#drive you insane fic

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 01

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Grimshade Sanatorium, an isolated island of Blackridge in southern Canada.

It had been six long hours by plane from your city, three hours by boat, and now an hour and a half crammed into a private car with closed windows, traveling along a bumpy road that bordered a cliff as it climbed the hill. Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at any moment, and your hands were sweating so much that they alternated between hot and cold.

You adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose after checking the map for the eighth time, dividing your attention between the aged paper in your fingers and the fog outside that made it impossible to figure out where you were. From what you could decipher, Grimshade Sanatorium was at the top of a hill, while the rest of the island was shrouded in dark, untamed vegetation. There was a single small town miles away from your lodging, and reaching it seemed daunting given the path ahead.

At that moment, you hoped you wouldn’t need anything from it anytime soon.

When you chose psychiatry as your specialization, you never imagined how difficult it would be to find a job in the field, especially as a newly graduated professional. It was tough for reputable clinics to give you a vote of confidence, given your youth and limited experience beyond mandatory internships and extracurricular activities in college.

Everything changed when a letter from Grimshade Sanatorium arrived—a glimmer of hope. You had applied to so many places you’d forgotten about that one. They sent a notice on vintage paper, resembling a direct invitation from Hogwarts, which you found amusing yet intriguing due to the details.

They were looking for a psychiatrist for the ward housing inmates awaiting their final sentences—many of them serving their time as residents. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, especially after researching Grimshade and discovering it functioned like a maximum-security prison for the most dangerous, mentally unstable criminals.

“This is where the road ends for cars, I’m afraid. You’ll have to continue on foot,” the driver said over his shoulder, turning to look at you in the back seat.

Your slightly wide-eyed gaze shifted between the dark dirt road ahead and his drooping eyes beneath his cap. You didn’t want to let on that you felt a faint shiver running up your spine.

“I don’t know how to get there alone,” you said, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “Okay, I have a map, but what are the chances it won’t confuse me? Is there somewhere I can get Wi-Fi or better cell service to use GPS?”

Rebert—that’s how he introduced himself—merely furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly, as if the words that had left your lips were absurd.

“With all due respect, miss, but a cellphone on Blackridge Island is the most useless device you could own. There’s no signal tower; we barely manage to watch TV or get news from the outside world,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” you asked, frowning as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “How do people communicate here?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Probably through letters and carrier pigeons, like a century ago.

“I need to ask one more thing. If I need to go into town, how can I call a taxi or get transportation?”

“When you get to this very intersection, you’ll see cars like mine heading toward the town. Since you’re a Grimshade employee, you’ll have unrestricted access with your ID badge. Just pay attention to the schedules and days of the week; town visits are limited to avoid coinciding with the arrival of new inmates.”

“They seem very strict about security,” you said, flexing your lips in mild surprise.

“Given the abominable creatures they house there, perhaps their measures aren’t strict enough. Strict is how I chain my dog to a post to keep him from running away. Those killers shouldn’t even have the privilege of eating and sleeping in that place,” Rebert said with a tone of contempt that left you slightly uncomfortable.

You hated when people spoke about patients that way, no matter who they were. But your beliefs and values didn’t matter much now.

“Well...” You cleared your throat, grabbing your coat and bag from the seat beside you, slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks for the ride and the tips, Rebert.”

“Not at all, miss.”

You hauled your suitcase out of the trunk, grunting at its weight, and dragged it toward the narrower stone path. In the distance, you heard Rebert’s car pulling away, its tires crunching against the gravel. Ahead, you could make out the mansion after a steep climb, with old tree branches and dry leaves forming an archway over the path.

The journey was silent, with nothing but the sounds of nature—the raspy chirping of birds—accompanied by the soft rush of water from the cracked concrete fountain decorating the front of the sanatorium as you crossed its gates. You walked slowly around it, grimacing as you noted the general state of neglect on the facade.

The circular driveway around the fountain had cracked and darkened tiles, and the mansion’s paint was as old as the building itself, appearing white under layers of creeping vines and cracks that altered its color. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at the sight, the chirping of birds replaced by the distant clang of heavy metal and muffled screams as you approached.

“You must be the new doctor!” A cheerful male voice addressed you from behind, startling you as you turned fully. “I’m Travis Rune, head psychiatrist of the custody ward. I’ve been assigned to welcome you to Grimshade!”

For a moment, you considered refusing the hand he extended toward you. He could’ve arrived a little earlier and helped you carry your heavy suitcase up the hill. On the other hand, the blond man with perfectly aligned hair and broad shoulders seemed far too pleasant to snub.

“Thank you! Have you been here long, Dr. Rune?” you asked, prompting a smile as Travis gestured with his chin for you to follow him inside.

“Please, call me Travis. We’re colleagues now.” He smiled, looking at you over his square glasses, winking one strikingly blue eye.

“That’s precisely why I prefer to keep things formal,” you said without intending to sound rude, though the words slipped out as you continued assessing the mansion’s interior.

A grand staircase led to the second floor, where nurses bustled about, and various patients were being moved from one place to another—some restrained, others not. Passing by a woman banging her head against the staircase railing, Travis led you upstairs, signaling to another staff member to take care of your suitcase.

“We’ve divided Grimshade into wings and levels. You’ll identify them by the bracelets on each patient’s wrist,” he explained as you moved down the corridor, ignoring the shouting coming from one of the consulting rooms. “Level One: green bracelet. Elderly patients abandoned by their families in our asylum. Their needs are managed by the nursing staff, so you won’t have contact with them.”

You absorbed the information, looking from side to side, thinking that abandoning a family member in a place like this was the ultimate proof of someone’s character.

"Level two: yellow wristbands. Patients of random age groups with mild mental disorders also abandoned by their families, or severe cases requiring institutionalization. They are monitored by the mental health team and have a monthly consultation with me for medication adjustments."

"So, they pay to be here?" Perhaps it was a naïve question, but you needed to know.

"Their families pay an annual fee and cover the costs of keeping them here. Unless it's a custody patient, we don’t treat anyone for free, if that’s what you’re wondering."

If they had so many patients and all of them paid to be here, why keep the sanatorium in the state of an ancient asylum? You wondered as you walked past a leak dripping water from the ceiling onto your hair.

"Understood, Dr. Rune."

He seemed quite young.

Okay, he was definitely good-looking and had a pleasant way of speaking. The age gap between you and him couldn’t have been more than two years. He was definitely the kind of guy you might have had a crush on in university, without the slightest reciprocation given the countless other, more interesting options he probably had. Not that you were particularly extroverted or social, especially when it came to interacting with men.

Locking yourself up at home with your face buried in books might not have been the best idea after all.

"Last but not least, level three: red wristbands. Custody patients awaiting trial or serving sentences at the sanatorium. We use treatment to extract information that can assist authorities and contribute to investigations."

He pointed toward a consultation room where a man in a dress shirt was speaking to a girl with her head down.

"Because these are highly dangerous criminals who can’t coexist with other patients, we keep them in a separate wing, which we call the Hidden."

Dr. Rune turned the next corner, and you followed him. As you passed through the doors and descended the stairs leading to the outside, the cold hit your face, and it was impossible not to cross your arms, trying to pull your sleeves further down.

You thought the scenery couldn’t get any worse, but with each step, it became darker. As you passed through gates and two guards, it felt like stepping into a TV prison show, walking along a corridor of iron cells.

A strong stench burned your nostrils, and the screams of patients mixed with the sound of something hitting the iron were enough to make your ears ring.

"This place is the reason you’re here. Our last professional resigned, and we urgently needed to fill the position before the next evaluation cycle started," Travis shrugged as he walked.

Your confidence dropped by a few percentage points upon realizing that your hiring was out of sheer desperation. Fine, you’d deal with that later.

"They resigned?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, dodging a stream of urine aimed in your direction by a patient. "Not exactly motivating to hear that on the first day."

"It’s a tough ward; it’s not for everyone." He smiled, and you hesitated immediately. "Besides the patient files you’ll handle, you’ll need to prepare for a new detainee arriving soon."

"A new detainee?" For the first time, your question sounded genuinely intrigued.

"He’s being tried for a brutal murder. There’s little information about the case, like his motivation or even confirmation that he did it. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened, and the judge concluded he’s not mentally sound." Travis rolled his eyes. "They dump any trash here, and it’s up to us to sort through it. Along the way, we see if we can help at all."

He was definitely fed up with this job.

"So, let me guess... you think I can make him talk?" you asked, playing with a hint of innocence as you watched Travis stop in the corridor.

"I don’t think someone as inexperienced as you can go that far, no offense." He spoke with a touch of sarcasm. "We just want you to follow protocol with him, and I’ll handle the rest."

Something prickled at the back of your neck at the way he dismissed your years of study as absolutely nothing just because your resume wasn’t as extensive as his. Your hands curled into fists, your fingers pressing into your palms, and you took a deep breath before responding.

"Of course, Dr. Rune."

The tour of the Hidden was over, and you were exhausted. Travis left you at the door of your small room with its jammed window and dusty ceiling fan. Before leaving, he emphasized the importance of being well-rested to receive the new patient the next day. After your shower, you wanted to call your mother and let her know you had arrived safely on the island after hours of travel, but without any signal, no matter where you moved in the room, this mission was impossible. Tossing the phone onto your pillow, you promised yourself you’d give her an update as soon as you had a break and could visit the town.

With a tired sigh, you sat at the desk next to the bed, drying your hair with a towel while flipping through patient files. You weren’t sleepy yet, and without the entertainment of the internet, all you could do was work.

Patient File 1: Ash A., 39 years old - Admission: June 2019 Preliminary Diagnosis: Severe psychopathy; dissociative disorder.

History: Ash was admitted after being declared legally insane during the trial for a series of brutal murders. He worked as a taxidermist, and his obsession with preserving "human perfection" led him to conduct grotesque experiments on his victims, all meticulously chosen. He claimed he was "saving" their souls by preserving them in an "immortal" form. During initial sessions, he displayed a complete lack of remorse and a disturbingly detailed recounting of his actions. Current State: Apathetic during interactions, except when discussing his “art.” Shows no signs of rehabilitation or acknowledgment of the atrocities committed.

You raised your eyebrows and jotted down notes in your notebook before moving to the next file.

Patient File 2: Mariene G., 27 years old - Admission: October 2021 Preliminary Diagnosis: Schizoaffective disorder with violent tendencies.

History: Mariene was found in a state of shock next to the body of her older brother, stabbed 23 times. Apparently, she believed he was a demonic entity trying to steal her soul. According to family testimony, Mariene began exhibiting paranoid behavior months earlier, hearing voices instructing her to protect herself "at all costs." In one interview, she stated she "had no choice" and that "his eyes burned like embers."

Current State: Alternates between periods of lucidity and paranoia. Aggressive during confrontations, requiring constant supervision.

“Mariene is a pretty name…” you murmured, assessing the photo of the woman with blonde eyebrows.

Patient File 3: Brady P., 52 years old - Admission Date: January 2020

Preliminary Diagnosis: Antisocial personality disorder; extreme persecution mania.

History: Brady was a former financial executive who believed he was being pursued by a "secret society" responsible for monitoring his every move and manipulating his life. This paranoia culminated in a public attack at a shopping mall, where Brady set fire to three stores and stabbed two security guards, claiming they were "infiltrators." He maintains that each act was a measure of self-preservation against an invisible enemy.

Current State: Rarely sleeps, claiming that "they will find him" if he closes his eyes. Displays consistent delusions despite intensive medication.

With the third file finished, you exhaled sharply, letting your lips vibrate, imagining what could have driven the previous psychiatrist to resign, leaving this position open for you.

Patient File 4: Noah S., 24 years old - Admission Date: February 2024

Preliminary Diagnosis: Psychogenic catatonia associated with borderline personality disorder and severe dissociative episodes.

History: Noah was found at dawn in a grove near the university campus, kneeling beneath a large tree. Above him hung the mutilated body of his ex-girlfriend, Rachel E., 23 years old, suspended by her ankles and bearing signs of extreme violence: deep cuts marked her skin, symbols carved into her torso, and her frozen expression suggested a slow and painful death.

Noah was covered in blood, both his own and Rachel’s. When approached by police, he remained motionless, staring blankly at her hanging body. Initial investigations revealed the two had been seen together the night before at a rival fraternity party where, according to witnesses, a heated argument occurred. The circumstances of the crime raised questions of premeditation and symbolic rituals, but Noah never provided an explanation. From the moment of his capture, Noah had not spoken a single word. Extensive psychiatric evaluations concluded that his muteness and apathy were not conscious choices but the result of a profound dissociative state combined with severe trauma. During the trial, his inert posture and lack of defense led to an insanity plea and his transfer to Grimshade Sanitarium.

Current State: Noah remains in complete silence, minimally interacting with his surroundings. Nurses’ reports mention he is often found staring into space for hours, particularly near windows or trees. His only movements thus far have been sudden bursts of rage when provoked.

Closing the file, the feeling lingered — a deep chill seemed to originate from the center of your chest, raising the hair on your arms. Noah’s face in the photograph seemed almost alive, his intense, furrowed gaze carrying something impossible to name. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to stand face-to-face with someone harboring such silence and horror within.

But your curiosity wouldn’t have to last long — you would meet him tomorrow.

The day began with an unusual restlessness. The hot water from the shower didn’t dissipate the cold that seemed to settle in your nape, and Noah’s face from the photograph lingered like a shadow, even with your eyes closed. It was as though the intensity of his gaze was imprinted on your mind, and more than once, you caught yourself trying to divert your thoughts — unsuccessfully — while instinctively clutching your thighs.

The tattoos — intricate and dark — covering his neck and peeking from the collar of his shirt didn’t help, drawing attention to themselves. Something about that man disturbed you more than any other patient you had encountered, and the feeling only grew as you prepared, choosing an outfit that projected professionalism, though a hint of nervousness threatened to show.

Descending to reception, you found Dr. Rune waiting with a calm smile and a hot coffee. You thanked him, holding the cup with both hands, trying to savor the warmth as a fleeting comfort. Walking together toward the outside, he explained some logistical details, but his words soon faded as a growing noise filled the corridor.

Crossing the main entrance doors, you stopped abruptly, startled by the scene unfolding before you. Journalists crowded like a compact swarm, camera flashes firing in rapid succession, and visibly overwhelmed security guards struggling to contain the horde. It was a chaotic visual and auditory assault, intensifying with each passing second.

“I should’ve warned you,” Travis murmured beside you, noting your expression. “Not only is his case infamous, but Noah comes from a very influential family. The owners of Blackridge, basically. They have fortune, power... and apparently no hurry to help their precious son.”

“They’re not trying to prove his innocence?” you asked innocently.

“All signs point to them wanting to stay out of the case due to the exposure. We’re in the isolated area, but Blackridge’s noble district is so conservative it’s believed that land still exists in a time capsule that hasn’t evolved.”

“That sounds... complicated.”

“Just another piece of gossip about a random patient.”

The information landed heavily, given Travis’s mocking tone, and you tried to ignore him.

“They won’t back off anytime soon,” Rune commented, his eyes scanning the commotion with a weary expression. “Be prepared — this will complicate things inside as well. Friends of mine at the penitentiary said this guy has an ego to match.”

The chaos ahead seemed to swell with the arrival of the convoy. You barely had time to process everything — the blinding flashes, the cacophony of voices shouting questions — when the door of the central car opened. Two guards stepped out first, taking rigid positions, before pulling Noah out.

He emerged with a surprising posture. There was no resistance in his movements, but neither was there submission. With his chin raised, his face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, avoiding the cameras with a determination that seemed almost practiced. The tattoos, now more visible, climbed along the side of his neck and hinted beneath the collar of his gray shirt, creating an almost hypnotic contrast against his pale skin.

Noah seemed unperturbed, untouchable, as though the swarm of journalists and flashes were nothing more than a breeze around him. But then, something shifted. His firm steps faltered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, and he stopped abruptly.

That’s when you realized: he was looking directly at you.

The air around you seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze, as overwhelming as in the photograph, but now there was something more — an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if examining something far beyond what others could see. His eyes were a blend of ice and fire, fixed on you with such deliberate focus that your stomach involuntarily tightened.

The moment lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. One of the guards touched Noah’s shoulder impatiently, and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. Yet, the impact of that brief exchange lingered.

“He usually doesn’t react to anything,” Travis remarked beside you, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “That was... strange.”

Strange.

The word felt insufficient to describe what you had just experienced. As Noah was led inside, you remained frozen, trying to understand why that fleeting instant made your skin tingle, as though something inevitable was about to happen.

You were in the asylum’s forest, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves beneath your feet. The air was dense, almost suffocating, and you knew you weren’t alone. Something—or someone—was behind you.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, every fiber of your being urging you to run, yet your legs felt rooted to the ground. Then, you heard it.

A whisper, far too close, as though it came from inside your mind:

“Run.”

The word was a command, and you obeyed without hesitation. Your body lunged forward, crashing through trees and brush with an urgency that felt primal. But the ground seemed to fight against you, each step more laborious than the last. Heat built between your thighs—confusing, strange—mixing with the adrenaline surging down your spine.

When the sound of footsteps behind you intensified, the adrenaline peaked. You could no longer think, only run, but you knew it was futile. He was too close.

Suddenly, something yanked your hair with brutal force, jerking you backward. A scream tore from your lips as your back collided with the rough surface of a tree. The pain of bark scraping against your exposed skin was eclipsed by his presence—a towering, menacing shadow.

His face was obscured, hidden in darkness, but the patterns on his neck were unmistakable. You recognized the intricate lines of tattoos that had haunted your thoughts all day. The broad shoulders and the strength with which he gripped your jaw confirmed your deepest fear.

It was Noah.

He tilted his head, studying you with a terrifying calm. The sound of his breathing was heavy, almost animalistic. Before you could react, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you between the tree and his overwhelming presence.

The heat pulsing between your thighs became unbearable, tangled in terror and tension. You tried to speak, but the words lodged in your throat as he gripped your neck with a possessive firmness, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, like a violent wave, you woke up.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and cold sweat drenched your skin. The darkness of your room was suffocating, though not as much as the weight of that dream. It wasn’t merely fear—it was something deeply visceral, almost tangible, making your skin crawl and your entire body rebel against what you had just experienced.

That man was going to drive you insane.

[anna-scribbles]

the end of the world began on the day adrien agreste turned thirteen years old.

(first chapter is up! happy october)

[uc1wa]

jason todd who’s a little religious and says he wants to wait for marriage to fill you full with his cock and cum. jason todd whose tongue is lapping at your entrance and his fingers are circling your clit, reminding you that the bible doesn’t say anything about the inability to do this.

[nart-is-a-monster]

WAAAAHHHHHH ANNE I LOVE YOU SM AND THE STORY YOU WRITE AUUGOHOHOGOHOGOGH

You know I just HAD to draw that scene like- C'MON

IT GOT ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET ON MY LITTLE BED TEHEE

Now if you don't know

THIS IS FOR @dreadpirateurania13 who has a beautiful fanfic called "AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES"

That you should TOTALLY go and read right MEOOOWWW

[vitreouspositive]

i find it both a shame and a blessing that their ship name is mainly known as skystar instead of jetstar because imagine constantly having to see your ship having the same name as that accursed aussie airline

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[konigsblog]

MDNI. photo credit @ave661 — warnings: tentacle fucking, breeding kink, eldritch horror könig. 🐙

eldritch!könig who's very overprotective and easily jealous. he see's you talking to other sea god's, one's he'd forbid you from seeing in fear they'd flirt with you — or worse, take you with them.

so when he see's you over there, sitting by the shore, the sand beneath your toes and speaking to an ancient, powerful sea god, he feels his blood boiling. he drags you back from them, chanting out something incoherent and pushing you down against the sand in a cave.

sliding his thick, wet tentacles into you and forcing you to maintain eye contact and mutter his name through breathless moans. his eyes don't leave you; they're filled with red, an angry red as he continues to bury a thick, hard tentacle into your poor hole. he lives for your whines and mewls and how you beg him to cum, how you're under his control, under his gaze.

eldritch!könig who, oh so desperately, wishes to fill you with his babies. he's so possessive of you; his prized possession. putting a child in your stomach would scare off any other sea god's and creatures who got too close for his liking.

it takes a lot of convincing, but he has you breathless and panting for hours as he continues to slide each of his eight tentacles into you. he slides he first inside, letting it thrust in and out of your used pussy till he's satisfied and his suckers are drooling out potent, murky fluids. a substance staining your inner walls.

then, he pulls out, bringing it to your mouth to suck on and stiffle your needy sounds as he rubs another tentacle against your sensitive, overstimulated clit. his sweetheart beneath him just begging to cum. you're making yourself a mess, those glistening tears and puffy lips...

he eases one inside before pulling away, your eldritch using your body for his own pleasure until the sun rises over the horizon. that golden glow over your body, and those precious tits. he couldn't help himself from toying and playing with them, preparing you to take his cock instead this time.

and, he's so ruthless with you. yet, his words are so loving that you're a babbling mess by the time he's finished. slapping his thick, heavy shaft against your stomach and kissing your lips softly before easing the tip inside, fully pushing himself in and groaning out a string of german curses as you tighten around him.

there's no stopping till he's completely satisfied and laying beside you wth his seed still oozing out your sloppy pussy. he'll push a tentacle inside and plug you, keep you safe and full beside him.

...

reblogs and comments appreciated.

[dykedvonte]

The second fic idea is a what-if scenerio where Jimmy dies in the crash due to and altercation with Curly and how Curly would navigate being Captain once he has to notice the little things and how he and Anya's relationship develop as he adopts an identical view point to hers rather than just keeping the peace.

And maybe i will write it but only time will tell tbh but it's stuck in my brain dome for the time being.

[merakiui]

Okay speaking of magical girls.... Evil villain tako that has a crush on the cute magical girl at NRC but he doesnt know shes the magical girl that's trying to thwart his evil plan of taking over sage's island mwhaha

YES YES YES. And every week he gets his ass handed to him. You're determined to keep Sage's Island safe!!!! He's trying to get to know you through the fights. The (one-sided) sexual/romantic tension is too much. Tako who flirts at every chance during your fights... you genuinely want to take him out (defeat him), but he wants to take you out (on a date). And it's so obvious he's down bad for you, but you have no idea he's Azul Ashengrotto (your fellow classmate) and he has no idea of your identity either. Azul's trying to balance his love for the magical girl he fights on weekends and his darling classmate who he sees during the week hehe. How fortuitous that they are the same person.

Please imagine that trope where the villain ensnares the hero in tentacles, but it ends up looking more erotic than threatening....... orz evil villain tako whose tentacle is holding you upside down by the ankle and he's monologuing about how he'll take over the island and you'll get to watch, powerless against him. But then he looks at you and your skirt has flipped up and he's granted a gratuitous panty shot!!!!!!! Tako who gets a nosebleed on the spot. He's such a loser pervert. <3

Omg omg or you're squirming in the tentacles and ranting about how you'll get him for this, but Azul's trying so hard not to give into the horny thoughts because the way the tentacles are looped around you and squeezing is so attractive to him.

Like that one scene where Stocking's fighting the octopus ghost LOL.

[rafeysbby]

i just rewatched that one clip of rafe snorting a line up close and OH MY GOD PLS DADDY SNORT A LINE UP MY INNER THIGHS AND PRESS UR FACE IN MY PUSSY I BEG OF U

[itsdefinitely]

hey don't cry. the jeri/rys will never be able to share simple human intimacy. they'll never get to hold hands. why are you crying louder

[itsalmostavengers]

Ik we stevetonies love our ‘Steve pulling Tony out of a bender in the workshop’ trope but me? I LOOOOVE the other way round. A bad mission and Steve loses someone - he tried to save them but it was too late, he couldn’t get there in time. And post-mission he just holes himself up in the gym and stays there. For days. Working himself to exhaustion just so he can shave half a second off his sprint (half a second and that person would be alive), punching bag after bag until his hands are bloody and raw.

Tony is the only one who can get through to him like this. It’s only his voice that can make Steve pause, come back to himself. Sometimes Tony has to actively stand in front of whatever it is Steve’s attacking, which absolutely infuriates him, but damn if it isn’t effective in a way only Tony no-thought-to-his-own-self-preservation Stark could be. And Tony is equally as infuriated that steve is insisting on doing this to himself, but even though his tone is angry, his touch against Steve’s knuckles is impossibly soft.

He’ll drag Steve back up to the land of the living. Put him in the shower and clean him off, freshen him up, make him feel human again. Steve will already be healing, of course, but Tony still tends and bandages his hands - attentive to the finest detail, devoting every part of his mind to just making Steve feel a little bit better.

They don’t talk much throughout this. God knows Tony’s tried it before, but Steve is never in the headspace for it, and Tony never says the right thing anyway. But he’s there.

He runs his fingers over the back of Steve’s palms. Up his forearms. He strokes the sharp curve of Steve’s neck, settling against the quick pulse. Steve’s face is blank, but Tony is always surprisingly patient with him. He waits.

“I’m fine,” Steve will say every time, while his face will say the opposite.

“You’re an idiot,” Tony will respond. “I’m locking you out of the gym.”

He won’t. Steve needs it, even if it’s unhealthy, even if it’s agonising for Tony to watch. This is just how they get through.

But Steve will see the way Tony is looking at him- distressed, angry, worried - and it’ll break through the fog. The thing that always takes priority over everything is Tony, and even though Steve’s brain is screaming at him to get right back to it, he just can’t put it above Tony’s well-being. He couldn’t ever do that.

“I Guess I can take a break now.”

[seepingfrommyskin]

“I don’t belong with you, I never did.”

hi yes my first time posting my art here and I come bearing fanart for @hella1975 ‘s amazing atla fic The Art of Burning, you can find this specific scene in chapter 28! if you haven't read it yet I highly recommend.

(click for better quality)

[lucky-clover-gazette]

hey. why are these genuinely good. why are these verses from pokemon game beautiful.

[youngpettyqueen]

Julian's line of "I needed another womb for the baby, and the only two other people on board were Major Kira and me." is already very. That Man Is Trans. and listen yes you can interpret it as him saying Kira was the only choice, but then it's literally followed up by Sisko saying "I think you made the right choice, Doctor." which I know is supposed to be a joke but the implication IS there that there WAS a choice and basically Julian is trans

[thearchvillain]

gardenias. | nikolai

part I

nikolai lantsov x reader

summary: Os Alta is alive with whispers of ambition as the Ravkan court gathers to find a queen for Vasily. Y/N, a merchant’s daughter, has no desire to be part of the spectacle. Forced to attend by her parents, she plans to keep her head down, avoid attention, and disappear before the night is over.

But secrets rarely survive the palace walls. A late-night meeting in the winter garden places her directly in the path of Nikolai Lantsov—the charming and unpredictable younger prince. Now, the one man she’s been desperate to avoid is far too interested in her plans, and to her dismay, she doesn’t entirely mind.

With her freedom on the line and the stakes rising, Y/N must navigate the court’s dangerous games—and the pull of a prince who might just unravel everything.

preview:

“I promise not to scream if you tell them you didn’t see who I was meeting with. Eryk’s done nothing wrong.” He lifted a brow, a sinuous smile curving his lips. “Do you promise not to bite, too?” Blood rushed furiously to her cheeks, indifferent to the fact that she was fighting desperately to keep her composure as she glared up at him, impervious to his taunting, or at least pretending to be. “I promise no such thing.” He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, a look of terrible amusement in his eyes as he whispered, “Good.” Then he straightened back up, hands in his pocket, all graceful, unruffled confidence. “But I find those sorts of nefarious activities are better enjoyed when one is well-rested. Shall I escort you to your room? Make sure you don’t accidentally commit some act of treason on your way to it.” She was careful to control her breathing, aware that she was one inhale too deep from being pressed against his chest. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m planning some grand act of treason with Zaitsev?” “Well, you have that look about you. A bit insolent, a bit treasonous.” “I thought you liked that.” He made a soft tutting sound, looking deeply entertained by the defiant tilt of her chin. “Of course I like you. It doesn’t mean I will just let this go.”

word count: 6k (i know. don't @ me, i made it even worse in the rewrite)

tropes/warnings: not cannon, vasily's still alive, nikolai's kinda suspicious that y/n is about to commit some kind of treason and it's reflected in the way he acts, there is tension and innuendos though sljdf

a/n: i'm not going to lie to you, this is absolutely going to be a multi-part. i'm enjoying writing nikolai being a teasing menace far too much not to explore it further, and i think nikolai would be far too curious and fascinated by y/n to just let it go (and a bit worried about what she's up to). i hope you enjoy it!

The air inside the winter garden was laden with the scent of jasmine. There was an oppressiveness to it, a warm humidity that lingered beneath the overbearing fragrance and made it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just the nerves finally catching up to her. Tempting fate with illicit late-night meetings had a way of leaving one breathless, and that was precisely what Y/N was currently doing. Tempting fate.

She’d already sat down and stood back up several times, which did nothing to soothe her fraying nerves, so now she kept walking up and down the path instead, focusing on the repetitive sound of her steps. Her fingers were sticky with sap, the leaf she’d plucked from some peculiar bush rendered a soggy mess. She’d have thrown it away, but then she would have nothing to distract her from the nervousness pooling inside her chest.

This routine she had fallen into was why, when the door clicked open, Y/N halted in place, startled by the interruption. There was a beat of silence in which she could hear the startled flutter of her heart before the door closed and the key turned inside the lock. Disappointment solidified to stone inside her chest. A servant must have noticed the door was unlocked and locked it from the outside, that was all. Zaitsev wasn’t coming, and now Y/N would have to pick the lock again, this time with a slightly bend hairpin, in order to get back to her rooms.

Dragging in a shaky breath, she turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction, towards the second door that led directly to the palace grounds. Taking the outdoor route back to her room would be a detour, but it meant she was less likely to be seen, and Y/N hoped the cool night air might help her figure out her next step.

“What’s the rush?” A voice came from somewhere behind her, startling in the deafening silence. “You’re missing out on the flowers.”

Y/N halted mid-step, breath caught in her throat as she stilled in her spot, uncertain. He continued, undeterred. “Or is the collection not exotic enough for the refined taste of a Ketterdam princess?”

This was not the Lieutenant’s voice - it was too silvery, too playful. Refined in its accent - not a native Kerch speaker, but a very well-educated one. Educated enough to have guessed who she was before ever hearing her speak. Shit.

She balled her fists and found her fingers still sticky, at once regretting both the leaf and her choice to assume someone had locked the door from the outside and not the inside. “I—” She cleared her throat, schooling her voice so she wouldn’t sound so guilty. “It’s the smell in here. It’s overpowering.”

“Perhaps the lady would find it less offensive in the daytime.” There was a pause, interrupted by the click of his boot against the marble floor. She swore she could hear the smirk in his voice as he continued, “As most people do.”

What she should have done was excuse herself and head for the grounds. Y/N knew this on an intellectual level. On a more practical one, she had a talent for talking back, and very little for demureness. “You are here too, are you not?” she said instead, then cursed inwardly when he chuckled in response.

“Touche.” She could hear him moving through the silence, his steps slow and deliberate. Could almost imagine him as a predator closing in on its prey in some distant, exotic forest. The foliage certainly fit the part. “But I like the smell at night. It’s jasmine, by the way. Night-blooming jasmine, to be specific. My mother’s favourite.”

She didn’t want to continue this conversation, but she thought that if she played along, she might still get him to pay her detour no mind. Men liked polite. “Oh? Does she garden?”

This made him laugh. It was a pleasant laugh - the kind that belonged to someone intimately familiar with the action, who found her question inexplicably amusing. “Saints, no. That would be quite the sight, though - my mother with dirt-stained hands, taking care of a living thing.”

While Y/N could empathise - her own mother was more delicate with her porcelain than with her children - she wasn’t about to discuss familial trauma with a stranger at three in the morning. So why was he? “I feel you are trying to make me guess who you are.”

“Well, as fun as that sounds, you could also simply… turn around. The joke will make much more sense that way.”

“But I am escaping,” she said, as if this was also very obvious. “It would be silly of me to show my face now when I still have a chance of getting away.”

“Is that what you are doing, escaping? Huh.” There was a rustle of fabric as he shifted in place, closer than she thought he’d been a moment ago. “Women don’t run away from me very often. What a thrilling change of pace.”

Y/N had to stop herself from snorting at this. For one, it was not very ladylike, but also, one did not go about mocking strange men with her back turned on them. She thought this one might just be egotistical enough to take it in stride, but she refrained from testing that theory out for now. “I’m glad I could thrill.” Her voice was bland, open to interpretation. Was she amused? Irritated? Disdainful. She hardly knew herself, and maybe that was the problem. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Would you like me to?” he asked, perfectly conversational.

If Y/N had had a drink to choke on, she would have. Instead, she forced her voice to stay even, and she shoved back that frustrated, sheltered part of herself that had always been bad at keeping her mouth shut. “A thrilling proposition, but one I will have to refuse. I’m keeping to a strict diet of sensibility these days, and none of that sounds very sensible.”

“Some would say that meeting Lieutenant Zaitsev at three in the morning isn’t a particularly sensible activity, but here we are. Minus Zaitsev, unfortunately.” He said the word unfortunately the way people did when they found very little unfortunate about a situation.

At this, Y/N spun on her heel, suddenly aware of the sound of rushing blood and the pitter patter of her heart in her throat. Prince Nikolai looked as pleased by this reaction as a cat would as it dug its claws into some poor, unsuspecting creature, or dipped its whiskers in a tub of full-fat cream.

And it truly was the prince standing in front of her, who had been standing behind her this whole time, and all Y/N could think about right now was that the joke did indeed make sense. Queen Tatiana did not seem like the type to take up gardening.

He was in his full regalia, as polished as he’d been earlier tonight - all shiny medals, crisp lines and the sort of lazy indifference that came with inherited importance and disarmingly good looks. She’d half expected the illusion of grandeur to dissipate this close to him, and at such an ungodly hour, but she instead found him more imposing this way, as impeccable as he’d been from afar.

She had to admit; she found that moderately irritating, amongst other things.

Y/N forced herself to stop gaping and lower her gaze, contrite. This, at least, she was supposed to be well-versed in. “My apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t recognise your voice,” she said, switching to Ravkan. She wanted badly to turn her back to him again, if only to hide the heat in her cheeks.

“How could you? I’ve never had the pleasure of speaking to you before tonight.” Y/N did not think she was imagining the subtle note of accusation in his voice just then.

Not that it wasn’t a fair point; she just did not like that he’d noticed it, that he’d noticed her. She had simply assumed there were enough girls being paraded around that her absence wouldn’t be noted, not until her parents finally lost their patience and shoved her at either prince, at which point she had intended to make herself terribly unamusing.

That plan, she thought, was already failing, if the amused way Nikolai was looking down at her was anything to go by. He had tipped his head to the side, eyes trailing along Y/N with the sort of intense curiosity she could feel burning against her skin. “No need to apologise. I’ve had enough performative politeness to last me a year.”

“Are you implying my apology was performative?”

Nikolai caught her eyes and smiled at the indignation in them. “I’m implying you’ve been avoiding me. The only thing you’re truly sorry about is getting caught tonight.” She had been right - he had the sort of mouth that lent itself to charming, easy smiles, the kind that made it hard to look away.

“That’s a bit presumptuous. Perhaps I’ve simply been avoiding everyone.”

“Well, I am a prince. One would assume this allows for some presumptuousness, at least.” He eased back against one of the smooth stone pillars, head tipped back, as he regaled her with a smirk. “Are you supposed to be shy? Is that it?”

Y/N scoffed. “I’ve run my mouth enough to know that playing that card wouldn’t work anymore.” She wasn’t sure what else to say but the truth, not when he looked at her like that. Too discerning for someone who was supposed to be used to unfettered, unquestioning admiration. People tended to take her downcast eyes and her rosy-lipped smiles as a given. She was sweet, deferential, a proper young lady. But Nikolai had handed her an accusation instead, and now she didn’t know what to do with it.

As if sensing her unease, Nikolai pushed himself easily off the pillar and made to step around her. “Yes.” There was an undue amount of proximity between them as he passed her, eyes trailing along her features, before he disappeared behind her back. “Pretending to be boring won’t work, either. I’m glad you gave up on that after two sentences.”

“Yes, I need to work on keeping my tongue in check,” she said, sullen. “How did you know who I was?”

She didn’t think Zaitsev would have told him, even if pressed - he feared his sister’s wrath far too much for it - and Y/N doubted he could recognise her from the back, especially in the deep dark of the conservatory. Yet there was something unsettling about the cavalier way he considered her question as he toyed with the flowers. Relaxed. In control.

“It’s in my job description,” he said, as if that might explain the overabundance of information on her. As if the Lantsov royalty were famous for taking their job seriously.

She bit her tongue and said instead, “Is it? I’ve heard princes have people for that. To stand behind you and whisper information over your shoulder.” Y/N could just imagine it now, a nondescript figure at Nikolai’s side, their voice low and quick. She is Braam’s brat. A member of the Council, and a rather powerful one. We might need him at some point, so play nice. Except she wasn’t yet sure if Nikolai was here to play nice.

He chuckled at that, an indulgent sound. “You’re not wrong, but I find those overbearing. They can be tough to get rid of when one wishes to slip away unnoticed,” he said, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you can relate.”

She moved from her spot to follow him as he slowly made his way down the winding path, keeping a few paces back. “Well, mine usually know very little, but they are very good at keeping me from slipping away.”

“Yes, clearly they’re very good at their job.” He leaned in to smell an unnaturally orange flower, but Y/N caught the tail end of a smile on his lips before it disappeared behind a shadow.

“Oh, they are, but he left them back home. Wouldn’t want the Court to think I’m anything but obedient.”

He turned his head from her flower to look at her, flashing her a grin. “Can’t imagine why anyone would assume that.”

To be fair, Y/N wished there had been more disobedience to speak of in her record, but the prince didn’t need to know that. She was perfectly content with allowing him to assume the worst of her and did her best to look the part as she lifted her eyebrow. “Speaking of disobedience. Where is Eryk? I mean, Lieutenant Zaitsev.”

The hope was that once she put it that way, Nikolai would be free to assume all manner of less than savory things. Not an ideal outcome if you asked her mother, but a perfect one if you asked Y/N. I’m a headache, it was supposed to imply. So don’t bother with me. And Y/N liked to imagine there was some truth to that statement.

“Am I boring you that much?” Nikolai placed a hand across his heart, and Y/N hated herself for getting distracted by the way his fingers splayed across the medals, long and elegant, the snow white of the glove at odds with the deep blue of his uniform. “You wound me, Miss Braam.”

Oh good, she thought as she blinked and looked away from him in frustration. He’d glossed right over her innuendo - a modern man, just what she needed right now.

“It was not my intention, Your Grace. You are a delight,” she said dryly. Her problem was that it wasn’t really a lie - Nikolai seemed delightful, in a precarious sort of way. It was just not the sort of delightful that she could not allow herself to indulge in at the moment, and that she felt far too on edge to appreciate thoroughly. “He promised—”

Nikolai interrupted her, one gloved hand raised elegantly, as if he were used to people shutting up at a mere wave of his hand. Impressive, but Y/N found it rather annoying just how well it had worked on her, too. “I sent him away,” he said, stopping his walk to turn around and face her fully. “Alas, he obeyed. You’re stuck with me instead.”

Y/N felt the frustration that had been festering in her chest rise like the tide, choking out the words in her throat. She knew she had to keep it down, had to appear forlorn rather than irritated. A lover scorned, rather than what she truly was - simply annoyed by Nikolai’s snooping. She hadn’t meant to drag Eryk so deep into it, and she certainly didn’t appreciate the fact that this would inevitably delay her plans.

“Right,” she muttered, voice tight. She hoped she sounded the part at least, turning away from Nikolai to cast her gaze into the distance, worrying at her lip. She'd kept most parts of herself shuttered for so long now she couldn't will her face to remember the sadness.

She must have done something right, because Nikolai moved in the periphery of her vision, coming around to face her again. There were fingers on the edge of her jaw, the material of his gloves soft and runny against her skin. Not cotton, silk. Because of course it would be silk with him. She didn’t fight him as he gently guided her chin so that she was looking up at him and his gaze trailed along the planes of her face as if he were drinking her in. There was something so gentle and sympathetic about the curve of his lips then that she almost believed him. Almost.

“As lovely as you look in all your teary-eyes, heartbroken glory,” Nikolai said, the amusement in his voice bleeding into his eyes, into the corner of his mouth. He brushed his thumb across the dip of her chin. “I sincerely doubt you are anything of the sort. It’s that Ketterdam blood in your veins. Pragmatism above all else, no?”

And perhaps she only had herself to fault for this. She had been a bit too ready to play with him when he’d prodded, too quick with her words, too forward with her answers. Now, she couldn’t exactly roll it all back and pretend to be a lovesick fool. He wasn’t buying any of what she was selling, and she couldn’t fault him for it. She wouldn’t have believed herself either.

She sneered as she jerked her chin against his hand in a display of defiance, hoping for a convincingly withering look. “And is pragmatism an unfamiliar concept in Ravka? Quit playing with your food, Your Highness. This would’ve gone a lot quicker if you’d just told me what you wanted from me in the beginning.”

His mouth curved, a sort of satisfaction bleeding into his smile, as if he enjoyed nothing more than to see the facade crack. “Now that’s more like it.” His eyes slipped down, taking in the angry curl of her lip, the unrestrained clench of her jaw before he looked back up into her eyes. “Now where would the fun be in that, hm?” He was still looking at her as if he were observing a particularly riveting piece of art, one that might reveal some secret meaning if only you looked patiently enough. “Perhaps I didn’t want it to be quick.”

Y/N could agree with him on this - she did not think the youngest Lantsov wanted anything done quickly or haphazardly, especially when it seemed to bring him an undue amount of amusement. She tested the give of his grip - which was light enough that she thought she could easily bat his hand away - but he did not budge, their eyes still boring into each other. “Well then, perhaps I wish to rush it along.”

He chuckled, and she felt his breath brush against her flushed cheeks. “Do you, really?” His grip loosened, but she could still feel his fingers on her jaw, a ghost of a touch seeping warmth into her skin as he trailed them along the jut of the bone. “Leave then. I won’t stop you.”

When she didn’t move, he looked back up from his fingers to her eyes, gaze questioning. “Why, you’re a curious thing. Brought her to be paraded about the Court in the hopes of securing a marriage, no? But then you so diligently avoid both my brother and me.” His lips quirked, a shadow of a smile. “Strange. Can you blame me for being curious? For taking my time to figure you out?”

At any other time, the genuine curiosity in his eyes might have flattered her, even thrilled her. He was charming and handsome and slightly perilous. And she was supposed to be young and silly and unburdened by common sense. To have such singular attention of a prince pointed at her should’ve rendered her a blushing mess. But all she could think about right now was that he was the last person she wanted figuring anything out.

A change of plans, then. “Maybe that was the ploy all along? Have you ever considered that? Avoiding you, ignoring you.” She tipped her head to the side, leaning into his touch until she could feel the pressure of his fingertips grow heavier against her jaw. She tried to imagine herself as someone brazen, like it was a robe she could simply slip on. “It got your attention, did it not?”

He obliged her, his fingers slipping to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across the curve of her cheekbone. His eyes ran across her face and for a moment, she believed she almost had him. But he didn’t seem to have inherited any of that signature Lantsov foolishness. “I admire your talent for improvisation. Really, I do. It’s almost disarmingly charming.”

“But?”

“But, I’m not buying it. It would’ve been too risky of a plan. And unless you’re more arrogant than I am - which I doubt - I don’t think you expected anyone to come looking.”

If she hadn’t been so annoyed by him intercepting her every move, she might have taken this as a compliment. Instead, she narrowed her eyes, finally irritated enough to reach up and grab his wrist. The rich, thick wool of his uniform was rough beneath her fingertips, golden buttons digging into her palm as she pulled his hand away from her face. She hated how aware of him she was when she let go.

Nikolai let her, grinning delightedly at the sudden display of insolence, as if he’d been waiting for it from the start. “Not particularly gentle. I like that.”

“Fine. Let’s stop pretending to flirt then.” Because that is what this was - make believe. She thought she could see something more sinister lurking beneath it. He didn’t believe she was meeting Zaitsev for a moonlit tryst between forbidden lovers - which, in all fairness, was an entirely correct assumption. He didn’t think she was truly interested in him either - which was mostly correct. She was busy plotting, but not blind. Which had to mean he thought there was more to this, and which meant she was in trouble. She just preferred her troubles to be more forthcoming, and less charming.

“Who says I’m pretending?”

She levelled him with a look. “Please. How did you know when and where I was to meet Zaitsev?”

He watched her for a moment, chin dipped, his eyes unreadable in the darkness. She thought he might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell as he turned on his heel and strolled away. There was something languorous and insolent about the way he moved, like he was a study in effortless regality, the moonlight glinting off the gold details of his uniform, his hands clasped behind his back. If it was meant to unsettle, well… it was doing its job.

“Now that would be telling,” he said, voice playful. “And I like to keep an air of mystery about myself. It adds to the charm, I think.”

It would have added to the charm if that mystery hadn’t been immediately threatening to her and her plans.

“Fine,” she ground out. “Why care to find out about it at all? Why care to follow me? You could’ve assumed any number of more straightforward reasons for my disinterest. I want to be a nun. I have several lovers and no energy to take on more. I don’t believe in marriage, especially not to men I don’t know who also happen to have a reputation.”

“So, which one is it?”

“Maybe it’s all the above.” She lifted a brow. “I’d make a terrible nun.”

“Saints, I’m half in love with you already.” With a flash of a charming grin, he leaned against one of the giant tree pots and looked at her. “I told you. You never introduced yourself, and this charade has been going on for three nights now.”

“So your explanation is that your ego made you do it?”

“My ego makes me do great many things, dear Miss Braam. A character fault, I know, but no one’s perfect.” He didn’t sound remotely sorry about it. “So, what’s my reputation?”

Deciding they weren’t going anywhere soon, Y/N made her way to a stone bench that ran along one side of a small fountain. The waterworks were off for the night, leaving the water a motionless, dark mirror behind her. “Other than being disgustingly charming and well educated? None.” She sat down and continued, interrupting him before he could start gloating. “But you are handsome and intelligent, and that makes the bad things a lot easier to keep under wraps.”

He considered her for a moment, surprisingly silent in his contemplation, before dipping his chin once and strolling over to where she sat. “An astute observation. Some might call it cynical, but I suppose it’s fair, given the circumstances.” Y/N had half expected him to defend himself, but Nikolai simply smiled down at her, as if he’d read her mind. “So, other than general disappointment in mankind. Why are you avoiding me?”

“Well, I have a perfectly sensible explanation for that.” She said leaning back on her hands and tipping her head to her shoulder as she looked up at him. At least he was a pretty sight - she’d give him that. “My parents are tentatively hopeful—” There was absolutely nothing tentative about her parents; she was lying through her teeth again. “But I know better—”

“Of course you do.”

“Would you stop driving me up the wall for two seconds?”

Then Nikolai was laughing, and Y/N realised that all the other times he’d done it was only a good mimicry of amusement. This was the real thing. Startling and unrestrained, it left her looking up at the glass ceiling in faux exasperation, trying to hide her smile.

“Anyway. It’s the crown prince’s hand that’s on the table, right? And you said it yourself - we Ketterdam princesses are a pragmatic bunch. As nice as it sounds, I’m no royalty. So why waste my breath?” She shrugged. “Your kingdom needs political alliances, not my money. And if I’m debasing myself like a dairy cow at a cattle fair, I’d at least prefer to have a chance. I, too, have an ego.”

When she dipped her head back down, she realised Nikolai had been watching her from where he stood, playing absentmindedly with the buttons of his cuff. “From what I’ve been told, your father is a very rich man,” he said after a moment of consideration. “And I hear that sort of thing makes a woman rather attractive. Political alliances can be bought.”

“Oh, is that why you keep flirting with me? Does my father’s money make me so irresistible?”

“Well, that and the insolence.” He smirked. “But mostly it’s the insolence. Us Ravkans, we’re just not as pragmatic.”

“I can tell.” She smiled at him, unable to help herself, before dipping her chin to the side as she dragged her fingertips along the cold surface of the water. “Besides, I’m not too keen on being shipped off to a foreign kingdom, much to my mother’s dismay.”

This was a half-truth, but Y/N was well-versed in those. Yes, her mother was very much dismayed. No, Y/N did not mind being shipped away from Ketterdam. She just wished to do it on her own terms. But Nikolai did not need to know that - homesickness was much easier to believe than whatever truths she hid in her heart.

“Not even for a crown?”

She blinked up at him. When he looked at her like that, she thought she could imagine him as something plucked out of a children’s book. Like he might be a knight in one of those terribly depressing Ravkan stories about dead martyred girls. Like he might hold her body close to his chest and mourn over her in a field of poppies, impressive even in tragedy. She supposed then that she understood why all the girls flocked to vie for his attention once they’d done their duty of doting on Vasily. This, she thought, is what a prince is supposed to be.

“I have no interest in crowns. They seem heavy.”

“What is it than interests you then?”

Freedom. Agency. All things that were hazy and indescribable to her. She smiled up at him. “Now, that would be telling. And I like to keep an air of mystery about myself, too.”

“Fair,” he conceded, the amusement only a faint twitch in the corner of his mouth. He was standing over her now, looking down as she sprawled back on the cold stone. She could feel the fabric of his pants brush against her dress, where the silk lay across her knee, thin and insubstantial. She’d almost forgotten for a moment that she was supposed to be annoyed about her failed meeting, about his prying, about the ungodly hour and no bed in sight. Instead, she allowed herself to be thrilled for just a second, let herself be foolish. She’d been afforded so little foolishness in her life.

“Why were you meeting him?” he asked then, voice quieter and more serious than it had been at any point before. It was a proper question, she realised, not a provocation or a taunt. He wanted an answer, and she knew she couldn’t give it to him, not really.

“He has something I need.” Want. She’d meant to say want instead of need. The word sounded too raw for her liking, too close to admitting to a lack of control. It was more of a truth than she’d meant to offer him.

She pushed herself up to stand, and Nikolai shifted to the side to give her space. He was still close, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that when she looked up at him, he could see the steely determination in her eyes. “Go on then, make your threats.”

His gaze slipped down to the stiff set of her shoulders, the way she curled her fingers into fists at her side, nails digging into her palms. He hummed, and she felt it reverberate in her chest. “I suppose I could threaten to drag you back to your parents. Demand an explanation?” He said it in such a way that it felt less like a threat than an offer. As if he’d meant to say, Is this what you’re asking for? But he looked like he found the mere idea of it repulsive, as if it were beneath him. She felt Nikolai dealt in charming grins and soft-spoken, elegant threats - dragging her to her parents must’ve seemed positively barbaric to him.

“Yes, I suppose you could.” She turned where she stood, so that now they were facing each other fully, inches separating them as she looked up. “I promise not to scream if you tell them you didn’t see who I was meeting with. Eryk’s done nothing wrong.”

He lifted a brow, a sinuous smile curving his lips. “Do you promise not to bite, too?”

Blood rushed furiously to her cheeks, indifferent to the fact that she was fighting desperately to keep her composure as she glared up at him. “I promise no such thing.”

He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, a look of terrible amusement in his eyes as he whispered, “Good.” Then he straightened back up, hands in his pocket, all graceful, unruffled confidence. “But I find those sorts of nefarious activities are better enjoyed when one is well-rested. Shall I escort you to your room? Make sure you don’t accidentally commit some act of treason on your way to it.”

She was careful to control her breathing, aware that she was one inhale too deep from being pressed against his chest. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m planning some grand act of treason with Zaitsev?”

“Well, you have that look about you. A bit insolent, a bit treasonous.”

“I thought you liked that.”

He made a soft tutting sound, looking deeply entertained by the defiant tilt of her chin. “Of course I like you. It doesn’t mean I will just let this go.”

“That’s not—,” she stuttered, blindsided by the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “That’s not what I meant!”

“But you are blushing again.”

She hated this. No. She hated herself for not hating this nearly as much as she ought to. And she hated the fact he was aware of it, too. There was an uncanny perceptiveness to his eyes when he caught her gaze, something self-satisfied in the sinful curve of his smile. It was as if he could hear the jackrabbit flutter of her heart, could feel the restless warmth that spread across her skin.

“Enough, Your Grace. We don’t have time for this.” She hated how exasperation had bled into her voice, especially when Nikolai remained as calm and poised as ever, watching her. “I can hear the birds start their singing; soon, the servants will be up. Someone might see us.”

He held her eyes for a moment, silent, and she knew he was listening, that he could hear them too - the harbingers of dawn. It would be daylight soon. Then he nodded, a note of finality to his voice. “Very well. I’ll find you tomorrow. Threats are better when made over a glass of fine brandy, anyway.”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “Same place, same time.” She would never get a good night’s sleep.

But the damage was done. It must have been the high-pitched, panicked sound of that no, or the unguarded expression that flashed across her face. Whatever he’d seen, it made Nikolai shift his stance, gaze reassessing. “I will find you,” he repeated, then added with a smirk, “privately. Unless the lady prefers to save me a dance?”

“Why would I ever… oh.”

He was a picture of ease - shoulders loose, hands in his pocket - looking like he had all the time of the world. It made her overly aware of how locks of her hair had fallen out of her up-do, burdened with the late hour. Of how she pressed her shaky palm flat against her bodice, weary of its tightness. She envied him for his poise. She wanted to reach out and ruin it.

“Oh,” he repeated, smug. And he had every right to be - she would’ve gloated too if she’d been that efficient in finding just the right buttons to press. And he’d done it with such grace that part of Y/N was impressed against her better judgement.

Save me a dance. It was a threat, not a request.

She could almost see it now. Nikolai, impressive in his full regalia, strolling across the ballroom towards her, a picture of single-minded determination. A gloved hand offered and an upturned gaze, promising nothing but trouble. She would know it was all for show, that it was not real - but the Court wouldn’t. All they would see was a prince singling her out, boldly showing his favour, and out of the blue at that. She couldn’t think of a worse thing.

“That’s low,” she said, voice dripping acid. Inside, she was fifteen again, entirely out of her depth, her mother’s voice ringing in her head. Silly girl, she hissed. These are not the games we women can play and win.

“No, Miss Braam, it’s pragmatic. Simple. Elegant.” He would take her hand and spin her out of her carefully crafted obscurity, thrust her under the scrutiny while the waltz played. The realisation was a rope tightening around her wrists, binding her hands until all she could do was watch the situation spiral out of her control.

And he was watching her; she could feel it, but her mind was elsewhere as she turned away from him. The boning of her bodice making it hard to breathe, digging painfully into her hips. She felt along her finger for the smooth gold of her ring, and she spun it around. Once. Twice. Thrice. Breathe. Once more. You can figure this out.

“Miss Braam?” She heard him step around her, keeping at a respectful distance as he dipped his head to catch her eyes. She must’ve looked terribly pale for his voice to have suddenly softened. “No one will know, I promise. All I want to do is talk.”

“Oh, is that all?” she bit out, pinning him with a glare. “Well then, your will is my command. Right?” Gathering her skirts, she quickly lowered herself into a mocking curtsy, holding his gaze defiantly from beneath her lashes. Then she turned on her heel and marched for the door that led to the palace grounds, heels striking the ground with an angry staccato.

“That was not my intention—”

She ignored his voice and the sound of his boots behind her, focusing instead on tugging angrily on the wrought iron handle that refused to budge beneath her hands. She tugged at it again, a frustrated sound escaping her. “They are plants for Ghezen’s sake, not the Royal treasury. Is this truly necessary?” She reached up to pull another pin out of her hair, a lock slipping down to brush against her bare shoulder. Now she probably looked like she actually had been doing something terribly interesting, not just arguing in circles with an entitled prince.

“They are expensive plants,” he said from somewhere beside her. “Are you trying to pick the lock?”

“I do not try to do anything, Your Highness. How do you think I got in here before?”

She was just about to lower herself into a crouch when she felt his hand at her elbow, pulling her up. When she turned to glare at him, she found him dangling a bundle of ornate keys from his forefinger, eyebrow raised. “May I?”

It had occurred to her to refuse him on principle - but it was near dawn, and she had been trying to keep that stubborn, vindictive part of herself in check for a while now. This was good practice. She nodded and looked up at the glass ceiling, focusing on the deep, lazy stretch of the night sky beyond instead of the way his shoulder brushed against her arm as he came closer and unlocked the door.

“I hope you will reconsider my request for that dance at some point.”

She looked at him, incredulous. “You threatened me with it.”

“Yes, it is an unfortunate coincidence that the thing I wish for is the same as the thing that threatens you.” He held her gaze for a moment, a smile playing across his lips, before he looked down between them. Y/N followed his gaze reflexively, frowning when she realised there was a flower in them, so delicate and white that it almost blended into the silk of his gloves. “Since you don’t like the smell of jasmine,” he said and held it out to her.

Y/N stared, uncertain. Curiosity was a familiar, unrelenting beast inside her mind, and she decided she did not have the energy to fight it tonight. “What is it?”

“Gardenia. A personal favourite.” He waited for her to take it from his hand, then smiled at her. “Go. I’ll wait ten minutes and leave out the other door.” With that, he turned and strolled back in the other direction - unhurried, languid, and infuriatingly prepossessing. His voice carried over to her as he looked back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Miss Braam. I look forward to tomorrow.”

For a moment, Y/N remained standing there, still reeling, before she forced her limbs to comply and stumbled out onto the grounds, desperate for fresh air. It was only then, and once her senses had cleared on her way back to her bedroom, that she realised he hadn’t lied about the flower. Its fragrance was a sweet, charming thing.

If later on she put it in a small crystal glass and placed it on her nightstand, that was only because she hated seeing flowers go to waste. And if her mind was full of its fragrance and the memory of Nikolai’s fingers running along the slope of her jaw, she blamed it on weariness and the uncontrollable nature of dreams.