#but Dorian is still asleep!!!

[pergaminaa]

Modern au

Dorian tries to convince Manon that reading is fun because there are so many different genres and storylines like there is something out there that she will fall in love with he is certain.

Manon is very skeptic and merely rolls her eyes at him when he makes that suggestion.

(Because she was raised on the concept that this is a frivolous activity, a total waste of time. She wasn’t allowed to have any interest outside of what her grandmother dictates, and if she tried something, her grandmother always found out and destroyed it. So in a way, adult Manon having an aversion to hobbies and interests is a trauma response. She is literally scared of getting caught doing something for fun and have it destroyed/taken from her, so she just doesn’t. The problem is, she isn’t fully aware of all of this, and honestly believes that she has no desire for hobbies and the like)

Dorian offered to read her one of the books he has. All she has to do is pick whatever book she feels like getting into and he will read it for her.

Fully intending on messing with him, Manon picked the thickest book she found on his bookshelf. Dorian being serious, set up a nightly schedule. He would read her a chapter per night, and see how she likes it.

Manon did not only fully get immersed in the story, but she fell in love how Dorian is just sitting there reading those lines out loud. His voice was soothing and drew her further into the story. (She’d argue it’s Dorian, not the book. But this is another argument because Dorian is all like ‘you like ME. What an honor, witchling’ so in a way both arguments are not in Manon’s favor lmao)

On days when she is alone and eager to continue the story, she’d pick up the book and attempt to read some pages. But she realizes that she enjoys it more when Dorian is reading it for her so she puts it back and wait for the evening to come.

[acecasinova]

The Clown Council has been fed and is mostly chill now, though I feel they would be more content had I turned on the TV already or All of Their Toys

The Clown Council has assembled

[attractthecrows]

the thought of the evening is about NIGHTMARES WHOOOO

[demisexualemmaswan]

oh I meant to like actually report what was said but then I like fell asleep immediately and I didn't even think of it until I checked my notifications and saw @criticalrill and @mountainsboyhowdy reply to my post

so fwiw I phrased the question a bit differently to Taliesin and Liam based on the vibe of the conversation I was having with them

To Taliesin - Question was asked: "So. Orym and Ashton. What the fuck is up with that?"

Taliesin's Repsonse: Ashton was/is into Orym but realized like they were so damaged and felt it wasn’t fair to Orym to be with them until they dealt with their shit AND ALSO soft touches hurt but firm touches don’t so they are also unsure if Orym could handle that all the time. To which I said, “Orym has two hands is all I’m saying” and Taliesin laughed and said that was true.

-- To Liam - Question was asked: "You’ve spoken about how Dorian has been really crucial to Orym’s healing process, but it did seem like Orym was willing to playfully test the edges of those boundaries with Ashton for awhile too?” Liam's response: By the time things had really gotten rolling with Ashton, Orym realized he’d really fallen for Dorian hard to which I said "and what's not to love about Dorian?" which Liam repeated.

(I meant to say to Liam that Orym had two hands but Liam was so grateful that I'd made him a bracelet with Sprigg's coloring on it that he put it on right in front of me and said it was wonderful and special and I was so overwhelmed in that moment because when I'd started making bracelets for the cast, that was the first one I made so I was so happy Liam liked it.) -- So key Ashrym takeaways - We did not imagine it! There was a mutual attraction that was there at least for a little while and definitely is still there on Ashton's end actively if I'm interpreting what Taliesin said correctly whereas Orym's attractions might be a little more singularly focused on Dorian right now -Ashton likes to be manhandled both in and out of sex (Taliesin asked if they could demonstrate the pressure level on my arm and when I consented, he did. It was nice, it relieved the pain I normally feel in my forearms) -Dashrym or poly Orym who is dating both Ashton and Dorian (but Ash and Dorian are not dating each other) would not necessarily be out of the cards or unreasonable, especially in a post-campaign fic setting

[essektheylyss]

Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.

They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearne’s blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorian’s ear. Orym’s head rested on Dorian’s bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorian’s thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearne’s fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he should’ve been fast asleep.

But Orym’s mind buzzed.

Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orym’s skin burned where it met Dorian’s.

He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.

Admitting it didn’t change it.

Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orym’s hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.

“My family will find your brother,” he murmured finally, and Dorian’s breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singer’s breathing. It was so slight that no one else could’ve noticed it, but Orym noticed. “You said there’s a body— the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestly—“

“I know,” Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym could’ve heard. “I know,” he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.

“Do you think… do you think any of Opal is still in there?”

“I don’t know. I could barely tell what was in there—“ he cut himself off. “I couldn’t even help my brother. I think Fy’ra Rai might’ve… she must’ve seen something. I hope so,” he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didn’t fully manage. “The Spider Queen doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve anything.”

Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadn’t cared what the gods did or didn’t deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorian’s edges. It didn’t frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. “I’m so sorry about Opal,” he said, after the silence had lingered. “But I’m,” he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, “I’m real glad it wasn’t you.”

Dorian’s laugh matched his own. “I suppose that is a silver lining.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. “I’ve thought about seeing you again so many times— I wish the circumstances were better—“

“I’m here,” Dorian said, for the second time today. “The circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, but— I’m here.”

Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearne’s grasp and raised his hand to Dorian’s cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldn’t bring himself to attribute his friend’s insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.

He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorian’s eyes? He couldn’t tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.

Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.

He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.

He should’ve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of him. He didn’t speak at all as Dorian’s hand wrapped around Orym’s, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.

“Orym,” Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. “Fearne, are you braiding my hair?”

Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorian’s ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but he’d been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearne’s wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorian’s hair into a loose braid.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” she whispered quickly. “I’m totally not here.”

When Orym dropped his head back to Dorian’s arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.

“Just like old times, eh?” he said, but his hand was still around Orym’s.

Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorian’s ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. “No,” he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorian’s chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. “But I think that’s okay.”

[throneofsmut]

Sweet Little Prince

Dorian Havilliard x Reader || WC: 1.9k || Warnings: None

Summary: Dorian finds out he has a son he didn’t know about. Based on this req.

A/N: Whoever req this i hope you like it. Idk if this is what you expected but it’s what came to mind.

****

Your son had finally fallen asleep causing you to let out a relieved sigh as you brush back his raven-black curls from his face.

A smile gracing your lips before placing a kiss on his forehead and quietly making your way out of his room, heading down stairs back to the kitchen.

You find Rowan putting the chocolate cake into the oven to bake.

“You finished it?” you ask as you step up beside the oven. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I didn’t know how long you’d be.” He replies without looking over his shoulder at you. “And I know you want to get the recipe just right for his birthday tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

He gives you a nod before rising to his full height again and moving to the sink to wash his hands. “Your sister wants to talk to you.”

“About what?” You lean on the island that’s in the middle of the kitchen.

Rowan turns around facing you as he dries his hands. He doesn’t say anything until he’s done and places the damp towel on the counter. “About you being Queen of Terrasen and ruling beside her. Together.”

You shake your head, brows furrowed, “Since the war ended, I think I made it pretty clear I don’t want to be Queen.”

“Why?”

“I told you, why already. You, Aelin and Aedion. I don’t want it.”

“Tell me again.”

“Rowan—“

“Tell me.”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, glaring at him for a moment before telling him. Again. “I don’t want to rule. I don’t want a crown or a throne. I have no taste for duty. I’m not suited for it.”

He crosses his arms across his chest. “Have you ever considered that, the best ruler, might be someone who doesn’t want to rule?”

A small chuckle slips through your lips earning a glare from him. “No, I don’t. Because I don’t want it.”

“Your sister just thinks that—“

Aelin walks through the front door of your cottage, “I just think that, it’d be safer for both of you if you moved into the castle and were crowned. She reaches the two of you in a few long strides. “You would be Queen and he”—your son—“would be the crowned Prince.”

Now it’s your turn to cross your arms across your chest. “He’s technically already a prince and I’m capable of keeping us both safe here—in our home. We don’t need to be in the castle.”

Your sister’s—your twin’s— face softens and she walks up to you. “I know he is,” she says gently. “I know you are. . . but please think about it. And if you don’t want to be Queen here, what about Adarlan? Dorian keeps asking about you.”

“Aelin,” you sigh, “you’ve been telling me to ‘think’ about it for two years now and I don’t want it. Or Adarlan’s”

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can your son’s voice cuts her off.

“Mommy?” he calls out. “Mommy, where are you?”

“Coming, baby,” you call back.

Aelin steps back and you make your way upstairs to his room. As soon as you walk into his room he sits up in his bed. “I hear Aunty Aelin and Uncle Wowan, downstairs.”

“Did they wake you up?” You ask as you sit on the side of his bed.

He nods his head, rubbing his eyes—one sapphire blue and one bright ashryver blue, ringed with gold—“Can I say ‘hi’?”

You breathe out a small laugh, nodding, “You can say ‘hi’ but then you have to go back to sleep.”

He nods his head and lifts his arms for you to pick him up.

You head back downstairs with him in your arms. His head resting on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around you.

Aelin and Rowan both walk up to meet you, closing the distance. “How’s my favorite nephew?” Aelin coos.

“He’s your only nephew,” Rowan points out. Which earns him a glare from your sister.

“Say ‘hi,’ baby.”

“Hi, Aunty Aelin. Hi Uncle Wowan.” His little voice is still thick with sleep.

They both greet him back with loving smiles.

“Why are you awake, little prince? We trained a lot today.” Rowan asks him as he brushes a rogue raven-black curl behind his little pointed ear.

“I hear you and Aunty Aelin and I wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” Aelin praises.

Your son smiles, his cheeks dimpling, and he turns to look at you. You can’t help but beam at him in return. Your own cheeks dimpling too.

He lightly tugs a golden blonde lock of your hair before whispering—not so quietly—“I go sleep now?”

“Yeah, baby.” You chuckle before giving Aelin and Rowan a quick look and they nod back at you.

And as soon as you’re done tucking him back in he’s sleeping. You kiss his forehead before heading back down stairs, “Sweet dreams,” your whisper into his night filled room.

“Fireheart!” Rowan scolds your sister as she shoves a forkful of steaming chocolate cake into her mouth.

She spits it out before even chewing it and you frown. “That bad?”

She shakes her head, brows furrowing sadly, “No. It’s too hot.”

“I told you to wait,” Rowan grumbles.

“Anyways,” you drawl out. “Why’d you come so late, Aelin?”

“My meetings ran long today and I had an unexpected visitor come.” She blows on a new forkful of cake to cool it down. “They’re going to be visiting for the week.”

You arch a brow, “Who?”

“A friend.”

Your gaze slid to Rowan, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’ve been here all day.” And he was right. He’d been here since the morning teaching and training your son because the raw magic he’d inherited from his father began showing.

And a two—practically three—year old with raw magic and fae ancestry needed to be taught control early it seemed.

Also because fae males—even half fae males were deadly. Rowan and Aedion knew that so they came and helped you teach your son control. Fenrys and Lorcan had given up after your son had learned to summon fire and burned off their eyebrows.

Aelin groaned as she chewed a new bite of cake. “Good?” you asked. She nodded, still not finished chewing her first bite before getting another. “Are you still going to be able to make it to his birthday tomorrow?”

She gave you a look as if to say, Obviously, before finally telling you with words. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Your sister and Rowan said their goodnights and Rowan had to practically drag her out because she was still trying to eat the chocolate cake. So to make it easier for both of them you just told her to take the whole thing with her. Her eyes glinted as soon as the words left your mouth.

You woke up early the next day to get everything ready for your son's third birthday and you had practically finished setting up and getting ready by the time Aedion and Lysandra came to help set up.

An hour later the rest of Aelin’s court—your little family—arrived.

Everyone was enjoying themselves and eating while your son and Lorcan and Elide’s daughter played together while Evangeline watched over them.

You got up from the table to go get the cake, still needing to frost it and add the candles.

Aedion rose with you, “Do you need help?”

Giving him a small smile as you gestured for him to sit back down, “No, I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be quick.” You reassured him.

Setting the cake on the counter that was in front of the window where you could still see your son playing with his cousins. He was conjuring fishes with his water magic and making them dive in and out of the lake in front of him. His cheeks dimpled as he laughed along with the girls.

You were so distracted by your son and the cake that you didn’t hear anyone walk in until they called your name.

“Y/n?” He called.

You stilled as your heart dropped before slowly turning around. The frosting spatula clutched so tightly in your hand your knuckles were white.

“Dorian,” you breathed.

He was still as beautiful as you remembered him. Tall, tan skin, sapphire eyes and raven-black hair. But, he was broader now—more muscular. And in place of the black collar that was around his neck the last time you saw him was a pale line.

“Why— How—“ he stammered.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m visiting. . . I got here yesterday evening and Aelin said you were all celebrating a birthday and invited me.” You were going to kill her.

“You settled.” He pointed out, his eyes taking you in.

Even though he wasn’t necessarily asking, you responded anyway. “Yes.”

“How? You’re twenty, I thought you weren’t going to settle for a few more years.”

“I didn’t think so either, but, uh, I actually settled while I was pregnant.”

Dorian’s face flickered with so many different emotions before he schooled his features and simply asked, “Pregnant?”

“Yeah. . . and not only did I settle but my son’s magic made me fully fae.” You didn’t know why you were just telling him everything. “The healers don’t know how either, but him being half fae confirmed it.”

“Son?”

“It’s his birthday today,” you told him.

Dorian’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything your son’s laugh drifted all the way back to the cottage and cut him off. His sapphire eyes shot to the window and he sucked in a sharp breath.

There was no denying the resemblance. He knew he was the father of your son.

His gaze turned back to you and there was so much pain and regret in his eyes but hope too. Maybe even love. “Why didn’t you tell me?” was all he said though.

“I was going to,” you admitted. “But before I got the chance to,” your voice cracked, “your father ordered you to kill me when he found me trying to talk to you.” A tear rolled down your cheek and he stepped closer to you and wiped it away. “So I ran. To keep us both”—your son and you—“alive.”

Your words weren’t malicious, just honest.

“You don’t remember?”

His eyes were still on you as he shook his head before looking out through the window again. “I missed so much,” he whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry.”

Dorian pulled you into a hug, “Don’t be. You’re both here. Safe and alive. That’s all I care about.” His words made you cry harder and he only held you tighter and kissed the top of your head.

You both were so caught up in your own world that you didn’t hear the little footsteps that bounded into the kitchen.

“Mommy?” Your son called and you and Dorian pulled apart.

He walked up to you and you crouched down to get to his level. “Why you crying?” He asked, his small hands wiping away your tears.

“I’m just so happy, my sweet little prince.”

He smiled and turned to look at Dorian. “Are you mommy’s friend?”

Dorian chuckled as he crouched down too, tears welling up in his eyes, as he looked at a small version of himself. “Yes. Her best friend.”

Your son smiled impossibly wider and stuck his hand out towards him and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Dowian.”

Dorian looked at you and this time a tear fell. He cleared his throat, taking your son’s hand, “Hi, Dorian. My name is Dorian too.”

[fjorests-of-wildemount]

Oh gosh that moment was absolutely *perfect*.

Dorian just. Letting go of the doubts and fears and "shoulds" and "can'ts" and just. Holding the halfing he loves in his arms as he falls asleep. Where he can keep him safe.

Wanting Orym is part of who the real Dorian is underneath the mask.

And Orym, letting himself be held, lacing their fingers together as he *knows* "this is okay". It's okay for him to want.

Even if they can't let themselves fall all the way, not yet. Not when it would still hurt too much to lose.

As another great love took its first tentative steps, it takes *time*. Not weeks, not years. Time.

[zwoftt]

ok at least the entirety of the cast is also getting edged on dorym shit too its not just us guys! dorian's worry for orym, his little "are you alright?" when orym comes back from the vision with the wildmother, and was asking him a lot of questions about the meeting can i mention WILL telling ORYM to BE HAPPY AND LIVE HIS LIFE??? to not LIVE IN HIS SHADOW??????? TO BASICALLY MOVE ON??!?!!111!!?!! dorian calling orym's plan fun, saying that his backdoor idea was "cool". spin the bottle. i feel like they were constantly looking at each other the whole time. (right?? or was i tweaking?). the way liam laughed when dorian had to kiss chetney.... orym watching dorian sleep, but dorian wasn't asleep either (just with his back towards orym!) ((goddamnit robbie daymond))) the EXPRESSIONS THIS EPISODE... during orym's wildmother meeting, during dorian's 'mostly' truth spiller about his brother though didn't mention that cyrus was murdered by lolth (was ALSO ORYM'S question), dorian speaking to mainly orym during his truth confession??1?/1!1!!!! that being said. orym saw our pretty boy off that pedestal for once, and omg guys he is still very much in love (but im also just glad that liam was making sure he got some dorym action in there too even though robbie was making most of the moments recently!)

[dudakka]

KINGDOM OF ASH CH. 62

His sapphire eyes lingered on her face, and Manon turned toward him. Slowly removed her crown of stars and set it aside. Then she drew up the blankets around them both. He didn’t so much as flinch as she scooted closer, into the solid muscle of his body.

No, Dorian only draped an arm over her, and pulled her tightly against him. Manon was still listening to his breathing when she fell asleep, warm in his arms.

NSFW VERSION ON PATREON

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Two

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : Spoiler warning for anyone who hasn't read The Picture of Dorian Gray (though can I really spoil a book that's over 130 years old? idk).

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

This is going to be fun.

That was what he’d told you, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. 

As you laid in bed that night, you wondered where he was, you wondered what he was doing. What had he meant when he told you that he liked you? Did you even want to be liked by him? The more you thought about it, the more you realised just how strange the conversation had been. At the time it felt like he was taking a measure of you, trying to understand you, but not necessarily trying to know you.

At the time you’d felt like you were on the back foot, too shocked by his sudden appearance to really learn anything about him.

But, again, you had to wonder if that was something you really wanted. After all, he was a vampire and there was still so much that you didn’t know about their world and the way that they lived.

You fell asleep that night thinking about his dark eyes and the way he’d looked as he’d sipped your blood.

The next morning you woke with a start, realising that you'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before and you’d overslept. Not that you had any reason to wake up before midday, but you were certain that if you didn’t find a way to keep some sort of structure in your life over the next year, you were going to lose your mind.

So, you got up and got breakfast before spending half an hour on the treadmill, taking a slow walk, imagining you were on your way to the Met. Every day you were going to imagine a new place you’d be able to see in the city once your contract was over. After your walk and a quick shower, you got dressed and headed out into the main penthouse. 

You weren’t surprised that he wasn’t out there - because, of course he wasn’t, it was the middle of the afternoon - but you still felt... something. Disappointment? No, loneliness. 

For a few seconds your eyes caught on his door before you headed into the library.

The next few hours were spent going through his books and his record collection, looking for something, anything, that might tell you a little more about him. But you didn’t know what you were looking for, and there was no way of telling which of the books, if any, held any real sort of value to him. Dorian Gray, you guessed, had to mean something because he’d noticed it was missing from the shelf, but there was everything from the classics to more recent books, spanning almost every genre you could think to name.

(Though you did have to wonder if he’d purchased Dracula before or after being turned.)

Your search for clues seemed fruitless; you couldn’t even begin to guess his age from his record collection. There was everything from classical music to records that you knew were only released last year. Everything was too eclectic. Normally eclectic was something that you liked, you hated the idea of being stuck with only one genre or type or music or book, but it was frustrating how little you’d been able to discover.   

What made it worse, you came to realise, was that he’d been able to read you as easily as he might read one of his books. He’d only had to look at you to understand that you’d taken this job to get away from something.

But you weren’t going to let your mind wander to thoughts of home.

That evening you sat and waited on the sofa realising for the first time that you could get an amazing view of the sun setting over Central Park and the city from there. You’d brought the battered copy of Dorian Gray with you, but every time you tried to focus on it, you found yourself distracted by the view.

To your disappointment, the clock struck 9pm and Mr Russo still hadn’t appeared, so you made your way back to your room.

It was silly to feel disappointed, but you weren’t used to feeling so completely alone. Back home there had always been someone around, even when you wanted nothing more than to be alone. And, the rest of the time, you’d had social media to slake your thirst for connection and companionship. Now there was nothing but the walls of the penthouse, TV and Mr Russo’s collection of books.

The next day passed similarly; you got up, you had a little walk on the treadmill before showering, then you picked out your outfit for the day.Then you headed to the library and started to make you through Mr Russo’s vinyl collection, listening to some of the albums that grabbed your attention, keeping the volume down in case the vampire was sleeping in his rooms.

That was the thing that was really starting to bother you - you didn’t even know if he was home. There was no way of telling if he was just beyond the door to his room, or if he was even in the city. Not knowing just made the loneliness more acute.

That evening, after you’d eaten and drawn blood, you found yourself on the sofa again watching the sunset, his book on your lap and a couple of the muffins you’d made, sitting on a plate on the table. Sugar seemed to help after drawing blood, though you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” his voice pierced the silence so suddenly that you started.

You turned from the window quickly, to find him standing by his door, smiling and very obviously impressed with himself.

“How long have you been stood there?” Not even trying to disguise the shock or annoyance in your tone. 

He didn’t answer, instead he started towards the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass before retrieving today’s blood from the fridge. 

“It’s quite the view,” he stated, his back to you, “I suppose someone should appreciate it.”

“You mean you don’t?” Curious. Why bother having a penthouse like this if he didn’t care about the view?

“Looking at the sunset isn’t exactly enjoyable for vampires,” he shrugged, turning and making his way towards the sofa.

“I thought the windows made the sunlight safe for you?” Or maybe you were just being stupid. You hated how little you know, how little you’d learned before taking the job. And, now, without the internet, you couldn’t even try to learn about it.

“They make it safe, yes,” he stated, sitting down, not directly next to you, but much closer than he had been the first time you met. “But seeing the sun and knowing that I’ll never feel its warmth on my face again, makes it a little unbearable.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect that to get a laugh.

“You apologise a lot for someone who hasn’t done anything wrong yet.”

Yet? You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t think it wise to ask. As far as you were concerned, you weren’t going to do anything wrong while you were there.

“It’s just how I was raised, I guess,” you shrugged, your gaze dropping to his glass, to your blood.

Mr Russo gave a hum, his gaze still fixed on you, looking right through you. It was enough to make your heart beat a little faster, even though Lissa had warned you about such things, but controlling it was easier said than done. 

“Are you still settling in?” He asked. “I know that all of this can take a while to adjust to.”

“It’s -” you started and stopped, wondering if it was wise to be honest about it, “- a little lonely. I’m not used to going for days without someone to talk to. Normally I’d at least have the dog, but...” you trailed into a sigh, reminding yourself that this was what you agreed to. 

“I see,” he nodded, face offering the slightest slither of sympathy. “I’ll do what I can to help with that.”

Silence fell for a few moments before his eyes dropped to your lap, to the book that you’d started to tightly grip at some point after his sudden appearance. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked and you looked down, noticing how white your knuckles were.

“Yes,” your cheeks started to warm, “very much.”

Your fingers flexed, releasing your grip on the book and, instead, you pressed your hands flat on your lap.

“Have you read it before?”

“No, it’s not -” you paused for a second, trying to think of the best way to explain it to him, “- it’s not the sort of book that was deemed acceptable where I’m from.”

“Ah,” he nodded, still looking very amused by everything, by you. “And you’re reading it now as - what? An act of rebellion against the way you were raised? Or are you just curious to see how bad it is?”

“No, it’s not that,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging, “I always thought it was a stupid rule. People should be allowed to read what they want and draw their own conclusions. That’s the point of art; it means something different to everyone that views it. And I don’t like being told how to feel about things.”

The amusement on his face slowly started to turn to something a little more genuine, something a little more interested. 

“What part are you up to?”

“He’s going to ask Sybil to marry him.”

He gave the slightest of nods. “And what do you think about that?”

It was a strange question, but perhaps that was because you weren’t used to people wanting to know your thoughts or opinions on things. You took a slow breath and he didn’t pressure you, giving you a moment to get your thoughts in order.

“I think it’s a bit soon. He hasn’t really known her very long and he seems more infatuated with who she is when she’s on stage than her as a person, but...”

“But?” He prompted gently.

“If he loves her half as much as he thinks he does, then maybe they could be happy together? It seems like he needs someone who’ll love him, someone who he can love more than himself, and someone who’ll get him away from Lord Henry.” Even though you were perfectly happy with your opinion, you still felt your cheeks warming again.

“You think he needs love?” Another unexpected question.

“Well... doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think he really deserves it?”

“Does anyone?”

He paused for a second, looking ready to say something before obviously changing his mind. “So, do you believe in love at first sight? Like Dorian falling for Sybil?”

“I -” you faltered, looking down at the book on your lap, trying to escape the dark depths of his eyes for a moment, “- I don’t know. I find it hard to believe in anything I’ve not experienced myself.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never felt love at first sight,” you avoided the question, forcing yourself to look back up. “Have you?”

“No, not at first sight.”

At that, he seemed to relent, falling silent and letting his gaze drift towards the window again, lifting his glass and taking a sip. You reached for a muffin, almost gasping as his cold fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist and pulled your arm towards him. Your lips parted, ready to ask the obvious question, but it fell dead on your tongue when his thumb ran over the bruising at the crook of your arm from drawing blood. He stared at it for a second before his eyes returned to yours.

“Do I need Lissa to come and help you draw blood in future?” He asked, and you couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed.

“No, it’s fine,” you gave a gentle tug against his grip, but he didn’t let go. “I just bruise easily. I didn’t even notice it.” 

His fingers tightened a fraction.

“While you’re here, you’re my responsibility. I hope you understand that.”

“That’s not -” but he wasn’t finished.

“If anything was to happen to you, it would be my fault. I need to know that you’ll be more careful in future.” There was an edge to his words, something that made your stomach knot. Did he think that you were incompetent, that you couldn’t do the job? Or was he just worried  that he’d be blamed if something happened to you?

“I’ll be more careful,” you told him but, still, he kept hold of your arm, thumb hovering just above the bruising, a ghost of a touch that made your heart race.

“I might be your employer, but you should understand just how much power you have in this arrangement,” his voice turned almost soft as he let you go. Before you could even think to ask what he meant, he’d drained his glass, placed it down on the coffee table and was heading towards the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled out of your mouth almost automatically, not sure what else you were supposed to say.

“You can call me Billy,” he told you as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside.

And, then, he was gone.

Again, he’d left you with more questions than you ever thought you’d get answers to. You wanted to feel frustrated, annoyed even, at the way he breezed in and out of conversations, as if you were a plaything, just there for him when he was bored, but all you could think about was his touch.

His hand had been so cold, like death’s icy grip and, when you looked down, you found your arm was covered in goosebumps.

Tomorrow, he’d said. He was going to see you again tomorrow. (Probably because you’d complained about being lonely.) Perhaps you’d be able to learn a little bit more about him, perhaps you’d be able to ask him what he meant when he told you that you had power here.

Before returning to your rooms for the night, you took a moment to move his empty glass from the table, rinsing it out in the sink and returning it to the cupboard where it belonged. The rest of the evening was spent trying to concentrate on reading, in part because you were invested in the book, but mostly because you wanted to have something to talk with him about tomorrow.

But, again, you found yourself distracted; by the conversation you’d had, by the things he’d said and the way he’d looked when he said them and, most of all, by the way his touch had felt on your arm.

It was silly. Ridiculous. You put it down to being trapped indoors for the last ten days and you having spoken to all of two people in that time. It wasn’t him. He could have been anyone and you’d no doubt have felt the same way. You were just starved for human contact.

(Only Billy Russo wasn’t human, was he?)

You kept thinking about his dark eyes and the way he laughed, the subtle way his lips curled up when he found something you said amusing. There was no shame in admitting that he was pretty. 

Pretty in a way that would never fade or alter. Just like Dorian Gray.

Though, as you continued to read, you realised that that comparison certainly wasn’t flattering.

The next day passed much the same as the days before it and, as the hours ticked by, you found yourself almost looking forward to seeing him. Though you didn’t allow yourself to feel excitement, in case he disappointed you by not appearing. You stayed in your rooms until it was almost sunset.

He was already there waiting for you when you stepped out into the penthouse proper, today's blood in one hand, a pack of cookies in the other, and the book wedged under your arm.

“Oh,” you stopped so abruptly you almost fell over your own feet.

“Good evening,” he grinned.

“Good evening, Mr Russo,” you replied, still not moving.

“Billy,” he reminded you. “If we’re going to be living together for a year, you might as well call me Billy.”

“Billy,” you repeated, nodding before looking down. “I have your - I mean, I’ve got today’s -” you struggled, eyes fixed on the sealed bottle of blood in your hand, fresh and still warm.

You could feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what the protocol was in this situation.

“I’ll take that now,” he said but didn’t move.

For a moment more, you remained frozen, feeling utterly ridiculous - and you were certain that he was enjoying watching your confusion.

“Okay, I’ll - I’ll put this in a glass for you,” he didn’t object, so you made your way to the kitchen and set about pouring him a drink.

It was hard not to feel a little horrified - this seemed as close to offering him a vein as you ever hoped to get - but you forced down the discomfort.

“I hope the long sleeves aren’t to cover up more bruises,” he said softly when you finally approached the sofa and took a seat, near him but with enough space that another person would have fit between you.

“No, Mr - Billy. It’s just been cold today.”

“Oh, I can’t say that I noticed...” because of course he hadn’t. “The thermostat is in the library, change the temperature whenever you need to.”

You handed him the glass, a shudder running up your spine when his cold fingers seemed to deliberately graze yours. Your breath caught as you watched him lift the glass to his lips, his eyes closed as your blood touched his lips and you heard the softest sound from the back of his throat. Butterflies filled your stomach and your eyes fixed on the window, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to a progressively darkening pinkish-orange hue.

Billy lowered his glass and remained silent, his eyes following yours to the window, allowing the silence to linger until you chose to break it.

“I thought you didn’t like watching the sunset?” You asked, not daring to look his way.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen one and even longer since I had someone to watch it with,” he shrugged. “I thought I’d give it another go.”

“So, the others, the ones before me -”

“I don’t think they cared to notice it,” he cut you off. There was something clipped about his tone, something that told you he didn’t want to talk about them. His attention turned to the book and the packet of cookies resting on your lap. “Were you planning on reading?”

“Yes, or - I don’t know, maybe..." you sighed, finally allowing yourself to look at him. He gave you a questioning look, wanting you to elaborate. “You didn’t warn me about Sybil.”

“I didn’t want to spoil it for you,” a hint of amusement slipped into his tone. “Are you disappointed that they didn’t get their happily-ever-after?”

You looked at him for a moment and quickly found yourself feeling a little annoyed at the implication that you had expected it to be that easy, that you were some hopeless romantic looking for a happy ending in the most ridiculous of places.

“I’m not some naive child. I don’t know what I expected - not a happily-ever-after, but I definitely didn’t expect that,” you tried to explain. “I didn’t expect him to be so... so cruel to her.”

“She let him down, embarrassed him in front of his friends,” Billy offered, almost like he was defending it, “he was disappointed.”

“Disappointed that she no longer needed to act to feel wanted and loved, because she thought she’d finally found that with him?” You answer back, unable to keep yourself from noticing the way the glow of the sunset made his features seem softer. “He showed her what real love could feel like, then he snatched it away from her. It was cruel.”

“You’re right,” he conceded before hesitating a moment. “Maybe I should warn you that he doesn’t get any better. There is no redemption for Dorian Gray.”

“Oh,” At that you felt yourself deflate a little, an odd feeling of disappointment gnawing at your guts. While you’d told him that you weren’t some naive child, hearing that Dorian wasn’t going to get better made you almost want to give up entirely.

Again, he seemed to find some enjoyment in your simple disappointment - something that was starting to get to you.

“I take it you’re used to reading... happier stories?” He asked and you offered a shrug. “Heroes and romance and happily ever afters?”

“Books have always been an escape for me. So, yeah, I like things that I know will end well.” You answered and, for a second, you could have sworn his smile turned a little softer. “Why do you even like this book?” You dared to ask, wanting to understand why anyone could find enjoyment in such misery.

“I think you’d need to finish the book before we could have that conversation,” was all he offered before lifting his glass and, again, you heard that soft sound as he drank. Your heart started to beat a little faster. Billy carefully licked his lips, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting a single drop go to waste. The corner of his mouth curled with amusement again. “Are you sure I’m not your first vampire?”

Your lips parted and, for a moment you couldn’t force the words past the lump in your throat. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he really wanted to know, just like you couldn’t tell if it was his intention to make you feel small. But he did make you feel small, he made you feel like you didn’t understand the world you’d found yourself in; like you didn’t understand vampires or the job you’d agreed to, and like you were too naive to understand his taste in literature.

“No. You’re not,” you answered tersely, trying to hold back your annoyance. “You’re just the first one that I’ve let drink my blood.”

“Good,” he replied without hesitation, seeming to completely ignore your change of demeanour.  

“Good?” What was that supposed to mean?

He shifted, turning so he could face you properly, his foot knocking against yours as he did. 

“Good,” he repeated, the corners of his lips still pulling upwards. “If anyone else had tasted your blood, I doubt they would have been willing to let you go so easily.” He licked his lips and your heart continued to stutter in your chest. His eyes closed for a moment, concentrating on the sound before muttering; “like a hummingbird...”

You didn’t dare move, even though every fibre of your being was screaming at you to pull away when his hand reached for you, fingertips ghosting down your cheek to your neck coming to rest above your rapidly pulsing carotid artery. Frozen, you sat there, his hand on your neck and his dark eyes seeming to stare right into your soul.

Does my blood really taste that good? You wondered.

“It does,” he answered and you realised that you’d spoken the question aloud. 

Something prickled in the back of your mind, a warning you’d been given a long time ago, about how some vampires could trick you and control you, how they could bend you to their will. But, you couldn’t tell if that was what this was, or if you were allowing this because you wanted it, because you wanted to understand. Regardless, you didn’t move. Even as he licked his lips. Even as he leaned closer. 

“What does it taste like?” You heard the question but it took you a few seconds to realise that it had come from your mouth.

“Like sunlight and innocence,” he muttered softly, “sweet, like warm honey. Like life...”

Closer and closer, the cold press of his fingers on your neck sending a shiver down your spine, and a heat in your belly. Your thighs gently pressed together. He made it sound so wonderful, so romantic, like it wasn’t some strange and sordid thing. He made you feel special, made you feel things that you weren’t sure you’d ever felt before.

Before you could even consider the possibilities of what might happen next, he was pulling away from you, and you very quickly returned to your senses, taking an uncomfortable breath.

“What -” you started to ask, needing to know if he’d done something to you, if he’d been trying to control you, but he was already on his feet draining the last of your blood from the glass.

“I’m afraid I won’t have time for one of our little talks tomorrow. I have a meeting just after sunset,” he explained and your eyes followed him as he first moved to the kitchen to put his glass in the sink, then started towards the elevator. He paused once he’d hit the call button. “Keep reading the book. I’m intrigued to know what you’ll think of the ending.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled clumsily from your mouth, an automatic response to the man who was your employer, wanting to regain some sense of propriety.

“Billy,” he countered. “Goodnight, little hummingbird.”

The doors slid shut and you were alone again.

You didn’t move for at least a minute, your head spinning. A hand rose to your neck touching where he had touched you, your skin still feeling cold and prickled with goosebumps. Looking down, you realised that your thighs were still clenched together.

Gathering the book and the untouched packet of cookies, you quickly made your way back to your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

End Note : Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter of this story! I hope this lives up to expectations. I'm already really enjoying writing this one. Also, sorry as always that I'm constantly so slow at responding to comments, I'm trying to get better at that

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List:

@lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @tortilla-chips-and-allioli

[shadowhandss60]

He didn’t so much as flinch as she scooted closer, into the solid muscle of his body.

No, Dorian only draped an arm over her, and pulled her tightly against him.

Manon was still listening to his breathing when she fell asleep, warm in his arms.

***

She awoke at dawn to a cold bed.

AC: @bookishkoda

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 12 - Revelations I am incorporating my headcanon for the Aether Core connection. It’s NOT lore accurate - as far as we know.

You’ve been staying at the house on the hill for the past few days. You and Sylus have indulged in every fantasy you can think of. You’ve recreated your dream of being eaten out on the dining room table. Recreated his dream of throat fucking you by the pool. You secretly pray the chef never finds out Sylus bent you over the kitchen counter, the sink, the stove, the fridge… Basically his entire workspace.  

You both handled work from home, opting to join conference calls from the pool or private office. You were careful not to discuss confidential information when Sylus was around. You knew if Dorian found out you were talking shop with Sylus in the room he would never forgive you.

When you weren’t tongue deep in each other, you and Sylus talked about the bond you seem to share. He explained the situation at the gallery and Chen’s possible “client.” He also explains the Aether Core. He had an Aether protocore fragment implanted into his eye when he was young. He had no say in the matter and no parents to fight for him. 

“The connection we share, the Aether fragment, you have one too.” He places a hand over your heart. You feel that similar warmth.

“I don’t remember...” You cover his hand with your own. He wraps his other hand around your waist. The warm water in the tub has cooled, but you don’t want to get out, not yet. You feel his breath on your neck, his body firm against your back. Sitting between his legs as he presses kisses to your shoulders and neck as he explains.

“Do you want to know?” You lean your head back on his chest.

“Maybe? Yes… Tell me.”

Sylus takes a deep breath. You can tell this story will be hard for him to tell. You pull his hand from your chest and interlace your fingers with his. Giving his hand a squeeze, he sighs. 

“We were in the same laboratory. My surgery was experimental. No one expected me to survive. So when I did, they didn’t waste any time putting your fragment in. Our rooms were next to each other. The walls were thin, so we’d sit and talk for hours. Well, when they weren’t running tests or experiments on one of us. We grew up together. We kept each other sane all those years. If you came back from tests crying, I’d sing to you. You’d be laughing in no time. And… if I woke up from a nightmare, you’d read to me until I fell asleep.”

Sylus tightened his grip around you. You could feel his heartbeat quickening against your back. You rub small circles on his arm, his grip loosening slightly.

“On your 18th birthday, I... aha, 'gently convinced' a nurse to let me into your room. It was the first time we were truly alone. No nurses hovering or doctors forcing us to practice controlling our Aether energy by resonating. Or…” His voice trailed off. Your heart broke listening to him.

“Did you make me a cake?” You heard him let out a breathy laugh. 

“Sort of. I could finally pick up things with my energy so… I stole cookies out of the vending machine down the hall. Couldn’t steal a candle though, but you still made a wish. You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free. I don’t remember much else from that night. Besides just holding you. And trying to figure a way out.” 

“And did you?” 

You finally turn slightly to look at him. He avoids your gaze. You lift his chin so his eyes meet yours. And your heart nearly stopped when you saw his red eyes were glazed over, tears threatening to spill out. 

“I did.” 

The rest of this story can be told later, you were desperate to see him smile again. You quickly change the direction of the conversation. 

“What happens if we find another Aether core or fragment? How does that help us?”

He presses your back lightly urging you to stand. He wraps his arm around you, helping you out of the bathtub. He takes a towel and starts drying you off gently. You raise your arms and turn in a circle for him, he chuckles. When you face him his smile has returned. 

“Well, it might strengthen our connection. Stabilize it. May change our evol or strengthen it.” You grab the new towel off the rack and he holds onto your hips as you dry him off.

“So was the protocore at the auction…” 

“It was a decoy. I have people testing it now. It was strange, the energy it gave off... It drained me. If it hadn’t been broken, I don’t like to think about what could have happened.” He leans in and starts placing kisses to your neck, you’ve stopped trying to dry him at this point leaning into his kisses.

“So we keep searching. We’re in this together, okay?” He cups your face in his hands. 

“Okay.” 

He takes the towel from your hands and tosses it on the counter. His hands slowly reach around you to grab your ass, he pulls you to him, his erection pressing against your stomach.

“Don’t you have a meeting in an hour?” Your voice is gruff as his hands squeeze.

“That’s more than enough time to fuck you senseless.” You let your head tip backwards, his lips pressing against your jaw. Your arms wrap around his neck.

“Promises. Promises.” 

He laughs, moving swiftly to pick you up and place you on the bathroom counter. He captures your lips with his. He presses your shoulders back to the mirror, you shift your ass forward and relax into the position. He pulls away from your lips bringing them down your neck, to your collarbone and over your breasts. He places a gentle kiss to your nipple before he takes the bud between his teeth, biting lightly. You grab onto the back of his neck.

“Sy!” 

You feel him smile against your skin before his lips continue down your body. He kneels with his head between your thighs. He drapes your legs over his shoulders and looks up at you with the slyest of grins. You’re about to give him an earful, but he sinks his face into you. His tongue pressing directly into your pussy with no hesitation, his nose pressed against your clit. Your eyes roll back and you gasp.

He speeds up his movements, rubbing his nose against your clit faster and faster. His tongue thrusts and swirls inside you, savoring every ounce of your arousal. He wastes no time, he has a meeting to get to after all.

Ding Ding

Sylus’s phone chimes on the other side of the room where your discarded clothes are. Sylus swears under his breath before rising to his feet, his chin and nose coated in your wetness. You let out a small whimper.

“I’m sorry kitten, there’s an emergency apparently.” He strides over to his jacket. And as frustrated as you are, you enjoy this view of his ass. Sylus retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.

“What?” His voice is cold. 

The need for friction between your legs is nearly impossible to ignore. So, you decide not to ignore it. Your fingers find your clit and you start to trace circles, being more rough than usual, you stare at Sylus letting your desires fuel the speed. You moan quietly, but Sylus still hears you. He turns and looks at you, eyes wide as he realizes what you’re doing. 

“No no, I’m still here. Did he say why he wants to attend?” His voice is strained. Keeping it professional while watching you play with yourself is proving to be very challenging. 

You spread yourself open as your middle finger glides over your opening. Your long strokes gather your arousal. You finally push your finger into your pussy, feeling how wet you are pushes you to move your fingers faster against your clit. Your breathing is erratic and your legs twitch slightly, but your eyes are locked on Sylus. And from the look on his face, he looks as if he’s about to cum from just watching you. You slide another finger inside and a deep growl escapes your throat.

“I’m on my way.” Sylus says and hangs up quickly, dropping his phone on the clothes pile. 

He crosses the bathroom in a blink and places his hand over yours, putting more pressure against your clit. He buries his face into your neck and nibbles at the soft skin under your jaw. Stars cross your vision as you near your release. 

“Sy… I need to cum…” 

Sylus pulls your hand away and reaches down to place his leaking tip at your entrance. He rubs himself against your clit. 

“Say please.” Sylus whispers. His hand reaches up to wrap around your neck. As his grip tightens and your breath hitches, you wrap your legs around him.

“You’re the worst…” You mutter between gasps. Sylus pulls back and tries to move away from you. You throw your arms around him and dig your nails into his back.

“No no no… please please Sy… please…” Your words rushed and desperate. 

Sylus smirks before pushing into you, hard. Pleasure mixes with pain, as he starts to thrust into you rapidly. Your head presses back into the mirror and Sylus grunts at every thrust, feeling his hips slam against yours, a symphony of wet slaps fill the space around you. 

Ding ding

Sylus’ phone chimes again. Frustrated moans leave both you and Sylus’ mouth. Sylus’ pace never falters. He tucks his hands under your knees and pulls them upwards, placing your feet flat on the counter. He wraps his forearms around your thighs, using them as anchors. With your legs pushed closer to you, Sylus is able to dive deeper. Slamming against your deepest sweet spots. 

“Fuck-in he-hell…” Sylus mutters against your chest. 

Ding

Now it’s your phone ringing. Your fingernails dig into Sylus forearms, forcing Sylus to pull back and you pull him into a kiss, trapping him against you. His pace becomes more erratic and you feel every twitch of his cock as he unloads into you. Your release is not far behind, you break away from him and scream his name. Sylus holds onto your thighs, rocking your forward, working both of you through the peak of your joined climaxes.

Ding

Your phone rings again. Sylus finally pulls out, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I’ve got to get to this meeting, jackass arrived early and brought a special guest. I’ll bring back dinner, okay?” You nod and kiss him before he leaves to get dressed.

You hop off the counter and shuffle to your clothes to grab your phone. You place a towel on the vanity chair before sitting down. You finally open your messages.

(Dorian) Call me.  (Dorian) It’s urgent.

You press the call button and it rings only one time before Dorian picks up.

“You need to come to the office.” Dorian’s voice is cold and bitter.

“What’s going on?” You try to mentally prepare for Dorian’s latest tirade. 

“Sylus has been lying to you.” You roll your eyes. 

“Dorian, you’ve been suspicious since-” Dorian cuts you off.

“Onychinus is behind Ridgeway Liquors burning down.”

“What?”

“Sylus is Oni.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human

When your slow burn story is too slow burn, so you do 2 spicy chapters back to back... maybe 3... Smile.

[ladynearthelake]

The Morning After

Because I'm a little salty we didn't get a morning after scene with the boys. But that's why we fic. Enjoy!

Orym sleeps in. Granted, he’s still awake before anyone else, but he hears Fearne dismiss Ashton from her bed as he comes to consciousness. He huffs a laugh before burrowing deeper into his pillow. But the pillow is warm and firm.

And then he remembers.

Orym fell asleep cradled in Dorian’s arms. That ache of loneliness is dull in his chest, and he is more rested than he has been in months…probably even years.

Even still, Orym’s first instinct is to pull away. He’s been harboring feelings since he first laid eyes on the air genasi, and it’s still hard to believe that Dorian returned them even after everything he said last night.

Orym shifts as he frets, and the arms around him tighten a fraction. He can’t help but melt back against Dorian’s warm body. Orym lets his eyes slip closed. He can rest for a few more minutes.

A few more minutes turns into another hour. Orym drifts between sleeping and waking, vaguely aware of the sounds from the kitchen above. The longer he stays in Dorian’s arms, the harder it is to move.

He’s trying to plan his exit strategy when he hears a quick gasp above him. Orym slowly lifts his head, resting his chin on Dorian’s bare chest. The genasi is braced up on an elbow, regarding Orym with wonder in his bright eyes. He bites his lower lip, clearly trying to think of the perfect thing to say.

Orym saves him from himself. He moves forward and kisses Dorian, softly and sweetly. He pulls away before pressing another to the corner of Dorian’s mouth before nuzzling under the genasi’s chin, his smaller body splayed over Dorian’s chest. He relishes the rise and fall of Dorian’s breathing.

“I don’t know what to say either,” Orym whispers into his neck.

Dorian shivers. “There’s just…so much. I should have—”

Shoving himself up, Orym looks Dorian dead in the eyes. The genasi goes quiet as Orym cups his cheek. The halfling nods. He completely understands. How many nights did he spend watching Dorian sleep, keeping his distance out of some misguided loyalty to Will? They’ve both wasted so much time, but they’re here now. They shouldn’t spend anymore time on self flagellation.

Eyes shining, Dorian cups the back of Orym’s head and kisses him again. It’s short and sweet. Dorian pulls away and rests his forehead against Orym’s. The halfling brushes his nose against the genasi’s before getting off the bed. He moves to start dressing, but Dorian beats him to his clothes and armor.

Dorian has watched Orym don his armor many mornings on the road together, so he manages to dress the halfling with ease. His clever fingers fasten each buckle with care. When he’s finished, Dorian rests his large hand on Orym’s chest. Orym grips Dorian’s wrist.

“Let’s get this done. I’d really like to do this again.”

Dorian laughs, his eyes darting to the ground before taking Orym in again. “Yeah, me too.”

They move closer, but the piercing call of the pretty blue tiefling woman freezes them in space. Breakfast is ready, and then it's time to save the world.

[rosieofcorona]

In the Blue Morning

Sharing this gentle little fic here again since the Solavellan girlies (genderless) are so back!!! In my mind I am sliding this across the table to you all. Also on Ao3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading! 💕

She cajoles him, some mornings, away from his office, from his maps and his books and his paintings and out among the newly-planted gardens, all their tight, unfurling blooms. 

It’s always empty at this hour, when most of Skyhold is still asleep, save for the guards in their high towers, the recruits in the practice yard. The only sound is the clang of their swords through the mist like distant bells, the only light the pink and gold of the nascent sun.

They have been careful, desperately careful not to draw undue attention, not to generate rumors that could harm the Inquisition in the future. It is easier on the road to find a quiet moment alone– to steal a kiss or hold a hand or put words to their love– but the castle, however safe, is full of eyes, forever watching.

It is only in the narrow, muted hours before dawn that Solas weaves his fingers with hers as they orbit the courtyard, side by side.

He names the blossoms as they pass, first in the trade tongue and then in Elvish, the softened syllables like music on his tongue. She repeats them half as gracefully, but he smiles at every attempt, correcting her gently now and again, praising her efforts.

“Gail’lealis,” he says, pointing out an elegant bellflower, its blue-white petals bundled tightly in green sepals.

It sounds off, even to her ear, when she says, “ Ga’lealis,” back.

They pause for a moment, and Solas turns and bends and plucks an early bloom from the same plant, rotating it slowly between his fingers, holding it up for examination. 

“Ga-il,” he repeats softly, separating the sounds. “Meaning ‘bell,’ in the common parlance.” 

“Ga-il,” she says again, correctly this time. 

“Followed by lealis , meaning ‘glass.’”

“Gail’lealis.”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tucking the flower behind her ear, the meaning vague yet all-encompassing. It is all beautiful– the morning, the garden, how she catches the light, his ancient language in her mouth, her mouth– 

Solas kisses her in the empty courtyard, parts her lips with a linguist’s tongue, and she kisses him back again and again as if each time might be the last. He wants to stay like this forever, wants the sun to forget to rise, wants the castle to sleep and sleep in an endless dream.

But the light keeps coming, every moment. The castle will wake, and they will see. 

And this will cost them, in the end. 

She is pink as the sky when they finally come apart, and continue their long walk around. 

“I hear you were out here yesterday,” she says, breaking the silence as they turn a corner. “Cullen says you beat him soundly at chess.” 

“It was a closer game than he thinks,” Solas says, but she has learned when he’s just being modest.

“Must not have been that close, because Bull says the same. As do Blackwall, and Varric, and Dorian, though he swears that you cheated.”  “I did no such thing!” 

When they turn again, the chessboard in question comes into full view, set and waiting on its table beneath an awning. 

“He seemed very certain,” she shrugs. “Though I suppose I could find out for myself.”

They stop again before the table, and Solas looks at her intently.  “Is that a challenge, dear Inquisitor?”

“That depends on your level of skill.”

She’s teasing him now, enticing him, a dynamic he’s come to enjoy. There are so few who impress him with thoughtfulness, who make him work at being clever.

“Very well, but you should know that I am merciless,” he warns, a contradiction to the chivalry of pulling out her chair. “Even to one I love.”

He takes the seat opposite her, the board and the pieces adorned in glittering dew. 

“I believe the Lady Inquisitor moves first.”

He sets a dozen little traps for her, a dozen clever gambits, and she evades them every time, to his astonishment. Where he moves to attack, she counters; where he baits her, she defends or retreats. By the end, with the sun fully risen overhead, they reach a deadlock, both depleted, neither victorious.

“Again?” She asks cheerfully, when they’ve finished. Already she is freeing her captives from his end of the table. “Don’t look so stunned, my love. Unless you’re trying to offend me.”

“Forgive me, vhenan,” he says, shaking his head. “You surprise me as always. It is rare to find an opponent so…discerning.” 

His beloved laughs with the morning breeze, a sound like air that surrounds and envelops him. 

“Rare to find one you can’t beat, you mean.” 

She’s right, of course– it is rare that he loses, even rarer that he plays against someone so evenly matched. He still can’t quite puzzle through it, where he went wrong, where she figured him out. 

He had gotten a lead on her early on, or so he thought– he had taken a tower, a mage, and two pawns– and left his queen open for the taking, which she had entirely ignored. She caught onto him quickly, though too late to win, and when she realized she couldn’t beat him, she had blocked him instead. 

Solas leans thoughtfully back in his chair, replaying their game in his mind. No matter how he tries to beat her, he finds no way through. She sees his scheming, sees him coming, cuts him off. 

“Why did you not take my queen, given the chance?”

“Because you gave me the chance,” she reasons. “You wouldn’t do that except to win.” 

“It could have been a tactical error.”  “It wasn’t,” she says assuredly, resetting the pieces along their battle lines. “If I had taken her, it would have left my king undefended from your mages.”  “You could have moved him.”  “For a turn or two. Then your knight would have circled back. Isn’t that right?” She looks up at Solas, her eyes smiling and sharp, affirmed in her answer already. “Or shall we call that a ‘tactical error?’”

“Mm,” Solas nods his approval. “You’ve become quite the strategist. Have you been spending time with our Commander?”

“I’ve been spending time with you,” she counters. “Learning all your little tricks.”

Not all, it occurs to him, but Solas smothers the thought with a laugh. “It seems to me you have a few of your own.” 

“Our Keeper used to call me harellan,” she tells him. “Trickster. Though I needn’t explain that to you.”

He fights to keep the easy expression on his face, feeling suddenly caught in the snare of her gaze, as if she sees directly through him, sees him fully, all he is.

Harellan, his mind echoes. How could she know?

The wait for her judgment feels infinite, inevitable– but it does not come, and does not come, and does not come. She only moves a white pawn toward the board’s center, the leaves rustling softly around them. 

No, he decides. She does not know. She only means he knows the word. 

Solas mirrors her opening move, their pawns face to face on the battlefield. “And still, your Keeper named you her First.” 

“I was more troublesome as a child,” she says, with a grin that implies that the mischief has never left her. “I’ve settled down a great deal since. Can’t you tell?”

This time, when Solas laughs, there is nothing else hiding beneath it. No uneasy feeling, no great fear that she will discover him, cast him out. There is only happiness for a moment, the war reduced to a board between them, as if sorrow and death are nowhere, and the end of the world is far away.

[rowaelinsdaughter]

can i pla request rowaelin x reader where reader doesn’t know they’re mates and feel guilty for being attracted to both of them meanwhile rowaelin are internally begging for her to notice the bond

GUILTY

a/n;;; i got a little carried away but i loved writing this :")

WARNINGS;; guilty feelings, long chapter

she shouldn’t be feeling this. she should have done something earlier. but there was no coming back… she was in love with the queen and king of terrasen, and she felt guilty.

everything started with aelin. she entered one day to her bookstore looking for some books for her to read and to send some of them to her friend, dorian havilliard, the king of adarlan. she was going to bow when aelin told her not to, she had enough of it in the castle, she said. 

she asked her what books she was looking for. romance with some spice scenes she said. and while she entered the storehouse, aelin was cleaning the sweat in her hands. she gave her the books and told her to come back if she wanted anything more. of course. 

and she came back twice a week, sometimes she ordered some books, sometimes she didn’t buy anything… but she had the feeling that the queen of terrasen was in her bookstore for another reason. and one day she came with the king of terrasen. he was beautiful, they both were. you had been feeling something for aelin. her attention towards her, how she would always come to her bookstore when she knew for sure there were better bookstores in orynth. 

6 months passed, and she loved them. both of them. in the past few months, they had taken her out on dates, she had read with aelin in her castle room, rowan had helped her with the store… they had done things they shouldn’t have done, but they did, and now she was in love with the queen and king.

she was reading with aelin in her room, like so many days. they had decided to read the same book together and then comment on it. as they finished the last page, aelin said. “i don’t have words to describe it”

“me neither” she looked to aelin and found her eyes on her mouth. she pressed them together but aelin was still looking at them, she was going to say something when aelin kissed her. her tongue entered her mouth, she tasted like lemon verbena and kissing her was like being in heaven. but she was married to rowan, she was a married female, she had a mate. she pulled apart.

they were breathing fast, but she managed to speak “i can’t, i can’t” and she left, running to her home, leaving aelin in the room with tears rolling down her face. 

a month passed and she didn’t hear of them or saw them, as if they had already forgotten about her. but it was easier this way. it’s better this way.

it’s better this way. 

it’s better this way. 

it’s better this way. 

but she wasn’t better.

she missed them.

she missed spending the afternoon reading with aelin.

she missed going to walk with rowan.

she missed laughing with aelin and how rowan’s eyes would light up. 

she missed them like she hasn’t missed anyone. 

she had felt it the day aelin kissed her, had felt it when rowan would take her hand, a tug in her heart and a voice in her head. go. it would say. go, where?. go, just go. and it was her mother’s voice, who had told her to go every time she was with them. and know she knew what she meant. go with them. go where you feel safe. go where you are loved. go with your mates. 

mates.

she was their mate. 

and she felt guilty for it. for loving them, for being their mate. and she cried. cried for a love that was impossible. 

she had fallen asleep, her eyes red, and her mouth dry. but an incessant knocking on her door, had awakened her. she looked at the wall-clock. 2 am. barefoot, she made her way to the front door, and when she opened it… aelin was there. 

her blue and golden eyes were red from crying, bags under them, and her usually shiny hair was dull, without life. she knew rowan was near, keeping an eye on the street. 

“i need to talk to you” aelin whispered.

should she let her enter? do it. 

so she did. 

she led aelin to the couch, as she sat down, she watched as aelin started to pace. “i know that you may not want to see me or rowan, and i know i should have come the day you left, but… i didn’t know what to say or how to explain what we have, that you are our mate, and” a breathy laugh “gods, this month apart have been like being in hell, because that is what our lives feel without you. hell. we’ve been trying to tell you for months, but we were scared you would run away the moment you knew it.” she walked to her and she watched as aelin kneeled before her, taking her hands. and the tears she thought were dry, started to flow again like a waterfall. 

“but i want you to know that i love you. rowan loves you. we love you. because you are the light in our nights. you are the piece we were missing. so please, let us be yours.”

she kneeled before aelin. moving her hands away from her, she took her face with her hands, cleaning the tears with her thumbs. “i love you aelin, and i love rowan. i love both of you” aelin pressed her forehead with her’s, and a cold wind opened the window, and they watch as a hawk entered the room, and then turned into rowan. he walked to them and kneeling, he embraced both of them. he had heard everything. 

she felt the bond sing with happiness as she melted into her mates.

well done, darling… i love you. i will always love you.

EPILOGUE

she heard a little voice talk to her. but she was dreaming and that voice… she knew that voice. 

“hi there baby” 

evalyn. 

she wasn’t dreaming then. 

she blinked a few times, getting used to the sunlight that entered the bedroom. she watched down and she saw her. her silver hair was knotted, but her green eyes were bright as she talked to her belly. 

“good morning darling” she said to the little girl.

“good morning mommy” she called her mommy, while she called aelin mama. she looked again at her belly. “you think she can hear me?”

she let a low laugh. “of course she can” she said, stroking her hair. evalin climbed higher until her head was resting on her breast, and she hugged the little girl. 

aelin and rowan watched her two girls. 

we did it rowan. 

we did it, fireheart.

all rights reserved to ©rowaelinsdaughter. no tranlations allowed. no copy theme. don not copy my work.

tagging;; @throneofsapphics @danikamariewrites @hellwantfuckme @shadowdaddies

[astrum-aetherium]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ astrum's the secret history & henry winter thirst masterlist ⋆｡°✩

hi, all! because we are slowly but surely approaching the 200 posts mark and this blog hasn't even been up for a full month, i've decided to provide all those who are new to my page a handy tool to facilitate orientation. when you expand this post, you will be greeted with a summary of all of my original posts and asks regarding the topic of my blog — incessant, tenacious, shameless thirst for the secret history's very own henry marchbanks winter.

admittedly, i am a complete sucker for lists and organizational tools, which is why this will simply be a heavenly experience for me — even more so because i'm currently procrastinating writing my term paper. however, without much further ado — find the list below the cut.

-> IMPORTANT NOTE: due to the link limit on this post, i can no longer expand it to my liking. because i don't want to create a second masterlist (just yet), however, you will find any newer uploads linked in my own reblog of this post (look in the notes).

˚₊· ❥ general — sfw, informative, personal

my opinion on tsh / addressing the problematic aspects of tsh / henry's middle name being 'marchbanks' and a possible explanation / what henry might've whispered to camilla / my opinion on whether or not henry and camilla were in love / my fancast(s) for henry / my favorite books / my opinion on dorian gray as a character (+ parallels with tsh) / comparing henry to marble statues / modern media henry would be into / elaboration on camilla macaulay / will i be writing about other tsh characters? / tips on getting into classical studies / country house daydreams

˚₊· ❥ henry winter nsfw scenarios

general headcanons about henry's sexual preferences / summer thigh riding / car sex / study date sex / mating press position with henry / riding henry / scratching his back during intimacy / bondage with henry / henry being into bdsm / henry's dirty talk part one / henry's dirty talk part two / neck teasing & biting / henry and cnc / dumbification with henry / henry sucking his partner's fingers / sucking henry's fingers / henry & cigarettes after sex / henry physically responding to pleasure / henry being distracted by your moans while studying / henry & the smell of gasoline / henry muffling you due to your volume / relentlessly teasing henry / cockwarming during studying / sex at bunny's funeral / henry calling you 'good girl' / henry and aftercare / giving henry head to cure his headache / size kink with henry / ignoring henry while he gives you head / clit spanking with henry + coming from your clit being spanked / you and henry at the beach / doggy style position with henry / henry with an inexperienced partner / inexperienced henry with an experienced partner / being bratty with dom!henry + being bratty and fighting henry back / henry burning you with his cigarette / shotgunning a cigarette with henry / jacking henry off with pretty nails / henry using his diary for dirty entries in latin

-> own category — sub!henry: general headcanons / ignoring needy sub!henry / sub!henry punishing you back / making sub!henry beg + reaction to his begging / mirror in front of sub!henry / henry still being dominant while subbing

˚₊· ❥ henry winter sfw / mildly nsfw scenarios

henry & hanahaki disease au / henry with a polar opposite partner / henry with a partner similar to judy / spoiling his partner / getting off on spoiling his partner / enemies to lovers with henry / best friends to lovers with henry / academic rivals with henry / henry being soft(er) with his partner / henry during your period / henry's birthday party at francis' country estate / falling asleep on henry whilst reading / owning a locket with henry's face in it

˚₊· ❥ general satiric / amusing scenarios

gay hampden / list of pop culture scenarios flea wants the greek class to go through / henry holding a baby / playing roblox with the greek class / greek class barbenheimer feud / locking the greek class in a room with the percy jackson movies / the greek class' opinions on percy jackson / being locked in a room with henry / henry watching reality shows with you / henry turning up at your house / showing the greek class colleen ballinger's apology video / keeping the greek class in a glass terrarium / forgetting henry in the cereal isle at walgreens / the greek class being actual people (+ bunny shitting headcanon) / bunny possibly being okay (they revoked their statement) / henry writing smut in his diary

˚₊· ❥ henry winter scenarios inspired by songs

taylor swift — last kiss / taylor swift — illicit affairs / dead girl walking part one + part two

˚₊· ❥ bonus: prose and poetry shared by my saturn anon

one — marble / two — divinity / three — dancing in the rain / four — intimacy overseas