#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!

[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.  

[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.”

…

[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.

- Paring: 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.

[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

[infinitystoner]

The Serpent of Sakaar

READ ON AO3

Summary: A handsome stranger complicates your life.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Tags/Content: Flirting, Humor, Sexual Tension & Other Escapades on a Trash Planet, (Not Quite) Enemies to Lovers, Smuttish

Rating: Mature

The air is unbearably thick tonight. Potent. Sticky.

You slip through the crowd of chittering alien courtiers, concluding the only thing that will grant you reprieve from Sakaar’s never-ending bacchanalia is a nice, long bath. 

Dodging a purring hologram of the celestial who rules this bizarre realm, you wonder if anyone else ever grows tired of it – too much of a good thing or whatever. The unexpected pivot lands you in the middle of the throne room, and your eyes traitorously fall on the charming newcomer standing at the edge of the Grandmaster’s dais. 

The one they call Loki, although you doubt that’s his true name. 

You’re well aware of the rumors, having started many of them yourself. Of course, it has absolutely nothing to do with envy and everything to do with boredom. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as each exceedingly outlandish lie leaves your lips and falls upon greedy ears. 

All you know for certain is that Loki is the bane of your existence after snaking his way into the high order’s inner circle and winning the favor of the Grandmaster within days – effectively disrupting the long con you’ve painstakingly exacted these past years and swiftly replacing it with one of his own. 

And even though you hate that you recognize something familiar in him, you concede he is quite the gifted rogue. Executing each stratagem with ease. Imparting every countermove so effortlessly. 

It’s maddening. He’s maddening. 

His voice carries over the uproarious mix of music and chatter, regaling his audience with an undoubtedly embellished tale. And now he’s summoned your attentions, too. Dark curls rest gracefully atop pewter pauldrons, a garish blend of sapphire and citrine draping over his lean, leather-clad form. Cunning and handsome. The nerve of it all. 

You glance at your own flamboyant attire. Beneath your bodice, an iridescent swirl of vermilion and silver flows to your ankles. You look like flayed salmon. But, if it pleases the Grandmaster… 

Loki’s boisterous laugh shakes you from your thoughts and he turns on his heel, catching your unwary gaze. You ignore the stutter of your heart and the warm tingling in your core, instead focusing on how his regal brow furrows and his forced smile falls. But, as the facade quickly returns and he excuses himself from the revelry, his eyes – never breaking from your own – spark with intensity. 

You have to get out of here. Now.

Ducking behind a group of faceless creatures, you shuffle along the gilded perimeter of the room, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The din of the party echoes off the walls, the unrelenting buzz pulsing in your temples and settling in the crevices of your mind. The discomfort results in a moment of hesitation, and you glance over your shoulder, but Loki vanishes into the crowd. 

A portal to your left beckons with a soft, mechanical hum and you exhale, walking through the opening.

“Leaving so soon? I do hope I’m not the cause of your early departure.” 

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the glaringly bright corridor, but there he is, just ahead, leaning against the hexagonal archway, a satisfied smirk on his infuriatingly gorgeous face. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you lie, squaring your shoulders and continuing your journey to the elevators.

“Things were getting a bit monotonous,” he offers, effortlessly falling in step beside you. “And I always find a nice, long bath invigorating after, well, after anything really.” 

His words cause your feet to falter slightly – surely he can’t… but what if? Thoughts whirring, you frantically push the salacious image of Loki disrobing and stepping into a bath from your mind.

“I take it you agree,” he taunts, opening the control panel next to the elevator. “Which level?” 

“71X-P.” What an ass.

Loki punches the code for the top-level suites, muttering something under his breath. 

“I beg your pardon?” you ask, stepping into the small space as the partition opens. The two of you ascend into the darkened sky – the jagged, glimmering expanse of the city on the other side of the glass shrinking beneath you. 

“Oh,” he says. “I was unaware we reside in the same wing of this so-called palace. How fortuitous.” 

“Indeed.” The word comes out more biting than intended.  

Loki tuts. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me very much.” 

You perch on the guardrail, refusing to give him more than a playful roll of your eyes before pretending to inspect your nails. 

“But perhaps that’s just another of your machinations?” Loki hums, a mask of feigned contemplation crawling across his face as he stalks closer. Widening his stance, he cages you against the unyielding windowpane with his arms.

“Loki,” you warn, the warmth in your hips flaring back to life like embers reigniting beneath a thin layer of ash. Can he sense how wildly your heart is beating? 

“Ah, so you do know my name. Although I must admit, darling, I’ve grown fond of the Serpent of Sakaar.” 

He knows. He knows, and now what? Will he convince the Grandmaster to order a fight between you and his beloved champion? Or perhaps he’ll have you evicted from the palace? A life out there with the scrappers might be the only thing worse than a life in here under the thumb of a deranged celestial.

Everything is moving too fast, yet time stands still. Such is the way on Sakaar. Your stomach drops, settling somewhere beneath your feet as the lift reverses its trajectory, plummeting you towards a fate you aren’t prepared for. Yet a quick glance through the glass confirms you’re still steadily climbing up, up– 

“You know, you’re quite…” Loki pauses, tracing the pattern of the silver cuff adorning your bicep with his forefinger. The rapid cadence of your breath cuts through the charged air, entwining with the weight of his gaze as it locks onto your parted lips. 

When his eyes flit back to yours, the striking green of his irises is nearly eclipsed by his expanding pupils. “Clever.” 

“I- I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Ah, but you do. And I must express my sincerest gratitude. Everyone here is so curious about my origins.” Loki raises an eyebrow, his fingertips ghosting a trail up your arm and across your collarbone. “And your crafty little rumors created the perfect illusion in which to hide. Even En Dwi Gast himself believes the stories to be true.” 

“I find the best lies are the ones shrouded in truth,” you retort, regaining a modicum of composure when Loki’s jaw twitches at your subtle accusation. 

“Such awful words from such sweet lips,” he says with an impish grin, brushing the back of his fingers along your jaw before tilting your face upwards — so close, too close, to his own. 

“And do you think me wicked?” you say breathlessly, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“No more so than I consider myself,” he replies, the pad of his thumb tugging at your bottom lip. It’s a lie of omission, but as his cool breath fans over your heated skin, you realize you don’t care if his words hold truth or not. 

Loki’s nose nudges yours, and any lingering apprehension fades away, an unfamiliar sensation enveloping you. It’s intoxicating and comforting and sets your skin aflame in each place his lips make contact – first the corner of your mouth, then just beneath your jaw, down the column of your throat, and back up again. 

“You’re divine,” he murmurs, and you understand what it is you’re feeling. Intimacy. 

His lips finally connect with yours and you melt into the kiss, curling your hands around the nape of Loki’s neck. Yet he hesitates to deepen it, pulling back each time your tongue runs across the seam of his lips. But, oh, the way he groans when you tug at his hair and take his bottom lip between your teeth makes you clench, your desire making itself evident between your thighs. 

Through whatever alchemy is sparking between you, Loki senses it and slips his knee between your legs, causing you to moan in response.

“Oh, little fox,” he rasps, roughly bunching your skirts up in his fist before lifting your knee to his hip and slowly grinding into you. “Don’t tease me. I couldn’t bear it.” 

If you had lovers before Loki, you can’t recall them – not now that he’s scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin below your ear and bringing you to the edge of ecstasy with each deliberate roll of his hips. He tilts his head, lips parting as his tongue finally slides over yours. It’s tender and warm and you ache for him. 

“Level seventy-one X P. The Grandmaster welcomes you home,” a voice announces as the elevator door whooshes open.

Loki breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to yours, puffing out a laugh. “So, fancy that bath?”

“Mm, sounds delightful,” you purr, grabbing his hand and leading him into the hall. His purposeful footsteps reverberate throughout the space, but you barely make it five steps before he pins you against a cobalt door. 

“Stay with me,” Loki whispers earnestly, smiling when you softly kiss him in agreement. 

You continue to kiss along his beautiful neck as he meddles with a beeping keypad just above your shoulder, drinking in the scent of him for the first time. He smells like earth and bergamot – with just a hint of something familiar you can’t quite place, yet it grounds you. 

Allowing yourself another inhale, you gasp as it finally hits you: He smells of the ancient forests of Asgard. 

Of home. 

But that… that’s impossible. 

“Just for tonight,” Loki says when he feels your body tense.   

“Just for tonight,” you repeat as you follow him into his rooms. 

You always were a liar.

[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."

[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.

[corvusspecialartist]

Beautiful Caged Bird:

You were an esteemed fighter pilot. You have served the Imperium well, ever since you were inducted in the Imperial Guard years ago. Coming from semi noble birth, this would have been one of the few ways, you could gain glory for your house. Ever since you were young, and on your home planet. You have always enjoyed the flight patterns of hunting birds, and even kept some as cherished pets. You always thought that they were the most perfect predators, just beautiful. Unfortunately, as you grew older, and life taught you a few things… you were wrong. The perfect avian predator that you knew of, was the Lord Primarch Sanguinius.

You were on campaign when you had met… you and your regiment were fighting a wild Eldar Host To be honest, you never truly liked them bastards, but you were the closest thing that was optimal air support that could be done. You were flying high in the air, approaching certain doom. You flew in formation, but soon you both would break. From previous experience, you knew, despite the thought being mere disgust in your mind… that the Eldar had better flying tech.. but no matter. You were only meant as cannon fodder no more, no less.

Then, as the Eldar came, before your eyes, your comrades were shot down in planes, almost as if a group of falcons were feasting on herd of ducks. But, no matter what, you held firm. Gripping the well-worn controls, you bobbed and weaved, avoiding most of the fire from the enemy craft. You knew the cockpit of your plane as if it was new limb. You swooped down noticing a large robot thing… instinctively you patted the plane purring to it. "Lets do this old girl" maybe, this was a way for you to soothe the machine spirit. You went and started to fly down.. applying as many G's as you could handle bumping up the speed into a dive bomb. The robot thing, turned and almost seemed to face you, but you turned your controls over trying to spin it over. It was no matter, you were a certified ace in the field. You had the trophies as proof.

However, things did not go to your plan. The robot thing moved with lighting speed and soon you noticed that you were loosing altitude quickly. You had to eject. After whispering a quick goodbye to the plane, you ejected from the plane. Honestly it pained you…watching as the plane flew and crashed. It gave you some form of pleasure that it landed in the center of the Eldar. Still… you adjusted trying to get your parachute out. Feeling, the blood go towards your head.. you noted that your parachute wasn't working and you felt the heated air as you started to fall and fall… You turned and closed your eyes, hopefully, at least you took some of the bastards with you.

Honestly, you were expecting brief pain, and oblivion until you felt wind and you started to move in a different direction. Nervously you opened your eyes… it was him.. the Great Angel,Lord Sanguinius. He was almost as perfect and even more so in the pictures… but honestly.. him.. just saving you like that… why you? You tried your best to not to look down. However, he was holding you in the crook of his arm, while holding his spear in the other hand. As you looked up at him, he was moving back to try and place you back in your regiment, at least you thought.

Now, you were in a golden gilded cage, screaming your head off and throwing the priceless art and trinkets at Sanguinius. It bounced off of him with almost a contemptuous ease, he seemed to stand there, just absorbing the hit.. almost as if he was he waiting for this latest tantrum to end. You continued to move quickly, just barely out of the reach of the serfs. Truly, you didn't want to be here, you wanted to be out on the field. The stagnant air within the room, the watchful eyes of both man and machine readying the alarm if you stepped out of the chambers. To add insult to injury, you swore that would could hear beautiful rare bird calls, as they flew down and called the sky their own.. like you used to. You walked up the Sanguinius and tried to push your way past him, but he moved to block you, and soon he quickly scooped you up. In that move you struggled and beat down on his back. He started to hum and soothe, moving you back and forth. His voice, it was so sonorous and beautiful…it knocked you out within a minute.

In your dreams, you were flying your plane… and you were just soaring. Until you saw the Sanguinius appear floating in front of the window. Instinctively you turned and tried to avoid him, but he pulled out the spear and sword and chopped the plane apart. Now you were falling and falling, as Sanguinius flew down and caught you. You pushed away and tried to fall back into the ground. You were at peace in the dream, until you woke up, smothered in Sanguinius' wings. It was comfortable but despite them being placed gently, it felt crushing… you felt your heart racing, as you moved in varying directions trying to push them off." Sanguinius, almost as if he were sensing your distress lifted his wing. You let out a sigh of relief, and let out a small welp as he grabbed you and started to preen over you.

He gave a softening grin. "What's wrong darling?… I heard you scream and freak out.. and are you alright?" You opened your mouth, trying to keep your heart rate consistent. But it would be hard to lie to him, since his abilities.. but he promised to not to read your mind. "It was just a nightmare…. my beloved." You gave a wide mouth smile, trying to sell the lie. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself. Sanguinius got up and pointed to a red dress. It was tailor made with hundreds of jewels and it fit your figure well. "We will be going to an event tonight… many dignitaries are coming. Our ship will be landing on the planet soon…" You nodded dumbly, as he got up and left.

As soon as he shut the door… you swore, but then you stopped… maybe… just maybe with Sanguinius being distracted you could escape. And it is not like he would miss you… You got dressed and started to prepare. Soon you would escape.

At the party, the host went and announced the arrival of Lord Sanguinius.. and with a small snide jab. "And his current consort." You gave a polished smile as you stood near barely hip height with him, and to be honest... he looked almost mythical.. his wings were decorated with finely golden strands with rubies inter spaced which made small noises as he walked. He wore a more Baalite fashion style, which many of the party goers tried to imitate. He wore beautiful embroidered robes with silken golden thread. His hair was curled into perfection, and you could even smell rare perfumes and spices that irradiated from him. It seemed to change depending on the light from black to blonde, he was smiling a warmly as you both went to the place of honor. You on the other hand compared to him, dressed very modestly and seemed to a speck of dirt. But, it didn't matter at the moment. It was a crucial moment... Sanguinius would naturally be distracted throughout the whole party.

It would come to pass, when you were rudely shoved aside, as a group of Navigators came by to Sanguinius trying to curry favor. You noticed his face turn into a light frown. But no matter, you gave a gentle grin to the primarch to try and soothe his temper. While, he had the good grace to not indulge his Thirst, he had to tendency of drinking more blood wine when under stress. In the meantime, you slowly moved away to the peripheral from the crowd, but not so far...You had to be careful, for moving in such a way could attract a knife in your back. But your outfit had come with the most finely protection, worthy of a favored consort.

"It is my turn to speak to the Great Angel! You had your chance!" A haughty nasal voice came out of the crowd. Some poor petty nobleman had tried to shout his way over to gain a rare audience of Sanguinius. But, given how contemptuous.. the party would probably begin with a brawl. Shaking you head, you started to run... you were out of practice sure, but you could find a place. You were dressed too nicely to be apart of any Underhive origin , but maybe you can commission a fighter jet to escape.

Hours upon hours had pasted... based on the way that the noises had become more quiet. You were at least leagues away from the party. You have been trying to stay out of the range by taking dark pathways and trying to avoid servants. You sat down to take a brief break... you were tired and feeling very thirsty... you dared to not drink any of the planet's water. But, you need a place to hide, and so you decided to crawl into a large vent, it was dusty.. long abandoned and based on the older stained.. it was used for servitors. Maybe you could take a brief rest.

You were shocked out of your rest as a loud alarm came out of nowhere. It was

' voice... and it filled you with dread.. yet it sounded so sweet and kind, he tried to call your name and try to bribe you out of your hiding spot. Internally, you just couldn't, you were so close... freedom.

Cursing, you thought about not changing your clothing... but just your luck.. a female servant was walking by your hiding spot. Immediately you grabbed her and put her in a headlock. After a good struggle, she was unconscious. Immediately you stripped off the party goer's clothing and replaced it with the servants clothing. It was mostly clean.. but no matter... as long as you kept quiet. You could at least escape.

A large thumping noises, and soon a large horde of noblemen was running down the same hallway all screaming their heads off. One of them went down the same hallway and took a deep breath. He was murmuring about how the Great Angel went mad. Based on the rambling mess, one of the noble ladies had said within earshot that in no certain terms that you had been assassinated, and that "an ugly peasant bitch isn't worthy of the Great Angel's love" Soon he fell silent as the masses ran by... but your heart started to drop... you heard the beating of wings. It was coming your way.

"Where is the nearest ship-port?" you whispered. The partygoers face twisted as if why would a mere serf ask that, before his face started to grin and opened his mouth. Before you could subdue him. "She's over here! " You immediately started to run full sprint. Your throat rubbing in raw... the beating your heart started to increase faster and faster as you heard the frantic wing beats.. only to collapse. No matter, you could at least crawl. Sanguinius appeared in front of you, white feathers falling as he stood, his hair askew and his wings still flapping despite him standing completely still... You started to weep. No... no... why? He picked you up and purred. "My little Bird where did you go?" "You weren't trying to escape? Were you?" You remained quiet. His mouth opened and now you noticed the heavy smell of blood. "WERE YOU?" he let out a shout, which causer your ears to ring. At your wince in pain, his face started to soften as he cradled over to you. "I'm sorry... I thought that you were dead... and I just cannot live without you." He pet your hair giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

That was a year ago.

Currently you were laying in bed, you needed the rest after all... you were preparing. Soon the door opened and your beloved entered the room. He was carrying a tray full of the finest of food, drink and wine. Sitting down he started to stroke your belly. "Have you come up with a name?" You shook your head as you slowly started to eat the food. As if you really didnt have anything to say, you had to keep the rest. You chewed the food and ate it in the fancy way, and even took the supplements! After all, they tended to even you out! You gave Sanguinius a kiss on the cheek and soon he left.

A/N: This (terrible) one shot is a result from the winner of the poll for the poem inspired for "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou. Read it here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48989/caged-bird

I will try and write out Corvus' one and soon and write out Part 3 of the Party Planning bit. This is my first time attempting to write Yandere Sangy.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises 2: First Sight

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

I was serious about trying to update every other day! They will be short chapters, but whatever. At least for the first few bits. NOT EDITED. PRAY FOR ME, LOL Would you like a bardcore song suggestion to go with each chapter? Let me know in the comments. Enjoy!

First Sight

She walked into a golden scene of candle smoke and gilded lilies with mud on her boots and one stubborn myrtle leaf in her hair.

Hardly fine court attire, but folk she cared for called her in fear, so she rode in haste from the far side of Meiren, and she’d lost any need to impress the court a long time ago. She’d survived the worst they could do before the current king assumed his father’s throne, and it never hurt to remind them all that she was not part of their games or under their thumbs. So she didn’t stop to comb her hair, or dig out the myrtle leaf, or even shuck her stained green traveling cloak.

Hard as she rode, she didn’t arrive before the festivities began, and she spied the king sitting on the high dais beside his honored guest, for whom a second throne had been crafted. Clearly in haste. Probably merely the queen’s old seat altered to be less feminine. It looked cheap and small beneath its occupant.

Dream of the fucking Endless. King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares.

He sat above the glittering host like the darkness behind the stars. Ethereal, unknowable, frigidly beautiful as only untouchable things could be.

Even seeing him there, in the flesh, she struggled to believe it. She couldn’t believe their fool king would go so far.

The King of Meiren didn’t hide the festivities’ goal in the invitations (threats and demands) he sent to his people. Dream would find a queen among the best and brightest of the kingdom, and the chosen would gratefully accept the honor.

Only ignorant fools courted the attention of the Endless. Her mother had been one such fool, and she only dared befriend the kindest of the seven. Dream of the Endless was far more terrible, and he sought more than a friend in the king of Meiren’s court. Yet mothers shepherded noble children dressed in their finest silks and velvets, the softest, sweetest things welcoming a stranger’s wondering caress. Family heirlooms dripped from ears and gleamed around fine throats, daring the eye to wander lower. Girls smelling of flowers and boys scented with fruit and musk turned the hall into a stinking hell of vanity and hubris.

Then there were her folk – the wiser birds with drab plumage clustering in the dimmest corners, away from the dances and merrymaking. Parents who wanted their children to live. Grandparents who understood some risks simply weren’t worth taking. Young lovers who were bound in heart and mind but not yet by law. The king’s greed would spare none if the Endless chose them. Though she had not received an official invitation, several families who knew her of old called for her help. Officially, she belonged to no fewer than five noble houses’ retinues for the event, but the guards wouldn’t have barred her entry even without their help.

No one turned a bard away from a party.

Though the long trestle tables had been ferried away by an army of servants to make room for dancing, the ghosts of a feast remained. The king planned the celebrations like a royal engagement. Seven wedding feasts. Seven days to inspire a force of nature to grow a heart and stitch it to another. She smelled grease from venison and partridge, the first victims of the king’s folly, and she hoped the only sacrifices. Better a thousand lambs, ducks, and cows than one of the young folk all dressed up for the fire.

She didn’t dither or ask for her charge’s insights before approaching the dais. Truth would always out. The king was not clever, and she trusted her own opinions of an Endless over any courtier’s.

Striding up to the throne, she waited on the verge of the crowd for the chamberlain to announce her. Her name. A few meaningless titles. Finally her occupation. She liked it best when the king was reminded she was a bard. That she carried an ounce of authority in any royal circle.

Neither king really needed any of it, of course. The Endless knew all, and she’d plagued the King of Meiren’s nightmares for decades. But manners were manners, and politics demanded performance.

She sank low, graceful as a willow frond, angling her face so the king would see the barest hint of her smirk. Not entirely mocking. But knowing. Far from a loyal subject’s easy smile or overwrought frown. The smirk made a game of her courtesies, drawing the king low to meet her, even as her knees brushed the floor and he remained in his throne. No threat. No demand. She asked for nothing. She told him what she was, where she stood, and how little power he wielded over her that she did not choose to give.

As a boy he watched his father’s men draw and quarter her. Now he must suffer her freedom in his court.

“Majesties.”

“I hope you do not bring trouble to my court.” The King of Meiren glowered down, playing the dread king. He wasn’t even a dying candle compared to the sun-bright force at his side. Not that he’d ever been a great power even before he dared weave himself into the story of an Endless.

She sprang up as lithely as she bowed. “Your majesty must think very highly of me indeed to think I could bring anything grander or more concerning than an Endless to your throne room.”

The human ruler tensed, but the eldritch ruler at his side…shifted. She’d sparked his momentary attention, and unlike the first king’s attempt to intimidate her, Dream’s look chilled her until it burned. His gaze, however, did not focus on her like a mortal’s would. His starry eyes saw too much for that. They swallowed her, washing her in the loneliness of the night sky.

Unfathomable. Incredible. Cold as stone and livelier than a sea breeze. Entirely inhuman and everything that led a soul to dream. That gaze made her ache for a shield to lift against him.

 So. She offered the smallest, polite smile in recognition and returned to the mere human on the throne.

“A shame the years haven’t blunted your tongue,” the King of Meiren said, struggling to reclaim the authority she’d so neatly plucked from the conversation.

“I prefer to think of them as a whetstone, majesty.”

“I do not recall issuing an invitation in your name.”

“And yet I found my place through the names of others. Several houses requested my attendance in their support.”

Gods, he looked so petulant. But she’d laugh later. He wasn’t above sending a guard to run her through in the hall, and while she didn’t fear death, she didn’t enjoy pain. Or ruining good clothes. No need for more drama in this fraught production, anyway.

The best he could do was insult her clothes, eying the mud and bracken. “Clearly you came in haste.”

“But of course, your majesty.” Wide eyes and an innocent expression couldn’t bury the implicit insult entirely – she had not come for him, her very presence was a kind of defiance, and she would never ride so hard or long without care for her appearance to preserve him or his honor – but they did well enough. A little simpering would stay the blade, and any words said sweetly must be born, even if they soured the king’s stomach.

After all, she would outlive him and his kingdom both. She’d carry what stories she chose to the generations that came after, and no threat or sentence in his power to levy against her would give him back control of his legacy. At least he was smart enough to understand that much.

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening, then.” The king looked pointedly at her boots, reminding her they did not belong on his polished floors. She, in her rough clothes and wild hair did not belong. But she’d worked hard to ensure she never entirely belonged in places like these, always a step out of line, a loose thread that escaped the warp and weft of society’s patterns.

Othered and free for it.

“A most gracious suggestion.” Another, shallower, curtsy. Her eyes dipped to the floor but didn’t linger with any kind of reverence. “I take my leave.”

She moved back through the crowd, unable to disappear between the fine people in their fine clothes. A dark look touched her, stayed under her skin as she passed through the doors and turned down the hall, and she refused to name its owner. There was no time to fear him. Or – if she was very careful – reason to. She had plans to make and riddles to solve, and what was she to an Endless?

Her patrons would request her advice in the morning. She did, actually, need to wash the road off her gear. And her lute was in need of tuning. She retired to her work.

[voxofthevoid]

JJK Teasers: September 2024

Still doing this, though I kinda forgot about it last month after the initial post. Oops. Once again, here are ~200 (unedited) words each from the JJK updates intended for this month.

Ch. 10 of (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

“Who’s Suguru?”

Gojou mouth clicks shut; his eyes being hidden doesn’t stop his whole face from radiating shock. Yuuji curls his hand into fists on either side of his body and waits, viciously patient. Yuuji imagined this a lot. These last three weeks, without even a single rambling message to indicate Gojou was still alive, Yuuji has had plenty of time to cook up all sorts of scenarios. What else could he do? The first week, he trained until he passed out, but that kept taking longer and longer and longer, until twenty-four hours passed with Yuuji’s mind still stubbornly online, and he’d wondered, once or twice, if that was Sukuna’s doing somehow, and then he’d somehow started wondering if Gojou was ever going to come back, if Yuuji was going to rot in this gilded cage until he starved and died, and then he’d thankfully passed out on the ground, waking up freezing and miserable the next morning without a cold or even a bruise to show for his stupidity.

After that, he tried to keep his imagination constrained to conversations. Sometimes, he screamed. Sometimes, he apologized. He knew he wouldn’t do either.

When he slept, the dreams were almost a solace. The blood and the bodies were warmer than his bed.

Even Sukuna’s amusement was just dull background noise after a point.

“He…was someone I used to know,” Gojou says finally, the silence only louder for the breaking. “It’s not important.”

Liar, Yuuji doesn’t say.

He asks, “When you fuck me, are you thinking of him?”

Ch. 3 of i can offer you a black-lit paradise

“Taking it slow isn’t always a good thing, Yuuji,” says Gojou. The overlapping fingers on Megumi’s hips turn bruising, making him hiss. “But I guess you wouldn’t know that. Here, I’ll show you.”

“Wait—” is all Megumi manages to say before he’s forced down.

White-hot sensation tears through his body, concentrated pulses of it lashing at his asshole and clawing up and up and up, till he’s choking on a supernova. Gojou’s cock feels like a solid spear of fire, the flesh around it scorched raw.

“—was too much, sensei,” he hears, the voice soft and close. “Are you okay? Fushiguro?”

“M’fine,” Megumi grits out, prying his eyes open only to be immediately assailed by cow-eyed concern. “Stop it.”

Itadori blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop,” Megumi says carefully, trying to focus past the screaming hurt in his lower half, “looking at me like that.”

Itadori blinks again. “Like…what?”

“Like I’m going to break!” Megumi snaps.

For a moment, Itadori looks taken aback. Then he grins, inexplicably. “That’s just like you, Fushiguro.”

“A bit of dick isn’t going to change who he is.” Gojou’s the one who answers, the words soaked in mirth. “And you should know that very well, Yuuji.”

What the hell does—

Itadori laughs, ducking his head a bit. “I do, I do. Sorry, Fushiguro. Didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

Ch. 3 of your resistance, prophetic self-destruction

“You look so miserable, you poor thing,” Gojou murmurs, voice so soft that Yuuji can’t tell whether it’s mockery or sympathy; he wants nothing do to with either. “What do you want from me, Yuuji?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuji lies. But his mouth’s got other ideas, adding in a mortifyingly small voice, “I like you, sensei.”

“Do you?” Gojou asks, tone painfully neutral. “Or do you just want to fuck me?”

Yuuji raises his eyes from the wetly clumped white hair at Gojou’s navel to glare at his face. “What kind of a question is that? Why the hell can’t it be both?”

Gojou just looks unreasonably amused. “Sure, it could be. But at your age, it’s very easy to confuse this”—a tap his chest, right over his heart, and then a hand delving under the water to curl around Yuuji’s limp dick, squeezing once—“with this.”

Yuuji hates his body reacts even to that cruel touch.

“Stop that,” he snaps, curling both hands on the edges of the tub so he won’t do something stupid like try and strangle Gojou. “I’m dumb but not that dumb.”

“Oh, you’re no fool, Itadori Yuuji,” Gojou says, tongue curling softly around the syllables of Yuuji’s full name with a gravity that never fails to fill his spine with molten lead. “But you are very young and full of life—and planning to die that way, aren’t you?”

Yuuji’s whole body goes cold. “What?”

Gojou’s still smiling. “Don’t you want you die, Yuuji?”

Ch.2 of (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

“Gojou-san?” Nanami calls.

Satoru and Yuuji are in perfectly respectable positions, standing close together but with a good foot of space between their bodies, when Nanami and Shouko reach the bottom of the stairs.

They both promptly freeze.

Beside him, Yuuji makes a noise.

“Kento-kun, Shouko-chan,” he practically gasps, “you’ve grown so much.”

Satoru turns to stare incredulously at Yuuji.

He gets his hair yanked and told he’s grown a bit, all with a gently mocking air that no amount of fondness could hide, but these two get—

Well, apparently, they get Yuuji pulling them into a hug they’re too stunned to reciprocate—or resist.

Even with the Six Eyes, Satoru can only barely see Yuuji move. Isn’t that wonderfully terrifying?

Yuuji releases his frozen victims fairly quickly, but only so he can take Nanami by the shoulders. He and Yuuji are nearly the same height—a fact which seems to delight Yuuji.

“You’ve really changed!” Yuuji says, and unless Satoru’s ears are betraying him, that’s pure glee in his voice. “You’re wearing a suit. And your hair. This is adorable.”

Adorable, Satoru mouths to himself.

Shouko’s wide eyes meet his for a fleeting second before she returns to staring at Nanami and Yuuji in evident fascination.

And Nanami—

Nanami looks catatonic.

It’s that blank-eyed stare over a distinct blush that snaps Satoru out of it. “Yuuji, you’re breaking him.”

[simon-newman]

The last thing I remember is being at peace.

I was relaxed and strangely calm. Happy and without worry for the first time in my long, long life.

Why was that or where that calm and happiness came from I could not tell – it didn’t matter and I didn’t care.

The sense was so fulfilling that most everything lost it’s meaning. Even in retirement I couldn’t achieve this sort of happiness.

But the thoughts were there. From a certain point I was aware but I couldn’t point out the exact time. Where even was here? A tingle of worry disturbed my happiness for a single moment. I couldn’t tell where I was or how long I was there. What time was it anyway? What year?

The thoughts flowed one after another. I frowned – displeased for the first time in a long while. Those thoughts were mine but they brought nothing but worry and a sense of immediate danger. Yes. Nothing this good can last. Not for me anyway – that’s just my luck.

I tried to look around – not sure if my eyes were open or closed… Do I even have eyes anymore? What was happening to me? I couldn’t see as much as sense something around me… Something golden…

I took a deep breath to regain my calm and realized it’s the first breath I took since the thoughts flooded my mind again. I took another breath and tried to move – my body was there. I could feel it now.

I could feel my palms tingling like crazy. The need to scratch was overwhelming but my hands were full. I was holding something.

Next returned hearing – I could hear some noise. A lot of noise actually. It was loud in here and the sounds reminded me of something. Something I was familiar with. I didn’t like that sound in the slightest. Loud noises of lasguns and explosions, people yelling…. The sound of battle.

Once the sound cleared I opened my eyes just in time to see a giant of a man charge right at me. Bloodied weapon in hand the crazy man rushed forward in a blink of an eye and brought his weapon down at me. I parried instinctively – the thing in my right hand was a Chainsword I grew familiar with over the years.

I parried perfectly and the surprised giant lost it’s balance for a second. His armor was damaged, helmet was missing. I brought my blade up and cut at the exposed part of his right arm. I struck at the hole between broken ceramite and the teeth dug deep into his flesh. He dropped his weapon, the arm hung limp on his side but the giant simply grabbed his weapon with his left hand.

“Blood for the Bloo…” he began to yell as he rushed me again but his head exploded mid-sentence.

A bit surprised, I stared at the weapon in my left hand. A bolter pistol, smoke came out of it’s barrel. In the heat of a moment I didn’t even realize I was holding it.

It was an ornate, gilded one – quite an impressive work of some master Tech-priest no doubt. It wasn’t my weapon but I was glad to have it in my hand as it has just saved my life. I tried not to panic as I stared at the heretic Astartes lying dead in front of me. Deep breaths.

With the same surprise I examined the Chainsword in my right hand. It’s weight familiar – it was definitely MY chainsword but it looked different as well. It was gilded as well which the blood of a heretic couldn’t hide. There was a lot of gold on it as well as ornate holy symbols.

What was that? Who did this? Why?

The second of surprise could have cost me my life – the survival instincts kicked in and reminded me that I was still in the middle of the battlefield.

No, no, no, no, no.

I needed to get out of there before…

“Thank you Commissar, Sir.” A shaky voice came from behind me. “You saved me.”

Oh no.

I turned to see a young guardsman, his face pale, eyes full of fear. He stood up from the ground hastily and made a sign of Aquila before looking at me again. “The Emperor Protects…” he whispered.

“Bowen! You all right?” More guardsmen came to the site.

I assessed my surroundings for a second and to my relief we were at least in cover and not under direct fire. I still ducked my head – partially to avoid any stray bullets and partially to hide my face.

Too late.

I looked at the young guardsman I just unknowingly saved. He stared at me. Eyes wide and his jaw dropped as he froze in place staring at my face.

Oh no.

He didn’t respond to his squadmates and they in turn followed his gaze and looked at me, one after another.

“By the Emperor…” Someone whispered.

“The Hero of the Imperium!” The middle aged man exclaimed, the chevrons on his uniform identified him as the sergeant.

To frak with it! I couldn’t get out of this anymore! Where was I even? I should be enjoying some tanna in the safety of my retirement. But somehow I was… Here.

“At ease men!” I played my part as usual. “What’s the situation?”

I regarded them for a moment trying to gather what little I could about my situation. I was clearly not at Perlia where I retired to. There was a worrying gap in my memory between then and now filled with a quickly fading memory of calm and happiness… And gold.

Speaking of. I regarded my possessions once more. The weapons were not the only ornate items on me. I wore the Commissar’s uniform as one could expect but it was also an ornate one with way more golden threat than I would like. I must stand out in the battlefield like a moron asking to be shot. I made a mental note to get rid of it the first chance I get.

The sergeant was the only one able to regain his composure and explained to me that the battle was not going well. We were under assault by the heretical forces and as evidenced by the dead giant next to me they had corrupted Astartes with them as well. The planet was called Cversow and was supposedly an important border world for it’s sub-sector. Were it to fall the enemy fleet would be free to rampage across the undefended worlds deeper in Imperial space and the reinforcements are unlikely to come for at least a week longer.

I didn’t fail to notice the man kept his left hand clenched on an Aquila pinned to his uniform. Others did similar things or kept saluting.

“I’ve got the gist of the situation now.” I said once the Sergeant finished his briefing. “Who is in command here?”

The Sergeant – who introduced himself as Dalton – offered his squad to escort me to the command center which I thanked him for while cursing mentally. They’ll be sure to get me there and make sure I don’t get conveniently lost on the way.

Not that I would. Wherever the HQ was it was certainly much safer than the frontlines.

I thanked the man and looked around once more. Not that I expected to find any more of my belongings.

I noticed the guardsman I’ve saved – he was still frozen in place. I regarded him for a moment – he was clearly shocked but another detail caught my attention.

I approached the lad. Up close I realized how young he was. He could be no older than twenty. I shook him be the shoulders to bring him back to reality.

“Are you with us!?” I asked him. He nodded in response. “Good. Hand me your laspistol.”

He hesitated but then quickly did as he was told. I took the weapon and regarded it for a moment. It was in good shape and fit my hand well. “Good enough.” I said and handed him the disgusting gilded bolt pistol – pretty much pushing it into his hand before he could refuse.

“Take it.” I insisted. “May it give you the courage in the coming days. You will need it.” I said as I put the laspistol in my holster. A good display of care for the guardsmen always comes a long way and I got rid of one piece of this disgusting equipment. I put my hand on the lad’s shoulder again before turning to sergeant Dalton. “Lead the way!”

“Thank you” I heard the lad behind me utter quietly followed by a whispered word that I dreaded to hear all this time “Saint…”

Well. As much as I hoped this wasn’t the case this was also the answer to my questions I’ve arrived to myself. I must have died and now I’m back here again. Why me? I paid my respects to the Emperor but there must have been more devoted and deserving servants. Right?

I sighed silently. Maybe now I’ll get a chance to ask Him myself at some point. Still, He probably has more important things on His mind.

I looked behind me and confirmed once more that at least I didn’t get any stupid wings to complete the image. I don’t think I could get rid of those if that was the case.

I followed the sergeant who led us – to my relief – in the opposite direction to the sounds of the ongoing fighting. As I expected the HQ was strategically placed a distance away in relative safety. Once there I’ll be able to take a breath at least for a moment.

That was what I thought at least while trying to ignore the itching again.

Were I to know what horrors awaited me where I was going I would have turned around and led the charge against the heretics’ frontlines myself.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Overture ~

A Harmony of Haunted Hearts ~ Bonus Scene ~ 3.1k

Hazbin Hotel/Phantom of the Opera AU ₊⁺⋆ Charlastor (eventual Chaggistor) ₊⁺⋆ Explicit

//This is a little excerpt of my Phantom of the Opera inspired throuple romantasy, updating weekly on Ao3. You can read the first chapter now...but this is the good stuff now hehe//

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Princess Charlotte Morningstar stumbled over the threshold and into the safe haven of her bed chambers. 

She ducked, gathering the skirts of her ballgown out of her way. Her long blonde hair fell loose and tumbled over her shoulders as she slipped into her shadow-drenched bedroom. 

She stilled as she caught sight of herself in the ornate, floor-length mirror that had been a constant part of the Morningstar Castle—ever since she could remember. 

Charlie stared at her disheveled appearance—her hair undone from the intricate style Niffty had crafted and her cheeks flushed a brilliant pink. 

She looked a mess. And she was glad no one else in the kingdom would see her in such a state. 

The heavy door of her bed chambers slammed shut. 

 Charlie watched as it move on its own in the looking glass, cutting off the shimmering light from the marble hall and the raucous sounds of the ongoing celebration downstairs. 

She spun, her back pressed against the polished surface of the mirror, goosebumps prickling over her bare neck and shoulders. 

As a shadow stretched along under her door, unaffected by the long gothic windows and the moonlight from the Realm of Hell’s red sky. 

“I know you’re here.” Charlie breathed. Her voice giving a little tremble. Her eyes darting around the room, eyeing every bit of shade. “You can come out now.” 

For a long moment, where Charlie could only hear the sound of her own pulse thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings in her ears, there was nothing but silence. 

Until a familiar chill ran down her spine. Her eyes darted to the inky darkness collecting under the door, seeping into her room, until they gathered up into a tall and lithe shadow of a man. 

Charlie’s breath caught in her throat as he finally spoke. 

“My dear,” came that smooth, static-tinged voice. “You know, I’m always here.”

The umbra clung to Alastor as he took a measured step towards her with the grace of a killer. 

A shaft of moonlight pierced through the high windows, finally illuminating the demon that had been mythologized into the monster. Bathing the Radio Demon in an ethereal glow. 

The phantom of Morningstar Castle was a vision of dark elegance. 

Alastor stood out in stark black among the other masquerade outfits with their flashing colors. Like the living embodiment of his shadows. Other than the striking scarlet coat with its delicate layer of dark lace. 

“Al,” Charlie felt a tug at the corner of her lips, though she still gripped to the mirror’s gilded edges. “I wasn’t sure you’d follow me.”

“Now, Princess,” Alastor’s voice purred, rich with amusement and unmuffled by the smiling, fanged mask that covered the lower half of his face. “As if I would ever stray far from you. Perish the thought.”

Charlie bit her bottom lip as he drew nearer. 

She would be missed from the party, and she was torn between her duty as Lucifer’s only child…and the dark desires Alastor stoked within her. 

Another step towards her, so slow that her heartbeat grew painful in her chest. 

He was doing this on purpose, he always was. 

“You seem conflicted, my dear,” Alastor observed, now mere feet away. “Having second thoughts?”

 “Never.” Charlie shook her head, blonde curls bouncing.

The shadows around Alastor’s form pulsed with demonic energy. She blinked, and he was gone. Vanished right before her eyes. 

Charlie called his name as she pushed herself up from the looking glass behind her, staring around the shadows of the room, waiting for him to make another dramatic entrance—as if one just wasn’t enough for him. 

“Do you always have to be so theatrical?” She huffed, despite the shivers of anticipation building along her skin. 

“Yes, darling, remember who you are speaking to.” His voice answered from nowhere and everywhere, like it was coming from the very stones of the castle. She felt a presence right behind her. Charlie barely had time to turn, as Alastor materialized from the mirror. 

Charlie gasped as arms wrapped fully around her. His chest pressed flush against her back, the cool black porcelain of his masked pushed against her ear. 

His heated breath spilled through the mess between the golden fangs—a delicious contrast that had her trembling in his arms. 

“This show has only just begun.” 

Alastor twirled the Princess towards her mirror, making her grab the frame to steady herself. 

Charlie stared at their reflections in the polished glass. Her rumpled white dress and tousled blonde curls were another gorgeous contrast to his perfectly composed silk and satin.

His eyes gleamed bright and scarlet above his smiling mask. 

“Al…” she began, but the whine caught in her throat. Desire quickly drowning the nagging voice of caution in the back of her mind. 

“Darling…” he whispered back, already overwhelming her senses with his pure proximity, let alone his purr. “Now, where were we…before those angels downstairs so rudely interrupted?” 

His chuckle was filled with dark promises that made Charlie’s thighs press together. 

Just as she felt something sliding its way up her ankles.

In the mirror’s reflection, she saw the shadows—his shadows gathering around the golden hem of her ballgown, delving under her skirts, and caressing up along her thighs. 

“Angel Dust—” 

Alastor’s hand pressed against her chest, pushing her back into his own, his black and red claws a vicious sight against the delicate bodice of her gown and the fragile skin of her throat. 

“—will kill you, if you rip this dress like you ripped my breeches.” Charlie tried to warn, but even in her own ears it came out like a desperate keen. His shadow tentacle had found what they were seeking—and were already stoking the heat between her legs. Nuzzling their way through her folds and gathering her arousal. 

All the chiffon and silk of Angel’s creation had been no match for Alastor’s wandering, tenebrous touch. Let alone her undergarments. 

Not in the ballroom, and certainly not in the Princess’s bedroom. 

“He can try to kill me all he likes,” Alastor chuckled, his breath spilling back over Charlie’s collar bones as his scarlet nails scratched lightly at her skin. “Many a man has tried and failed. ” 

She pressed back into his hold, soaking in that damn cocky confidence Alastor exuded. Wanting him to consume her. Charlie could hear the smirk on his lips as his shadowy tentacle finally, finally slipped back inside her. 

A gasp was pulled from her lips. But his eye gleamed a a dazzling ruby in the dark over her shoulder as she clutched to his arms. Another dark appendage flicked teasingly slow at her clit. 

Charlie writhed in Alastor’s hold. 

He already had her so damn worked up, why bother teasing now? Didn’t he already have her?

“Why so silent?” He purred at her ear, his arms tightening their hold around her torso. “If you’d kept this quiet before, we could have finished playing downstairs.” 

Charlie’s head bowed under the ministrations of the two tentacles under her skirt, her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she trembled in his arms. It felt so good. Being so…possessed by him like this. 

“Those dancing fools in your court never would have—”

“Alastor.” His name on her lips was tinged with protest. 

 She didn’t want to think about the visitors from the Kingdom of Heaven or the Goetia and their schemings. Charlie didn’t want to think at all. 

“Ah, should I help you focus on the present, dearest?”

Before Charlie could snark back an answer at Alastor, she felt another tendril of darkness slide up her legs, slick and cool against the gooseflesh erupting along her thighs. The tip pressed deftly against her furled ring of muscle, thinning before it slid into her ass. 

The Princess let out a sound of sheer bliss as her body bowed forward into the mirror. 

Alastor’s eyes were a radiant glow in the dark, glinting with an unholy hunger and pride as he watched her brace her hands on the mirror and give herself over to the feeling of being so utterly owned by the Radio Demon. The thrill he dragged from her with every push and pull of his shadows. 

Charlie was vaguely aware of fingers coming to clasp around her wrists, moving her bracing hands off of the looking glass, and onto the heavier ornate frame. 

“That’s a good girl,” Alastor praised her, nearly making her tumble over the edge then and there. 

She was his. He was hers. And nothing could change that. 

Alastor’s long fingered hand curled under Charlie’s chin, lifting her head up sharply. “Look at your face in the mirror.” He commanded her, voice low and seductive in her ear. 

Her eyes flew open, meeting her own completely debauched reflection. Charlie could see her own bitten lips, her cheeks flushed, and her gaze hazy with all he was doing to her. 

“How beautiful you are, ” Alastor praised in a purr. “Like a Princess—thoroughly ravished by her shadow demon.”

Charlie couldn’t deny it. There’s something about being taken by Alastor like this, about being completely at his mercy, that made her feel more alive than anything else. 

“You belong to me, as I do to you.” 

She leaned back against him, giving herself over to him. She trusted him, trusted him to take care of her, to protect her, and to give her the pleasure she craved. 

His hands pressed hers into the frame of the mirror, his fingers long and wicked and threaded through her pale grasp. 

As his shadows lifted her skirts before the mirror. Baring Charlie and what his dark powers were doing to her before his gaze. His scarlet eyes left a burning trail along every inch of exposed flesh, like she could feel their caress. The demon’s body shuddered against her back. 

Charlie gasped out Alastor’s name as he tightened his grip around her, plunging his shadows deeper into her—until she was lost in the feeling of him. And the bliss he drew from her with a sigh. 

-----{--(@

“Al…please.” Charlie whined as he shifted, wrapping his arms around her middle as his shadows stilled, just keeping herself upright against the mirror. 

“So impatient, little love?” Alastor’s heated breath tutted through his mask and tickled against her ear. “Please what?”

Charlie reached behind herself in the mirror, her fingers finding the fangs…and the lips of the smiling mask that Alastor wore. 

His body froze against her back. 

“A creature as beautiful as you should never see something so hideous.” Alastor murmured, his voice low and rougher than she was used to hearing it. “You do not know what you are asking for.”

“That’s all I ask of you.” Charlie asked in her softest and sweetest voice as her fingers curled into the edges of the porcelain. “To know all of you.” 

His breaths hesitated at her neck, but she knew Alastor was considering. Because even she knew that the Radio Demon had trouble resisting the Princess. He would do anything for her. 

“Please,” she said again, her voice a little stronger. “I want to feel your lips on mine again.” 

Alastor shivered behind her. 

And the deepest darkness fell over Charlie’s eyes. 

But she knew she’d won, as she always did, when she heard the clasps of the mask come undone at her ear. He’d wrapped one of his shadowy tentacles around her eyes, but still, he’d given in to her, as he always did. 

Even if he acquiesced with a growl. 

Then Alastor’s lips were on her neck, the edge of his razor-sharp teeth against her skin. His lips gentle as ever along her neck. 

Charlie couldn’t see him. He hadn’t allowed that yet, but she could feel him. She reached for him blindly, her fingers brushing his cheek. 

He flinched at her touch. 

His skin was rougher than Charlie expected, like old wounds marred his face near the hard line of his teeth. 

“Why would you want to know the face of a monster?” 

He asked, his voice low and husky. His breath fanned against her ear, sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through her veins.

 There was hesitation on Alastor’s breath, but Charlie didn’t care that he was disfigured. 

“Because you’re the man I love,” she replied, her voice steady and sure. “And I want to kiss every inch of you.”

She threw her arms around his sharp shoulders and kissed him, anyway.

Passion and possession. 

The softness of her lips against scars she could feel carved into his face, and what she thought were stitches criss-crossing his mouth. 

She pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his and tasting the dark sweetness that was uniquely Alastor. Charlie kissed him harder until she felt Alastor groan. And his fingers tangled into her blonde hair. 

His body pressed hers back into the cool glass of the mirror, his long-fingered hands roaming her body with a new fervor. As she felt his dark powers lifting the skirts of her ballgown. 

“Please Alastor.” Charlie murmured against his lips, tugging at the lapels of his coat and feeling the texture of the lace under her palms. “Haven’t you kept me waiting long enough?”

A dark chuckle rumbled out of his throat. “I suppose that I have.” 

Alastor needed no further encouragement.

Charlie felt it in her stomach the instant his shadows lifted her up from the marble floor of her bedroom, peeling back the miles of rich fabric, thrilling her as he exposed her to the cool night air of the room. 

“Darling girl.” Alastor purred, his lips against her cheek, his growl in her ear as his body pressed against hers. “How could I ever deny you anything?”

The tip of his cock was just brushing, teasingly, agonizingly against her slick entrance. Charlie groaned out her impatience, trying to pull him forward by the lace of his coat.

 “So impatient.” Alastor chided in that teasing tone of his. 

Her brows wrinkled against the dark tendril still covering her eyes, opening her mouth to verbalize her protest—when he finally slid inside of her with a slow, deliberate thrust. 

Filling her completely, claiming her as his own. 

He pinned her back to the mirror as his body moved into hers, and she tried to meet his every movement. Her fingers buried in the scarlet red hair, kissing lips she could not see. But, she could feel everything. Every thrust of his cock, the way his perfectly tailored clothes stretched over taught muscles, the way his shadows moved over her body, playing her like an instrument under his capable hands. 

And the way that Alastor’s lips moved with hers as he whispered his sweet and sinister praises into her skin. 

In that blessed, blissful moment, he was hers, and she was only his. And nothing else mattered.

 No Kingdoms of Heaven and Hell. 

No angels and demons ready to war just outside their door. 

No other man trying to steal her hand away. 

Charlie let her head fall back, thudding against the mirror as she clenched down on Alastor’s cock in purest pleasure. Clutching to him as he filled her with a rough, harmonic hum into her ear. 

Alastor’s thin lips pressed tender kisses along her face and neck as their panting breaths mingled and slowed. 

Slowly, he pulled from her, pulling away, and the Princess felt the pang of loss the moment she was empty. 

Charlie cupped his face to his, knowing what would come before he uncovered her eyes, and trying to prolonge the moment for as long as Alastor would allow. The Princess got one last kiss against her Radio Demon’s scarred lips, before he set her back on her feet. 

And she heard his mask slide back into place. 

Charlie blinked as the darkness fell from her eyes. Even her dimly lit chambers seemed bright compared to his dark powers. 

“Al,” Charlie sighed, content but with a bittersweet tinge as the mask was back in place.

Alastor’s burning red eyes had calmed, and his hands seemed fixated on fixing her dress. Smoothing her skirts and adjusting her bodice. 

Though, when she reached for him, he let her fingers slide through his hair. And didn’t flinch away from her hand being so close to his mask. 

“Alastor.” Charlie nudged him gently. 

“They’ll be missing you from the party.” He murmured, his attention on lacing up her corset properly, though he never pulled them too tightly. 

Charlie’s eyes went wide with shock, looking around at herself, before finally taking a second to look in the mirror. 

She was a mess. Her hair was fallen from its curls and she was now sporting several love bites across her pale skin. Charlie put her hands on her hips, looking over her shoulder at the tall, dark, and still perfectly composed scarlet tinged figure. 

“You’re not seriously going to make me go back out there.” 

And she heard a chuckle from his throat. 

“You know well I could hardly make you do anything.” Alastor drew a hand through his hair, his ears flattening for a moment. “I shall send word to Husker that you’ve fallen ill for the night, shall I?”

Charlie’s scowl was replaced with a smile. “You shall. And if I’m feeling so faint, you should take me to bed.” 

His head turned sharply towards her before he gave a roll of his scarlet eyes. 

The Radio Demon inclined his head and gave a bow. “If my lady commands it.” 

Charlie was caught up in a fit of giggles as shadows swept her up into Alastor’s arms, his low chuckles joining her laugh as his tentacles parted the crimson curtains around her bed. 

Alastor deposited Charlie tenderly in the middle of her plush pile of pillows and comforters, kneeling beside her as he sank into the bed. 

“Won’t you stay?” 

Charlie asked him, grabbing for the front of his suit. 

She saw the hesitation in his eyes even as the mask gleamed its everpresent smile. 

“Princess…” He began, in that tone that told her he was trying to reason with her, that already brought the pout to her royal lips. “There are…esteemed guests in the castle tonight. I should keep an eye out.” 

“Tell me you do not have a shadowy eye on every angel that steps over the threshold of Morningstar castle.” Charlie grinned. 

And Alastor sighed. “Very well, you win.” 

“I always do.” The Princess smirked, settling against him. Happy to have her Radio Demon at her side for one more night. 

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A Harmony of Haunted Hearts is a romantasy inspired by the Phantom of the Opera…with a happy, throuple ever after ending~

You can find it updating weekly on Ao3.