#but look she bit off a sword let's thank it/her for that

[felassan]

Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 2. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Three]

The dev team really wanted to deliver on Emmrich's romance [source]

Sylvia Feketekuty has now left BioWare so there are likely some things she can't answer now "just because I can't look them up with certainty anymore" [source]

When Emmrich is first introduced, he has a skull helmet. Why does it never ever appear for the next 40-100 hours? "The helmet does indeed look wicked! I believe it actually shows up on his shelf in the Lighthouse eventually. (If I had been a smarter writer I would've asked if we could have it appear again, that one's on me.)" [source]

User: "In another post you mentioned shops in Nevarra City near the Necropolis. How far IS Nevarra City itself is from the Necropolis? Do only senior MWs get to go?" / Sylvia: "I'm reluctant to say what the distance is since I never defined it in game so it's Unknown™. But I imagine they can either walk or take a carriage, depending. Also I never imagined junior MWers are forbidden from going into town or such. It could be they have set hours and times where they're allowed. But got to get all those chores done first..." [source, two]

On the DA:I goat scene ([link]) - "The GOAT! God bless them, that was a delight." [source]

Brian J. Audette, on [this thread] - ""Better late than never" addendum to this thread. I just noticed that Isle of the Gods' writer Sylvia is on here now and I'd be remiss not to tag her in this thread. I can't say enough wonderful things about having worked with Sylvia on this mission." [source] / Sylvia: "Thanks Brian! You tackled an absolutely jam-packed mission with aplomb." [source]

Jo Berry: "Thank you for everything and everything else, on both Veilguard and Inquisition. Sunlight on your road, wherever it goes." [source] / Sylvia: "Thank YOU for all your writing Jo. Seriously, you were a godsend on Veilguard and DAI both." [source]

Trick Weekes: "It's been fantastic working with you, Sylvia, and I know you're going to crush it with whatever you do next. Thank you for finally letting me make you "the person who has to do journals so Trick doesn't" on one of our projects." [source] / Sylvia: "Thank you Trick! I'll miss working with you. It was an honour to finally be given the awesome responsibility of the journal system that still haunts my dreams." [source]

John Epler: "sylvia did you see i told the world Emmrich sleeps standing up like a horse" [source] / Sylvia: "It's days later but: yes. Yes I did." [source]

User: "As someone who also has a truly debilitating fear of death, Emmrich is so special to me. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it represented in such a clear and concise way." / Sylvia: "Thanks, definitely felt that fear myself. I really wanted to express it clearly and was hoping would resonate with others." [source]

User: "Do you have any thoughts or opinions on what nickname Emmrich might have gotten from Varric if he'd ever gotten one?" / Sylvia: "Oh man that's a good question, but ultimately since I didn't write Varric, that must remain a mystery. Nicknames can only be bestowed. ("Bones" like someone suggested below is funny though.)" [source]

User: "If Emmrich's hobby is alchemy/plants, Vorgoth's is art, and Audric's is architecture... what's Myrna's? (Next to Emmrich, she's my favorite Watcher - sorry Vorgoth!)" / Sylvia: "Myrna has a one off line, you may not have heard it yet, where she talks to Vorgoth about getting tickets to the Sword of Drakon.* She enjoys a night out at the theater, whether it's a play or an opera. *(I think that's the play I named, I hope I'm recalling my own line haha.) It's a bit indulgent of me, but I chose Sword of Drakon because it was one of the plays I made up for a series of codices in DAI about Orlesian theater. I had a lot of fun with these and wanted to give them life once more. [link]" [source, two]

User: "During Rook’s disappearance in the prison, how did Emmrich react? Considering their intense romance, did he fall into depression, or did he show a more vulnerable side? Could his fear of death have influenced the situation? In the immortal romance💀, Emmrich promises that nothing will separate them, not in this world or any other. How likely is that? Would he go to great lengths for Rook, even crossing boundaries? Or, at some point, would he accept Rook's death?" / Sylvia: "1) Very strongly! I think it's a bit more interesting if I leave details to your imaginations, but Emmrich feels things deeply and probably had some sleepless nights. 2) So this I can't say much on even though it's a juicy topic. The truth is, I wouldn't even know unless I was actually sitting down to write it. Again, Emmrich feels things very passionately, but this is the kind of scenario where I might want the player's choices to have an effect." [source, two]

User: "Any chance that color scheme [of Emmrich's coat] was based off the corpse flower?" / Sylvia: "I couldn't find anything on the colour scheme and the corpse flower. Afraid this one's a mystery to me." [source]

User: "I'm really curious if there's a Nevarrese language? We have Orlesian, Antivan, Tevene, Qunlat..." / Sylvia: "I wondered that myself, especially given its ancient ties with Tevinter and also Orlais which would certainly have affected the languages of power and influence. Could also have roots with the Planasene. We never talked about one though, as far as I know, so the answer remains...unknown. 💀 (I did introduce tomb-script, the language you see etched into stone in the Necropolis, but I thought of it as more of a specialist's language for occult and magical things specifically.) (If we did define a Nevarran language in some corner of the lore, now I'm going to feel embarrassed, but I don't BELIEVE we did.)" [source, two, three]

User: "I wanted to ask if you have anything you can share about MW grave dowry jewellery - is it the sort of thing they keep on at all times? Also, would Emmrich like jewellery gifts or give them to Rook?" / Sylvia: "I figured it would be something they wear most of the time, or at least in public. You don't want to be without your grave-gold if you pass away! Emmrich would love to get jewellery, especially if it marked a special occasion like his other pieces do! He'd also probably like to gift Rook a piece of grave gold himself, though he knows a non-MW Rook might look at that part askance." [source, two]

User: "Question: how much if anything can you tell us about the circumstances surrounding the emergence of Emmrich's magic and him going to the Mourn Watch? In my mind, his parents' death could certainly be a catalyst for the emergence of mage powers, but I'm so curious why the butcher's boy goes to what seems the equivalent of Nevarran Harvard instead of a regular Circle unless he immediately demonstrated outstanding ability?" / Sylvia: So timeline wise, I think his magic manifested after he was taken in. This part isn't canon, so much as a background thought I had that maybe the spirits of the Necropolis nudged the MW to scoop up this future corpse-whisperer. It seems like a kind of place ripe for that sort of omen. That said, it could've also been a kindhearted Watcher who saw how shattered and alone this young boy was, and thought an upbringing in the Grand Necropolis would be the better place to deal with his grief. It's the kind of thing I want to leave open unless someone goes back one day to fill it out!" [source, two]

User: "what’s the overall Mourn Watch opinion on the whole Weekend at King Markus’s the other Mortalitasi are pulling? I can’t blame Emmrich for not wanting to be involved with that political mess!" / Sylvia: "No clue what you're talking about. King Markus is in the finest of health!!!!! ahahahahaha (To my mind Emmrich's response indicates a tension between the orders, but that they're going along with the polite fiction to avoid a mess. I can't say what the future holds though.)" [source]

User: "Ah, one last note: whoever decided “DA liches are immortal protectors and not always evil?” Chef’s kiss. It’s all I’ve ever wanted!" / Sylvia: "Thanks again! It was in Emmrich's first draft. The other writers and editors gave me good feeback on lichdom and the philosophy behind it especially" [source]

User: "I'm an ICU nurse, and that is imagined to confer a comfort with mortality. Suffice to say Emmrich has been a huge comfort to see." / Sylvia: "Thanks so much. I really wanted him to struggle with it while also engaging with it, because it's something I find hard as well. And I hoped it would find purchase with players." [source]

User: "If you’re willing, can you share a bit about the other orders within the Mortalitasi? Is there a rivalry with the Tevinter Imperium?" / Sylvia: I'm afraid I don't have much, sorry. I left the other Mortalitasi orders a big open canvas in case we wanted to invent more some day. (We've mentioned the palace Mortalitasi are separate from the Mourn Watch, so there's one. As you probably caught, Emmrich's not a fan of theirs.) Is there a rivalry with the Tevinter Imperium? I can't really point to anything in the game talking about that, so I hesitate to call it canon. But to my mind it would be very natural and also very funny. So if that ever manifests, I approve." [source, two]

User: "was any of Emmrich's design or personality modeled on British actor David Niven? I think there is resemblance just wondering if that was intentional." / Sylvia: "Oh I love David Niven. But the more direct actor influence for me was Peter Cushing in a few old Hammer Horror films." [source]

User: "just wanted to say thank you for creating the character of Josephine in Inq!! Helped me learn some stuff about myself when I was younger and meant a lot." / Sylvia: "Thank you so much on all counts! I'm glad the lovely Lady Montilyet was there for you (and enormous credit to her actor, Allegra Clark. She absolutely nailed Josephine, straight away.)" [source]

User, on Emmrich: "He mentions he thought he would marry - is that permitted for Mortalitasi when it wasn't for regular Circle mages? Can they now raise their own children?" / Sylvia: Mortalitasi have a lot of power. I imagine the Nevarran Chantry might grant them permission to marry outside the Circle more regularly than in places where mages are given less respect. (Mages can also marry within Circles, so no permission needed in those cases.) The same might be true for mages raising mage-born children in Nevarra, but I say that with less certainty. I think that's a topic I would've wanted to discuss with the rest of the narrative team." [source, two]

User: "is there a particular reason why emmrich is always wearing a glove on one hand?" / Sylvia: "I like to think it's mostly because he works a lot with his hands. The glove seems useful if he has to, say, grip a rough outcrop of rock when traversing the Necropolis, or deal with a bitey corpse." [source]

User, on Emmrich: "On my 1st run I played a trans Rook and romanced him. It felt incredible how he was so accepting of Rook's identity, and in return she could support him as he did a transition of his own as well. Beautiful mirroring!" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much! If those scenes worked, it's thanks to some people at work who kindly gave feedback that helped get the tone right." [source]

User: "I've been wanting to thank you for writing Luck in the Gardens for 4 years. Hollix was the first time I ever saw a non-binary character given a real voice." / Sylvia: "I loved writing Hollix in that story, they were a treat, and I'm glad they meant a lot to you. (And a shout out to a nb friend who gave me some good feedback on the character, I don't think the story would've been as clear without their help.)" [source]

User: "I was curious about Audric from TN, and if he originally was planned to have an appearance in veilguard, and what he's up to now" / Sylvia: "Love Audric, but I never planned to bring him into VG. I'm not AGAINST it, but I didn't want the short stories to feel like required reading for the game, and I liked where his arc ended in DatDM. That said, I dropped in a few references to Audric to let people know he's around and well. And I imagine he's doing what he loves: being a force of order, in the library. (And reading books during the more quiet hours below.)" [source, two]

User: "As a consumer of (and probably future creator of) so called "erotic" fanficfion, I'm wondering how you feel about the fact that fans make it about a character you created?" / Sylvia: "No issues with it whatsoever. We put sex and romance into the game itself, after all. I think people use fan art and fanfiction to extend their time with a story they've grown fond of, or to figure things out. So it feels like a natural extension of that." [source]

User: "Maybe one day my rook will join the mw!" / Sylvia: "Well, the Grand Necropolis is always eager for more company...🪦👻" [source]

User: "did the flame eternal (short story) come first or the flame eternal (quest)? i’ve been wondering if the quest was named after the story or vice versa" / Sylvia: "I wrote the scene first, the short story came after. But I named the quest AFTER the short story had come out, so I'd say the quest is named for the story because I liked the callback." [source]

User: "1.I know John answered already that Emmrich sleeps like a horse but is there really no bed for this man? 2.How would he react to a bouquet made for him?" / Sylvia: "1. Unknown. Perhaps he brings out pillows and a blanket for the slab in his room (after scrubbing it, of course!) Perhaps he goes home to an elaborate silk-covered bed in his Necropolis apartments. Or the horse thing. (TBH: I never decided myself, so I've leaned into impish mystery). 2. Emmrich would be absolutely delighted and flattered by being presented with a flower bouquet." [source, two]

User: "I hope it's okay to pop here but it might interest you to know a lot of us have been headcanoning that he has a secret bedroom behind one of his bookshelves! It seemed to line up with his sensibilities somewhat." / Sylvia: "That would honestly be great. Pull out the right book and snooze time." [source]

User, on the cemetery date: "This makes me feel like Mourn Watchers include the dead in important personal milestones/events and, if so, I love that so much. Like they want to share these events and the joy/love/excitement/etc. with those who have passed (and perhaps linger.)" / Sylvia: "That's absolutely how I thought of it too." [source]

User: "was there any game/book/show/film that inspired the Mourn Watch and Emmrich? When I saw them in the preview content, I got reminded of the Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir and playing through the game cemented those vibes." / Sylvia: "I hadn't read any Locked Tomb when writing Emmrich, I think we must both just have impeccable taste. (I actually tried to stay away from contemporary stuff on necromancy when writing him, out of a superstitious fear I'd be unduly influenced. I do want to talk about influences later though!)" [source]

User, on Josie: "Do you think she’s open to having kids/adopting with the Inquisitor? Lord Ontranto and Yvette are so ahead!" / Sylvia: "I think that falls firmly within the category of what you imagine she and your Inquisitor's romance looks like, which means: absolutely, if that's where you imagine life would take them." [source]

User: "Emmrich, his story & everything surrounding him absolutely played a huge part in helping to lift me up & connecting me with new friends online" / Sylvia: "Thank you! And I'm very glad to hear Emmrich and his fellow Watchers helped you out when you needed it. He'd be pleased to know so himself." [source]

User: "Was it ever considered for him to appear in the game?" / Sylvia: "(short answer is no, but I wanted to let people know Audric's doing well.)" [source]

User: "I enjoyed your short stories in Tevinter Nights. Emmrich mentioned working out in the morning. What does his morning routine look like, and what kind of exercise does he do?" / Sylvia: "Thanks so much! Those stories have a special place in my heart, so that's especially nice to hear. On exercise: He likes a brisk stroll, and does morning stretches, and for something more strenuous, he likes to go swimming. Why? It's a workout where you don't have to worry about sweating. That just seemed to align with his fastidiousness in a funny way to me. (I also imagine exploring the Necropolis keeps him active, climbing all those stairs and crumbling ledges and the outsized walls of hallowed tombs, etc.)" [source, two]

User: "Harding will turn to a MW Rook who's been talking nerdy necro shop with Emmrich, and goes (paraphrasing), "You're so different when you're talking about this stuff than you are when you hang out with us!" and I loved that" / Sylvia: "Yes indeed! And thanks. I really wanted a beat where you realize MW Rook has learned to swap between being a fancy nerd and talking a bit more like "regular" people in Thedas. It seemed like a fun trait for that background." [source]

Sylvia, on how she came to BioWare: "No formal training. The closest to practice I had was running tabletop RPGs for friends, which actually helped me a lot with understanding the different kind of RPG players out there and what people want out of a story. And honestly: I just kept applying, over and over. That was my main virtue. I was rejected the first couple times I applied to BW. And rightly, I think, I wasn't ready and practicing in between really helped me become a stronger writer." [source, two]

Some more on this topic ^ from Sylvia: "To be honest: mostly luck, some perseverance, and then writing skills, in that order. I was rejected at least twice from BW before I got in, and I think they were right to do so. I wasn't ready yet. The third round someone I knew passed on my sample to a writer there, I did two more rounds of samples while taking feedback and revising over the next month. And then I was lucky enough they liked it enough to interview me. I wish I had better advice than perseverance. I think having a small, completed game, even something text based or a mod, isn't bad either. Even if it's short, it shows you finished it. But: my entry was over 15 years ago now, and to be honest I'm not sure what BW's applicant process are anymore. I don't want to be discouraging though. I would say keep applying, and make friends with like minded people who also want to make games, and best of luck." [source, two, three, four]

User: "I've been wondering something about Mourn Watch Rook's background - their bio says they were found as a baby + raised by the MW, and they reference it in-game, but then they also say they were a street kid and left their old life behind to join the MW to Taash. I'm just curious how one - being raised by the MW - lead to the other - street kid era. I just hc'd it as a euphemism for my Rook's party girl phase lol but it did leave me a little confused." / Sylvia: "This is a case of the background changing slightly over time, and me not squaring it in time with dialogue. In my mind: MW IS found by the Mourn Watch, raised by them, and work for them. But MW Rook also had period(s?) growing up where they explored Nevarra city, to explain why they're more. street savvy and worldly than your typical Watchers who never leave the city. I've seen people noting some discrepancies, and in a perfect world I would've caught those lines in time to smooth them out to encompass the whole story. But perhaps your Rook gives slightly different answers to different people for their own, mysterious reasons! (Or, in reality, it's writer error.)" [source, two, three] "Anyhow, I encourage any head canons that help square these discrepancies" [source]

User: "I romanced him on a Rook that I perceived as about 42ish and my running interpretation of the lines acknowledging her being young were either Emmrich not realizing how old she is, a running bit between them, or some cute form of flattery to not remind her of her own age haha" / Sylvia: "That's adorable, I love it" [source]

User: "1. What would Josie's ideal date be? 2. Could adopted kids be heir of the Montilyet estate or would it go to Yvette? 3. What does Josie think of the Crows?" / Sylvia: "1. I think she'd try to structure something, but the Inquisitor taking her away from her strictly scheduled routine to relax would actually be better for her. A picnic in a garden, a stroll around a lake followed by a meal in a quiet little restaurant. Something with a soft evening. 2. I don't think I ever said so in the game, but to my mind Josephine had some nieces and nephews in line to be heir. If she adopted a child and thought they'd be a better candidate, they could absolutely inherit the estate. (And of course, she could bequeath money or personal effects as she liked.) 3. She thinks of them as a necessity in Antiva, and that it's important to appease them. There's probably highly placed Crows she would get along with. But she'd never be comfortable with them. At the end of the day they're contract killers, and she's no lover of violence. (If I actually DID mention who Josephine had lined up to inherit the estate after her, but just forgot, I will ask for mercy because the game came out over 10 years ago.)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "Would you ever consider making a playlist on spotify of the sort of music you could picture Emmerich listening to? Or perhaps sharing any of the music you listened to while writing Emmrich?" / Sylvia: "I actually have an itunes playlist of what I listened to when writing Emmrich on my old computer. If I dig it out, I'll post a screenshot! (A lot of ambient stuff, probably unsurprisingly)" [source]

User: "I utterly, completely adore the way Josephine was written, she's such a wonderful and complex character. Her history as a bard, her ruthlessness, her kindness and sweet nature and how CUTE her romance is." / Sylvia: "Lady Montilyet herself would be flattered to hear you liked it." [source]

User, on Sylvia's comment about Peter Cushing being a go-to for what Emmrich would be like: "This makes me so unbelievably happy given my love for Peter Cushing 😭 my love for Emmrich was inevitable." / Sylvia: "I want to talk a little more about it later but Cushing was such a wonderful actor. Wish we'd had him around even longer." [source]

User, on death and working in death care: "In the end, it’s always about memory." / Sylvia: "That's so true. We want to be remembered, or to have something that lets people know even a little about who we are. (It's why I'm glad newspapers still print obituaries, you can read about the most amazing lives.)" [source]

User: "I was starting to think the game was reading my mind and tailoring to me once he said his favorite color was lilac, and I was given the option to say darker purple." / Sylvia: "I'm glad you enjoyed Emmrich and his romance. And that the bit about colours worked for you, I was trying to think of what would be something fun there, and purple is one of my favorites too. (Fine taste!)" [source]

User: "“Down Among the Dead Men” is one of my favorite chapters from Tevinter Nights. I loved Audric and I was so happy when Myrna mentioned him in Veilguard! Was there any chance he might’ve appeared in game?" / Sylvia: "basically I didn't plan it, but I wanted to let TN readers know Audric is living well" [source]

User: "If Hezenkoss was also you ALL of that was a sheer stroke of brilliance!" / Sylvia: "Thank you! Hezenkoss was me, so glad you liked her. She was a blast to write. Oh my god, I meant to write Hezenkoss was one of my favorites not "me". (I think I snipped out something and consequentially sound like a maniac in that post above. SORRY. She is not me, I wish I had that kind of confidence.)" [source, two]

User, on behalf of their friend: "Well, spontaneously I'd be interested if she can say any more about Emmrich's past romances. Was there someone really serious among them, or all just fun and casual? I'm also curious how the whole mage training works in Nevarra. Are some trained from the start by the Mourn Watch or does everyone go to the Mortalitasi equivalent of a Circle first?" / Sylvia: "1. I think there was probably a mix of more serious romances and more casual ones over Emmrich's life. The serious ones just never panned out. (Until Rook, if you're romancing him.) 2. I pictured the MW taking in promising members from other circles, but I left their selection criteria vague on purpose, in case we needed to define it later. Of course, there's also exceptions. We've seen they take in some orphans or foundlings (MW Rook and Emmrich, for example) when fate, chance, or pity allows it. (I had an idea spirits might sometimes nudge MWers to take in someone, but that's not in the game, so it remains, I suppose now, my own head canon.)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "Emmrich is every bit the warm and kind academic that I looked up to in my undergrad/postgrad days, and I have taken time in the game just to wander the Grand Necropolis and take everything in." / Sylvia: "My pleasure, and thanks very much for saying so. (Props to all my teammates, it took a lot of people to bring those characters and places to life, and they were all so enthusiastic about our weird gothy corner of Thedas.)" [source]

User, on Emmrich's dream: "One of few cases where writers don't go for "actually immortality is lame" lesson to appease the audience for whom immortality is unattainable. Refreshing to have a character who wants to live forever, can do it, and it isn't treated as a mistake. One of the boldest bits of writing in the game." / Sylvia: "Thanks Mary - that was one of my aims, because so many times in stories, immortality is a fool's errand. I wanted it to have its rules, and its price, but not something disastrous or out of reach." [source]

User: "The MW as a whole was beautifully done and the way they handle life and death was deeply healing and aided tremendously in my own personal journey with grief." / Sylvia: "I'm very glad meeting Emmrich and the Watchers helped even a little, that means a lot to hear." [source]

User: "Amazing work in veilguard and inquisition honestly and the flame eternal was such a fun read! Unless it’s been answered before my query is where do the Mourn watchers live/sleep? Is it a case of they live in the higher parts of the Necropolis or do they live in the city and commute?" / Sylvia: "Flame Eternal was a fun one, hadn't written a story that short before but I enjoyed introducing Johanna and Emmrich's dynamic back in their good old days... As to your question, there's one line of banter between Emmrich and Neve that talks about this (so, very easy to miss.) The Mourn Watchers live and sleep in the upper (safer) levels of the Necropolis." [source, two]

User: "does mortal!Emmrich return to the Necropolis or spend more time in the world first? He plays detective with Neve & camps in Ferelden with Harding feels like he’d want to experience more of the world before returning home." / Sylvia: "Impossible for me to say what the future will hold with certainty, but I think Emmrich's enjoying exploring the world too much to go back to living in the Necropolis full time just yet. He'd certainly want to keep visiting regularly, but there's so much more to see." [source]

Sylvia: "The Watchers have a special place in my heart." [source]

User: "I just wanted to say how much I love Emmrich" / Sylvia: "Thank you very much! I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed getting to know him." [source]

at this point tumblr stopped letting me add to this post !

[helianthus21]

fav kdrama ladies compilation

credit scene packs: acj _ edits sxtown wqtermlons Purple Scarlet

[nonasuch]

Miss Universe National Costume 2024, Part 2!

Splitting this off into a new post so I'm not clogging up everyone's dash quite as much.

Miss Malta is some sort of environmental protection Sailor Scout. I think the giant bow would look better on the back of the skirt but otherwise this is solid.

It has just come to my attention that I skipped over Miss Albania and several other A/B countries, back at the beginning. I sincerely apologize! She went to all this trouble putting together a Fifth Element cruise ship passenger costume, and I nearly missed it.

Miss Armenia, in what even I have to admit would be a legit Princess Leia fit.

Miss Bahrain, adding some green to her Gold And Vaguely Historical look, along with what is either a comically large prop chalice or an upside-down lamp.

Miss Bangladesh appears to believe that adding two plush tigers from the toy store around the corner from the pageant venue will conceal the fact that she is just wearing a tiger-print evening dress. Miss Bangladesh is incorrect.

Miss Belgium. Girl. No.

Miss Belize let the seventh-grade art class do her whole costume, which was a bold choice.

Okay, I think that's everyone I missed! Back to alphabetical order. And I should have to rely less on shitty screenshots, now. Some countries were benefiting from the low resolution, tbh.

Kind of feel like Miss Maldives had a luggage mishap and she's just wearing the outfit she packed for a slightly dressy dinner.

Miss Martinique's costume would honestly have looked better in the shitty screencap version. The construction is... bad. It's bad.

Feel like we're in a little bit of slump here. Miss Mauritius did not stick enough butterfly appliqués to her gown to conceal that it is, in fact, just a regular evening gown.

Slump officially over! We are so back. Everyone say thank you, Miss Mexico.

I would like this better if it had just committed to the giant skirt and not felt the need to make it a Sexy Miniskirt look. Sorry, Miss Moldova.

Miss Mongolia wanted to stand out from all the other gold armor on stage, so she decided to a) wear cooler armor and b) bring a bow and arrow instead of a sword. Great work, Miss Mongolia.

Starting to feel like I'm picking on the smaller countries that probably don't have a huge pageant culture or the budget for really elaborate costumes, but on the other hand Miss Montenegro's costume is super low-effort AND the fabrics look cheap, so what am I supposed to do?

Okay, this looks like a pretty standard Miss Universe Sexy Bird, yes? Well, THIS is how Miss Myanmar entered the stage:

She had to fight her way out of that thing! God only knows what the visibility was like in there.

I think the hat is doing most of the heavy lifting to keep Miss Namibia's costume from being Just An Evening Dress, sadly.

Oh, yikes. It's more obvious in motion but Miss Nepal's bodice looks like it's made of craft foam and it fits real weird. The rest of it looks a little like she got together with Miss Cyprus and a pile of tablecloths for a sewing bee last night, I'm sorry to say.

Miss Netherlands has chosen a Tribute to Delft. I think if I were in charge of this costume I would do a much fuller skirt that falls from the waist, instead of the weird trumpet-skirt-with-hoop we've got here. And, obviously, I would make the windmill on the bodice actually spin.

It looks like she's having some issues keeping the wings and peplum in place, but I really like Miss New Zealand's costume from a design perspective. It at least slightly resembles the bird it's supposed to be (New Zealand fantail) and I think the feather pattern is meant to be in a Maori art style.

Miss Nicaragua is a Sexy Cathedral, which I think might be a Miss Universe first and is definitely a big old step closer to drag.

Okay, pausing here to get the next batch ready.

[lufyuu]

,, Tied Up Prince ''

Psychotic villain x Isekai'd second prince male reader

Tw/s: bondage, stockholm syndrome-ish, reader is into how the villain puts him in his place, dub-con, ripping clothes, degration, angry sex, punished reader, yandere-like oc, agressive sex.

The original post

The sound of blades clashing is loud. Ear deafening even. The sound continues for what feels like a century to the young man. When it finally stops, he lets out a frustrated sigh. Not being able to guess what will happen next.

The masked man refuses to fall down on his knees. Instead, he limps a bit while looking up at the sword wielding main character, his sword casted aside. His long messy hair covers even more of his features due to the fact his mask has sustained some damage and yet he still finds a way to taunt the other. “你真的觉得这样就结束了吗？” , letting out a chuckle. With only a few seconds left in the episode, the viewer watches in anticipation, wondering what will happen. The semi masked man limps towards the other and out of nowhere, throws needles towards the main character. As he passes out, so do the end credits.

"WHAT!??? IT CAN'T END LIKE THIS???", you freak out over the cliffhanger ending, urgently scrolling to see if it's ongoing or if there are more episodes— unfortunately, it's neither. You feel as if you're about to metaphorically cry due to frustration. Nobody warned you there'd be a huge cliffhanger after 50 episodes! "God damnit!", you yell at nobody in particular while trying to do more research. Maybe if you look hard enough, the 51st episode will appear...right?

Even after 2 hours, you refuse to give up. You've wasted almost 3 whole days to watch this stupid series, it can't just end like that. You even go through some tiktok comments and edits too find any clues to an episode 51. Though, it's odd that nobody cares to mention the fact that there's a huge cliffhanger on the last episode. Everyone seems to be okay with it? That can't be right. Either everyone's crazy or you're going crazy.

"AHA!", you finally find a "clue" of some sort in the official website. It states that although the series does end on episode 50, it's based off of a novel which is completed. Without a second thought, you search it up only to find that the novel name is...your name? It clearly says [Name] [L. Name] as the title. As they say, curiosity killed the cat. You mindlessly click on the link.

“我们终将相遇，灵魂伴侣。”

.ᐟ.ᐟ

'My head's killing me...', when you open your eyes, you're faced with a ceiling. It wouldn't be odd if it weren't for the fact that it's not your ceiling. "What the...", you instantly sit up on the bed to look around. Not only is the ceiling not the one you usually wake up to, the entire room isnt even yours. You scramble to get on your feet, almost sprinting towards the door. When you are about to open it, it opens from the other side. "Ah!", the short, well dressed girl lets out a shocked noise, "your highness, you're up early", she regains her composure and sesms to be waiting for something. You stay quiet for a few seconds which prompts her to try and break the silence, "may I come in..?", to which you take a step to the right, allowing her to enter the spacious bedroom and put down a tray with food. Before she exits, she opens the windows for you to which you thank her for as she walks out the room, leaving you all alone once more.

"Gosh it's bright out", you walk over to the now opened window and look out. The scent of nature lingers on your nose, it calms your panicked mind in just a few seconds. The birds chirping, the leaves rustling, the sun shining brightly. Far different from the traffic jam and loud vehicles you'd normally hear. This gives you enough time to think about the situation in a calm and rational manner. 'Your highness?', is what you think of, along with the fact that the room and environment is vastly different from the messy, dark room you would usually wake up to. Questioning yourself only led to even more questions and so, you turn to look at the plate that has been served to you. Two steamed buns and a few fruits for nutrients.

"Alright let's see what I can find!", you have some optimism in you as you begin your "investigation". The courtyard is ridiculously big and so are the halls. You alnost got lost halfway in! Deciding it's time for a little break, you sit down on a nearby pavilion. "I've been here for almost an hour, am I just dreaming..", you pinch yourself a few times but end up with a red cheek and still no answers. "Ow...", you sigh, nothing has given you any answers.

"What's gotten you so stressed?", a voice rings out behind you, prompting you to turn around just enough to get a glance. A good-looking and well built man stands behind with a small smile on his face. He takes a few steps forward and sits next to you, "I don't think I've ever heard you sigh that loudly before", he tries to lighten up the mood seeing how blue you look right now. "Well...", realizing something, you do a double take, "Zhou Jian!?", you jump up in disbelief to which he responds with a very shocked face, "yes..?", he looks worried for your well, "was I really gone that long?", he chuckles and scratches his head, "I could have sworn it was just a month", you could only stand frozen in time, jaw almost wide open but you manage to keep it closed. "C'mon, sit down, tell 哥哥 what's on your mind", he smiles with his eyes closed, patting the seat next to him. You slowly sit down while staring bullets into him. "Are you mad at me?", he asks with a worried expression, you turn away, realizing your stare was bothering him. "Ahem no, of course not", in all honesty, you're trying your best to act like a younger sibling and it sure it hard when your older brother is THE Zhou Jian.

He had previously heard of your dissatisfaction with how he is almost always away from home so it wasn't unreasonable for him to think that way. "Hm, then?", he asks, tilting his head and moving closer to you. You don't even know what you want...maybe just a bit of help 'recalling' who you are. Of course you can't just say you lost your memories or something like that, it'd worry Zhou Jian.

What to do...you have to continue exploring this strange world but also can't risk alerting Zhou Jian...That's it!

"I think I just need a stroll out", you look at him. He tenses up and his eyebrows begin furrow. "You know that's not a good idea", he shakes his head, shit you just fucked up..how were you supoosed to know you're not allowed out?? "Please? There's something I need to do", you try to plead, "and I won't be out an hour", but no matter how you persist, he doesn't waver. "弟弟, if it truly is important, I'll send someone to do whatever it is for you", he offers an alternative but that doesn't work for you. There is no way to convince him so you think of another idea. You close your eyes for a moment and nod, "it's okay, I changed my mind", giving a half smile.

"Oh...they're so tall..", you look at the walls you planned to climb to get out. You never learned how to climb a rope either so that's out of the question. Maybe your secret get out plan won't be happening afterall.

'Think [Name], think!'

You pace around, trying to think of another plan. Those cliche romance shows lied to you! You can't possibly climb a tall building. While pacing around, you can't help but feel as if you're forgetting something but what? You try your best to recall the whole series, the plot, what happened and what started it.

"Zhou Jian has to defend his kingdom against the villain due to the fact that...", you talk to yourself, trying to regain memory of the show, "the villain seeks out the Kingdom's rumoured hidden temple in order to seize...", as if everything's connected, you remember the most important thing, "..the power within!", your fist gently hits your palm, and your eyes widen with excitement. "That means I probably have powers like that too!", you almost let out a happy noise but remembering that you are most likely going to be spotted faster if you do, you contain yourself. "How to activate it..", you try to think of jumping over the wall, maybe gracefully flying over to the other side but nothing happens. "They make it look so effortless in the shows", you start to wonder if there's really not a single system window to guide you.

"Your highness! It's time for your tea", a maid is clearly looking for you, shouting loudly as she searches for you everywhere. "Oh shit!", you'll get found out in no time if you don't escape now! A sudden wave of panic sends your body suddenly flying over the 40ft tall cement wall. "W-wAoHH", You brace for impact but fortunately for you, your body doesn't hit the ground roughly, infact, your fall is cushioned by an invisible object. You need time to process what just happened but the guards right around the corner says otherwise. Without missing another second, your legs sprint towards the town in hopes of not getting caught red handed. 'It seems my magic is unstable..is it because I'm not from here or is it just my new body that's weak..?'

You huff and huff due to how fast you just ran from the imperial palace to the bustling streets. After a while, you pull yourself together and look around, finally noticing the amazing scent of the street food being sold. "Excuse me", a little girl says, trying to get past you as you're blocking the middle, "sorry!", you instantly move to the side to let her get past. "Now, where to start", your eyes dart around, a mom and daughter sharing a tanghulu, a couple enjoying their stroll together and even a homeless looking man being given a baozi to eat. Looking at everything up close in person gives a different feeling than when you're watching behind a screen. Despite being here, you still have little to no clue as to who you are in this world and what your purpose is. All you know if that you're the brother of the protagonist. In the original show, there were no mentions of the protagonist ever having a younger brother so people assumed he's an only child. The only heir to the thrown, who knew there would be a spare?

Well you can't dwell on that too much, you have to at least find out what arc you're in right now. Maybe by knowing, you'd be able to assist the protagonist in fighting! Technically you're the main character now that you've isekai'd into the world so there's no way you'd be in any sort of danger!

You turn your attention to your right, the neverending displays of food makes your mouth water. Unfortunately, due to you not paying much attention to where you're walking, you bump into someone. The impact was enough to send you stumbling backwards. The stranger's hand instinctively wraps around your waist, preventing you from falling onto the people behind you and potentially creating a domino effect. His taller stature surprises you. Only when you stabilize yourself, he removes his hand. "Next time, be more aware of your surroundings", his voice is somewhat elegant yet intimidating and indifferent. You can't really diciphere him as his face is covered by a very oddly terrifying mask. It definitely stands out which makes you wonder if he does like the attention if brings him or simply he's unaware of his unique accessory. Though, before you can ask anything, he walks in past you, dissapearing into the crowd. Something about him seemed...very familiar.

After several hours of strolling and finding absolutely nothing, you notice the sun going down, dusk is coming and the night is about to settle in. So, you decide to get back to the palace the same way you got out of it, panicking and then being thrown over the wall.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Nobody seemed to have questioned why you were gone for half the day. Fortunate for you of course but does beg the question why nobody noticed a prince going missing.

In the morning, however, the same maid who had been calling out to you for tea did question where you were. "I wasn't feeling tea", was your simple yet effective answer.

"Gosh I was out for so long and yet found nothing in return", you kick a rock in the courtyard while sighing loudly. The masked man already erased from your mind. What's even worse is that with your hair this long, it takes more effort to take care of it, not to mention the hanfu which made you stand out like a sore thumb. At just a glance, one could tell you're royalty due to your attire. Maybe you should have thought of that before going out yesterday. This time, you'll dress up just like any other commoner there. There must be at least one that doesn't look like a prince's daily outfit in the closet. You look through the ginormous closet, sorting them out one by one until you finally stumble across an acceptable one.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Back to the bustling streets once more. The smell of food is still as amazing as you remember it. You seem to have forgotten something but fret not, your stomach is here to remind you of it. "I forgot...I didn't have breakfast..", you vaguely remember the picture of a plate filled with food on the table of your room. Well you can't turn back now, you're too far in. "I'll just buy something in the market", you say to yourself, walking towards the nearest food stall which sells roasted meat on sticks. The sight is already mouth watering, you can't wait to sink your teeth into it. "老板! One roasted meat please", you grin ear to ear knowing you'd have one in your hands in a few seconds, "that'll be 3 coins", did you even bring any money? You desperately try to search your hanfu for any signs of coins but to no avail. "C-can I have it...for free?", you awkwardly ask, "hah? Who do you think you are, just so you know, have to feed my family too."

'Time to pull out my status' you thought to yourself, "well, I'm—", "I'll pay for it", a hand behind you gives a few coins to the seller, prompting the seller to give the roasted meat to you. You look behind to see who had stolen your spotlight only to be face to face with yet another mask. The same mask actually. "Thank you but I could handle it by myself", you give a slight smile, "oh? It seems to me you had no money, or perhaps you'd like to pay me back?", you can tell he's a bit annoyed but what you can't tell is that he's amused. "In that case, I take it back", getting a sudden eerie feeling from the man, you leave immediately and he watches you run off.

You run until you're sure he wouldn't be able to see you anymore. "Jeez what even was that..", you wonder to yourself, why did your guts just tell you to run?? That's odd. Really though, something about that man is super familiar but what?

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

6 months have passed since you've been transmigrated to this world. Fortunately, you adapted quite a long time ago. The strange masked man hasn't been seen at all and because of that, you forgot all about him. The past few months have been relatively peaceful, with some royal guards getting occasional injuries from the amount of fights they've been in. Thankfully, Zhou Jian isn't one of them. You had a hard time accepting that your life in the original world might never return but hey, at least you're treated like royalty. The only downside is that you still aren't allowed outside. A huge bummer.

You enjoy some afternoon tea with Zhou Jian as bonding time for the two of you. "I'm surprised you haven't been sent to the battlefield yet", you jokingly comment, earning you a playful glare from the protagonist, "don't jinx it", he puts his porcelain teacup down, "though, it is strange that the scoundrel hasn't shown up in a while", he's referring to his enemy, the man who has been trying to get rid of your kingdom so they say it. "He's so mysterious too, no matter how many men I send to discover more about him, it's as if he doesn't exist at all but at the same time, he does", Zhou Jian says, looking up and wondering to himself, confused. "One day when you do catch him maybe you'll find out who he truly is", you sip on the hot fragrant tea. The two of you chat for a while before a guard interrupts it.

"Your highness! It's an emergency! The King himself has personally requested you on the battlefield to fight alongside him, it seems the enemies have gotten stronger", the voice is panicked, shaky, stumbling over his own words and trying his hardest to keep his composure but ultimately failing, miserably. Zhou Jian immediately gets up, grabbing the weapon he always carries by his side and rushing out with the guard, "I'm going to be back soon", he glances at you while he says this. Without anyone to chat with, you get up from your seat and head towards the library. Behind you, the servants bow as they take the cups and desserts away.

Even when night falls, neither the king nor Zhou Jian has returned. It's quite common for soldiers to camp out for a few days so you don't worry too much about it.

The hallways are oddly quiet. Probably since there are less guards and servants surrounding the place seeing as a few went to tend to the King and heir. More peace and quiet for you. The stars at night twinkle, the moon glowing so brightly, the sound of crickets. Not even the cold air bothers you. You yawn a bit, "time for bed", your legs carry you to the bed, not as comfortable as the one you had back at home but you can still sleep on it. You tuck yourself into bed and close your eyes, wondering what you'll have for brekafast tomorrow.

At the stroke of midnight, the sounds of blood gushing doesn't even wake you up. No scream can be heard due to the intruder's silencing them. "PROTECT THE SECOND PRI—", the loud voice cuts off, indicating the murder of the man. The imperial palace is a mess, filled with fresh blood and dead bodies. You sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware of the massacre happening just outside your room. Even the door creaking open doesn't wake you up from your deep slumber. A tall man hovers over you, a crown in his hand. He mumbles something but it's so quite that not even a soul can hear it. With a snap of his fingers, your hands and ankles are bound together respectively without you ever even noticing it.

"你真是个可爱的睡美人"

.ᐟ.ᐟ

Your eyes are half open, your vision all blurry due to just waking up. Your whole body aches but when you go to stretch, you find it to not be possible. You struggle and notice your hands and ankles bound by something that's glowing red. It hurts whenever you try to get rid of it. "Go on, the sight of you struggling amuses me", a voice says out loud from a corner of the room. The masked man gets up from his seat and as he walks closer to where you are bound, you notice that his mask is slightly damaged. Well, a part of it has broken off, revealing his blood colored eye.

He carries himself with such elegance that you'd think he's royalty at a first glance. He brings himself down to your level, his eye crinkle softly at the corner, the look on your face is just so adorable. "I never would have thought we'd meet again, 小王子", he grabs your chin, lifting it up so you two make eye contact. "I had an inkling you were apart of their little kingdom, I just didn't expect you to be so naive", he continues while looking at your frustrated face which he adores, "did you really think those pesky little servants could ever protect you?", you turn your head to the side, not wanting to even touch him. It is honestly a bit embarrassing for you as you've watched this whole series, know the plot and yet here you are, kidnapped by the villain himself of whom you finally remember the name of, Xu RenFeng, and not even getting the chance to put up a fight.

Xu RenFeng thinks for a moment, the silence deafening. "How about this, you and I become partners so to say", you're confused by what he's suggesting but he elaborates, "since you're hidden and have no purpose in that palace, you could be with me could you not?", he looks at you expectantly with a psychotic look in his eye. "I would kill you now but you're way too adorable to be killed just like that, I'm offering a role of a lifetime", while it does tempt you in a way, you're still not too sure about dying with him at the end. "No thank you", you don't even look at him as you say this, "I'll give you some more time to think", he stands tall and turns around, walking out the door to your prison.

To say it's a prison is exaggerating. At least it looks like an average bedroom. Not as luxurious as the one you had before but still comfortable. After a few seconds pass, you find your hands and ankles no longer bounded, giving you some freedom to explore the room you've been captured in.

Of course the surviving servants and royal guards had to inform their king and future king what had happened. From the massacre of many, many servants to the second prince going missing, presumably taken by their enemy. "We should've known it was a trap the moment he left", the King is referring to the man himself, Xu RenFeng. "Why would he want [Name]?", Zhou Jian questions, frustrated by how the situation has gone from manageable to a complete mess. His hands balled into fists, worrying for his brother's safety. They have to find you, and fast.

Meanwhile, you've been held in the room for about 5 hours. All you've been up to is trying to think of a plan to maybe just maybe, trick him long enough for the psychotic guy to let you go. From what you've seen in the show itself, he is a very calm and calculating individual, making it hard for anyone to get past him. "Gosh, it seems that the only way to get out is by relying on brute force!", compated to modern times, the door isn't made out of very strong material, maybe you can knock it down or something. When you body slam the door, it doesn't move an inch. "Well that goes my plan", you just sit against the door you had just tried to body slam in defeat.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

As days passed, you try a different method of breaking out each day but they all fail in getting you out the the prison-like room. The only time the door would open was when Xu RenFeng himself would bring you food and place it on the table in the room. Even then, when the door opened, you would be bound once more. At least the food was always good. Each time he brought food to you, he'd try to persuade you into joining him. Something about you really did pull him in. You had power over him whether you knew or not.

One day, when there's a knock on the door, you get an idea. Xu RenFeng enters the room in silence, holding a plate in one hand. He puts the food down and as he's about to open his mouth, "can you eat with me?", you ask, surprising him. Today he's wearing a different style of mask. It doesn't cover his lower face, only the eyes. You wonder why he covers his face and remain mysterious. Even towards the end of his life, he never once took off his mask. The reason was never revealed. Though, it did add to his charm which is why a lot of people fell for the guy. He hesitates but gives a slight nod, closing the door with a wave of his hand.

He takes the seat across from you, not having anything on his side of the table. "Oh, I thought you'd grab your own food?", you ask while munching down on the prepared food. "No, I'd rather enjoy the view while I can", his lips turn into a smirk. Unsettling but not the weirdest thing he's said while with you. You get a bit nervous, wanting to pull off the plan but what if he notices beforehand? 'Agh, no more overthinking it, it's now or never [Name]!', you think to yourself and reach over the table, violently tearing the mask off his face, taking him by complete surprise. With great strength and agility, he grabs ahold of your wrist which has his mask. You stare at his face. He wasn't an average looking man. No scars or bruises. Instead, he's the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on. You're left speechless and so is he for a few seconds.

The look of shock in his eyes is replaced with that of anger. Without uttering a single word and with your wrist still held in his hand, he walks over to your side of the table, glaring at you before pulling you to the bed and throwing you on it. Fortunately you aren't hurt, only frightened. You're pinned to the bedframe by the intimidating villain. Your back is against the frame and you have nowhere to run. "I've been painstakingly patient with you and yet here you are taking off my mask. Was it not obvious to you I didn't want it off, EVER?", to say he's angry is an understatement, his eyes are even more psychotic. All you can do is freeze up due to fear, knowing neither fight nor flight are options in this very moment. You can't muster up an apology, both due to fear and also the feeling of superiority, to you, this man is just a character, he'll be no longer once you find a way back to your home! Without an answer, he takes it as you not wanting to apologize. "Do you really think just because you're a prince that I can't hurt you?", he chuckles at your pathetic expression. With another snap of his fingers, you're bound once more.

As much as you'd like to deny it, the way he's aggressively holding you is really turning you on. Xu RenFeng grabs at your clothes and rips them, leaving your body vulnerable to the man. "What a sight", he looks at you up and down. You try to cover your face with your hands because of embarrassment but he pushes your hands away. "Oh my prince, don't hide your adorable expressions", he purrs.

When you blink, his hanfu has already been diacarded on the floor not far from the bed. "Won't you help a stressed man out?", with his clothes being gone, you can see his hard cock. You stare at it for a little too long, long enough for Xu RenFeng to notice. "Hm? Lost for words are we?", he seems proud of that. "I..It's..—", you bite your lip to contain the moan you were about to let out as the man lifts your legs up to his shoulder and stretches you out with two fingers. "There's a much easier way for this but I'd rather do the old fashioned way to see how you writhe in pleasure just from my fingers. You close your eyes shut, clenched fists as his fingers move around inside, "I'll stretch you so well that this big cock slips right in", just that alone makes you tighten up, earning a satisfied hum from the other. Before long, he decides it's time to add another finger, stretching you out even more. "Ah..ngh...", your moans aren't really heard, the noises you let out are more comparable to humming. Xu RenFeng doesn't like that one bit.

His take his wet fingers out of your tight hole, leaving you feeling empty and opening your eyes as to why he did that. Relying on his strength, he pulls you onto his lap, your hole hovering over his cock, almost touching the tip. "Hu–aggh", you barely have time to react before he plunges you down all the way. You let out the loudest moan that Xu RenFeng's servants are able to hear from outside the magic-sealed room. "What an amazing voice you have, 小王子", he looks up at the person who is unable to speak due to the pain and pleasure he has brought them. His cock remains inside your hole without moving an inch, "a-are you trying to tease me...move", you try to stimulate yourself by bouncing on his cock to the best of your abilities but you can't seem to do that due to him having a tight grip on your waist. "You're so fragile, I'll have an easier time breaking you", he lifts you up until the only thing left inside is his tip and immediately slams you back down on his large cock, repeating this over and over again. "Fuck..", he groans while you're almost screaming-moaning. You never imagined this would be how your first time would go. Xu RenFeng pounds your ass so rough and fast that your ass is turning red.

You feel his precum inside you as he hits your prostate over and over, showing no mercy. "Your hole was made for my cock, wasn't it?", you can't even come uo with a response in that cock filled head of yous, "I'll make sure you remember the shape of my cock by fucking you everyday", he lets out a deep laugh, watching you bounce up and down his cock. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he goes deeper until you can't think of anything anymore. You cum while moaning loudly, still being bounced up and down. The stimulation is driving you crazy, everything feels like a fever dream. Not long after you came and without warning, he cums inside while still pounding you, not stopping for a second. He's cumming as he's thrusting inside, giving a new sensation you never thought you'd feel. "I see you're enjoying this more than I am, how adorable that expression of yours", he points out, "aren't I glad I picked you up along the way", if he could, he would have given himself a pat on the back that moment. You try to push him off, wanting to go at your own pace or to possibly just take a breather, "ah-ah, we're not done", he keeps thrusting deep inside, "don't worry, I'll return you in one piece to your family soon~"

He didn't stop until he had pumped at least a few cups worth of cum inside of you. You passed out due to how rough he was being. Xu RenFeng made sure to tuck you into bed. When he came out the room with his mask back on, he appeared to be very refreshed, some servants even whispered to the others that he was practically glowing. All because of a certain young prince named [Name].

You may not know it yet but you're now stuck with a psycho of a man.

Translation notes!

你真的觉得这样就结束了吗？

Do you really thinks this is over?

老版

Boss (in this context, used to address shopkeepers/vendors you want to buy from)

我们终将相遇，灵魂伴侣。

We will meet eventually, soulmate.

弟弟

Little brother/younger brother

哥哥

Big brother/elder brother

你真是个可爱的睡美人

You really are a cute sleeping beauty

小王子

Little prince (endearing)

I have so many ideas for this man but couldn't fit all of them in one fic🥹

There's this one kink I know you'll love but unfortunately didn't make the cut, maybe next time/drabble!

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ SORRY FOR THE WAIT

tw. yandere, blood/violence implied domestic violence, dubcon, amnesia, obsession, character death, pseudo-cest, overprotective Levi, praise kink, slight authority kink, creampie, marking, non-linear timeline

wordcount. 6.2k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by @amonsterinspring ♡ thank you A MILLION for commissioning mE !! I’ve never written Levi so I was a tiny bit apprehensive but I actually very much enjoyed him and I’m glad you wanted no regrets Levi because he’s so inch resting to meeeee !! So happy to be writing gross shit again <33 i hope you enjoy it !!! And Ofc so many big thanks to rhi and mel for beta-ing <33

levi ackerman x fem!reader

Headquarters’ up in too much outrage for it to be five in the morning, but evidently, things rarely are as they should be here. He barely manages to tie his shirt closed before Hange and Moblit show up behind him, walking down the stairs with a pace slightly too vigorous for an early morning. Damn long legs. Levi’s impatience boils over when neither says anything, or anything of use in four-eyes’ case, and he makes his way toward the courtyard with a tight grunt. “Yer awfully tight-lipped considering.”

Hange nods. “I’m not sure what to say, is all. I could explain…” Her normally talkative hands are set on her hips as she pauses, and once again Levi feels his irritation spiking.

“But? Get to the point, Hange.”

She’s got a look on her face that gives absolutely nothing away.

“It’ll be easier for you to see for yourself, squad commander.” Moblit dutifully finishes, pointing the way through the dusty open area to the long hall. It’s mostly higher ups that walk around the place, some ducking their gaze to avoid his. His glare is instinctive. The lack of swords at his hips leaves his hands settling slightly uncomfortably at his belt instead as he walks, following behind the longer steps of his companions until they finally land at the door.

Expecting, Hange turns to look at him. “Questioning hasn’t lead far, you see. But don’t worry, we handled the situation gently! We all just figured- it might make things easier to bring you here instead of trying to force a break though when… well- you know.”

His eyebrows pull together without any further effort, and his already thin patience this early in the day glides onto it’s last legs. “What the hell are you talking about?” Rambling nonsense as always. He finds his hands moving before he’s able to call upon his patience.

He pushes the door open to the small office, takes in the bookshelves, the desk, pristine— before his stormy gaze falls onto the broad-shouldered blond hunched over. Or more, the figure he’s squatted overhead while Levi walks in. “Erwin? What the fuck are you playing- at.”

A soft, wheezed breath catches him off guard, only spying flashes of the mud-crusted feet, bruised, knobbly knees. He takes a breath, watches Erwin move aside to reveal the scene. Levi suddenly stops halfway when his stomach rolls, and there’s a dull moment where his heart starts to beat between his ears. Loud, hammering his eardrums, it almost has him tumbling over his own feet.

The face lets out a slight smile when watery eyes trail his way- and immediately spill over into thick beads that drip down the long stretch of exposed neck. A faint voice meets his lips like he’s tasting it, and the air in the room goes electric. “L- Levi nii!”

It’s you. Bruised eye and a bit older, but there’s no mistaking that face. The crybaby, wobbly lip, those long, wet lashes. His own breath escapes him for just a moment, only to see you crawl hands and knees towards him as much as the cuffs will allow you.

Hange nods out of the corners of his eyes. “That’s all she’s been able to repeat since we found her. A face you recognise?”

His hands manage to unclench from his belt only to drop aimlessly by his thighs. His eyes can’t move from your shape, a heavy, familiar feeling settling in his chest. You’re actually here. He’s looking you in the face, that same open, accepting gaze that got him the first time.

You found him.

You are asking for him.

+

Your eyes are blurry from the cold, breaths coming out in puffs in front of your face. You’re stumbling more than walking, as your feet scrape, as they cut open on the thorns that litter the grounds along with the wet leaves— snow touching your face as it falls, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

It’s so cold, you’re so cold and your limbs feel stoned and useless, as you drag yourself on towards the sound of water. Your throat aches, so does your stomach.

You try to remember the place you came from and walk on and on, if only to get a little further away from the threat of violence by strangers. The world’s so barren. Your breaths cloud before you, blurring your vision more. Puff, puff, puff— and you stumble. By landing onto your hands and knees, you scrape both hard in the process, only barely saving yourself from connecting your face with the dirt, and the lack of sleep, of a safe place to curl up and hide away all have your bottom lip wobbling like crazy.

Almost childishly, you just wish a prince on a white horse would come to sweep you away from here. It hurts. The soles of your feet, your face, the swollen area around your eye and brow and your stomach too, going empty for about a day now. You think. Your hands have landed on snow that doesn’t stick long, but it makes it almost impossible to get up and continue. You don’t even remember where you came from, let alone where you were going.

There’s a nice, cloudy gap in your memory where anything of purpose is supposed to sit. You don’t remember your name. Matted hair sticks to your face, and your clothes no longer serve as anything other than another layer to keep the cold, and wet slicked nicely to your body until you freeze to death. The river sounds close, but also still so far away. 

Snow falls, and you cast your eyes up through the trees, frozen lashes, cold lips. “Help me,” you croak out, to no one. To yourself. It doesn’t make sense why you push on,  but your body moves robotically up from the floor as if controlled by strings, only to stumble over your own feet every few steps. You might not remember anything else, but for some reason— against all logic, you do remember one thing. A name.

It’s the tiny, flickering flame that pushes you on and on as your vision blurs, as energy seeps out of you with each step, with each breath straining against the weight of your own ribs. A flame that becomes more and more faint as you reach pebbles, a slight opening in the trees where snow does stick.

You’re tired, and you want to go home. You want to curl up into a ball and die. Your eyelids flutter shut as you fall still, trying everything to keep upright.

A rhythmic sound approaching. Horses. “Help me,” you squeak. You think you do, if your voice even makes it out of you.

Some noise comes closer, but before you can see it through, your body gives out and you land onto the snowy ground with a thump— knocking you out cold.

+

“She’s obviously not dangerous, Erwin,” Levi presses fingers to his temple. The crowded room is doing absolutely nothing to relieve the migraine that’s been steadily building since this morning. The meeting room’s filled with people buzzing around like a bunch of insects.

Erwin stands from his desk. “As soon as we’re finished, I can have Miche escort her to a nice room-”

“No. I don’t want anyone else,” Levi bites out, “bringing her anywhere without me around.” His head aches, teeth gritting. His bitching and moaning won’t sway the commander, but still. Miche’s still perched against the windowsill, heavy eyes scanning him. 

It’s been years— the guilt of that fact sits heavy on his lungs.

Despite the order otherwise, he marches past and out the door. “I’m taking her to my room. Discussion, over.”

“Captain Levi!” Nifa calls after him, but a sturdy arm stops her in her path with only a tired sigh. The tall form squares his shoulders as Hange takes a seat in one of the chairs across him. He looks tenser than normal.

“And?”

Her glasses are pushed higher on her nose. “She’s no titan, if that’s what you’re worried about. My best guess is amnesia of some kind. I couldn’t say how she got it, though.” After a few seconds, she glances at Moblit. “Say, it isn’t just me, right? Her and Levi totally had something going on, right?”

+

“Sit down. Right there.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

His hand sits low on your back as he guides you into the slightly damp room. Small windows are fogged up high on the wall. Your arms are wrapped uncomfortably around yourself along with the dry jacket over your wet shoulders, and you trepidatiously walk into the tiled room, barefoot. Levi sighs behind you, voice clearing. “Go on.” It feels like it’s a familiar sound, and you follow the order. It’s been a few weeks, but you have still yet to connect the name to the face.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t exactly the short, head-strong noiret before you. Or rather, you hoped it would’ve sparked something.

You sit at the edge of the baths with a pout and the steam of the filled tub sticks to your lashes. You only manage to strip yourself of Levi’s jacket with his prompting. His hands aren’t soft, but the motion is gentle when sliding the fabric off of you, watching your clammy form unfold as he strips you of the drenched shirt, starts helping you out of the pants. You whisper a slight ‘thank you’ under your breath, because any more right now would take more energy than you have left to expel.

He looks up from where he’s kneeled beside you almost too close, thin brows furrowing as he looks up. “I told you, you’re not supposed to leave unless I’m right on your heel. In any situation. Not only that, but you just about chose the worst weather to make your little break, too.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.’ It makes him frown, nose scrunching, when he has to pull hard to get the pants over your ankles and scratches up feet, dirty and ice cold.

“You’ll be sick by tomorrow.” He’s probably not wrong. The ashy grey eyes flick up at you with -what you guess must be concern- as they shimmer almost brilliantly. It looks a bit strange on his hard, angular face.

You wouldn’t know if it is out of place. He looks cold on the outside. Harsh features, calloused hands, scars wherever you look. You don’t remember what brought you here, or what type of relationship you had. Levi’s care for you so far tells you you two were close, and they’ve told you that you kept saying him name over and over again. You feel like you should trust him. It sucks that you can’t. For some reason, something takes on your breath when you sit still too long.

“I got scared,” you slowly admit, picking at your nails. Like you had to run, run far away. The room they gave you a suffocatingly tight hug.

That’s how you ended up stumbling out of the courtyard towards the woods.

If he’s surprised by your confession, it doesn’t show on his face. He only continues to drop the wet clothes in a pile, then nods his face at the water. “Get in.” His hand takes yours to help you inside the bath, before slowly lacing his fingers with yours. It’s not so much the nakedness you have a problem with, as the lack of his own. Not the quiet you hate, as much as the fact that anyone could come into the communal bathroom when they want. But you don’t want to disappoint Levi by disobeying him twice in a night, so you sit.

Watch him chew on his words for a long time, before speaking. “Are you starting to remember anything yet?”

You suck your lips. “Not really. Not yet.” You remember flashes of Levi’s sharp eyes. Of friends, maybe family? A blond head of hair, a redhead. Sitting in the dark, sleeplessness taking you over. You remember your achy wrists, and you feel it even now, without the cuffs they slapped on you at first. You’re told Levi asked them away— and you’re thankful for that.

”Captain…”

Levi’s other hand wraps around your intertwined ones, and he closes his eyes. “I can’t believe any of this shit. You got taken away from me before— And now, all this…” His expression turns darker as he stares past you, almost as if looking at someone else. “They must’ve really done a number on you, if you don’t remember.” Frost washes over those steely eyes, and his mouth pulls into a thin line. “You promised to stay by my side. I know you never would’ve wanted to break your promise.”

But then he puts his hand on the back of your neck.

The hot steam travels up around you, as he sits beside the tub close enough he could wrap you up in a hug, looking at you like you’re an abandoned toy in need of fixing up. You blink wet lashes at him until he leans in, slots his warm mouth against yours, and his hair tickles your face. His lashes brush your cheeks, and his free hand comes to pet your cheek every so softly. “I’m here now,” his voice is low but as soft as you’ve ever heard him, as he rests his forehead against yours. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger again, okay?”

Your body’s still wound tight from earlier, but it’s only natural that you mellow out in the warmth. “Even if you never get your memories back, I’ll be here for you.” Against the cold of the coming winter, the way he brushes your hair feels so nice. It allows you to let Levi run his lips along your cheek to your jaw, short, puffed breaths against your skin as he pulls you close.

His plush lips linger over your heartbeat, and you swallow against the prey-like urge to scamper out of reach, to instead wrap your arms back around him. Droplets bleed into his shirt, but he doesn’t care one bit. His eyes flutter open and closed a few times as he pulls you into him more, leaning over the edge of the tub to kiss needy kisses all along your neck, to where your shoulder meets your throat.

You instinctively let out a gasp when he bites down, before laving the spot with his lips and tongue. “D’you like this? Does that feel good, baby?” His voice is almost soft, when those dark, blown out irises find you, and you’re letting out tense breaths against him. “Feel good?”

“Mhm.” It’s not hard to figure out what you two were before you got back here. His hand slips down your spine into the water to lift you up against him, pushing his hot lips against you again and again. You taste his tongue, taste his spit when you run your hands through his hair and pull slightly. Not too long ago, this must’ve tasted like love.

You pull back to bite your lip, feel a guilt come over you as you watch him. So hungry for you, it clearly bothers him to be even a few inches away from you. 

“I’m sorry for not remembering,” you whisper. Your voice wants to fail you, but you refuse to let tears take over. That wouldn’t be fair to him. A brief pause, then you swallow, eyes fixing on him with a genuine curiosity. “Do you remember everything, Captain Levi?” 

+

The dark itches his skin, takes on his breath. There’s a stench of ammonia, thick, pungent, it almost knocks him over. But that doesn’t matter much when his eyes slide over the dusty, trash-filled room for what he’s looking for. He kicks the bloodied face to the side, pulling his knife out from the pierced temple to wipe it on a handkerchief and pull up his nose. “Fuckin’ pig sty.”

It’s Jan who bothers to search through the dresser, pocketing a few stacks of money. “That’s about 300, Levi.” Not enough. He somehow doubts that anything they find will be enough to pay back the debt. One of the other men closes in on the safe, kneeling before it. Levi’s tight frown only digs deeper.

It wouldn’t take too much to break that open, so with the two of them, they start sliding it out of the spot under the makeshift register. “The rest’s probably in here.”

“Yeah.” He brushes his hair out of his face, ready to leave the brothel behind. It’s only an afterthought to slide open the door of the liquor pantry; kicking through the lock with impatience set on his face. The old wood gives way with a sad creak, and Levi pushes inside. There’s nothing of value, figures.

Only a small cage shoved in the corner, and his hands drop to his side.

“Levi?” Someone calls at his back.

A ghostly figure sits unmoving, crumpled into itself, metal dog collar around the neck— big, desperate eyes avoiding the light streaming into the indentation. Big, obvious blotches litter your skin top to bottom, lips swollen and cracked, your skin almost mannequin-like by the unwashed sheen. His stomach turns at the sight… but more than disgust, he’s taken aback by something else.

His breath stops in his throat for a few beats, as he stares at the pathetic rise and fall of your chest in that skimpy little outfit, pure white lace against the darkness. The pity of your situation is by far outweighed by the beauty of you, and the way his heart pounds in his chest.

He should feel worse. He should probably hate the feeling. The way you stare up at him like a kicked puppy. His mouth cracks open a sliver, slow breath in, slower breath out. If you had a tail, it would wag at the sight of him.

The way you’re looking up at your saviour makes him feel important.

+

The door thumps before bouncing back into the lock, and a breeze tingles your neck as you snuggle deeper into the blankets. It’s not much, but it’s more than you’ve gotten used to with your last owner. It’s more than enough to sleep comfortably, only hindered by the heavy metal chain that sits around your ankle. You’re not sure why he believes you’d go anywhere. A heavy body drops into the mattress meant for one. For a brief moment, your shoulders rise up to protect your face, spine tensing.

A brief moment that melts away in an instant when you’re confronted by ocean blue eyes in the dark, a soft smile sitting on his cheeks. “Sleepy?” the young man asks, not expecting much of a response before landing his palm on your head in a comforting sort of motion. It’s a drag more than a pat, and his thumb brushes almost patiently over your forehead from between your brows to your crown. A warmth you’ve never really experienced before. If you were sleepy, you no longer are.

Farlan’s a comforting presence that’s only gotten more important with each passing day. The windows to your room are usually leaned open, enough to stick a few fingers through, not your whole hand. It’s enough during the day to catch his eyes peeking up at you from the courtyard, and smiling back when you wave. A sad, guilty sort of smile.

Farlan smells like wood and musk and soap, and to you, it’s the closest you can get to being out there with them with the chain on your ankle.

You swallow, bite your lip. “Levi nii doesn’t like me, does he?”

His blond hair bounces as he rolls onto his side in the silence, and watches you with a strange sort of calculation in his eyes. His hand falls still on your crown, but you lean into the touch before he pulls back. The heat is just so nice. It builds in your cheeks, makes your eyes feel a little hazy, your face softer. Farlan chews on his tongue before speaking. “Why do you think that?”

It’s not so hard to tell. Everyone else is allowed outside. There’s people who come around every day, they carry boxes, work in the street, talk to each other whenever they want. It’s only you that’s kept inside this room— staring at them through the windows; and more than that, Levi always locks the door when they come around. You don’t blame him. You’re sure that if you were better, he wouldn’t have to. You can’t blame the person who saved your life for dealing with you in the way he knows how.

Instead of explaining all that you simply shake your foot, and the loud changing of the metal links fill the room.

Farlan’s eyebrows narrow, and not for the first time, a look of helplessness swipes over his features. “I’m pretty sure Levi aniiki… doesn’t dislike you. He doesn’t even let me in here, normally.”

He pulls the blankets back a bit, uncovering your shoulders from the plush, trails his eyes over the skin in the dark. A fingertip presses into a spot under your jaw that’s achy and bruised that’s only stopped hurting so bad this morning. Then he slides the touch down to the crook of your neck, taps onto another mark. “That Levi aniiki’s doing?”

They’re littered all over.

You don’t have to nod. His expression dims. “Do you even know what’s happening to you here? You don’t, do you.” The words come faster, lingering in the stuffy room. His face shifts, from knowledge, to worry. “Do you even like Levi like that?” Your face goes pouty, and you feel yourself wanting to tilt your head. Confused. A wordless question. Like what, your brain supplies, but maybe because you feel a bit stupid, you don’t speak it.

Maybe because of the closeness and the heat in your face and the warmth of his touch, his care, his attention— you can’t do anything but suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Farlan’s face is closer than it was, you’ve pushed yourself closer. The darkness of night no longer feels so dark when he’s here with you and your heart’s beating fast, really fast. It’s slamming rhythmically in the silence. He pulls his hand away as he smiles, but you reach out to grab it. “Do you like him?” He asks again.

Do you like Levi nii? Of course you do. If not for him you might’ve been left behind forever, stashed behind the walls like a dirty secret. It’s a given that you like him. You like that he sits with you and tells you you’re pretty and when he comes home for the night he lets you snuggle up on his chest and feel every bit of touch that you were missing during the day. When he’s nice he’s really nice, though he doesn’t like to say it in words. You’re similar in that way.

When he’s happy with you, you get spoiled. You like Levi. Farlan’s finger brushes over the tip of your nose when you bring it close to your face, soft, searching touch. It isn’t the same as Levi’s closeness though. When Farlan’s close, you feel entirely floaty, drifting on the breeze of the breaths you two share. Levi’s kind of like is grounded. The blond’s staring like he’s seeing every cell of you at once, and you find yourself saying something before you can think about it fully. “I like you.”

He smiles genuinely at that, taken aback. You two share the space in the bed that’s yours alone. You take up the space nudged into the crook of his neck, feel the breaths dust over your crown. You’re sure when your throat runs dry, and your lashes flutter against his skin.

After a few minutes of quiet, Farlan finally seems to breathe a full breath again. “Tell me. Do you want me to take you out of here?”

Your eyes flutter. A tense, slight frown comes to sit between your brows, and your lips jut into a pout.

+

“Here, be a good girl.” Your big eyes shift from the door back to him, when he kneads his hands that are settled on your tits, rubbing your pebbled nipples until you shift. A little from the touch, a little from your discomfort as you’re gyrating onto his body. You try to nod, he thinks, because your interrupted by a shiver when his mouth takes one of them inside to suck, and have you whimpering above him. Cute. Moldable.

Your hands move to his head to practically curl yourself around his head and trail your hands through his hair like you’re a kneading cat, and your motion shoves his face between your tits even more. It’s so fucking cute, perfect, as you squirm like you’re not sure what to do with yourself. He’s pretty sure that’s actually quite accurate. As you’re moaning and squeaking though, and he shifts to the other nipple to rub his tongue over it, you let out a soft whine. “Levi nii- it’s… I-embarrassing.”

He grunts into your embrace, one hand slipping around to get under your ass and reposition you onto him better, so that the heat of your pussy grinds against him through the thin scraps of fabric you’re dressed in. “It’s not embarrassing. You’re doing good.” His cock’s rock hard against you. Shouldn’t that be enough to tell you that? If you had any experience with any of this, it would.

“It is!” You pant, and your hips stop moving around like you’re halfway to crawling away, to unclamp yourself from his head, to lean back onto both arms and watch him through teary, drowsy eyes. “I keep making noises even though I don’t mean to, and everything feels weird- and- and I’m sticky, aniiki.” A brilliant blush sits on your face, from your nose to your ears, and it’s as hot as it is adorable, the way you’re writhing around a bit like an animal in heat. He doesn’t need to ask if it feels good, because it’s written on your face. 

He goes back to playing with your tits a bit longer, because you’re so soft and warm and wrapped in his blankets, he just wants to eat you up. You sometimes ask him why he keeps you around. A ridiculous notion, as if he would even have the thought of not keeping you. You’re his woman. His, and his alone - it’s not up for debate. You just don’t know it yet, because of your lack of experience. Rough hands pinch at your nipples until you’re shoving at his shoulders and squirming away, underwear sticking to your wet pussy.

Your kicked-dog sort of expression is replaced with furrowed brows when you pant the next thing, glancing back at the door with a pout. “Aniiki~~ it’s embarrassing! Farlan nii’s gonna know.” His jaw clenches, and within a single blink he has you turned around. Pressed back into his bed under his pinning weight, his thin eyebrows furrowing despite himself. Your eyes go wide, suddenly apologetic.

He doesn’t hear you out. “It’s not. If I tell you it’s okay, then it’s okay.” The heat between your two bodies streams down, as he yanks one leg over his thigh to get in between your legs and starts drawing his long fingers along the edge of the seat of your panties. Soaked through, sticky. He brings his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean, and taste the pure, unchanged taste of you. “Stop bringing other people up. I’ve already told you that when we’re in here, you should only think about me. When you’re in my bed-”

“Levi nii is the boss. I know, I’m sorry.” You rap out quicker than he can continue, apologetically smoothing your hands over his chest. “I just… My body always feels weird when we do this.”

He holds the urge to let his face break out into a bit of a grin. How fucking cute can you be… instead he starts peeling off your panties and watch how you obediently move your legs together and up to make it easy, runs his hands up, up, up along your thighs, calves, over your feet. He licks his lips at the sight of you, can’t help it. You let him rock his hips against you, placing his hands both sides of your face, and lean in. “Give me a kiss, come on. If you give me a kiss, I won’t chain you up tomorrow.”

You used to be unable to. Too shy, too cautious, the marks left on you had taken a toll. But look at you now. Almost as if by instinct, you dutifully press your lips to his awaiting mouth, let him lean into your space and take you. It took some time, and you used to cry - but doesn’t this feel so good now. Aren’t you happy he treats you so well? You kiss him slow and deep, letting him open your lips and slip his tongue into your mouth, while his hands rub over your wet pussy.

You’re whining into it though at his touch, mumbling like a pathetic, little thing. “‘M sore, Levi nii~” You must be. Your pussy still slicks though, welcoming him, letting his fingers rub the overstimulated bud again. He wasn’t so nice this morning, or last night.

Your thick lashes flutter when you pull back with a pout, and watch him toy with your body.  

“You’re glaring like you don’t want this.” He comments. You shake your head half-heartedly. In truth, it used to be like that. You used to kick and scream before you toned down. But you got there eventually, and now - you’re soft enough to let him do however he likes. You trust him enough to fill you up to the brim and let him spill hot cum inside you, without crying. You still move your body half into, half away from his touch— like you can’t decide if you want him to keep going, so he makes the choice for you. “Open up.”

You shiver under him but move your legs open further, as his fingers trail into the wetness to your clit. “So good, baby.” Soft circles make you scrunch your face up, and harder circles make your back lift from the mattress into a perfect arch that makes his cock twitch in his boxers. Boxers that get pushed down to reveal his weeping, flushed head, and pushing it along your lips with a hiss. “You know what I like to hear, come on. Say it.”

You flush, heat blooming on your cheeks again. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you look away in mock-decency. Drives him crazy. Makes him want to ruin you. “Th- thank you for r-rescuing me. I love… -I love when you play with me like this.”

”Yeah?” He lines his cock up with your slick lips and pushes inside, ignoring the resistance as he dives into your heat. “I know you do. I know you like doing- t-this. You’re a good, little pet for me. We’re close, aren’t we. There’s no one closer to you than I am.” He bottoms out into that perfect warmth only to pull back, wet, glistening, and dive back into you. Your eyes bulge a little, and your hands find his shoulders as your head falls back.

”Ah, ah- Aniiki. I- I’m still sore. It hurts.” You yelp softly when his body connects to yours, and your tits bounce because of the impact.

“Shhh, shh, I’ll make it feel good. Just a little more.” His rhythm moving the bed along with you, as you clamp your eyes shut and wrap your arms around him to hang on. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, of course. But you just feel so good. So inviting, diving into that clenching, warm embrace as his cock slides in and out of you, and slick gushes out along it. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. So good for Levi nii, aren’t you? You’re a good little hole for me.”

“Agh, Levi nii. Aniiki!” His declarations of love fall on deaf ears, because you’re hanging on like you’re on a cliff, whining and the pressure building inside you. Even after hundreds of times, you still look so woefully underprepared whenever he rubs just right against your pussy. Coarse hair and friction all make you look like you can explode any second now, and he thrives when looking at it. Could you not look so fucking pathetic all the time? It’s not his fault that you look so fucking hot like this, squirming on his cock, moaning, begging. “I’m full— I’m so full. Agh, Levi!”

He lets you have more, take more of his cock, harder, deeper. Your poor pussy squelches every time he bottoms out, and your body moves around on the mattress just enough to rub yourself against the thumb he’s pressing to your clit. “You’re so pretty like this, so fucking— good. Tell me you want it.” 

Your back lifting from the bed, he can tell when your stomach starts clenching, and your legs wrap tighter around him. “Yes, yes, yes! Wan’it- agh, ah, ah! Levi.” His balls hit your ass every time he goes in and you feel so good, so soft— hotter than anyone should be.

“Tell me you love me. You don’t want anyone else.” You’re whining like you’re mindless, and pull him, scratch along his shoulder blades with a desperation for purchase. You can’t say it in words, but he knows it means ‘keep going, I’m close, I’m so close’. He knows it means ‘I love you.’ That’s why he pushes his mouth to yours again, that’s why he rocks his cock right into that spot that makes you go a bit cross eyed.

He’s doing this all for you. You mewl and suck his tongue and push your tits against him, let him fucking into you so deep you feel conjoined, and then even past that. It’s the heat and the pressure and the touch of you on him that’s making him grunt, his balls pull to his body. He fucks into you until he can’t possibly keep the rhythm anymore, and his shoulders pulls up into a squared position above you.

He pants, sweat rolling down his chest from the effort and the warmth. “You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.” Kissing you doesn’t possibly feel deep enough, but god, you feel good. Heavenly. He’ll stay here with you if that’s what it takes. Nothing’s going to change that. “You’re not going anywhere. Ever.” His cock settles so deep inside you he can see it on your face, twisting between pain and pleasure, and you fall into your orgasm with a rough, desperate cry. Your walls constrict around him, and it’s enough to make him reach his high too.

Sliding in and out, in and out, as hot cum shoots into you and he presses his forehead to yours. “Fuck, fuck- I need you here.”

+

It’s too dark to make out much of anything, except the frantic energy in the whispers.

“Hurry, come on.”

Your cuffs jingle loud into the night, dragging your chain behind you. It wasn’t possible on your own, but another set of hands got it undone relatively easily, and now, it’s just the sound of your breaths into the night as you look behind you. The house gets smaller before it disappears from your view, and you pant out breaths into the cold night. “Farlan,“ you breathe out, not stopping, “what’s happening?” 

Your arm is held steadily in his soft fingers, at a pace as quick as your weakened body will allow. He doesn’t speak until you’ve made it far, far beyond the line of houses that you could see from your window. More than you can remember seeing, ever. “Don’t worry, everything’s okay.”

The night is dark, but when you two finally stop moving, the path forward is even darker. A deep hole in the walls that seems to go up into infinity. You pull your arm away, and look at him, stomach turning. “Farlan…”

There’s no one around, lights are dimmed, and the whole place seems abandoned. All that’s left to notice is the air blowing past your neck, a draft that ruffles your hair. Farlan’s eyes are full of compassion. “I want to do the right thing.” For some reason, wetness wells up in your eyes as you watch him take you in wholly, and gently pull you into a hug. “If we go up here, we’ll get to the surface.”

He pushes a kiss to your temple, smiles bright like he always does. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” The breeze carries the fresh air into your lungs, and your toes are cold.

Farlan’s breaths go quiet as Hell unfolds itself. Instinctively, his hand is still wrapped around the gurgling wound pulsing blood, but his limbs have gone numb. And Levi’s blind anger has him wailing punch after punch, panting heavily before pulling the knife out. His hands drip blood, as the sun rises at the end of the staircase. It’s barely a white dot in an inky canvas, but the doubt does seep in. You wouldn’t have left him. You wouldn’t, you couldn’t.

He loves you, and you him. His only light in this fucking place. You’d never go on your own. You’ll be waiting for him to get you back.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[sixosix]

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.” 

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space? 

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of. 

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up. 

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Dad Jace would totally let him daughter braid his hair and let her use him as her mannequin head (who else had one when they were kids?). He would be such a good girl dad

Request: Jace and reader's daughter who disturbs small council meeting by walking in and Rhaenyra is sweet to her and don't care of the disturbance. She would have been such a good grandmother

This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks (early august...), and since I have not posted in a moment, here's a little blurb until I finish other things. I don't usually write fics with children/babies in it, but now that I'm a godmother, I have material for content XD

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Unlike her father, Rhaenyra wanted Jacaerys to be prepared for when he’ll, one day, ascend the iron throne. She gave him a seat at her small council, at her side, and taught him how to rule the Seven Kingdoms. He was not given a title other than heir, but his presence was important to her and for the future — his future.

While the council was deep in discussion about ships and importation, the heavy doors of the small council chamber creaked open. Heads turned as little Alyssa, who had just turned four, burst into the room. Ignoring the gathered noblemen, the young princess darted straight to her father at the far end of the table. 

Jacaerys immediately shifted his attention from Tyland Lanister to his daughter. He could feel that the noblemen at the table were irritated by the disruption, but he didn't care. 

‘’How do I look, Daddy?’’ Alyssa asked, spinning in her new dress, her eyes full of excitement.

''Magnificent,'' he said, smiling lovingly at the little girl who looked just like him, except for her eyes. She had your eyes. 

Alyssa beamed at the praise, her little heart swelling with joy. She then skipped over to Rhaenyra, her small hand reaching out to display the dress with pride. ‘’Look, Grandma!’’

Rhaenyra's eyes softened at her granddaughter, removing her Queen facade. ‘’That is a very beautiful dress, sweetheart. You look lovely.’’ 

Alyssa beamed and pointed proudly to the light blue dragon with silver wings embroidered on the dress. ‘’Mama made the dragon,’’ she explained.  

‘’Speaking of Mama, where is she?’’ Jacaerys asked gently, hoping to get a response. 

But Alyssa just shrugged, her small shoulders rising and falling. Without a word, she spun around and dashed out of the council chamber, her mischievous giggles echoing down the hallway. 

This time, Jacaerys was hot on her heels. He couldn’t let her wander alone — she was far too young. She could get lost or find herself in dangerous places, like the kitchens or the White Sword tower. Or worse, she could also get taken by ill intentioned people. 

His long strides quickly closed the distance between him and Alyssa. As he finally caught up with her, Jacaerys scooped the little princess up in one swift motion, causing Alyssa to squeal in surprise and delight as she wiggled in his arms.

‘’No getting away from me!’’ Jacaerys held her closely, feeling her small arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him. ‘’Did you run away from the nursemaid again?’’ Alyssa stayed silent. ‘’You know you're not supposed to run off like that. Let’s go back to the playroom before they send a search party for you.’’

Alyssa remained quiet, but she nestled deeper into her father’s embrace. She adored you, but there was something special about the bond she shared with her father. Same for Jacaerys. She was his precious little princess, his firstborn. 

As they entered the playroom, Jacaerys saw the nursemaid pacing around worriedly. The young princess's escapade had clearly caused a bit of panic.

‘’Princess!’’ the nursemaid sighed in relief, silently thanking the Sevens that she had returned safely. 

‘’She's safe and sound,’’ Jacaerys said softly, gently rubbing Alyssa’s back. ‘’Just a little adventure, right, Alyssa?’’

The little girl finally lifted her head and nodded, her grip loosening slightly as she glanced at the nursemaid. ‘’I wanted to see Daddy.’’ 

Jacaerys kissed her cheek before setting her down. His sweet girl. 

Behind the nursemaid, Lucerys was playing with little wooden dragons, handed down to him by his uncles. Jacaerys played with these same dragons when he was young, and so did his brother Lucerys, who his son was named after. 

‘’You may leave us and take the rest of your day, Saphia. I will take care of the children.’’

The nursemaid nodded, bowing to Jacaerys before retiring herself.  Later, when you returned to your chambers after spending the afternoon with ladies from court, you were surprised to see your husband sitting on the carpet with Lucerys and Alyssa, who was in the middle of making ‘braids’ in her father’s hair. It looked more like knots than braids, by the look on Jacaerys’ face. A smile curled on your lips and you joined them on the carpet, finishing the day with your little family.

—

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[percyluvr]

Hiii!!! If your requests are open could you do an injury fic with Luke and a Persephone reader? Where she gets hurt during capture the flag or smth like that and this man starts stressing even if he’s on the opposite team and didn’t know what was going on when she got hurt?

luke castellan x daughter of persephone!reader summary: you get hurt during capture the flag and luke gets worried wc: 885

Luke Castellan is very particular about his capture the flag team, and everyone at camp knew that, which is why it came as a surprise when you and him were on separate teams.

When asked, he would just say that the two of you had decided to have a competition on who could create the better capture the flag strategy, but it was deeper than that. The two of you had a small fight because you felt that he never let you help with the strategy enough, and you felt like he never really let you in on the combat. It was almost like he thought of you as a delicate flower, and when you brought it up, he got irritated, telling you that he wasn't trying to control you, he just didn't want you to get hurt.

You'd gotten mad and stormed out, and now neither of you knew where you stood, and preparing for capture the flag against him wasn't helping at all. The few days leading up to capture the flag were some of the most hostile days each month, and this time was no exception. It may just be a camp war game to some campers, but to others, especially your teammate Clarisse, this was a big deal. Clarisse was always rude and quite hostile towards your boyfriend, but it was worse than ever now.

You and Clarisse were an unexpected duo, but you two had a special connection, considering each other your best friend, so when you told her what happened between you and Luke, she was pissed off, to say the least.

"Thanks for telling me that, I'm gonna hand his ass to him on Friday," she said, running her hand along your arm, trying to comfort you to her best ability.

"Thanks, Clarisse, I can always count on you if I want someone to get beat up," you joked, making her laugh.

The next few days went by quickly, you and Clarisse rigorously training with each other and going over your plan as co-captains. You'd always loved being on the same team as Clarisse before you started dating Luke, and now you finally got to be again.

On the day of capture the flag, you and all the campers headed into the forest, getting into your positions. The game began, and you and Clarisse charged into the other team's territory.

As a daughter of Persephone, you had the ability to manipulate certain plants, which was helpful, especially at camp, because you could control almost all of the plants that were there. Unfortunately, with great power comes a great ego boost, which you fell victim to.

You and Clarisse were basically wiping the floor with your opponents, when you got caught up in your head, confidence overflowing, and tried to create a longer vine, accidentally tripped over it, and fell right into the sword of the camper you were fighting. Luckily, you had managed to move your body so that you didn't get stabbed anywhere fatal, but you did get an incredibly deep cut right under your ribcage, which caught the attention of Clarisse. Seeing you injured fueled Clarisse's rage, and she quickly finished the fight.

Immediately, she picked you up bridal style, rushing you through the woods to the infirmary. She passed by Luke, and at first he ignored it, but then he did a double take after realizing it was Clarisse, and saw you in her arms, blood soaking through your orange Camp Half-Blood shirt. Even though he was in the middle of a fight, he booked it in the direction the two of you were heading, now full of worry.

He finally caught up to the two of you, surprised at how quick Clarisse was. When Clarisse caught sight of him, she cracked her knuckles and gave him the dirtiest look you had even seen in your life. You bit back a laugh.

Luke rushed up to where you were sitting on the bed.

"Baby, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay," he said, voice filled with desperation.

You gave him a pained look, gesturing to the large blood-soaked bandage covering the left side of your abdomen. "Well, I have a near fatal hole going through my side, but other than that, I'm great," you say dryly.

"C'mon, don't be that way. I'm sorry for what happened last week, okay? But see, this is why I'm so protective. I can't let anything happen to you, I don't want to lose anyone else," he whispers, eyes glazed over.

At this point, Clarisse is long gone. Knowing her, she probably left because she couldn't stand to see you and Luke being all 'lovey dovey,' as she calls it.

"Well... yeah. I guess I see your point. But I still think that you should let me help more, please."

"Okay, you're right. I know you're perfectly capable, I'm just scared. I've lost too many people and losing you would be too much to handle, so please be more careful, okay?" He eyes your bandage, giving you a grimace.

You respond by pulling him down to your face by his shirt, and give him a sweet kiss, which he reciprocates almost immediately. It almost made you laugh how quickly he kisses you back, even though it happens every time.

[willsimpforanyone]

Could you do a percy x nike!reader where the reader challenges percy to a sword fight and percy loses and the readers all cocky about it. And then percy decides to teach the reader a lesson and doesnt stop fucking her till she says hes a winner and like since reader is competitive she gets overstimulated? I need therapy what the hell is this ask

bestie we all need therapy here don't worry ur safe here

i'm gonna do an established relationship because it's just easier that way, and this is a she/her reader with feminine terms used

percy is a little bit of a mean dom, but he still checks in with the reader to make sure she's okay

-------------------------------------

The man at the end of my blade was glowering at me like it was his job.

Percy's green eyes were reflecting in the shine of my sword, but I didn't need a mirror to know my smile was even brighter. I tapped the flat of the sword against his jaw.

"Sorry, babe, look like you need a little more practice," I grin, nodding towards a pair of 8 year olds fighting with blunted blades. "Maybe you should ask them for help?"

He rolled his eyes, capping Riptide and knocking my sword away from him. "I went easy on you."

I sheathed my sword at my side, raising my eyebrows at him in disbelief and smirking. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," Percy hisses, and I laugh at the behaviour of a stroppy teenager coming from my boyfriend of 20 years old.

Walking over to the burning offering bowl at the entrance to the arena, I drop in a little something as a 'thank you' to Nike. "You're drenched in sweat, you put actual effort into that fight, you're just bitter that someone might be able to beat you."

Rolling his eyes again so far back in his head I'm sure he's about to give himself a headache, Percy slings his arm over my shoulders as we walk to his cabin. "You're my girlfriend, I had to let you win, I'm a gentleman like that."

"Bullshit!" I cackle at his obvious attempts to dismiss his loss, but that would mean dismissing my victory and I would never have allowed that. "I'm a child of Victory incarnate, did you really think you could win when I have the spirit of winning in my blood?"

"We get it, you won, the whole world gets it," he sighs, dragging his feet. "Can you shut up about this now?"

I shake my head, still grinning like the fattest cat that had the cream already and has just discovered the can of tuna. "Absolutely not, I think it would be basically blasphemy if I were to stop talking about my victory over the most powerful demigod of our generation, mother would strike me down where I stand."

"Sounds like I'll just have to make you shut up." Percy drags me inside his cabin, slamming the door behind us and shoving me against the wall. His hand comes behind my head so I don't smack it on the wall and the butterflies in my stomach go insane at the caring gesture even when I'm pissing him off.

I barely have time to open my mouth before his lips are on mine, stealing any words I was about to say. My hands fly to the back of his head, keeping him kissing me and tangling in his slightly sweaty black hair. He perpetually tastes like sea salt and I moan very quietly.

It takes a second for my brain to kick into gear again, but I smirk against his lips and whisper into his mouth. "You'll have to do better than that, loser."

Percy growls. "Oh, I plan to."

The wall is suddenly no longer behind me and I shriek in surprise and glee as he drags me to throw me onto the bed, immediately pouncing on me and pinning me to the bed. His fingers work deftly to undo my belt and he sets my belt and sword carefully on the floor, along with my shoes.

Now free to do as he pleases, he dips his head into the crook of my neck, yanking at my sweatpants and dragging his nails down my legs along with the waistband, throwing them off. Without hesitation, he strips me of my underwear and I moan, a permanent smile living on my face.

"This feels more like a reward than a punishment, I won't lie," I smirk, leaning up on my elbows and looking up at him.

"No one asked for your opinion," he sighs, promptly shoving two of his fingers in my mouth. "Use your tongue for something worthwhile, hm?"

Unable to do anything else, I wrap my lips around his fingers, sucking and covering them in saliva. I teasingly bob my head a little, looking him directly in the eyes and taking his fingers as deep into my mouth as I can.

He smirks, shaking his head at my obscene behaviour. "Dirty girl." He pulls his hand away, inspecting his spit-covered fingers. "Good enough."

Clearly determined to render me incapable of speech, he immediately swirls his middle finger over my clit. My whole body jerks, upper body almost thrown forward at the sudden sensation. "Shit-"

Percy grins, drawing delicate but deliberate circles and radiating smugness. "Nothing to say? Is that all it takes to make you shut your smart mouth?"

Well, I couldn't let him think he'd won this round. I swallow harshly, flicking my hair out my eyes and smirking. "I could suck your dick if you wanted," I breathe out, voice thick with condescension. "Sort of a participation prize."

He scowls, and pushes two fingers into my pussy. The sudden feeling shoots through my body like electricity and I gasp, one hand flying to grip at his wrist. My head gets thrown backwards and a low moan comes from low in my throat.

His digits pump in and out at a speed I wasn't expecting and for a good minute, there are no words in my head. Not a single thought, just pleasure vibrating my bones and removing my ability to think.

"There we go," he purrs, other hand rubbing gently over my hip and stomach. "The attitude was unnecessary, huh?"

I laugh breathlessly, one hand gripping the wrist of the hand abusing my now-soaking pussy, the other raking through my hair. "I... I still won..."

"For fucks' sake-" Percy shuffles down the bed until his head rests between my legs. No ceremony, no anticipation, just his tongue against my clit as his fingers crook and stroke at my velvety walls.

The sudden increase in stimulation drags me bodily into my climax, orgasm rocking through my body and rendering me speechless. I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my long, drawn out moans... and then my squeak of surprise as he doesn't stop.

"P-Percy?" I stutter, hips instinctively twitching away from him under his relentless attack.

Instead of answering, his eyes simply flick up to meet mine with a filthy smirk on his lips. His fingers don't stop, tongue lapping up my come as he scissors me open slightly. My thighs start trembling, and the hand that was over my mouth finds its home twisted into Percy's hair as he buries his face between my legs.

He doesn't let up, working his jaw and tongue over and into me. My sensitivity has every nerve on edge and it takes a slightly humiliatingly short length of time for my next orgasm to flood through me.

To his credit, Percy doesn't protest at the definitely painful grip I have on his head, withdrawing his fingers and cleaning me up with his tongue. Shakily, I lean back up on my elbows and look down at him, panting slightly.

"Whoa," I breathe, pulling him up from between my legs and pressing a messy, sloppy kiss to his lips. Then, because I really, truly do not know how to shut up... "Hell of a reward, baby, I'm glad you admitted I won."

The growl of frustration comes from low in his ribcage and with a delicious shiver, I realise I've fucked up.

"Admit I went easy on you." His voice is right in my ear, and without looking I know he's stripping down, the sound so familiar I instinctively part my legs like a Pavlov effect.

I shake my head, still panting and still trembling. "No, you didn't, I won fair and square, I beat you."

To his credit and my utter adoration, he pauses as he slips a condom on and looks directly at me. "Are you okay?" He asks, voice soft and sweet.

I kiss him quickly and nod. "Mhm, yeah, I'm okay."

The sudden switch back is unbearably attractive and he nudges his cock against my sensitive folds, the tip nestling just barely inside. "You're my girlfriend, I would feel bad if I won every single time we fought," he hisses. "I was being sweet and you're throwing it in my face." His cock slips in just an inch.

I'm already clenching down on him, feeling my own wetness trailing down over my ass. It's a struggle to be coherent when my whole body is poised to feel him. "N-No, you weren't, I won, you're just being a bitch."

Another inch inside and I gasp, every sense heightened and nails clinging into his shoulders desperately. "Say I let you win."

I shake my head, but I'm beginning to forget what this faux-fight was about. "Mm-mm, never."

Percy clamps a preemptive hand over my mouth and shoves himself completely inside me, my pussy swallowing him whole. My eyes roll back in my head and I cry out into his palm, feeling deliciously, perfectly full and I'm pretty sure my brain starts leaking out of my ears.

"Then I'll fuck the words out of you," he murmurs into my ear. His other hand pins my hips to the bed as he starts pounding into me. I couldn't stop my body moving if I had the presence of mind to try, forcibly being dragged through overstimulation into that place where nothing else exists but Percy and the feeling of him inside me.

"Come on, baby," he coos, voice slightly unsteady. "Say it, and I won't drag another three orgasms from you."

That... that would break me. I'm out of my mind with just the two, I can't imagine how little I would function after five.

I can already feel my third orgasm building shakily in my lower stomach, pussy fluttering and convulsing around Percy's cock as he keeps up his rhythm. My pride wars with my common sense, wanting to stick to my victory versus knowing how utterly dedicated Percy can be at wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my poor body.

Percy adjusts my hips slightly and the angle knocks my pride out of my head. My lips form the words against his palm still over my mouth and he smirks, moving the hand to tangle his fingers in my hair.

"Something to say, gorgeous?"

I mumble the words, eyes closed and voice shaking.

Percy shakes his head. "What was that? A little louder for me, baby."

"...you went easy on me," I moan out, cheeks bright red and hands coming to hide my face. I don't need to see the smug fucking grin on his stupid handsome face, I already know it's there.

"Oh, good girl," he purrs, hips unrelenting against mine and sneaking a hand in between our bodies to thumb over my clit. "Just give me one more, one more and I'll stop, can you do that?"

I nod, clinging to him and moaning against his shoulder. "Mhm, I can d-do that."

"Good girl, I know you can," he murmurs, voice soft and burying his head into my neck. "It's okay, I've got you."

His switch to sweetness and patience sends my head reeling and I fall apart under him, muffling my scream of his name by biting into his shoulder. It only takes a few more thrusts and his hips stutter and still, a low choked moan smothered into my neck as he comes, filling up the condom.

Coherency is a distant memory and I can only focus on breathing, senses swamped with Percy. He litters kisses over my neck and jaw, whispering praise into my skin that I can barely focus on.

I whine in discomfort as he pulls out of me and he kisses me hard as a distraction, only moving away from me for a moment as he discards the condom before returning. He lays on the bed with me, wrapping me up in his arms and snuggling both of us under the bedsheets.

"Hey, you," he whispers, kissing the crown of my head. "How're you feeling?"

I respond in mumbles and nuzzling my face into his neck. Percy laughs softly, nodding and stroking up and down my spine.

"It's okay, that was too hard of a question right now, my bad."

---------------------------------

god i hope this was good, thank you for requesting!

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Fix You (Azriel x healer!reader)

summary: Azriel falls for the healer and finds new random reasons to see her, but he never let’s her help when he’s truly hurt.

wc: 3.8k

a/n: warnings: mentions injuries and blood

Never in a million years would you have dreamed of such an opportunity presenting itself to you, but after the battle of Velaris, your healing magic became rather well known among the locals. Eventually, word of your abilities reached the high lord, and he requested to meet with you. Now, ten months later, you are learning about tonics, salves, the anatomy of illyrian wings, and so much more to use along side your magic.

“One last thing. Rhysand said that Azriel is requesting assistance. Could you go tend to his injuries before you go home?”

You hide your laugh and agree to go. This is the fifth time this month that Azriel has requested a healer. It would make sense that the spymaster of the night court would need healing after missions, but he never asks for help with that. Most recently, he came by the infirmary to ask you for a cream that will help with sore muscles. Sometimes he asks for healing after training when Cassian roughs him up a bit too much, but even then, its minor injuries. One time he even used Cassian as an excuse, claiming the general needed some medicine for a cold, but later that day Cassian seemed perfectly fine to you.

Your friends think Azriel must have a crush on you and that’s why he always seeks you out, but that’s crazy. And besides, you heard a rumor that he has feelings for the high lady’s sister, Elain. But who could blame him, she's perfect.

You arrive at the House of Wind and head for the shadowsinger’s room. The house was quiet, meaning Cassian and Nesta must be gone. As you walk towards his room, you see a shadow dart across the floor, brushing against your ankle as it flies by and making you giggle. Before you can even knock, Azriel opens his door, apparently alerted by the shadow.

“Good evening. You requested a healer?” He nods and opens the door wider to invite you in and sits on the corner of his bed.

“Cassian accidentally cut me with his sword when we were sparring this morning. The skin has healed, but it’s still hurting. I figured you could use some of that fancy healing magic on it so I’m not slacking at training tomorrow.” He extends his arm, and just like he said, theres a jagged pink scar running up the length of his tan, muscular forearm.

You agree and sit next to him, taking hold of his arm and placing your hand over the scar. A warm sensation spreads from your palm to his arm, and moments later, the raised scar is nothing more than a faint line. You hold on for a few moments longer than necessary, your eyes fixated on his hands. There was something you found so beautiful and alluring about the scars, you didn’t even notice your fingertips slowly trailing towards his hands. As soon as your fingertips brush against the edge of the scarred skin, Azriel jerks his arm away and stands up.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ you trail off.

“It’s fine.” He snaps, avoiding your gaze to look at the wall behind you. “Thanks for the help.” His voice is softer now, but you can tell he’s upset. You hesitate, trying to figure out how to resolve this uncomfortable situation, but inevitably, you decide it’s best to leave.

“Happy to help. Have a good night.” You leave quickly, trying to avoid making things more awkward.

The entire way home, you berate yourself for doing something so foolish. One of the first things you learned about healing is to not make your patient more uncomfortable when you heal them. And there you were, touching something that obviously would make him uncomfortable. You don’t know the details about how his hands got so scarred, but with his fae healing, it can’t have been pretty. It reminds you of a patient you had a few years back with similar burns. You were constantly making cream to soothe the residual pain for them. You wonder if Azriel’s hands still hurt from time to time…

———

Azriel’s POV

“Do you plan to injure yourself again during training today, brother?” Cassian teases. “I see yesterday’s cut has healed already. Did a certain healer come by your room last night?”

“Shut up. It doesn’t matter.” I say gruffly and continue eating my breakfast.

“Why won’t you just ask her out?” He speaks with a mouth full of food, earning an annoyed look from Nesta.

“Because there’s no way that someone like her… it doesn’t matter. I’m over her now. Moving on.” I keep my gaze locked on the plate in front of me.

Last night, I tried to work up the courage to say something—anything, really. But when she touched me and I felt that magic run through me, I couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful she looked. I can’t help but remember the feeling of her hands on me, warm and comforting. And then, when she touched my hand, every horrible thought and insecurity ran through my head. How could someone so perfect ever want to be with someone so… damaged?

That’s also why I never seek her out when I return from missions. I don’t want her to see who I really am when I leave Velaris. One look at me with enemy blood on my hands and my own blood on my body, and she will run scared just like everyone else does. I’m just not ready for that rejection yet.

“I don’t believe that for a damn second, Az. You’re just scared. Take a chance, it could work out.” Nesta tries to be supportive, but she doesn’t get it. None of my friends do. I pretend to agree, but only to end the conversation quicker and move on to a new topic. Cassian gives a skeptical look, but moves on to discussing the evening’s plans.

———

Your POV

Two weeks pass, and you haven’t seen or heard from Azriel. It shouldn’t bother you this much, but you can’t help but miss his occasional visits, the way his shadows swirl around your ankles, the sound of his voice, the way he towers over you. Maybe you should find a reason to visit him. After all, he’s spent months coming up with ridiculous reasons to see you, you can do the same, right?

You look around your workstation at the various creams, tonics, and salves, eventually finding some that he would maybe find useful. Heading to the House of Wind, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous.

When you arrive, you see the High Lady’s sister, Nesta, walking through the foyer. “Hello. I was wondering if you could help me find Azriel. I have something for him.” You try to sound confident, but her smirk tells you she sees right through you.

“He’s at the training ring. The Valkyries and I just finished training, so it’s probably just him and Cassian up there.” You thank her and head that way.

When you arrive at the training ring, you are immediately stopped in your tracks by the sight of Azriel and Cassian sparring. You had always known the general had a nice body; you had healed it several times before. But Azriel… you have never seen such a glorious sight. The way the corded muscles of his back ripple when he moves and the way his wings, which were much larger than Cassian’s, were spread wide, you couldn’t help but stare. Eventually, Cassian notices you. He smirked, and then immediately moved to disarm Azriel, nicking him with the tip of the blade.

“What the hell, Cass? Why did you-“ Azriel turns and sees you. He turns back to Cassian, who has a shit eating grin on his face.

“Good thing your favorite healer is here to help.” You can’t help but blush at his words. Did Azriel talk about you to Cassian? “I’ll leave you two to it.” He saunters off, leaving you alone with Azriel. Azriel stands quietly for a moment, just staring at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the silence is killing you, and it’s taking all of your strength to not stare at the sweat dripping down his muscular body.

“I brought you something. You had mentioned once that you get headaches a lot. I have this tonic that can help with that. I figured I would bring it by.” You awkwardly fumble through your bag for the bottle, handing it to him. He looks at the bottle, then at you, a confused expression on his face. “Did you want me to help with that cut or…” you trail off, unsure of how to proceed.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks. And thanks for the tonic. I’ll be sure to try it next time I get a headache.” He sits on a nearby bench, and you sit next to him. Reaching towards the cut, you realize you need to avoid what happened last time and ask for permission to touch him.

“May I?” He nods, and you place your hand over the small cut on his jaw. You feel his shadows swirling around your hand, almost curious about your actions. Your fingers trail over his sharp jaw line in admiration. “All done.” You stand and step away, waiting to see if he will say anything. You were about to leave, but you apparently can’t leave well enough alone, so you dig through your bag again.

“I have this other stuff you might want.” You find the soothing cream. “I had a patient a few years ago with burns similar to yours. She told me her scars would hurt occasionally, so I would make this cream for her. I don’t know if that happens to you as well, but if you want it, it’s yours.” You reach out to hand him the cream, but he just stares at you.

After a few moments, you awkwardly set it on the bench next to him. “Okay then. I’ll see you around.” You turn to leave, eager to end this train wreck of an interaction. You hurried out so quickly, that you didn’t hear the faint “thank you” coming from Azriel.

———

Several days pass without seeing Azriel. Gods, you were definitely so out of line with the cream. He probably doesn’t like to talk about the scars. You shouldn’t have gone to find him in the first place. He was obviously avoiding you. The bell above the door rings, indicating a patient has entered.

“One moment!” You call from the back of the workstation. When you make your way to the front room, you are surprised to see Azriel.

“What are you doing here?” You ask softly.

“I’m sorry for my rude behavior the other day. I didn’t know how to respond to your kind gesture. No one has ever…” he trails off, setting the empty container of hand cream on the counter. “It helped a lot. I was wondering if you had any more?” Your face lights up, causing him to smile as well.

“Of course! Wait right here, I’ll go grab it.” You rush excitedly to the storeroom. It was always such a wonderful feeling to help a patient feel better, but having been right about this made you feel so happy. You return with three containers of cream. “This one is the same as the one I gave you. This one is infused with lavender. And this one is infused with eucalyptus.” You explain excitedly. He chuckles at your eagerness.

“Thank you. I’ll let you know which smell I like best.” He smiles softly. “And thank you for before. For noticing. No one has ever taken notice like that before. People usually don’t like to even look at my hands, nonetheless, ask about it.” You blush.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get the burns? It may help me formulate a more customized soothing cream for you in the future if I know how you got them. Only if you’re comfortable sharing.” Azriel sucks in a deep breath and looks at his hands.

“The details are… unpleasant.“ He hesitates. “Oil was poured over my hands and lit on fire. My bro-“ he pauses. “The people who did this ensured that I healed as they burned, so that the scarring was worse. Now I’m stuck with these ugly scars.” You try to hold back the tears in your eyes. How could somebody be so cruel and vicious as to do that to someone? “The pain is usually a sharp ache around my knuckles and fingers, if that helps.” He mutters quietly, avoiding your gaze. You hesitantly reach for his hand. He looks surprised by this, but lets you. You hold his large hand in both of yours and look deep into his eyes.

“I’m very sorry that happened to you. No one deserves such treatment. And your scars are not ugly, they represent what you have overcome.” Azriel blushes. A small shadow glides over your hands as you hold his, pulling a giggle from you. “The shadows are kinda cute.”

Azriel looks at you with surprise again. “Most people are afraid of them.” You watch a shadow weave between your fingers, letting go of Azriel’s hand to play with the shadow.

The two of you talk for a while longer before he eventually leaves. A smile stays on your face for the rest of the evening.

———

A week later.

You’re awoken late in the night by a chilly feeling across your skin. Assuming you forgot to shut your window, you groggily open your eyes to stand, but when you do, you see several shadows swirling around you and your room.

Panic immediately sets in. You have never seen Azriel’s shadows move in such a way, almost frantic. And the shadowsinger himself is nowhere near Velaris, supposedly on a mission, according to what Cassian said days ago. The shadows swirl around you, tugging you to stand. You throw on your coat and follow the shadows, praying to the gods that you don’t find what you think you will.

Upon arrival at the House of Wind, you hear panicked voices and yelling. You rush towards the commotion, finding a bloody mess when you arrive. You run towards Cassian and Nesta, trying to see what’s wrong, but when you look down, you see it.

Azriel. Covered in blood. Several arrows sticking out of his abdomen and wings, reeking of faebane. You immediately crouch and begin to inspect the damage.

“Cauldron, what happened? How long has he been hurt? Where is Madja?” You fire off a string of questions, not bothering to wait for an answer. Azriel groans in pain, barely conscious, with his eyes shut.

“He just winnowed here like this. We don’t know what happened, he pretty much passed out as soon as he got here.” Cassian looks at you nervously. “I tried to pull one of the arrows out, but the wounds won’t heal. The arrows are dipped in faebane.”

“Go get a bucket of water, a washcloth, and bandages.” You order to no one in particular before assessing the best plan for removal. When Nesta returns with the materials, you begin to remove the first arrow from his abdomen. Luckily, it didn’t hit any vital organs. When the arrow finally is removed, Azriel yells in pain.

“I know, I’m sorry. Just stay still and it will be over soon.” You try your best to use a soothing voice, but the shakiness is still evident. You get the second arrow out of his abdomen and begin to clean the wounds, working your healing magic as you go. Cassian and Nesta are standing over you, watching nervously, which only makes you more anxious.

“I got the worst of the injuries handled, he’s going to be fine. I still need to work on his wings, which may take a while and won’t be pretty. You two may want to go for now.” You say, not looking away from Azriel. Cassian and Nesta reluctantly leave, promising to return with the others in a bit.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.” You warn Azriel, who’s still unconscious, while you grip the arrow in his upper left wing and work to remove it. As soon as the arrow moves slightly through his wing, his eyes open wide and he howls in pain. He looks at you, just now noticing that it’s you tending to his injuries, and looks panicked.

“Wh-what… how are you here?” He rasps, wincing as the arrow is fully removed. He tries to sit up, but you force him to remain laying down.

“Your shadows found me. I figured you sent them.”

“No. They’re supposed to find Madja or Feyre if I get badly injured. I don’t know why they went to you.” He says gruffly. You try not to get upset by his words as you begin to stitch and heal the wound. Something about his demeanor is vastly different from how he usually acts, colder even.

"Well, you got me instead. Sorry to disappoint.” You mutter, trying to hide the hurt in your voice. You can tell he wants to say something else, but as soon as you grab ahold of the second arrow, all he can manage is groans and curses.

After you remove the third and final arrow, Azriel speaks. “You’re not supposed to be the one who handles my major injuries.” You can’t hide the pain in your eyes, so you look away to focus on working your healing magic on the final wound and bandaging it.

“I can handle more than basic tonics and minor injuries, you know.” You say quietly, cleaning away some of the blood with a washcloth. You gather the bloodied cloths and arrows, moving quickly to dispose of them.

“I know you can. I just don’t want-“ his words are cut short by the high lord rushing in, immediately requesting a status update. Azriel didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to know what he was about to say. He doesn’t want you here. You turn from Azriel to give Rhysand a full briefing on the injuries and the expected recovery process. After calming a bit, he begins to help Azriel up and to his room.

“It looks like you’re in good hands. I’m going to go update Madja on the situation so she can manage your recovery.” You say softly, avoiding eye contact. Before he can say anything else, you’re gone.

———

You avoid Azriel for a couple weeks. Every time he tries to come to the infirmary, you send another healer to take care of him. You couldn’t help asking Madja how his recovery was progressing, but she refused to tell you, stating that you were perfectly capable of asking him yourself. You know that you aren’t as skilled as Madja in some aspects of being a healer, but you never thought that Azriel would doubt your abilities. You guess that’s why he never asked for your help after missions. Maybe those months of ridiculous requests were just a joke to him, something to laugh about with his friends.

The sun goes down, signaling that it’s time for you to head home. You say goodbye to Madja and leave out the front door.

“Y/n.” You immediately turn toward the voice. Waiting by the door, you find Azriel. You look him up and down, assessing for injuries and observing his healing progress. The scars on his wings are only faint marks now.

“You look like you’re healing well. If you need medical attention, I suggest asking a more skilled healer, like Madja.” You say bitterly, walking past him. He sighs heavily.

“I didn’t mean to upset you that night. You weren’t supposed to see me like that.” He follows behind you, catching up quickly due to his long legs.

"Yes, you made that very clear. You didn’t want me there, you don’t trust me to handle your manor healing. I heard you loud and clear.” You refuse to look at him.

"No, that’s not-“ You turn down a side road suddenly, trying to evade him. “I know you can handle healing my more serious injuries, I just didn’t want you there.” You stop and stare at him, slightly in disbelief at his words. Is he really this cruel, or is he just really this bad at speaking to people? He reads your expression and backtracks.

“No, it’s not that I don’t want you around, I just don’t want you there.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Gods, I’m just making this worse. Can I start over?” You don’t respond, but he takes the fact that you aren’t walking away as a yes.

“I didn’t want you to handle my major injuries because, when I’m focused on my missions, I am a completely different person. I hate who I am outside of this city. I hate what I have to do, but I do it to protect my court and protect my family. When I get back, it sometimes takes me a while to get back to normal. I didn’t want you to see me like that, so I wouldn’t scare you off. It seems I managed to do that anyway, so I guess I was right to stay away.” You finally look at him. Who treated him so poorly to make him think so low of himself?

You take a step closer to him and look into his eyes. “I wasn’t scared of you that night. I was scared that you could’ve died. I was scared of the way you pushed me away. But never of you. I’ve healed fae from all over with horrible histories, grusome wounds, and severe PTSD. You’re job is hard, but you shouldn’t handle that burden alone.”

“You spend enough of your time fixing people, I don’t want to be another person you feel like you need to fix.” He says in a self loathing tone.

“You aren’t broken, Azriel. You don’t need fixing, just support.” You take his hand. “Let me be there for you. Let me be your friend. Please.” He stares at your hand holding his for a few moments.

“What if I don’t want you as my friend?” You frown, and he immediately realizes how that must have come across as you attempt to pull your hand away. He tightens his grip on your hand. “What I mean is, will you go to dinner with me? Like, on a date?” You look at him surprised, blushing hard. “Cmon, y/n. I thought I was pretty obvious that I have feelings for you with my dozens of ridiculous injuries and requests.” He chuckles.

“I would love to get dinner, Azriel.” He gives you a wide smile. The two of you begin to walk side by side down the street. After a few moments of silence, Azriel speaks.

“Now that you’re no longer mad at me, can I have more of that soothing cream? I’ve been out for like a week, but I’ve been too afraid to ask you for more.” You laugh.

“Of course you can.”

Have a great weekend everyone!!

[s-brant]

The Calm Before the Storm

With the family coming from Dragonstone to visit after the birth of Y/N’s first child, Aemond must control his impulses and be civil with the Velaryon boys for the sake of his wife. (or judas part five).

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, lactation kink, oral sex (male receiving), facefucking, switch aemond, strong language, hints of yandere (so basically canon) aemond, death, and referenced violence.

-

Their footsteps echo in the hallway as they make their way to the private rooms her mother and father are staying in for the next few days. Her husband's shoulders are squared, his posture straight, the entire way there. Ever since he woke up this morning with the knowledge that Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jace, and Lucerys are here, he hasn't allowed himself a moment to relax. If it weren't for the three-week-old babe clutched against her chest, she'd reach out to take his hand or rub up and down his back.

Without turning her head to look at him, she says, "You need not worry. My brothers simply wish to meet their niece."

The doors to their chambers come closer and closer—

"I am not worried," he says. "Your half-brothers pose no threat to me."

The long conversation they shared last night as the babe suckled at her mother's breast proved otherwise. It was late enough that their servants had gone to sleep, so neither of them felt the need to speak in the language of their ancestors to keep anyone from overhearing. They spoke quietly in the common tongue to not wake their daughter from her milk-drunk trance.

He confided in her that he didn't feel comfortable having his daughter around her half-brothers without him present in the room. At first, she had been offended. She looked at him like he had struck her and bit her tongue as she fought the urge to say the first nasty thing that came to mind. It had to do with his brother. It was a snarky comment regarding her reluctance to allow their daughter to be alone in his presence, but she stopped herself before she could say it. No matter how much she loved them, he had reason to be wary of them after what they did.

The guards hold the doors open for them and announce their presence as the couple enters the room. The first thing Y/N sees is her mother and father standing together, the former with a hand cradled on the underside of her heavily pregnant belly. Then, it's her half-brothers sitting on the couch behind them. And, finally, her youngest brothers, Viserys and Aegon, play together on the carpet-covered floor.

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra says in greeting with a bright smile and holds out her arms.

Aemond, ever the attentive husband contrary to the assumptions from her side of the family, is already reaching to take the babe from her arms to allow her the chance to embrace her mother. A quiet, "Thank you, my love," is muttered under her breath as she passes their daughter off to him, trying not to ogle him in the presence of her family. Seeing him with Daenaera, cradling their small child against the body she knows so intimately, never fails to make her stomach flutter.

What she doesn't notice due to her preoccupation with her mother is that her brothers are staring daggers at Aemond from where they lounge on the couch. As always, he doesn't miss a thing.

Jacaerys in particular has the more sour expression between the two of them, seeing that he is older and more knowledgeable about the ins and outs of marriage, but it does little to intimidate her husband. Aemond simply stares back with a blank face, daring him to say or do anything to provoke him in the presence of his wife and child.

Next, he turns his attention to Lucerys while Y/N is greeting her parents. The younger of the two is less angry and more frightened. Ever since what happened between them at Driftmark, they've never been able to let their guards down around one another. And now that the young boy he maimed has grown into a man, one who rides the largest dragon alive and has bested Criston Cole with a sword, Lucerys has often anticipated retaliation of some sort whenever they meet again.

But he made a vow to his wife. He swore that he would not harm either of her brothers, and it was not something he took lightly. It wasn't a means to end their argument, it was real. For her, he would leave them be...unless they swung first. In that circumstance, he cannot deny that he would revel in the opportunity to get revenge. His vow to her did not mean that he would befriend her brothers, or that he cared about them. It only means that he cares more for her and their daughter.

Aemond never breaks his eye contact with Lucerys as he stands by in silence. The mischievous glint in his remaining eye seems to say, "I won." The tiny, shifting weight of the newborn cooing in his arms is proof of that.

Before anything can be said between the two of them, Y/N pulls away from the embrace shared with her parents and turns to him to say sweetly, "Māzigon, valzȳrys. Ivestragī zirȳ rhaenagon zirȳla." Come, husband. Let them meet her.

The little girl fusses in his grasp when he walks over to the three of them without speaking a word, and this causes Y/N's brows to pinch together in concern. Her hand comes up to stroke the top of her head, fuzzy with wisps of silver hair, to soothe her as Aemond hands the babe off to her grandsire. Although he does not cry, his eyes become glassy at the sight of his daughter's child.

Daemon says, allowing her little fingers to curl around his pinky, "Gevie." Beautiful. His eyes shift to look back and forth between Y/N and Aemond before finally settling on the former. "She has your lips and nose." A pause, and then he looks at Aemond. His tender expression hardens a little, but he keeps it contained. "I see you in her as well."

He hums in appreciation of the comment—a rare compliment, perhaps—but is quick to correct him.

"She is the image of her mother," he says softly and valiantly fights a smile when his eye abandons his uncle to look upon her little face.

The harshness that is always present in Daemon's gaze when Aemond is near softens at this as though he has been presented with a new side of him. Throughout their marriage, Daemon has made no secret of his distaste for her husband. Not only because of his scheming grandsire but because of his history with her half-brothers. With every raven sent to King's Landing from Dragonstone, he made a point to ask her how he had been treating her, promising that he would be there on Caraxes with haste should he mistreat her. But this...Even though she has told him countless times that she is happy with her marriage, this is the first time he has truly seen it.

Next, Rhaenyra holds her. It's almost effortless how she falls back into the motherly role once a babe is placed in her arms. Having birthed five children that survived beyond the womb, it is second nature to her, and it won't be long before the sixth comes along.

"What is her name?" her mother asks.

This brings a smile to Y/N's face.

"Daenaera."

-

Dinner with the entire family, both the Green and Black sides, is never a dull event.

She sits with Aemond to her right and Daemon to her left, little Daenaera sleeping with her head on her shoulder. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra advised her to give the babe to a servant to allow herself to enjoy the night, but she politely refused. Her little girl often had trouble if neither she nor Aemond was near, so she is held to her chest with one arm while the other reaches for the fork beside her plate.

The last time they had a dinner all together was before she married him. It's a little different tonight seeing that Viserys is not well enough to attend, but there's a new member of the family to bind both sides together this time, so the night has progressed without issue thus far. How could anyone be compelled to argue or incite violence with an infant present at the dinner table.

It was a calculated decision on her part, which Aemond clocked instantly. His lips fought the urge to turn up at the ends in a slight smirk when she insisted upon keeping the babe with her. She knew that he would refrain from any impulsive behavior regarding her brothers with her at the table. His cunning, devoted lady.

Aemond watches her as she struggles to hold their daughter up with one arm while she reaches for her cup of wine. He's readying to scoot back from the table and take Daenaera from her arms, but he's halted by the sound of her brother's voice.

"Sister, if you won't let the servants help, please allow me to hold her while you eat."

His one eye shifts its focus away from her to find the source of the offer.

Rhaenyra says, "How kind of you, Jacaerys." She then turns to look at her daughter past Daemon, leaning forward into the table. "You should take him up on the offer, my love, you must be tired."

The younger princess hesitates for a second and glances at her husband as though to tell him to keep his composure, then nods.

"Here, let me bring her to you," she says to her brother who was already prepared to walk around the table to their side. "If she wakes, she will not be easily soothed by anyone but her father."

It is true. For some reason, only the Gods may know, she is most comfortable being held and talked to by him when she's crying in the dead of night. Y/N is a close second, but no one makes her feel quite as safe as her kepa does. Even now, when she's too little to speak or walk or show a hint of personality, she knows that he will cross any line imaginable to safeguard her and her mother's lives.

The comment brings him pride, and it's difficult to refrain from smiling to himself when he hears it. Despite all their attempts to frame him in their minds as an uncaring husband—he didn't pretend not to see the comments Daemon made in letters she left out in the open for him to find—he has proven otherwise. He knows it must pain them, especially her father, that there are no excuses for them to look down upon him.

"You must support the back of her head with your hand or your arm," she says softly to her younger brother as she transfers the babe into his possession. "There—like that."

It takes little time for her to circle back around to their side of the table and take her seat beside her husband. From a glance, she can tell that his body has tenses from the sight of Jacaerys holding Daenaera. It isn't as though he's deluded enough to think her brother would wish to harm their child or act in an unbecoming way in her presence, despite his grudge he knows his nephew well enough to know that. Yet, it makes him squirm in discomfort all the same.

What if he accidentally hurts her? What if she wakes from her nap to see a new, strange man holding her and is frightened? Would anything be able to stop him from taking his child from his arms and glaring at him for inadvertently upsetting her?

It isn't until Aemond feels his wife's right hand settle atop his clothed thigh under the table that he is snapped out of his thoughts. Gods, he feels so unlike himself when he takes a step back and analyzes his thoughts at the present moment.

He always swore to himself that he would not care this deeply when the time came for him to take a wife and sow his seed, but, as he has been forced to realize again and again, he does care. In fact, he cares so deeply that he doesn't know what to do with himself when anyone is close to either one of them. It's possible that his vow to remain detached from his feelings, to focus solely on his duty as a husband and father without complicating things, was another defense mechanism unknowingly put in place to protect the part of him that always cared too much.

As the others talk amongst themselves and pick at their food, she leans in to say softly, opting for the native language of their family over the common tongue to keep it as private as can be, "Nyke gīmigon bisa iksis qopsa syt ao." I know this is hard for you. Her eyes soften, and she can feel the hard muscle of his thigh relax a little when she strokes it gently with her thumb. "Yn emā gaomagon sȳz." But you have done well. There's a pause, and then she mutters quietly enough that no one else can hear, "Perhaps I may express my gratitude after dinner."

This makes his body go still.

Since it is his blind eye that is closest to her, he cranes his neck a little to allow him to see her face. The expression he wears is virtually unreadable to everyone else in the room, but she can see the fire she lit within his body from gazing at him alone. Seeing that their lives have been consumed with doting on Daenaera in the time since she gave birth, only opting to hand her off to servants for the night to allow them time to rest, they haven't had the energy or urge to engage in any sexual activities. Not that she can be on the receiving end of anything for two moons, but that doesn't mean she cannot satisfy him.

Aemond's brows furrow a little, then he mutters, chancing a glance around the table to ensure nobody is listening, "We cannot."

Her lips twitch up on both ends into a slight smile.

"There are other ways," she says softly, careful to keep her tone hushed and words ambiguous in meaning.

From the outside looking in, they appear to be a happy couple, so taken with one another that they are lost in a conversation that causes them to ignore their surroundings. In a way, that perception is true, but the topic being discussed isn't what anyone would guess.

He doesn't respond to this verbally.

Instead, he hums to himself and turns his focus back across the table to where her brother is cradling their daughter in his arms, but she knows she got under his skin. A second after he looks away, his hand finds the one she is resting on his thigh, and he weaves their fingers together. The sole reason he didn't say anything back to her was because he knew he wouldn't be able to control what would come out of his mouth if he let himself speak. As peacefully he and Daemon have managed to co-exist today, Aemond does not think he could say any of the things he says in the privacy of their bedchamber in his presence without causing a brawl.

Jace smiles down at the babe and says, not to anyone in particular, "She'll make a fine queen, will she not?"

Rhaenyra's head turns to look upon the two of them, and it's clear to see the warmth this brings to their mother's heart.

It's Alicent, however, who responds.

"Yes." She looks at Rhaenyra, saying, "We have had our share of difficulties, as all families do, but Daenaera is a blessing."

The effect it has on her mother is clear in her. Y/N's eyes linger on her for the better part of a moment before they find Otto sitting next to her, doing his best to mask the displeasure evident in his expression at the notion of Rhaenyra or her children ascending the throne. Aegon, on the other hand, seems as though he couldn't care less. Although they rarely dwell on the matter of succession to avoid fighting, she and Aemond have both agreed that he does not want the position or the duty it entails. He would be content to live the rest of his days as he does now, drinking himself into oblivion and fondling any servant girl left alone with him for too long.

The hand resting on Aemond's thigh squeezes at the rare sight of their mothers getting along.

Rhaenyra says earnestly, fighting off a smile, "It gladdens my heart to know that we are both grandmothers to this beautiful babe."

There's a distant flash of longing in her eyes in the second she takes to pause, then rise from her seat with her cup raised. The last time she toasted someone at dinner, it was to Alicent, but, this time, she turns toward where her daughter is sitting beside her husband.

"I raise my cup to you, brother," she begins. "For your devotion to my sweet girl. As the Queen said, we have had our difficulties as a family in years past. Yet, I find I can sleep soundly at Dragonstone knowing my only daughter and grandchild are undoubtedly safe and contented at your side." Her cup is raised higher. "To Prince Aemond. You have my gratitude."

At first, he is frozen in his seat and unsure of what he hears. How could this be the same woman who demanded he be "sharply questioned" after one of her bastard sons maimed him for life? Then, as he takes in what she says, he has to fight the urge to doubt them. His immediate assumption is that this is a facade being put on for the sake of bettering her appearance, but when has his half-sister ever cared for appearances? One glance across the table at Jace's dark brown hair answers the question for him. So, he thinks, if it isn't to make herself appear gracious, seeing that she is too confident in her position as heir to deem it threatened by anything she does, it must be genuine in some way.

It goes against everything he knows to admit to himself that Rhaenyra is being anything but ambivalent toward him or Aegon, and yet...He inclines his head to her in a gesture of acknowledgment and gratitude. It's all he can think to do until words find him, and they eventually do. A lengthy moment passes then—

"You have my gratitude as well, sister," he says, although strained, to Rhaenyra. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching after all that has transpired in the past. He then looks upon his wife with a tenderness few ever receive from him. "For having her."

-

As soon as the door shuts behind the servant who gently took Daenaera from her arms, Y/N has Aemond pushed up against it with her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, and their lips connected in a kiss.

After they dined, Rhaenyra felt a sensation in her body that she knew all too well and apologized to her daughter for having to hurry back to Dragonstone on such short notice. She made certain to apologize to the Queen, asking her to pass along the message to the ailing, bedridden King Viserys if possible. This saddened Y/N, of course, but she cares for the comfort and health of her mother. She agreed it was better that they return to their ancestral home at the first sign of her impending labors. Seeing that this was a possibility, they brought her midwife along for the trip, so the Princess is soothed by the knowledge that her mother is to be well taken care of on the journey home.

Her mother is the last thing on her mind now, though. All she can seem to think about is the man she has trapped between her body and the door to their chambers.

Aemond kisses her hungrily, his hand cupping the back of her neck and head to keep her from pulling away as he delves his tongue into her mouth. He is careful when touching her, however. His hands slide down the sides of her hips to gently squeeze her bottom, but not too forcefully. She gave birth three and a half weeks ago, and the maesters were strict in their instructions to wait five at the very least to encourage healing.

Knowing this, he feels compelled to stop her despite the ache of his erection pushing at the fabric of his breeches.

He parts from her for a second to murmur, "I will not bed you in this condition," before lurching back in to kiss her again.

It almost makes her chuckle into his mouth, and she flattens her palm against his chest. It descends against the taut, muscled abdomen hidden beneath his clothes and continues until it reaches what she seeks. Beneath her palm, he pulses with need after three weeks of nothing but the comfort of his own hand.

"Mmm," she hums against his lips as her own tilt up at the ends in a grin, "I'm afraid your body does not know that, my love"—The tips of her fingers reach for his belt with a confidence she does not have to question—"and, as I said, there are other ways."

As if to punctuate her statement, she unclasps his belt in a matter of seconds and pulls from the buckle until the leather band comes free from the loops of his pants. The very same belt that he instructed her to bite down on the last time he fucked her. The sound of the buckle clattering on the floor echoes through the spacious room as she moves to sink to her knees, but he stops her.

Her brows raise in a silent question directed toward him. His answer is equally as silent.

Aemond begins to undress her, starting with the top layer of her dress and patiently working his way down to her underclothes until she is standing nude before him. She knows without having to ask that he does not intend to push the boundaries of their agreement with the maesters by taking her too soon after giving birth. He simply wishes to see her in her entirety. If he will be laid bare, so will she.

Once her clothes all lie in a pile on the floor, she returns the favor. Her gentle touch lights a fire in the pit of his abdomen, but he holds still and watches her undo the buttons of his doublet until the garment comes loose around his torso. It takes little time for the pile of clothes on the floor to grow, and she cannot help but stare at his nakedness with flushed cheeks as though she hasn't seen him like this countless times. Now that there are no more layers left to separate their bodies, he leans in to kiss her again. Slowly, drawing it out for the sake of savoring the moment.

To her surprise, he lays a sweet peck on her lips, then dips his face into the crook of her neck.

"Aemond—" she warns, not wanting to become too aroused without a way to satisfy herself, but he is too starved from not touching her for the past three weeks to care.

His teeth nip at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving a mark visible for everyone to see as he sucks at the sweet spot that never fails to draw a breathy moan from her. She can feel his mouth curling up into a smirk when she, as though on cue, lets a stifled sound of pleasure escape. It isn't the first time he's left a love bite somewhere that couldn't be hidden beneath her clothes. Every other time, she was quick to scold him once the blissful haze of post-orgasmic bliss receded, but she doesn't feel so angry this time.

It's been far too long since she's had the opportunity to get upset over something like this.

Those desperate kisses descend the length of her fragile neck and go down, down, down until he's crouching to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

"Wait," she says, whining in sensitivity, and braces a hand against his chest. "It's going to—"

His arms pull tightly around her waist to keep her from moving away before the first drops of it touch his lips. The relief of the milk letting down causes her to let out a sigh, but paired with the inherent eroticism of him doing this, she has to press her thighs together to quell the dull ache felt between them for the first time in weeks. Her hand had fallen to his chest with the intention of pushing him away out of embarrassment, but the sound of him groaning in approval gives her a reason to pause.

Does this...arouse him? He has always had a fixation with her breasts since before she was pregnant, but perhaps it's shifted into something stronger with the changes in her body after birthing a child. She cannot deny that it feels good—not only due to the relief it provides after going all day without feeding the babe but because of how perverse it feels.

The hand on his chest moves to slip her fingers beneath the leather strap of his eyepatch and toss it to the side. Then, she cradles the back of his head with it, playing with the soft strands of silver hair as he continues to suckle at her breast. It's a strangely thrilling sensation. Her lips part to allow her a shaky inhale, and she feels the hands gripping her waist squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise behind.

Ignited with a new sense of confidence from having a typically strong, dominant man in a position of vulnerability, she asks, "This is what the rider of the largest dragon in the world enjoys behind the comfort of closed doors? Feeding from his wife's teat like a helpless babe?" There's a second of pause, then—"Hmm."

He can hear a smugness in the tone of her soft "Hmm" he would often fuck out of her or swat his hand against her ass as punishment for, but he cannot bring himself to do anything about it at the present moment. No, he just lets her nipple slip from his mouth and moves on to the other. The sweet taste of her breastmilk on his tongue makes his cock twitch where it sits, heavy and hard, against her belly. While he is distracted, she reaches down to grasp it.

The sudden stimulation makes him suck harder at her breast in response, and she chuckles under her breath. Her thumb brushes over the tip of him a few times, just for the sake of teasing him, before she begins to pump him at a pace that never fails to send all of his blood rushing down. The hand cupping the back of his head pushes his face harshly into her chest in a desperate bid to bring them as close as possible without having him inside of her.

Another moment passes, yet the lust surging through her has yet to be sated by what they're doing. It matters little to her that she won't be getting anything in return. With how rare physical intimacy is for them as of late, she is eager to indulge in everything they've been kept away from.

"This isn't enough," she says through a sigh.

Her fingers slip into his hair to get a good grip, then tug to pull it taut from his scalp in a way he's done to her many times. This brings him far enough from her breast for their gazes to meet across the limited space between them, and his eye widens a little at her impertinence. As quickly as it widened, it narrows at her. Now that he isn't preoccupied with her breasts, which are no longer as heavy and full with milk as they had been before he worshipped them, he can think clearly enough to decide that she needs to be put in her rightful place.

All it takes is a pointed glare from him for her grip on his hair to release. With how quickly she retracts her hand, one would think he burned her, yet he just looked at her. He remains silent and straightens his spine to bring him back to his full height. This only intimidates her more. With him looming over her, his eye not blinking as he stares, she cannot resist the urge to look away from him.

To this, he makes a quiet "Tsk," sound at her.

Her chin is quickly snatched up by his callused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze and hear what he has to say next. Their faces inch closer until—

"Kneel."

Her knees are kissing the cold floor in a matter of seconds. His hand never leaves her chin, keeping it tilted up to prevent her from breaking eye contact.

He nods at her in encouragement, then drops the hand holding her chin back to his side.

"Go on," Aemond commands.

Not wanting to provoke him any more than she already has, Y/N wraps her fingers around his thick cock to help guide it past her lips. But, first, she takes a moment to stroke him, keeping the fire blazing within him burning in the time it takes her to let a string of spit drip from her mouth onto his tip. It makes the movement of her hand pumping up and down the length of him much smoother. The hand that fell back to his side reaches for the back of her head, though, so she keeps her hand firm around the base of his length and dips her head down to put her mouth on him before he grows impatient.

A muscle in his jaw clenches as he watches those pretty lips wrap around the tip, smeared with a mixture of his precome and her spit, and sucks just hard enough to elicit a quiet moan. Then, slowly, never looking away from him, she takes as much of him as she can fit into her mouth until she feels him in her throat.

When she first did this, she thought it quite awkward. Although he assured her he had enjoyed himself, she knew she wasn't keeping the correct rhythm the whole time, and she had to take a few breaks to breathe. After the first time, she decided to make it her mission to perfect the vulgar act. It only felt fair considering how skilled he was with his face between her thighs. So, she did it all of the time—waking him from sleep with her throat clenched around him, dropping to her knees in a secluded corner of the library, and, most often, when she dragged him back to their chambers after watching him train with Ser Criston.

Somehow, he had been foolish enough to admit to his older brother how frequently his insatiable wife does this. Aegon had goaded him into it, imploring him to accompany him to the Street of Silk night after night. He droned on about the things these low-born whores would do for the right sum of coin. At last, after hearing him comment on how they are more willing than their wives to partake in such "undignified" behavior, Aemond said under his breath, "Speak for yourself." Although he was pestered for more details, he refused to provide them. Naturally, Aegon made all sorts of teasing remarks for the next couple of days and hasn't been able to look at Y/N the same since.

The hand wrapped around him pumps what remains of him that she cannot fit in her mouth, her other hand gently cupping his stones and stroking them the way he likes. With ample experience under her belt since they were wed, she breathes calmly through her nostrils without having to pull away to allow herself to rest. This allows her to fully devote herself to his pleasure.

And while she is singlemindedly focused on what she is doing, Aemond is losing himself in the haze of warm, wet pleasure.

Targaryens have always been likened to Gods walking amongst men, and how could he deny such a claim with how he feels at this moment? Not only did Vhagar choose to bind herself to him but so did this beautiful creature kneeling before him. Most of the people inhabiting this keep pray on their knees to the Seven, but she prays to him, and with every caress of her mouth, he is pushed a touch closer to the heavens.

Her head bobs in a practiced rhythm, and when she pulls away, leaving just the tip between her lips, she hollows her cheeks to suck harder. If she could, she would smile in satisfaction at how his head tips back in a groan.

"Aōha relgos iksis bē hae sȳz hae aōha orvorta," he says. Your mouth is almost as good as your cunt. High praise as far as she's concerned. He has made it clear to her on many occasions that his favorite place to be at any given moment is inside of her. "Fuck..."

The last bit was muttered under his breath as he pushed her head further down his length until the tip of her nose grazed his stomach. He can feel her gagging, throat clenching and unclenching around his cock, and forces her to remain this way for another second before releasing her. Yet, even after this, she doesn't retreat to take a breath. She simply opens her eyes to look back up at him and relaxes her jaw to open her mouth to him as much as she can.

He knows without having to communicate verbally what she's urging him to do, and it's a wonder he doesn't spill into her mouth in a matter of seconds at the mere thought of it. There's a glint of mischief in her eyes—which he responds to with enthusiasm, taking hold of both sides of her head and guiding every fluid movement. It's more gentle at first. Rather than roughly fucking her mouth the second she gives him the go-ahead, he takes the time to enjoy it and commit every sensation to memory. There's something intoxicating about the power she allows him to hold over her.

Both of her hands slide up his thighs to seek stability, her fingertips digging into the muscular flesh hard enough for her nails to leave crescent-shaped indents in his pale skin. With each thrust, his pace picks up, and soon her spit is drooling out of her mouth onto his sack. Those once gentle thrusts turn rough and unforgiving the longer he spends trapped within the warm, wet channel of her throat. And though he is the one leading, she looks just as hungry for it as she had when she set the pace. If anything, having him hold her head in place to rut into her mouth like a wild beast makes the lust wreaking havoc on her healing body worse. What truly makes it insufferable, however, is knowing that she cannot have him after this. Not to the extent that she craves so badly.

Her lashes flutter with the effort it takes to keep looking up at him like he's a God while she gags on him and takes deep breaths in through her nostrils. Her spit is dripping from the corners of her mouth and onto the floor, his manhood entirely soaked in it too. All the while, Aemond is making noises unlike anything she has heard before. Due to his naturally reserved disposition, he often stifles the moans and grunts that try to leave his lips. But, sometimes, when he's too overwhelmed with pleasure to recall the world that exists beyond it, all of those lovely noises flow freely.

Right now, as she reaches up to give his stones a squeeze with her free hand, he's whimpering, gasping, and grunting all at once. Not only is he a feast for her eyes, he's a feast for her ears as well. Gods, she has never wanted anything as badly as she wants him right now, and the frustration of knowing she cannot do more than this drives her to work even harder. To perform for him as though she's getting paid.

The vibration of her soft moaning around his cock pushes him closer, dangerously closer, to the climax threatening to barrel into him at a moment's notice. Somehow, he hangs on. Not for anyone's sake but his. It has been too long since he has been allowed the privilege of being intimate with his wife, so he tries to stave it off for as long as possible. But, fuck, she's making it difficult—with those sultry eyes looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks hot to the touch under his palms, and mouth swallowing around him on the upstroke of every thrust. He cannot bring himself to look away from her, and that is what brings him to the edge.

"I'm—" he tries to give her a warning, but she doesn't need nor want it.

She continues at this pace for another ten or so seconds, intent on milking him dry, until his cock begins to twitch in her mouth with the onset of his climax.

Her lips remain closed around him, determined to catch every drop as his seed spurts into her mouth in pulses of warmth that trickle down her throat. As it always is, the taste is slightly salty, though not unpleasant enough that she can't swallow it all. It isn't until he is grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her away that she removes herself from him, letting it slip out of her mouth as it softens, still shining in the dim light with her saliva.

When she looks up at him, it is clear to see that he is utterly spent. A job well done as far as she is concerned. Aemond tends to have an impressive amount of stamina when he fucks her, and sometimes they can continue round after round without him having to stop, but she managed to subdue him with her mouth alone tonight.

His chest rises and falls with the rapid pace of his breathing, and she can see by looking into his eyes that it'll take a moment for him to come back down from such a high. It's as though he's in a trance of some sort, staring down at her and panting for air. It only takes a second or so for the trance to break at the sound of her voice.

Her delicate hand slides up the length of his thigh and over his abdomen as she asks in a doting voice, "Do you feel better, my love?"

Without answering, he dips down to heft her into his arms, lifting her and holding her against his body with one hand on the small of her back and the other beneath her right thigh.

As he walks in the direction of their bed, she is giggling and asking him what he is doing, yet he offers no reply. Not until he has her laid down on the mattress. A second later, she feels the bed shift with his weight when he crawls in beside her and pulls the sheet up to their waists. The warmth of his body, solid with lean muscle against her soft, womanly figure, instantly keeps the breeze blowing in from the open windows at bay.

"Hold me," he says, already moving to lay his head atop her breast. "Kostilus." Please.

A second later, one of her arms is wrapping around him, keeping him cradled as close to her as physically possible, and she can feel him loose a heavy sigh of relief he's been holding onto all day. His head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. Every few seconds, she lifts her hand to rake her fingers through his hair. The silver strands are silken beneath her touch, scented with a hint of lavender from the bath they shared before falling asleep last night. Noticing that it is still tied back in his typical, half-up fashion, on her next pass through, she pulls it free and combs gently until there are no tangled pieces left.

For a while, they lay together with nothing to fill the silence but the sound of their quiet breathing. His head rises with every inhale, her breast a soft cushion for his cheek to nuzzle up against. Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first for fear of ruining the peaceful moment, but, inevitably, she gives in.

His neck cranes to allow him a glimpse of her face before she starts speaking as though they share one mind, as though he knows what she'll say or do before she does it. When she thinks about it, they've always been that way.

"I'm proud of you...You have every right to feel slighted by them all for what happened at Driftmark, I will not deny that," she says, pausing for a beat afterward. The tip of her thumb brushes across his lower lip as she looks down at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "And you still didn't let it stop you from enjoying our time together as a family."

Hearing her lavish him with such praise brings a flush to his pale face, and he must resist the urge to avert his gaze sheepishly. He manages, though. After all, he's faced much more daunting challenges than looking at his wife as she tells him how proud she is of him. If these are the only challenges he has to endure in this new chapter of his life, he'll be eternally grateful. He has spent his whole life yearning to prove himself—as a son, a dragon rider, a prince, a swordsman, and now a father. Because of this, her approval and praise mean more to him than she'll ever know.

The thumb pressed to his lips is given a tender kiss before he moves on to her index finger, then the next, the next, and the next. His larger hand is clasped around her wrist with his thumb pressing into the center of her palm to allow him to maneuver her hand however he sees fit. Once the last kiss is placed against the small pad of her pinky finger, he releases her wrist from his grasp to lace their fingers together. Aemond holds on as though she is the anchor keeping him grounded to their world, always there to draw him back before he disappears too far into the darkness that has dwelled within him since the day he claimed Vhagar.

Unable to accept it without diverting some of the attention away from himself, he takes it as his turn to praise her.

"You were clever in keeping Daenaera at the table for dinner," he says. A half second later, he utters the next words into the soft skin of her breast. "You see right through me."

Although he can barely see it from the corner of his eye, her lips curve up at the ends in a soft smile.

"I always have, haven't I?"

To this, he responds with his usual hum of acknowledgment and brushes his nose against her peaked nipple. His lips press against the skin just beneath it in another kiss, but he's careful not to stimulate her. It would be cruel to arouse her even further with no way of sating her desires. The next two weeks will pass, albeit slowly, and then he can properly bed her the way he wishes to tonight.

His arms pull tightly around her waist. If she had any hopes of escaping his embrace tonight, it's now clear he has no intentions of entertaining them. No, he will hold her prisoner if he has to. He will do whatever he must do so long as it means he gets to keep her, and the thought of this brings a barely-there smile of relief to his face.

"Sleep," he murmurs, pulling the sheet further up to keep their bare, entangled bodies warm. "Tomorrow, when the babe is taken for her nap, I will take you to visit Vermithor. You cannot ride him yet, but he will be glad to see you. It's been too long. The dragonkeepers have told me he has grown restless."

This makes her smile too.

"I would quite enjoy that."

With that, she relaxes beneath the weight of her husband's body lying atop her and nuzzles her face into the pillow the way he had her breast a moment ago.

It takes little time for the pair to be pulled beneath the veil of consciousness, their breathing evening out into slow inhales and exhales that are hardly audible over the fire crackling in their hearth. For once, all is peaceful in the Keep. Their families dined together as one, the children have been put to sleep by their nursemaids, and the night has descended into a type of quiet so rarely found in a place like King's Landing.

As night descends upon them, the only people still awake within the walls of the Keep are the servants readying themselves for bed after a day of tireless work. While the royal family had been served platters of freshly cooked meats and goblets of the most expensive wine, the smallfolk working beneath them quiet the rumbling in their stomachs with whatever scraps remain if they are so lucky. If not, they eat a plain stew of some sort, accompanied by slightly stale bread and a cup of ale to wash it down. But even that is considered generous as far as lowborn citizens of King's Landing are concerned. Servants within the keep live comfortably compared to peasants living in the city beyond the walls.

Far from where the servants reside, in the stillness and silence of the night, King Viserys slips further into a state of delirium where he lays alone in his room in Maegor's Holdfast. Since his lady wife, Queen Alicent, left to retire to her chambers for the night, he has been muttering into the empty room and talking to ghosts. At last his frail, trembling hand lifts from his chest and toward the sky, reaching for what he could not have as long as he remained alive. With his last breath, he calls out for his love, Aemma, and his suffering is ended at long last as the Stranger comes to take him.

Despite this, the night remains quiet and peaceful. For no one can know that Viserys has passed in his sleep until the servants come to wake him in the early hours of the morning, but, once news breaks among the staff and Queen Alicent is informed of her husband's death, the calm before the storm comes to an end. Soon, dragons will dance, and she will not waste any time in securing her eldest son's birthright. Not after her husband spoke his name in his final hours.

It isn't until an hour after sunrise that Y/N is roused from a deep sleep by the light shining in through the windows that remained open all night.

She sighs and presses her cheek into the pillow in defiance of her current state of consciousness, wanting to steal another couple of moments of rest before she's ushered into the bath by her bright-eyed young handmaidens. But, after lying there for a second or so, her eyes flutter open. The sun has fully risen, she realizes with a sense of urgency. Her feet quickly kick the sheet from her body. Her hand reaches behind her to feel where her husband should be resting beside her only to find the mattress cold and empty.

How had she not felt or heard him leave?

"Aemond?" she calls out drowsily and pushes herself up into a sitting position, looking around the room in confusion.

No answer.

"Nyla?"

No answer.

Nyla is always the first to arrive and aid her in getting dressed for the day, intricately braiding her hair to her head in the fashion her mother wears, not that which Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena prefer. But the sun has already risen, she should have come in to wake her and Aemond already if they had not risen on their own accord...

Y/N abandons the bed and makes for the chair her robe, a rich shade of red embroidered with accents of gold and black, is draped over. Seeing that she is nude, it's the quickest way for her to cover herself and protect her modesty before leaving the room to inquire about why no one thought to wake her as they have every morning since her wedding. Something is wrong, that much she knows. She feels it in her gut and the very air surrounding her.

Rather than find Aemond, she'll first head to the nursery where Daenaera has been sleeping all night. Her husband is capable of taking care of himself, their daughter not so much. If something truly is amiss as her intuition is telling her, the babe comes before her husband—he made her come to that agreement the day she was born.

But when she tries to pull the doors to their chambers open, they do not budge. Thinking it a mistake of some kind, she tries again, and they refuse to open no matter how hard she pulls at them.

Her closed fist begins to knock at the door, soft at first, then harder and harder until she is forced to bang on it in hopes that someone will come.

"Hello?" she yells, pounding on the door with both fists. The thought that she is trapped, forced to stay away from her weeks-old child...It makes her efforts double in intensity. "Why have I been trapped in my room?"

No answer.

"I need to see my daughter! Let me out—"

The sound of Ser Erryk's voice interrupting her plea for freedom pulls a deep sigh of relief from her chest. Of all the men sworn to protect their family, he and his brother have proven the most loyal and kind. Surely Erryk will help her.

"My sincere apologies, Princess," he says, "We have been instructed to keep everyone confined to their rooms until further notice. One of your ladies will be up to bring you breakfast and dress you soon."

Her brows furrow at this.

"And under whose authority am I to be held prisoner in my own home?"

There's a long, drawn-out stretch of silence that follows, and it makes her stomach churn with dread. Something is wrong. This is not normal.

When he does not respond after a moment, she calls, "Ser Erryk?"

He clears his throat.

"Our lord hand is the one responsible, my lady. I am only doing as I've been told."

It takes her the better half of a moment to conjure a response. She is too shocked to put anything into words at first, but, then, her mind runs wild.

"What has happened? What could possibly warrant this?" she asks. After another dreadful stretch of silence, she resorts to shouting. "Tell me! That is an order from your Princess, an heir to the throne no less!"

Despite being strictly ordered not to divulge any critical information to anyone aside from the Hand, Queen Alicent, and her children, he cannot allow her to sit here and suffer in a prison of her making. He has watched her grow up and served her since he was first sworn into the kingsguard. She deserves the truth even if she cannot be freed from her room to do anything about it.

"The king has died. Princess Rhaenys is confined to her room as well by the orders of the Hand. I cannot say more. Forgive me, my lady."

Before she can even process what he has said, Erryk turns and walks away from her door, leaving her frozen in her place with her closed fists hanging at her sides. They have been anticipating this for the past five years, yet hearing it still shocks her.

The king has died, which warrants every lord and lady in his court to be kept out of the way as they make the necessary preparations before it is announced to the city...but it does not warrant the imprisonment of any members of the royal family. Surely, this is a mistake. Surely, there has been a miscommunication regarding who is to be kept from roaming the keep. If Aemond is not here, he must be permitted to go where he pleases, so why cannot she? Why cannot Rhaenys?

A cold chill runs down her spine when the realization of what's happening hits her.

Her feet are carrying her across the room before she can blink, bringing her to the opened windows that overlook the courtyard where people come in and out of the gates to the Keep. What she finds, she does not want to believe, but she's witnessing it with her own two eyes. Lord Caswell is being ripped from his horse by members of the Kingsguard and dragged like a dog through the dirt in the direction of the castle doors.

There is no other explanation for why Aemond is allowed to roam free while she and Rhaenys are held prisoner. There is no other explanation for Lord Caswell to be violently assaulted by the kingsguard for trying to leave the Keep on horseback. There is no other explanation for Ser Erryk apologizing to her. He wasn't just apologizing for locking her in her rooms...

They are usurping the throne.

-

Oh it’s about to get goooood. Let me know if you liked this chapter. I’ve had it in the works since before season two aired but I wanted to wait to finish/post it.

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

sea ​​shore. l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  your father wanted you to accompany the General, but you didn't want to do it.

Warnings:  +18, smut, fingering, unprotected sex (remember - safety first), breeding kink, mention of blood, a little bit of angst (but not really)

A/N: it was one thought and then i sat down and wrote thist. there are definitely mistakes, sorry. but i hope you like it. your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤

"Gods! How much longer do I have to listen to this? Why do you have to be such a disobedient daughter?" your father's loud voice echoed through the garden, and the birds, startled by this, flew off from a nearby tree with a screech. "You're just like your mother! Like your mother!"

"You always said that I got my best traits from her." you replied, not hiding your agitation at all.

"And the worst too! You're stubborn and insufferable." your father took a sip of wine from his goblet and nervously stood up from the armchair placed in the shade of a large tree. "I don't know why the Gods make fun of me like that! They punished me with a daughter like you."

"Or maybe they blessed you." you added.

The man snorted something under his breath and shook his head in disbelief.

For several days, your house had been shaken by more and more arguments. Even the servants had already gotten used to them and they didn't react to your raised voices, only sneaking under the walls or, like now, between the flower bushes and trees.

It all started when last week your father, one of the most distinguished generals of the Roman Empire, announced to you after returning from the Emperor's palace that you would go to the province to your estate by the sea.

You were surprised. It wasn't the time of year when you went to that place. And then he proudly declared:

"General Marcus Acacius will honor us with his presence there. Unfortunately, I can't accompany him, but you know this place very well. You will be a pleasant company for him."

You resisted almost immediately. General Acacius was the Emperor's favorite. A brilliant commander, brave and untamed. However, you had no intention of spending time in his company. You knew this type of people, soldiers, very well.

They were brutal and aggressive. They always took what they thought was theirs and didn't show any brilliance.

Of course, your father was different. That's why your mother married him. Unfortunately, fate gave them only one child, a daughter. So you grew up among gardens and shields, and you weren't afraid to say what you thought. Your mother died when you were still little, and your father never married again. So you were the only one left.

And now you were looking at him furious like some goddess of anger and storm, and he had no idea how to deal with you.

"General Acacius is a great man. His presence will be an honor for us." Your father tried to speak calmly, although you rolled your eyes.

"Our family has enough honors, father." you replied. "Years ago, you were in his place. You conquered new territories and wealth for the glory of the Empire."

"But I'm old now. Let the old man enjoy the fact that his home will accept such a wonderful man. Please, go there with him tomorrow. Show him what wonderful lands we have. Please your old father's heart."

"You're perfidious, father." you sighed. "You play the old man card, when you're full of strength. You were training in sword fighting just yesterday!"

You wanted to add something else, but hurried footsteps on the gravel path distracted you. One of the servants appeared and bowed low.

"Sir." she said quietly. "You have a guest. General Acacius has appeared at your request."

"Bring him to the garden, please." your father replied, completely ignoring your indignant look, and added to you. "The matter is settled and beyond discussion. Pack your bags. You're leaving tomorrow."

"I can't believe you invited him here!" you hissed.

Your father just shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. You knew you couldn't resist any longer and had to fulfill his request. You understood his arguments and you knew that, as the heir to his lineage, you had to make sure that your family didn't lose what your father had fought so hard for.

"Oh, Marcus! It's wonderful to see you." Your father beamed, looking over your shoulder.

"Greetings, Lucius." A low voice rang out behind you, and a stocky man appeared immediately after, shaking your father's hand.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and tanned skin. His dark hair had streaks of gray on his temples, but he was still very handsome. The armor he wore contrasted with your father's white toga.

"Marcus, this is my daughter, Y/N." The General's brown eyes landed on you, he looked at you searchingly. "She'll show you our estate. I'm sure you'll be pleased. You'll spend these few days in almost royal conditions."

"My lady." Marcus nodded, but you didn't even flinch. 

You reminded him of the sculptures of goddesses he'd seen in temples. Beautiful and inaccessible, shrouded in a wonderful fog of mystery.

"Of course, she can talk. She's just a little..."

"I'm dissatisfied." You replied, looking bravely at the General.

"Why is that?" the man asked, folding his arms across his chest, clearly interested.

"I think you'd be more comfortable with my father's company, General." You continued, not looking away from him, even though his eyes were boring right through you. "I'm just a weak woman, I don't think I'd be interesting company for someone with your reputation."

"But certainly very beautiful." Acacius replied.

"Y/N, please go to your chambers and pack." Your father quickly intervened, because he saw that you had opened your mouth again.

You nodded and walked away from your guest. Marcus watched you go until you disappeared into the cool walls of your home.

"A charming creature." He stated, smiling at the older man.

"Yes, indeed." Lucius handed him a glass of wine and raised his own slightly before bringing it to his lips. "Lovely, like her mother. Unfortunately, the Gods only gifted us with her. Sometimes I think it was easier to tame the barbarians on the outskirts of the Empire than to engage in battle with a woman like her."

"Rome needs women like her too." Marcus swallowed a sip of sweet wine.

"And she needs a husband!" your father laughed and sat back down in his chair. "Someone to teach her how to be humble. Maybe when she gives birth to her own children, she'll understand that I always wanted the best for her."

"We don't know what fate has in store for us, Lucius."

The man nodded and looked longingly at the entrance his daughter had disappeared through.

A pleasant, cool wind from the sea swept over your face. The sound of waves crashing against the shore and the cries of white seagulls flying above them filled your ears. You loved this place.

Even as a child, you could spend hours looking for shells and small crabs on the shore. You ran away from the waves that tickled your feet, ran up the sand dunes and picked wild flowers growing nearby.

This house was a safe place for you and now, as you stood on the balcony looking at the setting sun, you felt peace and gratitude.

You heard a rustle and after a moment someone's lips brushed your exposed shoulder, and strong arms wrapped around your waist.

"Why did you leave the bed?"

"I like this view at this time." You replied, feeling kisses slowly creeping up to your neck, you tilted your head slightly, giving him better access to this sensitive spot. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"

"I have a much more beautiful one before my eyes." he mumbled quietly.

You smiled, reaching out behind you and sliding your fingers into his soft hair. As his soft lips roamed your shoulder, one of his hands squeezed your breast tenderly. A quiet sigh escaped your chest.

"Marcus..." you sighed, "You're insatiable..."

"I'll never get enough of you, love." he whispered, "I could die between your thighs or feeling your lips on mine."

"You better not do that." you giggled, turning in his arms and looking into those beautiful eyes, "How am I going to explain to my father that General Acacius died with his dick buried inside me."

"You're right." he nodded, "That could be a tough one. But such a death would be glorious."

His warm lips captured yours. You loved their taste from the first moment. 

When you first met Marcus many months ago, you couldn't take your eyes off him. And he experienced the same, he admitted it to you during one of your secret meetings. You were sure that fate had placed you opposite each other, you couldn't fight it.

His lips quickly tasted yours. Your bodies found their way to each other and soon you were repeating his name in amorous ecstasy. However, you hid it from prying eyes. Marcus was still on the Emperor's orders, and you were afraid of your father's reaction if you tied your fate to the soldier.

"Now everything will change, my love." he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. "Soon I will be only yours, and you only mine."

"I have belonged to you for a long time, Marcus." you replied. "Since the first time I saw you, I knew..."

"Tell me."

You knew how much he loved it when you confessed your love to him or told him about what awaited you when times became calmer and more gracious for both of you. These stories gave him strength, and your voice soothed his racing thoughts.

He adored you every day. And every night he would raise prayers to the Gods, thanking them for the grace they had bestowed upon him. He didn't think a man like him deserved someone so wonderful and pure.

And yet you were. He held you in his arms, felt your heartbeat, kissed your lips. You were more material than what he believed in.

"I knew you were mine," you said quietly, the pads of your fingers brushing his lips. "You looked at me like you had been searching for me your whole life. And I felt like I had suddenly come alive. I had never felt like this before."

"I thought you were just a dream..." Marcus whispered, his lips brushing your fingers. "I was afraid that if I blinked, you would disappear. If that happened, my heart would never know peace. I didn't think I deserved someone as heavenly as you..."

Your hands rested on his cheeks, and you looked straight into those eyes you loved.

"Marcus, you are the bravest man I know. I couldn't give my heart better than in your hands."

"My hands are stained with blood, my love."

"So let me wash them with my love and devotion to you."

You kissed him, feeling the remnants of sweet wine on his lips. You clung to his bare chest, letting the sheet you were wrapped in slide to the floor. Marcus' hands rubbed your back as he kissed you back.

He slowly moved you and you felt a cold pillar behind you. You leaned against it. Marcus' hand slid between your thighs, touching your slippery folds. The remnants of what he had left there recently were trying to leave.

You moaned quietly, feeling his fingers slide into you.

"You're so beautiful... So divine." he murmured in your ear, glancing as his fingers disappeared inside you. "I filled you to the brim, and I know you'd take even more. I'd like you to walk around Rome with my cum flowing lazily down your thighs... It would remind you of all those moments together. And I'd know that you carry something of mine inside you."

"I've walked like this before..." you replied, smiling seductively. "I felt your seed between my legs when I was talking to my father's guests, and once even at a party in the Emperor's palace."

Marcus growled deeply at the mere memory of how he had possessed you, quickly and hard, during that party, when you both had disappeared for a moment in the dark corridors, unnoticed. His fingers were delving deeper into you, teasing that sensitive spot that was giving you incredible pleasure.

"Yesterday, when I saw you in the garden with your father, I wanted to kiss you." he confessed, kissing the corner of your mouth. "I wanted to fall at your feet, confess my love to you, and beg him to let me marry you. Gods! You were so adorable with those pouty lips and that angry expression."

"I think I would strangle you if you did!" your hand slid down his soft stomach, through his pubic hair, straight to his hard cock. "My father is not ready to part with me yet. I know he says otherwise, but believe me, he is not ready." you stroked his hard manhood a few times and Marcus groaned "But now everything will change. When we come back, a new life will be waiting for us."

"I can't even imagine it, love. Are you sure - ohhhh.... Are you sure he'll agree?"

"Of course he will." His fingers slipped out of you and Marcus stood between your legs, lifting you up slightly and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he slowly lowered you onto his cock "He respects you so much... Ohhh, yes!... He'll be happy when a general like you tames his daughter."

You were so juicy that his cock slid into you without the slightest problem all the way to the base. You breathed deeply, letting your walls get used to the stretch. Even though Marcus had been inside you so many times, each time you felt the same pleasant feeling of being completely filled by him.

"I want you to be my wife, not my servant." he said softly "I will only enslave you in the bedroom when you let me. When you let me be raw and rough, I will fuck that wonderful pussy until tears come to your eyes and your throat hurts from screaming my name."

He thrust his hips and you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter. He moved hard, his fingers digging into your soft hips where there were already marks from your last closeness. He felt your cunt squeeze him, still hungry for his seed.

Your back ached from being pressed against the column, but you didn't complain. Each thrust was harder and brought you closer to your peak.

"Tell me you'll let me put a baby in your womb." His voice was interrupted by every breath, but you felt that those words went straight to your core. "Tell me I'll see your swollen belly, your milky breasts... You'll be the goddess of life."

"I'll let you fill me to the brim every night... OHHHH! I want to carry your seed inside me, like fertile soil. Our sons and daughters will grow for the glory of your lineage." you moaned, digging your nails into his strong shoulders. "I'll be surprised if we don't come back from here with one of our children nested in my womb. Gods!" 

The mere thought that you could already be with his child made Marcus start thrusting into you harder and more determinedly. 

You felt that you wouldn't last long. His strength and passion were so great that soon you felt your body tense up, and the velvet walls tightly wrapped around his cock. Waves of pleasure flooded your entire body, but Marcus didn't stop. A few more thrusts made his seed flood your pussy once again. Driven by natural instinct, with a loud groan, he pushed them in further and further, as if he wanted to be sure that your prophecies would come true.

You put your forehead to his, you felt his sweaty skin under your fingers, his hot breath warmed your breasts.

You still had him inside you as the cooler evening wind caressed your skin. The cries of seagulls tore you out of your reverie for a moment. He slowly lowered you and your legs buckled slightly under you as your feet touched the cold floor.

"Kiss me, my love." he whispered, and you gladly fulfilled his request.

You kissed the man you loved with tenderness and devotion, you wanted him to feel everything that was in your heart that you couldn't express. And you knew that Marcus felt it.

"You were definitely right about one thing." he stated after a moment, looking at you with love “There are truly beautiful views in this place."

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[sleepymarimo]

I have this head cannon that I’ve been thinking of for awhile and just had to share with you.

Imagine y/n growing up with zoro in the village and she’s a couple years younger than him and called him zoozoo once, but he kinda liked it so he let her keep calling him that.

Fast forward to them running into each other at a random market while he’s out shopping with sanji and sanji hears her call him zoozoo. Once they leave, sanji makes fun of him by calling him zoozoo and Zoro just pulls one of his swords and looks him dead in there while saying, “call me that again and I’ll cut your tongue off. Only one person can ever call me that and it’s not you.”

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬.

summary: read above! pairing: zoro x fem!reader cw: none! mostly fluff, perhaps a bit bittersweet an: hi anon!! i just had to write this bc it was too cute :) also pris try not to write something under 1k words challenge go!! ugh i need to tone it down fr... anyway, enjoy some fluff and thank the anon for their sweet hc.. also im going for a new theme soooo... wc: 2k

you were like a little fly, always buzzing around him.

technically, it was kuina that you clung to, but it might as well have been him, too.

every duel and training session, you were there. you'd clap your hands and cheer on kuina, the girl you'd come to see as an older sister of sorts. "get him kookoo!" came your chant, a toothy grin on your face as you watched the green-haired boy lose his temper once again. "y'can't beat kookoo, zoro!"

even as he barks at you to shut up, you can't help but grin. you know that you'll be scrambling to get him bandages later and you know that he'll refuse your help, all while kuina laughed in the background. this was the dynamic, the camaraderie you had all shared. kuina, zoro and you.

then it all came to an abrupt halt.

kuina's death hit everyone hard. you were inconsolable, missing her so dearly that it made your heart hurt. not knowing what else to do, you turn to the green haired boy who was the closest thing you had to her.

the two of you stand at her grave, one of your tiny hands balled into the fabric of his shirt as if he'd disappear at any moment. your free hand rubs at your tender cheeks, red and swollen from the tears you'd been shedding. "i-i miss-s her, zoozoo."

he fights back the tears in his own eyes as he keeps his gaze locked on the stone slab in front of him. this whole body is still as he utilizes as much of his willpower as possible. he's enraged. he's in mourning. he doesn't quite know how to cope in any way that isn't fighting.

your new nickname for him doesn't go unnoticed- a play on the same one you used to call kuina. he takes it with pride, not bothering to correct you.

he grabs your hand and roughly tugs you along to the training area. there was no way in hell that he'd give up, so he was going to drag you with him.

years later.

same scene, different atmosphere.

the two of you are in front of her grave, paying her respect. zoro is leaving yo- the island. he's leaving the island to fulfill his promise, to make a name for himself and become the greatest swordsman. of course you're wishing him the best, hell, you know that he's going to do it, but still, it stings a tad.

first your beloved kookoo, and now...

"zoozoo..." your arms cross and you sigh, trying to remain cheery and playful but unable to hide the concern in your tone. "y'feeling ready?"

he isn't fazed by the nickname, not when you've been calling him that for years. raising a brow and giving you an almost incredulous expression, he answers your question. "doesn't matter if i'm ready or not, i ain't gonna be the greatest swordsman if i stay here."

the two of you start the walk to the docks, a small ship ready for him. you're side by side, shoulders brushing against one another every now and then. he doesn't put any distance between the two of you. why would he? at that point in time, though he'd never admit it, you were probably the person he'd trusted most.

the silence isn't uncomfortable by any means, but there is a tension of sorts that you try your best to ignore.

when you get to the boat, you take a breath to keep cool and calm. but you're so, so bad at it. maybe a few years ago you could've gotten away with it, but zoro had grown so damn perceptive that it wasn't even funny.

"b-bye zoozoo." you nod with a shaky smile, struggling and failing to keep a straight tone as tears prick your eyes. your hands are behind your back and zoro has no doubt that they're clasped together in a bid to prevent yourself from grabbing him.

he rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue in exasperation. "y'such a pain in the ass." one of his arms slings around your shoulders and begrudgingly brings you into his chest. of course he made sure no one else was around as he did so, opting to look off toward the sea instead of down at your teary face. "i'll be fine. grow up, will ya?"

your hands unclasp and you cling to his shirt, small laughs mixing with your sniffles. "shut-t up, zoozoo."

he doesn't say anything, but if you'd quit being a crybaby for two seconds you'd notice how his grip tightened on his wado ichimonji, his knuckles whitening. the swordsman is determined to do this, but hell, even he'd be lying if he said that this didn't... well, suck.

soon after, the two of you say your final goodbyes.

he catches sight of your smile as the waves took him away, and he has to turn around. his focus is on the horizon, ending the chapter of his life that had you in it.

you're damn persistent though, like a little fly. he can't help but smirk at your words, yelled and carried by the wind.

"you're gonna be the best damn swordsman ever, zoozoo!"

such memories only come to the swordsman when he's had enough booze. when he looks at the moon and the ship is quiet except for the sound of creaking wood and crashing waves.

the thousand sunny had been docked on this island for around a day. it was a nice place, lively and sporting a plethora of shops with goods ranging from tropical fruits to exotic spices.

zoro curses when he swears he passes by the same stall for the hundredth time. "damn cook, always gettin' lost..." he grumbles, not acknowledging his notorious tendency to lose his way.

before he could take another step, he freezes at the sound of a voice that he'd only heard when he was dreaming or completely shit-faced.

"zoozoo?"

the way he turns around is almost mechanical. at this stage of his life, things like this didn't really pull a reaction from him. hell, he hadn't felt this way since he'd ran into that marine in loguetown. it was like seeing a ghost, but you're not one by any means.

he says your name, the sound almost foreign on his lips.

then he straightens up, his rational self catching up to him. you. here. in the new world?

one of his large hands makes a grab at your wrist, pulling you to an alleyway where the two of you could have some more privacy.

he has too many questions, too many thoughts and he'd be damned if he said it, but too many feelings, too. his tone is unintentionally gruff when he speaks, presenting as irritated to mask the protective urges simmering beneath the surface. "what the hell are you doin' here, huh?" you're still like a damn fly...

you take a moment to assess him, his new scars and his physique and everything. it's not like you hadn't seen him... but you're not going to admit to him that a few of his wanted posters are very much in your possession.

he still seems to be as brash as ever. headstrong and bull-headed and caring, in his own blunt way. it's not like you expected him to change much, but still, it's a relief to hear him speak to you as if you hadn't seen him in years. "well i wasn't gonna stay there either!" you defend, stubbornly crossing your arms.

that sparks a conversation about what you've been up to. he's always been alright with just letting you chatter away, but he makes sure to pay extra attention to what you tell him. your goals, your plans and where you'll be going. damn you, making this harder for him by not staying at shimotsuki village.

he's proud though, he really is.

as you continue to speak, he finds his focus directed on your expression and body language. now that the shock has worn off, he gets a closer look at you. your fingers twitch lightly, your arms snuggly crossed over your chest as if you were holding yourself together.

he remembers you being rather comfortable and relaxed around him, only growing restless when you were struggling to hold down the torrents of emotion that you were prone to feeling.

the last time he saw you like this was when he left, when you were too prideful to reach out and...

something about your little mannerisms is comforting in itself, like you haven't changed. a small wave of nostalgia crashes into the stone walls he's constructed around his heart these past few years.

you're still that teary eyed kid clinging to him like a remora, and he's damn sure that that won't ever change. you can hide it all you want, but unfortunately, he knows you.

you're good, but he's better.

"oi, c'mere, you damn crybaby." he huffs, expertly masking his satisfaction as he slings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. a smirk tugs at his lips as he looks down on you, hell, he even wraps his other arm around you too. "thought i told ya to grow up, dumbass."

your arms wrap around him and you hide your sniffle with a scoff. "yeah, and i think i told you to shut up, zoozoo." you instinctively hold him a bit tighter. "bet you didn't miss all this crybaby stuff."

oh, if you knew how wrong you were.

the moment is cut short when an exasperated yell fills the air. "oi, marimo, what the hell are you doing with a gorgeous woman!"

zoro's grip tightens on you for a split second before he releases you with a growl, his expression morphing into one of annoyance. he turns around to face the blond, hand reaching for his blade. "mind your damn business, cook! i'll cut you up like a-"

they bicker for a few minutes while you watch on in confusion, before the cook tells him that there are marines on the island. the blond, not wanting the swordsman to get lost again, firmly grips his arm and tugs him along.

zoro's gaze flickers back to yours, hardened and glinting with determination. yet, beneath that, you can see the underlying emotion.

it makes you smile, and even as he's being tugged away, you give him a big grin letting him know that you'll be okay. a smile that says you believe in him and that you know he'll be the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen. most importantly, it tells him that you'll be there waiting for him when it's all done.

your lips part and you yell out. "bye, zoozoo!"

it's a while later when zoro and sanji finally quit their running, the thousand sunny go just up ahead in the distance.

"tch, can't believe a beautiful woman like her would want anything to do with a brute like you." sanji huffs, clearly envious and annoyed as he pulls out a cigarette and lighter.

zoro's scowl deepens, not quite up for discussing any sort of feelings with the cook. "shut the hell up, curly brows." he says, his eye subtly sneaking a final glance at the town. "it's not like that."

sanji breathes out a large puff of smoke, his form relaxing somewhat. "yeah, yeah... sure. whatever you say, zoozoo."

the air changes, going almost still as sanji finds himself looking down at a blade being held to his neck. zoro holds his sword up to the cook, glaring at him with a murderous intent.

they've had their fair share of fights, never actually meaning to harm one another, but zoro makes it clear that this subject is not up for debate. “call me that again and i’ll cut your tongue off." he growls, inching the blade a little closer. "only one person can ever call me that, and it’s not you.”

[bigfan-fanfic]

A Delving Song (Monster!Reader x Laios Touden)

Could I request a Laios fic where he meets a new monster, your choice, that is surprisingly sentient who joins the party? I just think it would be cute and fluffy.

Laios tilted his head. That didn't sound like the normal song the sirens on this floor of the dungeon would sing.

Marcille and Chilchuck are still asleep. And Senshi's off checking his golem farms.

So Laios wanders off towards the pool of water where you sit.

It's a ways off from typical mermaid territory.

And you yourself seem different from other mermaids. Your lower half is covered in feathers, not scales, and you have small wings protruding from your back.

"To eat is the privilege of the living... all things must eat to survive..."

Laios looks at you, in awe as you continue to sing a song of resilience and endurance. He's absolutely enchanted. And he quickly opens his mouth to sing with you once he memorizes the simple tune.

You startle badly, yelping, and waving your arms, summoning streams of waters like vipers to rise around you.

"Whoa! Please, I didn't mean any harm. I just really liked your song."

You frown. "Tallmen like you don't sing. They attack."

Laios puts down his sword. "See? No attacking."

"You're... different."

Laios grins and nods. "That's right. You see... I wanna know more about creatures like you. Are you a mermaid? You seem to be similar and different."

"I think your kind calls me a siren. But most of us get hunted, because our songs can be dangerous. We have some control over water too."

"That's incredible. Do you come up with your own songs?"

"We sing the tune - others seem to hear what they really want to hear. Unlike mermaids, the charming of it all seems to come from the prey."

"Why are you all alone?" Laios asks bluntly, tilting his head when your face falls.

"My flock were... hunted by a group of tallmen. I escaped. The mermaids don't want me because we bring adventurers that kill."

Laios frowns. "Well, that's no good. Maybe... maybe you could come with our group. I'm sure once they hear you speak and reason, they'll have no problem."

You smile sharp teeth at the tallman. "What are you called?"

"Laios."

You let the water slip down into the pool and move forward in a crouch, finally pressing your head into his metallic stomach. "Thank you, Laios."

Chilchuck is the most suspicious of you, clearly not happy with the idea of letting a monster into the party. Even a clearly reasoning and thinking one like you.

Marcille is a bit more welcoming, especially as she hopes you can teach her some of your water magic.

Laios initially thinks you're amphibious like a fishman but as you don't breathe water it becomes clear you're more of a bird than anything else.

Marcille immediately shuts down any further discussion because she senses it getting uncomfortably close to figuring out what exactly you taste like.

But considering you grew up in the dungeon, your expertise makes travel much easier. Senshi also is able to take some extra parts of monsters the party has collected to make some water skins for you to carry water through the more dry areas for you to use as a weapon.

Laios is always eager to hear about monster culture - just as you are about the cultures of the surface. Marcille and Laios spend many meal breaks discussing with you about what your lives and daily activities are like

Chilchuck doesn't share, but then again he also doesn't share with anyone else, so it's not like it's an anti-monster sentiment.

But eventually you find yourself nestling close to Laios when it's time to rest for the night.

And one night, when he rolls over and rests his head in your feathers, you don't mind. You like the tallman and his unique opinions.

And perhaps these feelings may soon grow and evolve.

Until then, the party together shall eat, and almost more than their meals, their growing friendship is delicious.

Delicious in dungeon.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Illusion & Truth: The Rite (V)

Masterlist for The Rite is HERE My Regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (5) Loki does some soul searching, he lets you into a secret, and shit goes down at the pre-Rite feast. (w/c 5.4k) Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Plot, shocker. Asgardians behaving badly. Sick child (not serious). Petty bitch behaviour. Lagertha being an MVP. A/N: This is the longest chapter of the mini-series. Please bear with me. You'll see why.🥰 lies.

Loki hadn’t left his chambers for the rest of the afternoon. That woman from the Circle-Club: Freja, Mellandra…something like that, had come by seeking to ‘soothe’ what ailed him.

Self-serving, of course.

But thoughts swirled in his head that not even Freja/Mellandra’s silken heat sheathing his sword could quieten. And with that realisation, Loki had another one about you which settled in his stomach like a stone.

I don’t want anyone else. No one but her.

Somehow, you needed to fall in love with him in two moons – three if he counted the night of The Rite itself. Or at least, the stirrings of love which went beyond simple lust or pure reverence. If you knew that...it would push you away. Why wouldn't it? Asgardian royals had stacked the decks for millennia; beginning courtships of likely matches for marriage from a young age – and the Rite was a foregone conclusion: part of the wheel. It was too important, and there were no second chances.

But you fucked it up. If he didn’t fulfil the Rite, then he’d be forever out of the succession. And if he did succeed, and you fell in love with him, he’d have to break your heart as swiftly as he’d cheated his way to it. Loki couldn’t love – not like the others. He’d accepted that a long time ago - he'd been told many times.

He brought a hand cleanly against a goblet on the desk and sent it crashing to the wall. Thick cracks spread from the impact. He buried his face in his palms, stifling a scream. Perhaps his brother was right; perhaps Fandral was the better choice after all. There was no hope for your feelings to blossom given the boorish, wanton way he’d conducted himself. The Circle-Club, Norns. What must she think.

The door creaked open. “More wine, my Prince?” the chambermaid said. She was wearing the low-cut robes tonight, holding the flask beneath the curve of her breasts. She looked up at him through lined lashes, a dark eyebrow rising. She didn’t seem concerned at his distress – not one bit. Just wanted to ride him or suck him off or let him bend her over the balcony: not that he could blame her. “No,” he said abruptly. Once she’d left, he was sure the serving groom wouldn’t be far behind – offering his services. They had a system, he was certain of it. If one was declined, they knew Loki was in the mood for the other. His eyes wandered out the open archway. Daytime bustling of the courtyard below sounded loud to his ears. Suddenly the jug appeared in front of him, tapping onto the table while the tart, sweet scent of wine filled his nostrils. Her hands wound around his neck; breasts pressed between his shoulder blades; her breath hot in his ear.

“Are you sure, my Prince?” she whispered, sucking his earlobe between her teeth. “I’ve missed your highness’s touch, it’s been over a week.” Loki closed his eyes, trying to smother the revulsion at himself. The drinking, the endless sex, the aloofness: that nothing mattered. Perhaps he wanted it to matter – did anyone ever think of that? Even endless pleasure, Loki was finding, grew tiresome when flitting from one instant gratification to the next.

“No…thank you,” he said softly; holding up the flask. She said nothing else, just blinked a few times as he nudged the smooth metal into her hands. She threw concerned glances over her shoulder every few steps as she left, closing the door behind her. Loki slumped into the chair; trying to remember how people who didn’t drink wine and fuck all afternoon passed the time.

And so, until sunrise, he decided to do what he’d avoided for far too long: think.

Loki pulled at his sleeves.

The inferior material so favoured by the common-folk was starting to itch. He lingered on the outskirts of the palace gardens, scanning for you. And soon, there you were – led by Håkon. He was a little shit, but Loki liked him – and he showed promise as an apprentice; a rarity, considering his beginnings. Loki smiled. The face he wore didn’t hold that type of smile so agreeably as his own, but it would do. Håkon nudged you to his level, and Loki saw your eyes widen before meeting his own across the path.

You walked briskly towards him, eyes darting to passers-by. “Loki?!” you hissed. Loki’s smile grew. “The very same, little owl. Does my disguise not please you?” You made a face, and Loki snorted lightly, the rough knuckles that met his lips stifling it. To anyone that looked on him, he was a roughened, reddened stable-hand ilk: the type would garner no second looks except that of the guards searching for escaped jailbirds.

“It’s necessary, I assure you. Even this early in the morning, the markets are busy. I’d rather not attract any unwanted attention.” “I didn’t think it was possible for any attention you received to be unwanted...” Loki’s eyes narrowed. The subsequent smile lit your eyes in the same when it did when you looked on his own face: like the strike of a match. It made his stomach flip. You were wearing a beautiful green day-gown – the same shade as the calla lily growing by the pond.

“I had intended for us to walk around the gardens but…plans have changed. I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “Håkon’s coming too. Although…I fear you may be rather overdressed.” Your face fell. “Håkon’s coming?” “He’s not so bad,” Loki said as the boy wove ahead through the crowd, stealing small pieces of cake from the morning stalls. “Perhaps you may grow to like him.” You cleared your throat, and Loki felt his skin prickle with the words unsaid. He could feel them on the air before your tongue formed them. The obvious question most were too afraid to ask. “Is he your son?” There was no judgement in the question, only curiosity. It was, Loki surmised, a reasonable assumption with the boy’s dark hair and playful tricks – indeed, he often wished the answer was yes. But he replied, “No, merely my apprentice. No illusions, not this time. Upon my honour, such as it is.”

Loki’s fingers flexed by his side, and a rough, woollen cloak unfurled covertly in his grasp. He held it in a bundle towards you. “As beautiful as that gown is,” he said in his gruff, stolen voice, “Best not to attract attention where we’re going.”

“Don’t you want to change my face, too?” you said, and the sparkling mischief in your eyes made blood thud in his ears. “No,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t deny myself, and the people of Asgard, even the shortest glimpse of your skin under this morning light.” You stared at him for a moment before gasping into laughter. Loki frowned. “I’m not laughing at you, Loki…I just…” Your breaths were becoming short, and people were staring. You leant against his shoulder, burying your face against the rough scratch of his grubby tunic. “It’s only…well, they have to see me with you. I can only guess what they’re thinking. I still have a reputation to uphold, you know.” A laugh built in Loki’s chest, shaking in time with your own. You pulled away from his shoulder, smoothing a wiry chunk of crusted, mousy-brown hair behind his ear. “Alright,” he said bashfully. “I didn’t think of that. How about…I change your appearance too – but alter it so that we can see each other for our true selves?” You grinned. “Deal.” Loki could tell the exact moment that the enchantment licked over his skin by the edge of your bottom lip between your teeth. Norns, how he wanted to rip that dress to shreds with his teeth and have you inside the topiary maze.

Beneath the magical mask of rough, woollen clothing – he was wearing casual livery; a green tunic buttoned up to the neck, and tight-fitting buckskin breeches tucked into riding boots. Freshly washed hair tumbled over his shoulders. He could see you, and you could see him – and to anyone else, you were just two, ragged, happy peasants and their thief of an offspring.

Loki’s breath hitched as you reached out a hand. “So…where are we going?” He led you through the market, down side-passages that spread like veins from the centre of Asgard’s township and soon the buildings grew less polished…less gold.

Amber brickwork shifted to craggy, dirt-smoked stone and Loki couldn’t help noticing your face grow more cautious with every step. Eventually, he stopped outside a large wooden door cut into a tall building. Håkon knocked. After a minute, the gap creaked open. “Lagertha?!” you gasped, neck snapping to Loki. Her eyes narrowed. “What says the fox to the crow?” she asked warily, keen gaze shifting between you. Loki rolled his eyes. He could never remember the inane answers to such riddles, no matter how many times she told him. “43, 33, 36,” he said. Lagertha frowned. “What?” He repeated his measurements, and her eyes widened. “Loki?!” she hissed, sticking her head out and casting a furtive look to either side of the empty alley.

She shot out a dainty fist and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him inside. Loki grasped your hand, yanking you after him. The door slammed. Loki crouched to receive her hug; he was always surprised how strong she was. “I didn’t think you’d come, what with the late notice…I didn’t think—” She stopped herself, pulling back and shooting a piercing glare in your direction. “Who’s this?”

“Ah,” Loki said. Before he could say anything else, Lagertha wafted theatrically in front of her nose.

“Borr’s bones, Loki. Lower the glamour, will you? I understand the need for secrecy, but is there any need for the smell?” Loki’s lips rolled together, biting his tongue. Behind him, Håkon laughed. With a flex of his fingers the enchantment burned away to reveal his true form, and yours too. Lagertha’s face softened. “My dear…” she said sweetly, as though she hadn’t been moments away from poking you in the eye. “So nice to see the two of you spending time together. He must trust you, if he brought you here.” You opened your mouth to ask inevitable questions but Loki placed a hand on Lagertha’s back. “Show me. From your note, it seems we have no time to waste.”

Lagertha led him to the open courtyard in the middle of the building. From the outside, it resembled the same crumbling wreck as all the buildings in this district – but inside, it was a palace: all curved edges and bright, warm colours. Cushions littered the floor, a pond in the centre and a fountain spurting shapes with changed on the hour. The lilt of childish laughter twinkled in the air – but then, he saw her. A girl no older than two lay cradled in the arms of a nurse in the corner. Her skin was flushed and splotchy: the areas not afflicted had the pallor of rotted milk. Loki had seen her several times before – and several times he’d wished she would alter her screeches of happiness at a change in the breeze or the spray of the fountain to a decibel lower. But now, the absence of that joyful screech was torturous. He came skidding to a stop, falling to his knees on the cushions. “You should have summoned me sooner,” he said, pressing the back of his hand to the girl’s forehead. She was hot with the scorch of impending death. Lagertha sank to her knees beside him. “You know the rules– only in the direst of circumstances.” “May I?” he asked the nurse, and she shifted. He held the child, her head lolled in his arms, eyelids fluttering. He could see your profile out of the corner of his eye – and for a moment, he regretted ever considering bringing you to this place.

Nothing says romance like the demise of an infant, he scolded himself. He hadn’t thought it would be this bad. But you touched his back, a comforting trail of your fingers down his spine.

Loki pressed a hand to the small chest, closing his eyes. A swell of magic pulsed through his skin; green licking out from his palm. The baby’s eyes shot open in shock, a strangled cry of surprise tearing around the cloisters. Loki held the squirming child steady, palm flush to her skin. Hold on, he willed. Hold on.

Slowly, too slowly, the angry splotches receded. Plumpness began to puff back into her cheeks, and the child’s eyes opened – glossy and bright with sleepy wonder. “Thank the gods,” the nurse breathed, and Lagertha clapped her hands together. “Not the gods,” Lagertha said dryly, “just this one. He’s the only one worth having.” Relief swelled in Loki’s chest as he passed the child to the nurse. “Careful, Lagertha – I’ll have you for treason.” “Not if I have you first,” she replied wryly. They exchanged a knowing smile.

Loki’s nerves didn’t settle until they’d draped into the chairs by the water’s edge. Someone brought tea, and he tried to pour it before realising his fingers were trembling. You took the pot, pouring a cup for Loki, Lagertha, and yourself. “Thank you,” he murmured, and the smile that danced on your lips was like none he’d ever seen before. He looked away quickly, and then heard you ask… “What is this place?”

Lagertha snorted. “An orphanage, of sorts. I help when I can, in between the weaving – and Loki manages to come once a month or so to keep things in check – keep things nice for the children, make sure the pantry is stocked with the meats he smuggles from the palace, bless him.” Loki felt heat creep up his cheeks as she reached across the table, nobbled fingers wrapping around his wrist.

It's now or never, he thought. But in his heart, he knew you had to know. That you could be trusted. He could feel it. “If my father knew it existed…especially under my patronage - he would shut it down, turn them out.” Tea slopped over the side of your cup. “What?!” “He grows suspicious – and there are spies everywhere. Fandral, for instance.” Loki bit back the spit of his name. “If it's discovered before I am confirmed in the line of succession, then I won’t have as much say in what's done if it’s exposed.” “Why would Odin want this taken away?”

Loki’s heart sank as your eyes landed on each small, plump child in turn, older ones around Håkon’s age peering around pillars. There was a dozen spread across the courtyard, and more upstairs in bed. Many, many more. Two girls splashed in the centre of the garden pool, un-phased by their illustrious visitor. He saw the exact moment your keen mind landed on the right question. “Who are they?” you asked quietly. “Bastard sons and daughters of the gods, and of the court. The unwanted; the shame of Asgardian wealth and lust, and selfishness,” Loki heard himself say. Lagertha squeezed his hand. He met her eyes, unspoken words passing between them. She was asking permission, and he granted it. She cleared her throat. “The high and mighty in the palace like to smear this one because he lays it about, no offence intended m’Lord—” “—None taken,” Loki said with a small smile. “—But Loki here, he enjoys his pleasure with people he can take care of, should it be needed. I mean yes, he has the contraceptive magic and all that…but he doesn’t take advantage, not like the others. They pretend goose-fat wouldn’t melt: playing pure and then heading to the taverns and brothels, leaving their seed behind in the bellies of women who have no choice but to give ‘em to us when the lords’ pretend they don’t exist.” Loki couldn’t look at you. He stared at a ripple in the pool, following its progress until it faded to stillness. Suddenly, your hand was at his cheek; your lips pressing to his in a silent, soft understanding. He met your eyes.

“I know what it is to be unwanted,” he admitted – and with horror, he realised his vision was beginning to blur. “I couldn’t let that happen to them.” “He says next year, I’ll have a friend at the palace,” Håkon interrupted cheerfully from across the courtyard, looking up from a plate of sliced cheese. He shot Loki a glare. “Not a girl through,” he added – and beside him, a girl with long blonde hair suspiciously like Thor’s punched him in the arm. “Ow.” Loki smiled. “I can’t add my apprentices too quickly, you understand. One a year usually suffices to evade suspicion – and then afterwards, they travel to Vanaheim to continue their education. But Håkon is staying a little longer…” His eyebrows rose in the boy’s direction, “If he behaves himself.”

Loki met your eyes. There was that look again, the one that made him feel like a nervous virgin and a king at the same time. He straightened as your fingers clasped around his thigh beneath the table. It wasn’t a gesture of lust, he was sure – but his groin ached just the same. “We should go,” he said, and your face fell. Around them, childish wails of discontent grew loud and soon small hands were pawing at his legs - little bodies jostling for a place on his lap and wrapping their chubby arms about his neck. Your laughter was music above the fray. “We should stay,” you said sternly over the excitement – and Loki grinned through a veil of small limbs and wide smiles. “They’ve clearly missed you.” “You don’t mind?” His heart fizzed as you rested a fist beneath your chin. “Not a bit,” you said, as a boy with auburn ringlets crawled onto your knees, smudging the green silk with butter-greased fingers. And what’s more, Loki realised as you greeted the boy with a hug, she means it.

When you returned to your chambers, the sun was beginning to set.

The most beautiful dress you’d ever seen in your entire life was hanging against the window: shimmering in amber hues slatting across the floor. A deep, rich green: silk that rippled with sparks of gold. A note was pinned to the lapel. ‘Make him erupt in his britches again,’ it said. You snorted. It was signed with a looping, cursive L – and a kiss. You weren’t sure how Lagertha had managed to ensure its delivery between hobbling after three dozen squealing children for nine hours alongside you – but you appreciated it none the less. The fact Loki had told her about events in the orgy-room yesterday made an unexpected warmth blossom in your belly. It was becoming harder not to get attached.

You’d tried not to think too much about tonight: the feast. It made it all a bit…real. A celebration of Loki’s attempt at The Rite – and a celebration of his chosen partner: aka, a chance for the court to get a good look at you.

You sighed, looking in the mirror. I can do this, you thought. For Loki. You frowned. The idea that you’d be doing it for him was new – and the thought seemed to expand inside your skull like dandelion seeds blossoming on a stalk. For Loki. And then, another thought. You’d meant to raise it this morning, but the day’s events had been…distracting. What the fuck was the second part? The one that had him more nervous than he had any right to be? He couldn’t doubt his skills in oral pleasure, surely. He’d only have to look between your legs and you’d explode. It had to be something else: something important. You tried to push it aside as your giggling maid helped you into the dress and fixed your hair. It wasn’t as elaborate as the royals, but it would do. And besides, you weren’t one of them. And you never will be.

When the final clasp was added to your hair, there was a knock at the door. Just one. The maid answered, and from the pitch in her voice you could tell she was flustered. Loki had said he’d meet you outside the feasting hall – Is he here? Your stomach fluttered as you scurried to the entranceway, and immediately grimaced. “Fandral?” He looked up from where one forearm was pressed against the archway, looming over your maid like a lech. If Loki did that, it would be unbearably hot – but Fandral had a way of making even the most potentially erotic poses illicit the same response as hot sick. “The very same,” he drawled, straightening a ruffled cuff. “Loki sent me to fetch you, since we’re all to be such great friends.” “He did?”

“Mmm,” Fandral said. It wasn’t an answer, but you were running late. Maybe he’ll throw me down a well, you thought as you gingerly took his arm and began walking in silence down the corridor. If he tries, I’ll drag him by the balls down with me.

Fandral’s tunic was made of the softest velvet you’d ever felt: a bright, cerulean blue. His fingers clasped over your hand wrapped around his forearm as you walked. “How curious,” he hummed, and your expression hardened, staring ahead for what was coming. “Such soft hands, despite your status. I’ve heard buckling ones own shoes is a terror for callouses.” “You must give me some tips - I’d hate to scratch Loki’s intimate areas with my nasty, commoner callouses.” Fandral yanked you to a stop. There was a flash in his eyes. “Do not call yourself a commoner. It’s an insult to the Prince – as though he would lie with a peasant. You are the lowest rung in the court, and he’s too good for you…but you’re not so low as to be unable to debase yourself further.” “From what I hear, others aren’t so picky as you are,” you muttered, pulling your arm from his grasp, remembering the sweet faces of the children nobody wanted. The shame of the Asgardian court. One of Fandral’s slicked eyebrows rose. “And what does that mean?” Shit. He’s a fucking spy - you’re going to blow the secret, and you’ve only known for a day. You improvised, cracking your neck to the side and painting on a mask of apathy. “You’re arrogant, anyone ever tell you that?” Fandral sneered, the illusion of his upper hand returning. “Consider your proclivity towards our Prince, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, thankful that the chatter of nobles filing into the feasting hall was growing louder. Looked like there was only one more turn—

“He’s trying to make you fall in love with him.” You stopped, blinking furiously; the crowd visible at the end of the corridor blurring. “Excuse me?”

But before Fandral could respond, a shadow fell over you both. The sight was like smelling salts. Norns, he’d never looked so handsome. Loki’s dark hair was half drawn up to expose the sharp lines of his face; a golden band resting on his head with thin spires like spun, violent sunlight pointed to the ceiling.

His outfit matched your own perfectly: a thick brocade tunic with delicate buckles running up his midsection; green and gold woven with breath-taking perfection. The tunic fell to his mid-thighs, leather trousers tucked into thin boots the same forest green as your dress. His hand slid around your waist, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, Fandral grimaced.

“You look…beautiful,” Loki breathed against your ear, his scent richly spiced, and for a moment it stifled the guilt clawing in your chest. He drew back, shooting Fandral a withering glare. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” As Fandral gave you a last, salty look – Loki’s eyes fell on you again. “Just one more thing,” he said softly, flexing his fingers. A weight grew on your head in time with Loki’s smile; the same crown of sun rays growing towards the ceiling, matching his own. “Tonight is for you,” he said, offering his arm.

“For us,” you replied, hoping it was true.

The first few hours of the feast passed in a blur.

You’d never forget the feeling as you walked arm-in-arm with Prince Loki down the centre of the hall feeling like a queen: nobles cheering, Fandral looking like he had a wedgie, Frigga smiling widely, and Thor…although not quite as much. Odin’s face was like a pruned apple, but what else was new.

Don’t get attached, you reminded yourself again. But it was becoming harder.

You sat beside Loki at the top table, chatting easily as the two of you tucked into honey-glazed boar, potatoes baked in cream, vegetables soaked in the most delicious spices you’d ever tasted.

Every so often, a noble would shuffle in front of you both with a small bow, offering their good luck wishes to the god beside you. “Not required, but appreciated,” Loki said every time. And every time, you stifled a laugh. More than once, you caught Frigga gazing at you out of the corner of your eye. But when your eyes met, hers darted away. That small smile hadn’t left her lips all night.

Loki stood. “It’s far too dull for this time in the evening, time for some dancing…don’t you think?” Thor perked up two seats down from you, his eyes alight and a sticky ring of honey smeared around his mouth, dripping down his chin. “Dancing! Yes, brother.”

Loki smoothed the front of his tunic, waiting for a adequate number of revellers to admire his outfit, before making his way to the band assembling in the corner. You recognised the lute player from yesterday’s orgy – the blindfolded one. Loki’s seat was immediately taken by Fandral, and you rolled your eyes. “What do you want?” you snapped. “The second part of The Rite – I assume he still hasn’t told you.”

Fandral released a whispering chuckle that made your stomach tighten. He hovered by your ear with a smile stretched on his rattish face, golden glitter from his hair falling to the tablecloth. To anyone watching, it might look like he was telling a joke, but there was no humour in his voice.

“He has to make you cum with that pretty mouth of his, yes. But your feelings towards him as he does it will be measured: not lust, or respect as your better…but the deeper sort. It will be impossible to hide it. If you do love him, then afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be. And if you don't, which is more likely...let's be honest, you’ll have cost him his place in the succession.” Fandral withdrew, a dazzlingly artificial smile plastered on his face. You opened your mouth and closed it again, heartbeat hard in your throat. “It breaks my heart to see him play you,” he sighed, playing with Loki’s fork. “Just as he will break yours…but alas, it’s how it must be. I expect he’s lavished you with his attention these past days, let you see…allegedly…another side of him?”

“You’re just jealous,” you blurted. It was childish, and frantic.

His eyes narrowed. “It’s no secret I have feelings for the Prince which go beyond mere frippery – I make no waves against it. Loki is magnificent in many ways, but he’s always been a fool. And you will make a fool of him too, when it’s clear you don’t love him; when he is shamed, his status diminished - left forever in his brother’s shadow.”

Your vision swam. “But…why would he…why would he choose me, then? It’s too important, I…” Those plump, hopeful kid’s faces flashed in front of your eyes again. The way he sang to them, and made baby animals burst in living shadows from his fingertips to prance across the courtyard amidst their shrieks of delight. They were in danger. Loki had to secure his place in the succession. This wasn’t about you, not really.

“Fandral,” you said, searching his face, not knowing what you wanted him to say. “Just enjoy yourself tonight.” Fandal smiled, giving a small wave to someone across the room. “I’m sure Loki will come to his senses before the ceremony.” Time seemed to stop as Loki drew you on to the dancefloor, and soon the centre of the hall was a shifting sea of graceful bodies and swirling silk. You’d never wanted anything more than to attend one of these things – you weren’t going to let Fandral ruin it.

Loki’s body was like steel, but he moved like fluid - a liquid grace which twirled and manoeuvred you easily across the floor. His cheek pressed to yours, lips grazing your skin at achingly slow intervals. You wondered if he knew he was doing it. And yet— ‘It breaks my heart to see him play you; just as he will break yours.’ Your hand faltered from Loki’s hold, fumbling the step.

He drew you closer, eyes clouded with concern. The lutes seem very loud all of a sudden. “Loki…” you started. You needed to know – and he needed to choose. There was much at stake, and you didn’t know if you could give him what he needed to come out The Rite with his place in the succession intact.

“May I?” Fandral’s voice shattered the moment.

He was the picture of gentile chivalry, a hand extended with a reverent bow. Loki looked at you, and you suddenly realised the only thing you wanted was more time before the illusion that this could all be real shattered forever.

As your hand left Loki’s, reaching for Fandral’s – you saw the creep of a cruel smirk, and a white glisten on Fandral’s fingers too late. Your breath caught as he lunged. And then, all hel broke loose.

Loki’s body was a wall of muscle ramming between the two of you, smacking Fandral’s arm to the side.

You stumbled backwards, falling into Frigga dancing with some lord from Vanaheim. Grapes went skittering across the floor from the knock-on-carnage; goblets cracking against marble and shrieks as priceless suede shoes were splashed.

Loki was gripping Fandral’s wrist as the blonde looked up wide-eyed, words shaping his lips that came out in a mess of denials and apologies. Between the nonsensical muttering, you heard two words from Fandral’s lips: ‘Thor…whorehouse.’ Loki’s eyes narrowed, and then he punched Fandral in the face. The sharp crack of his nose breaking split the air. “Loki,” Odin boomed, shuffling in front of the long table at the head of the hall. “The Rite feast is no occasion for your brutish theatrics.” Loki’s fingers tightened around Fandral’s wrist and a pathetic squeal snaked from his throat. “He tried to sabotage my partner,” Loki growled through gritted teeth. He sent Fandral sprawling to the floor. “See? He bears the seed of a god on his hand – you know the rules better than any, father. It would render her ineligible to take part. Bartered with a lady of the night in Asgard’s township from one of her patrons, no doubt.”

Your stomach dropped as gasps rose around the hall; whispers of a hundred conversations turning to a roar. “Silence,” Odin shouted. The guests obeyed. “Is this true?” he directed at a cowering Fandral. “Surely no god would involve themselves with such a person, such an act.” Your eyes swung to Loki. You’d never seen him angry. And dark irons…it was hot.

His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides; a muscle in his jaw feathering with every strong beat of the pulse in his neck. A wave of pride, and desire, and…something else, swelled in your stomach. The gold-spired crown on his head glittered beneath candlelight, dark curls spilling over brocaded shoulders like ink. “I assure you, father – it is true.”

And Odin knows it…bastard, you thought as Loki turned, brows heavy as he stared his father down. “Order him from my sight, or I cannot be responsible for what comes next.” And for once, Odin complied.

You couldn’t hear Fandral’s protestations of innocence, or the clatter of guards. All you could hear were Loki’s heavy breaths as he pulled you after him down a side corridor and into the open air of the balcony. All you could feel was the press of his body to yours as your back hit the wall; the pressure of his ravenous kiss; the need of his sighs and broken apologies into your open mouth.

His palms cupped your cheeks, lips slotting so perfectly against yours and the weight of his chest flush to your body like he thought you might vanish.

You pressed a palm to his chest, pushing him back. Deja-vu of the first night you entered Loki’s world flashed in front of your eyes: a kiss on a balcony, a promise made with hidden intentions– but it was nothing like this.

There was something different swimming in his sapphire eyes: more than lust, or duty…or tricks. It would’ve been a foregone conclusion that Loki would be successful in achieving The Rite with Fandral. He could bring that golden turd pleasure like he’d never known; show the Norns he could win the love of the people who worshipped him…but that option was dead now. Not that you’d wanted it for him in the first place.

Could that look in Loki’s eyes be faked? The one that smouldered with embers of cities he’d burn for you; of how inexplicably far he’d go to keep you as his partner in this farce even though the odds were stacked against him. He’d known they were all along. “Loki…” you whispered, and he wet his lips, biting the bottom one softly as his gaze fell. I could love him, you realised. Eyes wide open; knowing that this might be all it ever was, and even if he would never feel the same – I could love him. With the little time that was left, you only hoped it would be enough.

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Chapter Six: Consequences