#The Gilded Duck

[helluva-hazbins]

Blood Rose Masquerade Ball Event

Lucifer Morningstar The Big Boss of Hell Himself will be in attendance. For your viewing pleasure, we present to you, Denizens of the Pride Ring: His attire. The Fantabulous, Splendifferiffic! Gilded Duck! [Please, please, hold the applause~]

Event Hosted by: @cannibalxroses

[hazelcephalopod]

The weirdest and for me funniest part of Red, White, and Royal Blue was when the American son outlines his stunning plan for his democrat president mother to win the next election by focusing on TX. Like… obviously there were some differences between the movie/novels world and our own. But with that one I was like “well this world clearly has some MAJOR differences huh?” Especially when it WORKED!

[violetflowerswrites]

Sweet Relief

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: servant/master, possession, religious-ish themes, dom/sub, sex pollen, cockwarming, oral (female receiving), pain/discipline, fingering, p in v sex, language, 18+

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I’m rewatching the Marvel movies in order and my god. I forgot how absolutely diabolical and adorable young Loki is! I was inspired to make this VERY smutty, all-porn-no-plot fic. Takes place before the events of Thor 1. Hope you enjoy my first Loki fic!

Tags: @foxherder @lovingchoices14

The long linen fabric of your healer’s tunic brushed against the cold marble floor as you rushed past. Your steps were gentle and quick, trying to make next to no sound as you swept past the tall columns, and arched ceilings of the royal halls. Finally outside the gilded wood of the giant doors to his bed chambers, your breath seemed to stall in your lungs.

This simply was not done. You were approached, never doing the approaching yourself. Improper didn’t even begin to describe what you were doing.

Your gentle knock was virtually silent the first time, so you steeled yourself and tried again.

“Identify yourself.”

A lazy voice called from within, but his tone was laced with an undeniable authority.

You spoke your name, placed your title in front of it.

Healer.

You weren’t a lady, a warrior—hell, you weren’t even nobility.

You belonged to a class of healers in Asgardian society. Seen as a type of servant, but respected nonetheless. To serve in the court meant you had a sizable talent for basic magic, and for spiritual healing.

But, if you were a woman in this position, it also meant you were a glorified prostitute.

You and your healer sisters before you have served in the healing room for centuries, servicing warriors, tending to their injuries after battle. But Asgard has long been in a season of peace, so the healers needed to fill another role.

Asgard was now a land of paradise, a land of plenty. That is, plenty of food, drink, beauty, wealth, and of course, plenty of sex. The nobility needed a way to make this discreet. After all, the royal court could hardly be seen having frivolous dalliances with just anyone. They needed to marry for alliance, for power, and for proper bloodlines, of course.

That’s where the healers came in. Come to the healing room for a sleeping draught, or an ointment for a sore shoulder, and get a service on top of it. You and your sisters were carefully trained in the ways of pleasure, and secrecy.

But, here you were, in front of your Lord’s chambers, breaking every rule and propriety ingrained in you since you first worked in the court as a young girl.

“Enter.” He commanded.

With shaky hands, you pushed the heavy bedroom doors open with your slender muscles.

The sight was grand, and a bit unexpected. Thick, dark green drapes covered the walls from ceiling to floor, and deep cherry wood bookshelves lined an entire side of the bedroom. A fireplace and candles were lit, making the chambers seem warm, yet a tinge ominous. A sharp contrast to the golden pearly halls of the rest of Asgard’s royal chambers.

Loki sat at a massive wooden desk, cleaved from the center of an oak tree, and absolutely littered with a number of bottles and vials, books and scrolls. A lone curtain was left half open, letting in what little light was left of the setting summer sun.

He addressed you disinterestedly, not even bothering to lift his head up from his book.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Healer?” Loki called out quietly across the vast room.

Your back was pressed up against the door, unable to get your feet to move. Your body disobeyed what your mind wanted, forgetting to curtsey or even duck your head. Instead, your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Loki took a beat in your silence and chuckled lowly to himself.

“I must say, this is quite unexpected, and against the rules I might add.”

Amusement glittered in his eyes at the mention of breaking the rules.

After all, he was the God of Mischief. Breaking the rules was his bread and butter.

Loki finally gazed up and took you in more carefully, wondering why a healer such as yourself would dare incur the wrath of your order by entering a nobleman’s chambers without permission, let alone the prince of Asgard.

Second prince of Asgard, but a prince nonetheless.

Then he noticed you, really noticed you.

He took in your flushed face, the way you absentmindedly kept rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you hugged yourself, and your thighs pressing your legs together to seek any sort of relief you could.

Even from across the room, Loki’s god-eyes could see the steady thrumming of the vein on your neck, moving rapidly with your heartbeat. He wanted to taste your skin and feel your pulse under his hot tongue.

Loki was a keen observer. Knowing how to read body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice was more important than any magical mischief he could get up to. Reading people was enough to get him most things that he wanted in life.

And right now, he decided he wanted you.

“You may approach, Healer.”

As if the spell had been broken, you swallowed to wet your dry throat and stepped towards the prince.

“How did you get past the guards?” Loki questioned.

“I said you needed a sleeping draught. You’ve been having trouble falling asleep for the past few days.” Your voice came out squeaky and feeble, a far cry from your usual tone.

Loki pursed his lips. This was not untrue.

“Leave it here.” He gestured casually to the desk and went back to his reading, while keeping half an eye on you.

Your trembling hands set down the small bottle of liquid with a bit of a clatter, and you quickly stepped back, just a few feet from where Loki sat.

“There’s something else.” Loki murmured lowly, eyes still flicking over the pages.

“Yes.” You breathed out.

Before you could begin to state your wild request, Loki said something else that you didn’t expect.

“I know you.”

You flitted your eyes up at his handsome face, and was startled by his piercing blue gaze. Quickly, you looked down at your feet.

The younger prince of Asgard had long since caught your eye. Every time he returned from battle you snatched the opportunity to treat him.

Rumor had it that he rarely asked for a healer's services, even when he was at the peak of adolescence. Some said he had a taste for the other sex. Others said he found his pleasure off-planet.

Whereas Thor openly indulged in excess, including women, drink, and violence, Loki was careful, calculated, and purposeful in all his actions. His mysterious, unreadable nature only served to make him more attractive to you.

“Yes, m’Lord. I have treated your injuries before, alongside other sisters.”

“You sang to me.”

You gasped, shocked that he remembered. It was a particularly gruesome battle and Loki was crushed badly in the side. You and your sisters forced him into a spell-induced sleep so that you could bind his broken bones. The Queen was distraught and ordered a round-the-clock watch to ensure he was healing well. You ended up on night watch, singing lullabies when he fought demons in his sleep.

“I did not know you heard me, m’ Lord.” You whispered, the heat inside of you coming out in waves off your hot skin.

“Speak freely. What is it that you request of me?” Loki schooled his tone to sound detached, but you could hear the curiosity in his words.

Sucking in a breath, you relayed a stuttered story of how a nobleman asked the healers to create a love potion that would increase ones libido, but it would only work against someone they were attracted to. Eventually, they would be like a dog in heat, and could only be relieved by intense pleasuring from a potential lover.

And you were the unlucky soul who got “volunteered” to take the experimental potion on a test run.

Although they tried their utmost, your sisters were unable to bring you relief and now, a few hours later, you sought after your long-time crush, Loki.

Hoping he’d do something to help relieve you of your suffering.

Although what, you didn’t dare dream of.

Ashamed, you bowed your head, looking at the marble floor and wishing a hole would open up and sink you into the dark waters below your realm.

At best, he’d let you go back to the healing room and never speak of this again. At worst, he’d have you arrested and banished for attempting such a lecherous act against a prince of Asgard.

“Sit.”

Your head jerked up, and you stared. Loki wasn’t looking at you though, he was back to his book, but his palm patted his muscular thigh.

Gods, was he asking you to sit in his lap?

You slowly brought a leg over his until your core straddled his hips. His cool body temperature immediately soothed your hot one, and you carefully brought your arms to clasp behind his neck.

Moving quickly before he changed his mind, you immediately put your training to use.

“Would my Lord like a massage?” You offered quietly.

“Yes, darling, that would be lovely.” Loki agreed nonchalantly, again, eyes still glued to his book.

Your strong fingers squeezed the tight knots on Loki’s shoulders, feeling the firm, yet lean muscles there. You pulled up his flesh, pressing deeply until the tension melted away in your hands.

Moving upwards, you combed your fingers through his jet-black hair, massaging his scalp, and temples.

The man gave no signs at all that he was affected by your touch, or by having an attractive young woman in his lap.

But then, he turned, exposing a pale neck underneath the raised leather collar of his garments. You took that as an invitation to press your lips to his smooth skin. Loki could feel your warm breath exhale in a contented sigh as your thumbs continued to knead circles, followed by soft kisses all over his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear.

Even with your face pressed to his, you almost missed what he whispered next.

“Warm my cock for me, dearest.”

An uncontrollable whimper escaped from your lips at his dirty words.

To be fully honest, you didn’t know how far Loki was going to let you take this. And the answer seemed to be…

All the way.

You pulled off your undergarments and undid the buttons of his leather trousers. His member was already half-erect, but it came to life fully as you gently rubbed him in both of your warm hands.

Your head fell onto his shoulder, and you could feel the breath catch in his chest as his cock breached your tight entrance.

Your eyes squeezed shut immediately at the contact, having not loosened your sensitive core beforehand, and Loki was large. His member wasn’t the thickest you’ve ever had, but it was slender, and long.

Slowly, carefully, you sank down, half-way at first, taking a pause to adjust, then further in until your ass rested on his lap once again.

The tip of his cock pushed up against your cervix, and you’ve never felt more full in your life.

Relaxing, you pressed your chest to his, leaning in as your core wrapped its hot, moist flesh around him. Loki for his part, was completely silent, reaching his arms behind your back to continue flipping through his book.

“What are you reading?” You murmur, content to just be filled for the time being. The initial stage of insatiable desire had been temporarily slaked by simply having his length inside of you.

“A spell-book on illusion magic. Could be useful for battle, or tricking my brother.” A soft chuckle rumbled through his body, the vibrations stimulating your center immediately.

You moaned, losing yourself in pleasure, but Loki shushed you gently.

“Be a good girl and sit quietly. I want to finish this section.”

So you did. After having spent the past few hours in heat, having any kind of relief now was enough to lull you into a daze. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the crinkle of pages of Loki’s book, and your quiet breath.

Every so often, he would shift his weight and it would push his cock in a different part of your core. You bit your lip each time to keep from making any noise, but the wetness that leaked from your pussy betrayed your arousal. You were sure that Loki’s thighs would be soaked by the time he finished reading.

Abruptly, Loki snapped his book shut with a bang. You flinched automatically at the loud sound.

“That’s enough, my dear.” He stated with finality.

You gingerly pulled yourself off, his still-hard member slipping out of your core, leaving you feeling empty and wanting. Legs wobbly from sitting straddled wide for so long, you tried your best to look put together, smoothing down your tunic, and taking a tentative step back.

“My Lord, thank you for—“ you attempted a statement of propriety, assuming that you were being dismissed.

Wordlessly, Loki grabbed you roughly by the neck and hauled you forward, an arm pulling your hips against his as he crushed you with a kiss.

Your body melted into his immediately, overwhelmed by the pressure of his lips against yours, his tongue forcing his way into your mouth, and —gods was that teeth?—nipping at your lower lip. You had no idea that a kiss could be so utterly demanding and violent.

Loki wasn’t just kissing you.

He was devouring you.

“It’s time for some discipline, healer. Do you know what a bad girl you’ve been tonight?” Loki growled against your neck, biting you not quite so gently there.

“No, tell me m’ Lord.” The response breathed out through bruised lips. Your pupils were blown out with lust and so were his.

“No? Then, I’ll help you count each disobedience.”

With that, Loki pulled your tunic and shift off, leaving you completely exposed before him.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, while licking his lips.

Roughly, he wrenched your arm and pulled you towards his generous bed, throwing you down the middle of the lush mattress.

Before you had a chance to sit up, he flipped you onto your stomach and smacked a hard slap to your ass.

“Fuck!” The expletive exploded out of you at the sharp sting.

“Number one: deceiving the guards.”

Another slap hit your other ass cheek.

“Number two: sneaking into the royal chambers.”

His hand met your bottom again.

“Number three: sneaking into my bedroom, a prince of Asgard no less.”

Another hit. The skin of your ass was already inflamed pink with the first few smacks.

Loki watched the color bloom before slowly raking his icy-blue eyes across your body. A sheen of sweat had broken out along your back and your face was buried in the sheets.

Loki’s never hurt a girl in the bedroom before, but seeing the redness of your ass, and feeling the tingling remnants of each slap on his own hand. Well, that awoke something sinister in his heart, and his loins.

“Number four: you were a fool to take the love potion. You are supposed to be a healer, not a witch.”

This next blow from Loki was even stronger than the last. The contact with your tender skin echoed off the high ceiling of his bedroom.

“Hells—Loki you are going to leave a mark!” The pain had you gritting your teeth, and temporarily forgetting your manners.

Hearing his name roll off your tongue made him laugh with delight. Who knew he would have so much fun punishing a troublesome little girl like you?

He leaned forward, pressing his erection into the swell of your ass, and spoke lowly into your ear.

“My darling, when I’m done with you, your body will be marked permanently.”

The threat made you shut your mouth and turn your burning face away from his, speechless.

“Number five: you were a fool to seek out me for relief.”

The final hit was the most painful. Loki lifted both of his hands and brought them down with so much force that you let out a scream of shock, pain, and pleasure all at once.

He immediately squeezed your pliant flesh in his palms, massaging the slap-warmed skin there.

After a moment of silence, he released his touch altogether and sat back on the bed, watching you.

Cautiously, you crawled up on your hands and knees and sat up, using your arms to hold up your weight rather than sitting on your tender bottom.

He studied your face in quiet contemplation as he watched a mixture of emotions course through you.

Pain, of course.

A bit of fear.

Apprehension, understandably.

But as you drew in shaky breaths, staring back at him, he saw what he was hoping for.

Attraction. Lust. Arousal. Greed.

Even after all of that, you still wanted him. Hells, even without the potion coursing through your veins you would have still wanted to fuck him.

The dominant, torturous streak was a surprise, but you never knew what Loki was capable of, to begin with.

Everything was a surprise with him.

And yet, you craved so much more.

Suddenly gentle, Loki guided you backwards until your head hit his soft pillows.

He settled in between your legs, prying them apart until his face was inches away from your puffy inner lips.

“How did that feel, my dear?” He pressed kisses against your inner thighs, loving how smooth and soft your skin was.

“It hurt.” You ground out, indignance lacing your tone, trying not to show how anything Loki did to you felt good.

Better than good. He was better than any nobleman you’ve ever had to service before. Sex with them was vanilla, predictable. Loki was anything but.

“Ah, but you liked it. Didn’t you, sweet girl?” He paused and looked up at you with those baby blues.

Underneath his steady gaze, you knew there was no point in lying. Loki could see through you in a heartbeat.

“Yes. It felt good.” You confessed.

Tutting with that silver tongue of his, endearments and praise continued to pour out of that sly mouth.

And kisses. Hot, wet, soft kisses to every part of your inner thighs, your mound, your puffy pussy lips.

“You naughty girl. Entering my chambers, asking me to give you relief.”

He pressed his lips to you.

“Sitting on my cock, letting me fill up that tight cunt of yours.”

A regal nose brushed against your slit, dragging wetness up your core.

“Enjoying pain with your pleasure. Letting me ravage your body. You’re a temptress, my sweet.”

A deep inhale. Gods, Loki was breathing in your sex right in front of you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your nails digging into your palms.

“Did you know, darling, that I could smell you the second you entered my chambers?” He exhaled, warm air tickling the moisture leaking out of you.

You didn’t dare reply, knowing that all that could come out of you now would be whines of lust.

“You, my dear, are ripe.”

With that, Loki dove head first into your cunt, licking and sucking like you were his favorite dessert.

The potion made your pussy swollen and sensitive, so everything he did felt ten times more pleasurable than anything your sisters tried.

Your hands gripped his wide shoulders and your knees fell apart as he ate you out.

“Loki—my Lord, I, I can’t!” You stammered out, head falling back as you enjoyed his worship of your pussy.

“Cat got your tongue, dear?” Loki joked, before taking your clit in between his perfect teeth.

“Fuck!” You positively screamed, which only made Loki double down.

Finally, he let go and you slowly loosened your grip, not realizing that you had been knuckle deep in his beautiful hair, tugging it, tangling it in your fingers. You saw pink half moons littered on the pale skin of his neck and face, evidence of your nails digging into his flesh.

Taking a beat to breathe, you smoothed his locks down on his head.

“Did I hurt you?” You inquired, feeling ashamed that you had lost yourself so completely in your lust.

“Yes. But I liked it, dearest. You can hurt me as much as you want to. Just as long as I can do the same.”

The dirty confession made your heart stutter in your chest, eyes wide. Seeing your expression, Loki laughed aloud, the sound blessing your ears.

He crawled up your body now, straightening your legs.

“Let’s see how ready you are for me, hmm?” Loki inserted one finger, then another into your pussy.

“Gods! That feels—!” You whined.

“Good, isn't it?” Loki finished for you. “Now, what about…here?”

He curled his digits upwards and put delicious pressure onto your spongy inner center.

Waves of stimulation shot through your limbs as your voice cried out in broken moans.

“Your knees are trembling, sweet girl.” Loki observed with amusement.

Indeed they were, and they continued to shake uncontrollably as Loki clamped down even harder, his fingers thrusting now.

“I-I can’t help it!” You cried out again, as Loki kissed your breasts, his hot mouth finding purchase on an erect nipple.

Your hands gripped his wrist and he couldn’t tell if you were trying to pull his hand out, or push it in deeper.

Regardless, he ground his palm against your clit, scissoring his digits inside of you, stretching you.

Preparing you.

“Oh my—I’m gonna cum!” You screamed out. Loki had already made you cum a few times. First, when his cock filled you up as you were sitting on his lap. Second, when he bit down on your clit.

And now, with his skilled fingers, he was making your pussy spasm and weep under his touch.

The orgasm was powerful, your whole body jerking up against his. With his free hand, Loki held you down, enjoying the wild ride.

Finally, as you relaxed, Loki released you and sat back. His forehead dappled with sweat, and his own breath coming in hard.

You couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Loki, your prince, was pleasuring, no—worshiping your body like it was his personal gift from Valhalla. He made you feel pleasure at heights you didn’t know existed. Somehow, he simply knew your body even though this was the first time he had ever touched you.

Lost in post-orgasm bliss, your eyes lazily traveled down to his still clothed erection, fighting to get out of his trousers. A thought crossed your mind.

“My Lord, can I undress you?” You murmured, locking eyes with him.

Loki didn’t reply, instead, he simply watched your naked body approach his clothed one as you slowly snaked your hands up his torso. You found each flap, each button, and slowly undid it all as his garments fell down in pieces on the bed.

You pulled his pants off his long legs, and his cock bounced up to greet you. With a gasp of joy, you pressed a soft kiss to his member and continued your kisses up the toned flesh of his chest until you got to his lips.

The action was intimate, like what lovers would do. And Loki let you touch him, admire him, without a word.

In the last bit of light of sunset, Loki’s skin glowed golden orange. He shone like the god he is.

“Beautiful.” You whispered in awe.

An arrogant smile curved along his face and he cradled a hand along the back of your head. He pressed a long, sensual kiss to your warm mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” He murmured the dirty words against your smiling lips.

Stalking over you like a predator hunts its prey, Loki climbed over your prone body, lining up his engorged cock with your weeping slit.

He watched you watch him as he slid in, inch by inch, your eyes watering as he forced his way into your cunt.

A self-satisfied smirk emerged on his face, knowing just how full he could make you feel.

Gently, he lowered his weight on top of you, pressing down so that his toned flesh covered your supple breasts and soft curves.

As he started to slowly thrust in and out of your tight core, Loki found both of your hands and brought them next to your head, interlacing his fingers with yours. Your palms were hot and sweaty, overwhelmed with the intimacy of his actions.

Summoning all the boldness you had inside of you, you dared your gaze to meet his and he was staring back at you with a mixture of lust and affection.

And also, possession.

Fuck.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Without warning, he pushed faster, his hips smacking into yours with a vengeance. You instinctively brought your knees up to allow him deeper access. The wet slap of his cock into your pussy was sinfully loud in the cavernous bedroom.

All manner of helpless yelps and whines came out of your throat, your hands squeezed his as he fucked you raw.

“You need to be fucked, hard and often, healer.” The way he said your title could have been synonymous with whore.

The intensity of his look was almost too much, daring you to look away, but you found that you couldn’t. You were entirely addicted to this man, stronger than any drug you could have created in the healing room.

By Odin, he was the only one for you.

You pressed your forehead to his as he continued to slam his cock deep inside of your womb.

“I’m yours, my Lord.” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

“Loki.” An unreadable expression crossed his face as Loki pushed himself up. He pulled your legs to wrap around his hips as he knelt on the bed. Your pussy was still clenched around his cock and you took the opportunity to suck in a few deep breaths.

“Wha-what?” You panted, confusion furrowing your brow.

“Say my name. Say that you belong to me.” Loki commanded. He rose up, pulling his shoulders back, looking every bit like the prince, the god that he is. His dark hair was pushed back on his forehead, sleek with sweat, framing his sharp features like a crown.

Automatically obedient, the declaration left your lips with sincerity and conviction.

“I belong to you, Loki.”

With a laugh of triumph, Loki grabbed the pliant flesh of your hips and slammed your body against his own. He railed your core with his cock, hitting deeper than you ever thought possible. Your ass slid along his strong thighs, the friction smarting your skin that was still tender from his earlier disciplining.

“Loki—it’s too much!” You cried out, losing yourself in pleasure.

“Cum for me, my sweet girl. Worship me with your cunt!” Loki growled out, thrusting impossibly harder, impossibly faster.

The sensation built and built, his name spilled out of your mouth in an endless stream of moans, until suddenly the pleasure peaked.

In that instance, time stopped. Your lips parted in a silent scream, and you saw him.

Veins bulged in his forearm as he pulled you flush against his hips. Nose scrunched up in effort as he fucked you deeply. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, wild in the throes of ecstasy.

Loki was your god.

And he was glorious.

Finally the air in your lungs released in a long-awaited scream and the orgasm crashed down. Nerve endings lit on fire, and your muscles jerked and spasmed underneath his strong grip. In the midst of your pleasure, you heard a faraway groan from your prince, and you could feel jets of hot cum coat the inside of your womb. He was marking you, claiming you as his.

You knew you would be his forever.

A few seconds later, Loki unceremoniously pulled out of your well-used pussy, and collapsed beside you, chest heaving with exertion.

Lying with one arm underneath his head, he lazily stroked your back as you curled up on his naked chest. Finally, the effect from the love potion had dissipated, leaving you with sweet relief.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence, but your mind started to swirl with insecure thoughts. You steeled your nerves to ask a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind.

“Why did you never use me?”

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“Why did you never take a lover? Or ask for a healer’s services? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, that you’re—“ Your mouth shut with an audible clack of your teeth.

Your clumsy tongue always got ahead of yourself. Worried you may have crossed a line, your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

But Loki answered honestly.

“You’re not my first. But I have long since known that I can’t fuck and forget like my ape of a brother.” He grimaces, and breathes in deeply before saying more.

“When I have sex, I need to own them. Possess them. I'm sure you noticed my dominant streak, my darling.”

“Then why’d you let me come in tonight? Why take the risk?” You wondered aloud.

“I’ve been watching you, my sweet little healer.”

You tensed automatically in surprise. Since when? What did he see? Why did he notice you?

Loki’s gentle voice brought you out of your thoughts as he confessed more.

“If you hadn’t approached me tonight, I would have snatched you from the healing room and made you mine before long.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating deep within his chest as you lay on his skin.

The revelation sank in slowly until finally, Loki pulled you up until your face was level with his.

“You just beat me to it, you naughty girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and your furrowed brow automatically relaxed.

“Tell me again. Will you belong to me, and only me?” He searched your eyes for any hint of deception, any trace of a lie.

You were certain that he would find none.

“Yes, Loki. I belong to you.”

…

[acotarxreader]

Tell me, Party Girl

Azriel x Reader (Cassian's sister)

Synopsis: Your former party girl title rears it's head again as you try to escape the reality of The House of Winds newest resident, Nesta. Very quickly tension bubbles over between you and the night courts current 365 party girl, leaving Azriel to do what he does best.

Warnings: Angst, Nesta being so rude, mentions of alcoholism, fluffy

A/N: You guys! Hello! I have missed writing for you friends! Sorry for being a lil MIA especially with Azriel fics. Let me know what you guys think of this!

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Flashes of iridescent technicolour filled the darkened room, the free spirits of the Autumn Court escaping their world's trials and tribulations. Pounding music like nowhere else in the whole of Prythian filled the club scene, as you swirled effortlessly into the centre of the floor. Your hands flowed above your head, the flickers of light passed through your fingers as your head tilted back, lost in the world of the music. Fae bumped into you, with little notice given by you, following their own flow away from their earthly body. The floor of this long-forgotten former base was the scene of many a moment lost and gained to powerful music envied by the rest of Prythian and felt by so few. Unfortunately, as soon as you felt the peace in the vibrations, the heavy boots of Autumn court troops shook the room out of serenity. You snapped from your inner world back to the world of ruined fun, fae ran from every which direction, doing their best to evade capture and wrongful retribution. You followed your own intuition, skillfully avoiding the guards and ducking into the surrounding wood for cover. Your dancing shoes found it difficult to adapt to their new purpose of dashing over thickets of roots to take cover in, sending you crashing into damp dusk moss. 

“Need a hand?” You exhaled loudly towards the source of the words, reluctant to look up and find the scolding source. You pushed onto the backs of your legs, the sound of guards circling but unable to see you through the shield you emitted. 

“Your power has so much more use than partying YN, if only I could convince you to join my team” A gloved hand reached down, your knees split from the fall, the blood now flowing as you allowed him to pull you up. 

“Whatever Az, as if he’d allow me on any of the fun missions. Taking me back to my cell?”

“Do you mean your plush room in a palace? Then yes” he smiled softly, tucking your arm close to him, shadows ran up and down your bare legs attempting to bring some semblance of heat back to them.

“A gilded cage is still a cage” You sighed, a sympathetic smile growing on his face as he dissolved you both into shadow, the sound of the guards finally reaching you both a distant memory, to match the freedom you briefly felt. 

The landing to your House of Wind living quarters was as gentle as ever, Azriel in full knowledge of your hatred for winnowing. You threw yourself down on the edge of your bed, your ruined shoes being kicked free. 

“Night YN” Azriel smiled as you flattened yourself out of the delicate sheets, eyes fixed on the swirl of stars painted across the ceiling. 

“Where’s my keeper?”

“He’s busy getting nowhere with Nesta” he laughed quietly while you uprighted yourself to look towards the Shadowsinger again, a smirk painting your face. 

“I enjoy the stress that female puts on my dear brother, it keeps me young and beautiful” You grinned, striding over to sit at your vanity, your fingers pulling stray sticks from your locks.

“You don’t need help with that” 

“What?” You turned to question Azriel’s barely audible words but he had already gone, leaving you alone again, the wind reverberating against the towering windows. 

-

You sauntered into the long dining room, your footsteps against the stone cutting into the clearly awkward silence between the three other residents of the House of Wind. The legs of the large oak chair scrapped along the worn stone, making Nesta recoil slightly from the other end of the table, Cassian watching her face carefully from the opposite end. Azriel looked grateful to have you sit across from him, anything to end the tension between the two on either side of him. 

“So, sent dear Azzie out to fetch me again brother?” or start new tension Azriel thought, your almost bored words dragging Cassian's eyes to you. 

“You shouldn’t go to those parties, anything could happen you”

“Yeah like a break from you two...or something interesting” You muttered down to your grapefruit, Azriel’s foot briefly tipping against the top of your toes in a comforting movement so short you couldn’t say it happened for sure. 

“They’re all out to stop our freedom YN” Nesta chewed out, a blow clearly directed towards Cassian who threw a glare to her. You didn't hate Nesta per say, sure she kept your brother occupied which allowed you more time to sneak away but you paid the price of having to deal with her tantrums. As well as having to deal with the foul moods she put your brother in.

“I appreciate the support Nesta but with all due respect you’re a traumatised, spendthrift, alcoholic, I just have a control freak for a brother” Azriel nearly choked on the orange segments he ate with bad timing as now both Nesta and Cassian directed their annoyance towards you.  Neither heated glance fazed you, you knew Cassian's weak spots since a child and as for Nesta, she wasn’t yet up to the skill it would take to leave a scratch on you and so there you sat, eating your grapefruit with a smug sense of comfort. 

“Takes one to know one” Nesta scoffed towards her breakfast. 

“Excuse me?” You bit back, Azriel’s foot gently tapping you again, its reassurance doing little to your escalating anger, a stray shadow now wrapping around your ankle.

“Don’t play all high and mighty, Cassian’s told me all about the whoring party girl you used to be-”

“-Enough Nesta” Azriel spoke with a slow composure that conveyed a level of anger you prayed never to be on the other end of. 

“Why!? You’re all allowed to talk about my drinking and fucking!? Why can’t I talk about the original party girl of the group? The female that got so drunk that she slept through Tamlin and his father stealing away Rhysand’s sister? Some lady in waiting you are! Or should I say were?” Venom from Nesta’s tongue stung more than any blow her power could deliver. Your deepest regret, the deepest darkest lowest point of your 500 years on this Earth, thrown at you like it was nothing. You thought about that night often, how you just wanted one night of entire numbing, to not feel the deep scars down your back where your wings once were just once and how you would pay the price of that for centuries after. You screeched the chair along the slate again, standing with escalating anger as Cassian began reprimanding Nesta.

“I hope you never feel an ounce of what I did that night Nesta, I hope you get everything you want in life and it still not be enough” Your voice was an even calmness that came with pure white-hot rage as tears began to brim along your lash line. You met the dining room door quickly, the room descending into a deeper realm of tension than when you had arrived. 

“And I also hope you fall down those steps your feeble muscles can’t even bring you down” You added before slamming the door of the dining room, jolting Cassian slightly. Azriel stood from his place, his fingertips pressed into the oak as it pushed back against him. 

“Speak to her like that again and I’ll personally help Rhysand kick your sorry ass to the wilderness” Azriel often avoided full eye contact with Nesta and yet this time found himself staring down Lady Death with only rage bubbling through his veins.

—

You flung your favourite clothes into the rucksack Cassian had carried through his first war. You looked down at its deep indigo colouring, its tattered fabric a reminder of the battles your brother fought for his people, for you. 

“YNN?” Azriel called softly from the other side of your door, shadows beginning to leak under the doorframe. You sank into your power, vanishing from visibility as Azriel entered the room slowly. He crossed to your bag and tipped the contents back onto the bed, his shadows curling into him. 

“I know you’re here YNN” You didn’t respond to him, his eyes still fixed on your clothing until shadows darted from his side and pinned you against the silver wallpaper of your room.

“Agh! Cheater!” You called back, dissolving the mist of invisibility you had built. 

“You know I will always find you, no matter where you run to” He smiled sweetly at you before glancing at the emptied bag of your belongings. 

“I know, an annoying characteristic of yours that I love” You laughed, his shadows releasing their hold allowing you to return to pack your bag at Azriel’s side. 

“She was being an idiot, you know no one blames you for what happened?” You didn’t reply to his gentle words. For centuries you fought the demon in you blaming you for that night, how you might have stopped it if you hadn’t been licking your wounds. Countless times the Inner circle absolved you of blame, reminded you that regardless you wouldn’t have been able to stop a High Lord and his son, how no one ever for an ounce of time thought you should pay the penance you had set on yourself. 

“Cassian is downstairs reprimanding her, pretty sure she’ll be getting the silent treatment for a while” he added.

“That shit probably turns her on”

“So snarky for, what was it? A former party girl whore?” He laughed back at you, your eyes finally returning to his, your own grin forming. 

“If the shoe fits” You held up your disregarded pump from last night's antics, Azriel taking it from you, his marred hands dusting off the now-dried peat.

“Well, hopefully, the whore part doesn’t fit you anymore” he looked from the satin fabric forever stained back to you. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You chuckled, returning your clothing back to the rucksack, his free hand taking hold of yours as it made its way to gather more articles of clothing.

“I would actually, tell me, tell me about the males who try with no success and great success. Tell me so I may hunt them down and destroy them for ever thinking themselves worthy of the moon, a beauty we mere Earth dwellers may only admire from afar. Tell me YN, tell me so I may stop searching every room I enter in hopes I find you there and not wrapped around some other male. Tell me so I can find comfort in the invisibility you are blessed with that I am cursed with. Tell me, party girl, tell me so I can move on from you” Azriel’s words hung in their honesty between you like apples on a tree. Yours to take or yours to leave. 

“How-how do you always know where to find me Azriel?” You found yourself asking, your eyes looking from his down to the shoe he held. He would always come for you before you even knew you needed him, always there to your rescue or support. Always there to defend your antics to Cassian when he feared his sister was lost to her old self again. Always there to pull you back before you could meet that old self again. Always there. 

“I think you know YN” his voice like smoke and glowing embers, comforting you as it always did, tethering you to him like it always did. Tethering. 

“You’re my mate” It came out like a statement, not a question, a statement of something always true but not always obvious to you. Had your gift been obscuring the truth from you or had it been your own selfish ways, it didn't matter, what mattered was-

“Yes, I’m your mate, yours YN but you are free to be anyone else's or no one’s at all, I will not add to the gilded cage” he dropped the shoe, moving to release your hand only to find yours tighten its grip, charged with a quiet intensity that had never been there before. His hand lifted, trembling slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, last night's make-up probably still smudged in your waterline. The touch lingered, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek until your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into the touch, the warmth of his palm soothing every frayed nerve that ever jolted in your body. Azriel leaned in, unable to deny himself any longer, knowing now that you wanted this to. That you wanted him. The kiss was gentle, glowing like a realisation that all you had both ever wanted had always been down the hall from one another. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in closer as you reassured him with soft breaths that you wanted this, wanted all of him. Never wanting it to end but also not wanting to suffocate. You separated with somewhat sharp breaths, oxygen flooding your blood again. 

“How long did you know Az?”

“The night Spring took our family and I found you passed out at the end of your bed, your back still raw from that sick sick cruelty of our blood-” his hand travelled from your neck down to your shoulderblades, the small mounds of scars pressing into the soft fabric of your shirt “-I lifted you into your bed and just, just stayed watching you all night from your vanity chair, watching your breath and holding my own breath every inhale you took, waiting for the exhale. You used to really scare us YN”

“I know” You ran the back of your hand down his cheek, soaking up the stray tear that leaked from his eyes. 

“I-I never admitted this to anyone but I felt-I felt relief finding you there, that-that they didn’t take you too, that they didn’t hurt you like they hurt them” his head dipped in shame, a secret he held since that night. You kissed him sweetly then, pushing away his growing sorrow. 

“I’ll admit the same to you, I felt relief when I found out you didn’t accompany Rhysand to Amarantha’s ball like you were supposed to, that she didn’t get you too” You dipped your glance briefly at your admission before Azriel surprised you by smiling. 

“Rhysand has terrible friends, one of them is trying to fuck his sister-in-law and two others are glad it's him and not them that the terrible things happen to” You laughed at his obvious parody of your lives. You sat on the bed, the rucksack sinking into the bed beneath your hips, Azriel joining your side. 

“Where were you going to run to?” He found his curiosity asking, his shadows swirling lovingly around you. 

“There’s this party at this old bunker in Winter Court I was going to check out”

“An old bunker? Are they ever in buildings that haven’t been condemned?” he chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“Not any good ones” you returned the laugh. 

“Are mates welcome?” 

“I don’t know does the whole mate thing really go with the party girl whore image I apparently projected” 

“Maybe that's okay too” he smiled, your head leaning into his shoulder.

“I think so too”

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

Whatcha think???

[spicyspiders]

old man logan part 4

1.1k words

I was going to make this angsty, but decided to make it smutty (to no one's surprise). Warning for rimming and rough/unprotected sex.

Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

“Logan,” you whine, “he’ll be back soon,” you bite into your bedspread trying to muffle your moans as Logan’s tongue flicks over your hole. 

You didn’t just need Logan out, you also needed enough time to air out your dorm room to rid the air of the stench of sex. 

“I could go faster if you’d fuckin’ relax,” Logan said before biting into the flesh of your ass cheek. You’ve grown used to his rough fingers, but still it makes you gasp to have them on your skin, especially on your hole, slick from his spit. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so rough,” you responded angrily as you moved back into his fingers. 

“Don’t you fuckin’,” he groweled, one of his hands going to the back of your neck to push you roughly down into the bed, “sass me. You want me to stop?” He whispered in your ear after blanketing his body on top of yours. 

“No,” you said into the blanket, your voice muffled. 

“Speak up!” He barked. He moved his hand to the front of your neck to pull you back into his chest, “I can’t hear you,” he said into your ear. 

“No,” you repeated louder. 

Logan’s hard cock rubbed wetly into the small of your back, smearing precum into the sweaty skin. You could sass him further by telling him he probably wasn’t able to hear you because he was the one that pushed your face into the bed, but you knew there wasn’t enough time. 

Logan chuckled before responding, “I can tell,” he says as he presses two fingers slowly inside, “you’re swallowing me right up,” he observes as his fingers slide inside. He makes a noise of bewilderment, “what’s this?” He asks as they go deeper. 

“Before you came over,” you began before your voice fell off into a moan. His two fingers gilded against your prostate, mixing in with lube already in your hole. “I-” you tried to continue, but Logan cuts you off by turning your chin to get his lips on yours. 

“Shh,” he says softly after he’s pulled away from the kiss, “you do this in the shower before I got here? You hafta hold your hand against your mouth so no one would hear?” He asks as he scissors his two fingers. 

You groan through the burn, “I couldn’t wait,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back into his fingers. 

“I can tell,” he repeats with another laugh as he adds another finger to the mix. “You’re so wet,” he says softly through the squelch of the lube. “I probably didn’t even need to lick you open,” he says to himself. 

He pulls his fingers free once he’s deemed you adequately prepared for his fat cock. He rolls you onto your back before he smears the lube along his cock, his eyes dark as they look you over. 

“Did you cum while you were in the shower?” Logan asks as he lifts your legs onto his broad shoulders. He presses his lips to yours, not even giving you the chance to answer, the head of his cock at your stretched hole. 

“Wanted to wait for you,” you gasped as he thrust slowly inside. 

Above you, Logan moaned before he ducked down to once more get his lips on yours. “So sweet,” he says against your mouth after he’s pulled away. “It almost makes me feel bad,” he says as he slowly pulls his cock free, “fucking you like this,” he finishes as he thrusts back inside. 

Your cock lays hard against your stomach, hard and neglected. Instead of reaching down to wrap your hand and stroke to the rhythm Logan sets, you wrap your hands around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. 

“I’m just the dirty old man,” Logan says after he’s broken the kiss, “fucking the sweet college boy,” he says punctuating his point with harsh thrusts. The headboard knocks against the wall, the noise ringing alongside the smack of his skin against yours. 

“Slow down,” you groan, you run your nails down his back, a hot flashing running through your body at the noise of pain and pleasure he lets out, “we’re being too loud.”

He laughs loudly as he comes to a stop, “never thought I’d hear you say those words,” he says, swiping a hand across his face. You didn’t think it was funny enough to warrant wiping away tears, but your brain was too fucked out to realize he was wiping away sweat and not tears. 

Logan leaned close, his hips circling your ass, causing his cock to rub right against your prostate. Before his lips were on yours, his voice came out soft and gravely as he spoke, “missed you,” he said, lips brushing yours. “Missed taking care of you,” he said as he reached between your sweaty bodies to wrap his hand around your cock. 

To try and muffle your moans when you cum, you kiss him once more. Logan’s tongue does little to cover the noise, but still he does his best to swallow the noises. You cum in messy spurts across his fist, right between your bodies.

Logan’s head falls to your shoulder as you clench around his cock, the man moaning at the sensation. He brings himself up on his forearms as he picks up the pace momentarily. His thrusts are stuttered and uncoordinated as you continue to milk his cock through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Logan brings the hand that was just around your cock to his mouth. Your cock gives an involuntary twitch as Logan licks up the cum on his fingers. You watch his fingers disappear into his mouth, and moments later, Logan’s hips still.

It reminds you of earlier when you were in the shower as you had to use your hand to muffle your moans as you fingered yourself open. You hadn’t even been able to finish earlier after you had gotten harder faster than you expected, fearful that it would ruin your time with Logan if he had to get you hard again in the little time you had together before your roommate got back. He moans around his two fingers, his hips twitching as he cums as deep as he can inside you.

His sweaty body collapses on top of you once it’s over, the bedsprings groaning in protest at the sudden combined weight. “When’s your next break?” He asks into your neck.

You laugh breathily as you tangle a hand through the sweaty locks on the back of his head, “you’re still inside me and you’re already asking when I’ll be home so we can do this again?”

Logan pulls his softening cock free before asking the question again, “there,” he says, “happy? Now, when will you be home?” He asks, nipping at the sweaty skin closest to his mouth. 

The word home sends an emotion through your body you don’t want to think about, “next month,” you respond softly, trying to ignore it when it happens again when Logan leans into the touch of your hand in his hair.  

[austinbutlerslovers]

But Daddy I Love Him

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are a well mannered socialite with a life carefully planned. Until you meet a reckless biker with a devil-may-care charm.

Drawn to his freedom and fire, you abandon the rules that once defined you, leaving behind a gilded life for one that finally feels real.

-Based on the Lyrics But Daddy I love him

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Secret romance • opposites attract• socially unaccepted• private affair• running away from home• lover to boyfriend• sweet talk •praising •body worship • P in V • multiple orgasms •creampies 🔗 Masterlist

But Daddy I Love Him

The New Year’s Eve gala is in full swing. Chandeliers hang from the large elaborate white tent spread across the sprawling lawn of an elegant estate, the lights glimmering above a sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos on the dance floor

The clinking of champagne glasses blends seamlessly with the soft hum of the live orchestra. It’s like a scene straight out of a movie—one you’re desperately trying to escape.

You’re tired of the rules, the polite smiles, and the suffocating weight of “perfection.”

You’re fleeing to the only one who gives you solace—the only one who makes you feel alive.

Ducking back into the mansion through a side door, you move quickly and quietly, the lavish decor of the halls passing in a blur.

The sound of laughter and music fades behind you as you make your way toward the servants exit, the place you told him to meet when you called earlier, desperate to break out of this gilded cage.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the door feeling the anticipation and the thrill. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. If your parents caught wind of who you were sneaking off to see, the fallout would be explosive. But that only makes you more determined.

As you push open the heavy wooden door, the night air greets you once more, crisp and biting against your bare shoulders. And then you see him-

Benny Cross

He leans casually against his motorcycle, his leather jacket catching the moonlight. His sandy brown hair is tousled perfectly, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you approach. A slow grin spreads across his face, the cigarette dangling from his lips long forgotten, crushed under his boot as his attention locks entirely on you.

“You look real fancy in that dress,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Doesn’t look like it belongs on someone sneaking out the back.”

You grin as you saunter toward him. “And that bike doesn’t look like it belongs at a New Years Eve Gala,” you quip, slipping your arms around his neck.

“Guess we’re both out of place, huh?” he teases, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer.

Without another word, you kiss him, pouring all your frustration, your rebellion, and your longing into it. His lips are warm and soft, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

You know your parents would lose their minds if they knew, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Benny is your secret, your escape, your freedom.

“Take me,” you whisper in his ear between kisses. “Take me to my parents’ estate. No one’s home—they’re too busy with their little party.”

His eyes darken with desire, and without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders, the warm, worn leather carrying his familiar scent. He swings over his bike smoothly and pulls you up behind him without hesitation.

The roar of the engine echoes through the quiet night as he speeds through the residential streets, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You cling to him, your heart racing—not just from the speed, but from the thrill of being with him.

Your estate is eerily quiet when you arrive, the grand house dark as you lead Benny upstairs. When you reach your bedroom, you barely get the door shut before he’s on you.

His hands are rough pulling his leather from your body and sliding up your back to the zipper of your dress. “This thing’s way too fancy for you,” he teases, his voice low and gravelly against your neck.

With one fluid motion, he pulls the zipper down, his fingers brushing your bare skin as he lets the fabric fall.

Without wasting a second, his hands find the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick, he unhooks it, letting it fall to the floor.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down swiftly, leaving you bare before him.

Stepping back, he takes his time, his eyes raking over you like a man starved. His expression hungry and raw. “Standing there, looking like that… you’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart.” He says his tone longing.

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one quick motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tight ridges of his abs.

Then, his fingers work at the button of his jeans, the rough material sliding down his hips with ease before hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail downward, catching on the sight of him—heavy and hard, the impressive size of his cock making you bite your lip.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger, a proud grin tugging at his lips.

You reach for him, desperate to feel him against you and pull him down into a kiss, your lips crashing together in a fiery collision of need and longing.

His hands find your waist, gripping firmly as he walks you backward toward the bed, lowering you down with enough force to make you gasp against his lips.

He settles on top of you, his weight pressing you into the plush mattress, his broad shoulders framing you as he pushes your thighs apart beneath him, claiming the space between them as his own.

His lips are rough and unrelenting as they trail down to your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he takes full advantage of the sound, pressing his mouth to the sensitive hollow of your throat as he flicks his tongue.

His hands explore you, leaving no inch of skin untouched. The calluses on his fingers drag over your soft curves, teasing and torturing until you’re panting and writhing beneath him.

“Benny,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing more.

“Patience sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He grips your hips, his strength overpowering as he pulls you closer, positioning you exactly where he wants you. His hand slides between your thighs, his rough fingers testing and teasing you as they glide through your slickness. A low hum of satisfaction escapes his throat, the feeling of how wet you are driving him wild.

“I can feel how much you need me,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart. Every last bit of me.”

His fingers slip away, leaving you aching for him and before you can catch your breath, he lines himself up, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a promise only he can satisfy. He pushes the thick unyielding length of his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you in a way that steals your breath.

His size is overwhelming—the heat of it, the weight of it—and as he sinks in deeper, your head falls back, a moan spilling from your lips as his name escapes you in a broken cry.

His low groan follows, rough and guttural, vibrating against your chest as his body presses firmly against yours, leaving no space between you.

You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pauses for the briefest moment, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him.

“I know just what you need, sweetheart,” he promises, his breath warm against your skin and he rolls his hips forward with a force that sends you arching against him, each powerful thrust driving you into a haze of pleasure as the world around you dissolves.

Your broken cries fill the room, each one more desperate than the last as his muscles flex beneath your touch determined to claim every part of you.

His hands grip your shoulders, holding you firmly in place as he pushes deeper, his pace relentless, every stroke of his cock sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you spiraling, completely lost in the raw, consuming heat of him.

You moan loudly, your nails digging into his back as the tension in your body builds to an unbearable peak. He leans down, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss as his pace quickens.

Your breaths grow frantic, your heart pounding as your walls tighten around his cock pulling him deeper with every thrust.

“Benny!” you moan, his name spilling from your lips in broken cries as your orgasm crashes over you.

He groans in response finding his own release with one final thrust. He buries his cock deep, holding still as he comes, his cock filling you with warmth as he breathes heavily against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you move as the pleasure subsides, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the feel of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

His hands slide up your sides, his touch tender as he strokes your skin, his fingers tracing soothing patterns. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he reveals, his lips pressing a soft lingering kiss on your shoulder then on curve of your neck.

“Me neither,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady, your fingers trailing along his back as you both linger in the moment.

The way he touches you, the way he takes you—is nothing you’ve ever experienced before. 

Benny is raw, he’s real, and he’s entirely yours.

Right before midnight, you return to the New Year’s Eve Gala, together on his bike, just as the first fireworks begin to explode across the sky.

The colorful lights cast you both in vibrant reds, blues, and golds as he helps you climb off his bike, your gaze drawn upward, mesmerized by the bursts of light painting the night sky.

His wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding your back to his chest as you both watch the fireworks in silence. It’s a perfect moment, fleeting but beautiful. You turn to look back at him, and he’s already watching you, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name but feel entirely the same.

“Happy New Year Benny,” you say softly.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you as his lips brush your ear. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, his voice low and full of longing.

Before you can say anything more, he turns you fully and captures your lips in a deeply passionate kiss filled with everything words could never convey.

Above you, the fireworks burst across the sky in a riot of colors, but all you can feel is him and the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, and it’s as if time has stopped in a moment where nothing else matters.

As the kiss ends, his hands cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. “Next year,” he says his eyes searching yours with a mix of determination and longing “let’s make it so we don’t have to sneak around to be together.”

You softly smile, your heart full despite the knowledge that the morning will bring new challenges. Still, you meet his gaze with quiet resolve. “I’d like that Benny,” you whisper back.

As the fireworks fade, you know this is the beginning of something neither of you can, or wants to, walk away from.

As weeks turn into months, you secretly become Benny’s girl. You learn about his world—his biker crew, their late-night rides, and a freedom you’d only dreamed of.

He, in turn, is fascinated by your wit, your intelligence, and the quiet fire he sees growing behind your polished exterior whenever you’re with him. It’s a fire he knows only he can stoke, and it makes him fall for you even harder.

But the secrecy begins to weigh on you both. Your parents start to notice your frequent absences and your growing disinterest in their meticulously laid out plans for your future. Their questions start to surface, sharp and invasive, pressing against the fragile haven you and Benny have created.

Benny encourages you to tell them the truth but you always hesitate.

As Benny picks you up late in the evening, he leans against his bike, watching with an amused grin as you carefully climb down the lattice outside your window.

The pale moonlight highlights your outfit a simple leather jacket borrowed from him, thrown over a fitted black tank top and denim skirt, your feet in new leather boots for the escape. It’s a far cry from the polished dresses and heels your parents expect, but it’s undeniably you.

You cross the lawn to him quickly, your heart racing with both adrenaline and anticipation.

“We can’t keep sneaking around forever,” he says his voice low as you approach, “We’re not doing anything wrong. You deserve to live your life.” He confirms.

You roll your eyes as you throw your leg over the bike. “And what, Benny? You think my parents will suddenly roll out the welcome mat for the guy who picks me up in the dead of night on his motorcycle?” you retort, settling behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Let’s be real—they’d lose their minds.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, his expression serious before you see the teasing curve of his lips. “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” he grins before revving the engine.

The clubhouse is quiet, the others long gone for a weekend rally leaving the space eerily still. Benny pulls his bike into the lot, parking near the entrance as you climb off, brushing your hair back from your face.

Inside, the air smells like leather, smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey—a stark contrast to the world you’ve left behind for the night at your father’s weekend tennis matches with all his influential friends.

Benny leans against the pool table, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with his piercing blue eyes in a way that makes your pulse race.

His arms look even bigger with his muscle tee revealing the taut, hard defined muscles of his biceps. The tension between you is unusually heavy, the air charged with unspoken words until he finally breaks the silence.

“How long are we gonna do this?” he asks, his voice tinged with frustration. “Sneaking around like I’m some dirty secret?”

You take a step closer, realizing how much he’s been hurting, and your gaze drops, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t understand,” you plead softly. “They’ll try to destroy us, Benny. They’ll say you’re not good enough, that you’re a bad influence—“

Benny cuts you off. “And what do you say?”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you, and as you lift your eyes to meet his the raw emotion in your gaze says everything. “I say I love you, Benny,” you whisper.

For a moment, Benny’s eyes soften, brimming with everything he’s been holding back. Then he closes the distance in an instant, his hands finding your waist as his lips crash into yours, his kiss hungry and unyielding as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his hair as the world around you dissolves. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the pool table. His rough hands slide down your thighs, hitching up the hem of your skirt as he steps between your legs, his body pressing hard against yours.

“I love you so much ,” he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with need. “You drive me absolutely insane.”

He tilts your head back, giving him full access to your neck as he trails kisses down your skin, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in its wake. Your breaths come in quick, shallow pants, the air charged with everything you’ve both been holding back.

He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, then his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs and pulling your panties aside.

He hitches your leg around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he thrusts into you hard, taking you right there on the edge of the pool table.

His movements are rough, relentless, each powerful stroke sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he drives into you with raw, consuming desperation.

The sound of your gasps and his low grunts fill the air, mingling with the slick, wet sounds of his hips thrusting between yours, driving into you hard and fast on the pool table.

“You’re all I want ” he whispers against your neck, his voice strained and raw with emotion .”You’re everything I need” he says breathlessly, his lips trailing rough kisses along your jaw as his thrusts render you senseless. The way he snaps his hips pushes you to the brink, your cries echoing off the walls as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together becomes frantic, urgent, as if this is all that matters. His hands hold you in place, his fingers digging into your hips as his body claims yours on the table with unrelenting force.

The intensity of him—his strength, his touch, his heat—sends you spiraling into a place where nothing else exists. Nothing else matters—only him, only this.

As you orgasm, your body trembles, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, drawing a deep, guttural groan from him as his movements falter.

With a final thrust, he buries himself deep, his warmth spilling into you in surges, then his hands tighten on your hips as he pulls back entirely, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

The room grows quiet again, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the faint noise of the city outside filtering through the walls.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close to rest your head on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to your temple as he strokes your hair back, his voice gentle but serious. “We have to tell them baby.” He confesses. “I don’t want to hide like this forever.”

You lift your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with unwavering resolve. “You don’t have to go back. You could stay with me.”

Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his tone making it even harder as you look at him. “I wish I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But they’d come looking for me. I need them to believe I’m still playing by their rules—for now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans down and kisses you again, slow and lingering, to remind you that he’s yours, that this is real, and you feel it—the certainty that no matter what Benny is where you belong.

Benny drives up the familiar path to your estate, the low rumble of his motorcycle softening as he slows to a stop near the driveway fountain. As you climb off the back, you turn to him with a soft smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers brushing his cheek.

“I love you too,” he says in return, his voice low and steady. His hand lingers on your waist, reluctant to let go. “Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night,” you reply softly, your heart full as you step back.

You dart toward the lattice outside your bedroom window, moving quickly to sneak back inside unnoticed.

But just as you climb the first rung, the front door flies open, spilling golden light across the lawn.

Your heart freezes as your father storms out, his voice thunderous. “You stay away from her!” he roars, pointing a finger directly at Benny.

Behind him, your mother and his influential friends with their wives file out, their presence an intentional show of force.

The women clutch their pearl necklaces and cross pendants, one muttering loud enough for you to hear, “What a mess,” her disdain cutting through the tension.

Benny, who had been idling the motorcycle shifts his weight slightly, planting one boot on the ground as he watches the group come toward him taunting and scorning.

His hand tightens on the handlebar as his piercing blue eyes flick to you, to see if you’re okay, but he doesn’t budge, ready to face whatever comes next.

You glance back at the lattice, your mind racing, but instead of climbing up, you drop to the ground, running toward Benny as the lump in your throat swells almost unbearably. “But Daddy, I love him!” you scream, your voice cutting through the night.

Gasps travel through the group. Your mother’s hand flies to her chest, and your father’s face twists with fury. You know what they’re thinking—this isn’t how their polished, perfect daughter is supposed to behave.

The disdain on their faces, the whispers of the scandal-hungry wives—it all fuels your next move. With the entire crowd watching, you look your father dead in the eyes and yell, “I’m having his baby!”

A stunned silence follows. Your father’s face goes pale, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for words that won’t come

The tension is suffocating, but you don’t give anyone time to react. You climb onto the back of Benny’s motorcycle, holding him tightly, your heart pounding as he shifts into gear, the engine roaring to life.

He glances back at you as you ride off, his voice low and urgent. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks.

“No,” you admit quickly, your voice shaking. “But you should’ve seen their faces.”

A grin breaks across Benny’s face as he shakes his head impressed by your wit, and the roar of the engine drowns out everything else as you ride away, leaving the estate and your parents expectations in the dust.

For the next month, you and Benny lay low in the clubhouse. The two of you live upstairs in a loft, savoring the freedom of being together without judgment. The loft is small and rough around the edges, but it feels like a haven —your sanctuary.

Days blur into nights filled with moments of joy, laughter, and quiet intimacy. Benny wakes you with slow kisses along your neck, his lips soft and lingering, pulling you into his arms as sunlight filters through the worn curtains. The warmth of his touch and the way he says your name to wake you feels like a dream.

Morning are spent laying with him in bed, his hands exploring you lazily, tracing soft patterns on your skin as if he has all the time in the world. He teases you with gentle kisses, and mischievously grins when he pulls you closer, whispering how much he loves having you with him.

Afternoons are carefree. He teaches you how to shoot pool downstairs in the clubhouse, laughing when you miss your shot and teasing you mercilessly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says with a grin, leaning in to steal a kiss as you try to focus.

Often, the two of you take his bike out for long rides, the wind whipping through your hair as you hold him tightly, feeling the freedom of the open road.

Evenings are spent wrapped in each other’s arms after a dash to the diner, your bodies entwined in the bed of the quiet loft. Most nights are passionate, Benny’s touch both tender and possessive, as he makes love to you with an intensity that leaves you senseless, his kisses stealing your breath as he whispers how much he loves you.

“You’re all I need,” he says at times when the moment is just right, the weight of his words flowing from deep within his heart.

He says it when he watches you laugh, carefree and unguarded, in a way you never could before him. He says it when he sees you curled up in his oversized white shirt, a little piece of his world wrapped around you.

He says it when you make him feel like he’s worth something more than the rough edges of his life. You see past the chaos, and the rebellion, and you love him.

As you bask in your new life with Benny, you still can’t ignore the ache that lingers at the edges of your heart. As much as you’ve rebelled against them, you do miss your parents at times.

Then one morning, everything changes.

You’re in bed with Benny, tangled together in the soft light of dawn, when the shrill ring of the phone downstairs at the club’s bar breaks the stillness. Benny groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if trying to block it out.

But a moment later, there’s a knock at the loft door. Benny sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulls on a pair of jeans, his movements slow, before cracking the door open.

“Your girl’s mom is on the line,” one of the guys says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “Guess they figured it all out.”

The words jolt you awake. Quickly, you pull a robe over the shirt Benny gave you to wear to bed, your heart pounding as you follow him downstairs to the bar. The phone sits on the counter, the receiver waiting for you. You hesitate for a moment, nerves swirling, before picking it up.

“Hello?”

Your mother’s voice comes through the line, soft and hesitant but full of emotion. “Your father wants to see you,” she says. “We miss you so much, sweetheart. Please come home —please just come home, we need to speak with you urgently.”

You glance at Benny, his steady gaze on you, offering silent support. You nod, and he returns it, understanding without a word— if you have to go he’s coming with you.

Later that day, you and Benny stand in the grand living room of your parents’ estate, the tension heavy as your father sits across from you.

His demeanor is far from the fiery man who yelled on the lawn that night. He looks tired, even defeated as he finishes his speech “We’ll hold a wedding,” he says, his hands folded tightly in front of him. “You shouldn’t have to live this way—especially if there is a baby coming. We will do what is right.”

You almost laugh at the misunderstanding, but before you can speak, Benny rests his hand on your lower back. “With or without a baby,” he says firmly, his voice steady and unwavering, “I want to marry her.”

You look over at Benny, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the depth of his love and devotion leaves you speechless.

Your father stares at Benny for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if weighing every word. Finally he exhales heavily as he nods, silently agreeing to anything to keep you in his life.

Three months later, the sun shines brightly over the estate as you dance in your wedding dress, the layers of white tulle catching the light. Benny’s hands are on your waist, his grin as wide as you’ve ever seen it.

Around you, the guests smile warmly, not just your parents’ influential friends, but Benny’s biker family as well. The unlikely mix of guests creates a vibrant, joyful atmosphere that you never thought possible.

Even your father, once disapproving, watches with a small smile as you and Benny share your first dance.

Your mother watches, her eyes never dry as she dabs back her tears with a handkerchief, unable to hide her emotions as she watches you and Benny make your way through the crowd, hand in hand, husband and wife.

The gossipers and scandal-lovers—the ones who sneered and whispered at your rebellion—are nowhere to be seen; requested off the guest list entirely.

When the sun dips lower in the sky, you take Benny’s hands, feeling the weight of everything you’ve overcome together. You’re his lady now, his wife, and as you glance at your parents, they smile, their expressions warm and accepting of your choice.

As you turn back to Benny, your heart swells with love as you look into his eyes, knowing you made the right one.

Overcome with emotion you lean in and kiss each other, pouring everything you feel into the moment. His hands tighten around your waist, steady and sure, as your arms wrap around his neck, embracing each other in the love you fought so hard to hold onto—finally living life the way you deserve.

END 🏍️

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

The Emperor's Soft Spot

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Maid! reader

Warnings : Fluff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The grandeur of the Roman palace was overwhelming to most, with its marble columns stretching toward the heavens and gilded mosaics adorning every corner. Yet for you, the splendor had long since dulled. Day after day, your life revolved around quiet servitude—polishing brass, sweeping floors, arranging flowers. You were just another cog in the great machine of the Roman Empire.

But all of that changed on a crisp morning in the early spring.

The air was filled with the faint scent of jasmine as you placed the last of the roses in a vase perched on a side table in the Emperor’s private chambers. You had heard stories of the young Emperor Geta—his ruthlessness in court, his sharp wit in battle. But to you, he was a distant figure, one you had no reason to encounter. Until now.

As you adjusted the vase, the heavy oak door creaked open. Startled, you froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You turned to see him—a tall, imposing man dressed in the deep crimson and gold of imperial garb. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his sharp, piercing eyes locked onto yours.

You dropped into a hurried curtsy, the vase forgotten. “Forgive me, Caesar. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on you as though studying a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Finally, his lips quirked into a small smile. “Intrude? You are precisely where you’re meant to be.”

Your cheeks burned under his scrutiny, and you ducked your head. “I was only finishing my task, my lord.”

“And what is your name, little dove?” His voice was softer now, almost curious.

“Y/N,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N,” he repeated, as though testing the weight of it on his tongue. His smile grew. “I’ll remember that.”

---

Weeks Later

The encounter should have been forgotten—a fleeting moment in the endless expanse of your days. But Geta seemed determined to ensure it wasn’t.

It began with subtle glances in the hallways, his eyes lingering on you a second too long. Then came the questions, casually slipped into conversations with the head steward. “How is Y/N finding her duties?” or “Ensure Y/N is assigned lighter work today.” The servants began to notice, their whispers following you like shadows.

One afternoon, as you scrubbed the steps of the western courtyard, a shadow fell over you. You looked up to see him standing there, dressed in simpler robes than usual but no less commanding.

“Caesar,” you stammered, quickly rising to your feet.

“Geta,” he corrected, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Must I remind you again?”

“I couldn’t possibly address you so informally,” you replied, your hands twisting nervously in your apron.

“Then you must,” he said, stepping closer. “For it is my wish.”

You swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. His proximity was overwhelming, his presence like the sun—impossible to ignore. “As you wish, Geta,” you said at last, the name foreign yet strangely natural on your tongue.

His smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Better.”

---

The garden was your sanctuary, a rare place of peace in a world that rarely offered any. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, you knelt among the herbs, carefully plucking sprigs of basil and thyme for the evening meal.

You were so lost in your work that you didn’t notice him until his shadow stretched across your path. Startled, you turned to find Geta standing there, his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face.

“Do you always work so diligently?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“My duties require it,” you replied, rising to your feet and brushing dirt from your skirts. “Why are you here, Caesar?”

His smile faltered, and for a moment, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes. “Because I tire of being ‘Caesar.’” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “In your presence, I am simply a man. Do you understand?”

You didn’t. Not fully. But you nodded anyway, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I find myself thinking of you more often than I should,” he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. “Your kindness, your grace—it is a rare thing in this palace.”

“Geta,” you breathed, his name feeling both intimate and forbidden. “This... this isn’t right.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. “But I care not for what is right. I care for what feels true. And this”—his fingers lingered against your cheek—“feels true.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both commanding and tender. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the weight of the empire momentarily forgotten.

---

The palace buzzed with whispers of the maid who had captured the Emperor’s heart. Some were scandalized, others intrigued. But Geta paid them no mind. He openly courted you, defying tradition and expectation with every stolen moment you shared.

Late at night, in the privacy of his chambers, he would recount tales of his childhood—of the weight of the crown he had never wanted, of battles fought and victories that felt hollow. And in return, you showed him the beauty of a world beyond marble walls and golden thrones.

“You have given me something no one else could,” he said one evening, his voice soft as he held you close.

“And what is that?” you asked, your head resting against his chest.

“Freedom,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Freedom to be myself.”

Though the road ahead was uncertain, you knew one thing for certain: you had claimed the heart of the Emperor of Rome, and in doing so, he had claimed yours in return.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[neonoddeye]

SFW Veritas Ratio x Gn! Reader

Bathtime with Veritas Ratio is sacred, an event only known between the two of you.

The scholar’s high regard of the nighttime routine is ritualistic, from the gilded matching bathrobes to the uniform scent that his bath supplies have. You wouldn’t dare to make fun of this; in fact, you find it endearing that he has such a delicate pastime to indulge in. It’s even more endearing that he allows you to accompany him as well.

His bathtub is as elegant as him, and isn’t too cramped to be occupied by two people at once (and maybe a little rubber duck). There is never a shortage of bubbles, or even some epsom salts or a bath bomb if Veritas has had a particularly infuriating day. He tends to enjoy eucalyptus and lavender scents the most for their therapeutic qualities, occasionally subbing them out for a seasonal scent. His soaps are always of the highest quality, and he never settles for anything less (as is seen in every other aspect of his life). And now that you’ve gotten used to them, it’s always hard to go back to whatever you were using beforehand, whether you live with Veritas or not.

Your favorite part (and his, secretly) is taking time to wash each other. Veritas always insists on washing your back for you, no matter how much you insist you can reach every spot yourself. You figure it must be therapeutic for him, as he takes his time gently scrubbing your skin for you. He even massages any sore spots you might have (even if you didn’t know you had them). If it’s a hair wash day, he’ll massage the conditioner into your scalp like you’re at the salon. You often wonder if he enjoys the mundane, repetitive motions that come with pampering you, as if he’s letting his brilliant brain rest for just a bit.

When it’s his turn, you reciprocate the warm gestures, taking your time to reach every inch of his broad back. Although you aren’t as skilled as he is, you also attempt to massage his sore muscles, weary from being hunched over at his desk for most of the day. You’re aware that he carries the tension of his work life on his back (bro probably carries the whole university on it), and you let him guide your hands to where he needs it. Even if you can’t alleviate his pain, he acknowledges and appreciates your efforts.

While you cater to Veritas, he often has a habit of venting about his day to you. He goes on tangents about his “infuriating students” while you pour water down his back, as if to wash the stress away as it comes out. If you’re washing his hair as he babbles, you’ll take extra time to work the shampoo into his scalp to really emphasize the practice of wearing down his tension. Veritas will never admit it to you, but he likes to think that it works, somehow.

After the washing is over, you and Veritas may talk each other’s heads off, be it a philosophical construct or plans for the day ahead, or sit in comfortable silence. Before you, Veritas would never let his skin prune in the bath water; now, he loathes getting out, and doesn’t mind if his fingers are wrinkly. If the universe would allow it, he’d spend hours in the bathtub with you, letting his worries sink into the water and down the drain.

[novaursa]

Between the Flames (Part 2)

- Summary: Gwayne and you rekindle your flame as a celebratory hunt proceeds.

- Pairing: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top. The timeframe of events in both parts 1 and 2 is unspecified, place the plot wherever you wish it in your imagination.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 812

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The first light of dawn creeps into the camp as you step out of your tent. The air is crisp with the chill of morning, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders, taking in the stillness that clings to this early hour. The fires from last night’s revelries are mere embers now, and the camp is draped in a quiet so deep it feels like the world holds its breath.

Your eyes sweep over the clearing, searching for a familiar face, but Rhaenyra is nowhere to be found. Of course she’s not. Your sister has likely slipped away with Ser Criston Cole, her sworn shield, to chase whatever solitude she can grasp in this suffocating charade. Rhaenyra has always despised these hunts, the feasts, the endless parade of lords fawning over her as if she’s a prize mare. You sympathize with her distaste, but unlike her, you’ve remained tethered to these duties out of some misguided sense of loyalty to your father and the memory of your late mother, Queen Aemma.

A flutter of resentment stirs in your chest. You’ve followed the rules for so long, always the dutiful daughter, watching as your sister rides free while you remain in the gilded cage of expectations. Yet yesterday, when Gwayne Hightower had found you in the crowd of nobles and knights, that sense of duty had wavered for the first time in years. His presence had unraveled something in you, a thread of emotions carefully tucked away since your father denied him your hand. His smile was the same, a little boyish even after all this time, and his eyes held that familiar warmth as they met yours.

The memories from years ago flood back, his hand brushing against yours, the quiet exchanges between dances, lingers in your mind like the aftertaste of wine. You had long buried those feelings, or so you thought. Yet now, in the stillness of dawn, all you can think about is how his presence stirs a longing you’ve tried to forget.

For once, you allow yourself to act on impulse.

You move with a sudden resolve, heading towards the small paddock where the horses are tethered. Your chest tightens as you glance around, half-expecting someone to stop you. You see Ser Harrold Westerling, his gray hair wild with sleep, standing at the edge of the camp. He’s too far away to notice you yet, still groggy and unconcerned as he yawns and stretches.

Before he can spot you, you make your way to your mare, a beautiful dappled chestnut with a silky black mane. She snorts softly in greeting, stamping the ground with her hoof. You pat her neck, her coat warm and smooth beneath your gloved hand. "We’re going to do something foolish, my sweet girl," you whisper, a half-smile playing on your lips.

With practiced ease, you mount the mare, settling into the saddle. The forest looms ahead, its dark arms open and inviting, promising the kind of freedom you’ve denied yourself for too long. A breathless excitement quickens in your chest as you lean forward, giving your mare a gentle nudge. She responds instantly, trotting lightly across the camp, her hooves barely making a sound on the soft earth.

"Princess!" Ser Harrold’s voice rings out, sharp with alarm, but you’re already gone. The wind rushes against your face as you break into a gallop, the camp shrinking behind you as the trees blur past. The thrill of disobedience courses through your veins, each beat of your heart in time with the rhythm of your mare’s stride.

The forest is alive with the songs of morning birds and the rustling of leaves. Sunlight dapples through the canopy above, casting golden patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, you let out a breathless laugh, the sheer joy of riding unbound filling you with a wild sense of elation. You understand now, at least in part, why Rhaenyra flees these events; there’s something liberating in leaving behind expectations, even if only for a short while.

You slow your pace once you’re deep within the woods, guiding your mare along a familiar narrow trail framed by ferns and moss-covered stones until you reach an edge of a small brook. The peace of the forest wraps around you like a soothing balm. Here, away from prying eyes, from duties and titles, you can simply be.

But your thoughts inevitably return to Gwayne. You remember the way he looked at you last night, the warmth in his eyes tinged with something deeper. You can still hear his voice in your head, low and intimate as he leaned in close during the dance.

“It has been too long, Y/N,” he had said softly, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “I barely recognized you the day before… though you’ve grown only more beautiful.”

A faint blush warms your cheeks at the memory. For years, you had pushed thoughts of him aside, thinking them childish fancies, a promise he couldn't keep, but his presence has reignited a spark that refuses to be smothered.

Lost in thought, you nearly miss the sound of hooves approaching from another direction. Your mare’s ears prick forward, alert, and you turn your head just in time to see a rider emerging from between the trees. The sunlight catches on silver armor trimmed with green—Gwayne.

Gwayne Hightower woke with the first rays of dawn creeping through the canvas of his tent, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. Sleep had been restless and fleeting; the events of the previous night still clung to his mind like a shroud. He could still feel the weight of Daemon Targaryen’s gaze—a sharp, cutting thing that held a silent promise of retribution. Daemon had watched them dance, his eyes like twin embers, waiting for any excuse to ignite into something more dangerous.

But Gwayne hadn’t cared. Not then, and certainly not now.

All that mattered was you.

He could still feel the ghost of your hand in his, the way your touch sent a spark straight through him. You had tried to maintain a careful distance, the practiced grace of a princess who had long learned to hide her heart behind a veil of propriety. But Gwayne knew you better than that. He knew the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, the way your voice dropped ever so slightly when you said his name. You could hide your emotions from most, but never from him.

He’d known you since you were both children, and in all those years, nothing had truly changed between you. Even now, after all the time and distance, after the layers of courtly masks, you were still the same girl who had stolen his heart. And he would not—could not—let anyone take you away from him. Not Daemon, not even your father. The King could deny him the match all he wished, but it was a hollow decree. He knew, deep down, that you were his. You always had been, from the moment you’d shared your secrets and desires with him years ago, in the quiet, hidden corners of the Red Keep.

And when he had seen Daemon’s eyes on you, the dragon’s possessiveness simmering beneath the surface, Gwayne had only felt his resolve harden. Daemon could try to intimidate him all he liked, but he would never understand that what bound you to Gwayne was deeper than mere attraction or lust. It was years of unspoken promises, of shared dreams and whispered hopes, of a love that had grown in the shadows of duty and expectation.

Gwayne exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he pushed himself out of bed. The air was crisp, the early morning dew clinging to the grass as he dressed quickly in his riding leathers. His mind drifted back to the last time he had truly held you, before politics and power had pushed you both into your separate roles. Back then, you’d been freer, more open, before the weight of a princess’s crown settled on your brow. And yet, last night, in those fleeting moments when your eyes met his, he saw a glimpse of that girl again. The one who had wanted more than what was being offered to her.

He knew you would not remain at camp long today. You despised these hunts as much as Rhaenyra did, though you bore it more quietly. And as if the gods themselves sought to reward his patience, his instincts proved correct when he caught sight of you slipping away, mounting your horse with a grace and ease born of years of practice. Ser Harrold’s groggy warning echoed across the clearing, but you were already gone, disappearing into the forest with the wind in your hair.

Gwayne’s heart leapt in his chest, a sense of urgency and determination driving him into motion. He wasted no time, striding swiftly toward his own horse, a powerful black stallion bred for speed and endurance. He swung into the saddle with practiced ease, feeling the familiar weight of the reins in his hands. Without hesitation, he urged his horse forward, following the path you had taken into the woods.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. Gwayne’s focus narrowed, his gaze trained on the faint trail you left behind—hoofprints in the soft earth, the occasional disturbed branch. He knew where you were headed; it was the same place you always sought when you needed to escape the world, a secluded glade hidden deep within these woods.

The sound of rushing wind and the rhythmic thudding of hooves filled his ears as he pushed his stallion harder, driven by a mixture of anticipation and longing. Every beat of his heart felt in tune with the ride, each breath drawing him closer to you. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined the look on your face when he found you—the mix of surprise and exasperation that you could never fully hide, tinged with that unmistakable affection that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing a clearing bathed in soft morning light. And there you were, seated on your mare at the edge of a small brook, the sound of trickling water a soothing backdrop to the scene. The sight of you, framed by the dappled sunlight, took his breath away for a moment. You were like a vision from a dream, your hair catching the golden rays as you gazed thoughtfully at the water. The serenity of the moment only heightened his determination to be by your side.

You must have sensed him approaching, for you turned just as he entered the clearing. The surprise in your eyes was quickly replaced by a familiar warmth, though you tried to maintain a composed expression. “And here I thought I’d managed to escape everyone,” you said with a hint of teasing in your voice.

Gwayne brought his horse to a stop beside yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you truly think you could slip away from me so easily, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You should know by now that I would follow you anywhere.”

Your expression softened at that, and for a moment, the carefully maintained walls you kept around yourself faltered. “And what brings you chasing after me, Ser Gwayne?” you asked quietly, your gaze locking onto his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. “Surely you have other duties to attend to, other places to be.”

He leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I have no duty more important than being where you are,” he replied, the words simple but weighted with meaning. “No place I would rather be than at your side.”

You looked away, as if trying to hide the emotions that flickered across your face, but Gwayne knew you too well. He could see the struggle within you, the war between obligation and the desires you kept buried. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours where it rested on the reins. “You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N,” he said softly. “Not here. Not now.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the reins as if grounding yourself. “And what if hiding is all I have left?” you whispered, a note of vulnerability slipping into your voice. “What if it’s the only way I can survive this game we’re all trapped in?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened with resolve. “You’re more than what they want to make you. More than a pawn in this endless game of power. You’re you—the woman I’ve loved since we were children, the one I would fight for, no matter the cost.”

You met his gaze then, something in your eyes softening. The walls you’d built around yourself cracked, if only for a moment, and Gwayne saw the woman beneath—the one who wanted more than duty and expectation, the one who longed for freedom, for love, for something real.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmured, a faint smile touching your lips. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding.”

Gwayne’s heart swelled with hope, with the belief that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to stop running from what you both knew had always been there between you. He leaned closer, his voice a gentle whisper. “Then let’s take this moment for ourselves. Forget the world outside, forget the dragons and the thrones and the knives hidden in every smile. Let’s just… be.”

For a long moment, the world held its breath as you considered his words. Then, slowly, you nodded, the tension easing from your shoulders. “For a little while,” you agreed, your voice soft, a hint of relief in your tone.

And so, you rode together through the sun-dappled forest, leaving behind the weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the court. In this fleeting moment, there was no war of crowns or claims, no dragons or scheming lords—only the two of you, and the promise of something that could be, if only you dared to reach for it.

In the quiet sanctuary of the forest, with nothing but the rustling leaves and distant birdsong to bear witness, you and Gwayne finally dismount from your horses. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm, golden light across the clearing. There’s a silence between you—charged, electric—heavy with all the unspoken words and emotions you’ve held back for years. The bond you thought had frayed with time is alive once more, vibrant and undeniable.

You both step closer, drawn together by a force that feels as natural as breathing. Gwayne’s eyes are locked on yours, his gaze intense, full of longing and a possessive tenderness that makes your pulse quicken. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in the small space between your bodies crackling like a fire about to be kindled.

His hand comes up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

You close your eyes briefly, savoring the feel of his touch, the way it melts away the years of separation, the walls you’ve built to protect yourself. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur, though there’s no conviction in your words, only a breathless longing. The ache in your chest is one you’ve carried for so long, buried deep beneath the layers of duty and decorum. But now, with Gwayne so close, it’s impossible to deny how much you want this—want him.

His thumb tilts your chin up, and you meet his gaze once more. “Perhaps we shouldn’t,” he agrees, his voice soft but edged with determination. “But I won’t let that stop me. Not anymore. I won’t let anything keep us apart again.”

And with that, the dam finally breaks. Your lips crash together in a kiss that’s searing, urgent, full of years’ worth of pent-up desire and emotions. There’s no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss is fierce, almost desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for every lost moment, every day you spent apart. His hands are on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist with a possessiveness that makes you gasp against his mouth.

Your hands roam over his chest, fingers fumbling with the ties of his tunic, the urgency mirrored in the way he pulls at the laces of your dress. Every touch is fevered, every caress driven by the need to feel skin against skin. Clothes are shed with haste, your lips barely parting even as you struggle to rid yourselves of the barriers between you. His breath is hot against your neck, lips trailing down your throat as he shrugs off the last of his garments. Your own dress falls away, pooling at your feet, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air—but the heat between your bodies is enough to chase away the chill.

There’s no room for words now, only the rhythm of your breaths, the thrum of your heartbeats in perfect harmony. He draws you close, lifting you with ease as your legs wrap around his waist, your bodies fitting together as if they were made to do so. The first touch of him inside you is a heady rush, a mix of pleasure and familiarity that sends a shudder through you both. He moves with a gentle haste, his grip firm on your hips as he sinks into you fully, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

You cling to him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your lips find his again in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. The rhythm comes naturally, an instinctive dance that’s both achingly familiar and exhilaratingly new. Even after all the time that has passed, your bodies remember each other, falling into a perfect sync that leaves no space for doubt or regret.

His movements are steady but urgent, each thrust a declaration of the need that has burned between you for so long. Your moans mix with his, the sound of your shared pleasure filling the secluded clearing. There’s a raw intimacy in the way your bodies move together, every touch, every gasp a reaffirmation of what you’ve both held onto all these years. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath ragged as he whispers your name, the sound of it like a prayer.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You don’t respond with words—there’s no need. The way your body arches into his, the way you tighten around him as pleasure builds in your core, says everything. You’re his, just as he’s yours, bound by a love that neither time nor distance could ever truly break.

The tension coils tighter with every thrust, every brush of his lips against your skin, until it’s too much to hold back. Your release washes over you in a wave of bliss, pulling a cry from your lips as you cling to him, every nerve alight with sensation. Gwayne follows you over the edge, a low groan escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the world seems to hold still. The forest fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Your breathing slows, and you feel Gwayne’s grip on you soften, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, there’s a tenderness in his gaze that makes your chest ache. “I’m never letting you go again,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a fierce kind of love. “Not for anything. Not for anyone.”

You reach up to cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I never wanted to be let go,” you confess, your voice a whisper. “I’ve only ever wanted this… us.”

In the silence that follows, there’s a peace that settles between you—an unspoken understanding that whatever lies ahead, you’ll face it together. For now, in this stolen moment, the world beyond the forest doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way your hearts beat in time, the bond between you rekindled and stronger than ever.

And in that quiet, sunlit clearing, you both allow yourselves to believe—if only for a little while—that the future might hold more than just duty and sacrifice. That it might hold a chance for the love you’ve both fought so long to protect.

Daemon Targaryen stood near the edge of the camp, eyes narrowed into slits as he watched you and Gwayne ride back into the clearing. The sight of you both—your hair disheveled, lips still slightly swollen from hurried kisses—made his blood boil. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened, his jaw tightening as a cold fury settled into his bones. Gwayne’s smug look didn’t help; the Hightower knight sent him a knowing, defiant smirk as he rode past, one hand resting possessively on your waist. The message in his gaze was clear: I’ve won, and you know it.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sneer. Foolish boy, he thought darkly. You’ve no idea what you’re inviting.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what had transpired in the woods. He recognized the flushed skin, the barely concealed satisfaction on both your faces, the way your eyes avoided his as you dismounted. You carried yourself with that fire he adored—back straight, chin held high—but he could see through it. He could always see through you. There was anger beneath your proud exterior, frustration burning just as fiercely as his own. 

As you handed the reins to a stable hand, Daemon moved with predatory grace, intercepting you before you could disappear into your tent. He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising, his eyes burning into yours. 

“What were you doing?” he hissed, though it was more accusation than question. His voice was low, dangerously controlled, a seething threat simmering just below the surface. 

You jerked your arm free, glaring up at him with barely concealed fury. “I could ask you the same, Uncle. Spying on me as if I’m one of your lackeys?” Your tone was sharp, dripping with defiance. You took a step closer, your voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “What right do you have to question me? You’ve made it clear what I am to you.”

The words cut him, though he’d never admit it. His eyes darkened further as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You were gone longer than a mere ride warrants, Princess. And you return with that Hightower pup, wearing a look that tells me everything I need to know.”

You bristled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “And why do you care, Daemon? What difference does it make to you what I do or with whom?” Your voice wavered with barely restrained emotion—anger, frustration, and something more, something raw and wounded. “You never wanted me, not really. Not as anything more than a consolation prize because you couldn’t have her.”

Daemon’s gaze sharpened, the accusation hitting too close to home. He reached out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Watch your tongue,” he growled, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, don’t I?” You yanked your chin from his grasp, your eyes flashing with contempt. “You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t see the way you look at her—my sister? The way you’ve always craved what you can’t have? You wanted Rhaenyra, not me. But Viserys wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t let his precious heir fall into your clutches. So you settled for me instead, the lesser prize.”

The truth in your words stung more than Daemon cared to admit. His mind raced, fury and something far more dangerous swirling within him. You had never been lesser to him—never. But he had to grit his teeth against the admission. For a heartbeat, his anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of something deeper, something that threatened to expose him in a way he despised. 

His grip loosened, but his gaze remained intense, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. “Is that what you think? That you’re second to her?” His voice was lower now, softer but no less dangerous. “You’ve always seen yourself as Rhaenyra’s shadow, haven’t you? But let me tell you something, Y/N—you have just as much fire as she does. Maybe more.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Words, Daemon. Just more of your pretty words. You think they’ll work on me after all this time?” Your tone was bitter, but there was a note of pain beneath it that you couldn’t quite hide.

His eyes hardened again, his intensity returning full force. “You are not some replacement,” he snapped, each word deliberate, almost vicious in its conviction. “You’re mine just as much as she could ever be. Perhaps Viserys keeps me from her because he fears what we could be together—but he gave me you because he thinks you’ll be easier to control. And perhaps, for once, he’s right.” His eyes bore into yours, daring you to deny it. “But don’t ever think that makes you lesser, Y/N. You’re every bit as valuable as she is—to me and to this cursed family.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and old wounds. The tension was nearly unbearable, a volatile mixture of rage, passion, and something neither of you wanted to acknowledge aloud. 

You glared at him, chest heaving as you fought to control your breathing. “You claim I’m yours, yet you push me away every time I get too close, every time I try to see beyond that mask of arrogance you wear. You want me just enough to keep me tethered, but never enough to make me truly believe it.”

Daemon’s expression softened just a fraction, the cruel edges giving way to something almost tender. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, and his gaze softened, the fierceness replaced with an intensity that was somehow even more dangerous. “You’ve always seen through me, haven’t you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why you’re the one thing I can never let go of, no matter how much I try.”

You felt your breath hitch, the admission hanging in the air between you. For a moment, the storm in your chest subsided, replaced by the ache of knowing that no matter what you said, no matter how much you tried to fight it, a part of you would always be drawn to him—like a moth to a flame, even if it meant getting burned.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the anger returned, raw and unfiltered. You pulled back from his touch, your voice tight with resolve. “I may be yours in your eyes, Daemon, but I refuse to be something you settle for. I’ll be more than just a placeholder for your desires.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and stormed toward your tent, leaving Daemon staring after you, a storm of conflicting emotions raging behind his eyes. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tense as he fought to rein in his temper. He had always believed he could control everything, bend the world to his will—but in this moment, watching you walk away, he was reminded that some things, some desires, were far beyond his grasp.

But as he stood there, alone in the clearing, a dark, determined smile tugged at the corners of his lips. If Gwayne Hightower thought he could claim you so easily, he was sorely mistaken. Daemon had lost too much already—he wouldn’t lose you too.

One way or another, you would see the truth: that no one could ever truly have you but him.

The final day of the hunt dawned with an oppressive sense of inevitability. The skies were overcast, a muted gray that reflected the tension simmering beneath the surface of the festivities. Lords and knights milled about the camp, preparing for the last chase, but the air was thick with unspoken rivalries and hidden agendas. For Daemon, it was more than just another hunt—it was the culmination of days of mounting frustration and a terror he refused to name, all centered around one person: you.

He had prided himself on control—control over his ambitions, his desires, his enemies. But you were slipping through his fingers, and it clawed at something primal within him. The sight of you laughing, exchanging warm smiles with Gwayne Hightower, had become unbearable. It wasn’t just anger that churned in his chest; it was fear. The fear of losing the one person who had managed to burrow past his defenses, the one thing he had convinced himself was his.

As the sun climbed higher, the hounds were readied, and the nobles began mounting their horses. Daemon’s eyes never left Gwayne, who was exchanging pleasantries with his sister, Alicent. The Hightower knight held himself with the same confident ease as always, his armor gleaming, his expression serene. But beneath that polished exterior, Daemon could sense a defiant edge, a silent challenge that sent a pulse of fury through him.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He swung himself onto his horse, cutting through the throng with a focused determination. The murmured conversations around the camp fell away as he approached Gwayne, who turned to meet him with a calm gaze, as if he had been expecting this confrontation.

“Ser Gwayne,” Daemon drawled, his tone laced with a false cordiality that didn’t reach his eyes. “It seems we find ourselves in each other’s company once more. How fortuitous.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t waver. “Prince Daemon,” he replied smoothly, inclining his head in a respectful nod. “It’s always a pleasure to be in such esteemed company.”

The formalities hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Daemon leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Let’s not pretend, Hightower. You’ve been playing a dangerous game, and I can see right through it. You think you can steal away what belongs to me?”

Gwayne’s smile was subtle, infuriatingly calm. “I’ve stolen nothing, Your Grace. But perhaps what you think you own was never truly yours to begin with.”

Daemon’s hand clenched around the reins, his knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “You’ve never understood what binds us—what we share. You think you can walk in, flash a few smiles, and she’ll forget everything?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened, the mask of politeness slipping away to reveal a fierceness that matched Daemon’s. “What binds you?” he echoed, his voice low and firm. “Do you mean the way you push her away, yet cling to her when it suits your pride? Or the way you try to control her, hoping that she’ll never see she deserves more than to be someone’s second choice?”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of rage and fear twisting inside him. Gwayne’s words cut too close to the truth, exposing the very thing he feared most. He had convinced himself that he was the one who understood you, who could offer you what no one else could. But the thought that he had lost you, that you had found something in Gwayne that he couldn’t offer, was a poison he couldn’t swallow.

His voice was a growl, low and venomous. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? Like you’re the hero in some ballad. But you’re nothing more than a lovesick fool, blinded by a girl who’s outgrown you. Do you really think she’ll choose you when all is said and done? You’re a Hightower—nothing more than a tool for your family’s ambitions.”

Gwayne’s eyes flashed with anger, his composure cracking just enough for Daemon to see the fire beneath. “And what are you, Daemon? The rogue prince, the discarded brother who can’t win his brother’s favor, who takes whatever scraps he’s offered because he’s too afraid to admit what he really wants?”

The words hit like a hammer. Daemon’s control snapped, and before he could stop himself, he spurred his horse forward, closing the distance between them until they were nearly nose to nose. His voice was a low snarl. “You know nothing about fear, Gwayne. You don’t know what it’s like to feel something slipping from your grasp, to see the one thing that keeps you from losing yourself slipping away. I would burn the world to keep her, and you’d be the first I’d cast into the fire.”

Gwayne’s gaze didn’t falter, but there was a flash of sympathy in his eyes that stoked Daemon’s fury even more. “That’s where you and I differ, Daemon,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with pity. “You believe in owning, controlling. But I believe in letting her be free, even if it means losing her. Because what she needs isn’t chains or possessive declarations. It’s someone who sees her as an equal, not a prize to be won.”

Daemon’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, fingers twitching with the urge to draw it and end this insufferable man’s righteous speeches once and for all. But he held back, knowing that doing so would only prove Gwayne’s point. Instead, he leaned in, his voice icy and full of dark promise. “You may have her now, but don’t mistake this for the end. She is mine, whether you—or even she—realize it yet. And one day, when you’re just a memory, she’ll see that.”

With that, Daemon yanked his horse’s reins and rode away, his heart a tempest of emotions he couldn’t fully name—anger, fear, desperation. It terrified him, this loss of control, the realization that he was losing his grip not just on you, but on himself. But he would not give in, would not let you slip away without a fight.

As he rode toward the front of the hunting party, his mind raced with dark thoughts and unspoken plans. He had lost control once, but he would not let it happen again. Whatever it took, whoever he had to destroy, he would make sure that when all was said and done, you would see that you were his and his alone.

And in the distance, Gwayne watched him go, his jaw clenched, his own heart heavy with the knowledge that this confrontation was only the beginning of the battle to come.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Requests are up, right?

If so, hiii! Could I please request a Viktor x wealthy nobleman reader angst set in s1 and during the timeskip? Maybe to do with reader’s parents are forcing him into an arranged marriage so he can’t be with Viktor but they’re still trying to make it work??? Don’t feel obligated to write this it’s up to you n e wayz have a good day thankss ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

viktor x male! wealthy nobleman! reader

angst, (implied) smut, some dialogue. an experimental little thing, really.

word count: 1,7k

author’s note: this request. it’s so scrumptious. so beautiful. so delightful. thank you for asking me to write this, i don’t think i’ve met your expectation but i certainty tried to throw in some extra angst. enjoy, my darling anon!

—

He wakes up in a sweat-slick frenzy, salt dribbling down his neck when he reaches to feel it, scrapping matted hair off pale skin. 

The sheets beneath him are crumpled into intractable waves. The detritus of his restless sleep and whatever erotic mess he’d made out of you a few hours ago. But when his arm crawls to your side of the bed, smoothing over the rippled splendour, his fist clenches around nothing. 

Heavy lids flutter with effort when his ochre eyes roam beneath the chestnut strands, fruitlessly roaming around the pompous room. All claret patches of luxurious furniture curdling into countless voids in the dim light. There’s something so inherently you and not-you-in-the-slightest all the same clashing inside this chamber. Gaudy, and tasteless, and redundantly sandalwood. Duck-feather pillows and thick mattresses. Exuberant safety. 

Viktor rests his eyes, propping his head up on a trembling hand. He could never get used to this. He could never get used to you. Your reputee. Your respectable decorum. The things he’s supposed to enjoy—or, rather, finally try getting used to.

And yet, they’re still so foreign and confusing. He swears there’s a myriad snarky insults written all over this gigantic house—on every ridiculous vintage lamp and on the mortifying softness of your carpets—hell, even the curtains sway at him sibilantly, somehow. 

But the mirrors are certainly the culprit. He always avoids those evil, gilded things at all cost. Not because he despises the reflection. It’s mostly the way he clashes with the grandeur that makes him avert his eyes. Away from the jaunty reminder that he doesn’t belong here. 

He emerges from the bed, blood rushing out of his head and thumping harder when he slips one leg off the edge, gaining precarious hold of his cane through drowsy confusion. Hides the slopes of pointy shoulders beneath his flimsy shirt but leaves it unbuttoned. Counts puce hickeys strewn across his chest and cockily runs his heavy tongue over his molars when the number exceeds ten. 

He doesn’t bother with the belt, either. He trudges out of the room with pants hanging low on hips, eerie gallus curdling into his walk when he passes Agnes, your maid, trading shrewd gazes with her judging eyes. She knows. And he knows she knows. You’re not exactly secretive with whatever blissed debaucheries happen in one of those spacious bedrooms the second your venerable parents leave the City of Progress.

Too bad he doesn’t care enough to keep you out of trouble. It’s more of an eye-for-an-eye dilemma. You’re still so skittish to address him as your partner during those numerous fancy galas. Janna, he can’t even make it to the guest list. It’s like you completely lack the balls (and the appendage is definitely there—Viktor did check, after all). But it’s okay. Viktor can be the ballsy one. He can rub it in their faces while you falter. And tonight the maid’s face falls victim to his stunt. 

He asks if she’d seen you, sickeningly glibly. Finds the audacity to address you by your first name, his head cheekily tilted to the side. She inhales through her nose, canines nervously digging into her cheek.

“He’s in the drawing room,” she mumbles, looking away. “Playing the piano.” 

Viktor hums. Of course you are. He thanks her with a snide nod and takes his leave. Thinks of just how oblivious rich people are to their antics: it’s ridiculous that the sounds of a literal keyboard instrument fail to reach every room in this enormous mansion. It makes him really ponder the size. So much space for privilege, and yet none for love. Boastful quarters built on ingenuity. He bites his tongue. 

The door makes a heavy screech when he comes in, panting hard. Finds you at the edge of your padded seat, all tense shoulders and rigid breaths, cheeks blooming a frustrated, sweaty pink as your fingers torture the keyboard, tapping out a  bluesy, messy tune. He leans on the doorframe, forehead landing against the lacquered mahogany with a light thump. Notices the expensive ruffled shirt he’d torn at earlier, lingering on the patch of skin where it swings off your clavicle. Smiles, when your melody gains a sharper edge, pitiful chords clashing into something resembling a dismissed plea—either to gods or to conniving ancestry, but that’s open to interpretation. Could be both, really.

It’s not often that he gets to admire his boy like this—tumultuous and rigid, forehead contorted with veins in your angry awe. And Viktor doesn’t want to startle you. He sneaks behind your back and hovers above your shoulders, his breath a sly tickle over your fevered temple. But his presence grounds you. Your limbs tumble, going limp as they slide off the trembling black-whites. The piano strings still vibrate when you turn to kiss him, wet lips meeting chapped. 

He glides under your tongue and hums something indistinct, but you swallow his words faster. Franticly, you cling to him, desperate fingers clasping around bony thighs, and down he goes, pulled into your lap, bubbly giggle rasping against your mouth when he straddles you. Tastes of boldness, sweat and something delirious. Runs his hands up and down your back while his own arches into the keyboard and hits one cacophonic chord. It has you leaping out of your seat, hairs on ends like a skittish cat. Viktor looks at you, mouth unraveling into a boyish smile.

“Am I interrupting?” He finds his voice, still groggy from the aftermath of his slumber. 

You offer him an apologetic wink of both tired eyes. “You startled me.”

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry. You should have kept going. I quite liked that improvisation.” You both laugh. 

He rakes his hand up your neck, fingers circling the bulge of your voice, drawing a gulp. Your face looks strained, brows knitted together in something bizarrely tic-like—and it doesn’t go away even when his lips line up with that sensitive slope, licking, kissing, biting their way down to clavicles. 

“What’s troubling you?” He whispers, leaning back. Stares at the glistening stripe of his saliva, swallowing hard, matching you when you look away, gnawing at your bottom lip. Both mouths taste iron, chewing the tension. 

“Nothing?” You try to lie, but your delivery is just a tad too quizzical. Like you’re asking him to narrow it down for you, to find the answer on your behalf. Too bad he would never do you such favors. 

He fists his hand into your hair, tugging hard. Makes you look back into his mighty eyes—oh that lovely, oxidised copper—and orders you to speak from the altitude of his posture. You shudder, seeking mercy. He doesn’t have any to give. Not tonight.

“There’s clearly something,” Viktor insists, letting go of your hair. Your scalp tingles with a delicious scorch. “I don’t appreciate the covertness. Especially when you’re hardly able to keep it up. You never play quite as… vehemently unless you’re upset.” 

“It’s Agnes,” you crack, looking at the doorway. The maid is not there, but the weight of her gaze haunts you everytime you sneak Viktor inside, no matter if she’s not there to witness you cling to him. “She, er— My parents are threatening to fire her. She told me she can no longer keep our… secret. ” 

“So be it.” Viktor shrugs. “Let her talk. She needs her income. It’s not like they’re not aware of my existence anyway.”

You scoff. “Yes, but it’s not like they’re particularly fond of you, either.”

“Since when does that distress you?” He snaps right back at you, loving hands instantly withdrawn from their hold of you, clenching hard. “You can’t possibly take their input into consideration, can you?” 

For a moment, you simply stare at each other, eyes shooting angry stardust. You can feel a dry, nervous cough tickle at your throat, blood buzzing in your temples and pressing hard. You have to tell him. Preferably, now. 

Because Viktor is oblivious to the ultimatum you were given all those months ago. Here he is, looking down at you full of puzzled devotion, smug, and sweet and so utterly soft. Unaware of the fact that you are to be married to another man. To someone meticulously picked out by your parents, all tedious meetings and insipid speeches about how you should stick to someone of your own kind, ears bleeding to the sounds of all the demeaning crap about witnessing their noble boy’s downfall. 

But the worst part is: you still haven’t grown a fraction of a backbone. You bend to their will and adhere to self-pity, painfully wary of how to break this circle. It’s just that you let your fear prevail. 

And it’s a thing to be ashamed of. Because how dare you hold him close, all limbs intertwined and eyes locking with such yearning—all the while you fail to muster the courage to offer him elopement. Hell, to even tell him the truth. You don’t deserve him—not now, not ever. Cowards are not to form bonds with those who never ask for permission. 

And so you wet your lips, anxiously staring up. Your hands bonelessly dangle at your sides, terrified of reaching for him again. You’re going to tell him, it’s right there, at the tip of your tongue, threatening to leap out your mouth like an insult one doesn’t mean. You just have to do it like he does: be bold, be brave, start talking—

“Of course, Viktor,” you mumble instead, feeling shame creep up your throat. What a spineless creature. “I don’t care what they think. I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicker with that familiar, joyful spark of his. Fawning at you so gently that your heart almost bleeds through the fancy shirt, almost crumbling right then and there when he scoots closer again, hot breath fondling your face. You’re never going to tell him, are you? 

Something inside you dies when he kisses your cheek, lean body tensing atop you as he commences an embrace you return with guilty reluctance, hiding ugly tears in the mess of his hair. 

“Good,” Viktor whispers, holding you through your shudder. “Now, could you play me that nocturne I like, please?”

You grip the piano hard enough to leave nail marks on the gorgeous instrument.

[duckprintspress]

Was in a Barnes & Noble this weekend for the first time in ages, and was a little shocked by how many special editions I saw with sprayed edges, gilded covers, etc., of basically mass market books.

Like, special editions feel a whole lot less special when they're everywhere.

And I know that makes it sound like I hate fun, but on the contrary, it's a major concern for those of us who publish. Those luxury editions are very expensive to produce, and major industry folks can make them affordable for buyers and profitable for their companies because they are printing huge numbers of them.

But when "luxury" features become "standard," smaller publishers really can't...do them. Like, there's absolutely no affordable way for a publisher the size of Duck Prints Press to produce editions like that. The more people expect them and come to think they're not special and luxury, the harder it will be to sell something any less fancy to them.

It's. a very frustrating cycle.

I don't know what I'm accomplishing by writing this or what action I think anyone reading it on Tumblr could possibly take, but I just felt like I had to say it. Please remember that big corporations fuck all of us, including the "small fish" businesses just trying to survive in the same sea.

[beansprean]

"So, how did Guillermo get started as Nandor's familiar?"

"Nadja and Nadjita Tell It"; my entry for the Rashomon-style AO3 collection "So How Did You Two Meet?"! Check out the other fic and art entries to see the other characters' perspectives!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of Nadja and Dolly wearing matching pinkish-red gowns with dark blue sleeves sitting side by side in armchairs in the foyer, stairs twisting up behind them, as they do a talking head. Nadja tosses her hands up and scowls, rolling her eyes, and says 'Guillermo? What was that, 80 years ago? How should I remember?' Dolly has an open pack of crayons tucked into the chair next to her and has a stack of paper as big as her torso in her hands. She scribbles on it with a red crayon and clicks her tongue dismissively, replying, 'I remember everything. Let me show you.' 1b. Tight shot of Dolly's eyes in extreme closeup in the foreground, Nadja waist-up in the background. Nadja turns toward Dolly with a frown, one hand held palm up beside her head, and points out gently, 'But you weren't even there, my sweet little piglet.' Dolly responds, eyes focused on her paper, 'Then tell me if I get anything wrong.' 1c. Medium shot from the front, focused on Dolly as she smiles and turns her paper around to show the camera a clumsy crayon drawing of the vampire mansion. Nadja leans on one arm of her chair and ducks her head to get a closer look. Dolly begins, her speech bubbles turning into gilded scrollwork, 'Once upon a time...' 1d. The panels are now parchment paper with crayon drawings. This one depicts Guillermo, his body made of a single circle with a head on top and stick arms and legs with little circles for hands and feet. There is a big frown on his face, and behind him is a house shape in green with double doors and a P on the front followed by ellipses. Dolly's voiceover continues: '...there was a sad, round little human man with broken eyes who had a job at... uh... P...Pan...' Nadja's speech bubble appears, now in curly pink script: 'I believe it was Panda Bread, agapoula mou.' Dolly: 'Ah, yes! He had the job making breads from the panda milk, one of the most lowly forms of human labor.' 1e. Repeat of the previous drawing, now with a few additions from Nadja with a pink crayon: the building is titled Panda Bread, Guillermo is holding a load of bread and has a tear in his eye, and arrows are pointing toward him reading 'sad' and 'virgin'. 1f. Drawing of Nandor, whose body is made in the same style but shaped like a triangle, kneeling on the ground and weeping loudly. Pink additions: smell lines, a long dick and balls between his legs, and text that reads 'Oh I am so lonely and I smell bad because my last familiar fell off the roof or some shit'. Dolly: 'Meanwhile on the Staten Island, there was also a pathetic, empty-headed buffoon of a vampire who spent every night crying about how lonely and smelly he was.' Nadja: 'That sounds right.' 1g. Dolly: 'And his beautiful housemate, Nadja-' Nadja: 'That sounds very right!' Dolly: '-kicked him in his ass and said 'Get out of here and don't come dragging your balls over this doorstep without a familiar to take care of you!' The page shows a slightly more detailed drawing of Nadja with full lips and long eyelashes and waves of glorious hair in a big fancy dress, arms and legs held straight out. Nandor, still crying, is crouched over in the foreground as one of her heeled feet kicks him in the butt and sends him flying. Pink additions: dick and balls on Nandor and text that reads 'owie my penis', larger boobs, earrings, rings, and fishnet stockings on Nadja and sparkles surrounding her entrance.

2a. A drawing, torn off on the bottom, showing Nandor standing with his arms out and mouth open in an O, hearts in his eyes as he sees Guillermo crouched by a crudely drawn panda with an udder, milking it into a bucket. Pink additions: Nandor's dick standing at attention, surrounded by hearts; Guillermo surrounded by stink lines and hearts. Dolly narrates: 'So the sad vampire went to the Panda Bread and found the delicious virgin. The vampire wanted to eat him immediately! But he had promised Nadja to bring back a familiar.' 2b. A drawing, torn off at the top, showing a series of Guillermos working: holding a loaf of fresh bread, sweeping the floor, and dusting the wall with his back to the viewer. Nandor stands nearby, pointing a finger in the air with a big grin as he gets an idea. Pink additions: stink lines and hearts around Guillermo, buttcheeks on the dusting Guillermo, Nandor's dick pointing straight up. Dolly's voiceover continues: 'And though he noticed that the virgin worked very hard, he smelled much too yummy-scrummy to bring home alive. So the vampire did the only thing he could do...' 2c. Briefly back in reality, a close up of Dolly smiling and holding up a paper with a single crayon drawing showing a naked Guillermo lying on the floor with his mouth wide open and his legs straight up, Nandor crouched between them. Pink additions: buttcheeks on Nandor, tit and a small dick and balls on Guillermo, text reading 'ooh ahh master' and 'i love you human man'. 2d. Drawing torn at the bottom showing Nandor and Guillermo, now dressed, holding hands and smiling in front of Nadja, who towers over them and gives them a thumbs up. Pink additions: hearts surrounding Nandor and Guillermo, limp dicks on them both, a crown, bat wings, rings, sparkles, bigger boobs, and fishnet stockings on Nadja. Dolly narrates: 'Once his cherry was thoroughly popped, the vampire brought his new familiar home for Nadja's approval.' 2e. Dolly's voiceover continues: 'And then she and her husband fucked all night with no weepy loser to interrupt them!' Drawing, torn at the top, of a naked Laszlo laying on his back on the ground smiling with his arms straight up in a cheer. Nadja, also naked, is straddling him backwards with her arms also up. Pink additions: hearts all around them, crowns and rings for them both, chest hair and tits for laszlo, tits and bush for Nadja along with bat wings, a crude interpretation of their genitals entwined, text by Laszlo reading 'i love my wife', text by Nadja reading 'finally i can be the little spoon'. Dolly's narration concludes with a fancy 'The End.' 2f. Back to reality; repeat of the first panel, wide shot of the foyer with Nadja and Dolly sitting beside each other. Dolly is proudly holding up the final drawing with a smile. Nadja grins at the camera, left elbow braced on the chair arm and idly twirling a blunt pink crayon in the air as she declares, 'Yeah, that was pretty much it. No notes.' /end ID

[ladymercysletters]

Higher - Prologue #1: an Aemond Targaryen Series

Synopsis: Y/N Targaryen is the daughter of Rhaenerya Targaryen. Her parentage is disputed though unlike her younger brothers hers is not certain. Whilst they all share the same dark curls of Harwin Strong; Y/N shares her mother’s platinum with a dark streak running the underside of it. There are some, like Queen Alicent, who take this as a sign that her true father is obviously also Harwin Strong – Rhaenerya just getting extremely lucky that most of your hair was white. Others, including you mother, point out Laenors mothers, Rhaenys Velaryons, dark Baratheon hair, and that it obviously comes from there. But wherever your true blood lies you’ve always felt more dragon than anything else.

Word Count: 2,298

Rating (per chapter): none

A/N: Prologue is set when Aemond and reader are young. As I can neither remember, nor care to double check, I'm saying they're around 14 ish. If some of the timelines don't quite match up, does it really matter.

You had no idea where your mother was. Somewhere in the castle most likely; and your father? Which one? By right or rule of birth your father Laenor was nowhere to be found. You could hazard a guess that he was with his Lannister knight. They seemed good friends and you often saw them together. By blood or a guess Harwin Strong of the Kings Guard was teaching your brothers to defend themselves from their uncles, Aegon and Aemond in the training yard; and Daemon, you didn’t have the faintest idea. You rarely saw him and hadn’t seen him since his arrival with his family that morning.

Sitting in a stone alcove overlooking the training yard you pondered your newest sibling. Your mother was due to give birth in but a few days if she held on, and you truly hoped this one would be a girl. Not that you didn’t love your brothers, but boys could be so mean. You looked out of the window and saw how Aegon was mean to his brother Aemond, and goaded your own brothers to join in.

It wasn’t long since being here that you barely recognised them as they picked and taunted your youngest uncle like crows. Helaena had so much more of a sweet temper, and she truly felt like a sister to you when she was there, but she was barely ever there; in the room, on the same plain of existence as anyone else.  

Harwin never made his favouritism more obvious than when they were sparing. Even the lightest blow and he was pushing the two Targaryen princes from Jace and Lucerys and berating them. He was even protective of you on occasion but never as much as the boys; just about everything involving you was in half measures compared to your brothers.

You wandered down to the training yard, sick of being by yourself. You almost made it there before Aemond came running down the corridor at you, pushing past just to duck into a room and lock the bolt with a thud. You spun back around to see the main of Aegon’s wavy hair glowing around his head from the light behind him.

“What have you done this time!” you barked, squaring up to your eldest uncle despite your difference in height. Your brothers were behind him, giggling to themselves like a pack of hyenas.

“Just a laugh, niece. Nothing more than a joke. Only some are not yet man enough to take it.” He finished with a shout down the corridor. They all moved past you, bowling down the dimly lit tunnel to the Keep, they obviously didn’t see where he went. As soon as you knew they were out of sight you walked slowly over to the locked door and tapped.

“Aemond. Its me.” You called quietly through the cracks. “They’ve gone. Can you let me in?” You could hear his sniffs get closer as the door unbolted; cracking open just an inch so you could squeeze through. Pulling your gilded blue dress through the small frame you were met with your uncles red nose and pinked cheeks. “Oh Aemond” you began before he cut you off.

“I’m fine. Its fine.” He started, turning to walk back into the room, facing away from you. Even from your short glace you could see both of his eyes were bloodshot. You pulled your small handkerchief from your sleeve and draped it over his shoulder. This caught his attention, and he turned to find you not so subtly looking up at the ceiling and the tall beams that held it up, just so he was sure you couldn’t see his tears fall.

You sat in silence for a while. You often did, both of you finding it comforting just the two of you, not saying anything; but no one needed to. Eventually you both found yourselves sitting intertwined on the small bench at the end of the room. Your legs were placed over his, his head on your shoulder and yours resting over his; both your hands played with the others.

“I heard mother the other day.” Aemond started. “She was begging father not to betroth Helaena to Aegon. He says it is a good match to keep our blood pure.” His voice was small, and you could almost hear a question in it.

“Poor Helaena” was all you could mutter. And poor her you felt. You were both almost of age and you knew your mother and father had already discussed your future, to some extent at least. “Poor Aegon as well”

“Why poor Aegon?”

“Well, I don’t suppose he wants to marry Helaena any more than she would him.” stroking the back of Aemond’s hand. He huffed but accepted your answer. He sat up a bit and you switched with him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Aemond looked down at you. His hand reached around and fondled with your hair, the silver strands rolled back in small braids from your face, he felt around until he found the little patch of dark hair. He liked to play with that bit the most; perhaps it was because that was what they always teased you about, how even if they were bastards at least they knew who their father was, whereas you could be anybody’s! It wasn’t usually your brothers saying that, just Aegon. But he knew how to spin it to make them laugh at you as well.

Aemond sighed to himself as you relaxed against him. You’d been in the glorified cupboard a while now and he was sure they’d forgotten their search for him and moved on, but he didn’t want to move; not when he could hear you talking about something he feels he really should be paying attention to.

“… from the Reach, and the Riverlands, but she says I don’t have to think about my betrothal until I’m at least seven and ten years old. She says grandsire made her tour at fifteen and she hated it!”

“Betrothal?” Aemond blurted, sitting bolt upright and nearly knocking Y/N from her resting place “to whom?” he cried.

“Well, no-one yet. That’s the point.” You looked up at him and smiled. Aemond’s insides clenched when you did.

“Well don’t.” he said, matter-of-factly. To be honest he didn’t know what else to say. He was suddenly hit with the thought that you wouldn’t always be with him, around him, and he couldn’t stand it. Tears welled up suddenly in his eyes and he pulled out your hanky again to stop the tears.

You reached up to pull his hand from his face, tutting lightly as you saw his watery eyes. Taking the hanky from his hands you gripped them as you dabbed at his eyes.

“Okay” you murmured, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. Aemond’s eyes widened at your action, his face flushing. You settled back against him in another comfortable silence, this time with a strange sort of certainty in your future.

**

A week later and you were still in Kings Landing. Not that you minded, but your mother had still not birthed and the maesters were beginning to get worried. Your father/s were more present, you noted, each one also becoming slightly more concerned at the late hour of this pregnancy.

You were sat with Helaena and the Queen, embroidering a handkerchief with a small silver dragon when Aegon came bowling in, followed by Lucerys.

“Mother! Ladies” he bowed comically. The Queen rolled her eyes but said nothing, drawing her attention back to her tapestry. “What do we have here then niece.” He said, lying sloppily next to you, grabbing the soft cotton from your hands.

“Give it back Aegon.” You snapped quietly, reaching out for it.

“Ah ah ah” he tutted. “Don’t snatch niece.” That irked you more. He always called you niece to belittle you, despite you being closer in age than his own half-sister. The Queen looked over the two of you, watching as her eldest son loomed over you teasing. Becoming bored of her tapestry she set it down beside her and left, never one to entertain her children for too long.

Aegon looked over the work in his hand, the corners of his mouth turning down as he was impressed with the small delicate stitches and beading that caught the light. “Why not make it gold niece.” He said finally, throwing the cloth back in you lap as he stood. “to match my glorious Sunfyre.” He smirked down at you before sauntering out again.

“A green bead. A blue bead. A green bead. A blue bead.” You turned to see Helaena muttering softly into her work. She wasn’t beading; you thought. Just sewing golden thread into the wings of her beetles.

**

At dinner that evening your mother was absent again. You almost requested you meal to be brought to your room but the Queen had insisted you eat with your brothers and her children. Silently you all sat, heads staying down after your prayer. Then you heard a noise. A snorting. Grunt.

Aemond stiffened beside you. Your eyes flickered to watch him before darting over the table at your brothers, each of them giggling between themselves. You looked over to Aegon – he was smirking.

“Jacerys” you scolded quietly, glaring daggers at him to get him to stop.

“What. Sister I am not doing anything.” He smirked. The Queen interjected.

“Velaryons. I hear your mother is in her labours.” She breathed. Setting her cutlery down. “That is good news is it not. After so long I’m sure you will all be glad to greet your new sibling.”

“Very much so, your grace.” Your eldest brother said politely, turning to her.

“I’m sure you are all looking forward to going home.” You could tell by the way she sighed as she said it, she was just looking forward to you leaving. Aemond looked over to you as you caught his eye, both of you silently sad that you would be leaving again in the not-too-distant future. “Y/N” she broke once more, grabbing your attention “You will no doubt be keen to return home” she smiled rigidly.

“Why is that?” you asked slowly, stuttering over the words in confusion.

“Well, I’m sure when your mother is well recovered you will need to prepare for your coming out. My husband tells me he has already received ravens enquiring when you are to tour for a husband. I’m sure your mother will want to prepare you herself.” She said curtly.

“Oh. I suppose so.” You said meekly. You knew your mother had received ravens, but to hear your grand-sire had also been in receipt of them made you fear he would use you as a bartering tool.

“I wouldn’t worry niece.” Aegon broke the silence, sensing your nervousness. Everyone looked up to him, surprised at his concern. “If you do manage to receive a decent proposal, the poor sod will have to first work out which father to ask! Ha!” he slapped his knee in jest at his fine joke.

“Aegon!” the Queen snapped. Aemond stood bolt upright next to you, knife gripped in his hand by his side as he stared down at his brother. Aegon laughed

“What are you going to do with that brother?” he questioned laughing. “Carve me up and eat me?”

“Show some respect brother.” Aemond muttered through gritted teeth. His eyes rolling over your brothers sat next to his own; dismayed that neither of them stood to defend you. Aegon scoffed but said nothing; kicking his feet from the ground as he stood, bidding his mother goodnight as he left.

You placed a small hand on Aemond’s wrist that held the knife. He seated himself back down next to you, placing the knife on the table as he whispered a small apology to you.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. Thank you.” You whispered back, hand not leaving his. You suddenly felt the Queens eyes boring into you and moved your hand swiftly from her son.

**

You wept quietly as you packed your trunk. Your mother had birthed your newest brother a week ago. Another brown-haired boy: and now you were set to leave again for Driftmark. You had sent the maids away, content to pack your belongings yourself in silence. Folding up some of your stockings you pushed them down into the corner of the trunk, sniffing deeply.

A low rumbling took your attention from the ground and you looked over your shoulder to the bookshelf in the corner of your room moving across the floor.

“Aemond!” you gasped, seeing your uncle emerge from the secret passageway. You ran across the room to embrace him. Since your departure had been announced you had not seen much of him; his mother keeping him away any time you asked after him – insisting that he was in his studies and must not be disturbed. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply.

“Y/N. You are leaving today?” he muttered

“Yes. Shortly. I just need to finish packing.” You drew back from him but did not release your arms.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to leave either.” You sniffed. Fresh tears willing in your eyes. “I hate boats.” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“I brought you a book. For the journey.” You took the small book he produced from his back pocket and looked it over. As you turned it a small letter fell from between the pages. Aemond gasped and swiftly scooped it from the floor, pushing it back between the pages. “Don’t look at that until you have left. Promise.” He said blushing.

“promise.” You smiled.

[echantedtoon]

A Lovers' Circle (Poly Haishira x Reader) Ch17 Setting Hearts A Blaze P3

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You didn't want to do this. But they asked to see your aunt. If they found out that you didn't ask her then they'll be upset. But if I DO ask her I know she's going to do something embarrassing like take their cups to read their tea leaves or show up in her fortune teller's outfit. Gods. What if she does the same thing she did when she met Gyomei?!

Your body cringed inwards on itself just picturing your aunt feeling Kyojuro's arm and then declaring he'd make a wonderful husband for someone she knew. Your gut feeling BEGGED you to not go through with it, and you had asked your boyfriend's opinion on the matter. He knew what she was like so surely he'd be against the idea too right?

"They requested her presence didn't they? It would be unkind to everyone if you don't at least tell her about the invitation."

Crap. He was right. Sigh. You'd have to go tell her the next time you saw her, which happened to be the very next day. So with a heavy feeling in your stomach, you drove all the way to her house and forced yourself to climb up the steps and enter the house where you found your aunt trying to manhandle giant boxes of Christmas decorations out of the thin entrance to her attic. 

"They want to what?"

"They wanted to invite you to dinner." You ducked avoiding the top plastic pine needles of a Christmas tree. "To thank you for helping them out. Um..Do want a hand?"

"I'm not old as dirt yet! I can put up a stupid tree." You only watched her struggle with the big thing until she wobbly placed it hard on the floor with a thud before sighing and stepping back to admire her work. "When is this dinner?"

"Um..I think Kyojuro said it was tomorrow night?"

"NO CAN DO, KIDDO!" She pointed up spinning on her heel and walking over to a big box labeled 'ornaments'. "I'm going to a speed dating event! There's only so much of me to go around!"

You sighed. A wave of relief flooding over you for a long moment. "So.. You'll be busy?"

"Honey, broken hearts and lonely souls are an epidemic in the world. When the world's calling me I must answer!"

"Well you didn't have to say it like a line written out of a story."

She waved you off. "Life is a story. Who's writing the story is whoever you decide to give the pencil to." Her arm then made a come here gesture. "Now come help me decorate the place! The halls won't deck themselves."

Everything seemed to go well enough the next day. Of course being a Saturday you had no work, but you still had the project with Giyuu and Shinobu to do due the last day of November which wasn't too far off. You opted to do it early in the morning so you could just go grocery shopping. So you did what you've been doing every morning. Getting up and ready before leaving to meet up with your friends at their house. Just ended up doing an hour of yoga before leaving to go grocery shopping at the local supermarket. Giyuu offered to drive you back but you declined as pretty much everything was within walking distance, even if it was pretty cold out. 

No doubt the first snow wouldn't be too far behind. That's what you thought to yourself as you walked into the thankfully warm grocery store, and grabbed a shopping cart to start pushing it around to start grabbing groceries and things you'd need for dinner tomorrow night, some rice and eel cutlets for unadon. So it really was a surprise for you to just be carting around listening to the generic Christmas music already being played over the loudspeakers and the squeaky wheel of the cart as you pushed it along, stopping every so while to grab milk and eggs and other small things, only to turn the corner into the other aisle and then completely pause.

You blinked before a big smile pressed against your lips at the realization of a familiar face. A man with short ink black hair was standing sideways at the end of the aisle. Shopping basket in one hand while his other ran across canned goods looking at each label for a specific product. Murata didn't see you as you started up towards him.

"Murata!"

"GAH?!" Said man jumped and whirled around as fast as a startled cat but he paused and blinked upon seeing you. "Y/n?!"

You giggled. "Yep! It's me!"

"Don't do that! I could've had a heart attack!"

Despite his frown you giggled again. "Sorry. I haven't seen you in like a month! How have you been?"

"Hmph. I've been fine. Trying to pay for rent and go to classes hasn't been easy to multitask lately is all."

"Oh. I'm so sorry. Your boyfriend ok?"

"Sabito's fine. Like I said, it's just been super busy." Murata paused taking a moment to lean over and look behind you for something. Or really someone. "Is..your boyfriend here too?"

"Gyomei? No. He's helping a friend move some stuff. Why?"

He didn't answer at first. Continuing to look behind you and then behind him as if making sure you both were alone before looking back at you in a dead serious face. "Are you here by yourself?"

"Um.." Your brow rose at him. "Yes? You're being kinda weird, Dude."

"I just wanted to make sure none of...those people were around here." 'Those people'? Who was he talking about? Looking around once more, Murata looked back to your confused face. "Remember when I said I had something important to tell you?" You nodded. You did but he never told you what he wanted to talk about. "I wanted to warn you sooner but you were surrounded by those guys all the time."

"Warn me?" That certainly surprised you. "Warn me about what? And what are you talking about?" 

"I'm talking about the polycule nuts!" You blinked as he groaned. "I'm talking about your boyfriend's boyfriends..and girlfriends!"

"You mean Giyuu and Shinobu?"

"And the rest of them!"

You were surprised. What about your friends warranted Murata wanting to warn you? It confused you to the core. "Why? What's so wrong with them?"

"Um. Everything??" He held up his hands. "When I first saw that guy I thought he looked familiar but I didn't know he was Himejima. If I'd known who it was then I would've told you to not go out with him!"

"Why? What's so wrong with him?"

"How do you not know about their reputation?!" He facepalmed with a loud groan. 

"Murata, WHAT are you talking about?"

"People call them the 'Haishira' on campus." He explained looking up from his hands. "And they're pretty notorious for their lifestyle."

"You mean the fact that they're polyamorous?" Your brow rose with a frown. "Murata, there's lots of people in the world that's polyamorous. I'm not being cheated on or anything if that's what you're worried about. I already know about Gyomei having other partners and I'm fine with that-"

"It's not just that!" He cut you off with a look. "It's already super weird, but it's WAY beyond having like an extra boyfriend or girlfriend on the side! I'm worried about you being around them. Especially dangerous people like Shinazugawa and Iguro Obanai. And that Tengen guy!"

Sanemi and Obanai? Why? What was wrong with them? And Tengen?  Your questions were answered as Murata continued talking in your silence.

"Both of them have got a bad reputation on campus and for good reason. They're always getting into fights and Sanemi sent a guy to the hospital his first year of Uni just cuz someone hit on his girlfriend! Everyone's scared of them cuz they're loose cannons! Not to mention that Tengen guy is like the biggest womanizer on campus! He's always flirting with people and winking and posing naked for the art classes-"

"Don't... people usually volunteer as nude models for art class all the time so the students can practice drawing anatomy?"

"That doesn't change the fact that they're all super weird to be around! Look! I'm like REALLY worried about you here! And as your friend, I'm begging you to stay away from those guys! They're trouble and there's a reason why people avoid them!"

Haishira? Avoiding them? Well you knew from Gyomei that many people tended to opt out of dating him due to his blindness or after learning about his orientation, but you never heard anything about them all having any kind of 'reputation'. The closest thing to that is when you had encountered Jake a second time at the pub. One of his friends had seemed to recognize Sanemi causing the group of them to flee the scene.

But Sanemi dangerous?

Not to you. He'd been nothing but respectful and passive towards most people outside of his relationships you've seen him interact with. He wasn't rude to anyone that didn't decide to poke him with a stick or decide to be rude or try to cause trouble to someone he seemed to care for. Most of the time around other people he just seemed neutral. Obanai...well you didn't know him too well. You've only spoken to him a handful of times but he didn't seem like someone who would harm someone on a whim either. As for Tengen, he was flirty whenever you spoke to him but that seemed more like his personality than him going around womanizing people.

"They never acted that way when I was around them."

"That's because you're dating their boyfriend! Which is a sentence I never thought I would ever say! *Sigh* Look. I just don't want to see you get hurt again!" His hand found your shoulder and a look of concern came over him. "I'd ask you to break up with him but I don't know if I'm in a position to do that. So instead I'm gonna warn you."

You still stared at him for a long, silent moment before sighing. "Murata, I appreciate your concern and I'm glad I have such a good friend. But I'm happy. Gyomei's not perfect, far from it actually, but for the first time I'm seeing someone who makes me happy and I'm worried about if he's going to ghost me or is secretly married. He makes me happy, and I actually like making friends with them. They're good people despite what rumors or people say. You don't have to worry about me."

Murata slowly sighed again deflating with a nod. "I had a feeling you'd probably say something like that. But...Would you at least please, PLEASE promise me you'll be careful?"

You smiled at him. "I promise but you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine."

**************************************

You didn't know what to feel for the rest of the day. Running into Murata had left a bad taste in your mouth in your otherwise happy mood. It's not that you believed the rumors that were repeated to you in worry by him. Of course you didn't believe Sanemi was actually dangerous or any of the other ridiculous things Murata warned you about, but there was something bugging you.

Rumors usually didn't start out of no where.

Usually they were started by someone or they were based off something that did happen or sometimes a bit of both. So now which of the three was it? You debated calling Sanemi and asking him yourself but it would've been too awkward to just ask if he'd ever beat up someone and put him in the hospital. So instead you just went home and put your groceries away in some attempt to get your mind off the fact despite it still bugging you. Your day had gone by normally then but you still didn't shake the feeling of curiosity surrounding it all. In fact you nearly forgotten about the time because you were so distracted by it all. The clock showed up five p.m and the dinner was supposed to be at six.

OH CRAP!! YOU WERE GONNA BE LATE!!

It was a rush to shower and throw on a cute sweater before grabbing what you needed and running out of the door and towards the restaurant Kyojuro had insisted on you coming too. Luckily you knew exactly what restaurant it was. It was the new one Mitsuri wanted to go to but couldn't because it had been closed. It was right across from the park and the park wasn't too far away from your house as well. 

Of course the afternoon was cold and nearly dark as the days grew shorter this time of year, but you held your purse halfway in your teeth as you yanked your coat over your shoulders and hoped the wind didn't smear your makeup. You were going to be late. You were going to be late. Oh you hoped they weren't going to be mad at you for being late. The trip as the sun set quickly took you along the sidewalks on your usual route to the university only to go straight through the park as some kind of short cut and straight to the streets and buildings on the other side. Where you went to was the first big building  that let delicious smelling food waft on the breeze. That should be the one.

With a brisk pace you made towards the older styled building and opened the front door setting off a bell above your head, and a wave of warn air washed over your cold skin. Immediately after you stepped in, someone else was standing right there in front of you with a wide smile. 

"Greetings!," he greeted you with a smile on his customer service face and a waiter's suit slapped on his body. "Do you have a reservation, Ma'am?"

"Um." You pushed the hair from your face attempting to smooth it over from the wind blowing it about. "N-No."

"Oh. I'm afraid I can't seat you without a reservation."

"I'm actually meeting someone here. Uh..Rengoku?"

"Rengoku? Hm. Let's see." From his podium thing he looked down at what you assumed was a check book. "Ah, yes. Table fourteen. Of course." With a gesture of his arm he pointed towards the inside massive room of tables. "Please follow me."

You did hoping you didn't look too out of place amongst the fancy furnishings and dressed up people. Until you spotted a familiar face and head of red hair. ...And a very familiar sounding voice.

"Umai!....Umai!....Umai!!"

You heard him before you saw him. Following him to the table in question revealed three identical figures of long red hair. One of which was a young man shoving pieces of wagyu steak pieces into his mouth and yelling out each time he took a bite. Yep. That was definitely Kyojuro alright.

The worker stopped behind Kyojuro whom had his back towards you but gained the attention of his parents. Shinjuro and Ruka if you remembered right from the party. "Excuse me, S-"

"UMAI!!"

Both the worker and yourself jumped back as Kyojuro just whirled around to surprise both of you. His wide grin only instantly widened more and his eyes brightened up when he saw you standing there. 

"Y/N!!" Kyojuro announced loudly catching the attention of more tables turning to look towards the loud voice. "You've made it!"

With a blink or two you slowly relaxed back and awkwardly nodded. "Um. Y-Yeah. Sorry I'm late. I got..distracted."

"Nonsense! You arrived just in time!" With a scoot over, he easily moved his plate over and gestured to the place next to him. "Come sit! Join us and have something to eat!"

Taking the opportunity to make this less awkward, you quickly sat down next to Kyojuro and across from his father. The older man sat there with a neutral expression on his face as he watched you sit down in front of him. With a smile you turned to Kyojuro whom smiled widely and softly at you. A little strange but you figured it was out of gratitude for what you and your aunt did for them. 

"I'm glad you could make it!," he started with a bright tone, "With your busy schedule I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

You waved him off. "Oh no. I wouldn't miss this! It was really nice of your family to invite me for dinner."

"Indeed! Speaking of which, I don't see your aunt anywhere? Is she running late as well?," he asked looking over your shoulder and around the restaurant in search of anyone else coming towards their table. 

"I'm sorry but she couldn't make it since she's working tonight."

"That's a shame." Mrs. Rengoku smiled at you softly. "I was so looking forward to meeting her, but maybe next time. However I'm happy to make your acquaintance again. You're Y/n correct?"

You nodded. "That's me. I'm happy to hear that you're situation has improved!"

"Yes! My husband and I are very grateful! Thank you!" ....Ms. Ruka turned to her husband before lightly bumping her elbow into his arm.

He jolted turning to her. "What?" Ruka motioned her eyes towards you as he stared. "Oh. Right." He sighed before turning to you with a semi frown. "Thank you I suppose but I didn't need any help. It was nothing I couldn't have solved myself.. Eventually."

"There's no need to thank me really!" You held up your hands. "I'm just glad you all are doing better!"

"Well the least we can do is buy you dinner."

"Oh, you don't have to. I can pay for my own food."

You stopped blinking up as Kyojuro placed a hand on yours which he was still holding up. You blinked again looking between him and where he held your hand before he spoke up again.

"I insist. My treat. One meal is the least I can do to pay you back for all the kindness that you shown me."

"You?"

"Uh! M-My family too!," he quickly corrected. "I truly do insist! Please get whatever you'd like and I'll take care of it!"

"Well...I usually don't like taking other people's money like this."

"Then just take it as paying you back for those delicious cookies you've made us and we can call it even!"

You hummed again thinking it over. "Mmm...Ok. But just this once."

He beamed. "OF COURSE!! You won't regret it! Order whatever you'd like!"

"Thank you!" ....You looked down. "Um. Kyojuro." He hummed in question. "You're still holding my hand."

Immediately his eyes shot down and a bright pink color slapped across his upon the realization. "AH!! APOLOGIES!!" He immediately cried out loudly dropping your hand and making his mother giggle, his brother blink, and his father sigh and roll his eyes.

The dinner was nice. Casual even. Nothing really strange about it. You all talked about where everyone worked, what Ms. Ruka did as a calligraphy teacher, how Kyojuro came to work part time at the local shelter, a little bit about Senjuro's studies, and at one point Kyojuro asked how the project with Giyuu and Shinobu was going. Just a casual, normal family conversation...Minus yourself as you weren't a part of the Rengoku Family.

Slowly things came to a close. You did try to one more time pay for the small meal you had ordered but Kyojuro had pushed your card away and slapped down enough money to easily pay for both of your meals plus a tip for the waiter....

It was odd though. 

His parents paid for their own and his brother's meals. Wasn't he paying for everyone? You brushed it off in the moment as you all made for the exit and then as you turned to bid them goodnight, Kyojuro turned to you sharply.

"Let me walk you home." You blinked at him. "It's getting dark and I'm sure Gyomei would appreciate that I didn't let his girlfriend walk home alone one dark winter night."

"What about your home? Isn't it in the opposite direction?"

"Haha! I don't live with my parents and my home is much closer to yours than theirs. I'll be fine!"

You were a bit confused with the sudden gesture, but Gyomei and even Giyuu once or twice had walked you home before so Kyojuro walking you home wasn't a bad thing. "Ok. If you're sure."

That's when he offered his arm out to you taking you aback again. Wasn't expecting him to do that. Was it ok to accept? After debating on it for a moment, you accepted his arm and (after thanking his parents for dinner and telling them all good bye-) you both walked back towards the park. It was mostly silent now in the dark with the night sky overhead. The only lights in the park being the stars and street lamps. Eerie. You were kinda glad you accepted Kyojuro's offer after all.

Midway through the park you slowly glanced up at him. He wasn't looking at you and instead continuing to walk and look around with you leading him towards your house....Maybe..HE had answers to your problem?

"Kyojuro?" He snapped to you immediately with a questioning him. It was kinda spooky how fast he reacted. Hesitating you looked away from him. "Can I..ask you something?"

"BUT OF COURSE!!," His loud voice echoed over the park. "Ask away!"

You hesitated again feeling a bit guilty. "Well...N-Not too long ago I ran into someone else who goes to the university." You decided it was best not to throw Murata under the metaphorical bus and keep his name out of it. "And...they told me some stuff about you guys-"

You stopped. Well Kyojuro immediately holted to a stop yanking you back too. The sudden jolt had you blinking, looking at him in instinct only to pause at the way he was staring at you. Still smiling but it looked more...serious.

"I see..", he slowly said after a moment, "What kind of 'stuff' did they tell you?"

"Oh..N-Nothing I actually believe of course." You quickly added holding up your free hand. "It's just some rumors."

"What kind of 'rumors'?"

You winced shrinking up a little bit and looking away again. "Well...T-They said that...Sanemi and Obanai were dangerous- Again I don't believe that! And t-t-that Te-Tengen was a...playboy I guess- Again I don't believe any of it!" You again looked at him nervously. "I-It's just something that someone else told me and I-I thought you guys should know about it is all!"

.... Kyojuro blinked. "Oh. Is that all?" You were again taken aback when he threw his head back and laughed loudly. His laughing echoing off the wind before he looked at you. "Those old rumors again. You have nothing to worry about." He assured you waving a hand. "Those are baseless rumors people had made up over misunderstandings and bad intentions!"

A sigh of relief left you despite it all. Yeah. You already figured as much, but hearing someone else confirm it put you at ease. "I figured that already... Although there is one more thing bugging me."

His head tilted. "And what might that be?"

"This person also told me Sanemi got into a really bad fight with someone who ended up in the hospital." You couldn't shake the way those men literally feared Sanemi at the pub. Something clearly happened. "Is that true?'

Kyojuro stared at you still, looked you up and down, before sighing. "It is but it's exaggerated way out of context. What really happened was someone else tried to kiss Hinatsuru without her consent at a party. When they wouldn't leave her alone, Sanemi more or less punched him in the face."

"So..he did make someone go to the hospital?"

"Well I suppose technically but the only thing he had was a broken nose. People like to make it seem like he had beaten the man into a coma but it's simply just a matter of him defending someone he cares about."

"Like he did for me."

Kyojuro smiled wider. "Yes. Exactly! You get it! Is that everything that concerns you?"

You nodded in relief. "Yes it does. Thank you, Kyojuro. It's been really comforting. I guess it goes to show there's still things to learn about you guys."

A glimmer of excitement formed in his eyes. "Then you should come celebrate with Tengen next weekend!"

You blinked. "Huh?"

"There's this cloud we're celebrating Mario's birthday at! Since you'd like to learn more about us you should come along and spend time with everyone!"

"I-...I don't know. I haven't even been invited." 

"I'll throw the idea their way! If they say yes, you should come! It'll be lots of fun!"

"Well..Maybe. I'll have to think about it first!"

"SPLENDID!! Now come! It's getting colder and as much as I enjoy the beautiful night, Gyomei wouldn't be happy if I allowed you to catch a cold."

[fairytalesofforever]

kept my warmth

for @grishawintergifts @jyovi-04 | kaz/inej | background jesper/wylan

Generally, it does not snow in Ketterdam. 

The city is too damp and not nearly idyllic enough for that; they get sleet, and hail, and ice that makes the streets slick and perilous, but not snow. The first winter that Inej is back on the Wraith, however, it snows not once but twice. 

The first snow is a passing nothing—the Crow Club is quiet, construction on the Six is slowed, a stubborn ache nests itself around Kaz’s knee, and the streets are covered in puddles and slush by noon. The second falls when she’s on shore at Jesper and Wylan’s. 

He almost doesn’t go. It’s a veritable blizzard and snow has piled up around the doors of the Slat and the clubs, and besides, he only tolerates the damp with his collar turned up and his scowl particularly deep. However. It’s the damp or Jesper’s sad, pleading expression, like the farm’s collie when Jordie once stepped on her tail. It’s the damp or Wylan’s resignation, ducking his head to his work, his pen scratching in the silence. It’s the damp or Inej sitting alone by a fire. 

She got back yesterday. He hasn’t seen her yet. 

So he goes. 

He walks past the shoveled front steps of the manor, around the uncleared side path that leads to the kitchen door. This is the one lock they haven’t changed on his advice, which Kaz takes as an invitation to let himself in. The ache is less nested now and more burrowed, and he shifts his weight as he coaxes the lock open, then slips inside. 

There are too many parlors in this damn house, but he makes an educated guess and finds them in the one at the base of the stairs. Jesper is in a high-backed chair with some sort of orange-bronze foliage pattern upholstered on it, the only one facing the doorway, and he whoops when he sees Kaz. “Good thing we didn’t get the whiskey out yet at eleven bells. Is that the cherry wine from the Crow Club?”

The bottle that was hanging quite obviously from Kaz’s hand vanishes as soon as the other two turn to look. “I don’t bring gifts, Jesper.”

“Right. Just your sparkling personality.” Jesper hops up from his chair and lopes over to poke at the fire, throwing up a shower of sparks. 

“Kleincanal is frozen over,” Wylan mentions. 

Jesper perks up at this, for some reason, and worse yet he’s looking at Kaz. “Decided to be snowed in with us, then?”

“Needed explosives,” Kaz says shortly, leaning on his cane and chancing a look at Inej. It’s been two months and then some since he last saw her. She must’ve visited Ravka because her nose is pierced now. A red line of firelight reflects off the thin, gilded ring. More of the light ribbons through her braid, uncoiled over one shoulder, and underpaints her gleaming lashes. They raise slowly as she looks at him, and he can see her taking him apart with her eyes just as he’s doing. Cataloguing the changes. He’s wearing the gloves now, but he’s stopped wearing them when he’s alone in his room. 

“I’m afraid they’ll take me most of the day to make,” Wylan says, twisting in his chair to look back at Kaz over his shoulder. Technically, he’s in a high-collared suit of mercher black, but the top buttons are undone and his ascot is draped over the arm of his chair. “So you’ll have to stay here until after dinner.”

Kaz narrows his eyes. “I never told you what I wanted, merchling.” 

Wylan rolls his eyes. “No. You never do.”

Tired of standing in the doorway, Kaz crosses the room. The only available piece of furniture is the ornate sofa Inej is sitting on. He wishes people would stop trying to out-scheme him, but sits there anyway. 

“You did once,” she murmurs. 

Kaz glances at her. He tries to keep the looks short. Starving men have tendencies to feast and make themselves sick. “Did what, Wraith?”

“Said what you wanted.” She’s staring into the fire, almost whispering. 

You, Inej, you. And he’s trying, for what shamefully little he has to show for it. He wonders if he should take the gloves off now, chance it, shove his hands in his pockets so no one else sees. But Jesper is still standing up by the fire, laughing with his head thrown back the way Jordie used to do. Their da called him a little rooster. 

It’s always harder with Jesper. 

So when one of the maids brings out coffee, he takes the cup in his gloved hands. He drops in several sugar cubes, disguised by sleight of hand. Inej gives him an amused glance that makes him think she could tell. Wylan finds the bottle of cherry wine that has mysteriously found its way onto the drinks cart, despite the fact that Kaz hasn’t risen from his seat. Jesper laughs again and tips his head back. Little rooster. 

Outside, the snow continues to fall. 

The follow the coffee with water and then wine, served in glasses that are each worth enough to make Kaz consider pocketing one at the end of the night. Jesper and Wylan’s joint inability to keep their hands off of each other rears its head shortly after the wine is uncorked, and they give an excuse to vanish upstairs, leaving Kaz and Inej alone in the parlor as an early dark falls. 

“Three ships burned,” she says after several breaths of silence. “It was a long chase.”

“That’s the way,” Kaz replies. The snowdrifts have piled up to the lip of the windowsill and it’s still coming down outside. The Slat may be dry, but it doesn’t keep out the chill like a roaring fire does. 

“I left one of the captains on a sandbar.” Inej continues staring into the fire. Its reflections turn her eyes molten and make her skin glow red around the edges. “He begged. They all do.”

“Should’ve done their begging sooner.”

“And you, Kaz?” Now she’s looking at him. There’s space for a person to sit between them and then some. He should move closer. But this moment feels like it’s made of glass. He won’t shatter it. 

“I don’t beg,” he says. It’s a lie. He would if she asked. But Inej knows he’s a liar and she’s sitting here anyway. She knows and she still came back. 

How many more times?

Maybe he won’t have to keep counting if he fights for this like he’s fought for everything else. Even if he comes out bloodied and bruised, bones shattered, at the end of it all, that’s the way he knows how to win. 

“That isn’t what I meant,” Inej says. 

He knows that too. He doesn’t answer, not really. But he does slip the gloves off. First one, then the other, precise and sharp with his movements—undoing the wrist clasps, pocketing the pair. He drops his bare hand to the seat cushion. It feels like velvet. He can feel it now.

Her eyes track down to it, his fingers splayed out like roots on the green cushion. 

“Renovations on the Emerald Palace,” he says. They’re both looking at his hand now. His pulse is roaring like waves in his ears. Some days Kaz wonders if this sickness won’t die till he does. 

“I haven’t seen it yet,” Inej says softly. He thinks she may have moved closer, silent as always. 

“They tore down the facade. Rollins’ legacy is ash.” This should comfort him. Toppling Pekka Rollins was meant to finally convince the warped and cracked parts of his mind that he wasn’t a helpless child anymore, that he could win even this fight. But all he can see now is his bare hand. Ripped-out roots. 

“What are you naming it?” Inej’s voice is a light from the surface. 

He hasn’t told anyone this yet. There are four people left who would know what it means, and three of them would laugh in his face. He doesn’t want to face that today. “The Silver Six.” 

Inej’s hand slides across to meet his. Their fingers interlock. She has new calluses, places where the skin has split. The roughness helps. 

“So you’re building something new,” she says. Kaz looks up at her, nodding in thought, warm to the touch. Outlined in fireglow. Alive, alive. “And what about watching it burn?”

One day he’ll have more of an answer for her. Today the best they can hope for is to be warm in the heart of a Ketterdam blizzard and to bear one another’s touch without the world spinning. To stay in the present. 

“You’re burning enough for the both of us,” he says.

At that she gives a soft laugh, or it might be the fire crackling. The heat and light are all the same. This is dangerous. Comfort is dangerous. The swelling feeling in his chest is dangerous. 

He wants to say it can’t last. But maybe he can make it last. Maybe that’s what it means to no longer be helpless. 

Her thumb brushes up and down over the top of his, the fine lines of the first knuckle. “Snow means trouble on the sea,” she says. 

“It means trouble in Ketterdam, too.” Kaz’s voice comes out particularly rough. 

“No.” Her thumb is still moving, gentle, alive, alive, alive. “I don’t mind it here.” 

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Some spoilers for caged spade au

Tw: past child abuse

Remy gets to the very edge and then he finds that he can't. He just… can't leave. He stands right outside of the facility’s fence in the pounding rain, staring at freedom and his feet won't move.

Because it won't be freedom.

Not really.

He will be scolded and punished for being caught.

Five days in the isolation room and then at least three different duels for the trouble he's caused the Guild. Or maybe the punishment would be worse than the last time he was caught. And then… then he'll be married off to Calypso who will take over his life and his every move. At least here, the bars are visible. At least here the tempting glimpses of the city that makes up his soul is not just out of reach and right within view.

Here he is caged, yes.

But back home…

The thought of living like that, looking free but not truly being free hurts. Hurts so viciously. He steps back. He… he would rather stay here. With Creed and whatever the feral actually wanted from him. With the scientists and guards that made sure he knew he was a prisoner. There is no gilding on the bars of this cage. There are small joys, yes. But no outsider could mistake him for free.

There is also the small fact that Creed would never let him go so easily. Remy touches the soft collar around his neck, fingers rubbing over the metal engraved with Sabretooth’s name. The man would hunt and finds him if he attempted to go back. It would be a threat to the Guild. A threat to Henri.

Duty sings out to him that he should go. Go back to his guild, take the punishment and marry.

Selfishness and self-preservation whimpers and begs him to stay.

And for once…

Just this once.

Remy puts himself above the Guild.

He slips back into the facility, ducking and hiding and slipping into Creed's room. He settles on the floor, unwilling to ruin the man's bed by getting it wet. Shivers spiral through him while he sits, but he ignores them, simply waiting for Creed to find him.

Because the man would.

The man always would.

When Creed enters Remy feels the ferals anger and lets himself be pinned with no fight. He shows his neck and is nipped anyways.