#but the rest faded into obscurity

[ghoul--doodle]

When my interest shifts from one to another I don’t start disliking/hating the old one

It just slips into being dormant until something inevitably triggers monkey brain about it again

[burningvelvet]

the fact that mary shelley was supposed to be on the boat with percy when he drowned but at the last minute she didn’t go because she still didn’t feel well enough due to a miscarriage which almost killed her a month earlier except he saved her life… and that she later believed she was meant to live to raise their child (who was named after percy!!!)… the amount of dramatic details surrounding their lives blow my mind… how were they even real!!!!!!

[19871997]

.

[rafecameronssl4t]

I LOVED the “Who invited you?” one, so i was thinking… maybe a Thornton!reader x season 3!rafe, where Rafe and reader are secretly dating and reader tells about it to sofia, not knowing she had a crush on Rafe, so she tells everything to Topper

Stay in your lane || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: so sorry this took me forever to reply to but hope you like it!!! added my own little twist in the end reminder that requests are open!!!!

Warnings: mentions of smoking, suggestive content, if theres anything else, lmk!

Word count: 1,884

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

As you step into the country club, the cool air conditioning providing instant relief from the summer heat, you're greeted by a familiar face. "Hey," Sofia's voice carries a warm, welcoming tone as she catches your attention. Her honey-coloured hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she looks every bit the part in her crisp, white polo shirt.

"Sofia, right?" you say with a smile, sliding your sunglasses up onto your head. She nods with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling. "That's me! And you're Y/n, Topper's sister," she says confidently, her gaze lingering on you for a moment as if to commit your face to memory.

"Yeah, that's right," you reply, your tone light and friendly as you confirm her guess. "Can I get you a table?" she offers, her hand subtly gesturing towards the dining area where groups of people are already seated, enjoying their meals and conversations.

You shake your head gently, your smile widening. "Oh no, I'm here with someone," you explain, a hint of warmth in your voice. Sofia's expression shifts as her lips form a small 'o' of understanding. "Well, enjoy!" she responds, her smile returning, though there's a hint of something else in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or intrigue.

You reciprocate her smile, offering a small wave before you turn to walk away. As you move towards the back of the club, you can feel Sofia's gaze following you, her attention unwavering until you disappear from sight.

~

Sofia stepped into the secluded section of the country club, balancing a tray of drinks with practiced ease. The chatter of the main dining area faded behind her as she ventured deeper into the quieter, more exclusive part of the club. As she approached the table, she quickly recognised you sitting there, and a curl of smoke caught her eye, obscuring the person seated across from you.

"Iced tea and a Westbrook?" Sofia announced as she drew closer, her voice steady. But as she placed the drinks on the table, her eyes widened in surprise as she finally saw who you were with—Rafe Cameron, his presence unmistakable.

“Thanks, Sof,” you responded warmly, your smile reaching your eyes as you accepted the glass of iced tea from the tray. Sofia’s attention drifted towards Rafe, who sat across from you with an air of nonchalance. He casually exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, his intense blue eyes never leaving you as he flicked the ashes into the nearby ashtray.

His gaze was unwavering, almost possessive, as he watched you, barely sparing Sofia a glance. It was clear that his focus was entirely on you, as if the rest of the world, including Sofia, simply didn’t exist in that moment. The casual way he leaned back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, contrasted sharply with the tension in Sofia’s chest.

"Y-you're welcome," Sofia stammered, caught off guard by the sight of the two of you together. She quickly realised that her surprise was showing, and she forced a polite smile before retreating, her mind racing as she walked away, the image of you and Rafe together lingering in her thoughts.

~

As Sofia made her way outside, she hauled the heavy bags of rubbish towards the bins at the back of the country club. Her thoughts were preoccupied, replaying the scene she had witnessed earlier of you with Rafe. The image of the two of you together lingered in her mind, stirring a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite pin down.

Lost in these thoughts, something in the parking lot suddenly caught her attention—Rafe Cameron’s truck parked in the parking lot. Her steps faltered as she saw you step down from the passenger side, a playful smile on your lips as you tugged your dress back into place.

Sofia’s heart raced, and without thinking, she ducked behind a nearby tree, hoping to remain unnoticed. Peeking out from her hiding spot, she watched as Rafe emerged from the car, his confident smirk evident even from a distance.

He moved towards you with a casual grace, his hand trailing down your back before giving your ass a light, possessive squeeze. The gesture was intimate, familiar, as if this wasn't the first time he'd done it. Then, Rafe leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that seemed to linger just a little too long.

Sofia could feel her chest tighten as she observed the scene, her mind reeling from the implications. She watched as he then walked you to your Porsche, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you with ease.

He opened the driver's door for you, the gesture almost gentlemanly, before leaning in for one last kiss. The way you smiled at him before driving off sent a pang of something unidentifiable through Sofia’s chest—jealousy? Surprise? Disbelief? Maybe all three.

As your car disappeared from view, Sofia’s eyes remained glued to Rafe. Just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he suddenly turned his head in her direction, as if sensing her presence. Panic surged through her as she let out a quiet gasp, instinctively slapping a hand over her mouth and pressing herself harder against the rough bark of the tree.

She remained frozen, barely daring to breathe, until she heard the roar of Rafe’s engine as he sped off. Only then did she dare to move, her heart pounding in her chest. Of course, you and Rafe were together. The thought settled heavily in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. It was almost expected, yet seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely.

~

"Hey, Sof," you greet her with a warm smile as you walk up to the bar and take a seat. Sofia returns the smile, but there's a slight tension in her expression, a tightness that you don't seem to notice. "Hey, what can I get you?" she asks, her voice pleasant but lacking its usual warmth.

"An iced tea will be fine, thanks," you reply, settling into your seat. Sofia nods and begins preparing your drink. As she works, your phone buzzes, drawing your attention. Sofia can't help but eavesdrop as you answer it. "Hey," you say into the phone, your lips curving into a smile as you listen to the person on the other end.

"Yeah, 1 p.m. is fine." Sofia continues making your iced tea, her curiosity piqued, wondering who you're talking to. When the call ends, you smile at Sofia, who quickly averts her eyes, focusing on placing a straw into your glass before pushing it across the bar towards you.

"Thank you," you say, taking a sip of the iced tea. You then pick up your phone again, your fingers tapping away as another smile forms on your lips, seemingly in response to a message. Sofia, now cleaning some glasses nearby, can't hold back her curiosity any longer.

"So… you and Rafe, huh?" she asks, her tone laced with subtle intrigue as she glances over at you. You look up from your phone, a light giggle escaping your lips. "Yeah?" you respond, a bit amused by her question. Sofia purses her lips, nodding as she tries to process this new information, a flutter of jealousy stirring in her chest.

"I didn't know you guys were dating," she continues, her voice careful, as if trying to gauge your reaction. You hum softly, playing with the straw in your glass. "Between you and me, we were friends with benefits for a while before he asked me out properly," you admit with a small, almost secretive smile.

Sofia nods, doing her best to hide her surprise, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—disbelief, maybe even a touch of envy that she quickly tries to suppress. Her mind races, wondering how she missed the signs, and why the thought of you with Rafe unsettles her so much.

"Does Topper know?" she asks, her tone slightly more pointed as she looks at you. Your eyes snap to hers, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged with something unspoken, a tension that Sofia struggles to ignore.

"No, he doesn't know yet. We'll tell him soon enough, though," you reply, your voice steady. "Right now, he just thinks we're really good friends." Sofia hums in response, trying to mask the pang of jealousy as she watches you return to your phone, clearly engrossed in your conversation with Rafe.

You finish your drink and stand up, offering Sofia a warm smile. "Thanks for the drink, it was so good," you say sincerely before turning and walking off, leaving Sofia standing behind the bar, her thoughts racing as she watches you disappear from view.

~

When Sofia caught sight of Topper and Rafe walking into the country club, her heart began to race, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety flooding her system. The two of them made an imposing pair, effortlessly commanding attention as they approached the bar.

Sofia's gaze followed their every step, her pulse quickening when Rafe’s eyes met hers. He held her gaze for a brief moment before leaning in to whisper something to Topper. Without a word, Rafe then turned and walked outside, leaving Topper alone at the bar.

"Just my usual, thanks. Make it two," Topper said, leaning casually against the polished wood. His tone was indifferent, his eyes lazily scanning the room as if the bar and its staff were just another part of the scenery. Sofia nodded, accustomed to his detached manner, and began preparing the drinks.

As she worked, she stole a glance at Topper, feeling a sudden surge of boldness. Clearing her throat, she decided to speak up. "Y/N's not joining the two of you tonight?" she asked, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling underneath.

Topper’s attention snapped back to her, his brows knitting together in mild confusion. A dry chuckle escaped his lips, the sound laced with a hint of amusement. "And what makes you think my little sister should be here with us?" he asked, his tone edged with curiosity as he watched her skillfully mix the drinks.

Sofia felt her confidence grow, fueled by the moment and the subtle power shift she sensed. She met his gaze head-on, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm not sure, I just thought she'd join you guys since she and Rafe are a couple now," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant as she shrugged her shoulders.

For a brief second, Topper went silent, and Sofia braced herself for his reaction. She expected surprise, maybe even a flash of anger or disbelief. But instead, Topper's response was cold and indifferent, his expression unreadable. "Don't see why that concerns you, Sofia," he said, his eyes drifting towards the view outside, his interest in the conversation fading as quickly as it had sparked.

Sofia's eyes widened, not prepared for his dismissive tone. "Oh, no—I was just wondering—" she stammered, her initial confidence rapidly dissolving under his gaze. Topper’s stare sharpened, cutting her off before she could finish. "I think you forget yourself sometimes," he said, his voice chillingly calm.

"Just because you work here in Figure 8, it doesn't give you the right to go sticking your nose in our business, yeah? So stay in your lane," He grabbed the glasses she had just finished preparing, his hand steady, his demeanor cold.

With that, he walked off without another glance, leaving Sofia standing there, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She hadn’t expected Topper to speak to her like that—so harshly, so dismissively. The words stung, lingering in the air long after he had disappeared, and Sofia was left alone.

[uhohdad]

(18+) König x Reader - Jealous of Your Sex Toys

WARNING: Implied Toxic Relationship Dynamic

You’re a grown woman. You are allowed to have sex toys - it’s expected even. And yet, you feel guilty. Caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Body locked up and eyes wide as you stare down at the brightly-colored silicone sex toys resting in the flat of König’s massive palm.

“You don’t need these. I’m enough for you, ja?”

It’s a simple question - a yes or no question - but you both know there was enough strings attached you could spool it into a ball of abrasive twine.

You weigh your options.

‘Yes’ - No more sex toys for you. A life of relying purely on your fingers and him, clit never knowing the buzz of a vibrator again. Giving into his will and letting him control you to a degree that you know isn’t healthy.

‘No’ -

Well, you can’t say no.

Aside from how soul crushing you understand the weight of that word would be coming from you - it’s far from the truth. He is enough for you. More than enough - too big, even. Too insatiable. Too much of an ego to not leave you whimpering and covered in the evidence of finish after finish until you were begging him to stop.

Your hesitance is somehow worse than either of your impossible options. You should have just blurted the first answer that came to mind.

His brow quirks as his gaze continues to bore into you with sly, half-lidded eyes.

“No?” He asks, with a quirk of his brow and a thrilling glint of mischief in his eye.

You still can’t bring yourself to confirm or deny.

He nods in understanding, his giant hands wrapping around your sex toys, so little in his palms.

“That’s okay, mein Nervenkitzel Sucher,” He purrs, “I can share.”

Your shoulders brace instinctively, insides coiling as tight as that ball of abrasive twine, those attached strings getting more and more tangled with every silken word that rolls from his tongue. He says it’s okay - but it sure doesn’t feel like he means it. Choking you with those tricky strings.

The fistful of your sex toys - your misdeeds, your dirty, shameful little secrets - falls to his side. He approaches with precise steps until he’s between your knees, looming over you.

“I’ll show you,” He says with a dangerous crinkle in his eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile surely hidden underneath that mask.

You unintentionally shrink in on yourself in the shadow of his hulking, commanding figure. A calculated move. Not-so-subtly reminding you of just how small and defenseless you are in his presence. His voice drops, and those brows furrow, that smile surely faded behind the black fabric obscuring his face as he stares down at you intensely.

Your mouth has gone dry, your attempt at words - an apology, a flirt, a joke, anything - leaves you as nothing but a dried out squeak lodged deep in the back of your throat.

“I’ll show you how I share.”

-

“Kmph-Kmph!”

“Sh, sh. Isn’t this what you wanted, Blümchen? To keep both?”

You let out a truly pathetic whine, throwing your head back on the mattress. How many times have you cum?

You lost count, lost your very rationality, lost to him - the gift of bittersweet pleasure twisted into something unbearable.

“Greedy, greedy girl.”

Plugged, stuffed, and spread open. Your vibrator buzzes ruthlessly on your abused, swollen, throbbing clit at a torturous speed. Restrained by your own handcuffs, secured tightly to the headboard and keeping you from putting up the fight that would be useless anyway. There’s surely a metaphor hidden somewhere within this detail - but your thoughts are so clouded with arousal there’s no way you’d be find it.

Too much, too much, König, too much!

And while you know he knows exactly what you’re pleading, your mouth will never form the words - stifled by the drool-covered gag nestled between your lips.

His pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, thick cock soaked with your arousal and disciplined hips snapping against the back of your thighs, ignoring the tears of pure overstimulation streaking down your temples.

He studies you with narrowed, unreadable eyes, watching you writhe. His stare lingers on your chest, arching and twisting beneath him as you fight the cruel pleasure between your legs. His stare is eerily cold for a man whose cock is being pleasured by a warm, tight cunt. You’re not even sure if he’s enjoying it, or if this is purely a lesson he must teach you in his eyes.

You know he’s trying to prove a point - to show you that you only need one or the other. Can’t you see? Both is just too much for a little girl like yourself to handle.

So choose wisely, little one.

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Protect and Avenge

Summary - Ambushed by ruthless bandits, Jace's wife is ripped from his arms, igniting a fury within him and he truly will stop at nothing to protect the woman he loves, no matter the cost.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Violence

Word count - 2442

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

The journey to the Wall was proving longer and more exhausting than I had anticipated, yet my determination to see it through remained steadfast. 

From the outset, I had pleaded with Jace and Lord Stark to let me accompany them, yearning for a chance to steal a few peaceful moments with my husband amidst the rigors of the trip.

As we pressed onward, Lord Stark and his men rode ahead, scouting for a suitable place to rest for the night. Despite my weariness, I found myself captivated by the beauty of the landscape around us. 

The tall trees stood like silent sentinels, their leaves whispering in the cool evening breeze, while the fading light painted the sky in hues of orange and pink.

"This is all so beautiful," I murmured, almost to myself, as I admired the view.

"It is, isn't it?" Jace responded, though his eyes remained fixed on me.

"When all of this is over," I began, my voice tinged with longing, "we should travel—see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea."

Jace's smile softened as he reached out to touch my hand. "Anything you wish," he promised.

Just as the peaceful moment settled between us, the serenity of the forest was shattered. 

Figures emerged from the shadows without warning, their movements swift and silent. My heart leapt as they stepped onto the path, blocking our way and forcing us to halt abruptly.

Jace's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, tension radiating from him as he scanned the strangers. Their faces were obscured by capes, but their postures were unmistakably threatening.

I took a deep breath and straightened in my saddle, striving to keep my voice calm as I addressed them. "Apologies, have we done something to offend you?"

The leader, a tall figure with a rough voice, stepped forward. "Your presence here is what offends us," he said, his tone cold and menacing. "These lands are not safe for travelers."

I exchanged a quick glance with Jace, who subtly shifted to place himself between me and the leader. The tension in the air was palpable, and I felt my pulse quicken.

"We are simply passing through," I replied, my voice steady despite the fear creeping up my spine. "We mean no harm and seek only to continue on our way."

The man's eyes roved over us, lingering on our fine cloaks, the well-crafted saddles, and the quality of our horses. I could see the gears turning in his mind, a calculating look crossing his face as he assessed us.

"I do not see a traveling party," he remarked, gesturing to the empty road around us.

"Lord Cregan Stark and his men are not far ahead," Jace said, his tone firm but cautious. "We are accompanying them."

At the mention of Lord Stark, the man's eyebrows lifted slightly, and he glanced back at his group. They straightened, exchanging knowing looks.

"Lord Stark?" the leader repeated, his voice now tinged with interest. "You must be some important guests, then."

A chill ran through me as I realized what he was thinking. Our clothes, our horses, the mere mention of Lord Stark—all marked us as wealthy, or at least valuable. To a group like this, we were the perfect targets.

The leader smirked, a sinister glint in his eyes as he turned back to us. "Seems we've found ourselves a bit of fortune today, boys," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Before we could react, the men closed in around us. Jace's hand flew to his sword, drawing it with a sharp hiss as he braced himself to defend us. The determination in his eyes was clear, but so were the overwhelming odds against us.

"Stay close to me," Jace ordered, his voice low and tense.

The men moved with practiced precision, their intentions unmistakable. They saw an opportunity to take something, or someone, of value, and they weren't going to let it slip through their fingers.

Jace swung his sword, delivering a fierce blow to the first attacker, but more men quickly swarmed around us. I reached for the dagger I kept hidden, trying desperately to assist, but the chaos was overwhelming.

There were too many of them, too strong, and despite Jace's valiant efforts, it wasn't enough.

Rough hands suddenly grabbed me, yanking me from my horse. I screamed and struggled, but their grip was relentless. Jace's face twisted into a mask of fury as he fought to reach me, but the men were ruthless.

"Let her go!" Jace roared, desperation and rage lacing his voice as he slashed at the men holding me. For a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, he managed to break through, reaching out to pull me back.

But more men piled on, and the force was too great. I was torn from his grasp and dragged backwards, my efforts to escape futile against their ironclad hold.

"Jace!" I cried out, my voice trembling with terror as I was pulled further away. I saw the anguish in his eyes, the helpless rage as he struggled against the overwhelming numbers.

Jace fought like a man possessed, his sword flashing in the dimming light, but it wasn't enough. 

The men were too many, their intent too fierce, and I was dragged away from him, my captors tightening their grip.

"Take her!" the leader barked, and I was roughly hauled into the trees. My screams echoed through the forest, growing fainter as Jace's desperate shouts diminished in the distance.

My heart pounded as I was ripped from the man I loved. The once-beautiful forest had transformed into a nightmarish blur as I was carried off into the unknown, my fear of what awaited me mounting with every step.

"Let me go!" I thrashed wildly as they dragged me deeper into the forest, but their grip remained unyielding.

They flung me over the back of a horse, my body jolting with each rough step as we moved further and further from Jace, from safety. In the distance, the soft, flickering light of a campfire came into view, casting ominous shadows over my impending fate.

The men shoved me to the ground, and I winced as the rough earth scraped against my skin. They quickly bound my hands and feet with coarse rope, the knots tight and unforgiving. I could hear their voices murmuring among themselves, low and urgent.

Their ragged appearance marked them as mercenaries or bandits from the Riverlands, their clothes worn and their faces hardened by a life of crime.

"Please, listen to me," I begged, my voice trembling with fear, but they ignored me, engrossed in their whispered discussions.

"Listen!" I shouted, forcing some of them to turn and look at me.

"The man you just fought is Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, and I am his wife," I declared, my words spilling out in a desperate rush as tears streamed down my face. "His mother, the queen, will not take this lightly. Just let me go, and we can end this now."

The men exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of my words slowly sinking in. One of them, a wiry man with a cruel smirk, raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You lot nicked a princess?" he asked, his twisted grin widening.

"Well, we didn't know she was a princess when we took her," another man retorted defensively, his voice tinged with nervousness.

As the realization of their mistake dawned on them, the unease in their eyes became palpable. A crime like this would undoubtedly draw the wrath of the crown.

Instead of releasing me, their hesitation grew, caught between fear and greed. The leader stepped forward, his face hardening as he weighed their options.

"If she's truly who she claims to be, then she's worth a king's ransom," he said, his voice cold and calculating.

My heart sank as I grasped the danger I was in. These men, desperate and driven by greed, had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I was now the unfortunate prize in their ruthless game.

Before I could react, rough hands grabbed me again, clawing at my clothes and forcing me to my feet. They dragged me forward, shoving me into the center of the circle they had formed. Their eyes gleamed with a perverse curiosity, as if I were a rare and exotic creature on display.

"Hold her up!" one of the men barked, and more hands seized me, lifting me so that I was suspended in their grip, my feet barely touching the ground.

The ropes binding my wrists and ankles dug painfully into my skin, but the physical pain was eclipsed by the overwhelming sense of humiliation that washed over me.

They passed me around like a lifeless doll, their rough hands poking and prodding with cruel enjoyment. Their laughter and crude comments were relentless. Tears stung my eyes, but I fought to keep them back, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

"Look at her," one sneered, yanking at my cloak to reveal the fine dress beneath. "All dressed up like she thinks she's better than us."

"Bet she's never had to work a day in her life," another added, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Probably thinks she's too good to even look at the likes of us," a third chimed in, his face contorted with malice.

Their words were like daggers, each one striking at my dignity. It wasn't just their words, it was the way they looked at me, as if I were nothing more than a trophy to be displayed, a symbol of their defiance against those they deemed superior.

To them, I was not a person but a prize to be humiliated, a way to assert power in a world that had likely offered them none.

"Let's see how pretty she looks without all that fancy fabric," one of them sneered, reaching for my dress.

Panic surged through me, and I struggled harder, twisting in their grip, but their laughter grew louder, feeding off my fear. The leader stepped forward, his eyes as cold as ice, and seized my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"You should've stayed in your castle, little princess," he hissed, his breath hot against my face. "Out here, you're just another piece of meat."

The weight of the humiliation was crushing, pressing down on me until I felt utterly powerless. Surrounded by their mocking faces, my pleas for mercy were swallowed by the cacophony of their laughter.

Just when I thought I could endure no more, a thunderous voice shattered the cruel laughter that surrounded me.

"Get your hands off my wife!" The command roared through the clearing, silencing the jeering men and freezing their wicked smiles in place.

My head snapped up, and through my tear-blurred vision, I saw Jace standing at the edge of the clearing, his face a mask of rage and determination. He was flanked by Cregan and his men, their weapons drawn and ready.

Jace's eyes locked onto mine, burning with a fury I had never seen before.

In an instant, chaos erupted. Cregan's men surged forward, their swords clashing with those of my captors, who barely had time to react. 

The leader's grip on me slackened as he turned to face the new threat, but it was too late. Cregan's men were relentless, cutting through the bandits with brutal efficiency.

I was dropped to the ground, my legs buckling beneath me as the battle raged on around me. I heard Jace calling my name, his voice filled with desperate urgency. I tried to stand, to reach for him, but my strength had been drained by fear and exhaustion.

Then Jace was beside me, dropping to his knees and pulling me into his arms. He cradled me against his chest as I sobbed uncontrollably. The warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart were my anchors to reality in that moment.

"I'm here, I'm here," Jace murmured, his voice trembling with emotion as he held me close. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

I clung to him, my fingers digging into his cloak as if I could melt into him and escape the horror of what had happened. The tears flowed freely now, and I couldn't stop them, nor could I hold back the flood of emotions that had built up since my capture.

Jace stroked my hair, whispering soothing words as I cried into his shoulder. The sounds of battle faded into the background, replaced by the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat and the solidity of his presence.

For a brief, precious moment, the world shrank to just the two of us, and I felt safe again.

As the last of the bandits were subdued, their leader was dragged forward by two of Cregan's men. His defiance had melted away, replaced by fear as he was thrown to the ground at Jace's feet.

Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, and he looked up at Jace with wide, panicked eyes, no longer the predator but the prey.

Jace's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at the man who had dared to lay a hand on me.

Without a word, he drew his sword, the steel gleaming in the firelight. I could feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained fury trembling in his hands as he gripped the hilt.

"Please..." the leader began to beg, his voice trembling as he realized the gravity of his mistake. "I didn't know who she was... I didn't know..."

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Jace's gaze remained cold and unforgiving, and in that moment, I knew there would be no mercy. 

This man had taken something precious from Jace, my safety, my dignity and Jace was not one to let such a transgression go unpunished.

Without hesitation, he swung his sword, the blade slicing clean through the air. The leader's plea was cut short, his life ending in an instant. Blood splattered the ground, and the clearing fell silent, the weight of what had just happened settling over everyone like a heavy shroud.

Jace stood over the fallen man, his chest heaving with the force of his anger, his sword dripping with blood. 

The conflict in his eyes was evident—the struggle between his need for justice and the horror of taking a life but when he looked back at me, only the fierce protectiveness of a husband who would go to any lengths to keep his wife safe remained.

He sheathed his sword and turned back to me, kneeling once more to gather me in his arms.

"It's over," he whispered, pressing his lips to my forehead. "You're safe now."

I nodded, though my body still trembled with the aftershocks of fear. I clung to him, letting the warmth of his embrace and the steady reassurance of his voice wash over me.

I was safe, I was with Jace, and that was all that mattered.

A/n - Jace's protectiveness levels just went from "'I'll hold your hand' to 'I'll decimate an entire forest for you.'

[pcr-alice]

DPxDC - Missing Persons

also on AO3

It started so quietly no one really noticed.

People were disappearing. A veteran from the mountains, a firefighter from the city, a surfer from the coast, and on and on. All gone without a trace. The local authorities investigated, of course, but they never found any leads. After some time, the people were simply written off as missing, and their communities moved on. They remained forgotten until the Justice League got involved. Their systems flagged the uptick in disappearances, and once a Bat took a look, they were immediately suspicious. It took another Bat before the link was finally found. And it took Red Hood disappearing to confirm it. The missing people all had previous close calls with death. And so the League followed protocol – they announced an investigation.

The disappearances stopped.

It was a relief at first. There were far too many people who fit the profile, and none of their analysis could discern a usable pattern from the previous disappearances. But as time stretched on, they got nervous. Surely whatever this was wouldn’t just stop once noticed? What was going to happen next, and when? Justice League Dark got involved. Only once John Constantine started poking around did they find a lead, and even then only thanks to dumb luck.

When Constantine was finally dragged to the town where one of the early disappearances occurred, he zeroed in on an old woman living in a care home. As it turned out, she was mildly magically sensitive. Apparently her grandmother was a witch or something of that sort. But crucially, she had suffered a nearly fatal heart attack almost a decade ago. And she was all too happy to talk about the ‘nice young man’ from her dream who offered to take her away.

She granted Constantine permission to dive into her memory to learn more. Whatever he learned did not make him happy. He said he’d be back after a quick trip to Hell and disappeared, much to Batman’s irritation. But true to his word, surprising some, he returned with slightly singed clothes and a book.

So here he was, chalking sigils onto the floor. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern watched him work in silence, likely trying to wrap their minds around the fact that there was a so-called Ghost King who they were about to request an audience with. Constantine finished up his work and stood at what they all assumed was the front of the circle he had just drawn.

“I do all the talking, yeah? These ones can be tricky.”

Without waiting for a response, he waved his hand, magic glowing at his palm. The circle responded in kind, pulsing white then fading into a harsh, vibrant green. A large black, green, and red elaborately-decorated sarcophagus rose inside the circle, appearing to phase straight through the floor.

“Dramatic fuckers, eh?” Constantine muttered.

A thick fog billowed out alongside it, quickly surging out past the boundary of the circle. It spread upward, threatening to fill the entire room. Constantine cursed to himself and waved an arm, clearing out the fog around them even as it thickened throughout the rest of the room, obscuring the view of the ceiling and walls save for the door directly behind them.

A deep voice echoed through the room with no discernible source. Everyone tensed.

“Who would dare wake the sleeping tyrant?”

A pair of bright green slits appeared from the depths of the fog and widened into eyes.

“Eugh, it’s you.”

The voice lost its echo. It sounded annoyed but entirely human and...young? That didn’t stop Constantine from clenching a hand into a fist, charging magic and preparing for an attack. The eyes moved closer, revealing a pale face and snow-white hair that floated in an unfelt breeze.

“Peace, Hellblazer.”

A lanky figure stepped forward onto the sarcophagus from where they were floating. They wore all black save for their white gloves, white boots, and previously visible head. With an audible thunk they plopped down on the foot of the sarcophagus, one leg bent upward to rest their chin on and wrap their arms around.

“I mean you no harm.”

There was a pause as the others waited to see how Constantine would respond.

“We met?”

“No, but I know of you. And I must admit, I’m disappointed to see you working with the likes of them.”

They gestured to the others in the room.

“Yeah, well,” Constantine relaxed his fist but lost none of his tension, “Don’t meet your heroes.”

The stranger scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just enjoy seeing demons annoyed.”

There was another tense pause as the stranger lazily looked over all those present. Constantine broke the silence again.

“Who might you be, then?”

The stranger slowly dragged their gaze away from Wonder Woman and back to the magician. After a pause they spoke.

“You may call me Ambassador.”

“Ambassador to ghosts?”

“If you’d like to think of it that way.”

Constantine straightened his posture.

“We would like to formally request an audience with His Majesty The King to discuss what we suspect is ghost activity in our world.”

The ambassador stared back in silence with squinted eyes before sighing and thumping their forehead to their knee.

“Where to even begin…” they whispered to themselves.

“Okay, let’s start with this.” They slapped the side of the sarcophagus and looked up. “What part of ‘sleeping tyrant’ wasn’t clear?”

“I was under the impression His Majesty was recently crowned and well-respected?”

The ambassador pinched the bridge of their nose and groaned.

“Ancients...”

They hopped to the ground without warning, causing everyone to flinch into defensive stances. If the ambassador noticed, they gave no indication.

“The king is a tyrant, he is trapped in forever sleep again, and I’d like to keep it that way this time.”

Constantine opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he got a chance.

“Speaking of which, how’d you even summon him?”

“Summon?” Constantine choked out, clearly surprised.

The ambassador walked toward Constantine, making everyone save for him slide backwards a step. They looked down at the chalk marks on the floor.

“Ancients, this is archaic. Where’d you find it?”

After a few seconds of silence, the ambassador looked up at Constantine.

“Well?”

“Ah...Merlin.”

The ambassador raised an eyebrow.

“What? It’s bloody true!”

The ambassador huffed out a laugh and walked back to lean against the sarcophagus and cross their arms.

“Can’t fault his demonology, but this circle is Bad. I suggest you lose it.”

Constantine opened his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted, this time from an unfamiliar voice echoing through the room.

“Lord Phantom.”

Everyone flinched as a set of black armor coated in purple flames stepped into view from the fog.

“’Sup Frighty?”

“The dark one is marked.”

The ambassador flicked their eyes to Batman and stared for several tense seconds.

“So he is. Just like the other one, but actually concealed. Must be barely contaminated.”

The ambassador squinted and tilted their head.

“Sure enough. It’s weak, but there’s a family bond there.”

Batman clenched his fist.

“Where is Red Hood?”

The ambassador straightened their head, unflinching and unblinking.

“Safe. And being cared for.”

Before Batman could respond, yet another voice echoed from the fog.

“These are the ones?”

The ambassador turned their back to Batman and groaned.

“Is anyone not coming?”

A giant, four-armed, blue-skinned, armor-clad woman stepped out of the fog with two sets of crossed arms. She had the smallest smirk on her face.

“Apologies. I wished to see those who would obstruct our evacuation.”

Superman and Green Lantern perked up and shared a short look of confusion. The woman turned her head to Wonder Woman, her smirk replaced with a grimace.

“I am disappointed to see one of my kin among them.”

“I thought she might be, but I wasn’t sure.”

Wonder Woman stepped forward.

“My Lady, I –”

“You were not asked to speak, Child.” The woman snapped.

Her voice shook the floor underneath them. Wonder Woman flinched and stared up at her with wide eyes. The heroes tensed for a fight. But to their shock, Wonder Woman slowly raised her arm to press a fist over her heart and bowed her head in deference.

“I will make my displeasure known,” the woman growled, voice still angry but no longer violently.

“Take Dora with you.”

“Do you think me unable to fend for myself, Little One?” Her mouth curved up into a fond smirk again.

“I know better than to doubt you,” they briefly smirked back, “but given my limited experience, I don’t hold them in high regard.”

After a pause they tacked on a “no offense”.

“None taken.”

The woman stepped backwards and faded into the fog. Superman took a step forward, eyeing the armor cautiously.

“Ambassador, my apologies for our unpleasant first meeting.”

He waited until the ambassador gave him a slight nod.

“May I inquire what your companion meant by ‘evacuation’?”

“Exactly what she said. Our kind are being hunted, and we are trying to save them.”

“In that case I must apologize again. We were not aware of this unfortunate situation. Had we been provided an explanation, we would –”

“Typical,” the ambassador scoffed, “your primary patron government is committing a genocide, and yet we’re at fault for not properly informing you.”

Superman was smart enough to bite back his standard “we’re independent” retort. Green Lantern stepped forward instead.

“If I may, Ambassador, my name is Hal Jordan. I am a member of the Green Lantern Corps. We are a wholly independent organization dedicated to peacekeeping across the galaxy.”

The ambassador looked him up and down slowly before turning their head away dismissively.

“I don’t talk to cops.”

The heroes were stunned to silence. The ambassador turned to the floating armor.

“Prepare the Keep. I’ll ward against this circle once the sarcophagus is back in its place.”

“My Lord.”

The armor bowed its head then faded into the fog. Batman stepped forward.

“We have no involvement in the violence against you or your kind.”

The ambassador turned to stare at Batman for several seconds, squinted eyes glowing brightly.

“You’re an excellent liar, Batman.” The fog crept forward and wrapped around their legs. “Unfortunately, I know you’re full of shit.”

“What points you to that conclusion?” Batman kept his voice neutral and steady.

The fog had risen to the ambassador’s chest. They scoffed.

“There are photos of you with Amanda Waller.”

Batman’s fist clenched harder.

The ambassador turned to look at Constantine as the fog enveloped them, leaving two glowing green spots.

“I suggest you not push this any further, Laughing Magician. There are some things in this universe that trump even your luck.”

The glowing green eyes closed, and the fog faded away, leaving an empty summoning circle and untouched room. After several seconds of silence, Wonder Woman finally raised her head and spoke.

“I must return to Themyscira, perhaps for some time. If that was who I believe it to be...something has gone very wrong.”

Superman glanced over the others, who were all still silently processing the encounter. He turned back to Wonder Woman to give her a nod, and she quickly walked out of the room.

Constantine reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. He unscrewed the cap with a heavy sigh and downed whatever was left. He looked tired and annoyed, same as he always did. But Batman could tell he was shaken.

He looked away from Constantine and back to the empty circle again. There was a lot of concerning information to process, but one key thing did slip through. The knight had called the stranger ‘Phantom’. He had come across that name once before. One of three legible words on a burnt piece of paper in an abandoned and destroyed facility. A facility that stank of a classified government cover-up. A facility Waller had sworn up and down she knew nothing about. But he had a lead. The other two words. Amity Park. A small town that only existed if you looked at paper maps printed several years ago.

He had to act quickly.

[pixiesholloworld]

✘The tow truck driver?!✘

synopsis : Incoming text from - Toji 🛻 “i wasnt gonna tell you, but you’re fucking hot. but im honestly a hoe and only want one thing.. 🍆💦”

cw: daddy kink, fingering, head (giving/reciving), brat taming?, f!reader

the check engine light has been on for the past month, but you’ve repeatedly ignored it. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? well, your consistent neglect of the light has landed you in this situation. 

stranded on the shoulder of the highway waiting for some shady tow truck driver to come to your rescue, he was your cheapest option, and when you saw his old beat up truck speeding towards you, you quickly understood why. he came to a stop as he approached, rolling down his passenger window to get a good look at you. 

“you [✿]?”, the brown rust corroded the hood of his car, causing flakes to peel off with the wind. you can’t even imagine what the truck could’ve looked like in it's glory, it was hard to believe years of neglect left the truck in this state— it's almost like he bought it this way. “yeah,” you answered, “are you toji?”

“what’s it look like?” you search the truck to see the faded out: ‘Toji’s Towing’. “oh”

“ya waitin’ for an invite?”

you open the car door to see crumbled-up wrappers from obscure burger joints and empty beer cans—the rubbish, let alone the smell of *sniff* *sniff*… man contorted your face. toji must’ve taken notice of this because it made him chuckle. “excuse the mess, sweetheart,” his raspy voice curling over his words, “you don’t mind, do ya?”

“not at all,” you awkwardly smile. you felt kind of bad for him, honestly. he hooked his crane up to the front of your car and, before pulling off, lit a cigarette. his shoulders were broad and his arms looked strong and heavy, he didn’t have an AC in his car, either that or it didn’t work, so the hot summer air blew in both of your faces 

his black locks stayed all but too far from his face, allowing you to get a glimpse of the scar that marks his lip, his emerald eyes focusing on the road ahead. 

you felt weird for staring at him after a while and didn’t want him to notice, so you averted your gaze to the road, watching the cars pass by you two. you wondered though, how could a hunk like him get in this position. 

“so, you grew up’round here?” He asks

“a little ways from here, i stay with my mom in a duplex”

“nice, where ya comin’ from?”

“my job, i work as a barista at the mall”

“s’ bit far for work don’t you think”

you smile at how easily he set himself up, “you drive a tow truck”

you turn towards him to see a smirk creeping up on his face, he blows out smoke and holds his cigarette out

“fair,” he pulls another drag before putting it out in what you can only assume to be a homemade ashtray, “you got anyone that can look at this for ya at home?” he says gesturing towards your car

“mm no, i was gonna take it to the shop”

he clicks his teeth and sneers, “those punks don’t know the first thing about cars”

“where do you think i should go then?”

he glances over at you before returning his attention to the road, “i’ll look at it for ya”

—

after that convo the rest of the drive was silent, though you both exchanged stolen glances here and there. you tried to tell yourself it was nothing to overthink, though the stirs in your stomach were telling you otherwise. it was hard to act like having an older man’s attention wasn’t somewhat enticing 

when he finally got to your house, he backed your car into the driveway. you couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of relief. though it was nice talking to him, you couldn’t wait to get out of that dump of a tow truck. it made you consider taking those AAA charges next time 

he steps out of the truck and walks around to let you out. when you see his full body for the first time, you’re a bit taken aback. sure he looked ok in the truck, but he looked even better out of it. he had a tall muscular build, and he had to be around 6 feet. how was his truck hiding so much height from your eyes? You shook any remaining amazement from your face and stepped out, hurrying past him to try and avert your gaze

“so what happened anyways, what’s wrong with it?” he immediately walks past you to your car and starts inspecting it

“the engine light was on but.. i thought it would just go away on its own..” you reluctantly admit

“silly girl,” the rasp in his voice making your heart jump, “you should’ve taken this’t the shop when you first saw it” he struts over to you and lays his hand out, you look at his hand and then back up to his captivating eyes, “the keys?” he says.

“oh, yeah, right, right” you hand him the keys, and he turns the car on, popping the hood. you watch as his clothes cling to him, his long, black hair hanging over his face as he inspects different parts of your engine. you notice as he reaches into the engine, his tanned hands become stained with a black substance. it’s kinda hot. when you actually get a good look at him at this angle… he isn’t a bad-looking guy, he’s a little ruff around the edges, sure, but you like that about him

“i might have’ta take this to my shop, really gotta get under there n’figure out what’s going on”

you could name something else you wanted him to get under too, but you quickly shoved that thought in your back pocket, “how much is that gonna be” 

“usually i charge a pretty penny but for you,” he says while wiping his hands on a dirty rag that was stuffed in his pocket, “i’ll do it for free”

“really? oh my god thank you so much”

“s’no problem doll, i should probably get going before it gets too dark though”

you can feel your heart pounding from anticipation not quite wanting him to leave yet

“y-yeah sure, but um… wouldn’t you like to eat first?”

he closes your car hood and smirks

“whatcha cookin?”

—

you turn the keys to your house before inviting him in, he winks at you and makes himself comfortable at the kitchen's island. you walk past him and pull out lukewarm potatoes, you can feel him stare at you as you walk back and forth between the different drawers and potatoes. you tried to focus on what you were doing and tried to think of other things, but your mind would always wonder back to the idea of him bending you over and fucking the living daylights out of you 

you try to sneak a glance at toji but it doesn't work he's still staring just as intensely as before and snickers at your futile attempt to look without him knowing. "somethin' you wanna say, sweetheart?" he asks, words laced with lust

'yeah, i want you to fuck my brains out' some request that is huh? instead, you ask something more appropriate, "could you come peel the potatoes?" so there you two are side by side peeling potatoes, weakly fighting the urge to ask if he's feeling the same way you're feeling. your thoughts suddenly come to a halt though when you realize he's old enough to be married, even so when you peep at his hand, you see no ring, but he's definitely old enough to be somebody's dad.. who are you kidding, you love DILFs 

you go on and on internally struggling on if it would be morally correct to fuck a stranger—a tow truck driver—until he makes the first move for you, his hand slithering along your back to grab your hip, "where's your bathroom at? 've gotta drain the snake" 

"yeah its uh, right around the corner over there"

"thanks doll" he whispers into your ear before squeezing your hip and moving so close past you that you can feel his bulge before he slips away. you were at a loss for words. like actually your mind had went blank, what were you even supposed to do with that?

let him come back to your sprawled out naked body on the kitchen floor? but on second thought you had an even better idea, he clearly wanted you to feel that he was hard cause he feels that you're too scary to make a move. something he didn't know though is that you loved to play the long game and you could tease him all night if you had to

when he comes back, he sees you trying to reach the very top of your cabinet. you can hear his heavy foot steps stop right behind you before he rests a hand on your hips and pulls you close to his warm pelvis. "need help?" he asks. you look up at this tall, buffed up man, and he looks right back down at you

"could you hand me the paper towels up there?"

he hands them to you, but not before pressing himself against you, letting his hard-on poke between your cheeks. you could feel your heart skipping a million miles per minute, your cunt wildly throbbing between your legs, a tiny whimper escaping your lips when he backs away, leaving the paper towels in front of you

defeated, you walk back to the potatoes. how could you tease him back? oh, the bottom cabinet! you quickly plop down, and before he could notice you tug at the bottom of his jumpsuit pants, he looks down and is obviously flustered. you sat on your knees, looking at him with such ardor in your eyes "i need to get another bowl" you say while pointing towards the cabinet, a sneaky smile spreading across your face. "hm?" he says while bending down to your level, "I let you slide the first time, but I think you're forgetting somethin'"

confusion filled your face trying to figure out what it was you could've been missing until he grabs your face pulling you a bit closer to him

"where's your manners at girl?"

oh he was good at this

"what happens if i don't use 'em?"

"might need to train that pretty little mouth of yours"

"yeah? how're you gonna do that?"

he snickers at you, standing up while still holding your face in his big, calloused hand, "whatchu think?"

so there you are, taking every inch of his thick cock in your mouth as his hand holds the back of your head, making sure to push down when he wants to hear that slutty throat struggle to take all of him in 

“so this s’what all that staring was for?” he teases, “what a nasty girl, sucking on a stranger’s cock”

you hum contently, hands lightly grazing against his thighs as saliva collects at his base, slowly dripping onto your tiled floor

he groans while picking up the pace, “such a mess, you like the taste of it? hm? yeah you do”

you gag and hum against him, letting his angry tip bully the back of your throat. you just started, and you're already cock drunk, moaning and twisting your head around while you use your mouth to grip around his length tighter. 

he sucks air through his teeth, letting barely audible ‘fucks’ escape his breath while steadily rolling his hips into your mouth. you use your tongue to  dance around one of his throbbing veins, enjoying how it interrupts his rhythm, making him thrust faster and faster until a sudden mean pop snatches his hips away from your mouth 

he bends down to slip his tongue into your mouth, stealing the taste of his precum right from your mouth. you tongue him back a bit more eagerly, feeling around his teeth and the scar on his mouth until his lips depart 

“you’re so greedy” he teases, “didn’t your throat training teach you anything?”

“please, please kiss me toji” you didn’t think your pussy could take anymore teasing, you could feel how it beat against your squished thighs longing for his touch

he must’ve felt the same cause he stands you up on your feet and moves you on top of the island, snaking your pants off and pulling your slick cunt close to him in the process. “you gotta earn it, princess”, he taunts your clothed entrance with his tip before gracing you with one more kiss 

“put it in, please put it in” you couldn’t wait any longer and started slowly grinding yourself on the tip until, of course, a mean smack to your mound caused you to freeze. you look up at toji and see annoyance plastered on his face. you ooze at the seriousness on his face, waiting for him to say something 

“just for that, i’m not fuckin’ you”

“WHAT! no, please i’m sorry please toji im-“ he covers your mouth with one hand and moves the other towards your wet, sticky folds, collecting a bit of the slick before moving it around your pulsating clit.

he made deep circular motions on it, making you whine every time he hit the peak. your eyes rolled back, and you let him completely take over. your hips stuttering to his touch, he then moved closer, leaving kisses along your ear and down your neck, nipping at the skin 

though you didn’t know your muffled moans were making it hard for toji to stay focused on teasing you, the truth is he was about to cum earlier while you were on your knees. sitting so innocently while taking all of him in you, the way your pretty eyes would flutter at his praise or how you’d scrunch your nose when you pushed your head down more, not to mention that tongue trick you did earlier, instead of thinking about it, he decided to return the favor 

he moves down to your panties and moves them aside, covetously looking up at those same eyes that made his tip leak beads of precum. “that’s it baby, keep those pretty eyes on me,"  he starts slowly at first, his pointed tongue moving up your folds, slowly moving your legs further apart while keeping eye contact. the familiar feeling of haze started filling your mind as desperate moans echoed through your kitchen 

he groans into you, knowing the vibrations will probably make you cum faster, and he gently suckles on your wet bulb, listening to how sweetly you moan out his name. grabbing a fist full of his hair, you push him in deeper, chasing an end you didn't know toji wasn't going to let you reach just yet. 

he stops sucking and instead sticks one finger inside your drenched cunt, moving it ever so slowly while he moves a pointed tongue in swirls on your clit his finger eventually picks up the pace, so he slips two in, then three. he had a merciless tempo, curing his fingers around your g-spot just to hear those pretty little moans 

"m'gonna cum toji~" you'd whine out, but he'd rapidly shake his head against your sopping wet clit and slap your mound, telling you to wait. to say you were drowning in pleasure would be an understatement. you felt hot all over, and with every thrust, you were sure you were going to break. eventually your moans became cries for a release. he turned you into a dripping wet mess, and he loved every bit of it until, of course, you said the magic words 

"please let me cum daddy— fuck!~"

he lifts his head up almost instantly though he's still drilling his fingers through your pussy, "say that again?"

"please let me cum" you whimper, you don't know how much longer you can hold back

"nah girl, the other thing" he stands up, towering over you even as you're seating on the counter. his fingers pump into you slower but deeper, taunting your g-spot

"daddy" you whisper, he brings his other hand to your face and brings you in for a sloppy kiss loving how you moan into his mouth

"atta girl," he pulls his fingers out but the fullness is instantly replaced with his fat, rock hard cock. you felt him tear though you so easily, you desperately pull him in closer while looking at him through half lidded eyes. "look at you, so desperate for daddy's dick" he'd tease

"all fucked out n'still begging f'more" he pulled you in for another kiss and left his tongue slithering in your mouth while he pumped faster, holding you tightly as you struggled to keep up with his kisses. he moved a hand up to your face and held it in place as he tongued you, you felt a smile spread across his face as you struggled to keep it together until all you could do was wail into his mouth

his pace was harsh and unrelenting he fucked you like he was angry at you, punching your cervix with such vigor and gusto, you moaned louder practically screaming but all he did was move his mouth to your ear and whisper.

"that's it princess let it out, you're making sucha mess of yourself on me," you squeeze tighter at his words feeling your body go limp at the over stimulation, "you wanna cum on me?"

you shake your head yes almost instantaneously and he moves his head to look directly at you, moving his hand down to your clit, covering it in slick before rubbing it in circles. "go ahead," he coos, "cum on daddy's dick— sh-shit"

he keeps rolling his hips into you until you finally come to your shaky finish, leaving scratches on his skin as you try to grasp your way back into reality with toji following close behind, loudly groaning and pulling out before fisting himself over your stomach releasing thin milky shoots of cum

he holds you close to him and leaves kisses on your head before helping you off the counter, it was weird feeling the ground under you again the sudden rush of blood making your legs feel like jello

"so about your car,"

right, shit he was in here to eat FOOD and go home not fuck you

"ill probably be able to fix it by tomorrow, n'maybe come drop it back off," he says while slipping his jumpsuit back on, "unless you wanna come to mine instead”

"you'd love that wouldn't you"

"think your pussy would like it more" he teases, pulling you closer to him. he was gonna turn you on all over again until you heard the front door open

[humanpurposes]

August

Part 1: Possibilities and Peace Offerings

Your family has been invited to spend August at Dragonstone, where things get a little tense after an unfortunate first encounter with Aemond Targaryen, one he's determined to put right.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, nothing too bad here, eventual smut, slight enemies to lovers, mutual pining

Words: 7k

A/n: Summer romance is here!! hope you likeeee. This is going to be three parts in total.

The impending summer exists beyond time, beyond the rest of the world. Exams are over and you’ve already received a mark for your dissertation. The dorm room you called home for three years is packed up and returned to its prison-like appearance, just as it was when you were an eager and excitable fresher. Suddenly the world is an endless sea of possibilities and you’re standing on the water’s edge with nothing to lose.

You spend a few weeks with your friends, drinking in pub gardens and driving down to the rammed beaches along the coast near King’s Landing, but this summer of possibility takes an unexpected turn when your father receives an invitation to spend the month of August at Dragonstone, as a guest of Viserys Targaryen. Viserys and your father have been business partners for just under a decade, but to be welcomed into his inner circle, to the ancestral home of the Targaryen family, is another honour altogether. 

Your parents are beside themselves with excitement. You’re a little more sceptical but you won’t let them know it. So once your uni friends have gone back to their hometowns, you pack an array of swimsuits and summer dresses into a suitcase, and bundle into the backseat of your father’s car. 

The aircon is on full blast. You sip on the last of your water as an 80s playlist blares through your headphones to block out the conversation of investments, clients, lawsuits and legal fees from the front seats.

Dragonstone is three things; an island, a town, and a castle. You drive out of the city, red and grey buildings blurring into greenery and vast spaces of blue, the sky and the sea. A ferry takes you from the mainland to the island’s port. The song you were listening to fades away as you slip your headphones off your ears. The town is utterly charming, from the rows of fishing boats in the harbour to the cobbled streets and obscure little buildings, bookshops, bakeries and butchers. The sun shines brightly, heat pulses through the window even with the blast of cool air.

A few more miles and you reach a gatehouse, ancient stone walls smothered with ivy, guarded by two stone creatures with their jaws wide open— dragons with spikes and sharp teeth. The driveway is lined with thick trees and foliage. Suddenly you turn a corner and there it is, towers and turrets reaching up into the summer sky, hundreds of windows, more carvings of dragons looming proudly over where Blackwater Bay becomes the Narrow Sea. 

The man who greets you by the doors is not a Targaryen. He has dark hair, dark eyes, a crisp white shirt and a radio on his belt. Your father seems to know him already. He greets him as “Cole,” and introduces him to you and your mother.

Cole offers his hand to you. “Criston,” he insists, “I’m the head of Mr Targaryen’s security.”

Two identical butlers take your bags from the car while Criston shows you into the entrance hall. He comments on the antiques and the 14th century timbers, leading you through to the room he calls “the waiting chamber”. It has high ceilings, wood panelled walls, an enormous fireplace and aged but comfortable looking leather sofas at the edges of the room. You note the portraits on the walls, the more recent photographs on the mantle, but before you can get a proper look, someone announces their own arrival into the room.

Viserys Targaryen has his arms open, dressed far more casually than you’ve seen him at various galas and events, he even has a pair of aviators keeping his silver hair out of his face. He greets your father with a smile and a firm handshake, his eyes sharp but somewhat hollow. 

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he says, moving onto your mother and then to you. “We’re having drinks on the patio, enjoying the sun. Why don’t you join us?” He chuckles and you don’t really understand why. You’re not sure how any of this works.

Viserys leads you through the house, stopping by the great hall and the library, pointing out details like Criston did. His home is devoted to family and every furnishing carries some sentimental value. The curtains and the sofas in the library are Arryn blue for his first wife, the shelves are laden with books that belonged to his grandfather. There are items here which have belonged to the Targaryens for generations and their house’s sigil is carved into the walls and wooden beams. 

At last you come to a hall with tall windows, glass chandeliers and marble floors. Viserys calls this “the west gallery”, a more modern addition to the castle, built in the 17th century. He opens a double glass door and you can already see the sprawling green gardens, the unnatural blue of a swimming pool somewhere in the distance. Before all that is the raised patio, an array of chairs and the people sitting in them.

You step into the heat of the garden, into cigarette smoke and the sounds of laughter, loud and seemingly rehearsed. Your father knows most of these people, other associates of Targ Corp, Corlys Velaryon and his wife Rhaenys Tagraryen, Jason Lannister and his wife Joanna, Lyonel Strong and his son Larys. Even Otto Hightower is lounging back in his chair, sunglasses over his eyes, a pale pink cocktail in a crystal glass. 

Your parents smile graciously, your mother clutching her handbag over her shoulder, your father wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to air out the damp patches in his shirt. They’ll want to make a good impression. Each person staying at Dragonstone this summer is another opportunity for your father.

You glance down at your denim shorts and your sandals— an outfit for comfort, not for networking.

Viserys directs the three of you to a cushioned wooden bench and you squeeze in beside your mother. Another butler appears and offers you all a drink. Your parents both ask for a gin and tonic. You’re thinking that you’d like to dunk yourself in the pool, so you ask for a large glass of water. 

“With ice and lemon, miss?”

“Yeah, please, if you have it?”

Your mother nudges you with her elbow and whispers in your ear. “This is Dragonstone, if you want it they probably have it.”

“If I asked for the Prince of Pentos’ phone number, do you think they’d bring it out on a silver tray?” You return with a grin.

The minutes drag by. Lyonel Strong asks your father about his law practice. Corlys Velaryon and Jason Lannister enter a heated discussion about yachts. Otto Hightower mentions the name “Daemon” and the other voices go quiet. You take large gulps of your water, occasionally sharing silent looks with your mother.

The heat is sweltering. You feel your head pulsing, your skin becoming damp and you worry you may end up as a puddle on the patio if you don’t find a reason to escape soon.

The glass doors open and two women enter the garden, one with auburn hair, dressed in a floral dress and high heels. The other, younger, blonde hair cut into a fashionably short fringe, barefoot, dressed in denim shorts and baggy t-shirt, goes straight to Otto. She doesn’t look at anyone else. She stands behind Otto and leans down to wrap her arms around his neck. This must be Alicent Hightower and her daughter.

Alicent makes her rounds elegantly. She’s familiar with all the people present, except for the three of you, the outsiders, piled onto a single piece of garden furniture. Her eyes are wide and brown, her lips full and fallen slightly even when she smiles. She asks about the journey from King’s Landing, if you’ve had a chance to explore the town.

She asks you a lot of questions too, what you do, where you studied, what your plans are for the Autumn. And once she’s found out what she wants from you, she starts telling you everything about her children, unprompted.

“Helaena’s starting a PhD in a few weeks, staying in King’s Landing– King’s college, of course, not KLU, seven heavens. We didn’t want her to be too far away from home,” she says, looking back at her daughter and her father. “Etymology. Well, she’s always had a thing for insects, I could never understand it, but it’s easier to let her follow her interests, she’s that sort of girl.

“Now Aegon is like that too, he likes a lot of things, would be nice if he could be interested in something that makes him money. Oh well, he’s into the arts, fancies himself a photographer, directed a few plays at university– Oldtown. He wrote a screenplay, you must remind me to show you, it’s really quite clever. It’s about injustice or something like that.

“Daeron is at Oldtown too, at Citadel Boys. He’s the only child I sent to board, I just felt he might be happy with a bit of space from all of us. He wants to go to Oldtown like his brothers. His father wants him to do economics, but he’s very good at history.

“Aemond did history, but then he trained in accountancy. He’s worked all over, Oldtown, Storm’s End, Harrenhal, but he’s looking to stay in King’s Landing now–”

“Mum, you’ll bore her to tears,” Helaena says and it’s only now you notice that she’s moved to stand in front of you. 

Alicent frowns.

You stifle a smile and raise your brows hopefully.

“Do you know where you’re sleeping yet?” Helaena asks, looking at her mother.

“I’ve put her in the moat room,” Alicent says. She turns back to you, “I’m sorry, darling, you’re probably tired, aren’t you? Helaena can show you your room.”

You kiss your mother's cheek and agree to reconvene for dinner in the evening.

“Sorry about mum, she just jumps at the chance to talk about her kids,” Helaena says as you walk back through the west gallery.

“It’s sort of cute,” you say, staring up at the gold detailing on the ceiling. “Very informative.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says with a wicked smile.

When Helaena laughs she scrunches up her eyes and her nose. She sways her arms by her sides as she walks and trails her fingertips on the walls. Unlike Criston or Viserys, she doesn’t have little anecdotes about any of the vases or paintings on display. She’s a juxtaposition of her family’s ancestral home, airy and lighthearted, earthy and inexplicably real.

“Your parents are probably in the west wing,” she explains as you come to a winding stairwell. “That’s where everyone else will be too. The moat room is on the other side of the house.”

You nod along, stealing glances out the windows, at the gardens, and from higher up, you can see the sea.

“Don’t be too disheartened though,” Helaena says, “that means you’re with us.”

She shows you your room first. It sits at the very corner of the castle with windows to the north and the east. The moat in question isn’t a moat, it’s more of a well kept ditch. By the rest of the house you were half expecting the room to be medieval, but to your surprise it’s bright, carpeted, sans priceless antiques and heirlooms. A queen-sized bed waits for you piled with pillows. 

“I’m down the hall, and the boys are in the next corridor,” Helaena explains. “If you smell something suspicious, it’s Aegon.”

She helps you unpack your suitcase, admiring your swimsuits and looking through the small collection of books you’ve brought to pass the time.

She shows you her room which is further down the corridor. It’s much larger than yours, far more personal. She has worn patterned rugs over the wooden floors, dark blue wallpaper and accents of gold everywhere, the mirror over her vanity, the handles on the drawers and the wardrobe. You’re most intrigued by the framed taxidermies on the walls, butterflies with the most beautiful wings you’ve ever seen, moths, beetles, even a scorpion.

You’re a little relieved when you see a cat curled up on her bed, with a thick white coat, brown ears. 

“Dreamfyre,” Helaena says, scooping the cat up in her arms. “She’s named after the Valryian god of prophecy and wisdom.”

You hold your hand out for Dreamfyre to sniff. She considers you for a moment, and runs her head against your fingers. “So can she tell me my future?” you ask.

Helaena stares at you. “Don’t be ridiculous, she’s a cat. Why, hoping for something in particular?”

“I like to see where life takes me,” you say.

After exchanging phone numbers and scrolling through each other’s Spotify playlists, Helaena tells you that she thinks the two of you are going to be friends.

Dinner is surprisingly more pleasant, where you all eat around a table on the patio. Being outside is far more bearable once the sun starts to set and a breeze sweeps in from the sea. You’re served white fish, potato salad coated in herbs which Alicent says she grows herself, summer vegetables, grilled courgettes, red and yellow peppers, sweet and tangy tomatoes, washed down with white wine.

You sit beside Helaena, opposite two of her brothers, Aegon and Daeron. Daeron is far taller than his older brother but his face is clearly younger. His pale blond hair is slightly overgrown, his nose a little pink and his skin freckled from being in the sun. “Aemond managed to beat me at tennis today,” he says.

Aegon rolls his eyes, far more concerned with scratching the ears of a golden labrador perched on the floor beside him.

You look to Helaena for an explanation.

“Daeron’s looking to go pro. Aemond can’t stand that he’s not the best at something.”

There’s an empty space at the head of the table, between Aegon and Helaena. You’ve yet to see any other evidence that the elusive middle brother exists.

“There’s a tennis court here?” You ask.

“Towards the water garden, you should be able to see it from the moat room.” Helaena says. “You should have a look.”

Dessert is pistachio ice-cream, then everyone starts to disperse. Aegon grabs a bottle of wine and he and Daeron traipse over to a firepit at the edge of the patio, followed by the labrador. Your parents follow Viserys and the others into the house. Corlys and Rhaenys linger at the table, staring up at the sky and taking long drags from their cigarettes.

You trail Helaena to a neatly kept kitchen. Some of the staff pass through, into a far larger back room with metal surfaces, where the real cooking is done. Criston sits at the kitchen island on a stool, eating a pasta salad from a glass bowl. Helaena pats his head as she passes him. He doesn’t seem surprised by it, perhaps it’s a common occurrence.

“Feel free to grab anything you want, by the way. There’s all sorts of snacks and stuff, and if you want more of something give Criston a shout,” Helaena says, picking out bags of chocolate buttons and sour sweets from a cupboard.

“That’s kind,” you say, twisting your fingers over each other in front of you. “I’m quite tired, I think I might just have a shower and go to bed.”

“Darling, it’s summer, you can do whatever you want,” Helaena says. “See you at breakfast, yeah?” She pulls you into a quick hug and disappears out into the garden.

Not wanting to linger when Criston’s phone starts to ring, you decide to brave it and find your way back to your bedroom. Aegon and Daeron seem like fun, maybe too much fun for tonight, you just need to sleep off the fatigue from the sun.

This place is far too big for you to feel settled just yet. It amazes you how everyone can navigate the castle so easily, it’s like a maze. Eventually you find your way back to the entrance hall. You think you might know the way to the east wing from here, but when you see the sky beyond the windows, lilac and orange, dotted with grey clouds and the first few stars of the evening, you want to make the most of the dying light. Maybe you could head towards the water garden and find the tennis court.

Your sandals crunch against the gravel which stretches out into paths leading in three directions. The central one leads to the driveway and the gatehouse. To the left is the gardens past the edge of the moat, and to the right is an outlook and a downhill path which disappears from sight, which you assume leads down to the sea. You can hear the waves in the distance.

The sunlight is fading fast. You cross your arms over yourself, shivering and regretting the lack of a cardigan. You tell yourself you might warm up with a bit of a walk.

You take a few paces down the path towards the gardens– a dog’s bark has your heart leaping out of your chest. It’s deep and loud, coming from behind you. Your head darts around. An enormous dog has emerged from the downhill path and is bounding towards you, covering ground quickly.

You keep your feet planted on the ground, out of fear

The dog, a great dane, stops before you— it truly is huge, its head would come up to your torso if you were close enough, and you don’t really want to find out– barking viciously. Its teeth flash, flecks of saliva dripping from its mouth.

“Back off! Come, Vhagar!”

You look back along the path. A man in a black t-shirt and black shorts is walking quickly towards you and the dog. He grabs it by its collar and yanks it back, fastening it on a leash.

His eyes dart up— eye, you realise. The right side is a bright blue, the left is clouded, framed by a scar slicing down from his brow to his cheek.

“Who are you?” He asks like an accusation.

You hesitate, your heart still racing in panic.

You say your first name, then your family name, at that the man tuts and raises himself to full height, keeping the great dane on a short leash. “Right. What are you doing out here?”

“Just… looking around.”

“Just looking around someone else’s house?”

Gods now you’re really starting to panic. He’s glaring at you as if it’s your fault his dog just made a break for you.

He huffs irritably through his nose. “Look, Vhagar’s not always friendly and especially not around strangers. Be careful, yeah?” 

Vhagar now seems content enough sitting by her owner’s side, wagging her tail and panting with her tongue out. Her grey coat is covered in sand, especially her paws and her nose.

“If your dog’s not always friendly why wasn’t she on a leash?” 

His face hardens. Frowning suits his sharp features and the intensity of his eye. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is my fucking house.”

That explains the blond hair, and you suppose now he has the same lanky look as Daeron and the same gauntness in his face as Aegon.

“Right, your dog could have just mauled me but thanks for the friendly reminder.” You turn towards the house and mutter loud enough for him to overhear, “prick.”

You can’t shake the frustration. Nothing takes the edge off, not the hot stream of water from the shower, the routine of your skincare or the feeling of sinking into an impossibly soft mattress. Dragonstone is perfect… and all you want to do is scream, just a little.

Breakfast is served in the morning room, next to the kitchen, according to the text you got from Helaena. You put a swimsuit on, a patterned one piece and pull on some shorts. Before you head downstairs you grab a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of suncream and a book, determined that your morning will be peaceful and idyllic.

People flitter into the morning room as they please. Helaena is still in her pyjamas, tucking into a bowl of yoghurt and fruit. Daeron comes in and starts eating toast off Alicent’s plate, having already run a casual 5k about the grounds.

The man from last night is hovering by a side table, placing sausages and bacon onto a small plate. He glances sideways at you as you enter. 

You keep your teeth pressed together as you reach for a plate and go for the platter of pastries, reaching for an almond croissant.

His elbow must be a few inches from yours. “Morning,” he mutters.

You were half expecting him to act like you don’t exist. “Morning,” you mumble back.

“Have you two already met?” Helaena asks loudly from the table.

“Briefly,” he says.

“And you didn’t actually tell me your name,” you say, adding some strawberries to your plate for good measure.

“The boy has no manners,” Daeron says in a mocking voice, earning him an exasperated chide from his mother. Helaena giggles to herself.

He faces you fully. “Aemond,” he says.

“Good for you,” you say, and go to take a seat beside Helaena.

“Tea or coffee?” she asks you, reaching towards the two silver pots in the middle of the table.

“Coffee, please.”

Helaena makes a shocked expression. “Blasphemy. I’m a tea girl.” 

As Helaena pours some coffee into a china cup, Aemond takes the free seat opposite you. Your heart races a little, infuriated at the sight of him, somewhat guilty that your time at Dragonstone has already soured and his entire family is there to see it.

You add just a dash of milk to your coffee. In the corner of your eye you see him watching you, fork hovering in front of his face. You muster the confidence to look up and he averts his eye.

After you’ve finished your breakfast you head out to the patio, down the stone steps and to the pool, settling on one of the lounge chairs. Helaena has gone back up to her room to change and bring you both down a towel.

You lather suncream on your limbs, face and neck, and open your book. This is a nice kind of heat, one that you’re more prepared for. You can almost feel it permeating your skin, breathing new life into your blood. 

You get a few moments of bliss until a silhouette appears beside you.

You raise your eyes from the page, over the edges of your sunglasses, staring ahead at the surface of the pool. You can smell a man’s aftershave, and you can tell he’s too tall to be Aegon.

Ice clinks against glass. He leans down to place something on the small table beside you. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

You don’t want to turn your head, that might be misinterpreted as you actually caring.

But then Aemond’s voice takes on a lighter tone and he says, “Are you reading Crime and Punishment?” 

You scrunch your brows in bewilderment as you look up at him.

His eye moves between your face and the book in your lap

“Yeah,” you say, shifting your legs and drawing your knees closer to your torso, “I’m finding it a bit boring to be honest.”

His lips are parted ever so slightly and you can see the tips of his teeth. “It’s one of my favourite books.”

“I think that might explain a lot,” you say.

The corner of his mouth flickers like he might smile. He holds it back. 

“What’s this?” You ask, looking down at the glass of iced coffee he’s placed on the table. 

“A peace offering,” Aemond says. “I really am sorry about yesterday evening. I just… panicked. Vhagar isn’t always good around people she doesn’t trust. She bit my nephew once actually.”

“Oh, not good.”

“It was years ago, and to be fair to her—” he doesn’t finish that sentence. He presses his lips together. “I just thought I should apologise to you.”

Even when apologising he sounds smug.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you say.

He hums, it’s cryptic and it throws you off a little. He looks at you like he has a secret, like he’s managed to spot something that you haven’t. 

You feel aware of yourself and now you can’t breathe without doing it consciously. You feel beads of sweat forming at the back of your neck, the warmth of your own skin with your thighs pressed together, the pulse in your chest, the restless feeling in your stomach. You’re worried you might do something stupid, but how could you? You’re only sitting in a swimsuit and sunglasses, while Aemond is doing nothing to hide the fact that he’s looking at you– studying you with a hint of excitement in his eye.

And after about a minute of this he says, “enjoy your morning,” turning and strolling towards the patio. 

You clench your jaw, determined that you won’t look back at him, but you listen to his footsteps as they move away. 

With each line you read, you can only think of Aemond pouring over every word and making this book his bible. You imagine his hands holding the cover, his fingertip dragging over the page, his lips parted in concentration. It feels intrusive, it feels too involved. You couldn’t possibly put this book down now.

Aemond is an understated presence amongst his own family. He often lurks in the library or in a corner of the sitting room with a book. He wanders the gardens with his headphones on. He takes Vhagar down to the beach every evening and some nights you steal glances of them from a window at the front of the house. He gets these headaches, something to do with the scar over his eye, and when he does he likes to retreat to his room. When he is around for dinner he sits at the head of the table, opposite his father but miles away from him. He’s not a big talker but when he does have something to add to the conversation he commandeers it. Everyone stops to listen when he speaks.

You like watching him, the way he fiddles with anything within his reach, how he strokes his fingertips over his hands, the edge of his jaw. You look for his microexpressions, the twitches of his brow and the quirk of his lips when he finds something amusing, and how at the mentions of sensitive subjects or certain names, his eye widens. 

He smirks when he sees you looking, you don’t mind that he knows that you are.

You don’t want to seek him out, but you don’t try to avoid him either. He’s always somewhere in your periphery, his hand brushing against yours at the dinner table, the smell of his Marlboros wafting from the patio when you’re sitting by the pool which makes you wonder if he’s watching you. In the evenings after dinner, you and the Targaryen siblings hang around the firepit late into the night. Helaena and Daeron talk about constellations and roast marshmallows, Aegon plucks on a guitar, and you and Aemond fall into a game of pretending like you’re not looking at each other. 

Some nights you sit across from him, your view distorted by the heat and the flames. Other nights he dares to sit beside you, close enough that his leg will rest against yours. He keeps his voice soft until you’re leaning in closer to catch every word he says, this insufferable man who bings you a coffee every morning and asks you about the books you read.

One night Aemond is sat beside you. Helaena sings along to Aegon’s guitar, Daeron drums his fingers against his legs, gazing in wonder at his siblings because moments like this are a rarity for him.

“Do you forgive me yet?” Aemond asks, his arm draped along the back of the bench you sit on. Maybe he can read your mind because you’ve been silently begging for him to come closer… closer…

Your senses are hazy, the smoke of the fire, the scent of cigarettes and aftershave lingering on Aemond’s shirt, the glasses of wine you had with dinner, the clear, cold night air piercing the backs of your arms. He notices you shivering and slips his arm around your shoulders, slowly, so you have a chance to tell him to stop. His heat is white hot. Your chest feels hollow and weightless.

Everything about him is hypnotising, the curve of his mouth, his self-assuredness, the look in his eye that’s gentle and intense all at once.

Your body feels heavy; you should probably go to bed soon. “Do you care if I forgive you?”

He frowns, less disappointed, more intrigued and lifts his hand to brush your hair from your neck, fingertips grazing over your skin. Your body stiffens in his wake, like electricity coursing through your shoulders, down your spine.

“I’d hate to have it hanging over my head,” he mutters.

You turn your head and now your faces are inches apart. His nose twitches as he breathes, you notice.

His palm comes to rest on your bare thigh, below the hem of your shorts. In the corner of your eye you see heads of silver hair glancing across the firepit. Aegon chuckles. You’re content to let the distractions fade away. “Keep bringing me coffees and I’ll consider it.”

The next day you’re laying on your bed, enjoying the cool of the early evening against your damp skin and hair after a shower. How you can be so exhausted after a day of reading by the pool makes you despair a little. It’s the heat, it messes with your brain.

The music through your headphones is interrupted by a notification.

Helaena Targaryen: Aemond said he’s off to walk the dogs if you want to join him.

You frown at the screen. Did he want Helaena to ask you? You specifically?

Surprisingly, you were getting on rather well with Aemond today, not enough for him to text you himself, or ask for your number for that matter. At the very least, things have been less hostile since your first encounter. You saw him at breakfast and he asked you how you were getting on with Crime and Punishment, if you had finally realised that it’s the best piece of literature put to the world (his words). You said you were not convinced, only because it was fun to argue about it with him. While you were sitting by the pool he came down in a pair of black trunks and no shirt, swam twenty laps in twenty minutes, then dried off in the lounge chair next to yours. Later, while Helaena was sitting with you, he appeared from the kitchen with two bowls of strawberries with the stems cut off. And then at lunch he sat between Aegon and Daeron, and hardly looked at you.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, painfully conscious that Helaena will be able to see that you’re typing.

Helaena Targaryen: I think it’s part of him ‘making amends’ with you.

Helaena Targaryen: He probably still feels bad about it.

Helaena Targaryen: Loser.

You smile to yourself and type out your reply: Yeah, why not. Where does he want me?

While Helaena starts to type you quickly pull on some shorts and a clean t-shirt. Your phone dings while you’re in front of the mirror, dabbing concealer under your eyes.

Helaena Targaryen: Front door. Five mins. Have fun :) 

It will probably take you five minutes to find your way down to the entrance hall anyway. You finish your face off with some blush on the apples of your cheeks and a thin amount of mascara on your lashes. There’s not much you can do about your wet hair, but other than that you’re mostly satisfied with yourself, so you pull on a pair of trainers, slip your phone into your back pocket and hurry through the corridors of Dragonstone.

He’s waiting for you in the entrance hall by the door, Vhagar, the great dane on one leash, Sunfyre, the golden labrador on another. He gives you a half smile as you approach them.

“Who am I walking?” you say.

“My girl stays with me,” he says, offering you Sunfyre’s leash, which you take, ruffling his ears.

“Vhagar is your girl then, is she?” you ask as Aemond leads you out the door and down the front steps, past the spot where she scared you half to death. The dogs are eager to storm ahead but Aemond keeps Vhagar on a tight lead, so you do the same.

“I suppose. We’ve had great danes forever, my father’s very fond of them. We got Vhagar when I was sixteen and well, we just like each other a lot I guess.” 

“What about Sunfyre?”

“He’s Aegon’s really, but mostly he stays at the Keep with mum and dad. Aegon doesn’t really stay in the same place long enough.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah well, he does what he wants. This way,” Aemond says, nodding towards the downhill path to the beach. You’ve been down here with Helaena already, a winding gravel path lined with bushes and brambles down the cliff face. Vhagar plods along leisurely, Sunfyre can’t get down fast enough. When you stumble, Aemond steadies you, a large hand wrapped around your forearm. “He can run off now anyway,” he mutters, undoing the leash, and Sunfyre darts along the path in a golden flash.

Low in the sky, you see the sun dancing along the surface of the sea, waves rolling orange and blue into white foam as they meet the shore.

“What about you?”

Aemond looks at you with a brief look of bewilderment.

“Are you not doing what you want?”

He tries to conceal a frown, pouting his lips slightly. “Maybe I did for a bit, wound up working for Targ Corp, so I don’t see what difference any of it made.”

Once you reach the sand and Sunfyre is sniffing at some rocks along the base of the cliff, Aemond looks at you. “Are you alright if I take her off the leash?”

Vhagar looks pleadingly up at her owner, her tail thrumming against the ground.

“Yeah, of course,” you say.

“I just didn't know if you’d be comfortable after…”

“Oh,” you say, “thanks for considering it, but yes, it’s more than fine.”

Aemond grins as he undoes the clasp connecting the lead to Vhagar’s collar.

“What?” you ask.

“Does that mean you forgive me now?”

You fold your arms, your cheeks straining as you try to withhold the extent of your smile. “You do make a good coffee, I’ll give you that.”

Sunfyre and Vhagar entertain themselves, chasing each other, running to the edge of the water where the waves rush over the sand and retreat again. You and Aemond walk along the shore where the sand is damp and stable. Aemond says the tide will be coming in within the hour.

“So why work for Targ Corp if you don’t want to?” you ask him. 

Aemond contemplates this for a moment, making a low humming noise in his throat. “If I really didn’t want to, I wouldn't.”

“But if Aegon gets to do what he wants, why don’t you?”

He looks down at his shoes, white sneakers, and digs his hands into the pocket of his joggers. “I remember thinking when I finished my bachelor’s, there were lots of things I was good at.”

You make a teasing face.

“No, I just mean there’s lots of things I could have done. I thought about being a curator, or something, you know? I did my dissertation on that actually, how museums and exhibitions can distort the past as well as preserve it–” he interrupts himself with a short tut. “Sorry, I don’t need to bore you.”

Your eyes trail along the curve of his jaw and his chin in the fading light. The wind is gentle, whispering over the bare skin of your cheeks, your arms, your legs. The smell of sea salt lingers in your nose and on your tongue. “I’m not bored,” you say.

With a shy sort of smile he tells you more, how he used to spend hours in the museums in Oldtown, looking at exhibits on Dorne, Essos and Valyria, the papers he read, the cultural memory and the dissonance. ��History and heritage, when you think about them, are inherently vague concepts,” he says, “because they’re all based on claims and narratives that are difficult to determine and if they are clear cut, they’re biased. So how do we find the truth? How do we know that what we’re claiming is the right story is actually accurate?” You find yourself watching the parts of him you usually do. He speaks with his hands, indicating and gesturing and moving them randomly when he’s trying to think of a word or explain himself. Occasionally he runs his fingers through his hair or rubs his chin. And his single eye is wide, looking up as he pieces together a thought, looking back to you so he knows you’re still listening. 

“But after all that, you went and trained to be an accountant?” you ask.

“You should have seen the look on my father’s face when I told him I wanted to do a masters in museum studies. So yeah, accounting it was.”

It makes you sad, but you don’t want to tell him that. The entire time you’ve been here you’ve never seen Aemond so animated, talking about something he seems to love.

“What about you? What are your big life plans?” he says.

“Anything but accounting.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I’ll do a masters eventually, but I want to work for a little bit. I’ll start applying for jobs when I’m home.”

“In King’s Landing?”

“Yeah.” You look back up at the dark stone of the cliff, the layers and straight lines, the tops of the castle’s turrets just visible from the shore. “Yeah, yeah I think there’s so much pressure to find something to do. I mean, I was trying to focus on my dissertation and my exams, and I kept having these weird moments where I’d think, what’s the point? I don’t have a job ready to go. I don’t have a place on a masters course. I don’t have any plans to travel or volunteer at an orphanage in Meereen. It was like there was a timer going off in my brain and if I didn’t make something of my life before my exams were over, well it was all going to be a waste.” Now you’re the one moving your hands mindlessly, and you don’t know why but saying it all out loud makes you nervous. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running out of time.”

You look back at Aemond and realise you’ve stopped walking. Somewhere along the beach the dogs bark and splash in the shallowest part of the water. Aemond is watching you. He still has his hands in his pockets, his lips curled into a vague smile. “You have plenty of time, don’t worry,” he says. 

It suddenly strikes you what Alicent had mentioned, about him moving back to King’s Landing.

Without stepping away from him you take a mental note of him, your eyes glancing up and down. You want to remember his silhouette, his posture and how he stands, the way he angles his chin, the way he likes to hold his hands behind his back, the joggers and the shape of his torso though his t-shirt. You think you could recognise him at a brief glance, a single body in a crowded city. You think you’d find him.

Aemond meets your eye and raises his brow. 

You smile slightly to fein innocent interest. “We’ll be neighbours, we might see each other wandering around the city.”

But you realise you’ve made a mistake. His amusement starts to fade from his face, his shoulders stiffening. He turns and puts his middle finger and thumb in his mouth to whistle the dogs. They both freeze and bound back towards you. “Tide will be coming in soon,” he says to you.

He has Vhagar and Sunfyre on their leads again. By the time you come back to the path on the cliff the sky is a dull shade of dark blue. The castle looms in darkness and the light comes from within, golden through all of its windows.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit of a downer,” you say.

“You’re fine,” Aemond says. Your steps sound in perfect time along the gravel, up to the front steps. Vhagar and Sunfyre huff and pant, pulling on their leads and eager for a rest.

You reach the door and Aemond opens it. Down the hall one of the butlers is waiting to take the dogs.

“It’s just, I thought we were getting on.”

“We are,” Aemond mutters. “Do you think we are?”

It’s hard to tell with Aemond. He’s polite when he needs to be, easily irritated around his siblings. He’s so calm and composed, but you can see it in his eye when he’s thinking– you just don’t know what. But then there are moments like this, when you think you’ve scratched the surface, when his gaze lingers on you and his eye is soft but intent. When he brings you a coffee in the morning, when he tells you about his favourite book and the things he wishes he’d done with his life.

You’re standing in the entrance hall. Dragonstone is alive, filled with people and distant sounds. Beyond the ancient walls the wind picks up and the tide is coming in. If you took one step closer to Aemond, your navel would be pressed against his.

“I want us to get on,” you say.

“Me too.”

“And I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“Maybe we are,” he says. “I liked this, you’re a good listener.”

“I don’t get that a lot.”

“Do you not?”

“Well I suppose it helps if the person speaking has something interesting to say.”

“Oh,” he says with a little nod, “I thought you were going to say you just liked me that much.”

“That helps too.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

[ace-turned-confused]

spin me around | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: you find a vintage record store full of rare finds, the man behind the counter the rarest of them all word count: 2,4k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a dress, way too much music talk, food & alcohol consumption, pet names, touching in public, dirty talk a/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! i saw record store on your wheel and ran away with it - this is highly self-indulgent with the music references (like woah) but what better place for it than secret springs :) not beta'd, keep slaying

The stair treads creak as you head up to the second floor, blank CDs are fastened to the risers and old warped vinyl hangs from the ceiling. A faint melody floats down the stairwell that you don’t recognise, the instrumentals rising in a crescendo as you climb, the varnished railing worn and knotted.

You’d found this place online on your quest for a bargain, the secondhand vintage vinyl shop is situated on a fashionable street at the top of town with picturesque mountain views. After stalking their social media pages, you decided you’d just come and see it for yourself. Having mentally prepared yourself for parallel parking, it was unusually stress-free for a Saturday morning, the sun just beginning to warm the air.

Reaching the landing and glancing around, the room is essentially wallpapered with band posters, crates and crates of records are alphabetically organised, and a gallery of LPs sits on shelves behind the counter. A few customers are rifling through the various collections, one man perched on a barstool with headphones wired into a cassette player. The space is light and vibrant, it feels like a sacred haven.

What really catches your eye is the man behind the counter — unruly silver-streaked hair, trimmed moustache and greying beard, unreasonably broad shoulders that fill out his faded thin t-shirt.

“Mornin’!” He looks up as you round the bannister and flashes you a winning smile, his brown eyes sparkling in the light filtering through the windows. “Anythin’ in particular you lookin’ for?”

You greet him shyly as you enter the room, “Just came to look around, thanks.”

“No problem.” He turns back to his newspaper and you can’t help but stare, stuck in place as you think you’ve found far more than you could’ve imagined.

-

The sheer number of records fitted into the quaint shop is amazing, with some dividers spilling over into two or three boxes. Flipping through the S category, you find Sade, Stealers Wheel, Steppenwolf, Stevie Nicks, and countless others — a never-ending supply of artists and albums, some popular and some obscure.

Your eyes go wide at seeing Pretzel Logic, a favourite album by a favourite band. You’ve considered for weeks whether or not to just buy the damn thing online at full price, but you never did. Now you see why, some sort of divine intervention leading you here to snatch it up at a fraction of the cost — or it led you here for that man.

You’ve been peering over to him every time you move to the next crate — crinkles around his eyes, plush lips, deft hands. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is, hidden away up here from the rest of the world. Admittedly you tried looking if he had a wedding band on, but you scolded yourself before you could complete the task, not wanting to get caught.

Time slips away from you as you switch between scouring through everything and stealing glances at the mystery music man, your fingers cramping from holding onto far more records than you’d planned to take. You scan over the tables and check for anything you may have missed, slinking through the room and placing your selection on the counter. You rummage in your bag to find your wallet.

“Fan of Steely Dan, huh? Gaucho, Pretzel Logic, Countdown to Ecstasy… You’re cleaning me out here, darlin’.” You lift your head at his words, losing yourself at the endearment.

“Yeah, uh… couldn't help myself,” you huff a laugh, feeling heat under your skin as he keeps his attention on you, a half smile on his face. “I did pick out some others, too. For some variation, you know?”

He fans the records out on the table to see each one.

“Yeah, thought you might be a Fleetwood Mac girl, Eagles is a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one… Steely Dan, though? Wouldn't have pinned a girl like you as a fan of ‘em.”

“A girl like me…?”

“Far too pretty.” He winks at you with a tilt of his head, that half smile now spread fully across his face before he moves to add up the total. Your mind races as you try not to stand and gawk like an idiot.

“I saw online you had Dark Side of the Moon… do you uh, still have it, by any chance?”

“Full of surprises… I’m afraid we sold that one already, noticed it’s a bit of an elusive find ‘round here.” He drums his fingers against the wooden top and looks at you briefly, his eyes warm.

Shuffling papers around, he picks up a notepad, big hands and thick fingers dwarfing the pages. “I can keep an eye out for you, if you’re okay giving me your number? Won’t bother you, just business.”

“Yeah, sure.” His fingers graze across your skin as you take a pen from him and write down your information. Tearing the page off, you slide it across the counter and tease him, “Wouldn’t mind if you bothered me.”

“Well then, maybe I will. I’d love to know what else you got in your carefully curated collection.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you pay for the records, and he slips them into a brown paper bag, folding and unfolding the top like he doesn’t want you to leave.

“There’s actually this nice restaurant—” he turns to look behind him, grabbing a small carton and repositioning it on the counter, stalling as he tries to find the words, “—they have uh, live music on Friday nights… if you’d be interested.”

“Sounds fun…” You mull it over, impressed by his boldness but still wary. “Can I let you know?”

“‘Course, no pressure, here,” he writes his own number on a new page and tears it off, holding on as you reach for it and brush your fingers over his hand.

“And you are?”

“Joel Miller.”

Joel Miller. You quite like that.

-

You’d stared at Joel’s number for days, a constant back and forth on whether or not you should go. On the one hand, you knew nothing about this man except his name and where he worked; on the other, you’ve seen just enough of him to be well intrigued… 

You caved and said yes, which brings you to the present day — it’s Friday afternoon and you’re pacing in front of your wardrobe, worried about what to wear. To avoid losing your mind over this, you text Joel for some insight.

You: So, what am I supposed to wear tonight?Joel: Place is smart casual, I guess

Smart casual — arguably the worst fucking dress code description in existence.

You: That doesn’t help meJoel: Just wear a dress or something nice? I’m sure whatever you choose will be perfect

Perfect? Well, that certainly raises the bar. You suspect that Joel isn’t impressed by material things, and isn’t phased by flashy appearances, but you still want to make an effort. He called you pretty once already and you’re hoping he’ll repeat it tonight.

-

Approaching the restaurant, the brick wall facade is lined with fairy lights, the stars just beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, and muffled music sounds through the windows and glass doors.

Joel waits out on the pavement like a gift from God himself — black dress pants, a hint of chest peeking out from behind his button-up, a blazer hooked on one finger over his shoulder. You can’t help the way your gaze runs over him, noticing how his tummy just pokes out past the waistband of his pants, and just how well fitting those pants really are. You swallow to steady yourself.

“Hey.”

“Hi…”

You fall into silence as you take each other in — a low heat settles at the base of your spine and you drop your eyes to the floor, holding back a giggle like an enamoured schoolgirl.

“Shall we?” He pulls the door open and gestures for you to lead the way, eyes sparkling and a crooked but warm smile on his face, a guiding hand on the small of your back as you step inside.

Black-framed minimalist posters line the walls, the floors are polished dark wood and exposed brass light fixtures hang at varying heights from the ceiling. You pass a long, elegant bar lining one side of the room as you’re led towards the back of the restaurant — this place oozes sophistication, even the waitstaff are in fancy uniforms. Not smart casual.

Joel pulls a chair out for you as you reach your table, a small reserved card rests against a floating candle and two red roses bloom in a slender vase. 

“Do you mind if I take the wall?” you ask timidly, pointing towards the opposite bench.

“Not at all.” His gaze is soft as he shakes his head, eyes trained on you as you both take your seats.

“I just— I like being able to see, it’s uh…”

You smooth your hands over the tablecloth as your voice fades off, resisting the urge to make a game of blowing the candle out. You flit your eyes up to look at Joel, finding he’s already staring at you, candlelight flickering in his eyes. You drop your gaze to the table again, failing dismally at suppressing the grin that spreads across your face.

“You look gorgeous, by the way — if you don’t mind me sayin’. Knew you would, of course, but…”

It seems your outfit choice has paid off — gorgeous?

After hours of flinging clothes off hangers, you’d finally settled on a black, mid-length dress — a sweetheart neckline with white piping, the same white mirrored on the hem, a daring slit up one side of the skirt. There’s nothing casual about it, but seeing Joel dressed up and the finely decorated restaurant has calmed your nerves.

You don’t dare look at him again as the waiter returns and places two menus on the table. The night’s barely begun, and you hope it doesn’t end any time soon.

-

There hasn’t been a lull in the conversation once during dinner, a sharing dessert now in the centre of the table as Joel swirls what’s left of his whiskey around the glass. He held back all evening, fingers twitching and curling into a loose fist alongside yours on the table until he finally allowed himself to dance them across the back of your hand.

“How’d you get into all this record business?”

“Started workin’ there on weekends as a kid, wanted to earn some pocket money. The old man who owned it was like a mentor, he taught me all about the world. He left it all in my hands when he retired, and I’ve never looked back.”

A fond smile on his face as he retells his memories, you saw the first day you met how happy and comfortable he was in his charming shop, and it seems that charm bleeds over into him, too.

“And you get to meet all kinds of people — loud, friendly, aloof… pretty ones, too.” He gives you the same wink and devilish grin as before, continuing his stories as if you aren’t burning across the table.

-

Sometime during the night, he’d moved to sit next to you, claiming he ‘wanted to see the band’ — the arm draped on the bench behind you and fingers trailing across your shoulder says otherwise.

He mentioned at the shop that there was live music here on Friday nights — the one thing he didn’t mention? That tonight’s particular band was a jazz quartet — the slow, smooth, romantic kind of jazz, the kind that acts as the perfect backdrop for a night of cheeky flirting, lingering glances and desperate touches.

“Joel, can I ask something?”

“Shoot.”

You roll the edge of the tablecloth between your fingers. “Is this a date?”

“It can be, if you want.” You drop your hands and eye him, unimpressed by his response.

“Alright, I’ll admit, I was hopin’ for a date. I wasn’t really sure how to ask, didn’t wanna come on too strong.”

You’re silent for a beat, considering how to respond. “I mean, you could’ve just asked.”

“Well then, you wanna go on a date?” He tilts his head, eyebrows raised.

“I thought we were already on one.”

He chuckles at your remark, downing the last of his whiskey and momentarily tracing a finger along the rim of the glass. You focus on his movements, imagining his fingers tracing patterns into your skin instead.

As if he can read your mind, he twists himself towards you and plants that same hand just above your knee, fingers curled towards the inside of your leg as he scrapes his nails against you.

“And?” His voice is almost a whisper in your ear, “Has it been a good one?”

He glides his hand up your leg and into the slit of your dress as you nod, higher, higher, higher until his fingers brush against lace. You wonder if he can feel the fabric dampening.

“Y’know the Pink Floyd you asked about? It wasn’t sold, I kept it for myself. I’ll play it for you sometime.”

“You’re gonna talk about music? Right now?”

“What should I talk about instead? The delicate panties you got on? How wet they’re getting?”

Your breath hitches as he shifts his fingers, tucking them just under the edge of your panties and caressing your skin. Glancing around, the band are still playing low and slow, most tables having cleared out by now.

“Would love to see ‘em, if you’ll let me. I’d really love to see what’s underneath though. Pretty girl like you’s bound to have a real pretty pussy, too. Certainly feels like it, Jesus.”

He presses his fingers into you with more force this time and you turn your head to him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide and not from the dim lighting. He glances down to your lips and back up to your eyes again and you close the distance between you. He repositions the arm around your shoulders, hand holding the back of your neck as you lock your legs together and grind yourself against him.

His lips are soft, beard and moustache tickling your skin as he swipes his tongue against the seam of your mouth. You moan into him as you part your lips, letting him lick into you and you can taste his whiskey. He pulls back and you whine, teasing you with just enough to leave you reeling for more.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Take me home, Joel. Please, I need you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Wanna hear the music you can make.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[acotarxreader]

Vicious little thing

Eris x Reader

Synopsis: Dressmaker for the Inner Circle was the dream job turn mundane nightmare, all in Court you could never quite warm to. A chance encounter with the infamous son of Autumn leaves you wondering if there's more to life than what it seams (get it lol cause seams not seems)

Warnings: Flirting, banter, Eris pissing Cassian off, angst, descriptions of injury, two males being creepy (but don't worry protective Eris on the scene), jealous Eris, a lil violence and torture, Lucien being an MVP as always

A/N: You guys!! I just have not been in the headspace for writing but I had this written awhile back and I just want to shout out and thank @ninthcircleofprythian @pit-and-the-pen @lady-of-tearshed for helping me out! Let me know as well guys if you have any requests, might get my brain going

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

Of all the places in Night you had accompanied the Inner Circle to, Hewn City was comfortless to you, a specific cold that followed you throughout the Court only amplified off the the dripping stalactites. The slippery cobblestone streets echoed as you moved with slight tension in your steps, fresh supplies tucked under your arm. You practically counted the seconds to when you would reunite with your home deep within the House of Wind, the only place in Night Court with any ounce of warmth for your bones.

A loud bar leaked patrons onto the street, all desperate to escape their daily drivel at the bottom of a keg. Two somewhat large males leaned against the entrance, shouting loud slurs of profanity you ignored while passing, hoping to fade into the background and evade any attention. Unfortunately, you were unsuccessful and soon after felt the eyes of distorted drunken desire bore into your back as your pace quickened.

“Hey, gorgeous where’s the fire?” The voice of pure rust and smoke made the hair on your neck stand up, their footsteps getting louder with the shrinking distance. 

“Oh, no manners baby? How refreshing” The other let a slimy sick laugh leave him as his knotty hand finally caught hold of your forearm, whipping you back to face them, the beautiful fabric sailing to the floor to mop up a muddy puddle.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” The lines on your forehead deepened with disgust as you bent down to retrieve the dripping material.

“Or…” The ever so slightly taller one caught you more roughly by the arm before hauling you forward, dragging you into the mouth of an alley, the other acting as reinforcement.

“Let go of me!” Pure panic left your voice, your head darting side to side for an out as your back was pressed into crumbling brick under your vibrating bones.

“You have to give us a few things first baby” One leaned forward into you as you braced, your wrist being crushed by the other fae, their movement suddenly halting with the addition of a new voice. 

“I don’t think she’s interested fellas” The three of you found your gaze darting towards the tall figure at the end of the alley, a shoulder resting against one wall, hands casually in his pockets as if he wasn’t about to witness a crime against nature. The grip was released on one of your wrists, the taller male unmoving from in front of you while his accomplice began to square off to the still slightly obscured fae. 

Your eyes dropped cautiously down to your side to your bag, trained nimbleness in your hands had you retrieving your fabric sheers, launching them immediately into the thigh of your current captor. A near-deafening roar was released alongside your other arm, the figure at the end of the alley instantly floored the other male with a wave of unseen power. 

You scurried down the alley in the opposite direction of the three, your hands covered in a fine layer of blood that you wiped on your trembling thighs. A flush of heat came from behind you as you reached the mouth of the alley. A curious glance had you witness your perpetrators turned to mounds of ash, the sight turning your stomach into waves of unease. The thought of meeting a similar fate had your feet moving again, only to come flush against a wall-like figure. 

“Where are you going? No thank you?” Eris towered in front of you, a self-satisfied smile scanning unbeknownst to you for any sign of injury.  

“I-um-than-k thank you, General” The words were a rush of syllables followed by a deep curtsey, before you move down the street again, eager to get away from the infamous male. You heard Eris scoff a laugh before he spoke again. 

“Well okay then Ice Princess, maybe next time I’ll leave you?” 

“Do you want a medal or something for doing the right thing?” Once again your tracks were stopped but this time by your own brazen words and the silence from behind you. Turning on the ball of your foot you reluctantly faced the future High Lord, his hands still in his pockets, lips pursed in thought. He could kill you for your insolence and no one would challenge him, you were not even sure anyone would notice you missing until their trousers reached their knees.

“Huh, cute-” He smirked, closing the distance between you in a few long strides “-maybe I do want a medal” You found yourself scoffing at his words, a small blaze seemingly igniting in his eyes at the sound. 

“Get in line, General” A certain playfulness danced in his eyes at your teasing tone, normally not the response he’d elicit from others. You could feel something subtly different in the air, something missing from the mountain’s mist. “Please, call me Eris, or Savouir, lady’s choice” He outstretched a hand you somewhat hesitantly took, not going unnoticed by the son of Autumn. You realised on contact that it was the everpresent chill that you felt that had made its exit from you, flushes of warmth heating your cells gently. Eris turned your hand over in his, scanning over the callouses and their tinge of fresh maroon. 

“A street fighter?” He laughed, eyes tracing the hardened skin. “Dressmaker, for the Night Court” You smiled, taking your hand back, missing the steady pulse of heat his fingers supplied.

“Laborious crowd” His laugh returned the missing warmth to your skin and you found yourself smiling back at the towering male.

“YN?” Your whole body shook at Lucien’s voice across the street, his arms full of freshly purchased supplies for his small apartment in the city. You looked between the two males as Lucien crossed the street to join your side, Eris’s smugness only growing. You and the Prince of Foxes were relatively new friends, his exit from the Spring Court required a whole new wardrobe that you skillfully made.

“Stay away from her Eris” “Oh brother, save us the martyr act” He sighed in almost boredom, amber gaze landing back on you where you could have sworn it softened, no matter how brief. That gentle element died when Lucien’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. 

“Is that blood on you YN?!” the closer proximity opened you to Lucien’s full mother-hen inspection. 

“Yes it is but not hers, quite the vicious little thing you have here” The air of self-righteousness returned to Eris, his best shield to whatever was bubbling deep beneath. 

“Thimble, what happened?” You noticed Eris subtle flinch at Lucien’s pet name for you as he attempted to ignore his brother's presence altogether. You hated the nickname, it made you feel small, and inexperienced, despite being older than Lucien. It began when he remarked on the coarseness of your hands on his skin during a fitting, suggesting a thimble may stave off further damage. You would never see the point in covering what your years of experience had rewarded you with, the scars on your hands were evidence of a master at work, and a thimble would only hide away your efforts although that was a recurring theme for you in the Night Court you felt. 

“Thimble seems an odd nickname, aren’t they supposed to protect you from pricks? And yet here you are Lucien” Your head lowered slightly to hide the deep smirk growing across your face at Eris’s dig, Lucien unable to continue to ignore him.

“I’ll have you kn-” “-Lucien, we have to get back, I’m not finished with a dress” You cut across any possible rebuttal, eager to get out of the thick air between the two brothers, Lucien smiled softly at you before glaring back at Eris. You tilted your head to Eris again in an almost bow, twisting Lucien’s stomach as you began your fruitless journey back to Nesta. 

“Very good little lapdog Lucien, I’d watch her around scissors” He called after the two of you, his own amusement radiating from his voice. 

-

The ball was organised chaos at best, swelling music and overserved fae had you hiding out in the corner of the venue. Not your normal scene however Nesta had begged you to come, if only to witness your beautiful work in action. You had sacrificed one of Feyre’s many dresses as donor fabric to patch together what you could of Nesta’s outfit, neglecting to tell her that of course. 

“YN, this is so borrrrring” Nesta found you through the crowds, sneaking away from her role at the dais alongside her sister. It had been a few hours since the incident, a glass of wine only taking a sliver of the tension you felt about it from you. 

“Don’t worry Nesta, hopefully it won’t be much lo…” you trailed off, your eyes snagging on Eris across the vast dance floor as he both dazzled and terrified the participants in the conversation he held. 

“At least he’s not bad to look at” Nesta tilted her head to the side, inspecting her mission with curiosity as he glided through the crowd.

“Lucien says he’s torturous”

“Bet he’s good in bed” You elbowed her for her comment as she laughed, the whole conversation making you feel like giddy children.

“Perhaps he’ll make a good pallet cleanser from Cassian” she added. “Cassian who’s trying to melt him with his eyes right now, right?” You grinned, Nesta taking a stolen glance at the slowly boiling Illyrian. When Nesta wanted something, she got it and this very core defining personality trait of hers terrified you. You had been on board with the plan up until your own encounter with the heir and yet now you found yourself empathetic to Cassian’s jealousy, no matter how unfounded you felt it may be. The very voice that saved you earlier pulled your attention back into the room. 

“Hello again YN, I was wondering-” “-Who your friend is? Eris, have I really to remind you of my person” Nesta tone leeched a pure sultry decorum you would never be able to mirror. Her body stood slightly in front of you, a hand extended to reacquaint herself with the High Fae, new beats of jealousy pulsed in your veins as they made contact. Your skin crawled and boiled all at once, further tension only being added by Cassian's surveying across the floor. 

“Go find something to busy yourself with YN” Her voice was firm but said with a smile, forever toeing the line between friend and employer. You watched as Nesta masterfully led Eris to the dance floor and began to light the room ablaze with her ease of movement. The room watched on as the two slotted into one another like a lock and a key, your eyes landed on your shoes, anywhere but on the scene in front of you.

“C’mon dear friend, let's see your moves” You looked at the unfurled hand of your dear new friend in front of you, Lucien’s soft smile accompanying it. You laughed lightly as you allowed him to lead you to the dancefloor. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather dance with Elain?”

“But I’d miss you stepping on my toes” he teased as your head tilted back and laughed, despite knowing the answer to your question was of course yes. Now and then while being swirled by the Prince of Foxes, your eyes would cross the path of Eris’s before Nesta stole back the attention. A successful mission up until Cassian’s jealousy could no longer be snuffed out.

—--------------------------------------------------

The gentle pitter-patter of drizzle off the window pane of your workspace filled the room, your hands busy at work, humming along to a tune you heard weeks ago while dancing with Lucien. Back home in the warmest of colds available to you, squirrelled away in mounds of fabric and projects. 

Your hands stilled at the din of distant shouting many floors up through the house. Often you’d ignore any rumblings from upstairs but the familiar sound of a male you’d spent your time trying to forget had your curious feet wandering in the direction of the source. 

“You’re incredulous!” “No, you are!” You peeked through the gap in the huge door that led to one of the grand dining rooms, the two brothers in a stand-off across the large oak table, Rhysand glaring between the two. 

“And you couldn’t have stopped our dear darling father from travelling to Briallyn’s continent?!” Lucien barked, the table shaking slightly. Cassian matched Lucien’s scowl towards Eris, who only allowed a sickly laugh to leave him. 

“And expose myself and this little alliance? I don’t think so little brother! Alec, our father's dear advisor is already getting too curious.” 

“Oh no, nothing to inconvenience yourself!” You flinched slightly at Lucien’s razor-like tone.

“I have inconvenienced myself every day for you!” Eris’s hand shot forward in a dramatic gesture, knocking the large goblet of wine across the table, soaking Lucien as he leapt up from the cold. 

“Fuck! You did that on purpose!” He reached for his napkin to blot the deep stain with no success, Eris now also standing in his own defence. 

“It was an accident, much like your birth, do as I did and make peace with it!” Eris grinned until Lucien swished a wrist, a small ball of flame leaving his fingertips, singeing the jacket and waistband of Eris’s immaculate suit. 

“Lucien!”

“It was an accident” Lucien mimicked, Rhysand now finding his own feet, feeling grateful not to have had any biological brothers.

“Enough! We must leave to meet the other High Lords in an hour and you two are squabbling like children! Lucien, go home and find a new pair of trousers-” Lucien very much looked the role of scolded schoolchild as he winnowed out before further reprimanding “- and you-” Rhysand turned full attention to Eris, who only rolled his shoulders back to accompany a raised eyebrow “-you go and find a curtain or something to wear because if you fuck this meeting up, I will kill you where you stand”

“Aww do you promise-” Eris batted his eyelashes in faux excitement “-I don’t take orders from you”

“Fine, go smelling like a bonfire, see if Rhys and I care” Cassian shot out. 

“Perhaps I left some clothes here after I visited with Nesta the other night” Cassian practically leapt from his chair, Rhysand catching hold of his forearm leaving Eris unshaken. 

“Eris, go be anywhere but here”

“I’d suggest down on your deathbed, I can help you” Cassian chewed out accompanying Rhysand’s order. 

“The only place I’d go down on is the lovely Nesta” Rhysand released Cassian in an instant, springing the warrior over the table, your instinct having you whip the door back on its hinges, the entrance stilling Cassian in confusion as he caught Eris’s collar. 

“I’ll help make something!” You rushed out, unsure of why you were eager to rescue Eris even if it gave away your eavesdropping. 

“YN, know your place” Rhysand warned.

“I mean- c’mon S-sir you have to leave soon and let's be honest, there’ll be questions about why a lord of fire is-is emm burned…or why his face is in pieces for that matter” You watched Cassian release the wrinkled collar, exhaling deeply and jump from the dining table to the floor before striding over to you. 

“At least stab him a few times with pins” 

“Deal” you laughed before standing aside in the doorway for Cassian and Rhysand to pass. 

-

After arriving at your workroom, a flush of self-conscious energy rushed you at the mess you had been living and working in, now under the scrutiny of the son of Autumn. Towers of discarded and active projects cast shadows along the stone of the space, his eyes inspecting the smaller details of the room as you pulled out fabric rolls from the wall. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth in the tall shadows not there previously, its addictive nature nipping at your skin.

“Jacket” You ordered, a hand out to take the sooty material, Eris obliging wholeheartedly, surprising even himself. He watched you inspect it closely, attempting to hide his wonder of you as you sighed. He thought how he would very much love to watch you work, how he may very well do anything you asked of him and how foreign that very feeling was. “Sloppy stitching, conjured I suppose not handmade?” He nodded in confirmation to your question, doing his best to hide his amazement at your assessment. 

“I don’t think this is your colour-” “-Excuse you, this green is one of my court colours, how can it not be my colour?” Eris' anger startled you, snapping you out of your dressmaker autopilot, remembering your company. “Sorry-I emm- not your tone shall we say” Your panicked voice was only silenced by a laugh from Eris.

“Just kidding YN, I’m not offended” “Just a prick” You whispered to yourself as you slipped a pin cushion over your wrist, Eris smiling from behind you. You pointed at the step riser in the corner of the room for Eris to stand on as you gathered your treasure trove of supplies. 

“Take off your trousers” You threaded the soft measuring tape through your fingers from behind him. 

“Not going to buy me dinner first?” He raised his eyebrow to you with a grin you felt that maybe not everyone got to see, his hands undoing what was left of the waistband before he shook off the fragile fabric, leaving him in his undergarments. You took a deep quiet breath before sinking to crouch alongside him, measuring the length of his leg.

“On your knees so soon” You stood instantly again, pushing him playfully, stilling almost as soon as you had moved. 

“Sorry I-” “-I won’t bite you YN, not unless you ask” he winked, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek begging your body not to grin back, instead just resuming your measurements. “I should have let Cassian kill you” You whispered by his calf as he looked down at you. 

“There she is, there’s who’s fun to play with” You could hear his smile, just as you took a pin from the holder strapped to your wrist, poking him into his ankle. He hissed, rolling his ankle slightly away from you as you stood again. 

“That was for the Nesta comments” You put the pin into the cuff of your sleeve, retrieving your scissors and cutting strips of a deep red fabric without the measure, all the knowledge within your head accompanied with years of skill. 

“I was just bored and the big bat is an easy target. I have no intentions of pursuing Lady Death, don’t be jealous” He watched you in the mirror as if afraid to blink and you’d disappear. You forced your focus closer to your cutting, Eris slipping from the step to stalk closer to you.

“Why would I be jealous? I don't even know you” “Odd, I feel like I know you… but regardless, I’d imagine you’d be jealous if your relationship with my darling brother isn’t all you want it to be” You whipped around to him in shock, scissors still in hand. Eris put his hands up in faux surrender while glancing at the scissors, your eyes rolling again, placing the instrument behind you. 

“What? Me and Lucien?” You laughed wholeheartedly, Eris tilting his head to the sound, stepping from the riser. 

“No?” “Now who’s jealous?” he only scoffed at you in reply. 

“Heirs do not get jealous, they get what they want” His somewhat serious tone sent a shiver down your spine, the distance seemingly shrinking between you.

“And what does this heir want?” “Hmm” he hummed leaning forward into the gap, that tempting heat pulling you towards him, every cell screaming for the temperature in your skin to increase, to meet with his, to reach inferno.

“YN, do you have a spare-what’s going on in here?” Lucien stood in the doorway, his suit jacket in his hand, a missing button by the collar. 

“Ever the best for timing dear brother” Eris squared his stance, turning to face his kin as you wished the earth to swallow you whole.

“Let's not get into it in front of the Lady.-” Lucien rolled his shoulders back, unshaken by the sharp tone of his brother “-Thimble, please could you reattach this button? It was the one I used magic to affix and you were right, it didn’t hold” You gave a soft smile, taking it from his hands, reluctantly crossing the path between the two. 

“Come, dear brother, leave my lovely YN to work” Lucien stood back in the doorway to leave space for Eris to pass. A rush of intense heat radiated from Eris at his brother's endearment towards you, his knuckles cracking as fists formed. 

“Won’t you need me for the rest of the fitting?” He looked at you, eyes asking you to beg him to stay.

“I-” “-YN is used to finishing projects down here without the muse, she works better alone right YN?” You nodded slightly at Lucien, his voice no longer toeing the line between friend and employer, the latter taking full effect. You sank back to your work table, tacking together the fabric as Lucien guided Eris away from you, Eris slipped back on the remnants of his trousers before reluctantly leaving. The cold rushed to your bones again as the faint sound of their bickering filled the halls. 

—-------------------------------

Two weeks later

Thoughts of Eris crossed your mind while looking down on the vast woodland of coppers and bronze through a window taller than him. The flickers of rust and chestnut hues pulled you towards them like a moth to flame. You had never been in an environment like it, so famously cold but surprisingly warming to your inner world. Beron had insisted on holding a dinner with Night Court in his home, still believing his trip to Briallyn’s continent was undiscovered. 

“Okay, we go, we hear what nonsense he’s peddling and we compare notes when we get home?” The Inner circle nodded in agreement to their High Lord as he knotted his cufflink into place before outstretching the same hand for you to adjust. Just as quick Nesta called for your attention as Azriel covered a more specific game plan. Nesta had insisted you accompany her, and help to ready her for the meeting, no matter how many times you reminded her that that was very much so not part of your job. 

“It's fine YN stop fidgeting!” She snapped at you, tugging the end of her dress from your grip before she leapt from the riser to take Cassian’s arm as they moved to leave for dinner. You knew she didn’t mean to take you so sharply, she was just stressed, they were all stressed. They were always stressed, they never meant to snap at you, or at least that's what you convinced yourself of.

“We should have left you home where you would be safe” Lucien said softly, pulling you from the step riser again, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hand. You couldn’t help but notice how different his touch was from Eris, and how you wished it was him with you now not Lucien. 

“Stay here YN, I hate it here as much as you, I’ll be as quick as I can back to you” He gave another smile before following the Inner Circle, closing the heavy door behind him. Did you hate it here, you wondered as you wandered around the room at the edge of Forest House, secluded away as you always were in these venues. 

You couldn’t help but listen to a vibrant voice in the back of your mind, beckoning you to come out and play. 

The distant echos of grandeur filled the halls from the dining room at the opposite end of the hall as you crept down the stoneway in the opposite direction. Before realising it, you step to a servant entrance of the grand house, whispers of Autumn guiding you through a place so new yet familiar. Your fingertips hardly made contact with the bronze of the handle before a large weight was thrown deep into your side. Overwhelming, almost suffocating heat swallowed the screams you shrieked, accompanied by a heavy hand as all pulled you from the hallway to an adjacent hallway pantry.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Eris released his hold on you, a flicker of flame leaking from his hand illuminating the closet. You doubled over, arms swaddling your stomach as you caught the breath shocked out of you. Eris's characteristic ironing-board-like posture softened at the sight.

“I-I didn’t mean to frighten you” 

“What-what the-” Eris’s hand reached for your arm, worry radiating before you cut off the action “-what the fuck is wrong with you?! You don’t just grab someone like that!” You righted yourself again, hands finding your hips as the oxygen found your lungs again. 

“Oh, you’re okay, I thought you lost your damn fucking mind coming here!” unfamiliar sharpness crossed his tongue as you scoffed at his heated whisper. 

“I’m here working” “Working? Those morons have no idea what bringing you here could cause!” His hands ran through his hair in frustration, the light flickering with the movement. 

“I won’t cause anything!-” You watched him drag his hands from his hair down his face in pure exasperation “-except it seems a headache for you” You grinned and as much as he fought it, he mirrored you.  

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the dinner?” “And aren’t you supposed to be in your cave of endless fabric?” You rolled your eyes at his rebuttal, moving to pass him only to have a soft touch take hold of your arm. The thud of a palm-sized book tumbling out of his pocket had both your gazes dropping. Surprisingly, you were first to retrieve the ornate book, its cover decorated with expansive drawings of the wood surrounding the Forest House. 

“Your diary?” You grinned, offering it back to him. 

“It’s actually…it’s actually nothing” You pulled it back into you at his ever so slightly panicked tone.

“So it is your diary?” You laughed gently, a slight rush of red growing across the Prince of Autumn's cheeks. 

“Its-its a collection of..of poetry I’m working on” He admitted, fighting his way through growing embarrassment as his eyes fixated on the leather in your hand. You smiled down again at the cover, at the idea of a softer Eris locked behind these pages, a glimpse into his world.

“We have to get you out of here” He said abruptly, as if eager to shift topics away from his hidden hobby. “Fine, I’ll ask Lucien to bring me back there” A pulse of heat radiated between you.

“I’ll bring you” 

“Won’t that impact the whole double agent incognito thing” You smirked, trying your best to not look down towards his gentle hold on you. 

“I’m sure if I murdered Lucien that would impact things more” 

“Remember Eris, I told you that shade of green wasn’t your colour” Silence swaddled the forgotten closet.

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name” The sound of his moniker sent Eris’s grip tightening slightly on your arm. “I’m sorry, was it saviour you preferred?” You hardly whispered, the swift movement that followed had your back pressed into the adjacent wall, Eris’s hand resting above your head, trapping you in the addictive warmth.

“As long as I’m the one you call for, I don’t care what you call me” he allowed himself to confess.

“This feels like a mistake” 

“So was trying to hurt you, I enjoyed every lick of flame that torched those males YN and if it had been any other male other than my brother to dance with you that night they would have met a similar fate” Eris’s smoky voice admitted quietly, amber eyes trapping you in their heat. A warm palm found its way to your waist, ushering you closer to the High Fae behind the walls of an enemy Court.

“So you were jealous?” “Shut up and let me kiss you” Every drop of your blood was heated with the perfect pressure that met your lips and your hand instinctively took a fistful of his shirt pulling him tighter into you. You felt his fingers knot deeply into your hair as his other hand tightened its grip, your mouths slotting over one another in perfect synchronicity. 

“You’re so delicate YN, your Court’s best kept secret and this world's greatest beauty, I feel like a moth to your flame-” Eris’s voice came out husky, starved for your touch “-I couldn’t explain it to myself why I felt like walking around that cursed city that day, the Mother must have known I’d meet you, that I would be drawn to you, that I burn for you” his thumb brushed over your cheek as you rested your head in the palm of his hand. A rush of cold met your skin as Eris fully pulled from you, your balance rocking slightly.

“Did-did I do something?” Eris sighed at your words, a hand tracing through his hair before he turned to face you, eyes ablaze. 

“I-I really feel like you may be worth every risk in this entire world but I am not and I will not risk your safety for my own desire” 

“I can protect myself Eris” “Not from what would seek you out because of me” The both of you stayed in studied silence for a moment, just observing one another and the energy shift between you both. 

“My court will protect me” a low sound growled from Eris's throat in response to you.

“You mean my brother will protect you?  The others care not for anyone but those in their precious inner sanctum” 

“That’s not true, I’m their friend!” You snapped back, your voice rising above a crackled whisper in anger. The words pinged an idea directly into Eris’s head, his way to push you away. “You’re their employee! They take you for granted! You can’t honestly say they treat you well can you? Do you think they’d keep you around if you lost your use to them? Their loyalty is conditional, they can’t be relied on!” A truth you frequently ignored washed over you, too much to take.

“You’ve been away from the table too long General, I must return to work” You offered the almost forgotten book in your hands back to him, his eyes only moving from the binding to your eyes. You scoffed again before moving as quickly as he had brought you to this secluded closet, rushing your away from the heat you wanted to be swaddled in forever. You tucked the tiny book into your sock beneath your dress, perhaps that was his goodbye gift to you you thought. Your path was then interrupted around the corner of the secret haven by the feeling of your body crashing into the solid pushback of metal, your hips meeting the plush carpet. 

“What do we have here?” You looked up through your eyelashes at the striking male, his broad shoulders shrouded in thick copper metal, the Autumn court of arms across his breast. 

You pushed up off the ground, doing your best to ignore your bruised tailbone. The broad, older male scanned you, his eyes snagging on your Court’s emblem stitched into your sleeve. 

“And tell me, what would a member of the Night Court be doing out of the designated area?” 

“I-I was looking for-for the bathroom” He towered over you, the smell of soot and tinder filling your airways, thick enough to choke on. He stretched out a gloved hand, lights flickering in his eyes like a sparking fire. Before you could take his hand, they curled around your wrist, hauling you forward. 

“And yet, I don't believe you” razor words said with a razor grin nicked at your nerves beneath your uniform. 

“Would-would I lie to you sir?” You sank into the lowest curtsey you could manage while still tethered to the burly male. You could feel your fingertips turn blue as the gloved hand took a tighter hold, your voice fighting not to croak as you spoke again. 

“I-I must return to my High Lord” 

“I don’t think so, this little exploration of yours must be reported” Alec snarled down at you, flicking his wrist sending yours back in a conflicting direction, a small yelp leaving your throat. “YN?” The two of you looked to find Lucien, stunned expression turning steely as he looked towards the hold a member of his former Court held on your wrist. He made short work of the distance between you, his warmed hand taking your opposite wrist.

“Unhand this Lady!” He barked.

“Lady? She is staff, staff that was where she shouldn’t have been!” Your head dipped at the ever-present reminder of your differences. Lucien scanned you briefly, a subtly deep intake of air had the scent of Autumn wind and campfire flooding his senses, his brother's scent on you. 

“I perhaps agree with you for once-” Lucien whispered down to you, words tainted with disappointment “-but regardless, she will come with me and her High Lord will take care of matters” Alec's grip only tightened further as Lucien attempted to pull you to his side, another wince decorating your face. 

“Not before my High Lord has a chance to examine what she may have learned”

“What was I going to learn in the bathroom, his Lordship's haircare routine?” Your words surprised you as much as anyone but not as much as the feeling of cracked leather meeting the side of your face, knocking you down to the plush carpet, out of Luciens hold. The side of your cheek felt as though it instantly began to swell, it matched your eyes as tears threatened to fall over the rim. You didn’t stay down for long, Alec hauling you back to your feet by your cracking wrist joint. You could feel the blood run from your lips, your skin fighting to stitch together and failing. Black blotted your vision competing for the greatest pain with your wrist.

“This female is to be brought before the Lord of Autumn. You have no authority here, run along to your master, she comes with me” That’s all you could hear before the black blots overtook the beautiful brass and copper of the Court of Autumn, no longer able to support your own weight. 

—-----------

The low crackle of a cruel flame filled your ears as an unnatural chill stretched from the icy flame. Your eyes flickered like the fire across from your cell, doing your best to come around from the sadistic male’s brutality. The cracking of brickwork met your back as you leaned into it, uncurling your legs from the ball of protection you had attempted to make. The depth of Forest House, far far away from the kind forest spirit voices that beckoned you to play, now replaced with the pained groans of other enemies to Autumn. 

“Wakey wakey” You rolled your head along the stone, supporting its weight as you looked to see the ever-feared Lord of Autumn standing on the other side of the brass caging. The metal shuddered as the guards opened them for their master. You lowered your head slightly, trying to win any favour with Beron, his low laugh your reward. 

“Anything to say for yourself?” You looked back up, fear stealing your voice as he stepped in closer, your bones rattling lowly off the stone beneath you. 

“No? Funny, you seem to have plenty of thoughts to write about” “Ex-excuse me, Lord?” You said quietly, your eyes then landing on the pocket-sized notebook in his cruel hands. You looked between it and its new holder, evident panic on your face, quickly exchanged for pure pain as the Lord of Autumn suddenly shot forward, pressing your body into the cold stone, his grip clutching your throat. 

“Beautiful sonnets and poems and prose, all with the very strong theme of escaping my beautiful court, destroying my beautiful legacy, running off with a beautiful forbidden creature, an accomplice of yours?” His even tone of pure ice contradicted the flaming heat beating through his hands to your throat. He’d kill his heir for his words, destroy him, torture him, make him beg, the idea of any of those outcomes unthinkable to you.

“Do not, DO NOT try to deny it” He tried again, crushing some air from your windpipe free. 

“Father!” Eris bellowed suddenly from behind, a small ease in pressure on your skin.

“Make yourself scarce Eris, I’m busy” His blackened eyes didn’t leave your bloodshot ones. 

“What are her charges?” Eris tried his best to keep the desperate tone at bay, Beron only held out the tiny notebook to his side, his other hand still gripping you. You watched as Eris turned practically to match the colour of your own oxygen-starved skin. 

“And she-she has admitted to that being hers?” “She was about to before your interruption!” He barked back at his eldest son, before allowing enough air into your lungs so you may speak. You looked over his shoulder to the Heir of Autumn, his eyes sunken in from worry or lack of sleep or both, you weren’t sure. You weren’t even sure how long you had been down there, how long before your Court would come for you if they even would come. These questions plagued you endlessly and now you were finally about to meet your end, your answer of who would come if you really needed help answered right in front of you in the russet eyes of a male you took stolen moments with. The male who believed himself not worthy of anything other than pain. You would not die with him believing this. 

“It’s min-” Your rasped lie cut off a flush of heat pulsating around the entire cell, Beron’s gaze snapping back to his son, a full release of pressure met your throat, your body sank to the ground, muscles screaming out for the rush of returning oxygen. You propped yourself up on your well-worn hands, fighting away blurry vision. Eris stood, shoulders settled back, flames like globes in his hands. 

“Alec, that’s Alec’s, there's more in his quarters. Go search them and you’ll see, no need to declare war with Night Court by slaughtering one of their courtiers” Pure confidence beamed from Eris, a grin then decorating his face as his father tilted his head in thought. 

“Think about it Father, it has to be someone with more access than a dressmaker? Someone with the intelligence to weave plots into poems, do you really think that a female would be capable of such?” Your heavy breath remained down towards the brick floor you looked down to, its small stones breaking away and burying into your palms and knees. You knew he saw you as more than that, and you trusted that he saw you as more than your court saw you as. You trusted him you realised. You heard Beron hum in quiet contemplation before looking back towards you, your hair matted in knots, uniform in tatters, the perfect image of weakness he believed all females had. Beron gestured quickly with his chin, his armed guards launching into action to search the quarters, no doubt going to find carefully planted prose and poems, damming in their divinity. 

“A dressmaker?” Beron questioned you once again, his head tilting as you nodded gently towards the stone, unable to lift your dizzying head. 

“Useless skill” He spat down before sinking a heavy, steel-soled boot flush with your right hand. Blood rushed to your ears as the little oxygen in your lungs escaped as a deafening roar, drowning out the sound of your breaking bones. The ring of bruises gifted to you by Alec on your other wrist clutched your shattered hand into your chest.

“You may finish her off Eris, your reward for your observant nature, I must see to the search” He smirked at his son who fought to keep his mouth from hanging open and flame from fleeing his fists. Beron sank into the fire, leaving his heir and his prisoner. Eris crashed to your side, his warm hands supporting your shoulders as you cried out. 

“I’m sorry YN, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry” He whispered into your hair, your sobs drowning in his chest. A swirl of comforting flame swaddled you both as Eris pulled you both through the heat to the outskirts of the wood surrounding Forest House. 

The Forest air was as refreshing as any of the elements as you landed gently in the clearing, Eris’s arms supporting your weight as he clung you into him. 

“They’ll be here soon my love” He gave a small saddened smile into the crown of your hair, causing you to pull back to look up at him. 

“What?” You managed, the movement of even speaking amplifying the pain in your digits. Another whoosh of air filled the clearing, Lucien quick to your side accompanied by Azriel, colour draining from the Shadowsinger’s face at the overly familiar sight of your hands. 

“Go with them YN, they’ll protect you” Eris attempted another smile as you looked from him to his brother, who tried and failed to hide his worry. 

“I want- I want to stay with you Eris” “Look at what happens when you stay with me YN, nothing good ever comes from this place” “But you came from this place” You cried out, your legs trembling again, Eris’s arm slipped around your waist again, Lucien unfamiliar with this side of his brother. 

“I told you I’m only going to bring you pain” “And I-I told you green wasn’t one of your colours, we can both be wrong sometimes” You laughed lightly through your tears, fighting your instincts to look down at your hands. Eris brushed a thumb over your cheek, keeping a stray tear from falling before pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“I have to leave you YN, I have to make sure Alec learns his lesson, the same one I will teach my father one day and anyone who dares to harm you” He searched through your eyes before stepping back, allowing Lucien to wrap his arm around you to support your body, Azriel placing a small cloth over your hand to shield you from the full extent of the damage. Eris traced the rings of bruising on your uncovered wrist, further cementing his decision. Azriel’s eyes scanned, watching for signs you had all been discovered and finding the distant sounds of guards beginning to storm towards them. 

“We have to go” Azriel ordered, Eris and Lucien both nodding. 

“Eris, please, please come with us” You begged through sobs. 

“One day YN, one day I’ll show you this Court when it’s something I’m proud of, I’ll show you all of who I am, when it’s something I’m proud of” He brought the back of your hand to his lips, only to have you suddenly pull it back before launching forward towards him. His lips on yours felt like a warm hearth, like home, his soothing heat warming the world you always thought was meant to be cold. 

“I was jealous” He admitted with his signature smirk as he parted from you, his hand running down your tangled hair receiving a light laugh from you as Lucien reluctantly pulled you back. 

“We have to go, they’re close” Azriel took your weight, hesitantly taking you some distance away from Eris, leaving Lucien and Eris with some space between them. 

“I will look after your mate brother” Eris only nodded in return before stealing another glance at you and sinking into flame. 

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

Whatcha think? Hehehehe

[cherryredstars]

Hi cherry!

I've been trying to send you this and overthinking about it for a while because I'm very shy to ask, and the thought of you ignoring it eats me up..

Could you please write about dadbod Miguel in his wedding night with fem reader; trying to fit his fat dick in her, but it just won't, and she's very shy about it?

You can end it however you like bc I don't have any idea tbh

Thanks! ♥︎

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fingering, Penetrative Sex

A/N: Here you are, love!

Unedited

The silk and lace are long forgotten.

It’s a layered pile of pure white, an obscure amount of money reduced to pesky fabric on a hotel floor. It’s vastly unimportant in the face of Miguel’s flaming touch on your skin, engulfing every inch of exposed flesh.

Your body arches, soft gasps spilling from your lips as he trails kisses along your neck, his hands finding the wetness between your thighs. He fits perfectly against you: his head resting comfortably in the space where your neck and shoulder meet, the pudge of his stomach resting against your own, his fingers just thick enough to press over your clit entirely and stretch your entrance, his hand holding yours and causing your matching rings to clink together.

The only thing that won’t fit is his dick.

You whimper as he continues to stretch you out, fighting through the past few orgasms. But no matter how wet you are or how many fingers he squeezes into your warm heat, he finds that it’s not nearly enough. Every attempt he makes at slipping into you, he’s met with a persistent resistance that refuses to give before he can fit himself fully inside.

“M-Miggy,” you hiccup, squeezing his hand tight, “It’s not gonna-”

Miguel grunts, trying to thrust forward, only to apologize hurriedly when you sob at the pain. Your walls clamp sharply around him, warning that there is no where else to go. It causes him to hiss, eyes closing in bliss before he pulls back slightly and back in. You let out a watery moan, your other hand coming to his back.

“It’s okay, mi vida,” Miguel murmurs into your skin, leaning down to kiss at the tears running down your flaming cheeks. “I promise I’ll still make it feel good.”

You choke on your next hiccup as he slowly thrusts into you as far as he can go, stretching you wide and adjusting your position to be flush with the rest of his body.

“Not gonna stop me from showing how much I love m’wife.”

At the reassurance and the pleasurable thrusting, you find all your worries start to disappear. Everything begins to fade, and you’re reminded of why you married this man. You love him. You love him, you love him, you love him.

And you fit together in all the ways that matter.

[zorosdimples]

pairing ⛧ yandere!diavolo x f!reader x barbatos

warnings ⛧ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. this is a doozy… implied toxic relationships, inhuman anatomy, monsterfucking, breeding, knotting, cervix fucking, dubious consent, pregnancy mention, lots and lots of cum, passing out, neglect (kind of), bondage and restraints, implied nonconsensual acts at the end. reader has a vagina and is referred to as “my little human” and “little one.” please let me know if there is anything i missed!

word count ⛧ 1129

notes ⛧ this is the first installment of the garden of earthly delights! i apologize for the wait; i hope everyone enjoys <3

you have never looked more beautiful—more his—than in this moment, diavolo thinks. the demon prince has one massive hand encircling your ankles, pressing your knees flush to your chest. his other hand cradles the back of your head with adoration, forcing your teary gaze to remain on him, a clawed thumb hooked between your swollen lips. his amber irises are nearly subsumed by his pupils, jet as the moonless night.

black spots cloud your watery vision as you slobber all over the digit, broken whines the only sound to leave your lips; the golden tips of his horns flash in your periphery. you’re on the verge of losing consciousness.

diavolo has been breeding you for hours. his long, thick cock—gilt, ribbed, impossibly large, and complete with a knot—has already stuffed you so full of seed that your stomach is distended. the viscous liquid, a rich cream with an otherworldly sheen, spurts out of your abused cunt with each of his powerful thrusts. the rest of it tingles hotly in your core.

“you can take one more, can’t you, my little human?” diavolo coos, breath unnervingly steady given the force of his movements. he leans down to smear a gentle kiss against your damp hairline before dropping your head and sliding his hand down to rub your puffy clit, plenty slick with the fluids coating your flesh.

“c-can’t,” you whimper. your nerves are fried and the overstimulation has your head pounding and your legs shaking as diavolo’s cock batters your cervix. your hands scratch and scrape at his chest in an attempt to get him to slow, to stop—anything—but your nails do not even pierce the prince’s thick flesh. the demon chuckles at your pathetic protests and his pace quickens in response.

hasn’t he taught you that you are not as fragile as you think?

“you can,” diavolo asserts, pulling out entirely. his crimson strands hang past his forehead and obscure his eyes, the glistering gold almost menacing as he leans over you. he strokes himself lazily, grazing his flared knot with a shiver, ready for his high. ready to see your womb swell with his heir.

“and you will,” he punctuates by plunging his cock and knot inside you in one fluid motion, a guttural groan rumbling from his heaving chest. your mouth stretches to accommodate a scream that never passes your lips. your body is aflame, dripping with sweat; the room fades into nothingness as diavolo’s hot cum pumps into your pulsing cunt.

the room is dusky when you awaken. your lover is gone, his warmth and ever-present touch absent, stillness in his place. the slippery silk sheets cling to you and glide along your curves as you sit upright. you clutch your forehead and curse the dull thump in your skull, a wince breaking the quiet. you feel a trickle of sticky cum ooze from you to join the wet puddle you slept atop like an animal.

the demon prince’s little pet.

a rustling sound draws you from your thoughts. a looming figure swathed in shadow floats toward the bed; you squeak in fright as you yank the sheets up to your neck in an attempt to shield your nude form.

“there you are,” barbatos, who you can now see as he emerges from the darkness, says. “i apologize for disturbing you. i am here on behalf of the young master.”

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief—the demon butler is your only friend in the lonely castle. “you scared me, barbatos. where’s diavolo?”

barbatos turns on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a faint glow. his eyes, emerald in the low light, shine eerily as his gaze meets yours. “the young master had to run to an impromptu meeting, but he did not wish to disturb your rest. thus, i am here to aid you in his stead.”

you furrow your brows. a meeting. you were once a member of the student council, privy to conferences and other social functions—until diavolo’s devotion to you got the better of him. (as a human, you are far safer being completely removed from lesser demons. and there is no one better to care for you than the prince of the devildom himself.)

you suppress your memories. “thank you. i can manage myself.”

instead of bowing and leaving, though, barbatos stands still. his forked tail sways at his feet and his skeletal horns gleam resolutely. after a few moments of deathly silence, you rephrase your dismissal: “i don’t need any help, barbatos. i appreciate you checking on me.”

the demon takes a step closer to the bed, his knees nearly knocking against the frame. “you do not seem to understand me,” barbatos muses, gloved hand delicately resting beneath his chin. if you were less disoriented, you would notice the hint of mirth in his tone. “lord diavolo ordered me to assist you, as he had to leave unexpectedly. i shall honor his wishes.”

the corners of the butler’s lips curl into a faint smirk, but no humor marks his visage. in fact, there seems to be a primal hunger lurking in the dark, verdant depths of barbatos’s irises. fear beams through your body. it starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads its icy tendrils out through your limbs, biting your fingertips. headache forgotten, you now feel faint; your heart skitters like scared prey. unconsciously, you pull the sheets around you tightly, temporarily shielding yourself from the humiliation that is sure to come.

“there is nothing to fear, little one,” barbatos soothes, smoothing a hand over your hair, matted with sweat and his master’s cum. the act is more patronizing than it is comforting.

the demon snaps his fingers and the sheets wrapped around you disappear. you scramble to cover yourself with your hands, but barbatos is infinitely stronger and faster than you are. his forked tail—cold and wet—coils around your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. another snap of his fingers, and your body is bound with invisible restraints. your arms are stretched above your head, almost painfully so. your legs are spread wide and bent at the knee; no matter how hard you try, you can’t move. there’s even a gag in your mouth to muffle your cries and force you to suck oxygen through your nose.

crouching between your open legs, the butler tsks. “oh my, what a mess.” his tail slithers up your leg and settles atop your womb. the slightest pressure from the appendage causes a stream of diavolo’s cum to rush out of your bruised hole. the demon’s snakelike tongue darts out and tastes the semen that is now pooled beneath your ass.

bartabos’s eyes meet yours and he smiles something wicked. “let’s get you cleaned up—shall we?”

[starshipsofstarlord]

lap girl (2)

summary. daryl needs comfort at the greene farm after he fails to find sophia again. luckily his girl is willing to give him exactly what he needs; her in his lap

warnings. fluff, angst mentions of daryl’s childhood abuse, mentions of death, swearing

divider credits. @cafekitsune

greene farm

It was a new place, and they didn’t belong, and were only welcome due to the miss-aim of Otis. If he had hadn’t ricocheted a bullet into Carl, then their group that had travelled from Atalanta to the CDC and then some, would never have found this little piece of solace. Daryl’s eyes squinted beneath the glaring sun as he sought out the figure that had brazen themself to be absorbed in the daylight, feeling safe since there were barbed fences separating them from the wilderness in which the dead freely roamed. Y/n was enjoying the quiet that surrounded her, sitting upon the blades of grass that handed no threat in her direction.

It was pleasant to see her so peaceful, she wasn’t running for her life, or scavenging for scraps to replenish her hunger, she was instead still, and content in being so. But feeling secure wasn’t enough; it wouldn’t last, it never did. They’d eventually be sent on their way back to the trailing lands that had lead them here in the first place. The road was cruel, and it would only get worse when winter devoured them with the hardships of its crisp air.

And Daryl resented the foreshadowed thought, as they would need more supplies and warm food, and a fire big enough to bring heat to them all. The embers would only attract the undead and threaten them with even more loss, and whilst Daryl wasn’t particularly fond of many people in the group, he had somehow integrated within its ties after Merle’s absence.

Merle had left him before, in the worst possible way - alone with their father William Dixon. He understood that his elder brother had wanted to escape from the abusive entrapment, and thus he had allowed Daryl to be single-handedly foreseen by their parent as a punching bag; and worse. He still had the scars that were far too prominent over his body, they were askew like lines in a map, permanent and hadn’t faded since the sharp indents that had once been bloody had healed.

He resonated in a ying and yang parallel with Carol, the mother of Carol. She was distraught with Sophia’s fleet, already grieving her loss when there was nothing sufficed to state that she was either dead or alive, and Daryl felt responsible to uncover the reality that encased the child, to bring comfort to not only her mourning mother, but the rest of the group. It was an unsure journey that he had already been scathed from, a bullet that only with luck grazed his temple, and an arrow that was plunged from the long fall into his side, but he needed to do this.

Daryl knew what it felt like to be alone when he had been of the same age as Sophia, however he had discovered a loophole through the tormenting years prior to the contagion that infected the human vessel; there was a girl. He had been instantaneously drawn to her, although at first he had wanted to keep his distance, he’d never allowed anyone close. But she made him see the sun shine in every smile that composed itself upon her face and each glimmer that reflected in her eyes.

She made him feel safe. And so here he was, seeking her out as the gauze remained attached to his head, and if anyone saw him he was sure he would look like a fool. The normally obscure and grouchy Daryl appeared giddy as he stepped towards his human lifeline, his footsteps uncoordinated as he felt the ache in his side brew.

At the sound of shuffling fabric behind her, y/n’s head whipped around, she knew better than to just assume that there was no danger that could appear out of nowhere. Even with the serene tranquility that was deranging her viewpoint from the world that had began feasting on itself, there was always the risk that getting too comfortable would end in death. And Daryl smirked at the sight of the blade that shone from the sun in her hand.

“Thought you were a walker you ass!” She exclaimed, her mouth widening in a teeth baring smile. Her blade was placed back in its hiding spot as she felt the need to aid Daryl in seating himself next to her, her palm remaining against his bare arm. “I kicked Andrea’s ass after her shit shot, told her to get Herschel check her eyesight.” Daryl shook his head lightly as to not cause any more disturbance to his injury, promptly nudging her with his shoulder as he allowed himself to laugh at her protective demeanour towards the blonde.

“Yer real funny sunshine.” His rare smile was prominent as he endearingly looked at his girl, wrapping his arm around the back of her relaxed shoulder blades as he brought her closer. But close was still not close enough. “C’mere.” Daryl agilely helped her climb onto his lap, the place he reserved solely for her, his rough yet tender hands remaining on her hips as he brought his face near to y/n’s, rubbing their noses together in a sweet eskimo kiss.

He was exhausted, and he felt like a failure, but she was the only comfort that he needed. Her form was facing his own, and she brushed her featherlight fingertips against his cheekbones, sparing a glare to the dressing. “We’ll find her.” She whispered gently, shutting her eyelids as she melted into him. “But for now you need to rest honey, I’m not having you wear yourself into the ground.” His head rested against her collarbone, inhaling her presence as he tried not to be frustrated with himself.

It wasn’t his fault that Sophia had ran for her life off of the highway, and he wasn’t guilt for being unable to find anything other than her stuffed toy. His hands ran up and down y/n’s back as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, finally taking a break from his daily searching. He just needed his girl planted in his lap, and all his qualms and insecurities became minor.

[myersesque]

thinking abt the contrast between jimmy's violence and swansea mercy-killing daisuke.

everything jimmy does feels gratuitous. for the smallest example, he escalates curly's (seemingly calmly stated) bad news into hostility and accusations - and it only gets more severe when we start seeing things from his perspective. it's all laid out right there in front of us, whether we like it or not; we watch him, help him, carve into curly's leg and feed it to him, and dehumanise anya, and shoot swansea point-blank. even when he's forcing medicine down curly's throat and the game mercifully fades to black, we still aren't spared the sound of him gagging and sobbing and choking on it - and every time curly is on screen, he's an unavoidable, stark reminder of jimmy's violence. it's everywhere you turn.

swansea putting daisuke out of his misery is, in comparison, heartwrenchingly tactful. he tells him to close his eyes (something that curly can't do, doesn't have the choice to do anymore - even as the credits roll he's still left staring helplessly, no fade to black), and as he does so, the camera pans and retreats until his entire head is obscured. not only do we not see the impact, but we don't hear it either, since the audio cuts out. for the actual moment of daisuke's death, we as the audience don't actually see any of the blood and gore of it all, just the sombre lead-up - and it's only when we switch back to jimmy's perspective that we see it. and it's only through jimmy's hallucinations(?) and actions through the rest of the game that we keep seeing it.

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (8)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson! reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 5.2k words

summary | chapter title: The Side Quests of Lady Mikaelson and Jaehaerys Targaryen. Flashback, flashback. Flashback, flashback. Flashback!!! (backpack song from dora playing)

tags | uhh, child sickness? creepy man, death, blood, miscarriage, reminder: reader is mentally and physically a teenage girl, with the knowledge and memories of a five-hundred year old vampire.

note | My heart will always be soft for viserys iii and the boy he was (before becoming angry and abusive). I always thought Dany was the prince that was promised, now I realise it was Jaehaerys all along. Jaejae the 2nd, you will always be famous to me. Alsooooo can we talk about CrazyTom's artwork of Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Aegon and Viserys. I'm obsessed!!!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the landscape, yet it felt as if you had been riding for an eternity. Your heart ached for Jaehaerys; the boy had gone from being flushed with fever to trembling like a fragile leaf in your arms. The relentless chill of night seeped through the sky as you desperately sought refuge, knowing that time was slipping through your fingers.

A troubling notion flickered at the back of your mind, persistent and unwelcome: vampire blood possessed remarkable healing properties. You understood its power all too well—but administering it to a child? The thought sent a shudder through you, compelling you to cast it aside.

At last, a flicker of hope emerged on the horizon, a humble farm materializing in the fading light. You encouraged your steed to quicken its pace, each stride bringing with it the promise of sanctuary.

Yet, as you approached the entrance, a gnawing doubt took root in your mind. The farm was eerily silent; no animals roamed the barren fields, and the grass grew wild, reclaiming the land it once served. Rusty gates hung crookedly on their hinges, their broken visage painting a grim picture of neglect. Though the place bore the marks of despair, it was shelter you so desperately needed.

In the heart of the farm stood a dilapidated house, its once-inviting facade now obscured by age and wear. Your brow knitted in concern as you noted the boarded windows, their splintered frames, while shattered glass glimmered ominously like shards of a lost past.

Dismounting the horse with careful precision, you cradled Jaehaerys in your arms, his small frame feeling impossibly fragile against you. His small head rested against your shoulder, and with tender care, you drew the blanket around him, eager to shield his silvery hair from sight.

With a determined stride, you approached the door, Jaehaerys nestled protectively against you. You wrapped your knuckles against the weathered wood, the sound echoing in the stillness. After a brief, agonizing wait, you knocked again, more forcefully this time, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Your patience, a rare commodity in such dire moments, teetered on the brink of exhaustion. Just as you reached for the handle, ready to force your way in, the door creaked open violently.

A man stood there, his expression a mask of suspicion that softened upon recognizing you—a mere girl holding a babe. He appeared to be in his late twenties, towering over you with a lean frame, almost ghostly in his thinness. Dark hollows etched into his cheeks and sunken eyes spoke of sleepless nights and countless burdens, aging him far beyond his years.

You took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of your urgency. "Forgive me, sir," you began, your voice a blend of desperation and resolve. "My son is gravely ill, and I implore you to grant us shelter from the weather."

His dark brown eyes flicked over your form, lingering on the boy before darting past you to survey the evening sky. "Seems fine to me," he remarked, a hint of sarcasm threading through his tone.

A sigh escaped your lips, a mingling of frustration and exasperation. You understood the rules of invitation all too well; only through his willingness would you find sanctuary. "I assure you, he has taken ill. A fever seizes him, and I fear he won't make it till sunrise if we remain out here. Please, I beg you—let us come inside."

The man scrutinized you, searching for hidden truths behind your wide, beseeching eyes. Then came the question that sent a ripple of caution through your veins: "Are you alone?"

A warning echoed in your mind, a primal instinct urging you to tread carefully. Yet, you were not merely a helpless girl; you were an Original, a creature of the night with immortality coursing through your veins. Steeling your resolve, you responded with a nod, your eyes wide to convey innocence, "Yes, I am."

He stared at you for a moment more, then stepped aside, inviting you to enter. “Come inside, then,” he murmured, granting you passage across the threshold.

As you ventured into his dwelling, it mirrored the desolation that lingered beyond its walls. The atmosphere was devoid of warmth, wrapped in a shroud of emptiness that seemed to echo the chill of the wintry night outside.

“How do you survive in winter?” you couldn’t help but ask, curiosity leaking into your voice.

He moved ahead of you, shrugging dismissively as if the question were an afterthought. “I get by.”

You followed him through the dimly lit corridors, ending up in what you surmised was his bedroom. With a gesture towards a ghastly contraption that barely resembled a bed, he said, “You can put him here.”

Grateful, you nodded and brushed past him, gently placing Jaehaerys down on the makeshift bed. With tender care, you swept the strands of hair from his face, attempting to obscure the telltale glimmer of his silver locks.

“You look a bit young to have a child,” the man remarked from his position behind you, his gaze trailing over you with an intensity that unsettled your very core.

"Aren't all girls?" you replied softly, allowing a hint of bite to creep into your tone as you turned your attention back to Jaehaerys.

"Fancy clothes you've got on," came his voice again, laced with curiosity and something more insidious. You sighed inwardly, frustrated by his relentless inquisition, feeling the heat of his gaze like a noose tightening around your throat. "You a lady or something?"

Your eyes drifted down to your attire — a simple green dress, elegantly cut but unpretentious by your standards. To you, it was nothing but fabric; to the eyes of the common folk, however, it gleamed with the opulence of fine material and intricate embroidery that bespoke of you standing.

"Or something," you replied vaguely, then spun to meet his gaze head-on, a noncommittal smile painting your lips as you turned to face him. "You've been so kind, yet I realize I have yet to learn your name. My name is Rebekah and this is my son, Jayme," you said.

A sly smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, an expression that held secrets of its own. "Hello, Rebekah. I’m Tym," he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a promise—or perhaps a threat, you couldn't discern yet.

The air thickened with a momentary silence, as your attention remained fixed on Jaehaerys, who stirred restlessly upon the rickety bed. With a subtle clearing of his throat, Tym broke the stillness. “Got some stew simmering over a pot. Care for some?”

His intentions appeared benign, yet a cautious wariness lingered beneath your polite smile. “That would be lovely, Tym,” you replied.

As he turned to fetch the stew, you cradled Jaehaerys, your fingertips brushing against his fevered brow. You planted a gentle kiss atop his head, whispering a quiet prayer for his recovery, your thoughts drifting back to a distant, haunting memory of the only time illness dared to lay its claim upon you.

You laid in your small makeshift bed, your frail form draped beneath layers of faded linen. It was a peculiar day, the air thick with the scent of impending rain, yet it did nothing to soothe the searing discomfort that coursed through her. At the tender age of eight, you found herself ensnared by a relentless cough, the kind that rattled your small chest and left you gasping for respite.

Your mother, Esther, hovered close, a blend of nurturing instinct and divine desperation etched upon her face. With deft hands, she anointed your forehead with fragrant oils, whispering incantations as if the very words could weave a protective barrier against the illness that sought to ravage her youngest child. Dreamcatchers, crafted from woven twigs and adorned with feathers, hung limply around the bed, enchanting the air with their promise of sweet, undisturbed slumber.

Though young and naïve, you could sense the depths of your mother’s magic, a language that danced just out of reach of your understanding. As your body quaked with another fit of coughs, you felt an unwelcome chill enveloping you, a stark contrast to the fever that scorched your skin.

“Shh, my sweet,” Esther cooed, her voice a soft balm against the storm of her anxiety swirling within the room. She gently stroked your flushed cheek, her eyes—usually so fierce and commanding—now wide with concern, scanning every inch of her child for signs of relief.

Suddenly, the sun’s warmth spilled through the hut as the flap was pushed aside with an abruptness that startled you. With great effort, you turned your head, your heart fluttering at the sight of your father's imposing figure silhouetted in the doorway. For the briefest moment, joy sparked within you—your father had come to check on you.

Yet that joy was extinguished instantly as you watched him barely acknowledge your presence, his gaze locked onto your mother like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “Wife,” he rumbled, his voice rough and unyielding, “Hendrik calls for you.”

Without a glance in Mikael’s direction, Esther continued her tending, damp cloth in hand as she wiped away the sweat that clung to your overheated skin. “I am busy, Mikael,” she replied, her tone firm, unyielding against her husband.

Your small frame tensed as the tension in the air thickened. Your father’s eyes darkened, annoyance flashing across his face. “He is in distress,” he pressed, his voice low, “he needs his mother.”

Fleeting uncertainty crossed your gaze as you stole a glance at your mother. Esther's lips pursed, a familiar sign of her frustration simmering just below the surface. “And she needs me more,” Esther countered defiantly.

“I will not ask you again, Esther,” Mikael’s voice was dangerous now, a rumble that hinted at the storm brewing beneath the surface.

With a resigned sigh, Esther’s gaze softened as it met yours, a flicker of pain reflected within, as she acquiesced. “I will be out in a moment.”

After a tense moment that felt like an eternity, Mikael strode from the hut, leaving a cold breeze in his wake. You could almost see your mother’s shoulders sag, the weight of contention that had filled the air lifting slightly.

Esther returned to her ministrations, fussing over you as if her very life depended on it, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your hot forehead. “Rest, my sweet. I promise, I will return.”

The present moment snapped into focus as the soft creak of the door announced Tym's return, his hands cradling a small bowl of steaming stew that filled the air with an enticing aroma.

You offered a grateful smile as he approached, accepting the bowl with a sense of warmth that contrasted with the chill of Jaehaerys's feverish skin. Though you had no need for sustenance— in all honesty, you had no need for human food, whatsoever—it was Jaehaerys who was truly in need of nourishment. Yet the delicate strands of his silver hair were a secret you dared not expose.

With wide, innocent eyes and a pleading smile, you turned your gaze to Tym, your voice a gentle lilt. “You’ve been so gracious and accommodating, Tym. Might I trouble you for a glass of water to soothe my parched throat?”

His expression faltered for a moment, surprise flickering across his face, before it transformed into a smirk that danced across his lips, revealing a charming dimple. With a nod of understanding, he lifted himself from his seat and made for the door, ready to fulfill your request.

The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, you seized the opportunity. Raising your wrist to your mouth, you punctured a vein with your sharp fangs, allowing a few precious droplets of your vampire blood to trickle into the simmering stew. The rich, coppery liquid blended seamlessly with the bubbling broth, and just as swiftly, your wrist healed, the wound disappearing as if it had never existed.

You leaned over the sleeping form of Jaehaerys, your voice a delicate whisper entwined with the warmth of your concern. "Jaehaerys, my sweet," you murmured softly, gently brushing tousled silver strands from his forehead. "You must wake and eat."

The boy’s lips pouted, instinctively shaking his head in protest, prompting you to coo in a soothing tone as you gave him a gentle shake. "Just a few bites, darling, then you can drift back into slumber. I promise it will help."

Slowly, his violet eyes began to flutter open, blurriness giving way to confused recognition. "Munās," he murmured, the word escaping his lips like a soft caress. A tender smile graced your face at the endearing term, encouraging him along as you lifted a spoonful of the stew to his mouth. (Aunt)

As he slowly sat up, the blanket slid away, unveiling his Targaryen silver hair glistening in the soft light. With a cautious lean, he accepted the offering, his tiny bites deliberate and slow, while you continued to weave sweet encouragements into the air.

Another harrowing cough wracked your small frame as you lay ensconced in the shadowy confines of your hut. Tears welled in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as the weight of despair pressed upon your fragile heart, specter of death lurking ever closer.

Your head turned slightly, drawn by the soft patter of footsteps crossing the threshold of your sanctuary. Hope flared within you as you believed it might be your mother returning. Slowly, you blinked open your weary eyes to behold a small boy with bright, golden hair and piercing blue eyes, peering hesitantly around the dim room.

“Nik,” you croaked, a wan smile flickering to life despite your ailment.

Niklaus met your gaze, his own lips curving into a smile that illuminated the gloom. “Baby sister,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, your voice hoarse and scratchy. “You’ll catch my sickness too.”

With a puff of bravado, Niklaus drew up his chest. “It’s quite all right. I was chosen as the sacrifice.”

Your small brows knit in confusion, the gravity of his words lost on your young mind. “What?”

He began to explain with a playful glint in his eyes, “Initially, Elijah offered himself but Rebekah, Kol, and Henrik voted, and I was chosen to come instead.”

“Why?” you asked, a small pout forming on your lips.

A mischievous grin danced across your brother’s face as he playfully drew out a small box he had been clutching. "Because, dear sister, I've brought gifts."

With that revelation, your sickened facade brightened, and hope rekindled within you. “Really?” you gasped.

“Indeed,” Klaus said, settling beside you, the box nestled comfortably in his lap. He opened it with care, revealing its treasures to you.

"Rebekah crafted this lovely flower crown just for you,” he announced, lifting out a quaint yet ruffled circlet made of daisies. A tender smile spread across your lips as Niklaus gently raised your head to place the crown upon it.

“Now, this is from Elijah,” he continued, holding up a delicate bracelet of tiny beads before sliding it onto your wrist. “He thought it would add a touch of color to your day.”

A frown grew on his face as he reached for yet another item. “Henrik was at a loss for what to offer, and Kol…” he hesitated, clearly exasperated, “Kol handed you an acorn.”

A delighted giggle escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all. “An acorn? Why on earth would he do that?”

“He thought it would be amusing,” Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, while you giggled in actual amusement, as he placed the acorn in your palm.

You gazed up at Niklaus with the purest adoration, your voice softening as you asked, “Now, what did you bring me?”

He hesitated for a moment, a shy smile creeping onto his face as he rummaged through the box once more. Finally, he withdrew a small wooden figurine, expertly carved into the likeness of a girl with delicate wings. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the beauty before you. “A fairy,” you gasped, snatching it from his hands with reverence.

“It took quite a bit of time to craft her,” your brother admitted, a hint of bashfulness coloring his cheeks.

Cradling the wooden figurine as if it were spun from glass, you murmured in awe, “I love her. I shall name her Nikola, after you.”

“I’m honored, baby sister,” Klaus replied, his smile brightening, though a shadow of concern lingered in his azure gaze as it wandered over your frail form.

A shadow fell upon the moment as a voice broke through, startling you both. “Niklaus,” came Finn’s stern tone from the entrance, his figure half-illuminated in the dim light, his gaze aflame with concern. “You ought not to be here.”

“I was merely—”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Finn interjected, his tone unyielding. “You must leave at once.”

Niklaus huffed, frustration laced in his voice. “Very well, I’ll take my leave.”

With a final, gentle squeeze of your hand, he cast a glare at Finn as he slipped out of the hut.

“He was only bringing me gifts,” you murmured to your brother softly, seeking to defend Klaus.

Finn turned his gaze upon you, his features softening entirely. “He is but a boy, sister, which means his body is more susceptible to the fever.”

“Oh,” you replied, frowning in understanding. Your eyes flickered to him, a hopeful smile gracing your lips. “But you have a gift for me as well, yes?”

A roguish grin unfurled on Finn’s lips as he lowered himself beside you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Indeed... my delightful company."

You pouted, feigning dissatisfaction at his answer. Finn relented swiftly, his eyes twinkling. “Fear not, sweet sister, for I come bearing treasures.”

From behind his back, he revealed your favorite flower—a rare middlemist bloom—its delicate petals unfurled like secrets waiting to be whispered. “But this doesn’t grow in our region,” you gasped, voice cracking yet lilting with awe.

“Indeed,” Finn replied, his expression warm as he regarded the flower. “I traveled great distances to find it, and what’s more, there’s something undeniably special about this one.”

“What is it?” you inquired, your heart racing with excitement.

“I’ve been practicing magic with Ayana,” he confessed, pride lighting his features. “And I have successfully cast a spell to ensure this flower shall never wilt.”

Your eyes widened in wonder, absorbing his words. “You mean it will remain this way forever?”

“Yes,” he affirmed gently, placing the flower delicately within your small hands. “Let it symbolize my eternal love for you.”

Your youthful heart raced at his declaration, a radiant smile gracing your lips. “Eternal, truly?”

“Indeed, my flower,” Finn replied softly.

As that memory enveloped you, a bittersweet thought gnawed at your heart. Finn's ‘eternal love’ had faltered in the wake of your misstep, a fleeting mistake that had cast a long shadow over your bond. The pain lingered like a specter, even as you tended to Jaehaerys, carefully guiding him to sip the savory stew infused with your healing blood. Each gentle caress of your hand across his fevered brow was filled with an unspoken hope.

The tranquility was shattered, a sound like breaking glass slicing through the air, pulling you from your reverie. You whipped around, your heart racing as you caught sight of Tym, his gaze locked onto the boy child. “Tym,” you breathed, feeling a prickle of dread.

“The boy’s hair,” he spat, voice laden with accusation. “It’s silver!” You flinched at the loudness of his words, your eyes darting to Jaehaerys, who, to your relief, appeared to be deep in slumber once again.

You felt a wave of dread wash over you, the boy nestled against you oblivious to the chaos. “He’s a Targaryen bastard,” you countered, your wide eyes feigning innocence, your voice a whisper of urgency.

Tym shook his head vehemently, his once warm expression now twisted by suspicion. “No, no! You called him Jaehaerys,” he exclaimed, his finger jabbing toward you like a dagger. “Today was the prince's funeral! Did ya kidnap him?”

Your heart sank, frustration simmering beneath your composed exterior. You raised your hands, palms facing him in an attempt to calm the brewing tempest, as if easing a wild beast. “No, please. Just calm down,” you urged, your tone laced with reason.

Yet a spark ignited within Tym’s gaze, transforming his concern into something darker. “Perhaps there’s a reward out for the two of you,” he sneered, the words dripping with malice. With that, he turned to leave.

But before he could take a step, you appeared before him with a feral grace that startled him. He stumbled backward, landing abruptly on his rear as shock flared in his eyes. “What the fuck are you?”

With a soothing tone, you replied, “I need you to calm down, Tym.” You tried, almost desperately, to appeal to a semblance of mercy within him.

In a frantic attempt to escape, he began to crawl away, but you were far too quick. Swiftly, you seized his chin in a gentle yet firm grip, directing his gaze to meet yours, channeling your compulsion. “Calm down,” you urged, feeling the power of your words weave through the air like tendrils of shadow.

Gradually, you noticed the tension in his shoulders ease, yet a gnawing uncertainty tugged at your mind. Yes, you were a stranger to him, but the haste with which he spoke of rewards for both you and Jaehaerys left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, you whispered, “What were your intentions with me?”

The compulsion settled over him like a shroud, and he answered without hesitation, the words spilling forth in a smooth, almost languid cadence. “A pretty girl comes to a lonely man's door. It’s practically a gift from the gods.”

“And what if I did not reciprocate those feelings?” The question escaped your lips with a pang of trepidation. Deep down, you feared you already knew the answer.

Tym shrugged, his gaze locked with yours, a reckless glimmer in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re a girl, and I'm a man.”

A weary sigh escaped you, disappointment settling like a stone in your chest. You dropped back onto your heels, your mind swirling with the implications of his words. In a world where predators lurked in shadows, your thoughts danced with the darkest possibilities—his intent to claim you while you slept, disregarding your will and robbing you of your decency, mere steps away from a child.

Deep sorrow enveloped you, thick and suffocating. With men like this, the glimmer of hope for any kind man felt like a cruel joke. “I genuinely believed you to be different—a bit strange, yes, but kind.” Your voice softened, laced with disbelief. “And now I see you possess the same animalistic traits as the rest.”

You paused, considering your next words with the weight they carried. “But I am not just any girl. And because of that I have the power and strength to protect other girls that cannot protect themselves.”

“And to do that,” you murmured, a chilling intensity igniting your gaze as your veins darkened beneath your skin, your pupils transformed into hungry slits, your fangs stretching long and sharp as moonlight kissed your features, “I must rid the world of men like you.”

Panic flared in his eyes, tangible and raw, yet your compulsion anchored him in place, keeping him eerily calm as you leaned closer, your breath a whisper of silk. “I haven’t fed in days. Soothe your mind by knowing that I shall savor every drop.”

With that, you descended, your fangs finding purchase in the soft flesh of his neck. His warm blood surged into your mouth, hot and intoxicating, even as he struggled against the inevitability of his fate, the frantic thumps of his heart echoing the finality of the moment, while his protests faded into a desperate silence — knowing it was a battle he could not win.

You lay in a restless slumber, your breaths ragged and shaky, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on your brow like dewdrops in the pale light of morning. Once again, Esther softly dabbed a cool, damp cloth over your forehead, worries etched deep in her face as she watched her youngest child struggle to summon the strength to open her weary eyes.

“Mama,” Your voice emerged, frail and whispered, like the rustle of leaves in a faint breeze.

Esther’s warm, deep-brown eyes locked onto her daughter’s, and a bittersweet smile graced her lips, tinged with sadness. “Hush, my love, I am here.”

The young girl gaze held Esther’s, filled with a mixture of trust and fear, as your mother’s tender hands continued to soothe your frail, sickly form. Yet, as the heat surged through your small body, you could not suppress the trembling words that slipped from your lips, “Am I going to die?”

For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze in the hut. Esther’s hand stilled, her heart clenched tightly in her chest. She diverted her gaze, struggling to conceal the tears that threatened to spill, the weight of her daughter’s words echoing in the silence. After a brief struggle for composure, she raised her hand to wipe away the dampness from her cheeks, looking down at the precious girl before her with fierce determination. “No, my sweet. You shall be just fine.”

A heavy stillness enveloped the hut, the world outside a distant murmur as your small voice broke through it once more, tremulous yet bold, “Will Father be sad if I die?”

Esther felt her heart shatter at those words, each syllable a dagger to her already broken spirit. Mikael harbored disdain for you, a constant reminder of his wife's unforgivable betrayal. Fortunate that he remained unaware of Niklaus’s lineage, yet Esther’s sweet daughter nevertheless yearned for her father’s love, seeking any semblance of affection in a heart hardened by resentment.

In that moment, Esther summoned what remained of her resolve, donning the familiar mask of tenderness, “Of course, he shall be, my star.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, yet she couldn’t bear to shatter the fragile threads of hope that clung to her daughter.

As your eyes fluttered shut once more, the lull of despair washed over Esther. She turned away, struggling to disguise the stark truth that loomed ever closer: her precious child hung at death's door. She could not bear the loss of another—never again, not after Freya.

Flaws ran deep in Esther, but they were borne of circumstances beyond her control; the bond she shared with you was a force unto itself. Perhaps it was the innocence of her youngest that drew Esther in, or perhaps it was the stark contrast to her other children. The warmth of your light was undeniable, a glow that illuminated the fears she dared not confront. Still, she would love them all—though deep down her heart loved you most.

With a surge of fierce determination, she pressed her hand to her abdomen, feeling the promise of new life stirring within her—a babe that once again grew. Yet the sacrifice loomed before her.

Night had cast its velvety cloak over the world; the moon watched solemnly as her family succumbed to slumber. Gathering the materials for her desperate ritual, Esther prepared with practiced hands. The moment felt both heavy and sacred. With a steady resolve, she sliced her palm, crimson droplets spilling forth to dance upon your fevered brow. Then, she cradled her daughter’s head, her other hand resting over her own womb.

With a whisper that quivered in the air like a prayer, Esther began to murmur the spell—repeating it like a mantra, “Hanc vitam in eam.”

"Hanc vitam in eam."

"Hanc vitam in eam."

Each iteration grew more fervent, woven with her love and desperation, a last thread of hope tethering her spirit to your fading vitality.

When she finally opened her eyes, a wave of relief washed over her like the dawn breaking through the darkest night. Your strained features had eased, the pallor giving way to the flush of life. A sob escaped Esther, raw and unrestrained, as she sank beside her precious child, lifting the fragile frame into her arms.

All that mattered now was the warmth of your body against her own, even as blood seeped unnoticed from between her legs, the physical price of her choice.

A/N — actually confirmation that reader is esther's fav. also to go in more detail of reader's infatuation with finn, it's mostly because in her time, you were raised to become the perfect wife, and her mother always used to tell her, "when looking for the right husband, he should be like finn." obviously she took that too literally.

Next up, Reader returns to King's Landing...

Anywayyy

ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟsᴏɴs

(can you tell I made this within an hour ;) )

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