#but i will continue to call it lords in black song

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

of the stars, of the stars

cw. f!reader, pre-canon, pre-5.3, elder!reader, masters of the night-wind!reader, hurt and comfort, established relationship

pairing. citlali x reader

synopsis. you've known citlali for many moons and many stars. in over 200 years of knowing each other, this is probably the angriest you've been at her. (or, you and your dear friend become grandparents.)

notes. you can roll your neck and stomp your feet but this black girl last wrote a genshin fic in april. but this has been in my thoughts since playing the the 5.1 archon quest. yes, op fans, that was a heart of gold reference. yes, fmab fans, that was a bradley reference. divider by @/cafekitsune

"A gentle smile, a dignified smile, your adorable smile," you rasp, on the nth loop of your pacing in your front yard. How many times have you sung this song in the past 20 minutes? You stopped counting after 5 but still you had continued singing the only song that was able to stall the boy's tears. "Silver hearts and gold hearts, I'll give them all to you. Alchemy, Alchema. Hold the gold star-"

"That's not a song from the Masters."

With your song halted, you quickly adjust to bouncing the child in your arms. Yet your efforts were all for not and as the eruption of tears started once again, you can't stop yourself from groaning in frustration.

Recently fed, unsoiled diaper, no immediate signs for why he was unable to settle to settle down.

"Baby," you beg the boy with every fiber of your being to settle down for his nap. "We've been through this for the past hour! I can't keep singing, I have work to do!"

Balking at your sharp look, Citlali looks at you apologetically. "Sorry," she murmurs. In your chest, a flicker of upset stirs but it is not directed as the child in your arms. In Citlali's hands there is a basket filled to the brim with various goods ー loose cloth, seasonings, and what seems to be some sort of milk source among other things.

The goods do little to sway your mood.

You hold each other's gaze for one, two, three seconds before you shake your head with a huff, turning your gaze back on the brown-skinned boy in your arms. There's a pause, a shuffle before a pair of thin arms come into your line of sight. "Let me," it's practically a plea. "You look like you need a break."

A baby wailing in your ears, your eyes burning every time you blink. It's with your uncountable sigh of the afternoon that you relent. "Do what you will," you wave a hand uncaringly in the direction of your door steps. "Lord of the Night knows I'm exhausting my options."

Tenderly, the wolf-eared child is passed from your arms to Citlali's and she lowers herself even more cautiously as she sits where you've indicated.

A few whimpers, a hiccup and a tentative press into her chest and the child settles. Color you surprised, you silently release a breath and slide a hand across your face, fingers settling against your chin. Citlali looks more surprised than you, with her raised eyebrows and wide pupils. It's almost instinctive how the purple-haired woman looks up at you with a smile, it falters less than a second later.

Suddenly it's Citlali's gaze turning onto the baby boy who is finding the realm of dreams more interesting.

"Some of us have the gift," you grumble, turning to prod at what your oldest companion delivered. "Apparently I'm not one of them."

There's another pause. Only the occasional call of nearby iktomisaurs offer that much assistance.

You tilt and turn a jar of what you presume to be a jar of spices from Sumeru. You've enjoyed adding them to your cooking since you were 51 after meeting a traveling scholar from Sumeru studying Natlan's Ley Lines, or lack thereof. Nasrin, she was called. You met by coincidence at the Chuwen Fair and a friendship had been sparked.

How long it's been since then?

Citlali had been subjected to your experiments at making Sumeran cuisine once you'd returned home.

You set down the spice jar in exchange for a sachet that smells distinctively of dried windwheel asters and embercore flowers. An interesting combination but one you've been fond of the past few years after encountering an interesting character from Mondstadt, a hardy man named Varka. Your appreciation of Mondstadt's flora had been planted by him. You wonder how he's doing now.

Not everything in here is for the baby, you want to say. You brush your thumb against the purple-black of the fabric. "It's from the Children," you mutter instead and there's a sound of surprise. "The song," you clarify, returning the sachet from where you found it and you turn back around with your arms crossed. "My mother from the Children of Echoes used to sing it to me when I was a little girl. You're lucky, boy," you tell the sleeping child. "Growing up across two tribes, I've got plenty of stories for you and a variety of tunes."

Citlali's own smile returns albeit hesitantly, "I see." She hums a brief tune you're unable to discern. "I remember her visits. She came with your grandfather once, he scared me."

You can't help a chuckle, "everyone was scared of him until they talked to him." Even your mother from the Night-Winds long, long ago. You remember how you and Citlali had laughed at her recollection of meeting him the first time. How she apparently insisted he didn't like her while Mom insisted in return that it was just his face.

Mom's argument won.

It was just his face.

"I never thought he had a scary face until I got older," you admit, shaking your head in amusement. "Then I looked back on it and thought, 'maybe I can see what my friends were talking about'."

You share a laugh once again for a short moment before silence falls between you both once again. Smiles fade and it feels as cool as the Cryo Vision on Citlali's hip.

This is good, you want to think.

Everything worked out, you want to think.

Move past this.

Your fingers pinch your forehead. You've never been good at keeping your mouth shut, however. This is true even now as you finally, finally ask, "what on Teyvat were you thinking?"

You've known Citlali for many moons and many stars. She had been your first friend when you moved from your childhood home after it had been discovered you had natural talents as Spiritspeaker.

Was the one you endured years of rigorous training with.

Many of your friends and family are dead and gone. You've seen all of Natlan change in the years you've lived. Citlali has been one of the few things in your life that is as constant as the long-lived traditions of your tribe. Something that won't change for who knows how many centuries you may continue living.

She's your partner.

Wife.

The one you always return to.

("How can a hag whose barely home give me love advice?"

"Citlali is the woman I chose; there's nothing more that needs to be said between us. That's why we're the longest-lived couple in Natlan, brat.")

In over 200 years of knowing each other, this is probably the angriest you've been at her.

"You weren't here," she says softly, shrinking into herself.

"Did I have to be," you shoot back, just short of yelling. When the child stirs, your mouth clamps shut and you inhale deeply trying to calm yourself.

There are no lies in her words; you hadn't been there when this child with a fragmented soul had been discovered. Nor had you been there when Chief Masoro concocted their plan to sacrifice said child and decided to ask the opinions of the eldest members of the tribe.

You'd been off visiting the Children, visiting descendants of family long since past. You'd been off gallivanting with the Scions, exchanging cups with newly minted companions. You'd been off viewing the changes grand and miniscule that had accumulated over the decades in this country in which you were born. You'd been everywhere but home.

Sure as the leaves weave in whichever direction the wind blows, you go back and forth between holing up in your abode and traveling the land.

Uhuru.

Freedom.

As sure as the moon will rise you have oft lived up to your Ancient Name. You are no stranger to the unexpected, going with the flow much like a wayfinder navigates the tides. Perhaps that why you were gifted a Hydro Vision than what you expected would be Anemo.

Yet never in your wildest dreams did you imagine coming home to a failed ritual to make an infant a vessel for lost souls to return to the Night Kingdom. What's worse is that Citlali had nothing to stop it in your absence. "I didn't need to be here to tell you that was a terrible, horrific idea."

"I never said 'yes'," you know that tone. The one where she falters, unable to say what comes next and in spite of your fury, you are able to wait for what she says next. "But I never said 'no' either. I am… ashamed. And relieved. When it failed, I was so relieved," her shoulders shake and you don't need to see Citlali's face to know she is crying. "There's nothing I can do to take it back, but I'm still so relieved."

She's always been easy to cry whether angry or stressed. Crybaby Citlali, you'd occasionally tease her. That would get a minor hex tossed your way every time.

Even when you're upset with her, you can't stop yourself from lowering yourself to sit beside her. As if punishing herself, she doesn't move so you make the movement for her ー wrapping your arm around pale shoulders gingerly to tuck her into yourself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sniffs and you rest your head against pastel purple hair.

She weeps and weeps until the afternoon azure sky starts turning carmine and vermillion. Until there's nothing left for her to cry you sit with Citlali through it all.

"Sorry for not coming home sooner," you give her a gentle squeeze, not wanting to disturb the infant in her arms.

"I'm sorry for not telling Mosoro to wait until you were here to consult the both of us."

"I'm sorry for traveling so much."

"I'm sorry for-"

You stop the apology fest before Citlali can say anything else, "alright, I think we've apologized enough."

The laughter between you both is quiet but light, so is the tension that has heavily looming over you for the past week. "Fine," Citlali cedes. "You win. This time."

You snort wordlessly.

"And for Archon's sake," it's your wife's turn to huff, looking much more like her usual self. Blue eyes glare at you in amusement. "We need to name him already. You can't keep calling him 'Baby', what if he starts reacting to it?"

"Well why don't you come up with his name, O Wise One?"

Citlali is quick to snip that she will be naming the boy in your care. "Ororon," she says after a good five minutes have past. "Ororon is a powerful name. And he likes it, don't you, Ororon?"

He isn't even awake to hear it. "Yeah," you agree regardless. "He likes it. Granny Itztli picked out a good one for you." It's a big name for one so small, but you have no doubts the boy will one day grow into it. "We've really skipped some steps," the air is warm, unsurprising for the land of Pyro. But it's touch more hopeful than usual, like the atmosphere of the nation after another battle with the Abyss. Just as your people rebuild after every attack, the two of you can rebuild from this. "Normally people have kids before they start having grandchildren. The arcane arts never prepared us for this."

Citlali stifles a yawn, "no, no it hasn't."

[bliklotepblogs]

no thoughts only WHATEVER WE WANT WE WANT WE WANT WHATEVER WE WANT WE GET WHATEVER WE WANT WE WANT WE WANT FOREVER IN OUR DEBT

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: August 8

“Big Black Car" by Gregory Alan Isakov

[fatkish]

Aizawa reacts to his student reader getting tortured ? Mayb they both god kidnapped by a villain while interning or smthing. Random thought that popped into my brain -🐶

I had another request that asked for a reader’s death so I hope you don’t mind that I’m going to combine the two requests.

Aizawa x Student Reader Angst

If I die Young

You and Aizawa had been working on a case involving human trafficking and missing persons from across the globe. A group of villains had been trafficking young women and you guys had supposedly found the abandoned warehouse on the fishing docks that they were using as a hideout. You decided to scope out the place without Aizawa or any backup. You scaled the roof and carefully walked atop it, careful not to make too much noise and alert any bad guys. As you walked along the roof you saw a skylight and ducked into the corner and peered into the place.

You saw a bunch of girls, maybe 15-23 in age range and about 13 of them. They were wearing the torn and dirty clothes they were likely captured in and were chained up using quirk restraining cuffs. You looked around and saw that the coast was clear. There wasn’t any bad guys in sight so they must not be here. You carefully opened the skylight and quietly and quickly descended into the warehouse and walked over to the girls.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re safe now, I’m going to free you.” You instructed the girls on how to get out of the warehouse and gave them specific instructions on how to get back to the main road where people are. You told them to call the police as soon as they got to the main road and you gave them a bit of money to use a pay phone if needed. Once you got the last girl freed from her cuffs, you helped lead them through the warehouse and buildings towards the road. As you and the girls were nearing the exit to the docks, you saw a black van drive in and you told the girls to not move.

Realizing the kidnappers had returned, you waited for them to pass before you handed your phone to one of the older girls and told her to call the police and tell them their location and to send Eraserhead and any other pros available, and that a (hero name) needs assistance. You told the girls to run and that you would distract the traffickers while the girls got to safety.

You ran back to the warehouse and entered it to find the traffickers.

“It’s too late, the girls have been rescued and heroes are on their way. It’s over.” You stood in the doorway of the warehouse, the traffickers turned towards you as they were clearly angry about losing the girls. You watched as they pulled out their weapons and a fight began. You tried to fight and hold them off but three against one isn’t a fair fight. As you fought, you got more cuts and scrapes and one of them even stabbed you in the shoulder. As you fought against them you started to realize that this could very well be the end for you. As you were struggling with one of the guys, you failed to see another pull out a gun. You didn’t know what had happened until you heard three loud bangs and felt pain in your stomach.

You looked down to see red spots start to bloom like peonies on your abdomen. Still, even with the pain you continued to fight, knowing that you needed to stall for as much time as possible.

(Play song)

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

Oh-oh, oh-oh

As you tried to fight, your movements became slow and sluggish. You were getting beat and hit a lot more now. You almost didn’t see the flashing red and blue lights. Your vision was blurry and you could hardly stand, as you fell back, a pair of strong arms caught you.

“(Hero name)! (Hero name), just hang on kid” you knew that voice. That’s the voice of your grumpy teacher Mr. Aizawa. You opened you eyes to see that you were in your teacher’s arms.

Lord, make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother

She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors

Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no

Ain't even gray, but she buries her baby

The sharp knife of a short life

Well, I've had just enough time

Aizawa couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be true. His student, was in his arms, bleeding out and on death’s doorstep. He looked at the wounds, knowing rationally that you had already lost too much blood, but emotionally, he wanted to save you.

“Please stay with me (hero name), it’s going to be alright, the paramedics are on their way, just hold on, please”

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

The sharp knife of a short life

Well, I've had just enough time

You smiled up at your teacher. His eyes were watering up with tears as you shakily held one of his hands. He tried to apply pressure to your wounds to stop the bleeding. With a soft smile you gazed up at Aizawa and spoke to him, knowing each word could be your last.

“It’s okay Eraserhead, don’t blame yourself for anything. You and I both know I won’t make it to the hospital in time…so just listen to me… thank you for everything… for being an amazing teacher and for looking out for me…don’t… don’t let.. my death… be a sad thing…. Don’t mourn my death…. Don’t focus on the loss…. Instead, celebrate the fact that I lived…. Life is short…. And tomorrow isn’t a promise, so live…. Live with meaning, live so that you don’t have any regrets….. I don’t regret….. what I did…..”

And I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom

I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger

I've never known the lovin' of a man

But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand

There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever

Who would have thought forever could be severed by

The sharp knife of a short life

Well, I've had just enough time

As you closed your eyes, Aizawa couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He held you tight as your words sank in. Soon the other hero’s arrested the traffickers and the paramedics came and hoisted your body onto a gurney and drove to the closest hospital.

So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls

What I never did is done

A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar

They're worth so much more after I'm a goner

And maybe then you'll hear the words I've been singin'

Funny when you're dead, how people start listenin'

In the hospital, Aizawa waited outside your room as your parents came. Your mother was in tears and your father was silent. They entered your room as Aizawa could only stand there and watch as your parents grieved and cried over the loss of their beloved child. Aizawa couldn’t help but remember Oboro, his high school friend. He clenched his fists as he heard you mother’s cries.

If I die young, bury me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song

Oh-oh, (oh-oh)

After Aizawa got home, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and he cried over the loss of his student. He blamed himself for your death. He shouldn’t have let you go alone to scope out the warehouse. He should have gone with you. How was he supposed to tell the class that you died. What would he say. As he sat there the reality of your death slowly sunk in. He’ll never get to see you graduate. You won’t be there in class tomorrow, you won’t be in school ever again. He would never grade another of your papers. You’d never be able to make a name for yourself or start your own agency. You’ll never get to have your first taste of alcohol. You’ll never be able to get married or have kids of your own. All your hopes and dreams were gone, along with you.

The ballad of a dove

Go with peace and love

Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket

Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em, oh

The sharp knife of a short life

Well, I've had just enough time

As time passed, your funeral was set and of course. aizawa went to it. He was terrified that your parents wouldn’t let him say his goodbye but he was surprised when they welcomed him and politely asked if he would be able to talk about you, talk about how you were as a student. They didn’t want to pressure him if he didn’t feel up to it, but he believed it was the least he could do.

As Aizawa spoke about how you were as a student. He spoke about how he enjoyed having you in class, how you were a bright student and had a bunch of potential. He talked about how he watched you grow stronger. After he spoke, he placed a single white lily in your hand. And as the funeral ended, he watched as your casket was lowered into the ground and dirt was placed atop it. Slowly covering your casket. Aizawa would never forget you, as long as he lived, he’d remember the student that he lost.

So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls

(Oh my gosh, I cried while writing this. I hoped you liked it.)

[mcdynamite]

When everything settles down after Vecnapocalypse, Steve gets a call from the athletic director at Hawkins High School, and a day later, he accepts a part-time position as the assistant coach of the Hawkins High varsity basketball team.

Lucas is obviously stoked, and the other kids concede (after a few minutes of bemoaning Steve's return to the Dark Side) that it's a perfect job for him. Robin screeches with delight, and Nancy tells him she's proud of him, and Jonathan thumps him on the back with a quiet, "Congrats, man," and Eddie?

Well, Eddie just rolls his eyes and makes a joke about the Return of the King that goes right over Steve's head (but has the kids and, wouldn't ya know it, Nancy, grinning) and doesn't say much else.

It's probably stupid, but Eddie has actually (horrifyingly) grown to like hanging out with Steve. Sure, he knows next to nothing about D&D or Lord of the Rings or metal music, but that doesn't seem to matter all that much. He still listens to Eddie rant about all of those aforementioned interests and does his best to understand, even if he doesn't particularly care about the content of Eddie's latest campaign. He lets Eddie play Dio and Metallica and Black Sabbath for him, and even though Eddie can tell he's not really into most of their music, at the end of his "Musication" he gives Eddie a list of the songs he actually liked, so they have some stuff to listen to when they hang out that won't make one of them want to puncture their own eardrums.

He even looks genuinely apologetic (and, dare Eddie say, disappointed?) when he tells Eddie that it's not that he doesn't want to read Lord of the Rings. It's just that he can't, because reading is really fucking hard when the letters won't stop jumping all over the damn place.

The point is: Eddie likes Steve. He likes Steve's sarcastic quips and his attentiveness, and his hilarious but well-meaning and frighteningly successful mothering of the teenagers they apparently co-parent. Eddie likes Steve, and he likes being his friend, and he's afraid that this stupid Assistant Coach job will end up dragging Steve headfirst back into his King Steve days, and Steve will forget all about being friends with Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

It's so, so stupid, because while Eddie likes Steve, he also knows Steve, and he knows that Steve isn't the guy who used to hang around the Tommy Hagans of the world anymore. But the fear is there, and it's still there by the time the school year starts and Steve starts getting busy "prepping" for his new job, which... what? The basketball season doesn't start until January, so what the hell kind of prep would Steve be starting in August?

Eddie wonders, but he doesn't ask. He just anxiously waits to see if Steve will eventually decide to ditch him, and he continues to be quietly delighted when Steve always, always makes time for the two of them to hang out.

The thought of Steve going back into jock-mode still makes him kinda sick, but he'll never tell Steve that. Steve is way too excited for the start of the basketball season, and Eddie is gonna support him the same way Steve supports Eddie at his Corroded Coffin concerts: with begrudging interest and genuine pride, so help him God.

It goes on like this until one day, Eddie's begrudging interest suddenly becomes a little more genuine, when he accidentally stumbles upon what Steve meant for the last three months whenever he said he was "prepping for the season." 

He's got plans to hang out with Steve that afternoon, pulling up in his van fifteen minutes late because time management has never been one of his strong suits. Only, when he gets to Casa Harrington, he notices something strange. The garage is open.

The thing is, Steve always parks the Beemer in the driveway. He never uses the garage. Actually, Eddie didn't even realize Steve had a garage at all, until now, but he hears some clanging coming from inside and goes to investigate. He walks past the Beemer (parked in the driveway where it always is) and peers inside, expecting to maybe find Steve... repairing something? Reorganizing? Honestly, he has no clue what he thinks he'll find in there.

What he definitely doesn't expect to find is Steve Harrington in the middle of what appears to be a pretty fucking intense workout – hair and tank top damp with sweat, wearing frankly indecently short shorts, and breathing steadily as he does fucking pull-ups on the bar in his garage, which has apparently been converted into a whole goddamn home gym.

Eddie stops in his tracks and stares, affording himself a moment or two to have a teeny, tiny (enormous) crisis over it.

Steve hasn't noticed him yet, and Eddie can't tear his stupid eyes away from the way Steve's arms tremble from the exertion as he pulls himself up, face pinched into a concentrated frown. Eddie can see him gritting his teeth, can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining a little bit. Even worse, every time Steve lowers himself down, his stupid tank top rides up just enough to expose the (not at all soft, apparently) plains of his stomach, glistening with sweat, and God, Eddie wants to lick Steve fucking Harrington's abs like a-

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ, fucking shit, NO.

Listen... It's not like Eddie hasn't already known for years that he's gay. He's been fully aware of that since middle school. It's the reason his dad kicked him out and sent him to live with Wayne, for fuck's sake. It's just that Eddie has put a lot of effort into pretending his thoughts about Steve Harrington were totally, completely, 100% platonic up until this point, and now he can feel all of that hard work going down the metaphorical drain.

He stands there, stock still with his jaw hinged open, and stares while his brain melts out of his ears and his thoughts begin to race. God, those fucking arms. Eddie's not weak, but he's definitely weaker than Steve, which means Steve could definitely pin Eddie down if he wanted to. In a bed. Against the wall. On the hood of a car. Fuck, on the goddamn floor – Eddie's not picky! All he knows is that he wants Steve to leave the workout for later so Eddie can lick the sweat off of him, which... gross. But also hot. But also-

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. How does one talk to the sun?

Steve has noticed him standing there, obviously, which sort of makes Eddie wonder how long he's been staring. Time stopped in Eddie's world the moment a sweaty Steve Harrington entered his field of vision, so he truly has no idea how bad his staring got.

Christ, this is going to be so bad.

So, so bad.

"Eds?" Steve says, his face pinching into a frown. "You okay?"

Oh my god, you moron, say something! Eddie's brain screams at him.

"What?" Smooth. "Uh, yeah! Totally fine. Just, y'know, like, lost in thought, or whatever. Plotting my next demonic attempt at world domination. The usual."

Steve looks at him like he's grown a second head, which... is fair. But Eddie's fumbling attempt at speech is at least embarrassing enough to take precedence over the cacophonous sound of whatever Ode to Abs his mind was attempting to compose, and Eddie feels like he can think a little more clearly.

"Ah, fuck," Eddie mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs and looks at Steve apologetically. "I'm sorry, dude. I swear I'm fine. It's just been a weird day."

Steve cocks his head to the side like a particularly inquisitive puppy, and oh God, it's adorable. Eddie loathes how adorable it is. "Good weird?" Steve asks. "Or bad weird?"

Eddie ponders his answer for a moment, then replies with, "Weird weird."

That's enough to startle a laugh out of Steve, who shakes his head and wraps a towel around his neck. "Fair enough, man. Sorry about all of this, by the way." He gestures vaguely towards the home gym in his garage and shrugs sheepishly. "I was gonna be done before you got here but I sorta... lost track of time, I guess." He's got an unreadable look on his stupidly beautiful face, and Eddie doesn't like that at all. He doesn't like that one bit.

But he decides not to overthink it and brushes Steve's apology off with a wave of his hand. "It's whatever, dude. Might wanna shower, though." The ‘otherwise I might take it upon my gay little self to lick you clean’ is left blessedly unsaid.

Steve laughs again, and just like that, things start to feel a bit less earth-shattering. They banter for a bit longer, then Steve really does go to take a quick shower, and they spend the rest of the night lying on the floor of Steve's living room, listening to the metal mix tape they made together and bitching about their brood of teenagers.

Weirdly, though, after that day, Steve seems to be working out a lot more frequently. As in almost every single time he and Eddie have plans. Day after day, Eddie is treated to the sight of Steve Harrington looking like a goddamn Greek god, and day after day, Steve catches his eye and smiles before abandoning his equipment and acting like Eddie's world hasn't been completely turned on its head.

It's starting to drive him kind of insane, honestly, and his pining has gotten so bad that even Gareth and Jeff know.

"He's just so pretty!" Eddie whines for what feels like the thousandth time.

His band mates simply exchange a long-suffering look and let him ramble.

It all comes to a head in November, just before Thanksgiving, when Eddie shows up and once again finds Steve finishing a workout. Just like always, Steve shoots him a good-natured grin and greets him before heading inside for a quick shower, and just like always, Eddie waits downstairs.

NOT like always, however, this time Steve comes jogging down the stairs with wet hair, wearing a pair of joggers and... absolutely nothing else.

It's been a long time since Eddie last saw Steve without a shirt on (since the day at Lover's Lake when they found watergate, to be precise), and suddenly Eddie is remembering why he'd immediately pulled out a cigarette to calm down that day. Only this time it's even worse, because Steve has really been putting effort into these workouts, and it shows.

His chest is toned and covered in coarse hair that Eddie kind of wants to tug on, just to see what sort of sounds Steve would make if he did. He's got the makings of an honest-to-God six pack just barely visible on his abdomen, partially obscured by scars Eddie recognizes from looking at his own in the mirror. Steve's are slightly smaller and not as deep, but they clearly came from the same sets of tiny jaws, and Eddie finds them weirdly comforting, these matching scars that they share. Steve's look pale in contrast against his skin, and God, Eddie just wants to kiss them. He wants to worship them and every other inch of the man who bears them.

The man who definitely just said something Eddie didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to pass out from mere proximity to something so beautiful.

"Sorry, what?" Eddie asks, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

Steve smirks, but Eddie can see the soft fondness in his eyes when he cocks his head to the side and repeats the words Eddie missed the first time. "I asked if you see something you like, Munson," Steve teases, one hand carding wet hair out of his face, and Eddie just blinks at him.

Play it off, play it off, play it off, his brain supplies helpfully. He can totally play this off. Dudes stare at their friends’ chests all the time, right?

"What?" he practically squeaks. "I- well... no, wait, um... ah, fuck."

So much for plausible deniability.

He's just beginning to feel vaguely panicky when Steve seems to catch on, and he's right in front of Eddie in an instant, concerned, hazel eyes gazing down at Eddie's grimacing face.

"Hey," Steve says, reaching out like he wants to touch Eddie but thinks better of it. "It's okay, man. You're okay. I'm just messing with you."

The impact of his words is instant, and Eddie can feel his face heating up. Of course Steve was joking. God, Eddie is such an idiot.

"Right," Eddie says, voice strained. He rubs his face with both hands, shaking his head lightly. "Duh. Obviously you were teasing." His voice sounds strange even to his own ears, and he's got a weird feeling of anticipation in his stomach that tells him that he's already shown too many of his cards.

"I mean, yeah..." Steve says, seeming nervous for the first time since Eddie got here. His hands flit from the back of his neck to his hair to his waist, like he doesn't know what to do with them. "Teasing is, like, flirting 101, so..."

Eddie freezes.

"Oh my God, wait..." he says slowly, finally daring to meet Steve's confused eyes. "Flirting?"

Steve looks utterly perplexed now, and he does that thing where he cocks his head to the side in confusion. 

It's still adorable. Fuck, why is it so adorable? 

"Um... yes?" He studies Eddie, seems to register the shock on his face, and then matches it with shock of his own. "Wait, you didn't know? I thought you knew!"

"I most certainly did not!" Eddie counters, feeling a bit like he's having an out-of-body experience.

"Oh my God," Steve says. "Oh my God, Eddie, I've been flirting with you for, like, months!"

"Months?!" Eddie's voice has officially reached the stratosphere.

"Yes!" Steve yelps. He looks torn between laughing and crying, though Eddie thinks it'll be mildly hilarious no matter what choice he makes. "Jesus, dude, I winked at you while I was doing pull-ups last week! What did you think that was?"

"A hallucination!" Eddie says immediately. "You're straight, Harrington!"

At that, Steve snorts, then shakes his head.

Eddie's pretty sure his brain is melting by now.

"Yeah, um, no," Steve says firmly. "I'm definitely not straight."

"You... I... What? Since when?"

"Well..." Steve begins, briefly glancing away. "Since forever, technically. Probably. But officially, since that time I made out with Tommy H. after we got wasted at a party sophomore year. And if that wasn't enough proof, I think the amount of time I’ve spent staring at your ass lately definitely is."

Eddie stares at him. "Am I dead?" he asks dumbly. "Is this Heaven? Am I having a fucking stroke?"

Steve's laughter is bright when it rings through his living room, and Eddie is grateful when Steve carefully raises a hand to cup his cheek, because the soft touch is grounding in the best way. 

"Definitely not dead, Eds," Steve says. "And shit, I hope you're not having a stroke. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Eddie just blinks at him, because Steve has one hand on Eddie's cheek and the other on Eddie's arm, and he's definitely not holding up any fingers. "Zero, Harrington, what the fuck?" he says weakly.

Steve laughs – no, scratch that, he giggles. He fucking giggles. 

If Eddie isn't dead yet, he's about to be. 

"Good. See?" Steve says. "Not having a stroke."

"I don't think that's how strokes work, dude," Eddie says weakly.

"No?" Steve asks, though he's still smiling, and he looks wholly unbothered by Eddie's doubting of his medical prowess.

Eddie shakes his head, eyes wide as Steve huffs out a laugh and slips an arm around his waist to pull him closer. They're practically chest to chest now, and Eddie is suddenly reminded of how very shirtless Steve currently is. He's mildly horrified by the way his hands tremble slightly when he rests them flat against the center of Steve's chest, but it's not like anyone can blame him! He's only ever kissed a couple of people before, and now he's somehow found himself in the arms of a half naked Steve Harrington. So, yeah, he's feeling a little jittery. Sue him.

If Steve notices the jitters, though, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he gives Eddie a soft, disarming smile that makes Eddie feel pathetically weak at the knees. "So..." Steve says, cheeks turning a pretty pink color. "Hi."

A slightly manic bark of laughter bursts from Eddie's lungs, but it only seems to make Steve smile wider. "Yeah, hi, Stevie," Eddie breathes. 

And then he nearly stops breathing completely when Steve's thumb drags gently across his cheek. It's such a sweet gesture that Eddie thinks he might melt right into the floorboards.

"So..." Steve murmurs again, gaze not leaving Eddie's. "It has recently been brought to my attention that you didn't realize I was flirting with you this whole time."

Eddie doesn't need a mirror to know that his face flushes bright red at Steve's words.

"But I have been," Steve continues. He bites his lip, almost like he's nervous, which is ridiculous because what the fuck is there about Eddie that could be making Steve Harrington nervous right now? "Like, I've been doing it constantly, because you're funny, and sweet, and sort of adorable, but also kinda hot? Y'know, because you have the tattoos and stuff, and you're all dramatic all the time, and it's hot, but then sometimes you do that thing where you hide your face behind your hair, and it's so fucking cute, Eddie, I mean..."

Steve trails off, cheeks growing even pinker after seemingly realizing that he's been rambling, and Eddie feels like he's going insane.

"Anyway," Steve says, clearing his throat. "I like you, Eddie. Like, a lot. And I've sort of been dying to kiss you for, like, months, so-"

Eddie never lets Steve finish his sentence, because the moment the word kiss leaves his mouth, Eddie is leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a soft, fleeting kiss that's over far too fast.

So fast, in fact, that it takes a moment for reality to catch up to Eddie afterwards. He's already pulling away by the time it hits him: he just kissed Steve Harrington.

He, Eddie fucking Munson, just kissed Steve fucking Harrington.

"Holy shit," Eddie mutters, gaze flitting back and forth between Steve's wide eyes. "Holy shit."

There's a brief pause, and then Steve starts to laugh.

It starts as a soft chuckle and slowly transforms into bright, elated laughter that echoes off the walls and bathes the whole room in sunlight, never mind the rainy day outside. It's light and happy and beautiful, and Eddie unfreezes after a moment to add his own laughter to the mix. He drops his head onto Steve's shoulder, a shiver running down his spine when Steve's arms come around him automatically, like they were made to fit together like this.

Eddie wonders if maybe they were.

When their laughter finally dies down, Steve carefully pulls back just enough to meet Eddie's eyes again, and Eddie smiles shyly up at him.

"Sorry," Eddie says without a hint of guilt in his voice. "You said the word kiss and I panicked."

Steve just shakes his head and grins. "See? Like I said - adorable." One of his hands raises to cradle Eddie's cheek again, and Eddie doesn't hesitate before leaning into the touch. "But if it's okay with you," Steve says softly, “I'd really like to give you a proper kiss, now."

And yep, it's official. Steve Harrington is going to be the death of him.

Eddie can't fucking wait.

He nods and lets his gaze flit down to Steve's lips for a fraction of a second before Steve is closing the distance between them, and oh... this is so much better than the quick, vaguely frantic press of lips they exchanged only a few moments ago. Eddie takes back every judgemental comment he's ever made about the girls who were obsessed with Steve Harrington in high school, because he gets it now.

Oh, God, he gets it.

Because Steve kisses him, soft and sure, like Eddie is the only thing that matters in all the world. It's gentle and sweet and perfect – not an ounce of hesitation in the way Steve slots their lips together. And then Steve just... stays there, like he's giving Eddie a moment to catch up, to process what's happening.

He's so goddamn patient – so fucking kind – and Christ, Eddie adores him for it.

Steve pulls back just enough to break the kiss, and Eddie doesn't whine. He doesn't. But it's okay, because Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long, threading his fingers through Eddie's curls and using them as leverage to tug him even closer into a kiss that turns Eddie's legs to jelly. Steve's tongue slides against Eddie's so beautifully, and his hands are so strong, and he smells like lemony soap and minty toothpaste (did Steve brush his teeth after showering? God, he's ridiculous. He’s perfect.) and Eddie can feel the muscles in Steve's chest shift whenever they move, and, and, and...

And yeah, this time when Steve pulls away, breath coming quicker and eyes shining with happiness, Eddie does whine. Or maybe it's a whimper. Maybe it's both. Christ, Eddie doesn't care. He'll keep making that noise forever if Steve keeps looking at him like this.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes. He knows he probably looks embarrassingly awestruck, but he can't find it in himself to care. "How are you so fucking hot, Steve? What the fuck?" His face is on fire, but Steve just laughs – nope, there's that giggle again – and kisses Eddie's forehead.

Eddie's pretty sure he's melting, but honestly? Worth it.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Steve teases, "but I've actually been working out a lot lately..."

Not even Eddie's lovesickness could protect Steve from the playful smack he gets for that.

"Did I notice?" Eddie huffs. "You're the worst, Harrington."

Steve just smiles and kisses him again.

[mcuamerica]

The Pine

Summary: You’ve sought after Eris for a long long time, but what happens when you confess and he rejects you? Requested by @thatredheadwithglasses here.

Pairings: RhysSister!Reader x Eris, RhysSisterReader x Azriel (Best Friend/FWB)

Warnings: 18+ only, alludes to sex, ANGST, fluff, let me know if anything was forgotten...

Word Count: 4.9k

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Eris Masterlist

graphics from @saradika-graphics

You spent years and years watching Eris. You would see him at balls and meetings, always glancing at him from a distance. One specific time, when your brother was distracted with one of the High Lords, you were able to approach him.

Your favorite song was playing, you had a long silver dress on that your mother made for you before she died. "Eris," You said, a seductive draw to your voice.

"Princess," Eris smirked. "You look lovely this evening." He said.

“You don’t look so bad yourself. Though, I have to say, the black pants don’t look as good as the brown ones.” You teased.

The smirk grew on his face. “How much time have you spent staring at my pants, Princess?” He asked.

Ignoring his question, you continued with your self-given mission. “I think a Night Court and Autumn Court is feasible. We might be able to bring peace.”

“And how would we do that?” He asked, turning towards you.

You lifted your head to look into those amber eyes, your heart rate picking up. “It starts with a dance.” You said confidently, not breaking his gaze.

The fire in his eyes brightened as he held a hand out. “May I have this dance, Princess?” He asked.

You took it and smiled. “Of course, my lord.” You said and followed him to the center of the dance floor.

As Eris spun you to the steps of the music, he felt it snap. Just as you faced him, a smile bright on your face, it blinded him. You blinded him. Your beauty was intensified, your laugh heightened his senses ten fold. And your scent. Cauldron, your scent. Of early morning, crisp leaves, and a soft hint of cinnamon. Not a scent from an Illyrian or Princess of the Night Court, but of the Autumn Court. How had he never caught it before?

Just as quick as it snapped, you were being pulled away by Rhysand. Eris let out a soft growl at the sight of another male touching you, even if it was your brother. Before Eris could follow, Beron came up to him and pulled him away.

He knew it didn’t snap for you, even as you still looked towards him. You fought with your brother, saying something that was drowned out by the growing silence in his head. And then you disappeared, winnowing out from the ball and away from Eris. But your scent lingered in the air. And as Rhys set his eyes on Eris, he knew he would never be able to tell you. Not just because his father would use you against him, but because Rhysand would never allow it.

You groaned as you slammed your bedroom door behind you, unpinning your curls and tugging at the straps of your dress. You muttered to yourself until Azriel appeared on the other side of the door.

“May I come in and help?” He called out.

You let out another groan, but begrudgingly opened the door. “Untie this dress before I rip it to shreds.” You said, turning around.

Azriel let out a soft chuckle and slowly untied it. This was normal for the two of you, being so comfortable with one another that you didn’t care if he saw you in your undergarments. Once the dress pooled at your feet, you changed into your night clothes. A loose fitting pair of green pants and white shirt.

“Will you say what’s bothering you?” He asked, leaning against the door.

Another groan fell from your lips as you plopped down on your giant bed. Fit for an Illyrian with wings. Which you did not have anymore. “My brother, that’s what. He treats me like a child too often. As if I can’t make my own decisions and live my own life.” You said, throwing your hands up.

“Rhys is just trying to protect you,” Azriel said.

“I don’t need protecting! I’m perfectly capable of doing it on my own.” You said, a pang of guilt crushing your heart when Azriel glanced behind you. To where your wings would have been. “I was a child when that happened.” You growled.

“I know. But Rhys still sees you as that girl that was hurt and on the brink of death.” He said. “But… what was he keeping you from this time?” He asked.

“Dancing.” You simply said, knowing Azriel wouldn’t like the thought of you around Eris. No one would.

“Dancing? Did you take your dress off and do it in front of all the High Lords?” He asked. Az could have easily asked Rhys to show him mind to mind, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“It may have been with… the Heir of the Autumn Court.” You mumbled, looking down at your feet.

“You were dancing with Eris? Why?” Azriel insisted, walking closer to you.

When you looked up, you could tell he was more tense. “Because I like him, Az.” You admitted.

“How could you like-“

“He’s been nothing but kind to me.” You stated, standing up from your bed. “I can’t help… anytime I’m in a room with him I feel this tug. I don’t think it’s the mating bond because it hasn’t snapped. And I’ve known him for a century… but honestly I feel like I can’t stop from going to him. And I know what he did… or didn’t do… to Mor. But she never tells more of the story and neither does he.” You said. “I like him and I can’t even try to explore what that means because my brother is a flying bat who can’t leave me alone.” You said.

“How can you like him?” Azriel finished his question.

“How do you feel when you look at Mor?” You asked, knowing the Shadowsinger’s want for your cousin.

He paused and then sighed. “Like when I’m away from her I can’t breathe, and when I’m with her it’s easier. When I see her.. hear her speak… my day is so much better.” He said.

“That’s how I feel about Eris.” You said. “But I can’t do anything about it. Rhys would probably kill him before letting him touch me again.” You said, settling back on your bed.

Azriel sighed, hating to see his best friend so upset. He walked over, sitting next to you. “I’ll make a pact with you.” He said. “I’ll help you talk to Eris more… if you help me find out why Mor is so destined to ignore me.”

You looked up at him and nodded. “I can do that… but not a bargain. I hate them.” You said.

Azriel laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you close to him. “No bargains from me. Just friendship.”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him, but eventually settled into him. “It’s a pact.” You said, leaning your head on his chest. “Stay here tonight?” You asked.

Azriel smiled down at you and squeezed her shoulder. “Always.”

You hated this wretched place. As a child of the Night Court, you normally thrived in the dark. But this dark was different. With Amarantha's reign, there was no light in sight. No way out. Other than the girl your brother was obsessed with helping, much to your dismay. You knew if he were caught, you would be the first to die at Amarantha's hand. But nonetheless, he still helped Feyre. Even if she was your only chance at salvation.

Your thoughts swirled with your family as you sipped the wine. You watched as Rhys had Feyre on his lap, a scowl on your face. You couldn't understand why he was doing this to her, maybe to truly solidify the mask of a cruel male. But either way, seeing a drunk human on his lap made your stomach churn.

And then there was the red-headed Heir of Autumn that caught your eye. And your stomach fluttered at the sight of him. Even Under the Mountain, he never lost that cool demeanor or his fiery side. Under it, you knew was the Eris you used to see at parties when you were young. The Eris that would dance until the sun came up and made sure you had enough water. The one you had fallen in love with.

You watched as he walked towards the housing quarters, towards his own room. You got up, stumbling slightly from the amount of wine you indulged in. You gave your brother a wave and trailed after Eris, eventually knocking on his door.

When he opened it, you saw his expression soften. His cold exterior melted away at the sight of you. Or maybe that was your drunken daze.

"Eris," You mumbled, smiling up at him. He glanced down the hallway and ushered you in his room.

"How much of that wine did you drink?" He asked.

"Oh, just a glass. Or five." You said and giggled at his shocked expression. "There is no other thing to do in this gods forsaken place. So I drink." You said, your hands going up. "But that's not why I'm here." You said and stumbled closer to him.

As his hands caught your arms, holding you steady, your heart faltered. Oh to be held like this for the rest of your life.

"What is it?" He asked, concern etched in his features.

"I love you, Eris." You said, a hiccup coming from your mouth as you reached for his cheek. "I've loved you for so long. For centuries. And I can't go another day in this mountain without telling you. Without seeking the happiness that you bring me every time I see you." You said, leaning up closer to him.

"You're drunk." Is all he responded. Were there tears in his eyes? Your own were blurry from the wine, so you couldn't tell. Did his voice waver?

"I'm drunk. But I love you." You said, resting your hand on his chest Was his heart quicker than normal? Or was that yours?

"Your brother would kill me if he found out."

"My brother is too concerned with warming the bed of the enemy and getting humans drunk to notice me." You said. Your words were harsh, but you didn't care. Not if it meant convincing Eris to take you as his. The thought of you in his arms at night brought a whole bloom of feelings to your chest. "And it wouldn't matter. Because I love you. And who is he to deny me who I love?" You whispered, tears forming in your eyes. Was he crying too? Maybe you shouldn't have had that last glass of wine...

Eris stayed silent, then stepped out of your grasp. "You should go." He said. Was that another waver? Did his voice crack?

"Eris-"

"I don't love you, (Y/N)." Not princess. Not the nickname he's called you since childhood. Just your name.

"Eris... Please.." Tears streamed down your face now.

"Go. (Y/N)." Maybe his voice did crack. Maybe you heard a gasp for air as you pivoted on your feet and stormed out of the room, but you wouldn't know. Because the male you loved just broke your heart into a million pieces. And you weren't sure if you could piece them back together.

Your sword clanged against Azriel's as you fought through the memories of the past three centuries. How could you be so stupid in thinking that the Heir of Autumn would love you? Why would you even think you had a chance? Why were you such an idiot to tell him you loved him? And why, by the Cauldron, why were you still upset about it?

"Okay, stop." Azriel breathed out, stepping back as you swung your sword again, causing you to stumble.

"What?" You growled out.

"Something is wrong. And you're going to tell me before we continue." He said, setting his sword in the weapons stand and crossing his arms.

Sometimes, you thought it would be easier to just love Azriel the way you loved Eris. And while you thought Azriel was very, very attractive, you knew he was just your best friend. A very hot and sexy best friend, but that was all.

You staked your sword in the ground and stomped over to the water area, getting yourself a glass. "Nothing is wrong." You said after downing a glass.

"No? Then why are you making your 'someone is going to die and I'm going to kill them' face?" He asked.

You gasped and narrowed your eyes at him. "I have no such face." You said.

A smirk danced on Azriel's lips. "You're making it right now." He said.

Gods, did you just get really hot or was it from the training. That smirk on Az's face would be the death of you.

"I- I'm fine, Azriel." You said, your tone defeated as you slid down to sit on the ground. "Just some stupid memories I can't get out of my head."

"About?"

You hesitated, then looked up at him. "Eris." You muttered. "I, when I was drunk, told him I loved him." You said and shook your head. "And I was an idiot because he clearly didn't love me back. And now every time I think about it, I want to vomit and kill him at the same time."

Azriel came over to you, kneeling in front of you. "(Y/N), first of all, he's the idiot." Azriel said, resting a hand on your knee. "Second of all, if you want to kill him for not loving you, I will help you. But I think that would just hurt more than help." He said.

Tears were now welled in your eyes. "I wish I could love you." You whispered. "It would be so much easier."

A small smile came to his lips. "I know, but I think we both know way too much about each other to truly be partners." He said, nudging your arm.

You let out a watery laugh, taking his hand as he offered it. "Maybe.. but maybe.. it could help to be something more than just friends?" You suggested, resting a hand on Azriel's chest.

"Maybe one day. But I'm not going to do anything with you until you move on from this heartbreak." He said, pressing a soft kiss to your head. "Now let's keep training."

"Shit, Azriel!" You moaned as he brought you to your climax for the second time of the night.

As he pulled out of you, you let out a gasp. "Please tell me that's all for today. I'm too tired to continue." You muttered as he got up to grab a wet cloth.

A soft chuckle came from him lips as he cleaned the two of you up. "I promise, (Y/N), that's it." He said, collapsing on top of you when he tossed the cloth aside.

You giggled as you tried to push him off. "Azriel, come on." You laughed and nudged him again. Another laugh fell from his lips before he rolled off you, instead pulling you close to him.

"Wouldn't it be so much easier if this was normal for us?" He asked.

"Hmm.. if we loved each other like that, yes. It would be very easy." You said.

"About that..." He trailed off.

Your eyes snapped to his, frowning slightly. "Don't tell me you love me." You said.

He smiled and shook his head. "No... Not romantically... Though we do have really good sex." He said.

You nudged him and rolled out of his grasp. "What is it?" You asked.

"I think this should end." Azriel said. "So you don't fall in love with me." He joked, but was holding something else back.

"Ah yes, a little sex from the Spymaster and I'm utterly head over heels." You joked. "Really, Az, what is it?" You asked.

"I'm going to tell Gywn I have feelings for her." He said. "Next week. After all of these diplomatic balls."

You gave him a soft smile. "So.. this is the end of us?" You asked.

"Just the sex. I'll never leave my best friend hanging." He said, pulling you closer to him.

"Hmm... how long we have come since 'just friendship'." You joked.

After a silence fell over you, he asked, "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

You let out a sigh. Tomorrow. The first diplomatic ball hosted by the Night Court to celebrate the newest treaty signed by the Courts. One in which Eris, as High Lord of Autumn, would be in attendance. It had been 10 years since that night you admitted your feelings. 7 years since you saw him dance with Nesta and truly declared you were done with pining over him. And then this past year, this fling with Azriel, finally cleared your mind. You truly had no reason to love Eris anymore. Had moved on from the prospect of him romantically and sexually.

"Yes," you said, smiling to yourself. "I'm going to have a great time with my family and friends, and then I'm going to take a hot male to bed. Though, it was going to be you... now I'll have to find someone else." You joked.

He barked out a laugh. "I'm sure Helion would oblige..." He joked.

You shook your head, nudging his arm. "That's Lucien's dad!"

A fit of giggles fell from your lips as Azriel made some off comment joke about keeping it in the family.

As you laughed in bed with your best friend, you truly knew that you wouldn't have a problem tomorrow. You would keep your head held high and enjoy the night. Maybe even ending it with a male in your bed. But you certainly wouldn't end it with Eris. Or the tears that used to haunt your cheeks every time you saw him.

The next night did not, in fact, go well.

You stayed with Azriel that night, joking and laughing till dawn. When he finally left for training, you got a few hours of sleep, waking for lunch.

You wore that same dress from many years ago. The silver one your mother made. While you had to get it adjusted every few years, you still loved it. Since Feyre had many dresses made by your mother, you kept this one. And one other, that was meant for your mating ceremony or your wedding day, that was still packed in a garment bag in the House of Wind.

As you strode down the steps to the large ballroom, you scanned the crowd. You found Azriel and Cassian grabbing drinks, though Cassian held only a sparkling juice for him and Nesta. Azriel, you knew, had your favorite drink in his hand with his own drink in the other. You smiled as you walked over to them, pressing a kiss to Cassian's cheek. "It's good to see you Cass, how's the baby?" You asked.

"Sound asleep in his crib, thankfully. Nuala agreed to watch him tonight while we're out here. Though Nesta seems to want to check on him every five minutes." He said.

"Don't make fun, it's her motherly instincts." You said, thanking Azriel when he handed you the wine. "And hello to you too, Shadowsinger. Get some good training in this morning?" You asked.

He hummed, not one to talk so openly in public.

"I hope you got some rest as well." You said genuinely, resting a hand on his arm.

"I did, a few hours after lunch." He said, offering a very subtle smile.

While you went the next couple hours without seeing Eris, he certainly had eyes on you. The entire time as you laughed with Azriel, put your hand on his arm. As you leaned in close with the one dance. He was practically seething. Seeing you with another male. With him. His greatest advisory? He wanted to announce to the whole room, the whole of Prythian, then and there that you were his mate. But he couldn't. That wouldn't be fair to you. Not when it would put you in such a compromising position. In front of your court, well, your brother's court. In which you were beloved and cared for. And a part of.

Then he caught it. Your scent. That morning air, the small hint of cinnamon. Cauldron, he could practically hear the crisp leaves as he turned to face you. But that wasn't all that he scented. Cedar. He only ever scented that when a male was strangling him in front of all the High Lords.

A deep growl forced it's way out of his throat as he pivoted, eyes set on Azriel.

Just as yours finally saw Eris for the first time that night. Gods, was he handsome. Clad in black with hints of autumnal green and red, he was the epitome of Night meets Autumn. But as you dragged your eyes up to his, all you saw was rage. Pure, instinctual rage. You only had two seconds to step aside as he launched himself at Azriel.

In those two seconds, Eris was on top of him, grabbing him by the collar as he growled in his face, "What is it with you Illyrian males and taking what should be mine?"

"Eris," Rhys appeared next to you, a hand resting on your shoulder. "Get off my Spymaster." He said.

"No," He growled, the scent of Azriel mixed with yours driving him crazy.

You had to tilt your head for a moment. These two beautiful males.. tangled together. You shook the thought from your head.

"Let. Him. Go." Cassian made out, gritting his teeth in the process.

"Not until he admits who he's been sleeping with so I can smash his face in." He said.

"Azriel sleeps with a lot of people-" Nesta started.

"It's (Y/N)," Azriel whispered, his eyes dancing back and forth with Eris's. "You can scent her on me." He said.

"I can scent you on her," He growled.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Sure, you'd spent the night with Azriel but you made sure to douse yourself in perfume and bath oils to cover it up. So your brother would find out. The only way Eris would be able to scent it was if-

Oh by the Cauldron... He could only scent it if he was your mate.

Eris... Eris Vanserra was your mate.

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt it snap into place. And as you looked at him, as his grip loosened on Azriel's collar, you knew he felt it too. That it finally took hold in you as it had for him.

In an instant, Azriel was the one on top of Eris, hand raised to knock the High Lord of Autumn out.

"Azriel," You said, your voice shaking. He paused, turning his head towards you. "Don't." You said.

He lowered his arm, then got off of Eris and stood up, brushing his pants. "Come at me like that again, Vanserra, and you might find yourself splattered on the wall." Azriel's wings flared as you seem more intimidating, but soon was pushed back by Rhys.

"You slept with my sister?" He bellowed.

The yells from your family drowned out as you watched Eris get off the floor, brushing himself off as well. He kept eye contact with you the whole time, full of deep regret.

You nodded towards a balcony, then walked three steps ahead of him to get there. As you took a few breaths of fresh air, you steadied your mind. Is this why you had loved him for so long? Why you had endured the torture of not saying anything?

You shut the doors behind Eris, and the outside drapes with them.

"Explain. Now." You said, voice finally solid again. If he had known you were his mate and he never said anything...

"It's a long story." He said.

"Then tell it." You answered, turning towards him.

You stood there throughout the entire time he told you about how he knew you were his mate. How he rejected you to keep you safe from his father and enemies. All the way to scent Azriel on you, when his instincts took over and he couldn’t hold himself back. You were his mate. And the primal side of him wasn’t going to let Azriel get away with it.

Rhys checked in on you mentally twice and you brushed him off, telling him you were fine, to not disturb you, and then shut your walls.

When Eris finished, silver lined his eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I couldn’t let you get hurt.” He said.

“I know how to keep a secret, you know,” you said, tears lining your own eyes.

“I didn’t want to risk it.”

You stayed silent, gazing at the Sidra as it flowed throughout the city.

“You slept with him?” He whispered.

You scoffed. “Yes, many times actually.” You said, biting your tongue when you saw the hurt in his eyes. “But it was only sex. Azriel is my best friend and we.. got close after trainign for the war with Hybern. Nothing more than friendship, though.”

“What happened to loving me?” He asked.

“I do- I did love you.” You said, your own heart clenching at the words as tears now slid down your cheeks. “But you rejected me. Your mate. I was heartbroken, Eris. I loved you for so long… and yet you were oblivious. Or not. But you didn’t for once think about how it felt to love you and not feel it back?” You asked, shaking your head.

“So what? You don’t love me anymore? You moved on for that bat?” He growled.

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t love Azriel. Not more than a best friend.” I said. “But he was there to pick up the pieces when you broke me.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. You don’t love me anymore?” He repeated.

You pushed him back, letting out a growl. “Of course I still love you!” You yelled, pushing him again. “I have loved you for centuries, Eris. And you have done nothing to love me back. Haven’t told me of our mating bond. Haven’t even looked at me since it snapped for you. And yet I still love you! I’m in love with you. No matter how hard I try to get over you and forget, you’re always there.” You panted, your arms going slack as you looked at the ground, shaking your head. “And here I am, admitting it even when I tried so hard to forget.”

His hand raised to cup your cheek, lifting it up so you were looking into his eyes. The eyes that caused you so much pain but that you loved so much. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I had known… I would have made it so much easier for you. I would have loved you in secret. But I couldn’t. Not when it would have meant that you were at risk. When I could have lost you.” He sighed, stroking away the tears that streamed down your cheeks, twin to his. “But I love you.” He whispered. “And I have loved you for a long, long time, princess.” He whispered.

Those eyes told the truth. He did. He loved you and he was your mate. And you loved him, no matter how much you tried to deny it. You were in love with Eris Vanserra.

Your answer was searing kiss, arms wrapped around his neck. It was slow at first, exploratory. But as he kissed back, as his hand cupping your cheek moved to your neck and his other moved to your waist, it became deeper. Filled with more than question. Filled with longing and lust. And love.

You were only stopped by someone clearing their throat. Eris growled as he pulled away, taking his loving gaze from you to glare at your interrupter.

“If you’re finished, there is still a party that requires both of your attendances.” Rhys said, leaning against the door way.

You rested a hand in Eris’s chest. “We will finish this later.” You whispered. “If you don’t attack my best friend again, I think we can enjoy each other’s company.”

Eris turned his gaze towards you again, a soft smile settling in his face. One that you never saw from him. Scratch that, one that you’d only seen on him that day you danced together. When the bond snapped for him. “I can agree to that.” He said.

You smiled and kissed his cheek as you took his hand, before walking right past Rhys into the ballroom. Only to be stopped when Rhys out a hand out to stop Eris, causing your arm to tug back.

“You hurt her, you let her get hurt, you do anything to put her endanger, and I will have you screaming so much you won’t even remember your name.” He growled.

You rolled your eyes. “Says the male that threw me into a battle to cover his own tail.” You said, nudging Rhys. Eris wrapped his arm around you as you both walked back into the room.

“You don’t have to worry, princess. I’ll never hurt you again.”

With Eris by your side, as your mate and your love, you could do anything. With him, you could live your life to the fullest. Finally, it felt as if you were out of the pine and into the clearing once and for all.

A/N: A lovely little one-shot that took me much longer to write but I absolutely loved it!!!

Requests are open!

[alastor-simp]

Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis Reacting to a reader who sings like Japanese singer “Ado”

Deciding to try doing another fandom, so I’m gonna do black butler. Only doing Sebby and Ciel since I’m more in tune on how to write them compared to the other characters. Gonna continue the Ado series with them too. I know that this was the Victorian Era so they didn't have stuff like Youtube, so I'm gonna try to change it a bit, and not include that. Enjoy everyone :)

Ciel Phantomhive♟️

♟️Ciel had many duties to attend to as he was the head of Phantomhive manor along with being the Queen’s Watchdog. Apart from filling out paperwork for his company, he had many hobbies that Sebastian help teach him like hunting or playing the violin.

♟️He had met you by Lizzy, as she had found you during one of her strolls in London. You were a frail little thing, but you had a certain amount of skills, so Ciel decided to hire you as a maid for the manor. Hopefully your skills you be much better then the other three. You were a fast learner, and quickly adapted to life at the manor. Both him and Sebastian were impressed with how well you handle your tasks.

♟️Ciel was on his way back to his office when he heard the sound of someone singing. Curious, he headed to wear the sound was coming from and made his way over to one of the rooms which had the door slightly open. Ciel peeked in and saw you in the middle of the room, leaning against the window. You had just finished up dusting the area and decided to take a small break, and while in your break, you started singing as it was something you loved to do.

♟️Once you finished, you heard the sound of clapping and turned to see Lord Phantomhive, leaning against the door with a small smile on his face. “Ahh, Young Master, I was just um-”, you were flustered and tried to explain yourself, but Ciel just put his hand up, which made you stop talking

♟️ “I am not upset with you, y/n. I’m very surprised actually. You never told me you could sing.” Ciel said as he walked closer towards you, standing next to the window. You went on to explain to him that you always loved singing, but you had a slight problem with revealing yourself to everyone as you preferred keeping your identity hidden.

♟️Ciel listened to you and he smiled softly, walking closer to you and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. He said that you were very talented and should pursue what you loved doing instead of working as a maid. You would still live in the manor, but he would do everything he can to support you in anyway. He knew that hiding your identity would be a challenge, but he assume that maybe a mask would be beneficial to hide your identity.

♟️After that, Ciel would host events at the manor where he would have you perform in front of all of the guests. Everyone was blown away by you that all of the nobles were gossiping about who you were. Pretty soon, you were getting requests to perform at theaters and balls. Everyone was referring to you as the mysterious singer since no one could see your face when you performed, but no one really question it.

♟️Ciel was happy for you that you were achieving your dreams and he was glad to assist in any way with events. He also would like to know what was the new song you were working on, as he was feeling giddy, but he tried to tried to hide it to avoid teasing from Sebastian.

♟️His favorite song that you sang was a cover you did called " Crime & Punishment". He wasn't familiar with that genre of music, but he did enjoy it, and loved how high you went with certain notes in the song.

Sebastian Michaelis😈

😈Sebastian had many duties to fulfill for his young master. There was many tasks he had to play, playing his role as a butler for the manor while also serving as the demon contractor/protector for the young masters soul. Tasks like this for a human would be difficult, but for Sebastian it was nothing.

😈Since Sebastian as been around for a long time, he possessed many talents and skills, ranging from speaking Latin, horseback riding, and playing certain instruments. He was tasked with teaching the young master these things as he was the Lord of Phantomhive manor, though his skills for the violin needed a lot of work.

😈Sebastian had met you during one of his strolls in London. He was on his way back from receiving supplies, when he passed an alley and saw you being held against the wall by three men, with knives. Ahh humans, always so greedy that they would resort to stealing from a young maiden. It all happen so quick, one second you were being threatened by these guys for money then all of a sudden, all three of the men ended being knocked out, and a tall handsome man wearing a suit was in front of you. You thanked him for helping you, and went out of your way to say you were looking for a place to work, to which led you to being introduce to Ciel Phantomhive and becoming a maid for the manor.

😈Sebastian noticed that you were nothing like the other three workers, as you didn't possess any secret skills, but he did appreciate how quick you were to learn and perform your tasks at the manor. There was something about you that drew you to him, he wasn't sure what it was, but he figured there was more too you then just being a regular human.

😈Upon leaving the young masters study after serving him his afternoon tea, Sebastian started to make his way back to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal, and to make sure Bard wasn't using the flamethrower again. He stopped once he heard the sounds of someone singing nearby. Curious, he ventured closer to where the singing was coming from, and noticed that one of the doors was opened slightly. Peeking his head through the door, Sebastian saw you in the middle of the room, dusting one of the shelves, while singing a random melody.

😈"Oya, this human is very interesting", Sebastian thought as he entered the room slowly as not to disturb your singing. Upon turning around after you finished dusting, you dropped the feather duster in shock and covered your mouth as you realized Sebastian was in the room and heard you singing: "S-sebastian! U-um I was um-." Stumbling over your words, you were unable to explain anything to him, and quickly ducked your head down in embarrassment. Chuckling, Sebastian walked closer towards you, lifting your head by placing his fingers on your chin: "Your singing is quite beautiful, Y/N. How come you never told me or the young master you could sing?"

😈Looking away from his gorgeous eyes, you explained to him that you always loved singing, but you preferred to sing in private, or sing where no one could tell it was you. You apologized again if you had distracted him from his duties, but Sebastian just shook his head and smiled saying there was no need to apologize for something like this, but he still wondered why you decided to work as a maid and not a singer.

😈After that, Sebastian explained what had happened with the young master about your hidden talents and insisted in a plan that could benefit both his company and your dream. Ciel was surprised that Sebastian had taken an interest in you, but he didn't think to hard on it and listened to what plan Sebastian had in mind.

😈The both of them discussed the plan with you to be a private singer for the Funtom company. Whenever they would travel to an event for one of the other lords, they would have you there to sing and entertain the guests with your beautiful singing, in disguise of course as you were insistent that you wanted your appearance hidden from everyone. Word spread quickly over the streets of London about the mysterious singer of the Funtom company, including reaching the Queen herself as she was amazed by this singer and sent a letter to Lord Phantomhive herself, requesting the mysterious singer to attend the next ball/event she would plan.

😈Sebastian was quite pleased with how well things were going. Not only was the young masters company becoming extremely popular now, but also you were able to do what you loved which was sing. Of course, Sebastian had to make sure your needs were met and made sure you were not overworking yourself too much as what kind of butler would he be if he didn't provide the best care for you.

😈His favorite song of yours is "Domestic De Violence" . He finds the melody to be very beautiful and finds the lyrics to be very manipulating, but in a good way for him.

[nocasdatsgay]

Then There Were Three:

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic

Day One of @polyacotarweek : Beginnings

Summary: You are invited to the Autumn celebrations as an emissary of Dawn. The High Lord’s mate invites you to meet him after the party is over. Alternatively: The night the mating bond snapped.

MasterPost | Poly Week MasterPost| AO3 Link |

Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader | Rating: E🌶️ | Word Count: 4962

Warnings: heavy flirtations, slightly rough sex, Reader does panic near the end.

A/N: I did my best to be vague about the reader’s origins. I realized it leaves autumn out of her home court choices but you can pretend she’s from there if you squint and pretend she was raised elsewhere 😅

Tagging: @saltedcoffeescotch @hieragalbatorixdottir @ysmtttty @mybestfriendmademe

You grabbed a flute of champagne off the table in the corner and took a sip. Autumn champagne was so different. The breed of champagne fruit grown in Autumn retained some of the sweetness like those grown in the warmer courts. However, it had a crisp undertone from the chill air. It was one of your favorites and you needed to remind yourself to buy a bottle from the market before leaving the Court.

You looked out at the party taking another sip to steel your nerves. They called you the floating emissary behind your back. Not that you would deny that name. You’d made your home in almost the same amount of courts as your friend Lucien. You were no spy- just versed in law and good at making fair treaties. Thanks to that, you had a good reputation with the High Lords.

At the moment, you were employed by Dawn, sent with a few others to represent the court for the Autumn festival week. It’s been held since Eris Vanserra became High Lord but this was your first time attending it. The ballroom was filled with delegates and courtiers. There were also natives of Autumn, high fae and not, intermingling. The party continued out the door to the courtyard.

The courtyard itself was beautiful. The trees were so vibrant, more than the last time you saw them. You’d been here once before under Beron’s reign. That one visit was enough to have you never come back to Autumn while he lived. Thankfully, you never had an excuse to come back until now.

So much changed in the past few decades.

You decided you’d rejoin the mingling, maybe find a few other courtiers to chat up. You held your glass tight and went to step away when a tall male seemed to stop and turn to you. You immediately recognized him, his black hair and Illyrian wings giving him away.

“Lord Azriel,” you curtsied, free hand fanning out the skirt of the maroon dress you wore for the occasion.

“Just Azriel.” A smile ghosted his lips. His gaze never left your own as he asked, “I don’t believe we’ve met, Lady?”

“Y/N,” you replied. “Just Y/N.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes and across his face.

“And where are you from, Just Y/N?”

You knew in your mind that he was just being polite but your stomach still flipped on itself. If this was the High Lord’s mate and famed shadowsinger being polite you were terrified of what he could do when he was truly flirting.

“Depends. I’m a liaison for the Dawn Court, currently.”

“The Floating Emissary, I’ve heard of you.” His gaze raked over you and you felt your cheeks heat. “You’re much prettier than Lucien.”

“I would hope,” you laughed. “Handsome male that he is, I have to surpass his reputation somehow.”

His laughter rang out like a song. You steeled yourself again. The last thing you needed was the High Lord of Autumn catching you speaking with his mate and assuming you were flirting. Why it worried you, you weren’t certain. Possibly because Azriel was devastatingly handsome and easy to flirt with.

“Was there a reason you were hiding out over here by the drinks?”

“Taking a break. Parties require more small talk than some might suspect.”

He hummed in agreement. “Would you be up for a dance?”

Your mind seemed to stop working, trying to process what was just asked of you. You glance at the throne and the High Lord is gone. Part of you was disappointed at that. You decided to down the rest of your champagne.

“Of course.”

Azriel grinned at you. “I like your style.”

He held out his hand and you took it in yours. Your stomach flipped on itself again and the texture of his hand had heat flaring between your legs. You smiled and mentally shook yourself, trying to keep it together. Some of the crowd parted as he led you to the dance floor, though no one seemed to care.

“An Autumn dance?” Asked, his hand went to your waist and you inhaled sharply. “Or a Night Court dance.”

You told yourself the look in his eyes was just him being impressed. It was not the look of someone who wanted to devour you whole in the middle of the throne room with everyone watching. You watched his shadows swirl around your arms. Like they were studying you.

“Autumn,” he replied as the band started the next song. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

You knew the song and took it as a challenge. Of course the dance he wanted was faster, and involved a lot of footwork and being close to your partner. Thank the mother your skirt slit, though hidden due to volume, was high.

“You must have a lot of practice,” you said as he guided you backwards. “It’s not the easiest dance with wings.”

He twirled you and pulled you back.

“It’s not. Nesta spent two weeks teaching me for my mating ceremony.”

Right. Azriel was mated to the High Lord. You glanced around, letting him guide you again. Your eyes widened when you made eye contact with that very male. He was watching you intensely. And speak of the Weaver and she shall appear. Beside him was Nesta Archeron herself, watching you just as closely until a tall Illyrian male- her mate, walked up beside her.

“Don’t mind them.” His hands didn’t leave your shoulder and waist but it felt like he’d gently tugged your chin. “They’re just enjoying the show.”

He said it as if he wasn’t doing a Fire Waltz with you. Thankfully you two were not the only ones dancing. You’d be mortified if everyone was watching. He twirled you again and pulled you flush to his back. You spent the whole time he walked you around like that focused on not letting your scent get away from you. Another twirl and you were back in front. You were imagining it, you told yourself; the slight sweetness of his own scent.

Thankfully the song ended. There were claps from the crowd for you and the others who danced. The High Lord nor Nesta and Cassian (you believed that was his name) were where you last saw them as you looked around. You thought Azriel would bid you good night, and part from you. Instead he leaned into you, and you held your breath.

He whispered into your ear. “A left from the main hall, three doors on the right. Be there after the party.” You could only nod. “See you then, Y/N.”

You didn’t exhale until he moved away, leaving you slightly dizzy and flushed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the mother, what were you doing? A smart female would go to her room and forget whatever the Shadowsinger said. A smart female would walk in, explain her apologies and how she must go. The irrational part of you saw this as just an unconventional in for negotiations. It’s not bribery to flirt. Nor is it that unethical to speak in private with one of the heads of court.

You arrived at the door and could feel something like a tug in your chest to go in. Your nerves were getting the better of you. You looked down the hallway both ways twice. You could leave and write a note, explaining it’s improper for you to meet him this late. He would have to understand. However before you could make a decision the door opened.

In front of you was not Azriel. It was the High Lord, Eris. You’d never been up close to him before. The front of his long red hair was pulled back into braids, and his whole being glowing in his power. Amber eyes stared back into yours. You scrambled to gain your bearings, still too stunned to explain your presence. He raised a brow at you, expression like steel and your mouth opened and closed. You took a breath.

“High Lord,” you bowed. “Good evening.”

You straightened and you watched his gaze run over you.

“Come in, Y/N.”

You could have swooned with how your name rolled off his tongue. Gods what was wrong with you? He stepped aside and held the door. You forgot what you were thinking, stepping in past him. His scent made your eyes flutter.

You scolded yourself. You were a trained emissary; one of the best. Yet here you were losing your mind over a High Lord and his mate. Which said mate was sprawled out on a chair, wings spread and legs opened like he owned the place. He looked at you smugly when you raked your eyes over him.

“You requested to meet with me Lord Azriel?” Your voice was calmer than you felt.

Lord Eris shut the door, drawing your attention back to him. Even without the power radiating off of him, he was devastatingly handsome. He went past you and sat on the couch. Looking between the two of them; it was night and day almost.

“Just Azriel. Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. I think I had enough at your ball.” You looked at Eris. “It was very lively. Thank you for inviting us.”

Your subtle reminder that you did not come alone caught his attention. You could see it flash in his eyes. That didn’t seem to deter him.

“Have a seat,” he gestured to the chairs behind you.

You brushed the back of your skirt, pulled them forward so you didn’t sit on them awkwardly. You looked between the two males in front of you.

“Thank you for inviting me to meet you.” You used your most polite and naive tone. “Though I am uncertain what has warranted a private meeting.”

The High Lord and Azriel already had their own drinks on the tables beside them. The High Lord picked his drink up and took a sip.

“Azriel was explaining to me what a famous emissary you are,” he leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Giving my brother a run for his money.”

“I don’t know about all that,” you replied and straightened the front of your skirt.

“I think I do,” Azriel grinned at you.

The next few minutes encompassed Azriel listing out your achievements- the Summer Court trade route, for one. He brought the peace treaty between Spring and the Night Court. You argued Lucien did more work with that, considering he was mated to the High Lady’s sister. A few laws you overlooked during your brief time in Winter came up as well.

“Should I feel left out that I’ve never received the honor of you working in my court?” Eris asked.

“Are you trying to recruit me to be your emissary, High Lord?” You teased.

“You can rest easy knowing I’m not trying to steal you from Thesan,” he joked back. “However, I might invite you back more often if you can dance like that.”

“I saw you watching.” You crossed your legs. Unintentionally, the slit fell open. You ignored it even if the two males in front of you were eyeballing your legs now. “You’re mate is a very skilled dancer.

“He learned from the best.” Eris took a sip from his glass. “I almost married her for it.”

That you didn’t know. You filed that away in your mind to examine later.

“Don’t lie. You did that to piss off Cassian,” Azriel countered.

Eris rolled his eyes. You wondered if you should continue the small talk or be direct. Both the High Lord and his mate seemed to like the direct approach so you finally asked them.

“Why was I really invited here?”

“You know why.” Azriel kept a heated gaze on you as he downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were pretty.”

Your mind was telling you to leave. The solar courts were more lax but this was Autumn. If anyone saw you, your reputation could be ruined. But you couldn’t move with both very handsome males staring at you like they wanted to eat you alive. Situations like this didn’t happen to you. Was it so terrible that you were enjoying the attention?

“You can leave and neither of us will stop you.” Eris reassured you. “Nor will it be held against you. This is strictly off record. It’ll be as if it never happened.”

“As if staying is any better?” You countered.

“Do you think so little of us that we’d allow your reputation to be ruined?” Eris chuckled.

“A female can never be too careful.” You wished you had taken another drink. If only to give your hands something to do. “Do you always recruit a female from your parties or am I special?”

It was meant to be a joke. A tease really. There was nothing teasing in Azriel’s eyes when he replied.

“You’re the only one we’ve ever agreed to make an offer to together.”

Heat flared between your legs and you knew your scent betrayed you. Especially with that wicked grin Eris had on his face. You squeezed your legs together and barely kept your composure.

“What would you like me to do?” You whispered.

Azriel held up his hand, fingers curling to beckon you over.

“Come here baby girl and let me show you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*`*~*~*~*~*~*~

If you told yourself yesterday you’d be falling into bed with a High Lord and his mate, you would have laughed. Then you would have asked in what world Helion would agree to share his bed after centuries of waiting for his mate to be free. Falling into the High Lord of Autumn’s bed? Impossible.

And yet.

Azriel was behind you, kissing your neck. His hands had pushed down the top of your dress on one side so he could cup your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. Eris sat on the edge of the bed, hands up your skirt and pulling down your panties. Once they were off he pulled you forward by the hips and moved your knees onto the bed so you straddled him.

You fell back against Azriel, moaning when Eris wasted no time slipping a hand up your skirt and pushing two fingers into your slick heat. Azriel chuckled at you, pulling his mouth off your neck. You reached your arm back, hand grabbing his hair if only to hold onto something. Eris didn’t even move; you rode his fingers, thighs brushing against his pants.

You whined when he removed them only to be silenced when he stuck them into your open mouth. You hummed against them, sucking on them. He didn’t anticipate you would lower yourself on his lap and rub against the bulge in his pants, by the groan he made. Azriel had worked the zipper in the back of your dress down and it was hanging limply on your arms.

“Soon pretty girl,” Eris said and took his fingers out of your mouth.

Azriel removed your hand and arm off of him and Eris pushed up your dress. Azriel tossed it aside just like Eris had your undergarments. You were about to protest, you being nude while they were not, then Eris snapped his fingers. The clothes on himself vanished, and you inhaled sharply at the feel of his bare skin against your own. Azriel was naked as well, judging from the hard length against your back.

“Nifty trick,” you said, running your fingers over the dusting of hair on his chest.

“It is useful.” He looked about as hyper aware of the fact his cock was pressed against your cunt as you were. “Who do you want first?”

“Depends on how you want me.”

They invited you. You were not going to insult one by picking the other first. Eris’s gaze went behind you to Azriel. He looked back at you with a knowing smirk.

“How is your reflex?”

His hand came up and cupped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, just brushed his thumb against your skin. You wonder if he knew what a power move he just made. Surely he could feel how wet you were. Az put his hands on your waist, waiting.

“Okay, I guess.” You replied. “It’s decent.”

He hummed, removing his hand. “Azriel gets you first then. He can be rough and we don’t want to ruin that pretty throat of yours yet. Are you okay with taking me in your mouth while he fucks you?”

“Yes,” you replied very quickly.

“Good.”

Several things happened at once. Eris moved from under you and down the bed, while Azriel lifted you up with his arms. He hooked his hands and arms under your thighs and lifted you up, carrying you for a moment before dropping you back onto the bed. You screamed when he did that, which had them both laughing at you.

“Not used to being handled properly?” Azriel bent you forward over Eris’s lap, your hands propping yourself up.

“No.”

You couldn’t think of a witty response. Not when his hands were lifting up your hips to positions exactly how he wanted you. And Eris- the scent of him surrounded you while you watched him stroke himself.

“Open your mouth, princess.”

You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. When you did that, Azriel grabbed your ass and you felt him spread you open. He pushed into you and you forgot what you were doing, dropping your head with a moan. Azriel was big, you gave him that much. He held you by the hips until he was damn near pressing into your stomach. There was no movement from him as you adjusted. Until he grabbed you by the hair to lift your head. You were looking at Eris again.

He whispered into your ear, “open your mouth.”

You did so again. He let go of your hair and lowered your mouth onto Eris’ cock. He was big too. You went down as far as you were comfortable with and rubbed your tongue against him.

“Good girl,” Eris murmured.

That made you clench around Azriel. There seemed to be an understanding in that moment. When you bobbed your head, Azriel pulled out and slammed back into you. Azriel was indeed rough. He took exactly what he wanted from you, your whole body moving in time with him. Eris was stroking your hair while you used one hand to make up for what you couldn’t take into your mouth. You finally pulled off of Eris, salvia stringing from your mouth to the head of his cock.

“Touch me,” you turned to almost look back at Azriel. “Please, I can’t,” you didn’t know how to express what you wanted or why. Your hand still stroked Eris, your other arm starting to shake.

You felt the weight of Azriel shift on your back and his arm hook around your waist. You fell face first into Eris’s thigh when Azriel’s fingers found your clit. You even stopped stroking the High Lord. How were you supposed to think when Azriel was hitting all the right spots inside and outside of you?

Then Azriel pulled out of you. You yelled in protest- until he was lifting you up and spinning you around. These two males had to have a routine. Azriel put you right into Eris’s hard length like it was nothing. Before you could think, his hand was in your hair, pushing his length into your mouth. You could taste yourself on him and it made you dizzy. More movement behind you: Eris had shifted onto his knees.

They moved in sync, more so than before leaving you to sit there and take it. Eris lifted your hip up at a different angle that had you seeing stars. Azriel was gagging you and being just as rough as Eris promised. In no time, your orgasm was rushing through you with unstoppable force. Your muffled moans had Azriel spilling down your throat. You’re certain Eris followed and came inside you.

You were a wreck when they both pulled out of you.

“You did so well.” Azriel wiped the tears off your cheek while you caught your breath.

There was drool all over your mouth and you could feel Eris’s cum slipping out of you. You needed to clean yourself up. You went to move off the bed and ask where the bathroom was. Instead you pulled back onto the bed with an invisible force. You were held there on your back by your arms; shadows pinning you down. Eris snapped his fingers and you were mostly clean again.

Eris grinned down at you. “Oh love, did you think we were done with you? We’re just getting started.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You waited until their breathing evened out before easing out of bed. Looking for your dress in the dark on wobbly and sore legs wasn’t ideal, but you needed to get back to your room before someone noticed you were missing. Samira would not believe you if you got caught sneaking into your guest chambers. You found it and slipped it on, fighting with the zipper and giving up when you got it halfway up your back. Shoes were next. Your underwear was nowhere to be found.

You huffed. The last thing you wanted was for them to find it and return it with a smug grin. You finally found it by the bathing room door. Slipping them on, you didn’t hear bed creak or the sound of footsteps until something whispered your name.

“By the cauldron,” your whole body jolted, heart racing. You turned to see Azriel behind you, thankfully wearing pants.

“Sorry,” Azriel chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” You caught your breath and whispered. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. I can winnow you into your room so you don’t have to walk.”

“That’s kind of you.”

He put his hand on your arm and when you looked him in his eyes- your whole body recoiled and you inhaled sharply. That tightness in your chest you felt all evening snapped. You took several steps back staring at him horrified. Your hand went to your chest. You stared at him with eyes wide and he stared back in what you were certain was horror.

What just happened was impossible. Azriel was with the High Lord. You needed to leave. Panic ripped through you at the implications. It was not possible- you were imagining it. You needed to leave. You took several steps back, not looking at Azriel. Maybe it was just you. Maybe you lost your mind. It had to be. There was no way-

Someone was calling your name.

You blinked. You’d backed yourself into a corner. You couldn’t catch your breath no matter how much you breathed in and out. A warm hand made you startle; you focused on amber eyes staring back at you and it happened again. That sharp tug in your chest like a rope going taunt.

“Look at me.”

A soft but firm command of a High Lord you couldn’t ignore. You blinked and you were crying. Strange emotions that weren’t your own were overwhelming you. It was too much, the sudden wave of feelings hitting you. Something cold wrapped around your wrists. You looked down and screamed, shaking your arms when you saw black lines.

“It’s just shadows,” Azriel said calmly from behind Eris. “They’re trying to help.”

“It’s alright,” Eris whispered, brushing your hair back with his hand. “Take a deep breath.” You did as you were told. “Good girl. Now breathe out.”

You found your voice even if it was laced with your tears. “I didn’t. I swear it, I don’t know how.”

How do you explain that this wasn’t a trick? They had to think that. If they felt it then they had to believe you cast a spell on them. They could throw you in the dungeons for this or worse. What were the odds you climbed into their bed and- two tugs halted your thoughts. Warmth flooded your chest. You choked back a sob.

Eris sighed. “Az can you go get a calming tonic from the infirmary please?”

If he disappeared, you didn’t know. Eris dropped his hands to your shoulder and gently guided you backwards. Your legs hit the back of a chair; he gently sat you down into it and then knelt so he was eye level with you.

“I know this is a lot to take in. I promise you, we are not upset.” He took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered. You swallowed and blinked profusely. “Aren’t you afraid I’ve placed a spell on you?”

You couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet. Eris laughed.

“We invited you to our bed. Was it that good you suddenly thought of a spell to cast in between orgasms to trap us?”

Your face heated at his remarks. Thankfully out of the darkness Azriel appeared with a vial. He handed it to you and you took it with shaky hands. You felt dramatic for your reaction but there was nothing you could do about it. Eris took it from you and uncorked it before handing it back. You downed it quickly. He stood and took the bottle from you, vanishing it into thin air.

“Well?” You looked between them after a moment passed. “Aren’t you going to say something about this?” You gestured between yourself and them, specifically pointing at your chest.

“It’s a mating bond, what else is there to say about it?” Eris replied.

Your stomach flipped at his candor and Azriel hummed in agreement. As if this happened all the time. Maybe they took a calming tonic also when you weren’t looking.

“How are you both calm? Mating bonds,” you forced the term out, still not believing it was real, “are between two fae not three!”

Azriel and Eris glanced at each other. Both of them had a knowing look. Azriel shrugged and Eris sighed. He turned to you, meeting your gaze again.

“Years ago we were told this could happen.” You blinked, something akin to shock washing over you. He continued. “We were told specifically that the light of dawn would bring forth a third bond.”

“Like a prophecy? That’s the corniest shit I’ve ever heard,” you replied without thinking.

Azriel bursted out with laughter. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

You scoffed in response, uncertain of who she was. “You also said you didn’t plan to steal me from Thesan. You, High Lord Eris, are a liar.”

Now it was Eris who laughed. “Glad to see the tonic is working.”

If they had been told before- “So you knew it was me?”

“No, we did not. I felt a draw to you but,” he looked you up and down. “I think the reason is self explanatory.”

“My shadows took a liking to you out in the throne room,” Azriel added sheepishly. “But they didn’t tell me. The bond snapped for me when I touched you.”

Mates.

Mates, plural.

You had mates.

Realization sunk in and you slumped against the chair. You never entertained the idea of having a mate. For you it was an old wives tale, a fictional love story you read about in romance novels. Yes, they existed. But it seemed like it was reserved for High Lords and other important fae. You weren’t anyone special.

“I think,” Eris interrupted your thoughts. “We should rest. Azriel can winnow you to your room. We can talk in the morning if you are up for it.”

“Can I stay?” You whispered.

You had no right to ask that of a mated pair, let alone a High Lord you didn’t really know. However, the idea of leaving made you uneasy. Your friends would understand. Gods, how were you going to explain this? Yes, well a High Lord and his mate asked me for a threesome and surprise seems like I’m their mate too! You mentally groaned at how ridiculous this all was.

“Of course.” Eris pulled you out of your thoughts. “Azriel can get you a change of clothes from your room. If that’s alright with you.”

You nodded. This time you saw the shadows envelop Azriel. It was amazing to watch him disappear almost into a puff of smoke. However, that left you alone with Eris. Not that you cared. The potion was deeply in effect. You realized he was shirtless and your gaze ran over his bare chest and arms.

“We have a guest bed you can sleep in.” You looked up to see Eris with a slight smirk on his face.

“A guest bed?” You furrowed your brows. “In your own chambers?”

“Az’s wings are sensitive. Sometimes he doesn’t like to share a bed.” He paused. “I know I speak for us both that while this isn’t an ideal situation, we would like to get to know you. If you wish.”

“Are you asking for permission to court me, High Lord?” That did something for him because you could feel it before he shut it down. “I need to process it, I think.”

“That’s reasonable.” He gave you a soft smile.

You didn’t have to wait awkwardly for long as Azriel returned quickly with your bag. There was indeed a guest room right next to the High Lord’s bedroom, which still shocked you. As surreal as the past few minutes were, you were exhausted. You bid them an awkward good night and when Eris shut the door and you swore you heard him whisper something to Azriel, about how they owed his sister-in-law a lengthy apology.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future. 

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen. 

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation. 

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it. 

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin. 

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt. 

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree. 

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.  

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost. 

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you. 

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar. 

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her. 

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!” 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born. 

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty. 

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each. 

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn. 

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked. 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday. 

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side. 

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger. 

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.” 

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view. 

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks. 

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another. 

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin. 

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word. 

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation. 

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter. 

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up. 

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage. 

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected. 

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine. 

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily. 

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat. 

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved. 

But not him. 

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation. 

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell. 

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted. 

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence. 

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family. 

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar. 

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips. 

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze. 

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem. 

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all. 

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement. 

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty. 

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth. 

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful. 

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived. 

You had changed. 

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change. 

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more. 

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were. 

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you. 

He never left. 

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry. 

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right. 

There was a pull. 

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you. 

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought. 

But you knew your answer already. 

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you. 

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

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[talkdutchtome]

You Should Have Said No Chapter Two - It's Nice to Have a Friend

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / pierre gasly x reader )

summary . . . when your fiancé cheats on you, you strike up an unusual friendship with one of his closest friends, who just so happens to have had a crush on you since he set eyes on you. chaos ensues.

inspired by the works of miss taylor swift )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . it's nice to have a friend- taylor swift)

warning . . . cheating, mental illness, angst, eventual smut, poorly translated french and dutch, swearing, mention of parent loss, emotionally abusive parent, slight social media au, kendall jenner as fc (potentially more i’ll add as i go along)

series masterlist . . . available here )

A banging came from the front door, jolting you awake and making you fall off the sofa in the process. When Pierre left you decided the best thing to do was sleep, not wanting to be awake and deal with the crushing pain, but after 30 minutes of writhing around in bed, the scent of Pierre lingering on the sheets, you realised that sleeping in the bed you shared with your fiancé was going to be impossible, so you resorted to the sofa.  

The banging started again, worried it was Pierre coming back, you ignored it. “Y/N let me in, Y/N” You heard a voice call, a voice that didn’t belong to Pierre. It was Max’s voice. You stood up and began walking to the door, you stopped at a mirror in the hallway looking at your reflection. Your hair was messy, your face red and blotchy, your eyes swollen from crying, black mascara tears stained on your cheeks. You thought about tiding yourself up a bit, not wanting to look too pathetic when you open the door; but you quickly realised that it was a lost cause and continued walking to the door. 

“Y/N, hi” Max spoke as the door swung open, looking at you with soft eyes. He wanted to reach up to you and pull you into a bear hug, lord knows it looked like you needed it. But he decided not to, worried that it would make you uncomfortable. 

“Um hi Max, what are you doing here?” You asked, genuinely confused why he was stood at your door, he told you because you deserved to know but he was Pierre’s friend, his former teammate. 

“I wanted to-“ he started and then paused “Can I come in?”  

You opened the door wider and step to the side allowing him to enter, silently answering his question. 

“How did you know where w- where I live?” You asked puzzled, Max and Pierre hadn’t been as close as they once were over the past few years so he hasn’t been to your apartment before.  

“I phoned Charles, I was worried about you when you hung up the phone and I thought, well I thought if I were in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone” he spoke, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.  

“When you spoke to Charles did you tell him?” You asked. 

“No, I didn’t, but he already knew, I guess, he asked me to give you a hug from him.” You smiled at the Dutchman’s words, Charles is Pierre’s best friend so even though that’s who Pierre would have gone to straight away, looking for support, Charles still had you in his thoughts, truly caring for you. The silence sat in the room and made its presence ever clear, this being only one of a few if any conversations just between the two of you, aside of course from the conversation you had with him earlier in the day, the one that caused your world to come crashing down. Feeling nervous, you began to play with the ring sat on your left hand, you didn’t even clock the significance until you saw Max looking down at the ring. The ring Pierre gave you months ago when he asked you to marry him, when he told you that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You thought about taking the ring off, you know you should. You definitely aren’t engaged anymore, but for some reason you can’t, not wanting to let go of that part of your life yet.  

You looked up to find Max watching you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Have you eaten today?” He asks you and that takes you by surprise, you weren’t sure what he was going to say to you after watching you so intently but that certainly wasn’t it.  

“No, I uh no I haven’t” he stood up and began walking to the kitchen, “May I?” He asks gesturing towards the oven. Was he asking if he could cook for you? You nodded slowly, still unsure what he was doing here. He began after seeing your confirmation, starting with cleaning up the mess from the breakfast you had started to make this morning. For a second you want to ask him to stop, not to clean up and get rid of the last thing you did before your life changed forever. You don’t though, realising you can’t keep burnt bacon as a souvenir from a better time. Snapping out from your thoughts you see Max begin making a pasta dish, for a second you catch yourself smiling, this man had absolutely no loyalties to you, he didn’t have betray Pierre and tell you what happened, but he did. He didn’t have to come and check up on you, but he did. He certainly didn’t have to look after you and make sure you eat, but that’s what he was doing.  

“You go and sit down; I’ll bring this through when I’m done”. 

You smiled again before following his instructions. 

He walked into the room 15 minutes later, carrying a delicious smelling plate of food in. “Here” he passes it to you, his hand lightly brushing against yours as he did so. “Thank you” you said smiling at him before beginning to eat. He sat with you in silence again, but this time the awkwardness wasn’t there, instead it was comfortable. Max knew that you probably weren’t in the mood for talking, but he also knew you probably didn’t want to be alone either, so he was more than happy to sit with you in silent company.  

You sat next to each other on the sofa for a while longer, almost exclusively in silence, until Max noticed you started to yawn. “I should leave then, I hope you’re okay, please phone me if you need me, I’ll make sure to keep my phone on loud.” He said to you and again you were taken aback by the care shown by a man who owed nothing to you. You thanked him and assured him you would let him know if you needed him. He nodded and began walking to the door. You hesitated before speaking “Max wait.” He turned back around and was about to ask what was wrong but before he could get the words out of his mouth you were in his arms hugging him, he hesitated for a second before wrapping his arms around you tight, pulling you closer into him.  

Pulling back, you looked up at him before you spoke “For Charles.” He smiled, looking in your sad eyes staring up at him. “Yeah, for Charles” 

When he left, the same silence that had felt comfortable in just 5 minutes ago became heavy. Without Max here to distract you from the devastation, the crushing feeling became more apparent. You thought about looking at your phone, maybe even texting Max a quick thank you, but you quickly realised that on your phone you would find dozens of messages from Pierre. Quickly changing your mind, you went straight to the sofa to sleep, not even bothering to attempt to use the bed. 

The ringing of your alarm woke you up at 10am the next morning, an unwelcome wake up call considering the disturbed sleep you had from sleeping on the sofa. The first thing you did was walk into your bedroom and strip the bed, putting the old bedding in the washing and putting a brand-new set of sheets on. Happy with yourself for coming up with a solution for that problem, you got to work on completing other tasks that needed to be done; you showered, and you tidied up the house. Then finally after feeling as refreshed as you possibly could, you moved on to the one task you truly did not want to do. Letting out a shaky breath you reached for your phone, it had sat unmoved from the kitchen table, where it was when one 5-minute conversation with Max Verstappen changed her whole life. 

 Opening it up, messages from four people filled her screen: Pierre, Max, Charles and Rebecca from work. The last name made you curse, it reminded you of the one thing you did not want to be reminded of, the flight to Spain you were scheduled to take with your fiancé in time for the Spanish GP. When Pierre asked you to quit your job as a photographer to follow him around the world all those years ago, you said no, not wanting your entire life to be boiled down to who you were in a relationship with. But when he asked and asked, when he told you how crazy he was going being away from you for weeks on end, you said yes. He got you a job with Formula 1 and you loved it. You loved the work you did, and you loved getting to travel the world with the love of your life, or at least you used to.  

Frowning, you moved on to the other text messages, starting with Charles. 

Charles Leclerc 

Y/N Pierre has just turned up here in a state, he won’t talk. What’s happened? 

Okay so he told me what happened, I cannot believe he did that. Please message me as soon as you get this, I need to know that you’re okay. 

Y/N, just so you know, Max called asking for your address, I’m not sure why but expect him at your door soon  

You smiled to yourself at the love and concern Charles had for you. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t reach out, if he put his entire focus on his best friend. You quickly typed a reply.  

Y/N Y/LN 

Hey Charles, sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I am okay, just. I really don’t want to talk about it right now though. 

Turning to the next set of messages, you noticed they were from Pierre. 

Mon amour 

Cheri, please let me come home, let’s talk about this. 

Please Y/N I’m so sorry. 

I love you Cheri, you have to know that. 

What is happening with our plans today, when can I come round to get my stuff, are you still coming? I need to know the flights in a few hours. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, mostly because you didn’t know the answer to his question. Moving on you saw the next messages were from Max. 

Max Verstappen 

Hey Y/N, I’m sorry for having to tell you that, but you needed to know. I hope you’re okay.  

Good morning Y/N, I hope you’re doing okay today. Just a reminder that I’m always here. 

You smiled at the messages, once again the care this man showed for you..  

Y/N Y/LN 

Hi Max, thank you for yesterday. I’ve been better but yeah, I’m okay thank you. 

Max Verstappen 

I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything I can do for you today?  

Y/N Y/LN 

No I don’t think so thank you. Today will be spent trying to find a new way to get to Spain ready for the shoot tomorrow haha. 

Max Verstappen 

I have space on my jet?  

Y/N Y/LN 

Thank you but you really don’t need to do that. I’ll find a way; worst case I guess I’ll just catch the flight with Pierre. 

Max Verstappen 

No don’t be silly, you’re coming. I have a space and you need a way to get there.  

I’ll be there in 45 minutes, be ready.  

Your breath hitched at those last messages, you thought about standing your ground and telling him no, but he was right. You need to get there and the last thing you want is to sit on a plane with Pierre. Quickly firing off a message to Pierre to let him know you’ll be making your own way there and that he can come over in an hour to collect his stuff as that’s when you’ll be gone. You began to gather your stuff and prepare to leave.  

 The time passed quickly and eventually you received another text message from Max letting you know he had arrived. You felt nerves swirl around your stomach as you walked downstairs and approached the car. Opening the door, you saw that Max was sat in the driver's seat, the passenger seat was empty and in the back of the car sat Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris.  

“Hey Y/N, I saved you a seat. Have you got everything you need?” He asked smiling warmly at you tapping the seat next to him. You could feel pity in the eyes of Daniel and Lando, you knew Lando knew as he was there when it happened, but somebody had clearly told Daniel too.  

“Yeah, I do, thank you very much for this, I really appreciate it.” you replied climbing into the very fancy sports car. 

“Oh, please you’re doing me a favour, I didn’t particularly want to spend an hour in a confined space with those two back there.” he joked, clearly sensing your nervousness and wanting to help you feel at ease.  

“Ignore him Y/N, he loves us really” you heard an Australian voice joke come from behind us. You never had much to do with Daniel; but you knew his reputation for being the most likeable guy on the grid and after just a car ride with him you had to agree.   

Boarding Max’s jet felt like something out of movie, you had never experienced anything like this before, usually just flying business class with Pierre. Lando and Daniel sat next to each other, sharing a knowing glance with each other when they left you to sit next to Max, but you didn’t notice, too transfixed with looking at your surroundings. You sat next to Max, opposite the two other men on the plane and the conversation started flowing. It surprised you, how easily the conversation came between you and the three men, with you not spending much time with them at all before this. Eventually Lando and Daniel were asleep, you felt yourself not too far behind. Just as you were drifting asleep, you heard Max’s nervous voice begin speaking. 

“Y/N, I hope you don’t think I'm being too forward here by the way; I just have been in your situation, and I know most of your friends around here are Pierre’s friends too.. And I guess I just didn’t want you to be alone.” 

His words made your heart flutter, a feeling that took you by surprise, but you didn’t think much of it. 

“No Max, I don’t. Honestly, It’s Nice to Have A Friend.” You replied before closing your eyes and starting to sleep. Max didn’t say anything else after that, he just leant over and very gently kissed the top of your head.  

Taglist-

@hiraethrhapsody @ironmaiden1313 @dudenhaaa27 @aundercover @dearlovelys 

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 5

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

@i-am-vita, thank you for the beautiful banner

Word Count: 8,910

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow "Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail

(FanaticSnail Note: I did not get every element I wanted to into this chapter, but I didn't want it to go for too long. Much more to come!)

Song Suggestion: Nocturnal Waltz

The air was siphoned from your lungs at the firm tug of satin ribbon at your back. You hung your head low, eyes closing as you braced yourself against your bedframe with your palms and forearms. A small giggle rose from the woman behind you, continuing her incessant tugging and cinching with all her might.

“Not quite so tight, Perona,” you winced, focussing on stabilizing your voice as you firmly directed her. A small whined groan of disapproval was called from her throat as she began to lessen her firm grip. 

“But you have such a pretty waist, my lady,” she complimented you while weaving the dual strands into each other, “Of all the times to show it off, now would be the time to display exactly what Mihawk signed up for.” She concluded her knot tying, ballooning the satin out into a delicately knotted bow and tucked it within the laced corset to hide it from view. 

Huffing out a final breath of exasperation, you placed your right palm beneath your breasts to rest atop your diaphragm and elevated to a formal posture. The gown felt spectacular to wear; the material feeling lighter than air while giving you the comfort and security of having the object melt into your figure. The dress was black, an option you did not choose for yourself. In fact, none of this dress was what you would have chosen for yourself.

The black material clung to your chest, a single triangular sash attached to your left shoulder that was pinned to the middle of your back and waterfalling down your frame to pool behind you at your feet. Your bust was an interesting choice. The material was bunched in a fashion to mimic feathers, stitched above a heart-shaped cup to carry your breasts within it. The deep cut in the middle of the gown accentuated your cleavage and stopped just below where you would deem it tasteful to halt its descent.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped over to your vanity, looking at the assortment of jewelry you were tasked with placing atop your body. The dress flowed as effortlessly as the veiled tailfin of a betta fish; imprisoned within the pool of its owners’ design. You had never felt more like a fish on display, the glass sheet of clarity distancing you from the expectant audience. 

“Are you okay, my lady?” Perona’s voice uncomfortably close to your right hand side caused you to jolt at her squeaked question. You snapped your head over to greet her wide and innocent eyes, staring unblinkingly at you. Her lips were elevated into a smile, although concern was written on her brows. 

“I am perfectly well, Perona,” you stated automatically, turning once again to fixing your collection of ear and hairpieces atop your head. All emeralds, golds and platinums sparkling with an assortment of topaz stones in their deep amber hue. You elected to ignore how close Perona drew herself against you, her face now perpendicular to your cheek as she continued to gaze her unblinking eyes directly into your face. 

You growled beneath your breath at her proximity, finally clasping your right earring to your lobe. You reached down to open your vanity draw, raking your fingertips over an assortment of glass vials of fragrances. You halted your hand over your usual scent, rising it from its space in the drawer and beginning to uncork its steel top from its glass canister.

“Are you really going to wear that one?” she whined at you, her hands floating down to the wooden drawer and brushing her hands along the variety of bottles, “what about that one that you wore when we walked in the garden? The one that smelt like bitter honey, and it had that intoxicating woodiness. The one that screams: ‘I’m a sultry mistress, take me by the hips and guide me firmly onto your-.”

“-Perona! Halt your vulgarity!” Your disciplinary voice cut through her train of thought, prompting her eyes to upturn into a mischievous twinkle.

“...I was going to say ‘dancefloor’, Governess,” she giggled, raising a bottle of her suggested fragrance and thrusting it into your hands while simultaneously removing the one you had opened prior. You inhaled deeply, rolling your narrowed eyes at her before apprehensively uncorking the vial and spraying the fragrance on your wrists. You circled the vial around yourself, placing the scent on the sides of your neck, the point between your shoulder blades and began to place the glass bottle back into the cabinet. 

Perona snatched the bottle from your hands, quickly sprayed the lowest point of your cleavage and laughed as she dropped it back into the vanity draw. Hastily, she floated her ghostly body away from you and made her way towards the door - as far away as she could be with a feigned surprise expression; reveling in how cross she had made you. Your jaw hung open at her audaciousness, eyes wide in fury only briefly before you sighed out a laugh at your ward. 

You glanced at yourself one final time in your mirror, checking to see if there was a single manicured curl out of place before you nodded to your reflection and turned to exit your chambers. As you opened the door, you were greeted by Zoro with his arm elevated in front of him. His fist was balled, his knuckles about to begin their descent to alert you of his presence beyond the wooden barrier. 

His hazelnut eyes met yours, his breath halting in his throat as he took in your formal attire. You smiled at him, dancing your eyes over his attire before your brows furrowed at the stretched satin vest firmly clenching his wide torso. In the light of the black material, accents of green were patterned within the embroidered material. The relinquishment of a pale shirt beneath it being a final firm act of defiance at squeezing himself into the mold of the upper classes, but remaining incredibly attractive to the eye regardless. 

“Woah,” Zoro sighed, using his surprise to examine your attire while you continued to take him in. You met his eyes once more before your eyes darted up to a single sprig of his moss-coloured hair hanging in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, immediately bringing your bangled and jeweled hand upwards and claiming the lock into your fingertips and tucked it backwards into his combed hair.

“You look very handsome, Zoro,” you praised him, slowly drawing back your hand as you searched for more out of place elements of his outfit to correct his frame with. You noticed a small amount of fray of satin on his left pectoral, prompting your fingers to delicately pick at the material to remove its strand. 

As you were distracted by searching over Zoro’s frame for more irregularities in his attire, Perona shot Zoro a teasing look; her lips curling upwards into a broad smile. Zoro’s frown deepened as his blush continued to dust his nose, ears and cheeks. His top lip sucked into his mouth, his bottom lip curling into a deep pout in embarrassment as he continued to ignore his elevated heartbeat as you praised him. 

“What a gentleman,” you purred at him, Perona laughing gleefully behind him at his tense stature. As her taunting giggle, you spun to chastise her. Her dark eyes were complimented in the accents of black in her tulle and taffeta skirt, her own corset accented with a pink so deep it almost seemed red in the candlelight. 

“That’s enough mischief out of you, young lady,” you reprimanded her, her giggle halting with a gasp. She bowed her head to you, eyes closing and pouting with her lips. Shaking your head, you drew your hand away from Zoro and claimed her chin beneath your fingertips. 

“You look beautiful, Perona,” you praised her, meeting her large doe-eyes as her eyelashes parted. Her pout softened into a smile as she reached forward to interlace her hands into your own. You crinkle your nose at her, an action reciprocated with the pink-haired debutant, allowing a moment of playfulness to fall between you and your ward before you turn back to the young gentleman. 

“Are you ready to go?” Zoro asked you, his brow arching up in question. You inhaled as deep as your corset would allow you, before nodding along with your slow exhale. 

“You seem nervous, are you sure you’re okay?” Perona asked, eyes holding concern while searching your face. You lulled your neck back, looking up into the ornate ceiling and taking a moment to notice all of the intricate carvings drilled into its mastery. Placing your hands up to cradle the back of your neck, you allowed your professionalism to slip in front of your wards for the first time; speaking to them as you would friends, rather than pupils.

“I usually have no qualms in attending formal galas,” you admitted, not yet bringing your head back down to meet with your wards, “but this-... this is not just a formal gala. This is a ball thrown to announce the intentions of unifying myself and a lord. I-...” you trailed off, finally meeting the patient eyes of your wards. Perona’s expression was full of empathy at your confession, brows creasing at the center while Zoro’s face remained unmoving and firm. You allowed your lips to twitch up into a small smile, nodding briefly and slowly blinking your eyes at them.

“-I am ready,” you ushered them with your hands in front of you, shooing them with your fingers. Perona was the first to turn from you, interweaving her hand within the crook of Zoro’s elbow and tugging him away. He continued peering at you over his muscular shoulder, shooting you a pointed look to wordlessly ask you if you were truly comfortable with them leaving you to make your entrance. You warmly smiled at him, eyes soft and delicately reassuring him. He finally turned away, revealing the dark satin knotted pattern vertically cinching his waist and straining under the pressure of his broad chest. 

Zoro was wearing a corseted waistcoat. Someone had to cinch in his corseted waistcoat. You narrowed your eyes at them, watching how proud Perona looked as she raked her eyes over his assembly of attire. You allowed a silent laugh to fall from your lips as you drew the conclusion: Perona cinched Zoro into his corseted waistcoat. 

As your pupils disappeared from your sights down the hall, you began your own trail down the halls towards the uproar of lively strings in jovial melody. Knowing the protocall, you waited by the partially closed doors for your formal announcement. You peered through the crack of the door, noticing how extravagantly the ballroom was decorated through this small window into your future. 

Dracule Mihawk had spared no expense in adorning the walls and halls with an intricate display of his vast wealth. The walls had ropes of golden cast vines dripping from the ceiling, leading down their intricate spirals in spirals towards the guests with bushels of crystalline rose-shaped flowers. The assortment of guests were freshly decorated in clusters of frills, furs and feathers; their pearls and gems glistening under the candlelight. 

That is where Mihawk caught you, breathless as he took in his beautiful intended bride to be. You were a sight to behold: wonderment dancing without restraint behind your eyes as you took in the celebration occurring beyond the door. He stuttered in his movement, opting to remain in the shadows just a moment longer as he continued looking over your body firmly secured within the material of his own design. If you got to choose three outfits for yourself to adorn on your wedding day, he wanted just one to suit his own interests. And within that singular choice he made, you were pure perfection incarnate. 

He straightened his shoulders, rotating them within his pale sleeves below his own cinched vest to rid himself of any final nerves as he approached you.

“My Betrothed,” Mihawk’s purred voice broke you away from your stooped position; your body responded immediately by fixing your hunched posture upright. You turned, eyes meeting with the amber hued orbs shrouded in shadows.

“Betrothed,” you responded, dipping low into a deep curtsey with your head bowed. The small dip of your head bounced your curls and jangled the intricate headpieces within your manicured locks. Mihawk clicked his tongue, stepping away from the shroud of darkness to finally grace you with his presence. 

Mihawk’s signature hat was no longer attached to his head; his hair displaying their natural curl and wave beneath a dark, embroidered tricorne. The usual white of his feather was replaced with a blackened ostrich feather, ombre with a deep crimson accentuating the tips. He paid extra attention to his grooming, ensuring not a single sprig of his facial hair was out of place. A pale shirt with ballooning sleeves was tucked beneath a tight black vest. The boning running down his torso catching your attention and forcing his built chest to display; the way it tightened him was sinful and made his shoulders look that much broader.

As you continued to shamelessly rake your eyes over his slowly approaching body, Mihawk’s yellow eyes were hyper focussed on the small gap in your plump lips as they parted. He couldn’t help the tingle that shot up his spine, knowing how you truly felt for him from your unwitting confession earlier. He relished in being an object of desire, not feeling this form of flattery for quite some time.

By the time your eyes met, you noticed a small twinge of a smile threatening to break through the honey-coloured irises. You tried as you might to remain professional and stoic, knowing within your heart that this match with him was never something to occur naturally between you. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself as you attempted to regain your composure. He was intoxicating, every ounce of the lord of Kuraigana was simply-.

“-So beautiful,” he spoke in a voice above a whisper, reaching down to adjust the darkened satin strap clinging to your shoulder by the pinch of his thumb and index finger. You looked down at your dress, noticing his eyes continued to linger on the satin sashes and interwoven pieces attached to your bodice. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled, watching the way his fingers danced atop the material to smooth over the dress. Mihawk’s eyes drew themselves quietly over your neckline, dancing at your jugular and slowly seeking residence on your lips. He watched as your breath rose and fell between the two rose-coloured borders framing your mouth, fixated on every crevice and divet atop them. He watched them begin to dance as you uttered to him in question.

“Am I everything you hoped I would be?” he heard your voice ask him, breaking him away from his thoughts and snapping his intense eyes upwards to gaze into your own.

“What was that, Betrothed?” he asked, desperately hoping for you to say those words once more. 

“Is this everything you hoped it would be, my lord?” you restated your words, blissfully unaware of Mihawk’s mind fluctuating words and unspoken intentions between the lines of your question. You gestured to the dress and fixed your posture once more, waving over your diaphragm to rid the material of any gathered lines from your prior stoop.

He huffed out a small breath of exasperation briefly before gesturing with his right index finger in a circular motion, indicating his desire for you to twirl for him to view it in its entirety. You sighed out your own exasperated breath and skillfully stepped backwards and twirled the pooling skirts of the intricate dress. The slit on your right thigh split to reveal your sheer, black stockings beneath your sharp, pointed heeled shoes. He raked his eyes over your slow turn, looking to each of the elements he had chosen to include: the boned corset with the laced back, the embroidered satin with feathered details and the plunging neckline to mimic his own. 

You were perfect. Everything, perfect.

As your twirl halted its crescendo, your skirts fluttered before falling back into their waterfall position by your feet. Looking up into his face, his stoic expression was completely unreadable. You had no idea what thoughts plagued the eyes of your betrothed, nor did you ever assume it would be your place to ever ask. 

“We never did choose a title to address each other with, did we?” Mihawk’s left eyebrow elevated as the corner of his lips twitched in question, “Although I do remember stating that you lowering yourself into your subordinate default was no longer appropriate.”

“We initially discussed referring to each other as ‘betrothed’, my-,” He shot you a warning look, forbidding you to say a final utterance to the formal title. You rotated your neck to rid it of its agitation as the two of you began circling each other. Each step Mihawk took, you mirrored it with a step of your own, “But I suggested that was no longer appropriate and sounded too rigid.”

“And have you thought more of it?” Mihawk questioned, allowing his body to be danced with yours a few steps in front of the door where you were to make your grand entrance. He halted his rotation, opting to step forward and bring your bodies all the more closer to each other. You refused to allow him to intimidate you with his presence. 

“Have you?” You quipped in return, stepping closer to him and almost pressing your torso against his. He almost cracked a small smile, the ghost of its presence whispering over his mustached lip as he continued to stare his unmoving gaze into your eyes. 

“When I introduce you to our guests; I will refer to you as my bride,” he declared, choosing to press his right hand an inch above your hip; slowly dragging it to fall into the mid of your back, “But as you’ve plagued my thoughts of late, my heart calls to you by another name.”

His eyes held a firmness to them, desiring for you to understand your place as his intended, but also harboring more affection for you than you once realized. You were drawn back to your conversation earlier with the Farm-Hand of Kuraigana, your heart singing the praises of the eyes and the voice of the man in front of you. That voice now referring to you almost akin to the prospect of ‘beloved,’ both had you reveling at the notion of affection being possible between the two of you, but also frightening you with the aspect that this could all be due to the suspicious curse that haunts the ring on your unity finger. 

“I am your bride,” you whispered, dancing your eyes between his briefly while placing your right palm atop his heart and pushing against it firmly, “and I am fine with being introduced as such, as I would introduce you to our guests as my beau.” 

As your heart began to drum frantically, and anxiety nipped at your neck at your approaching confession; a loud fanfare began its call to introduce the lord and intended lady of Kuraigana to the guests below the marble staircase. The shock of the interruption broke you both from your trance, eyes snapping from one another and jolting to the awaiting audience below. 

You felt the left arm of Dracule Mihawk reach forward and claim your right arm within the crook of his elbow. Stooping down, he gently voiced a small utterance, “We will talk more on this later. For now, know this,” He leant down to whisper a small secret within your ear, lips brushing gently with the outer shell as his breath danced over your skin, “I’m here by your side, and I will not drop you.”

Your mind immediately began swimming with circling thoughts of the dirt, twig, fur and feather-covered Farm-Hand who has spent his morning with you. He journeyed with you, educating you on interests throughout the land belonging to your betrothed you clutched with your arm. He carried you, allowed defenses to break down between you and confessed to his own romantic ailments. 

You refused to let your displeasure be shown on your face by the knowledge that this man you called ‘friend’ had spilled your secrets to your intended beside you: opting to falsify a pleasant smile as Mihawk chaperoned you to the balcony. This would be a conversation to be explored between you the next the two of you should meet. 

Applause erupted below as you stepped in tow with your fiance, his face stoic and unreadable as it was moments prior. He guided you down the steps, slowly making your descent below with the mable clicking pleasantly with yours and Mihawk’s formal shoes. As your feet concluded its journey down the steps, the room had once again sprung to life with the merriment of your guests and the uproar of melody drawn from the small orchestra at the corner of the room. 

Perona and Zoro were off to the side, opting to stare at the amount of guests within the large ballroom while drinking wine together. You raked your eyes over to several members within the upper class you had trained from youth; a broad, warm smile drawing itself to your face as your eyes met with your former gentlemen and debutants. Each of them you locked gazes with, stooped to a low and perfect curtsey and bow. Your pride in their tutelage swelled your heart and greatly improved your prior disgruntled mood. 

That was, until, you caught the whiff of the choking scent of a sour cigar. The nicotine-woven smoke spurred towards you, drawing over your hair and face and dancing with the perfume you had meticulously applied against your skin earlier. You snapped your head towards the position the intrusion was occurring, narrowing your eyes as they met with the purple irises of an incredibly tall and broad gentleman.

Your beau beside you was no short individual, his height far greater than yours. But this man in his broad stature eclipsed the two of you with his presence. His beady eyes held a dangerous, cold-blooded and reptilian stare as it met with your own. You refused to look away from his intimidation, choosing to feign your practiced kindness against your features. 

“Sir Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly addressed the man in front of you, “allow me to introduce my bride.” He carefully unwove your hand from within the crook of his elbow, prompting you to automatically step your body between Mihawk’s and this ‘Sir Crocodile’ to formally greet him. He had a cigar clutched between his teeth, his brows upturned in boredom but his eyes holding nothing but complete intrigue. He removed his bitten cigar from his lips by stabbing the tip of a golden hook attached to his left hand and moved to collect your right within his. 

Stooping low, he drew up the back of your hand to press his lips against your knuckles with his eyes closing in respect. From this angle, you had the brief opportunity to study his face; noticing a large scar separating his eyes from the bottom half of its face that looked to be particularly painful in origin. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” His raspy voice rumbled at you, the air of danger being omnipresent in the air and surrounds, “I have heard many wondrous things about you.” He opened his eyes at you while his face remained close to your knuckles, looking up at you through his eyelashes with narrowed eyes. Opting to mimic his response and mirror it back to him, you responded in a similar likeness.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” you uttered in return, a smirk now pulling at your lips in lieu of your false smile, “And I truly wish I could say the same in return.” The rumble of his voice was now ignited with a small chuckle thrust from his lips as he ascended back to full height. 

“The Hawk of Kuraigana has not spoken about me to his blushing bride?” Sir Crocodile quipped, his brow raising as his eyes snapped over to Mihawk’s, “My, my. And here I thought we were friends.” Mihawk attempted to contain his composure, not allowing the Crocodile’s suggestion get the better of him.

“I do not recall making much mention regarding my bride’s achievements to you either, Crocodile,” He uttered through a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. You continued to hold your gaze firmly on the man in front of you, watching his nonchalant amusement dance over his eyes. His jaw continued to hold a bored and exasperated expression, even as he returned his cigar to his lips on the pointed tip of his golden hook.

“I did my own research on such a woman. A governess, Mihawk,” he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine-lace smoke and turned his jaw away from you to relinquish its presence in his mouth while his eyes remained on yours, “And a talented one at that.” You felt the tension between the men rushing between them like the rapids of a river of cloudy water. 

“I am an exceptional governess, sir. May I confess to you a trade secret?” you smiled, stepping closer to the larger man and putting a greater distance between you and your fiance. You smirked as he stooped lower, using his pointed hook to smooth a stray hair from his forehead back. 

“Please,” Sir Crocodile’s eyes narrowed and humor danced behind his darkened pupils.

You angled your chin upwards, looking down your nose at him through your elongated eyelashes and holding your face stern, “One of the greatest joys in my line of work is finding the stubborn ones,” you stepped closer into him, his smile creaking at the sides, “breaking them in,” your own smile continued to pull upwards, mirroring the playfulness now depicted between you, “and taming them.”

In an instant, Sir Crocodile’s eyes snapped over to meet the intense amber gaze of your beau behind you; an unreadable darkness contained within his purple hue. You witnessed the pointed gaze reflected in the irises of the crocodile, the deep amber hue of your betrothed honing in on the man in front of you; eyes narrow and jaw clenched tight as a steel vice. 

“And what a fine job you will make of him yet, my lady,” the rumbled laughter of the crocodile ran through his chest, finally returning to his great height and releasing your hand from within his. He returned his eyes to meet yours, curtly nodded his head in a polite manner and uttered a simple, “Congratulations to the both of you,” before turning back to Mihawk.

“After you conclude with the pleasantries, you will both meet me in the foyer to view the item I have made for you,” he ordered, a smirk pulling at his lips as Mihawk’s frown deepened, “As we agreed, Mihawk. A hundred hands have sewn it.”

Your eyes widened only slightly at the thought, remembering the words Perona had uttered while in her trance; “a crocodile has the moon.” So this is how he is doing it. A wealthy man with the world at his beck and call, commanding those around him by the curt snap of his fingers. Sir Crocodile’s smirk broadened, nodding again and adding a simple; “Lord Dracule,” and a further utterance of, “my lady.”

Mihawk’s presence once again found itself by your shoulder, an elbow extended for you to weave your own through it. As you took his left arm, you found his dominant hand atop your right hand and held it firmly in place. You turned your head to gaze up at the man beside you, his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the retreating figure of the reptilian man from earlier. 

“You managed him quite effortlessly,” he uttered in a voice only available to your registry, “But heed this warning,” Mihawk turned his head, his eyes meeting yours and depicting complete seriousness within his face, “Sir Crocodile is not a man you can trust, nor would I want you to ever be left alone with him.”

You nodded your head to him, your gaze fluttering down to focus on his lips moving so beautifully beneath his tailored mustache as he so eloquently spoke. Mihawk followed your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering as they continued to hold firm to his lips. He furrowed his brows, watching as your eyelashes fluttered up to meet your eyes against his amber orbs. 

“Consider your warning received,” you uttered breathily, angling your chin up to look down your nose at him, “Are there any further guests I should be equally fearful of, or is it just the crocodile being cause for concern?” He hummed, beginning to chaperone you throughout the grandiose ballroom; all the while continuing to hold his dominant hand over yours within his arm. 

As Mihawk opened his mouth to begin disclosing information about his other unruly guests, a loud commotion was occurring within the lounging area of the room. Muffled yelling, angry voices and clashes of wood slapping and scraping against marble echoed within the halls; the musicians electing to continue performing their serenade despite the interruption. 

“Can’t you do anything right? No! Over here, here,” the scratchy and hoarse voice barked, prompting the steady shuffle of feet and another loud crash of plank on tile. Mihawk released your hand from within his, continuing to link his elbow with your arm as he hastily drew himself closer to the sound. 

As guests parted, your eyes could not seem to form rhyme or reason as to what you were truly looking at. Your eyes were initially drawn to the train of thick, blue locks that veiled down the back of the brightly colored jester in front of you. Clasped firmly around his neck, an off-white ruff with a tight crinkle spiking off with its horizontal diameter incredibly large in size. You raked your eyes down his back, noticing a pale shirt ballooning out and tapering at the wrists beneath a gold, blue and red diamond-printed and patterned vest. Leather pants of the same pattern clung to his body like armor, accenting every muscle beneath it as he stomped his boot-clad feet against the marble floor.

“You idiots,” he growled, folding his arms over his chest briefly before flailing it out in front of him, “This is for Mihawk’s bride! Do you want to lose your heads? Because, so help me, if you drop that box one more time, I’m gonna-!” He turned away from the people in front of him, locking his teal eyes against yours. 

All words fled from the mind of the blue-haired clown-captain as his teal eyes danced with your own irises. His lips opened and shut, nothing forming within his painted mouth as his throat struggled to produce coherence. 

“Buggy,” Mihawk curtly snapped, bringing the clown’s attention over to meet Mihawk’s warning face, “May I introduce you to my bride to be?” Immediately Buggy’s entire body was fixated on taking you in. His arms gesturing out in front of him, his right heel extended and bending his left knee in a deep bow. He held unbreaking eye contact with you, taking in your every expression and response you gave to him: from the softness in your smile, the reprimanding presence in your eyes, to your manicured curls, to the way your breasts were perfectly displayed in the tight bodice of the-.

“-A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” your melodic introduction broke his attention away from staring at your bodice, drawing his eyes up to once again meet with your own. 

“Believe me, Starlight. The pleasure is all mine,” Buggy’s voice rumbled, a small quiver detected in his throat. Mihawk’s sharp cough drew the clown’s eyes back to meet with the lord of Kuraigana with a winced grimace-like grin forming over his painted lips. 

“Mihawk,” He elevated his voice in a loud greeting, leaning forward and clapping his left hand over his right shoulder, “I have the thing for you,” he cocked his head over to the large wooden chest, the smallest sliver of pale chiffon jammed within the iron brim of the frame. Your eyes darted over to the material, your legs carrying you far enough away to no longer hear a hushed conversation between your intended and the jester.

“Fuck me, Mihawk,” Buggy hushed out his breathy exclaim, choosing to fix his gaze on your stoop as you looked at the box with curiosity, “She’s spectacular. And you’re telling me you didn’t want her as soon as you laid eyes on her? If you still feel that way, by all means I’ll take her off your hands-.”

“-No.” That verbal warning was all it took to have the clown-captain sucking his lips into his mouth and eating his words. The two men continued to stare their unwavering eyes over your body as you rose from your stoop. 

“Is this-,” you began, attempting to hide your unease at the notion that two of the three requirements were potentially presented to you in the same night, “-Is this one of the-?”

“-This is starlight for you, Doll,” Buggy chimed in, a broad grin decorating his painted face as he stepped closer to you, “If I may?” he asked, presenting his right hand out to collect your own. You danced your eyes briefly over to meet with Mihawks, an unreadable expression once again remaining stoic against his face.

You placed your left hand within Buggy’s, his grimace-grin softening with his eyes as he brandished your arm open to take in your whole appearance. He started with your feet, drawing his eyes up the slit of the full bodied, satin skirt and stopped his gaze at your waist. Holding it there a moment, he stepped closer to you and continued slowly looking over your figure, small hums exiting his large, red nose at each point he drew his attention to. 

“You. Oh, you,” He exclaimed, stepping closer still to your body. He hovered his left hand in front of your waist, his right still claiming your left within its caress, “You are going to look so radiant in that dress. You’re going to want to kiss me, Mihawk. Your bride- you, Doll,” he hovered his hand over you, eyes watching yours as you held your attention fully on reading the flashy individual in front of you, “The stars are going to envy your radiance. Fuck, you’re gorgeous-.”

“-Enough, Clown,” Mihawk’s bored vocal warning hand Buggy’s embrace immediately flees from your arms and holds them up to display defenselessness. Mihawk made eye contact with one of the members of the household staff, wordlessly directing them with a small gesture to remove the wooden box and move it elsewhere, away from prying eyes. 

You took that small moment to look over to where your former students were gathered, each taking to the dance floor with ease and gliding along the surface with practiced precision. Your heart swelled, the feeling of pride rising to adorn your cheeks with a content smile. Mihawk turned away from Buggy and the staff, his lips parting as he began to relay something no longer deemed important as he stood in awe. He wanted to commit the way your face lit up to memory: the upturn of your eyes, the shape of your lips as they rose in glee, the way your eyelashes partially shielded your twinkle in your irises. 

“You danced with your bride yet, Hawkie?” Buggy quipped at Mihawk’s ear in a tone and pitch low enough to only be heard by the swordsman. Mihawk looked through the corner of his eye, narrowing his pointed gaze at the clown by his side. 

“We are greeting our guests, Clown,” he spoke through his scowl, his voice warning the clown to desist with his incessant line of questioning and lewd comments regarding his intended spouse. Buggy’s eyes widened with an enthusiastic twinkle, his pearled teeth baring into a large smile. 

“Well, hop to it, bird-boy,” Buggy jested at the broody lord, pressing his gloved hand down to clap over Mihawk’s left ass-cheek. If Mihawk were not indebted to the clown for creating a prominent piece to save his mortal soul, he would have had him drawn and quartered for such an action. 

The curt sound of a slap drew you away from your students to seek out its source, only to find the clown with a triumphant smile plastered on his face while your betrothed bore his eyes into him with a burning hatred. Sensing a small amount of tension from the two, you nodded your head to the clown with a polite smile and wove your right hand within the crook of Mihaw’s left arm once more. 

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir Buggy,” you meant every word spoken through your lips; your smile genuine for the flashy fool, “And I thank you for aiding my beau with his task in completing an impossible task. Truly, sir.” Buggy’s face beamed up at you, his body now crouched in a flamboyant bow to humble himself before your feet. 

“My lady,” he uttered in a hushed whisper, rising once more to his full stature; his frilled collar bobbing beneath his lengthy blue hair, “I am just a clown. I aint worth all that-.” You shook your head, elevating your voice to cut off his train of thought.

“-And I am just a governess, sir,” you nodded your head, pursing your lips and smirking up at him, “We are worth far more than the titles that make us, do you not agree?” Mihawk continued to lay his face stoic, attempting to disguise his rise of adoration through clenching his jaw. He gave a short nod to the clown, dismissing him as he led you further within the crowd. 

You stood silently at his side, nodding politely as he continued to guide you on to make the acquaintance of several more lords from nearby lands, and notorious pirate captains he felt obliged to extend a formal invitation. He could not fault your ability to navigate the room, carefully balancing and reflecting energies and intentions back without fault nor flaw. 

That was, until, your eyes met with the intense and playful glint of a redheaded captain Mihawk truly thought would pose no threat. Standing amongst several close members of the Red-Hair pirates, all dressed in tailored suits with their weapons tucked in tasteful spaces amongst the belts and ribbons. As Mihawk began to form words to introduce you to his former rival, the Redhead immediately shot a wide and winning grin pulling at his lips, with surprise written in his chestnut eyes. 

“Vile Exterminator!” Shanks exclaimed with glee, his eyes meeting yours with enthusiasm. Mihawk’s face paled, shock written all over his face at his introduction to you. He snapped his head over to meet with your face, meeting only with playfulness depicted within your eyes

“Red-Haired Rat!” you responded back with an equal amount of surprise. You unwove your arm from its place hooked within your betrothed as Shanks stepped forward and circled his one arm around your waist. He hoisted you off your feet, circling you around within the air as his eyes danced between yours. 

“I thought that was you in the announcement,” Shanks uttered affectionately into your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss upon the skin, “Could recognise the disdain in your eyes anywhere, love.” He placed your feet back onto the floor, giving you an opportunity to place a gentle reprimanding slap against his chest. 

“Charming as you ever were, Rat,” you uttered, stepping away from the redhead captain and politely bowing to the silver-haired first mate beside him, “Beckman, always a pleasure. Keeping the Rat away from the henhouse?”

“Always, Exterminator,” Beckman smiled, inhaling a deep breath from his cigarette and exhaling it away from your face.

“Good boy,” you praised him, watching the corner of his lips tick into a small smirk at the verbal reward you offered him. The lord of Kuraigana followed the exchange like a hawk examining a potential kill. He was not amused.

“It appears you have history with my bride, Red-Hair,” Mihawk stated with narrowed eyes, warning written in his unspoken expression. Shanks’ grin only seemed to grow further, if at all possible. Shanks danced his eyes between the two of you, taking in your appearance as you stood beside the broody former-warlord beside you.

“I have been known to bump into her from port to port,” Shanks confidently declared, shooting a winning wink from his tri-scarred eye. You rolled your eyes at the movement, returning back to your prior position beside Mihawk and interweaving your arm within his. 

“One or two of my prior debutants had an affection for sailing men,” you spoke slowly, training your eyes on the pirates smirking with pride in front of you, “It was my job to chase them out.” Mihawk released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slow enough to not draw your attention away from your stare in front; but not subtle enough to escape Shanks’ knowing glace. 

You turned to the man at your side, noticing the tension arising in his jaw as he continued to look at the redhead captain in front of you. Placing your palm firmly on his bicep while circling it, you gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze, drawing his attention back down to you. Your left brow quirked up at him, a small purse of your lips as your gaze drew down to his mouth. 

“I have also been known to acquire passage aboard the Red Force if I am in dire need,” you commented, floating your eyes back up to hear the amber hue of your intended’s eyes. He stooped down, turning his head away from Shanks’ teasing expression. His breath tickled your neck, his scent intoxicating as he purred a gentle reprimand in the shell of your ear, “And you said you were a lady.”

The hue of a warm blush rose in your chest, flushing your cheeks with its radiant heat. You clenched your jaw tightly closed, your brows furrowed as Mihawk pulled away from your neck with his lips twitching up into a small smirk. Shanks raised his right arm out defensively, a huffed laugh exiting his mouth with a grimace-grin akin to one the clown presented earlier.

“I assure nothing untoward has ever occurred between myself, my crew, and your intended, Hawk-Eyes,” he laughed, prompting a rumbled chuckle to gather within the chest of the smoking first-mate beside him. You snapped your pointed gaze back to the red-head captain, narrowing your eyes at him and wordlessly chastising him to hold his tongue. 

“Rat,” you nodded your head, dismissing yourself from this conversation while unlinking your arm from within Mihawk’s. 

“Exterminator,” He nodded in return, training his eyes after you as you made your way unchaperoned within the ballroom. Mihawk stood in place, turning back to glare at the red-head in front of him. He again opened his mouth to begin a lengthy verbal battle with his former rival, only for Shanks to immediately speak over his words.

“I have almost completed your request: so close I could almost see the vision. Mihawk-...” Shanks paused, stepping closer to the swordsman and turning him away from his crew. Both mens eyes fell over your form as you smiled and conversed with your prior students; introducing them affectionately to both Perona and Zoro now at your sides. All smiles, all beautiful and lovely smiles capable of having the highest of highs stoop to the lowest they’d become under the majesty of your smile.

“-Mihawk,” Shanks again spoke breathily, “I hope you are truly aware of how much of a lucky bastard you are,” He wrapped his arms firmly over the lord’s shoulders, the feather atop Mihawk’s hat bobbing under the swift movement. Mihawk sighed, closing his eyes and feeling a rise of agitation forming as the redhead continued to keep his one remaining arm hooked over his shoulders. 

“I am fully aware of how truly amazing she is, Red-Hair,” Mihawk began, clicking his neck in an attempt to rid himself of such agitation, “And I can admit to you, as my oldest rival, that I have begun to develop a fondness for her. I would never give in to such an emotion, but rather shield her from how much I adore her.” He turned to face the captain once again, baring his eyes fully into his with a blinding and furious intensity; remaining blissfully and shamefully ignorant to your slow approach behind him. 

You heard the next words of their hushed conversation, each word twirling like a dagger to the heart; but no context of the prior words spoken between them.

“I would have never chosen such a woman for myself,” Mihawk confessed to his rival, “I never wanted to marry, to take a wife, and to open myself up to the prospect of love. I am hating every minute I have to continue leading this facade.”

Your face fell, hearing the swirl of those words echo within your mind falling from the lips of your betrothed to your oldest acquaintance. Your heart shattered, hearing the words formed with a man you had begun to harbor affection for - a man who you were set to marry as soon as the final demand was met. You bit back the rise of bitterness within your throat and opted to not respond or react to the hurtful words spoken from the lips of your betrothed, but rather clear your throat and stilling your expression by flipping back to your prior state of pure professionalism. 

“I am glad we agree on our mutual displeasure at the prospect of joining together in matrimony,” you attempted to mask your heartache by allowing your rage to bubble to the surface, “Perhaps after we conclude with this sham, we could ask Red-Haired Shanks to process a speedy annulment? He is a captain, after all.” Mihawk snapped his face over to meet with your own, watching as your lips drew into a thin line and chin drew upwards into the air. 

“Would you excuse us, Shanks,” Mihawk stated suddenly, immediately reaching his left hand forward and grasping your right within his palm. Rather than to react by pulling your hand out of his grip and stomping away like the young teenager within you screamed at you to do; you allowed him to lead you away from the soiree of guests and out onto the quiet balcony overlooking the moon-dusted garden. 

You held your surliness prominently against your face, not speaking nor listening to the amassment of voices laughing merrily together within the ballroom. As soon as you both marched through the threshold of the balcony, Mihawk immediately shut the doors behind you to shroud you both in darkness. Without turning to face you, he uttered darkly with his voice dripping in unrestrained ferocity.

“Is that how you truly feel about me? About this?” Mihawk growled, balling his fist and placing it on the wall beside him. You remained expressionless, choosing to vocalize your answer. You compartmentalised your emotions, boxing them away as you had trained yourself through the years to do so. 

“Answer me,” He whispered, turning to finally face you. His brow was deep, his lips parted and eyes brimming with fury. 

“What good would gracing you with an answer do here?” you asked him, shaking your head at him. He stepped forwards, prompting you to dance away from his rapid approach. His footsteps stuttered, his arm halting its reach for you as you continued to hold your face stoic and expressionless.

“Was it all a lie?” Mihawk whispered accusingly, “Everything you told me: was it a lie? My eyes, my voice - all of it?”

You furrowed your brows into the middle of your forehead, attempting to recall a conversation you had with him regarding those aspects of your adoration for him. Your eyes held a seriousness to them, the private moment you shared with the Farm-Hand being the only time you had ever confessed to such a thing again dancing into the forefront of your mind. 

“You were eavesdropping on me? Ensuring I was behaving as your intended should? Watching me with the Farm-Hand as a parent would hover over an undisciplined child?” Your fury began to rise and elevate your voice within your throat, “I can assure you, my lord,” that final title had another growl free itself from the throat of the lord of Kuraigana, “I have never behaved in a manner unbefitting a lady-.”

“-That does not answer my question, Governess,” his voice roared with passion, his hair being freed from its confinement beneath his hat as his right hand removed it and cast it to the side, “Was it all a lie?” You backed away from him, your fingertips finding the coarse cement of the marble barrier behind you. You sighed, huffing out your agitation and allowing the moment to suspend your rage as you glared at him.

“Was what a lie? Articulate your words, sir, and I may yet grace you with the answer you so desperately seek,” your passion flared, your correcting reprimand strict and firm in your voice and stature. 

At that small challenge, Mihawk was on you in an instant; his hands seeking out your waist and pulling you flush against him as his lips bruised yours in a vicious caress. The intensity of the oscillation dizzied your head, swelled your heart and confused your mind with this degree of unrestrained affection. 

He raked his hands over your ribcage, drawing them behind your back, his fingertips slowly raking up each of the divots of the corset behind you. He hooked his arms between your shoulder blades, as your hands found themselves entangling within his raven curls. The brush of his silken mustache grazed your gradually swelling lips as you returned the kiss with equating intensity. You felt his teeth take your bottom lip between them, biting with fury as he drew you closer within his firm embrace. You gasped into his mouth, feeling a groan siphon itself from his lips into your own. 

He broke his lips away from yours and began to place open mouthed and heated kisses against your jaw, relishing in the way your skin felt beneath his lips with the cries of surprise propelling him onwards.

“You have ruined me,” he growled into your cheek, raking his teeth over your jaw and up to your ear, “Look at what you’ve made of me.” He drew his lips away from your earlobe and began trailing hot and desperate kisses down your neck, inhaling the sweet perfume Perona had so subtly sprayed on you earlier. You whimpered as he placed a kiss on your pulse, soothing over the rapid beat with his tongue as he felt your breath hitch. 

“Mihawk, stop,” you whispered, his actions immediately halting as he snapped his head away from your neck to gaze up into your eyes. Wide and worried was the expression he was met with, his desperation seeping out of his eyes and weeping down onto his face. He sighed, pressing his forehead onto your own, his eyes closing as he felt your anxiety roll off of you and onto him.

“I would never hurt you. You are my bride, my belov-...” his words trailed off as his throat closed them painfully between his tonsils. Your eyes widened as his remained closed, watching the pain draw up onto his face at his unspoken confession. You closed your eyes, leaning into his affectionate touch and inhaling deeply. 

“I would never allow myself the luxury of harboring affection for you should you desire severance,” you admitted with a soft smile, drawing your forehead away from his as his eyes reopened to meet with yours. He sighed, both removing your arms from one another while remaining a whisper away from each other. 

“And I would never find myself willingly breaking away from you, my lady,” Mihawk quipped in return, his lips threatening to break into a curled smirk beneath his mustache. You were the first to smile, reaching up your right hand to caress his left cheek beneath your palm. 

“Perhaps we should return to our event, my lord,” you uttered, dancing your eyes between his before reaching your thumb down to remove some of the lip paint that had passed onto his face from your own, “I may even provide you with the dance you asked me for those many years ago.” 

A sound fell into the air that you didn’t realize your heart yearned to hear fall from the parted lips of the lord of Kuraigana. His lips broke upwards, eyes cracking gently at the corners and his heart poured from his mouth in a small uproar of hearty laughter. This laugh felt so familiar to you, yet the sight of his face depicting such a sound was the most beautiful thing to take into your sights. He sighed, leant into your palm and pressed a gentle kiss into your flesh with his eyes briefly closing. 

“I would want nothing more, beloved.”

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Six - Wasteland, Baby!

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings: mentions of violence, arranged marriage

song: Wasteland, Baby! - Hozier

a/n: she juicyyy

“Rather small, isn’t it?” 

Benji snorts next to you, but you don’t find it humorous. 

The castle is small. Not even remotely comparable to what you are used to. 

Which you would not mind, if it didn’t showcase so blatantly how little your father cared about where he had sent you off to. 

Not remotely deserving of your status. 

You clutch the reins and nudge Fury forward, breaking from your cluster of company until you were the one leading them up to the gates. 

You don’t exactly do it to spite anyone. In fact, you’re not even sure if this is wrong. Traditionally your suitors would have to travel to you and not the other way around, but you figure being the first face seen would perhaps assert some kind of dominance that you so clearly lack otherwise. 

You try not to think of the fact that Benji had shared a bed with you last night. 

Not in a promiscuous fashion, at all, but because you were embarrassingly overwhelmed with the way your life was moving forward at the moment. 

Now you won’t really look at him again, and it pains you a little bit, but you had to at least somewhat have your head in the right place when meeting your future husband. 

The sun is shining today. Perhaps it’s a good sign. 

Somebody yells something, an introduction of some sort, trumpets sound out and the gate creaks open. 

It whirls up grey dust that stains the shiny black of your dress. 

Marion had snuck it in for you, you were certain, nobody else would have approved a mourning gown to meet your Lord Husband.

Sitting on your horse like this, you melt into one, colourwise. It makes you look taller, stronger, powerful.

You trot forward, across the small bridge and into the court of the castle. 

Lord Cathcart has his arms flung open, a wide grin on his face. You can’t bring yourself to return the small.

“Ah, the princess of the realm in my humble abode,” he greets you and finally as though saying your title reminded him, he bows. 

Briefly, not appropriately low enough. 

You nod at him, unwilling to get off your horse just yet. “Lord Cathcart.”

He makes a discarding hand gesture. “Please, call me Erik.” 

“Erik.”

He doesn’t look bad. Of course not, neither does his sister. They’re both bronze-haired beauties, not particularly the kind of beauty you cared for, but undeniably beautiful nonetheless. 

“I hope your travels were safe,” he continues. It is a painfully uncomfortable ordeal.

You glance at the castle residents, all lined up behind him, none of them moving and all of them staring at you as though you were perhaps a particularly interesting cow. 

Livestock is becoming increasingly relatable to you as time goes on. 

You haven’t answered yet. “Yes. No disturbances.” 

Erik stares at your dress but then decides he would not address it. 

Fury trudges forward until she is face to face with him, and you want to feel bad for the way he flinches at her height. 

“Well then,” he croaks out. Your eyes flit over to Benji, who unlike you, is not concealing his amusement at all. “I suppose you will want to get rest and settle down in your chambers.”

You nod. “Very much so, my lord.” 

Somebody is whispering something, eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.

You can’t blame them, the picture that is commonly painted of you — soft, sweet, kind — doesn’t exactly align with the entrance you’ve just made. 

It is quite foreign. To remain seated. To not do the polite thing. It isn’t as though you’re being rude or as though you’re obliged to appease these people. The only reason you’ve ever done it was to be nice and you really don’t have the energy to be nice today. 

“Lord Cathcart, I should inform you that her Highness’s horse Fury is unfortunately stubborn. The princess prefers to bring her to the stables herself,” Benji says. The sentence is shaped like a cautious reminder but his voice has an edge to it. You wonder now, whether the edge is natural. 

Lord Cathcart nods, eager, excited, like a dog who’s been shown a bone. 

“Where To then?” 

“Oh, of course!” There’s a strand of hair that bounces. Like a tail. Many dog similarities about the man. “My stable boy will lead the way.”

A young lad breaks from the row and bows to you before approaching. 

“Ma’am,” he mumbles. 

Ma’am? 

You open your mouth to correct him, but a loud smacking sound interrupts you. Your mouth falls agape in horror. Lord Cathcart had struck the boy.

“It is ‘your highness’, you fool,” he yells. Then he turns to you, wide-grinned once more, as though he had painted an entirely new painting in the blink of an eye. “Apologies, we aren’t quite used to such important visits here.”

You want to vomit. “Ser Benjicot and I will go ahead. The rest of you may wait.” You slide off Fury, grab her by the reins. “Come on, sweetling.” 

The boy mumbles his sorrows through welled-up tears as he scurries across the court toward the stables, you and your knight right behind.

Once you are out of sight, tucked away behind the oaken doors, you rest your hand on the boy’s shoulder and force him to face you. 

He’s perhaps three and ten moons, by the looks of it. He looks a bit like Tristan did at his age, but rougher around the edges than a young prince would be.

“You may call me anything you want,” you tell the boy. 

He looks up at you. “My apologies, my highness.” 

Benji chokes a laugh. You send him a warning look. 

“If you wish to call me so, you would have to say ‘your highness’,” you correct him. “But you mustn’t worry. If you wish, you can even call me by my name.”

The boy nods. “My apologies, again.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Matter of fact, he looks as though he’s waiting to find himself trapped somehow. 

You retract your hand and tilt your head. “How often does Lord Cathcart get violent?”

His eyes widen. “I don’t- His father before him– I don’t know, ma– uh, your highness.” 

When you look at Benji once more, as though he might have an explanation for this dilemma, he has a face like a knife ready to be swung. 

“Well, if I am to wed him, then things will have to change around here.”

Still, he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t seem the type to disagree with you either and so you simply guide Fury to her resting place for the next few weeks. Or moons or years. 

She doesn’t seem all too pleased, a spoiled girl, used to palace stables and quality carrots reserved for her. 

“Marvellous first impression,” Benji huffs at you. 

“What, on my part?” 

He’s close to you suddenly and you wish that you didn’t enjoy it as much as you do. He somehow smells intriguing. “Obviously on your part. What kind of man strikes a child?”

You don’t unsaddle your horse, it is not your duty to do so but you rest your head against her side and sigh deeply. “Lord,” you sigh out and if it weren’t for the deeply rooted feeling of nothingness you would have probably cried. 

Benji rests a hand on your shoulder. He’s behind you, an arm’s length of distance and yet you suddenly are struck by the thought of how distant he actually is from you, how you had fallen asleep in his arms, likely even drooled on him in your sleep and yet he is still your knight. Nothing more, nothing less. Bound to you and not a friend. Or a lover. 

“I shall rest,” you cough up. “I shall rest,” you cough up. You cannot face him and you wonder if you could ever again do so, knowing who you were set to marry and knowing what might have happened in another life. You wish you had some sort of consolation. 

Like perhaps your betrothed might not be the kind of man to strike his servants, but you do not and so you wish to go to your chambers and stare at the ceiling for the next few hours.. 

When you emerge onto the court you do not bother to walk back to Lord Cathcart. 

"I shall see to it that I get my rest now, my lord. There will be room to talk another time." 

He is narrowing his eyes at you. Be that because he is suspicious of your behaviour or because he cannot see you well from where he is standing, but he hurries towards you on his slender limbs. "I will see you to your rooms, your highness. If you wish, we can have a bath drawn for you."

A bath was not a bad idea at all, you must smell of horse and sweat and uncomfortable humidity but for some reason you cannot fathom the thought of doing anything at all. 

"No thank you. I will bathe before supper has come and passed, but for now, my bones are too tired."

He pushes out his bottom lip in an odd childish manner, as though your rejection had hurt him in some way. Such a peculiar man. "Follow me," he says. "We have prepared your room the best way possible."

You nod and then glance at your entourage, still standing around, looking morbidly out of place. Capital men, your young new maid, none of them of high status and yet they are engulfed in a blanket of regality by comparison to the courtier's of Lord Cathcart. 

"Say, where will my people be staying? And my knight?"

Erik offers Benji a more than disapproving look. "Downstairs, where they are in the best position to protect you." 

A huff escapes you, at his disregard of rules. "Erik," it drags across your tongue like the bitterest of poisons. "My knight is to wait outside my door until nightfall where he is replaced with a member of the King's guard. Must I remind you of protocol, so early on in our courtship?"

"I have guards of my own, and you will be my wife soon. You are no longer in need of anyone else."

By god, you would have jumped at a chance like this, to be rid of your guards, the most luxurious prison of all, just a few moons ago. But now, as you stand there, you suddenly feel as though protection at all times is much more important than you had previously thought. 

"We are to be married, on that I agree, my lord, however, it is of the utmost importance that my dignity is not compromised beforehand. Therefore my guards will keep watch until God in heaven has blessed this arrangement."

You give him the most saccharine of smiles, so sweet it would make your teeth hurt. "I'm sure you understand."

He clears his throat and looks back and forth between Benji and you and then over at your father's men. Really, they are more Tristan's than the king's at this point. Loyal to you either way. 

Young Lord Cathcart shakes his head as though he is trying to get rid of something and then he grins his idiotic grin. "Why of course, your highness. I suppose it is better to be safe than sorry."

"I am certain you will have no trouble accommodating the lot of us. It is a small castle but it shall do."

You speak the tongue of the snake now. Never in your life have you made comments like this. Never had you been one to participate in the ill-speaking of others. 

You had listened to gossip, had grasped at the tiniest bits of information the loose tongue of any lady would give you and soaked it up to safely put away into a corner of your mind. Knowledge is power. 

Never in your life had you returned the favour to those who would gossip. Not one secret had fallen from your lips, not the slightest of jabs at whether somebody was getting quite rounded around the belly, or that they had worn the same dress on one too many occasions. 

It doesn't feel as good as you had imagined it to, to be a participant now. With how much people talk and talk and talk, you had figured it would be more fun being mean, but you cannot ignore the uneasy pit in your stomach. 

Lord Cathcart leads you to your chambers,, Tamsyn, your new maid hot on your heels, Benji to your right, your left arm looped through that of your betrothed and it feels as if you're walking toward your execution. 

Hours later, you find yourself bathed and dressed in the most god-forsaken gown you have ever put on your body. 

You are dressed as a peacock. 

And worse so, you are wearing an old dress of Lady Cathcart's. You know it because she had worn it to the very costume ball at which it had become blatantly obvious that sin was afoot between your father and her. 

Tamsyn is working hard at your face, perhaps she is hoping to take away from the fact that there are humongous feathers attached to your back. You wonder how much the dress must have cost just for it to be so desperately ugly that you want to scratch your eyes out upon seeing your reflection in the mirror. 

"Tamsyn?" You whisper. 

She croaks out a yes. Poor thing, so far from home, you think to yourself. 

"Have you ever heard anyone speak of Lord Cathcart?"

She pauses, cheeks cherub-red, powdered brush frozen in front of your face.

"What do you mean, princess?"

You shrug. "Just that young boy from earlier. Have you heard of such behaviour before we came here?"

Her expression is that of a trapped animal. "I do not know if what I hear is true, princess. People talk a lot at the capital." 

So she had. You wonder who else had heard of these matters and had not spoken up. People in power. Not your maid, but rather so the other Lords, the Barons, Dukes, Viscounts. Who had known what was happening and had let it happen? Who had known where they were sending you and had let you go? Has your father known? 

You can picture it. Your father, with his red face and his horrid slur, laying in the bed he had shared with your mother, Lady Cathcart there as they laugh about the mean joke they would impose on you. Oh what a joy to send your child away, your daughter who carries her mother's face, whose disdain for your actions you cannot escape. What fun, to have her marry so low, to have her be forgotten by history as an unimportant Lady married to a weak, little man. 

"Princess, may I speak freely?" Tamsyn says, no whispers. 

You look into her big brown eyes. "Always."

"Your father has made a mistake sending you away. The people of the city barely tolerate him these days. They starve while he feasts upon their animals. They like you. Perhaps even love you. Times are changing...," she trails off. "I fear if something is not done, the people might do it themselves."

A knock sounds through the room and you nearly jump out of your skin, haunted by her soft and tender voice and her harsh and haunting words. 

"Your highness, Lord Cathcart, wishes to see you," Benji says. "Are you decent?"

"NO!" you exclaim, louder than need-be. "He will see me once I make my way downstairs."

You think you hear a bit of a commotion on the other side but it quickly dispels.

Carefully you take Tamsyn's hand. "Whatever do you mean?"

She swallows thickly. Her moment's courage is gone. 

"It is not treason to warn me of things," you mumble. "I would not betray your trust."

She nods but she doesn't wish to speak further and you are concerned that if you push too hard now that she may never speak again.

Another knock. "What?" You yell out across the room, more than annoyed. 

With much care the door is opened and Benji walks in backwards, for modesty's sake. 

"I'm decent Ser Benjicot." 

He turns around and you wish you could wipe that expression of amusement right off his face. 

"What?" you repeat. 

He tilts his head. "Just here to report that Lord Cathcart has urged you to hurry up, as he would like to have dinner before sundown. Apparently the lighting is marvellous during." 

You take the powder from Tamsyn, any more and you might have looked like a jester, anyways. "Let us go then. If Lord Cathcart insists upon it then so be it."

As you get up you damn near fall over, dragged down by the weight of your dress. All the curses in the world, you mentally send to Lady Cathcart. 

"Do not say anything," you threaten your knight who has to fight his laughter harder by the second. 

To make matters worse, the Lord of the house had sent a tiara with equally oversized feathers attached to it for you to wear. 

You do not pride yourself in being fantastically tasteful like your sister Cordelia but you know for certain that you never could have come up with an atrocity of this scale in a million years. 

You loop your arm through Benji's, praying that you will not stumble down the stairs to your death. Or perhaps that might be a kind fate, rather than having to spend the remainder of your life attached to a spiteful gnome. 

But then, who would Benji have to offer his arm to? 

Surely somebody, you remind yourself. He is a renowned rebellious man. It would be a miracle had he never lain with a woman before. 

It crosses your mind that you have no reason to be thinking about this and so you push these thoughts back. 

The pair of you walk through weird and winding corridors, decorated with stuffed animals and you stare at them as they watch you pass them by. "Have you heard of any commotion back at the capital?" you whisper to your knight. 

He tenses beneath your touch. "Why do you ask?"

"Just— No reason. But I was thinking of my friends." You cough. They are not your friends, rather than simply people who you've offered your service to. "And they seemed so tense when I last saw them."

You don't need to look at him to know he is raising his eyebrow. "And when was that?" He asks with a tone of great authority for somebody of his rank.

"Before you were here. You know of my sole attempt, Ser Benjicot."

He takes a sharp turn to the left and you nearly trip. 

You had never been known to trip. It bothers you greatly, how swiftly things seemed to be changing at the moment.

Benji sighs. "Nobody is quite happy with how things have been going along in the kingdom. After the death of your mother and the removal of Ser Attenborough from the position of hand the smallfolk has been growing uneasy."

You glance over your shoulder. Is it dangerous to speak so freely in a foreign place? Likely. "Is there reason to fear?"

For my brother. My sister who is visiting. For Marion even. For all the people at court that aren't corrupted by their own wealth. 

Benji doesn't answer for a moment. "It is not yours to worry over such matters."

Of course. You scoff but you cannot be offended in truth, for you know that he is right. What would you even do? You held no true power, all you could do is warn Tristan and even so, what would you warn him about? Everyone knows of the dire situation in the kingdom. 

You take another turn and you are not sure you would be able to find your way through this castle by your lonesome, as topsy-turvy as it is. 

Finally you reach the grand hall and the sight before you is chilling. There are no guests at all. 

Erik is sitting at the head of the table, whispering to a priest. 

Servants stand in row along the cobbled and dark walls, statues or perhaps living dolls. 

A shudder runs down your spine. 

"Lord Cathcart," your voice chimes through the long room, reverberating from its hollowness. You've never particularly enjoyed hearing your own voice so intensely. 

His eyes shoot up and his teeth are bared. "Your highness! My, you look just marvellous. Peacock is certainly your colour."

If it is a joke you don't laugh. Your smile is meek and you make your way towards your seat to his right. The only other of the about twenty chairs that has a dinner set resting in front of this. 

Benji pulls your chair out for you and you squish the thick layers of dress down beneath the table. 

"You may be excused," Erik tells your knight. 

Your eyebrows raise. 

"Have we not discussed this earlier?"

Erik nods. "That is what the priest is here for. To protect your virtue."

Benji does not say anything at all, not an ounce of protest and you can already hear his footsteps retreating.

"What of intruders? Kidnappers? Enemies to the crown? My safety is just as important as my chastity," you plead, exasperated, desperate to not be left alone with these strange men. 

But you are waved off as you so often are.

The door opens and closes and you have to watch the closest thing to a friend you have here leave. 

The sting of betrayal surprises you. 

Lord Cathcart is delighted. "We have guards at all doors princess, you need not worry. I will protect you."

He couldn't protect you from a small dog, you are certain, but what use is protest? Somehow you will have to find a way to tolerate him. 

Your wine is poured and you take a gulp and are hit with an instant wave of regret. "What is this?"

"Our local wine, princess. Do you like it?"

You consider lying for a moment. "Do you perhaps have anything sweeter? Cider?" 

He claps and one of the frozen servants scurries quickly. Your chalice is replaced with a new one and the cider is only a tiny bit better. By god, you had not been aware just how spoiled you are. 

The priest lingers by the fireplace. An ugly man, undeniably. Small bird-like eyes and wormy, moist lips. He's watching you with the eyes of a predator. 

"Now, Princess," your betrothed says. "I am quite sorry for these circumstances,."

Your food is plated. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I am well aware that you must have expected a better match. Maybe even a love match."

The meat is cold in the middle. "I tried to not delude myself into thinking I would marry for love's sake."

He gives something of a look of consideration. “Still. Had we at least had the chance to know one another before being thrust into the other’s arms.”

He is not being thrust into anybody’s arms, you think to yourself. A husband is not the wife’s prisoner, it is the other way around. You don’t disagree with him, just keep chewing your hopeless, bland food.

“I am aware of my sister’s wrongdoings, princess.” 

His voice has lowered to a whisper now, as though he is afraid of the shame his sister might bring upon him. As though his housekeepers do not quiver before him.

“What wrongdoings? Meddling in politics which do not concern her? You must clarify, my lord,” you demand. 

The priest stares at you, unwavering.

Erik is uncomfortable. “No. I cannot. I do not know what she did, but I assure you she must have done something for you to be here now.”

“Where are your parents? Are they not concerned with their daughter’s actions?”

“They have long left the kingdom, as you surely know, princess.” There is a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. “They have no care for their children.”

“Well, at least we seem to have one thing in common.” Your voice drips with resignation.

He beams at you like an excited dog. “Yes!”

A bit absurd to get quite so excited about such a sombre fact.

“Lord Cathcart,” you say. You have to say this now. “I do hope we can find a way to make our marriage tolerable. But I must warn you that I will try to fight it until I am dragged down the altar. Once we are wed, I shall be an honourable, dutiful wife.”

There is a film of something strange across his face, the sheen of light disgust or aversion. 

“Princess, this is an agreed-upon arrangement.” 

You shrug. You wish you weren’t so scared. You wish your knight were here with you. “I am still the king’s daughter. I outrank you.”

Your heart is trembling with the fierceness of your words. You can't remember another time where you had spoken so frank.

But you had tripped today. It is due time you adapt to the world.

The air feels sharp. "Princess, you are my betrothed. There is no way out."

His knuckle blanch from how hard he grips the table. "I am sorry for the ordeal. But I will be your Lord Husband, you are not free to run your mouth like this." 

It flashes across your mind how Benji had respected you more after you had spoken your mind and how disgusted with you Erik seems. 

"I will not disrespect you in any regard. But if you are yourself sorry, why would you still agree?"

You know the answer. Wealth. The glory of marrying an Apricate girl. Proximity to the rulers. 

He doesn't speak these things. "I will work hard against your unhappiness. But to remove myself from this betrothal would be undignified."

Have you gone too far? Had you been too crass? You do not know these unfamiliar waters, you do not know how much is too much, you have always given too little. 

"I am sorry, my Lord. I do not mean to offend. I am simply-"

"Tired," he cuts you off. He rests his hand against yours. You wish you could remove it.. "How could I make you rest easier?"

Your gaze catches that off one of the paintings behind him. "Why do you lay hands on your people?"

He squeezes your hand and it feels like a threat but he catches himself. "For discipline."

"That is a foolish reason. Not even the king hurts his servants."

His beauty is so painfully tainted by the face he is making. "But this is the most efficient way. How else would they learn?"

The priest is still watching. Would a true man of god let this happen under his watch? 

"Is it not god that taught us to treat each other with kindness?"

It feels as though you are speaking to a child and he truly doesn't understand what you are trying to imply. 

But he gives in. 

"If this is what you wish for then fine. I shall follow your command," he says. 

You nod and take another sip. If you drink fast enough you might be able to interpret this as a win. 

And perhaps while you are at it, you might unburden yourself by the plague that your knight is.

Comparison is the thief of joy and the way you cannot help but see how much of a better man Benji is, in comparison to the wimpy Lord Cathcart.

You never should have let him comfort you. It is like a gate in your mind has been opened and cannot be closed. A flood of thoughts, all repeating the same face over and over again.

"Princess, I must inform you of something and I am doubtful that it will make you happy."

Your stomach twists. "What is it?" Another big sip.

"Well, once we are wed—" He pauses. Which we will be, is what he is trying to suppress but the warning look in his eyes says it for him anyways. "You will be assigned a new sworn protector."

You pray to god that he doesn't see the frown you immediately pull into your chalice. "Pardon?"

"You will be assigned a new protector. My family is close with House Bracken and has been for many years. I cannot have that unhinged young lad running around my castle."

Unhinged is a strong choice of word, coming from him. "He swore an oath. How would I dispose of him?"

"In the same way your last knight was disposed of. It is not a dishonourable thing, but merely a precaution. I do not wish to run into trouble."

"My knight was picked in very specific conditions. He is part of the peace treaty in the Riverlands. If he returns, trouble will surely be worse."

It is quite funny how suddenly the tides have changed. Just about one moon, or two ago you were beyond upset with Ser Benjicot Blackwood, and had prayed for a way to rid yourself of him. And now, you were fairly certain that if he left, you would be the most lonely person in the world.

He isn't even your friend. You are not even sure he doesn't still partly despise you but with Marion gone and your siblings gone and your work (if one can call it that) taken from you, you had to call him a friend. Otherwise you might fall into a pit of deep despair. 

Lord Cathcart had perhaps not considered the treaty. Or he hadn't considered that you might be aware of it. Either way he doesn't speak for a very long time and decides to aggressively cut his lamb up. 

"You must know, it is a liability to have Bloody Ben running around my home. I can't imagine why your father would ever have him assigned to you in the first place, but I surely do not want this."

You disregard your food entirely. "Well, if you wish for it, I do not hold any power over who is sworn to me. But you hold no power either. If we were wed perhaps it might change, but even still. The Blackwood boy was chosen by the king and plays an essential role in keeping peace in this glorious kingdom. The choice is with him and his counsel."

And as you speak you wonder if they might execute him. Where else would they put him? Surely Lady Cathcart would find a way to have your father listen to her brother's request. And then what? He isn't allowed to return to the Riverlands, but how could they ensure that he wouldn't? 

You must write to Tristan. Or perhaps Cordelia could offer him refuge in Arbormere. Without her husband''s knowledge.

It is becoming more noticeable by the second that this dress is not yours by the way parts of it dig into tender flesh. 

Erik clears his throat. 

And gets up.

You stare at him perplexed. 

"Your highness, my princess, the realm's delight. I do not wish to sadden you." He grips your hand again, both of them this time. "But I cannot have you talking in this unwomanly manner. Politics do not concern you. Discipline does not concern you. How I handle things is not your concern. Speak disrespectfully again and I assure you, I can be much unfriendlier."

You swallow thickly before you rip your hands out of his. "I am still the princess. Do not dare threaten me ever again."

Tears of anger betray your coldness and you get up with enough force to send the table wobbling, wine stains the cloth spread. 

"I bid you goodnight."

You turn to face the priest. "And you father."

He doesn't speak, still just quietly watching with bird eyes and nods. 

Apparently luck is on your side after all, and the Lord of the house does not attempt to follow you. 

You storm out of the room and do not slow down when Benji calls after you. He must have waited by the door. Has he heard your conversation?

"Do you even know where you are going?" 

You ignore him, hectically climbing the stairs with your stupid, stupid gown. 

Ser Corrigan nearly runs into you when you hurry around the corner but you ignore him too. 

Since you have no idea where you are going you decide to continue climbing the stairs. You can hear Benji tell Ser Corrigan that he has not a single clue what has gotten into you. 

You aren't even crying. You wish you were, you figure that would suit you more than an erratic outburst of anger. Maybe you are your father's daughter after all. 

Finally Benji catches up to you and you are once more reminded of how restricted you are even by something as minute as the clothes you wear. 

Forever the most privileged prisoner in the world.

"What on earth happened?" He asks, matching your speed as you keep going up and up and up.

"I cannot marry that man," you huff. This is surprisingly exhausting; your face feels like it's aglow from the heat. 

"Did he do something?" 

Did he? Not really. Can you even blame Erik for anything? He is doing what he has been taught his whole life, how he has seen women be treated by their husband's for forever. This is a tradition older than you or your mother or her mother before her. Generations of women who could do nothing but obey. Rage runs hot in your veins.,

"No," you say. "He did what was expected, I just figured I would—" Be successful in your rebellion. That if  you had never spoken ill or not done what was expected that would mean it would be more effective once you do. But it wasn't. Not at all. 

You can only place your hope with God now, and you have not done that in a very long time.

You reach the top of the stairs, the bell tower. Closer to the sky but not remotely a free bird.

With an exasperated sigh you lean against the wall, tilt your head to peek at the sun setting on the horizon, a fiery orange hue. The ridiculous feather tiara slips to the ground. 

The dining room must be looking marvellous about now, it being faced west-way and all. 

Benji also looks marvellous. Not nearly as out of breath as you, dressed in black leathers, his raven pin twinkling as his chest rises and falls.

"He wants to get rid of you," you tell him. 

He nods. "That makes sense."

"How does that make any sense? You are here based on a contract, a deal, an entire peace treaty. He cannot just rid you of me."

He smiles halfheartedly. "Rid you of me? I thought it would be the other way around. That you'd be glad to be rid of me."

There is not an ounce of energy left in you to take such jests. 

Benji is across from you. You are so high up, the tip of the tower. He feels too tall for the space. "I knew he was friends with the Bracken pack. I figured I'd run into some issues with that."

A strange sensation grows in your overwhelmed heart. "Why would you not tell me this?"

"You're so well-versed in gossip I thought you knew this."

You had known. But you had not realised that the bond between Bracken and Cathcart was strong enough to warrant such behaviour. 

"He is like my father," you whisper. "But worse in some ways." 

You consider it for a moment. "Better in others."

"So why are we up here? Are you planning to jump?"

You roll your eyes at him. "Idiot." 

He nudges his boot against the bottom frills of your dress., and they leave a small splotch of brown. Somehow he is never fully clean. There are always specks of mud trailing him. You don't know how he manages it.

"Am I too not know love, ever?"

He nudges you again. "You are loved by so many. I'm quite certain that you are one of the most loved people in the world."

"It isn't tangible love. The smallfolk think they like me but they don't know me and soon they will have forgotten me in favour of my father's shortcomings. My siblings love me. Marion perhaps. Ser Rodrick once, but he hasn't written me any letters." 

Benji sighs. "That is still more than what some people have in a lifetime."

There isn't a way to deny him because he is right. He has backed you into a corner with his words, but still he must be aware how none of that could make up for the marriage that was luring in your future. You do not even want to think of the consummation of it. 

Silence remains as it so frequently does between the two of you. 

He stretches his hand out toward you and you take it, not questioning why, as he pulls you forward, until your skirt wraps around both your legs. 

With gentle hands he does the same, wraps around you until you are engulfed in his arms, his scent, his warmth. 

Your head grows dizzy, as it rests against his shoulder.

"I am not familiar with the ways of the court," he whispers, his breath hot on the crown of your head. "But many noble women find a way to be with their husbands in a way that isn't too straining. Your sister seems content, doesn't she?"

"She wasn't always and she still is not. Her husband will not relent until he has an heir to take the throne. They get along fine but the bearing of children is laborious for her. My mother died when she had me." 

His hand draws a circle on your back and you hope he never stops doing it. 

"You're a witch. That won't happen to you."

You laugh but it is laced with venomous sarcasm. "I'm a terrible witch. I couldn't even say goodbye to my cauldron. Or my sick people."

He pulls away, yet just far enough for your noses to touch. "That was not your fault. And besides, you did try to leave the castle. You just weren't quite...tactical about it."

Your laugh dies in your throat when your eyes meet his. You're certain that nobody has ever quite looked at you like this. Least of all Benji. 

That legendary young man, with a supposed undying thirst for blood. And while you had seen him angered, the way he is looking at you now makes it hard to imagine that he had ever been anything but tender. 

The moment stretches out, up into the sky and across the two of you like the dome you are standing beneath. 

In hindsight you won't be sure how it happens but something pulls the two of you together and your lips meet. 

Your breath hitches, heart hammering the way Fury's hooves do when she gallops across a field and it is better than the rush of any wine you've ever had. 

Your head is screaming at you to put a stop to it, but you cannot bring yourself to, when every fibre in your being is yearning for more, your hands in his hair. It is foreign and odd but in a fantastical way.

And in the end, it is him who pulls away. 

"Oh," you breathe, chest rising unsteadily. 

The grin on his face is prideful. "Mhm. Oh."

A twig snaps in the court, but it does not matter. His lips are on yours again. 

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Black Dog

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

WC: 758

TW: Love of Zeppelin, mentions of Satanism <3

A/N: Sorry I've been gone but now IM BACK. She's ALIVEEEEE

Have you ever woken up to Led Zeppelin's Black Dog playing distantly in the shower?

Spencer Reid has. 

It’s his own fault really. He’s the one who invited you back to his place, and he should feel guilty, should feel bad about breaking one of Hotch’s rules, but you were just so fucking pretty, it made his brain malfunction.

He should feel fucked about the situation, and he did, just not in the way he probably should have. 

You had walked out, wrapped in a towel, humming along, having turned the music back down thinking he was still asleep. 

The water droplets dripped down your legs caused him to blush slightly, smiling shyly at how fucking gorgeous you looked, embaressed by the thoughts of the previous night. 

“Morning Spence.” You whispered, dropping your phone on the bed, and moving over his body, placing a kiss on his lips, a dreamy smile across your face. 

“Morning.” He whispered, sighing your name as you kissed his jaw. His hands wrapped around your waist, letting you collapse and place your weight on top of him. 

“I just showered..” You mumbled, continuing to kiss his neck and jaw, examining the damage you caused. 

“And who’s fault is that?” He kissed your head. He took his hand and laced it through one of yours, bringing it to his lips. 

“We have work, handsome.”

“I’m actually not the one on top of someone else.” 

You huffed and rolled off of him, standing up. “Yeah Yeah, whatever. At least you don’t have to show up to work in the same pants as yesterday.” 

Spencer laughed a little bit before getting up with you. 

“I didn’t know you liked Led Zeppelin.”

You whipped your head around, eyes filled to the brim with excitement. “You, Doctor Spencer Reid, know who Led Zeppelin is, and like them?”

He pulled on a pair of khaki trousers you had seen a million times before. “Don’t seem too surprised. Jimmy Page was known popularly as a satanist, even though he wasn’t. He agreed with Crowley’s philosophy of personal liberation, however plenty of Led Zeppelin's songs deal with the supernatural, or more pagan like elements. For example, the cover of Zeppelin IV is commonly believed to be straight out of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings Trilogy, but in actuality, it’s the symbol of the hermit from Tarot. I–” He stopped himself, and looked up at you, not fully expecting you to still be listening. 

But you were. Looking at him with such patience and adoration, and a genuine interest in whatever he was saying. “What?” You looked at yourself and then back at him. “Why’d you stop?” 

He opened and closed his mouth for a second, furrowing his brows. “Sorry. It’s just, uh, no one ever really lets me ramble, let alone listens…”

You shook your head. “Well that’s idiodic because you have a lot of very interesting things rattling around in your brain. And now I know that the very handsome man I slept with last night, likes one of my favorite bands…or at least has a good breadth of knowledge about them.” You pulled your shirt over your head, tucking it into your pants, starting to look around for your shoes. 

Spencer was still staring at you. 

“Spence do you remem–babe, please. Stop staring and keep talking please.” 

He swallowed and nodded, fumbling with the shirt in his hands. “I-uh-I, don’t remember, um–”

“That's fine.” You called from under the bed, having located where one of your shoes got kicked. “Tell me something else about Zeppelin.”

 “Uh-uh speaking of Satanism.” He pulled his shirt over his head, staring at your ass completely unashamed. “Did-did-did you know that, uh, Televangelist Paul Crouch believed that if you played Stairway to Heaven backwards, it would have satanic messages?”

You slid on one of your shoes, hunting for the other one still. “Oh please Spence, you’re slipping. Everyone knows that. And it’s a bunch of bullshit, kinda. It does sound like some devil words but truly who has the time to plan that out, and then execute it?” 

“T-that’s what the band said!

You smiled at him, kissing his cheek as you walked out into his living room, determined to find this other fucking shoe. 

“What’s your favorite song by them, Spence?” 

“Oh well I don’t actually listen to them…”

“Spencer please. You’re breaking my heart. I’m picking the music in the car, and you’re going to suck it up.” 

Spencer has never been more excited to listen to music at 7 am before.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 1)

Summary: You ask for protection from the Night Lord in the hope of being saved from other space marines. Not realizing that you yourself walked into a mousetrap.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, power imbalance, violence, body horror, torture, predator/prey

Word count: 2560

Song: She Wants Revenge - Out Of Control

But then she noticed me glance at her I had no choice but to dance with her

The funny thing is that mothiir just recently released headcanons about the first captain. Today is Sevatar's day.

The very thought of serving on a Night Lords ship was terrifying. Many remembrancers chose Fulgrim or Horus Lupercal. Some ventured to the Conqueror. But as your lady noted, only the bravest and courageous are ready to board the Nightfall.

Stupid and naive, you wanted to tell her. But your mistress was too self-confident, too spoiled to listen to anyone. She justified her reckless action by arguing that the Night Lords were still Astartes, the Space Marines of the Imperium. And you…

What are you? You were her personal maid. You weren't supposed to have an opinion. You kind of missed freedom. But is it better to be a healthy serf than a hungry child? You are already lucky that her kind family took you into their home.

But while cleaning the mistress’s room on Nightfall, you want to return to the depths of poverty. It was dark here. Cold. And scary. No matter how much you smelled the chlorine or your lady's perfume, you couldn't get rid of the smell of blood. It seemed to be absorbed into the ship.

You behaved as quiet as a mouse. Didn’t interfere, didn’t talk too much. Made friends with a couple of serfs without distracting them from their work. Tried not to tremble in the presence of the Astartes passing by. The main thing is to continue to remain invisible. Hide in the darkness and it doesn’t matter what these lords rule the night.

The lady was an easy prey. She just asked to be gutted. You shouldn't think that way, but it was true. The way her knees shook and she sweated out of fear. Although it was difficult not to do so when even in the quietest corners of the ship distant cries of pain could be heard.

“I'm so scared. They look like that, as if a little longer and they will twist my head.” - the lady once complained to you before going to bed.

“You shouldn’t be afraid. This won't happen." - you calmly notice. The girl’s calm face, full of hope, changes to horror and disgust as soon as you continue your thought. - “First they will skin you alive.”

Compared to her, you seemed so gloomy and strange. Weird. The other servants jokingly called you lady crow. Although you didn't understand the humor. Nightfall looked more like a burial ground. How could you want to stay here for even one minute if you are not a scavenger? Besides, you are not a bird, you are a human.

And despite this, your mistress tried to gain respect among mortals who had seen the real horrors of war. And her desperate attempts to personally meet Konrad Curze are akin to a desire to quickly depart to the afterworld.

And she achieved her goal. Even more. The primarch himself decided to visit the chambers of the restless scribe. Either out of idle curiosity or out of a desire to calm down the annoying woman. Just the knock on the door sent a shiver down your spine, and his massive black figure in the doorway sent a terrible feeling of foreboding.

Konrad Curze, in his grim elegance, entered the chamber and greeted the woman. And then he looked at you. Long and drawn out, cold and concentrated. His black eyes probed every piece of your flesh and soul. And then he smiled.

The lips stretched to the ears, revealing clawed teeth. But the worst thing was when he laughed a nasty laugh. The kind that makes your bones crack. He continued to look at you and laugh, putting the lady in a stupor. And scaring you terribly. A gloomy foreboding clouded the little mortal heart, and the words only nailed you more firmly to the floor.

“How interesting~” - the primarch grinned carnivorously while saliva collected in the corners of his mouth. - “The little mouse will offer itself to the crow. And he will only be glad. What's worse? To be eaten by scoundrels or to be protected by a monster?”

He bursts out laughing again, this time quiet. He sighs, disgustingly satisfied. Until he finally pays attention to your mistress. And something in his face changes. You can’t explain it, but it’s as if doom and anticipatory bloodthirstiness have merged into one. As if Konrad Curze saw something terrible. And he liked it.

“Perhaps we should discuss everything in private,” his voice softly envelops you like night. It is impossible to explain how a man turned from madman to primarch. Although no one knows whether the Emperor's son can go mad.

Your mistress nods and with a wave of her hand kicks you out of the chambers. You quickly leave the room, closing the door behind you. The primal desire to hide increased a hundredfold. You rush to one of your secluded places, which you discovered by accident. For the first time in your life, not watching the road and not hiding too much from prying eyes.

You should never give in to fear. You must always be on your guard. A momentary weakness can and does lighten the soul. But you will definitely have to pay later. And you understand this as soon as you hit your forehead on something iron at a turn.

A characteristic sound is heard and you whine and grab your forehead. There will be a bump and most likely a huge one. But the pain just vanishes when you understand where it came from. And especially when you hear an unpleasant chuckle.

He looked intimidating. Outstretched wings of a gargoyle and a skull on a huge armor not intended for an ordinary mortal. The characteristic appearance of the Nostraman did not frighten you. As well as the scars on the eyebrow and lip.

But his smile was scary. How his black eyes filled with sparkle, and the corners of his lips twitched strangely. It’s as if someone is touching the threads sewn into the skin of a corpse, imitating human living emotions. All the sons of Curze were terrifying, their “smiles” were more like the grin of animals. But this one was different.

“Careful, little one. If you had met one of my brothers, you would already be hanging on a hook” - his eyes sparkled with mischief, but nothing more. - “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

You swallowed. Didn’t want to answer, but silence could only provoke.

“My lady is speaking with Konrad Curze.” - the unpleasant meeting still echoed in your brain. It became more uncomfortable. - “I was told not to interfere.”

“Oh, that annoying scribe still managed to snag a meeting with the primarch. Your mistress talks too much and goes where she shouldn't. These usually end up with their guts out.” The man smirked and looked at you. Attentively. Like a carcass ready for slaughter. - “And where are you going?”

That's why you didn't want to get caught by the Night Lords. They played with mortals as if they were food. Important people for the Legion were still protected, but the serfs were meat. One is gone, it’s easy to replace it with a second one. The only thing that saved you was to be the remembrancer’s serf, her personal maid. Although judging by the attitude of the Space Marines towards her, this could only egg them on.

“To the compartment” - you don’t want to say where you’re going, but there’s no choice. In addition, it is unlikely that the Astartes will specify the exact location of your secret home. - “Into the trash compartment.”

A strange range of surprise spreads across the man’s face. Not disgust, but misunderstanding.

“Why the hell did you decide to go there?”

“There are a lot of rats there. They are my friends” - you almost calmed down as soon as you remembered the familiar sounds coming from under the garbage. You almost whisper a confession. - “They calm me down with their rustling.”

It was true. They listened to your stories, entertained you with fights between each other. They were soft and fluffy, although dirty. They were not evil from birth, they simply survived as best they could in such a place. And alas, the rats were much better than some of the people here.

The man just chuckled at these words. Did it seem to you or did a strange understanding flash in his eyes? And curiosity.

“Well then go.”

Not believing your luck, you open your mouth in amazement and blink your eyes. But you obey. While he gives you a head start, you need to run. There is no need to waste your luck. Especially when the one who could easily break you and not notice, lets you go while the going's good.

“And since they calm you down, mouse,” you turn around sharply and notice the same terrifying smile. But this time it's not scared. Something in a man changes when he calls out to you. - “It’s worth thanking them. Bring them meat... and fresh is best.”

Good advice. Maybe you're already used to Nightfall or this Night Lord seems less terrible. Or maybe you should really bring your little friends a well-deserved reward. You'll try to find something fresh and something... not made from human flesh.

You nod and quickly, trying not to attract attention, walk further down the corridor. You wish you could say that you didn’t feel the Space Marine’s gaze on you. But you felt it even when your figure disappeared from his gaze. Dead, mischievous, carnivorous. It was as if he had just found an interesting prey, but decided to let it go.

For a while.

***

You started to notice him. Previously all Space Marines looked alike. You just didn't look closely. Why the hell do you need this if they will torture you almost equally. But he wasn't like that. Or rather, a little more... humane? Kind? No, those are suitable. Wrong. Yes, that's much better.

First captain. Jago Sevatarion. You learned the name and title from one of the local serfs. You immediately became friends with him when you saw him. He was old. That's why you called him grandpa. He lasted a long time. Good sign.

Grandpa said that you were very lucky that the captain didn’t touch you. He did not participate in the local amusements so often, talking more with the primarch. Or keeping an eye on other Space Marines and a Atramentar. But still he was just as sadistic as the others. He killed, dismembered, skinned with grim pleasure. You couldn’t help but notice that he was the most feared of all. Unpleasant vibrations emanated from him.

It seemed like you were scared too. But it seems not. Alas, just as you were strange in childhood, you remains so. Although the local inhabitants even liked it. As if you almost one of them, unlike the other servants of the scribe. But you really couldn’t understand why no one noticed.

His weirdness. How he communicates with a couple of mortals. The same ones. You were sure he was keeping an eye on them. He made sure nothing bad happened to them. And he didn't touch you either. It is unlikely that your “status” would in any way prevent Sevatarion from quenching his thirst for murder. And he didn't laugh at your friendship with rats. Didn't find it disgusting or weird. It was nice gesture.

He also began to notice you. On distance. Didn't come up to you, didn't call you. No need. It’s just that now he knew what kind of new person was running around here. The Astartes began to notice you in the shadows, as you headed towards the rats or the local serfs. You didn’t see, but you were almost sure that at such moments he smiled unpleasantly.

Although probably all the Space Marines smiled when Curze called your mistress a traitor. He said that she decided to steal something and violated the Imperial Truth. You still couldn’t understand the words of the old serf who caught you in the corridor.

Rave. Your mistress was spoiled and annoying, but she would never betray the Imperium. She wouldn't even have such a thought. Is this a mistake or some kind of joke? The primarch could not blame her for something she had not done. Did he really decide to come up with justice just to send her to her death? She was kind. She didn't deserve it.

But a judgment is a judgment. Grandpa wasn't making fun of you. Now you and the other servants belonged to the Legion. But given the way this happened, you are unlikely to stay here for long. Alive.

With a feeling of guilt and tears in your eyes, you look at her mutilated corpse, nailed to one of the gates. They removed the skin from her, and then they squeezed out the body so that all the bones were broken, and most of the blood flowed away. Now her eyeless body, folded like a rag, looked at you accusingly.

Once you said that they would skin her, don't you?

Footsteps are heard behind you. Not lurking, but quiet. If you can say so, taking into account the armor of the Space Marines. You turn around and see Jago Sevatarion behind. The captain looks...tired. It was like he hadn't slept for days or weeks. A little bored. But quite happy with his work.

Apparently he also took part in the verdict.

“Your screaming scribe got into trouble herself, little mouse. You shouldn't mourn her when your life hangs by a thread. You will serve the Legion well and we will not touch you. Maybe." - the man falls silent and looks at you carefully. - “Or are you so used to being a personal servant?”

Maybe. If this world were a little kinder, you would even call your mistress a friend. But the Galaxy is full of horrors, and your patroness has turned into a leather rag. And you will be the same if you get caught. Or if you are not protected...

Grandpa said he was lucky. He had a tattoo. The ink mixed with the blood of the Space Marine he served. And no one touched him. Nobody offended him. Because he was not a “free” serf. He was no one's toy on the road. He had his own tormentor. But it's better than the unknown. Isn't it?

The First Captain raised an eyebrow. Apparently a little hope slipped across your sad face. It’s alarming to ask, scary to beg. But what choice do you have? Sooner or later you will be found and gutted. So you have to take risks.

“Take me to you,” you almost devour the man with your eyes, trying not to cower in fear. - “I will serve you. I'll be obedient. Will not interfere. I'm very quiet. Please."

You didn’t know why you mentioned that you are quiet. It came out on its own. The Night Lords rather like screaming, begging, and crying. The louder the better. But before your eyes was the tired appearance of the first captain. Even now he didn't look his best. Although something lights up in his eyes. For a moment, the walking corpse looks almost alive. A terrible sight.

“Call me Sevatar.” - the voice is surprisingly soft and relaxed. You look at him in disbelief. The man just grins at your funny look.

"This means?"

"Yes."

[potatounicoorn]

Käärijä's Helsinki live concert, mid-speeches translated

Okay as promised I will try to translate Käärijä's speeches of his concert. I am doing this as training for my English exam so I will make mistakes. Also Käärijä speaks in Finnish spoken language, and it has more slang than written language. So the translations are a polished versions of his speeches. Please correct me on my grammar mistakes! :D

---

"Good friends! Welcome to Käärijä's journey!

---

"Just like that. There is a lot of you. I heard some people have been waiting for a week in there. That requires skills. Thank you for that. Good lord give your self a big applause for this."

"Käärijä in Vantaa. From Vantaa. A sold-out Black box (the concert)."

"Nobody would have believed this. Not you, not me, no one. But accidents happen to everyone and now one happened to Käärijä.

"Amazing, let's continue."

(applause)

"Oh don't start yet, I'll take my jacket off. (A friends name?) take my jacket off."

"This leather is a bad choice for the outfit cause there are flames and everything. Leather against leather.

(The Finnish word for skin and leather is nahka so it's a fun play with words).

"A sip of water and we will continue."

"But one question! Did we come here to have fun? (Crowd cheers) Okay then we will continue."

---

"Thank you"

"Hey! Now there is this thing, and I am hoping that this friend who is coming here has drunk water. So that he won't go into the pyres, because today this one guy has a bachelor party."

(The guy in question appears, and Käärijä speaks to him. The guy wears a monkey suit)

"And I bet. And I bet you don't get any further. This will remain as a bachelor party. And you can start looking for a new friend, a new companion. I hope they are watching this."

"Hey! Here we have a monkey. And so am I."

"This job that we are doing here is really a job of a monkey. (With monkey they mean kinda silly or stupid). Glad to see someone else in this suit and next we have the song Kiertävä sirkus."

"You can go wild but don't go into the flames."

---

"Thank you! (Speaking to the monkey guy). I wish you nothing but the best and good luck."

"If everything went badly because of this, then you can move into my tiny apartment. You are always welcome."

"Okay take that monkey away."

(Speaking to the crowd again)

"It makes me glad. (He said "vetää hiljaiseksi" which means "pulls me silent", but idk how to translate that well)."

"People are wearing green and some people don't have clothes at all on them, but that is fine."

"So, have you been enjoying yourselves huh?"

(crowd cheers)

"Well yes. So I actually went to Eurovision, I don't know if anyone watched it, but-"

(cheering)

"Yes that was, that was like a basic gig in Nivala. Yeah we did that out of the way and- now we are here. So I appreciate all of you so so so so much."

"This is not self-evident, so many people want to see this circus monkey, I don't- I mean I am thinking what is wrong with you all, but it's nice that you are all here. Yeah just kidding.

"I also want to thank you for everything, you guys have made this thing, not me I just made the song. I didn't do much more than that. You guys created this around Käärijä- well I am not sure what sort of chaos this is, but you guys are guilty for that. Thank you for that."

(Crowd cheers)

"And then I would like to respect this guy called Antti Tuisku. " (Antti is a very popular and beloved Finnish singer).

"Sadly I need to tell you that Antti had much more better things to do, than come to Käärijä's concert."

"He is somewhere in Spain, with an oiled chest. Macarena- or what is that song."

"But we are trying to give our respects to him. He is apparently quitting his career, good for me, he made me some room. Thank you Antti."

"Antti was Finland's best live performer, notice "he was". Who is it now? I do not know."

"But- I was thinking we could do it for you guys (his and Antti's song "Auto jää".) We can respect Antti and- this sounds like a funeral speech. He is alive. And is doing well. Is doing better than ever."

"Antti, if you are watching this somewhere, I don't know somewhere. But if you are not watching then all the best for you. See you in Spain."

"Let's get going."

"You can sing along! I have no idea how these lyrics go, but let's try."

---

"Thank you."

"Pity that Antti didn't come."

"Antti did not come and you can't do anything about it."

(I don't know how to translate the word "onpa" but he says that a few times. Basically a word to start a sentence)

"I don't know, this makes me speechless. (the sound is not working) And now my headset is starting to get broken. I am absolutely messed up over here. I am not drunk but otherwise I'm messed up."

"There is- hey (points into the crowd) you put me messages about that hat, didn't you? Yes. Think about this, there is this one person who made a- I don't know how many weeks or months it took you to make that- that hat. Hat. First they were flexing me like "Look at this hat" and I was like oh that is kinda cool "Do you want this?".

(The person starts to point at the hat and ask does Käärijä want it)

"Why would I take it, it's yours!! Dear lord- no I can't- maybe later."

"Quite a hustle and bustle."

"Shall we continue still?"

(Crowd cheers)

"Yes we will continue- I am trying to look if there are any- all of you are my friends. And that much I want to say that welcome to Käärijä's family."

(Cheering)

"Even if you don't want to, now you are a part of Käärijä's family, because you came here. You have sold your souls to Käärijä.

(Cheers"

"And I hope everyone respects each other here, because otherwise I will come there and no one will have fun anymore."

"Because there are small family members here, so I hope they too will see something. So if there is a little Lassi somewhere in there, then take that Lassi and carry him so he could see too. Or then they can come here 10 years later."

"I feel like that 5 year old Lassi is as tall as me. Or what was its name. But I guess-"

"Okay then we will do a few new songs. We released this mixtape and decided to do those songs as well. I am kinda terrified already, (looks at a paper on the floor) and I went to look what were the names of the songs."

"Are they- Are these the songs? Well I guess there is no other choice but to do these."

"Are there anyone who bought that mixtape?"

"Well they did not sell that well but- that is why I am not even wearing a shirt on."

(A pink guy whispers something to him)

"What?"

"Is it the wrong song? That was the wrong song."

"What was it?"

"Well it was Mic mac."

"Sorry for that, I am still kinda in Liverpool, but well just ignore that."

"Let's play Mic mac then."

"If someone knows this legendary dance, you are allowed to dance."

---

"There is a mini Käärijä. Hello."

"That is cool. Is that my missing bolero? That was- you never returned it. But that's okay, it is yours now."

"Who else do we have here. What is that, a Pokemon card, a Bulbasaur- so many gifts here again."

"You guys are- a finnish flag- yes I know where we are."

"Someone came here "Really, Käärijä can't remember. We should show him that he is here in Finland, and no more in Liverpool!"

"Draw me a tattoo."

"Now you are- I will come there at some point. You are- you are- you are going hard over there, there is absolutely no sense in this."

"Dear lord."

"Does anyone else want a tattoo? I have the equipments over there."

"When this career in music starts going downhill, I was thinking about- well I guess I need to have a tattoo shop then, because so many want to take one."

"Alright, let's do more new songs then. Is that ok?"

(Crowd says yes)

"Well this is the first time we are doing these live, so give us some air and mercy. We are a bit confused, but that's the spirit."

"Let's go."

---

"Thank you."

"That went surprisingly well. A bit of confusion, but that is okay. Forgive me."

"And then there would be this "Morgan", has anyone heard it?"

(cheering)

"I can tell you, yesterday when we were practicing it- it was horrifying to watch. Let's hope it is today, just as horrifying to watch."

"So let's go!"

---

"Thank you (starts laughing)"

"Guys, you should never present a song you learned yesterday."

"But that went quite well, didn't it?"

"Yeah, the same thing was with Eurovision. I learned the lyrics a day before the show, and it went well!"

"Hey it is absolutely amazing. Life ain't so serious. It's good to go wild sometimes, but like nicely, no stupid things."

"I also want to say hey to the back row."

(cheering)

"Käärijä's concerts rarely have a back row, but now there is one."

"That is very nice, welcome here. I hope you can see something, I'm kinda a tiny short guy."

"People have been talking about how tall Käärijä is. So you know what?"

"I don't know."

"That's it."

"Let's go to the next song!"

---

"That kind. That song."

"Hey, a question. Always interesting a question like this."

"How many people knew about Käärijä before UMK?"

(Crowd answers)

"Not everyone could have know no. Where have you been those days? When Käärijä sang lonely gigs? In Pudasjärvi, in a corner of a pizzeria. Haven't seen you guys there."

"How many of you, Käärijä was not really known, before UMK?"

(Crowd answers again)

"Well now it badly seems like, people are trying to get pity pints to Käärijä. Same guys who said "Yes I have listened" raised their hands in "I haven't listened"."

"Well it is what it is. That I will never know. Numbers will know."

(The person with a tattoo sign is waving their sign)

"You are still swinging there. We should take a hotel room later, now take it easy. We will make that tattoo."

"Wow. Are there- How many made a bolero?"

(People raise their hands, one guy is jumping, Käärijä points at him)

"You. The same crazy person again here. I can never get rid of you. Now you have some kind of a teddy bear with you. What gig was it- it was Lap- Lappeenranta?"

"This guy stole the whole show."

"You got paid and everything."

"Yes well- yes no wonder Kärtsäri is not driving around with a fancy car when this one guy takes it all (the money)."

(The guy takes his wig off)

"Put that potty back you looked better in it."

"Hey I want to- there is a bolero. I first of all want to thank you- I am usually not the one to say thank you, I am that kind of a person who is not thanking everyone. That's not who I am. Thanking everyone is more of Antti's thing, not mine."

"But I want to say, to all the families that there here. Are there any families here?"

(Crowd answers)

"I assumed at first of course that "Yess there are families here". And nobody came. Let's just say, the smallest family members welcome here, and I hope parents know where they just took their kids. And I try to behave accordingly, today. This is the last time."

"This is the coolest thing that has happened to me, honestly."

(Crowd cheers)

"There- there in Liverpool the fact that there were 15 thousand people and 250 million people watching from TV, this is much cooler. Thank you for that."

(Crowd cheers)

"Even if I lie a lot, I am not lying about this."

"Okay shall we continue?"

"Hey, will any shirts come off? Next up is Paidaton riehuja (shirtless rampage) so will any come off? There! There went one."

"Remember at Käärijä's concert we are all family, so you can take off your shirt no matter gender or who you are. Of course be aware of the smallest family members, so they wont get trauma."

(Points at the crowd)

"What kind of a duck costume are you wearing?"

"You have come to the wrong concert, no but let's go."

---

(Käärijä goes near the crowd.)

"Thank you"

"Like that."

(Someones money drops)

"Your money dropped here."

(A little kid in a pink dress comes next to Käärijä)

"You- oh goddaughter even came here. Go fast to your mother or you'll drown there (in the crowd)."

(People give him stuff. Käärijä leads the kid back)

"Are these for me? Thank you. Amazing. (girl's name maybe?)"

(Käärijä goes back to the stage)

"I'll go back to the stage, I didn't go back home like some of you thought."

(Someone in the crowd shouts something, I am not sure what)

"It will come, it will come. It is the next one actually."

"Let's see. First time ever I had to do a set list. Because there are like 16 songs here."

"I am not sure what these songs are, but here they are."

"What are these songs? Do we even have time to do these all? Hey, before Urheilujätkä, there will be Hirttää kiinni."

"Is that okay?"

(He asks "Hirttääkö jengillä kiinni? Hyvä niin minullakin", not sure how to translate it right.)

---

"Kärtsäri's concert haven't had this kind of a feeling in a long time."

"Old man's pump is starting to fail, I hope our first aid is ready. Okay no that was a joke, no need to worry."

(Watching fan signs)

"What is there? "Greetings to mom and dad" my parents? Do you have something to say to my dad? "Cha cha cha, hirttää kiinni ja Mic mac" very well... "

"That is a cool sign, I need to give you my respects. My apartment is full of drawings, and shoes and socks and... I sleep on top of all the fan made things... and I don't have the money to move to a bigger apartment yet, but maybe someday for sure."

(Points to the crowd)

"Why are you jumping over there?"

"Cool is your bolero, what is it made of? Sheets maybe? No, just kidding, it's amazing."

(Cameraman is filming a fan with a sign "Make a <3 if you think Bojan is hot" Käärijä sadly did not notice :( Love the fan for trying)

"Soon we will give you some cha cha cha. And and well not yet, I tricked you guys a little, but soon."

"Before that, I would like to ask some people- wait I need to check who I was supposed to ask here."

"Yeah my memory left in- I need to say that this journey from Liverpool- no actually from UMK to here has really been a journey of some kind. And you people have made me come through it. I must say that if people think that this kind of life is just some highlight and very cool- this is very cool yes, but there are a lot of dark sides into this."

But I must say that the moment I see so many people here because of me- Dear lord."

"If my mom comes here well that is normal, but this many people, I am not sure how many is just wow. Nobody probably bought their own ticket here. You won your tickets from some cereal packet or-"

"Hey next I would like to ask people here on the stage. First of all I am asking my friend, who is actually the reason why I am on music business at all, and I have learned a lot from him and he is a dear friend. We have been through some hardships but we are still friends and I hope it stays like that, so now with a big applause welcome to the stage Soni!!! (I think it was Soni)"

(crowd cheers)

Soni: "Good evening"

Käärijä: "Pay your debts"

Soni:: "Tomorrow"

Käärijä: "Welcome to the stage"

Soni: "Thank you thank you"

"And next I would like to ask, one friend, who we made the first Käärijä song with and my best friend. Who was with me in Liverpool as an interpreter but he didn't get to do anything cause I became so good in English. My English is kinda good nowadays."

"Yes yes mister worldwide here"

"Applause to Jesse!!!!!"

"And before all this I will go get this one shirt. Where is it? Here."

Soni: "Does anyone have lamps on their phones? Could we get those up for the next song?"

Jesse: "This is the moment"

"This is very awkward to wear this shirt on. But is e here, is uncle Jaska here somewhere? Sportguy himself."

"He is not. Hey now it looks cool. Are you ready before the big final? Let's go!"

---

""Well that was a journey."

Joni: "What a circus."

"Jesse over here has played hockey before. Can't believe he is here now. Well career didn't start on that area and Jesse is not doing anything in this area either."

"Hey a few songs left I hope you have all enjoyed. Tomorrow I will go to a vacation so don't try to contact me. I won't answer. Cause now Kärtsäri needs a vacation."

"A few songs left and then you can all go to home to sleep. Are you ready?"

"I'll go take my shirt of and then we will continue."

(Someone shouts take your pants off)

"Pants off? These pants are stuck in my skin. So they won't leave. If you didn't know I actually sleep in these."

"Journey has been hard and it has a prize and that we pay."

"Next we will have a tense atmosphere"

"So let's continue."

---

(Crowd shouts Cha cha cha)

---

"Thank you!!!!"

"Give a big applause to yourselves! Give a big applause to the dancers! And give a big applause to my pink friends!"

"Do you want it to play again?"

"DO YOU WANT IT AGAIN?"

"Okay let's do it, now everyone goes as hard as they can!"

---

"Thank you!"

"Dear god, thank you thank you thank you!"

"Now my tank is empty and I will go to a vacation. remember to take a break and have a vacation."

"I will remember this always, I don't remember anything from the Eurovision show but this I will always remember. Thank you!"

"And I hope we can take one family photo. Everyone here, YLE will shut the TV soon. Okay good, good. And you can lift our hands."

(Crowd is chanting "Winner! Winner! Winner!")

"Thank you! See you in the future and maybe somewhere else!"

"Thank you, thank you. Goodbye!"

---

And with that I have decided to never translate anything ever again. Why did I think this would take an hour max? Anyway I hope this was useful to someone out there. It was a fun protect and after this, my English exam better be a 10.

GOODNIGHT!!!!! <3

[oh-no-its-bird]

I know you already did a dungeon meshi x naruto au, but think with me

I was listening to the "I'll let the world burn for you" song and, while thinking on kakaobi, I realized that's SO farcille coded

So now I thought "crossover au where kakaobi is farcille", but idk who would be marcille bc, honestly, both would use dark magic to resurrect the other, mr. Hatake "Don't use rinne tensei even if it means not saving many lives" Kakashi and mr. Uchiha "I'll destroy this world and create a dream one to have my loved ones again" Obito

YOURE SO RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK

Mm,, alternate dungeon meshi AU with obkk my beloved,,

I think Marcille Kakashi fits best if we really wanna play off that "star student turned you're worst nightmare" angle, hes my favorite rising star prodigy who tried to run too far and too fast and crashed and burned for it

Also just Chimera Obito, cmon, come on. If nothing else, I am now committed to seeing Uchiha as chimeras, it's fun

Mad Mage Madara and ruler of the golden kingdom Izuna fits alarmingly well actually, both for the roles and like, narratively from multiple angles. Madara going mad bc of his brothers death, him turning Obito into a monster, his general monstrousness coming from a place of love. It works scarily well

Maybe Tobirama can take the role of that Yaad has, cursed to be immortal and lord of the golden country hidden within the dungeon in Izuna's absence. Madara visits him sometimes and insists it'll all be ok once Izuna is back as Tobirama calls him insane to his face

Anyways; back to the party.

So Marcille Kakashi and Falin Obito. Rin has to be on their team for obvious reasons, but I reeeeally wanna see Itachi, Shisui and Tenzo on it too bc I'm such a sucker for Team Ro.

Alternativley tho, if we make Kakashi an elf, what if we have Team Ro kind of take the place of the Canaries, and say Kakashi was once part of it but bc reasons eventually left and did his own thing? ANBU/ROOT -> Canaries pipeline or smthn idk

(I just want to see team ro somewhere around)

Anyways, Kakashi turning to black magic to save Obito, only inadvertedly managing to make him into a monster, both of them effectively dragging eachother down more and more and further and futher in their unwillingness to let eachother go.

I bet it'd do awful things to Kakashi's guilt complexe too, that'd be fun

Doing smthn fun, let Hashirama be a ghost wandering around trying to talk Madara down from his usual bullshit, but confined to the lower floors or else he risks losing himself. Now let him posess Tenzo bc they have similar magic and let it give him a cool plant magic power up, and also let this mean he can now move between floors as long as he stays inside of Tenzo. Maybe he can help guide them through the dungeon

Let Madara see Obito or Itachi for the first time and realize that his family somehow continued to exist outside of the dungeon walls, and let him feel smthn about it. Let him call him turning Obito into a chimera as something like love, something like welcoming him home, and let him try to offer Itachi something similar.

I have a couple other thoughts but Imma hit post on this bc its been sitting in my drafts for too long now, might come back to add more later but idk