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msmorningstaarr · 11 months ago

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let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year ago

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Disturbing the Peace

Summary: You're keeping a secret from Ari - one that you'll have to tell him about eventually. Right?

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Pet Names, Corporate Intimidation, Anxious Reader, Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: Takes place earlier in my Sweet Renegades Series timeline. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You stare down at the notice in your hands, your mouth suddenly dry as your eyes proceed to scan the words on the page for the third time. You’d found it wedged between your doors only moments ago after closing down your shop for the night.

Which meant someone had been out there watching – waiting – for the right moment to strike. Without the benefit of an audience. Fucking coward.

Even still, that fact unnerved you to no end. Especially since the piece of paper you were holding seemed different from the others you’d received over the previous months. They’d been polite and professional, albeit a bit pushy.

But not this one.

This letter was short and to the point. Greystone & Reeves Real Estate Group was done beating around the bush. They were giving you one last chance to meet so that the two of you could finally begin discussing the terms of the sale of your beloved shop, Baubles & Quills.

The one thing you’d promised your late uncle, Lenny, you’d never do.

But unfortunately for you, that didn’t seem to matter overly much to the pushy group. They were clearly tired of being ignored - a tactic that you’d employed with them from the beginning.

When you’d first received a letter from them you’d laughed it off before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. You’d also done the same with the second. But by the time you’d received the third you’d been hoppin’ mad. So mad that you’d left a less than polite voicemail with their receptionist telling them that their entire company could “suck dirt and die”, because that’s exactly what you would do before you ever thought about signing away the deed to your shop.

After that, things were quiet for a time. So quiet that you forgot all about that stupid Greystone and his dimwitted lackey, Reeves. In fact, the last time you’d heard anything from them had been right after Ari had rolled into town.

Come to think of it, you’d actually lit that letter on fire while wishing you could do the same to their headquarters – wherever they seemed to be located. Oddly enough, you hadn’t actually been able to dig up much about them online. Just that they seemed to have set up shop in several different counties surrounding Bell’s Creek.

You couldn’t make heads nor tails of why they were so interested in your property or your land. But at the end of the day, their motivations didn’t really matter.

Because you weren’t fucking selling. Not now, not ever.

Baubles & Quills wasn’t just your place of business, but also your refuge. It was part of the legacy your uncle had left behind as a gift to the little girl who had spent so much of her childhood curled up in the overstuffed armchair in his office with her nose buried in a book.

Long story short, you’d made a promise to the man who’d loved you like a daughter. And you intended to keep it.

So, tomorrow you’d call Greystone & Reeves and threaten them with whatever your paralegal buddy, Erica, suggested. You’d been meaning to call her anyway so that you two could catch-up on life, as well as all things related to Mr. Ari “Beast” Levinson.

The sound of your phone ringing suddenly breaks the silence, giving you a mini-heart attack in the process. You can tell by the ringtone that it’s Ari on the other end, which has you answering without hesitation.

“Uh, hey.” You cough out, shaking your head as you try to clear your mind. “What’s up, Beast?” You do your best to keep your tone light and breezy, not wanting him to pick up on your distress.

Mostly because you’d never thought to mention any of the threatening letters you’d received over the last several months. Even when Ari had stopped by that one fine day to interrogate you about your relationship with Martin you’d chosen to keep that piece of information close to the vest.

After all, it wasn’t like your Bounty Hunter could do much about it anyway. Not to mention that you’d had no idea that your relationship would ultimately progress the way it did.

Bottom line: nobody needed to know, least of all your handsome Beast. Wait. Except for Erica. She could know. Because otherwise, how else would she be able to tell you what scary things to say?

It’s only then when you hear your name on the other line that you realize your thoughts must’ve wandered. “I’m sorry, babe. Can you please repeat that?” You mutter, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. “It’s been a long day and I’m afraid my mind is already worrying about tomorrow’s delivery.”

There was no delivery slated for tomorrow, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. Right?

“S’alright, little Bird. I know you’re tired but – wait. I thought you weren’t expecting any more deliveries for the rest of the month?” The sound of his deep, slightly roughened voice has your pulse quickening as a fresh wave of heat pools in your belly.

“I…” You trail off, your fingers coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. Serves you right for trying to lie to the one man who actually paid attention to 99.9% of the shit that you said on a daily fucking basis.

“Guess I forgot.” You finish lamely, tucking the phone between your shoulder and your ear so that you can get moving. “I’m about to leave Baubles, though. Am I still picking us up something from Holtman’s Diner or did you change your mind?"

“Holtman’s is fine, baby.” Ari responds after a couple of seconds. “But are you sure you’re okay?”

And there it was. Granted, it didn’t sound like suspicion so much as it did concern…

But still.

“I’m great, Beast. Pinky promise.”

Gritting your teeth you return your attention to the stupid piece of paper in front of you. But instead of balling it up and tossing it into the garbage, you decide to neatly fold it and tuck it into your purse.

Next you pull out your keys, followed by your handy dandy taser. And just to be safe, you decide to go ahead and swipe the nearby exacto knife sitting on an unopened box containing some random celebrity’s latest memoir.

“I still think you sound funny, Duchess.”

Fuck, this man – your man – was like a goddamned bloodhound. And once he caught a scent he didn’t give up until he had his prey cornered and ready to spill their guts.

“Augh!” You hiss as you sling your purse over one shoulder before collecting the rest of your things. “Sweetheart, I just told you I’m tired. That’s literally it. Hold on while I get the alarm.” Biting your lip you type in the passcode needed to arm your system before swiftly unlocking and exiting through the front.

“I’m all set now. About to jump into my ride and head to Holtman’s.” Of course, you’re quick to interrupt when he attempts to turn the focus back to you. “Tell me about your day, handsome.”

Ari did not need to know that you were hovering just outside of fight or flight mode, which is why you currently had your semi-legal taser at the ready. Plus the knife and the tiny container of pepper spray hooked on your keyring.

Now that had been a gift from Ari.

Keeping your head on a swivel, you make quick work of locking everything back up before making a mad dash to your vehicle. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you continue to scan the empty lot, searching for any signs of life.

“Yeah?” You grunt as you throw yourself into your car before locking yourself in. “Well, maybe I can try working that knot out of your shoulder later.” With shaking hands you push the start button in your car and wait for your call to connect with your bluetooth. Thankfully it doesn’t take long. “And yes, please. You have my explicit permission to repay the favor, you ridiculous man.”

Oh goodness, I can’t breathe. Mary, Jesus, Joseph, help!

Body hunched, you Immediately you peel out of the lot and turn onto a main road. Now that you’re safe, you cast a glance in your rearview mirror, feeling grateful when you don’t see anything – save for a couple of raccoons hoping to get their hands on some garbage.

“Woo!” You shout, triumphantly punching the roof of your car. “Hell yeah!” You’d officially made it out, which meant that you would hopefully live to fight another day.

“Huh?” Ari growls into the receiver.

“Um, I just say two baby blue mini-coopers drive down the road. Must be good luck, ya know?”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound very convinced.

“And I just remembered that tonight’s special involves their homemade mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Still sound good?“ Without taking your eyes off the road, you drop the taser back into the center console of your car.

“Fine by me then.” Your Bounty Hunter replies, his response sounding just shy of frustrated. But I choose to ignore in favor of simply acting like tonight was okay, even when it wasn’t. “Be safe getting here. And if you change your mind about wanting to talk…”

“Nope.”

After that you hang up and head to the diner, snagging you both a couple pieces of homemade pie to go with your food. A bit to eat and naked cuddles with your man would make things better. At least for a little bit.

And quite honestly, you’d take what could get these days. The universe at least owed you that much.

END

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strawberrystepmom · 1 month ago

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shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | one

cw: non-graphic discussion of an injury reader has. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 1.7k, reading time: approx. 6 min.

note: this is the first part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: two, three, four; five, six

The late morning sun beats hot overhead but you remain cool enough tucked beneath your fishmongering stall, humming to yourself while pouring more ice into the chests behind you that contain everything you caught last night and this morning.

So far everything has gone the same way it does, well, every day. You wake up, you fish, you clean, you put them on ice, you sell what you can. This is the rhythm of your life, never up or down or out of tune, just the way you think you like it. It has been this way for at least a decade so there’s no sense in complaining about it now, even while you notice the tune your humming feels off key. It must be the lingering heat.

It’s technically autumn although you’d never know it. Island life is perpetually sundrenched, the waters that provide your shelter and food thanks to their contents never cooling quite enough to keep you from doing the job. There’s always demand regardless, whether it be from small fleets that dock near your sleepy seaside hometown or your fellow inhabitants. The work is never quite all the way done.

You go back to humming, fixing your pitch, only to be interrupted by footsteps approaching the front of your stall.

“Good morning, flounder is the catch of the day. The fish comes cleaned and I’ll even throw in deboning for free if you’d like.”

Your spiel goes unanswered which is rare. It’s usually recited back to you by any one of your regular buyers, a smile on their face mirroring your own. This draws you to turn around and face whoever is standing in front of the stall, one of the few in town run by a woman.

The man standing there is a stranger.

Every person on this island knows one another, the various small fishing villages dotting the coastline deeply interconnected. You were an outsider once too. Granted, you tried a lot harder to fit in than this man standing in front of you, his clothes vastly different from the breezy linen and cotton worn by everyone else. His face is firm, mouth set in a line with dark hair that brushes the tops of his eyebrows and narrowed golden eyes.

At least he’s a handsome stranger, you reason. You smile and roll your shoulders forward slightly and he remains as you found him. Unmoved.

“The flounder is fine and so are the bones.”

In an instant, your expression turns from pleasant to puzzled. He doesn’t react, simply keeping his hands folded over his chest wordlessly and expressionless. Clearly this guy isn’t interested in small talk and that’s fine, you get to work and pull a piece of parchment from beneath the counter and open the ice chest behind you to pull out your largest catch.

A fruit of the sea, caught and processed lovingly by your hands. Sometimes you catch yourself softly smiling down at the faces of all the fish you catch, perhaps as a means to honor them or at least say you’re sorry. Today though, you keep the subtle smile to yourself and get to work.

“It’ll be 350 Belly,” you mutter while plopping the flounder down on the paper, folding the edge of the paper over the tail. This mysterious man says nothing but his gaze is heavy and is clearly pinned to your movements, your left arm specifically.

“Your stitches look like shit.”

A loud exhalation followed by a humorless laugh is your initial response, pausing your work and then resuming it for a moment to avoid saying something snarky to a man who is about to pay you. You pause again, tilting your head to the side to look up at this stranger who apparently believes insults are appropriate.

“Thanks, I did them myself,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes, proud of your ability to do so covertly enough he won’t even be able to tell.

He absolutely notices it, alongside the range of emotion you’ve let show all over your face in such a short span of time, and shifts his weight from foot to foot while folding his arms over his chest. Law isn’t trying to be an asshole. If you insist on taking his concern that way, it makes no difference to him. The bottom line is that he can see clear as the sky overhead that this wound was not properly tended to.

“You need to see a doctor about that.”

Still narrowed eyes dart down to inspect the jagged wound that will undoubtedly leave a scar if it doesn’t get infected and kill you first. You shake your head and shrug, back to work wrapping his fish. The wound aches if you’re honest. Thankfully you’ve been able to stay busy enough to ignore it although it’s an angry, screaming red and makes itself impossible to completely tune out.

Sighing again, you finish wrapping the fish and slide it across the countertop to the man still appraising your arm from afar. You have work to do and this conversation is preventing it from getting done. Why is he wasting your time with a lecture?

“When you find one, let me know. We don’t have one on the island.”

Hopefully your tone is dismissive enough that he gets the picture. You still feel him looking at you, which is frustrating. Law raises his brows, eyes finally shifting from your arm back to your face.

“Today must be your lucky day because there’s one right in front of you.”

You laugh again. It’s a bit more genuine sounding than the first, a confused smile spreading across your face. This man, the one with the ominously tattooed knuckles, is a doctor?

“What?” He asks, face as impassive as it has remained since the moment he arrived at your little stall.

What is he doing here to begin with? Fishing islands are no strangers to a range of visitors, some more nefarious than others, but it’s a surprise that anyone shows up here. Maybe he’s just like you and he’s running to find himself. Or hiding, that’s always a possibility.

Either way, your sleepy little life could be about to get more interesting. Thrusting your arm outward in his direction and raising your eyebrows expectantly, you see how he’ll react. If he’s going to brag about it, you may as well put him to work after all.

“I wasn’t offering to look at it for you,” he clarifies while reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist.

He finds it slightly annoying that instinct kicked in before he could stop it, his earnest desire to help people buried deep enough he can ignore it most of the time. The touch makes you a little skittish, defying your boldness in offering the opportunity to begin with.

“I told you we don’t have a doctor here. Where else am I gonna find one?”

Sighing, he tugs you gently toward him. You bend at the waist, leaning over the counter, wincing when his thumb brushes against the sorest part of the wound - the skin directly on the edges of it. It’s hot to the touch, eliciting an annoyed glance in your direction. The wound is bad but you did your best with what was on hand which was nothing but a huge needle and durable thread meant for mending sails.

“It’s going to get infected if it isn’t already.”

This should scare you more than it does but you shrug flippantly, preparing to pull your arm back before being stopped with a firm but strangely gentle thumb on the outside of it. The doctor, as you know him now, leans in closer and really glances at the damage done, shaking his head so quickly you’d miss it if you blinked.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under his gaze. This is far more attention than you’re used to even for being a somewhat attractive, single woman on an island mostly populated by men. Most of them are old and settled into their lives with wives or kids or partners or their own unconventionally formed families. Everyone just kind of sees you as friendly but odd, a reputation you’ve grown to appreciate.

So this, this attention, this heavy, searing pair of eyes belonging to not only a handsome stranger but a doctor no matter how bad his attitude may be, makes your face heat. You are ready to send him and his fish on their way, a stranger departing on the wind that brought him in.

“I’ll pop and re-do the stitches myself when I get home,” you assure him, even if it’s likely untrue. By the time you wrap up at the stall you will be too tired to do anything but drag yourself home, throw your dress over your head, and crash into bed to be up early enough to do it all in the morning.

Raising his eyebrows, he glowers down at you. “Make sure you clean it first.”

Nodding to indicate that you understand, you wait for his thumb to drop from your arm and pull it back as soon as he does. The wound aches even strongly now that it’s all you can focus on, painful enough that sweat prickles at your palms. All you want right now is for him to just go as quickly as he appeared so you can move on with your day.

“You got it, doc.”

Getting back to work, you quickly fold and wrap the fish up. Twine is tied into a bow to secure the parcel and it’s passed across the counter, your wide eyes gazing up at him. The way he meets them makes you shiver despite the warm, humid air of your home. Digging in his pocket he produces a few coins and places them down on the counter wordlessly, taking his bundle and turning his back to walk away.

“Hey,” you call, and he looks over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

That never changing expression remains but his voice, deep as it is, sounds quite nearly amused.

“Law.”

Law, Law, Law. You commit it to memory, notoriously bad with names as you are. Then you start to attempt to recall if you’ve ever heard it before, maybe having heard it muttered amongst the fisherman who help you at night during flounder season.

Nothing rings a bell. By the time you are no longer lost in your own reverie, Law has long gone and you look down at the counter where shiny gold coins sit.

He left you 500 Belly, more than he had to.

#trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law imagines #law x you #kendall writes #shifting sands

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year ago

Text

PATIENCE, PATIENCE.

p — SIM JAEYUN x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, making out, secondhand embarrassment aka the hannie-dul-set fic triumvirate + a good amount of public indecency. 1.5k words.

requested by — anon: cocky jock (who loses that cockiness around you) x reserved student librarian (who loses that cool because of him).

note — loosely inspired by a moment from the manhwa "unstoppable hayoung" ifykyk. in a prev fic i alluded beomgyu to a mosquito, in this one jake to a pest. i think i'm seeing a pattern here.

a pest has been following you for quite some time now.

“sim jaeyun.”

his name falls icy off your tongue, prefacing it with a sharp inhale yet the man in question is unfazed. he’s trespassing the barrier that’s preventing you from socking him in the face: the front desk of the library where he’s decided to prop his arms over, leaning into the surface, smiling oh-so-handsomely at you as if you aren’t politely telling him to fuck off with your eyes alone.

then again. you don’t really expect him to understand social cues.

“for the dozenth time, please leave me alone.”

so you verbalize your intent instead.

“i can’t do that, baby,” he replies. “not until you agree to go out with me.”

you suck in a deep huff of air, close your eyes, and dig your fingers into your thighs to ward away the distress.

“just one date. please?” he prods, nudging himself closer over the desk as if the scrawls of paper you’re trying to organize aren’t as important as his incessant badgering. “are you really going to keep saying no to this face?” the face in mention looks particularly punch-able right now. you’ve always taken pride in yourself for being a very patient, patient individual. jake sim from philosophy 102 is testing that patience.

“the library is for reading,” you say through gritted teeth. patience, patience, patience. you’re a daffodil on a breezy field, a piece of driftwood on a steady river. you will not fight a man in your workplace. you will keep your job and maintain inner peace.

“i am reading,” he argues. “i’m trying to read your mind because i don’t get why you don’t want to go out with me.”

holy crap. he’s insufferable.

“i’ve already told you dozens of times, jake.” now, you don’t know a thing or two about the ball sport he does, but that pink varsity jacket is starting to look abhorrent. it’s being shoved into your face the more he tries to throw himself over your desk. a bright jarring color, unsafe for the eyes. “i don’t want to go out with you. also, i’d appreciate if you stop ruining my work.”

one of the documents got wrinkled under his elbow. his mouth opens, “oh, sorry!” and he quickly backs off, ironing the sheet with his palms. “but at least tell me why you don’t want to go out with me. you keep rejecting me with a blank face but i don’t know why.”

your upper lip twitches.

because this is all because of a dare, that’s fucking why.

no, even that aside, the way he keeps arrogantly trying to hit on you, expecting you to just accept it and go is grinding your gears. you’re calm. you’re usually calm. but something about this guy just pushes all your buttons in one go, makes you spew out bullshit you’d never dare yourself to say to anyone else.

“hey,” your rouse. “can you kiss me right now?”

two can play at that game, bitch.

it works. it works really well because jake is suddenly as pink as his jacket. well, you don’t blame him. the library isn’t safe from gross, hormonal activities, but those are usually done in between the shelves— not at the front desk near the entrance.

you’re mimicking his stance, leaned forward, arms crossed over the desk and all. “like— like a peck on the cheek?” he stutters.

“no. like tongue in mouth kissing me like a starved man and it’s your last meal on death row,” you clarify. it’s funny how you can see his brain circuits crashing in real time. serves him right. you let out a breath and stand up, seeing the clock tick closer to your break. you quickly gather your things and circle out from behind the desk, now in cross-armed disappointment next to your persistent pest. “this is why i don’t want to go out with you, jake. you don’t even have feelings for me. you’re doing this because your friends told you to, and i don’t—”

suddenly, you feel something soft on your lips.

suddenly, your knees are weak, your mind is fuzzy, and you’re exchanging spit with jake sim in the library lobby.

wait, you gasp into his mouth and he responds with a grunt. wait, your eyelids flutter, air knocked out of your chest that’s somehow now pressed against his because wait— this wasn’t supposed to go this way.

how dare he actually do what you told him to? how dare he give you the best damn kiss you’ll ever have in your life?

“what the fuck?” you breathe out in intermittent huffs, hands on his chest as you pull yourself back. jake’s hazy eyes are looking at you in a way that makes your brain jump in circles, coupled by the arm that he has looped around your lower back. he’s crazy. he’s fucking crazy. “why— why would you do that?!”

“you told me to kiss you!”

“and you did?!”

your eyes widen at the volume of your own voice, quickly slapping a hand over your swollen lips, but making noise is at the bottom of your library sins today. you see your supervisor’s attention on you from the corner of your eye, and your face flushes. “why would you go this far for a dare?” you say in a quieter voice, still manic, still frantic, and jake flinches hard when you jab a finger to his chest. “you’re nuts, you’re actually nuts, oh my god—”

“wait, what do you mean dare?” your finger seems to be hurting him because he grabs your wrist and brings your hand down. “a dare? a dare to do what?”

you seethe. “don’t play dumb with me, jake. overheard you and your little soccer friends last time—”

“it’s football—”

“i don’t care.” your voice is getting louder again. jake flinches once more. “the problem here is you keep asking me out to date you because your soccer friends are betting on who can bed the quiet library assistant first and— and i’m not going to play dumb just because you’re a good kisser. i’m angry and disgusted and—”

“do you mind continuing your argument outside?”

your mouth is hanging open, paused mid-speech. when you peer to your left, you see that your supervisor has teleported right next to you. oh, god. there goes your job. jake apologizes for the both of you and skews your frozen figure out the door. you’re screwed. your patience could handle six months at starbucks and three months babysitting three toddlers, but i cannot handle one sim jaeyun.

“so,” the perpetrator’s voice snaps you back to reality. you’re both now outside the library, and he’s looking at you with a smugness that begs a kick to the balls. “you think i kiss good.”

your face bitters. “is that your only takeaway from all that?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i also got that you’re rightfully mad at me for something i have to clear up.”

here we go. you’re curious to see what excuses he’ll make, how many sorry’s he’ll impart, and if he’ll get down on his knees. jake. but his starting words aren’t what you’re hoping for. “there isn’t a bet,” he starts. “my teammates were just trying to tease me because i didn’t have the balls to ask you out. dumb, i know, but they were dumber because they were all like, ‘if you don’t make a move soon, we will, blah, blah, blah’ to provoke me so—”

jake is matching his varsity jacket again.

“long story short, i made them run fifteen laps and decided to get it over with by asking you out on a date.”

you’re brought back to the first instance jake had asked you out— it was in the lecture hall, right after class, and he was wearing the same pink jacket that at this point seems like his second skin. the color isn’t as jarring as you initially thought.

“but rejection didn’t feel nice. so i thought i’d try again.”

you narrow your eyes. “again, as in like, eight times?”

“you counted?” he muses. you are unamused. he clears his throat and continues. “you’re always so calm and collected, but your eyebrows would furrow and your face would scrunch up whenever i threw you the question. it’s cute. i got addicted. you can’t pin all the blame on me.”

you let his words simmer, and with each passing second of silence jake grows more nervous, fidgeting in wait. you decide to spare him the agony, letting out a deep and heavy sigh. “okay. you’re forgiven.”

it’s instantaneous how his face lights up. now, you’re the one flinching.

“nice! does that mean we’re dating now? can i kiss you again?”

“now hold on,” you stop him, mildly appalled, mostly flustered. “i said i forgive you. i never said we can start making out in a public area again.”

he bats his eyes at you. “in private then?”

you want to hit him. you want to hit him so bad. sim jaeyun is the pest that has been following you for quite some time now. you fear that at this point, there’s no getting rid of him now.

PATIENCE, PATIENCE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen jake x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #jake sim x reader #enhypen scenarios #enha scenarios #sim jaeyun scenarios #jake sim scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #sim jaeyun x you #jake sim x you

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

This is a bit of a heavy request but could you do a blurb or drabble of Siriusx reader where they struggle with eating and food in general in recovery tho and still finds it difficult sometimes again this might be too much so I’m sorry if it is

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader is struggling with eating disorder recovery, thoughts related to bullemia, please don't read if this will be triggering for you

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 737 words

You can’t fathom how Sirius has managed to clean his plate, but you’re grateful that he has. It makes it easier to think of your portion, hardly more than half of his, as a reasonable amount.

Still, it sticks in your throat as it goes down.

“How was your day?” Sirius asks, waiting patiently in front of his empty plate as you take your tiny bites.

“Not bad.” Not great. Your boss had gotten irritated with you for asking too many questions about your new assignment, and you’d spend the rest of the day steeping in shame for your incompetence. “Yours?”

“It was good,” he replies, and his voice is breezy, but you can feel his eyes on you. There’s a few bites left on your plate, and if Sirius weren’t here you’d throw the rest of your dinner in the trash. You think he knows.

You can feel your meal pressing at the base of your throat. You want it out, up, whatever. It's one of your worse days, and the thoughts of how disgustingly full you are, how many calories you’ve eaten, how you didn’t work out that morning, are more difficult to repress. Nausea works at your gag reflex, and you keep swallowing as if that’s going to help.

“Do you want some water?” Sirius asks softly.

“No.” Anything more in you, and you’re sure you’ll be sick. But now irritation provides a distraction. Inexplicably and to your self-loathing, nothing sparks the flint of your anger quicker than the people you love being worried about you. It’s some petulant instinct: don’t tell me what to do. You know Sirius isn’t trying to be patronizing, that he’s not trying to take control of your meal away from you, and still. Resentment roils hot and bitter with the undigested food in your stomach.

“Just a few—”

“I know.” Your tone is so harsh you’re surprised the words don’t scrape and tear on their way out, and you backpedal immediately. “I’m sorry, Siri, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, with more sympathy than you deserve. “It’s okay, baby, I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No, thank you.”

He nods, and there’s a brief silence.

“Hey, d’you wanna start that puzzle tonight?” he asks casually. “I know you’ve been wanting to work on it for awhile.”

Sirius doesn’t even like puzzles. “I thought you had work to do?”

He shrugs. “I can do it in the morning. It’s only five hundred pieces, right?”

“A thousand.”

He blanches, and you almost smile. You know what he’s doing, but you’re going to let him anyway. He composes himself quickly.

“Perfect. The more the better.”

You force yourself to take one bite, then another, swallowing before you can fixate on the feel of them in your mouth. It’s impossible not to think about them, but Sirius’ chatter makes things easier, beckoning you to engage with him as he asks silly questions about whether you start with the border or the picture, if you’re a purist or if you use the box for reference.

“It’s going to be hard,” you admit, and realize with the clink of your fork against the dish that the last bite is gone. Sirius takes your plate before you get the chance to think about it too hard, carrying it with his to the kitchen.

“Why’s that?” he prompts.

“Because…” It takes a moment to remember what you were talking about. You’re proud of yourself for finishing, but the insistent full feeling is still there. “Because the picture is watercolor. Things won’t be as distinct.”

Sirius seems to sense that you could still use a distraction, discarding the plates in the sink and leading the way to the living room. “This one, right?” He holds up a box for you to see, and you nod, sitting with your legs crossed under you on the floor by the coffee table. “Pfft, that’s easy money, dollface.”

“You’re going to eat those words,” you reply, doing your best to match his easygoing tone.

Sirius makes a disbelieving huffing sound as he spreads the pieces on the table, dropping a kiss on your head. “Proud of you,” he murmurs, and it’s like a blip, a break in character, before he settles down beside you on the rug and his voice resumes its normal volume. “With your skills, we’re gonna make this puzzle our bitch. Just you watch, sweetness.”

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mysteriesmuse · 9 months ago

Text

MusicStudent Katsuki Bakugou who’s the same grade and is a member of the ensemble you’re in this semester. As a percussionist he has a lot of spare time in his hands in orchestra and even more at a fantastic vantage point. There’s the barrier of percussion instruments that separates them onto their own little world — the set up spanning across the entire back of the rehearsal room as they all fly back and forth past each other to get to their multiple part assignments. — he’s got a lot of accessory assignments for this semester; and the fact of holding claves, triangles, swiping chimes, and slamming car engines means he’s relatively on the move. However, it also means he’s not assigned to anything during part of rehearsal — that means he can leave early at times. Which coincidentally happens to align with some of the pieces that you’re not assigned on. Not that you couldn’t perform them, but rather there’s no need for you to be there since they cut down on parts for this one piece in particular. But when you are both playing Katsuki tends to rely on his sense of time as his gaze wanders from the conductor to your chair. As he sits in the throne behind the timpani he gets the perfect view of you and your side profile. The perfect spot to overhear your light chatter - to read your micro expressions - to see the way you’ve dressed and the way you slightly mark your music. Katsuki snickers at the way you make haste to make an accusing face at the trombone players for wrong notes or overblasting tone. Katsuki twitches when he hears you frack a note waiting for the flashes of second hand embarrassment to touch your ears, but you pout and sheepishly shrug it away the only tinges of red as tingly thing in his chest. Katsuki who watches you pout your lips and talk as you slather in chapstick during the break and crack open an electrolyte powder into your water bottle and shake it up as the start of every rehearsal.

And you cradle that water bottle with you out into the hallway when you’re not needed and the two of you stand outside in the hallway together — that’s where he learned what you like to eat and drink and how you liked your boba order. And it’s on one day where the schedule declares that you’re on duty for the entire rehearsal and he isn’t that he decides to talk a walk; opening his notes app to make sure he gets your order right, your favorite flavor. And he stops at the boba truck that’s permanently parked on the right side of campus every afternoon and orders you both one. Walking back with the spring sunshine on his face and a black baseball cap sporting the university logo on it with two bobas in hand. The sweet cool breeze mingle with the chill sugary boba on his lips. The jelly tapioca pearls a familiar serotonin inviting sensation in his mouth. The calloused skin on his fingertips getting damp with the condensation - except it’s all more than worth it when he greats you after rehearsal in the room. Katsuki catches you as your packing up a red eye watching your form as the everything gets packed away into the gig bag. He waits until you’re ready and have turned for the door that he calls for you, “Oi’ I got you something,” shaking the second boba in the air. The slow and steady tortoise like walk you has speeds up as you dodge the playful fleeting fist bumps and voices of your cello and trombone friends. You flutter to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “No way, thank you ‘tsuki!”

He grins with a shrug, “You were talking about it before rehearsal and I had some off-time today. S’ no biggy.” The grin you have and the contact of your grabby hands against his has him laughing as you place your lips around the straw like a toddler. “I know you’re a purest about the instrument food thing.” After your enthuastic sip he adds, “Wanna pack up and walk around campus for a while to enjoy these?” He notes you’re dressed for it. In your cute tank top and breezy collared crochet button shirt — you worked on it all last semester and have been loathe to be found without it now that the real nice spring weather has arrived. “Yeah totally, let me put this away first and we can go!” And Katsuki watches you disappear for a few minute before you reappear and playfully knock shoulders with him as he holds the door open for you on the way out into the glorious March sunshine.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou drabble #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #I had so much fun just putting the words out there and creating my own little self serving fanfic moment!!#I hope some other get to enjoy this little daydream of mine!

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shirecorn · 2 years ago

Note

What’s your favourite mlp species? Have you got any thoughts on kirins/niriks?

Request ponies, species, etc I havent done here

I am both a creature and character designer, so I have a lot of thoughts about MLP world!

Paradoxically, the non-pony species interest me less than the actual ponies, because they are all really solid and well done designs. There's not a lot I would reinterpret tbh, and drawing them would just be taking what they have and making them realistic.

The non-pony creatures tend to be more detailed because they are generally cameos and don't need to be animated doing nearly as much as ponies do.

Compilations by AndoAnimalia on deviantart

The kirins are really lovely designs! I love the ankle tufts, and how the stripes on the horns glow when using magic. Really nice creature design here.

The Nirik part was a little boring, and the plot/conflict was not sophisticated enough for my tastes. But it is a show for young children, not biology majors. Lots of room for worldbuilding and headcannoning lore to flesh it out, but I prefer something I can completely rewrite. The kirin lore was fine and I'm fine leaving it as-is.

Another good one is breezies.

I love them they look so stupid. Their wings are over the top but perfectly designed to sell the "piece of lint in the wind" delicateness they have.

as for my favorite creature?

Bug momma

I really love changelings and love how edgy they are.

The reformed changelings are decent but I would have designed them differently. I may take a crack at them later on if I feel the need. I feel like they should either be pony-adjacent (with manes at the very least) or further removed from ponies. this middle ground is kind of like having a bug monster alien that just happens to be bipedal, with humanoid shoulders, arms, and hands for no evolutionary reason (the reason is practical effects and putting a dude in a costume but shhh)

all this is about creatures though, and its very important to talk about character design whenever we discuss creatures. A character's personality should be the quickest read about them, rather than their biology. If something is too complex, the personality gets lost because you have to spend your details adding ankle tufts and articulated fingers.

The mane six, and basically all other ponies, use the same base puppet, and each unique part needs its own turnaround. Every prop and hairdo and eye shape needs to be understood from every possible angle because these are main characters and they need to be be able to turn, spin, and do karate without the animators having to make up the back of applejack's hat every time she faces away from the camera.

Having the same body means animators know how to draw both rarity and rainbow dash from a back 3/4 view with one hoof raised. So from a technical standpoint, simple is best.

Even in big budget productions, where every character has a different body with different close and face shapes, main characters are simplified so that the audience can quickly read pose and expression without getting lost in complex clothing designs or face makeup. Reading poses and expressions quickly is very important to understand and empathize with the character before they've moved to the next pose. You need to understand the emotion the character is feeling and the action they are doing in a split second.

you start to get more complicated and an entity becomes less of a character and more of scenery because it has so much detail its harder to read the emotions from one frame to the next.

There's a reason he doesn't wear his funny hat for the duration of the movie! It's much easier to read his emotions without it. Adding lots of detail and weird props is something designers do a lot when introducing a character if they want to make that character feel mysterious or "other" because its harder to relate when your brain is stuck on the details. also masks just do that by nature of being masks.

where was I going with this

My little pony g4 has great creature and character design.

If it were high budget, major studio with All The Money, there might be more variety in character proportions, and more distinction between the different pony species. But its a puppet animated show that was always meant to make marketable designs to be turned into toys. We just get lucky when there's a good story to tell along the way

#ramble machine #ask #shire screams

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breezy-cheezy · 1 year ago

Note

Unfortunately that One Piece Ghibli post you reblogged is AI 😭 jsyk

THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW now that you pointed it out I can see it O.o Welp. That sucks. I deleted the post, wooooo

#anonymous #breezy replies #op #one piece #siiiiigh #can really see it in the words on the art....I thought it was the adhd I cannot read things rn #nnnnnope

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puffein · 1 year ago

Text

EPILOGUE | late spring [xii.]

summary: all you have left is hope as you board a trip back to new jersey. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: none word count: 2411 a/n: its finally the eeeeend!! i hope you enjoyed this series! thank you!!!

series masterlist playlist!

Edinburgh, Scotland

Late-May 2027

The sharp chilling air of the early mornings of Edinburgh rouses your sleepy form from its slumbers. The bright sun waking its warm light to cascade through the open gaps of the windows made you forget the fading breezy air you felt a minute ago. Blinking through the sudden illuminating light of the sun, you felt the moving car come to a complete stop.

Your eyes watch the forwarding move of each stranger, the crowds moving like waves crashing through their destination, their luggage trailing behind them with the sounds of its wheels gliding through the pavement.

You let out a breath, pushing the door open and taking the heavy suitcase out of the car. You heard a door closing in hard and a set of rush footsteps gliding towards you.

"Y/N, wait– this.." Kate's staggering timbre of voice made you whip your head towards her, an eyebrow raised at a box she was carrying. "This is for you." Pushing the box forward into your arms, you gave her a confused look.

"What is this? I told you I do not need a parting gift, I'll be coming back here." you huff.

Her dark hair moves swiftly as her head shakes, "No, no, I know you're coming back. It's, um, remember like years ago you told me about the letters, just the story behind that, um, well, you see– I didn't throw her letters away, I have kept them."

Your heart thumps, eyes flickering downwards– into the box your arms securely carried, "Kate, why.."

"I don't know, it's just, it felt weird to throw it away. If what you have said is the truth, that you are now okay and breathing then it wouldn't be so hard to read the letters she wrote years ago, right?"

Your heart wobbles lightly, a smile taking its place right at your place, "Alright, thank you for keeping this."

Kate beams, her body giddy at taking in your gratitude, her hands moving awkwardly as she points at you, "Can I hug you or is that too weird, I mean I know we are busi–"

You bark out a laugh, wrapping your hands in her wrist to pull her flush into your body, hugging her. "Be good here, Bishop."

"I will!" she chirps, leaning away to give you her wide smile.

You step back, the box in your arms suddenly heavy, you give Kate one last smile, and as soon as your back faces Kate, your smile falls. You feel the weight of the letters, clutching the box tightly, and your steps wobble as you try to navigate your way through the airport.

The distinct smell of the airport wraps you in quickly, with each stranger having its own destination, you have come into a thought of what stories each of them carries and then your story came in like a bucket of ice-cold water, splashing into you without a warning.

You have healed. But the heavy weight of the letters doesn't settle right into your being. You are afraid opening such things would make you backtrack all the progress you have gotten, but then again, healing is not linear, it never will be.

So, when you successfully seated yourself in the window seat of the plane, you took one letter out of the box. Eyeing the familiar handwriting plastered through the piece of paper, your breath catches in sharply as your eyes scan the contents of a piece of paper that holds such delicate words.

My dear Y/N,

How are you? I don't know what letter this is, this might be my 10th, I don't know. I just kept on writing and writing, it's the only thing that has brought me comfort. I hope you are doing well, I kept on thinking and thinking if I have made a different choice, a different action, would this be just another alternate version of our life?

I'm sorry, Y/N. For everything. I know the words I have said don't justify how wrong my actions were. It didn't dawn on me how my simple actions of ignoring you— the problems— my problem, would cause you such great pain. It didn't occur to me and I was being selfish and prideful. I was so blind, I was so scared of what I was feeling for you that I completely broke you. I didn't mean that, I was just scared and I wanted that feeling to vanish, so I did what I thought was the best plan. To be blind and avoid problems.

Sorry, I'm sorry.

I hope Edinburgh is treating you well. All I can do is hope, Y/N. I hope Edinburgh is fixing things for you that New Jersey never fixed. You don't need fixing, though, you have always been perfect and I never treasured that.

I love you, Y/N. I really do. I was just scared of many things, the thoughts were bad, and it did not help at all. I'm sorry. This doesn't make sense. Everything doesn't make sense. You are the only one grounding me, Y/N.

I hope when the time comes, you and I can talk. I will be hoping for that day.

Sincerely,

Wanda

You try to take in whatever words Wanda has written and along the lines of her painful words, your heart thumps lightly. This is a letter she wrote years ago and yet, it perfectly consummates the current emotions you are feeling. And without a single doubting thought, your heart blooms that one word she always wrote.

You will be hoping.

༻༺

"I can't believe I have to get married for you to finally come home." Natasha greets you with a teasing voice, the ends of her tone are tender and warm as she pulls you in quickly for a tight embrace.

You let out a surprised squeal at her tight grip, choking out a laugh, "Get off, please. I can't breathe."

"Oh shut up, you missed this."

You smiled against her body, pulling her closer and taking in the familiar scent of her perfume. Natasha's grin widens when a familiar hand pulls her away gently.

"Maria, finally nice to meet you." your hand reaches forward for the brunette to take. The woman with a posture so straight gave you a winning smile, pulling you in again into a tight hug.

"What is with you two and tight embraces, oh god, I feel like my lungs are crushed."

Maria chuckles, "Okay, you are dramatic."

Natasha swiftly moves beside you, hanging her arms around your shoulder, "So.. tell me about this Gray woman, does she make your life vibrant contrary to how monotone her name is?"

You let out a nervous laugh, "Nat, I told you we are just friends. I don't think it's a great idea for me to date, I don't want someone to get stuck up with someone like me."

Natasha completely stops, her face is ready to fight the words you just have stated, "Like you? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for anything," you stated, mouthing a small thank you to Maria as she easily carries your suitcase into the car. "I wanna focus on myself, that's literally it."

Nat leans her body on the car, her arms crossing right at her chest, "And we love you for that. Apologies for my remarks." she declares, the corners of her mouth twitching in a wide grin, proud of what she's hearing from her precious best friend. "Now get in. My fiancée and I will take you for a wild ride."

Your smile widens at her silly words, playfully slapping her arms as you duck down to sit in the back seat.

You watch them interact with each other, how Maria holds out her hand for Natasha to take, how your best friend can't seem to take her eyes off the brunette, how the brown-haired woman has a smile permanently plastered on her face. As you watch them carefully, something gnaws in the deeper ends of your chest, slowly clawing its way out to let you know that this feeling, the feeling of envy, the feeling of being wanted to be loved, is still present, alive, even after shoving in and crushing it to pieces.

It somehow mends itself and it's now clawing wildly out of your chest, making you look away and focus your sights on the moving scenery laid out of the clear window.

Westview is still the same as when you have left it, the tree-lined streets stand beautifully, the proud sun sets itself onto the blue sky, its rays peeking in between the leaves of the trees, making it look like a scene out of a postcard.

When the moving scenery finally comes to a stop in a very familiar neighborhood, Natasha quickly hops out of the car to open the door for you, her head tilting as she gives you a cheeky grin, opening her arms as she points at a house.

"What do you think?"

You gape at her, "You brought a house?"

"Me and Maria thought it would be nice to have a house before the wedding and this, woman right here," pulling Maria closer to her, Natasha kisses her cheeks loudly, "She surprised me with a house!"

Your eyes flicker at the brunette whose face is turning red, "That's great, Maria, wow. You are in deep."

"Oh, shut up. I'm saving you money here from checking in a hotel." Maria's stoned voice made you laugh loudly, shaking your head as you carried your suitcase with ease, letting out a silent huff at how heavy it is.

Letting yourself breathe in the sight before you, the couple's house screams cozy and homey. You can picture them starting a family with this house, little Natasha running around, Maria's stoic face as she scolds their child, and family pictures scattered all over their house. Their future unfolds before your eyes, and you badly want to see what the future holds for you.

Will it be just like them?

"Hey, Nat." your hand grips Natasha's wrist, "I wanna see something, is it okay if I meet you two at dinner?"

"Sure, want me to drive you? Where are you even going?" Natasha quips, arranging your suitcase in the corner of the room she had pointed out.

You shrug, "I just wanna walk around, it's been so long. I wanna see if something has changed."

"Call me if you need a drive back home, yeah?" The redhead's smile was contagious, making you give her a grateful smile.

That's how you found yourself walking aimlessly on the sidewalks of the neighborhood, each house feels familiar yet different and strange. It's like watching something out of a picture you have hidden in a box that has a label of 'memories'.

It doesn't feel real, how you are walking to the very place you have run away from. Nothing would have prepared you for what happened years ago, the final conversation you had with Wanda was eye-opening. It did help you get the closure you wanted but not the ending of what you had hoped. Despite that, you chose yourself, you chose what you needed instead of what you wanted.

It is hard, to choose between a want and a need but you knew what weighed more. Even if it left you on a lonely journey of self-healing, it was the very first time you have chosen an option that does not revolve around her.

Life shouldn't revolve around her and yet you had caught yourself standing outside the coffeehouse, eyes gazing at the empty building, despite the day not being done, the lights were off, and dust forming inside the clear window pane.

Thank you for your patronage. This coffeehouse has permanently closed.

You blinked away the sudden bitterness pooling at the tip of your tongue, gulping the remaining dejection crawling out of your throat over a closed coffeehouse, you looked away.

Westview did change, if it's the same as what you have left, the coffeehouse would still be here, not an abandoned building sitting with its bleakness seeping out of its clear windows.

The grimness you have felt for something that seems so insignificant to others made you feel petty, but maybe you were just holding on to something that needed to be let go of.

Hearing the sudden whipping of the wind and the yapping of a fast little dog running right at your ankle, you look down and instantly crouch to take the dog.

Brows furrowing, you tried to look for a collar.

"Sparky– I swear to god. I am so sorry—" a hoarse voice comes next.

Your head whips fast.

"...Y/N," she says breathlessly, her soft tunes sounding like she's running out of breath, catching it.

Wanda.

It shouldn't bother you.

If you had moved on, it really shouldn't.

But it did. The look on her face sits gorgeously, she gapes at you wild like a fish out of water, trying to make sense if you are real or just another delusion of hers. You blink, your heart is calm but your mind says otherwise.

"You–you're back?"

You nod. "Yes, I– uhm, just today."

The nibbling of her bottom lip made you turn your gaze away, softly setting down the dog on the ground, the cute pup instantly ran towards the frozen woman.

"They, they closed months ago." she suddenly declares, watching as your eyes linger on the building. A tense silence ensues, making you clench the quiver of your chest.

"It was nice to see you, Y/N. I hope you will enjoy your stay here," she mutters, you turn at her, watching as she struggles to clasp the collar back on the puppy, her hands are visibly trembling.

With one last final glance, she smiles at you, "Sorry again, he always likes to run away from me. Okay, I— I want to—" she struggles.

Then settle for a simple, "Goodbye, Y/N."

You let her walk away, her long chocolate brown hair sits beautifully at her shoulders, then it hits you. A memory replaying right in your eyes, watching her walk away, steps heavy on the pavement. This is so familiar.

"Wanda!"

The turning of her head was fast, the hope pooling in her green eyes made you waver.

"What time is it?" you asked.

Her shoulders fall, looking down at her watch, "Eight-forty-nine," she replies.

"Would you like a coffee at nine?"

fin.

general masterlist ◄

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda #wanda maximoff mcu #wanda maximoff marvel

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0dd-cloud · 3 months ago

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DCA SELF INSERT! Her name is Breezy :)

y’all gonna lore drop real quick. (Pretend the grammar is good)

Breezy was apart of the theatre act with Sun and Moon before it was a daycare. but later on due to a mysterious virus that plagued her code she became unstable causing an accident to occur. After one of there performances. A child that was a big fan of Breezy had slipped away from her parents and followed Breezy backstage with just the two of them alone. Breezy hadn’t noticed the child causing her security protocol to go off which ignited the dormant virus. Without warning a sudden surge of violence infested her mind causing her to lash out. Her hands swiped across the child cutting her and the rope that had been holding up the curtains of the stage. Everything had happened so fast The beam of the curtains fell upon her and the child. With its land the child had died and Breezy was broken. Her voice box was disconnected, pieces of her exoskeleton had broken off, Her arm and leg contorted and All she could do was stare at the child that laid before her and the panicked screams of the audience. She was then quickly taken away from the theater by the staff and thrown out into one of the old parts rooms. All the other Animatronics memories were wiped as a precaution to make sure the weren’t infected as well. Over time she was forgotten about. As the plex grew there was no need for that old section which had construction close the walls off. Leaving her to rot in the abandoned room. A few years later… Moon was on his security run late at night and had just finished up the back area of the plex he was climbing through the vents back to the daycare when suddenly one of the vents had finally broken off due to it being old and constantly stepped on by moon over the years during his security checks. With curiosity Moon jumped down from the opening. Landing in the old section of the plex he never had access till now because fazbear Co. was to lazy to redo the ventilation running through the whole plex. As he was walking down the halls he happened to pass one of the old parts rooms. Without warning he suddenly heard scuffling noises come from behind him. He turned around but nothing was there. When suddenly what wasn’t there had suddenly lunged at him… 😱

To be continued???

Thank you for reading if you did :D

#fnaf security breach #sundrop #moondrop #daycare attendant #sundrop x y/n #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf oc #self insert #orginal character #sundrop x oc #moondrop x oc #yapping #fnaf fan design #fnaf dca #fnaf sb #artists on tumblr #dca fnaf

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leonstamatis · 1 year ago

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hey blaseball. how’s it hanging.

some of you expressed interest in a little wintertime exchange when i posted about it yesterday. well! let’s do it.

BUT FIRST: all important dates and such are below. go read those, put em in your calendar, et cetera.

then you can fill out this form if you’re interested.

guidelines and such:

open to fanfic, twines, visual art, playlists, and basically anything else you can think of.

limit of about 500-2.5k words for fic, or one to two art pieces depending on complexity. keep it breezy. (a little over is fine, but don’t go writing a whole novel. likewise, please try to at least hit the minimum.)

whatever you decide to do, please keep it safe for work.

deadline to submit your request form is december 8. (aka, don’t overthink it too much.) assignments will be out hopefully within a week, depending on how many people sign up. i’ll keep you posted.

reveals will be february 17. should be enough time, but you can always reach out if it isn’t.

track #winterblbswap for updates, probably.

lemme know if you have questions. this is meant to be a pretty lowkey thing for folks who miss the blaseball creative community and want to get back into it for a quick last hit, so i’m not structuring the rules as much as i have with previous exchanges. that being said, i’ll try to check in here and there to make sure everyone is on track and it’s all coming along.

i’ll probably set up an ao3 collection for this, but even if you’re not making fic, please hold off to publish until reveals. i’ll plan to email or dm everyone a copy of their gift the morning of reveals just to make sure it all gets delivered.

#blaseball #winterblbswap #<-lord help me i will remember that damn tag #tell your friends etc etc #if more than fifteen people sign up for this I’ll be FLABBERGASTED

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corbiecomic · 2 months ago

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"Corinne Morgan, Corbie" remastered #1 - now available in print!

It's been a long time coming, but you can now enjoy the first ever issue of Corinne Morgan, Corbie as an old school, high quality, real-world comic book! Read on to learn all about how you can secure a copy from the extremely limited initial print run - and to discover the extra treats in store if you order the deluxe package!

ABOUT "CORINNE MORGAN, CORBIE"

Corinne Morgan has always gone out of her way to stay out of trouble. All she wants is to graduate from the notoriously brutal Anna Dale Academy in one piece. Unfortunately, her headmistress seems out to get her – and a vicious trio of students known as the I.C. are too! All this would be enough for anyone to handle, but things get a million times crazier when Corinne acquires a crystal ball that revives her ancestor, an Irish war goddess with her own plans for revenge and in need of a new body. These events will lead to the teen inventor adopting a new-alter ego - the battling bird gal, Corbie!

To celebrate the fifth anniversary of its original release, "The Power" has been given a major makeover for this new edition, with each page recreated from the original pencil materials. But that's not all! Five pages of never-before-seen comic material appear here for the first time ever, as well as an exclusive article looking back on the making of both the original and new editions. Colorful, breezy and engaging, this reimagined version of the first Corbie adventure will enthrall seasoned fans as well as new members of her flock!

Corbie #1 was released digitally in 2023 as a remastered and expanded reimagining of the 2018 version, commemorating its fifth anniversary. Further improvements and enhancements have been made beyond those found in the current digital edition for the print release, and two extra pages of pin-up art are now included. Both cover variants are available - cover "A" (Corbie and Morrigan in front of Stonydawn, the Morgan family home) or cover "B" (Corbie in close-up). Only 50 copies are available for each variant!

Each print copy of “Corinne Morgan, Corbie” #1 (deluxe and standard) comes with a numbered certificate confirming it originates from the initial August 2024 print run. The deluxe edition also includes the following extra items:

CORINNE STICKER: An exclusive sticker of the star of the series, Corinne Morgan - but selected issues instead include an even rarer holofoil variant! Which type will you get?

CORBIE MINI-PRINT: Readers will receive a special laminated mini-print of Corbie, with the CMC logo on the reverse side!

UNIQUE HAND-DRAWN PEN ART: Every purchase of the deluxe edition of Corinne Morgan, Corbie #1 comes with its own hand-drawn pen illustration of a member of the cast - no two are alike! Will you get Corinne in her daytime attire, or art of her as her superhero alter-ego, Corbie? Will you be the lucky recipient of the art depicting her pal Sadie Byrd, or her schoolyard nemesis Maxine Glass? The only way to find out is to order your copy!

Corinne Morgan, Corbie #1 is available for order now via Ko-Fi as a 32-page print comic, with international shipping available. Don't forget that you can also get issues 1, 2 and 3 in PDF and CBZ formats from the same store!

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separatist-apologist · 11 months ago

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A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

My humble offering to @writtenonreceipts for the @acotargiftexchange. Am I releasing fewer chapters because I've realized I need more than 7? YesNO STOP ASKING

Thank you again to @velidewrites for the moodboard and making me seem more put together than I am.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Elain woke to the sound of something clattering against her bedroom window. Looking up from beneath her blanket, nothing seemed amiss. She was alone, the curtains flung open so the first rays of sunlight would wake her. That was better than servants flooding in, giggling amongst themselves and talking just a shade too loud for her to sleep through. Elain had learned the hard way that most of the working staff did not appreciate being ordered about by people they didn’t know and she hated upsetting people.

So she bathed and dressed herself before they ever arrived, perching herself in a chair by the window so when they arrived, they could set her breakfast down and fuss over her hair before swanning back out. It took all of thirty minutes.

It was silly to not want people she’d never see again to like her and yet Elain did.

Pressing her cheek back against the satin pillow, Elain was half asleep again when that clacking sound returned to her window. It was a rock, she realized. Someone was throwing rocks at her window. Or birds—that was possible, though it seemed unlikely.

Scrambling up, Elain wrapped a robe around her night dress and pulled open the balcony door to peer out into the silvery darkness. She ought to have known, because Prince Lucien was standing in the garden, grinning up when he saw her.

“I was starting to think I had the wrong room,” he whisper-shouted. “Come down.”

“I’m not dressed,” Elain complained, taking in his own casual demeanor. Gone were the jackets, the boots, the pants—replaced by a long piece of white fabric draped across his frame. There was a lot of skin on display, a warning Vassa had given her before they’d ever left.

That was the style in the capitol which made sense once she experienced the soupy heat.

So why was her heart racing? “I’m not dressed,” Elain heard herself saying.

Lucien’s grin was visible even in the dark. “So get dressed. I’ll wait.”

“Is that an order, your majesty?”

Lucien slapped a large hand over his chest, staggering backward as though she’d shot an arrow through him. “You wound me,” he cried dramatically. “It’s a request. I want to show you something.”

“So long as you swear to behave yourself.”

“I will be an absolute gentleman,” he swore, grinning once more. “Now come. Hurry.”

Elain turned, dressing quickly just like he’d asked in a breezy green gown. There was no one to help with her hair and cool enough she didn’t feel like she needed to pull the thick curls off her neck, besides. Lucien’s hair had been down, the wind blowing it against his cheek and she thought it might be nice for them both to just be as they were.

It was foolish, but Elain was growing to like the prince. It wasn’t romance—not entirely, anyway. But it was comfortable. Friendship, almost. She felt like she could tell him her thoughts without worrying he’d judge her for them. Besides, ever since Elain had told him about her desire to find out where she’d come from, Lucien had been right there with her. He knew Arina better than Elain did, teasing her for the slowness with which she worked.

Elain had always had Vassa—but no other friends. Acquaintances, certainly, whose company she enjoyed and who enjoyed hers, but not actual friends the way she wished. Now, though, she felt like maybe she could have friends. A whole life stretched before her if she wanted it.

Strange, to think that maybe she did.

Unlike Lucien, who was already outside, Elain had to sneak out the usual way. She was positive someone must have seen her, even if it was just an errant guard or a servant finishing up for the evening. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, she chanted in her head, but embarrassment had wormed its way into her chest.

She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about her.

And she was going to meet the prince alone tonight. There was no one else with him when she found him in the garden, a little leather pouch held in one hand. “I won’t keep you,” he promised, eyes bright when he took her in. “You look…wow. Nice, I mean. Really nice.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered as he reached for her wrist and began tugging her further through the garden.

“Somewhere I hope impresses you,” Lucien admitted with a sly smile. “I promise I will be nothing but a gentleman. My mother would kill me to hear otherwise.”

“Some would argue waking a lady in the dead of night is ungentleman-like behavior.”

“You’ve got me there,” Lucien smiled wider. “I confess, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Elain was suddenly grateful for the night sky overhead given it obscured the flush she knew was creeping over her cheeks.

“How will you manage to get anything done while I’m here?” she teased, bumping him gently with her shoulder.

“I have been asking myself the same question. Can I tell you a secret?”

“You may.”

Lucien ducked his head, clearly embarrassed by whatever was about to leave his lips. “When mother first told me of her plans, I insisted it was a bad idea. That there was no lady of interest to me. And I suppose this is the gods way of humbling me for my unchecked hubris.”

Elain’s heart thudded in her chest. “You sound awfully certain of yourself. You barely know me, not to mention the others who would love, I’m certain, a secret trip with you.”

He cleared his throat. “And ah…and if I said I didn’t want to get to know them…and only you? How ah…how would you react to that?”

Oh.

“You barely know me,” she whispered, her steps slowing. “You’ll change your mind when you realize how utterly dull I am.”

“I think you’re hoping I’ll change my mind,” Lucien replied, glancing down at her. “But I’m famously stubborn. Once I set my mind to something, there’s no changing it.”

“I would make an awful princess.”

“With that face? The whole kingdom will be in love with you the moment they set eyes on you,” Lucien replied easily, though there was a lingering hesitation to his words. As though he had swallowed some words he wanted to say and knew he shouldn’t.

“Lucien—”

“Just…allow me to court you, Lady Elain. All the things you imagine as inadequacies are quite charming, if you’ll allow me to say so.

You’ll change your mind. It was on the tip of her tongue and the only thing that kept her from saying so was the earnest way he’d caller in so-called inadequacies charming. He liked her. That was a revelation, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. She just assumed he’d get bored and yet…and yet they continued to walk the neat, stone laid path through the neatly trimmed hedges of the garden. Honeysuckle filled the air, warm and comfortable now that the sun had finally set. Elain’s fingers brushed against tall stalks of lavender, her other wrist still held gently by Lucien’s callused fingers.

“Here,” he murmured, fingers lacing her own as though she needed the help stepping up onto the little dock overlooking a rather large pond. She’d seen it already, though never at night.

During the day there was nothing special about it. Merely crystalline water and bright fish zipping about which was hardly worth noting. Some ladies had sat on the granite benches, fanning themselves from the heat but no one paid any mind to the water.

And what a shame they didn’t. Elain gasped at the bioluminescent purples, blues, and greens now flitting beneath the water.

“Watch,” Lucien whispered, eyes darting from her to the fish pond. Reaching into his little satchel, he tossed bread into the water. It was a frenzy of rushing water, bubbles, and color all at once.

“Can I?” she asked when the chaos subsided just enough, though the majority of the fish now hovered toward the top like shooting stars, hoping to catch a little treat.

Lucien handed her the little pouch rather than making her reach over his body to get it. She would have…might have let her fingers brush his exposed chest just to see if it was as hard as it looked. She’d never been so close to a man before. They weren’t allowed near her or Vassa on the country estate and knew a stable hand had once been quite taken with Vassa, going so far as to sneak into the house to see her.

Elain never did find out what happened to him.

She squealed with delight when it was her turn to toss the crumbly bread only to re-begin the frenzied feeding. Lucien inched just a little closer and was he smelling her hair? When she looked up at him, he, in turn, was gazing upward at the stars though she swore there was color decorating his cheeks.

“What happened to you?” she asked, giving in to impulse, though only to touch his cheek. The trio of scars carved down the half of his face was brutal—she supposed he was lucky he hadn’t lost his eye, too.

“When I was a boy, my father invaded a kingdom and some of his men killed a princess,” Lucien began, reaching for her own face to hold it gently in his hand. “The other two lived here for a time. I wasn’t supposed to speak to them…but I did. And the youngest sister held me down while the older one tried to carve out my eye. Said it was only fair since my family was responsible for her death.”

“That’s horrible,” Elain whispered, unable to take her gaze off him.

Lucien shrugged. “They only damaged it a little—I’m half blind in this eye, though I suppose one day I might be fully blind. One day, though, when father dies, I hope to go back to the north bearing the scars and see if we can’t end what our families began.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Elain questioned. Lucien swept his thumb over her cheek.

“I suppose it wounds my vanity at times. I’m forever looking for a woman who doesn’t immediately stare at them with horror, trying to figure out if they’re something that can be genetically passed down to future children…or if she’d have to grit her teeth and bear the sight of me.”

“No one thinks that,” Elain insisted. Lucien was so beautiful that the scars hardly diminished it. If anything, they made him lovelier still, branding him a warrior even if the truth behind them was hardly heroic. Before knowing, Elain assumed it must have happened during battle which made him seem fearsome. Brave.

“I assure you they do,” he murmured, his voice strangely husky. “They lament the loss of my good looks and whisper to their friends about it as though the gossip never reaches my ears. I hear it, though.”

“I like it,” Elain declared truthfully. “It adds character.”

He smiled softly. “I believe that you do, Lady Elain.”

Lucien lowered his face, inching closer and closer until her hand flew to his chest, fingertips pressing into his skin and oh. He was warmer and softer than she’d imagined. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Lucien replied, eyes searching her own. “Unless you’d prefer I didn’t?”

She’d always wondered what her first kiss would be like. Here, beneath a canopy of stars and illuminated by brightly colored fish you could only fully see at night, Elain thought this might be the most romantic evening of her life. She couldn’t speak, lifting her chin to nod just once.

Lucien’s relief was palpable. Had she said no, would he have left? Abandoned his pursuit of her entirely?

She’d never know. Lucien’s lips brushed her own tentatively, as though allowing her one final out. Elain didn’t move, still looking up at him while waiting to see what he’d do next. But she wanted this bad enough to set her teeth on edge.

Her eyes fluttered shut when his mouth pressed firm against her own. Elain couldn’t explain why, when looking at him was its own kind of pleasure. She needed to feel the moment and somehow that was better done with her eyes closed.

His mouth was soft—sweet, like amber and honey and something dark and well-spiced. It ought to have been one polite, chaste kiss. Elain suspected that had been Lucien’s original intention when he’d begun. Something sweet enough to convey his very serious interest without taking it too far.

She was the problem right then because it was her fingers that curled into his chest and her feet that stepped closer, surging upward on her tiptoes so she could kiss him again. And Lucien responded, his arm winding around her waist to hold her steady, his hand caressing her cheek. It was just, kissing him felt good, and Elain didn’t want to stop.

Now she understood how ladies were compromised. She’d always figured it was men taking advantage but if someone caught them, Elain wouldn’t be able to pretend she hadn’t wanted what Lucien was offering. And to be fair, all he was doing was kissing her. There was an edge to it—a want that was slowly starting to burn through her.

It would consume her if she didn’t stop. Elain didn’t want to stop and neither did Lucien, the two locked in their embrace, his lips all but frantic against her own. His tongue teased the seam of her lip and when she opened with a gasp, Lucien tasted her.

Elain nearly fell backward, her stomach exploding with frantic, excited butterflies. His tongue against her own felt good, surprising and overwhelming all at once. She wanted more, wanted to press herself against him and—

Lucien broke away, gasping for air as his fingers flew to his lips. “I—I shouldn’t…I’m sorry.”

Elain blinked. Did he regret it? “For what?” she replied, her voice equally breathless.

“For taking liberties, I…I swear my intentions are pure. I just…”

Lost control. So had she. Elain nodded, swallowing hard. The only disappointment she felt was that it was over and she didn’t know when they’d get another moment like this. “I understand.”

He dared a step closer. “Yes. Yes, I think you do. Come on…I’ll walk you back.”

And this time, when Lucien offered her his hand, Elain took it gladly.

Maybe his attention wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Eris paced back and forth as the sun rose, already dressed. A letter lay before him, half written to the princess of the north. Eris had begun with the usual pleasantries, the lies about her beauty and his obsession but even his poetry annoyed him. Nesta was lovely, sure, but when he’d begun penning those words, he found himself thinking about golden hair and emerald eyes and fuck Helion for employing a woman that looked like that.

A stupid woman who’d been willing to die over a book. Rising from his chair so quickly it toppled over, Eris wondered what was wrong with her? All the while ignoring that this was just a ruse to see her again rather than look for her around the palace. She was never around. Not at banquets or balls or even just walking through the halls.

Did she ever leave the library? Was she even allowed?

Why do you care?

He didn’t. She was obnoxious…and beautiful. And she wasn’t scared of him, which was a wholly new experience for Eris. All woman were a little scared and awed of him. Arina was merely annoyed. Why? Even here, the ladies regarded him with the same deference they paid his miserable half-brother. He supposed he was a decent consolation prize for any self-respecting woman.

Eris didn’t want a wife. Not from the south, or the north, or his own fucking kingdom. He just wanted vengeance, a thought so all-consuming that until recently, he’d never paid women much attention beyond a night in his bedroom. Eris hadn’t had to court someone—they made their intentions known and he merely barked out some orders.

Get on your knees was the usual, though he could be varied from time to time. No one had ever told him no and certainly never held a knife to his throat. He bet, beneath her flippant attitude, she was just as desperate to please as everyone else. And Eris knew the moment he walked back up there, she’d bow and scrape and all his interest would evaporate.

He could write that liars letter to Nesta Archeron.

So up Eris went, ignoring the soft clatter of dishes and the lilting chatter wafting up from the stairs just below. Fingers skimming the marble, his palms were sticky—from the heat.

And nothing else.

It occurred to him only when he reached the library that Arina was likely to still be in bed. She had that kind of look about her—the same one that he had, he thought ruefully. It was too late to turn back now—he’d already been spotted by two philosophers, arguing over something that had kept them up all night, if the dark circles were anything to go by.

If he turned back now, Arina would know what a coward he was. And Eris was hardly a coward. If she wasn’t there, he could insult her for her lazy ways. Women loved being insulted, right? He could practically feel his mothers displeasure which only soured Eris’s already bad mood. That mood was made worse when he opened the doors and found Arina sitting in a cushioned window seat with a frown on her face.

It wasn’t directed at him. In fact, Eris might have thought she hadn’t noticed him at all if he hadn’t turned to leave offended by the easy beauty radiating off her and she’d said, “Remind me, prince. A decade ago, what kingdom was invaded?”

“This is a strange insult, even for you,” he replied, gently closing the doors behind him, again, for reasons he couldn’t quite ascertain. “It was the Northern kingdom. Why?”

“No Southern? Not even little border villages?” she pressed, still staring down at a frayed piece of parchment in her hands.

“That does sound like the kind of barbarity your king would enjoy,” Eris said, if only to get her full attention. Arina really looked at him, then, as if she was seeing him for the first time and it annoyed her.

“You were privy to the peace talks, were you not?”

“Am I about to teach you about lying?” Eris replied dryly, not bothering to admit he’d been a child when those talks were going on. His father hadn’t allowed him in and everything Eris knew in the aftermath came from the mouths of tutors, and then diplomats. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because…” Arina bit her bottom lip, unaware of how Eris straightened his spine in response. “What are you doing up here?”

Eris blinked. “I came to demand you eat breakfast with me.”

You idiot.

Arina’s lips parted, mouth forming a soft oh. “If this about the other night—”

“It absolutely is about the other night,” Eris hissed, for all the good it did.

“We’re even,” she finished firmly, those eyes flashing. “You’ve done enough and I’m grateful for your intervention.”

“Have you ever killed a man, Arina?” he asked, daring a step toward her. She pulled her knees closer to her chin, still staring him dead in the eye.

“No,” she whispered, as if admitting some heinous sin.

“Could have fooled me,” Eris conceded, still thinking about her knife against his throat. Why did he like that memory? And why was he adding, “Now it’s my responsibility to correct your inadequacies.”

“Your—” she spluttered, setting the parchment to the side. “You have no responsibility to me, breakfast or otherwise!”

“So you won’t eat breakfast with me?” Eris asked, thinking that might be the easier sell. And maybe once he’d softened her up, he’d take her somewhere and—no, banish those thoughts before they unmake you.

Her eyes narrowed. “If I decline, are you going to threaten to tell the King what happened?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a bastard. You know that, right?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“You keep telling me so. It’s becoming humbling,” Eris admitted, his relief palpable. In truth, he had no intention of ever telling Helion anything, let alone about Arina. How the Southern King had found himself in possession of her was one thing. Potentially orchestrating her removal or worse was another.

“I don’t believe anything could humble the likes of you,” she declared, rising from her chair to let the verdant gown her wore tumble to her ankles. Golden chain straps criss-crossed against the golden brown of her skin while her hair remained utterly wild and yet somehow perfect—as if she’d woken up and carefully made curly waves of each individual strand. Maybe he was used to the glassy perfection of the women back home.

Or maybe deep down, Eris was jealous of how little she cared if he found anything desirable about her at all.

“You were going to let yourself die for a book,” he said once she’d set her parchment to her desk.

“He wouldn’t have killed—”

“Yes, Arina. He would have,” Eris replied, his voice colder than he’d intended. “What were you thinking?”

“Why do you care?” was her easy, measured response. Her expression was one of academic curiosity—as if she’d stumbled upon some tangled mystery she hoped to unravel. And that was dangerous given Eris couldn’t find an answer that was dishonest, let alone truthful.

“What a question,” he murmured instead, gesturing toward the door.

She followed without complaint, still looking up at him with interest. He wished she’d return to her open dislike.

“Why are you so interested in the end of the war?” he asked once they were out of her little sunlit office. She was a half-step ahead of him, unaware of how his fingers practically touched her bare spine.

“Just…an off-handed comment about a survivor from the end of the war,” Arina replied, eyes misting over again. “From some unknown border village close to your realm. I’m trying to determine which village was destroyed but there are no records from that time period.”

“As there wouldn’t be. Our territory had agreed to cover a hundred mile radius between Rhodes and the border,” Eris replied, genuinely curious. “It would have been war with Allsfeld.”

“Perhaps they were mistaken,” Arina murmured, though Eris could see there was no doubt on the mistake—she knew she had the location right, which meant whoever had said so was lying.

Or not who they said they were. Eris was curious enough not to press her further, nor did he take her into the banquet hall for everyone to witness. He had a suspicion she would hate being the subject of everyone's attention, especially if it was centered around him.

It was easy enough to arrange a little terrace table and have food brought to him, all with a snap of his fingers and a few harshly barked words. ‘

“You could be nicer,” Arina commented, as if there wasn’t fruit and bread and meat all situated before her.

“I could be a lot of things,” Eris replied without ire. “Tell me more about this mystery village.”

“Why would I bore you with the details?”

“I don’t mind a little boredom.”

Arina sighed, drizzling honey over a piece of bread. “The time must be wrong—perhaps in the chaos, everything has melded together. Or…”

Eris was half grinning. “Or someone is lying. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“I could be executed for telling you all this, you know,” she bit back, color warming her cheeks.

“I think I’ve established I have no intention of betraying you,” Eris replied, surprised by how truthful the words were.

Arina opened her mouth, likely moments from insulting him when her eyes snagged on something behind him. Turning, Eris caught a glimpse of Feyre Archeron rounding a corner, arm looped with some courtier he’d never seen before. Just behind the pair was his obnoxious brother and some guard whose name he didn’t know and didn’t care to know.

Eris shook his head. No, that wasn’t Feyre Archeron. Feyre Archeron was all sharp angles and scowls and this woman bore a strange sort of softness. She was far prettier than the younger Archeron and yet the resemblance…Eris couldn’t take his eyes off her. That was Nesta and Feyre’s hair, their features, their stature. He knew the shape of that face, the fairness, the shade of golden brown hair.

He blinked and they were gone, vanishing down the open hall before he could truly assess whether he was right. Shaking his head, Eris turned back to his meal to find Arina watching him with mild interest. “Have you spoken to him?” she asked, misunderstanding what had caught him off guard.

That was an Archeron—he was certain of it. An Archeron dressed in Southern fashion but an Archeron none the less. Eris wasn’t the sort to find his guilt manifesting as beautiful women—and he didn’t feel guilty for ignoring Nesta, either. He knew she was entertaining Rhysand as they spoke and if she found him more agreeable, she’d honor nothing for their handshake.

Eris was hardly a romantic.

“Is this the part where I bare my soul to you?” Eris asked, his temper rising to the surface. Did she truly think he was about to tell her anything about his family?

Arina shrugged, a gleam to her gaze he swore hadn’t been there before. Her lips curved with a triumphant smile he couldn’t make heads or tails of. What was she so pleased about?

“Did no one teach you how to woo a woman, Eris Vanserra?”

“Woo—” he spluttered, well aware his face was burning red.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Courting me?”

Was he? Eris hadn’t thought about it, but now that he sat there, staring at her, he let himself imagine another man chasing after her. Fury replaced embarrassment. Well. That was damning, he supposed.

So, like an absolute idiot, he heard himself ask, “What if I was?”

“You’re off to a bad start,” she said, ducking her head as she reached for a goblet of juice. “Though, I suppose the sunrise breakfast is a nice touch.”

As if he’d planned that out. What could it hurt, Eris reasoned as he stared her down. Inevitably, she’d do something that irritated him, thus severing the attraction he felt and he’d be free of her. And of everyone in this place, she was the most tolerable. The most knowledgeable, too. She could help him navigate the court of vipers that he found himself in, and if he was careful, might even divulge something she shouldn’t.

There were no downsides.

“Then yes. I suppose I am.”

There was that smile again. Eris couldn’t make sense of it, though he turned it over in his mind long after she’d departed with nothing more than a kiss he pressed to the back of her hand as he inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut. It was the look of a woman making a fool of a man.

It took Eris the entirety of his day, until he was practically undressing, for the realization to come crashing over him.

Clever woman.

He found her just outside the library, clearly about to turn in for the evening. She saw him coming, shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair a little wild. “You,” he hissed when he saw her.

Arina grinned. “Oh, prince. I missed you, too.”

“You’re playing games with me,” he accused, earning a pretty laugh. She came to him, ignoring his crossed arms and his scowl. And when she leaned up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, Eris turned his head impulsively, capturing her lips instead.

He’d meant to knock her off balance—to even the score between them. After all, she didn’t look as if she kissed very many men and Eris had it on good authority that he was very good at kissing. It hadn’t occurred to Eris, in the split second he decided, that he might like kissing her.

She didn’t do anything in half measures, he’d give her that. Rather than pulling away with a lady’s outrage—or slapping him, which aroused him more than he was willing to admit—Arina kissed him back.

Tentative, at first, eyes wide open to look at him. Is this what we’re doing? Those eyes of hers seemed to demand.

Eris yanked her closer.

Yes, he decided because gods above, she tasted sweet. Her lips parted, allowing him to indulge which was a mistake he couldn’t rectify. It was Eris who groaned, taking a step backward to try and push her against a wall. He wanted more of her, against reason or common sense. He barely knew her.

But he wanted her.

What would Helion trade, he wondered?

His court would assassinate him if he brought home a foreign wife.

He didn’t care. This wasn’t about marriage, besides.

It was Arina who pushed him back, lips swollen and out of breath. “What games am I playing?” she half whispered, looking as off-balanced as she had the night he’d rescued her from death.

Eris had forgotten why he’d come. “You…kiss me again,” he ordered, reaching for her face. Arina ducked deftly, just narrowly avoiding him. “What games am I playing, Eris?”

“The one where you refuse to kiss me again,” he snarled with frustration. “You know.”

“I know a lot of things. Be more specific and I’ll entertain the thought of kissing you again.”

Growling softly, he whispered. “About the princess.”

Arina’s eyes brightened. “I didn’t know. Not for sure—not until just now.”

“This could start a war if the North learned,” he breathed, advancing on her. Eris didn’t give a fuck about Nesta Archeron anymore—and he didn’t care about his own vengeance, either. He only cared about the woman in front of him and all the things he could do to her before the sun rose again. He’d worry about this revelation in the morning.

“They won’t,” she whispered, letting him wind an arm around her waist. “You’re going to keep this between the two of us for now.”

“Or what?”

She inclined her head. “No threats, Eris. You’ll keep this secret because I asked you to.”

And he knew, deep down, that she was right.

Another day without a letter from the unreliable bastard known as Eris Vanserra. Why had she thought seeking his aid was a good idea, anyway? He was likely too busy cavorting with Southern whores to be of any use to Nesta, who didn’t want such a well-used husband, besides. Not one who had that sort of reputation, at any rate.

Which made Rhysand a bad option, too. The problem with rejecting the King of Velaris was it left only one good, viable candidate— Graysen Nolan. And Nesta would be damned if she married a Nolan. Bigoted and frankly, a little stupid, Nolan was everyone’s choice for king except hers. This was supposed to be the only alternative path. Graysen was merely a nobleman’s son—Rhysand and Eris were kings, or they would be one day. They came with military might, with land, and all the richest their kingdoms commanded. Graysen could hardly compete.

Sighing, Nesta plopped onto a bench out in the courtyard, staring upward at a moody sky. Now Eris was gone and Rhysand wouldn’t stop staring at Feyre long enough to even pretend he had a passing interest in her.

Nesta could arrange Feyre’s marriage—if she hated her sister, which she didn’t—to Rhysand. And in turn, he’d get to whisk her away to the mountains, subjected to his whims which Nesta didn’t think would be cruel, but would certainly be perverted.

And having spent the last week getting to know him, she loathed the thought of making him happy.

Nesta was floundering, her whole life hinging on the decisions of men. It was unfair that she could be better than all of them, the first born of her family and heir apparent, and still be required to get married simply to access the inheritance the rest of them got merely by existing.

“I’m tired of men,” Nesta announced to the wet footsteps just behind her.

“All men? Or would you make an exception?” Cassian inquired, sitting on the bench so his back faced her and he faced the palace while she looked out at the courtyard.

“Especially you,” she lied. He was always looking at her, of course—but he mostly kept his distance.

He rose to his feet to leave, irritation rolling off him in rippling waves. She almost let him leave but at the last moment, Nesta swallowed her pride and whispered, “Wait.”

Cassian hesitated, the mist pasting the white shirt he wore to his bulky chest. She rather liked seeing him in something other than the menacing armor he wore—he looked like a real man and not a conquering god. She could see how careful he was being—like she was some kind of wild animal and any wrong move would send her fleeing.

He wasn’t totally wrong.

Though she resented that after a week, he’d figured that out. Stop watching me, she wanted to scream. Why was he the only one who seemed to notice her? “About the sword…”

He couldn’t suppress his smile. “You’re not planning to assassinate my king, are you?”

“I don’t think he’s in danger of marrying me,” he replied, catching the creasing frown on Cassian’s face. Was he blind, or just oblivious? Rhysand couldn’t drag his eyes off Feyre long enough to answer one of Nesta’s inane questions, let alone propose marriage. And Nesta couldn’t help but feel a little relief, though it was mingled with a hearty helping of dread. “Will you?”

Nesta didn’t have time to teach Cassian about Northern politics. If Eris wasn’t going to help then Nesta needed a new tactic—and it didn’t involve cutting Graysen’s throat in his sleep should a marriage contract be drafted between them.

She read. Men overthrew governments all the time. How hard could it possibly be? A good number of nobles liked her at court—if she could call more of the far flung families back, Nesta could spend the summer winning their approval and planting the seeds of dissent.

Though…she didn’t know if she could kill her father.

She’d figure it out as she went. For now, not dying in her sleep felt important and it had nothing to do with wanting to see more of Cassian. He was an unwanted, unneeded distraction, besides…and yet…

“Of course,” Cassian agreed, pulling her from her blood-tinged thoughts. “In the morning, just after breakfast.”

Nesta nodded, wondering where they’d even manage to do this. It wasn’t as if they could just train out in the open and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fling open her bedroom door and let him stroll inside.

“I know a place,” Cassian continued, reading her like a book. Nesta glowered up at him, crossing her arms over her chest for all the good it did. The man killed people as an occupation and she imagined there was nothing about her that scared him.

Which was unfortunate, given how everything about him frightened her.

Why couldn’t he be the prince—stop it.

“Shall I meet you here, then?”

Cassian shrugged his broad shoulders, outlined beneath the shirt he wore. He hadn’t bothered to lace up the neck the way so many other nobles did, nor did he put a tunic over top of it which would have given him the appearance of a well-bred gentleman. No, Cassian seemed to have made peace with the fact that he was who he was and she liked that.

“Wherever you like, Nes,” he replied casually, unaware of how the nickname clanged through her. No one else would have dared. Cassian didn’t look as if he’d even noticed he did it. Did that make her like him more or less? “I’ll find you.”

“Just like that?”

Cassian’s hazel eyes gleamed, the brightest thing in the gloom. “I could find you anywhere, princess. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

“I never do, Cass,” she snapped back, catching that half feral smile spreading across his handsome features.

Cocking his head, head tilted toward the misty sky, Cassian murmured, “My name sounds good in your mouth. I’ll see you tomorrow, princess.”

He left her there wishing he’d called her Nes instead. Wishing he’d stayed. And Nesta knew no matter how she tried to distract herself, she would be counting the minutes until he did find her. Nesta decided to make it a game just so she could prove him wrong which might settle her racing heart down.

He was just a man, and men were always disappointing.

Nesta dragged herself out of bed early enough to avoid Cassian. She went directly to the kitchen for breakfast before marching across the palace to the room that had once belonged to her sister. Nesta liked to read in the window alcove overlooking the sea, which had once been one of Elain’s favorite places. The garden was nothing but bones, but Nesta had screamed and fought to keep Elain’s room intact rather than turned into another bland, uninspired room for the roaming nobility.

Elain wasn’t coming home but that didn’t mean she needed to be erased, either. Everyone wanted to pretend she’d never existed. Nesta wouldn’t let it go. Forgetting or forgiving had never been one of her virtues.

She’d leave that to Feyre.

She didn’t believe Cassian would find her here, and thought even if he did, he wouldn’t dare step inside. And yet…she heard the heavy steps on the stone before she saw him and swore his presence made the walls shake with anticipation.

Perhaps that was just her.

Cassian seemed wildly out of place among the cream and rose and tulle, though he managed not to seem too awkward about it. Looking around, she thought she saw the spark of recognition.

“How did you find me?” she asked, hating the weariness in her voice. Why had she allowed him to?

“You know how,” Cassian replied, his eyes settling on her. “Do you want to go? Or would you like to talk about it?”

Nesta had never spoken of Elain’s death. Feyre had internalized all of it, blaming herself and Nesta had been paralyzed with fear. What did she say? Their father had become a walking shell of his former self, grieving the daughter he’d loved best and the wife he’d genuinely loved. Someone had to take care of things and without Elain, the responsibility fell to Nesta and Feyre.

They’d swallowed their grief and held the court together lest someone try and overthrow their family. They’d become sharp—ruthless—in their pursuit of it. What would Nesta even say? That she missed her?

She didn’t think Elain would be very proud of what had happened in her absence.

“I have no interest in speaking to you,” she hissed, drawing those walls up high. This was her fault—she’d brought him here—and yet Cassian wasn’t supposed to comment on it, either. He was supposed to say nothing, to not care the way everyone else did. Nesta knew, as she stood, that she’d brought him here to prove he wasn’t any better than the rest of the men in her life. He was just as disinterested, just as scheming, just as power hungry as the rest of them.

She could have softened, just a little. Nesta felt the compulsion warring with the urge to hurt him the way she’d been hurt. Maybe Cassian felt it, too, because he waited until her back was facing him to speak.

“My mother was murdered when I was a boy,” he said, clearing his throat so the words were crisp. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love.”

“How?” Nesta heard herself asking, still refusing to look at him.

Cassian blew out a breath. “She had me out of wedlock. My father, he…well. He was a piece of shit, let's leave it at that. In some places in the Spine, that sort of thing still matters and the village she lived in decided it was better to rid themselves of her than to let other women think it was okay…” Cassian choked off, not out of misery, but rage. The sound was enough to turn her head, to look at his anger.

“How old were you?” she asked, hating how badly she wanted to touch his hand.

“Three. Old enough…old enough to remember just enough, but too young to really understand what I lost.”

“What happened to you?”

Cassian shrugged, his jaw clenched. “I grew up in training grounds and war rooms.”

He seemed born for it. It was impossible to imagine Cassian as anything but a warrior, but right then, Nesta wondered who else he could have been. A farmer, perhaps? A poet? A scholar? It seemed distinctly unfair that one person could make a decision and irrevocably alter whole lives without any thought or consideration.

She took a step toward him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Cassian’s expression softened. “Don’t be. I had my revenge.”

All the air in Nesta’s body left her lungs in a rough exhale. “How?”

“I went back as a man and rounded them all up. I spared the innocent, but everyone else…I let them meet the man they made.”

I let them meet the man they made.

“I’ll never get that,” Nesta said, her despair coloring her words. “He got to march an army into my home and kill my sister, my mother…and life just goes on.”

Cassian regarded her for a moment without words. “You’d need an army if you wanted vengeance, Nes.”

“The military answers to my father,” was her perfunctory response.

“Imagine if they didn’t,” Cassian replied, dropping his voice to the softest whisper.

“I imagine so all the time,” Nesta heard herself admit. Treason. This was treason and she was stupid to confess it to a foreign King's general. All Cassian had to do was turn around and tell Rhysand, who would have an absurd amount of leverage against her. It would have been Nesta’s word against Cassian’s, and if someone was feeling anxious about her rise to the throne, she’d be thrown into the tower until they decided what to do with her.

She could be executed for it.

“I’ve seen your men,” Cassian told her, his words careful. “They couldn’t take on the worst of the southern’s forces.”

She suspected this. Helion had decimated them a decade earlier and rebuilding took time and effort. Their navy was pitiful, their army small and their coffers all but depleted. Eris Vanserra had been her best option and he’d vanished and for all she knew, was having some beautiful, heartfelt reunion with the mother who’d abandoned him.

And Nesta hated Rhysand. Hated him more than was fair, partly because he was arrogant and smug and partly because she wished Rhysand was Cassian when she knew she shouldn’t. How was she supposed to marry a man all the while wishing she could have married his friend? And Nesta wasn’t naive—she didn’t expect love. But there was something particularly cruel about wanting someone you knew you could never have.

And Cassian was someone she could never have.

“Come on,” Cassian murmured, pulling her from her thoughts. “Let’s put a sword in your hand, at least.” And when he went to follow her, fingers brushing her back, Nesta didn’t pull away. Maybe it was foolish.

But she trusted him.

It ought to have been a quiet night, lounging in an uncomfortable bed while listening to the world rage just outside thin windows. Rhys had a book and a carafe of wine he intended to down until he forgot about blue eyes and freckles that looked more like a constellation of stars.

The muffled voices of Azriel and Cassian were immaterial to him—and deeply disinteresting until his bedroom door flung open and Cassian appeared, wet and mudstreaked.

And angry.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, only a little drunk.

“Are you planning to marry Nesta Archeron?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms over the leather armor he wore. Behind him, Azriel shook his head no in warning, eyes wide.

Be careful what you say.

In all the years Rhys had known Cassian, he’d seen him worked up a handful of times. They’d raged in the camp, at the people who’d killed his mother, and at Rhys’s father before they’d eventually overthrown him. And Cassian had taken lovers in between all those moments, declaring he would die a bachelor surrounded by…well. Perhaps it was better not to say.

Cassian looked like he wanted to get his knuckles bloody and if Rhys didn’t know any better, he would have said it was about a woman.

“You know I have no intention of marrying her,” Rhys replied evenly. Rhys was too fixated on her sister, for starters, to even give Nesta the time of day but the little he’d spoken to her reaffirmed that he and Nesta were more likely to kill each other before they enjoyed marital bliss. “Did something happen?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, eyes too dark to be rational. Oh.

“We should leave this place,” Cassian said, his words catching Rhys off guard. “They’re no threat to Helion. I nearly killed one of their boys masquerading as a warrior with a wooden sword today.”

“And if she married Vanserra?” Rhys asked, swinging his legs off the bed casually. How far could he take this before Cassian exploded? And what then? Even if Cassian had developed feelings for Nesta—which didn’t seem possible given what an Ice Queen she was—there was no possibility in which Rhys could put them together. No way he’d give up his general even if it meant Cassian’s happiness.

With Nesta Archeron? No. In Rhys’s mind, he took Feyre back with him, rescuing her from this powder keg masquerading as a kingdom and let Helion absorb all of it before Eris Vanserra could get his talons into it.

Cassian turned, slamming his fist into the door frame which did nothing to the structure but likely wrecked Cassian’s hand. There it was.

“You know better—”

“You don’t know what she’s like,” Cassian snapped, his voice dripping with anger. “You’ve already made up your mind about her.”

“So enlighten me,” Rhys replied, knowing this was folly. Cassian’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, daring Rhys to punish him for disobedience. Oh, they were so fucked. If Cassian did anything with a princess, they were likely to execute him and Rhys didn’t know if he’d be able to intervene.

If Helion called on them for help taking the North, it had always been Rhys’s intention of answering that call. Cassian would have to lead the charge. Would he? Would Cassian let his soldiers sweep into Ellesmere knowing they might accidentally kill Nesta Archeron? Would he take her prisoner, force her to live in Rhys’s court against her will?

Never once since he’d met Cassian had Rhys ever doubted his loyalty.

He did right then.

“Go cool off,” Rhys ordered when Cassian said nothing. He didn’t want to hear how sweet and soft Nesta Archeron could be. Not from Cassian, who ought to know better. Cassian did as he was told, shaking out his hand before storming out, leaving Azriel and Rhys staring at the other.

“Don’t,” Rhys warned.

“I didn’t say anything,” Azriel protested mildly.

“What the fuck am I going to do about this?” Rhys demanded, turning toward a window.

“We could leave,” Azriel suggested, again, without any emotion to his words. They could have been talking about the weather, could have been discussing a nice pair of wollen socks.

“Archeron isn’t going to hand you his youngest daughter.”

Never mind that Feyre hated him. Archeron had made it abundantly clear that Feyre wasn’t available, either hoping for a better alliance with his eldest daughter or some misguided attempt at protecting Feyre.

“And if we left?”

Azriel sighed. “Nolan intends to position his eldest son for the throne. He’s a viable candidate and preferable to Vanserra.” “And if she declines?”

Because she would. Nolan couldn’t give Nesta what she wanted, which was a standing army capable of devastating destruction. He’d table her obvious ambition and if he was smart, he’d make her a mother before the ink dried on their contract.

“A coup,” Azriel replied, plopping into a chair. “And Nolan will likely marry one of the Archeron’s anyway, if only for legitimacy. We should leave.”

But their presence was keeping everything calm for the moment. No one wanted to start a fight Cassian might be able to easily end, nor did they want Rhys to lay claim to their hard work. He couldn’t help but wonder if Nolan wouldn’t pick Feyre, too. Could he stand to see another man marry her?

No.

Rhys had to do something. Had to figure out his own careful alliances before the end of the summer.

Fuck.

He was just as stupid as Cassian.

“I want you to go see Helion. Get a read on what’s going on down there,” Rhys said, wondering if there was any way to salvage the impending storm. How many of his own soldiers could he march into Ellesmere before it began to feel like an invading force? And how did he tell Archeron his nobles might be revolting beneath his nose? Did he?

For now, the answer to that was no.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Azriel promised. “You need to be careful, though.”

“They can’t hurt me,” Rhys replied with false bravado. Azriel caught him immediately.

“They could. And they would. Keep Cass close, alright? Don’t needle him too hard about Nesta…she’s not that bad, you know. She’s just sad.”

“Why would Cassian want to be around that?” Rhys scoffed, hating the look of sympathy in Azriel’s eyes.

“Two weeks enough?” Azriel questioned.

“Unless you think you need more.”

Azriel only nodded wordlessly, saying nothing as Rhys swept from the room. It was foolish to think Azriel didn’t know exactly who he was looking for or why marrying Nesta felt so offensive to him. Azriel knew everything—it was his job to know, though he liked to pretend he wasn’t a busybody, too.

She wasn’t even trying to hide from him. And this time, when Rhys found her at the top of that tower with the bow and quiver of arrows, he asked, “Can you use that thing?”

“Want to find out?”

She turned, her braid draped over her slim shoulder to look at him. “Yes.”

Maybe she heard the desperation in his voice. Or perhaps he was simply winning her over with his refusal to acknowledge the word no. Feyre swung her legs off the edge of that window and reached for her weapon, her face hidden in shadow. “Could you use it?”

“No,” he admitted. Rhys had never had that kind of aim or the patience required to sit and wait for someone to come within range. He liked to be in the middle of things, sword in hand but even that had been diminished since he’d become king. “You could teach me.”

Feyre considered this for a moment before jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s too wet for today.”

She tried to push past him but Rhys’s body took up the majority of the doorway. Fingers catching around her wrist, he asked, “Who are you waiting for?”

Feyre tried to pull her hand away but Rhys wasn’t done touching her. Tell me you’re in love with another man so I can let you go.

“He’s not coming back…and if he did…” Feyre bit her bottom lip, her expression coming into view of the flickering candle nearby. “If he did, I think I’d kill him.”

Oh.

So this was the man she’d slept with—the man her father decided had irrevocably tainted her. Rhys wanted to see it.

“Call him back to court,” he murmured, catching her by surprise.

“Is this some kind of ego—”

“I would like to watch you kill a man. Is that so unbelievable?” he asked, keeping his usual amusement from his tone. It was too much to bare when she came closer, her free hand appearing just below his neck holding a lethally sharp blade.

“What if the man I kill is you?” she asked.

Rhys’s whole body went taut with excitement. Wrapping his fingers around her own, Rhys forced her to press the blade a little rougher against his skin—until it pierced the fine fabric of his black tunic and he could feel the point directly against his clavicle.

“I’d like that, too.”

“You’re sick. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” he breathed, unable to drag his eyes off her. “You’re the sickness, Feyre.”

“You should stay away from me,” she replied, not pulling away but not pushing any harder, either. Reckless, Rhys didn’t move either. It would have been so easy for her to kill him. They were alone and he was an outsider. If she killed him, she could say he tried to force himself on her.

Cassian and Azriel would have no choice but to flee rather than risk their own executions and without an heir or clear line of succession, his home would be thrown into turmoil while the warring members of his family vied for control.

“I don’t want to stay away from you,” Rhys told her, deciding at the last minute it was better not to add that he couldn’t. That if he couldn’t convince her to love him back, he’d merely steal her away in the middle of the night and insinuate he’d ruined her so she could never return.

Mor would kill him for it, of course, but what was the alternative? Never seeing her again?

Rhys would rather she kill him right then and there.

“That doesn’t sound very smart,” Feyre replied, pulling from his grasp and taking a step back. She sheathed her blade in her boot before elbowing him hard in the ribs to escape him. He didn’t bother with a response—let her have the last word. Rhys was too busy grinning.

Unwilling to admit that the only good idea he’d ever had was her.

#elucien #look whose back back again mbs back tell NO ONE this is a SECRET

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