#dark copper pillows

[flavorsims]

Midcentury Bedroom - Bedroom Large master bedroom from the 1960s with a medium tone wood floor, brown walls, and a wood ceiling, white walls, and no fireplace.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 7: Lightning and Rust]

A/N: Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), babies and parenthood, blood and violence, character deaths, I really cannot summarize this chapter you just gotta experience it, I'll pray for you 🙏

Word count: 6.8k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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You’re curled up in bed with a velvet pouch of hot stones that have gone cold, bloody rags bunched between your thighs, trying desperately to sleep, and outside a storm is brewing over Blackwater Bay and bringing with it dark skies and strikes of lightning that stalk ever-closer. Through the open window, the air tasting like late-summer rain, you can hear Helaena and the maids corralling the children back into the Red Keep. They are laughing because nobody is dead yet, not even the ailing and absent King Viserys, not even doomed little Luke Strong.

Aemond lets himself into your chambers and stands over your bed, staring down at you with some combination of annoyance and concern. You have failed him. You were not where he wanted you to be. “Why weren’t you at the beach?” Playing with your niece and nephews, collecting your seashells.

“Because women are cursed.”

Aemond smiles, perhaps a bit relieved; he has his answer. “And you more than any of them, because you’re so wicked.”

“Maester Orwyle says I can’t have more milk of the poppy for two hours.”

“Then we must listen to him. It is a powerful remedy, and we cannot endanger you.” He takes off his boots and climbs into bed, lying behind you, one hand following the curve of your waist to settle on your lower belly. “I can relax the muscles. It might ease your suffering.”

Right now? “Oh no, no, you don’t want to do that,” you warn him. “It’s very messy.”

“You think I’m afraid of your blood?” Aemond says, amused. “Everything we’re built of is the same.” He lifts the hem of your silk nightgown and reaches underneath the nest of rags, sliding there in the coppery wetness as you inhale sharply, startled but not unwilling. When Aemond removes his hand, the carnage he is stained with is bright crimson but dotted with clots. Then he licks the blood from his fingers and paints his tongue red. You can’t keep the shock from your face. Aemond grins, wets his hand again, draws a heart on your left cheek just beneath your eye. You laugh and pretend to try to shove him away.

“You’re deranged, you’re a monster—”

“Let me help you,” Aemond whispers, nuzzling blood from his lips into your silver hair. “Let me take your pain away like you quiet mine.”

And you surrender to him like you always do—worn down, overpowered, intoxicated, bewitched, seduced, perhaps all at once—and as Aemond’s hand works and the gory metallic ether of blood fills both of your lungs, the cramps dissolve into nothingness and then build to desire, and you’re opening your thighs for him and the rags are whisked away, unnecessary, forgotten, and now there is blood on the bedsheets and your fingers are twisting into the pillows strewn around you, and it doesn’t feel shameful at all anymore, because what is blood if not made from the same minerals as coins and blades and ocean and ash, and what is lust if not a fire that burns the constraints of the world away?

You kiss him as you come, moaning into his bloodstained mouth, biting his lower lip, and if the careless pressure of your teeth makes him bleed then that’s just more iron and copper and steel to add to the molten sea you are marooned in, more magma, more rust. “Enough,” you gasp when the last of the waves have passed and you are emptied and too sensitive, and Aemond knows to listen. Then you reach for Aemond’s trousers, where you can see he is hard. You are abruptly and ruinously exhausted—you struggle to keep your eyes open—but it feels wrong to not take care of him in return.

It shouldn’t take long, he’s already flushed, he’s already dripping sweat—

“No need,” Aemond says, gently stopping your hands. And as you burrow into the pillows and your eyes dip closed, your skin and hair still splattered with red, he slips away silently so you can sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to leave you,” Jace says, knowing that he has to anyway. “Either of you.”

You are nursing the baby in a chair by the fireplace; you needed a change of scenery from the bed. The upholstery is pale blue velvet. The blanket the baby is swathed in is embroidered with pine trees and foxes, and far beyond your skill; Lady Caro made it. She is nearly as gifted with a needle as Helaena. On the walls of the bedchamber you share with your husband are mosaics you’ve pieced together over the past nine months here at the modest castle of Heart’s Home in a cold, remote corner of the Vale. The fractured faces look in on you like curious gazes through clear windows: Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Jaehaera, Maelor, Mother, Criston. You aren’t any closer to them now, but you feel like you are. The world seems softer, warmer, smaller.

You smile as you ghost a fingerprint over the baby’s faint dark eyebrows. He’s half-asleep as he suckles, hushed and content and entirely helpless. He has Jace’s coloring, but something about the shape of his eyes reminds you of Aegon. “We’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“I think he looks a lot like Luke,” Jace says, admiring the baby. He’s standing with one arm draped over the back of your chair and the flickering firelight from the hearth on his face, turning his skin from snow to sunstone. “And Joffrey. His face is rounder than mine.”

“Have you been to the Eyrie to see them since the war began?” Joffrey, Rhaena, Rhaenyra’s young white-haired sons Aegon and Viserys.

Jace shakes his head. “I never wanted to be away from you for longer than necessary. I didn’t want to risk being spotted and revealing where they’ve been hidden. And I didn’t know what to say.” About us, about our marriage, about our baby.

“You should visit them, Jace. I would visit Helaena and her children if I could.” You leave out the others intentionally; Helaena is your only sibling that Jace considers blameless. You miss Aegon and Daeron just as much, but in the solitude of your own heart—in the stillness, in the silence—you aren’t sure if you want to see Aemond again. You don’t know if he will be soft with you, or vengeful or cold, or if he has filled the void of your absence with a lover, something that you cannot think about without your stomach lurching and your skull aching, and so you put him out of your mind as much as you can and stay here with the baby instead.

Jace rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, then strokes your cheek. He says, meaning the baby: “We’ll have to get him his own egg.”

“I hope he won’t inherit my affliction,” you murmur somberly. “I hope he’ll have a dragon someday.” Without them, we are powerless. Without them, we aren’t real Targaryens.

“Maybe there’s something you need to do first.”

You look up at Jace, not understanding.

“I’ve spent a lot of time considering what inspires a dragon to bond to someone,” he says. And you think, feeling a fleeting stab of betrayal before you stitch the wound closed with invisible thread: Because you’ve been helping the Blacks search for riders. “It seems that each creature has their own preferences. Meleys favored women who were spirited and highly intelligent. Dreamfyre has chosen two riders, both gentle, shy, and fond of animals. Seasmoke bonded to two sons of Corlys Velaryon with similar temperaments, agreeable and charismatic, Quicksilver to a father and son who were both considered weak and died young. Caraxes seems to have an affinity for warriors.” It does not escape you that Jace neglects to mention Vhagar, as if through his silence he can make the beast and her rider vanish. “And Vermithor…” Jace offers you a small, sympathetic smile, remembering that you once wanted him. “The Bronze Fury bonds to riders who are imposing in body and ambitious in spirit. And I suspect he only likes men.”

“So it was always hopeless,” you say gloomily. You recall the miniature Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you out of oak wood. You hope that Aegon is still alive somewhere, scarred but lying in wait, always underestimated, always so much deeper than he seems, an ocean that Mother and Father mistook for a puddle, messy and marginal and inconvenient.

“I believe dragons often gravitate towards riders who are mirrors of themselves. Even Vermax, he is…” Jace considers this. “He’s proud, and he’s clever, but he’s not as formidable as he imagines himself to be.”

“Like you,” you say before you can stop to consider whether Jace will be offended by it, and he gives you an amused smirk. The baby has stopped nursing and fallen asleep; you fix the bodice of your gown and cradle him against you. There are maids to take him when you’re tired, and Jace loves holding him, and Lady Caro steals him away often, but right now you don’t want your freedom. You don’t want your mind to be untethered and to wander to all the places you’re not supposed to be.

Jace continues: “What I mean is, perhaps there is some quality you must cultivate within yourself before the beast you are meant to have judges you worthy.”

“Hardly any unclaimed dragons are left now.” Then you tease: “Do you suggest I become quiet and timid so Grey Ghost will like me?”

Jace laughs. “No, I fear that’s a lost cause, princess. You could never be timid.”

You are intrigued. “Then what am I?”

“I think you’re hungry,” Jace decides. “I think you always want more.”

“I never wanted that many things.” Aemond. My family to be safe. And I wanted Vermithor.

“Every line that is drawn, every place you’re told not to go or act you’re not supposed to do, you insist upon overreaching.”

Is that why Aemond and I were so drawn to each other? you think doubtfully. Because it was forbidden? Because it horrified people who climbed high enough to live alongside Targaryens but could never understand them?

“I think Meleys would have been a good match for you,” Jace says after a while. “If she hadn’t already been claimed by Grandmother.”

“And now the Red Queen is dead.” Like Arrax, and Moondancer, and Seasmoke, and probably Sunfyre too. How many dragons will be left when this is over? How many Targaryens? You clutch the baby closer to you; he stirs in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping at nothing. “What sort of rider does Silverwing favor? What could this illiterate drunk Ulf the White possibly have in common with Good Queen Alysanne?”

Jace snickers. “That’s a good question. I’ve been ruminating on it. My theory is that since Silverwing was never ridden into battle, and has always been relatively docile and accustomed to living peacefully near humans, she was attracted to Ulf’s…how to describe it? His lack of military prowess. Or, alternatively, once Vermithor was claimed Silverwing was very, very lonely.”

You smile, and then it dies. It must be indescribably painful to be separated from one’s mate after a century together. Unsurvivable, even. “Can Silverwing fight, do you think?”

Jace heaves a sigh and shrugs. “I’m not sure if either of them can. Ulf will try, at least. Hopefully it won’t come to that, and Vermithor is enough to protect King’s Landing. Hugh Hammer is an inexperienced rider, but he’s brave and he’s committed. Each time I see him he’s better than he was before.”

Hugh Hammer is a bastard blacksmith, but he has more power in this war than I do. Ulf the White is an idiot and a drunk, but he’s a true Targaryen and I’m not. You rock your sleeping child in your arms, quieting the voices that flutter in your skull like bat wings. You kiss his wisps of dark curls and breathe in his warmth and newness and blood that is interwoven with yours.

“You could learn how to hate your own kind and claim the Cannibal,” Jace jokes.

You chuckle. “I don’t hate anyone.” Not here, not now.

Lady Caro arrives in the doorway carrying a tray of cinnamon tea. “I have come offering a trade,” she says, grinning, and shuffles excitedly across the room. She sets the tray down on the table by your chair and holds out her hands. Reluctantly, you surrender the baby. Lady Caro coos and beams at him as you and Jace sip cinnamon tea, sweet and loosing steam like morning mist into the air. “Surely by now you’ve made the logical decision to name him in my honor.”

“Carolei would be a very strange thing to call a boy,” Jace says.

“Caroson,” she jests.

You add: “Carogon. Carocaerys.”

“Awful!” Jace says, laughing.

“Have you been feeding the baby again?” Lady Caro scolds you. “We have wetnurses for that.”

“They get him all night. I want time with him too.”

“You’re barely even producing any milk. You’d make for a terrible goat.”

“Then I’ll nurse him for as long as I can.”

“You’ll end up with pitiful floppy breasts like mine.”

“Isn’t this what they’re for? Nourishing children, not being gawked at and tugged on by some man?”

Lady Caro turns to Jace, exasperated. “She has some disease. She can’t listen to anyone.”

He smiles. “She’s an untamable beast, I’m afraid. Burns up anyone who makes the attempt.”

Lord Corbray walks in, and nestled in his ancient arthritic hands is a sword in a sheath. There is a large heart-shaped ruby in the hilt. “Prince Jacaerys, I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it has been not only to host you and the princess here in our humble castle, but also to have a future king of the Seven Kingdoms born within our walls.”

Jace stands up straighter, as his mother would want him to. He’ll never look like the heir to the throne, like a Targaryen, but he can act like one. “We continue to be grateful for your hospitality.”

“To commemorate this happy occasion, I wish to gift you a cherished heirloom of my house. This is Lady Forlorn, made of Valyrian steel. She came to House Corbray over a century ago, and now I bequeath her to you. I hope she will aid you in your victory in this unjust war, and that all the realm will soon be at peace and under competent rulership.”

Jace looks at you uneasily; you pretend to be preoccupied drinking your tea. You ignore Lord Corbray’s slight against the Greens. You don’t have much choice, and you’ve had plenty of practice. Jace takes Lady Forlorn from Lord Corbray and unsheathes her, studying his reflection in the cold smoke-colored grey of the blade. His face is grave. Now he feels the weight on his shoulders of being not just a prince, an heir, a soldier, and a husband, but a father as well, something he himself never had in a way that was truthful and pure. You are alarmed to see tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

“Jace?” you say, touching his arm.

He regains his composure. “Thank you, Lord Corbray. I will treasure Lady Forlorn, and I will endeavor to always use her wisely.”

Lord Corbray smiles fondly at the slumbering baby in Lady Caro’s arms. Across the Riverlands, their sole surviving child, Jessamyn, is in hiding with her husband and children. At Lady Caro’s insistence, they fled from the Mallisters’ castle at Seagard in case Aemond and Vhagar descend upon it. He is still burning. A monster? you think. “I assume you’ve named your firstborn?”

You and Jace exchange a glance. You haven’t yet; you are afraid to discuss it with each other. There are so many possibilities—Targaryen or Velaryon or Strong—and none seem to be without some unspoken allegiance or condemnation. There are so few guiltless names left. But you think you know what Jace would choose if he dared to speak it aloud.

“We should name him after Luke,” you say. A boy, an innocent. A victim of a horrific accident that started this war.

Jace is surprised, but there is relief in his face too. “Lucerys?” he says, trying it out. Then he is solemn again. “It feels wrong to use the exact same name. Like I’m trying to replace him.”

“Lucerion,” Lady Caro suggests, still holding the baby. “It sounds like a prince’s name. It sounds like a king’s.”

Jace attaches Lady Forlorn to his belt and then takes the baby, obviously against Lady Caro’s will. “Lucerion,” Jace murmurs, smiling down at his son who is stirring awake and beginning to whimper. “Is that your name? Is that what we’ll call you?”

“Perhaps Luca for short,” you say from your chair, feeling drained and like you need to lie down. You’ll have to change your rags again soon, or you’ll bleed through them.

“Luca, the littlest dragon,” Jace proclaims, touching his fingertip to the baby’s puggish nose. Then he turns to you. “Did you have a nickname as a child? I always did and still do, of course. And Luke…” Jace trails off, thinking of his dead brother, murdered by yours.

You see your red bat traveling around the board; you feel the warmth of blood on your cheek. “They called me Red.”

“Red?” Jace is baffled. “Like the color?”

“There was a game we played when we were young, and my piece…” You close your eyes, not wanting to remember, not wanting to feel the weight of their absence. “It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago.” And you fear that Jace will hear the evasiveness in your voice and ask you more questions; but he is absorbed with the baby, and he has already forgotten.

Two days later Jace and Vermax fly south to King’s Landing, and you and Luca are left in the care of the Corbrays and the maids and the ghosts that haunt the drafty stone corridors of Heart’s Home, soldiers killed in the Riverlands and the Reach, women and children burned and starved, bones devoured by dragons, generations of names forgotten.

Sometimes you giggle with Lady Caro as you drink cinnamon tea in the Great Hall. Sometimes you stand in the castle rookery listening to the ravens caw and stare out into the cold mist of the mountains, wondering what is happening in the world outside. And sometimes you have Luca nestled in your arms and walk with him around your bedchamber, introducing him to the faces of the people you left in your old life, when you were called Red and you believed you could be someone like Visenya. But you never mention Aemond, and not just because there are no mosaics of him on the wall.

You wouldn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t know where to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~

You learn Jace is back when he climbs into bed just as you are drifting off one night, silver moonlight spilling in through the glass of the window, his body folding into you, his arm skating over your waist to find your hand and weave his fingers through yours. Two months have passed since he left, moons that grow full and then vanish, milk that dries up and blood that ceases flowing and rebuilds inside you for the next child, if there will be one, when there will be one. Luca is sleeping in his own room with his maids and wetnurses. Jace’s curls tickle your throat as he nuzzles into you as if he wants to disappear.

He says: “The littlest dragon is much bigger than I remember.”

“How was Helaena?”

“Troubled, as is to be expected, but in good health. Jaehaera and Maelor are well too. King’s Landing is cold some days now. I think they’ll have snow soon. The taxes, the riots, the stockpiling of food as the Reach and the Riverlands burn…it’s a disaster. Mother is desperate. She misses Luke, I think. And Baela, and Daemon. She’s lost so much weight I barely recognized her. But she was very, very happy to hear about Luca. Hopefully she can meet him soon. Although we’ll have to be careful traveling with him while he’s so small, we’ll have to ensure he’s warm enough.”

Winter is coming, you think, remembering Cregan Stark’s army under the protection of Daemon and Caraxes. “Did you see Rhaena and the boys at the Eyrie?”

“I did,” Jace admits, as if it was a fraught experience.

“And what happened?”

“Rhaena called me a traitor.”

“For marrying and fathering a son with me?”

“No, that she understands,” Jace says. “But it is treason to love you.”

You turn around to look at him in the shadows, in the moonlight. “You told her?”

“She could tell. I cannot hide it. I am a glass jar and you and Luca are the butterflies inside.” And Jace kisses you softly, his fingers hooked beneath your chin, his flesh coming alive again after so long away: managing and conciliating, lifting Rhaenyra’s spirits, pawing through the heaps of bastards in King’s Landing for dragonriders, flying on Vermax through storms and snow.

When you kiss Jace back, when your hands go to his chest and his jaw and his face, when you open his tunic so you can feel the heat of his skin underneath, you are aware that parts of you are waking up again as well. There is a dull but definite ache of lust beginning to bloom like a blood drop soaking into white cotton.

“Are you…” Jace begins. “Do you think you’re healed enough, I mean…have you stopped bleeding?”

You hesitate. “I have.” You think of your first time with him and how painful it was, the sensation of burning, of tearing, and you can only assume it will be worse now. “But I’m rather terrified too.”

“No, no, don’t be afraid,” Jace whispers, he pleads, running his fingers through your long unbound hair. “We don’t have to do that. I won’t hurt you. I’ll wait for as long as you want.” His dark eyes travel down the white nightgown that clings to your body, your breasts, your belly, and then lower. “Can I…can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, bewildered. Then as Jace begins to push the hem of your nightgown up over your hips to your waist, you grin and kiss him again in the dim celestial light, cool night air rushing up over your bare legs, blood surging through your arteries to where he bends low to taste you once—a long, slow, tentative drag of the tongue—and then moans quietly and pushes your thighs further apart so he can bury himself there and lick, suck, swallow down your clear mineral wetness as it pools for him.

Something isn’t quite right—not enough pressure, not the ideal angle—but it’s exquisite to be reacquainted with this side of yourself, to know you can feel this way again, insatiable and desired. When you reach to touch Jace, there is a moment when you are startled to find dark curly hair in place of silk-smooth silver, and there is a ghost in the room like a voyeur watching, and you think dazedly: If Aemond knew about this, would he kill me?

“There,” you gasp, jolting as your husband stumbles upon the perfect place and rhythm. “Jace, right there…”

He listens, he is groaning with desperation for you, and you roll into a climax that is brief and sharp and a little painful, but good. Instead of being extinguished, you are a kindled flame. You turn over, straddle Jace, and unfasten his trousers. You begin kissing your way down his belly, nipping at him, your palm kneading his hardness, and you know he wants you but for some reason when you go to take him in your mouth, he pushes you away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jace says, alarmed.

“I know. I want to.”

“No, seriously. Stop.”

You look at him, wounded, rejected. “Jace, I’m not doing this out of obligation. I enjoy it.”

He is staring at the wall. “I just…for you to…I’m sorry, it just feels wrong.”

“I can do things you believe are only for whores and still be your wife.”

“Shh,” he says, and his voice is gentle but his face is pained. You think of something Criston once told you when you were collecting bones from the Godswood of the Red Keep: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. Are you cursed to disappoint people, to repulse them, to be eternally misunderstood? “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

Jace gets out of bed and fetches a small wooden box he must have brought into the room with him when you were still half-asleep. He opens the box, debates whether to reach in, decides against it and passes you the whole box instead. “I asked the castle maester to procure some while I was away…”

You squeal with delight when you see what’s inside: three black and white bats the same breed as Sapphire was, large fanlike ears and wiggling noses and small black eyes that peer curiously up at you. When you offer them your open palms, they immediately scramble into them.

“I hope they’re good ones.” Jace chuckles nervously. “I don’t really know what makes a bat suitable or not.”

“They’re perfect,” you say, smiling. “I’ll build them a roost. I’ll introduce them to Luca.”

Yet you cannot stop yourself from thinking: Aemond wouldn’t have cared if I was still bleeding.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are snuggled up with Luca in your chair by the fire, cool midday light—the color of steel, smoke, rainclouds, ash—streaming in through the windows. The baby’s eyes have turned dark like Jace’s, and his curls grow longer. He is only half-awake and blinking drowsily, his diminutive hands clasping your fingers. He doesn’t cry often, but he doesn’t smile either. Lady Caro believes he already has the temperament of a good king, a calmness, a graveness. She says: How improper would it be for him to be full of complaints or cheerfulness, the way the world is right now? No, he ought to be serious. He ought to be grateful he’s not starving or being roasted alive.

“I have some new friends,” you whisper to the baby like a secret or a myth. “They’re asleep right now. They sleep all day, kind of like you do. But then at night they come alive and they’re free, and they fly around like hawks or dragons.”

You speak for Luca, a soft bird-trill of a voice: “What are their names?”

“Good question,” you say, smiling. “Iris, Shark, and Flood. And you’ll meet them soon.” Your eyes go to the mosaics on the walls. Jace hasn’t asked you to take them down, but he doesn’t acknowledge them either, except for the mosaic you made of him that hangs by the headboard of the bed. He beams at that one and calls it fine work. “You’ll meet the people I grew up with too. Aegon will make you wood carvings. Helaena will sew you blankets. Daeron will take you on adventures. Jaehaera and Maelor will play games with you. And Mother and Criston will love you because you won’t be like me. You’ll be sweet-tempered and honorable, and when you’re old enough you’ll have a dragon to help protect us with.”

There is a knock on the doorframe; one of Luca’s wetnurses has arrived to feed him. You regret that you can’t anymore. Lady Caro was right; you’d be a terrible goat or cow or yak.

“Princess,” the wetnurse says, curtsying before she takes the baby from you. You watch her leave with him for his own bedchamber—Lady Caro has already filled it with toys and children’s books—and as soon as they are out of sight, the darkness of your losses creeps back in like spiders scurrying down the corridors of your veins and arteries, like rust growing over steel. Then you hear the rumbling of voices downstairs in the Great Hall.

You stand and swish in your gown—one of the Vale’s anemic colors, a faint dusky rose—through the hallway and down the spiral staircase of the tower. In the belly of the castle, the commotion is louder, and you sweep into the Great Hall to find men gathered around the table closest to the roaring hearth, Lord Corbray and his knights and the maester, and Lady Caro too looking on anxiously. Jace is holding a piece of parchment in his hands, presumably just delivered by a raven. He shakes his head as he reads it. Outside, snow is falling.

Lady Caro is saying: “Well you’ll have to tell her. Oh, the poor dear, as if everything else isn’t bad enough. And only the gods know where Aemond is, he hasn’t been spotted in the Riverlands for days…” Then she spies you and shoos Lord Corbray and his men from the room. They bow to you as they depart, swift little bobs of the head. They have to; you are now both the wife and mother of future kings.

“Jace?” you say when the Great Hall is empty except for the two of you and Lady Caro.

Jace’s face is stricken. Lady Forlorn hangs from his belt. The letter is still clutched in his left hand; the right grips the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” you ask, immediately horrified. Aegon dead of his burns, Daeron killed in battle, Mother executed for treason, Aemond…? “What happened?”

“You have to believe that I had no idea about any of this, I never would have given Hugh the order if I’d been there, or let Mother do it—”

“Jace, please tell me.”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond??

Instead, Jace says absurdly: “It’s Helaena.”

You stare at him. “Helaena isn’t a warrior.”

“No,” he agrees. “But she got to Dreamfyre somehow and tried to escape the city.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

That’s impossible. She wouldn’t leave Mother and the children. “No, she couldn’t have, she—”

“She took flight,” Jace insists. “And my mother sent Hugh Hammer after her on Vermithor.”

Vermithor was supposed to be mine, you think numbly. “And Helaena, she…she was…?”

Jace is trying to keep his voice steady; his dark eyes gleam, begging you not to hate him. “Dreamfyre attacked when Vermithor flew close to her. She wasn’t an especially aggressive dragon, but she was large and formidable, and she fought to defend her own life and that of her rider. Vermithor ripped out her throat, though Hugh was burned to death in the saddle. Then Vermithor flew eastward, and no one knows where he is now. Dreamfyre crashed to the earth, and Helaena with her. Their bodies were found on the beach outside the Red Keep.”

She can’t be dead. She never hurt anyone. She just wanted to be with her creatures and her family. She embroidered my blankets with red bats, she put ladybugs into my open palms. “Why would Helaena try to run, why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

You think nonsensically, as you have no way of knowing this: Because she was trying to stop something terrible from happening. “I told you to give her more freedom. And that freedom allowed her to sneak away to the Dragonpit.”

Jace reaches for you. “This isn’t your fault—”

“All of it ismy fault!” you shout at him, and Lady Caro shrinks away and covers her mouth with her hands. “If I’d had Vermithor, the Greens would have been unstoppable! And Rhaenyra never would have tried to claim the throne, and Aemond wouldn’t have been sent to Storm’s End, and Luke and Jaehaerys and Baela wouldn’t have died, and Aegon wouldn’t have been burned, and Aemond wouldn’t be destroying the Riverlands, and Helaena would still be alive, but instead I’ve always been useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Jace pleads.

“Not normal enough to be a good wife or daughter, not extraordinary enough to have a dragon!”

Again, Jace tries to touch you, to soothe you. “Please don’t—”

You fling his hands away. “What was our marriage for if not to stop this from happening?! To end the dying, to protect the people we have left?” You whirl away from him and flee from the Great Hall, the castle, yourself. Behind you, Lady Caro is comforting Jace with soft tenderness you’ve never been capable of.

“Let her go, my prince,” she is counselling. “Give her a moment to grieve…”

You throw open the first door you pass and trudge out into the snow, no fox fur coat, bare feet. The cold stings and then your skin goes numb and it doesn’t bother you anymore. The icy mountain wind tears at your hair, flowing in long waves like the women of the Vale wear it, delicate and feminine, pretty and powerless. Tears cascade down your face; currents of red magma scorch your throat. When you close your eyes, you see the yellow butterfly that was once Helaena’s game piece.

She never hurt anyone. She never did anything wrong.

Now you are under the shadows of the soaring pine trees, their green needles so thick you cannot see the grey of the sky.

She never met Luca.

You gaze up into the branches, covered with tufts of white snow and icicles like fangs, and you have the overwhelming, ravenous feeling that you need to go home. You don’t belong in the Vale. The Vale almost killed you when you were a child, Aemond’s hands shoving you into a rushing stream freckled with ice.

And then all at once—like you’ve been hit, like you’ve been stabbed with a blade—you are flying high above the castle and the wind is raking over your cheeks, but it is not your face but Aemond’s, half-blind and half-scarred, torrential red waves of a sea of blood in his skull.

He’s here, he’s here—

And if he’s able to see through your eyes that you are outside in the forest…

The castle!!!

You bolt through the trees back towards Heart’s Home, your bare feet leaving tracks in the fresh powdery snow that is nearly up to your knees, and you stumble out of the shadows just as Vhagar soars overhead and unleashes her flames on the castle, wood burning, stones collapsing, people inside shrieking as they incinerate. You’re screaming for Aemond to stop, but he does not hear you and he does not see you either, he is high above in a place you’ve never been and never will be, he is flying, and he is hearing only devastation and he is breathing in its dark, intoxicating smoke, and as Vhagar swoops by the stable and it bursts into an inferno—horses galloping loose and engulfed in fire, dead but not knowing it yet—you run into the crumbling castle.

“Jace?!” you shout, but the air is full of smoke and the sounds of wood cracking and stones caving in are deafening. You feel blindly for the spiral staircase that leads up to the tower where your and Luca’s bedchambers are located. From the part of the castle that was once the Great Hall, you can hear Lord Corbray and Lady Caro screaming as their skin blisters and sloughs away and their flesh is cooked and their bones are charred black, and when the flames reach their lungs the screams go quiet. You cannot think about them. You don’t have any time; you must think of Luca and Jace. “Jace!” you bellow through the smoke.

And then there is a weak reply: “Here.”

You follow it into the stairwell. Parts of the wall have been blasted away; you can see the pine forest outside, the cold barren sky, the Mountains of the Moon. Jace is halfway up the steps, slumped against the fractured wall and pinned there by stones that have rained down on his legs. His bones must be broken; his face is bloodless and his curls matted to his forehead by sweat. His right hand fumbles futilely for the hilt of Lady Forlorn. Now, dimly, you can hear Luca crying.

Jace rasps as he stares vacantly up at you: “I tried to get to him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jace, I can do it.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

You climb over him and chase Luca’s wails up the staircase. Vhagar is back, and the ruins of the castle tremble when she roars, and you feel the heat of her flames radiating up through the floor. You lose your footing and clamber up the last few steps on your hands and knees, then manage to stand again and careen into Luca’s room. Half the roof has collapsed; a wetnurse is sprawled on the floor and half-buried in fallen stones, blood hemorrhaging out of her mouth and ears. You grab the baby out of his cradle and quickly bundle him in his blanket patterned with blue dragonflies. His tiny hands grasp at your face and your hair as you rush back down the spiral staircase to help Jace. Smoke needles your eyes; you and Luca are both coughing as you try to clear your lungs.

You reach Jace and kneel beside him, holding Luca in your left arm and using your right to try to roll the stones off Jace’s legs, but he’s not helping you.

“Jace, please, we have to go now,” you say, but when you look at his face he’s not there. His dark eyes are glassy, his chest doesn’t rise and fall with the tide of air.

He’s gone, you think. Like Father, Luke, Jaehaerys, Baela, Rhaenys, Helaena. And you are struck by an excruciating pang of fondness for Jace more forceful than anything you ever felt for him when he was alive, and you cannot leave him here. He was your husband, he was Luca’s father. And he loved you. He must have. He said it over and over again.

“Jace?” you sob. But outside Vhagar is still flying—the gales churned up by her wings gust into the jagged holes in the castle walls—and she could be coming back, she could be returning to burn you, and Jace is dead but the baby is still alive.

You clutch Luca to you as he cries and you race down the steps, following the smoke-filled, twisted passageway. The heat is suffocating, the sounds of a dying castle engulfing, Heart’s Home turned into a graveyard, into a shattered skeleton, charred and cursed like Harrenhal. You crash through the door at the base of the stairwell and into the ground level of the castle, and you are almost out—

Something ignites, something explodes, and stones from the castle wall you are feeling your way along rip out of their centuries-old mortar and collide with you. Your ribs crack, you are thrown to the floor, but even as you scream and claw your way out of the rubble you don’t let go of the baby. You force yourself upright and stagger with Luca towards a gaping chasm where there was once a wall. There is a tremor like an earthquake. Outside, Vhagar must be landing.

Now you are in the snow again, bare feet and a gown covered with soot and wreckage. The baby isn’t crying anymore. When you glance down at the blanket he is swaddled in, the white space between the blue dots of dragonflies is turning red with blood.

Blood?

You can’t look. You can’t allow yourself to feel it; it will consume you until there is nothing left. The last vestiges of the castle are crumpling. Across the field, Vhagar is devouring Vermax’s small, broken corpse, crushing his bones in her massive, monstrous jaws.

Blood??

Aemond’s footsteps are behind you, crunching in the snow. His cloak cracks in the frigid wind like the sails of a ship. His words are full of dark, euphoric, lethal triumph, a high like nothing he’s ever known, not even when he claimed Vhagar, not even what he imagined he would feel on your wedding day when you’d be bound to each other with fire and blood in the tradition of Old Valyria. “I said I would find you, and I did.”

You hear your own voice as if from a very far distance, lightning strikes miles away but moving closer. “You killed him.”

Aemond is puzzled. You are supposed to be happy. You are saved, you are home. “Killed who?”

“He’s dead, and there will never be another. Not like this one. Jace was his father, but Jace is gone. You killed him too.”

And you turn to face him, and Aemond sees what you are holding in your arms, and only then does he understand.

[musouie]

précis. you help out omega!suguru during his heat

contents: omegaverse, blowjob, gn!reader, light somnophilia, anal fingering, dom!reader, sub!suguru, established relationship

thinking about omega!suguru, who gets his heat in the middle of the night. he’s a writhing mess, breathing harshly against his pillow as his cock weeps onto the sheets, back arching like a bow about to snap.

his skin is searing, clammy and feverish; his scent heady and honeyed and spilling into the air with the fragrance of ripe peaches — ripe for the taking, ripe for someone to sink their teeth into. (and suguru would love that, wouldn’t he? to get his neck bitten open, until his skin bruises beautifully and the taste of copper stains his tongue.)

he whines, and tears slip past his long, pretty eyelashes as he blearily watches you slumber on, blissfully oblivious to his pathetic state — his undoing.

there’s a sense of humiliation burning low in his stomach when he sheds his pyjama pants and pushes his pelvis against your backside, rutting himself helplessly against the swell of your ass, mouthing mindlessly against the back of your neck like a man starved. (and suguru is, in a way; fervently and utterly ravenous for the feel of your flesh — the warmth of your mouth, the salt, the sweat — and he longs to peel that flesh back and bury himself deep within, to feel the flutter of your heart when it beats in time with his own.)

he makes a little noise again. this time, it rouses you from your sleep, albeit languidly.

your eyelids flutter thrice, a palm moving to rub away sleep as you groan, the other reaching behind you once you register that something warm is pressed flush against your body.

your fingers touch slick skin, and when you bring them to the front of your face, they’re glossy with a fluid that is neither saliva nor perspiration (you know what it is, you recognise the tangy scent wafting about, and a shiver runs down the length of your spine at the implications.) 

slowly, you turn over, and come face-to-face with a sight so debauched it has your breath coming out in a rush, a huff.

suguru’s hair is untied, the strands spilling like ink over his shoulders, knuckles ivory from how hard he’s gripping the cotton sheets. his lips are parted, spit smeared against his chin, eyelashes so clumped together by his tears that they resemble the legs of a black widow.

as he trembles, your gaze flits down to his swollen cock, flushed with blood, the tip leaking pearls of precum and the dark curls at the base gleaming with his slick —

— and then you sniff.

a nectarine scent coats the tip of your tongue, rich and cloying and sweet, so very sweet, and your mouth waters with the urge to taste him, to gorge yourself on his flesh.

“sugu’,” you coo. “you could’ve woken me earlier. what were you thinking, hm? does it feel good using me to get off, like i’m some little fucktoy?”

his breath hitches at that, and a shudder rips through him as he keens, sharp and high, so loud it grates on your ears. the spider’s legs flutter once, twice, and then they’re wet with the prickle of tears that threaten to spill over. “hurts,” he whispers. “please, make it stop.”

“that’s all you had to say, baby. no need to be so shy.” and his scent turns even sweeter, thickens like sugar. he mewls as you push him on his back, parting his legs wide, and his hole is a little pucker, red and slick and inviting.

your teeth throb with the urge to bite.

you settle between his legs instead, lowering your head towards his weeping cock. the musk is potent, and it fills your senses until all you can focus on is the slickness dripping down his thighs, the swollen, cherry-red swell of his cock, the blotchy flush that creeps down his neck and blooms across his chest.

you lick a broad stripe up his cock, and suguru jolts, body trembling, hands scrabbling for purchase against the sheets.

the action yields another trickle of fluid, and his taste is ambrosial, spilling upon your tongue with such potency that it has you reeling, mouth watering for more. you pull back, letting the saliva pool in the well of your mouth, and spit, watching it dribble obscenely along his shaft, down his balls and the cleft of his ass.

your fingers dig into his hip and you suckle the head of his cock gently, laving the hot, leaking tip with kitten licks. 

he whimpers, and the sound is like the cry of a wounded animal, and his thighs squeeze about your head, knees pressing into your ears until you think they might cave in. you take him fully, down to the root, and his moan sounds like the bellow of a beast.

“fuck,” he cries.

it’s the only word that tumbles from his lips amidst the litany of broken words and half-baked phrases, the rest melting into a garbled mess as you bob your head, sucking him down eagerly.

his hands are gentle but bruising as he thrusts into your mouth. hips canting upwards, his taste spilling profusely onto your tongue, and he lets out a choked cry before he cums, release heavy and bitter.

it dribbles from the corners of your mouth, sticky white strings. and he sobs, squirms, and his face is so red, his eyes are so wet, glistening and glassy and so, so pretty.

“look at me, baby,” and his cloudy gaze snaps towards yours. “don’t look away, not even once.”

you push two fingers into his heat, and they slip in easily, the tight, silky walls of muscle clenching around you. you deftly crook your digits, scissoring him open, and suguru shudders, nails scraping against the sheets.

“you’re so, so tight.” you hook your fingers, feeling your way around his inner walls, brushing against his prostate, and his reaction is immediate. a choked, strangled cry tears itself from his throat, and his back arches sharply, thighs trembling as he moans his pleasure.

heat simmers low in your belly, and the smell of him is everywhere — peaches and peaches and peaches (fruit and flesh and fruit and flesh).

you work him open until his hole is gaping and sucks your third finger in greedily, and he whines your name over and over again — a needy chant, a praise, a prayer.

when you moan around him, his back lifts from the bed and he unfurls; unfurls and unravels and comes apart, a thread held by a needle — one last tug and the string would snap, and everything would fall apart — and he wants this, wants to break, wants to shatter beneath the searing heat of your mouth, the flicker of your tongue, the pinch of your nails —

— so he breaks, and his release is a stream, pearly-white and thick, and his tears are silver, and he is beautiful.

a bitter tang coats the roof of your mouth, and you swallow, throat bobbing. when you lift your head, suguru is still looking at you, eyes glassy and lidded, and his lips part; he breathes out a reverent, barely-there whisper, voice soft and sweet:

“...can you do that again?”

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[shinyshade8026]

Buzzes and Biscuits

Requested by: @skull-pup

S comes home from an exhausting day of work and wants to relax. They find V wanting to do the same.

Word count: 1900

It was just a day like any other for the disassembler. Tireless work for hours into the night left S trudging up the stairs with a tired expression set on their visor. There was a downside when it came to helping the workers rebuild the city and get things running. They weren’t the only disassembly drone working on this, of course, the others would help as well, and even a few strangers. The process was slow, but Copper-9, or at least the city around Outpost-3, was starting to look livable again, but it was taking up a lot of time and energy. It felt tense and sluggish when it got home, but they felt a bit more awake upon seeing their housemates and family. 

As S slowly made its way up the carpeted steps, it used its delicate sensors to pick up the sounds of the others in the house. Asmi and Cosmo were playing a game in the living room, while E and J were pressed together on one side of the couch, watching the young drones while having quiet conversations. S couldn't find the sound of one drone in particular, making their chassis prick uneasily. Where was V?

S finally made it up the flight of stairs and ended up on the second floor, casting a lazy glance down the hall. The faintest rattle of chains gave away the sound of L remaining where she was, making a devilish grin part the blonde drone’s lips. It turned its attention to its bedroom, already itching to lay in bed and just relax. Their clawed hand found the doorknob, their other rubbing their optics. They quietly turned the knob, thinking gleefully at the fact they didn’t have to go help with the city the next night.

As it twisted the knob and pushed open the door, S largely expected to see nothing but a dark room and their neatly made bed. Instead, they saw a familiar jacket and scarf plopped on the bed, and a certain silver-haired drone creating a lump in the bed as she buried her face into the pillows. It smiled softly, seeing V turn her head just enough so it could see one of her half-open optics staring into their mismatched ones. 

The shorter drone made a sleepy noise, which S assumed to be a greeting, and their partner returned her greeting with a small wave. They quietly walked to the bed, rubbing their eyes while V sat up, her silver hair in a slightly tangled mess. The blanket fell from its point on her back as she waved them towards her with a slowed motion. It chuckled, thinking her sleepiness was cute. V noted their chuckle, which made her huff and puff her cheeks in a fake pout, causing S to giggle more. They loved it when she was herself. Not the psychopathic or strong mask she put up. Herself. The sweeter, softer, and sometimes playful, worker drone from when they were younger. 

They knew she was only this way around them. It somehow made them feel… special... 

It crawled onto the bed, taking off its jacket and tossing it to sit by V’s. Once they had settled in a sitting position, V draped herself over their lap, stretching out like a big cat and giving them a sleepy smile. The modified drone felt their core flare up and their tail rattled happily while they lovingly ran a hand through her hair, eliciting a quiet purr from her.

They kept running their hand through her hair, gently shifting apart the small tangles until they could freely run their hand through her hair with no issues. While they did this, V’s purrs increased, her tail slowly swaying with pure contentment. S tilted their head to the side as they continued what they were doing, noticing how her tail went and coiled around its leg as she stretched even more.

“You’re sleepy,” it noted without much thought, gently smiling. The disassembly drone’s only response at first was a half nod followed by a yawn. 

Once her yawn finished, V spoke, “Mph… very sleepy, but I need to do something before I sleep or else I’ll forget to do it by the time I have to leave tomorrow,”

S twirled a strand of her hair in their fingers, their tail nudging hers to try and get it to move from their leg to their tail, “You think I’d be able to help, Vivi?”

The sprawled-out drone lightly batted away S’s hand and deployed one of her wings, the one furthest from S. They flexed their wing before glancing at their partner. “I need to sharpen the blades of my wings, I keep forgetting to do it while I have the time, so they’ve ended up getting a bit duller than I’d like,”

It nodded, reaching for the bedside table drawer to grab the whetstone they shared for their wings. V stretched out more, flexing her wing before pulling it in so S could start. Her eyes closed while her arms crossed under her head to make her comfortable. Before starting, S ran their hand through her hair again and leaned to place a kiss on the arm of her wing. The gesture made her jolt slightly and she whirled her head to them, the expression she was met with was a gentle and sweet smile, making her core burn and flutter. How in the hell did she get so lucky?

She settled back into her previous position as S gently ran the whetstone along the edge of her longest feather blade. The sound was quiet and constant, letting both drones tune it out and focus on the other sounds.

Like V’s very noticeable purring as she tried not to fall into the comfortable haze of sleep.

S chuckled, the buzzy sound feeling like music to their ears. Once they had finished that blade, it moved to the next, slowly sharpening the shiny, slightly scratched, metal blades. During the process, the canister end of V’s tail started to sway in a slow wagging motion as her entire body relaxed, making S smile even more as their tail began to do the same, with an added quiet buzzing noise.

The blonde drone worked efficiently, sharpening her wings thoroughly while moving quickly so the two could rest sooner, but not fast enough to make things uncomfortable for V.

Within a short while, S had finished V’s left wing and was nudging her to turn so they could sharpen the other one. She obliged, of course, sitting up on their lap to turn and lay the other way, but not before kissing them for a moment. The sudden action made the taller drone blush profusely, making the yellow-eyed one snicker before laying down again and deploying her other wing. 

S blinked a few times to snap back into reality while their blush settled to a few ticks on their cheeks. It started applying the whetstone to V’s other wing blades, humming a song quietly while it worked on them. 

They delicately traced one of their claws over some of the deeper scratches in her wings, a thin frown settling on their lips. They knew it was just from normal usage, but seeing V hurt in any way made its core ping with sadness. 

The sprawled-out drone notices its pause in working, tilting their head to see its face before gently taking its hand into theirs and kissing the softly glowing triangle on the back. S jolted from the action, the sweet touch bringing them out of their sad stupor. No words were shared between them, only a loving stare before S smiled and rubbed the side of her hand with their thumb, returning to running the whetstone along the edges of V’s wings to continue the sharpening process.

It went a bit slower for this wing, the blades dulled from usage on her dominant side. At this point, it seemed like the smaller of the two was asleep by now, but the readjustments and shifts every few minutes told S that she was still awake. By the time S had finished both of her wings, they wanted to fall backward and rest. To which they obliged.

V made a chirping noise as they did so, sitting up to give them a blank look before taking the whetstone from their hands, placing it onto the bedside table, and draping herself over their front. She momentarily snuggled her face into their neck, hearing their purring begin again from her affection. When she sat up again, she heard a small grumbled sound from them, which she rolled her eyes at with a smile while grabbing their brush. 

S watched as V lay down, holding the blanket to the side so they could come and snuggle her, an offer they quickly gave in to. The taller drone lays on top of her, their head near her core and their body coming up from between her legs. Once they had settled down, V tugged off their beanie to get at their hair, chewing on her lip from the tangles she knew her hand couldn’t work through. Well, that was why she grabbed the brush.

She started to run the brush through their pale blonde hair, careful not to hurt them as she brushed it out. They soon were reduced to a purring mess, their tail wagging underneath the covers. V held the side of its face in her palm, her thumb rubbing its cheek while she brushed out the tangles. She kept this up, getting every inch of their fluffy hair while reassuring the blue sections stayed together.

Drones, workers specifically, often commented that the disassembly drones behaved like cats, which V couldn’t exactly disagree, not when she acted cat-like during moments. Especially around S. Speaking of the drone, their optics had closed a couple of minutes into the brushing, and their hands had settled into a spot on her chest, fingers curled slightly toward their palms. 

V focused on their hair, keeping it fluffy and soft as she went through it. She assumed that S would fall asleep while she did this, so she locked in on her task, her own optics drooping as her sleepiness began to get at her due to being surrounded by comfort. S was strangely a good weighted blanket.

However, something snapped her out of focus, making her blink a few times in surprise and look down. What she saw provided a smile to her, and even a small chuckle. 

S was half awake, gently kneading ‘biscuits’ on her tank top. She could feel their clawed fingertips slightly graze her metal as they moved, but it didn’t bother her. She could hear its purring increase as they did this, encouraging V to continue purring as well, filling the space of their bed with the sound of buzzy purrs, a sweet sound to both of their audinals. 

V finished brushing their hair, half haphazardly tossing the brush somewhere else onto the bed before locking her fingers together on S’s back, holding them close as she fell into a sleep-induced state, S inching themself up her chest to get closer to her face. Their kneading slowed, and eventually stopped, as they soon fell asleep alongside her, a sleepy smile etched onto their face.

[queenimmadolla]

eddie, "angel", and fluff

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

  Eddie takes an aggressively long pull of the joint clasped between his fingers, dark brown eyes focused on where you occupy the other half of the couch. Your arms are folded over the arm, head using them as a makeshift pillow for the weed induced nap that came over you.

  It’s dusk, the trailer park bathed in the warm copper glow of the sun’s last few minutes. The streetlights are due to come on when it disappears. Until then, the park kids run rampant, eager to play before the dark sends them home.

  Crickets are already chirping, Cicadas and their annoying screams are reverberating from various parts of the park, all the sounds of an approaching summer night.

  The heat had been bearable today, a nice breeze sweeping through Hawkins and encouraging most of the Forest Hills residents to keep their doors and windows open so their homes could air out. 

  You’d slept over the night before, and with some languid kisses, Eddie had easily persuaded you to stay. You practically lived with him already, anyways. Had your products mingled with his on his dresser, your clothes in his closet and drawers and his pillows smelling of your shampoo and perfume. It felt wonderfully domestic and Eddie was hooked on the sensation. Loved having your presence all around him.

  With a summer day as nice as today, the two of you decided to wind down with some light reading and sharing a joint, some grapes, along with some water out on the porch couch. 

  Eddie was sitting on one end of the couch, while you were splayed out on the rest of it, bare feet resting on his lap. The two of you read your separate choices, enthralled in the last voyage of the dawn treader and a corpse, made from various beings, brought to life. 

  The soothing stroke of Eddie’s hands over the skin of your leg, coupled with the heat, breeze and weed had eventually lulled you into a slumber, with Eddie noticing only after he’d finished the chapter he was on. He entertained the idea of reading further, you just proved to be far more alluring than any structure of the English language. 

  Your face is a little shiny, obviously due to the weather, but it only makes you glow and your lips are pouty as a result of half your face being squished against your arm. You look so peaceful, so beautiful. His angel. 

  Eddie exhales the smoke he was holding in, head feeling even fuzzier than before. It’s nice.

  Despite popular belief, Eddie doesn’t get high often. Nothing against smoking, he’d just already gone through the phase of constantly being high and it lost its novelty. Been there, done that. 

  Now, he only really smokes with you, more so to relax and enjoy rather than to get high out of his fucking mind and unlock an ability to understand animals or some shit. No, Eddie just likes to use it as another way to bond with you.

  Eddie’s an affectionate person, he’s aware. He’d been starved for affection as a child after his mom died and his dad could barely clap him on the shoulder, he was doomed to crave it in his relationships. Always the Romantic in them, even if it left him the fool in the end.

  Despite many ends, he never stopped. Maybe he held back a little, but never fully stopped. Always wanting to tuck someone into his side, moon over them, map his kisses out over sweet smelling skin, and even sweeter tasting lips that would later scorn him with hurtful words when he inevitably proved to be too much or too little.

  Then you’d come into his life. You’d been present for a lot of it, a background character if you will. Sometimes sharing the same friends, sometimes exchanging pleasant greetings and maybe a short interaction. 

  Eddie thinks about one, in particular. He thinks about it a lot. 

  It had taken place at a nice little kickback with Harrington and co. Just a tight knit group of friends, some closer than others. Eddie had his then-girlfriend at his side, an arm slung over her shoulder as he conversed with your then-boyfriend, who you’d attended the event with. The conversation had been pleasant but lacking any genuine common interests or passion, until you spoke up, from your place in his arms, in defense of Michael Jackson’s discography.

  Eddie enjoyed all kinds of music, dabbled in it, and while he didn't despise Top 40 music, it did become repetitive so he didn’t listen to it often himself. 

  After that night, and a heated debate on whether or not songs being overplayed meant it took away from the brilliance of them—Eddie found himself ducking into the local music store to pick up a tape of Dangerous.

  That had been the first night he used weed for the sole purpose of enhancing an experience. It had also been the night he’d acknowledged his current relationship would not be ending with wedding bells, which granted he’d already known prior, but since it was you plaguing his mind that night (and every night after) and not her, he knew it’d have to end sooner rather than later—lest he wish to be the douche that longs for another instead of his girlfriend.

  Eddie’s hands trail along your skin, a little prickly from re-growing hair but that kind of turns him on. It’s definitely the weed hyping up his senses, your skin is so fucking soft and pliable. You’re always so delicious, he just wants to bite you.

  So, he does.

  You jolt awake with an Ow! and a laugh once you’d realize what had disturbed you from your nap. Eddie grins, barking out a laugh as you sit up and swat his arm. You don’t have to rub over the bite mark on your leg, Eddie’s already doing that for you before he yanks you by it even closer, until he’s pulling you onto his lap, lips searing against yours. He never has to hold back with you.

  You hum against his mouth, a hand moving to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck and he sighs as he melts.

  Amongst the crickets and the cicadas, Eddie swears he can also hear wedding bells.

[quintessencewrites]

Yes, Daddy pt. 4

stud! Riri x stud! Shuri x black! fem! reader

Who else did they take together in the backseat of Shuri’s SUV?

How many times did Riri use her tired-ass pick-up lines?

How many girls had gone to Wakanda and been fucked in Shuri’s childhood bedroom?

Warnings: ANGST!! SMUT!!! 18+, spanking, degradation, explicit language, praise kink, daddy kink, mami kink, dom! Shuri, switch! Riri, sub! reader, mentions of cheating, reader gets with a man..., rough sex, edging, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), choking, strap slinging Riri, alcohol use, squirting, fluff, probably some that I missed

Word Count: 13.1k + (you guys have no idea how excited I am about that)

Tags: @inmyheadimobsessed @shurislover @6-noir @ihearttish @vampzxi @verachii @phantomof-themcu @taiiunknown @pocketsizedpanther @shuris3leg @bellaallebbella1

Riri couldn’t remember a time when she’d slept so soundly. Nightmares and restless nights grew up with her, and slumber evaded her, creating a habitual insomniac out of the poor girl. Shooting up from bed in a cold sweat and slight shiver wasn’t out of the ordinary. The creak in Riri’s bed, when she tossed and turned through the night, is what finally caused her roommate to abandon ship and move out.

Riri was free to ignore sleep all she wanted in the comfort of her loneliness. She could turn and toss without complaint. Her bed could squeak and creak as much as she pleased. She could flip her pillow to the cool side over and over and over until the sun came up.

But at that point, why try to sleep at all? 

It didn’t make much sense, so she didn’t. Instead, she filled her night with bodies. A presence to ward off the loneliness. Something to do in the darkness. 

Her bed still creaked and squeaked, and she still tossed and turned, but this time, she wasn’t alone. 

It didn’t matter much to her who the person was; she wouldn’t remember their name in the morning anyway. 

And they’d be out of her bed long before that. Riri didn’t do sleepovers.

Then came along Shuri Udaku.

And Riri had her first sleepover since childhood. 

And her first friend.

And the sleepless nights got better. The nightmares didn’t go away completely, and some nights, sleep still dodged her, but with Shuri present, Riri could rest, really rest, for a few hours. 

They could be at each other’s throats all damn day, but when night came, they held each other in silence, bodies together, fingers laced. The only sound Riri focused on was that of Shuri’s heart against her ear.

On the nights that Shuri spent in her own room, keeping her own company, Riri went back to strangers in her bed to keep her sane until the sun came up.

But those nights were so long gone that she couldn’t even see them over the horizon. Years of doctors and sleep aides, essential oils, and so much melatonin when all she needed was you. 

The weight of your body atop hers, the slow, steady rhythm of your breaths, the way you sighed in your sleep and curled into her. Damned be to the prickles in her arm when your head rested upon it for too long and the way your legs tangled beneath the sheets. 

She didn’t sleep well unless you were in her bed, and she wasn’t afraid to admit that she needed you there. 

The first time you fell asleep there, you saw Riri’s brows relax, the permanent wrinkle that resided between them fading. You made it a habit to take up space in her bed whenever you could, to watch with a slight pride, knowing that wrinkle only disappeared for you.

Riri welcomed the feeling of waking up to you beneath her, your hair in her face, and the scent of you in her bedding. She could wake up with that for the rest of her life and die a happy woman.

So, waking up without you that morning was jarring. The wrinkle returned, and confusion clouded her sleepy eyes. 

You were there when she fell asleep; she was sure of that. The sound of your light snores caused her to doze off. Your bonnet lay abandoned on your pillow.

It only took a moment for her coppery gaze to focus, and when they did, you came into view.

You paced the other side of the room in silence, a trail of heat following the path you’d made in the carpet. Your knee-length braids swung behind you in the rhythm of your movements. The screen in your hand illuminated your darkened face with a faux blue light, but it was enough for Riri to notice the pinch in your brows and the way they drew together the more you scrolled. 

You were far too engrossed in whatever held your attention to notice Riri sit up and rub the sleep from her eyes. Worry was pooling in the depths of her stomach as she looked over at the clock on her desk. The LED numbers were too fucking bright, 1:15 am blaring across the screen.

A groan crept from the back of her throat. You two had only slept two hours, and that itself was a blessing; Riri could kiss her chances of falling back asleep goodbye. 

“Why are you up, ma?” Her voice was deep, groggy, and soft as it traveled across the room toward you. 

Your head snapped in her direction, but only for a moment. “Our phones been blowing up,” you replied lowly, talking more to the phone than to Ri. “Surprised that didn’t wake your ass up.”

Riri glanced at her phone on the desk next to the clock but made no move to grab it. “It couldn’t wait til the sun was up?”

Your silence wasn’t an adequate answer, and dread rose with Riri’s worry. “Is it Shuri?”

She was a part-time college student, part-time princess, and she still had duties back home that couldn’t be tended to across oceans. It was supposed to be a short trip, only a few days to handle her shit and return. But a few days was now two weeks with no end in sight. 

Both you and Riri were feeling the effects of Shuri’s absence, though Riri wouldn’t outwardly admit it. The distance was hard, and the time difference was harder. Days would go by before any of your schedules aligned for so much as a twenty-minute FaceTime. 

Even now, it was nearing the thirty-hour mark since either of you had spoken to the princess.

Riri didn’t think that anything was wrong; Shuri could sure as hell handle her own, and what she couldn’t handle, the Dora Milaje could.

Your scoff was an ugly sound, anger embedded within it, and Riri flinched. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

You crossed the room with quick steps, falling to the bed beside Riri and shoving the too-bright screen in her face. 

“You seen this?”

Riri peered at the phone behind squinted eyes, hoping the blurry image would adjust. 

When it finally did, Riri found herself staring at a video. It was hard to see, clearly taken from the phone camera of a fan’s shaky hands in a dark nightclub. 

Shuri was never hard to spot; Riri had grown accustomed to having to pick the princess out in crowds swimming with people. She looked good, and Riri’s heart beat a bit harder beneath her chest. Shuri sported a black suit like it was uniform; she never failed to impress in them. Dark shades were glued to her face despite her being indoors and it already being dark. 

Riri couldn’t help the brow that shot to the top of her head at the scene playing out for her. She knew Shuri could catch ass; she’d witnessed it more times than she could count, but goddamn.

“Goddamn,” her words parroted her thoughts, strained and breathy. She took the phone from your hand and brought it closer to her face. Ass was being thrown, and Shuri was catching it expertly. They moved in tandem, Shuri with one hand laced around the girl’s waist, the other in her hand. 

Riri couldn’t count how many times she watched the video; she just knew the two of you sat there in silence while it played. That was, until you broke her trance, scrolling further down until an image appeared. 

And once again, it was Shuri, head held high with a jawline sharp enough to slice and a slick smirk accentuating her cheeks. The girl sitting in front of her was resting her head against the panther, eyes shut, lips pursed. Riri’s eyes were bugging out of her head at this point. She was fully awake. 

“Kehlani?” Her gaze shifted between you and the photo, eyeing it as if it would come to life. “She catching ass from Kehlani?”

Your lips were pursed, and you were quick to snatch the phone back from Riri. “It’s all over the place. Twitter, Instagram, damn TMZ.”

“What the hell?” Riri whispered, mostly to herself. How Shuri always found herself in these lucky positions, she had no clue, but Ri made a mental note to start accompanying her on business trips.

“And we getting tagged in this shit across the board, Ri. They calling Shuri greedy, saying she got a harem and shit.”

“What the hell?”

“Some of ‘em saying she cheating on me with you, you with me, and both of us with fucking Kehlani.”

“She ain’ cheating on nobody-” the words trailed off into nothing, Riri stopping short at the venomous look you were currently throwing her way.

“You okay with her catching ass from Kehlani?”

Riri could’ve laughed out loud; what a fucking sentence. 

“Nigga, it’s Kehlani-”

“So?”

“So, I wish I was catching ass from Kehlani-”

Riri wasn’t getting a word in inch-wise in this conversation. You cut her off again, “Okay, let’s say it’s not Kehlani. You okay with her catching ass if it ain’ from me or you? You think she fucking her?”

Riri shrugged, finally reaching for her own phone. “You just described Shuri’s weekends, baby.”

You went silent for so long that Riri looked up from her device to make sure you were still there. She wasn’t expecting to meet your gaze. Your mahogany eyes, usually lit up with a smile, were dull and hot with the inferno that burned behind them. “What?”

Riri recoiled, thrown by the way your question burned her. She rose from the bed slowly, readying herself to backtrack, though, truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong. “What, baby?”

“So when she not here with us,” your index finger pointed from Riri back to yourself. “She catching ass from other bitches?”

“Catching ass, getting ass.” Riri had the audacity to shrug again. “Not like she used to, but-”

Poor Riri should’ve just put her foot in her mouth at that moment. You stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you, and Riri allowed her hands to rest on your hips. The breath she didn’t know she was holding released when you sunk into her touch.

“And you’re okay with that?” 

Riri tilted her head to the side, her tongue swiping her lips before she responded. “We ain’ never been exclusive, baby-”

“We who?”

Riri had to suck back the sigh she was about to release. “Me and Shuri-” 

“It ain’ just you and Shuri no more, Riri-” 

She was unaware of how rough her movements were, of how she lightly scratched you when she reached to cup your cheeks. “Quit interrupting me, baby.” 

You tore Riri’s hands from your face like they burned and shoved her back a step. She stumbled, and you almost reached out to catch her before she steadied herself. Her shocked eyes met the fight building in yours. She could see the deep red line, only about an inch long, that lingered on your cheek where her hands once were. “Shit, baby-” She took a step toward you and you took a step back. “I-I’m sorry.”

Her apology went in one ear and out the other while you tried to level your breathing. The two of you stood perfectly still, gazes locked on one another. 

“So Shuri ain’ just fucking me or you? There are others?”

Riri knew there wouldn’t be any good way to answer, but you gave her no chance to anyway.

“Are- are you-?” You glanced over to her bed, imagining how many other bodies had taken up space in it, wondering how many had lately. 

Riri’s voice was small, pleading, “We ain’ never-” She stumbled over her words.

Your anger was growing, your nostrils flared, and your eyes narrowed. Had you been a cartoon character, steam would have been blowing from your ears. “The two of you gave me the fucking silent treatment until I agreed to go public with you, but we not fucking exclusive?”

Riri had never been so silent, so unsure. 

“Shuri been fucking outside of us? You been fucking outside of us?”

Riri just stared at you. That’s okay, though. Her silence was enough of an answer. 

She felt her heart physically break when your voice did. “And y’all okay with that?”

Riri found her tongue, though it probably would have been better had she not. “You not?”

Her body visibly recoiled when a deep, insincere chuckle left your parted lips. Panic flooded her tiny body when you started moving about the room, collecting your belongings and throwing them into the black duffle you’d arrived with. 

She took barely two steps to reach you, reaching into your bag to throw the contents back to the floor. “Stop, baby, stop!”

You just silently collected your items, not wanting to stay any longer. 

Riri snatched the bag from your hands and turned it upside down, dumping all of your things onto the floor. “C’mon, baby. Listen-” She might as well have been talking to a brick wall, and her already damaged heart broke further at the sight of you on your knees, picking your possessions up one by one.  

She dropped to her knees with you, trying desperately to grab for your hands, which you kept snatching away from her. “Listen to me, baby. Stop, please-”

Her beg was so pathetic it froze you in place, and you allowed yourself to look at her through your lashes. 

“Me and Shuri been doing this for so long, baby, we didn’t know-” She stopped short, halting her words behind her bit bottom lip. 

Riri started again. “I didn’t think-”

“Clearly-”

She ignored your jab and continued. “Me and Shuri ain’ never been exclusive, baby-”

The rest of her sentence floated through the air, never reaching your ears. Her and Shuri. That’s all you were hearing; it sent ice through your veins. Her and Shuri were never exclusive. They weren’t exclusive before you, and they wouldn’t be exclusive during you. 

What a foolish girl you were, to have found this out so late. For a year and nine months, they’d been fucking you and each other, and Bast knows who else. 

Who else did they take together in the backseat of Shuri’s SUV?

How many times did Riri use her tired-ass pick-up lines?

How many girls had gone to Wakanda and been fucked in Shuri’s childhood bedroom?

You searched for the answers behind Riri’s eyes but found nothing. 

She bit back a sob when your hand slipped from hers, but the shock in her face when she saw yours bore a smile dried away all her tears. “Baby?” she whispered.

Your eyes were sad, and your cheeks strained, but the smile never fell. “It’s cool. We not exclusive; you and Shuri never was.”

Riri’s brows drew together. “Did you even hear me-”

One hand rose to silence the girl before you while the other went back to gathering your items from the floor. “I get it.”

Riri’s voice was full of sorrow. “Then why you still packing?”

“I think I wanna sleep in my room tonight-”

“Y/n-“

Something deep in your chest panged hard, hearing your real name roll off her tongue with such dejection. It took everything in you to swallow the feeling down. Your tongue felt like lead, weighing heavy with your next words: “It’s alright. You’ll find somebody else to fill your bed tonight.” 

Your hand waved the words away as though they meant nothing, but they knocked the air straight from Riri’s lungs in a gasp that pained you to hear. 

She watched with wide eyes and a face full of hurt as you stood, turning towards her with your bag thrown over your shoulder and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. 

“It’s cool, Ri.” You whispered with such false confidence you didn’t even believe what you said. “I’ll hit you up later.”

Panic rose like bile in Riri’s throat when you reached for the doorknob. “Baby-“ she tried again. Her plea was so soft it actually stopped you in your tracks. Fictitious hope washed over her when you took a step back, walking toward her. 

Her arms reached toward you out of instinct, waiting for you to fall into them. 

But you didn’t. 

Your lips pressed to her cheek softly, and Riri held her breath. In 21 months, she’d welcomed your kisses, the feeling of your lips on any part of her body. 

This time, she hated it. 

It felt so empty, so final. 

Riri hated it more when you pulled away, further and further, until you were out the door, and there she stood in her dark room, alone, with the video of Shuri at the club playing on her discarded phone on a continuous loop. 

The weight of the world rested heavily on the Princess of Wakanda’s shoulders. She’d only been home for three weeks, but every second there reminded her why she’d left. 

Sure, she missed her family, and she sure as hell missed her lab, but nothing soothed the ache in her chest that came with missing you. 

And yeah, she missed Riri too, but Ri would have to pry that confession from her. 

Shuri had been slacking, which was an unusual occurrence for the girl. She hadn’t come close to keeping her promise of constant contact while she was away, not even daring to count the days since she’d last spoken to either of you. 

That would all change soon, she thought. The Talon Fighter was growing closer to campus, and she could not wait to get back. 

The moment her feet touched American soil, they took her in the direction of Riri’s room. Every time she had spoken to the two of you, that’s where you were residing, so with any luck, she would be greeted with a welcome committee. 

It was the middle of the day, and campus was crowded, with frantic students rushing to class or somber ones leaving. Regardless, it took Shuri close to fifteen minutes to reach Riri’s door in what should have been a five-minute walk. 

Her knuckles rapped against the solid door with urgency. 

When it didn’t open right away, she raised her hand to knock a bit harder, but the door swinging ajar stopped her short. 

Riri had opened the door and walked back to her desk, more interested in whatever she was working on than on who was visiting her. 

“What kind of ‘welcome home’ was that?”

Shuri’s smooth words pulled Riri’s head from her computer, but only for a moment. She didn’t pay the Wakandan any mind as she slipped into the room, shutting the heavy door behind her. “Ri? Hello?”

Riri barely mustered out a “Hey. Welcome home.”

Shuri peered around the room with a raised brow. “Where’s y/n?”

Riri lifted her head long enough to glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m assuming class.” Her voice was whispered and muffled and just didn’t sound like Ri at all. 

She sounded more like the girl Shuri had found crying in the hall all those years ago. 

And that caused the pit in Shuri’s stomach to swirl with dread. 

When Riri stood to retrieve something from the other side of the room, Shuri followed. “You not happy to see me?” She teased, trying to edge Riri back into their usual banter. 

She didn’t take the bait, ignoring Shuri instead. It didn’t look purposeful; Riri just seemed too engrossed in her own thoughts. 

Shuri stepped closer to the smaller girl, closing the space between them until Ri’s back was pressed against the wall, and Shuri’s hand on her waist kept her there.

The other hand trapped Riri’s head in place, palming the wall beside it. Shuri bent from her full height, leaning until she and Riri were face to face, so close that Ri was forced to stare into the mocha chasm that was Shuri’s eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Gone from Shuri’s voice was the sarcasm from before. There was no teasing, no short quips. 

Riri sank into Shuri’s touch, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. 

It was a rare intimate moment between the two, and Riri would rather relish in it, even if for a moment, than ruin it with words. 

But Shuri wasn’t letting up. She removed her hand from the wall, moving it to grip Riri’s chin, forcing their faces closer until their foreheads kissed. 

“What happened, Ri?”

Riri welcomed the softness, even basking in it for just a second before she lightly pushed Shuri away. 

Shuri took the hint, taking a step back but not allowing the space between her and Ri to grow too large. Her eyes swam with concern, searching Riri’s face for an answer her lips weren’t providing. 

Riri’s tiny frame shook with emotion. Her fingers tensed, her hands running across her face with such a desolate sigh it almost sprang tears to her eyes.

“I ain��� seen y/n in bout a week.” Her confession only rang slightly true; she’d seen you around campus, between classes, and in the caf, and each time, you acted like you hadn’t seen her. 

Like you couldn’t feel the intensity of her stare on your back, burning a Riri-sized hole into you with a fiery glare. 

You hadn’t texted, hadn’t called. When she went to your room and knocked, you didn’t answer. 

It scorched Riri to see you going about life without her. Almost like you hadn’t needed her to begin with. 

But Bast, did she need you. Riri hadn’t slept all week, and she knew it was written all over her face. 

The dark circles that decorated her under eyes looked as though they weighed a ton, and the wrinkle in her brow had taken up a permanent residence. 

Shuri paused for a moment, letting Riri’s words settle in the air between them. 

“Fuck you mean you ain’ see Y/n in a week?”

“Exactly what I said.” Riri fell into the chair behind her desk with a thud. 

“How you ain’ see her in a week, Ri? Last time I talked to you-“

“Over a week ago-“

Shuri continued as though Riri hadn’t spoken. “You two were here. Together, I saw you.”

Riri took a beat to take a deep breath and released it slowly before replying. “Yes. And she saw you.”

Confusion riddled Shuri’s sharp features. “She saw me?”

“Yeah, nigga, she saw you. The whole damn internet saw you.”

Shuri was stunned into silence. She knew exactly what Riri was talking about, and wave after wave crashed over her. Embarrassment, disappointment, and confusion rippled, and Shuri’s eyes squeezed shut, hoping to escape the uncomfortable feeling.

“And it upset her?” The end of her sentence fluttered upwards with perplexity. 

The princess hadn’t seen a problem with her actions at the time. She partied often, and she partied hard. Shuri was known for catching ass on a good Friday night, and this had been just that. 

Sure, more girls had seen the inside of Shuri’s dorm room than she might have liked to admit, but she hadn’t been ashamed of it. 

Not until she learned it upset you. 

She really had slowed down, though, since becoming involved with you. Hell, she’d slowed down since she and Riri had started fucking. What used to be one or two girls a night quickly morphed into none over multiple months. 

But Riri didn’t know that. She still thought Shuri’s reputation preceded her, imagining that she was keeping the same company as before. 

In reality, the Wakandan native’s interest in anyone else was long gone. 

Images of your face that night flashed through Riri’s memories. 

You, pacing the room, looking absolutely heartbroken.

You, on your knees, picking up your things. 

You kissing Riri’s cheek before pulling away from her. 

Riri’s poor heart ached at the thought, and in came the now familiar feel of her throat growing tight and her eyes stinging with salty tears. 

She quickly blinked them away, turning to face Shuri with a sigh that sounded like it contained all the world’s sorrows. 

“Yeah,” she nodded slowly. “Yeah, man, it upset her.”

Add disgust to the abundance of emotions Shuri was currently feeling. She cursed herself aloud for making you feel that way. She could just imagine the way you held your head high, refusing to cry with a quiver in your lip that only she would have noticed. 

How you probably departed with a broken smile on your face.

It was eerie how right she was. 

She gulped, attempting (and failing) to wet her suddenly very dry throat. “Did she say anything?” Shuri asked through the scratchiness.

Riri looked over with blank eyes. “Said so much I couldn’t get a word in.” A hush fell between them before Riri spoke again. “We gave her the silent treatment until she agreed to go public, but we ain’ commit to her.”

Shuri winced. Yeah, they had done that…

“She ain’ asking for much, man. She just want us.”

Shuri’s long legs carried her to Riri’s bed with ease. She fell to the mattress with a soft thump before speaking. “Okay,” she said plainly. 

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, Ri. She want us,” Shuri’s shrug left Riri speechless. “She got us.”

Riri’s mouth fell open with the weight of Shuri’s words. “Simple as that?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Riri stood to her feet, letting them lead her to Shuri, still on the bed. Her hands hesitated for a moment before resting on Shuri’s clothed knees, her eyes shining with forgotten tears. “Nigga, don’t play with me right now.”

A small smirk threatened to curve the ends of Shuri’s lips upward. She used one hand to support her weight on the bed and the other to push Riri’s kinky curls away from her face. 

Riri was getting ready to ease into the gentleness of Shuri’s touch when the princess tangled her fingers at Riri’s scalp and pulled hard.

Ri’s head fell back with a sharp tug from Shuri, exposing the entire length of her neck. Her lips parted in shock, and the breath she inhaled had no way to escape with Shuri’s lips so dangerously close to Ri’s ear. 

“You got soft while I was away,” Shuri whispered. It was just the two of them in the small room; no one would have heard her. 

Riri fixed her mouth to say something smart, but Shuri cut her off. “I missed you.”

It was a sincere moment. Shuri’s voice still hadn’t reached octaves above a whisper, and the look she gave Ri was enough to send a tingle down to her toes. 

Shuri hopped from the bed, her hands steady on Riri’s hips before releasing them with a prompt nod. “C’mon. Let’s go get our girl.”

She’d barely made it two steps before Ri’s tiny hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back. “Wait,” she called. 

Shuri turned, her eyes landing on Riri with the same intensity as before. Her chest caved with each deep breath, and her expression looked pained, scared even.

“We doing this? We getting serious bout each other?”

Shuri truly moved with the grace of a panther, retreating swiftly, encapsulating Riri’s face cupped in her hand. 

They were so close they stole each other’s breath. Shuri’s gaze flickered between Riri’s lips and her eyes, not able to decide which was more worthy of her attention. 

Riri’s breathing paused altogether at the sound of Shuri’s chuckle ringing in her ears. “We been doing this how many years, Ri?” Riri’s bottom lip tucked into her mouth clenched between her rows of perfect teeth.

Shuri tutted quietly, using her thumb to roll Riri’s lip back out. 

She didn’t move her finger nor her gaze from Riri’s deep brown lip before she spoke again. “Who’s to say I wasn’t already serious about you?”

The knocking at your door hadn’t subsided, and it was driving you fucking insane. You burrowed further into your comforter, tugging at the heavy blanket until it swallowed you whole. 

You made no conscious movements to answer it. Getting up and going to class had exerted all of your remaining energy this past week, and you didn’t have any left to entertain company. You weren’t getting up until tonight when it was required of you. 

Maybe whoever it was would take the hint and leave. 

They didn’t.

Muffled voices on the other side of the door were your only warning before it opened so harshly that the handle indented into its adjacent wall. 

Your body shot straight up, speechless. The blanket fell, pooling at your hips, and your eyes widened three sizes. 

Riri’s footsteps were nearly silent as she strolled in, hands in her pocket, with a stoic expression. 

Shuri stepped in behind her, and your already large eyes grew to the size of saucers. Hers were glued on you, noticing the way they sparkled at the sight of her. 

The steps she took toward you were timid, and your breath collected in your chest the entire time it took her to cross the small room. 

“Sthandwa,” she spoke directly toward you, her native tongue sounding so much stronger after the time she spent home. 

The tiniest whimper escaped your lips, and the irritation on Shuri’s face was wiped away with a smirk. Her hand made its way to your face, cupping your cheek and smiling even wider when you fell into her touch.

“You missed me,” Her words were low, for your ears only. 

The moment that passed was a shared one, just between you and Shuri. 

You almost nodded, admitting how badly you had missed her.

And then your eyes closed.

And you remembered why you’d put yourself through a week of hell.

You remembered why you were avoiding Riri, ignoring Shuri. 

You remembered why you were going out tonight with someone who wasn’t them. 

And what was a soft smile on your face curled into the nastiest of snarls. 

Your body straightened, pulling your head from Shuri’s hand and retreating until your back touched the wall, and a mountain of pillows distanced you from the princess. 

Her demeanor just about crumbled when your eyes cut sharply from her and landed on Riri, who still stood a couple of feet away with an unreadable expression etched across her features. 

“Y’all broke into my room?”

It was more an accusation than a question, and it oozed with venom. Shuri fought back a flinch, and Riri dug her hand from her pocket, revealing a gold key swinging from her index finger. 

“Not breaking in if I have the spare.”

“It’s breaking in if you weren’t invited.”

Riri tossed her hand back in her pocket and joined Shuri beside your bed, leaning forward until her elbows dug into the mattress. “We ain’ come here to argue with you, y/n.”

Ri had spoken your name more times lately than she had all the months you’d been together, and you hated it. The hairs on your arm stood on end, and your vision turned blood red. 

“Shouldn’t have come at all-” 

Shuri’s hand around your neck evaporated whatever else was about to roll off your tongue. You begrudgingly focused your gaze on her, shocked to see amusement swimming in her eyes. “Who are you talking to like that?”

Your lips remained sealed in defiance, and Riri shook her head with a scoff directed towards you. 

Shuri’s fingertips were digging into the side of your throat, tugging you toward her. It was a gentler touch at first, but then you had to be hard-headed and try to fight it. Her hands gripped tighter, pulling you harder, and the dark spots that started to attack your vision told you to obey. 

You fell on all fours, staring up at Shuri behind lashes so long, they almost touched your brows. She removed her hand, allowing air to reach your lungs again, cursing under her breath. 

“Fuck,” she breathed out. Even Riri had to bury her bottom lip between her teeth to avoid speaking her thoughts aloud.

You looked fucking delicious, seated on hands and knees, glaring up at them. Heat burned deep in Shuri’s chest, heaving with deep inhales. “Come here,” she commanded.

Shuri’s tone left no room for attitude, but that didn’t stop you from having one. Your eyes rolled, and your knees planted in place with a wiggle of your hips.

Even Riri’s brow rose at the action, and she turned to Shuri with a question behind her eyes.

Shuri’s glance at Ri was quick and filled with an unfamiliar husk. She looked back at you, speaking to Riri while her eyes burned such heat into yours that you had to look away. “She wanna be a brat? That’s fine-” The smile that Shuri bore filled your stomach with fear. “We can tame a brat.”

She opened her mouth again, this time to speak to you. “Come. Here.” Her words sent a noticeable chill through your body, and you rose to just your knees, getting ready to swing your legs around and scoot to the edge of the bed, where Shuri and Riri stood.

“Uh, uh,” Shuri shook her head at you, smiling wider at the confusion on your face. She stood taller, shoulders back, spine straight, chin tilted, truly like royalty. “Crawl to me.”

This time, it was your brows that shot to your hairline. The heat that was burning in her belly moved south, and with a gulp, you found yourself crawling, slowly and seductively, until you were face-to-face with Shuri’s torso.

You stared at it for a moment too long, and she fell into a squat, aligning her face with yours. She was so close, the smell of her cologne almost bringing tears to your eyes. You inhaled deeply, wishing you could commit the scent to memory for the next time Shuri left. 

“What’s wrong with you, baby?” She asked sweetly. “Hm? Why you acting like this?”

You were still. 

A minute passed, then another, and you refused to part your lips and address her. 

“Silent treatment, baby? Forreal?”

The room was quiet.

“You being childish,” Shuri mumbled, standing to her full height again. 

She moved to sit beside you, and you watched with interest.

With swift movements, Shuri was next to you, reaching for your wrists.

It all happened so quickly, her tugging your arms sharply until you laid on your belly across her lap. You gasped, further pressing your torso into Shuri’s thighs.

One hand held your wrists out in front of you as though you were swimming while the other caressed your ass through your shorts. 

Her touch was too soft, a stark contrast to the rest of her movements. You made the mistake of relaxing in her grasp, allowing your guard and attitude to fall completely. 

Poor you. 

A sharp slap sounded throughout the room, followed by the sharp sting that radiated through your right ass cheek. And just as quickly as the strike came, it went, covered by Shuri’s soft massage. 

The way your mout h fell open to form a little “O” was so cute.  Shock, and anger, and desire all fueled the fire that was burning in your lower belly, igniting and growing it further.

“We gonna work on you and Riri’s ‘Welcome’ next time, baby” Another harsh slap, this time to the opposite cheek. 

Riri spoke up, her voice sounding like a squeak. “You could always take us with you next time.” She barely got the sentence out without a moan escaping. Her eyes bore into the scene before her, wanting so badly to rub away the pain Shuri was inflicting. 

Shuri smirked at Ri before turning back to land another hard clap on your ass. “What you think, baby? Wanna come with me?”

Her words and her actions weren’t lining up. The way she spoke to you was so tender, as though the three of you sat in a coffee shop having a pleasant conversation. 

The way she assaulted your ass said otherwise. You were writhing under her touch, with a wetness that pooled between your clenched thighs uncomfortably. 

Another slap, then she continued. “We spend weeks together, relaxing by the water. I could take you on the Royal Talon Fighter. Fuck you right on the floor while we’re in the air”.

Another slap. “Riri fingering you in the pool.”

Slap. “I’ll sit you on my throne, where you belong, and eat you until you cry.”

Slap. “Sound like a plan, Ri?”

Riri was in a fucking daze. She could smell your arousal, and it was so hard to resist planting her face between your legs, inhaling your scent deeper. She struggled to mutter so much as a “yeah” in response to Shuri’s question. She wasn’t even sure she’d been listening. 

Shuri’s attention fell back to you, and a deep groan escaped her chest. You were a mess. She could feel how hot your body had grown in the short time you’d been pressed against her. You were still quiet, but her ears picked up on the soft whimpers that you thought no one could hear. Your body was practically vibrating.

An insatiable need swam in your eyes, falling over your cheeks and down the side of Shuri’s leg. 

“That sound like a plan, baby?”

You remained quiet, the sound of her hand clapping your ass echoing in the room. 

“I don’t like being ignored, y/n.” Shuri must’ve lost her mind and left it in Wakanda, using your real name like that. It just made you dig your heels in further, refusing to give her a verbal response.

She shook her head, turning to Riri to speak again. “I been gone three weeks, and you let her get all defiant and shit.”

Riri snapped out of her trance at the accusation. “I ain’ let her do shit-”

“You did,” Shuri removed her hand from your ass to point toward your nightstand. “Grab her vibrator from the drawer and come fix your shit.”

Your head shot up at Shuri’s words. A part of you was relieved the attack on your now swollen ass cheeks had stopped. The other part was full of dread. You needed to fucking come, but there was no way Shuri was going to make it that easy on you. 

She lifted your limp body with ease, shuffling around until you were in her lap, back pressed to her heaving chest. You winced a bit at the stinging sensation that traveled down the back of your thighs, but Shuri’s padded fingertips drawing circles in your abdomen was enough of a distraction for you to relax a bit. 

Her lips peppered up and down the length of your neck, stopping every now and then to nip at your tight skin. “Imma hear that pretty voice one way or another, baby.”

She grinned at the shiver her words sent down your spine and lifted her head to see Riri starting back toward your bed with your massive pink wand in hand. Your knees lifted to your chest without thought, and Shuri planted her hands on them,  prying them apart until the wet spot in your shorts was visible to Ri. 

Her breasts bounced with the way her chest heaved at the sight. Your grey shorts were noticeably darker around the spot that bore your cunt, and your dark thighs glittered with your own slick. 

The sudden cool air that hit your pussy shocked you, and your thighs clenched, trying to close in response. They barely moved with Shuri’s hands in place.

She didn’t even acknowledge your failed attempt, instead nodding her head at Riri. The smaller girl looked as though it pained her to look away from you, and it did. 

“What?”

“Come here.” Riri glanced over you one more time, then started stepping closer to the bed. Shuri ducked her head, taking your ear lobe between her teeth before speaking lowly. “See how she listen the first time?”

Riri rolled her eyes but climbed onto the bed anyway, kneeling beside you and Shuri’s bodies flush against one another. “What?” she asked again.

Shuri let go of your thighs, snaking an arm around your torso to hold you in place while the other tugged on Riri’s curls, luring her closer and closer and closer until she and Shuri’s breaths became one.

Shuri leaned up, pressing her lips against Riri’s with a moan. The delicacy of the kiss didn’t last long, and the strain in your neck as you turned and watched them wasn’t enough to peel your eyes away. 

Riri’s tongue darted out first, sloppily tracing over Shuri’s before she reached to grasp the back of her head and deepen the kiss. 

Your moan at the sight was music to their ears, and Riri pulled away, gracing you with a smile before Shuri’s hand on her chin pulled her back. Shuri’s lips brushed Ri’s as she whispered, “I ain’ get to kiss you properly since I been back.” She let her gaze linger on you with a side-eye before she turned back to Riri. “We had other things to deal with.” 

Riri’s nose scrunched up, her curls swaying to and fro with the shake of her head. “And I’m the one who got soft?” she asked with a scoff. 

Shuri ignored Ri. “Lemme taste her off your lips when you finish.”

Riri’s stare at you was hungry. She hadn’t had a taste of you in so long. Her mouth watered, and her tongue swiped across her lips, leaving behind a sheen. “I’ll think about it,” she mumbled, hopping from the bed.

With the click of a button, your vibrator roared to life, and the whimper that left your mouth was pathetic. Riri stood patiently waiting while Shuri pulled your legs apart once more. Her hands on you felt like fire, and your head fell back onto your shoulder. Her chuckle rang loudly in your ear. “We ain’ even touch you yet.”

But then Riri’s hand grazed your thigh, only enough to pull your shorts to one side and expose your needy center. “Oh, baby, you’re fucking soaked.”

Your hips jutted forward, an impatient exhale sharp in your chest. You knew you were soaked; you needed them to do something about it. 

Riri’s delicate fingers brushed over your lower set of lips before stopping to gently slap it a few times. You splashed around her harsh hits, hissing and curving your hips, hoping to catch her fingers at your entrance. 

Mm, Riri hummed. “This ain’ enough.” She nodded to Shuri, “Lift her legs up.”

Shuri’s hands went from your inner thigh to hooking underneath, folding you in half. Your knees almost aligned with your shoulders, and Riri nodded, satisfied. “There she go. All on display for me.”

She brought the vibrator to your clit without warning, and you screamed. “There go that pretty voice, too,” Shuri stated, levity and lust dripping from her accented words. 

You didn’t have the strength to stay silent anymore. Riri had the violently vibrating toy pressed hard against your swollen bud, and she made no move to let up. Your cunt splashed around the rapid movements, and you knew your orgasm would come fast and hard. 

“So pretty,” Riri parroted lazily. The wetness between her own legs was growing uncomfortable, but her focus right now was wholeheartedly on you.

Your pussy clenched around nothing, and your head dug into Shuri’s shoulder with a dull pain that would become prominent later. “Oh, fuck,” you breathed out, repeating the phrase like a broken record.

This time, it was Shuri and Riri who were quiet, listening intently to your voice and the way its crescendo was built. 

Your chest heaved, and your abs contracted, and you could feel your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, shit, shit-” 

And then it was gone. The vibrations stopped, and the glorious orgasm that was about to wreck you washed away. A desperate cry fell from your lips, your glossed eyes staring up at Riri with so many questions. 

“Nah, ma. That was the lowest setting.” She bent down to kiss your cheek. “You don’t gotta come yet.”

Your head shook so fast, it made you dizzy. “I do, I do.”

“Oh, you do?” She was mocking you. Your mouth opened with a smart-ass response that was quickly forgotten when stronger, harsher movements attacked your clit. 

Riri had turned the intensity up, and the vibrations were radiating through your abdomen and your thighs. Your head fell back once more; your jaw stuck slack. “Oh fuck,” you roared. There was no way the people minding their business in the halls weren’t hearing you, but Bast, did you not give a fuck. 

“Fuck, Ri, fuck,” you drawled out with a whimper. Her name had fallen from your lips with ease, and both the girls focused on you moved quickly to correct that. 

Shuri’s hand roughly grabbed a handful of your braids and pushed your head forward at the same time that Riri pulled it forward with her hand on your chin. She hit the button on the vibrator, and the intensity increased once more. 

Their hands on you wouldn’t allow your head to fall. The spew of screams and curses uttered from your mouth while Riri’s eyes dug into yours as if she could see past them. “Yeah, let’s try that again, baby girl.”

Up another setting the vibrator went, and the cry that came from you sounded like that of a wounded animal. “What’s my name?” Riri asked with all the sass in the world, watching you with stern eyes. 

You didn’t answer, too afraid you’d say the wrong thing. There wasn’t a sane thought in that pretty brain of yours right now, and though you searched and searched, your own name didn’t even come to mind at the moment. 

The intensity climbed higher and higher until Riri hitting the button was mundane. The vibrator was on the highest possible setting, and she was proud of you for handling it. 

Your orgasm didn’t creep back on you with ease; it was about to hit you like a train. Your splashing grew, throwing your slick on all three of you. Your stomach was so tight, you were sure you’d have a six-pack after this, and your body shook like you were possessed. 

Your head was still aligned with Ri’s, but your eyes were long gone, rolled back into your skull. A quick tap at your cheek pulled them back, and you stared at Riri, taking in her tiny frame, covered in sweat (or was that your cum?), with a look so sharp, it cut your gasp short. 

“My name, baby,” she growled out at you, but it was too late. You were coming, soaking the sheets beneath you and Shuri with a long, drawn-out cry. Your body was trembling, a shaky “Ooh, shit,” the only thing that you could think well enough to say. 

Riri held the vibrator flush with your cunt, letting the mix of you squirting and the vibrations splash your taste right to her awaiting tongue. 

The moment felt like it lasted forever, and when you finally did start to come down, Riri removed the vibrator from you, turning it off and discarding it on the floor. 

Shuri sat whispering something in Xhosa in your ear, tracing lines up and down your still shaky legs. 

Your body gave out, relaxing into the curve of Shuri’s before Riri’s tight grip around your throat reawoke reality around you. Her eyes darted around your face, her lips tight, and her brows drawn. She yanked you away from Shuri and closed the space between you and her. 

“What is my fucking name?” She questioned harshly. You’d never heard a sound so sinister come from her, and it turned your good mood foul. 

“Red,” you spat at her. 

In the next instant, her hand released your neck, and she took a step back, eyes still racing, breath still raging.

Shuri removed her hands from your thighs, backing herself into a corner of your bed until she was no longer touching you. “Sana-” she started gently, but you barely heard her. 

All of your rage from before was back, and now Riri was the unfortunate target. “That’s not fucking fair, Riri!” 

She remained silent tense brows raising as she watched you jump from the bed onto wobbly legs. You stumbled but stood your ground. “Yeah, you’re Riri now.”

She wasn’t deterred when you started toward her, hands drawn in fists at your side and chest poking out. “You been calling me by my government since that night in your dorm room, but it’s a problem when I do it?”

Riri's mouth opened, starting to speak, but the look on your face advised her not to. “It’s always a fucking problem when I do it, huh?” You were in her face at this point, and she could see the tears glistening behind the anger in your eyes. 

“You two ignore me for a fucking week until I say okay to the whole damn world know I got not one, but two ‘girlfriends.’” Your hands uncurl to throw air quotes around “girlfriends.”  A grizzly laugh escapes your lips, and the tears start to fall.

“But they not even my girlfriends. I-” Your voice broke, and so did the girls’ hearts. “I ain’ nothing but one of many to them.” You sniff before continuing. “And when I try to get a week to figure that shit out, to process it, you break into my fucking room!”

“You break in and fuck my fucking brains out.” Your hands are shaking as they reach up to wipe away the steady stream of tears. “But you gonna leave here and give the same thing to who the fuck ever.” 

Riri’s silence is starting to irritate you, so you direct the rest of your wrath to the princess. The pillow on your desk chair flies toward her, landing with a thud, and you wish you had the balls to throw something heavier. “And you-”

Shuri watches you cross the room toward her, stopping just short of the bed. “You got me out here looking fucking stupid!” Snot and spit mix with your tears in what you only know as the definition of ugly crying, but you do not fucking care. 

“You got a harem, Shuri? Hm?”

“No-” Her words were drowned under yours. 

“Kehlani, nigga? I can’t-” Your voice cracked further. “I can’t fucking compete with Kehlani. I can’t even compete with the other girls on campus, can I?” You whispered. 

Your hand flew to point at Riri, and she flinched, certain that you’d just flung something in her direction. “She the only one who don’t got any competition. It’s always been Ri and Shuri.” You chuckle again. “Y’know what she told me?” Your laughter grew until you were hiccuping behind giggles and sobs. “When I was in her room upset about the viral video of my ‘girlfriend’ dry humping somebody else in the club? She kept saying ‘Me and Shuri’ this and ‘Me and Shuri’ that.”

You looked back toward Riri. The venom in you had run dry, and all that was left behind was sadness. “‘Me and Shuri ain’ never been exclusive’” You took her words and threw them back at her; it was the worst thing you could’ve thrown. 

“‘Shuri catching ass, getting ass; those are just her weekends,’” you repeated what Riri had said to you with bile in your throat. “She laughed about it.”

Shuri’s eyes darted towards Riri, who looked as though she were about to crumble to the floor. 

You closed your eyes, refusing to look at either of them any longer. “Get out,” you whispered.

Shuri rose from your bed, taking tender steps toward you as if you would explode if she were to move any faster. “Baby, I- We-”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes until they were red. “There it go again; ‘we’. ‘We’ is not Shuri, Riri, and me. ‘We’ is Shuri and Riri. It’s always Shuri and Riri.” You shook your head, your braids swinging around you. “I’m not doing this no more. Get out.”

Your voice was eerily calm. As though you were making small talk about the weather and not breaking their hearts. 

“No-” Shuri spoke again. “Baby, listen-”

You glanced at the clock above Riri’s head, avoiding looking at her altogether. “Get. Out.” You emphasized, stalking past them both until you were entering your bathroom and starting the shower. “I need to start getting ready. Thanks for ruining my nap.”

“Getting ready for what?”

You looked at Shuri deliberately as the next words from your mouth rang through the air. “I have a date.”

“Like hell you do.” 

Both of your heads whipped to Riri standing on the other side of the room. Your confession had broken her trance, and she approached you quickly, grabbing for your hand. 

“I do,” You snatched away from her touch roughly. “And I need to wash you off me. Both of you.”

“Y/n, you play too fucking much-” 

Your neck snapped toward Riri. She didn’t back down when a scoff fell from your lips, and you walked to her until your chests were touching, and she had no choice but to look up at you. 

Sadness still decorated your pretty brown eyes, but Riri was more focused on the growl deep in your voice. “What’s the matter, Ri?” You darted your gaze back to the clock once more. “Your eight o’clock cancel on you?”

Your hair whips her in the face as you turn back to Shuri. “Kehlani couldn’t make it?”

Neither of them speaks, just watching you head back to your bathroom door. “I’m getting in the shower,” you announce. “Can’t have all this dried cum on me.” The door starts to close, but not before they hear the last of your sentence. “He might want a fresh slate.”

Riri sat in the VIP box of a club she did not want to fucking be in, nursing a glass of rum that she was barely sipping on. Anger on a sober Riri was enough to land her in jail; she didn’t need to be drunk tonight. 

Shuri sat across from her, eyes scanning the crowd below them as she threw back another shot, growling with the burn cascading down her throat.

She lifted a hand to fix the blazer on her shoulder before looking over to notice Riri had abandoned hers. A dark, lacey fabric clung to Riri’s bosom like a second skin, and Shuri gulped before turning away again. 

“Why are we even here, Ri? She said she was done.”

Riri’s eye-roll was almost audible. “You wasn’t saying shit when you snuck the Kimoyo bead in her purse.” She brought the cup to her lips again, allowing the sour liquor to run over her tongue before swallowing it harshly. “Ion give a fuck what she said. She’s not done; she’s ours.”

They watched you with fury burning behind their gazes as you gyrated in a crowd full of people. Shuri had to convince Riri to remain glued to her seat when your dress rode up a bit, and luckily, you’d pulled it down before Riri had a chance to expose that she and Shuri were spying on you.

They were just there to make sure your date was respectful. You could have this cute lil date, even if it boiled their blood. They’d make sure your clothes stayed on, and you got home safe, and then try talking to you again tomorrow. Or the day after that, or the day after that.

Except, Riri was finding it really hard to stay under the radar. Every time your date slipped his hands around your waist or brought his face a little too close to yours, her feet begged her to move, her fist itching to hit him. 

Him. Of all the ways you could have chosen to spite them, this was by far the fucking worse. 

You’d never shown interest in a dick, yet here you were, grinding up against one. 

Shuri wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She struggled to read your lips from up here when you brought them to his ear to whisper something or when they spread into a grin. The glass cup in her hand was in danger of breaking; Shuri’s grip just kept getting tighter and tighter. 

And even though you weren’t dancing for them, they were mesmerized by you. Your hair was gathered into a high pony, your eyeliner deep and dark, accentuating your big, round eyes. The dress you chose was sinful. It stopped just under the curve of your ass, exposing the length of your thick thighs for him to touch. Had it been any tighter, your breasts would have spilled right out of the deep plunge that reached your belly button; instead, they sat high and (mostly) covered, aside from your pierced nippled poking through the thin fabric. 

Riri had groaned when you first walked in, and that quickly turned into a growl when she noticed the nigga’s hand resting on your hip. 

That was nearly two hours ago, and her expression had yet to change. 

“You don’t wanna chop his hands off?” she asked Shuri over the rim of her glass.

“Of course, I do, sana-”

“Good, then go do it.”

Shuri sighed, putting her drink down and peering over the railing back down at you. Your ass was rolling into the curve of his front, and he was enjoying every bit of it, with one hand on your hip and the other gathered in your hair. “I’m considering it.”

Riri was about to comment when her body ran cold. A slow song rang through the speakers, something much more sensual than the ass-shaking anthem that was playing before. Her eyes ran back to you, and she watched, frozen.

You’d stood back up to your full height, turning to face him with your arms thrown around his neck. 

Your bodies ground together in sync with the rhythm of the music, and Riri’s mouth fell open when your head fell back with a moan, and he leaned down to kiss your throat. 

She was already on her feet by the time he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours as he practically fucked you through your clothes on the dance floor. The angle put your left breast in danger of being exposed and Ri could see the dark swirl of your areola bouncing free. 

“Fuck no.” Riri was gone, and Shuri wasn’t too far behind her. They pushed through the crowd, ignoring protests coming from every which way. Ri’s vision was blood-shot, her body shaking with rage. 

Her fist was already formed and she stalked toward you, on a mission. Shuri’s voice in her ear caused the smaller girl to stumble. “Do not hit him,” she commanded with a growl.

Riri reached you first, uncurling her fist and reaching up to snatch you by your hair, breaking the now deepened kiss between you and him. Shuri followed closely behind, nearly clipping your heels and already digging her keys from her pockets. 

He stood there stunned as you were pulled away and lead through the front doors without anyone so much as glancing your way. Ri took her hands from your hair and put them around your hips, lifting and flinging you into the backseat of Shuri’s SUV. She hopped in behind you, and Shuri jumped into the driver's seat, pulling off with a loud skid as her tires kissed the pavement.

Riri was livid, shaking in her nearly naked form, and it pissed her off even more to see the smugness that was embedded into your features. Her intentions weren’t to scare you but the fact that you didn’t even show an ounce of fright enraged her. 

“Breaking and entering and kidnapping on the same day? Must not be the first crime the two of you have-”

Riri’s hand was around your throat before you could finish your sentence, pressing your body harshly into the leather seats until your head bounced against the headrest, locking you in place.

“You must be out of your fucking mind,” she hurled at you. Your pompous attitude was gone, and fear danced in your gaze. You’d never seen Riri so angry; you didn’t know lividity was a feeling she was capable of. 

She didn’t give you a chance to speak, staring at your lips in disgust before she continued. “I hope you happy, baby, because you just cost that man his life.”

Your eyes widened further with horror, and Shuri called out Riri’s name in warning. 

Ri scoffed. “Oh, I don’t gotta do shit,” her grip tightened. “Wakanda got a whole ass army who would kill to protect you.”

Alarm bells were ringing in your head and your vision was starting to blur with the lack of oxygen your brain was receiving. You knew you shouldn’t push Riri any further, but the words were out without a second thought. 

“They kill for all your hoes?”

Shuri’s foot came down hard on the brakes, and you and Riri jerked forward, but her eyes never left your face. All around you, horns blarred angrily with the Princess’s driving and you could see the swing of headlights from behind as they swerved to avoid ramming into the back of it, but Shuri continued as if she didn’t almost cause the world’s biggest traffic accident. 

“You fucking-” Riri’s lips curled. “There are no hoes, y/n. It’s just you, only you.”

She turned to look out the window, seemingly analyzing your surroundings, then spoke to Shuri, “Go to my garage.”

The only response she got back was a silent nod, which she ignored anyway. Riri looked hard at your face, glancing back and forth between your lips and your eyes. “Lick your lips,” she commands.

You do as you’re told, surprisingly, and dart your tongue out to swipe over your lips once, twice, three times. Riri groans at the way they shine once you finish, wet with your spit. “They taste like him?”

Shuri watches through the rearview mirror as you hesitate, then nod. Riri crashes her lips into yours in a harsh kiss. She wants to wipe away any trace of him, any taste, any memory, any thought.  She swallows your tongue, moaning as you swap spit, and you bring your arms around her neck to pull her closer. 

Riri resists, though, drawing her body back and creating an unwanted distance between the two of you. “What about now?” She asks through pants. “They still taste like him?”

You lick your lips slowly, savoring the taste. Your head shakes from side to side. 

“Who they taste like?” She demands. 

“You,” you reply breathily. 

Before Riri has a chance to respond, the car comes to a stop, and Shuri cuts the engine off. You look around, recognizing the alley that leads to the back entrance of Riri’s garage. 

Shuri hops out of the car first, walking around to open your door and offer her hand to help you. 

Riri’s already out of the car, walking over to unlock the well-secured garage and stepping inside the darkness. 

She swipes a bunch of papers off the thrifted couch that sits next to her desk, and they flutter to the floor like snowflakes. 

She pushes you into the cushions, watching your body land with a bounce that exposes your right breast in all its pierced glory. 

Riri’s stare at you is lustful and rageful, shaking her with an unusual intensity. Shuri stands beside her, both of them glaring at you, but neither of them moving. 

It isn’t until Riri breaks the trance, shaking her head and walking away. “Handle her, man. I need to calm down some before I touch her.”

Now you and Shuri watch as Riri retreats, guilt building up in your little body. You turn back to see Shuri approaching you, unbuttoning her blazer until it swings open. She stops in front of you, fingers toying with the spaghetti straps of your dress. “He touched this,” she states simply.

You nod, “Shuri, I-”

The sound of ripping fabric echoes off the metal walls, and you look down to see Shuri’s torn your dress straight down the plunge. 

You can only muster out a pathetic squeak at the sight of what was your favorite dress. Shuri is so close when you look up that you almost headbutt her. 

“What is my name?” She growls, accentuating every word. 

“D-daddy-” you manage to stutter out.

Mm, she hums, and you shrink into yourself. No ‘good girl’ or praise. Just a hum.

You hadn’t really deserved the praise lately, though. 

Her head buried in your neck pulls you away from your thoughts. The feel of her lips and her tongue traveling along the softness of your skin causes your head to lazily tilt to the side, giving her more access. 

Her finger juts out to point in the direction Riri wandered in. “And you are hers,” she says with such a harsh bite that you cry out. 

She licks away the pain a moment later, “And you are mine.”

Shuri reaches down to pull the shredded dress away from your body and starts kissing down the length of your collarbone. “I’m sorry that video upset you.” She emphasizes each word with a kiss. “And I’m more sorry that my actions upset you.”

Her kisses trail to the valley between your breasts, and your fingers find her curls tangling in them and pressing her closer. “But I am all about you, baby.” 

Her kissing stops as she spots your underwear. It’s nothing but a black piece of string tied around your hips and thighs. The thinnest fabric in the world barely covers both your lips down there, and even now, it’s twisted to the point where your slit swallows it. 

“You wore these for him?”

You shake your head, missing the feel of her lips on your skin already. “Wore them for you; knew you were there.” 

“How-” Shuri starts.

“Your bead. Found it in my purse before I even left the dorm. Spotted the two of you a few minutes after we got to the club-”

Her face twists into an unreadable expression. “You knew we were there and gave us a good ole’ show, baby?”

Your cheeks grow hot, and Shuri shakes her head. “You really were trying to get that man killed.”

She lets her hand trail down your thigh, stopping at the crevice where they meet. You're already so wet, your little cunt drenching your sorry excuse of panties. 

One harsh tug, and those too, are nothing but shredded fabric. 

The only part of your outfit that isn’t torn and tattered are your heels and when you ask Shuri if she’s gonna go for those next, she ignores you. 

“You owe me new clothes,” you grumble under her attack of kisses on your thigh. You whine when she pulls away, sitting up enough that your gazes are aligned. 

“I don’t owe you shit but an apology.” Her slender fingers run down the length of your slit, coming back up dripping in your essence. You’re hypnotized, watching in fascination and lust as she brings them to her lips, licking them clean of you and groaning at the taste. “But I’d buy you a closet full of clothes if you asked me to.”

Your thighs part and her head descends between them, licking up the wetness that coats them. “And no,” she says with a breathy moan to your twitchy clit. “I don’t do that for all my hoes.”

And with that, her tongue attacks you. There's nothing but a sense of urgency in the air as Shuri laps at you as if the taste would disappear if she didn’t appreciate it enough. Your moans ring through the garage, loud and echoing. 

Shuri’s tongue on your clit is merciless, swiping and sucking. She dips lower, licking a fat, long strip up your slit and her moans tickle you from the inside out. Your thighs on her shoulder are clenched tight around her head, but she couldn’t care less.

You taste like heaven and Shuri never believed in such a place before you. Her tongue stiffens, and then, it’s in your cunt, fucking you feverishly. Your eyes roll and you’re trying so hard to keep them on Shuri. 

The sight of her fucking your pussy, drowning in it, is one the tabloids would have never been able to imagine. If they thought an ass-catching princess was scandalous, they’d drop dead at the sight of this.

Movement from the corner of your eyes catches your attention, and it takes all your strength to pull it away from Shuri long enough to notice Ri in the corner, back pressed against the wall, arms crossed in front of her. 

Your eyes lock, and you stare at Ri as you pant and groan, as if they were directed towards her. And maybe they were. She shifts uncomfortably at the sounds you make, reaching around to adjust something in her, now unbuttoned pants, but before you have time to question it, Shuri’s tongue in your pussy is replaced by two fingers.

They stretch you out deliciously, and she pulls her head away to admire the way you clench around her. “Demethi, nkosazana,” she mumbles under her breath. 

You’d heard her speak enough Xhosa over the years to be able to translate that one. “I’m the princess now?” you stumble and stutter through the question and a red-hot fury makes itself known in your belly with the way she curved her fingers and looks up at you. “My princess,” she responds.

Suddenly, her fingers pick up speed, and she’s added a third, scissoring into you and grinning at the way you stretch around her. “Good girl,” she praises. “Good girl, go ahead and open up for me, hm?”

Ugh, they way they talked to you during sex.. Their words were fucking filthy and the moment they opened their mouths, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. 

This time was no different. You had been so focused on Shuri, that you didn’t notice Riri stalking toward you. 

Shuri noticed, but she was intent on making you come apart before she handed you over. The taste of you was still on her tongue and she signaled Riri to ‘come here’ with a curled finger, while the other mirrored the action deep within your walls. 

Riri headed over to Shuri, and upon reaching her, took her chin and tilted it upwards so she could capture her lips in a kiss. You watched as they shared your taste between the two of them,  moaning at the sight. 

Shuri pulled away first, feeling the way your walls began to swell around her hand. Your orgasm was coming (pun intended), and as much as you wanted to keep your eyes on them, you couldn’t. Your head fell back, and your eyes shut so tightly, they were just slits. 

Riri just stood and watched, hands tucked in her pockets, and Shuri sang you praises. 

“There you go, baby. Let it out.”

You began to splash around her fingers. 

“Good girl, nkosazana yam, keep going.”

Your wetness had picked up, as did your cries. Shuri’s forearm was soaked, along with the front of her blazer.

“I’m- fuck! I’m com-” Your sentence was nothing but fragments, but Shuri understood it perfectly well. 

“I know baby, come for me,” she cooed. “Umhle kakhulu (So pretty).”

You were already in the midst of coming apart, and Shuri’s fingers didn’t let up, fucking you through your climax. It was such an intense feeling. You felt so full, like the pressure was too much, but Bast, it was so delicious, you didn’t want her to stop. 

You wanted your orgasm to keep coming so Shuri’s fingers never left. Unfortunately for you, your well began to run dry and your screams died down to panting breaths. Shuri’s hand slipped out of you with a loud squelch and she lifted them so you could see how much of you was actively dripping from her digits. “Messy girl,” she stated cooly, rising to her feet and taking a step back.

Your thighs were still sky-high and your breathing hadn’t quite leveled out before Riri stepped to where Shuri once stood. She reached into her pants, pulling out a dildo you’d never seen before already strapped to her hilt. 

It was made of vibranium, that much was obvious with the deep purple glow. Most of the toys the three of you used were, but this one was different. First of all, it was thick. Fuck the fact that it was already a good 8 or 9 inches long, it wasn’t much smaller than the width of a fucking soda can and you could hear a slight buzzing come from it. 

The look on Riri’s face gave away the surprise. It was vibrating, harshly against her clit and when she pressed the tip to your slit, you could feel the vibrations on your end too. 

Fuck, she was about to tear you apart. 

“You seemed to have wanted dick so damn bad tonight, baby,” her words were still angry as she pushed into you at a snail’s pace. 

The stretch was too much, but it felt so fucking good. Your cunt swallowed every inch of her, pulling her in further.

She could feel just how wet you were, how tight you were, having just come. The way you clenched around her almost knocked the wind from her little body, and she had to will herself to take it slow. 

“Shit, baby,” she hissed, eyes closed, breathing staggered. 

“Riri-” Shuri’s voice sounded out from somewhere in the room, but you were too focused on Ri to search for it. 

“What?” She sounded like she was in pain, and still, she wasn’t even fully in you yet.

“Fuck her.”

Riri opened her eyes, burning a hole through yours. Her hips shifted, and she was in you even deeper. “No shit. I ain’ taking orders from you right now,” she growled lowly. 

The only warning you got before she buried her entire cock into you was a hand on your hip as she steadied herself. Your scream rang through the room in agony and Ri’s moans harmonized with yours. 

The two of you sat, stuck for a moment as she took a few deep breaths, allowing you to adjust.

And then she pulled out, leaving you feeling hollow. The feeling didn’t last long because she thrust back into you, this time much easier than the first. 

“Fuck,” you cried, and she did it again, and again, and again, until she’d picked up a steady pace. 

Sweat poured down her forehead as she fucked you with the restraint of a fucking God. You were so tight, so wet, so warm. A week was much too long to go without being buried in your cunt and the fact that you’d almost willingly given it to a nigga earlier that night angered her. 

Her movements were harsh and rough, and so good. This wasn’t love making, it was fucking. 

The kind that sent a tingle to your toes and arched your back to extremes that you didn’t know you were capable of. It was the type that warranted multiple orgasms and the first one ripped through you with a vengeance.

Riri felt it; she felt the way you clenched around her and how your screams pierced the air. She could feel your slick collecting on the pants that she hadn’t bothered to pull all the way down before taking you.

And she didn’t let up. No recovery time this time around. She fucked you through that first orgasm and continued fucking you toward the second. 

Your legs clamed around her waist and your arms trapped her face right in front of yours. You could inhale her pants as she dug into you, reciting elements on the periodic table so she didn’t come before she wanted to. 

“You been playing games with me, baby,” she whispered to you through her thrusts.

You were too dick-crazed to fully process her sentence at first, but once you did, you responded, “No different than the games you and Shuri been playing.” You sounded like a drunk, but Riri understood every bit of what you said. 

Your eyes wandered, rolling back as that second orgasm approached. 

“Look at me, baby,” Riri commanded, and she smiled when you obeyed, locking your lust-blown eyes on hers. “There ain’ nobody else, okay?” Her forehead pressed to yours. “I ain’ fucking nobody else like this.” At that, her hips curved and her cock hit the spongy part of your cunt that was the only thing responsible for holding your orgasm at bay. 

The second one rolled through you, yet Riri continued as if it hadn’t. She groaned, listening to you moan right in her ear. “That pretty sound right there, fuck. I wanna hear that shit for the rest of my life.” She couldn’t hold back any longer. She was about to come.

Her thrusts slowed and she shuddered, sinking into the suppleness of your touch as your legs kept her buried in your cunt and your nails dug into her back, scratching hard enough to draw little beads of blood. 

Shapes, letters, she didn’t know what you were etching into her skin, and it didn’t matter. She groaned, legs shaking as she struggled to stay on them. 

Your lip rolled into your mouth at the feel of Riri’s warmth on your inner thighs. “That’s it,” you muttered, low enough for just her to hear. “Come on me, ma.”

Neither of you knew who’s come was who’s on your thighs and neither of you cared. Riri fell apart in your arms, finally coming down long enough to press your lips together in a kiss that was much softer than her thrusts had been. 

“You’re mine,” she said against your mouth. “You’re barely hers-” she pointed back at Shuri and wrapped both arms around your middle to press you further against her, as if your bodies could fuse and become one. “Because you are all fucking mine,” she growled and you smiled at her words. 

Shuri walked over, slapping her palm against Riri’s ass with a warning. “Watch yourself.” Her head tilted, focusing on Riri’s back and your smile morphed into laughter. Shuri copied you with a chuckle. “Did you write your name in her back, baby?”

You nodded, still laughing, feeling gleeful for the first time in days. “I did,” you stated proudly. 

Shuri chuckled again, shaking her head before eying you. “It’s sideways.”

You shrugged, “It’s there.”

“Well,” Shuri declared, moving her fingers to shake off her blazer, letting it fall to the floor. Her eyes never left yours as she shrugged her shirt over her head. “Guess I need one to match.”

[starlight-incarnate]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[ficeacs]

Dragons Fight, Little Light (Prologue)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Two dragons of a different scale that were meant to loathe one another instead found the love and comfort they had always sought. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 7,573

“How long are we to stay?” Eraena asked, already displeased by what she had seen from a distance. She was still up in the heavens and the stench of the capitol already made her want to retch. “It smells like shite,” She hears her father call from a distance, and she felt her lips twitch upwards in agreement. Eraena undid the ropes that secured her to her saddle and was assisted off her mount by her brother. “Looks like it, too,” Jacaerys snickered and grimaced at the view of the outside. 

“Lykiri, Alina, lykiri, my girl,” Eraena sighed as she stepped closer to her dragon, mumbling the words against her snout and pressing her lips against the scales of her beloved dragon. “But seriously, how long are we to stay?” Eraena asked once more, and she heard her mother snort. “We’ve only just arrived, my sweet,” Rhaenyra said as she threaded towards the wheelhouse. “Come, your brothers are waiting,” She smiled and led out her hand for her daughter to take. Eraena turned to her. Her silver hair shone upon the capitol sun, her pale skin looking even paler against her black dress, her figure lithe, wide purple eyes crinkling as she smiled at her. Eraena could not help but compare herself to what her Mother looked like once more. 

Where her Mother was light, she was dark; where she was true, Eraena was not. Where silver hair was supposed to grow, there were instead dark locks. Amethyst eyes that shone brightly turned to obsidian. The features of a doe had turned to look like those of its prey. Eraena scowled. Now, she was once again subjected to more talk as they returned to this wasteland. 

“Stop scowling,” Jacaerys said, and the girl rolled her eyes. “I will do as I please, brother; I do not stop you from expressing yourself. I say nothing when you pout, why must you stop me?” She questioned and placed a pillow upon her lap as she took her seat. The wheelhouse housed five of them: Rhaenyra and her husband, along with her three elder children. The three watched as the twins started to argue. A knowing smile came along the eldest Targaryen, but his wife sighed, growing tired of watching and hearing the two argue for the past six and ten years. 

“Because you look ghastly when you scowl, do you wish for them to see the once beautiful and renowned princess, the pearl of the realm, look like a witch ready to cast them with a spell?” Eraena’s eyes widened upon her brother’s words. She had no come back to defend herself, no insult to throw at her brother, so she pinched his arm in frustration. Jacaerys howled and glared at his sister, ready to retaliate with another insult. “You two, enough roughhousing!” Their Mother chastised them before he could even open his mouth. 

“Jace called me a witch! I was only defending myself, Mother!” Eraena reasoned. “Be that as it may, a princess does not inflict harm to those who give her petty and untrue insults,” The girl’s shoulders deflated, and she could see from the side of her eye the smirk on her brother’s lips. “Your mother is right; when an insult is levied at you, you must not resort to violence,” Eraena stared oddly at her Father, “You resort to violence all the time!” She argued, and Rhaenyra turned to her husband with a small smile on her lips. “Well,” He said and thought for a moment. “Best armor up, Jacaerys, if you plan to throw more insults at your sister.” The younger prince rolled his copper eyes and turned to the slats of the wheelhouse that revealed the city. 

When they arrived in the keep, only one thing was shared amongst the family. Disgust. It seemed that in the nine years, it was not only the children that had been subjected to change but also the keep. Eraena traced the stitching of her dress as she looked around the castle they once called home. 

“It’s… clean,” she says, trying to find a positive. “Do not lie to yourself, daughter.” Her Father bit in ancient tongue, making her bite down on her cheeks. “How could they let this happen?” Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes roaming around the hall. “Why is there a seven-pointed star here? Have they turned the keep into a sept?” Jacaerys asked as he eyed the figure hanging above them. “I would say it is nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” Their Mother said in disbelief, her hand resting on her swelling bump. “Hm,” her husband hummed and stepped further into the keep; his Valyrian gaze filled with nothing but repulsion. 

Erarna turned to Jacaerys, who was tugging their younger brother along. “Where are you two going?” She questioned, “Tiltyard, care to join, sister?” Eraena made a face of contempt, making Jace chuckle, and hurriedly pulled their younger brother away. “Come, let us visit your grandsire,” Rhaenyra called and led out her hand for her daughter to take. Eraena chewed on her lip as they passed hallway upon hallway. It was the same as she remembered, yet at the same time, it was not. How can something so familiar be so strange at the same time? 

As they entered the room, Eraena was appalled at how they had left it unclean and how they had let it dust away. The figurines that her grandsire once cherished were now filled with cobwebs and held the remnants of neglected time. She turned to her Mother, the disgust on her face unfading. She was too preoccupied eyeing the figurines that Eraena had not noticed that her parents had disappeared to the other half of the king’s chambers. The girl blew away the dust of the models, and her fingers itched to hold them once more. Her eyes closed in on a specific figure, and as she made her way to reach and inspect it closely, her name was called. 

“Eraena,” Her Father called and motioned his head for the girl to join them. She made quick steps to where they stood. Eraena caught a glimpse of her grandfather lying unmoving on the feathered bed, and she was certain that it was a corpse. The king’s corpse that was left rotting and decaying. She took a sharp intake of breath as the king’s hand twitched. “E… Eraena? Is that you? Oh, my sweet granddaughter.” She heard the frail voice, and she turned to her Mother and Rhaenyra only urged her daughter to step closer even though Eraena’s face was filled with apprehension and perhaps even fear.

Eraena held back her look of shock at the state of the king. “It is. I’m here, grandfather,” she said and kneeled upon his bed. “Oh… you look just like her,” Eraena could see a smile starting to form upon his grey, cracked lips. “H-her?” She asked and gave a quick look to her Mother. Who in their family could she possibly look like? It was notable that there were scarce things that she had inherited from her Mother. “Aemma, my Aemma…” Eraena could only sadly smile. Her grandsire was truly fading. “A beauty you three are,” The frail king coughed and pointed to his side, and Eraena turned to the table beside her and retrieved the cup placed on it. The king took big gulps as his granddaughter held the cup to his grey and cracked lips. Eraena’s brows scrunched as the liquid emitted a certain odor. 

She turned to her Father with a confused look on her face; Daemon only nodded. “Thank you,” The king said, and Eraena placed down the cup. “You must rest, Father; we— we will return after you rest,” Rhaenyra said in great concern, but her voice was soft and tried to hide her distress. Daemon took hold of her hand, and Eraena followed her parents toward the fireplace of the chambers. “See to it your brothers do not get themselves into any trouble; you were always the best at handling those two.” Her Mother smiled and cupped her cheek. “I do not see why; Jacaerys is older than me; he should play peacekeeper, not me.” The girl sighed. “Only by ten minutes, and your brother does not hold the same senses in him. Now go,” She smiled at her daughter sweetly, giving a loving pat on her behind as Eraena walked to exit the King’s chambers. 

Eraena walked the halls and kept her head held high. The whispers of the court seemed to scream at her. It’s not as if she were surprised; she had heard all the vile rumors and whispers of vipers, and sadly, they were true. Eraena drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, standing tall. Whispers of vipers should not matter to princesses, she reminded herself. Eraena stood above the tiltyard in search of two boys in blue. As she reached the tiltyard, her eyes passed the silver hair fluttering with every skillful move the fighter made, and she told herself not to grow distracted. Finally, she saw her brothers and made a beeline to where they stood. They had blocked her view; well, Jacaerys did. The prince had grown a few inches taller than his twin sister, but their younger brother still did not reach Eraena’s height.

“What are you doing here?” Jacaerys asked. “Mother sent me. She feared you two may cause trouble.” Jacaerys scoffed. “Us? Were you not the one caught multiple times trying to sneak out of the castle in the dead of night?” Her twin countered. “I believe she had even bribed the guards when she would return home drunk,” Lucerys added. Eraena rolled her eyes. “That was in Dragonstone; I am completely behaved here. It is you two who had unending squabbles and petty fights with our uncles.” As the words left her lips, their attentions shifted toward the crack of wood and the violent swings of a Morningstar. 

Ser Cole made to strike his Morningstar at the silver prince, who had dodged every attempt. Eraena turned away, not particularly enjoying the scene of battle; the girl looked around at the space and noted that, unlike in the inside of the keep, the tiltyard had not been changed. The crowd’s applause brought her away from her thoughts. “Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys in no time. They heard the knight say. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” came the reply. 

Eraena took hold of my brother’s arms and linked them with her own, “Come, let us go. The smell of sweat unsettles me,” She said and attempted to tug at them. “Nephews, have you come to train?” They hear the one-eyed prince call. Eraena caught his eye and reminded herself to keep her expression neutral, which she had failed. When her eyes were captured by the prince, she was quick to look away as a man shouted a command. Eraena turned to look at the gates and saw the reason why they were all there. Vaemond Velaryon entered the yard with his bannermen and passed the three siblings with a pointed look. Eraena licked her lips and tightened her hold on Lucerys’ arm, feeling her younger brother grow still and nervous. When Vaemond passed, the princess turned to Jacaerys. “Now, can we go?” She whispered, and he nodded. 

“Not so fast,” the prince said, and Eraena watched as he twirled the sword in his hand—a malicious grin on his lips. “You still have not greeted your uncle. Has your stay in Dragonstone made you so impolite?” There was no indication of anything on Eraena’s face, making the prince tilt his head in challenge. “Hello, uncle,” Eraena said, the last word foreign on her tongue. That was all she said before she turned away and walked upward, away from the tiltyard and with her brothers in tow. She gave no second glance at the silver prince even though she was tempted so. 

“Where are you going?” Jacaerys asked as he matched his sister’s hastened steps. “To greet Rhaena, I reckon she and the babes have arrived by now,” she said and turned a corner. “Then where are we supposed to go?” Eraena paused and looked at her brothers. She shrugged; she did not even know why she was even sent to the tiltyard— she only knew they were to stir clear of any conflict. “Just do not… engage… or cause trouble. Avoid them at all costs; I know I will. There is a lot at stake at the moment,” 

“But we wanted to train,” Lucerys said, and Eraena turned to her older brother. “Perhaps later than then, when Aemond and Ser Criston had finished. Or perhaps find other grounds to train.” She suggested and Lucerys gave a small nod at her offered solution. “There you three are!” Rhaena exclaimed by the end of the hall. “Joffery would not let me leave, kept insisting me to play that insipid game you invented for him,” She said to her sister who she greeted with a kiss on her cheek. “Ah, another victim of flowers and thorns.” Jacaerys snickered. “I eventually got so tired that I accidentally threw it overboard.” Eraena’s eyes widened, “Why would you do that? I spent days painting and mapping out that board!” She asked her sister in shock. 

“I’m sorry! But we had been playing since the ship had left the harbor in Dragonstone! I grew tired at the sight of it!” Eraena sighed and nodded, understanding her sister’s actions. “When is Baela to arrive?” Eraena asked, and the three shrugged, “She had not said in her letter, but I would think it would be the day before the trial.” Rheana replied. “So, today?” Lucerys asked. Eraena could see the obvious nervousness in her brother. She went to ruffle his hair, a comfort she often did since they were children. 

“You’ll be all right. You are the true heir of Driftmark; no second son can take that from you.” Eraena’s furrowed brows deepened as her brother shook his head. “I—I am not even supposed to be the heir! It was supposed to be you,” he reasoned. “Well, take it up with the gods. They did not give me a cock, and in consequence, I cannot have Driftmark, and you must bear this.” She tried to jest. “Eraena,” Jacaerys scolded with her choice of words. “It is unfair! Not just to you, but Lucerys as well. You are the second born! It was clear that whatever was in between your legs, you were set to inherit Driftmark.” Rhaena huffed. 

“Well… no. It was clarified that whatever gender Mother’s first child would be, they would inherit the throne. It was not the same condition when it came to Driftmark.” Jacaerys explained. “It’s fine, truly, I am perfectly contented on being the heir of Dragonstone,” Eraena added. “I should hope so, especially when A—“ Rhaena caught herself before she could continue her sentence, both of the girl’s eyes widening. “Especially when what?” Jacaerys asked, quick to catch the secret between the two girls. The two girls looked at each other, sending messages with their eyes. “When what?” Jacaerys repeated. “Nothing,” Rheana quickly said. “No, you were clearly going to say something; what is it?” Jacaerys urged. “Nothing, I—“ Rhaena was saved when another voice was heard at the end of the hall. 

“Sisters?” Baela’s voice carried, and the four forgot what they were talking about. “Baela!” Eraena said excitedly as she hurriedly made their way to them. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” She said gleefully, enveloping the two girls in her embrace. “Just them?” Jacaerys asked, and the newly arrived princess rolled her eyes. “You two, as well.” She said. “When have you arrived?” Lucerys asked. “Just now, I rode with grandmother on Melys,” Eraena smiled at an image of Baela atop the clouds with their grandmother flashing through her mind. Moondancer was still growing for her to take such a trip, so it made sense they rode together. 

The five, were now finally complete. They walked along the halls of the keep and engaged in conversation and exchanging anecdotes of their time spent apart. They reached the gardens, and Eraena detached herself from the group and observed the flowers that the keep held. So many variants that did not grow in Dragonstone. She took a yellow flower in her hand, feeling the petals between the tips of her fingers, the voices of her siblings growing farther away. She raised the flower to her nose and frowned at the lack of fragrance. 

“Eraena,” she heard her name called. The girl turned from the flower and saw as the queen stood behind her. “My Queen,” She said and quickly curtsied. “I see you are enjoying the gardens…alone... unescorted?” She questioned with a raise of her auburn brow. “Oh— my siblings are…” she drifted from her sentence, noticing they had disappeared. “I was with my siblings; I only got distracted by the flowers.” She reasoned. Eraena watched the queen’s lips thin, clasping her hands in front of her. “Best find them, princess. It is not advisable… or even seen proper to see you roam the keep unescorted. Would not want a fate befall twice.” Eraena was confused and wanted to question the queen’s words, but for this instance, she only nodded and excused herself to find her siblings. 

She took hold of her skirts as she made fast steps to find the group. She had wandered the lower floor of the keep for some time and she still failed to find her siblings. Eraena disregarded the plan to find the four and made her way to her assigned chambers. She mindlessly walked the halls, her head filled with other thoughts— thoughts that preoccupied her so that she had crashed with another. “Watch it,” She heard the cold voice of Aemond, unlike earlier, the smirk on his lips was long gone. “Sorry,” The girl quickly said and stepped away from the prince to continue her walk. No other spare glance was given, 

“Watch where you walk, Lady Strong.” At those words, Eraena stilled. She turned to her uncle; the smirk on his thin lips had returned quickly. Should she retaliate? she thought, then remembered the words she uttered to her brothers just a few moments before. Eraena licked her lips and walked away, taking the prince's smirk with her. 

Night soon came, and supper was held in her Mother’s chambers. “Vaemond had arrived,” the eldest prince said. “We know we were there to welcome the second son of the tides,” Eraena replied, and her Father raised his brow in question. “Tomorrow is the trial. We must all be ready for whatever those cunts throw at us.” Eraena’s eyes widened when Baela choked on her wine; it seemed that she had forgotten how crass her Father was. “How was your exploration of the keep?” Rhaenyra asked the five. 

“Eraena disappeared,” Jacaerys answered. “I did not! You left me in the gardens then I could not find you four,” She explained. “Mother, are we not allowed to venture here unescorted? The queen said it was improper for me to be without an escort.” She asked. She had never heard of such a rule that she must be escorted in broad daylight. “She said, ‘Would not want a fate befall twice.’ What did she mean?” Eraena added. Her parents exchanged a look, and the princess waited for an answer. 

“Nothing, she meant absolutely nothing,” Rhaenyra said. Eraena’s eyes flew to her hands, playing with her rings. She nodded and turned to her sisters. “You must tell us about your ventures warding in Driftmark. It seems that Rhaena and I have scarce topics to discuss these past days,” Eraena said. Her sister nodded. I was hoping you two would be the ones to tell stories. It was dreadfully lonely there in Driftmark.” 

“Oh, you should tell her about Arthur,” Rhaena said in excitement, and as if it were a reflex, Eraena’s cheeks pinked, and Jacaerys joined in their conversation as he heard an unfamiliar name. “Whose this… Arthur?” He asked and made the girl roll her eyes, pushing him away. “None of your concern, brother.” 

“Mother, Eraena’s hiding something from us,” he tattled, and Eraena could not help herself but pinch his arm once more. “Hush!” she whispered harshly. “Leave your sister alone, Jacaerys; she is entitled to keep some secrets to herself.” Eraena gave her brother a smug look before returning her gaze to the two. “Tonight, let us exchange our stories without bother,” she said, and the two nodded eagerly. 

It was high night when Eraena made quiet steps to her sister’s chambers, a candle in her hand. There was a storm brewing, and Eraena jumped with every clap of thunder. She was finally nearing the room when a gust of wind blew out the candle she held. Eraena was in the dark; the moon and stars gave no light to guide her way. The princess squinted her eyes and prayed she would not trip. Another clap of lightning, and the girl jumped with a squeak of shock. Her heart was beating violently in her chest. Finally, she found her way to her sister’s room. “Gods, you took so long! We thought someone had caught you!” Baela said and pulled her in. “Now, tell me all there is on this… Arthur,” she said and made Eraena sit atop the feathered bed. 

She and Rhaena exchanged knowing looks. “I met him a year ago when he had started his training to be a knight in Dragonstone.” The girl started, and Baela nodded. “I was in the gardens, picking flowers for our rooms, and he was trying to hide from the wrath of his commanding officer.” Eraena tried to control the smile rising on her lips as she recalled the day. “So he hid behind me as Ser Samuel tried to find him. For an hour, he stayed crutched down behind me, moving where I had moved and us just talking and jesting.” Baela and Rhaena watched as the obsidian eyes of their sister twinkled, and the blush grew on her cheeks. “He’s kind, funny, and oh gods, he’s so tall and… dashing,” Eraena said, struggling to paint a clear picture of the soon-to-be knight. “Oh, gods, you love him!” Baela exclaimed, making Rhaena laugh. Eraena scoffed. “I do not! I— I like him, but I do not believe I love him. Not yet, at least,” she mumbled the last part, but it was heard clearly by the two.

When the following morning came, it was the day of the trial. The princess stared at herself in the mirror as a handmaid readied her. Womanhood had taken its full effect on her. Eraena's gaze paused on her thighs, and she could not help but frown. Never in her life had she the gap between her thighs that she saw most women had. There was a small pouch above her sex that Eraena had tried hard to be rid of. Her hips flared at what she found at an alarming and annoying rate; most of her dresses had clung to her waist but had difficulty conforming to the princess’ hips. Eraena’s gaze moved to her chest. Her Mother used to lovingly tease the girl about the ampleness of it until she thankfully stopped as she realized Eraena had grown quite conscious about it. 

The princess took in a deep breath and moved to wear her dress—a black gown with gold laces and an embroidery of a dragon that she had made herself. Her fingers brushed the gold lace on the square neckline, teasing a hint of her bosom. “You outdid yourself on the design, princess,” Lyn, her handmaid, complimented, making the princess smile, and a ‘thank you’ escaped her pink lips. “What of your hair?” Lyn inquired. “A few braids, at the top, and can you make use of the ruby clips Father had recently given me?” Ereana waited patiently as Lyn did her hair, a book finding itself in her hands.  

She walked with Jacaerys to the throne room, their parents behind them. “Do you not think you are a tad overdressed?” Jacaerys asked his sister. Eyeing the gown she had fashioned. Eraena, like their mother, wore expensive gowns. The finest silk, the purest of cotton, the most lustrous pearls, the most brilliant jewels, and the most shining gold are what she and her mother often wore. Jacaerys had no reservations before; however, now, it made him nervous to enter the throne room with his sister fashioning such a dress, especially with such a neckline and bodice conforming to her body. “Excuse me?” Eraena asked in disbelief, almost offended. 

“Good luck, son,” Rhaenyra jested as she passed her twins. Daemon chuckled and eyed the two, ready to argue once more. “There is no such thing as overdressed Jacaerys,” she says, and her brother struggles to look her in the eye. “Women have little to express themselves, brother. You must understand that the way I dress is my way to show my support to this family since I have given little say in this matter, and I know my opinion would not be valued as much as a man's; this is the only way I can take my stand.” Eraena explained, and Jace nodded, but she could still see the reservation in her brother’s copper eyes. 

“I just,” he trailed off. “Just what?” Eraena asked. “I just wished you could have worn a dress that had more to cover,” He said, making the princess narrow her eyes, “Mother wore dresses like these when she was my age; some of my dresses were hers,” She said. “Yes, but our uncles are there,” he tried to defend. “So?” Eraena asked incredulously. Jacaerys sighed and ran a hand through his face. “Never mind, you look lovely, sister. Let’s go,” he gave up, and Eraena conceded in the meantime, knowing their family was waiting for the both of them. 

When they entered the room, they hurriedly made their way to stand behind their mother. “Who won this time?” Their Father asked, “I did,” Eraena said with a triumphant smirk, and Jacaerys shook his head. The smirk on the princess’ lips was soon wiped when she noticed three eyes on her. “Your uncles are looking at you,” Rhaena said lowly. “I know,” Eraena replied but still did not turn to the two. “I feel underdressed standing next to you,” Baela said, and Eraena rolled her eyes as she heard Jacaerys snort. “I told you,” he said with a prideful tone. “Hush,” She grumbled and looked down at her dress with a frown. She was not overdressed; she thought she wore an appropriate outfit for such an occasion. She would not let her brother sway her mind when it came to her fashion choices. 

The girl’s attention was caught when she heard the door of the throne room open whilst her Mother spoke on behalf of her younger brother. “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The king took a while to sit on his throne, aching and wheezing with each step. 

“I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys.” All eyes turned to the Queen who never was. “Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him.” The look of pure shock and outrage could be seen in the face of Vaemond. Eraena turned to the Queen and her father, the hand who had a look of surpassed irritation. Once more, she caught Aemond’s eye and once again, the princess quickly looked away. 

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luc, to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” Eraena turned to gaze at the floor and smiled at her sibling's proposals, but mainly her lack thereof. Rhaenyra had promised her that they would not arrange a marriage for her, that she was free to choose for herself. 

“Well... the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” The king announced. Eraena let out a breath of relief. However, that relief was short-lived as Vaemond spoke once more. 

“You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.” Vaemond gritted out.

“Allow it"? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. The king said. “That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine. You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond stopped himself; Eraena was chewing on her lip, knowing that this would not end well. 

“Say it,” she heard her Father challenge. Her children... are bastards!” Vaemond yelled, and the hall emitted silent chatter. Eraena took in a deep breath but did not let herself waver, holding her pretty head high. “She… is... a whοre!” Vaemond yelled another treasonous phrase once more, and the young princess’ dark eyes widened, not believing that he would scream that out loud and in front of the king, no less. 

“I... will have your tongue for that.” The king said and took out his dagger. Before anyone could blink, Daemon had sliced his sword through Vaemond’s head. The sound of blood gushing out and the thud of a body echoed through the room. Eraena could not help but gasp and turn to her brother, who quickly held her head to face away from the grotesque scene. “There, he can keep his tongue,” Daemon said. The king groaned and fell onto the throne, creating commotion throughout the room. “Return to your chambers, now.” Their Mother urged, and Eraena was happy to oblige. 

“Gods, I— Wha— gods,” she could not even comprehend what had happened. The five of them were in Eraena’s chambers. All of them were seated, whether it was atop her feathered bed, a sofa, or a settee near the fire, but the girl was pacing and trying to erase the image of Vaemond’s severed head upon the bloodied floor. 

“I forgot how violent father was,” Baela said, and Rhaena nodded. “He had mellowed down these past few years, though it is nice to see that the fire in him did not die down.” Eraena looked at her sister strangely, “What?” Rhaena asked. “He just killed a man, grandsire’s brother.” She breathed out, “He was coming for Luc’s inheritance. He called us bastards, our Mother a whore.” Jacaerys said. “Still! He did not deserve to die in such a way,” She said in remorse. “He had it coming,” Jacaerys shrugged, and Eraena shook her head. “Gods, please tell me you will be more levelheaded when you are king.” She said and took a seat next to Rhaena on the settee. 

“You hold too much empathy, sister. Believe me, if the roles were reversed, Vaemond would have cackled to see Daemon’s head roll on the floor.” Eraena huffed and kept her thoughts to herself for the moment. 

The day progressed and Eraena was left alone in her room, her sibling attending to other business in regard to their newly formed betrothals. Eraena walked to the dining hall alone, and when the doors opened, almost everyone was present. “Ah, there you are!” Her Father said and stood up to greet her. Eraena kissed his cheek as well as her Mother’s before she was escorted to her seat in between Jace and Aegon. 

The king was carried into the room and was seated at the head of the table, she noted the look of surprise her brothers tried to hide upon seeing the state grandsire in up-close. “How good it is to see you all tonight… together.” The king panted and looked over the table. “Prayer before we begin?” The queen asked her husband, who nodded. As the queen began her prayer, plenty of pairs of eyes wandered around the table. Eyeing each other curiously. Eraena noted, Aemond, however, he kept his eye closed and hands folded in front of him. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luc will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena. Further strengthening the bond between our houses.” The king announced. Eyes went to the newly betrothed couples. Rhaena and Luc shared a look, both of them having a smile on their faces, as well as Jacaerys and Baela had smiles on their faces. “And what of you, sweet niece? No betrothals as of yet?” He asked and took a sip of his wine. “None, uncle,” Eraena said plainly. Aegon hummed and turned his attention to her brother. 

“You do know how the act is done, I assume?” Aegon asked Jacaerys. “At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that,” From the side of her eye, she could see Jace’s nostrils falling and his jaw tightening. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my sister and my betrothed.” Jace had said. Aegon let out a breath and turned to Eraena with a pompous smirk on his face. “He’s a virgin, I’m quite sure of it,” he whispered the words that were only for her to hear. She gave no reaction and instead turned her head to look at her parents. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said, “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” Eraena set her cup down, and Aemond tapped his finger on the table. The king took off his gold mask, revealing half of his face had decayed and, like his son, an eye was missing from him. 

“My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king…” Viserys trailed off. “But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” he turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to the five cousins. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” Eraena could not help as her gaze fluttered over to Aemond. A steely look in his eye was focused upon his clasped hands.

Toasts from each side of the family brought me a sense of an alluring, yet unnatural sense of peace. Maybe this family could work. Eraena thought to herself, a fantasy that was beginning until she saw Aegon standing up and making his way to a chalice near Baela. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.” Eraena bit her lip, praying to the gods her brother would not be baited so easily; alas, she was not heard. 

Jacaerys slammed his fist on the table. Plates and silverware cluttered with noise. Aegon found his way back to his seat and leaned closer to the princess, the two of them waiting for Jacaerys’ outburst. Eraena shot a disgusted look toward her elder uncle, who only shrugged, “It was getting dreadfully boring and sappy, dear Eraena; you could not blame me.” he said. “I think I could,” she whispered harshly. 

Aemond then rose, and Eraena looked between the two princes, who stared each other down. “Prepare for it to grow interesting, sweet niece,” Aegon smirked. A tense silence filled the table, the two boys still standing. Jace reached over and playfully punched their uncle’s arm, lips pursed together. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.” Jacaerys said. Eraena tried not to roll her eyes at the obvious lie. 

“And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” Jace raised his glass, a smile on his face that she knew all too well to be teasing and insincere. Her gaze turned to Aegon, who seemed to be unamused by Jace’s speech. “To you as well,” Aegon said. I caught the eyes of Luc and Rhaena, who smiled at her with amusement. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” 

Eraena let out a bubbling laugh along with her Father, who chuckled, and her mother quickly chastised the both of them. She quickly covered her mouth when she noticed the stoic look on the other’s faces. “Good,” Otto said to her granddaughter with a smile. Ever since childhood, Eraena thought hard about the words Helaena would mumble. Words that everyone thought were ludicrous and mad, she found with deeper meaning. Helaena is seen to be mad, though Eraena always sees it as misunderstood; she holds wisdom and knowledge that no other at the table possesses. 

“Let us have some music,” the king instructed. Jace made his way to stand up once more and went to Helaena, inviting the girl to dance. Eraena smiled against my cup when she saw the surprised yet excited look on the silver princess’ face. Aegon looked disbelieved and shared a look with his brother. Eraena took Jacearys’ seat and sat next to her siblings. For a moment, their family was the picture of unity. Smiles and laughs were shared along the table. However, the king grew in pain and was carried out of the hall immediately. 

As the king left, a roasted pig arrived and was placed directly in front of Aemond. Eraena saw the smirk on Luc’s face, trying not to laugh out loud. “Lucerys,” she whispered harshly at her younger brother. Eraena’s heart quickened, and she quickly turned to Aemond, who had his jaw clenched. The one-eyed prince punched his fist on the table, standing up at the same time. It caught everyone’s attention. Even the music had stopped. Aemond raised his glass. His eye had never left Lucerys. “Final tribute,” he announced, and the girl bit her lip, knowing this would not end well. “To the health of my nephews and niece. Jace… Luc… Joffery and sweet Eraena.” The girl rested her gaze on Aemond, “Each of them comely, wise…” the prince trailed off, his gaze flickering to Eraena, who was pleading with her eyes. Yet, of course, she was ignored. “Strong,” he finished. 

Eraena let out a defeated breath. “Aemond,” the queen warned but was ignored by the prince. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these four…” Aegon raised his chalice. “Strongs,” Aemond finished. “I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenged. “Why? ’twas only a compliment,” Aemond replied. “Do you not think yourself strong?” He added. Jacaerys threw a punch, and Lucerys made his way to his brother but was blocked by Aegon. Who grabbed the boy and bashed his head on the table near where Eraena was sitting. She stared wide-eyed and immediately slammed her foot down on Aegons for him to release her younger brother. “That is enough!” The queen yelled, but none seemed to hear her. Lucerys’ head was still pinned down, and Aegon was staring at Eraena with an amused smirk on his lips. 

“You’d have to try harder than that, Eraena,” He said, and the princess’ vision reddened; she quickly stood up and used her knee to maim his sex. Finally, he let Lucerys go, falling on the floor, clutching his cock in pain. “Good,” she heard Father say in her ancient tongue with a smirk, but her Mother looked at her in disbelief. Aemond effortlessly pushed Jacaerys to the floor, a smirk on his face. The prince’s eye was quick to find obsidian ones who had moved to the side of the room, a triumphant smirk on his lips. It took Baela and Rhaena to hold her down and not join in to help her brothers. Jace quickly stood up and charged forward, but a guard stopped him and Lucerys. 

The guard had let go of his hold on Jace, and it would seem that Jacaerys would have pounced on their uncle if it weren’t for Daemon, who had placed himself in the middle of the two. “Wait,” he said and raised a finger up, staring Jacaerys down until the prince moved backward and moved to where his siblings stood. “Go to your quarters.” Their Mother commanded. “All of you, go. Now.” She ordered. Eraena was the last of her siblings to leave; she could hear faint footsteps behind her and saw Aemond and her father walking behind the five of them. Baela and Raena’s chambers were the nearest to the dining hall. The two had left the awkward convoy in the halls quickly. “Jacaerys, Eraena, your Mother’s chambers, now.” 

The girl’s lip found home between her teeth as she walked to her mother’s chambers, her head hung low. How hypocritical was she? She had frowned upon her father’s violent actions toward Vaemond, yet she was all but ready to join in on the fight. Yet, in her defense, she could not just sit there and let Aegon hurt her younger brother; the prince had deserved his cock to be maimed. “I simply do not know what to do with you two anymore!” Rhaenyra exclaimed with a disappointed sigh. “Jacaerys, why must you be baited so quickly?” She asked. “She called us bastards, Mother!” “But you should not give them a defensive reaction; it only makes you look guilty.”

Eraena scoffed, making her Mother turn to her with a raised brow. “Mother, look at us,” she said, and Jacaerys made his way to stand beside her. “Do not get me started with you. Joining in the fights of boys!” She exclaimed and paced around, playing with her rings once more. “I was only defending my brother,” Eraena explained. “That is no place for you, Eraena!” The younger princess held back her tongue, not wanting to say anything out of turn or offense. She caught her Father’s eyes, pleading that he would come to their aid; he sighed and walked closer to their Mother. “It was a childish fight, Nyra, you should be at ease that your children know how to defend themselves.” 

“The Hightowers are at an outrage! They will use this spectacle as another reason to keep the crown!” She whispered harshly. “You two will apologize to your uncles, Eraena, you will apologize to Aegon, and you Jacearys will apologize to Aemond.” Eraena stared in shock. “I will do no such thing,” she said and stepped forward, “Eraena,” Jace warned. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I will not apologize for defending my brother from that… drunken creature and his violent brother! Nor should Jacearys apologize for defending our honor.” 

“It does not matter; we must take the high road,” Rhaenyra said decisively. “Tell me, Mother, when you were our age, and if you were put in our position, would you apologize?” Eraena questioned and for the first time in a while, she saw my mother without an answer. Rhaenyra turned to her husband, who had an amused smirk on his lips. “Answer the question, dear,” Rhaenyra sighed and paced. “You two, out. Jacaerys, escort your sister back to her chambers.” 

Jace and Eraena exited the chambers and walked silently back to the girl’s quarters. They were nearing the wing of her chambers when they saw a figure seemingly waiting for someone. “Ah, Lord and Lady Strong,” Aemond taunted once more with a smirk on his lips. Eraena’s hold on Jacaerys’ arm tightened. Jacaerys turned to his sister, who implored with her eyes for him to ignore the sulking figure in the halls. “How nice of you to escort your sister to her chambers,” Aemond said, and Eraena licked her lips, avoiding the prince’s gaze. “I should think it necessary, especially with the talk we hear of a promiscuous princess residing in Dragonstone.” Eraena stiffened at his words. Promiscuous? The word seemed like poison dripping from his lips. “We are not aware of such things, Prince Aemond. It is best not to listen to whispers of vipers,” Jacaerys said, and the two walked on. Eraena frowned at their uncle’s words. “Ignore him,” Jacaerys said as he saw the furrowed brows of his sister. “Good night, brother,” Eraena sighed and placed a kiss on her brother’s cheek before stepping into her room. She was not promiscuous, not at all!

[fanaticsnail]

I just want you

Masterlist here

Word count: 600+

Synopsis: The lips you're kissing don't belong to the person you love, and you take matters into your own hands.

Themes: Bon Clay x gn!reader, kissing, reassurance, pre-established relationship, love.

Notes: I caught feelings, and I love him. I hope you do too.

Both laying back against the plush duvet and assortment of pillows, your lips were consumed by your ravenous lover who dotingly relayed his passion into your lips. Tilting your head, mirroring his movements, you felt his lips morph into another shape feeling foreign against your mouth.

Pulling away, the half-lidded eyes of Nefertari Cobra gazed at you with passion and longing hidden within. As he leaned in, you pressed your hand to his lips and gently shook your head.

“No.”

“No?” Cobra was taken aback, his brows furrowing as he blinked rapidly. “I thought you liked me.”

“Yes, Cobra is quite a good ruler,” you admitted with a soft nod, “But he's not who I want kissing on me.” You gently lifted your hand off his lips and offered him a soft tick of the corner of your lips up in a smile.

“Oh?” Cobra’s voice called in return, “How about…?” His face paled, skin stretching aa his hair slicked up into a pointed ‘three’ at the top of his head.

“No, thank you.”

“No, thank you?” He mirrored your sentiment, “Not Galdino? You liked talking with him the other day.” Galdino poured at you, huffing as he slinked back away.

“He is a wonderful conversationalist,” you nodded along, gently reaching for your partner and caressing his cheeks, “He's not who I want either.”

“Well, aren't you hard to please this evening,” he rolled his eyes, “Just who do you want tonight, then? Pick one.”

His face morphing and changing into a series of individuals: masculine, feminine, androgynous, those you recognised from bounty posters, and even the patisserie chef from the bakery down the road. Each time he gave you a new face, you shook your head, causing him to huff in defeat.

“Bentham.”

He rolled his eyes, his body halting on the face of a copper-haired woman you didn't recognise. His lips pursed into a pout, his blue eyes twinkling as he peered at you through the eyes of another.

“You don't think I look pretty?” His voice, now changed in pitch, asked you coyly. “I think I look beautiful. You'd be mad to not want me like this.”

“That's just the issue, Bentham,” you whispered, closing your eyes and cupping his cheek. Your brows furrowed somberly, lips down turning into a pout while you rolled the pad of your thumb over his cheek.

“I just want you.”

In an instant, you felt his skin shift. The familiar waxy texture mixed with short stubble pricked and painted your hands, your smile automatically returning to your lips. Without opening your eyes, you drew up the other hand and slowly moved him towards you.

Before you made contact with his lips, you felt a bulbous, rotund nose press firmly against your own, causing you to growl out in frustration.

“The only clown I want right now is you, Bon Clay,” you uttered harshly. “If you're that ridiculous Buggy again, I swear-.”

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry,” he chuckled, the nose dissipating and the feel of his regular arch brushed playfully with your own. After a moment, he softly queried, “But-... But are you sure? I could be anyone, anything you desire.”

You chuckled, opening your eyes and taking in his painted face and dark hair. His lips were pouted, his eyes round and peering up at you through lengthy dark eyelashes. His lips parted as you leaned in, continuing to gaze at him through half-lidded lashes.

“I'm certain, Bentham,” you confessed, your lips brushing gently with his own while you smiled up at him. “All I want, all I desire, is right here.”

“You're sure?”

“Why would I want anyone else when I have you?”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Diabolical 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, extreme profanity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Billy Butcher

Summary: your neighbours has some strange friends.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The reverberation of copper ripples through the air. You nearly slip under the water as you jolt. You grip the edges of the tub and sit up. Another crash thunders and you scowl. Your peace is shattered. 

Candles, music, a book, and a steaming bath. It's a perfect night. Or it was. 

You wait and listen. Silence. You let yourself back and reach for the novel on your bath table. Another egregious cacophony has you splashing yourself with water.   

You growl and slide the table out of the way as you stand. You grab your towel as water slakes off of you. You pay no mind to the mess that puddles below each step as the thrashing continues.  

You storm across the apartment, sliding dangerously on the hardwood, and you put your eye to the peephole. The man grins, as if he can see you and shakes the box in his hands. The metal echoes again. 

How dare he? It's almost nine in the evening! You tear open the door, your hand clasped around the knot of your towel, and you snarl. 

"Must you make so much noise?" 

He cackles at you as he hugs the box of cymbals and bells. "Eh, I'm just doin' good ole Hughie a favour. He's been talkin' 'bout getting into drumming so's I say Hughie, I know a guy. Can get you everything you need." 

"I don't...care." You bluster. "Should you even have those in a box? There are bags meant for that." 

"Who cares? You just bang on the things anyhow. Well, then," he turns to the door behind him. "Seems like my pal isn't in." He drops the box and the raucous clamour makes you groan. "I'll just leave 'em here for him. Buddy that I am." He spins back to face you. "And you can get back to listening to Bach and drinking your oolong." He makes a motion which could be tipping a cup or something more heinous. "Your majesty." 

You furrow your brow and roll your eyes. "All I asked for was a bit of decency. It wasn't any sort of insult but I see to you, any thought of being kind is offensive." 

"Talkin' to me about being decent and you're stood out here in a dish towel," he scoffs. 

"I--" you look down, remembering yourself. You move to hide behind the door. "Well, you disturbed me--" 

"You are disturbed, ain't ya, sweetheart?" 

You sneer. "Fine, whatever. I'll make sure Hugh gets his drums." 

"Hugh?" He chuckles. "You are something." 

"Good night, sir." You back up and close the door. Your certain to lock it too.  

His laughter keens through and friction brushes up the other side. "It's Butcher, not sir, love." He taps and you flinch, "have yourself a good night, won't ya? Don't think of me too much." 

You huff and have a mind to open the door again. Not, that’s only what he wants. You retreat and trod back to the bathroom. The water’s tepid and the scent of the candles grows overwhelming. You shut off the music and pull the stopper. So much for relaxing. 

The tension needles across your shoulder. You blow out the wicks and snatch your book from the table. You go to your room and flip on the bedside lamp. You put the novel on your pillow and pull on a night gown.  

You recline and crack open the book. A long honk blares from outside. That’s not unusual but what is, is the successive short toots that follow, almost in a rhythm. You try to ignore it. The honks vary, long, short, soft, loud. You realise the offender is doing a rather poor job of honking out Beethoven.  

You know exactly the culprit and you won’t let him know you’re bothered. Let him waste his own energy not yours. Besides, if he had any sort of nuance, he’d realise you don’t sit around and listen to classical. You appreciate vintage music but you’re not pretentious. You simply have your tastes. Nothing wrong with that. 

You lay back and your eyes gloss over the words without reading. You may not want to give him the satisfaction but it doesn't mean it’s not working. Several rereads of the same paragraph have you fed up. You sink down and drop the book. 

You stare at the ceiling and sigh. You can’t even put on a movie or music. You won’t be able to hear it. 

As if on cue, silence. You exhale. Thank god. 

An engine rumbles and you hear it steer down the alley outside. You hear the tires crawling just below your window. Another wall of sound rises and has you nearly jumping out of your skin. Heavy metal pumps through the wall and has you gritting your teeth. 

It’s him. That imbecile. 

[mediumgayitalian]

Waking up to music screeching in the inside of his head a half-hour before sunrise every single day is, frankly, hell. Especially when he has the day off. That’s the worst.

But there is, on those rare days off, one benefit — so good it might, although Will shall never in a million years admit it, make the whole ordeal worth it.

On morning shift days, he spends the first ten minutes after he wakes up with his face down into his pillow, praying for the sun to hit the Earth. His prayers have yet to be answered. He spends the next ten minutes sitting, bleary-eyed, at the edge of his bed, waiting for his brain to boot-up and imagining his neurons are making little dial-up internet noises to amuse himself. The final ten minutes before sunrise he spends sprinting silently around the cabin, trying to brush his teeth and put his shorts on at the same time and generally failing at being a person.

Mornings are not fun.

But on his days off, he can afford to be slower. He can’t go back to sleep, true, but he can take the time to let his brain catch up with the rest of him, to breathe, to actually, genuinely wake up, not just be forced to be awake. And then as the sun rises, golden rays bleeding through the window, he bears witness to the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

Nico is gorgeous, swathed in sunlight.

Some might say Will is biased. But Will, these same people might forget, is the son of the god of truth, the god of beauty. He sees these things in the world as easily as some mighty see colour — he can see the Nico is beautiful, and he can see that this is true.

He always is beautiful. Even when he was halfway to dying and twisted in rage in sorrow, he was beautiful. Aside from high cheekbones and a devilish smile and fine, gorgeous hair, he stands in divinity. There is something wholly powerful in the set of his shoulders, the rigidness of his spine; the same kind of beauty in a staggered mountain, in a gnarled tree. A sturdiness, a timelessness, an I have been tested, I have been challenged, I have been beaten; still, I am here. Gracefully, I am here.

Now, Will watches, back to the headboard, as the first few lines of yellow-golden sun filter through the open window above Nico’s bed. They climb slowly, started at his sheet-covered feet, travelling in time up the curve of his cast, stuttering at each fold in the linen, to the crest of his hip. By the time the sunlight crawls over the ridge of the end of the sheet, in bleeds through the window in full, bathing his bare torso in light: his scars, curving like sparkling rivers, his freckles and moles, flicking like dappled light through leafy branches. A forest floor of beauty, in the twisting roots of muscles under his skin, rock-dark bruises over the square of his scapula, the valleys and hills of his ribs. Thousands of miles in which Will loses himself, following the path of the light.

He stirs, slightly, at the brush of his lips against the blurred line of daylight and shadow, tickling the line of his shoulders.

“W’ll?”

“Go back to sleep,” Will murmurs, breathing the words into sleep-warmed skin, raised with goose-flesh.

Nico hums. A small smile tugs the pink curves of his lips, making the corner of his eyes crinkle, the fan of his lashes flutter. Will is awestruck.

“‘Kay.”

He’s out again in seconds, sighing as he settles back against the pillows. His hand, acting out his dreams, drags across the mattress until it spans the curve of Will’s thigh and stills, gripping loosely. Will wraps his own fingers around it and squeezes.

“I love you,” he says softly. He holds his breath, waiting for Nico to stir again, and sighs in relief when he doesn’t. “It scares me.”

A breath of air blows a strand of Nico’s hair across his forehead, almost copper in the early morning sun. Will brushes it easily out of his face, lingering as he tucks it behind his ear.

“I’ll tell you,” he promises, risking another, softer, kiss to his lips. Barely a murmur of touch. “Soon. Sleep well, darlin’.”

[conditioned-to-obey]

I woke up this morning to find a preserved butterfly had disintegrated in its picture frame.

This trickled through the waterways of my thoughts back to the once calm pool of you.

I miss them more than anything, but I wait in the car with my head against the leather of the wheel. If I drive away now, I severe the bond. The bond of blood. My little sister who is my enemy, who is my ward to care for, for whom I will hold the shotgun at her wedding. I love her like a child. Between linens the copper call beckons sin into the starched white sheets—and I am strong but in those moments I have never felt weaker.

Weak, wilting, her dark curls fall across my shoulder and she smiles up to her forehead. Later I will bury my face in the down pillow to ration the scent of her bruised vanilla perfume. I see her in the spines of books and I stroke the embossed lettering like the garden gate rungs of her spine. The book opens with a sigh, and the heaviness in my hand is her head instead of Murakami.

Lips part and a small laugh escapes, which I devour. Her laughter, the whimpers of a caught prey animal and those moments are the only sustenance I need to keep her memory alive. Tucked in to the cavity of my body. Nesting deeply between a rib, shaped like a blade but soft and warm as a swan's lung. Life doesn't last forever, even taxidermy turns to dust. Water of the womb binds us as long as our mortal bodies sing. I've loved you well while you were here.

And that is enough.

[bearbunnycheetah]

🐆🐻✨CHAPTER 3: SUNNY SIDE OF THINGS✨🐻🐆

Note: Stuffs been going wild so I posted this WAYY later than I wanted, but I hope you guys still enjoy!

Percy reaches for her keys and opens the door, turning on the lights to her apartment. They flickered to life and illuminated the space. The sisters both looked inside, it was a pretty nice looking place all things considered. 

A small living room to the left with a tv, an open kitchen to the right, and what appears to be a mini hallway leading to three doors infront of them. Percy’s home had a nice dull blue wallpaper covering mostly everything. Molly looked at a clock on the wall, 10PM. Way past her bedtime at this point.

“You two need some rest, we can discuss the layout of my apartment and other things in the morning. Are you two sure you don’t wish to take my room for the night?”

“Sleeping in someone elses room is weird.” Lorelai said, crossing her arms as she looked around.

“Yeah, we can take the couch or the floor. We don’t really mind! I promise!” Molly smiled apologetically, Lori rolled her eyes.

Percy nods. “Alright, please go ahead and sit down. I will go ahead to get some pillows and blankets for you two.” She smiles at them, then leaves the room.

Molly waits for Percy to be completely gone, then lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She sits down on the couch, then grabs her phone from her pocket. Molly opens the group chat she has with her friends, and starts typing.

—————

Molly: Hi guys, anyone still awake?

PHANTOM OF POTIONS PAST, GRIMLORD OF DARKNESS!: HIIII! Yes I am indeed awake >:]

Molly: Oh, hi Trixie! I’m assuming Feenie’s asleep cause it’s her bedtime?

PoPPGoD: Yeahh probably! Why are you up so late anyway? Did something happen?

Molly: Yeah, my dad got arrested.

PoPPGoD: WOOOOOOO! 

Molly: Trixie…

PoPPGoD: Oh whoops, sorry- what happened?

Molly: The cop that interviewed me a bit ago about the museum apparently found out about my situation and took me and Lori in. Currently in her apartment right now.

PoPPGoD: I dont trust them coppers… but as long as ur OK, im OK! >:D

Molly: Thanks Trixie… I’ll see if I can go more indepth on what happened tomorrow at school. I’m getting sleepy.

PoPPGoD: Oke, sweet dreams!

Molly: Night!

—————

Molly leans back into the sofa, then smiles. Hopefully she’ll be able to go to school tomorrow and talk to them.

“I’m back, apologies for the wait.” Percy walks in holding several pillows and blankets, all in mostly blues, yellows, and whites.

“Dibs on the couch!” Lorelai said, grabbing some pillows and immediately making herself comfortable. Her knight costume poofed out of existence in a flash of glitter into her normal outfit.

“But- aw, fine...” Molly sighed in defeat, standing up from the couch.

Oh well, the floor is probably fine. Considering it’s Percy she probably keeps it pretty clean. Theres a rug too so maybe it’s a bit comfier..? It takes a few minutes for Molly to finally get to a comfortable enough position to lay down.

“Goodnight, you two.”

“Goodnight, Percy!”

“…Night.”

And with that, Percy turns off the lights and goes to her room. Immediately falling asleep when she lays down in bed. The noise of the city melting together into a cacophany of sounds that were oddly comforting, she’s probably gonna take a few days off from work to help the two adjust. 

Percy should wake up early tomorrow, her usual breakfast was just toast and some water but these two probably needed more food than that. Maybe something like cereal? No, far too sugary. She wasn’t even sure if she had anything like that. Toast, water, orange juice, eggs-

Wait, eggs?

There was a smell of something being cooked from the kitchen, Percy stirred and opened her eyes. Oh dear, it was morning already? She looks at her alarm clock. 5:40 AM. How peculiar, she gets up from her bed and puts on her slippers to investigate.

Percy walked into the living room, the pillows and blankets were folded neatly and placed on the coffee table. While the couch where Lorelai was sleeping had an… iridescent bubble in its place.

It clipped into the floor and couch as if it was a bugged model in a video game. She stared in utter confusion for a bit before a voice from the kitchen piped up.

“Morning Percy!” Molly said, holding a pan. Why was she making breakfast?

Percy flinched, completely forgetting that she got up to see who was awake this early. “Ah! Good morning to you too, Molly.” Percy turns to her and gestures to the bubble. “May I ask why your sister has turnt into a sphere?”

“Oh, it’s just an epithet thing.” Molly puts the pan in the sink. “Lorelai can make these things called ‘dream bubbles’ where she makes these fantasy worlds, sometimes she just sleep-inscribes.”

“I see… Why are you up so early?”

“Oh! Well… I wanted to repay you for letting us stay here so I thought I should make breakfast!” Molly points at the table. There was buttered toast and eggs, either boiled or sunnyside up. “We should probably go get groceries and stuff, there wasn’t a lot in your fridge to work with…”

“Noted. But thank you for this, Molly.” Percy goes to sit down, then picks up a boiled egg and inspects it closely. “So, about your sister…”

“Don’t worry, I can go wake her up.” Molly looks at the bubble for a second, then walks over to the couch.

Percy watches in curiosity, she knew Molly and Lorelai had epithets from their files. “DUMB” and “AUGMENT” respectively, but she’s never seen it in action. Percy watched as Molly knocked on the bubble for a few seconds, calling Lorelais name repeatedly to wake her up. After a few minutes she rolled her eyes, reaching her hand out as a small green glow appeared. 

Molly moved her hand closer to the iridescent surface and a hole appeared like a rift in the air. Slowly the gap grew bigger until it was about the size of Molly herself. She entered the bubble and the hole dissapeared along with her.

Percy decided to go and make some coffee while she waited since she still felt a bit tired from last night, more and more time passes and… POOF!

The detective turnt around, alarmed at the sudden sound. Then there stood a groggy Lorelai and a mildly upset Molly.

“Good morning, Lorelai!” Percy said, grabbing her drink without looking and returning to the small dining table. Honestly you probably couldn’t even consider it a dining table, more like a table for one that crammed three chairs.

“Yeah, morning.” Lorelai wiped away the fog from her eyes, then quietly went over to the table grabbing a plate. Molly followed.

“I decided to go ahead and work from home while you two get settled here.” Percy takes a sip of coffee. “Since you two have school I will be responsible for your education for the time being.”

“Me and Lorelai usually change between having to work and having to go to school. I attend school on odd days and she attends school on even ones so that means-” 

“You have to go to school and I get to stay here and relax!” Lorelai interrupts her and grins, Molly scowls at her.

Percy thinks for a second, she never thought the situation was this bad. Who on earth would let a child work instead of attend school!? Oh wait, Martin would. “I… suppose we can still use this system, even for just a few days as you two adjust.” She smiles. “And since I’m not very well acquainted with Miss Lorelai, then perhaps we can use this as a bonding opportunity!”

The three of them continue talking. Percy explaining the layout of the house, the chores, and potentially getting the two of them a room to share, more and more time passes till they all finish and go do their own thing.

Lorelai made another bubble in the corner of the living room, Percy did the dishes, and Molly got ready for school.

Molly already had her schoolwork in her backpack, so she had no need to go back to the emporium to retrieve her things. That was nice! She sat at the couch waiting, when Percys voice piped up.

“Are you ready for school?” Percy asked, walking up to Molly.

“Uh, yeah! Are you gonna drive me there?” 

“No need, your public school is conveniently just a short jog away from my apartment! If you count 20 minutes short, I mean.” The detective held up a metal lunchbox, it had the SJPD logo on the center, so that probably meant it belonged to Percy. “I’ve also taken the time to go ahead and make you some lunch.”

“Really..?” Molly walked up to the lunch box and grabbed it from Percys hand, staring at it. “Theres… Really no need to do that, I usually just ask my friends or buy some stuff at the cafeteria.”

“I personally do not think the cafeteria food they serve is enough for a childs daily diet.” Percy explains. “You can just think of it as a thank-you for making breakfast.” She smiled.

Molly stopped staring at the lunchbox realizing that was probably weird, then turns to Percy to smile at her too.

“Well then, I’ll go ahead and drop you off at school. I’m assuming your sister will be fine if I leave her for a few minutes?”

“She can last in bubbles for hours, she’ll be fine.” Molly explains.

And then the two of them leave the apartment. The streets here were much, much louder than Molly expected. She covers her ears as she walked, which Percy took note of. More time passes and Percy drops off Molly at school. 

Molly waved goodbye at her as she walked away when a sudden jingling bell sound grew closer and closer until-

“MOLLY!!!”

Phoenica Fleecity and Trixie Roughhouse hugged Molly as tight as they could, which was less bone-crushing and more soft and fluffy due to Feenie. “Trixie told me everything! We’re so glad you’re okay!”

“She did?” Oh right, Molly sent a message to the group chat. 

“Really happy that dad of yours is outta the picture now!” Trixie said, grinning.

“Haha, yeah. I am too…” Molly hugged them both back, the hug lasted for a few seconds before the bell rang.

“…How about I tell you guys everything when lunch comes around?” Molly asked.

“Oh sure! Stay safe Molly!” Phoenica smiled even harder then let go of both of them, walking off to her class.

“You do too…” 

“…So did Lorelai get arrested too?” Trixie piped up.

“Trixie!” She playfully shoved them with an elbow. “Don’t be like that!”

“Yeah yeah, I know! Just checkin!”

Note: MAKING THESE CUSTOM BACKGROUNDS WERE SO TIME CONSUMING. IT LITERALLY TOOK LONGER THAN THE ACTUAL CHAPTER ITSELF AND DELAYED IT FOR LIKE TWO WEEKS DEAR GOD. Hopefully now that this is out I can go back to answering asks for the characters and posting art too! Super proud of this one!

~Cherry

1ST CHAPTER | << PREV | NEXT >>

[jam3sacaster]

"Show me what you do to yourself, darling."

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Taggie O'Hara

Suggestion by sweet @early-twentysomething 🫶🏽 / Taggie has to find her own means of keeping herself entertained whilst her husband, Rupert, is away...

18+ FANFIC / SMUT from the offset! Short work. Taggie aged up from 20, to 25. As always, requests are open! 💋

Since taking an increasingly more hands on approach as Minister for Sport, Rupert had been away for nights on end — days spent schmoozing with suited men with reddened, upturned noses and buying whiskey for women with starkly-cropped bobs and lustful eyes. Taggie, however, had found herself stuck at Penscombe Court, banished to feeding the horses and watching droll television in the sitting room.

When the men are away, women will play, she thought to herself. Lying back on the crisp, hazelnut leather sofa, Taggie reaches a svelte hand under her jeans, fiddling abrasively with the tight cotton of her pants. Unbeknownst to her, Rupert had slipped through the front door, gently placing his briefcase by his feet and intent on surprising his wife. Tiptoeing as softly as his brutish legs would allow, he silently crept into the living room. Peeking an azure eye through the gap in the thick, oak door, he spotted his copper-haired wife rubbing circles into her sweet spot. What a naughty girl, the ravishing gentleman thought to himself, tweed trousers bulging at the seams. His laboured, lusty breathing grew louder and one forwards step sent a creaking floorboard upwards — startling Taggie as she fumbled to pull her hands from her jeans.

“Tag, Tag, it’s only me!” Her husband chuckled, hands up in utter defeat. The petrified expression on her face soon softened at the sight of him, picking up a red velveted pillow and throwing it in direction. He stepped aside, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him. “Don’t stop on my account. Show me what you do to yourself, darling.” Rupert’s eyebrows furrowed, two thick, dark sprouts suggesting a multitude of sins.

More than euphoric to oblige to her husbands request, Taggie sunk into the sofa once again, unbuttoning her jeans and peeling them from her athletic calves. The fabric covering her cunt was sodden — the most magnificent symbol of her previous playtime. “Fuck, you look incredible.” Rupert spat lasciviously. Shuffling away from her underwear now too, Taggie submitted the image of her dripping cunt to her husband, folds slick and clitoris swollen. She outreached two fingers towards him, and Rupert was kneeling in front of her in a matter of moments, taking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue across them, covering them in his saliva. Backing away now to continue his voyeurism, Rupert observed as Taggie brought her coated fingers to her pussy, swirling gentle circles around herself with a tender moan.

“Does that feel good, angel?” He asked, continuing to step back and taking a seat on his favourite tartan-printed armchair, reclining backwards and watching his beguiling wife in pleasure. “Mhm hmm.” Taggie nodded, teeth chomping down firmly on her bottom lip. Her fingers drew increasingly intricate patterns across her cunt now, each stroke inducing the most majestic purr. Surprisingly, Rupert hadn’t unbuttoned his trousers, or even attempted to touch himself — even the slightest movement would draw his attention away from her, and he couldn’t risk that.

As Taggie’s congenial whimpers began to draw to the all-important crescendo, the latch of the front door clicked, and the sound of imposing stilettos snapping against the marble floor of the hallway. Rupert's eyes blazed with panic, hands flurrying towards his wife to cover herself up. Without time to dress herself, Taggie reached across at the cream sherpa blanket beside her, frantically draping it over herself. "Rupert?" An all-too-familiar Irish melody spoke out, forcing their way into the lounge. The woman was adorned in an emerald dress, with copper hair pinned together tightly with a bejewelled pin. Maud O’Hara pined towards Rupert, before even taking notice of Taggie. Momentarily gazing towards strewn jeans across the floor, scorn coursed through her veins. “What on EARTH is happening?”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 4

Summary: A little (ok it's not very little this is 4k words) Rhysand x Reader training under the mountain

Content Warnings: Some suggestive content, nothing explicit, Rhysand is a tease and so am I, will get to the actual smut eventually ;)

Pt 1, 2, 3

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

There’s water dripping somewhere, the splash against the copper tub echoing across the room in a steady enough rhythm it drags you from sleep. You’ve never been a morning person, especially after the last couple days, it takes everything in you to prop your head up on your hand, open an eye and try to figure out where the noise is coming from. With your luck there’s a leak, even enough to flood. You fully expect to find your slightly furnished prison to be underwater, your bed floating up towards the ceiling. It’s definitely a more reasonable answer than the truth. A flood in this ancient tomb makes sense, who knows how long these pipes had been here? But the violet eyed male sitting on the edge of the tub when you’d never heard the door open? You have no explanation for that.

“The dead sleep lighter than you,” Rhys says by way of greeting.

You drag your gaze to the door. It’s still shut, as if he’d walked right through it.

You pull the pillow over your head, it’s too early for all this nonsense. “Go away, Rhysand.” Maybe you shouldn’t be so flippant with him after the power he’d displayed last night, but you’re too exhausted to care.

“Rhysand?” He says like you’d cursed at him. “I thought we were friends?”

Friends? He doesn’t give you away to his evil Mistress one time and suddenly you’re friends? He’s as delusional as he is powerful and you can’t stop yourself from sliding an arm out from under the sheets to give him the finger.

“You wound me.”

You close your eyes and let sleep try and claim you again, the blissful darkness quiet for the first time in days, no Calanmai visions to haunt you. For a few hours you’d been able to forget where you were, why you were here, why the male hovering at the edge of your bed is here. Perhaps if you go back to sleep it’ll all be a terrible dream.

“You stink,” he says as he yanks the sheets off you and tosses them across the room.

You’re more bare than you’d like to be, still wearing that mud stained shift, too tired the night before to even attempt to get clean, you’d just crawled into bed and cried yourself to sleep. Conscious of your lack of dress, and suddenly very aware of the male’s gaze on your nearly exposed ass, you grab the edge of the pillow and swing at him with all the strength you can muster.

It’s apparently not a lot because Rhys catches it before the blow can lend and wrenches it from your grip. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“Eat shit,” you snarl.

“Not a morning person I take it?”

“You’re the most infuriating male I’ve ever met in my life,” you hiss as you crawl off the mattress.

Rhys grins, eyes glinting playfully. He likes this, you realize.

“I promise you’ll never find another male quite like me, Darling,” he retorts.

You look away from him, at the steam curling off the water in the tub, filled almost to the brim. A bath would be nice… but there’s no door, and Rhys is hovering like a puppy just given a new owner. There is no trace of the male you saw last night, the monster that laid beneath his skin.

“I don’t… have any other clothes,” you mumble, forgetting what you were talking about before.

He holds out a hand and a set of perfectly folded clothes appears in his outstretched palm. “I’m not a monster, I wouldn’t have you walk around naked. At least not out there,” he says with a wink.

“It’s too early for this,” you grumble as you take the clothes from his hand. There’s a pair of pants, socks and a sweater, both black, and surprisingly soft. You carry them into the bathroom on instinct, only remembering at the last moment that there is no door to give your privacy and he’s now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Will you leave now?”

“I’m in charge of training, remember? There’s no escaping me.”

“Is this training happening in the tub?”

His eyes gleam, “I can think of a few exercises.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. This version of him is better, better than watching him rip people apart with nothing but his mind, but he’s getting on your last nerve. You can’t remember the last time you’d eaten. He’s going to push you too far and the morning is only just getting started.

“Rhysand-”

“Fine, I’ll turn around,” he does so as dramatically as possible, but his back is finally to you.

There’s little else to do but strip and climb in. The water is blissfully warm, easing your stiff muscles, swallowing the chill that feels like it’s carved it’s way into your bones. You groan as you settle against the side, eyes drifting shut for a few moments so you can savor it for as long as possible.

 You’re not sure how long Rhysand’s civility will hold out, so you don’t wait too long before you grab the cheap soap and start scrubbing the grime from your skin. Truth be told, you’d need a good couple of baths to be completely clean, but you make the most with what you have before scrambling out and into your new clothes. They fit like they were made for you, everything the perfect length and size, and they’re warm. After spending so long in your shift, the chill of the mountain is beginning to feel permanent. This takes the edge off, just a little.

Rhys’s turns as you leave the bathroom like he’s been listening to your footsteps, two pastries in hand this time, one half eaten. “Hungry?”

“Where do you keep pulling this stuff out of?” You ask.

He eats the other half in one bite as he holds the other one out. “I’ve got deep pockets.”

You’re too hungry to care.

“Or pocket realms, I should say,” he amends as you take a bite. It’s not warm, if anything it’s a little stale, but there’s something sweet, maybe honey in the center, and it’s filling, easing the ache that’s been steadily growing in your stomach for awhile now.

“Thanks,” you say around a mouthful of the pastry.

He stands and brushes a piece of it off the corner of your mouth with his thumb, like he just can’t help himself. He’s always finding an excuse to touch you. “Can’t have you starving to death before we’re done with you, now can we?”

You frown at that. “Right, that. And here I was thinking you cared about my well being.”

“I can multitask,” he says.

You scarf down the rest of the pastry, manners be damned, “Let’s get this over with then.”

With a wave of the hand, the door opens to him. “Right this way, M’lady.”

“Nope, you’re definitely not calling me that,” you counter, biting down the obvious surprise that he’s letting you out of the room. After last night, you’d expected to be locked in your room until Amarantha deemed you ready--whatever that was supposed to mean--the chance to get out and explore with fresh eyes is a promising start to the day, Rhys’s company be damned. He’s been pleasant thus far, but you’re wary of how long it’ll hold out, you can’t waste any opportunity to explore by worrying about what he’ll do on his next whim.

The halls are scarred from your claws on them last night. You trace their path forward, before they veer left, opposite the way Rhys is leading. You make a mental note of the paths: Left will eventually lead to the throne room, right will be something for training?

Rhys is less chatty in the halls, hands deep in his pocket as he strolls ahead. It looks like he’s trying to be leisurely, but his shoulders are stiff, muscles tight, even if his pace is slow.

The path goes right for a long while, then rounds into a downward spiral. The torches are few and far between here and there’s something beneath the rock scratching and hissing. At one point you’re sure you hear screaming.

“Where are we going?” You ask as you wrap your arms around yourself. This place is creepy, a giant dungeon filled with monsters.

“Some place where you can’t accidentally bring the mountain down on our heads,” Rhys says.

“You’re very confident I have powers you can use,” you reply.

Rhys continues on, but says over his shoulder, “Why are you so sure you don’t?”

“Because���” Because what little has manifested has always been an uncontrolled mess that had a tendency to disappear just as quickly as it would come. Because your uncle had always made it sound like these things weren’t a big deal, they were something everybody had and grew into overtime. Because two days ago you were a simple girl with a simple life and you had liked that, and now suddenly that wasn’t true, you weren’t simple at all and never would be again.

Rhys slows until you’re walking side by side with him. “You shouldn’t have to be scared of what you are,” he says softly, like he thinks the walls might hear him.

Maybe that was part of the problem: What even are you?

The path levels out and straightens back into another hall, the ground more rocky here. A soft breeze whistles through a crack in the wall, but there is still no light to be seen.

Rhys stops at a door covered in ancient markings and pushes it open. The old stone creeks like it hasn’t been opened in centuries, a bit of dirt from the ceiling falling on your heads as you enter. The space is pitch black, the air stale.

“Is this the part where you turn into some giant monster and swallow me whole?” You ask in the darkness. It’s so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face, let alone him.

He chuckles from somewhere ahead of you as he lights one torch, then another. “If you’re a slow learner maybe.”

He uses the first torch to light two others, anchoring one in each corner of the large room. Like the throne room, the roof is held up by carved pillars, each one shaped like a warrior in battle. There’s a rack of old weapons against one wall, the wooden shelf holding it full of holes and sagging dangerously. A stack of training cushions has been stacked in the other, all coated heavily with dust. Some sort of old training room.

“I take it Amarantha doesn’t do much training,” you say as you step up to one of the carvings. Time and dust have worn down the face’s features, leaving one visible eye beneath what might have once been a helmet. The fae male had once been depicted with wings, but only one remains in tact, the other a pile of rubble collecting at it’s base.

“She doesn’t get many challengers,” Rhys says so low it’s almost a growl.

You turn to face him just in time to see the shadow that flashes across his face. He’s pretty good at hiding his emotions, but every once in awhile the mask slips enough for you to see something beneath. It’s anyone’s guess if it’s real or another one of his tricks to get you to let your guard down, but still, you find yourself asking, “Why not?”

“They’ll loose.”

“Why?” You shouldn’t be so open about your disdain in front of one of her subjects, but even after the little display last night, you’re not so totally afraid of her that you won’t ask questions.

He cocks his head like he’s thinking. “You don’t know do you?”

You walk to another pillar, a woman this time, half her body shaped like a giant snake. “That seems to be everybody’s favorite question to ask me.”

Rhys scratches at his chest, “She has the power of all Seven High Lords.”

Shit.

No one had ever given her a name, they’d always said she was a Blight on the Land and left it at that, as if they feared saying her name would summon her. There had been rumors about her, of course, whispered in taverns in the middle of the night, about a female who had ensnared the High Lords, a female who had snatched them all off their thrones. You hadn’t thought it was true. Tamlin was still in Spring.

“How?” It’s a nice story, but who could manage a feat like that? She was an intimidating force of course, but she hadn’t personally done that much. Everything had been done for her, she’d just been there overseeing.

“As I said,” he sits down in the middle of the floor and motions you to do the same. “She is what your father made her.”

You shiver and desperately need to steer the subject away from all things Hybern. You’ll cross that bridge in three months when he arrives. For now, getting out is the objective-- even if that means partnering with a monster to do it. “So why are you here?”

“Siphoning away our power isn’t a one time thing, since they’re regenerative, so she bound us to her so that she could tap into it continually.”

The information takes a moment to process.

“You’re a High Lord?”

He holds out a hand and lets a few tiny stars glitter from his palm, the glittering balls of light forming constellations and shapes before flying away. “Was,” he says sadly.

Not just any High Lord, there’s only one that can summon stars--something you realize now should have made it obvious from the get-go--Rhys was High Lord of the Night Court. And if memory served, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. Everybody feared him. And he was here, sitting in the dirt with you far beneath a bunch of rock.

Cauldron boil you, you’d told the High Lord of the Freaking Night Court you were going to rip out his throat!

You can’t look at him. What are you supposed to do with the knowledge that you’d kissed the High Lord of the Night Court? You wish the ground would open and swallow you, but Rhys just stares at his hands, like he’s thinking about all that he has lost.

“How long have you been here?” If this was true, if Amarantha had really managed to steal from and ensnare all the High Lords than Rhys was just as trapped here as you.

“Going on fifty years,” he says.

The room spins. “You’ve been trapped here for fifty years?”

“But who’s counting?” The grin he offers doesn’t reach his eyes.

Before you can ask more question, he rubs his hands together and says, “Now let’s work on those shields.”

Your mouth opens to get back to the previous topic, the next question on your lips, but he misreads it and says, “Yours are nonexistent, any half trained daemati could walk right in and turn your mind into mush.”

The image of that male last night, blood trickling from his eyes makes all questions die in your throat. You can’t suppress the shiver. Is that what he’d done? Gone in and turned his mind into soup?

“You have to picture your mind like a hallway,” he explains, “each thought is a doorway into your memories, and each door needs to be locked and guarded.”

You scratch absently at your head.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs. “Now picture a hallway.”

The first hallway your mind can conjure is the winding path you’d taken to get here, the dark, ancient stone cold and unyielding.

“Try again,” he says like he sees it. Maybe he can.

You give yourself a little shake and try again.

“Relax, you’re too stiff.”

“You’re too stiff,” you retort.

Rhys snorts, “You have to let go of the tension in your shoulders. Take a deep breath. You need to let go of the focus you have on the room and look inside yourself.”

How philosophical; you’d roll your eyes if you weren’t squeezing them shut.

“Right now, you don’t exist here in this room, you’re body is the only tether you have. Let your thoughts drift and form the hallway.”

This is probably a skill you need--maybe a skill you should have possessed a long time ago, as unsure of all of this as you are, you owe it to yourself to at try and master your powers. You know if you don’t that he is perfectly capable of reaching into your mind and taking over them for you. If Amarantha would kill a male just to scare you, it’s not beneath her to use her puppet lordling to reach right into your skull and wield your powers anyway she sees fit. You have to try to master them. This might be your only chance.

You let yourself drift, letting go of all the questions and concerns that tug at you, letting your mind relax. With a few calming breaths you start to think about the farmhouse and the little hallway that leads from the stairs to your bedroom, the walls lined with your bookshelves and the collections of things your uncle had found in his travels.

“Good,” as he speaks he slowly begins to appear in your mind’s eye. This mental version of him reaches out a hand and picks a book up off the bookshelf: Enemy Kiss. Of course the first book he’d pluck out of your memories was one of your smutty romance novels.

With a squeak, you reach out and snatch it out of his hand. “Ok no touching the books.”

His grin is wicked as he turns into nothing but shadow and drifts right past you to another shelf. “Seduced by the High Lord,” he reads, fingers grazing the collections. “My Werewolf Harem.”

Your embarrassment makes the walls rattle, when you toss out a hand to grab the book from him the shelves go flying, sending books in all directions.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here,” he teases. “What’s in here, I wonder?” The shelves had been separated by doors, more doors than had been in your actual house, and when he opens it, it’s not a room at all, but a memory, playing out before you like it’s somehow detached from the body you use to move through the hallway. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that physically your body is sitting on the floor, but mentally, you have a body that moves and walks and touches, while your own memory plays out like it’s attached to a third body. When Rhys steps through the door, he steps right into a memory from last year’s Calanmai.

It might have been any other night, were it not for the drums pounding outside the windows, his own voice an echo on a phantom wind. You watch, somehow separate, yet connected to the body laying on the bed in front of you. Moonlight streams down on you as you lay in bed, sweat clinging to your skin, the sheets kicked off. The drums rattle the windows, begging, pleading you to come out and play. Memory you gives a frustrated growl as you roll onto your stomach, pulling a pillow over your head.

A normal memory, much to your relief. You know there are other ones in here that are…

The room spins, a blur of colors and sounds.

“What’s happening?”

Rhys is in shadow form again, a blur of darkness among the flash of color as the memory morphs and settles. Again in your bedroom. Again with the drums and Rhys’s call inside your head. But this time… this time you’ve got your shift bunched up around your hips, legs spread, your hand between your legs.

With a shriek, you spin towards the door and slam it shut.

Rhys finally takes a corporeal form again, now leaning against the door frame, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I’d praise your quick learning abilities, but I think we could have had more fun if you hadn’t slammed the door so quickly.”

Your cheeks heat, “No more touching the doors, Rhysand.”

Despite the fact that his physical body is across the room from yours, when he moves so that he’s standing ahead of you, your back now flush against the door to keep him out, you can still feel the heat of him. He braces one hand above your head, the other coming down to stroke across your cheek. “See, but you brought that memory up, not me, Darling. I walked into last year out of sheer curiosity, but you started thinking about another night, and brought it right to me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you grumble. “It just happened.”

“It’s cute that you’re so scandalized by it,” he says as he leans in, lips brushing against your ear.

When you shiver, a door across from you flies open.

“I’ve seen a lot worse in people’s minds,” he continues. “You’d be surprised how often people are thinking about sex.”

He’s the last person you want to be talking about sex with, or at least, you’d like to tell yourself that, but over his shoulder you can see into the room you’d opened, and it’s very clear that memory is of how his hands had felt on you that night. How close you’d been to begging for him to touch you.

You concentrate your energy into slamming that door shut before he can turn and see it--if he hasn’t already-- imagining a lock on it, sliding it into place, no matter how bad it makes your brain pound in your skull.

He glances over his shoulder than, grinning. “Good girl.”

You’re not sure if he can feel the confusion while he’s in your head like this--and you pray to every god you can name that he can’t because than he’d also know that, despite all your attempts to deny it, being called a good girl makes your stomach do flips--or if it shows on this version of you’s face because he adds, “It takes some people years to be able to shut their memories out, let alone lock them away.”

He knocks a knuckle against the wood of the door you’re still barring him from. “It’ll need reinforcing, but you’re making good progress.”

Maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you, but the hallway fades away and you open your eyes, blinking as the lights suddenly feel too bright, dim as they are. There’s a dull throbbing in your head that has you reaching out to rub your temples.

“Is it always going to hurt?” You grumble.

“No, with enough practice you should be able to check and lock your shields without having to be in a meditative state to do it. Which is something you’ll need to master within a couple weeks.”

Hadn’t he just said it took people years? “Why?”

His eyes are dark again, dangerous. “Hybern is sending your cousins to evaluate you and Amarantha’s hold on the Courts.”

You’re sure that’s supposed to mean something to you, but it doesn’t.

“The twins are daemati, like me, but…” he flicks some dirt off his knee, the cobalt and ruby gems on his rings gleaming in the firelight. “I don’t enjoy going into people’s minds like this. It’s an intrusion, not just of your privacy, but of your consciousness. It… it makes me feel like I’m violating people.”

There’s something in his voice that makes you think he might be showing you what kind of male he is underneath all the layers of flirting and show boating, like there’s something haunted and damaged beneath.

“I do it because I have to,” he holds your gaze like he needs a lifeline, like he might beg you to understand why he’d done what he had yesterday. “But the twins aren’t like me and if you give them an inch, you will find yourself a slave to their every whim.”

You shiver.

“You’re shields have to be up at all times, Y/N, your survival depends on it.”

You find yourself nodding. This is a dangerous game you’re now involved in, monsters lurking on every side. As much as you want to pretend that you can go back to a simple life when you finally get out of here, you know, deep down that to get out, life may never be as simple as it had been again. To be free, you’re going to have to dig deep and figure out exactly what you are.

“Show me more,” you say, meeting his gaze. You’re not sure what lies beneath your skin, if Hybern wants it, it very well be a monster as bad as any of the ones that lurk beneath this mountain. But if it means getting out of here, if it is the key to your freedom, you’ll do it. And in the end, you’d rather be the one to awaken it, before anyone else dared try.

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[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - Say It

Masterlist

cw: fantasy of murder/choking, noncon/dubcon kissing mention, pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee

——————

The room was unlit, save for the shine of the crescent cut moon glimmering through the window. The fan, white as everything else, buzzed above the bed, a humming thrum that coated the squealing of crickets and hoots of owls from the outdoors.

Usually when Prince would awake at some random hour in the middle of the night, he would flush any thoughts out from his mind and watch outside that very window at the glitter of stars in the dark night sky. He didn’t understand why, but oftentimes the images of constellations would arise, as if that was anything for a pet to concern themself with.

But this was not like usual.

Instead, Prince stared daggers at his sir with beady, piercing eyes, his sir innocently oblivious to it all. Asleep, even, chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm. Prince held his breath, only releasing and sucking in a new heave of air every so often. His fists were tightly wound around the comforter, holding on with an iron grip.

His sir hadn’t said it. Again.

He passed on his chance, neatly laid right out for him to just take it, and didn’t fucking say it.

Jaw working, Prince grit his teeth. He’d never been so furious before, rage coursing through his veins. He didn’t think it was remotely possible for him to be. 

Prince was so sure he was going to say it. He was so hopeful, too hopeful, because if he hadn’t said it already then why would he ever?

They had kissed, his sir’s burly hands holding the sides of his pet’s smaller, more angularly shaped head, a thick bead of spit connecting their lips even after his sir had let go. Prince had believed it was just the right time as perfectly round pools of brown met green, both accompanied by up curled lips.

Prince had made sure his speech, his mannerisms, his everything was so utterly perfect, having practiced the words in the mirror for hours before his sir had returned home.

Fluttering his lashes, cocking his head, and keeping his voice low and slick with rasp, Prince spoke just as he was trained.

“I love you, sir.”

Sir had laughed a little around his heavy, warm breathing, blushing even, which he rarely ever did, as he brushed a thick strand of Prince’s hair out from his gaze. He pressed one more peck to his pet’s forehead, scruffy beard tickling Prince’s skin and parting his lips as he went to respond.

“I know you do, Princey.”

Biting his lip hard, nearly enough to pierce the skin and fill his mouth with stinging copper, Prince dug his face into the soft, silk coated pillow beneath him, wetting it with flowing tears. He caught a sob in his throat, holding it there for a second before he released it, twisting into a croaking whine.

Was he not capable of being loved? Was it his fault? Was Prince not good enough for him?

God, he looked so fucking peaceful while his pet was forced to agonize. He appeared vulnerable, even. Prince could catch him off guard right then and there, teach him a lesson and make sure he never dared upset his docile, obedient property ever again.

Prince could do whatever he so pleased. Wrap his slender yet still strong hands over his sir’s throat, twist and turn as he grunted and squealed for help. Watching as his sir’s face churned with indigo, just until he lacked the life to fight back.

At that Prince wailed hoarsely, muffled by his pillow. A terrible pet he was to think something so monstrous. Maybe that was why his sir couldn’t bring himself to love something so broken.

“Prince…?” The pet whimpered, going rigid as his sir’s gravel coated voice tainted his ears, fearful that he had somehow spoken his horrid thoughts out loud. Carefully, with stained cheeks he turned to meet his owner’s gaze, hazy and drowning in drowsiness. “You- you’re crying. Why are you crying?”

“You- I-,” swallowing, his lip shook with a heavy tremble as he stumbled with his words. “Do you- love me, sir?”

Sighing, his sir placed a moistened of Prince’s hair back into place. His features glistened in the light of the night, caressing his roughened face. Prince nearly wanted to kiss him, but another, locked away part of him, wanted to gag at the thought. “Silly pet. Why in the world are you awake at this hour?”

Prince pressed onward, brushing off his sir’s undeserved tenderness. “S- sir, do you love me?”

His sir’s clammy hand was settled over his mouth, a touch he wanted to shy away from, but was unable. “Shhh, Princey, calm yourself. There’s no reason to be letting such emotions get to you like that. I didn’t ask you to cry, did I?”

“N- no, sir.”

“Correct, Princey. And good boys only cry when sir asks them to, don’t they?” Prince nodded, sniveling incessantly like an upset child. “And right now sir wants us both to sleep. You woke me up with your foolishness, your idiocy, and you will pay for that later. Understood?”

His expression darkened, a cold tone shifting over his gaze. Prince wished he could bury himself underground and never come out.

“Yes, um, sir.”

Tucking the blanket back up to his pet’s shoulder, Prince’s sir gave him one last little sleepy smile. “Go back to sleep, Prince.”

“Goodnight, sir.” Slipped out automatically, before Prince licked his lips and in a cracking voice choked out one more I love you.

His sir, already flopped over and facing toward the wall, did not respond.

Prince got his answer, wether he liked it or not.

——————

Masterlist

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