourself in his hold as his mouth searched for every bit of flesh and breath in yours.

His arm that previously held your middle was back there, pulling you tight enough to make you feel hot under the wet fabric, and his other hand rested on the side of your neck, tilting your head gently as your damp lips met with wet sounds that made you and him grunt softly whenever they collided perfectly.

Soon enough, he walked with you in his hold, provoking your hands to pull him by the shoulder and grip his hair.

Your backside found the heavy table of the room, but instead of sitting you on top of it the way you expected, Cregan rested his hands on your hips to keep you there, making arch your back as his mouth found your neck.

“Don't worry, for I will not take you here,” He said. “But, please...”

“I’m not worried,” You gasped, closing your eyes. “I would not mind if you did.”

He hummed, mouthing a spot on your neck continuously for a few seconds before raising his head.

“Not like this,” He kissed your lips once. “First, I will let you pass from a dame to a lady.”

You snorted, making him cease his movements.

“Are you mocking me?” He asked.

“No, I swear. It's just… I hate being called a dame.”

Cregan blinked. “You do?”

You nodded, laughing. “When I was knighted, I thought I was going to be called ser, like the rest. Then, Daemon Targaryen called me a dame. Oh, I hated it.”

The man laughed freely now.

“Every day,” He repeated. “I want to listen to you every day, my lady.”

The droplets of winter rain ran down your body, but in him you found warmth for a lifetime.

he licked his lips after kissing the back of her hand like a DOG!

wishing all of you a great day/night <3

unrelated, but i was thinking about making a character x bard reader fanfic. do you guys have any suggestions for what character should be her love interest?

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Jealous ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "Are you jealous?"┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 3

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1.6K

warnings: slight language

author's note: So I've only watched the netflix show and have yet to read the books, so my knowledge of the series and universe is from that. I love Benedict though. He's the himbo rich boyfriend I've always wanted. ♡

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

“Why do you insist I wear these silly gowns, Mama?”

My mother huffs as she swats at my fidgeting hands, trying to find a more comfortable angle in this ridiculous corset. She straightens the damned thing back to how it was, one of the bones digging its way into the side of my waist.

“Because, darling,” she begins, smoothing my hair to the side, “tonight is your first ball back into society. I know you enjoyed your time in the country with your aunt, but it is time you find yourself a husband.”

Taking my gloved hand in hers, she places a dance card on my wrist and leads me into the Danbury estate where tonight’s social event is in full swing. 

“Now, remember.” Mama turns to face me, cradling my face in her hand. “Tonight is for you to socialize and get to know those of the Ton. If you do not find someone who has caught your attention tonight, I will still love you.” 

Mama smiles at me before taking my hand again and guiding me inside the grand ballroom. It was filled with a vast assortment of fellow debutants, bachelors, and families mingling. In the middle of the room, couples were participating in the dancing, others talking near the lemonade tables, and others hovering around the dance floor conversing with their neighbors. Off to one side, I spot the one person I was hoping to see tonight dressed in the ever-recognizable blue color nearly all the Bridgertons wear. I quickly say goodbye to Mama, who was already conversing with Lady Danbury, and rush over to my friend.

“Eloise!” I greet, catching the girl’s attention. “It is so great to see you, my dear!” 

Eloise’s face lights up in recognition, turning to hug me. “Y/N! How was the country? You will have to recount your time to me! I’m sure your aunt taught you much in your time together.” 

My mother thought it best for me to get away after my failed engagement to Lord Pedleton, a filthy man double my age of twenty years. My father thought the union would bring fortune to our families, but all it brought was harm after Lord Pedleton was found bedding his maid. The scandal it brought to both our families caused my father to break the union and my mother convinced him it was best I spend some time with my aunt.

For the past year since, my aunt has taught me everything she knows and how to be in society as a woman while enjoying the more… improper joys in life. She took me to gallery openings of her friends, invited me to parties and gatherings with equal minded artists and intellectuals who did not look down at me for being a woman. She encouraged me to begin writing and worked with me to finish my first novel, publishing under a pseudonym and watching as others enjoyed my craft. To say I thoroughly enjoyed my time away was an understatement, and Eloise knows as I’ve written to her through the year and sent her an advanced copy. 

“It was wonderful, Eloise,” I sigh, a slight smirk forming on my lips. “The things I’ve done would make you blush.

She laughs, throwing her head back and grabbing my arm. “Oh, I’m certain! But I’m sure you missed me, or more accurately,” she leans in, mischief dancing in her eyes, “you missed my brother, did you not?”

My cheeks flare as I swat the girl away in playful annoyance. “Eloise!”

“What?” Eloise raises her hands in defense. “I only speak the truth! It is not like you haven’t been smitten with him since we were children!”

“Smitten with who, exactly?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That’s how the saying goes, is it not?

Benedict Bridgerton struts over to the two of us from whatever corner he was hiding in, butterflies erupting in my chest at the sound of his voice. His face lit up in boyish excitement as he stepped to his sister’s side. 

“No one!” I quickly reply, glaring at my friend before she can speak any more. 

Benedict chuckles, looking between Eloise and myself. “Well, I do hope whoever has your eye is worth it.” 

I roll my eyes. “There is no one that has my eye, Ben. Eloise was just asking about my time in the country.”

“Ah, yes! How was it?” His blue eyes pierce mine as he engages in the conversation. The look he gives is filled with an emotion I haven’t seen before.

“Oh you know,” I shrug, trying to avoid the total truth, “my aunt introduced me to her friends and I learned how she lives. She is always lively company to keep.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, and that you have now rejoined us!” Benedict slightly bowed in a playful manner, pulling a laugh from myself and an eye roll from Eloise. “You’ll have to join us sometime for a game of pall mall. It hasn’t been quite the same without you there to taunt Anthony.”

I smile widely, returning his bow with a curtsy. “Of course, Mr. Bridgerton. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The three of us stand in our corner recounting the past year together and catching up. I didn’t quite realize just how much I had missed my friends, but I am glad to be back in their company. 

While in the middle of Benedict explaining his recent work of art, I feel a tap on my shoulder, pulling the attention to the young man behind me. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he says. The man is young, not that much older than myself, with dark hair and a scrawny frame. “I apologize for interrupting, but I was wondering if I could take your next dance.”

I blush slightly out of both embarrassment and disbelief. “Oh, uh, sure.”

He takes my hand in his, filling out a line on my dance card before leading me to the dance floor. The music begins and the familiar tune fills the room. The man bows and I curtsy before getting swept into the dance. My partner is nervous, I can tell. His dance moves are clumsy and rushed, palms growing clammy. He refuses to meet my eye and is silent the entire time. 

Not very far into the dance, I glance back to where I left my two friends, Eloise silently laughing at my misery after getting tripped over and Benedict watches with a hard look on his face. I continue moving, but I cannot take my eyes off Benedict. The look on his face, eyes hard, jaw clenched, is one I had only seen when he was frustrated or angry. Why would he be angry?

Soon, the music ends and I remove myself from my partner, excusing myself back to my friends quickly. 

“Well that was quite the show!” Eloise laughed. For what felt like the hundredth time tonight, I rolled my eyes at the girl, but joined in her laughter.

“He might not be the greatest dance partner, but he wasn’t hard on the eyes, was he?” 

At my jest, I hear Benedict scoff before crossing his arms across his chest. “Please, the boy could hardly keep up.”

“Are you jealous?” I tease, stepping closer to him. Up close, I see his eyes shift across my face, shock dancing over his eyes briefly.

“Well- I-” Benedict stutters.

“I believe mama is calling me,” Eloise announces, clearly trying to leave and nearly tripping over another girl as she backs away. “I shall catch up with you later, Y/N.”

I huff before the feeling of a hand on my forearm is dragging me outside to the gardens. I struggle to keep up with Benedict’s quick strides before I stop around a secluded corner.

“Ben, what-” He interrupts me.

“What if I am?” Benedict stares at me, eyes wide and darting between mine.

“I’m sorry?”

“What if I am jealous?” He steps closer, but I stand my ground. He slowly closes the distance, taking one of my gloved hands in his.

“I would say that I have been jealous as well.” 

He leans in closer, face mere inches from mine, allowing me to see the creases and lines on his gorgeous face. His blue eyes, with flecks of green scattered like stars, dilate at my words. His other hand comes to rest on my cheek, thumb rubbing against my cheekbone. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says shakily. “You have been since I first met you.”

The breath catches in my throat, my hand slightly squeezes his still in my grasp. My eyes dart from the intensity in his eyes to his lips just briefly, but just enough for him to notice. Suddenly, the feeling of his lips on mine is the only thing I feel, my head spinning as I return his kiss. My free hand trails along his arm to rest at his shoulder, the other letting go to do the same while his finds my waist.

“Wait-” He carefully pulls away slightly, searching my eyes. “Are you sure-”

I pull him back in, arms securing themselves around his neck as he melts into my embrace. We continue before the need to breathe takes over and we part, chests rising and falling with each inhale. The sight of him, hair disheveled, lips slightly swollen, is a sight I’d like to see everyday if he’d let me. He smiles, still catching his breath before laughing quietly. His infectious personality has me joining him, my head falling to rest on his chest with his arms wrapping around my frame.

His hand tilts my head up to look at him. “I am glad you’ve returned, my love.”

[butchvamp]

after playing a little more i feel like this isn't just an issue with the crows but overall the factions and other groups have just had all their Edge completely removed...

as fun as it is finally getting to play as a crow there is such a weird disconnect between everything we’ve ever seen and learned abt the crows and how they’re being presented as like. a fun found family in veilguard. it feels like the game keeps forgetting they are literally a brutal assassin organization that buys slaves, tortures their recruits and murders people (including each other! regularly!) for a living

[titania-sleeps]

could we have more of depraved angel? 🥺🙏 Pleaseeee Dom him hard already

hiii ty for loving him, he loves you back sooo much :D i'm glad you're so eager cause he's already begging for it (if you squint hard enough precum is already there and you haven't done anything yet!)

this is coup de grace from his pov so you get to see all the thoughts in his silly head. (there are none. head empty no thoughts he just wants you.)

i'll release other content later :3

Coup De Grâce (Angel!Yandere x Nun!Reader) His POV

this is the continuation of this post

if you want to see this from your pov, click here (i recommend reading from your pov first)

warning: nsfw, dom reader (implied afab), dacryphilia, implied somnophilia (but it's like,,, not real cause you're awake), minors DNI pls

The curtains parts, moonlight trickling through the cracks. You lay in your bed, breathing steadily. Your eyes are closed. Not a single eyelash moved.

He swallows air. He is the angel, but he is convinced that there exists a halo around you. He pauses his movements, taking a second to take in the breathtaking scene.

Slowly, he drifts over your hardwood floor and lands on your bed. A soft thump echoes as he finds his spot next to you, as he does every night. His fingers dance around his cock, bringing it out from his robes. A smear of wetness accompanies his hands. Truly, he is enamored.

He shifts closer to you, using his hand to guide his head to where your ass is. He shudders in anticipation, allowing his hips to move against your form.

The initial feeling is grasped in sin. His body fills with a warmth far greater than that he could find in the embrace of the divine Lord. He muffles his whimper. There exists a ring in hell for individuals such as him, in the Second Circle, but perhaps he belonged in the center of hell. He is a heretic, yet he is fortunately not favored. He would not be cast down to pay Lucifer companionship.

Mikhael clutches your hand, his body shifting closer to you. He gasps, his cock sliding against your ass clumsily. He moves languidly, cautiously, afraid you will wake up. You are an unwilling partner in his sin, and all that he can do to absolve you of your guilt is to ensure you stay like that.

He moans softly into your ear, his hand tightening around your hand. His fingers slip through yours as he shivers from the stimulation. His hips stutter against yours shyly, though his tiny gasps and breathy moans betray his desire to do more.

He wants to melt into you, but before he can, he is flipped over by you. His eyes were closed, and now they open to perceive you. He blinks in confusion and wonder, the pupils of his eyes dilating. Then heat creeps up his face and overtakes it in a blossoming pink.

"Y-You can see me?" His mind buzzes in giddy joy. No human has been able to see him in the past, even those who proclaim themselves prophets. For you to see him, it must mean that his perverted love has been accepted. Then, just maybe, his love for you is holy, and you are his true god.

You don't respond to him; instead, he notices you lean down. Panicking, he closes his eyes before he feels your tongue on his lips, as though silently asking for permission to enter. He responds promptly by opening his mouth, allowing you to slip inside and envelop your tongue around his. He moans into the kiss, a wanton sound parting from his devoured lips.

He feels you pull away from him and he bites back a sad whine. You sit atop him, pushing your hair back. Your piercing eyes glare into his; that is how he knows you can genuinely see him. Your eyes look right into his soul.

"What's your name?" you ask. He jolts from your fingers folding into his.

"Mikhael," he replies, heart pounding. "How... can you see me?"

"Perhaps we're meant to be," you respond, leaning down to give him another peck. His organs flutter. So you are his destined god.

He whines when you pull away again, his hands reaching and wrapping themselves around your neck. He pulls you in for another kiss, submitting himself to your whims. Take control of him, take all of him, he is yours to consume and devour.

He is focused on your presence in his mouth until his body freezes from the feeling of your hand on his exposed cock, your fingers tickling his head. His hips buck and he groans; he smiles to himself as it seems to motivate you. Your slow strokes elicit moans from him.

"Mikhael, why do you follow me?" He whines when you pull away again. How cruel of you, to give him paradise to then cast him back into limbo. Your grip tightens on his cock.

"Love... you..." he mumbles quietly, averting his gaze.

You squeeze harder.

"I love you!" He gasps, his back arching. He feels your hand quicken its pace. You are smiling not unlike a goddess, especially with the moonlight hitting the gleam in your eyes. His heart is full, and he wishes he can present it to you fully.

"I've never had a celestial suitor before," you muse.

He is reduced to a whimpering mess, needy moans and groans escaping from his parted lips. His cock is angrily red, matching the hue of his face. His chest heaves as he closes his eyes, drops of tears falling from the corner of his eyes.

You lick his tears. He shakily breaks into a smile, knowing that you are now enamored with him as he is to you.

"I want to... finish..." he pleads, drunk on his perverted love. His cock throbs and his vision is dizzy, but you glow effervescently and he can only focus on you.

"Guess you're my guardian angel now," you laugh, your pace increasing. Mikhael moans, his body shuddering as his hips lift.

Bright halos of light convulse around you, your tempting smile nearly personifying agape. That is how he knows that you are the true being he is meant to serve. His body is absolved of his human sin, and his body experiences the weightlessness of a freed soul.

His cock trembles in your hand as it spews out cum. Minutes later and he is still cumming; he mutters incoherent noises. He is begging, pleading, imploring that you allow him the gentle presence of your lips on his, but you don't hear him.

As he comes down from his high, you peck his nose gently. His eyelids move slowly, staring at you with worship.

"I'm your guardian angel..." he repeats, humming softly to himself. He is more than your guardian angel now. He is your sole protector, a sworn fealty laid beneath your feet. He huddles closer to you, enjoying your warmth.

Perhaps he might be punished by his false gods.

But already his desire and his will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by his Love which moves the sun and the other stars.

if anyone catches what the last line is i'll be happy

also i'll drop him trying to clumsily seduce you another day :D

-> masterlist

[claudemblems]

A Kiss to End All Doubt | Albert Moriarty

Summary: When you agreed to tag along with the Moriarty brothers to a grand ball, the last thing you expected was to receive a noble's offer of marriage. Thankfully, Albert plays the part of your lover well, perhaps a little too well for his affectionate words to be fake...

Content: SFW. Fem!Reader. 3,723 words. Pining. Soooo much romantic tension. Albert is a flirt and no one is surprised.

Notes: I have been writing this fic for what feels like forever BUT IT'S FINALLY FINISHED :3 I'm so excited to finally give this to you. I hope you enjoy it 💖 I may also add an epilogue if there's an interest for one...🤭

Did Albert Moriarty, one of the many faces of the Lord of Crime, truly not have the slightest idea of the effect he had on you?

It was silly to even fathom that a man of his stature could be so oblivious, but you couldn’t help but start to wonder once he started giving your flushed cheeks and wide eyes a quizzical look.

That, or he was playing coy with you, which wouldn’t be all that surprising coming from him. He’d long since mastered the art of making noble ladies go weak in the knees.

But that was a skill he’d acquired out of pure necessity. If he had things his way, he’d refuse to give the stuck up women of the nobility the time of day. Unfortunately, he had a role to play in all of his brother’s plans, and so he continued flirting with the noble ladies just long enough to leave them wanting more.

You, on the other hand, were no noble. In fact, you had no good fortune, distinguished education, or marriageable prospects to speak of. Truly, you were nothing but a mere face hidden amongst the shadows, which was perfect for an assistant to the Lord of Crime.

You’d begun to empathize with Albert’s disdain for these royal functions, mainly the lavish balls he and his brothers had little choice but to attend. It was important for them to keep up appearances as a well-rounded noble family who knew how to mingle with the upper-class, whether they enjoyed doing so or not. While they seemed to have gotten used to it for the most part, it proved to be quite the difficult adjustment for you. Thankfully, Albert had patiently taught you the ins and outs of noble life, giving you lessons on small talk and etiquette whenever time permitted.

However, he hadn’t yet taught you how to handle a nobleman’s advances.

“You must be Lady [Name],” the man greeted, holding out his hand for you to take. You briefly glanced towards Albert, taking his nod as a sign to follow through with the gesture. A kiss was placed onto your hand before the man let go, stepping back to better admire the exquisite sights around him. “It’s quite a splendid ball, isn’t it? There’s so many well-mannered and intelligent guests in our midst, such as you, young Lord Albert.”

“Lord Darnley, you are far too kind,” Albert said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “I ought to be extending the compliments to you. Your presence here is most welcome, as well as that of your entourage. Would the girl you brought with you happen to be your little sister, Lady Georgina?”

“Ah, I see you’ve made sure to memorize the names of all the guests! Indeed, she insisted on joining me, and no matter what I said, she refused to take no for an answer!” Darnley bellowed in laughter, briefly drawing the attention of the other guests nearby.

“She already seems to be quite the free spirit. I’m sure she has a bright future ahead of her.”

“If you’re so interested in my dear Georgina, I would be more than willing to sit down and discuss a potential marriage between the two of you.”

You swore you saw a flash of disgust appear in Albert’s eyes, but he simply smiled brightly at Darnley, careful that his emotions did not look fake or contrived. “While your offer is certainly generous, I have no plans of marriage at the moment. I’m afraid I’m already plenty busy with my service in the royal army.”

“Ah, what a shame,” Lord Darnley sighed, but his disappointment quickly turned to anticipation when his gaze once again fell on you. Your stomach lurched at the look in his eyes, but you tried to retain your composure, copying Albert’s mannerisms by offering a surface-level smile.

“Lady [Name], I am supposing you are not yet married if you’re attending this function with the Moriartys.”

“That would be correct, my good sir. How astute of you to notice.”

Lord Darnley grinned at the news like a hunter mere moments away from ensnaring this prey. “Well then, my lady, is there anyone that has asked for your hand yet?”

Goosebumps ran down your arms as you swallowed thickly. Anyone with a right mind knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

“I…well…” Should you tell the truth? Should you lie? But then who would you say had expressed a desire in marrying you? “It’s…complicated.”

“So, that would mean no formal question has been posed then, correct?”

“...Correct.”

You heard Albert’s feet shift next to you, on guard for whatever preposterous idea this nobleman could come up with next.

“Well, it’s certainly not good for a lady of your standing to be without a husband. I, myself, am quite the romantic, and I believe a courting period fosters a genuine love between both parties involved. If you have no one currently vying for your hand, perhaps you’d offer me the chance to earn it.”

No. No. On so many levels, no.

But this wasn’t about you—your happiness or married life did not come before the liberation of London. Whatever the brothers asked of you, you would adhere to their words, even if it meant having to be stuck with a man such as…this. Though you knew they’d never even entertain the thought of offering you up to some man who cared only for your beauty and status and nothing for your heart. If you were to refuse Darnley’s advances, at the least, you were confident the Moriartys would respect your decision.

Even so, you didn’t want to cause any more trouble for them. If you couldn’t agree to the idea of marriage, perhaps a date or two would suffice, right?

Just the thought made you feel sick. 

“Well, what do you say, my lady? Will you allow me the pleasure of courting you?”

You knew you had to keep up appearances. You couldn’t allow for cracks to show in the perfect and amicable facade the Moriartys had carefully crafted. You knew that well, and yet…

This was a proposal that not even death itself could bring you to accept.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I must sincerely refuse.”

Lord Darnley stared at you in alarm. “Come again? You didn’t just say no to my advances, did you?”

Your heart rate quickened as his words grew heated, and in that moment you wanted nothing more than to take off and hide somewhere safe and quiet in the manor’s garden, away from other people who might come up with even more ridiculous propositions.

“It’s just as you heard, my lord. I must decline.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Lord Darnley stared straight into your eyes, not blinking for several long moments. Your hands had begun to shake as you feared that you’d just begun tarnishing the reputation of the Moriarty family. Truly, there were fewer things more terrifying than a nobleman who felt he’d been insulted, and the consequences for such an offense would be nothing short of dire.

“Lady [Name], you are in no place to refuse my offer. You said yourself that no other man has even brought up the idea of marriage to you! Are you truly so brazen that you would reject the prospects of a life in union with mine? We all know who makes the decisions around here, and they’re certainly not made by women—!”

“My good sir, I believe you’ve said quite enough.”

A small gasp left your lips as Albert sneaked a hand around your waist, still carefully holding his glass of wine in the other. You searched his face for an answer as to what he was scheming, but he simply smiled—a true one this time—wordlessly reassuring you that all would be well.

“You see, Lady [Name] may not have received an offer of marriage as of yet, but that is only because I have been quite busy protecting our beloved country. I wish to propose when I am able to be at home more often and thus can fulfill my duties as a devoted husband to my wife. So I must politely ask that you rescind your offer, lest you make yourself seem as though you chase after taken women.”

Propose? Husband?

If you were afraid of tainting the Moriarty image, Albert clearly didn’t share your concerns.

“Taken? Why, I—! You’re bluffing, Lord Albert! You’re not planning on marrying this woman!”

“And what has brought you to that incorrect conclusion?”

“If that were the case, you would have brought it up the moment I asked if she were single!”

“To be fair, you asked if she’d received an offer for marriage, not if she was currently available to court.”

You could practically see the steam coming out of Lord Darnley’s ears, his face growing redder with each passing minute. He was still unconvinced, and for good reason, too, but you weren’t about to let Albert’s kindness go to waste.

You placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder, smiling up at him as he redirected his full attention to you. “It’s true, my lord. My affections have been reciprocated by my dear Albert, and I am patiently waiting for him to ask me to marry him. It will be a proposal I shall readily accept.”

Darnley scoffed, a hand placed over his heart in disbelief. “And you had the gall not to tell me when I’d begun to question you? Either you’re a terrible liar, or you’re just hoping to humiliate me in front of all these guests!”

“I would never dream of deceiving or insulting you, my lord. I should have made my relationship status clear to you earlier. Please forgive my carelessness.”

“I still think this is some elaborate hoax the both of you are trying to pull off. If not to tarnish my good name, then to convince every noble here that you’re worth the status bestowed on you at birth.” Lord Darnley swiped a fresh glass of wine off the tray of one of the waiters walking by, the man watching in horror as the lord downed all of the liquid in one gulp. His cheeks had started to take on a flushed hue from the great amount of alcohol he’d consumed that night, and with the way things were going, he was sure to be drunk by the end of it. “Perhaps, Lady [Name],” Darnley continued, a lopsided smirk forming on his face, “you’ve been lying about your social status, and you’re hoping that your marriage to Lord Albert will secure you a place in the upper class.”

Anger surged through you at his utterly ridiculous theory. Darnley had unknowingly gotten one fact right: you were a nobody. When you’d been taken in by the Moriarty family, you had nothing to your name but pen, paper, and the clothes on your back. But you knew one thing for sure: you had worth as a human being, and no one, noble or otherwise, would be able to change that.

And marrying a noble for status? What a laughable suggestion. As if you’d stoop so low just for some so-called “honor” among the elite.

“Well, dear sir,” you began, discreetly hiding a smirk behind your gloved hand, “I had no idea you were so foolish as to even come up with such an inconceivable thought. I once held you in high regard as I’ve heard many within the nobility sing your praises, but your current behavior is quite unbecoming of a person of your stature.”

You heard Albert try, and fail, to stifle a laugh next to you. You quietly breathed out a sigh of relief to see that he’d chosen not to reprimand your strong words. If anything, he seemed eager to encourage them.

As Lord Darnley frantically signaled for a waiter to bring him more wine, Albert took the opportunity to lean down next to your ear, whispering a simple yet heart-pounding question, “[Name], would it be all right with you to play further into these roles of enchanted lovers?”

Your breath caught in your throat, butterflies beginning to form in your stomach. “Of course,” you said. If only you knew how I truly felt, you wouldn’t even need to ask.

He smiled down at you, a sight that only stirred up the butterflies even more, and pulled you closer against him. Meanwhile, his eyes bored into Lord Darnley’s frame, darkening with every passing moment. If there was no one else in that ballroom, you had no doubt Albert would have leapt at the chance to get rid of him.

When Lord Darnley had finished downing another glass of wine, his fiery countenance returned to you and Albert. “You both are frauds,” he spat. “Everyone else here might be too dim-witted to figure it out, but I’ll make them aware that you’re not the upstanding moral characters you believe that you are.”

“It’s a shame to hear such vile thoughts coming from your own mouth, good sir,” Albert sighed. “But if I must be honest, I don’t care what any noble in this room thinks of me or the house in which I rule over.”

“Oh? And why is that, good sir?”

“Because,” Albert answered, turning his body towards yours, his visage noticeably softening when his focus returned to you, “the only person I want to please is the woman I adore. Not one person in the nobility is worthy of praise or merit—no one but her alone.”

Setting aside his glass, Albert gingerly took your hand in his own, meeting your eyes to silently ask for your permission. At your nod of approval, he lifted your fingertips to his lips, placing a gentle and almost reverent kiss against them.

“I love her,” he said, his sweet gaze reaching the very depths of your soul, “and when the time is right, I will make her mine.”

His words were like a match igniting the fire blazing in your heart, the flames fed by your deep affections for him, growing with every beat that thumped in your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand came to rest against your cheek, his touch so light yet so dizzying, more intoxicating than any wine you’d had that night. 

Albert searched your eyes as all the feelings you’d tried to keep at bay finally came pouring in like waves. You were sure he could see it all: the admiration, the yearning, the love you’d kept locked away. But somehow he’d managed to find the matching key, the truth you’d been hiding for all these years finally at his reach.

His fingers traveled along your cheek and down to your jaw, this thumb tracing patterns against your skin. You were still dazed from his words to Darnley, but you brought yourself to meet Albert’s gaze once more, curious to see what truths you could uncover in his own expression.

And you wished you hadn’t, because when you saw the affection so clearly present in them, you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until the night turned into day.

Albert wasn’t oblivious, and you knew it. Whatever people thought of him as—a genius, a young prodigy, a man of great knowledge—his ability to read people was beyond the average person’s comprehension. And you knew when he’d finally figured out what the person he’d been surveying was hiding. His lips would quirk upwards ever so slightly, the dimples on his face just beginning to show, and he’d cock his head to the side, pleased with his findings.

And that was exactly how he was looking at you.

You’d placed your heart out in plain view of his observant eyes, and he’d figured you out. But now that he knew of your feelings for him, what was he planning to do with them?

Albert’s thumb drifted from your jaw down your lips, careful not to brush off the lipstick staining them. He stared at them for several moments, deep in thought, before he returned his eyes to yours, a single question hidden within them.

May I?

Already breathless, you squeezed his hand once, closing your eyes as Albert leaned in painstakingly slowly, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation. This was the moment you’d only been able to imagine in dreams, on nights where you sat wordlessly under the stars, silently wishing upon them in vain. They couldn’t grant you your desires. They couldn’t give you everything you ever wanted. You were the only one with the power to seize your opportunity and make your own wish come true.

And as Albert’s lips finally fell on yours, you smiled.

Your greatest wish was being granted right before your very eyes.

His lips tasted faintly of wine, and the subdued scent of his cologne still lingered on his collar. Combined with the warm and comforting touch of his hand cupping your face, your senses were overwhelmed in the most wonderful of ways. It felt as if you’d begun to float, brought into a fairy tale-esque trance where the entire world grew still except for you and Albert.

Time had stalled to allow you this moment of pure, undeniable bliss that not even the corrupt powers of this world could take away from you.

With his lips still on yours, Albert’s hand snaked further around your waist, gently pulling you closer against him. You practically had no room left between the two of you, and so in a moment of boldness, you placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, right above his heart. Even through his suit, you could feel it beating wildly.

It only made you wonder: did he truly mean what he’d said earlier? Did he really harbor such affection for you? Did he really intend…to make you his?

Before you could ponder anymore, Albert finally pulled away, cheeks faintly dusted with rose. He appeared somewhat dazed himself, but he kept his composure, still well aware of where the two of you were at the moment.

But this time when he turned to Darnley, he smirked, practically beaming from head to toe with delight as he spoke. “Well, Lord Darnley, do you believe us now?”

If looks could kill, both of you would have succumbed to that man’s rage.

Darnley’s hands gripped his wine glass so tightly that it shattered onto the floor, the remnants of wine staining his once perfectly polished suit. Other nobles stopped their conversations and turned to him upon hearing the commotion, a few of them even pulling out handkerchiefs.

“Sir, let me get you a new glass,” a waiter spoke, holding his hand out to take the broken one from him. But Lord Darnley was already fuming, and he shoved the waiter to the side, smashing the rest of the wine glass against the floor.

“You will pay for this,” he snarled. Sending you one final glare, he turned on his heel, marching out of the ballroom, hopefully never to be seen again (at least for the night).

“Well,” Albert breathed, laughing as he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore.”

“You’re right…Thank you, Albert.”

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, gaze drifting back to yours. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your gratitude.”

You shook your head. “You have, Albert. You didn’t have to step in and save me from Darnley’s advances, but you did, even though doing so could have tarnished your family name. I’m indebted to you.”

Albert frowned ever so slightly, and you cocked your head to the side, confused. After a few moments, his gaze flickered to the people dancing around the room, his cheeks still tinged a beautiful red. “If you thought I was doing all that just to be a gentleman,” he murmured, “then I don’t know what it would take to make the truth clear to you...”

Well, suddenly you were the one left blushing. 

“It’s not that. I…I don’t want to assume anything more, not when you’re such a precious person to me. I’m just scared of ruining what we have between us.”

Albert turned his attention back to you, using the hand that was still on your waist to pull you close to him again. Taking your other hand in his, he lifted it up to his lips, your faces now just mere inches apart.

“And what if I were to say that I do want something more?”

You almost wanted to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

But you still felt the press of his lips against yours, took in the smell of his cologne, and memorized the touch of his fingers running along your cheek. It was not a dream. It was even better.

Albert leaned down next to your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. “If one kiss isn’t enough to convey how much my heart yearns for you, then allow me to kiss you until you’re breathless, and no more words of doubt are left on your tongue.”

Albert smiled as your face grew redder, and with the way he bit his lip, you knew he was struggling not to comment on it.

“For a noble, you sure lack any semblance of shame, Master Albert."

Albert shook his head and chuckled to himself, that mischievous glint having once again returned to his eyes. “Keep teasing me and you’ll find out just how shameless I can be, darling.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Do you want to find out?”

Despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but laugh, squeezing Albert’s hand tighter in yours. “If you want to kiss me so badly, do so in a place that’s actually romantic, will you?”

Taking you by the hand, Albert began to lead you outside of the ballroom and into the rose gardens. “Of course, and I’ll take my time to make sure I kiss you properly.”

You made a mental note to thank William and Louis for letting you tag along to the ball. If all went well, they would end up becoming your own brothers-in-law, after all.

But that could wait until you finally had Albert’s affections all to yourself.

[vagabond-umlaut]

The Contract To Compromise

Chapter 1 of For Love's Sake Only... Or Is It? Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; Victorian AU; Epistolary. Fluff, Angst, Drama & Romance; Arranged Marriage; Marriage of Convenience; Love at First Sight; Slow Burn; Letters; Secret Identity.

This work is loosely inspired by 'Daddy-Long-Legs' by Jean Webster, but of course, minus the icky problematic parts of the dynamics between the protagonist and her love interest. [The novel is a wonderful read otherwise!] [Also, I do not wish to kink-shame anyone.]

Chapter warnings: A FEW TOO MANY historical inaccuracies. Talks of bankruptcy and murder. [Nothing serious happens, though!]

To say you're happy might be the greatest understatement of the century.

Cheeks hurting from your wide grin, you throw the receding horse carriage one last glance before rushing out the front door. To the Itadori's two blocks away. Whose door is opened by none but your closest and dearest friend Yuuji.

"Oh, hello—" The boy greets, eyes wide yet crinkling into a slow smile, only for you to startle him further by suddenly pulling him into a tight embrace. The sound of his yelp lost in that of your hearty chuckles, you announce, "He agreed, Yuuji. He agreed. Oh goodness, I cannot believe my good fortune but he agreed."

"He... as in your fiance?" Yuuji inquires when you let go of him, closing the door behind you then leading you into the house. Sounds of sizzling food reach you from the kitchen further down the hallway. Ah, so Megumi must have woken up already.

You nod back. "Mmhm. The one and only. The man agreed to help me. I cannot believe it but his employee Uraume arrived at our place today morning and delivered a letter from their employer. Lord Ryomen says he agrees to fund the remainder of my college tuition."

A shadow falls over Yuuji's face at your words— one teeming with pity and sympathy— you try not to let it hurt your feelings, your pride as much as it should. As much as it used to.

Though you suppose there's very little of your pride left after your once-affluent family goes bankrupt and you give your consent to an arranged marriage with a rich stranger from faraway lands— something which once made you wrinkle your nose in distaste— but you agree to it eagerly now only for the financial help for your family promised by your prospective groom should you decide to wed him.

And even less of your pride left after you write him a letter not even three days later, requesting him to pay for your remaining last year at college, though not stating it in explicit terms. Instead, saying how one might benefit from a well-educated, empowered wife. Besides assuring you have every intention of paying him back the money he spends for your studies.

A call of your name draws you away from your mind. Yuuji frowns, miserable and contrite. "I wish we could help you, but with me paying for my grandfather's treatment and with 'Gumi paying his father's debts... we're very, very sorry."

"It's okay, you silly boy," you brush his genuine apology away with a chuckle, reaching forwards to squeeze his palm reassuringly, "To have the two of you by my side even when nearly everyone else left me— that's the greatest help you and Megumi could ever give me and my family. Thank you so much, Yuuji."

A weak grin breaks across his face but before he can say anything, Megumi walks into the room with a tray of tea and pastries. You send him a teasing grin, "So how's staying with Yuuji treating you, hm? Quite well, is it not?"

"Better than the very best," Megumi replies, simple and solemn, settling on the settee beside his lover and slipping an arm round his waist. "Though I suppose you're faring the best of us all. I could hear you laughing through the sounds of the pans and cookers."

"That I am," you admit easily, taking a bite from a red velvet pastry, an appreciative hum leaving you at its heavenly taste, "My fiance agreed to pay for my college tuition after all. I can now graduate with no worries in a year— and no. No more sorry's, please. I won't hesitate to forget my governess' lessons and hit the two of you if I need to sit through yet another apology. Please, Fushiguro."

The addressed boy sighs at your demand, relenting much sooner than you expected him to. "Alright, I won't. But know that we two are always here for you, okay? We might not be able to help you financially, but that should never stop you from sharing your troubles with us. Particularly if they concern your fiance. Especially if they concern him mistreating you in any form. Yes?"

"Is that an offer to murder him if he does so?" you inquire, half-amused, half-serious. He shrugs. "If the need arises, why not? My birth father was a horrible parent but he was a damn good assassin. He taught me more than a few tricks."

"Not that we will ever need to see them, however," Yuuji adds within the next beat with a tense chuckle and a glare at his lover you've never reckoned he can give, "Su– I mean, Lord Ryomen is a good man. He's certain to treat you right. Don't worry."

And worrying, you're not. Not very much, that is.

"I hope he is," you hum quietly, "Though he is kind of odd, I must say, what with his conditions for agreeing to pay for my tuition and such."

"Conditions?"

Megumi's sharp query shoves you out your thoughts, making you realize you weren't as quiet as you deemed you were. You throw back a small smile.

"Not anything serious, fret not. He simply wishes me to send him a letter every fortnight, updating him on my daily life. Uraume said it is for Lord Ryomen to know his help isn't being in vain. And to know his bride better, considering he cannot visit me from his province anytime soon."

"And you agreed to it?" Yuuji asks, exchanging a look with the other boy.

You pretend to ignore it. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? Although..." you trail off, eventually adding with a frown, "he asked me not to expect any reply from him, whatsoever— which is somewhat disheartening, if I must be honest. It's almost as if I'll be writing letters to a wall."

"Yet you agreed to it?" It is Megumi who asks this time, scowling, "If you did not like the condition, why did you say yes to it? You should have rejected it."

"Beggars can seldom be choosers, 'Gumi," you sigh with a mirthless smile.

"Besides, my marriage to Lord Ryomen will be one of convenience solely— it's good he won't be replying to my letters. This will prevent my heart from succumbing to foolish dreams of love— I'll remember our relationship is nothing but a transaction. Him, helping my poor family and me by sending money the 3rd of every month. Me, thanking him by agreeing to wed him thus providing him a companion, and possibly a means to carry forward his lineage. Nothing less. Definitely nothing more."

A stifling silence follows the tail end of your words— one you attempt to break with a wide grin when you realize the effect you had on the atmosphere of the room. "Ah, but the good thing is I can finish my education and be a graduate— something I've dreamt of ever since I was a tiny girl. I feel so immensely relieved now."

"Yes. Every cloud does have a golden lining, doesn't it?" Yuuji chimes in almost instantly with a cheery beam, bless the boy and his kind soul. Megumi regards you carefully for a moment longer then exhales audibly, a sign of him conceding.

"It is silver, not golden," he corrects the other boy with a disapproving look before pinning it on you, "and yes, I suppose it does— but don't let your head be in the clouds, will you?"

Your lips curve in a confident little grin.

"I won't, 'Gumi. Of course, I won't."

I had forgotten this was there in my drafts. xD

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

[agentrouka-blog]

Favourite sassy Sansa moments ??

This one is still my favourite:

“When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

"Little pointy beard and all?" Alayne laughed.

“I never meant..."

"I hope you joust better than you talk."

I know she’s technically playing a role here but SANSA STARK’S SASS IS UNDERRATED!!!! she’s so unintentionally funny

Anon, I am pretty sure it's intentional. ^_^

Sansa is dang charming and funny when she's allowed to be.

The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. "Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect." "As well he should." The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. "If the wicked do not fear the King's Justice, you have put the wrong man in the office." Sansa finally found her words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace," she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her. "Well spoken, child," said the old man in white. "As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard." He bowed. (AGOT, Sansa I)

This isn't quite as hilarious at first glance, but she's very much working her audience here, to great effect.

Of course, she rarely has the opportunity to openly speak at all, let alone with sass, so a lot of her snark happens internally.

One of my favorite unspoken lines is this:

The king leafed through it with no interest. "And what is this, Uncle?" A book. Sansa wondered if Joffrey moved those fat wormy lips of his when he read. (ASOS, Sansa IV)

The classic:

"They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she said recklessly. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown." (ACOK, Sansa V)

I'm sure there are many that escape me right now.

But yeah, the TWOW sample chapter is pure gold in terms of watching Sansa be closer to her carefree self. Excitedly overseeing preparations, running and gossiping with a friend, free to bite back for once, free to let her thoughts indulge silly details or observations that don't specifically serve to protect her from harm.

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died. [...]

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. "And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled." [...]

Myranda rolled her eyes. "They're from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater." "Well," Alayne said, "at least they're clean." "Some of them have webs between their toes. I'd sooner marry Lord Petyr.  [...] She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. [...]

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. [....]

"And is Ser Harrold with them?" Horrible Ser Harrold. "He is." [...]

Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." "What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?" That almost made him stumble. "My lady japes." "Oh, no." Petyr will howl when I tell him what I said.

Alayne is the Sansa that she could have been all this time, the girl who liked to giggle and be silly with Jeyne Poole, had no great issue holding her own in conversation, who drew pleasure and energy from the world around her.

I mean, we know she is playing a role and based Alayne partially on Jon Snow... but that girl there is not a terse and moody grump. She's not even a lean shadow laughingly racing to the bridge with his brother. She is a highborn lord's daughter, inhabiting the center of attention with confidence like she was born to it. Like Sansa.

[eldritch-spouse]

Pinnie I want Lacai to give me kissing lessons (I'm a virgin who's never been kissed even though I'm in my 20s it's so embarrassing)

[Oh shut it, things will happen when they're supposed to happen, jfc. Fem reader. Also, terrible idea as a whole.]

TW: Dubcon.

Boy, he lucked out. Lacai really got lucky this time.

See, when Lord Vesper spends a little more time in the surface than usual, Lacai is allowed to wander. On a bit of a tight leash, but wander nonetheless. And when Lacai's crafty, when luck favors him, he can mingle with the perfect crowds.

What he didn't expect however, was to find someone amongst the crowds like you this time. A virgin. Cute, shy little thing. The type of human concubi in Lust would lick their lips at and claw each other over. He can picture it now, demons of all ranks circling around your helpless form like sharks in a tank, bloodshed and frenzied arousal, tugging at your clothes, groping, biting- You'd be ruined.

Which makes the impcubus all the more giddy to have you all to himself.

Lacai is shorter than you, and yet, when he first approached you, you nearly jumped out of your skin. He could hear your poor heart thunder against its ribcage, a hint of immediate desire muffled by the scent of great panic.

He had to beckon you somewhere quieter, hidden, to be able to have a real conversation with you, bring you out of your shell. This careful process is one that not all of his kin have patience or time for, but Lacai is no stranger to it, enjoying getting to know some of his meals on a deeper level. And besides, virgins should be treated with care. If he is to be your guide into shared carnality, then he must make more than a good impression.

Conversation flowed surprisingly easily between you two, gentle laughter and awe from your part as the imp regaled you with happenings from his home, his work. Most of them scandalous in some way or another... And, as time passed, the fear you exhibited started to melt, your tense shoulders relaxed, those small hints of want starting to grow into genuine thirst. Lacai himself blushed, the pull of a soul yet to experience sex being stronger on those of low-rank, he perspired faintly.

Without him even having to steer the topic too much, you eventually brought up your inexperience, your desire to experience things you claim most people your age already have. It struck him as a bit silly that you were complaining about it as if you were in a race to the finish line -When really these first experiences ought to not be rushed- But fiend that he is, Lacai was very quick to assure you that such a simple request could become reality.

You wanted experience?

You wanted a kiss from someone who's embraced many a lover before?

He'd do that for you.

It seems, much to his fortune, that sexuality isn't the only thing you are inexperienced in. Because anyone who has ever dealt with demons would think twice before accepting a transaction disguised as a favor.

You didn't.

You were as blind as a bat, seeing only your goals within reach, and not the teeth behind Lacai's smirk as he rested a hand on your cheek.

And so, committed to this, perhaps endeared by you, the dance started. With the servant of Lust setting up a specific time and place where the two of you meet, and he helps you "practice".

Truth be told, Lacai is getting a little too fond of these moments. Seeing the way your eyes light up with joy at the sight of him, how you shrink slightly in yourself but always manage some sort of cheeky greeting, your attention and the way you hang off his every motion is a sweet respite from his duties back in the Rings. Even if these moments are too wholesome for his tastes, leave him dreadfully famished by the end, Lacai finds them to be worth it. Because they're part of the game. Because he...

He's grown to like you. More than that, truly.

Which is interesting, he'd always thought himself a little too hedonistic to humor the idea of genuine love, something that isn't fleeting. The imp doesn't know where this is going, but he does know he wants to be a part of it.

He can dwell on it later, when he's not claiming your lips.

You were never a bad kisser. Timid, for sure, barely ghosting across his in your fear of upsetting Lacai, but not bad.

In fact, it's never been hard to sway you into the right movement. The way you're so responsive paired with his natural sensuality, the drunkenness of need, it all makes this learning process a lot easier than you were probably expecting it to be.

Every night you meet, Lacai takes it just a bit further. However much you're willing to humor.

It didn't take too long for him to be slipping his tongue into your mouth the same way he does now, playful yet full of fervor, every one of your explorative motions rewarded with more of his intensity and an encouraging moan.

A kiss from an incubus is a trap. A weapon. A deadly seal coated in saccharine promises you're too flustered to question. It's the lure that makes you set your foot in a bear trap with a smile on your face. All the tastes you've ever loved you shall find on his tongue and all the pleasures you've yearned for will manifest in your mind. To you, it's an unstoppable force.

You were never able to kiss him once and stop, as expected. From day one, you'd always follow when he would pull away, more for your sake than his. And he always took the care to stop when he thought you'd had enough to be kept wanton and anticipating the next time.

Lately though, it's getting harder to do such. Because the further Lacai lets himself go, the more he indulges you, the less willing he is to leave you- To leave a meal worth writing home about after sampling but the very tip of it. Painful.

" You're getting better. "

The impcubus praises as you part, having allowed you to take initiative just to see how far things had gotten. And while yes, you had made a lot of progress, swiftly on your way to becoming a better kisser than most humans- Most of his rabid enjoyment came from your touch, from the fantasies he keeps conjuring of you putting your lips elsewhere.

" You- You think so? "

The demon nods eagerly, a hand on the back of your head bringing you forward to lick the sheen off your lips, bite at your bottom one. His breathing was quick but yours came faster, it was something of an open secret that neither of you were doing this for the sake of learning anymore.

The next kiss is rougher courtesy of his excitement, but you can handle it, he's made sure of it. It's nothing new, even as his clawed fingers drift to your neck, tracing your throat and darting to your sides, hungrily groping, pulling you closer. A growl of his has you shivering just the way Lacai likes it, and he wonders for how much longer he can keep things tame.

His drool starts taking, as it always does.

Pretty eyes turn glassy, you nearly sway in his grasp, overheated, disoriented. You lean onto his pervy fondling and Lacai purrs his delight openly. A stream of soft, almost pleading noises dies muffled on his tongue, and he has to tense his every muscle not to throw you to the ground, show you what lies beyond hidden kisses- Make you feel it all firsthand, fuck you over and over and over and over so that you learn to be the very best. Trained by Vesper's head servant. Trained to be a fine example of his Ring's standards.

Lacai's greedy left hand finishes its trip up your thigh by dipping between your legs. The touch alone, even through your pants, is enough to sober you up some. When your legs try to close around his hand, either to trap it there or in a futile effort to remove it, he grins and presses harder against your core, another desperate gasp falling out of your slightly swollen lips.

" Mm, what's that face for? " He teases when you offer him a scandalized look.

" It's not all just kissing, you know honeybee? "

Lacai takes advantage of your contemplative silence to move his fingers towards your zipper, pulling it down playfully.

" What are you going to do when you want to move onto the next steps? I can help you prepare for that... "

" And then I can teach you how to touch others. " The concubus huddles closer, nearly panting. " After all, you have so much to learn... "