#and their simpering general fathers.

[darcymercurialisunofficial]

it's veterans day, do you respect our troops?

I work in diplomacy.

[pajarinwrites]

中秋节 | Wen Junhui x Reader

➳ fem!reader x jun

➳ wc: 6.1k

➳ TAGS: idol!au, established relationship

➳ WARNINGS: omg um, cunnilingus, jun is a SIMP, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it, my dudes), praise, just general adorable lovey dovey softness, but like medium rough sex? ig, not really rough?, i never know how to write warnings, just like i don't know how to write smut woops sorry

➳ AN: HAPPY MID AUTUMN FESTIVAL BITCHES and 女王们; this is only moderately edited bc i actually meant to publish smt for 中秋节 last year but i didn't finish it in time so here it is now (I’m sure it’s still autumn festival somewhere in the world…)! I LOVE WEN JUNHUI

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SMUT I HATED THIS AHHHH i don't think i'll ever be able to write any smut in which the man isn't a simpering, whimpering, submissive, cowering, crawling, obsequious little simping piece of trash; it's just how i like my men, but i kinda wanna challenge myself some time, not this time though :P also i'm low-key proud of this smut? i used miraclewoozi as an inspiration bc their smut is literal art...

also, literally three pieces in one week??? WHO AM I??? this is more than in the entire year before combined, i fear lmao. sorry. i'm off to return to hibernate in my bog for another six months now thx bye, RIN OUT *drops mic

masterlist

Jun stepped out of the airport into the sweltering heat, but had to find that merely knowing the weather conditions was quite different from being prepared for them. Luckily, he had left enough space in his carry-on to take off the jacket and sweater that he had needed in chilly Seoul and during the flight – airplane ACs were notoriously unpredictable. Despite this, Hong Kong never seized to amaze him with its constant warmth. At least the eternal sunshine gave him a good excuse to wear a cap and sunglasses at all times.

He flagged down a cross-border cab because, frankly, he didn’t feel like taking the crowded metro all the way home. This way he saved himself from a lot of heat, hassle, and the potential of being recognised, even if it delayed him. As expected, the traffic in the city was a nightmare and he did make it home later than strictly necessary. He paid the fee, dodging the driver’s interested gaze, and mumbling a small “mh gōi” before dashing into his building.

When he was finally standing in front of his apartment door, Jun felt ready to just lock himself in his room for the rest of the night. That was, until the door opened to reveal his parents and little brother. Immediately, his frown softened and he dropped his bags to engulf them in one enormous hug.

“I missed you guys so much,” he exclaimed to groans from his little brother and a soft smile from his mother.

This was most likely going to be the last chance he got to spend more than a day or two with them. With their world tour and his busy filming schedule just around the corner, he wouldn’t have time for months.

Jun had spent years of Zhōngqiūjié apart from them. It wasn’t easy to watch most of his members be able to visit their homes and spend Chuseok with their loved ones. Some years it was only him, Minghao, and Joshua in the dorms. But he wasn’t going to dwell on that. Not when he could finally hold the people he loved the most in his arms. Well, most of them at any rate. He would never get used to having to choose between his biological and his chosen family.

His mother peeled herself away from him, squeezing his cheek and insisting that he had grown even more handsome over the last few weeks.  His step father clapped him on the shoulder and asked him about the flight; his brother asked if he had brought him anything cool. Unable to stop smiling for even a second, Jun assented to both questions. He was led to the living room by his mother to sit and relax after the ‘strenuous journey’, giving him a moment to fish the presents out of his luggage, handing one off to his little brother.

“Thanks, gē!” YangYang exclaimed and bounded off to his room to open it in peace. Their mother called after him, “Don’t forget to do your homework before playing! Dinner will be ready in an hour!” Jun smiled, handing his parents the other one.

“You shouldn’t have! I keep telling you we don’t need anything.”

“But I want to get you guys nice things, mā.”

She looked trapped half-way between smitten and resigned, but accepted the present gracefully. With a kiss on the top of his head she stated, “You can rest a little before I call you boys for dinner. I’m making your favourite.”

He thanked her, foregoing the idea of retiring to his room in favour of joining his mother in the kitchen. Most of the ingredients were already laid out on the counter, but when she bent down to pick up something from the bottom shelf, she gasped, “I can’t believe it! Where did all of our rice noodles go? I don’t think this is enough. And I also forgot to buy bamboo shoots earlier!”

She turned around, apologetically, and murmured about having to go to the market real quick to get some. Jun held out his hand to stop her in her tracks.

“Don’t worry, mā. I’ll go get the missing ingredients, and you can get started on the other dishes.”

“No let me go, Jun. You’ve just had a taxing flight and—“ His step-father tried to intervene.

“It’s absolutely no problem!” Jun insisted, not paying his parents’ protests any mind. He grabbed his sunglasses from the side table by the entrance and was out the door before either of them could stop him.

Jun had missed their shèqū, its homely atmosphere, the bustling of the people on the street, and hence didn’t mind the opportunity for a late-night stroll. The closest super market was just down the short road at the main square, and he stopped by quickly before continuing on his way to the live market.

There was a certain nostalgia in going to the market like this, just the way he used to with his mother when he was younger. The stalls didn’t even seem to have changed at all. There was the same group of old ladies dancing in the small park to the side, and a little further down the road, a small group of children was taking turns, performing on a gǔzhēng. Jun watched the windows of his old piano school pass by, still partially lit as students practiced inside. At the corner of the next street was the second-hand book store they had often visited, next to the pharmacy in which he used to sit on the kiddie rides for ages, singing along to jiātíng chēnghu or liǎng zhī lǎohǔ.

Still lost in nostalgia, he stopped by one of the vegetable vendors to acquire the bamboo shoots. Jun enjoyed strolling the aisles leisurely, taking a look at all the things that were being sold. As he rounded one of the displays, someone else was cutting the corner in the opposite direction. Jun barely managed to dance out of the trajectory of them, murmuring an immediate, “Sorry, are you okay?”

He pulled down his sunglasses and looked at the person in front of him in worry. They looked up, locked eyes with him and whisper-screamed, “Oh my god! Wen Junhui?”

Jun was taken aback for only a split second, which he spent worrying he had been recognised, before he could place your face. He hadn’t seen you properly in years, just another name on the long list of people he had to leave behind. The last time you had run into each other had been during Rock With You promotions, when Minghao and he had taken time for their own schedules in China. His eyes crinkled in the corners but he still didn’t dare to take off his mask.

“It’s been so long!” He said instead. You had pulled him into your arms within a second, just a quick squeeze before remembering where you were. You pulled away, pouting, “You didn’t tell me you’d be back.”

“Sorry, it slipped my mind. I also didn’t think I’d have enough time to meet you. Not properly…”

You wiggled your eyebrows, “What does that mean?” Jun blushed, making you laugh. “I’m kidding, A-Jun. But I’m glad we ran into each other. I mean, what are the odds!”

“I didn’t even know whether you still lived here,” he admitted, sheepishly. But Jun wished profoundly that you could feel how earnest he was being. You didn’t actually seem to mind his failure to alert you of his arrival, despite your history. Instead, you continued in your usual chirpy manner, “Yeah, I managed to find work close by so I could stay here. But I’m here here just for the holiday. Staying at my parents, you know.” Jun nodded, accompanying you to the register under more animated chatter.

“Do you have to get anything else?” You asked after you had stepped out the open market. He negated, returning the question.

“Me neither,” you replied, hesitating shortly before continuing, “I guess that means we’ll have to part ways again…”

The way your voice trailed off and your eyebrows knitted together made Jun reply before thinking better of it, “Actually, I think my mā can wait for these bamboo shoots a little longer…” You face lit up with such intensity and immediacy that Jun had to chuckle.

“In that case let’s take a stroll through the park. I’ve been keeping up with Seventeen obviously, but I want to hear from you, personally, how you’ve been doing.”

Falling into step beside you felt so easy. Together, you walked the same paths you did when you were teenagers, talking about everything and anything – back before he had to leave for Korea. He talked a lot about the shoots, dorm fights and misunderstandings, and how much he had missed his mother’s cooking. You winked, asking whether he hadn’t missed you at all, and he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in reply. Instead he sputtered for a few seconds before you let him off the hook.

“It’s fine. I was joking, Jun. Oh, look!” Jun was glad for the distraction as he watched you hurry of to the pavilion down the path. If you hadn’t changed the subject he might’ve said something stupid. But when you spun around to face him under the colourful roof, with the small pond and the bamboo in the background, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t say something stupid yet.

He was sitting next to you, listening to you rant about your catty co-workers, absent boss, and the general annoyances of adulthood, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at the familiarity, the ease of the whole situation. At some point he shot his mom a text to let her know that he ran into you and to eat without him. She simply replied that he should take his time, but he felt like she was secretly glad to have the two of you reconnect. Your conversations veered from family to old memories together until eventually, when the sun had set almost completely, you got up abruptly.

“I should get back. My mom wasn’t expecting me back immediately but at this point she’s probably wondering if I’ve gotten lost.” Jun nodded, getting up with you and stepping out of the pavilion. You threw one look back over your shoulder before smiling down at your shoes.

“I don’t know if you remember but… this is where you said goodbye…” Jun blinked slowly before the memory registered. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t immediately thought of the day he went to Korea, the last day he spent with you, the day he missed his chance to say so many things he had wanted to say.

“Oh,” he breathes softly, “yeah, I remember. But it’s not a very fun memory.”

Jun decides to look anywhere but you, at the trees lining the road home to his apartment building, the birds flying overhead, the children playing across the street.

“I have to agree. But I’m glad to have you back now. Even if it’s just for an afternoon.”

“Actually, you should visit tomorrow! If you want, of course. I don’t think my family would mind seeing you again after such a long time, and…”

He stops in his tracks. The two of you have reached the intersection at which your ways part. Jun turned to face you. The words were still stuck in his throat, just like all those years ago, just like every time he’s seen you since. But this time, with your hopeful eyes looking up at him, he takes a deep breath. This time will be different. He takes the leap.

“… and I’d also love to spend more time with you.”

You smile in reply, and agree to visit tomorrow. To say goodbye, you hug him again, and he feels like he’s floating all the way home. Maybe tomorrow he’ll gain the courage to tell you everything that he’s been keeping in his heart.

Their dorms were quiet, the shared living areas swallowed in darkness as Jun excited his room. He had been talking to his family via video call for the past hour or two, catching up and trying their best to celebrate Zhōngqiūjié together, even when they were physically apart. You had initially planned on joining the call, but there had been last minute plans that had kept you from it. Even though Jun understood, he had been able to help feeling a little crestfallen when you had told him about it. The two of you had made it work since he confessed to you a year ago, talking almost weekly on the phone because both his and your commitments kept you from visiting all too often. And since this year he couldn’t visit home because of the impeding comeback, he would’ve at least enjoyed talking to you on the holiday proper, instead of just during one of your regularly scheduled calls. Especially with how long it had been since he’d last seen you in person in June. To him, an eternity.

Vernon, Dokyeom, and Chan had returned to their families for the evening to celebrate Chuseok together, leaving the dorm deserted, save Jun himself. They’d all met up for lunch as a celebration before most left to go home. It was an effort by the Korean members to ease the homesickness of those that wouldn’t be able to see their families over the holiday. Seungkwan had ended up accompanying Vernon, while Joshua and Minghao decided to simply celebrate with each other, even though they hadn’t been lacking in invitations either. Jun had made the same decision. They had let him know they’d be out until the night but that he could join them at their apartment later.

Especially Dokyeom had had a hard time simply leaving Jun behind, but the older man had insisted that he was going to be fine, and that it would give him a chance to call his family in China. But coming out of his room and being greeted with a cold, dark apartment, made Jun question his decision. He sighed, contemplating for a second whether he should simply return to his room instead of feeling the hollow emptiness of their shared dorm. But before he could make a decision, the doorbell rang.

He wasn’t expecting anyone, so the sudden shrill of the bell surprised him. Maybe it was one of the members, back early. Maybe Minghao and Joshua had decided to surprise him at the apartment. But when he looked at the screen of the camera system, he was greeted with a sight wholly unexpected. His breath hitched as he looked at you, your eyes staring straight at the camera, a warm smile on your face. Jun buzzed you in, jittery with nerves as he worried you might disappear or he might wake up. You had been talking about your crazy workload and extra assignments for the past few weeks, how on earth were you here?

This has to be a dream, he thought, standing in the open door and waiting for the tell-tale ping of the elevator. When he heard it, he couldn’t even wait for you to round the corner. In slippers, he sprinted down the hallway to the lift, coming face to face with you as you were trying to heave your luggage out. Jun cast it aside, picking you up and spinning you around. He buried his face in the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume and your skin.

“How are you here?” He whispered after a good few seconds of spinning and listening to your tinkling laugh.

“Well, you know, I bought a plane ticket, went to the airport in Hong Kong, I got on a plane—“ Jun interrupted you by picking you up again, proclaiming his happiness while you insisted that he finally put you down. If he had been a better man, he might’ve listened immediately. As it stood, it took the two of you several minutes to make it the short way from the elevator to his apartment door, Jun stopping every few seconds to give you another spin or a kiss.

Once you had finally made it safely inside, he brought your luggage to his room, before returning to the shared space and staring at you in fascination. There you were, right in front of him, leaning onto the counters of his dorm’s kitchen as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“How did you know I’d be home?” He asked and you giggled, presumably at his flabbergasted expression.

“I kind of asked the members for help…”

“What? Who?”

In hindsight, he thought he should’ve expected this. There had been a curious lack of invitations extended to him this year. Especially considering that Joshua and Minghao were still invited everywhere. And, thinking about it now, the fact that the two of them had insisted on spending the evening ‘outside’ without Jun had also been more than a little suspicious.

“Almost all of them helped coordinate it, actually. They all had to be in on it to some extent.”

“When did you start planning this?” He asked, making his way over to you. One last time, he picked you up, setting you down softly on the counter. This time you let him do as he pleased without protest, choosing to answer his question instead, “Like a month ago or so. When it started becoming clear that you’d have no chance to make it home this year.” Jun hummed in response, stepping closer to stand between your legs. His arms found their place around your waist.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing deeply when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He wished you could stay like this forever, or at least for a very, very long time. You turned your head, whispering that you had brought yuèbǐng from Shenzhen with you and he nodded automatically. Mentally, he was still focused only on your presence, the fact that he got to hold you in his arms and use his thumbs to draw absentminded circles on your waist. If he hadn’t been so focused on your body, he would’ve missed the small hitch of your breath as he exhaled against the column of your throat. He smirked lightly, murmuring something along the lines of ‘we can eat them later’ before attaching his lips to the place where your shoulder and neck met. You gasped, more audibly this time as he sucked on the sensitive skin, following the line of your collarbone. You tugged at his t-shirt, whispering that you should move to his bedroom but Jun smirked against your skin, slowly pushing up your shirt. As he tossed it over your head, he whispered, “Don’t worry, we’ve got the apartment to ourselves all night.”

He smoothed his hands under your thighs, grabbing onto your plush flesh and cursing the layer of your pants for stopping him from feeling your skin. Jun pulled you closer, to the edge of the counter, so that he could finally feel you pressed to him again, making his hands wander back up. He placed them on your waist, gingerly at first, as if you were going to vanish into thin air if he didn’t handle you with enough care. He still wasn’t sure you weren’t a figment of his imagination how you were sitting in front of him, hair and clothes messy from your flight, but your eyes shining so brightly he thought you were the most ethereal being on this planet. But when you bucked your hips forward against his, all that restrain flew out the window. He slid his hands lower from your waist, relishing in every inch of skin he got to touch along the way, before he settled them on your ass, encouraging your motions even further. Your arms tightened around him, one hand finding its way into his hair, the other toying with the collar of his t-shirt before slipping downwards and below the fabric to caress his back. He groaned, moving one hand - albeit reluctantly – away from your hips to tilt your head to the side. He was overwhelmed with your nearness, the swell of your breasts pressed against him, the smell of your skin filling his senses, spreading through him, expanding into every corner of his consciousness until all he could perceive was your presence, your breath, your skin on his.

You kissed him with so much vigour that he felt light-headed, the sparkle of your eyes encapsulated him, as if he was floating in space, surrounded by innumerable stars, twinkling around him. In his weightlessness, your hands were caressing him, still. You dropped them to the hem of his t-shirt, tracing along the exposed skin there as the rhythm of your hips never faltered.

You broke away, Jun following your lips with a whine. He wasn’t yet ready to leave your cosmos, but you pressed a soft hand against his chest, tugging his shirt off. Jun, personally, would have preferred to resume kissing you breathless right away, but you had other plans. Your hands returned to his chest, covering the expanse of his pectorals, gliding over the ridge of his shoulder, caressing every centimetre of skin while tracing the muscles across his torso. Every touch left a tingling feeling, pulling him deeper and deeper into your gravitation. His head was thrown back in pleasure, his eyes screwed shut while he tried (and failed) to even out his breathing under your attentive ministrations. When your hands returned to his chest and you flicked against his nipples tentatively, his head dropped forward in defeat, colliding with your shoulder.

He was breathing more heavily than he’d like to admit, as if he really was slowly rising through the atmosphere, the air becoming thinner and thinner. His cock was painfully hard, you grinding against it deliciously with every roll of your hips. Separated by way too many layers, Jun thought dimly before tapping against your ass, signalling for you to lift your hips off the counter.

You complied easily, leaning back in a way that allowed him to strip you of your comfy leggings. He watched you shudder at the feeling of cool marble under your skin, goosebumps forming at the sensation. Reverently, he let his hands glide up and down your legs, watching you shiver again, just from his touch. He hadn’t even realised that he had lowered himself down until one of your hands grabbed for his hair and tilted his head back.

Ripped out of his reverie, Jun stared up at you, towering over him, backlit by the kitchen lights. If it hadn’t meant leaving your reach, Jun would have fallen to his knees right this second. In this light, you looked like a higher being, come to cast divine judgement on him, a final reckoning. Jun found he would have taken any verdict, as long as it meant preserving your attention. He would have obliged any command, taken any punishment with equanimity. He would have taken Prometheus’ place, if it meant he could bask in your presence for another moment. He would suffer any acrimony, any scorn, any tribulation, if it meant your gaze would continue to rest on him like this – zeroed in on his face, your expression soft with adoration. He didn’t have to fear any judgment. The only thing written on your face was love. It was mirroring his own, he was sure, from where he was pleading for you attention from between your legs. You wouldn’t let him out of your sight, your fingers tugging at his hair with purpose. He angled his head, a miniscule movement, just enough to allow him to breathe a kiss against the inside of your thigh, a fluttering promise of continuation. If you let him. You loosened your grip, and Jun took it as the invitation that it was. His path mapped over the fat of your thigh, spilling over his kitchen counters, up one leg, down the other. All the while, he didn’t break eye contact, watching your expression crackle and slip, pleasure and frustration mixing in even measures as you breathed a plea, “Qīn'ài de, you’re teasing.”

His breathing became uneven, for just a second, at the term of endearment. You didn’t need to spell out your request. He could see it in the rise and fall of your chest, the sounds sneaking their way past your lips, the shifting of your hips – almost involuntary. The vision of you before him blurred as he tried to hear the rest of your declaration over the rushing in his ears. Your legs twitched under his hands; he didn’t remember when he had moved them there. But now they were here, holding your legs apart, leaving imprints in your flesh where they pressed against you. Jun searched your face for any sign of hesitance, any doubt, but he found none. All he could find was a sense of desperation clawing its way up your throat, leaving a blooming blush in its wake.

He still continued holding your gaze when he pressed his mouth to your core, pushing his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. You gasped a little, hands twisting in his hair, the slight pain grounding him in this moment. His hands continued kneading your flesh, wandering, in feverish haste, across every expanse of skin they could cover. Above him, you writhed and moaned, his name leaving your lips as if you were now the one praying. Your head had tilted back slightly, breaking eye contact. But Jun’s gaze never left your face, drinking in every expression as he pushed your panties to the side to gain proper access to your sopping core.

“OhmygodJun,” you breathed, head lolling to the side when his tongue swirled around your most sensitive spot. One hand moved from your ass to your core, probing at your entrance just to feel you clench around him, hear the sharp intake of your breath. You tipped backwards, resting on your elbows as his name continued to tumble off your lips into the still air of the apartment. Jun’s other hand moved upwards, taking no care in pushing your sports bra out the way to grab at your breasts, pinching your nipples intermittently. He watched your chest heave as he slipped two fingers past your entrance at once, his tongue lapping between them, desperate to taste as much of you as possible. Your hands kept pushing him closer and closer, until his every sense was filled with you. Your taste on his tongue, your panting breath in his ears, the plush feeling of your thighs around his head. He moaned against your core.

Jun felt your high approach, maybe knew it was coming before you yourself even did, the way he could read your body in this moment, with how every fibre of his being was honed in on you and your pleasure.

“Jun, bǎobèi, I’m…”

His hand slid down to your waist, squeezing reassuringly. Jun felt you constrict around his digits, your moans growing louder and more desperate. He kept pressing his fingers into that spot that had you squeeze around him, kept his mouth sucking on your clit, humming at the flavour of you, until you peaked. You came with a cry of his name that made his chest swell with pride. Your thighs shut around his head like a vice, your hand evidently torn between wanting to pull him away and push him closer. Jun remained pressed to your core, lazily lapping at your release until your legs relaxed and he gained enough freedom of movement to lean back and search for your gaze.

Even though he had spent minutes staring at the ethereal picture of you earlier, he was still taken aback by your beauty: your hair even messier, your face blushed, your eyes glazed over in the hazy afterglow. He pressed another kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

It took you a few moments to answer him, calming your breath. A moment of which he took advantage to return to his full height, leaving kisses up your body on his way there. Once he was face to face with you, he brushed your hair out of your face, looking at you with devotion. You smiled back, softly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and immediately causing a warm shiver to run down the length of his body. There you were, in his arms, gazing at him with love, bestowing him with whatever divine favour slumbered in your presence.

You leaned in closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin for a second before whispering, “I need you.”

Jun was sure he was about to malfunction. The way his body reacted instantly, unbidden, must have been proof of your power. He couldn’t suppress the groan that rose to the surface, betraying his helplessness in the face of you. But you only smiled, sliding off the counter, tossing your bra to the side, and leaning into him.

“I know you need me too, baby,” you susurrated against the shell of his ear, your hand falling to his crotch, smoothing over the outline of his cock against his sweatpants. Jun gasped when you gave his balls a squeeze, trailing your fingers back up, pressing them into his slit, already oozing with precum and staining his pants. He felt like melting, like he was Icarus and you were the sun, with the notable exception that your radiance was warm and welcoming. It didn’t burn him, it only made him feel soft, welcome, malleable. He melted at your touch, moulded himself to the shape of you.

Although Jun felt it was very much stating the obvious, he conceded, “I want you so bad.”

You smiled, discarding your panties in a swift motion, before turning around and bending over the surface.

“Then come get me.”

He only stared, transfixed by the way your muscles moved under your skin, how the warm kitchen light of his home cascaded over you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you turned around to smirk at him. Jun’s mind was still fighting with the fact that you were real, you were here, and you were his. You cocked an eyebrow, watching him like a cat watched its supper. When he still continued to stare, your eyes darkened, beckoning him with intensity. You wiggled your ass at him, pushing it back so it grazed his throbbing dick. As you threatened to pull away again, Jun’s hands flew to your hips. You yelped at the sudden strength with which he gripped you, pulling you back against him once more, grinding down against your ass with such verve that your head dropped forward. A long groan escaped you as Jun crowded you against the counter, pushing you down and leaning over your back.

“You need me, huh?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically while meeting his thrusts, moaning his name again and again, and growing more breathless by the second. Jun wanted to tease you, he really did. He wanted to ask you how bad you needed him. He wanted to force you to be more specific, to hear you say how you needed to feel his cock inside you, hitting that spot over and over again. He wanted to make your pretty lips form all those filthy words, say his name, beg for him. But it had been months since he had seen you in person, it felt like an eternity had passed since his skin was last allowed to touch yours, a lifetime since he heard you whimper and moan and pant for him like this. So, he forewent any more teasing. Instead, Jun simply shoved his sweatpants and underwear down his legs, freeing his cock.

You whined at the sound of it hitting his abs, wiggling your ass again and breathing out his name in that way he would never grow tired of. He grinned, sliding his dick through your slick, nipping its tip against your clit, once, twice, three times. So many times that you whimpered, an indistinguishable string of supplications, whines of baby, please please please leaving your lips. Your forehead was pressed against the counter now, as if the cold, hard surface helped ground you in reality while Jun had his way with you.

When, finally, he slipped into you, both of you sighed. You voices mixing in the air of the kitchen that seemed to have been growing thinner by the second. Jun’s breathing was growing ragged, and he could tell you weren’t faring much better than him. He started moving, slowly at first, testing the waters and, yes, possibly also to rile you up a little more. But when you clenched around him, any self-control was thrown out the window. His hands on your lower back were shoving you down against the ice-cold surface, making you hiss. His hips snapping against your ass as he searched for that spot that would make you drool over the marble countertops.

“Fuck… yes! Baby, right there,” you groaned when he found it.

Jun leaned back down over you, his front pressed against your back, his hot breath by your ear, whispered prayers of your name escaping him. He drove into that spot relentlessly, repeatedly until you lost all function of speech, reduced only to swears and his name. Jun mirrored your vocabulary, one hand sneaking around your body to find your clit again and rub punishing circles. With the added stimulation of his hand, the pressure of his weight, and the way his cock was hitting that spongy part inside you again and again, you felt your pleasure crest alarmingly fast.

“Junjunjunjunjun,” you breathed, but, again, he somehow had known before you what was coming. His groans surrounded you, your perception narrowed to just the feeling and sound of him.

“Hold on a little longer, baby,” he breathed, and you barely registered it. Just nodding for the sake of nodding, praying his own release would find him fast.

“Doing so well, baby. So good for me,” he continued, almost to himself, baiting your release even more.

A few agonising, timeless moments passed until, “That’s it, let go. Come for me, baby. Come with me.”

Immediately, you released a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, you head falling forward again as your whole body tensed up. Jun followed your example, his head dropping against your shoulder as he drove his cock into you, prolonging both of your releases as much as possible, until the sensitivity forced him to pull out. He remained folded over you, so close that he could feel his cum drip out of you, landing on the kitchen floor with a small splat. The air felt too thin for any movement, so he remained draped over you, his thumb drew circles on your lower back until you returned to him, mumbling his name.

“Are you alright, qīn'ài de?”

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your hair sticking to the nape of your neck. Jun brushed it to the side, leaving a small peck where it had been.

“Nooo,” you whined, “I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, matter-of-factly, smoothing his hand down your back one last time before peeling himself off you to get some tissue. His heart tore a little at the weak whine you let out in response to his absence.

“Don’t worry, I’m just trying to take care of you.”

You only whined more when he wiped the rest of your combined release from between your legs before also cleaning the floor. He caught your eyes from over your shoulder, smiling softly, and leaving another kiss on your back. After getting rid of the tissue, he pulled you off the counter, wrapping you up in his arms.

“You were amazing. I love you.”

He could hear the smile in your voice when you replied, “So were you, bǎobèi.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here…”

“I missed you something fierce,” you said by way of explanation.

“Me too. I miss you every day. Every hour.”

To his confusion, you smiled warmly at his pout, one hand caressing along the side of his face until it came to rest on his collarbone. You leaned in, lips ghosting against his in a silent promise, “Then let’s make the most of right now.”

Jun grinned, bending down to pick you up, laughing at the surprised yelp you let out.

“What on earth are you doing, Wen Junhui!”

“I think it’s time for a bath.”

“That is not what I was trying to insinuate!”

He wiggled his eyebrows, feeling his heart sore at your scandalised expression. Resting his forehead against yours, his eyes searched for yours, holding their stare for a few moments. With a smile on his lips and in his voice he murmured, “I don’t care what exactly we do in the bath, as long as we do it together.”

[llondonfog]

OK so Baul and Lilias friendship lives in my mind rent free, so I think that a few days after silver gets sick for the first time and mama and papa zigvolt manage to teach lilia the proper way to care for a sick infant after he comes over to their house tembling with poorly restrained panic, Baul goes over with v little persuasion from his daughter to check up on them.

What he sees is a happy and healthy Silver just quietly smiling up at him from Lilias arms while Lilia is passed out in his rocking chair fevered and red from catching baby's first cold.

Baul immediately assigns himself caretaker duties, doesn't even bother trying to move Silver from Lilias arms and instead just picks them both up to deposit them both in Lilias bed for a proper nap before checking the fridge for tomato soup ingredients.

When he first heard from his daughter that Lilia— Lilia Vanrouge, the once General of the Right, feared commander of the fae armies and scourge of humankind— had adopted a human child and had been caring for it for several months now, Baul had roared with laughter so hard that he split a scale wide open on his cheek.

It was certainly a poor excuse for a joke, the very kind of rumor that the castle fae still bitter over Lilia's persistent existence four hundred years later might spread. The very idea that Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge, would debase himself to care for a human child not of his blood, to stoop so low as to toil over its screeching and wailing demands when he had bathed in the screams of its own kind with a mad vengeance after the tragedy of Lady Meleanor . . . not even four hundred years of honeyed peace was enough to sweeten that wound.

Time, it seemed, had forgotten what was so cruelly emblazoned in the very depths of Baul's mind, in Lilia's own memories, and the nightmares of all those surviving fae who stalked the forests during those blood-soaked nights. Those born in kinder years had never known the horror of human avarice, and even his own daughter had taken up residence with one of their kind despite her father's immense displeasure, simpering, soft-hearted fool that her husband was.

At least, to Baul's proud credit, their lineage rippled strong and true through his grandchildren— and with his daughter due any day under the weight of a third, he's only too certain for another healthy, bouncing, scaled Zigvolt.

So when she had simply stared back at him with crossed arms and an arched brow while he had laughed and laughed and laughed, a sinking kind of horror began to creep into his heart— surely . . . she wasn't serious?

Months— hardly the blink of an eye for faekind, but everything to humans. Months, Lilia had kept a child for several months, and not once had tried to rid himself of it? Not once tried to deposit it upon the stoop of a human village and wipe his hands clean of the responsibility of child-rearing? He had been taking advice from Baul's daughter and her wisp of a husband on how to pacify and coddle it? He had barged into their home, fretful beyond measure with a colicky babe clutched in his arms, and all but demanded them to cure the child?

("Or what?" Baul found himself asking, utterly bewildered and needing to find some kernel of normalcy in the fact that surely Lilia had menaced his daughter's husband some into obeying his whims.

"Or nothing, Father," she said, the taunting ghost of a knowing smile playing about her lips. "In all the years that I've known him, I've never seen him quite so distraught. He stayed by the crib all night, frozen— we had to tell him it was alright to breathe and to hold Silver's hand if he wanted, it was as if he was afraid to hurt him.")

Silver? Lilia, afraid? Holding the hand of some human child?

It simply couldn't be true.

It couldn't be, this had to be some elaborate, poorly executed prank.

He clung to that belief even as his daughter shoved a bundle of medicine, food, and knitted blankets into his arms with the stern instruction to deliver them to Lilia's home (Home! He had never heard the forest cottage to be described in such terms! The place was a hovel, a storage shed for Lilia to dump his treasures before venturing off to the next location, how could it be considered a home?).

He clung to it even as he emerged from the woods to the path that led up to the cottage's door, casting unnerved glances to the strange and new abundance of woodland creatures skulking about the thatched roof and scampering along the thick tree trunk supporting the cottage like a lean-to, soft little animals that would have darted away in fright from Lilia's presence before Baul's own.

He clung to it until he could no more, when he threw open the cottage door with an odd tightness in his chest to see his oldest friend collapsed on a worn and lumpy armchair with a honest-to-goodness human baby snuggled safely within his arms and sucking happily on a stray piece of ruby-stained hair. Beyond them, a soothing glow flickered in the fireplace where a kettle of milk quietly steamed, and the scattered presence of cloth toys littered the living room floor along with (Baul shuddered) well-thumbed pamphlets, their covers illustrated with the cheerful faces of frolicking human children.

What had this child done to Lilia Vanrouge?

[lackingspace]

Scurrilous (Feyd-RauthaXReader)

Chapter 3

Rated: M Word Count: 5.9K Warnings: Harkonnens are their own warning. Violence. Language. lots of banter. Author Note: Giedi Prime is here. And Feyd wants to play.✧

Prev Ch: Admonish

AO3 link: Scurrilous

There were few times you'd made the trip to Giedi Prime in the past. Always for some generalized celebration. Always with your family. And each visit was only a few days at most. 

The Harkonnen rarely hosted events that warranted extending Great House invitations. But when they did, they were not to be missed. No one wanted to snub Harkonnen, that privilege was Atreides alone. 

At least their functions weren't wholly unpleasant, in fact, if gluttony and extravagance were your prerogative, you'd quite enjoy them.

Everything was different this time. You were alone, the stay was undefined, with no clear reason for the occasion.

The first time you'd come was when you were 6. Glossu had officially been named the na-Baron. The title previously belonged to his father, Abulurd, but in some scandal you were too young to fully grasp– a disownment of Harkonnen to Rabban– the title was stripped from his person. You'd attended with your House to pay the appropriate respects that naming, or renaming as was the case, an heir was due. 

All but Atreides came. 

You barely remembered that trip. If not for it being the first time you'd sighted the black sun, you would have forgotten it entirely. You had spent far too long straying in and out of the light and shadow pondering the effect. You remembered how your eyes stung on the return to Erif IV.

The next was when you were 8. The Baron had constructed a massive amphitheater to serve as the new gladiatorial tournaments arena. As you understood it now, he had also changed it from predominantly a means to train their militia into a bloody spectacle of execution. As its inaugural fight, all houses were formally invited. 

That was the first time you'd watched a man die.

At 13 you were again invited, this time to Feyd's 12th birthday and débutante celebration. A strange occurrence as the only time a débutante occurred was if the person in question was the named heir or female, sometimes both of those were true such as instances like your cousin Josephine, but he was neither. However, Vladimir Harkonnen did as he pleased and his uncle had made it very clear he was to be given the same consideration as the na-Baron– even without the title.

It would be years before you came to understand the type of man that led House Harkonnen and the horrors that were committed within their walls. Even still, with your limited understanding, you still remembered thinking how lamentable it must be to have an uncle like that. Feyd hadn't even been in attendance. An injury– broken rib and sternum– prevented his direct appearance. 

His true debut into society came a month later at a House Ecaz function. He'd seemed hesitant, shy even, but nodded when you asked if his ribs made a full recovery.

When you were 15, the Suk school had allowed you enough leave to attend your political duties to house Ezharian. An invitation to attend Feyd's entry into the arena had been sent to all. The show he put on was violent and visceral for someone so young, but his performance was morbidly captivating. Death of men was not uncommon to you now, but they were typically in an infirmary and not surrounded by thunderous cheers. You wondered how much violence he must have suffered to be so ferocious already.

Later, at the feast when all houses made their simpering praises to the hosts, you followed suit. Praised his performance and thanked them for the invitation– the same as all before you. All traces of shyness had long since been replaced by haughtiness. 

Before you'd made your way back to the assigned Ezharian table, Feyd had smugly asked how the Suks allowed a doltish female into their field. 

In return, you politely inquired if he'd like an accident arranged so he could experience what a doltish female could do firsthand. The curl of his lips had dropped as you walked away. 

That was the first of many candid remarks the two of you would trade over the years and it was the last night you spent under the infrared sky. There hadn't been any attractions to Giedi Prime that required invitation in almost a decade. You'd since seen the family at other high society conventions, but not on their home territory.

This would mark the fifth visit in total and the first solo at 25. In all previous trips, the weather had always been fair. As if the atmosphere wanted to join in the novelty, rumbles of thunder could be felt throughout the shuttle. Flashes of lightning peeked through the half-covered viewing window.

The inky rain wouldn't do to be caught in– you'd heard enough stories that the pollution of their atmosphere caused it to leave an oily residue on whatever it bathed. Thankfully, the Harkonnen compound had landing ports that sealed behind craft for this reason. 

You weren't too worried about it though. Your focus was pulled by the storm itself and the sight it created. Having retracted the shade into its housing, the view from the window was captivating. 

The sky was a monochromatic kaleidoscope of crackling lights within smokey clouds making even the industrial landscape beautiful. The dusky gloom blotted out much of the natural infrared light, emphasizing the small pinpricks of illumination from various buildings– appearing as stars in the dimness. 

Its untamed violence was a stark reminder that although brutal, Giedi Prime did hold beauty. One that was enticing when discovered, but buried so far beneath all the hard edges that it was rarely seen. 

This was the same kind of lure Erifian seas had from shore. The soft crashes and twisting waves invite one to tread into its depths. If you treaded carelessly, icy riptides were more than happy to drag you under and never let you up, but if you managed to avoid them, the ocean's secrets were a sight to behold.

A much too close flash left you blinded for a moment, blinking rapidly, your vision faded into focus as another struck further away. Its plasma appears black to your eyes before dissipating to a white mist and then into nothingness. 

For the brief second a strike occurs, everything is illuminated in its wake– flaring infrared back to life before the shadows consume it again. Brief blindness was a worthy trade for the sight. 

You were almost sad when the view was swallowed on your descent into the Harkonnen compound. 

Lowering the window cover as the ship's elevation shifts before the telltale signs of a safe landing. That was signal enough to stand and stretch your legs. It would only be moments before the doors lowered and you were assailed by a barrage of attendants. Sharking life back into your bones seemed needed if you were to deal with people properly.

The black heels Cleo had chosen were fashionable, more sturdy than you’d expect, but damn if they were much too high for your comfort and the ache had set in even as you were seated. But pain was good. It would remind you to stay on your guard. 

Cleo had done that on purpose you supposed. She was a clever little thing. More your confidant than a servant. She'd packed each outfit meticulously and provided instruction on what occasion they'd best fit. 

She'd also seen fit to stain your hands before your departure. A traditional Erifian custom utilizing the argena root, a herb native to your planet that stains skin silver when mixed with acid. She'd made an elaborate design both geometric and organic, artfully weaving your House sigil into the pattern. 

It matched well with the dress she'd stuffed you in. A black leather bodice that hugged tightly until your midriff when the material quickly fell in two strips on your front and back down to your ankles– silver roses inlaid at its bottom edges. 

Your hips and legs on display, but not completely exposed thanks to the thin black gossamer underdress and delicate silver chains at your hips holding the heavier material in place. A deep carmine cloth looped around your back and through the silver hoops dangling from the stiff shoulder caps before free-falling towards your feet.

Your house colors on full display– Black, silver, and carmine. A reminder to all who gazed upon you that an Ezharian was among them. Even the jewelry she'd selected was a subtle tell of your heritage. Necklace a silver geometric rose design that encloses your upper chest and mid-neck like a cage. 

Lifting your silvery fingertips to straighten your hair and ensure the twisted chain is still in place on your forehead. The effect caused the inked diamond to appear like the jewel within a circlet.

It was effective for its reminder, though the warmth it provided was subpar. But you had little use for warmth in a place like this anyway. You would need to be demure, witty, and no small amount of cunning– qualities more suited to the cold.

Hearing the vents of the ship become louder and the rush of non-recycled air clued you in that the door had finally lowered to allow your exit. The soft echoes of the outside thunder were another indication that you should have been rushed by the staff at this point, but they’d yet to enter. Harkonnen had always been particular in their commands, perhaps their instruction was to wait for your exit before attending to their task? 

If that was the case, it'd be best to exit and let the work commence before some imagined disobedience occurred. Would there be a welcoming party? All times before it was some steward who welcomed your family with politeness and instructions. Would this stick with tradition or be another surprise?

Stepping out of the shuttle’s warmth into the chill of the landing dock the attendants were indeed waiting. Five standing in a line with their eyes towards the floor. Their identical black outfits marked them for what they were. A steward stood perpendicular to their line with his hands behind his back, “I hope– I hope your t-travel was w-well, My lady.” 

Familiarity, at last. Although, is that a stutter or something else? Releasing the breath you hadn't realized you were holding slowly as his words registered. The quiver in his voice spoke more of nervousness rather than a speech impediment. But what reason would he have for anxiousness? It couldn't have been you. Those were his first words and you had yet to respond. Something else must have already shaken him.

The little reputation you had shouldn't be fearsome in the least nor enough to reach their ears. It was wholly benign in comparison to those he served. Keeping your face neutral and your stride steady on your way down the ramp, “It was comfortable, thank you…” waiting for his reply to your questioning tone, “F-forgive me, my– my lady. Emil, I am Emil.” 

As your heels clicked down onto the solid level flooring you waved a hand in dismissal, “Nothing to forgive, Emil.” Now that you were a few steps from the ramp, he made a clap and the line of attendants began toward the ship in single file. Standing next to the man you watched them enter the ship, “Are you to take me to the guest wing then?” 

The man's jaw twitched and now that you were in closer proximity you could see the sweat upon his brow, “Yes, my lady.” From your new position, you could see his hands were wringing together behind his back. Your eyes narrowed as you assessed him. 

His breathing was elevated, sweating, but his color seemed fine– no flushing or paleness that wasn't natural. ‘Something is causing him excessive anxiety. An order? If he is to try an assault on me, they chose their would-be assassin very poorly. I’m almost insulted.’

“Well,” inclining your hand towards the direction you last knew led towards the guest wing, “Shall we or is there some other reason I should stand here in uncomfortable heels?” 

His eyes widened as if he committed some great offense that you had to initiate the request, “Yes! At on–” A disapproving tsking sounded from the shadowed corridor followed by slow firm footsteps.

Raising an eyebrow at the sound and turning towards its origin revealed Feyd-Rautha slinking out of the darkness. He wore a fitted black leathered outfit. Edges of the material embossed with a blocky industrial pattern indicative of Harkonnen fashion. At his shoulders, two darker rectangles were stitched much like the traditional designs used in their anointments before ceremonies. ‘Ah, the source of his discomfort.’

His dark eyes appeared to glitter as he passed varying lights on his walk towards you. The occasions you saw him were infrequent enough that you were always struck by the unusual allure he possessed. Delicate bone structure set against eyes like knives. An unassuming strength until someone stepped out of line. Teasing mischief until anger ignited. 

He'd always been a strangely enticing individual to be around.

“Does a lady's presence stupefy you or do I need to cut out what my uncle hasn’t?” ‘Ah. There it is.’  The reason you'd never pursued anything more than banter with him. ‘His mouth generally leads to more trouble than its worth.’ 

The lightness of his voice didn't match the stinging accusation of his words, “You stood there as if she was to wait on you.”  

How long had Feyd been standing there awaiting your arrival? Huddled in the dark scrutinizing his staff? The image was almost enough to make you laugh, but here laughter was meant to be wielded as a weapon in conversation, not truly for amusement.

If his attendant was thoroughly in the throes of an anxiety attack as you'd left the transport, there must have been some exchanged warning– more likely a threat– not too recent, but not excessively long ago either. 

‘As if he needed an excuse for pain beyond breathing the same air.’

Fluttering your eyes to avoid rolling them at his nonchalant manner, “Lord Harkonnen,” you inclined your head in a greeting bow, “How kind of your uncle to send you instead of the na-Baron.” 

To anyone outside of Great House politics, that may seem like a snide remark, but in your circle of society, it was well-known how vexing you were to Glossu Rabben. You quickly scanned his form, “You look well.” And he did. The suit hugged his form enough to see more muscle than he’d usually display at a court gathering. You couldn’t say you disliked the sight.

The smug little smirk stayed in place as his gaze rolled from the servant to you, “Lady Ezharian, you look…” He made a show of dragging his eyes across your form as he sounded the words. By the time he finally reached your face again, the smirk had flattened and the look in his eye changed from duplicitous into something smokey with a hint of yearning. His voice took on a gravelly quality as he finally completed his assessment, “Vibrant.” 

His shoulder rolled in a shrug to relieve tension and you could tell that wasn't quite the word he wanted to use but the pretense of civility was still in place. Pressing your tongue against the back of your teeth to prevent the acerbic remark ready to spill from your lips for the perusal. If he wanted to appear civil, so would you. For now.

If he asked, you would admit that his coquettishness had improved since you'd seen him last. But there was no need to inflate whatever ego he'd since gained by confirming he’d finally figured out how to fan the flames of desire.

 “And my uncle made no request. I’m here because it pleases me.” Blackened teeth peaked from behind a half smile-half smirk. Your eyes narrowed at the sight, ‘That's a new development...’ 

Matching his nonchalant quality you jutted a hip and tilted your head thoughtfully, “How flattering. I had no idea my presence inspired such fervor in you.” 

His look transformed into an isolating glower– dark focus so intense that you almost forgot the shaking man standing between you. The half smile fell back into a full smirk as he grumbled at you, “Fangs poised already, little viper?” The question was said more like praise than reproval. 

His voice raised as he addressed the steward, but his gaze never moved from you, “Emil,” that was the sharpest you'd heard him yet and the man visibly flinched at the sound, “Why are you still standing?” The even tone didn’t betray his ire yet, but you knew him well enough to expect what was coming next.

If a stiff breeze were to blow through the compound, it'd likely knock this man over with how unsteady he was. You ran a hand through the length of hair that hung free down your back waiting for the show Feyd wanted to put on. Whatever was about to come out of the Harkonnen’s mouth was likely to be explosive, spiteful, and wholly unpleasant. 

After another moment when the man had still yet to respond or move, Feyd's eyes ripped themselves from your form to pin him with a scathing glare. Taking the few steps forward to come within arms reach of the steward, he hissed, “I said…” Watching as Feyd placed a hand on the shaking shoulder you could see the clear pressure he applied both by the amount of crinkling in the fabric and the wince Emil displayed, “Why are you still standing?” 

The last word was snarled savagely as he pushed the man to his knees. “Your incompetence reflects poorly on my name. Beg her forgiveness.” The shaking intensified as the man half sobbed at your feet. ‘Well, his dramatics are certainly unchanged.’ 

The bubbling sound made any sputtered words incoherent. Feyd perceived the babbling sobs as another trespass against his hospitality. Kicking the man in the side, albeit softer than you expected, “Kiss her prettily polished feet.” Another kick to his ribs, “If she deems it acceptable, I might even let you keep your tongue.” Finally, his booted foot fell hard and heavy on the man's hand,  “Beg!” 

That was enough for Emil to choke out a clear apology for his ineptitude, the shakes of his body infiltrating each gurgled word. Feyd looked pleased with his handiwork and you couldn't stop your eyes from rolling any longer. With a sigh you chided, “Feyd, my patience is already thin from travel, I have little left for your antics– either end it now or leave it for your private amusement.” 

His disappointment was palpable by the scowl replacing the smirk, “How dull…I had hoped you’d request my knife.” A snort almost left you at that– almost– but you contained it for a huff instead, “Ignorance doesn't suit you. You know my conditioning.” 

He rolled his own eyes and his voice took on a mocking drawl, “Ah, yes. Your aversion to causing harm like the good little Suk doctor you are.” Continuing to scowl down at the shuddering servant, “Leave us.” That was all the man needed to try to leave the scene, but as he pulled away his arm yanked painfully in the socket. Feyd's foot was still crushing his hand and wasn’t letting up. A choked whimper left the servant as the pressure only increased if the deepening grey of his hand was any indication.

There was little you could do for him, not that you wanted to, this was typically Harkonnen savagery after all, albeit from you to interrupt, but your feet did tire of standing in these shoes. “Would you like to escort him or Ito a room? If torture is more enticing, I'm sure I can find the way myself.” 

The jaw clench was your only indication he'd heard you through whatever violence clouded his mind. His answer came a moment later when his boot slowly released the hand and the creature disappeared faster than you'd thought his shaking legs could carry him. 

Feyd’s complaint was quickly hurled at you while you both watched his servant scurry away, “We both know your conditioning allows for more fun than that. What is it you once said to me?” 

Instantly, you knew what he was referring to. Your eyes momentarily widened in surprise, that must have been three or four years back now. The fact he remembered it was dangerous and startling. He was intelligent enough to recognize its significance, but it was surprising he recalled it so easily. 

You were under the impression Feyd only frequented your side at parties because you were more than a conniving halfwit and responded to his banter with equal vitriol. But if he recalled that…’He pays much more attention to my words than I give him credit for.’

“Only ignorant men believe themselves absolved of murder.” 

Decidedly something you shouldn't have said, but between wine and teasing conversation you’d let it slip. You weren't so delusional or indoctrinated to think yourself incapable. It didn’t matter that it was true either– everyone had a breaking point regardless of what the imperial rhetoric toted– but if the Suk school heard you say it, well, you didn’t want to find out what consequences would come of it.

If the need ever arose for Feyd to persuade or coerce you into something, he had the perfect leverage. There was no doubt in your mind that he knew it and that he would use it should it come down to it… If that time ever came, you’d show him true venom. But he hadn’t mentioned it as a threat, so until he turns on you, it is best to give it as little attention as possible. ‘And to be careful with my words in the future.’

A satisfied hum sounded from his chest followed the confirming recognition of, “That's it,” as he turned away from the corridor his steward sought shelter in. Facing towards you with a scowl as he stepped closer, “Travel makes you petulant.” The tension he’d unwittingly dragged to the surface of your shoulders relaxed as you snicker at his accusation, “That it does.” 

His size still dwarfed you– even in heels, the top of your head only coming to his nose. He lifted a covered arm out for you to take. A courteous court gesture that held no real purpose here other than a show of his respect for your position– or maybe habit. It wasn’t uncommon to see your hand rest against his forearm when moving through crowds of surrounding noble families. 

But you two were alone for perhaps the first time. ‘It must be habit then.’ 

Your contemplation of his offer passed too slowly for him if the snippety grunt was any indication, “Well?” 

Your silvered hand came up to accept the offer, it stood out starkly against his forearm, “If it please you, my lord.”

His non-existent brow raised at the silver, “Did you think we’d forgotten the Ezharian name? Or is this extra preening to turn my head?” Although skin staining was a traditional Erifian custom, you rarely sat for the time the process took. It was a rare sight when you bore the marks. But there was no need to confirm you'd done it for another layer of protection– that your father had demanded you sit for Cleo to apply it as a subtle reminder of which family they were entertaining. 

Smoothing the hand against his arm, cool material slid beneath your fingertips, drawing both your eyes to the way the intricate designs sat against your skin, “Hm, I have occasionally wished to turn your head.” Dragging your eyes slowly up his arm to lock gazes, “Slowly,”  fluttering your lashes at him as it was your turn to mock, “Over an open flame.”

His smile was a slow unfurling thing that bespoke of the perverse delight your words sparked, “Finally, the little vicious ice bitch comes out to play.” Your heels clicked as he started a slow stride towards what you assumed to be your room, “I could kill you for such a taunt.”

Your lips pursed in a clear sign of disbelief, “Come now, who would you speak with at tedious soirees then? Ward Ecaz? Hector Metulli? Neither are as stimulating as I am.” The doubt was replaced by a taunting haughtiness, “Or perhaps you aim to replace me with Nyla Galloway?” The poor simpleton of a girl was always panting after him. Always trying to initiate conversation and trailed his shadow unless you were already at his side. 

She would balk if Feyd ever spoke to her the way he did you. Chuckling as you continued the jest, “She's been vying for your attention these last few years. I'm sure she'd be happy for my disappearance.” Peeking at his side profile, showed his nose scrunched in disgust and strong jaw grinding at your words, “The only attention she’s worthy of is that of my knife.”

That brought a slithering satisfaction to wriggle within your stomach. It had nothing to do with jealousy and all to do with getting under his skin. You were one of the few to manage it and continue to draw breath. The compulsion to goad him further of Nyla’s attention was hard-pressed to bite down, but it was unwise to continue, so you changed your approach. 

“I think,” your words pulled his attention down to your scrutiny– eyes betraying his irritation at the previous notion, “You enjoy my malice too much to be rid of it.” Turning your gaze forward away from his penetrating regard you continued steadily down the corridor. 

Keeping your voice light– musing even– and not as snide or invasive as your tongue wished while asking, “Is that not why you always keep our talks out of earshot from anyone of consequence? Why you have never alerted my father– or your uncle for that matter– to the very reprehensible things I say to you?” 

Grumbling unhappily, affirming his threat was idle and you'd called it correctly, “You've made your point, I find your venom an enjoyable irritant.” 

Pulling real confessions from Feyd was hard fought. Like safely trespassing through a dire wolf’s territory. Generally unwise and not worth the trouble. But if you did manage it, there was a deep satisfaction that bubbled at the accomplishment. This time, the feeling settled low in your chest mingling with a slithering heat running down your spine, “Good, I prefer the dull press of a knife to my throat than a sharp one.”

You knew that was a mistake the moment it left your lips. It was too easy an opportunity. The chuckle he released was as instant as your regret. The purr of amusement was obnoxiously thick as he cooed, “Do you think of my blade pressing into you often?” 

Refusing to look at him directly, your peripheral was still enough to sight the devilish grin on display, “Is that what you fantasize about in our time apart?” The smug glee triggered irritation in you that threatened to consume everything else. “It was a metaphor, nothing more.” He wouldn't take that for an answer though, not when you'd made teasing so easy.

“It doesn't have to be. I’m more than willing to press whatever you’d like against you, though I do admit your blood coating my knives is an enticing thought.” Your reply was a very quick and very indelicate jab of your elbow into his ribs, “You’re too bold.”

He didn't even stumble from the action, only let out a responding groan that was much less of a pained sound and more of a pleasured one than you'd intended. "Masochist.” The slithering warmth was still present and it sunk lower to settle between your legs at the sound of his groan. He shouldn't be allowed to sound like that.

“Careful, Ezharian, if someone sees your abuse they might think you enjoy my company enough to pick up habits. How repulsive that would be for your perfectly pleasing reputation.” A scoff instantly left your lips at his goading words. 

He had always been teasingly suggestive with you– a stimulating jest that he continued to push until you’d bite back at him. Narrowing your eyes and looking up at his pleased grin, “They would be blind to it unless I stabbed you openly in the middle of some event. And still, it's more likely you'd be seen for the offense. Your Harkonnen presence has corrupted my prudence.”

He looked even more pleased as he was contemplating the scenario, “Now there’s a thought. I’d enjoy every second of that corruption. Especially if Moritani was made to watch.” Your face scrunched at the mention of Cesare Moritani. Feyd detested him for no reason in particular as far as you could tell. But sometimes with Feyd, reason didn’t enter the picture. Before you could become too lost in thought his next words pulled you back, “You'd still face consequences for assaulting someone of my station.” 

Crinkling your brow in disbelief, that's where he wanted to take the conversation, “Your station? Really?” He hummed in confirmation with that stupid grin still in place. You shook your head at the incredulity of it. He was making some poor flippant remark, likely probing for a mock apology for the imagined assault, but if that was his aim, you were in the wrong mood to grovel.

If he wanted you playful, speaking of rank was the wrong approach. You had very sturdy ground to stand against him in that regard and he would hate any reminder of that fact. Which meant it was the perfect response.

With a hiss, you turned on him, “Well then, my lord, should I remind you why we can speak so candidly?” Slowing your pace until you came to a complete stop which had the desired effect of Feyd stopping with you. 

Turning his body towards you in a mock show of rapt attention, you lift your hand from his forearm to brush imaginary dust off the chest of his suit, “Until your dear darling uncle pulls the title from Glossu, you are not na-Baron.” 

Just because his uncle does treat him as if he were the named heir, that doesn't give him the rank officially. The shift in his eyes went from playful to an unamused smolder. He stood straighter and stepped forward invading your space, but you didn’t bow away. 

Head craned back to maintain eye contact as you refused to move even when his chest brushed yours. The clench of his jaw drew your eye to the flexing muscles before narrowing as they moved back up to his leering ones. This was the closest he'd ever been. Much too close by proper standards, rumors and whispers would have spread from this display if anyone were here to witness it. Your father certainly would have pulled you away at this point.

But you were alone. And neither of you seemed to mind the proximity.

The stare was intense– his pinched brow would say it was anger, but if you had to name it, it felt more like burning hunger. It affected you more than you’d like to admit. His hazel eyes were so expressive this close. Taking a deep breath you spat each word while heat ignited in your lower stomach once again, “You are the son of Harkonnen’s second born and I am the daughter of Ezharian's second born.” 

You could see his eyes drop from your gaze down lower. To your lips or your throat? It didn’t matter, to know that you were affecting him just as he affected you was pleasing to the roiling heat in your veins. After a moment, his eyes dragged back to yours and his face seemed even closer than before. 

His breath tickled your cheek as you smiled maliciously at him, if either of you leaned closer your lips could easily brush. But you had more to say. “What's more, I am the only child of my father. We both hold no titles, but by lineage I outrank you.” 

Letting your smile fall into a smirk similar to the one he so fondly wore, “However, I am only female, so far as it stands, we are to be considered equals.” 

His fingers lightly dragged up your forearm towards the dangling silver hoop at your shoulder, “Equals.” It wasn’t said with any strong emotion attached to it– only repeating the word in his raspy husk with no denial or objection. A shiver ran through you at his light touch. He reached for the carmine silk that hung free, his fingers bunched the fabric into his hand, crinkling its smooth appearance as he all but growled, “My darling viper,” The look in his eye was now openly wanting and it had your thighs clenching. 

He had no right to be this tempting. The flare of his jaw should be offensive, the anger in his eyes should flare your own, and his closeness should spark disgust. None of it should flare desire, but your body was being as unruly as everything else today. 

In your musing he leaned in towards your ear, lips lightly brushing the edge, shocking you back to reality as he whispered, “You can be such a quarrelsome little cunt.”

The combination of feeling his lips and hearing the praise in such derogatory words sent another pulse of heat through you. The moment seemed to pass slowly as he shifted slightly and you felt the light press of his plush lips against your pulse point– not a kiss, but it was something. Something he shouldn’t have done. 

You drew in a sharp breath before he pulled back just enough for your gazes to meet. You’d always known he was attractive, you weren’t blind, but in that moment there was a smooth sensuality you wouldn’t normally attribute to him. His eyes trailed back down to your lips and you felt your breathing turn heavy, you wanted him to do it, but he shouldn’t. His eyes flicked back to yours as his head tilted. 

Quietly, you murmured his name, “Feyd.” It was breathless and full of an unvoiced plea– for him to stop or to continue, you weren’t sure. This was dangerous…And beyond stupid. 

For as flirtatious as he could be in conversation, it had always stayed just that. He had never crossed that line physically. It was only ever a light touch to your hand, a brief press of his fingers to your shoulder, a hand pressed to your back if being directed through crowds, nothing lingering that could be confused for indecent. If this was how interactions were to be without an interloper observing, you were in trouble. This hadn’t been something you considered before now. 

“We shouldn’t.” Your voice was a shock even to yourself. You hadn't even felt the words leave your lips. His answer was calm, unbothered, as his voice gruffly vibrated his agreement, “I know.” 

But he didn’t pull back immediately. His eyes continued to scan your face and you could see the conflict there. If you had no rank, he could do with you as he pleased, but you were a Lady of a Great House. That made things vastly more complicated. 

Finally, he dropped the scrunched fabric and pulled away. He straightened his top before offering his arm once again. Accepting the gesture the two of you resumed the walk as if nothing happened.

[redbleedingrose]

Till the End of Time ~ Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: 5 times Eris fell in love with his best friend and 1 time he did something about it

Warnings: Beron Vanserra, fluffy (for the most part), some sexual references, angst here and there and everywhere

word count: 5.6K 

Masterlist

A/N: I have had this concept planned out for a while, and I felt like typing it out today. Idk just feeling lots of love for Eris Vanserra this week!!!! Always Epilogue will be coming out soon I promise, just feeling a little burnt out from it! Also this was also meant to be a drabble because I have to study but I have no self control! (I also didn’t edit this, we are rawdogging this sorry not sorry) Hope you guys enjoy this little fic! Please, as always, like, reblog, and comment your thoughts, you already know it means the absolute world to me! Please eat something, drink a sip of water, and take your meds! Lots of love -Rose <3

1. When they promised to be best friends forever at the age of five

Eris eyed you as you stood behind your mother, hiding behind her like she could protect you from the world. He could have scoffed at the naivety of the little girl. His father had let his five year old son know earlier that morning that he was to be on his best behavior because special guests were coming today. When Eris had questioned who the special guests were, Beron had backhanded him across the cheek for “questioning the High Lord” so hard, that the little lordling was knocked to the floor. His cheek had ached for the rest of the day before his mother, Roux, found him and sobbed as she kissed the tender bruise that formed. She had applied some salve, whispering apologies and sweet nothings into his ear as she rocked him back and forth, cuddling him close before murmuring a glamor enchantment to cover the atrocious crimes of the high lord before his guests.

Eris had assumed that the so-called guests would be old, greed-mongering males, probably praising everything that Beron did or said, but he was shocked to see a small family of three making their way into the entryway. The little girl peaked out every so often from behind her mothers skirt, just to get a glance of the high lords family who stood before her. When her father had rushed himself to introduce the rest of his family, simpering at the High Lord for the invitation, he had yanked the girl harshly by the elbow, pulling her into the limelight. You stood there, shaking like a leaf about to fall from a tree because the wind had been so strong, before curtseying so low, Eris thought your knees touched the floor. 

Suffice to say, the High Lord had been very impressed and turned to his son, glaring at him so hard, the child stepped forward and introduced himself, sneering down at you when you whispered your name in exchange. Eris didn’t know what to do with himself as he sat next to you at the dinner table, you hadn’t said a single word to him, quietly eating the food placed in front of you. Your mother and father were deeply entranced by the conversation with their high lord, and failed to acknowledge you. Only when Roux asked how old you were, did they seem to remember you were there, as the conversation went deadly silent and everyone turned their gazes onto you. You squirmed for a second, freezing as soon as you made eye contact with your mother who stared at you icily, and yelping out that you were five. Roux beamed back at you, “Eris is only a year older than you, you both may go outside after dessert to play.” Beron had scoffed at her, but didn’t deny lady autumn's suggestion. Er had been surprised, not only by Beron’s lack of scolding or response at his mother, but also because he had minor interactions with children his age in general. His father kept him busy with intense training and schooling, and refused to let the little lordling interact with the children at the forest house, citing they were peasants and Eris “did not need to mix with the likes of them.” 

After dessert, some kind of tiramisu that Eris did not care for, Roux reminded the children to go outside, “fresh air will do you both good,” she said, and he had turned to glare at his mother. He rose from his seat awkwardly, waiting for you to also rise, so he could take you to the area under the willow tree that had the single wood swing attached to a thick branch. You followed him without a word, and Eris had planned to let you sit and wait until one of their mothers would call them inside as he tried to swing as high as he could. He had no energy or will to speak to you, but you broke the silence as you walked past the stables, “What's in there?” Eris almost snorted, thinking it was a stupid question because what else would be in there. He replied boredly, “Horses… and my hounds.” You whipped your head to him so fast, so excitedly, it knocked the breath right of the little heir. “You have puppies?” Your eyes shone bright in the setting sun, and your hair glimmered under the remaining rays that flew over the horizon. “They… they aren’t puppies! They are hounds. For hunting,” the lordling replied feeling flustered, heat rising up to his neck as he pulled at the collar that felt too tight at that moment. 

“Can I see?” you pleaded with him, “Just for a couple of minutes?” Eris thought for a moment, feeling protective over his pets who had probably just finished their evening meal served by the stable boys. He didn’t know how they would react to a new presence… to a girl. The hounds were being trained to hunt, but he supposed a quick peak wouldn’t do any real damage, “Fine,” you cheered so loud, beaming at him with a toothy grin, the little lordling felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. He rubbed his tiny hands together anxiously, “only for a minute though, they are probably tired.” You must’ve picked up on his nerves, because you quieted down, thanking him with a blush dusting your cheeks, and followed behind him as he paced towards the shelter holding his precious hounds. 

The door was painted red, and Eris had to pull it open using all his strength after standing on the tip of his toes to unlatch the door. If Beron had caught them, he knew he would be in serious trouble, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as you peaked through the fence, bouncing on your feet to get a glimpse. He grabbed at your wrist, ushering you inside with soft tugs, as twelve hounds bound to the pair of children. What Eris hadn’t expected was for his hounds to surround the little girl, jumping onto her, knocking her over into the hay that lay beneath their feet, as she let out a tiny scream in fear. He panicked, yelling out commands to the hounds to back off, yelling her name, and almost called out for his father in the flurry of fear. The sounds of giggles filling the stable interrupted him, Y/N sat up as the hounds were eagerly shoving their noses into her face, licking at her, scenting her, rolling onto their backs for her to pat them. She squealed with joy, wrapping her arms around one particular hound who had made his way onto her lap, hugging him close, “Eris, your hounds are puppies! They are so cute!” His jaw had dropped to the floor, the hounds frivolous display of affection was extremely uncommon and usually reserved for the little lordling alone. Indignation rose within him, but he cut himself off as three of his hounds left the girl to approach him, begging for their master’s attention. 

The children spent the rest of the night in the stable, the girl asking Eris so many questions about his pets, the hounds and horses included, opening up rather quickly from her previous shy nature. They sat on the ground next to each other as the hounds cuddled up on them, most falling asleep at the babbling between the five year olds. At some point, the conversation shifted away from his pets to any and all topics. They discussed their favorite foods, their favorite desserts, their favorite holidays, what they were learning in school, what Y/N wanted to be when she grew up. Hours upon hours of conversation, well into the night until the stars and moon were the only source of light other than the small faelight at the edge of the stable. “Father says we will probably see each other more,” Y/N excitedly whispered, trying to keep her voice down for the sleeping pups, scooting closer to the little lordling. “Really?” The heir couldn’t believe it, “Why?” The girl let out a huff, “We are moving here… mother keeps saying its because father has been promoted to chief accounbant.”

Eris stared at her for a moment, “you mean accountant?” She rolled her eyes, falling back onto the floor in helpless despair, “I don’t know Er,” a nickname she had come up for the little lordling during their conversation. He opened his mouth, probably to reaffirm the girl probably meant accountant, but was stopped by the girl, “Do you want to be friends?” The lordling had once again been rendered speechless by the girl. He had never had any friends before, and he didn’t really know what friendship had entailed. She lifted her head, eyes wide, boring into his as he tried to formulate his answer. “Sure, let's be friends,” if he had learned one thing tonight, it was that he didn’t mind the girl's presence. He actually found himself enjoying it. “Best friends forever, Eris, swear it.” she said determinedly, raising her crooked pinky to link with his. “Okay, best friends forever Y/N. I swear.” A tingling sensation arose around the inner part of their right ankles, a small tattoo of a dahlia formed, obscured from the eyes of their prying parents. He stared at her, a grin forming on either of their lips, his heart warming because he finally had a friend. And the lordling couldn’t wait to be best friends with her, till the end of time.  

2. When you helped him with his injuries from Beron’s wrath and comfort him 

“Oh gods, Y/N, you are a fucking menace,” the amber eyed male groaned into her shoulder, burying his face further into the soft skin of her neck, as she stood between his legs, stitching up the cut on his collarbone that had been left by the knife of the high lord in a fit of rage. She pulled the male off her, trying to get him to sit up straight, so she had proper access to the superficial wound, “Eris, get up,” she chuckled, “You are fine.”

 It had been a century since Y/N had found out about the abuse the lordling was subjected to on a daily basis after he had shown up in the middle of the night when they were just teenagers, bursting through the hearth that kept her bedroom warm with flames that continued on into the night. The shock of the male popping out of her fireplace had nearly sent her into cardiac arrest, scrambling out of bed, ready to scream at him for scaring her half to death. She abruptly paused as he slumped into her arms, exhausted and beaten to a pulp. She dragged him onto her bed, and cuddled him close, crying into his chest as he murmured apologies, stroking her hair, and pressing kisses into the female's temple. Eventually, Y/N had shot out of his embrace and ran into the bathroom to gather supplies to clean and help mend some of his already healing wounds. From that night on, the lordling always managed to come after a beating from his father, sometimes so late into the night, it was practically minutes before sunrise. She would pull him into the bathroom wordlessly, and have him lean against the counter as she would sterilize his wounds, stitching them or applying salve, things she had learned after insisting to her mother she needed to receive weekly training from the local apothecary. 

“Mother above Y/N, your best friend is in pain,” the heir groaned, leaning his head back into the mirror, peaking at you through his eyelashes as you ignored him, focusing on the task ahead. His hands gripped at your hips, pulling you in even closer before sneaking up to your waist to hold you there. Long ago, you would have blushed being too shy around the heir, but you were desensitized to your best friend's antics at this point. “What happened anyway?” you asked as you tied off the stitch, before moving to place a cloth over the wound to protect it from developing infection. Eris sat up straighter this time, gazing into your eyes as he responded softly, “I am not sure. Something to do with the alliance between winter and summer, I think he wanted in, but they refused.” You snorted, and the male knew you were probably thinking none of Beron’s abuse to his children and wife could ever be justified, but the excuses he did come up with were so absurd, it was beyond him how he still had supporters throughout the court. Everyone was at least mildly aware of the plight of the heir, his younger brothers, and lady autumn, yet everyone who could do anything, like your father, refused to, in order to continue lining their pockets with wealth. 

You continued to smooth down the bandage in silence as Eris watched you, you had certainly changed in the past century. Your hair had grown longer and fuller, your eyes more bright with love and hope despite the fear you experienced so close to the high lord, your body had morphed into a grown female. When you finished, you lifted your worried eyes to stare into his, and a soft smile lifted onto his face unintentionally, easily. “I’m fine, doll,” he pulled you in, rubbing at the point between your shoulder blades, letting your head rest on his shoulder as he buried his face deep in your hair, inhaling the smell of maple and sage shampoo you used, the scent bringing him a deep sense of comfort and ease as he held you close to him. The softness of your body and quiet beating of your heart against his was lulling him, and so he leaned away, half lidded gaze focused on yours as a tear slipped down your cheek. He thumbed it away, his heart speeding up at the thought of you caring this much for him, like no one else ever had. He worried that your hands on his chest would pick up on it, but neither of you made mention of it as you enjoyed each other's presence. 

“At least flash me your tits if you’re that worried, I think I'll be feeling a whole lot better if you do,” a smirk lilted his face as he watched a deep red flush develop on the apples of your cheeks. He loved flustering you like this, and the thought of you actually following through on his request had his cock twitching in his pants. “Gods, are you ever not horny Er?” you shoved him back, laughing at the males audacity, the solemn mood completely shifting into one you were more comfortable in, “Fuck off.” The smirk on Eris’ face deepend as he snorted, “I most certainly will if you show me your tits doll.” You sigh, shaking your head at the male as you wiggle away from his grasp around your waist. A flash crosses your beautiful iris’, one that has Eris’ knees nearly buckling, as a smirk forms on your face. “Fine,” Mother fucking above, he could pass out, “only for like ten seconds though.” 

3. When he watches you interact with the people of autumn, especially the females and children 

One thing Eris always gave credit to his best friend for, was the fact that she loves helping people. He didn’t know where you inherited the trait, knowing your mothers cruel indifference to others and your fathers greed, but whenever he brought you to the nearby villages for the day, the citizens' hearts were won over by her. The lordling couldn’t do much for his mother, once a week, he would beg her to flee autumn, even going as far as saying he would seek protection from the night court on her behalf, or even send her to Day if she so wished to be with its high lord. But Roux refused every single time, too afraid for the lives of her children if she were to flee, his youngest brother, Lucien, already being forced out of the court when Beron killed his lover. The thought made his stomach churn and heart ache, and so he shoved it deep down, burying it into the darkest part of his unconscious, turning his attention back to you. 

The heir had gone behind his fathers back, building female centers in every village for those who had been abused by males, accepting any and all who came looking for help. He ensured these projects were funded, funneling his own wealth into them to make sure these females and children had access to healthy food, clothes, products for their cycles, education and training for both the females and children, toys, etc. Anything and everything these females could need, he made sure was provided to them. He often took you to these centers whenever your mother would let you out of the house, more often than not, you would sneak out willing to face whatever punishment your mother would enforce later on. 

He watched as you spoke to the females, allowing them to show you whatever it was they had chosen to study, and you listened so intently, focusing all your attention on them. A warm feeling spread throughout his body, knowing that you were just as passionate about these projects as you were. In fact, you had been the one to encourage the lordling to pursue these projects, and you helped him plan everything out, taking on a huge role in the process. His thoughts drifted to you helping in the future, one day when Beron was dead, and he was high lord. Mother above knows that he would need all the help that he could get, and mother above also knows that you would be there at his side every step of the way. Butterflies arose in his stomach so hard and fast, the male needed to steady himself as he watched you turn your attention to the babes who were grasping at your dress, vying for your love. A soft smile was stuck permanently on your face as you cooed at the babes, leaning down to pick them up and hold them against your chest, swaying back and forth in a lulling manner. He watched as you stroked at their hair, smoothing down any stray strands, and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what you would be like with your own babes one day, his heart palpitating at the thought. The heir took the very thought, and shoved it into a box inside his heart, as the feeling of envy at whichever male was lucky enough to have her in that way creeped its way throughout his body. But as your gaze met his and your smile grew wider, Eris let himself hope that maybe the cauldron would bless him with that luck. 

4. When you danced together in the forest moonlight after Amarantha’s reign ends 

Fifty fucking years. Fifty horrific fucking years. Five decades without seeing you, without talking to you, without holding you. Every year, every month, every day, every hour, every minute, every second was beginning to blur together with the lordling as he lived under the mountain, trapped by Amarantha’s reign. The longest Eris had gone without seeing you since the male had met you, was three weeks, for a vacation your family had forcibly taken you on in the winter court. After that, you had opted to stay at forest house while your parents went out on vacations, keeping close to the lordling as much as possible and avoiding Beron at any cost. You just couldn’t stay away from each other, those three weeks had been torture. 

Fifty fucking years was unbearable. Eris missed you so much, with every fiber of his being, with every cell in his body, with every molecule that made him whole. He ached for you, thinking about you constantly night and day, almost to the brink of insanity, his one reprieve being that you were not trapped under the mountain with him. And all of it ended with Feyre, the cursebreaker as they called her. He sent a silent prayer to the Gods, thanking them for the girl who bought the trapped fae’s freedom, before winnowing out of there immediately after she had been brought back to life, the only thing that was one his mind, that was consuming the male really, was getting back to you, even if that meant you being the first female he would visit, the second being his mother. Seeing you. That is all he wanted. 

The male found himself standing outside your window at the edge of the forest, it was the middle of the night and there was no way he would knock on the front door alerting your parents of his arrival. He stood there, watching you silently, heart racing with joy as you sat by the windowsill, engrossed with whatever book you were reading. He stood there for what felt like hours, as hot tears began to collect in his eyes from the sheer relief that you were okay. But it had only been a couple minutes. And you glanced up, staring out the window, as if sensing you were being watched before you froze. Eyes locked onto his form. You stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. Book dropping from your grasp, as your now free hands rose to your face, clamping around your mouth as you probably cried out. Suddenly, you were standing in front of him, probably having winnowed yourself out of your bedroom. Shaky breaths misted in the air around you as your respiration rate increased, chest rising and falling so fast, the heir wanted to rest his hand on it to calm you. And then… 

And then warmth. Gulped sobs into his shoulder and your hair. Tight arms around his neck, along with tight arms around your waist. Pressing against one another until each ridge of his muscle, and each curve of your body molded together. Somehow, the lordling gathered the strength to winnow you away, deep into the forest, where your mother or father wouldn’t be able to see you out the window. 

You continued sobbing into his shoulder, not even noticing the change in location until Eris had pulled you away from him, staring down into your eyes before peppering kisses all over your face. Kissing away your tears, kissing the corner of your eyes, kissing your temple and forehead, kissing your reddened nose, kissing the plump of your cheeks, kissing your chin, kissing the corner of your lips, even landing the softest, quickest peck onto your bottom lip. You clung to him, fisting his coat's shoulders, trying to keep the male impossibly close, as he wrapped him arms around your waist, finding it out of the question of being away from you for another moment. 

He whispered sweet apologies for being away for so long, murmuring how he had to protect you and autumns people, rubbing your back while mouthing his thoughts into your shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to say the one thing he truly desired to tell you, Beron still being alive was reason enough. So… the male showed you. Tucking your head underneath his chin as he buried his face into your hair, swaying you deep in the forest with the moonlight as your source of light, and his hums serving as the music, pressing a kiss onto your head whenever he wished as he breathed in your maple and sage scent. 

5. When he had a nightmare from the trauma of Under the Mountain, and you comforted him. 

Eris woke up with a start, sweat nearly drenching him and he frantically flailed his arms across your bed in search of you after his palm found your side of the bed cold. The events of under the mountain had left the male traumatized more than he already was; the things that he had been made to watch made his bones chill to the very core despite the fire that ran within his veins. Ever since he came back, the lordling hadn’t been able to sleep in his own bed, finding it too cold and unfamiliar to him. He walked through your hearth to find you asleep in your bed, blissfully unaware of his presence within your room, the site bringing him a wave of comfort through his chest. He approached your bed with apprehension, you had never done this before in your 700 or so years of friendship, slept together in the same bed that is. There was always that boundary that the heir hadn’t been willing to cross, in case your scent rubbed off on him too strong and his father started to get ideas. 

But his nightmare had him frightened, mind racing with images of your dead disemboweled body being torn apart by Attor’s at the command of Amarantha, as he screamed out for you in what he could only describe was the worst pain he had felt in his entire lifespan. The dream had been so vivid that first night, he had winnowed himself using the fire in his hearth to get to you and make sure you were okay. He watched you sleep that night for hours until you woke up, jumping back slightly at the presence of the male in your room. But the look in his ember eyes… the tears that had streaked down his cheeks… you didn’t say a word, lifting your comforter and patting the space next to you. He siddled up next to you, until your arms had wrapped around his waist and your head tucked under his chin. There was no need for words that night, and every night since then, when the moon rose to its peak, the lordling found himself crawling into the space next to you and cuddling impossibly close, letting your scent and heartbeat lull him into a dreamless sleep. 

So tonight, when he woke and didn’t find you withins arms reach, he nearly panicked. He shot up from your bed, only to find you splayed out across the couch in front of the hearth, deeply engrossed in the book he had recommended to you a week prior. His shaken breaths snapped you out of your focus, attention shifting to the bed where the lordling was sat, staring at you, eyeing you up and down, looking for any injury or sources of bleeding, only to come up empty. His dream tonight… it hadn’t been related to Amarantha. In fact, ever since he started sleeping with you, the dreams of under the mountain became few and rare in between. 

Tonight… the male had dreamt his father beheading you before his eyes as a way of punishing him for the espionage he was committing with the night court. No one, except for you, had known of Eris’ plans to receive help from the high lord of night in killing Beron. The anxiety that ran through Eris had his entire body shaking with fear as he thought of the possibility of Beron finding out. “Come here Er,” you gestured him to come to you, opening your arms wide for him to fall into. He steadied himself against the bed, slowly sliding out and making his way to you, his best friend, his love, his everything.

He collapsed into you, resting his head between the valley of your breasts, only the sheer thin nightgown separating the feeling of his skin against yours. You carded your fingers through his auburn hair, mumbling “It’s okay,” and “I’m here,” and “I’m not going anywhere,” and “you are safe.”  He wished to hear the words, “I love you,” but he didn’t mention it as your other hand came up to run up and down his back with a slight pressure. Eris doesn’t remember falling asleep that night, and he most certainly doesn’t remember the inaudible whisper, “I love you Er,” that spilled from your lips once his soft snores filled the room. The only thing he remembers is that when he woke up, he found you sleeping, the soft planes of your face relaxed into a bliss he hadn’t seen before as your arms continued to hold him tightly against you even as you rested. He remembers that at that moment, he decided that he needed to kill Beron sooner rather than later. Because he only wants you to ever look blissfully peaceful and happy as you did now. 

6. When he found you after killing Beron, and decided to do something about loving you. 

A week later, with the help of the night court's high lord, general, and spymaster, Eris had snapped his fathers neck in half, sending a shockwave throughout autumn court, as each and everyone of its citizens felt the shift in power from the feared high lord, to the immeasurably kind heir. The lordling had sent you and his mother deep into the woods days prior, to stay at one of his cabins so that he would be able to complete the act without worry of harm towards you or her. Eris hadn’t told you exactly what was going to happen, but somehow, you knew. And you pressed him close to you before he left to complete the act, leaning up and pecking a soft kiss into his lips, similar to the one you had shared the night he returned to you from under the mountain. When you pulled away, he nodded softly at you once, before winnowing back to forest house where he would meet the night court's inner circle. They had struck up a deal with Eris, finally coming to terms with the situation that happened with Morrigan, after he explained to her that he couldn’t help her with his father sentires around, but had come back for her with me at his side to help heal her, only to find her already gone. Eris had even gone as far as bringing you to meet with the inner circle, shocking them all at his gentleness towards you, and opening their hearts to the pair of you. 

So there you sat, with his mother, distracting her with mindless conversation as you poured her tea out. And then… And then you felt it. Felt the shift. You felt the power shift from Beron to Eris, and it had been so strong, the kettle had fallen to the floor, spilling hot water all over the carpet. Neither of you noticed however, as Roux started sobbing in relief, pleading that we take her to day court as soon as possible. You wrapped your arms around her, stroking her hair in comfort as you wept your own tears of relief and joy, telling her that the lord of day was most likely already informed by Eris and on his way. So you both sat, patiently waiting for your Eris to come back to you. 

A heavy knock sounded at the door, and you motioned for Roux to stay seated as you reached to pull open the door, a dagger hidden in your other hand in case one of Beron’s loyal sentries had found you. Relief sagged through you as you lowered the knife at the sight of the tall high lord of day standing before you, peaking in anxiously around you to get a glimpse of his mate. You beamed, moving to the side, allowing him to stride past you as Roux stared at him before leaping from where she was sat and jumping into his arms. You smiled at the intimate moment, before tucking your dagger into the holster at your hip, and closing the door behind you to let the mates have private time to themselves.

 Your patience was wearing thin as you waited for the new high lord to make his way to the cabin, so you started the trek through the forest on your own. Eris had told you he had been planning on burning down Forest house with the body of his father inside, tearing apart all the terrible memories associated with the place, and so he was probably busy doing that. As you walked through the forest, you smelled the fresh leaves, listening to the stream nearby with complete peace spreading through you from the core out. The snap of a twig cracking startled you, and you swiveled so hard on your ankles, dagger already out of its sheath and aimed at whatever was creeping behind you. 

 And there he stood. Staring at you. With a fresh pair of clothes, old ones probably soaked in his fathers blood. And you stared right back. Right back at Eris. The dagger fell from your grasp as you bound for each other. You slammed into him, knocking him to the floor, as you reached to protect the back of his head from the fall. You were clutching each other so hard, the lordling thought you would melt right into him. You shot up from his chest, peppering kisses all over his face, weeping as you cherished your best friend. He laughed, loud and free, pulling you even closer as he felt the warmth of the fire in his veins burning impossibly high. When his amber eyes met yours, another snap shook you both to your core. A golden rope, binding the two of you together as Eris’ own sobs began wracking through him, his hand wrapping around the back of your scalp and pulling you in for a hard kiss as he reveled in the sheer ecstasy of your mating bond falling into place. The words that had him aching, flowing past his lips, without any restraint or fear, “Y/N, my best friend, my love, my mate… I love you forever and always, till the end of time.” 

[cubeshapedlemon]

hii !!!! I think this is where we request! so I have some ideas for norm (ofc)

first!

yk when vault 32 got attacked ?

what if YOU survived,and hid,trying to defend yourself and surviving by stealing in vault 33 (stole a pip boy to access it) food and other stuff,because u think that every vault got attacked (no communications) so u are always undercover for bad guys,

and even if sometimes rations were low nobody ever suspected a thing or saw you,until norm got charged with giving the prisoners food,and one day in the kitchen he caught u stealin,and he was like « i’ve never seen you around » so you’re scared obv but you open up when u realise he wouldn’t hurt a fly,and because lucy and his dad’s gone,he keeps u in his appartement in secret,stealing supplies for you,letting you use the shower,till you’re ready enough to wander in the vault because it’s safeee! (hes def in love with u)

that’s it bye :3

i finally finished this apologies for the wait🫶 i tweaked the plot a bit and this might be more angsty and smutty than originally expected but in my opinion its pretty good so enjoy and ty again for the request<3

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Two Slow Dancers

When the raiders first attacked 32, your life was forever changed. Going to 33 gave some insight, thanks to one sad-eyed Maclean

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Norm Maclean x f!reader

5.1k words

cw and tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, piv, oral sex (f receiving), light biting, hair pulling, hickeys, love confessions, non-sexual intimacy, blink an you'll miss it lewd sexual harassment-esque comments (not by norm), brief description of panic attack, brief hospitalization from said panic attack, cannon typical descriptions of violence, parental death, the quickest slow burn you will ever read, gratuitous use of song lyrics in a narratively appropriate way ( i snuck a lyric in from two slow dancers by mitski in there so brownie points to you if you find it)

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authors note: hey! sorry this took so fucking long! so much stuff was happening plus laziness plus forgetfulness plus life in general so please forgive me! i really enjoyed writing this request and even though i tweaked your original request a bit i hope you still enjoy it! if i missed any misspellings or i missed something in the tags please lmk! anywho if you enjoy this please send me more requests! (info in pinned post) reblogs are greatly appreciated but please don't translate or repost this anywhere without my permission!

I will never forget that day. The sounds of shots ring out, followed by the useless fizz of tranq guns, skulls shattering against the walls with a now all too familiar crack. I lead my life holding onto aspirations and hope, the thought of a husband, children, of reclamation day. How stupid was I truly, to hold out hope for something like that. Gods, I never thought I would have to worry about anything else.

Until that day dawned, I could have fought and died honorably, my mother did, my father did. I never thought I would ever see my father cry. Nothing could have prepared me for the rageful sob that he let out once they got to my mother–the grief that beat through him with gnashing teeth and blood red rage. I could do nothing but follow my father's orders, dragging my mother and hoping somehow, somewhere, we could be safe.

The boiling hot tears in my eyes made it nearly impossible to see. My hands were occupied, trying to stop the bleeding. Nothing was working, every movement and bit of pressure lathering my hands in crimson. I never thought I would know what death looks like; that day I learned several versions of his ugly face. The endless, malice filled stare of my father, the desperate simpering expression of the children. The most memorable of them being the one that covered my mother.

Pity. A pitiful expression, a soft, challenging smile. She wiped my tears, her dying breath a word of comfort to me. “It's ok, you did what you could baby. It's my time, you need to promise me one thing though. Can you do that?” Anything I nod, slipping my fingers between hers. “Save yourself, make me proud.”

So I ran. I hid. I moved quickly when I needed to, stealing whatever I could from them, breaking into whatever room that had what I needed. I started hearing the footsteps less and less. After a day or two they ceased all together. I could wander freely, the click of my boots the only sound.

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The next few days pass in unimportant washes, each day I discover another body, another busted up apartment, another tragedy. I force myself to move on.

Resources are sparse. The raiders took anything that wasn't directly bolted down it seems. Even that didn't entirely stop them. It quickly became clear that I had no communication with the other vaults, the overseer's computer now a busted hunk of scrap.

Seemingly the only piece of tech they didn't destroy was the control panel to the door connecting us and 33. Oh gods, that means-

They've surely invaded them now too. Against my better judgment, I need to see the proof for myself. With shaking hands I press the button, the door slowly groaning open. A dark hall greets me, the deafening silence of my vault giving the air an eerie tinge that infests every corner of the room. Taking a deep breath, I step inside.

At first, I only hear my own steps. The same sound I have heard for weeks on end. Trudging forward, I start to hear more. Muffled speech, walking, the soundtrack of normalcy. It's not long before I see the creators of this sound. They seem to be true vault dwellers, though I have no evidence that they are. Sure they are wearing the suits of 33, but who knows? Maybe the raiders infiltrated them and decided to take over?

Either way I need to stay vigilant. I'll just do a quick scan for supplies then leave. It'll be ok. I can do this. Following the oddly familiar path I make my way to the pantry. Quickly checking the small glass panel in the door, I see that it's empty. Taking my chance I make my way inside, closing the door behind me silently.

I look at the labels for each of the cabinets. There are plenty of rations, much more than 32 ever had. Certainly more than we have now. Poking around a bit more I decide it's probably a good idea to only grab small amounts. I don't need someone finding me out. Distracted, I don't notice the door click open. That is until I hear the loud rumble of a cart. Drawing my tranq gun, I turn and point it at the unfortunate soul who found me.

Surprise befalls his face, hands going up. The man is rather small. Shorter than me with a slight build. Dark hair plastered into an unnaturally perfect styling. “Who are you?” I demand, my voice deepening as I attempt to intimidate him. He gapes pathetically at me for a few seconds, looking back towards the glass panel in the door, seeing no one in the surrounding halls.

“Norm- Norman Maclean.” he manages to get out, his eyes searching over my expression, looking for something.

“Maclean?” I question, why does that name sound so familiar? “As in overseer Maclean?” That seems to give him some relief, he lets out a held breath, arms sagging slightly.

“Yes! Please don't shoot me,” he says, his voice high pitched, as if he expected me to shoot him then and there.

“Fine,” I say, holstering the gun again. He's probably not dangerous.

Seeing that he lowers his arms, taking a step away from me. His eyes scan me more intensely now, gaze falling on the vault-identifying pin on my collar. Clearly not believing what he was seeing, he backs himself into a wall. “You're- from 32?” he asks, voice quivering slightly, though he was clearly trying to cover it up.

“Shhh,” I chastise, walking towards him, a hand smacking over his mouth in the process. “What's it to you?” He attempts to speak something into my hand, which obviously gets muffled. Moving my hand away he speaks again, in a now quieter tone.

“I thought all of you had died, because of the-” he looks to the side, as if looking at the walls would help sugarcoat his statement. “Raiders,” he completes his statement, crossing his arms defensively.

So he does know about them

“No,” a bitter laugh forces itself out, guarding whatever I had left in me. “I wasn't fortunate enough to.” My face is adorned by a tight-lipped grimace. Looking down I feel tears start to well up again. I force them away.

I look back up. The man's face is no longer defensive, it's almost solemn. His arms now at his side, “I-” he goes to speak, tone sympathetic but whatever pity he had prepared dying on his tongue. “Follow me,” is what he decides on. Wait, follow me? What the hell is he talking about? My internal reaction must have played out on my face, he goes to speak again.

“You need to get some rest, you look like you haven't slept in days.” Wow, rude, although true. “You can stay in my apartment for the time being, I need to tell our council that you're here.” Oh, gods no, what if they kick me out? I broke in! I'm not supposed to be here! My worry kicks up again, the energy filling the room.

“It will be ok, they just need to know, so you don't have to hide.” He places what is probably meant to be a comforting hand on my arm, though he removes it swiftly. Deciding to bite the bullet, I follow him.

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The door opens with a thunk, a home identical to mine in 32 stands before me, identical to what was in 32. “This is it.” He leads me inside with a hand hovering at the small of my back. Not touching, but just enough of a beckoning presence that I instinctively go. It's so clean. It's practically sterile compared to what 32 has been reduced to at this point.

“Make yourself at home, I'll be back soon.” With his last word, he promptly excuses himself. The home is eerily empty, like something is missing. Typical aspects of a lived-in home are present, dirty dishes, a half finished board game on the living room floor. Something distinct is off about it still.

Though, that is not something that is particularly important right now. Following his instructions, I make myself at home. It's been an unfortunate amount of time that I have been forced to go without the typical luxuries that the vaults provide. The luxuries I will not go without for any longer.

A shower being the first thing on that list. Unfortunately I don't have anything different to change into after, my once perfect blue suit now tinted with memories and rusty red stains. But, it will have to do.

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About half an hour later, I hear the distinct thunk of the door opening once more. Stepping out of the bathroom I see him waiting for me, what looks to be some folded regulation pj's and a fresh suit in his hands. “They uh, said you could stay with me for now,” he begins, tone nervous, as if I would turn him down in some way. “I grabbed you some clean clothes. I just took a guess for your size.” Letting out a sigh of relief, I walk forward grabbing the carefully stacked clothes from his arms. Our hands brushing briefly as he hands them over.

“Thank you, really.” My tone is much lighter than earlier today, though still firm, hoping that he would understand the honesty in my statement through it. If he believes me he doesn't show it, his eye contact breaking as he gives me a cordial nod. I return it, walking back into the bathroom to change. The smooth cotton of the t-shirt and the slightly loose sleep shorts give a simple level of comfort. He seems to have guessed correctly, almost impossibly so, when it comes to sizing. The basic outfit somehow looking vaguely flattering on my figure.

Stepping out of the bathroom once again I see that he has busied himself in the kitchen, something popping and sizzling in the pan in front of him. He acknowledges me with a slight turn of his head before going back to his task. Walking around a bit more, I find a collection of holotapes. Every genre you could think of, labeled and organized alphabetically.

Choosing a random one I click it into place on the player. With a press of the button a familiar tune fills the air.

…Everybody loves somebody sometime…

“So,” he says, voice raising over the soft playing of the music. “They want to meet you, the council,” he informs, tone conversational yet careful.

“Oh?” I question, walking over to him.

“Yeah, they uh- want to help you acclimate to the new environment and all.” The stove clicks off, turning around he brandishes two plates with a simple meal, handing one to me before walking over to the table.

“I-” he pauses, rethinking whatever he was about to say. “I think they might, make you talk to them. See them at least,” he says, tone careful. Pushing the food around his plate a bit, he takes a small bite. Them.

“You captured them? The raiders?” There is a bite to my words, accusatory and harsh. “You kept them alive? After all they have done?”

“Unfortunately.” His tone has a similar bitterness. At least he understands where I'm coming from. Walking to the table, I sit across from him, taking a few bites from my meal. Each of our frustrations and anger sizzling out slowly in favor of a comfortable silence. Every once and a while he would attempt to make polite conversation. I of course return it, continuing the conversation when I can. He really is quite nice, funny too. Really is a shame I had to meet him under such harsh circumstances.

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After the meal I offer to clean up out of politeness, he gives a grateful smile when he accepts. The picture was almost domestic, the scent of the sweetpea dish soap and the sound of some old Cooper Howard film in the background. This picture soon became part of a routine. Many would probably question how quickly Norm and I got along, though I don't. After what we have both gone through recently, normalcy is what we crave, and this is about as close as we could get to it.

Days pass, weeks along with them. The comfortable relationship we have formed only continues to get better. The council calls me in every once and a while, trying to figure out what to do with me. Placing me in a job for a while, moving me to another. While my number of attempted jobs aren't quite as impressive as Norm's they're still worth noting. He makes sure to mention this when I start a new one, adding a tally to the board he made on a whim one day.

Eventually they do make me see them. They assured me it would be ok, that I was safe, that nothing could hurt me. They know nothing about hurt. About that pain. Norm, of course, insisted on coming with me. Neither of us knew how much I would need that support.

The walk to the cell was silent. A deafening silence. Far away from the comfortable, peaceful, loving silence I had grown accustomed to with Norm. Getting closer the sounds of fists against metal walls and reinforced glass make themselves known. Peering in, I see them. Not many of them recognize me, nor do I recognize them. Except one.

I will never forget the expression on his face. The pure giddy delight at seeing me again, knowing what he had done. The beady eyes staring me down now, the very same ones that rolled back in almost orgasmic pleasure as he slashed down everyone I had ever known. His face still splattered with specks of the now crusted over blood of my mother. A scar on his neck now healing over, gifted to him by my father.

He walks slowly over to the window, holding eye contact with me as a sneer covers his face. Licking his rotted teeth he looks me up and down leisurely. Assessing me like I'm a piece of meat. I feel Norm tense beside me, his jaw clenching in anger. The raider looks to him and laughs, a loud, hacking laugh. “Come to visit me? Well ain't that just sweet. Your little lapdog there looks like he's ‘bout to burst a blood vessel.”

Truly he did, but he continued to hold his tongue. The piece of shit in the cell just turned his attention back to me anyway. “You know you look just like your mama? Pretty thing she was, your daddy didn't let me take a bite outta’ her but he's not here to keep you safe now is he?” That strikes a nerve, as hard as I might try to suppress it, I can't stop it. My eye twitches as I attempt to force back an onslaught of tears.

Noticing this, Norm places a comforting hand on my back, “We're done here.” His tone is firm, about as close to threatening as he can get. With a small push he leads me back down the hall. Though of course that fucker had to have the last word, lewd comments and insinuations of violence following us. As soon as they dissipated everything came crashing down. My legs crumble beneath me, heart thumping in my chest like I had just run a marathon. My diaphragm crushes my chest from the inside, constricting my breathing further. I hear blood rush to my ears, vision spotting. The last thing I see is Norm, his panicked expression as he holds the back of my head. It all goes black.

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“Please wake up please.” My eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar voice catching my attention. My back is stiff, the bed beneath me having only a thin mat-like excuse for a mattress. Bright fluorescents blind me, forcing me to turn my head to the side. Then I see him, sitting in a regulation chair, half bent over. Perfectly quaffed hair now rumpled, natural waves making their presence known. A few lone tear tracks are left on his face. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, ever-present bags under them deeper than usual.

“You look awful,” I say, voice still laced with a cotton-mouthed raspiness. That catches his attention, Looking up to meet my eyes, he lets out a breathy laugh. Pulling his chair closer to the bed he clasps his hand in mine, using the other to push his mess of hair off of his face.

“I feel it, good to know I'm giving off the right image.” A small smile works its way onto my face. He mirrors it, squeezing my hand. As much as I enjoyed the peaceful joy of the moment, there is a nagging question hanging in the air.

“What happened?” While my question did dampen the mood, he nods, giving me my answer.

“They said you probably had a panic attack, you passed out and I brought you here.” The memories of what transpired flood back, if not for the comforting weight of his hand in mine, I would have been swallowed whole by them. “They cleared you to leave, if you want to go home.”

Home. I want nothing more.

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The weeks following my hospital stay, Norm became more doteing than ever. I was not allowed to cook a single meal, make a pot of coffee, or clean up around the house. Really anything he could reasonably convince me of. Not that I was complaining. Something about the recent events must have struck him in some way. While he was always open about his past and the unfortunate things that had happened since the raiders, he truly started to bare his heart to me.

It just makes me wish I had known him longer. It would be a hundred times easier if we were young again. Starting fresh. Though, I could not be happier with how we have gotten to grow together. It's funny how long it took for us to realize our affections for each other. To identify the source of the pang in my heart when he smiled, the swell in his when I laughed.

This all culminated one night. Dinner had been cooked, eaten, and cleaned up. The credits of A Man and His Dog scrolling on the Tv. With a small sigh I get off the couch, turning off the Tv, and waltzing over to the holotape player, putting on one of my favorites.

… I don't want to set the world on fire…

Humming along with the music I walk over to Norm, grabbing at his hands and attempting to haul him up from the couch. “Come on dance with me,” I coo, putting on my best guilt-tripping doe eyes. With a huff, and a sarcastic eye roll he gets up, allowing me to drag him to the open space near the player. “You know,” I begin, grabbing his hand, “to dance you actually have to move.”

“Do I really?” he jokes back, his free hand going to the small of my back.

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, my other hand going to the back of his neck, cradling it as we begin to sway to the music.

… In my heart I have but one desire…

Sighing, I lean closer into him. A familiar ache finding itself in my chest. The lyrics of the song spell it out perfectly to an almost cliché level. Mirroring my own actions, he pulls me farther into him, delicately leaning his head across my shoulder. “Thank you,” I say, my tone is soft, almost unsure.

“For what?”

… I just want to be the one you love…

“For everything, for giving me a place that feels like home.” He makes a small sound of acknowledgement, squeezing me just a little tighter. “For being a person that feels like home,” I tack on, leaning my head against his.

“You don't have to thank me,” he says, almost absentmindedly. “I don't know what I would do without you at this point,” he says, a half laugh poorly covering the honesty in his statement.

And with your admission that you feel the same…

Letting out a hum of agreement, I throw caution to the wind. Placing a gentle kiss to his temple, I allow myself more. More of him, more of what I need. Raising his head from my shoulder in surprise he looks up to me, desire swirling in his eyes. “Please,” he whines, with a laugh I bring my lips to his, pausing just before they meet.

“Don't have to ask me twice,” I joke, finally locking our lips together.

… I don't want to set the world on fire, honey. I love you too much…

He returns my kiss straight away, whining something unintelligible into it. The saccharin sweet taste of Nuka Cola invades my senses. Deepening the kiss I run my tongue along the seam of his lips, asking for permission. Allowing me in, the kiss becomes mostly tongue and teeth. Removing my hand from his I place it on his hip, squeezing I begin to lead him back. My subconscious bringing us down the path to his bedroom.

… Darlin’ I have only one desire. And that one desire is you…

As soon as we are over the threshold of the doorway, both of us are in a rush to feel eachother skin to skin. Boots and socks toed off before either of us could get a breath in. He quickly unzips my suit, forcing the material down and off of me. My hands soon do the same. With a lonesome whine he breaks our kiss, running his hand across my waist he looks up at me with an expression of pure need. “Gods, you are gorgeous,” he professed, placing a languid trail of kisses along my neck and collarbone.

Taking hold of me, he turns us, pushing me back onto the bed. After a moment, in which he looks to be mostly admiring, he joins me on the bed. Scooting back, I lay against the pillows positioned at his headboard. Grabbing his wrist, I pull him up to meet me. One of my hands goes to the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine once again.

The kiss is slow, passion dripping from the soft pillows of his lips. His hands work their way behind my back, undoing the clasps of my bra. Bringing his hands to my front again, he guides the straps off my arms, returning them to their original position after. Tossing the bra away, his hands busy themselves. Palms run across my stomach, moving up my torso to cup my breasts.

Squeezing softly, a thumb rubs across one of my nipples, the bud hardening to a peak. Breaking the kiss, he moves down my body, leaving light nips in his path until his face is even with my chest. Looking up to me he gives me a pleading expression, clearly asking for permission. With my nod, he quickly gets to work. His warm mouth envelopes one of my nipples, his tongue flicking at it. The sensation causing pleasure to spark, the feeling traveling downwards.

My hips buck up, independent from my body. Though, he pushes them back down with one of his hands. He releases from my breast with a pop, leaving a soft kiss on the side before swapping to the other. Sucking desperately, his hips begin to grind against mine, his hardness pressing against me with the subtlety of a freight train.

The hand that was currently occupied on my hip leisurely trails itself to my core. Middle and ring fingers pressing into the fabric. Finding the thin cotton to already be soaked through, he lets out a hum of surprise, pulling off my breast. He looks up, eyes filled with excitement, the silent question present as well.

“All for you, pretty boy,” I inform, letting out a giggle at how quickly he moves to remove my underwear, tossing it somewhere in the room. With an air of urgency, his hands venture down my body. Though, they stop every inch or so to give an appreciative squeeze. His lips follow the path, leaving a soft kiss or a teasing bite. Once his face is even with my core, he lets out a sigh of contentment.

Pulling my thighs apart, he settles between them, tossing my legs to rest on his shoulders. “All for me huh?” he asks, a teasing tone interwoven into his speech. Looking up to me, he begins his path down my inner thigh, his eyes stay locked on mine the whole way down. Though, he breaks once he finally gets to where I need him most. Breathing deeply, his eyes roll back. Placing a delicate kiss on my pubic bone, at long last, he indulges.

Two fingers move to separate my folds, the wetness there coating them. A satisfied groan racks itself through his body, fulfilling his ultimate need, he finally places his mouth on me. Flattening his tongue, he releases a whine, arms wrapping around my thighs, pulling me even closer.

“Fuck- just like that.” The firm strokes of his tongue start to push me towards the familiar edge. Waves crashing deep inside of me, another round of wetness releasing. His hips stutter into the mattress, his desperation becoming painfully obvious. With a well-timed grind of my hips, he slips his tongue inside of me. The bridge of his nose presses against my clit, the sensation causing me to clench around him.

The waves begin crashing harder, forcing me closer and closer to the precipice. His pace doesn't falter once, edging me closer and closer by the second. My hands tighten, fisting the sheets below me. It isn't enough, bringing one to his head, my nails scratch his scalp lightly before grasping firmly at the roots of his hair. The moan that he lets out against me is sensual, like nothing pleases him more than the light, stinging pain I'm currently inflicting on him.

With a new found ferocity, he moves to suction his lips around my clit, suckling lightly as his middle finger prods at my entrance. It slides in without a lick of resistance, which he seems quite pleased by. He thrusts the single finger in a few times, his ring finger joining it soon after. Curling his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, the gradual crashing of the waves begins to spark into more.

The tips of his fingers press diligently against the spongy spot inside of me, forcing me to the edge. Sooner than I ever imagined, I was forced off of it. My eyes drag themselves closed, stars exploding behind them. My grip on his hair only gets firmer, which he seems all too pleased about. The consistent thrusts of his fingers and flicks of his tongue working me through it, only stopping once I pull his face away.

The entire lower half of his face is covered in my essence, his expression is divine. Lips reddened and plump, eyes dazed and pupils blown out. “Fuck, I love you,” he confesses, voice thick with both lust and honesty. I don't know if it was his confession, or the pure need for him deep within me, but I pull him up to me. Crashing my lips onto his I taste myself, grabbing at him urgently wherever I can reach.

“I love you too,” I breathe out, breaking the kiss briefly. My wandering hand makes its way down his body, finding the heavy tent in his pants. He whines, hips pressing forward into where my hand is cradled. I pull his head back, forcing him to look me in the eye. “Now fuck me like you need to prove it.”

Taking that as an order, he gives me a quick peck before kicking off his boxers. Reaching forward towards my head, he grabs a pillow, lifting my hips to place it under. Using his already slick fingers, he grabs hold of himself, rubbing the tip against me lightly before easing it in. Inch by inch my core swallows him down until he is buried to the hilt.

He pulses inside me, though Norm is clearly holding himself back. He nearly chokes on his own spit as he steadies himself with my hips. With an impatient mewl and circle of my hips, he gets the message to get on with it. His pelvis smacks into mine, the pace he set being slow, but intentionally firm. His fingers curl into the fat of my upper thighs, the pressure enough to leave bruises. Something that neither of us seem to mind.

He makes a small adjustment in his posture, sliding my hips up just slightly. The small change creates an ocean of impact. The slight upward curve of him now hitting perfectly inside of me on every stroke. My moans uptick, getting louder as they mingle with his own. The exquisite sensation reawakens the crashing of waves. Noticing this change in my demeanor, he moves one of his hands to my center, his thumb rubbing short circles on my clit.

His eyes are half lidded now, glazed over with lust, though his gaze could not be more loving. Giving him a lopsided smile I pull him close to me again, his head now cradled to my shoulder. The proximity gives me delicious access to his neck. Placing a few sloppy kisses, I latch on, my teeth sinking carefully into the flesh.

He lets out a guttural moan, a trail of mindless whimpers and mewls following. Breaking away for a moment I softly lick, soothing the now irritated skin. “P-Please, more- please,” he manages to whine out. His hips stutter for a moment before picking up again, his pace faster now. Smiling against him, I fulfill his wish.

Latching on again I suck a deep bruise into his skin. Moving down, I place another on his collar bone. The stimulation motivating him to pick up his pace even more. Reluctantly he leans back, allowing himself to reach deeper. This new deeper angle forces me to recognize the sparks deep in my stomach, the intensity of them catching up quicker than before.

I go to tell him, though he shakes his head, silencing me. “I know, I am too,” he establishes through a groan. The circles on my clit get faster and sloppier, shoving me closer and closer to the edge as every moment passes. I whine out his name, falling off the edge again.

He follows just behind me, thrusts deep and sure as he pulses inside of me, releasing himself, the pleasurable warmth of it consuming my being. He falls forward, catching himself, he falls to my side. An arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him, he cuddles into the crook of my neck. A sigh of contentment is shared between us.

I can definitely get used to this.

[sjsmith56]

The Flame Burns From Within, Part 1 - Negotiations

Summary: The arrival of three strangers at the castle of Ser Anthony of House Stark, signals the start of negotiations for the hand of his niece, Lady Arden Worth.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Lady Arden (OFC, described), Lord James Barnes, Ser Anthony Stark, Lady Stark, His Highness, the Duke of Long Isle, Steven Rogers, Ser Samuel Wilson.

Warnings: Age gap (OFC is 21 while Lord Barnes is 32. She would be considered old for her first marriage during this time period). Description of the status of women in the 15th century as property, description of the death of Lady Arden’s parents, arranged marriage.

Author notes: Set in the 15th century AU where America is a sovereign kingdom. Spain has only recently returned to Catholic control after some time of being a part of the Moors empire (they were Islamic). It would take some time for the remaining Muslims to leave or convert to Catholicism. AI image in banner created by author using MS Copilot app in Designer mode. Borders found at vecteezy.com.

Part 1 - Negotiations

Lady Arden

The gates to the courtyard opened and the delegation from the Citadel were welcomed into the keep of my uncle's castle. I watched their arrival from the window of my chambers, as my presence wouldn't be needed until later, after the three men who rode in were formally welcomed by my uncle and legal guardian, Ser Anthony of House Stark. Ever since my parents died of the wasting disease when I was still a child, he had overseen my preparation for life as the lady of a great lord. Unlike some of the fathers and guardians of other young women of my ilk, he had been rather progressive towards my education. Where others had been taught to walk and speak with grace, while learning the arts of needlework, music and art, my uncle had made sure I could do all of those, plus ride a horse, handle a sword, learn foreign languages, read and write more than just my name, and above all else, to carry myself as one who was as capable as any man. It was certainly not the usual life of a young woman.

My uncle had his reasons for my unusual upbringing; some of which he shared with me. Where other young women of my stature were being married off to whomever was politically in favour, in addition to receiving a generous dowry, my uncle was more interested in a particular man to become my husband. Lord James Barnes of the Citadel was his goal; a consummate warrior, well educated, able to speak several languages due to his travels, and the most powerful lord of our region. He had already been sought as husband for any number of simpering brides that didn't interest him. Rumours circulated by the unsuccessful families seeking to install their daughters as his lady said that he was a lover of men, or was damaged in body and spirit by his travels in dangerous lands, but my uncle had heard through unofficial sources that he preferred an accomplished woman to become his consort, as he saw value in intelligence above all else. By promoting my unconventional education, my uncle was certain that word of me would eventually reach the ears of those at the Citadel whose task it was to find a suitable mate for the great lord. That day had finally come.

That's not to say there weren't bumps in the road to this occasion. There are always men who want what they see as different or even exotic. Before I turned 14 my uncle was being offered great wealth for the promise of an engagement with any number of eligible sons. Several great houses in our land, Walker, Rumlow, Pierce, even Dreykov in the Russian region far to the east across the sea, had amped up the pressure for my uncle to accept one of their own as my future husband, but he wouldn't even entertain the offers that came over the years. It was some time before he shared that his goal was to align his house with the Citadel, and nothing less would interest him.

As I approached my 21st birthday, an age considered old for marriage, rumours began of my own shortcomings as a prospective bride. It was said I was vain, unattractive, too heavy, too thin, too unhealthy, defective in mind and spirit, even that I was barren due to the wasting disease that had killed my parents but had spared me. Knowing I was none of those, I always held my head high. At public occasions I was visible, open, and friendly with those around me. I acted as I had been taught; that I had a place in society, and it would be one of influence no matter if I were the wife of a great lord or not.

Thus, the arrival of the three men from the Citadel on that cool autumn afternoon was proof that my uncle had properly read the situation. It was clear that I was of interest to the most powerful lord, seen as an important counsellor for the next king himself. As the three men dismounted, they stood in their travelling cloaks, heads still covered, removing their gloves and, in the way of men of action, taking note of their surroundings. I could see that they assessed the guard complement in the keep, while searching the walls of the castle itself to see if their arrival had been noted. That is when one of them pulled his hood back, revealing a bearded man of dark-hair and eyes of blue like the ocean. He made eye contact with me from his place in the courtyard. A hint of a smile crossed his face then I stepped away from the window when he turned to his companions. His looks matched the description of Lord Barnes, but it was unusual for the head of a great house to personally attend the negotiations for a marriage. Until I was summoned for dinner, I wouldn't find out who he actually was.

My aunt, a strong and confident woman in her own right, sought entry to my chambers shortly after the arrival of the three men. She entered with a complement of maidservants, intent on preparing and dressing me in a way that emphasized my best features. With my tall build and red hair, that I was born with, the colour of which had only deepened over the years of my existence, there wasn't much else to be done to make me more visible. I had drawn attention from many sources my whole life. Even my name, Arden, was different as it meant "little and fiery." Although I was no longer little, I was often referred to as the Flame of the Forest, for I usually took my daily ride there with my hair unencumbered by coverings.

After much fussing over the various dresses, they chose a blue one, trimmed with lace and a brocade border. Its full sleeves ended at a wide brocade cuff. My hair, left long, was brushed until it gleamed, then a portion was twisted and fastened at the back of my head. My colouring was usually high, so no additional applications of powder, charcoal or berries were needed to accentuate my features. By all the accounts of my uncle's inquiries, Lord Barnes was known to prefer a natural appearance. Regardless, as my aunt regarded my appearance she smiled in approval.

"If they don't acknowledge your physical appearance, they are blind," she said, with authority. "You are a vision, Arden."

"Did you see their arrival?" I asked. "There were three and one fit Lord Barnes' description."

"Yes, but I was not presented to them when they entered so I cannot confirm that gentleman was him," she answered. "I will be presented to them in the great hall then you will be sent for."

"May I wait in the library?"

It was my favourite place in the castle. When my uncle first discovered me in there after taking me into his care, he could have sent me away but apparently, I offered him a book and asked that he read it to me. Seeing the title, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, my uncle took it as a sign of my innate intelligence and determined then that I would be educated in the same manner as any young man of high standing. In that sanctuary, I spent many hours reading of far-off lands, great heroes, and tragic loves.

With my aunt's approval, I relocated to the library and pulled out the copy of The Canterbury Tales, one of less than a hundred in existence according to the Bishop, as they were hand lettered and illuminated by monks who spent weeks or even months creating them. The time and effort it took to create a book meant the possession of more than a handful was a sign of great wealth. Our library had hundreds. This book was a favourite of mine and I sat down at a table in the late afternoon sun. I had only been there a brief time when I heard the door open. Assuming it was my aunt, I closed the book and stood up to return it to its proper place. Instead, it was the dark-haired man who entered, dressed in richly brocaded clothing. At his discovery of my presence, he bowed his head briefly.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady." He spoke in a voice that was deep and rich. "Ser Anthony did not say anyone would be in here."

I curtsied to acknowledge him. "He was unaware of my presence here," I answered. "I sought some comfort from Chaucer."

He approached and extended his hand to receive the book, looking fondly at the title.

"Which one is your favourite?" he asked.

"The Wife of Bath's Tale, of course," I smiled then spoke freely. "I have been raised to believe that I am equal to any man but not all men believe the same. It is my hope to be blessed with a husband who freely gives me my sovereignty."

He smiled warmly. "It is one that I enjoy reading as well, although I am not meek, or submissive. I take it that you are the Lady Arden. I am James Barnes, Lord of the Citadel. I am at your service, my Lady. It was you in the window overlooking the courtyard, was it not?"

"It was, sir," I replied. "I was curious about you accompanying your courtiers for the negotiations. That is why you are here, is it not?"

He seemed amused. "You are correct that my travelling companions will undertake the negotiations on my behalf. I accompanied them to meet the Flame of the Forest herself. Word of your beauty has travelled far and contrary to the rumours which swirl around us both, I am pleased to find that the positive reports are quite true." He opened the book and glanced inside. "Your education appears to be superior to other women of your status if you find comfort in a library. Your skills on a horse and with a sword are also based on truth, according to my sources."

I could have been elevated by his declarations, but I wasn't, not completely. Even though it was proof of my uncle's contention that I would be of interest to this handsome and powerful man, there was still a part of me that remained wary. At that moment, the door opened, and a servant announced to Lord Barnes that Ser Anthony wished to present his wife and niece. He then announced that I was to present myself in the Great Hall. Looking at the shelf, Barnes immediately spotted the place where the book belonged and returned it to its spot. Then he bowed graciously to me and left. With a breath to calm myself I exited the space and stood at the top of the stairs for a moment before descending.

Lord Barnes was already at the bottom of the large staircase, with his travelling companions, a man with dark blond hair and a darker beard, and a man of Moorish descent, both dressed as he was, in fine clothing as befit their stations. Although I didn't know who the blond man was, the other was well known as one befriended by Barnes on his journeys in the Spanish peninsula. Taking the Christian name of Samuel Wilson, he had become famous throughout our kingdom for his chivalry. All three men watched me closely as I descended alone down the great stone staircase, no doubt to assess the grace of my movements. As the wife of a powerful lord, I would constantly be looked upon as a symbol of his house. My comportment would be seen as either a benefit to his stature or a hindrance to it. When I reached the bottom, my uncle smiled and extended his hand to me.

"May I present my niece, Lady Arden Worth," he said simply. "Lady Arden, may I introduce you to Lord James Barnes, of the Citadel, his Highness, Steven Rogers, the Duke of Long Isle, and their trusted friend, Ser Samuel Wilson."

The blond man was Steven Rogers, the Duke, grandson of the king and third in line for the throne. No wonder Barnes seemed amused when I described him as a courtier. That alone required a deeper curtsy than what I gave Lord Barnes in the library.

"My Lady," said Barnes, taking my hand to raise me from my lowered position. "The Duke is here as my closest friend and has agreed to act as a negotiator for the marriage arrangement. May I escort you to the dining hall?"

To refuse would have been considered rude so I placed my hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead me to the dining hall. The Duke escorted my aunt, which was puzzling, since he should have led us all, considering he was of the higher echelon of nobility. My uncle and Ser Samuel brought up the rear of the party. Footmen pulled our chairs out, then assisted in pushing them closer to the table as we settled. I noticed the arrangement of cutlery in our places, a knife and fork, specifically. Although I had been exposed to using them it was still surprising as most of the nobility thought that forks were an affectation of the Italians; a sign of hubris that they were too proud to dirty their fingers as they ate. In our nation most of the nobility dispensed with any utensils, other than using a knife to spear a portion of fowl, or roast, then bite into it with their teeth and allow the juices to run over their faces and onto their clothing. It was obvious by how our guests used their utensils to cut the meat into smaller bites, that they were well used to eating in the new fashion.

"You were successful in finding my library, Lord Barnes?" asked my uncle.

"I was Ser Anthony," he replied. "A fine library at that. You must spend many pleasant hours there."

"When I have the time. Lady Arden is there often. She has likely read everything in there at least once, even the texts in French or Latin."

"Is that true?" he asked me in French. "You are fluent in those two languages?"

I answered him in French. "Yes, in Spanish and Italian, also. My uncle invested a lot of money in language tutors."

He said nothing about our meeting in the library, but he looked at my uncle with a degree of surprise and approval. Apparently, four additional languages were more than he was expecting. The look exchanged between Lord Barnes, the Duke, and Ser Samuel was subtle but telling. I had the feeling that even with the reports they had commissioned about my attributes I was still something of a mystery.

After dinner, my uncle disappeared into the library with the Duke and Ser Samuel with the intent of beginning the negotiations. My aunt went up to help settle my cousins for bed. That left me and Lord Barnes alone.

"Is there a garden where we can walk before it gets dark?"

"There is."

I led him out to the formal gardens, walking along the gravelled path between the displays of hyacinths and mums which were still blooming. The trees, which were casting off their green colour, were displaying some yellow, red, and orange hues. As the sun approached the horizon, the golden light it projected lent a soft glow to everything. We stopped at a pond briefly, then the wind came up and I shivered. Although it had warmed slightly since Lord Barnes arrival, I wore only a shawl over my dress, not enough to stay warm as it darkened.

"We should return to the castle," he said. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on my account."

"As you wish, my Lord," I answered, mindful of his superior status. "There is a small conservatory in the castle, with a fireplace where we can keep warm and still enjoy the plants around us."

He agreed to go there and by the time we arrived a fire had been lit, and a tray with a decanter of wine and two metal goblets were on a table. As I sat, he poured out some for each of us, then joined me on a padded bench built into the wall near the fireplace.

"To your good health," he said, before sipping his drink

"And to yours," I replied, sipping my own. "You know this is unusual. Allowing us to be alone."

"I requested it. Too many of my peers have arranged their marriages through intermediaries without meeting until the wedding day. Both parties experienced disappointment more often than not. I vowed never to make that mistake." He gazed steadily at me. "If there is anything you wish to ask me, I am open to your inquiries."

"Where have you travelled?" It was something I was genuinely interested in, having never left the country myself.

"I have been as far east as Greece, to the northern shore of Africa, Italy, Spain, France and Brittania. There have been journeys north of our kingdom, but it is still mostly wilderness and those who have lived there for eons are not the friendliest, with reason considering how our ancestors first treated them. The Northmen still have settlements there and have a truce with the original inhabitants. We do have trading relationships with the Northmen, as you know. Most of my travels was accompanying the Duke as his Majesty desired to know those who have the closest relationships with our country. We met Ser Samuel in the portion of Spain that had recently thrown off Moorish control. He agreed to stay with us as we found each other's company engaging. Since his Arabic name of Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky, was often mispronounced by those who were unfamiliar saying it, he asked for a Christian name to go by while he travelled our lands. The name Samuel in Arabic means prophet and seer. Wilson was suggested as a common last name. It has made his travels here easier. When he returns ... if he returns, he will revert to his given name."

There was a lot of information in his answer, but he obviously found value in knowing about the people in other realms. Placing his goblet down, he picked up the poker and adjusted the wood in the fireplace, as if he were used to taking care of such things himself. He sat next to me again.

"Have you travelled?"

"Alas, no, although I have read many accounts of different journeys, such as those of Marco Polo, The Travels of John Mandeville, and others. I have great admiration for the women who journeyed with Eleanor of Aquitaine to the Holy Lands. I wish someone had thought to document their journey."

"As my wife I would request that you accompany me on my travels," he mentioned. "It would be your choice but the alternative would be spending a significant amount of time apart, which is not conducive to marital harmony."

"What about children? Travelling with an infant would be an issue, wouldn't it?"

"Depends on the destination."

We were quiet again, with only the crackle of the fire to listen to. When the moon's glow appeared through the window, Lord Barnes stood up and turned to me.

"I believe I will retire now. May I request the honour of riding with you tomorrow?"

I stood up. "Of course. I usually ride in the morning an hour after breakfast. If that is acceptable to you."

"It is."

He bowed to me and left, leaving me puzzled to his sudden and arbitrary departure. My aunt arrived shortly after, and we returned to my chambers where she questioned me on what Lord Barnes and I spoke about.

Lord Barnes

As I walked to my chambers, I reflected on the time spent with Lady Arden. Her beauty was unmatched by any other woman I had ever seen. How Ser Anthony had managed to keep her isolated enough to avoid a kidnapping and forced marriage I will never know but it was imperative that we formalize our marriage as soon as possible. Since I first glimpsed her in the window, then spoke with her in the library, I had been unable to think rationally of anything or anyone else. Steven and Samuel were already in my chambers on my arrival, having ceased the negotiations at moonrise, which prompted my departure from the conservatory. They both turned to me as I entered and bolted the door, then checked the hidden passageway for listening servants. Steven handed me a goblet of wine.

"Well?" I looked at both expectantly. Steven answered.

"She is the only survivor of the House of Forrest. Ser Anthony confirmed it. She was brought to him by the housekeeper of the House Forrest, after they were attacked by the forces of House Pierce. Of course, they were not wearing the insignia, but she recognized several faces as Pierce's men. Lady Forrest pressed her daughter into the care of that woman, and they escaped via a secret passage that let them out a mile away. Even in the passageway she could hear as Pierce's men slaughtered the entire family. You know he would have taken her to keep for one of his sons, or his nephews and cement his acquisition of their lands."

"It was he who said he made a social call the following day and found the family dead of the wasting disease. Then he burned their castle to purify it and took their lands for himself, although he calls it a stewardship until the missing heir is found." I was angry at such villainy. "She doesn't know the truth, does she?"

"No, upon the housekeeper's arrival, Stark swore her to secrecy and claimed the child was his orphaned niece. She believes she is the daughter of his sister, Lady Worth and Ser Louis of House Worth from a sudden bout of the wasting disease. His position as godfather to Lady Arden guided him in her upbringing. It was her father's wish she be given every opportunity to be as educated as well as possible. He is aware of the betrothal document which is why he indicated his preference for your favour. That was late in being made known as he was under the impression for some time that you were aligned with House Pierce."

I looked at Samuel for his opinion. "That is understandable. You feel his vow of fealty to House Barnes is now honestly offered?"

"I do. Ser Anthony is a rare individual. He is a man of truth and honour, and both he and Lady Stark love the young woman as much as one of their own. His dowry request is for her benefit, not his, so that she is independently wealthy in the event of your death. Otherwise, he only requests an alliance with the Citadel. It may be that he fears reprisals if Pierce realizes the true identity of Lady Arden so would require the strength of your garrison to protect him and his family."

"Accept his terms. We'll read the banns as soon as possible, then I will apply for a marriage license so that the normal time period can be waived. As soon as it is approved, I will send for her to come to the Citadel for the marriage ceremony. With luck, we can be married after a fortnight. If there are any objections, then I can produce the original betrothal contract between our parents."

Steven placed a hand on my arm. "It will come to pass, Buck. I have faith."

"I hope you're right," I replied, draining my goblet. "Now that I have seen her, I cannot think of ever marrying another woman. By the way, we're going riding tomorrow, so we'll have to stay another night since you'll be engaged in negotiations during the day."

"Alone?" Steven and Samuel smirked at each other. "Is that wise?"

"We were alone this evening when we walked in the garden and when we sat in the conservatory, drinking wine. I'm a changed man. No more brothels or courtesans for me. A woman of her quality deserves a husband who will remain steadfast and faithful. It is my intention to be that type of husband for her."

"If you say so," remarked Steven, draining his wine. "Come Samuel, let's leave Lord Barnes to have sweet dreams of the Lady Arden."

I gave him a rude gesture then locked the door behind them. As I disrobed, I felt encouraged by their report. When our spy in Pierce's castle brought us proof of his part in the death of Lady Arden's parents, I knew the day was coming for the man's part in many similar incidents. He amassed his wealth and power by undermining the rule of law we were all supposed to live under. Even if it wasn't his men who performed all his suspected crimes, his alliances with the Walker and Rumlow houses meant he had them as his accomplices and co-conspirators. With his end game believed to be an attempt on the throne, we needed to be careful not to tip our hand too soon.

The following morning, we took breakfast with the Stark family, and I met the younger children, three daughters. The oldest was dark, like her father, while the other two resembled their mother with their fairer features. They were very well behaved, and I observed Lady Arden's interaction with them, curious about her suitability as a mother. They seemed fond of each other, and it was obvious that they were also being raised in the same manner as Lady Arden had been, for they spoke extensively of stories they wrote for each other's pleasure. They spoke French and Italian easily, making each other laugh. Their commentary was enjoyable, even bringing grins to Steven and Samuel's faces. The oldest child, Morgan, dared to ask Samuel about his childhood in Spain, then listened with rapt attention as he told her about his first time hunting with a falcon under his control.

When the meal was finished, Ser Anthony and my two friends repaired to the library to continue the marriage negotiations. Lady Arden excused herself to prepare for her daily horseback ride, agreeing to meet me in the courtyard of the keep. With the order given to prepare both of our horses I returned to my chambers to change into something more suitable for riding. I went out to check my horse, and found the care given to Soldier since our arrival the day before was exemplary. His coat gleamed in the warm sunlight. As always, he greeted me with affection, brushing his head against mine, then searching for the apple I usually gave him. The stable master offered me one and I broke it in two, feeding the pieces to him separately.

"He is a fine stallion," said Lady Arden's voice, behind me. "It is rare to find a fully black horse without a white patch somewhere on his body. Have you bred him yet?"

"Aye, he has sired a dozen foals in the past two years," I answered, before turning to look at her. For a moment, no words came out of my mouth as I took in what she was wearing. "This is your usual riding attire?"

She grinned and looked down at the short knee length skirt, and knee-high leather boots she wore. On her upper body she wore a tunic under a jacket that was styled in the same manner as a man's. It was scandalous but it also allowed her to have greater control over her horse. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back, brilliant in its colour that reminded me of a sunset or a smouldering flame.

"Do you disapprove?" she asked, almost daring me to forbid her from leaving the keep.

"No, it suits you," I answered, truthfully. I gestured to her horse, a beautiful grey mare. "Do you require assistance to get on?"

"A hand up, please," she answered.

Lacing my hands together, I boosted her up after she put her boot into them. She easily mounted the rest of the way, and I realized the many folds of her skirt hid the fact they were cut like trousers. It gave her as much control over her horse as a man would have. I mounted my horse and signalled to her to lead the way. With a nod to the stable master, we left the keep and began with an easy canter towards a wooded area. She slowed up once we were well out of eyesight. Looking back at me, she waited for me to ride beside her.

"You go out on your own?" I asked. "Are you not afraid of being accosted?"

"I can defend myself," she answered, then reached into her boot and pulled out a long knife, flipping it over in her hand before reinserting it. "Minerva is fast and can outrun almost any horse in the area."

I wondered if she would be so unconcerned with her personal safety if she knew who she really was, but it wouldn't be my place to tell her until we were married, so I kept my observation to myself. As we rode, I took time to scan our surroundings. It was evident why she chose this area. There were many trees already covered in the finery of autumn. The reds, golds, and oranges were everywhere. Whenever a breeze came up, we were showered with the leaves pulled from the branches. It was peaceful and, in her company, I found myself relaxing just enough to forget the affairs of state.

At one point, she glanced at me then nudged her horse into a gallop. I watched with admiration as her hair flew behind her, proving the moniker Flame of the Forest. She was beautiful and magnificent, and if I had my way, she would be my wife in just over a fortnight. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would be safe from those who wanted her for their own purposes.

Note about The Wife of Bath’s Tale. It recounts the story of a knight who is accused of rape. He is given a year to find out what it is women most desire, in order to spare his life. An old crone says she will tell him if he agrees to her request. He agrees and she tells him that women desire sovereignty over their own lives more than anything. When he offers the answer to the courts he is spared and he returns to the old crone to fulfill her request. She demands that he marries her. Since he is a knight and is bound by his oath he agrees. In bed on their wedding night she asks if he would like an old ugly wife who is faithful or a beautiful one who is faithless. He leaves the decision to her, declaring himself bound to it. For his honesty and concession to her she becomes beautiful and faithful, and they live happily as husband and wife.

Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky - From Google Translate

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[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 4

Part 5/25 | Also of Ao3

A friend suggested that I start a taglist for this fic (you're the sweetest @queercontrarian), which I'd never even thought to do, but if you'd like to be included, please let me know :)

Eris

Since the ceremony, Eris had not dropped Matilda’s hand. He let the warmth from her touch heat through his palm and up his forearms, just like the ribbon for the ceremony twining around both their wrists. He did his best to point out who people were to her, and she nodded each time, seeming to truly take in all he was saying. Every time her sparkling eyes met his, he felt the breath whoosh from his lungs as though it had been stolen out of him. A few times, she’d smirked at him, almost as though she could tell how affected he was. 

Let her see, he thought. 

He kept hoping to steal her away for a moment to get to know more about her, but they were repeatedly accosted by the simpering nobles of Autumn, wishing to express their best wishes. While he had assumed he’d be the one fielding all of the bombardment of sucking up, Matilda took the reins as often as he did. She was practiced in the ways of the noble families, he remembered, and she parried the interests of these snobby aristocrats with ease. Her voice sounded like a melody in his ears each time she spoke, and he found himself squeezing her hand even more tightly in his. 

As they made their way through the crowds, he leaned down to her ear to point out each of the High Lords to her, paying special attention to the Night Court. 

“They will likely not approach us until we’re at the table with the family, if they do at all. That’s the way of all the High Lords and their inner courts. My father pretty much openly dislikes all courts, but he holds a special dislike for Night.” She nodded again, taking in the figures of Rhysand and Feyre across the room. It appeared they’d left the rest of their entourage behind this evening. Good choice. Rhysand shot a wolfish smile in their direction, and Matilda simply lifted a brow at him in response, Eris noted with delight. 

She’s incredible. 

When it was time for them to return to the head table to partake in the feast with the rest of the royal family of Autumn, the two took their seats next to each other and settled in. Eris had to use every bit of willpower to slam that mask back into place in his family’s presence. He tried to shut down every thought, every thread of hope that wound through him, every bit of warmth that he’d drawn from Matilda. For her safety, he must appear to think of her as nothing more than another responsibility thrust upon him. Any hint of affection would be an open invitation for Beron to ruin his life in an entirely different and more creatively horrid way. He hadn’t anticipated caring so much about whether or not Matilda understood this mask of indifference he wore. He gave her hand a final squeeze beneath the table and hoped desperately that she would. 

“Well, son, you certainly won’t have any trouble bedding this one.” Beron said over a forkful of food. He could feel Matilda stiffen beside him, but her face belied nothing but demure submission. She cast her eyes down as though Beron had simply commented on the weather. Beron turned to Donal, the rat-faced simpering noble, “Was her mother this beautiful, too? Surely her stunning good looks couldn’t have come from your side.” 

Donal grinned lecherously. “Her mother was generously endowed in both beauty and…assets. Certainly a genetic connection, I’d say.” The two disgusting men laughed together, and despite the docile smile on her face, Eris could hear Matilda’s teeth grinding, could see the tension in her jaw. His mother had pasted on the smile of a hostess, but her eyes were empty, likely seeing herself and her demonstrated worth in this horrendous conversation. 

“And you’re sure all of that winter harshness has been beaten out of her? I know how savage those around the border can be, and I am aware her father did not do much to impress upon her the importance of subservience.” 

“Yes, since his death I’ve done what I could to teach her the correct ways to conduct herself, but much damage had already been done. I’m sure your eldest can take over the discipline from here.” He smiled cruelly, which Beron echoed across from him. 

Eris was ready to jump across the table, his hands clenching in and out of fists beneath as he tried desperately to keep an indifferent sneer on his face. His urge to rip out Donal’s throat was overwhelming. He wanted to see his blood paint the table at the thought of those horrid, grubby hands on his wife. He took a deep breath through his nose and counted, 1, 2, 3, 4. He released it and tried to let his fire burn down a bit. 

If he didn’t stabilize himself quickly, this was going to be a very long night. 

Matilda

Matilda’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since she’d walked down the aisle. It felt like a rabbit in her chest, sprinting wildly about and hammering against the rungs of her ribs. She’d met so many people, seen so many faces, and she knew there was no chance she’d ever remember them all. And she was usually so good with names. 

Truly, her focus had been almost entirely on Eris. She was finding herself completely unable to tear her eyes away from him for any real period of time. There had been more than a few moments during and after the ceremony where he’d looked so open and earnest. Before she could extinguish that flare of emotion, she’d felt that infernal spark of hope take hold in her heart. Hope that, perhaps, this could be a love match. The way he’d spoken softly in her ear, making sure she didn’t enter any conversations without a solid background of the person, seemed almost compassionate–intimate, even. 

The gestures were so at odds with his outward appearance–cold, sharp, cruel–and his gentle touches and soft words whispered in her ears felt a bit like whiplash. Not unlike the appearances she was so used to maintaining, she could recognize the mask he wore, especially in front of Beron. She knew not to take it personally; in noble houses it was survival of the fittest, and Beron himself inspired that kind of cruelty and encouraged it further. Eris may have been wearing a mask, but she knew the importance of keeping that mask firmly in place for both his safety, and now, her own. 

Sitting at this table with his family, she understood. Across from them sat the three remaining Vanserra brothers of Autumn whom Eris had told her were named Callum, Bray, and Killian. She knew from gossip in Autumn that Tanwen and Gareth were the ones who had died years ago, and Lucien was the youngest who had fled. She vaguely remembered them as children, running around the Forest House and causing a great ruckus. Their childish forms, however, seemed to have been similarly left in the past.  

Callum was now an absolute wall of a male, standing almost as tall as Eris, but nearly twice as wide. His beard was bright and braided in the twines of a warrior, as was his hair. He was invested deeply in the armies of Autumn, and she’d heard he brandished the title like a badge of armor, along with the twin axes on his shoulders. Bray was a stark contrast at his side, his frame lithe and his face sharp. He favored Beron’s features almost frighteningly, though his brow was much kinder and his eyes were the soft russet of their mother. Killian was the final brother, sat back casually with a preternatural stillness while viewing the table like a predator surveying his prey. He was a good mix of the Lord and Lady of Autumn, but a scar ran from his brow to his collarbone, and he looked at any moment like he might set the whole table on fire from a look alone. She guessed that he would be the one she needed to keep an eye on. 

The dinner dragged for ages, her ire surging within her like a great firestorm. Every comment from Beron and Donal as they drank and laughed together set her teeth on edge, and she’d pinched her thigh beneath the table enough to bruise to try and redirect her thoughts from the violence stemming within her. Even Eris was losing control of his mask; she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, which further affirmed that he was not all he appeared to be. 

She was trying to take calming breaths, but it was hard to do under the leering and savage gaze of Beron’s second. The Knife of Autumn. She’d heard stories from her childhood about Aradnus, the High Lord’s chief torturer. He surely looked the part. He had the unfeeling, black eyes of a corpse, but the sharply contrasting appearance of a handsome young man. The stories of his cruelty in the Autumn towns were unmatched. Many times, unsuspecting young women would tend to him at the bars or brothels, only to be found as charred remains in an alley days or weeks later. He thrived on pain and suffering, and he used his looks to lure his prey into a false sense of security until it was too late. 

She’d take great pains to avoid him at all costs. 

She caught the haunted eyes of the Lady of Autumn more than once, each connecting gaze crushing her heart with the words left unsaid and letting the rage and grief grow within her. She stuffed her fury down as deeply as she could–she had to maintain an image. Subservient, domesticated, beaten. 

Beron, half into his drink, clapped his hands boisterously on the table, laughing at something her idiotic uncle had said. Donal looked thrilled to have pleased his High Lord. Pathetic. She caught the sneer before it hit her face, and she schooled her expression back into one of wide-eyed passivity before anyone could see otherwise. 

“Eris!” The bellow across the table caused her to flinch, her hands grabbing the edges of the chair beneath her. “Isn’t it time you took your bride to bed? Heirs don’t make themselves, you know.” He grabbed the back of the Lady of Autumn’s neck and pulled her to him. “Isn’t that right, Alanna?” He growled. She nodded furiously, holding herself with a grace that Matilda could not fathom. 

She could feel the fire magic stirring around her fingers, the rage was so profound. 

“If she’s anything like your mother, no part of the process should be a problem.” The shame burned red on Alanna’s face, and Matilda felt wrath stirring beneath her skin. Suddenly, she felt Eris’ hand in hers and before she knew it, he was pulling her to stand. 

“Yes, father. Thank you for the ceremony, and may you all have a wonderful evening celebrating.” She saw his bow and curtsied next to him, but he was tugging her away from the table before she could even rise again. 

Eris

Eris could feel the flames burning off his wife from inches away, and he knew, somehow, she was seconds away from exploding. 

No magic, my ass.

His only thoughts were to get her far away from there before she did. He tugged her down hallway after dark hallway in the Forest House, the sounds of revelry fading far behind them. For all the world, they might just look like a newly married couple eager to get to their marriage bed, but Eris wanted her out of harm’s way as soon as possible. 

The dinner had been a disaster. His father was a disaster. He dropped her hand, immediately feeling the loss of the warmth, and waved a hand to disable the wards around his rooms. 

“I will give you the same access. No one else has it.” He pushed the door open and stepped back, allowing Matilda through. She entered tentatively, looking unsure of what to expect, but her shoulders relaxed the second the door shut and locked behind them. He reestablished the wards, then threw a ball of flame to the hearth without bothering to look at it and shrugged out of his overcoat as the fire lit the room. 

A scrambling of claws on wood from the study told Eris the hounds had heard and were on their way. 

Perhaps I should have warned Matilda beforehand. 

But before they even cleared the doorway, her face lit up with delight and she dropped down, wedding dress and all, to the floor. 

“Hello, sweet puppies!” 

Eris thought his jaw might actually be on the ground as the dogs swarmed her, seeking her gentle caresses and licking every exposed inch of her skin–the same dogs he’d witnessed rip the throat out of a man no less than two days ago. Immediately, Flint went belly-up and Cinder whined while he nuzzled Matilda’s hand. 

“I love dogs! I had no idea you had so many in the house!” The delight on her face could have lit the entire room without any need for a fire. Though there were only five dogs allowed in his suites, every single one was putting their attention on his wife. It was unheard of. The dogs barely tolerated Beron himself, let alone a stranger. Hestia gave a gentle lick under Matilda’s ear as she made eye contact with Eris. 

Noted. 

The dog seemed to cock her head in response. 

“Yes, there are eight more in the stables, but these five stay in my–our–quarters.” She looked at him with pure, unadulterated joy. 

Please smile like that again. 

“This one at your neck is Hestia. The two there are Flint and Cinder. Then Apollo and Callida.” He gestured to the remaining two. She rose from the ground with a final pat to each of their heads. 

“How wonderful. I’ve always wanted a dog.” She smiled at him once more and he felt like he was in a daze. The staff had brought her things from the guest rooms and set them in various places within their new quarters. He’d allowed the wards down earlier to let them in, but declined any help to have the items put away. He’d hoped to allow Matilda some autonomy in order to make this suite feel more like home. 

“Well, this is our quarters. Your stuff is here, though I told them to allow you unpack as you saw fit. We can always call them back tomorrow if you find you need assistance.” 

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. Just show me where I can put my things and I can take care of it myself. Thank you.” He could feel the words creeping up his throat. 

“I am…I’m sorry I have to act so cold. It’s…I must–” She held up a hand.

“Please, Eris. Don’t apologize. More than anyone, I understand who and what you must be to protect yourself. You need not apologize to me.” The relief was immense, but a strange part of him ached knowing that she understood. 

What had her uncle done to her? 

“It seems from tonight you know how to wear that mask, too.” She dropped her chin, nodding solemnly. “I understand the importance of playing my part here. I don’t wish to cause any trouble for you. I am under no illusions that you asked for this marriage. I apologize for my near-outburst at dinner. The way he handled your mother…” His heart leapt at the admission. She’d been furious on behalf of his mother. 

“Please don’t ever apologize for wanting to stand up for my mother. She deserves better than here, or any of us.” Matilda nodded. “And while I may not have asked for this marriage, you’ve surely proven to be very different from anything that I was expecting.” He let the corners of his mouth tick up in a slight smile, which she returned. She looked at him, her hazel eyes fixing on his, and Eris thought his heart might have flown straight from his chest. 

“Perhaps, things don’t have to be all bad in this marriage.” She smirked. “Friends?” She held out a hand to him and the spark of hope in his heart blazed into a raging inferno. 

He put his hand into hers. 

“Friends.” 

Matilda

Matilda was reassured by the touch of Eris’ hand on hers once again. The calluses on his fingers brushed against hers as they shook, and her eyes flicked up to meet his again. They really were beautiful eyes, not at all what she thought she would find before she walked down the aisle today. He was full of surprises. 

“I won’t, ah…” He trailed off, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as pink tinged his high cheekbones. He cleared his throat. “I won’t be bedding you tonight. I won’t bed you at all if that isn't something you want. Fae babies are rare enough that there is no pressing need, and I am not one to force a female's hand in any manner.” He seemed almost shy as he tried to hammer out the sentence, but Matilda understood. 

She watched him draw a dagger from his belt, a pretty small thing with a ruby-encrusted handle. Her breath caught as he swiftly brought it across the palm of his hand then crossed to the bedroom. She followed him on soft footfalls, wondering where he’d gone, but he was already reemerging with the bedsheets, smeared with blood and balled up. He dropped them over by the doors of the suite for the staff to pick up in the morning, and Matilda could see the cut on his hand had already mostly sealed. 

“So no one asks questions,” he said softly, wiping his hands off on his pants. 

Matilda felt relief and gratitude course through her, followed shortly after by confusion at the tiny flicker of disappointment mingled in and warring with the two. 

“Thank you,” she murmured gently, tracking Eris across the room as he grabbed a soft looking blanket from the basket at the base of the couch, spreading it over the cushions. 

“I will take the couch for now, at least until you’re more comfortable.” That disappointment flickered within her again. 

What is wrong with me? 

But she looked at the too-small couch. It looked stiff and definitely too short for his frame. 

“No, absolutely not.” She surprised even herself at the authority in her words. “We can share the bed. It’s plenty large enough. I’ll not have you showing me such kindness only to make yourself miserable.” Eris looked at her, both in surprise and confusion, and nodded. Matilda turned on her heel to go into the bedroom, rustling through the bags and trunk to find some appropriate nightwear. Everything packed for her was so scandalous it might as well have been threadbare. She sighed, grabbing a deep maroon gown of satin that at least would cover her to her knees and heading for the bathing chambers. 

She took off the beautiful wedding gown, and laid it gingerly on the side of the bathtub. She thought that it was a tragic thing that wedding gowns were only of single use, as it truly was the most beautiful gown she’d ever worn. She scrubbed the remaining paint off her face, tugged the nightgown on, and let her hair down, combing her fingers through it until it flowed down her back in loose waves. She was married, so she guessed there wasn’t really a reason for him to not see her hair down. So, she left it that way and reentered the bedroom. Their bedroom. 

Eris was sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard with a book in hand, and Matilda was again taken aback at how attractive he was. He’d also stripped of his ceremonial clothes, clad only now in a loose linen top, opened slightly at his chest, and whatever was below the blankets. Pants? Undershorts? She was trying desperately not to wonder, but she could see the barest hint of copper hair peeking from beneath the undone tunic, and her mouth went dry at the sight. 

He didn’t move his head  at all, but his eyes flicked up to hers, and she felt more than saw them draw over her body–a slow, sensuous look that dragged from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She shook the thoughts loose and came towards the other side of the bed where he had already turned her covers down. When she climbed in, the sheets were so warm that she let out a little sigh. 

“Is that house magic, or your magic?” He smiled. 

“My magic. No one likes a cold bed.” She smiled to herself. It had been a very long few years since Matilda had felt taken care of, and the small gesture had lit up something within her heart. 

Eris put his book down on the nightstand and blew out the candle, settling down into the dark. 

“Eris?” Her voice was quiet. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” The silence stretched so long that Matilda thought he may have already fallen asleep. Then, so quiet she almost missed it. 

“You’re welcome, Matilda.”

[noyzinerd]

I guess we're all just over here posting Sterek snippets-(Part 1)

So, I guess here's one of mine, not that anyone was asking 😅 (with more snippets to come soon, after some polishing).

A snippet from "Pseudology"

Understandably, Derek hadn't even thought twice about how Stiles had known, at the time, that Jennifer was the 'second psychotic, mass-murdering girlfriend Derek had ever dated'.

Because of course Stiles had found out about his relationship with Kate. That wasn't a surprise. He was Stiles. The boy was as curious as they came.

Derek had always just assumed Stiles had snooped through his records or something else highly invasive.

If that had been the case, Derek didn't think he would've even been that upset at Stiles for prying where he had no business prying.

If that had been the case, he would've just been grateful Stiles was able to keep his secret to himself for as long as he had.

If only that had been the case.

As Stiles' memory manifested all around Derek, building itself brick by brick in a swirl of clouds before his eyes, the scene laid out to him left his pulse pounding hot in his ears.

Boyd had long since fell unconscious under the unrelenting bite of the electric current. Erica was still able to watch through lidded eyes, however, as she had always had a higher tolerance for pain.

The crack of Gerard's fist against Stiles' face over and over again was loud enough to drown out the overworked whirring of the generator. A breathless cry slammed out of the boy in a wheeze as the Argent patriarch's fists began laying into his thin chest and stomach. Each impact landed with the devastating power of a military-trained veteran against a kid literally half his size.

The moment Gerard had thrown that first punch, Derek's body had instantly reacted. He had immediately grabbed at the old man in an effort to throw him off, only for his clawed hands to slip through the memory as if he were gripping smoke. 

Three more frantic tries proved just as ineffective as the first.

Derek could only watch uselessly as Stiles attempted to curl in on himself to soften the blows, trying his best to shield his face with his only free hand.

"Today's youth could do to learn some manners. Back in my day, you would address a man by 'sir.' 'Old geezer' would've gotten you the belt, no matter if you were at home or in the middle of the market. Seems that father of yours never took the time to properly discipline you."

He could hear the moment Stiles' ribs cracked, the snap of his bones under the skin, the plump lips that Stiles always worried between his teeth when he thought too hard were suddenly split open under the force of one of Gerard’s punches and it was awful. The more he saw, the worse it felt, and the tighter his chest got. As he watched, it was as if the knife he felt in his guts twisted deeper and deeper. The softer Stiles' grunts and whimpers got—the boy's will dropping farther and farther as the abuse continued—the more Derek wanted to do just about anything to make it all stop. He wanted to be there, not just watch, but really be there. To nuzzle up against the bloodied cheek, hold and comfort the boy, hold his hands over the blackening eye and draw away as much pain as he could into himself until the simpering cries faded into his shoulder where he would hold Stiles gently to him. Derek would rub his back and apologize for anything and everything and promise that it would all be alright. But as he stood, shifted with all the power in the world, watching the person he cared for more than life itself hurting, being tortured by the psychotic father of the psychotic bitch that had left nothing but a husk of what was once Derek, he couldn't help but clench his claws tightly into fists. The pain of his claws sinking into his own palms grounded him.

He had to focus. This Stiles was long passed. Present-Day Stiles, the Stiles of now, his Stiles needed him. If Derek managed to miss the secret of this memory, then the both of them would be subjected to this senseless beating all over again. He wouldn't be the one to do this to Stiles again. So as difficult as it was, Derek held himself back.

And Derek watched.

"The Argents will always be the last to stand amongst the filth as it washes away. We are the mighty pillars of the Coliseums while the creatures, the monsters of this world, the werewolves, are nothing more than the mindless lions. Even as the spectators sit cozy, in their stands, unaware of the protection we provide, we will prevail against the test of time. While they and all of their treacherous collaborators hide in the shadows we will do what we must to draw out the darkness and purge them all. Just as my daughter did, just as my granddaughter will. You will never understand the lengths our family will go to for our cause. Why, even if she had to sink to the depths of fornicating with the beasts, that was Kate's loyalty, her devotion." Gerard took that moment to straighten up with a crack to his back. The seasoned hunter let out a relieved sigh as he stretched out his arms and wiped his sweaty brow, like he had finished putting in a long day's work tending to his farm rather than physically breaking someone apart. There was no move to continue his attack once the old man was satisfied in knowing that Stiles wasn't going to uncurl from his huddled position on the floor anytime soon. However, that didn't stop the venomous words from continuing to spill into the air like a toxic vapor. "Not that that mindless thing would have any understanding of that. With nothing more than a few honeyed words and a wink, Kate single-handedly was able to reveal the beast beneath. So barbaric and dimwitted, he couldn't even think beyond his carnal urge to breed, spilling his secrets like a little songbird at the drop of a hat. The thing was too stupid to even look after his own kind. Led her straight to his den! See, that is what makes the difference between man and animal. Loyalty and devotion. It's what I like in you, Stiles. Here you are, beaten black and blue, yet still unwilling to rat out your so-called friends. That kind of devotion keeps you human. But tell me, young man, when the next pretty little thing tosses her hair at your 'pack', where do you think their loyalties are going to lie? Do you honestly think Scott would ever pick to save you over Allison? We already know Derek wouldn't, seeing as he would rather see his family burn in favor of any warm body he can find. What about these two? Or any other members of the Hale pack for that matter? If I were to cut them down right now, do you think either of them would rescue you? Because I'd be willing to bet they'd run with their tails tucked between their legs straight to their Alpha. They are driven solely by their instincts to feed, fuck, and flee. Face it, boy. Your loyalties are ill-founded. It would probably be in your best interest to stick with your own kind in the future."

In a whorl of misty fog, the Argent basement slowly faded away to a different setting.

The werewolf found himself now sitting beside Stiles in his Jeep as he drove himself home in silence, presumably only minutes after the beating that had occurred. Derek placed his hand carefully on top of this young Stiles' incorporeal one resting on the gear shift. It was all pointless, he knew, but at least this way he could pretend that he was doing anything to soothe the pain. Derek could trick himself, for just a second, into believing that maybe, in some way, this past version could feel even the tiniest bit of comfort from him.

God, it hurt.

Stiles hadn't said a word or shed a single tear during the entire drive. The silence was the eerie photo-negative of the chattering Stiles he knew. Even when he was furious or upset, Derek was so used to the constant stream of words occasionally mixed with tears and frustrated cries that seeing this quiet boy—gazing through his windshield with the blank stare of a prisoner of war—it scared him. It was like watching an echo of Stiles clicking on his right turn-signal to go home as if he hadn't been beaten into the ground and was now bleeding from his face. This Stiles felt wrong.

He felt wrong and hurt inside in a way Derek didn't know how to fix.

If they had been outside of the memory right then, the wolf wasn't sure he would know how to fix present-Stiles either.

[Part 2 of snippets]

[major-alenko]

N7 Month Day 13: Reputation

Summary: At the awards ceremony after Elysium, Tara Shepard meets her future mentor. (1,140 words)

Tara was suffocating under the bright lights on the stage. She sat on the edge of her chair, back ramrod straight, as the Prime Minister droned on and on, gesturing and occasionally saying words like honor, duty, and pride.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

The weeks since Elysium had been a blur; debriefings, interviews, an officer’s commission. Her face splashed across every ANN broadcast: hero of the Blitz. Everyone from her shipmates to the Alliance brass looked at her like she was a brand-new person. 

And then there was the N7 commendation. Tara had let it sit in her inbox for days without opening it. She hadn’t even told her parents about it; talking about it would make it real— she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be.

Hours of fighting. Gunfire, screams. Fatigue digging into her bones. Forcing herself to stay upright and conscious just a little longer— until help arrived. Blocking everything except “hold this position” out of her mind. Dead colonists. Dead comrades. Dead pirates. Tara clutched her rifle tightly, trying to steady her shaking hands. These people’s lives depend on us. I can’t let them down. 

A loud explosion echoes through the air. The pirates start retreating. She hears Estevez whoop over the comm. Alliance forces are landing, pinning the invaders in place. The sight makes Tara weak with relief. 

It’s over. We won. 

She emerges from the garrison, wincing as she shoves past the hastily cobbled-together barricade she had assembled. One of the responding marines is the detail commander from the SSV Milan. 

“Corporal?” His voice was disbelieving. “Shepard, is that you?” 

Tara stares at him. He smells like aftershave and recycled ship air. She’s covered in grit, head to toe, shaking from adrenaline, with blood trickling down the side of her face. The only thing keeping her on her feet is a lifetime of military protocol, instilled in her before she could walk.

“Yes, sir.” She manages to salute before collapsing to her knees, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

“Shepard!”

“—Lieutenant Shepard, who showed extraordinary bravery, exemplifying the traits that every Alliance soldier should embody…” Prime Minister Vaughan was still going. “For this reason, I proudly present you with this Star of Terra in recognition of your distinguished service.” 

He turned towards her, holding the medal in his hands. Tara clambered to her feet, plastering a smile on her face as he pinned it to the front of her uniform. He clasped her hand in an extremely sweaty handshake as the room echoed with polite applause. 

“Thank you,” she managed, mentally planning her escape ASAP. She saw her parents rising from their seats. “I’m honored.” She let go of his hand, resisting the impulse to wipe it on her pants. He simpered at her a few moments longer as the press swarmed in to get their pictures.

The minute the cameras turned off, Vaughan turned his back to her and left without another word. Thank God. Tara stepped off the stage and walked over to where her parents were standing. 

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” Dad said, pulling her into a one-armed hug. Mom joined in after a second, hesitant as always in moments of familial affection. 

“We’re so proud of you,” Mom said finally, the first to break out of the embrace. “Do you want to go get some refreshments?” 

Tara grimaced. “Do we have to?” Glad-handing with a roomful of politicians and generals was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Her mother gave her father an appealing look. 

“I’m afraid so,” he drawled. “It would be impolite for the guest of honor to bail on a party the Alliance taxpayers will foot the bill for regardless, don’t you think?” When he saw Tara’s wounded expression, he shifted his tone. “We don’t have to stay long.” 

The compromise placated both mother and daughter, so they trailed down the hall to the reception room. As Tara had feared, it was packed with people. Her parents claimed a table and joined the line for refreshments. Tara had no interest in eating, so she sat alone at the table, absently bouncing her leg as she waited for them to return. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tall man she didn’t immediately recognize sitting down across from her. His uniform was crisp and immaculate, but there was a hardness to him that spoke to his experience. Something that set him apart from the other people roaming the room in search of prestige and influence. He was a soldier. 

 “Congratulations, Lieutenant,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Captain David Anderson.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

Anderson looked at her for a long moment before he spoke again. “I understand you’ve been invited to N7 training, Lieutenant.” Tara swallowed hard. No bullshit. Straight to the point. Ordinarily, she appreciated straightforward people, but when she was the one trying to be evasive, it wasn’t as refreshing.

“I—well, yes, sir,” she stammered, feeling flustered.

“And is there a reason you haven’t given them an answer? The next training class starts before too long.”

Tara thought for a minute before she responded. “I just don’t know if I’m…,” she said meekly, trailing off.  Even to her ears, it was a pathetic answer. 

Anderson nodded. “I understand that. It’s a big decision. A lot of responsibility. But let me ask you this, Shepard: are you holding yourself back because you honestly don’t think you’re ready, or are you afraid of what others will expect from you?”

Tara glanced away. Anderson had her pinned to the wall and they both knew it. He wasn’t condemning her; he was speaking from a place of understanding. Years of military leadership separated them now, but he, too, had once been a young officer unsure of himself. 

The idea was encouraging. She looked back up at him. He was still watching her closely, waiting for her answer. Her parents were standing a few tables away, looking perplexed. 

“I’ll…consider it,” Tara said, smiling slightly, genuinely, for the first time today. Anderson noticed her parents waiting and stood up from the table. He clapped her on the shoulder as he got out of the way. 

“Perfect,” he replied. “You’re a damn good soldier, Shepard. Don’t waste this opportunity.”

“No, sir. I won’t. Thank you again.” With that, he left and Tara’s parents sat down, her mother taking the seat that Anderson had vacated.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Captain David Anderson,” Tara replied. Her mind was still racing, thinking about what he’d said. 

“Really?” Mom craned her neck, trying to glimpse him as he left the room. “Well, what on earth did he want?” 

“He just had some advice for me,” Tara said. “Did I tell you I was invited to join the N7 program?”

[likemosaic]

yotsuyu & canon interactions with zenos re: generally and what squeenix gives us. mentions of sex trafficking, suicide, and stormblood spoilers.

yotsuyu's experiences with men have all been capital b Bad. her parents died, her adoptive father was awful and sold her into sexual slavery, her brother tormented her seemingly for pure pleasure, and even men who promised to love her and take care of her and take her away from the brothel only wanted to use her--and yotsuyu knew it, so she took advantage of their kindness the same way they took advantage of her. being born beautiful was the worst thing in yotsuyu's life and after so many years of that being her only trait, yotsuyu doesn't know how to interact with a man outside of: 1) fawn on someone more powerful than her (zenos) or 2) torture someone weaker than her (doman citizens). it's why hien puts her into such a spitting rage: not only has his life seemingly been perfect and beautiful from her pov, but she's viscerally reminded that if she's not the viceroy and zenos has disavowed her, hien becomes above her, so to speak--and she's forced back into the fawning, simpering charade of ineptitude. and as evidenced by doma castle's destruction, yotsuyu would rather die than have that happen again.

by the time of stormblood, zenos is the only man yotsuyu has to "perform" this submissive fawning doman stereotype thing for as we briefly see in their cutscenes together, and even then...depending on the zenos i'm writing alongside, it really doesn't make a difference in his treatment of her. and canonly, in the end, he still discarded her without a second thought like an old toy once the WOL comes around. he was never really...dishonest with her? like he never promised her anything, and in a way, that was kinder than lying about affection or anything else. cruel to be kind etc.

but despite his flat out bluntness with her, she doesn't know how else to approach him, other than trying to manipulate him again and again! because powerful man trauma! and i don't think she can really process someone who doesn't fall into the "above me" or "beneath me" category. they seem like they would have a "powerful man and his beautiful mistress" dynamic and that's what yotsuyu expects and dreads....and then their dynamic DOESNT fit into that archetype, which perplexes her. it's actually incredibly kind of zenos to essentially let yotsuyu run amok in doma and get her vengeance without him breathing down her neck, even if its for a deeper more manipulative purpose.

so in the tsukiyomi trial, of course it makes sense that zenos comes to her at the final stage of "her life"; in the end, he was never really her lover, or even her friend or equal, but a means to an end: once for power, and in the tsukiyomi trial, as a means for suicide. and gosetsu following him immediately is really symbolic, because here's a man who didn't use her for ANYTHING, not for sex, not for doman oppression to find his perfect prey, he just wanted to be good to her and care for her...the first time anyone has ever done that for yotsuyu, ever. it shows that even zenos' "kindness" pales in comparison to someone who genuinely cares for her, and then that plays into his character in endwalker.....but that's a whole 'nother meta.

[onthesandsofdreams]

A Stark She Remains [2/?]

Fandom: ASoIaF Character: Sansa Stark, mentioned Jaime Lannister. Prompt: It's been a long time by @fictober-event Warning: Character death Tagging @mousedetective

On AO3

When Sansa wakes, the full reality of what she has done hits her. But she surprises herself by feeling quite light.

She lays on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above and for a moment she wonders what her father would say if he knew. But then, if her dream was real and not a figment of her desperate imagination, she has the approval of her grandfather and uncle.

For now, it's enough. It has to be.

She rises when she hears her maid knocking and goes through the motions, she lets herself be assisted with her clothing and hair, silent. She will not give them anything to report to The Queen.

She breaks her fast with the rest of the household, quiet and dutiful, the last thing she wants is to give them any reason to suspect that she is different. Because she feels different.

How curious at the change one little book made.

Just yesterday, she was a silly girl hoping for a rescue. Now she realizes that she has been given and taught how to use something far deadlier than a blade. There will not be any spots of blood in her gowns, but those who have harmed her have their days numbered. She is a warrior, she might not be Visenya Targaryen or Nymeria, legendary ladies who fought and bled with their people, but she is a proud daughter of House Stark and she will fight on the same side as her brother, only she will do so from the shadows.

No one will know her deeds, but that is fine with her.

The rest of the day, Sansa is mostly silent. Only speaking when directly addressed by Joffrey or the Queen. And even then, she plays the part of the foolish simpering girl they think her to be.

She had loved them once, no more.

They are her enemies. And when the time comes, she will write their names and not be sorry. But today, she will do nothing, she will pay heed and she will do her best to think of the people whose name will be written down. She needs to be strategic, she knows that if she plays her cards right, she will help Robb in battle.

After all, if a Lannister general were to… slip and break their neck before a battle, it would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?

And if she did things right, she could isolate Joffrey from powerful allies and family before finally putting down his name. She would save the Queen for last.

But she knew that Tywin Lannister had to go. His brother ser Kevan and Ser Jaime too would have to go. Let them fear, and let the Queen see herself as invincible until her name was written down.

Ser Jaime would have to be her next name.

Oh, she would have loved to write one of the Kingsguard, those false knights who had made her hurt and bleed so gleefully.

But if she took down the Kingslayer, Robb would have a better chance of surviving. And it would be best if Ser Jaime were to die before full on battle with Robb.

Yes. That would be good.

Later on, late at night when she is again alone in her chamber, she takes the book and writes down Jaime Lannister followed by death by horse fall.

It would be humiliating. 

She watches as the ink is absorbed into the parchment. And as she hides the book again and lays down to sleep, she realizes that it's been a long time since she has feel so content.

(Miles away, as Ser Jaime Lannister tries to dismount, he fails. He falls and breaks his neck.)

[pynkhues]

feel free to ignore but if you’re willing to share a little bit more about how you see louis and lestat’s first encounter going in your courtesan au that would make my day !!!!

I'm still getting their first encounter right, anon, so I feel like I can't really talk about it yet, haha, but how would you like part of a scene I've actually written? It's a little bit of Louis first finding out about Lestat at all ;-)

-

“The Prince is bringing someone.”

At that, Louis arches an eyebrow, pulling his gaze from the pages in front of him to where Armand lingers just inside the closed doorway.

“Oh are we calling him Prince now?” Louis asks, and he can hear it. A dangerous note of disdain in his own voice, so he’s sure Armand hears it too, although the other man makes little acknowledgement of it beyond a tilt of his elegant head.

“If you are to climb the echelons of Parisian society, you really should be across these things,” Armand replies smoothly, finally crossing Louis’ cabinet to drop himself gracefully to the chaise lounge beneath the window, forcing Louis to turn in his seat to see him. Light spills across the other man’s form, illuminating his fine features in the quiet dark of the room where Louis works, and for a moment, it stirs something low in him. A heat, perhaps, an aimless, unfocused sort of desire, but more than that, an understanding of why the Duke has indulged in this particular courtesan for as long as he has. “The King re-anointed Magnus two days ago, so in answer to your question, yes, we are calling him Prince now. If it’s of any comfort to you, it’s in ceremony only, not in power. A decorative rank for a man who needs all the trimmings he can get.”

Louis hums, leaning back in his seat still facing Armand, feeling the engraved edge of the desk pressed to his side, even through the thick hold of his embroidered waistcoat.  

“And yet your Duke Marius would change the entertainment for the evening to appease him?”

He’d be lying if he said that Armand’s tight-lipped smile doesn’t give him a thrill – evidence enough that Louis’ correct in his deduction that the Duke’s pandering to the newly-retitled Prince is more than simply a welcome back to society. He has the King’s ear, Louis supposes, the fact that he’s been given back the stripped rank, even just in title, proves that, but to what extent the King means to allow Magnus sway in court is anyone’s guess now.

If Louis were to be honest, he almost respected the machinations of it all. As it were, Magnus had been pushed from his pedestal a generation ago, losing his place in line for the throne after his father had been knifed and his mother poisoned, a bloody coup that had seen a new monarchy atop the gilded throne of France. Divested of his title, Magnus had spent the long years of his youth in exile, where, Louis had no idea (and neither, it seemed, did anyone else), but he’d returned to cast his shadow in court in this late decade of his life. Gnarled and black eyed and ugly, yet silver tongued and somehow dripping with gold, and it was the latter that had the aristocrats of Paris opening their doors and – politically speaking, of course – their legs.

“My Duke Marius would simply like the evening’s plans to go off without the reveal of a seam,” Armand simpers from his draped position on Louis’ chaise. “Besides, at least the Prince is predictable unlike some of our esteemed society fixtures. Even in these last uncertain years of his position, he has always been particular in his choice of accessories, has he not?”

And, well.

Louis would be hard pressed to deny that.

“Always has liked himself a blue-eyed blond,” he allows, because he’s ended up with some of them on his books over the last five years. Not all have gone the distance – one at least he knows worked only to earn enough to flee Paris with one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting – but he still has two in his employ. Wild-eyed things, the pair of them, one a meek little waif prone to playing dead – which, Louis can say with authority, works for a certain clientele – another a spitfire in the sack who’s only request of Louis is that he never be in the same room again as Magnus, a stipulation Louis has and will continue to honor.   

Now though, Armand just hums in agreement.

“How he finds himself so many little golden trinkets in all the mud and piss of Paris is the true mystery of the man,” he says, picking at a loose thread on the chaise behind him. “The Duke would have you remove the boys from the evening’s festivities though.”

Which is to be expected, Louis thinks, turning in his chair back to his desk to pull at the books he’d written the Duke’s request for the salon in, flicking through the pages for the carefully scrawled list of girls and boys he’d wanted to entertain his guests in. When Magnus presents a new pet to the aristocrats he seeks to dominate and impress in equal measure, he wants all eyes on his most recent selection. As if the discovery of beauty makes up for the lack of his own, and the claiming of it so publicly cements him in society more as the Prince than any re-titling by the King of France ever could.

Dipping his quill in his little pot of iron gall ink, Louis draws a clean line through the names of the three boys he’d organised for Marius – not a blond in the bunch, and to Louis at least, three he’d found personally more appealing than any boy Magnus had ever brought to court, although he could admit that that could be more a reflection of his own sort of inclinations than anything else – before letting his gaze dip back to Armand on the chaise behind him.

The other man remains sprawled, legs delicately parted and looking resplendent in a deep brown waistcoat with elegant white lace trimmings. The morning light shifts through the window behind him, illuminating the amber flecks to his eyes, the warmth to his skin, and the jut of his high, sharp cheekbones. A familiar pull of heat pools low in him again, and Louis wets his lips.

“If your Duke is playing host to the Prince and his pet tonight, will you be needing company of your own?”

The question is enough to have Armand’s gaze darken, his fingers drifting languidly down the back of the chaise lounge, deepening his recline. They don’t do this often, not really, as Louis has never needed nor wanted to pay to fuck, and Armand is often reluctant to risk the opulence of the life that the prize between his legs has secured him (although Marius has never seemed bothered about sharing him), but still. They have warmed each other’s beds on the night the fancy has taken them, and if Louis is to spend the evening overseeing his girls be fondled by bejeweled hands while the Prince parades a boy he’ll dispose of in a week, he may as well have something to slip away to.

“I could be,” Armand says now, sitting up a little straighter, as if remembering himself. “My duties have not yet been decided. We are all at the King’s whims, I fear, even my Maître, and tonight the King wishes for his new Prince to have everything that he wants.”  

-

(And then Louis and Lestat become psychosexually obsessed with each other 💖)

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

for @owlcatober day 1 protection and day 18 dancing lights.

only a few decades into her long life mura is taken along to witness a deal with the devil for protection- and ends up musing about another man who offered her protection, only that time the one offering was the fool- before dealing with those who declined the trap.

only warnings are for implied/referenced violence and poisoning, as well as muras detached view on everything around her.

A raised tone drew Muras attention away from the lights dancing on the velvet curtains. Pressure on her shoulder further severed the connection. No pain; yet. Even the master was lenient with her failings in front of these nouveau riche, not that they would notice anything at all, they had emptied their minds of business and filled it with gilt by the second generation.

The only major danger had been dispatched last night, he was currently begging off the meeting with… early stages of pneumonia? She had not been privy to the intimate details. However he had been a lovely mentor, teaching her business studies with the viciousness of a man who clawed his way to money in less than a decade, and the kind heart of a man who had tried to build a better place for his children to grow up in.

Such a shame those children were now, to use a phrase she learned from one of the more uncouth of her fathers agents, ‘pissing it up the wall’

Such a shame he had seen too much, and inquired too much into her home life. Such a shame her father cut down her idea of letting him play the savior and gaining his business empire for herself. Still, he had taught her well. Well enough that once he was in the grave, it would be short order until it fell into her master's hands anyway. Just with more blood than she thought necessary. 

Some flowers and a card were in order. Sufficiently juvenile to make the large sum he would bequeathe her harmless. Possibly a tear stained farewell from his young student, more his child than the wasteful fools that shared his blood.

Such a shame he had refused her master's outstretched hand. Such a shame he had extended his own hand to her. 

Smooth tones brought her back to the current room, her fathers hand loosened from her shoulder so he could lean forwards, the glint dancing in his eyes and the sharpness of his smile clear from his new posture and tone. He had planned long and hard and now the prey were dancing into his jaws of their own volition, wandering towards the lights. All he had to do was not twitch wrong at the last moment.

He wouldn't. This was a song and dance he had been mastering for centuries. She was more of a risk, but that's why she was here for the easy targets.

As the gilded fools simpered on, they drew ever closer to their doom. Sheep loved walking into danger, as long as that danger was handsome and promised something. Self preservation instincts flew out of the window when someone offered a golden shield, even when it just trapped you in a gilded room with the wolf.

The majority of fools in the room were humans, or other short lived races. Basking in the attention from a longer lived person, pretending they can buy life with wealth. Buy protection from their predators and betters. 

Then the golden words were spoken, ‘Then we are reliant on your grace, my lord’

A hearty laugh, the undercurrent of nastiness buried deep, but the humor shining through.

‘You flatter me to much, you stand well enough on your own, I’m merely lending a hand’

And the simpering fools believe him. Hook line and sinker.

‘Please, your protection honors us’

And they thought they had him on a leash. 

As the celebrations reached their peak, the dazzling reflections turning blinding, a hand steered her into a corner, a fanged mouth whispering in her ear, ‘you saw those with enough mind to hesitate. Those who did not sign. Those who were fool enough to refuse my protection. Make sure they are dealt with subtly’

As she danced through the crowds dealing death in the forms of needle pricks and poisoned drinks as well as money and notes to dissatisfied servants, she noticed her steps getting surer, her hands hesitating even less. It was one large complicated dance, and slowly she was treading it with surer foot, and the lights weren't so blinding anymore.

[leiflitter]

Got my arse in gear for this + fun lil blurbs under the cut for REASONS. I haven't used the best friends because Els' general baseline friendship is pretty intense anyways so they'd all be best friends if she had her way. This may get long but hey! That's life!

Gale - Els has no idea who he is when she hauls him out of that portal. Literally. Word of his wizarding skill has not reached her particular demographic, and so she just assumes he's some sort of minor noble or possibly an elected official- because who introduces themselves as So-and-so of Such-a-place if they aren't?

However, this is probably a good thing. If Els had known about his past, she'd probably have been a little more deferential- not necessarily out of respect, but because that's what she's learned that people of that station want.

Gale, of course, has spent his entire formative years in the company of people who see him as Gale the Wizard, not Gale the Person- and although he's been to a few rough taverns in his time, that's very different from actual prolonged exposure to someone who comes from such a different background. Els' forthright attitude and general lack of simpering about magic are both a novel experience and a breath of fresh air.

He's also intrigued by her, but initially assumes that she has some hitherto-unknown power that makes her so persuasive and compelling. Because he is oblivious and probably hasn't ever had a normal crush on someone, so it's absolutely mysterious as fuck.

Els, on the other hand, has just honed her observation skills through necessity- but on her part, she thought there was something about him the moment he got to his feet and started rambling about ceremorphosis. Their forays into friendship cemented that, yes, she is going to be absolutely heartsick over him- and life is short! They have tadpoles in their heads! Life has put them on a level playing field, and if she's going to turn into a mindflayer she may as well go for it.

Despite their differences, they share a love for knowledge. Els is illiterate, but is a bard in the most archaic sense- she knows so many stories that may have never been put to paper. Gale's knowledge comes from hours of study, but he's in sore need of practical knowledge and someone to give him a nudge when he gets in too deep.

Gale teaches Els to read, and Els teaches Gale to put down the books from time to time and go outside. The perfect Autism/ADHD combo, honestly.

Halsin - why is it complicated? Well, mostly because they have a few crossed wires.

Halsin's... well. He's used to being an authority figure, and he's been through it. Due to this he defaults to what he finds comfortable- assuming that his and Els' connection is due to physical attraction. Yes, he can see that she's making eyes at Gale, but in the grand scheme of things that doesn't mean much.

Els, on the other hand, looks at Halsin and sees her father. A stoic man, connected to nature and put in a position of responsibility that he must bear alone. She can't help but treat him with the affection she holds for her father, and that leads to a... fairly awkward conversation at a later date.

Still, despite the initial disappointment, it helps Halsin move on a little- and, with hindsight, it would not have worked in any way, shape or form. For one, Halsin's too old for Els- he knows himself too well for them to develop as a pair. Also, he's absolutely huge and she's short and scrawny. She would die.

After it's over, she will absolutely be dropping in on him regularly with new wood for him to whittle into ducks, and maybe he'll have a spot in whatever enclave for an old woodcutter who can't cut down any more trees. I think Halsin and Els' dad would be great friends, honestly. I can imagine them watching her set out on her way home, both with that quiet nod of "that's my girl."

Astarion - Els has played for his type more times than she can count, and he doesn't scare her. Honestly, she mostly finds him hilarious- his ascerbic wit and general sarcasm are a great foil for her blunt nature.

He's also one of the few folk in camp who can read people the way she does- and he has valuable insights into the way the upper crust live. She absolutely turns to him for advice about Gale before she fully decides to go for it- "is there some etiquette for telling someone that you're up for it if they are?"

Gale also goes to him for advice, which honestly tickles Astarion to no end.

Els is valuable to Astarion because she sees through his posturing and absolutely will call him out on his shit. She's the conscience that he never really wanted, so it does help that he can make snarky comments about how she needs to brush her hair from time to time. He feels protective over her, but wouldn't admit it- if someone was to hurt her, he would absolutely hunt them down, but he'd be pretending it was all pure coincidence the entire time.

Karlach - these two are trouble. They cannot be left alone because that is how shenanigans begin, and shenanigans lead to their stock of healing portions being sorely depleted.

They easily fall into a sibling-type bond nearly as soon as they meet- and while it's fun, it can also lead to some very childish squabbles- although, it must be said, even the squabbles are undertaken in puppyish glee. It's far calmer for everyone when they can play-fight- although it's a little alarming the first time Karlach has Els in a headlock, they're fairly evenly matched. Karlach is strong, but Els is agile.

They have deep 3am conversations, keep each other's little secrets, and absolutely annoy everyone else at bedtime when one of them goes, "imagine if we were all frogs right now."

Shadowheart - Shadowheart would like to think that she's the 'sensible one'. Els would absolutely disagree with that. Shadowheart is just better at hiding how silly she actually is, and Els delights in luring her a little more out of her shell each time.

Els likes Shadowheart aggressively. She can sense that there's something in her that's at odds with all of her Cool Collected Shar Worship, and Els cannot leave it alone. To her, Shadowheart is like a wobbly tooth- she knows she shouldn't touch it, but she can't help it!

Shadowheart initally is being pragmatic. Els has the people skills that she lacks, and if she's to get back to Baldur's Gate she needs help. Unfortunately, she keeps bonding with the help, and it's inconvenient, and now she's half-heartedly complaining about Els and Karlach splashing when she's trying to wash her hair, can you two please stop acting like children? But she's smiling when she says it.

Wyll - now, Els has heard of The Blade of Frontiers. She's sung a fair few ballads about him, and absolutely has weaponised that against him. It's also probably why she doesn't consider him a romantic prospect- she wants to carve her own legend, not turn into an accessory to another. Wyll, for his part, isn't immune to Els' natural rizz, but I think it'd be a momentary wobble. He probably considered it for an instant, then was immediately hit with the realisation that nope, he doesn't like her like that. Like when you have a romantic dream about a friend, and wake up going "... what???? No????"

Els and Wyll aren't quite at the sibling tier that Karlach and Els are at- they're more like the two kids who compete to be top of the class, but would be at a loss without each other. If they're in the party together, there will inevitably be a discussion of who did the most impressive feat once they're back in camp.

Els normally wins, because she's a bard and as such can brag at an Olympic level, but it's all in good fun- and she's secretly putting together a new epic poem about The Blade's Adventures with The Bard.

He's a good egg, and Els absolutely sneaks him unflattering doodles of Mizora.

Lae'Zel - They butt heads constantly. Especially early on- Els may be blunt, but Lae'Zel takes it to an entirely different level- while Els is plain spoken to her friends, she also knows how to turn on her negotiator skills for the world at large. Lae'Zel's idea of negotiation is that she won't immediately kill whoever she's speaking to.

It initially annoys Lae'Zel that Els just... takes charge of the party, as if there isn't a highly trained warrior and tactician right here who would be a far better option! Then, when she realises that Els is surprisingly capable, her next thought is to see if she can best her in the bedroom- and Els politely turns her down? Inconceivable.

On Els' part, Lae'Zel is like a big, growling dog- initially intimidating, but upon a second glance she can see that the growling isn't mere hostility. It's fear. The true turning point from Els' perspective is when Lae'Zel says teethling- she talks a big game, but she's mostly bark, and Els can talk her down from biting easily.

Jaheira - Els never knew her mother, but if she could choose a replacement, it'd be Jaheira. She's an aspirational figure to Els- it stops them getting close, as Els isn't used to being starstruck, but there's a kind of yearning on Els' side for an older female role model, and although Jaheira doesn't openly take that position on, perhaps she tells Els she's doing well a little more than she might otherwise.

If Jaheira had been around since day 1, they'd probably be closer, but as she isn't... it's more like having a really cool coworker who you want to befriend but have to muster up the courage to approach.

[burningdarkfire]

10 characters/10 fandoms/10 tags

tagged by the lovely @aevallare, thank you!! 🫶

i overthought the "10 fandoms" to a painful degree because surely we all understand that a fandom does not simply mean "a piece of media" and thus the random YA book i read when i was like 12 doesn't count even though it probably does have one of my fave characters ever. but also it's a silly tag game so i can do whatever i want. anyway

caleb widogast (critical role) - YOU WERE NOT BORN WITH VENOM IN YOUR VEINS. YOU LEARNED IT! YOU LEARNED IT!!!!! what if a fictional character taught me how to let go of the guilt i've been carrying around since i was a teenager. and he likes cats and books. and he has unmatched hubris and beautiful long hair

lan wangji (the untamed) - how did you already know your heart at 16, lan wangji? how did you know? what is it like to have such incredible conviction in your own righteousness, such immeasurable devotion to your love, that the only regret you will ever have is not making the decision sooner as the years tick by and you are without him?

leona (league of legends) - we're just going to ignore the 2248402 retcons and go for the vibes of a sun knight who believes so fervently that she is an embodiment of her faith and yet it loses her the person she cares most about in the world. devotion that turns into ash in your mouth babyyyy

hanzo (overwatch) - literally just this text post it makes me howl with laughter every time. it's giving redemption but while still being the worst person ever the entire time. vibes

fabian seacaster (d20) - the way that everything about him is about his father except that he's not his father. the way he kills his father. the way he keeps his father's legacy. i love a character a) who is meticulously crafted in the shadow of someone else and b) who, despite everything, desperately wants to live!!

tom wambsgans (succession) - the pathetic man representation of the group. toxic wifeguy but he's actually the wife except he's not the wife at all because he's a man. guy who knows how to simper and shake ass and still punches down at every opportunity. king

mizu (blue eye samurai) - revenge quest. gender fuckery. unlimited toxic threesome potential. a sense of self that is warped beyond comprehension by the world around her AND a never give up attitude. she can literally do it all

tony stark (mcu) - redemption arc except he takes great power = great responsibility so seriously that he makes it the entire world's problem and also it kills him. incalculable hubris, horrendous attitude, infinite daddy issues, etc.

kylo ren (star wars) - you kind of have to pick and choose with this one but i choose the guy who thought his uncle was going to kill him and, again, proceeded to make his problems the entire galaxy's problems. desperate attempt to escape the legacy he inherited, fucked up sense of self, too many ego problems to count, do we see the pattern yet. etc.

cersei lannister (asoiaf) - unfortunately tywin lannister's trueborn son and heir was born a girl and proceeded to make that everybody else's problem. we get it by this point right

also here are some recent book-ish runner ups because i'm incapable of not recommending these books if the opportunity arises: yskandr (a memory called empire), general ouyang (she who became the sun), breq (imperial radch), and baru cormorant (the masquerade) 😎✌

i'll tag @callingvoicemail @capitola @road-rhythm @saturdaysky @eskelent @pairofsunflowers @nocttvrnes @tangereendream @perpetualnovelboyfriend @princesskuragina if any of y'all want!