#and then silver snow not delivering on that :

[juppl]

TWST HC Silver x Gn!Reader

I love the idea of trying to pursue Silver or even just trying to just be friendly with him. But everything, whether it be plant or animal is getting in your way and trying to stop you from achieving it.

You’d plan to surprise Silver with a lovely arrangement of flowers all nicely wrapped in a bow only to be immediately drowned by a dark cloud of rain. The lord of malevolence unknowingly ruining your plans having to coincidentally be in a sour mood. Unfortunately all the rain and wind had the bouquet completely torn and destroyed, leaving you hung with sadness.

Another time, you had been blessed with the opportunity to be given a tour of the NRC stables by Silver himself. Only for the problem being that the moment Silver’s back was turned, you had been immediately bit by the his own horse. This initiating a physical brawl between you and it.

“Is something wrong? I thought I had heard some noise earlier.” Silver trailed off as he noticed your now disheveled hair and clothes, only to be met back with a wide reassuring smile from you and… his horse? “Nothing! Just a pretty big wind passed by is all.” You laughed as your arm remained resting around the horses neck, the two of you seemingly putting aside your fighting to put up face. Silver could only hum in response before continuing to show you around, strange he hadn’t felt any sort of wind earlier.

Or what about when you spotted Silver walking just ahead of you, giving you thought to catch up and say ‘hi’. But, a small squirrel who just happens to be quite of fond of silver itself, decides to stop you in your tracks.

“I’ll kick you to the next fucking plane if I have to.” You sneered at the rodent as you had basically hunched down to whisper loudly in its face. The only response you got was a string of squeaks and clicks before getting an acorn thrown at your forehead, it leaving a small red bump. “You little-!”

No matter what you tried, big or small, it all went up in flames, snow, or just plain out ripped to shreds (that including you):

Your tray of baked goods were quickly stolen after being left out on the windowsill to cool. -Grim

The notes you made to help Silver study ruined by a spilled potion incident. -Ace

You had burned your hand by accidentally being knocked over while trying to deliver a hot bowl of soup to a bedridden Silver. -Sebek opened the door on you too hard…

A loose branch had swung and hit you in the ribs when you tried to alert a sleeping Silver in the botanical gardens. -Tree

And a nice flower crown you had just made had been stolen and given to Silver without your credit. -That stupid squirrel

You sighed to yourself, slumped in your own infirmary bed. Drooping in your own self pity and sadness. It just wasn’t meant to be, you supposed as you tried to itch at the bandages over your hand. It’s fine, there are other fish in the sea that are probably easier anyways. Even if this one was really pretty and nice and so special in your eyes, you sniffled as small pitiful tears prickled your eyes.

“Hey! Henchman, you have a visitor!” Grim stated as he patted his paws against your stomach. “Hm? ..!”

He was like a the sun rising above the horizon, filling the dark sky with beautiful rays of light. “Um, sorry if I came at a bad time. I’ve brought soup…” Silver said softly as he held up a plastic bag of warm food. Your mouth gaped, shaking your head quickly in response. “No! No, it’s ok come sit!” You eagerly invited as your feet practically kicked in joy while you laid in bed.

“It’s not much, but I thought it would help with getting your strength back up for now. I know it’s probably not as good as your soup, but consider it thanks for taking care of me for a while.” He smiled down at you as he unpacked the contents of food from its plastic container. This was probably the most you’ve ever heard him talk in all seriousness, “But- How did you know—?”

“Sebek told me. I didn’t want your kindness to go unnoticed so I assumed that the best way to pay you back was to take care of you in return.” Silver explained before holding up a spoonful of soup to your mouth, unknowingly drinking it right up. He flashed another soft smile only to realize you had completely passed out. “Uh— wait! (Y/n)?? (Y/n)?!..”

[sabraeal]

At Your Command, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

They’ve got two guards at the gate— well, two that he can see, though he doesn’t doubt there’s a dozen more posted around this entrance, up on parapets and spying through towers, yucking it up each time some courtier acts out the inciting event in one of those puppet shows in the market. There’s a younger one— fair as any prince, at least by the etchings in the paper— his hat just scarcely too large to sit above his ears. An idiot, by the looks of things. An easy dupe.

The other one, though—

“Revoked?” The older guard sits back in his hips, eyeing the Marquis’s order— and his scar— with a hefty amount of skepticism. “Out of nowhere.”

Out of all the expressions he bends his face into, patronizing smile isn’t part of his regular vocabulary. It’s a real tussle between the muscles and teeth to keep it there instead of gritting down to a grimace. Gate guards aren’t meant to question noble couriers, especially not ones that come around flashing royal seals and dropping titles with more history than the palace itself, but here he is, standing in front of the only soldier with more than two thoughts to clack together to make a spark. Any minute now, this guy’s going to bark out an “Explain!” and he’ll have to dance the dangerous edge between obeying the letter of the law and defying its intent.

Or at least he would, if he wasn’t wearing this nice little uniform.

“Enough.” His teeth snap around the word with every ounce of authority the Marquis’s crest lends him. It’s not much this many rungs down the ladder, but it’s more than these chuckleheads have. “No objections.”

Oh, he makes a good show of barking and gnashing, but he might well be one of those little pillow dogs the ladies keep for all the good it does him. Now even the dupe’s got a wary look in his eyes, jaw setting the way it does before people start asking him things like, can I see your credentials, and what did you say your name is again.

Ha, he’d heard the Elder Highness ran a tight ship, but this is something else. Daddy might have let his lords throw their weight around, bullying the poor boys on door duty as if it were one of those divine rights passed down to them on high, but it seems at least this apple got flung far from the tree. Part of him’s impressed, he’s got to admit, but the other part—

The other part’s got a job to do. And, if this goes on any longer, a real nasty itch to scratch.

“Please try to understand”— he’s a study in softness now, pressing a hand to his heart, shoulders taking the same pleading tilt as his brow— “how this decision must have pained His Highness.”

The dupe’s all eyes now, wide and trembling, real taken with the idea of some princeling’s struggle with his tender emotions. But the older guard shifts his weight, arms crossed, and frowns. It’ll take more than a few tears and tugged heartstrings to get this guy to swallow a story.

Good thing he doesn’t have to. All he’s got to do is lean close, squinting down at the elegant sweep of the Marquis’s signature across the page, and he sees it too: it’s legal. However the hero here feels about this particular little prescript, putting it to question is well above his paygrade. At least so long as it’s the old king’s cousin who’s got his name slapped on it as co-signer.

“Well.” The scroll snaps shut in his hand, and he flashes the hero the sort of grin found on a knife’s edge. “That will be all.”

It’s new to him, walking away like this— lofty chin and step so springy he might looking into a high horse when all is said and done. A guy could get used to this sort of thing, no to mention the weight of his purse and the promise of enough food to fill him. All he’s got to do now is get back to His Grace and—

“Wait!” the older one shouts, giving him one hobbled step before he adds, “Get back here!”

It’s the sort of shout that could be for anyone— hell, he’s half convinced it’s not even him, up until his heels start sticking to the pavement, not so much holding him in place as making it a real hassle to saunter off with any style. Give the guy a few years and maybe he’d get enough gravitas to haul him up short, but as it is, he’s an annoyance rather than a threat. The kind that’s got him gritting his teeth to keep that servile smile on his face. “Excuse me. Is there—?”

“We’ve got to tell the prince.” It’s the younger one who says it— whispers it, really, the way mummers do on stage, loud enough to be heard all the way in the eaves— eyes anxiously aimed at his superior.

It’s a miracle he manages to grit out, “Tell the prince what?”

“It’s Lady Shirayuki,” the older one replies, not possessed with the same sense of urgency as his partner. In fact, he’s downright leisurely when he adds, “She forgot a book in the prince’s office and came back to get it.”

“It was just before you came, sir!” The idiot’s practically biting his nails down to the quick just thinking of it. “She’s already gone through!”

*

This job was supposed to go off without a hitch.

There’s no wiggle room for mistakes in this business; not when the difference between a good grift and a shallow grave is balanced on a blade’s edge. All it takes is a glance too unsavory or a word misspoke to see a man clapped in irons, dragged off to dungeons so deep even his own mother would forget his name. If he had one, that is. Men like him usually don’t.

Oh, not every job’s determined at knife point, draw blood or be bled, but the point still stands: there’s no such thing as a do-over when the coin you’ll pay with is your life. No amount of almosts will fill an empty belly, or a keep a body warm at night on the Port City’s streets. In a world where everyone’s fighting for scraps, it’s the ones who walk away that win. And he—

Well, he’s built a career out of being the one that does. Too bad this prince-chaser chick hasn’t gotten the message.

She’s probably skipped her way off to His Highness already, none the wiser. Makes the timing of this whole order a little sticky, but it’s nothing he can’t straighten out once she’s out of the pretty prince’s eyesight. Nothing like a royal decree and a frog march with a few guardsmen to really sell the story, after all.

But when he whips around, searching the scene through the gate, and— there, a flash of red flitting through the arcade. Ha, so the idiot hadn’t lied when about her coming through just before he got here. And just his luck, she’d stuck around long enough to hear her golden ticket get revoked.

His hand clenches on his shoulder, barely dulling the ache. Well, isn’t this nice? In the time it’d take him to convince the guards to get up off their duffs, the little gold digger’s going to have gotten her teeth sunk into the prince.

He’s never been much for plans. Contingencies, sure— nothing wrong with stacking the deck in to make sure he stays in Lady Luck’s favor. But when at any given moment a casual remark can drag his day to grinding halt, it’s his wits he’s learned to fly by. Wits and a good dose of sheer animal instinct, since when he tracks that cardinal weaving between columns, he’s already up on his toes, ready to give chase.

Not on her heels like some wet-behind-the-ears footpad on his first follow— that would take him through too many people, guards and nobles alike, all of them used to giving commands and expecting to be obeyed. No, he’s a half dozen steps past the gate when he finds his first foothold, vaulting himself up onto the shifting thatch of some outbuilding. It’s only a skip and a jump— maybe a harrowing leap or two, but who’s counting— before he’s up on the castle’s roof, tiles clacking and clattering beneath his boots. Not his usual ones, worn in and worn down, silent as a whisper, but the new ones His Grace’s bootblacks had shined to gleaming, made more for stirrups than streets, and certainly not for rooftops.

These tiles aren’t made for walking either, but he’s no stranger to making do— even a slip off the gutters is better than being brought to his knees by some young court flower, shocked at the impropriety of a man passing by her too quick. They might shift and slide, their smooth surfaces slick beneath a pair of boots too fine for friction, but his stride is still longer than some little miss, and his path far straighter. Oh, she might know all the twists and turns between the gate and the west wing, but he—

Well, all he needs is line of sight.

*

Plans might not be his forte, but his one contingency is tucked up against the tower— a library maybe, or some royal offices, he’d never bothered to check— caught against the rough patchwork between one hall’s straight roof and the curve of the tower’s. The quiver’s untouched, bow still safe in the shadows even under the mid-day sun, and it’s nothing to string it, just—

Just this damned coat doesn’t fit. One pull to full draw and he’s got shoulders up to his neck, practically drowning him in wool.

“Ha.” He’s careful to set the bow down gentle, leaning it against the fancy balustrade they’ve got rigged up round this place, even though there’s not even a door to get out to it. “Should have known. Noble messenger was never gonna sit easy on these shoulders.”

There’s no time for a full costume change, not when he can see her dodging the west wing guards idling in the arcade, but he’s got enough to shuck off his shell of respectability, letting it crumple to the tile. Hopefully whoever His Grace lifted it from didn’t expect it back— he sure wouldn’t be carting it through the gutters to make it happen.

Strung and nocked, the bow sits easy in his hands, not even a tremble on the draw. She’s not quick enough to make aiming a challenge, cutting a path without a single dodge or weave save for where she needs to skirt passerby. If he let it loose right now, he could stop her right in her tracks, let her bleed crimson all over this spotless white, but—

Don’t harm her. His hand jerks, curse curled around it, loosing the arrow wide, burying ash in stone rather than skin. He grins, draw hand flexing at his side.

“Nice,” he murmurs, watching the girl stare at the shaft that’s sprouted from the wall in front her. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

There’s a message bound on the shaft, a pretty bit of ribbon he’d snagged from a passing pigtail, but he doubts she’ll see it, never mind bother to read it. The arrow’s enough, most times, for people to pick up that they’re not wanted. This is the part of the job he likes most— in fear, everyone obeys with the same haste as he does.

But not this girl. The ribbon’s half unfurled from the force of the shot, and she lets it trail between her fingers as she unwraps the rest. To our dear red-headed guest, it reads, a clever bit if he says so himself— but even with the spyglass, he’s too far away to appreciate how her eyes must widen, how all that brazen greed must give out to fear. His one regret keeping his hands so clean on this one, since—

Since she just rips is out of the wall and runs. Not out, the way any reasonable person would, but in. Not to safety but toward—

Toward the prince. The prince, and this whole little debacle going entirely tits up.

Make sure she goes home. The command itches like a pulse beneath his skin, one he can feel all the way to his fingers. And for once, he doesn’t resist.

*

Little Miss Pushing-Her-Luck careens around the colonnades' corners, boots squealing as she slips past another pair of promising guardsmen, too confounded by her speed to do more than shout out, “Slow down!” before her back disappears.

The command nips at his heels, trying to sink its teeth into enough sinew to hobble him— that’s the real danger being out in the streets; this curse likes to turn caltrop whenever his ear catches a raised voice— but he’s old hand at dancing out of arm’s reach. A few hops across a convenient balcony and a tip-toe across a balustrade sees him safe, whatever weak tether those words have snapping as he drops down onto a tree branch. His feet plant, back to bark, as she races through the halls around him, arrow still clutched in her grip.

“Welp,” he sighs, cold metal sliding between his knuckles like old friend. “I tried to be nice, but looks like the only way to get rid of a leech is the old fashioned way.”

He lifts his arm, letting his curse set his aim—

Just to catch himself as a mop of silver-white rounds the corner, trailed by a giant and a goddess, both with blades at their hip— and the casual coiled strength of people who know how to use them. His Highness and his aides— the younger one. “Shirayuki?”

Well, damn. Steel presses cold to his palms as he pockets them. Looks like he’s run out of chances.

*

He expects the girl to hole up; after all, what better way to cozen up to a prince than to convince him her life’s on the line? His Grace might have told him to keep the carpets clean when it came to dislodging this particular pest from the palace, but it’ll take more than a little discouragement now that she’s gone to ground. No way she’ll just walk out here and let him have another chance—

And yet, that’s what she does. Slips right out of the prince’s office— empty-handed, he notices, stomach sinking down to his knees— and down the colonnade. Like she were any other guest. Like she didn’t just survive an arrow flying in her path.

This girl’s either the bravest woman he’s ever seen, or the stupidest. And he doesn’t have time to decide, not before she takes two steps and comes face to face with the one person who can make this situation even worse: his boss.

His fingers dig right into his shoulder, trying to ease the ache. It’s not his business, whatever they’re talking about. Not unless His Grace had a mind to make it so, which doesn’t seem likely when—

Ah, when he’s drawing his blade. And holding it, right there, at the young miss’s throat.

Protect your client. His breath catches, old words gripping him like a mother cat does its kitten: with jaws around its neck. Even at cost to yourself.

“Ha.” The laugh slips through the space between his teeth. “Guess there’s no getting around that one.”

*

It’s not easy to climb his way over— the trees here are ornamental, meant to sway prettily in the breeze, not hold weight, and spaced to encourage soft-soled nobles to stroll between them. A scoundrel swinging from branch-to-branch is straight out.

And yet, with a few more gravity-defying leaps than he’d like to think about, he makes it to the one just beneath the second floor’s balustrade. Fingers gripping tight, they hauling him up, his arms giving one good tremble before he spills himself over the stone. Ah, maybe he shouldn’t have turned his nose up at that breakfast. Looks like he could have used it.

He glances up, ears perked to hear just what sort of drama has unfolded in his absence—

“Fine, if you’re right, and I’m not supposed to be here” —the girl steps forward, the blade so close it dints her skin— “then it’s your duty to take that blade and cut me down.”

—and somehow it’s gone and got worse. Ah, if only his shoulder would let up on him, maybe he’d be able to think this through. At least before His Grace went and did his job for him.

“Stop, girl!” The naked blade trembles, catching the barest glint of the afternoon sun. “I won’t hesitate.”

There’s a moment where the girl startles, eyes blinking wide, first to His Grace, then to the sword between them. This is where anyone else would balk, where they would shuffle back and try to save face, but she—

She only smiles, letting the point dip so close it’s luck that keeps it from drawing blood. “Be my guest.”

[luciana-silentstar]

I decided because I love suffering that everyone gets their own halter.

[randomnameless]

RIP to the Silver Snow Black Eagles; those were the only versions of the characters that had any depth to them beyond "Supreme Leader sycophant with a single one-note gimmick that's never explored or developed past the concept phase", and it's unfortunate that Hopes nuked those versions off the face of the earth and Heroes will never put them in the game due to fear of angering the Edelstans.

I don't think devoted fans have any influence on FEH, but FEH is allergic to tackle the second part of Fodlan games in any meaningful way (like who started the war, its consequences, etc etc) so the BESF in SS will not appear.

Also, someone already noticed it, but FE Fodlan was released after FEH, so you could say most of the characters were designed to sell one-note gimmicks for the gacha game.

Bar this, yeah, it's kind of sad that the route - the one that served as a backbone to write FE16 - was nuked in Nopes, so we're left with the alt versions of the BESF instead of, what they were intended to be (aka SS) where they don't grow at all, or in different ways (bloodthirsty Caspar!).

Rip to SS!Ferdie, SS!Petra and SS!Caspar, even if you can still, sort of, find them in the other routes if they were recruited - even if I think Caspar was the character who was completely destroyed by Nopes, compared to even Ferdie who still shows some seeds of doubt in SB, before embracing his role as a member of Supreme Leader's court.

[koobratzy]

The Jewel of the North

Just a little fanfic idea I had. No one writes for Cregan, so now I take it upon myself to deliver what we've all been waiting for. Let me know what you think, and please reblog if you like what I wrote so far. It will help me reach a bigger audience <3 I love you all. Remember to take care of yourself!

Y/N Valaryon always knew she was a bastard. Her silver hair and violet eyes protected her from such rumors, making the court believe that she was the only trueborn child of Leanor, but she knew the truth. She was as much out of wedlock as her younger brothers.

The princess could see how Daemon Targaryen looked at her. He tried to be discreet, but his eyes always followed her like a shadow, no matter where she went. The prince was like a ghost. Hovering over her at all times but invisible to the naked eye. When Y/N managed to catch his gaze, there was longing inside. Desire to be near, to show his devotion for what it was. Love for his firstborn child. But he couldn't openly do that. The court was too watchful of Rhaenyra anyway, even without his involvement in the young princess's life.

Her own personality convinced her even further. She was full of fire. The veins inside her body transported heat with every breath, her heart burning with so much anger that even the princess got scared sometimes. From a young age, Y/N trained with a sword, just like her brothers did, and the abilities she presented could put many young lordlings to shame. It only became more apparent when the dragonless princess was found by Cannibal. Rhaenyra was terrified, her only daughter standing so close to the ferocious beast capable of swallowing her whole. And yet, it never happened. The dangerous monstrosity picked her. Of all dragons, she was chosen by him. The only beast that could match her inner flame and rage.

Young Valaryon knew that she was his. They could pretend all they wanted, but she knew the truth.

When Laenor Valaryon died, the curtains of the theatre of life they played so long finally fell, and Daemon got what he always wanted. His firstborn daughter. He could finally be the father he always wanted to be and help her reach full potential. Show not only how to control her rage but also how to use it to achieve whatever she dreamed of. His daughter would always be protected, either by him or her own strength.

Their life on Dragonstone was perfect. Cheerful, free of any worries, luxurious. Peaceful without the constant unsettling presence of her uncles. But dark clouds were gathering over the clear skies. A storm more dangerous than any in history was coming way quicker than anyone expected, and it was ready to devour House Targaryen with its jaws, throwing the realm into chaos.

What will become of Y/N's life? Will her entire world burn? Or is a bit of ice and snow enough to extinguish it before it turns into ashes?

[guttergirlcore]

A Den of Lions & Wolves

Cregan Stark x Lannister! Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS // It's your wedding day. You're a daughter of the powerful Lannister Dynasty. In a move for power, your father weds you to the man they call the "Wolf of Winterfell," Lord Cregan Stark. You know nothing of the Lord, only that you are expected to be his wife and bring him heirs as soon as possible. You dare not hope for romance, but your wedding night brings more than a few surprises.

WARNINGS // HotD universe, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, possessive behavior, Lannister!reader, AFAB she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma, angst, stand-offish Cregan, smut ofc

>>READ RESPONSIBLY<<

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1.3K

Your eyes burn with the unshed tears you've been holding in all day. Across from you stands the formidable Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North and head of the Stark Dynasty. In a few short moments, you'll be his wife and forever-more, Lady Y/N Stark.

The thought alone feels like a snake wrapping around your throat, closing off any possibility of escape.

Still, Lord Stark is a better match than you could have hoped for. He comes with a powerful title and appears to be close to your own age. Your mother was but a child of ten and three when she married your father, the then-grown Lord Therion Lannister.

The officiant continues his speech, allowing you the time to retreat into your mind before you must deliver the obligated "I do."

Just as you begin to slip into thoughts of the possibly bleak future ahead, Lord Stark reaches a hooked finger below your chin, firmly lifting your gaze from the snow at your feet to his ice-grey eyes. The eyes of a wolf, you think.

His gaze dares you to look away, to disobey his silent command. You know better.

You remind yourself that it could be worse. Lord Stark is undoubtedly good-looking. Not that you knew anything of his personality. You've heard that he is a good and fair Lord, but what did that really mean? All you could hope is that he would be kinder than the family you come from.

"I do." His booming voice echoes out, completing his vows.

"And you?" The officiant turns his attention to you.

"I do." You quietly confirm. What was the alternative?

Lord Stark draws you in for a kiss. As his lips find yours, you can't help but feel the final chess piece move into place on the board of your life.

Your hands smooth over the brown fur hide draped across the bed. You sat nervously on the edge, your eyes darting to the closed door time and again. Your handmaidens escorted you here after your bath, clothing you in a simple sheer nightgown and instructing you to wait for your Lord. You knew what was to come next.

Before you left home, your mother informed you of the duties you'd be expected to assume as a wife. She kept it simple, but you caught on quickly.

"A woman's duty is to obey, whatever the command, however she can," you heard your mother in the back of your mind. You internally rebelled against the notion, but you dared not act out on your dissent. Instead, you waited, resolute on what would come.

The silver knob of the door begins to turn and you take a deep breath.

In walks your husband, still dressed in his wedding attire. He closes the door firmly behind him and stands silently above you, his gaze sharp and piercing. Though you've known him less than a day, you gathered that he is a man of few words.

"Do you know what you are to do?" Lord Stark demanded.

You recalled your mother's words once more.

"I am to obey you, my Lord. Please, use me as you will." You laid back onto the fur-lined bed, gaze fixing on the ceiling.

Your skin felt charged, ready to ignite. A few unbearably long seconds passed before he spoke again.

"You are my wife and Lady of Winterfell, and you'll be treated as such. I won't fuck you like some broodmare." His strong hands find yours on the bed and effortlessly pull you to your feet. Still, in your standing position, Lord Stark towers over you.

"May I undress you?" He asks.

You're stunned by his demeanor but nod your head in consent.

His fingers find the hem of your gown, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulls it off of you and lets it drop into a shimmery pool at your feet. Your face grows warm at your bareness as his eyes roam hungrily over your body.

He unhooks several clasps and buckles on his own clothing, letting each piece drop to the ground with heavy thuds and occasional metallic clangs until he, too, is bare before you.

Your gaze travels down his strong, muscled torso and lower. You barely stifle a gasp at his length.

He reaches for your hand and places it atop his abdomen, slowly pulling your hand down until it rests on his erect cock. Your gasp echoes throughout the room this time.

Lord Stark's lips feverishly find yours as he helps you pump your hand up and down his length a few times. His warm tongue prods at your mouth until you relent to him, welcoming him inside. When you've found a rhythm, he releases your hand and places his onto your heat, feeling your wetness coat the pads of his fingers. Slowly, he dips two fingers at your entrance, gathering the juices there and smearing it across your bottom lip. Just as quickly, he licks it off with a satisfied hum.

The pace of your hand on his swollen cock quickens and he draws your hand away.

"That's enough of that. I don't want to waste my seed on the floor." He commands, gently pushing you back to a seated position on the bed.

"Lay back and spread yourself for me," he says.

You do as you're told, legs pulling apart to reveal the sticky mess he's already managed to make of you.

"What I wouldn't give to savor you tonight, but we've both got duties to fulfill." He grumbles, his heavy footsteps thudding closer to you.

With another step, you feel the pressure of the red, leaking tip of his cock press against your hole. You take a deep gulp of air as he steadily pushes his way inside you, groaning loudly and filling you to your absolute capacity. Your hands spring to his toned back as he lay atop you.

The pressure of his enormous member is nearly painful, but he allows you a moment to adjust once he bottoms out, which you are grateful for.

Not in the mood for prolonging anymore, he begins to deeply pump inside of you. It doesn't take long for the pressure to turn pleasurable as your moans mix with his.

Your legs lift to wrap around his hips, allowing him further inside you. This earns you a deep and hungry kiss as Lord Stark picks up his pace, fucking into you more desperately now.

You feel the hard slap of his full balls against your pussy with each thrust, pulling your closer to your own release.

Lord Stark feels your nearing as you tighten impossibly harder on his throbbing cock.

"Let go for me, Y/N. Let go and I'll give you your reward." He commands, and you are surprised to find how similar commands can sound like begging in the right context.

As always, you obey, gushing around his length with a strained cry of euphoria. Just as the last waves of your orgasm wash over you, you feel your Lord's pulsing cock contract inside of you, and his hot seed filling your womb. His moans crescendo into shouts of pleasure, echoing against the stone walls of your bed chamber.

He stills inside you for a moment, still throbbing but coming down from his unbearable high. Once he's composed himself, he slowly pulls out of you and his seed threatens to spill out.

He shoves his thick fingers inside your sore hole, pushing his cum back in. "You'll keep this inside, do you understand?" He says, his wolf eyes staring into you.

"I expect to have you again in a fortnight," he commands, hastily dressing in the clothes he'd discarded on the floor not long ago. "The handmaidens will make sure your needs are met while I am away."

"Yes, Lord Stark." You nod your head in understanding, too overstimulated by the day's events to ask any further questions.

"Please, it's Cregan. No need for the formalities. After all, that's my seed filling your cunt, is it not?" With that, Lord Cregan Stark swept out of the room.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tsumsted wonderland part iii card previews

The cards that will be features in Tsumsted Wonderland part 3 are being shown as Japanese train station ads! You can view them all here.

The SSRs (limited time banners): Vil, Idia, and Malleus

The SRs (limited time banners): Trey, Ruggie, and Silver

The (free) Rs: Ace and Jami

Some cute details I noticed:

bcjsbsjisneje Something about the way Jamil and Ace are holding their Tsums makes it feel like they’re handling basketballs (moreso Ace than Jamil); not sure if that was intentional or not since they’re both in that club.

… Jamil’s also kinda handling his Tsum like it’s a ripe tomato he’s about to cook up…

Look closely—Trey’s Tsum is doing that silly smirk 😂 You know the one, the smirk that actually makes Trey look a little mean and sinister.

RUGGIE’S TSUM BETRAYED HIM AND STOLE HIS MONEY?????? Slick…

Tsum!Rook is sitting atop the box in which the Huntsman was meant to deliver Snow White’s heart. Tsum!Epel’s got an apple—maybe the one that ends up poisoned? And, of course, Vil’s Tsum somehow has the arm strength to hold up a vial and help with concocting a poison.

Idia seems to be on a raft. Perhaps a reference to Hades upon the river Styx? It’s rare to see him posed so cockily; it’s nice to see him confident for once. His bravado and pose (+ Tsum!Ortho and Idia on his arms) makes me think of a Pokèmon trainer challenging you to a battle www

Awww, Silver swaddling his Tsum like it’s a baby…

HELP????? 😭 Malleus’s pose gives the impression that he’s juggling the Tsums for lols but he’s probably just levitating them with magic or something. I like that Tsum!Lilia is upside down whereas Tsum!Sebek is being viewed from a bottom-up perspective (it feels like it’s trying to intimidate us, lol). Malleus is holding his Tsum self like it’s a glass of wine that some Big Bad final boss swirls around while monologuing about his plans for world domination. (Well… that’s not too far off, I guess 🤡)

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (27) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you reach your final straw. 

word count: 1,314

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: angst city™, reader is very very stubborn, not proofread

Coriolanus had begun sending you flowers. White roses overtook your room. It was practically a garden itself with how many he had sent you. It might have been a sweet gesture. Once. You knew how precious his roses were to him. When his family was in utter ruin, those roses were the only thing they still had from their days of wealth. Even now, when Coriolanus was King, he kept perhaps hundreds of rose bushes on the palace’s property. Every vase was full of roses. Every portrait commissioned during his reign featured roses. You weren’t sure, in your short time here, if you had ever seen a different kind of flower. 

Now, you just wanted to throw every vase he sent you against the wall. 

Did he think that you would forgive him if he sent you flowers? Did he think that absolved him for the way he treated you? Coriolanus had spouted on and on about how much he adored you, how he trusted you. But the moment you told him you were pregnant, it felt like he was beginning to regard you the way other husbands regarded their wives. An object, something to order around and obey without question. If Coriolanus thought he could tell you how and how not to behave, he was sorely mistaken. And certainly didn’t truly believe you were as much of a Queen to his King as he led you to think. 

So, you started having the bouquets directed to another bedchamber and ordered those who were tasked with delivering them to you to inform Coriolanus you had received them. If Coriolanus was going to disrespect your birthing choices, you were going to disrespect his presents. 

Knock! Knock!

The butler who brought your daily books slipped into the room. He crossed over to your vanity and removed the books from the silver tray. He turned, and you expected to leave. Instead, he stared at you and cleared his throat. 

“His Majesty requests your presence at dinner this evening,” he said. 

“Tell His Majesty he can kiss my ass.”

The butler sputtered, his eyes going wide. “Your Majesty!”

“His Majesty does not get to demand my presence when my very lack of presence has been caused by him. If he wishes for me to be there, then he can do better than sending me bouquet after ridiculous bouquet of these damned roses. He could talk to me himself. He could make amends.” You took a breath. “You can tell His Majesty that I will be leaving for the cottage in two days time.”

It was early than you planned. Far earlier. You had barely reached your sixth month, but you could not stand being in this palace for a second longer.

“Inform the physician as well, if you will.”

The butler’s eyes darted to the door. He must be eager to escape. Though you had little interaction with the staff over these past few weeks, you knew they were all on edge. They had been accustomed to the sickeningly sweet displays of affection. For it to be so cold now…Surely they were waiting for a fight that would be worse than any war. Perhaps they might see that fight tonight. You weren’t sure it would happen, though. Coriolanus had not done a damned thing since you moved out of your once-shared chambers. Why would he do anything now. 

He nodded then slipped out the door. It click’d shut. You fell back on the settee, hand cradling your growing bump. As your eyes fell shut, you heard mumbling on the other side of the door. Curious, you walked closer to it, pressed your ear against the door. 

“I apologize, but the Queen is insistent that she leaves soon,” the butler said.  

Who was he talking to? He surely couldn’t be—

“Find reason then to delay her,” Coriolanus said. It sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. 

Rage flared in your chest. What right did he have to be upset? This was all of his own design. And how dare he be here! How many days has he stood outside your door, never saying a damned word! Was he not going to do anything to fix this? Was he just waiting for the day for you to give up and pretend that everything was fine? 

You reached for the door and jerked it open. The butler jumped. Coriolanus looked at you, his pale blue eyes going wide. 

“P—”

“I have changed my mind,” you said. Your voice was tight as you were trying to control the tears that began to well up. Coriolanus took a breath, his eyes turning hopeful. “I leave tonight. Don’t you dare follow.”

It was not a fight worse than any war, but Coriolanus looked like you had stabbed him in the heart anyways. Good. 

Maybe he would finally hurt as much as you. 

Dear Sejanus,

I have left the palace. Please do not direct any further corresponded there. For the foreseeable future, I will be residing in the Snow family cottage. We shall not be calling it that anymore, however. I do not care what we call it, but I do not wish to be tied to the Snow at the present moment. While I am glad that I did not run away with you, I do wonder if I should have fought harder against marrying Snow. In the beginning, all was right. It felt like a good choice, as though he were a true Prince Charming. Since I came to be with child, Snow has become worse than the man he was before we wed. I do not know who he is anymore. 

Enough of me. How are you? Were you able to pass your medic test? 

Dearest Sejanus, 

My physician has told me of a way to tell if my child shall be a boy or a girl. Truthfully, I think it’s all an old wive’s tale. Perhaps that is because the “test” seemed inconclusive based on how the physician explained it. He is, however, insistent that I shall be having a boy. I told him he could save those declarations for men like Snow. I hope I don’t have a boy. I want a girl who I can teach to stand up for herself. To never allow a man to think she’s unworthy of anything. That might be wishful thinking.

Life is Thorn’s Grove is beginning to become lonely. There is nothing here for miles and miles, save for a Peacekeeper base. The only people I see are the staff, and I can hardly call them friends. I have tried to initiate conversations with them, but they seem so terrified of saying the wrong thing that it goes nowhere. I wish you could be here. Conversation always flowed easily with you. And it might just infuriate Snow if he found out. Kill two birds with one stone.

I’m so pleased that you passed your test! Will you be remaining at the same base or shall you be going elsewhere? 

Sej, 

I have been ordered to bedrest. There was a scare the other day. Nothing to worry about, if I should say so. The physician is being overly cautious. I think he is worried that Snow would have his head if something were to happen to me. Regardless, as I said, it is nothing of concern. I became lightheaded while going down the stairs and nearly fell. I didn’t, of course, yet the physician acts as though I am on the verge of fainting any time I go farther than my chambers. It seems I have traded one prison for another. 

I cannot believe you are at the very base that is so close to Thorn’s Grove! When my child is born, you should come to visit. Snow will be displeased, but he has not even attempted to come here since I left the palace. I doubt he will ever come.

It would be nice to see you again. 

I miss my Coryo.

[margojacksonpotter]

Parts in Mockingjay book that should have been in the movie:

-Katniss really disliked living underground at 13. She felt claustrophobic and missed being outdoors and hunting. She never followed the schedule to train and just hid in supply closets and took naps. If anyone tried to question this, she’d show them her medical bracelet and tell them she’s mental.

- Katniss and Annie traveled from 13 to 12 with Katniss’ prep team to find Annie a wedding dress in her house in Victor’s Village. Katniss’ wedding dresses were sent back to the Capitol but she still had a few dresses from the Victory tour. Annie chose a green one. Katniss says Annie laughs at wrong times in a conversation and drifts off mid sentence but Finnick likes her so she does too.

- Peeta decorated Finnick and Annie’s wedding cake. It was part of his therapy after getting hijacked. He decorated it with blue and green waves for their district.

-Johanna and Katniss’ friendship: Johanna wanted to fight in Capitol with the Katniss and Finnick. She and Katniss were deemed too “mentally unstable” to fight. They had to start at the lowest level in training and work their way up to the top. They were even roommates for a while. Katniss noticed Johanna avoided showers and was scared of training outside in the rain. She later finds out Johanna developed a fear of water after being tortured in the Capitol by being waterboarded and electrocuted.

- Katniss was mad that Peeta was sent to fight in the Capitol so she calls Haymitch. Haymitch gives her the ultimate reality check, delivering the best line in the series: “I think it's time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you'd been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?” demands Haymitch. I fall silent. It isn't. It isn't how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost”.

- In the last part of the training, Johanna and Katniss go through a combat stimulation in which the person must face their greatest weakness. Katniss’ weakness was taking orders (no surprise). In Johanna’s stimulation, she faced a flood, had a flash back and panicked. She was sent back to the hospital and wasn’t allowed to the Capitol. To make her feel better, Katniss combined pine tree needles with a bandage to make a sort of fragrance bundle. Johanna said it smelled like home. 🥹

- After the silver parachutes bombs and Prim’s death, Katniss was also affected by the fire. Her skin became discolored and patchy. Peeta was also at the Capitol Circle during the bombing and was burnt as well. He and Katniss have burn scars all over their bodies that never fully go away.

-After the bombing, Katniss is described as a mental “Avox”, refusing to speak for weeks after her sisters death.

-All the stylist and prep team of the Hunger Games were assassinated, with the exception of Effie and Katniss’ prep team. The victors of the Hunger Games were killed as well except for the ones who were imprisoned in the Capitol and saved by District 13.

- The bombs decorated as silver parachutes to m@rder Capitol children was Plutarch’s idea. A Gamemaker’s touch as President Snow described. Plutarch was just as bad as Coin. He thought it made for “good television”

-After Katniss murdered Coin, she was kept in the Training Center for weeks till they figured out what to do with her. She considered s@uicide many times, either by overdosing or refusing to eat. She wouldn’t speak and sang to herself constantly. All the songs her father taught her. After the war ended, Plutarch asked her if she wanted to be a part of a singing competition he was televising in 4.

-Katniss and Peeta wrote a book about all the people they knew and details about them: Primrose, Cinna, Finnick, Peeta’s dad. Peeta drew the pictures. Haymitch helped them too, giving them information about the tributes he was forced to mentor. They plan on reading the book to their children one day.

-What happened to District 12: Hundreds of people left 13 to go back home to 12. They began finding bodies in the rubble and burying them. Madge and her family were found dead. A large hole was made in the Meadow to bury them. Then people began rebuilding the town. With the mines closed, a factory was built from the Capitol to make medicine.

[ichorai]

the wolf and the beast ; toji fushiguro.

part of the A SONG OF CURSES AND CROWNS collection!

pairing ; assassin!toji fushiguro x stark!f!reader

synopsis ; nobody told him that his target had a direwolf.

words ; 3.3k

themes ; fantasy, asoiaf au, assassin au, prisoner au, enemies-to-???

warnings / includes ; mentions of murder, descriptions of injury/blood, classism, foul language, toji hates your wolf, toji stealing from a whorehouse LMAO

main masterlist.

Lannisters paid good money for their dirty work to be done by someone other than them. Toji was more than happy to comply once he heard the price for your head was enough to last him a few years, maybe even more if he stopped betting on jousting events. He asked no questions, and didn’t bother dwelling on the reason why they wanted you dead. Though, if he had to guess, it might have been because you were the most eligible noble lady to be married off to the king (a white-haired cunt, Toji liked to call him). Being Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms was clearly a position the Lannisters were hungry to get their claws on. 

Toji didn’t really care. He was just happy to get the gold.

It was supposed to be a simple, easy task. After all, you lived in a cushy castle, draped in expensive furs and coats, eating the softest of breads and drinking the sweetest of nectars. The spoiled brats were always the easiest to take out. 

Getting into Winterfell went smoother than he’d expected. A few miles down the road leading to the castle, he’d killed two men driving a horse-led cart full of wine barrels—meant to be delivered right to Winterfell. 

And so he got through the South gate with ease. The guards interrogated about the wine, and Toji prattled on about the aging process of the alcohol, the special concoction of grapes and infused spices, the sweetness of the reds, the tartness of the gold wines, and whatnot. None of it was really true, of course. Toji just spoke out of his ass, pulled out product papers he found in the satchels of the men he killed, and smiled charmingly when the guard waved his hand to let him pass.

A gangly, young stableboy with red hair and blue eyes escorted him to cellars, where the wine barrels would be stored. And, after asking the little boy, Toji realized, to his utter delight, the Great Keep was just above him. 

Up the cobblestone staircase he went, far louder than a mouse, but Toji moved quick enough for it not to matter. 

There was one problem, however. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of you not being in your chambers. Which, you clearly weren’t. The entire Keep was silent and vacant, save for a few handmaidens he spotted collecting soiled laundry. He made sure to keep out of their sight.

And so, Toji settled for waiting in the largest chamber—which he assumed was yours, being the Warden of the North and all. He glanced around, inspecting all the trinkets laid about on your desk: silver jewelry, shoddy wooden carvings of wolves, and, interestingly, various scabbarded daggers. He pocketed what looked to be of some value. He inspected some more, lazed around on your large bed, and rifled through the many furs and fine garments in your closet. Many of the dresses he held up to his chest spanned only half the width of his broad shoulders, much to his amusement.

Hours later, once footsteps echoed down the hall, Toji sprang up from the polished wooden chair (he totally hadn’t fallen asleep) and hid behind the door. 

You strode in, covered in dirt, snow, and dried blood. There were leaves clinging to your hair. It seemed that you’d just gotten back from a hunting party. You had yet to spot the tall, burly man in your chambers, your back still to him as you began to shirk off your boots.

That was when Toji moved. 

Curved blades in hand, Toji surged forward and aimed to stab you right through your heart—

You turned around just in time to see your direwolf lunge at the figure, her sharp teeth sinking into Toji’s shoulder. The man let out a startled cry of pain, the weight of the wolf sending him careening down to the ground, his head cracking against one of the posts of your bed. Stars danced about his vision as pain shot down from nearly every part of his body.

Its teeth tore through the musculature of his bicep and collar, its claws tearing through his tunic and the skin of his abdomen with each swipe. Toji landed a poorly aimed strike to the direwolf’s midriff, but she merely grew more aggressive in her ministrations. 

Nobody had told him you had a fucking direwolf.

If he’d known, he would’ve reconsidered taking the job. He still would have agreed, in the end, the gold was too much to turn down, but it would’ve been good information to know beforehand. 

Curse the Lannisters. Curse their gold. Curse you and your stupid pet—

“Down, Reika,” you ordered, which had the accursed beast backing away from him with snarling, bared teeth, dripping with what he assumed was his blood. “Good girl.”

Toji made a strangled noise of pain as he attempted to sit up.

“It’s been a long day,” you stiffly told him, eyes narrowed as you knelt down and pressed one of the daggers from your desk—now unsheathed—right over his jugular. The cold metal kissed his skin and he immediately stopped moving. He could see his weapon scattered an arm’s length behind you. There was no way he could possibly reach it without you slitting his throat first. “Hunting party gone wrong. I wanted nothing more than to come home and take a long, hot bath. And what do I have to deal with? A sad attempt at an assassination, and my carpets covered in your blood.”

Toji scowled, but said nothing in return. 

“Guards,” you said, strangely calm for someone who had nearly (if not for your wretched, overgrown dog) been assassinated. “Take him to the dungeons.”

As Toji was dragged away, leaving a dripping trail of blood in his wake, he caught a glimpse of you kneeling by your wolf, your hand shaking with adrenalized fear you hadn’t dared show in front of him. He was glad he was able to see it—just a glimpse of weakness was more than enough ammunition for him.

The dungeons were cold and dreary. Much like the rest of the North, Toji bitterly thought. It was hard to see as well, for the sparse few torches hanging on the walls only barely lit the walkway. 

He could hear everything, though. Dripping of water in the distance. A raven cawing outside. The torch’s flame whispering greed to the air. Footsteps growing louder—

Toji sat up against the wall when a figure stepped in front of the wrought metal bars, dark with decades of use and age. 

“Food,” came your voice. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

The man, your prisoner, lazily tilted his head up from his position on the ground to look at you, his gaze dropping down to your hands where one carried a bowl of braised meat and the other held a chalice of wine. The chalice alone was probably worth more than anything he’d ever owned in his life.

“Bring food to a man? I can tell,” Toji dryly responded.

Your expression remained unchanged. “Bring food to a prisoner.”

It was then that Toji noticed a pair of glowing eyes by your legs, the beast’s tale curling over the back of your knees. The maester might have bound him up nice and clean (though not without pursed lips of obvious disapproval), but his wounded shoulder still throbbed with terrible pains. 

“You brought your dog,” he observed.

“Wolf,” you corrected. “Her name is Reika.”

“Wretched thing,” Toji half-heartedly snarled.

The beast snarled back at him. Its eyes, amber and sharp, only grew brighter with agitation.

You decided to ignore his comment. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing in my chambers?”

There was clear disdain in your features, from what little Toji could see of it anyway, but he could also pick up on the evident curiosity there—it wasn’t every day you had to deal with a Southern commoner.

“Won’t make much of a difference now, would it?” he drawled, kicking his feet out so he could rest his elbows over propped-up knees.

“Your choice of words could very likely spark up a war between houses,” you said. It was said as a jest, though you knew it was a large possibility. 

“Would be no fun to start a war if I’m not there to partake,” came his reply. His stomach cinched as he inhaled sharply, the warm smell of peppered venison wafting through his cell. “You came here to give me food and yet you’re still clutching onto it like a babe with its mother’s teat.”

“You have a foul mouth,” you said, now slightly amused. Who knew the Warden of the North had a sense of humor? “Tell me who sent you. Then comes the food.”

Toji glowered some more. For a minute, he considered what you’d do if he simply refused to say anything. But his tummy grumbled, and his resolve dissipated into mist.

“The Lannisters paid me a pretty sum to have you dead,” he said. 

To his interest, you didn’t seem a single bit surprised. “Ah. Yes, I suspected so. Jenna Lannister was particularly prickly to me last we met.”

“Are you going to give me the food or what?” Toji barked, words heavy with irritation. He really couldn't care less about your snooty endeavors.

“I don’t want the throne,” you went on, much to his chagrin. Though, you did lower yourself to his same position and slipped your wrists through the bars to place down the bowl and chalice. “Not the Iron one, at least. The burden is heavy… and the North is enough for me. Marrying the king means I’d have to sire heirs, and I have no interest in doing so. Winterfell is not short of Starks—my brother and his lady wife have had enough little children for our name to carry on the family legacy for centuries.”

Toji could have easily grabbed at your wrists and slammed your head bloody into the bars. Your stinking mutt made him pause, however, and you pulled away before he could make a move. 

Besides, he was hungry.

Toji tore at the meat like a rabid animal. It fell apart in a deliciously tender manner. Hot soup dribbled down his palms, which he ravenously licked away. You didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you took a seat opposite his cell and watched him with clear fascination.

“How’d you get that scar?”

Toji chewed at a particularly large chunk of meat and swallowed it with little effort. “Not everyone grows up in a lavish castle eating pastries and meats and sucking squire cock.”

It took you a moment to respond, but when you did, your words were calm and flat. “I’ve brought you meat. If it is pastries and squire cock you require, you need only ask. Give you a taste of a lordly life.”

Now you really must have been japing. Mocking him, even. Toji didn’t find you all that funny. 

“Why are you here?” he gruffed around another mouthful after taking a long swig of wine. “Are friends hard to come by in the North? Or is it just you?”

That seemed to strike a nerve. You sucked at your teeth. 

“I saw you,” he pressed. “As your guards dragged me away. I saw you looking scared. Cowering by your wolf because I nearly got you. If that beast hadn’t been there, you would have been long dead. It would suit you.” Toji’s eyes gave you an intrusive onceover, despite all the layers you were wearing. “You’d make a lovely corpse.”

“Only a fool fights back fear,” you shot back, though it was quite obvious that your confidence had taken a blow. “Fear keeps us alive.”

Toji made a humming noise into the bowl that he picked up to slurp at the last remaining drops of soup. 

“More,” he demanded once he pulled his face away, tongue laving over his lips to catch what had smeared over his mouth. The portion you had given him was ridiculously small.

Perhaps that was a calculated choice. Toji only realized that when you spared him a cold little smile. 

“Hey!” he growled out when you pushed yourself back onto your feet. “I’m fucking starving here!”

Silent as a wraith, you strode out of the dungeons with Reika padding along beside you.

Much time passed. Each night (Toji assumed it was night, he could hardly tell since there were no windows anyway), you would come down with a bit of food and drink. You would sit and talk with him about the most mundane of things, the most asinine of topics, and the most boring of subjects. Toji yawned and yawned so you would take the hint, but you ignored him each time.

He was beginning to think you truly didn’t have any friends up there. Other than your stinky mutt, of course.

There was even one time where you had opened the grating. From what he heard, Starks were quite religious folk—slobbering all over their bloody trees and old gods. He’d told you he wanted to see the Godswood as he himself was devout (he, of course, was nowhere near devout and hadn't prayed a single day in his life), and you, with softened eyes, reluctantly agreed on the condition that he remained shackled and quiet. 

He killed a guard that night trying to escape. You struck him with a terribly strong blow to the back of his head, and your damned wolf sunk its teeth into his shin. The maester was none too happy to see him again. No milk of the poppy was administered, so he suffered through the pain. It was all worth it, though. He was outside of the dungeons for a grand total of two seconds, and the air had never tasted so clear and so sweet. 

You were angry at him for quite a while but still found it in you to visit nearly every day, which Toji found highly amusing. Then you grew soft on him again (which took many moons), and Toji oft wondered if you usually pardoned prisoners this quickly. 

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Toji asked on the seventh moon of him being your prisoner. Of course, he had asked this question multiple times before, but your answer seemed to always vary.

You may be of value. You do not deserve death. The gods smile at mercy. Reika likes you. 

Those were all reasons you’d given him before. Though Toji had a very hard time believing the last one.

You regarded him with knitted brows. “If I’m being honest… I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

Toji drew his head back in surprise. Then, an arrogant, flirtatious smile flitted over his scarred mouth. It was the same smile he used to use on whores in the Street of Silk so they would take him to their seducing chambers—he could never understand how the drawers and shelves of whorehouses seemed to always have an abundance of loose coppers and silvers. 

“But—” You began to continue but Toji quickly cut you off.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, lifting a hand up. You frowned. “You’ve fallen in love with me. And you’re thinking that if the circumstances were different, we’d be pawing at each other’s bodies like there was no tomorrow. And you worry that your people wouldn’t approve. You needn’t worry about such matters—I’m sure Northern folk would regard me as your equal if you let me out of the cell and force me into marriage. That would make me their liege lord, wouldn’t it?”

An indignant look settled over your features, your skin flushed as if you’d downed a heady drink.

“Are you mad? Of course I’m not in love with you, you imbecile,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “Besides—I’m not looking to marry anyone. And if I was, you’d be the very last on my list, thank you very much.”

Toji didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed at his bold assumption.

“I had to try, didn’t I?” He gave you that lazy smirk once more. “Being Lord of Winterfell sounds like a cushy life. Cushier than this one, at least.”

“Well…” You toyed with a frayed thread on your robes. “I can offer you a life cushier than prison.”

Toji snorted. “I’m not going to be a glorified stableboy or a squire. I’d much rather sit here and have you bring me food than the other way around.”

“I considered sending you to the Night’s Watch,” you admitted with a ponderous look. “There are plenty of men like you there—I’m sure they would welcome another good fighter.” Toji didn’t have time to snark about how you’d complimented him before you were already speaking again. “But then I realized that you might still be of use to me.”

“I’m a good bed warmer,” offered Toji. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid on a plush bed. Not since yours, at least. He thought about your bed often. Usually without you in it. The times he did imagine you there, your wolf always came in and ruined his entire lovely daydream.

You spared him an unamused look. “I want you to be my spy. Ears and eyes for me down South. Particularly in the West, where the lands crawl with Lannister cock-sucking houses. I need to know what they plan so I can be five steps ahead.”

A moment of silence passed by. Toji’s upper lip curled into a sneer.

“No,” he began to protest. “Why in the seven hells would I—”

“I’ll pay you with enough gold to sink you to the bottom of the ocean. And once you have tired of gold, I’ll fill you with as much venison stew as your heart desires. And once you get sick of that, I will find you a Northern castle and grant you the title of a lord for your services. You’ll live the rest of your days comfortably. Granted you do as I tell you, of course.”

That made Toji pause and consider your offer.

“Why me?” he finally asked. He drew nearer to the bars, nearer to you. 

“You’re a Southerner, aren’t you? You know the lands better than any of my loyal Northmen. You’d… fit in.”

Toji wanted to laugh. He wasn’t ever very good at fitting in.

“How do you know I wouldn’t just lie to you and ally myself with the Lannisters?”

“Because,” you huffed, nose wrinkling. “You think they’re all cunts. You’ve said it yourself plenty of times. And—I’m not foolish enough to have you as my sole plant. If you lie, I’ll know. And I’ll have Reika hunt you down… and she won’t be held back this time.”

She was holding back the previous times? Toji distantly thought with a scowl. 

“What do you say?”

“It’s a far journey down South. You’ll miss me.” Toji’s cheek pressed up against the uneven metal bars. They were so cold it felt as if they were burning right through his flesh. 

“I’ll find another prisoner to entertain,” you replied, eyes glimmering. Another jape. You didn’t deny his words, however.

A moment of considerable silence passed. Toji bowed his head ever so slightly. The first time he’d ever done so to you.

“I’m in, Wolf.” It didn’t pass his notice how your eyes lit up, how your back stood a little straighter, how your fingers curled excitedly into the fabric of your riding cloak. You didn’t even seem to mind the nickname he’d given you. “When do I start?”

[georgiapeach30513]

A Snowflake Melts, Part 1

Summary: Your ex Jack O'Malley is an unscrupulous man. An excellent bounty hunter that comes alive in winter. He is winter. He terrifies you. Running away from him and your family, because even they couldn't keep you safe from the winter chill itself, you find yourself in a remote area. Living alone for almost a year when your new neighbor Steve Rogers arrives. He was curious instantly, and you were smitten just as quickly. Can you and Steve deny each other all winter long? And what will the other seasons bring? Will it bring you real true love?

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: fluffy

Warnings:  none, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.7K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“And once the snow gets thicker, you’re not going to be able to get out easily. So make sure you’re fully stocked. Your neighbor is a bit of a recluse, but maybe if she’s feeling sorry for you, you know,” Steve Rogers’ eyes look down the road where his real estate agent was pointing. A giant silver and white cat stares at him with her piercing green eyes.

He’d almost think it was a statue if it wasn’t for her mane bellowing in the wind. “Sir?” The old real estate agent tries to get his attention. Waving a hand in front of his face. “Mr. Rogers? Do you understand, you could get stuck out here with no food?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Steve shakes his head, trying to get the cat’s piercing eyes out of his mind. “If the snow gets thick, I’m stuck, and I will starve without provisions. Got it. So who lives down the road?”

“Ehh, you should leave her alone. She’s self sufficient. Never leaves. Will get things delivered there. She shouldn’t be a problem,” Steve looks back towards the cat, and she tilts her head to the side before turning and walking down the road and to the neighbor. “That’s her cat. She looks more ferocious than she actually is.”

“Who is she?”

“Someone who wants to remain private and live off grid. Leave her be. You’ll have a nice time being all isolated out here. You didn’t come here for friends, and that’s good, she won’t be. There’s deep freezers in the basement. Make sure your generator is full of gas and that you have plenty of firewood. Might I suggest a pet? It gets lonely out here once you get trapped. And whatever you do,” the man pauses to glare at Steve as his attention is back on the winding road.

“Yeah, leave my neighbor alone. Got it. She’s just got a cat that stands and stares at me.”

“Mistletoe is harmless,” Steve curls his nose up as he looks at the old man. “Mistletoe, it’s the cat’s name,” he shrugs, starting to walk towards the edge of the porch, “She’s nice. Very protective of her owner. Have a nice day, Mr. Rogers, stock up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waves a hand, waiting until the man leaves before his curiosity is back towards that road. He didn’t know why, but he felt drawn to that road. Drawn towards the cat. “A pet, huh?” He sighs, looking at his secluded cabin. It’s what he needed. He didn’t want to be around people anymore. But winter is coming. Isolation sounds both amazing and terrifying.

With a final glance down the road, he stretches before grabbing up an ax. Firewood will be the best way to start the preparation. And who knows, maybe eventually see what the house down the road had to offer. It would get lonely. Surely there was a reason he was drawn to that crooked little road.

You peek out your door, giving a deep inhale before fully stepping out onto the porch. Your eyes dart around your settings as you waft the air around you. Pine. That was it. It offered up pleasant memories since you are out here all alone. Your precious little cat jumps up on the railing of the porch, and you curl your nose at her.

“You’ve been nosy, Missy. What’s up there?” Her eyes slowly blink before she mews at you. “A new neighbor, huh? A man?” Another mew, and you hear the loud bang of firewood. “A strong one. It’s not him, is it?”

Mistletoe lazily blinks her eyes before jumping down. Her furry feet carry her to the door, and you open it up to allow her into the house before you look up the road. You had hoped to spend another winter alone. Secluded and utterly alone. If you had people around you, you wouldn’t be as vigilant, and he would find you.

Even your father couldn’t stop Jack. And if he couldn’t, you don’t know who could. Jack could find anyone, and in winter he was in his element. Living somewhere tropical all year round just wasn’t an option, you needed a taste of home. Need to hear the crackle of a fireplace, and the foggy windows. You couldn’t fully give up a winter wonderland.

You need to smell the pines, and the fresh scent of snow. You need to feel the warmth of a fireplace, and you couldn’t leave Mistletoe behind. She needs the winter as well.

A neighbor. It was an odd concept. You didn’t think anyone would want to live out here, much less that shitty little cabin. Looking over at your animals, you know it’s time to stop playing around. Winter is coming, and you need to make sure that everything is settled. And everything was ready. You look forward to being holed up in your cabin with no one but Mistletoe, and the small little homestead you have created. Just the way you like it. Simple. Alone. And away from him.

Steve wipes the sweat off his brow, watching the light snowflakes start to lay on the cold ground. Winter was here. He was still oddly intrigued by the house at the end of the road. You never left. A few deliveries were made, but never you. He didn’t even know how old you were. What you looked like. Just knew that you had a curious cat named Mistletoe.

“No!” He scolds the fluffy cat who swats at Steve’s newest friend. “What did she do to you?” Mistletoe looks up at Steve, her eyes narrowing at him. “She’s just a puppy. Look at her,” she looks at the fast growing malamute puppy who just wags her tail at the cat.

“You came here to see us. She just wants to play,” the puppy leans forward, her haunches in the air, giving the cat a little bark. “You don’t play? You just came up here to spy?”

If cat’s could roll their eyes, this one did. Turning around and starting to walk back home. “Maybe I should follow you?” She spins around, hissing at Steve. “You do understand. Who is down there?”

Mistletoe’s body hunches up as she gets defensive. Spitting out her frustration at Steve, “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just need to make sure she can make it through the winter. I’m talking to a cat. This is going to be a long year,” the fluffy cat starts to walk back down her road, but keeps her eyes focused on Steve. She didn’t trust easily. She learned her mistake.

“Eventually the snow will be too thick to walk in! What is she going to do with her animals?” He growls at himself. Feeling stupid for carrying on with a cat, and then he turns to his furry friend, “You don’t show as much human-like qualities as she does, Sugar Cookie. Come on, let’s get inside. I will make it down there one day. I need to see for myself.”

One day, Steve knew he was going to see it. It was like a beacon of light calling his name, and he needed to go down there. He needs to figure out who lives down there. And why he felt like he was being pulled down there. Maybe once the snow came.

Jack steps onto a frozen pond, and takes a deep breath. Finally it was his favorite time of year. The time of year when the wind nips at your nose, and snowflakes crystallize on the ground. A winter wonderland indeed.

He knows you wouldn’t travel too far from home. You would need winter just as much as he does. It’s why you belong together. One — or two fights and you just run away. Cut yourself off from your parents, and all that you had ever known. You wouldn’t ever do that.

You were the sweetest Holly Berry. Someone must have gotten into your head. You wouldn’t leave him. Of all people to leave behind, it would never be him! Your usual instagram account was still silent. You had made some likes, but no posts, and that pissed him off. He needs to see your face. He needs you. And you need him.

He could feel you growing weaker. The two of you were made for one another, and needed to revel in flurries. He just had to make you understand that. Your father did. He understood that there wasn’t a more perfect couple than you and him. The two of you had been born of the ice and snow.

And now he has to find you, all the while doing his job. You would run during winter, and just to annoy him. He was busy, and you wanted to be a little brat.

“Sir!” Some woman behind Jack screams, and he gives her a glance back. “Sir, the ice isn’t thick enough. It won’t hold you.”

Ugh. Mortals. Jack rolls his eyes as he squats down, placing a hand on the ice, he watches it thicken beneath him. Smiling at his reflection as frozen fractals bloom out from his fingers. Never giving another look back as he struts across the pond. He had a limited time to find you. Winter was never long enough for his liking.

Taking a long sniff into the air, he envisions your scent; melted marshmallows over hot chocolate, a dash of cinnamon, and just the tiniest hint of something he’s never quite placed. And nothing. He smells nothing. He’d find you and that meddlesome cat. She never did like him. He had plans for your little spy.

The smoke coming from your cabin looked a bit bare. Steve kept a watch on it, and it bothered him that your nosy little cat came up here less. But what bothers him most is he feels that you are rationing firewood. He looks at his woodpile, and has more than enough. Sugar Cookie was proving to be a great source of heat herself.

It would be cold, but he can handle it. Strapping on his winter clothes, he taps a leg, and the almost fully grown puppy bounces over to him, “You want to see your hissy friend?” Sugar Cookie gives him a quick lick to his face, bouncing around excitedly. “Alright, let's go. I’m going to guess we won’t be asked in, but we can’t let the old lady freeze to death.”

Gathering up some wood in a wheelbarrow he begins the short walk down the road, and to your cabin. You had made it a homestead so you didn’t have to leave. That either meant you were hiding, or you hated people. But out here all alone. Day after day. Steve is already going stir crazy.

You yawn, looking over at Mistletoe who sits right in front of the wood heater. “We’re conserving heat, Missy,” she lets out a groan, rolling over to her back. “Oh, hush. It’s not that cold in here. It’s,” looking up at the cabin before yours, you sigh. You had prepared plenty of food, and you could ask him. Bargain with some fruit preserves.

But then you’d have to speak to someone new. And who knew who he knew. Or who he would talk to. It was just better for you to stay hidden from everyone. Jack always got to people. It was part of his charm. It’s how you fell for him.

Mistletoe stiffens up, and jumps towards the window. Sitting on the edge as she watches a figure with firewood. Your body starts to shiver from more than the cold. Scared that now someone was coming into your space. Your chest heaves with anticipation, and your body freezes in fear.

Mistletoe’s paw taps on the window at Steve, and she hisses, hating him being here just as much. “Oh stop it,” he crows, walking up the steps to lay out the firewood. “I don’t need you two getting cold down here. Just bringing firewood. I got bored, and have plenty. Look, you little heathen, the puppy is massive now.”

His dog was huge. More fluff than anything, and you find yourself shuffling more into the shadows. He shouldn’t see you. “I don’t want to see your smoke looking pitiful anymore, Mistletoe. I need you and your mom to be fully heated. Okay?” You answer him, by nodding your head, knowing he couldn’t see you.

“Uhh…that should last a while,” he smiles at the cat. His curious eyes look around through the window with nothing to see. “Well, stay warm, you two. Let your mom know it was me that brought this, you mean ole thing. Come on Sugar, we’ll leave you two alone. Don’t…I mean no harm,” his sentence finishes in a whisper as he backs off your porch.

You dare to lean over a bit to catch a glimpse of him, and almost smile at what you see. No. You can’t trust people. Jack has sources everywhere. He’s handsome. Ruggishly so. And his dog’s name was Sugar Cookie, and she was the fluffiest angel. He is the first kind face you have seen since you came out here.

Biting at your lip, you look behind you. You had plenty of food in stockpile. Even more in the basement. He was kind. He brought you firewood. The stranger gets far enough away, and Missy paws at the door. She really was a sassy little thing.

“Oh, stop it,” you grouse, looking up the road to see his figure completely gone. “We have to thank him.”

Hiss.

“You can’t just take people’s generosity for granted. You’re the one that’s been watching him. Does he smell like Jack?” Cracking open the door, you let your nose stick out first, taking a big inhale. No peppermint. Pine. Just the snow covered pines. Definitely not Jack.

Feeling comfortable enough to open the door, you start to carry in the firewood, and add some to the fireplace. Winter won’t be as icy cold this year. But you still had to thank the man. He was kind, and you need to extend the favor. As long as the scent of peppermint never floated up your nostrils.

Mistletoe circles in between your legs as you smile at her. You didn’t know when the man would be back, but you had a feeling he would. He deserves a thank you for last time. And the return. Putting together a basket of food, you look down at your princess. “He seems nice. He did something nice, I repay him. That’s what I do.”

You sigh as you look over at your phone. You only turned it on to make the one call a week to your parents. Your social media has been completely abandoned. And here you are spending another Christmas alone. You should be able to celebrate somehow. And what is Christmas without giving?

“Stop it, Missy. This is how we show our thanks and kindness. Maybe he feels just as lonely as we do,” her fluffy body perks up, and she scrambles to the window. Giving the glass a few scratches before she looks at you. “Oh! I gotta get this out there. He doesn’t have to see me for me to be kind.”

Forgetting your precautions, you open the door quickly as the blistering cold rages into the cabin. You look out into the distant snow, and can see his figure approaching. His even bigger dog in front of him. She runs out in front, just to turn to look at him. She is adorable. You linger in the doorway, trying to get a good look at him without a window blocking your view.

Being up here was doing him good. Somehow he looked better than before. Even with his giant coat, you could tell he was a towering. He was a man. Down to the way he walks. Struts. Beautiful. A man.

You see his mouth turn up into a smile as he catches sight of you, and you close the door quickly locking it. Backing away as he approaches your porch with more firewood. “Didn’t know I was dealing with a little mouse,” there is humor in his tone.

“What’s this?” He huffs, walking onto the porch.

“A gift for you kindness,” your voice is hardly a whisper, but he nods, hearing it.

“I didn’t expect anything. Can’t have you freeze down here.”

“I’m used to the cold. He didn’t know who your parents were, or who your ex was. Cold was practically your middle name.

“So you’ve got chickens and cows?” Steve rummages through your basket, making note of all that was in there. “What if I brought you daily firewood?”

“It’s too cold for you to come daily, Mr?”

“Rogers. But call me Steve, and you are?”

Missy’s paw gives your leg a little tap. She’s no longer scared of him. There’s almost trust in her, “You can call me Holly.”

“Like a Holly berry, huh?” Just like a Holly berry. Your parents had a weird sense of naming you. And you carried it on with Mistletoe. “Why are you out here alone, Holly?”

“It’s safer his way. Steve, you should go home,” he lays his hand on your window, feeling the warmth from inside your cabin. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of food. Whatever you like. But it is cold.”

“I don’t think it’s as cold in there as it is out here. Do your animals need feeding?” You had fashioned a way to get to them without having to fully be outside. Jack would know if your feet were out in winter for too long. “I can help. There’s not much to do up top. I just don’t want you to be alone.”

“You don’t want me to be alone, or you don’t want yourself to be alone?”

“Does it really matter at this point?” It might not matter to him, but it did to you. Bringing him in during winter was far more dangerous for him than you. Jack always was a jealous type. “Surely you need someone to talk to besides your cat. I know I do.”

“I shouldn’t when there’s snow on the ground,” he hears the hesitance in your voice. Looking around your porch, he finds what he’s looking for, and grabs it up. Taking the shovel he carves a trail in front of your porch, making sure that there is no snow on the ground before he walks back to the door.

His forehead presses against your door, and Steve’s panting breaths make butterflies circle your stomach. “There’s a clear area with no snow.”

“Do you like hot chocolate, Steve?”

“I do,” Missy gives you a pitiful meow as she looks up at you. Padding over to the door, she paws it a moment.

“You’re crazy,” you whisper to her, and look at the door. “Don’t have any snow on your clothes. You can’t stay long. I’ll get a towel for the puppy,” you hand a large towel out the door. Opening it up just enough for your hand to stick out before you close the door again. Letting him get her clean before starting some fresh milk to steam.

He timidly knocks on your door, and you still a moment. You’ve never let anyone in since Jack. Looking at Missy, you wish she would give you a sign of no, but her green eyes look towards the door in anticipated excitement. Slowly you open the door, and let the most beautiful person you ever laid your eyes on walk through the door. His coat and boots are on the porch, and he lets the giant dog sneak through first.

Missy doesn’t even seem annoyed with her until she spots her bet with Sugar Cookie covering the entire bed with her body. “You can sit on the couch, Missy. You act like you even use that. Like you don’t lay in the bed with me.”

“Sugar’s a good companion at night. It’s colder in the bedroom, and she’s always hot,” he has a crooked smile, causing your cheeks to heat up. You feel like a little schoolgirl with the way you couldn’t stop smiling. “Should I lock the door?”

“Always lock the door,” Jack was a powerful man, but he couldn’t just walk in without being invited. “Why are you here?”

“I was tired of constantly fighting. I wanted some quiet, and the only way to get it was to move far away from everyone. Why are you here?”

“Reminds me of home, and I don’t smell peppermint here. Just pines. Makes things a bit more bearable. I hate peppermint,” his icy blue eyes follow you as you go back to the stove, preparing the perfect mug of hot chocolate. “You mean us no harm, right?”

“No. I mean no harm to you or your little tyrant. Why are you alone? Mistletoe doesn’t count.”

“I like being alone. If I’m found, he can’t hurt the people I love,” Steve’s eyebrow cocks up, and you shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Whipped cream or marshmallows?”

“Can I have both?” With a giggle, you swirl on some whipped cream, and dot on a few marshmallows. “So can we be friends this winter?”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“Oh, I’ll head back before it gets dark.”

“No, are you staying just through the winter?”

“I could stay longer now,” he gives you a smile as he sips on his mug. “I can’t stay places for too long when I’m alone. Even if I like it. I could stay longer with company here and there,” his eyes dart down to your kitty cat that hops up into his lap. “You finally like me, huh?”

She’s not making things easy. Missy was supposed to be your alarm, and yet she’s hugging up on Steve. Trusting him. “Traitor,” you whisper, and if cats could smile, Missy just did.

“I can take a hint. If you really want me to go I will. But I do think she likes me.”

“Only come down here when it’s not snowing, Steve. Snow is beautiful and dangerous,” he didn’t quite understand, but nods anyway. “And soon spring will be here, and the first snowflake will melt,” one day you wished to go back in the snow. Enjoy the quiet and peacefulness it brought.

Snow is a lot of things. Cold. Fun. Dangerous. Snow is Jack. And it was only a matter of time until he found you. So for now, you’re going to stay locked in, and enjoy the company of a handsome man, a fluffy cat, and an even fluffier dog.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke

[fortheloveofarchons]

You take care of Pierro while he's sick...

C.W. Pierro being sick, a little bit of smut, kiss and make out, fluff

“Hey, you there.” A fatui member in a mask called out to you. 

“Yes?” You walk over to him, wondering what it is that he wants from you. “Is everything okay?” 

You could see how shaky his posture is, his legs trembling, sweat beading out from his forehead. You wonder if it could be due to him running around or from being scolded by someone. He tilts his head a little to the ground, then looks back at you straight up. 

“It’s the Director… he–” He coughs, straightening his posture before he continues. “He’s calling for you in his chambers. I have to warn you though… he’s not feeling quite well for the past few hours.” 

“...I’ll be on my way.” 

Running as fast as you can, through the long halls and almost stumbling on the other fatui soldiers, you finally made it to his door. As menacing as his large, heavy brass door is, you know that you have to go in nonetheless. The hinges groaned in protest as the door creaked open, the slow, deliberate movement casting the elongated shadows across the dimly lit chamber.  

“My Lord?” You push the door further ajar, a muted squeak echoed through the stillness. “You called for me?” 

“Close the door behind you.” A husky voice ordered. 

You quickly close the door behind you, standing still at where you are. You swallow your own saliva, a palpable tension hanging in the air. As the night lamps had been extinguished, the details of your Lord Pierro remained obscured, his features hidden in the inky blackness. The distant moonlight painted a faint outline, just enough to discern the form of a man sitting on his bed with a quiet and ominous resolve. 

“Come closer.” He ordered again. “Next to me.” 

The closer you walked, the clearer his features were on his face. His forehead is slightly dampened with sweat, and his silver hair glistened beautifully like fine silk. His nightgown unbuttoned halfway, exposing his chest and abs. A blush is added onto his cheeks from the heat. His breathing, slow and heavy, only made your heart ache for him. 

“My Lord, how are–” 

His arm hastily wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as his other hand made its way to the back of your neck. You jumped at his sudden action, your hands instantly placing them onto his chest as you tried to push away. Yet his grip around you wouldn't allow you to move at all. The warmth of his embrace held both surprise and a certain urgency. Being caught off guard, you felt yourself being pulled into Pierro’s embrace, down onto the bed with him, sharing the confined and comfortable space. Your heart carried a mixture of emotions that ranged from surprise to a strange sense of intimacy. 

For a big, bulky buff older man like Pierro, his hold was surprisingly gentle, a paradox to the suddenness of the gesture. With your face pressed against his exposed chest, you could hear his heart beating, and his chest is warm with heat. 

In the silence that followed, Pierro’s intentions remained unclear to you, leaving a curious blend of vulnerability and reassurance lingering in the air. 

“My Lord..?”

“Kiss me.” He ordered, his embrace tighter on you. Both his icy blue eye and his golden one stares at you deeply. 

Without a word, you do as Pierro says. You leave a few warm gentle kisses on his chest, and your lips slowly trails more kisses up to his collarbone. As your kisses travel upward, you shift your body upwards as well, unintentionally showing the curves of your chest even though the fabric of your uniform was thick with cotton to survive the snow. Upon feeling your sensual kisses and seeing your curves, he lets out a groan from his lips. Your lips then travel on to his right cheek, giving him a kiss, and then giving him a last one on his lips. He kisses you back, his tongue sliding in, tasting you. 

“You always know how to deliver…” Pierro said, as he held you. He then unwraps your uniform, and slowly unbuttons them. While he’s doing that, you can feel how warm his fingers are on the crook of your shoulders, how his eyes gaze at your exposed chest, and how warm his breaths are. Without a word, he buries his face into your chest, feeling how soft they are. 

“...Would you prefer it if we’re laying face down on the bed, my Lord?” You ask, feeling his warm breath in between your chest...

Full version down below!!

[thecampjuicebox]

*Ahem*

Mephistopheles having some fiends deliver a present to the boudoir (for Raphael and/or Haarlep - you decide). That present is a very confused, but also very naked, Tav who is all tied up with silk and who also has a collar attached to a chain on her neck. (for her part, Tav would be down with being in the fiend's bed like this, she just would have preferred Raphael or Haarlep be the one to have brought her here)

Incredible idea! I think we need a lil Haarlep AND Raphael showing sweet little Mouse some fun 😈 Thank you for your submission, I hope you enjoy the filth! 💕

Wrapped With a Bow

Pairing: Raphael x Haarlep(m) x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI

POV: 3rd Person

Warnings: Angst, smut, bondage, use of a collar/leash, CNC, domination, fingering, double penetration

The still morning air of the House of Hope sizzles with devilish magic as red sparks and hellfire swirl around the portal room, two large winged cambions appearing in the middle of the circle of enchanted frames. Servants and debtors alike greet the visitors with dulled eyes and forced smiles. The strong scent of sulfur and cinders alerts Raphael and Haarlep of the intrusion, Raphael stirring from his boudoir to assess the situation with a heavy sigh. "Who disturbs me at this hour?" he mumbles, palms rubbing the sleep from his half open eyes. One of the cambions bows gracefully, a letter pressed between his outstretched index and middle finger. "A gift from Mephistopheles." he says, voice deep and booming. A gift? Raphael reluctantly plucks the parchment from the fiend's fingers, tearing open the envelope with ease, eyes scanning the page as he reads.

My son,

As I know you are still infuriated by my actions, I am sending this gift to you as a peace offering. Use her well, she was near impossible to wrangle. A strong one she is. I hope you'll find her suitable.

Your father,

Mephistopheles

"How thoughtful." he hisses. Irritation seers in his throat as he waves a hand at the two fiends, showing them toward the boudoir to deliver the gift, and hopefully, get the hells out of his home. He follows, hands smoothing his hair back as he thinks back to the letter. A poor attempt at forgiveness. Shaking his head, he rounds the corner, eyes moving from the fiends to Haarlep, and back again, watching as they wrestle something to the floor, little yelps and squeaks of struggle perking his ears up. Just as quickly as they came, the two fiends blink away in another flurry of red magic, the sparks settling in the air to reveal his gift sat pretty on the marble floor. An woman, artfully wrapped in black silk ribbons like a Midwinter present, legs and arms bound to restrict any struggling. Around her neck sits a red leather collar, thick chain attached to a silver O-ring secured at the front. A delicious looking gift, indeed.

From across the room, Haarlep purrs, wings fluttering behind him, tail swishing side to side in an obviously aroused manner as he approaches the cambion and his new pet. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?" he mumbles as he places his hands on Raphael's hips from behind, pressing his half-hard cock to the devil's backside. "Very pretty indeed." a smirk forces itself onto Raphael's lips as he kneels in front of Tav to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'll be put to such good use, little mouse." Tav spits at the devil, earning a quick grip of the jaw. Raphael's fingers hold onto each side of her face, squishing her cheeks together, a smirk forming on Tav's lips that he did not expect. She enjoys this? Haarlep gasps in excitement, swaying his hips side to side as he runs his own nails down his torso, one hand grasping at his now full erect cock beneath its thin leather restraint. "Let's play with her.."

Tav's eyes meet Raphael's. Sparkling and wet from tears, lashes dusted with little water droplets like fresh snow on pine trees. He sighs at the sight. So beautiful, so sweet. So ready to be destroyed. The look she gives him is one of surprising lust. She breathes a sigh of desire when he trails his fingers over the sharpness of her jaw and down the side of her neck. A shudder rattles her bones from his warm touch and she innocently blinks up at him. "So lovely.." he murmurs to her, fingers inching their way toward her right breast. Featherlight touch traces the shape and his eyes never leave hers, searching for permission to continue. She gives him a slow nod of approval. He circles the nipple with the tip of his nail, earning a moan from Tav's lips, her eyelids fluttering at the sweet mix of pain and pleasure. Careful fingers reach for the restraints and Haarlep quickly leans down to grasp at his wrist. "Release her there and she'll surely run. Let's move her to a much more comfortable destination."

The incubus and the devil help Tav to her feet. She stumbles from the tight restrains around her legs and Haarlep groans impatiently, scooping her legs up from beneath her, Raphael holding onto her top half as they carefully lie her on the plush bed. "Perfect. You do the honors, Haarlep." Raphael leans against the wall, his hands traveling over his torso and over the front of his thin robe, cock twitching behind the fabric, desperate for release. Haarlep grins and leans in to grasp at the bow in the ribbon with his sharp teeth, giving the silk a gentle tug to release the ties. Tav remains perfectly still. Lids low. Bottom lip caught in a death grip between her teeth. She's perfectly naked beneath the ribbons, cunt already soaked and ready for whatever the two men have in store for her.

Raphael palms at his erection slowly. His lower back bows off of the wall and Haarlep pauses to watch him, a low moan rumbling in his throat at the sight of his master exciting himself. "Such a tease." he groans, reaching down to rub at his own erection momentarily. A quick tug removes the ribbons from Tav's body and she sighs at the relief, legs falling open to reveal the mess between her thighs. Little red marks cover her skin from the friction and tightness of the silk. She sits up and turns her head toward Raphael to watch him, hips unintentionally rolling forward at the filthy thoughts swirling around in her head. She's ready for him. For both of them. In one swift motion, Haarlep reaches for her hips, flipping her over and shoving her face into the velvet duvet beneath them, a primal growl raising goosebumps all over her soft skin. His hands search her body. Every curve and crevice. Every freckle and bruise and imperfection.

Raphael still watches as Haarlep's hands roam Tav's back and ass, squishing the supple flesh between his fingers, kneading and groping and squeezing. One hand gathers Tav's wrists and forces them behind her back. He shoots a look at Raphael. "Some help?" he hisses and Raphael moves toward the bed to retrieve the ribbons Tav had been released from not moments before. He circles her wrists with the silk carefully, tying a bow at the top to finish off the restraint and he leans back to admire his work. The chain still connected to Tav's collar glimmers in the candlelight of the boudoir. An invitation. Raphael reaches down to grasp at it and give it a gentle tug, earning a muffled whimper from Tav as she struggles to lift her head from the bed. Hot fingers swipe up through her folds, Haarlep using his knees to keep her thighs apart as far as her hips will allow in this position. He lifts his fingers to show Raphael her slick, spreading them apart to windowpane the wetness between them in a thin, sticky layer.

"Little Mouse.. So wet for us." Raphael grunts. The devil leans forward, eyes fixed on Haarlep, tongue flicking out to clean off the incubus' fingers. He sucks the digits between his lips, tongue swirling around them thoroughly, Tav's sweetness making his cock grow even harder. Haarlep pulls his fingers away with a satisfying pop and works them through Tav's folds one more, eventually pressing the two fingertips to her entrance. She accepts them with ease. Surprising ease, even for herself. Haarlep begins a torturously slow pump of his fingers within her walls and she rolls her hips backward against them, chasing friction, release, anything. She's desperate now. Desperate for more. To be filled to the brim. His thumb presses to her clit and Tav nearly comes undone in that moment, the pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves enough to start her legs trembling.

The pumping of Haarlep's fingers continues as he uses his free hand to palm at his cock again, the angry red tip weeping with a shiny bead of precum. He pulls it from behind its leather restraint and leans down to rub the head between Tav's ass cheeks, playfully pressing it against her tight hole. She lifts her head and yelps. "Such a good girl." Raphael coos, giving the chain another tug, this one much rougher. A quiet choked noise escapes her and she licks the drool pooling at the corners of her lips, turning her head to fix her eyes on Raphael as Haarlep ruts against her backside. The devil hands the chain to the incubus and unties his robe, instructing Haarlep to pull Tav up onto her knees. He obeys, fingers leaving her cunt reluctantly. She keens at the emptiness and pushes herself back against the incubus as he reaches a hand around to find her aching clit once more. Her head falls back against his chest in relief, little moans of pure pleasure pouring from her lips like a song.

Raphael crawls up onto the bed and settles himself on his back in front of Tav. She smiles down at him in between moans, Haarlep's fingers still working furiously at her clit, the other hand winding the chain tight around it to keep Tav's body pulled close to his chest for complete control. He mumbles filthy words into her ear, drawing her closer to her end with each circle of his fingers. Raphael takes his cock into his hand and strokes at it slowly, Haarlep gathering some of Tav's slick on his hand to reach out and smooth over Raphael's erection for lubricant. The devil groans at the sensation and his hand quickens. "Careful, Raphael. We know what happens when you become too eager." Haarlep teases. With a groan, Raphael flattens himself against the bed and drops his hand to his side. "Bring her to me." he grunts. Haarlep obeys and shifts Tav forward. She adjusts her legs to straddle Raphael's lap, cunt pressed firmly to his cock as it lays against his stomach.

His hands find the globes of her ass and without hesitation, he guides her hips in a grinding motion against him, the friction enough to earn a strained moan from the devil's throat. Tav grins and presses her chest tightly to his as she follows the movements he pushes her hips into, her slick dripping onto his pelvis with each thrust. A delicious mess of sticky clear fluid and precum coats their skin. Haarlep lines himself up behind Tav carefully, nails digging into the plush meat of her thighs. He gathers spit on his tongue, allowing it to fall in a thin rope onto Tav's tight asshole, his thumb rubbing the saliva into her skin before pressing the tip of his cock against her. She grits her teeth and hisses at the burning sensation as he pushes himself inside. "Oh g-gods-" she whines, head falling into the sweaty crook of Raphael's neck and shoulder. He holds her steady to allow her time to adjust before lifting his hips and allowing his cock to easily slide into her cunt.

Tav sobs into Raphael's neck at the heavy pressure in both holes, her hips still. Raphael coos to her quietly, smoothing her hair down against the back of her head. After a few moments of reprieve, Haarlep begins the thrusting first, nails still hooked roughly into Tav's thighs. Little rivulets of blood bubbling up and over the indentations. Raphael begins his movements next and Tav nearly crumbles to ash as both men pick up their pace. Hips crash against hips, loud squelching and slapping noises filling the boudoir like a filthy symphony. "I can't wait to pump you full of my seed, little mouse. Make such a mess of you." Raphael groans. Haarlep gives her chain another yank backwards. She coughs at the restriction against her windpipe, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as the two men continue to furiously rut into her aching holes. She can't take much more.

Raphael falls apart first, loud moans ringing in Tav's ear. He ruts up into her one final time, hot ropes of cum spewing deep within her walls. She presses sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his neck and chest as she continues to ride him through his orgasm. The friction of the silk ribbons rubs her wrists raw and she wines as she tries to tug them apart. Sweat beads up on Raphael's forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the blissful overstimulation of his cock. Haarlep is next, muscular body toppling over Tav's, pressing her tighter to Raphael as he forces his hips into her a few more times. Heat boils up in Tav's belly and she settles into the cambion beneath her. A content sigh escapes her lungs. She tugs at the ribbons once more. Both men remain inside of her, cocks pulsing from their climaxes, Tav's walls squeezing around them with the beat of her heart. They lie there, a sweaty pile of heat and sex. All too tired to move. Haarlep chuckles quietly to himself and presses his head between the space in Tav's shoulder blades, his fingers releasing her wrists from the ribbons, chest heaving.

"Your daddy should bring us gifts more often, Raphael."

[andy-wm]

Jungkook is the most romantic person in existance (and the choice of ANTOYA supports this claim) 🩷

The things he does, both big and small, speak volumes about how he feels towards Jimin.

We know JK is a boy with big, big feelings. We see him crying when he's overcome, we see him enjoying his food most dramatically, we see him raging when hes furious.

We dont know everything about them, but one of the things we often get to see, when it comes to Jungkook and his feelings, is the way he celebrates Jimin.

The things he does aren't expensive, they aren't flashy, they arent designed to impress or show status. They are the things that money can't buy. He gives gifts of the heart.

Rosebowl, the giant pancake, the snow in NZ, the thirst-trap birthday message, leaving the gym to support Jimin's birthday vlive, the hyping of Promise (from inside a closet) and many more. Let's not forget GCF Tokyo! I can't list them all here but most recently, his support during Jimin's promotions for FACE - commenting on the livestreams, singing the songs, watching the promos with us - are hugely significant. Its not hard to imagine how much these gestures would have meant to Jimin.

It is all so special and thoughtful. It speaks volumes about their relationship.

But the thing I love the most about all of this? It's the WAY he does these things.

Some of them are impulsive (the snow), some are carefully planned (Tokyo). Some are enormously significant, changing the whole landscape around their relationship (Rosebowl) others are barely worth a mention (a bigger pancake). But in every instance, his whole focus is Jimin's happiness.

From the biggest things to the smallest, the delivery of his heartfelt gifts is totally without ego. There's no guile or selfishness in ANY of it. At no point does he seem to be thinking 'Look how good i am!' In fact i believe that sometimes he is not really thinking at all. At least not consciously thinking of how to impress or show his love or 'be thoughtful'. He seems to be so genuinely attuned to Jimin that he doesn't need to think. He instinctively knows, and without second guessing, he acts.

So what's so special about ANTOYA?

Its not a particularly expensive restaurant. I could easily afford to eat there and I'm not wealthy AT ALL. Its not especially exclusive or sophisticated - there's a person dancing in a cow-suit outside the door for goodness sake! The reviews talk about it being good value for money and a family restaurant. Yes, it has a mention in the Michelin guide, but they describe it as "good quality, good value" and "deliver[ing] a reliable roster of barbecue hits." Let's be frank, its not the highest praise possible for a restaurant.

So what makes it special enough for them to eat there? Besides the important fact that it proclaims itself 'LGBT friendly' there's one stand out thing... its very pretty and very romantic, and from what we know about Jimin's aesthetic, he would love it.

Would JK love it? Not sure he'd care. The boy sleeps on matresses on the floor and has bandannas tied around his lamps. His 'room' in BE was starkly functional and minimalist.

But Jimin's room in BE... JIMIN'S ROOM WAS A SERENADE OF ELEGANCE AND FULL TO THE BRIM WITH BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. He's all about pretty, pretty things.

The restaurant entrance is honestly divine. It's like a pagoda covered in a cascade of colourful flowers, and their signature cocktail is called 'Love Potion'. What could be more romantic on Silver Day, than a meal at a place like this?

I really can't think of anything 🩷

x~x

The aesthetic... oozing romance

The menu... not exorbitant

[rae-gar-targaryen]

only smile in the dark [matt murdock x fem!reader]

A/N: Written for my darling Pheebs for our Discord’s Dicked-Down-December event. 

Summary: You and your sometimes-antagonist, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, are snowed in together – in his apartment of all places – after he gets you out of a jam. Will the two of you survive the night? Or will you find some common ground?

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!black cat!reader (reader is a cat burglar and a minor antagonist to Matt Murdock, based on Felicia Hardy)

Word Count: 5.9k of the warm blanket of being snowed-in with your vigilante nemesis, of traded quips and loose lips.

Warnings: p-in-v sex, so 18+ ONLY, unprotected sex, sensory overload, dirty talk, oral (fem!receiving) not-so-hateful hatefucking, mild enemies to lovers, mild bondage, sacrilegious dialogue. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this.” 

You rolled your eyes beneath your Domino mask as you braced yourself for the approaching footsteps that carried the object of your annoyance from behind you and into your view, bent over the safe as you were, hand poised to deliver the final crack. 

Sure enough, onto your field of view came the crimson boots (and everything else attached to them) of your – was arch-nemesis too dramatic? – your whatever he was… Erstwhile annoyance. Masked menace. Devastating devil. – No, not devastating. Stop it.

You spun on your heel, flipping the long hair of the silver wig over your shoulder. 

“Hi, Devil-Boy,” you curled your fingers in a flirtatious little wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He scoffed, stopping in front of you and crossing his arms over his chest. You could just imagine  the disapproval in his eyes behind the foggy cherry glass of the mask.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he gestured to the grandiose room. Here. The study in Fisk’s Hell’s Kitchen-based secondary office. Where you had made your mark to pick up some valuable information for a client (and maybe some valuable stones in the safe – call it a finder’s fee – for yourself). You'd certainly made a name for yourself as one of the most proficient cat burglars – ugh, you'd hated that phrase … try proficient diamond thief – in the city.

You prided yourself on remaining undetected. On the quick inside time for your deliverables. But, well, sometimes… unfortunate incidents occurred.

“And you should?” you raised an eyebrow at your current unfortunate incident, replete with horned mask. You propped a hip against the desk of this ostentatious office, pretending to examine your manicured nails through the black leather of your gloves. “Tell me, Red-Dead, what’s the going rate for your oh-so-noble vigilantism? I guarantee it isn't as high as for my services. So let's not waste my time. Is this the part where you ask me, ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’”

The devil from your dreams, whom you'd had the unfortunate misfortune to run into on several nights just like this one stepped toward you. Head slightly inclined, as though he were a bull gearing up to charge. And if you had been one of those arms-dealing goons he beat up on the regular, or perhaps a Russian mobster, or a Fisk goon, you might have felt intimidated. 

No. Your run-ins with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been much more – could you call them pleasant? He had broken up a few of your smaller-time heists, letting you off with a slap on the wrist after a tussle that had left you weak in the knees. And who wouldn’t be? After trading quips and blows – don’t think about ‘blows’ – with a man whose firm thighs between your own felt as though they could crack walnuts when you had rolled on top of him during a prior fight. Whose suit made his chest look that much more expansive. 

No, your exchanges were coy and cloying. And they ended much the same: in a half-hearted tease of a fight that left you with an ache between your legs and his sinful, syrupy voice warning you that he "wouldn't let you off so easy next time" reverberating through your ears for the rest of the night. That left you with the lingering temptation to slide your hands beneath your expensive covers when you were safely back in your lush apartment, imagining his hands instead of yours gliding through your glistening folds. Imagining his voice, still in your ear.

Wondering if he was imagining you. If he dreamt of the way you teasingly left a trail of crimson lipstick smeared up the cheek of his mask as you dragged your lips there, murmuring that this was no way to treat a lady. If he imagined the way you flexed your fingers, like a cat's claws, up the expanse of his chest when you bested him in a fight, wishing you could feel the drag of your nails along his skin instead of his armoured suit. If the click of your heeled boots as you sauntered through an open window – tossing him a wink before slipping away into the night – reverberated in his mind.

You supposed you would never know.

The energy between the two of you had always been thick, like dusky clouds impregnated with rain in a summer storm – waiting to fall, waiting to devastate. Stuffed with the smell of sagebrush and cleansing promise. 

And if you’d managed a successful little robbery? Well, were you disappointed if he didn’t show up to chase you off with pulled punches and heaving chest? – 

“Oh no, sweetheart,” He smiled, snapping you from your risqué reveries with a sardonic grin of bared teeth beneath his mask. “I know what kind of girl you are. And I know what you’re doing in a place like this. No need to ask.” 

“That's disappointing. Of all the so-called heroes running around this city in Spandex, like a bunch of moral high ground losers, I don't know why I ended up with you. And I don’t know why you insist on trying to get in my way,” you hissed through the bared teeth of a forced grin. “I’m a perfectly reasonable girl, Devil. I don’t get in your way. You shouldn’t get in mine.” 

“Honey, this isn’t Spandex.” He half-heartedly made to reach for you with an outstretched hand – which you swatted in kind, procuring a small blade with your other hand and bringing it to his throat. 

He swallowed, the edge of your blade snicking against the skin of his throat as he swallowed. 

“I can’t just,” he began, swallowing once more before swatting at your wrist with a gloved hand, knocking the blade away from his throat, and boxing you into the desk, “I can’t just let you take shit that doesn’t belong to you.  And girls like you don’t play nice.” 

“You could, Devil. And so could I,” you shrugged, meeting the glass eyepieces of his mask with wide, doe eyes of your own, fluttering your lashes. “I’d be ever-so-grateful if you just let this one slide?” You glanced out the window, inclining your head at the thick, fluttering flakes that were starting to fall in the New York chill. “I’ve gotta get home, and, baby, it’s cold outside.”

"You –" the Devil stopped himself, tilting his head like a dog listening to a whistle only he could hear, full lips parting as he took in whatever it was he was hearing.

"D-" you began, curious about his sudden pause, trying not to prickle like a skittish cat.

"Shut. Up.," he hissed, snatching your wrist and tugging you from your spot by the desk, marching you past the exposed face of the safe you had been stopped from cracking, and toward the wide window of the office. "They're here."

"Who's here?" You questioned, attempting to tug your wrist free from his tightening hold, to no avail.

The Daredevil appraised you, the tilt of his mask indicating a sweeping survey of your person before continuing,

"Fisk's men. All of them. And they're looking for you. I think you've been set up, sweetheart… Yeah, that's," he swallowed. "That's a lot of heartbeats downstairs. And outside." More to himself than you.

You raised a brow at him again, sardonic. Heartbeats? Doing your best to bite down the panic currently climbing within you with the thin veneer of a sneering grin. 

"Then let go of me and let me get out of here," you tugged at your wrist in his grip.

"That's not gonna work, kitten," he responded, wryly. "We've only got a few seconds. I can get you outta here, but you've gotta trust me."

"Trust you?" You hissed, "The guy who tries to turn me in after every little tango? How about …" you tapped a spare finger to your chin, as though deep in thought, "hell no."

"We don't have time for this," he pleaded. "I'm not gonna sell you out to Fisk," he sneered the name through a curled lip. "I'd rather rot."

You studied him for the barest moment, the tenseness in his shoulders at the approaching threat. The warmth of his grip around you, even though the gloves. The clear, demonstrable distaste for Fisk evident in his voice, in the exposed lower-half of his face, the set of his jaw. How he’d always let you go before.

"Fine," you whispered. "I'm trusting you. On a probationary basis. Get me somewhere safe."

Which was how you found yourself stealing away on snow-covered rooftops, the packed powder muffling your steps, and all traces of your journey wiped away in the weather. As you shivered in your bodysuit behind the man leading you through a rooftop window and into an expansive loft space. An apartment.

You strode into the open space of a living room, eyeing the wide windows and exposed brick. 

“Nice digs, Devil,” you whistled. “This, like, your safe-house?”

“No,” his voice echoed not-so-distantly behind you as he also made his way down the stairs and into the common area. “Though that would have been much smarter.”

“Don’t tell me you live here?” You whirled around as you watched the Devil remove his gloves, tossing them into a trunk and exposing fine-boned, long-fingered hands, shrugging his shoulders at you, turning his head as if to gesture to the now-storm outside.

“Not up to your standards?” He mocked. “Sorry. It’s not exactly the Plaza. But it was close by. And no one will know you’re here.” 

You perched yourself on the edge of his couch, feeling distinctly out of place in a lived-in place with your catsuit, wig, and mask. A clash of ideals. Not unlike you and the man before you. 

“Is it wise,” you arched your brow at him, voice acerbic, “to bring someone like me into your home …?” 

You leaned forward on the couch, eyeing a stack of mail and papers on the coffee table. And though the Devil seemed to be observing your plain-sight snooping, he made no move to stop you. You leaned forward,

“Matt Murdock,” you finished, reading the name off of the envelopes. Why was that name familiar to you?

The Devil – Matt Murdock – removed his helmet, allowing you to take in the man behind the mask. Pretty dark hair, matted by the helmet, a strong jaw, full lips. Fringed lashes framing hazel eyes that seemed to … look right past you. 

Oh.

“Well I suppose my identity remains intact,” you tried to gently tease, removing your Domino mask and your wig, settling yourself into his couch, as he made to remove the rest of his stiff armour. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, kitten,” he turned to face you again, breezing past you through the space and clattering with a tea kettle, of all things.

While the kettle brewed, he scooped a Braille paper from the countertop, slapping it down in front of you, and reading your father’s last name from the headline. 

“And here you are,” he finished, “the daughter of a tycoon who likes to get her rocks off stealing Upper East Siders’ jewelry. Moonlighting as a cat burglar. I’ve known since we met.” 

Your breath hitched, your eyes trailing over Matt’s form. The evenness of his voice. He was confident, assured. No question in his assessment of you. You’d balk at it, at the fear that should prickle through you at knowing who you were. But… he hadn’t done anything with that information til now, had he? 

“In that alleyway behind that stuffy old coot’s apartment?” You queried.

“Oh, sure,” he eased. “Girl like you doesn’t often go to that part of town. I recognized your perfume. And the way you sound walking in heels. Like I said, we’ve met before.” 

You lifted yourself from the couch easily, swooping past Matt to kick off your heeled boots by the door. You may as well make yourself comfortable, follow his lead, if he wasn’t going to kick you out into the snow or otherwise turn you in. Easing into his kitchen to remove the now-whistling kettle from the heat, processing where you might know Matt Murdock from. 

“We didn’t go on a date, surely? I might have remembered. You’re certainly handsome, though I’m sure you hear that all the time.” 

Matt chuckled at that, a dry, wry rumble from his throat, as he scruffed the back of his sweaty neck with his palm, using his other hand to unstick the clinging fabric of his undersuit from his skin. 

“No,” he snorted. “We didn’t go out. I’d definitely remember if we had,” he accepted the cup of tea you now passed him.

“Then …” you eyed him over the rim of your own mug, which boasted, in loud text “World’s Best Lawyer.” 

It clicked. 

“Matt Murdock,” you breathed, “the attorney with a hard-on for bringing down Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you were –”

“At the gala. That political event for bigwigs who wanted to raise money for their campaigns to sweep crime out of Hell’s Kitchen. We met,” his sentences were punctuated. “Briefly. Your dress was killer, by the way.”

“How…?” You made to ask just how the blind, humble pro bono lawyer from the nighttime news could exactly tell that you looked killer in your Yves Saint Laurent gown. Or how he could pull off that ninja shit night after night.

“Devil’s gotta have his secrets, sweetheart,” he eased, fixing you with a cheeky wink. 

Trying to figure the Devil – Matt Murdock – was like  trying to catch light in your fingertips as though it were a tangible thing. Toying with dust motes that appeared when you opened the blinds in a dark room. Impossible, devastating, however pretty it may be. And Matt was a do-gooder. Trying to make the city better.

Whereas, you…

A bored little rich girl whose job wasn’t exactly above-board. No, the light seemed to be ever out of your reach – dooming you to a life of shadow. Of secrecy. So, you could respect that he wanted to keep his.

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “Don’t tell me. I can take the couch, then. I’ll be outta your hair by morning” 

You made to settle yourself into the cushions, as though you were queuing him to leave. 

“Please, sweetheart,” Matt urged, coming to stand before you now, his hands making their way to your hips. 

And it was different from the ways in which he had touched you before – different from your traded blows and quips. Different from the way he would swat at your ass playfully during a fight. Different from the playful tension laden in his voice when he encountered you before. And yet – it was the same. As though all of those run-ins were building to something.

And yeah, it was no secret you enjoyed teasing the Devil. Enjoyed taunting him, toying with him, allowing your touch to linger too long when you departed from him on any given evening. But Matt? 

You eyed the crucifix peeking its way from his tight undershirt. 

What an altar boy, you thought. No way he would actually want someone like you. Someone who toyed with people with bored, careless fingertips. Someone who broke things because she wanted to. 

You allowed yourself to be brought into Matt’s arms, 

“At least take the bed,” he urged, finally. “I’ll find you some sweats.”

You snorted at that. 

“You just wanna get me out of my suit,” you teased. Eager to restore the balance to what you knew – the quipping banter of antagonists, and not this … blooming flush between the two of you, reflected on the apples of his cheeks at your quip. At the thought of getting you naked. 

“I mean,” he recovered. “You say that like it’d be a bad thing.” 

“I suspect,” you murmured, trailing your fingers over the peaks of Matt’s face, while his hands tightened on your waist, “that you’re smoother than you let on, Matthew Murdock.” 

Matt’s lips met yours then, causing your eyes to flutter shut and snatching the breath from your lungs. He kissed you as though you were sacrosanct. As though the movement of his lips over yours was a prayer he had recited hundreds of times, and would recite hundreds more. At your gasp, he slid his tongue into your mouth, his hands coming to cup your face as he kissed you.

You allowed your hands to roam his body, to feel the firmness of his chest unencumbered by the Devil suit, to appreciate the warmth, the realness of his beating heart beneath the skin of your palms through his thin shirt.

You could barely contain yourself, as the storm raged outside, it building inside of you with every pass of Matt’s hands along your form, with every press of his lips to yours. And it seemed the same was true for Matt. 

His hands found his way to the front of your catsuit, easing the zipper down with a smooth, zinging slide, allowing his fingertips to ease in to trail along the skin as it became exposed.

Oh. And if the heat of the room hadn’t been building before, you could certainly feel it now, as you allowed yourself to explore Matt in kind, whimpering at the touch of his hands along the curves of your breasts, the ridges of your ribs. Pulling your lips from his and allowing your eyes to wander as your hands trailed to his waist and to the front of his pants, stroking the outline of his hardness there with tentative touch. 

"Not here," Matt's lips left your skin from where they had since been working on your neck, murmuring into your throat. At your quizzical groan, he continued. "Don't be petulant, sweetheart. I'm going to fuck you. Just not here."

In a flurry of feverish movement and stripped layers, Matt had ushered you into his bedroom, urging you down onto his mattress, his lips never leaving yours as he guided you on top of him, with nothing but your panties and a feverish grin as you rolled your hips over Matt’s, relishing in the feel of him, as you knew he was doing to you. 

You scratched along his skin with your nails, kissing and sucking his neck as you continued to grind yourself on Matt’s clothed cock. 

Quick as a flash, Matt flipped the two of you, a groan catching in his throat at the feel of the weight of you beneath him now, pulling your lips from him and allowing himself to appreciate you, in his bed, in his home … 

Matt's fingers stroke along the peak of your cheekbone in a reverent way, a way befitting of a devout man. But the silken touch is also wrong -- it doesn't bely that he's not the sort of man who wraps a hand around your throat when he fucks you (he would), or like he's not the sort of man who gets down on his knees to unravel you with his clever, silver tongue (he is).

But the clean baritone of his voice an ever- pleasant rumble that caressed and ensnared you. Every time you meet. But especially now. 

“I’m going to fuck you, sweetheart.”

You could melt. That's the Devil you were expecting.

Matt had removed his shirt, arms crossed as he lifted the fabric from his delightfully muscled torso. Your fingers keen to follow as you trace the planes of his chest. 

Your nails caught along the edge of his nipples as your palms skated their way upward, reveling in the choked gasp that ripped its way through his throat at the feeling. 

Matt cupped your face with firm hands, guiding you down into his plush, satin-y comforter as his mouth devoured yours. The fabric sang along your skin as you allowed yourself to sink beneath his spell – a servant to the Devil’s whims, as Matt’s hands trailed along your body.With clever tongue – which really could only benefit him as an attorney, right? –  and teasing touch, he seemed intent on unraveling you without so much as posing a question. Matt’s heated fingers made their way along your own bare chest, exposed to the wintery-coolness of the room, your nipples pebbling. 

You choked on gasps as he made his way down your body, his mouth trailing from yours, to your neck, pressing kisses to your breasts and laving his tongue around your nipple before rendering one with a particularly cruel suck, departing with lips more swollen than before, the popping noise echoing in both of your ears.

And you wondered if the heaving of your chest, the headiness of your breath, was overwhelming to him. In the way that he was overwhelming to you. 

Overwhelming was a good word for it. As thick fingers drew their way across the seam of lace adorning your clothed slit, causing you to wriggle in his grasp, the reciprocal shudder from Matt’s body was all the confirmation you needed. He was just as turned on as you.

Turned on by the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. Wrecked by the sound of your gasps in his ears. Besotted with the taste of you beneath his tongue. Intoxicated by the feeling of your mouth on his. 

He had been afraid this would happen with you. Had he learned nothing from before? With Ele– not the time.

And Matt felt everything to an impossible degree, he knew. But if only he knew how it was almost flattering to have it confirmed for you ... if the way he was now slowly bucking his hips into the bedspread when you threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged was any indication. Seeking friction that would feel far rougher, far better, than it had any business feeling, thanks to his heightened senses.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he murmured, keening into your tugging touch while he worked his way down the planes and curves of your body. 

Grinding himself into the bed as he went, as he buried himself in the cleft of your thighs, the flash of his hot tongue like cracking summer lightning, jolting through you from the very center as he licked a long, sweet stripe along the seam of your clothed cunt. 

And it seemed reciprocal, you noted, as he rolled his hips into his bedspread in kind – taking in the feel of you beneath his fingertips as your hips and thighs rolled and writhed beneath his attentions as he continued to lick you. The song of your whimpers sweetly ringing through your ears as he felt himself harden in his boxers.

Thick fingers traced the slick, heated flesh of your center as you felt Matt draw the lace away from you, your arousal clinging to your panties in glistening strands as he pulled them to the side with something like reverence. Fully baring you to him.

And if you’d thought the first hinting taste of his mouth on you, your clothed cunt, was heavenly – saintlike and sweet, you had never imagined he could make you feel like this – The lavish, attention with which he was now devouring you, your bared slit. Matt's mouth worked your pussy, like singing a hymn, like an apostle breaking his fast – a man of singular focus. Possessed by the scent of your arousal, the taste of your slick on his tongue as he continued to work you. 

It was enough to make you infatuated. Obsessed with the devil you longed to know.

The feel of him was like the slow drip and drizzle of honey, the snap of cinnamon – warm, sweet, and tingling. Swirling tongue and sickly heat.

"Come on, devil, give it to me bad," you purred, teasing the man beneath you with a buck of your hips, reveling in the sensation and rolling them up, seeking the friction you craved, your hands still in his hair. Losing yourself in the repetitive feel of heady, sweet attentions of his tongue. 

A particularly clever lick-and-suck tore a moan from your throat, prompting Matt to part from you, to pause the moment to allow himself to savor all of his senses – his own chest heaving and cheeks flushed with the attention he had wrought on you. 

“I’ll give it to you, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your thigh, chasing it with a nip of teeth. “Only if you’ll be sweet.” 

You rolled your eyes, head lolling against the feathery plush of the Devil – Matthew’s – pillow, “I said I would, didn’t I?” You puffed, exasperation coloring your voice, rolling your hips again. 

You made to tug Matthew up to you, urging his hips with the legs you had wrapped around him, trying to tug him with willing arms and wanton fingertips. 

It punched the air from your lungs when Matthew struck – like a coiled viper wrapping its body around its prey – warm, dangerously snug, as he rolled his body up and over yours, gripping your wrists in one of his firm hands, bringing them up and over your head, rendering you helpless to him.

And the feel of him above you, heated and firm, a wall of muscle leaving you immobile beneath him – reciprocal to him, as he relished in your softness, your pliance. Like a curving crescent moon bends for the sky.

“Close your eyes, kitten,” he purred, his lips gracing the shell of your ear, a tempest rumbling in his chest, urging its way through his voice. 

And you had no choice to obey. 

Allowing your eyelids to flutter shut as you acquiesced to your other senses overtaking you, the silken feel of one of Matthew’s – was it a tie? Something he’d wear to court? – traipsing over the bare skin of your arms. Up, up, up as it closed around the wrists still held over your head. Matthew was tying you to his headboard. And you were letting him. 

You were sure Matt didn't mind. You could just imagine the sharp half-grin that quirked onto his face at the feel of you tied to his bed, his skin beneath yours. His smile was cold, quick, assured. Devilish.

You had accepted earlier in the night that you would never truly know all of Matt Murdock. Whether he was the Devil, or not. That there were parts of his personhood he wouldn't deign to share. Those things weren't for you, after all. But you couldn't quite bring yourself to care at this moment, when he shared what was simultaneously everything and enough, as he held you on the edge after licking your pussy like a man starved, his hardness pressing to your center through his boxers as he loomed over you now.

The rasp of his hands trailing up the smooth skin of your torso sang beneath his palms; the faintest of whispers to you, but a chorus of amorous intention to Matt Murdock's perfect ears.

"Tell me everything you feel," Matt whispered, snugly affixing the knot to your wrists, pressing a kiss to the tender skin there and affirming they weren’t bound too tightly.

“And what do you feel Matt?" you couldn't resist the urge to sass back as you indulged in the sight of your now-paramour peeling his boxers from his body, taking his length into his own hand and stroking himself to the sight of you tied to his bed.

"I feel … Everything. But I wanna hear it from you,” Matt took your sass as acquiescence, allowing his free hand to rove the planes and curves of your stomach and waist, to drag themselves through the wetness gathered at your center –retreating with your slick on his fingers. “I won't give you what you want until you tell me what I want to know," he paused, allowing your eyes to linger on him before he sucked his own finger into his full lips to taste you once more. 

“You’re like honey, honey.” 

Your residual whimper at the sinful sight before you was something Matt was sure he would re-play in his mind over and over on the nights he had trouble sleeping – he had a lot of those. 

“I’ll tell you, baby,” you assured. “Please, just fuck me.”

And who was Matt to refuse such a polite request? Your legs spread for him, the crotch of your panties tugged to the side, the sound of your heaving chest, your blood thrumming beneath your veins, heated and singing for him. Of your wrists straining against his necktie – how much more could a man take?

Matt took himself into his hand once more, spreading the glistening lips of your pussy and guiding himself into your heat, rolling his hips to allow himself to be seated fully inside of your tightness – a broken groan shattering its way through his throat, his lashes fluttering.

You whimpered at the fullness of him inside of you. 

“You feel…,” Matt trailed off, his breath hitching, as you rolled your hips to meet his, cunning and keyed. 

“Like heaven?” You teased, voice full of mirth, and perhaps a bit of pride at rendering the man above you speechless. 

“That’s sacrilegious,” Matt breathed, as he began to thrust into you in earnest. 

“What’s a little light sacrilege between sinners, Devil?” You hiccupped, your wrists straining as you urged to grasp any part of the man above you, the drag of him inside of you more than you could bear, the heat between the two of you, the tingling pleasure inside of you, building – ever-building… 

“Yeah?” Matt breathed, “You want me to make you see God?” 

“Forget it.” You would have been embarrassed at the keening whine that Matt’s attentions were wringing from you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give any semblance of a damn, so long as he kept doing that. “Fuuuuuck,” you whined, “who wants that when I have the devil in my bed?"

"You like that," Matt murmured in your ear, as he thrummed at your clit in time with his trusts. 

It wasn't a question.

Mesmerized, stupefied, you stuttered a cracked, “Y-yes.” You tugged your wrists against where they’re tied to the bed, your senses leaving you as you longed to touch him, to push, to give back to him as good as you were getting. You weren’t used to being in the passenger seat.

"You like that I'm bad, as long as I'm good to you, that how it works?" Matt crooned. 

“Fuck, Matt,” you whined, “stop toying with me and make me come,” you pleaded.

“Yeah?” he parroted, “You mean like you toy with me? Can you be a good girl? You're supposed to tell me what you feel." Clearly referencing the way you were still straining your wrists at your bonds, raising an eyebrow at your defiance. Nevertheless, he would acquiesce.

Matt’s thumb was circling your clit in time with his thrusts before breaking from you, skating his heated palm up your body to your heaving tits, pinching your nipple as he continued to fuck you toward your peak. 

“Mhmm,” you whined, your head tilting back, pressed into Matt’s pillows. Pressed into his sheets – the scent of you, the essence of you, embedding itself there – certain, Matt thought, to haunt him for many nights after this one.

"You feel …" your breath hitched at the ferocity of his thrusts, doing your best to keep your voice even, the edge of a whine skirting it. Though you were sure Matt could tell. "You feel so good, baby. You're so good. I l-love the way your cock feels inside of me. M-make me come, Matty, please?"

And who was he to refuse such a request? Your praises flooded Matt's ears, prickling in his blood, as he turned his attention back to your clit then, reveling in the feel of you tightening around him as he fucked you to your approaching climax.

“C’mon, kitten,” he urged, “c’mon then,” relinquishing your hip from his bruising grip, he brought his hand up, gripping your throat to feel the reverberation of your release through the song of your skin, melting into his. The clever fingers of his other hand stroking your clit as you shattered beneath him, your release soaking his cock, your pussy like a vice around him as you worked your way through the blinding heat of your orgasm. Matthew’s release following at the overwhelming sensation of you, the wet heat of constricting his every sense as he allowed himself to let go. Discipline melding to desire as he filled you. Fucking himself into you through his own orgasm.

“Whoa,” you exhaled, as Matthew allowed himself to slump over you as his pulsing release gently subsided, the flutter of your lashes along his skin as he shuffled his now heavy and tired arms up to release you from his headboard. 

He rolled to the side of you, skin sliding against satin sheets as he pulled you to him.

“And to think,” you murmured, massaging the skin of your wrists and pressing a kiss to Matthew’s temple, settling in beside him, “we could have been doing that the entire time.

He hmm’d into your skin in agreement, nuzzling your neck with his nose, pressing a kiss to the tender skin beneath your ear. 

“Getting here was fun,” he acquiesced, allowing you to feel the curve of his smiling lips against the skin of your neck. "There's a fine line between –"

"Don't you dare say 'love and hate,'" you groaned.

Matthew smiled again, rolling to press his lips to yours in a teasing kiss.

"I was going to say 'between fucking and fighting,' but if you love me…"

"Shut up," you shoved his shoulder, knowing he could appreciate a little extra force behind your touch. "I hate you, Matthew."

He stilled, and you worried for the briefest moment that you had gone too far. You didn't actually hate him, after all. Surely, he had to know that…

"Say it again," his hands cupped your face gently as his mossy eyes glimmered in the low light of his room. "My name, sweetheart. Say it again?"

"Matthew," you sighed, trailing your hands through his hair, pleased with the silken feel of his strands between delicate fingers, as though he was always meant to be touched by you. You eased up to press a kiss to his lips. "Mystifying, magnificent, magnanimous Matthew."

He sighed in contentment, before quirking his lips at you, tilting his head into your touch, "And what does that make you?"

 "Murderous," you quipped, flashing a toothy grin that he could hear through the falling darkness in his bedroom, through the heated drip in your voice. "And what'll you do about it, devil-boy?"

“You know I’ll catch you,” he breathed, allowing himself to ease beside you, the heavy weight of his limbs, of the feeling of you, soothing him. Your collective easy breathing allowing him to begin to lull…

The last thing Matthew heard was your sardonic singsong, “Promises, promises…” toying in his ears as he drifted off to sleep, the weighted heat of you in his arms – real, full, and flush. 

And when Matt awoke, in the early hours of the morning, to the frigid, crisp smell of fresh-fallen snow, he felt it, singing in his nose through the glass of the windows in his apartment. Untouched, unblemished. And he felt – emptiness. His apartment was devoid of heat, of pulse – other than his own. As Matt realized that you had gone sometime in the night. The fresh-fallen snow covering your tracks from the fire escape as you had slipped away. Through his fingers, yet again. 

He scrubbed his face with his hand, his phone pinging with a notification as he urged his software to read the text,

“See you real soon, Devil. Next time I tie you up.”

Oh, Foggy was never going to believe this.

--

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @drew-garfi @p3mybeloved @spidervee @maxmayfield @xbamboowishesx @wicked-blathers @jadore-andor @mrshipsmcgee @abibliophobiaa @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @mortwig @squiddtheekidd @lilacvine @liz-allyn @renaroo123 @blooming-violets @inklore @clints-lucky-arrow @lucy-sky @flightlessangelwings @vaxxildan @ouralcohol @thatredheadwriter @moonlight-prose @zombieaurora @andrewrussgarfield @aphrogeneias @luxuryberzatto @ifimayhaveaword @phoenixhalliwell @wvndasmaximoff @deskofninak @levylovegood @holyheadharpies99 @papaya-047 @alexxavicry​ 

[ghost-n-butteredtoast]

Idk if you take requests (I think I've seen you respond to them before but if you're not currently taking them feel free to ignore!)

Can we get some dom!alci x sub!reader? Some smut and fluff/comfort? Maybe reader was acting out bc they felt insecure and Alcina "punishes" them but also simultaneously makes them feel better about themselves?

I sure do! I may not advertise it, and it may take me a while to get around to it and I maaaaaaaay veer off the path of your request a TAD bit, but I SHALL DELIVER.

Notice I started out this little request last year, as it takes place during Christmas. But you know life and all gets in the way...

This will also be posted on AO3.

But now, she is finished. I hope you enjoy!!

The Taste Of Punishment

Christmas at Castle Dimitrescu.

The snow swirled in the alcoves of the courtyard beneath the now-darkening sky above. The cold radiated off the glass of the window, its chill so intense it nearly made your burning skin ache.

You continued to scowl into the courtyard as the maids behind you straightened the stockings that hung from the mantle, dusting and sweeping, ensuring everything, even the darkened corners were perfect for the lady and her family’s Christmas celebration.

They quietly hummed Christmas carols and giggled amongst themselves as they whispered about the gifts they had received.

“I can't believe the lady gave you a gift!”

“What do you think it means?”

“How thoughtful and yet-”

They quieted when they heard your feather duster hit the floor. The rush of hot air from between your parted lips fogged the window, and you stormed out of the room and to your quarters.

It had been a known fact that you were Lady's favorite, and had been for quite some time. Her interest in others had ceased to exist and her focus remained solely on you. And though her fondness for you seemed to run deep, she kept you at a distance all while keeping you on a short chain, wrenching you back to her side when she thought you had strayed too far.

At first, the lady was aloof but possessive, which drove you wild. She took you when she wanted and laughed when you craved her attention, never giving in to your desires until she saw fit. She flirted with other maidens to get a rise out of you, both in your presence and in secret, knowing word would get back to you in time. She would find you seething in dark corners of the castle, claiming she could smell your anger and how it turned her on. You were jealous, and she thrived off the energy.

Over time her behavior changed. She warmed up to you and you began to trust her with your heart though she never truly gave you her own. She was always just out of reach, but you would take what you could get, and you would serve your heart to her on a silver platter.

You had thought she had changed her ways, but this gift another maiden had received…from the lady herself! How could she? You were absolutely furious! Your vision narrowed and your pulse rushed as you tore through the halls, slamming your door and throwing yourself back against the hard wood once alone in your sanctuary.

When you had left your room earlier you had left it dark, extinguishing the lamps before you left. Now, however, there was a single candle lit on your nightstand accompanied by a red envelope.

You tore through the red paper revealing its contents. It was a card and on its cover was a golden embossed Christmas tree. When you opened the card, your insides plummeted.

Season's Greetings!

A. Dimitrescu 

With nostrils flaring, your rage catapulted you back through the halls of the castle and into the main hall. You clutched the cardstock with its generic holiday message in your hand, crumpling the thick paper in your fist as you approached the roaring fireplace. Your chest heaved. You were so enraged, that tears dared not escape from your eyes, for they would dry instantly upon the heat of your cheeks. You stared into the flames, failing to notice the presence that watched you from the landing above, and in the blink of an eye, with all your might, you chucked the card into the fireplace.

How dare she! After all, she had put you through! From torment to tranquility, you thought you had sailed through the turbulent seas of Lady Dimitrescu, nearly drowning multiple times, but finally washing up onto the shore, into the safety of her arms.

…only to receive a shit Christmas card.

You looked up…

Stupid stockings. Four of them. Three for the daughters and one for the lady herself. Your hand twitched at your side, and before your brain could catch up, your fury took over. With a growl, you ripped your Lady's stocking from the mantle and threw it into the flames.

“Oh, temper, temper!” came an amused voice from the landing above. 

Wide-eyed, you spun around to see your Lady approach the stairs, each step painfully slow, her eyes never leaving you. Her gloved hand slid along the banister, the leather creaking with the occasional grip of the curved wood.

“My Lady, I-”

“Hush!”

And silent it was, except for the wind that whistled in the flue. Beads of sweat trailed down your back as the flames of the fireplace danced behind you. The sweat bled into your scratchy uniform, making your discomfort grow.

Your Lady's smile was trouble, her pearly white teeth glistened making them all the more menacing. “I've killed for less, drained maidens for accidentally destroying my property. But you,” she said closing the distance, “you chose to be destructive deliberately! Much like a mutt destroying its master’s shoes because it desperately wanted its master's attention and were-,” she paused and tilted her head, choosing her word carefully to make it bite, “rejected.”

Your lips quivered. Oh, how small she made you feel, but you loved her all the more. She was the master, and you were the mutt. She could kick you, causing your body to slide across the floor and into a wall and you'd still grovel back to lick her boots. How you hated her for that.

“Rejected, yes,” you huffed. “Your giving gifts to other maidens yet leaving  a rather simplistic greeting card for the maiden you prefer to bed and feed from would tend to make one feel rejected.” You tore your gaze from the floor, lifting your head proudly and accepting your fate. “So, if you are finished with me, do what you will. Drain me. Craft me into your next vintage,’ you said, your voice lowering to a murmur, “I grow tired of being humiliated.”

Lady Dimitrescu cocked a perfectly arched brow and snorted. “Me? Humiliating you? Darling. You needn't any help from me,” she said while tracing the length of your arm and then grabbing your wrist. “You're doing an exceptional job all on your own!”

You growled at her words, and she tugged your arm, pulling you towards the grand staircase.

“Wh-where are you taking me?” you demanded as you nearly ran to keep up with the towering woman.

“Upstairs,” she said, her tone flat.

You nearly lost your balance trying to keep up with your Lady's strides. “Upstairs? Don't you mean the cellar, my Lady?”

Her grip on your wrist tightened. “If you wish to behave like a brat, you shall receive a brat's punishment,” she responded as she pulled you along.

You dug your heels into the floor taking up a runner along with it. “No!” You howled, trying to wiggle from her grasp. “I demand you take me to the dungeon!”

Lady Dimitrescu’s maniacal laughter rang through the halls. “There’s the insolent brat I know and love!” 

Love?

You would have questioned her word choice had you not been throwing a tantrum, not that you would have had time to, as she hoisted you into the air and flung you over her shoulder, knocking her large hat off in the process.

“You absolute brat,” she snarled before delivering a slap to your ass.

“Aaaaaaah!” You wailed, “Put me down this instant!”

It was no use. Your Lady continued to march down the halls and into her chambers, flinging you onto her bed before she turned back to the door to lock it.

The click of the lock made you shudder. You had fully expected to be drained for your ill behavior and yet somehow you ended up in her room. Her back was still to you when she began to speak.

“What am I going to do with you?” She said thoughtfully. She was smiling. You could hear it. Oh, it made your blood boil.

“Why?” You finally demanded. “Why would you give…her…a gift?”

Your Lady looked over her shoulder. “Who I give gifts to and the reasons behind them are none of your business! But if you must know,” she said, finally turning to face you, “that wretched little doll of Lady Beneviento’s destroyed a particular maiden's book, and I replaced it. That is all.”

Your brows knit together. “And the card you left me?  Season's Greetings,” you sneered, “signed A. Dimitrescu? It…was so cold …IT WAS CRUEL!”

Lady Dimitrescu put a hand on her hip. “That card was not intended for you. Your card was an invitation to dine with me this evening!” she bellowed. “It must have gotten mixed up somehow…” she trailed off, scoffing when she realized she was being derailed from her argument, “point is, you need to reign in that temper of yours!”

So the gift to the maiden meant nothing. The card was a mistake. You acted a fool and now you were going to get it.

She stalked towards where you sat at the end of her bed, and you scrambled back up onto the mattress, not knowing what sinister plan she had concocted in her mind. She could be playful, she could be cruel. Interactions with your Lady were like a game of Russian Roulette; she gave you a rush and it was terrifying…take your chances, pull the trigger, no bullet, laugh it off - and she would laugh, too, her red lips curling into that sadistic smile. A laugh that both turned you on and struck fear into your soul.

She crawled on top of you but still gave you room to back up as she followed you. “Back against the headboard.”

You didn't have a choice as that is where she caged you in. Your back hit the headboard, knocking the wind out of your lungs, not that there was much wind to lose. You had spent it during your fit. 

She was nose to nose with you now, grinning, her eyes narrow slits as she approached your neck and inhaled your scent. “You smell divine. Even more so when you're worked up.” She chuckled before nipping at your neck.

“Arms up.”

You did as she asked. She sank back onto her heels and reached for the silk rope that hung from the post. Taking your wrists, she tied the red silk around your pulse point, snuggly; you were not going anywhere.

Your eyes followed her hands and then settled on her breasts as she purposely leaned into you to tie the other wrist. Your mouth watered as you desperately wanted to trace the veins with your tongue. She could feel your heaving breaths on her exposed skin and she chuckled darkly.

“Enjoying the view, are you pet?”

You giggled nervously. “I'd be lying if I said no, my lady.”

“Mmm, yes.” Lady Dimitrescu hummed as she knelt to your level once again. “And you know how I detest liars.”

She studied you briefly, her eyes raking up and down your body, making you feel small yet desired all at the same time. “I-I thought you were going to punish me, my lady.”

She chuckled as she pulled away, her eyes leaving you to look at her own hand. With a flick of her wrist, her claws came out. You swallowed hard, and though you were nowhere near the fireplace, you began to sweat bullets once again, and she noticed.

“Oh, darling, you look flushed! Perhaps we should remove this uniform.”

Before you could object, your lady cut through your dress and apron, her claws slicing through your garment with ease. All you could do was gasp as you were frozen to the spot; flinch and you might lose your life.

“Much better,” Lady Dimitrescu purred as she witnessed the wave of goosebumps wash over your bare flesh.

She removed herself from the bed and walked to her vanity. You watched with great anticipation as she undressed. If this was a punishment, you thought perhaps you should act out more often. 

She stepped out of her gown, leaving her in the lacy undergarments that clung to every soft and voluptuous curve so perfectly. Mirror, body, mirror body - your eyes could not choose a resting place. You wanted to see every angle of your lady. You wanted her to come to bed.

Your eyes traveled down the backs of her toned legs but shot back up to her reflection when you heard her moan. There, in the mirror, you saw your lady pleasuring herself. Slightly bent over, she held herself up with her left arm while her right hand had slid into her lacy underwear to stroke her wet folds. Her raven curls slid further down her back as she tilted her head back. Her crimson lips parted to release a pleased sigh, making your core throb with want.

All you could do was dig your feet into the mattress. She was driving you wild and all you had was the ability to squeeze your thighs together. You were wet, and surely you had soaked through your own underwear at this point.

Once again your eyes didn't know where to rest, but you had failed to notice her eyes were locked on you. Your eyes met, and she grinned, sinking a digit into her own core while moaning your name.

Your arms and wrists ached as you pulled at your restraints. “My Lady, please!” You whined.

Your Lady didn't have to work long to make herself come. Her expert fingers could unravel anyone within mere seconds if she pleased. She knew her body, but she was drawing this out to make you squirm.

She added her hips into the mix, thrusting herself into her own hand, the vanity shaking with each movement. 

Any second now, you expected her to stop, to make her way back over to the bed and put you out of your misery. Though you were nearly naked, you were sweating and wet with anticipation. 

But she didn't…

Golden eyes disappeared behind thick, black lashes when she came, her groan morphing to a sinister chuckle as she slumped over her vanity trying to regain her composure.

In the reflection, she peered at you through black curls that had fallen in her eyes. You were exhausted from your tantrum and unanswered pleas. Your fingers tingled from the lack of circulation and the sheets beneath you were damp with sweat. 

Your lady straightened her posture and made her way over to you, her fingers still glistening with her arousal. Pure excitement coursed through your veins as you watched her, longing for said fingers to touch you, to be inside you. A whine escaped your lips when her knee met the top of the mattress and she hovered over you, drinking in your pathetic state.

“Poor little darling,” she cooed. Her eyes made a path down your body, starting at your bound wrists down across your now heaving breast and finally landing on where you ached for her touch the most. Her lips curled with great satisfaction; your desire was apparent, even while still clothed, you were so incredibly wet.

“So riled up and desperate to be put out of your misery,” she said reaching for your underwear, but stopped when she saw your hopeful smile. Her smile dropped completely and so quickly it sent a shiver down your spine. Instead, the hand that she had been pleasuring herself with moments ago grabbed your chin. She inched towards you, her lips coming ever so close to your own. The smell of wine and tobacco taunting you; she was so close.

Instead of her lips meeting your own, she dragged her wet fingers over your lips, leaving what was left of her desire for you to taste.

You desperately wanted to lick your lips but you were so incredibly stunned by her departure from the bed. You tugged on your restraints and fought back the urge to beg. Surely she was coming back. Wasn’t she?

Lady Dimitrescu sauntered back over to where her dress lay on the floor and stepped back into it, letting you watch as she slowly covered the garters and lace that adorned her curvaceous body. Once back in her dress, you found the ability to speak.

“My Lady?”

“Hmm?” She sweetly responded while fixing her hair and smiling at her reflection.

“Are we to dine with one another still…tonight?”

She turned to you with a look of pity and amusement upon her face. “Oh, pet. Lick your lips,” she chuckled darkly. “That is your dinner!”

“What!” You blurted not caring how loud your voice was.

She walked back over to you and grabbed a blanket that had been draped across the end of the bed. “I absolutely adore you, brattiness and all, but a punishment is a punishment! You didn’t think I was going to let you off that easy, did you?” She smirked. “You see, while I am away, you can take some time to reflect,” she said as she graciously covered your shivering form. “And while I am enjoying my dinner, you may…savor the taste of your punishment.” She smiled wickedly at you before turning to take her exit, making sure to add a little sway in each step. 

“My lady?" You screamed after her. "MY LADY!”

If they were quiet enough, the people of the village might have heard your screams of anger ring out through the Romanian countryside as you yanked at your restraints and trashed about in your lady’s bed. And if you had been quiet enough, which you weren’t, you would have been able to hear your lady’s laugh echo through the castle halls as she made her way to the dining room.

Hope all of you savored the holidays 😉 Happy 2024, dear readers!