#he’s made it into a power source I’m sure

[justhereforsomethingnice]

Random thought: how much do the bat family shit, or the arrows, or any other non superpowered family. Or even superpowered like the Flash family, famous for their fast metabolism. They have to eat so much to keep up with their life style, it has to come out.

How many times does poor Alfred have to unclog toilets? Does Iris think that’s the worst about dating a Flash? Do I want to know?

[theglamorousferal]

Immortal Everlasting Trio who have been exploring the Infinite Realms for the last few centuries. The three of them are flying, braiding their paths as they make their way through the Realms.

“How do you think Ellie is doing in her current incarnation?” Nightshade asks of her partners,

“Hmm probably well, she was exploring the galaxy this time right? I could always check?” Pharaoh responds, a keyboard made of sandstone appears at his fingertips.

“She feels content.” Said Phantom, soothing the worries of the other two. The stars that are freckles on his face brighten with the comment.

They swirl around each other in lazy patterns, unknowing of the passage of time, when Phantom feels a tug at his core. The trio circle up, his partners noticing the shift in mood.

“I don’t recognize this one.” He mutters to himself, placing a hand on the center of his chest. “It’s none of the family, but it is a bit familiar.” He furrowed his brow, trying to trace the sensation to its source. He closed his eyes and felt the pull of magic. “It doesn’t feel malicious, there’s desperation and curiosity for sure, but I feel no ill intent.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to follow it. I want to know why this feels familiar”

Nightshade formed a purple bloom and tucked it behind one of his ears and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Be safe.”

Pharaoh gently took his hand and kissed it, bestowing a glass bangle to his wrist. “Don’t make stupid decisions,” he smirked, “without us.”

Phantom laughed and in a flash of bright white light he was gone.

* * *

With a flash of light so bright it temporarily blinded, Phantom appeared in a summoning circle. The room he now occupied was large, a massive sofa made up a good portion of the room and there was a kitchen off to the side. Turning around, there was a large screen with even larger windows behind it. He turned back and now saw the people in the room.

One was green with a unitard on, one was sitting criss cross in front of some candles, a book and a small cauldron, one was floating and had a mass of bright pink hair, one was a cyborg of some kind and stood at the ready with a cannon for an arm and the last was shielding his eyes with a black cape.

“Who summons me?” Phantom asked in a far quieter tone than the teens apparently expected.

The one who appeared to have done the ritual stood and spoke first. “Mighty Phantom, we seek your assistance in dealing with a massive threat to our world. The demon Trigon looks to the Earth as his next conquest.” They took a breath and looked down. “He intends to use my power to do it, and I do not have the strength to stop him.”

Phantom settled his feet on the ground and placed a hand on their shoulder. “Peace young one. Why don’t we start with introductions? As you know, I am Phantom, he/him, now who has managed to summon me?”

“I am Raven, she/her, the rest here are my team the Teen Titans.” She turned to her team, they all seemed shocked. “I apologize for them, usually they take things in stride a lot easier. This is Beast Boy, he/him, Starfire she/her, Cyborg, he/him, and Robin, he/him.”

“Hmm, may I see the text you used to summon me?” He gestured to the book on the floor. “I was not aware of anything that could summon me in this realm. It is familiar to me though, I can’t place why.”

Raven raised the book into his hand. He leafed through it humming to himself before stopping on a photo of a note that looked familiar. He smiled to himself, remembering the time a century ago to him that himself and his partners helped a small civilization and they left a way for the leader to contact them if they needed help. He skimmed the next few paragraphs and then laughed and closed the book.

“I’ll help. In fact, my partners and I will help. It’s been a long while since we were in a mortal realm. I will return in a week’s time your time to discuss what we need to do. This will work to summon us if we forget or if your danger arrives early.” He magicked a paper with a seal on it and handed it to her. “I must discuss with my partners and will do research on this Trigon. Thank you for calling us, we’ve been aimless for too many decades. Have a good night.” He vanished in another flash of light.

* * *

Phantom appeared in a flash of light cackling as he tumbled across the chess board his partners were playing on, scattering the flowers and sandstone pieces across the green sky.

“Beloved you know not to do that,” Nightshade gathered the giggling king into her lap, Pharaoh moving to lean against her shoulder and push the hair from the eyes of Phantom, “but what has you laughing so?”

Phantom mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “Remember that civilization we helped out a century ago? Well apparently a few hundred years have passed in that world and the people we helped revered us as gods. A sorceress summoned us for help defeating a demon. They were so cute, little teenage heroes like we once were.” He sighed and settled into the arms of his lovers. “Have either of you heard of Trigon?”

[confused-wanderer]

The villains are utterly confused.

They remember the first robin. They remember how bloodthirsty the little gremlin was, how he appeared out of the darkness with a “HIYA FOLKS” that gave people near heart attacks with PTSD so bad they flinched everytime they walked into a dark corner. They remember his grin, baring few too many teeth with a glint in his eyes whenever the bat wasn’t around to curb him. They remember the death stare, the brooding that made no one doubt this was the Bat’s son. They remember how a punch would land a lot harder than it was supposed to, or the screaming that followed. Oh they remembered him alright.

The second one thank the stars was better. The second robin was giggly. He would hop around town, offering his help to everyone who needed it. Sure he was rough with abusers but hell no one cared about them. Matter of fact, the villains were glad because those assholes deserved no sympathy. They remember his puns, his wonder, his innocence and his spark. They remembered his laughter, his concern - the kind that only comes from one who’s been on the streets. This one was better, and the villains thanked their lucky stars. They remembered him alright.

But now, as the years passed and new characters emerged, the crime city saw the rise of two characters - a sunshine happy nightwing and a ready to kill red hood. And naturally, from their experiences in the past, the villains ended up making an honest mistake that ruined the two vigilantes’ reputation:

The villains assumed the first robin was Red Hood and the other was Nightwing. And BY GOD Gotham has not seen unhinged chaos like this.

SCENE 1

Red Hood *drawing his pistol* : Please, reach for your weapon. I’m itching for an excuse for my intrusive thoughts to become extrusive.

Two-Face: You dare mock me little bird?! Well.. I may not have my weapon.. but I have something I know you’d like..

Red Hood: Oh yeah?What’s that?

Two-Face: TAKE THIS! *slams button and coconuts start falling from the sky, all cracking and spilling as they hit the ground*

Red Hood:

Two-Face:

Red Hood: .. the fuck was that supposed to do?

Two-Face: .. HOW ARE YOU STILL STANDING?! YOU HATE COCONUTS ROBIN!!

Red Hood: The fuck- .. wait did you call me robin?

Two-Face *grins* : Yea.. robin. The first one. Thought I didn’t notice?

Red Hood: The first one? Does this *gestures vaguely to himself and his weapons* seem like something the first robin would do?

Two-Face:

Goon 1: I mean.. yeah

Red Hood: What! The first robin was nice!

Goon 2 *guffawing*: I beg your fucking pardon??

Two-Face: .. you took my coin and attached a magnet beneath it so everytime I flipped it it wouldn’t stop spinning. Do you know how long that took me to figure out?? Do you know how insane it drove me?? Joker had to help me out of pity. OUT. OF. PITY.

Red Hood:

Goon 1: ..Also you did steal some of our bones

Red Hood: hedidfuckingwhatnow-

SCENE 2

Nightwing: Hey there buddy! You look frostyl!

Dr. Freeze: Aha! You are too late to stop me robin!

Nightwing: .. robin?

Dr. Freeze: why yes! Don’t act coy, I know it’s you there. Now that we’ve got that clear.. I was wondering if you remembered all those years ago when you gave me a source for electricity to power a hospital keeping my Nora?

Nightwing:

Dr. Freeze: well you weren’t careful enough and never told me how much I could take from it.. so I used it to power so many of my inventions that came after

Nightwing *remembering when Jason was robin and every damn time he came to visit Wayne Manor his room would always run out power and the countless cold showers in freezing winters he had to take because of it*: .. oh? Well, sorry to break your bubble, but that wasn’t me Elsa.

Dr. Freeze: no? You joke around, make puns and I’m supposed to believe it’s NOT you?. The first one brooded like there was no tomorrow. He pissed me off so bad once I overheard him saying his favourite ice cream flavour and I made sure it wouldn’t be available in Gotham for YEARS. You’re not as bad as the first one. I’d remember if you were him.

Nightwing:

Nightwing *firing up his escrima sticks to maximum voltage*: Oh let me jog your memory then :)

[ohmerricat]

We Invest Things With Significance, or: Why Sutekh Isn’t Sutekh, But Death Itself. alternative title: Fear Is the Mind Killer.

the Doctor Who Series 14/1 thesis statement

i don’t think that sutekh has literally been attached to the TARDIS since Pyramids of Mars. i think that the salt at the edge of the universe — the grievous mistake that caused all myths to become a reality — was what made him appear. and he’s not the same character as sutekh the osiran, a powerful alien that delusionally believed himself to be a god. he *is* a god. nuwho-Sutekh is Death Incarnate.

ergo, this version of Sutekh is the literal psychic manifestation of the Doctor’s deep-seated, guilt-motivated fear of the idea that his arrival brings death wherever he treads. this death-anxiety was turned into a physical presence, haunting the TARDIS all through the Doctor’s timestream, because of the salt. that’s the reason why the Doctor didn’t spot any Susan Twists before Wild Blue Yonder…

there are two timelines in Doctor Who — relative time and universal time. universal time is the history of the universe. relative time is how the Doctor experiences it. in universal time, Sutekh has supposedly been hitchhiking through the vortex for millenia. in relative time, he has only been doing so since Fourteen accidentally invited myths back into the world.

the Doctor was insecure and afraid and believed the above quote (from the very first episode!! spoken by the very first named character in nuwho to die on screen, no less!) to be true. but until WBY it had only been true on a symbolic, metaphorical level. myths, legends, concepts and stories becoming real after the salt caused the Doctor’s anxiety about being a death-bringer to take the shape of a black dog — a universally recognised symbol of death — wearing the name and voice of his most formidable enemy, Sutekh.

in a way, this plotline mirrors The Woman from 73 Yards similarly being a manifestation of Ruby’s worst fear — that of being abandoned by everyone she loves for something intrinsic and incorrigible inside her that she cannot change. Ruby fears being left completely alone, so “The Woman” causes everyone in her life to leave her. the Doctor fears that his coming always heralds mass destruction (“maybe i’m the bad luck”), so “Sutekh” makes sure that the TARDIS literally becomes an altar of death.

ever since Wild Blue Yonder, stories in doctor who have become sources of immense power. the worst, most potent stories we tell ourselves are the lies that our sick brains whisper to us — secret anxieties that we’re not good enough, that all our loved ones will inevitably leave, that we carry nothing but bad luck in our wake. what better clay to mould a monster from than the protagonists’ own neuroses?

and if anybody’s still in doubt, here’s the plain text, all laid out below:

we invest things with significance. that’s what the salt at the edge of the universe really meant. that’s what almost every episode this series has been about, thematically — the imaginary kastarions, the cosplaying chuldur, the bogeyman written into life because kids need a scary story. myths become real to us because we believe in them, love and death and monsters too.

[parkerslatte]

Fated Meetings

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Since the babysitter Y/N usually hires had to cancel last minute, Y/N is forced to take her four year old daughter to a ball in the Autumn Court. While Y/N gathers drinks for her and her daughter, she finds her missing and in the arms of a certain High Lord.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Y/N held onto her daughter, Sapphira’s hand tightly as she and the rest of the Inner Circle entered the ballroom. It was not ideal to bring Sapphira along to such a high profile event and it was not a good idea to expose her to such powerful fae at only the young age of five. But Y/N had no choice. The usual babysitter was away in another court and with no one she could leave Sapphira with at the last minute, Y/N was forced to bring her along. 

Of course, Sapphira hadn’t minded in the slightest. When she was born Rhys had spoiled her with glittering gowns fit for a princess. No matter how hard Y/N insisted he did not need to give her small little family anything, Rhys insisted. With nowhere to wear her elaborate gowns, Sapphira only wore them around her own bedroom and whenever Y/N read her a princess story. The young girl always pictured herself within the story, dancing with a handsome prince. Once Y/N told her she could wear one of her gowns to an event, Y/N was sure she had never seen her daughter so excited. 

Y/N glanced down at Sapphire and smiled at her daughter. The young girl’s gaze constantly bounced between everything that moved and glittered. But Y/N couldn’t blame her, she was doing the exact same thing. It was her first time in the Autumn Court and it was nothing if not beautiful. Even more beautiful than Velaris, Y/N thought. 

As the Inner Circle branched off around the ballroom, Y/N looked to her daughter. “Do you want a drink?”

“I want to dance!” Sapphira exclaimed. 

Y/N looked to the dancefloor and found it vacant, with the exception of a singular elderly couple. Y/N did not want to risk Sapphira being so exposed like that. 

“What about later?” Y/N suggested. “They might play that music you love later.”

Sapphira thought about it for a second, her brain ticking. Y/N would have loved to know her thought process. 

“Okay, mummy,” Sapphira said.

Y/N smiled at her daughter and squeezed her hand lightly. “Let’s get you a drink.”

Y/N led Sapphira to the drinks table and reached for two cups of water. If Y/N did not have Sapphira with her, she would have indulged in the champagne that was being offered. But tonight Y/N wanted to be on high alert in case anything happened to Sapphira. 

Y/N pulled Sapphira to the side of the room and leaned against the wall while she sat down on the floor. People around her glanced back at the two, some with disgust and Y/N glared at them. 

“Y/N?” A voice startled Y/N as she lightly jumped back. 

Y/N turned to the source of the voice and she smiled. “Lucien!”

Y/N wrapped her arms around the youngest Vanserra and greeted him warmly. She had always liked talking to Lucien and she always enjoyed how he was around Sapphira. Y/N knew of the hard time he had settling into the Night Court so she always made sure to make him feel welcome. 

“I have not seen you in forever!” Y/N exclaimed, stepping back from Lucien. “Is the Day Court treating you well?”

Lucien smiled. “As well as ever. I’m currently bouncing between there and here. Ever since Eris became High Lord, he made one of his priorities to repair our relationship.”

“And how is that working out?” Y/N questioned.

Lucien sighed, though it was content. “Surprisingly well, considering everything.”

“It’s good he is working on fixing everything between you,” Y/N said. 

“After he explained everything, I feel as if I understood him better,” Lucien said. “I could see hints of the brother who used to play with me to distract me from Beron when I was a child.”

Y/N smiled. “I think you would have been a difficult child.”

Lucien gasped. “I was not. I believe I was quite delightful, perhaps even more delightful than your own child.”

“You could never be more delightful than Sapphira,” Y/N said, smiling. “She is the sweetest child in the whole world.”

“I cannot argue with that,” Lucien said, a glint in his eye. “How is she? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean? She’s right here–”

The space where Sapphira was sitting on the floor was now vacant. All that was left was the cup of water that was still full. Y/N’s heart began to beat faster as panic rose within her. 

“Sapphira!” Y/N exclaimed, scanning the room for any sign of her daughter. 

“I can go and see if she has left the ballroom,” Lucien said, suddenly serious. “Do you want me to inform Azriel? He could probably find her quickly.”

“No, do not inform anyone from the Inner Circle. If they find out she is missing, it will turn into a bloodbath here and I don’t want Sapphira seeing that,” Y/N said. 

Lucien nodded before taking off. Y/N did the same and began the search for her daughter. 

***

It had been roughly five minutes or Y/N thought before a young maid tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Yes,” Y/N said, quite sharply. 

The maid flinched slightly but did not back away. “I believe I have just passed your daughter in the gardens, just through those doors there. She looked an awful lot like you.”

Y/N looked at the large glass doors leading to the beautiful gardens outside. Of course her daughter would sneak away to one of the most beautiful places in the court. Y/N said a quick thank you to the maid before she quickly left in the direction of the doors. 

As she slipped out, the sound of the ballroom faded away and was replaced by the slight breeze and distant chatter. One of the voices extremely familiar. Y/N frowned and hurried in the direction of the noise. As soon as Sapphira was safely back in her arms, she was leaving the court immediately. 

“See those hills over there?” The unfamiliar voice asked softly.

“Yes,” Sapphira answered.

“Those hills are special because they are home to the rarest flowers in the whole of Prythian,” the voice said. A masculine voice. 

Y/N only walked faster. 

“See at a certain time every night, they glow, not for long but long enough to light up the entire hill.”

Sapphira gasped. “I want to go there!”

Y/N closed in on the pair. The figure was holding her daughter in his arms and Y/N wanted nothing more than to put an arrow through his head. She was not very good at wielding weapons, preferring to do the healing of a wound rather than inflict it, but if he did not put her daughter down, she would suddenly become the best archer in the whole of Prythian. 

The man chuckled. “You will need to ask your mother. Speaking of which, you should go back inside–”

“That is right, Sapphira. Get away from him,” Y/N spoke up. 

As soon as Y/N spoke, the man turned around and Y/N gasped. The man holding her daughter was none other than the High Lord himself. Eris Vanserra. 

“High Lord,” Y/N said, dipping her head. “I didn’t know–”

“Y/N, please, there is no need for formalities,” Eris said and set Sapphira down on the floor. 

“How do you know my name?” Y/N questioned.

Eris smiled softly and Y/N swore it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. “Well my little brother speaks of you a lot and this one,” Eris nodded his head to Sapphira who was brushing down her gown, “speaks a lot about you.”

“Mummy, can I stay outside with Eris, please? He is really nice!” Sapphira said, running up to Y/N and tugged on the bottom of her dress. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, briefly glancing at Eris. “I’m sure he is busy.”

“In fact I am quite free,” Eris said. “I dread to go back indoors.”

Y/N stepped closer to Eris. She had never spoken to him before. Though the Inner Circle have spoken about him a lot, none of the comments were too positive. Though the demeanour of the male standing before her contrasted the image she had conjured up in her head. 

“Isn’t this whole ordeal for you?” Y/N questioned. “Isn’t that the whole reason me and my daughter were dragged here?”

“Dragged?” Eris questioned. “I believe your daughter was more than ecstatic to come tonight.”

Y/N looked down at her daughter. “How much did you tell him? You have only been gone ten minutes.”

“She did not stop talking,” Eris said. “Barely let me get a word in.”

“She is normally shy around new people,” Y/N said as her daughter stepped around her legs and closer to Eris. 

“I’m the eldest of seven children,” Eris said, “I’m good with kids.”

“Please can we stay out here a little longer, mummy? I like it here!” Sapphira said, pulling Y/N closer to Eris.

Despite the darkness, Y/N couldn’t help but admire Eris’s beauty as she inched closer to him. His copper hair was immaculately styled on the top of his head, a single strand falling in his eyes that she itched to push back. 

“I suppose we can stay here a little longer,” Y/N muttered.

Sapphira expressed her delight while Eris only smirked. “Perfect. I can show the two of you around the gardens.”

“In the dark?” Y/N challenged.

“You seemed to admire something else in the darkness,” Eris said, his voice loud enough for only Y/N to hear. “Though I can’t guarantee that the gardens are as beautiful as your view currently.”

Y/N flushed and stepped away from Eris. “Well, show the way, High Lord.”

Eris smiled and held out his arm for Y/N to take. “It would be impolite of me to not offer you my arm.”

Y/N glared at him before wrapping her arm around his. Sapphira walked just ahead of them, eager to see the rest of the gardens. 

***

Y/N watched Sapphira run around between all of the hedges fondly, she had never seen her daughter look so happy. Currently, her and Eris were situated on a bench, he lounged upon in, completely relaxed. His jacket was unbuttoned and the crown that was situated on the top of his head was in Sapphira’s hands. 

“We should get back inside soon,” Y/N said, turning to face Eris. 

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Eris teased, crossing one of his legs over the other. 

Y/N flushed once more and turned to face her daughter, who stopped to admire a large rose bush. “I know, but she is so happy out here. She has always been a happy child, but out here…it's different. Our small apartment doesn’t have a garden so Sapphira doesn’t really have anywhere to play.”

Eris studied her for a moment. “What do you do for a living, Y/N? I don’t believe Lucien has ever brought it up.”

“I’m a healer,” Y/N replied. “I help out the Inner Circle quite a lot.”

“You speak about it like you are not part of it,” Eris remarked.

“I’m not,” Y/N replied. “I just attend any matters in other courts in case a healer is needed urgently. I’m not particularly close with anyone except Azriel, he is the one who introduced me to Rhys and Feyre.”

Eris let his gaze fall to Sapphira. “And Sapphira? I assume she is not a healer.”

Y/N laughed. “No, and she would make an awful healer when she grows up, and she has never taken an interest in it. I didn’t have a choice but to bring her tonight, my usual babysitter is in the Winter Court visiting family.”

Eris smiled and Y/N was sure that the image of it would be burned into her memory. “I assume her father is busy.”

The smile from Y/N’s face faltered. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him since the moment I knew I was pregnant with Sapphira.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Eris apologised. “I didn’t know.”

Y/N gave him a tight lipped smile. “Not many people do. We were together for three years and when he noticed my shift in scent, he was gone before I even realised what was happening. Only Azriel knows the real truth, and now you do too.”

“Well I say that he missed out,” Eris said, leaning closer to Y/N, “on an amazing daughter and her gorgeous mother.”

Y/N didn’t look away from him, in fact her gaze fell to his lips. But just as she caught herself she looked back to his eyes, only to find a hint of amusement in them. “Well, if he stuck around then I wouldn’t be talking to a rather handsome High Lord, would I?”

This time, Y/N was the one to surprise Eris. He cleared his throat and looked away. “We should go back inside.”

“Look who’s eager to get away now?” Y/N teased. 

Eris tilted his head as he leaned closer. “Sweetheart, I would need to be dragged kicking and screaming to be pulled away from you. But this whole event is still about me and there are most likely many guests wondering where I have been.”

“I–”

“Mummy!” Sapphira exclaimed. “Can we go and dance now? You said I could dance later.”

Sapphira ran to where Y/N and Eris were sitting, still clutching Eris’s crown. Y/N stood from the bench, her arm brushing Eris as she did so, she hadn’t realised how close the two had gotten during their conversation. 

“Of course, sweetie,” Y/N said and held out her hand.

“Is Eris coming?” Sapphira asked, looking up at Eris with wide eyes. 

Eris smiled and stood to his feet. “Of course.”

Sapphira smiled wide and gripped onto Y/N's hand and then Eris’s and began to drag them with all of her strength back to the ballroom. 

Y/N leaned closer to Eris. “You don’t need to come with us, if you prefer to be out here, you can say no to her.”

“Like I said, there are most likely plenty of people who are wondering where I went,” Eris replied. “And wherever you are going, I will follow.”

Y/N looked away from Eris just as Sapphira dragged them through the doors to the ballroom. There were still plenty of people inside and there were plenty of people on the dance floor. 

“This is where I must leave you both,” Eris said. “It seems that my brother is trying to get my attention.”

Sapphira looked up at Eris. “Please stay.”

“Sapphira, Eris is busy and needs to get back to his duties,” Y/N said. 

Eris looked at the young girl and bent down to meet her height. “How about this? Once I finish my duties for the evening, I will come and dance with you and your mother?”

“Eris you really don’t–”

“Yes please!” Sapphira exclaimed. 

Eris smiled and Y/N swore that she would melt. “Perfect.”

Sapphira held out Eris’s crown to him. “This is yours.”

Eris gently took the crown from her hands. “This crown always looked silly on me.” He placed the crown on top of Sapphira’s head. It was too big for her but her hairstyle kept it in place. “Why don’t you hold onto it for me? Remember this is a very important job.”

Sapphira’s eyes lit up. “I will protect it!”

Eris smiled before standing up. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

Y/N could feel many eyes on her as Eris spoke to her but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. “I will see you later, Eris.”

After bidding goodbye, Y/N thought Eris would simply leave to attend to his duties. However before he left he gently took Y/N’s hand in his, his skin soft, and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing his lips against her knuckles for a lingering moment. Her daughter giggled happily at the gesture while Y/N only held onto Eris’s hand tighter, something within her wanted him to stay. 

When he released her hand, Eris’s gaze lingered upon Y/N for a moment longer before he turned and walked away, creating a path through the many dancers on the ballroom floor. Y/N watched where he left, a lovestruck expression on her face which was only interrupted by Sapphire gripping onto her hand. 

“Are you going to marry him?” Sapphira asked.

“What!” Y/N exclaimed, looking down at her daughter. “Of course I’m not.”

Sapphira giggled happily and pulled Y/N’s hand. “I want to dance!”

With one last glance in the direction Eris disappeared, Y/N nodded. “Let’s go then.”

***

“This better be important,” Eris said as he neared closer to Lucien. 

“I see you were the one who found Sapphira,” Lucien said. “Y/N was worried sick about her.”

“I was in the gardens,” Eris said. “If anything she found me. Now, what was so important you needed to drag me away from a beautiful woman. Isn’t your mate around here? Shouldn’t you be entertaining her instead of pestering me.”

“Elain couldn’t make it tonight,” Lucien said. “And do my ears deceive me or did you say that Y/N was beautiful?”

“You certainly didn’t mention that in your stories about her,” Eris said. “And nor did you mention that Sapphira’s father isn’t in the picture.”

“Well I have a mate,” Lucien said. “My loyalty resides with Elain, I cannot go around calling other females beautiful now, can I? And you brought up Sapphira’s father to her? I knew you hadn't entertained the company of many females in the past few years, Eris, but who knew you were incapable to woo one without bringing up past failed relationships.”

“Oh, shut it,” Eris sneered at his brother. Lucien only laughed. “Is this the only reason why you called me over here?”

Lucien took a sip of his wine. “Yes. After all, I have been mentioning her quite a lot around you as of late. I thought you might need a push to talk to her and I gave you one when I secretly told Sapphira to go into the gardens earlier to find you.”

Eris glared at his brother. “You sent Sapphira out to me?”

“I did. I saw the look in your eyes the moment Y/N entered the ballroom and how quickly you left,” Lucien said. “That look in your eyes, I know you felt it. That snap.”

Eris sighed. “Can we not talk about this now?”

“We will talk about it now or you will avoid it,” Lucien said. “I knew you would like her but I never thought she was your mate, Eris.”

“Well it clearly hasn’t snapped for her, so please don’t bring it up to her until I am ready to tell her,” Eris pleaded with his younger brother. 

“Tell her, Eris,” Lucien said. “I know Y/N and I know that she deserves love, a real home. And I know that you crave the same. Tell her, from what I can see, she likes you too.”

Eris looked out at the ballroom and spotted Y/N and Sapphira instantly. Y/N looked so carefree dancing with Sapphira and Eris could only smile at the sight. That golden thread connecting him to Y/N tugged him toward her. He took the first few steps on his own. Everyone else in the ballroom seemed to disappear as Eris took a few more steps. As he continued to walk towards her, Y/N looked up at him. 

Eris felt like his heart stopped beating. The pull toward her became stronger and stronger. She was beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen. The moment he had seen her walk into the ballroom he thought that. And the moment he felt the bond, he was overcome with emotion. He had left the ballroom to the safety of the gardens to process everything. Until a young girl approached him and he instantly knew who the child belonged to, he could see it in her features, she looked exactly like her mother. And she was the one to bring his mate into his life the moment she disappeared from the ballroom.

“Eris?” Y/N’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

He hadn’t noticed but he was now standing back with Y/N and Sapphira. 

“Yes?” Eris said.

“Have you finished with your duties for the night?” Y/N asked. 

Eris nodded. “I have. Now I am yours.”

Y/N smiled and Eris. “Just for tonight, of course.”

The wide smile on Eris’s face faltered. “Yes, just for tonight.”

“Eris, can you dance with me?” Sapphira asked, gripping onto the edge of Eris’s jacket. 

Eris looked at the young girl and his smile returned. She still wore his crown and it now sat crooked on top of her head. “Of course. Will you join us, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “All of this dancing has worn me out. I will get a drink for myself. I trust you to look after her.”

Eris grasped her hand in his. Sparks flew at their connection. “I will join you after we dance.”

Y/N chuckled. “Good luck trying to get her off of the dance floor.”

Eris smiled and brought his other hand up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He allowed his hand to linger on her cheek, caressing her face gently.  “I will try my best to get her back to you in a timely manner.”

Y/N smiled and Eris swore she leaned into his touch. “Again, she will dance until she falls asleep,” Y/N replied.

“Then I’m afraid we will be here all night because I, too, love dancing,” Eris said. 

“You will need to show me some of your dance moves sometime,” Y/N said, her hand caressing his wrist. 

Eris smirked and leaned forward, his breath brushed her face. “I will happily show you anytime.”

“You better,” Y/N said.

“Eris, can we dance now?” Sapphira asked.

“Of course, give me just a second,” Eris replied. He turned back to Y/N. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

Before she had the chance to respond Eris pressed a kiss to her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. Y/N didn’t respond as Eris stepped away, sweeping Sapphira in a dance in the centre of the ballroom.

***

Y/N remained still as she watched Eris and Sapphira dance, many moved out of the way to not disturb the High Lord. Though many gave the High Lord questioning looks as he danced with an unfamiliar girl. Y/N’s heart was racing.

“Y/N?” Azriel asked, approaching her. “Are you okay?”

“Eris…” Y/N began, but words failed her.

Azriel’s gaze followed Y/N’s and he went rigid. “Why is he with Sapphira?”

“He–” Y/N cut herself off as she finally tore her gaze away from Eris and Sapphira to look at her friend. “Azriel. Eris is my mate.”

Azriel’s head snapped to Y/N’s. “Your mate? That is not possible.”

“It is,” Y/N said. “I feel it. I feel him.” Y/N placed her hand over her stomach, feeling where the tug was coming from, connecting her to Eris. 

“Does he know?” Azriel asked, placing a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said. “He hasn’t mentioned it.”

Y/N returned her gaze to Eris and Sapphira and her heart melted at the sight. Sapphira stood on Eris’s feet as he walked her through a dance, a carefree smile on his face. “He is so good with her.”

Though Azriel was still tense, his gaze softened as he looked at the joy on the young girl’s face as she danced with Eris. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Azriel asked once more.

“I think so,” Y/N admitted. “I am just shocked. I never thought I would have a mate.”

“I’m shocked too,” Azriel muttered. “Considering it’s Eris of all people.”

Y/N gently hit his shoulder. “He is a good male.”

“And you have figured that out from one conversation?” Azriel questioned.

Y/N shook her head. “I know because of how he treats Sapphira.” Y/N nods her head to the two still dancing, Sapphira with a wide smile on her face. “Be honest and say you have never seen her that comfortable around a stranger before.”

Azriel looks at Sapphira and Eris. “I haven’t.”

Y/N smiles. “And that is how I know that he is a good male. Because my daughter is an excellent judge of character.”

Azriel sighs. “Just be careful.”

“There is nothing to be careful of,” Y/N said. “But to put your mind at ease, I will be careful.”

Before Azriel has the chance to respond, Eris interrupts the conversation, carrying Sapphira in his arms, her eyes slowly closing. “I believe your daughter is ready for bed.”

“I’m not…” Sapphira mutters, as her eyes droop once more, her head resting on Eris’s shoulder. 

“I can take her back home,” Azriel offers.

“Or I could have a room set up here?” Eris suggests, looking at Y/N. “It saves you returning home too.”

There is something in Eris’s eye that Y/N could only describe as pleading. He wanted her to stay at the Autumn Court for the night. Y/N couldn’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want to. “Only if it’s not too much hassle.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Eris answers. “I can take you both to a guest room. The finest I have to offer.”

Y/N smiled. “Honest anything will do, Eris. I’m sure that you have more important guests who will need that room more than us.”

“My two most important guests are right here,” Eris said. “Now, shall we get going?”

Y/N looked at Azriel, who she had only just realised was still standing there. “Tell Rhys where I am?”

Azriel looked at Eris, his gaze hard. Eris only stared back at the shadowsinger, nothing in his eyes to suggest any ill intent. Azriel relaxed. “I will see you when you return, Y/N.”

The shadowsinger left, not before giving a warning look to Eris. The High Lord cleared his throat. “Well, shall we get going now?”

Y/N nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Eris tried to hand Sapphira over to Y/N, the young girl clung to his jacket, seemingly not wanting to leave Eris. Eris sent Y/N a panicked look. Y/N smiled at him. “It’s okay. When she is sleepy she always clings onto people she trusts.”

The touched expression on Eris’s face was enough for Y/N to feel a pull on the bond between them. The quicker she had Sapphira asleep in a bed, the quicker she could tell Eris about the bond. 

Eris led her down a variety of hallways and Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the beauty of it all. “If Sapphira were awake she wouldn’t want to ever leave.”

The smile on Eris’s face was small but Y/N didn’t miss it. “You are free to visit anytime.”

Finally the two stopped outside of two large doors, Eris pushed open the door with one arm and gestured for Y/N to enter. The room was large with a king size bed in the centre, draped by a crimson canopy. Solid gold was shaped into patterns on the bed frame. Y/N was sure that it cost more than she made in a year. There was a seating area beside a fireplace, pillows and blankets rested upon the sofa and made Y/N want to snuggle up there with a good book in her hands. 

But the most stunning feature of the whole room was the windows. They were floor to ceiling leading out onto a secluded balcony allowing for a view of the Autumn Court. Y/N couldn’t help herself but gasp. 

“You cannot seriously be allowing me to stay here?” Y/N asked. 

“I am,” Eris said, walking over to the bed. “Only the finest room for my most important guests. I have some spare clothing for Sapphira if you wish to change her. I am sure my mother kept clothing from when myself and my brothers were children.”

“No, it’s okay,” Y/N answered. “If you wake her now, I will never get her back to sleep.”

Y/N joined Eris at the bed and watched as he placed her gently down upon the soft covers. The care in his movements was unlike anything Y/N had seen before. No one except for her had held her daughter with such care before. Eris gently tucked her under the covers and pulled the blankets up as she snuggled into them. Y/N leant against the bedpost. 

“What?” Eris asked as he noticed her staring. “Like I said, I’m good with children.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not that.”

Eris smiled and approached her. “What is it then?”

“It’s just…I have never seen someone care so much for her before. I know the Inner Circle loves her but they have never held her or gone so much out of their way to make her smile like you have tonight,” Y/N said. “Thank you, Eris.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Eris said. “Don’t ever thank me for something as simple as making your daughter smile.”

“She just never warms up to new people as quickly as she did to you,” Y/N said. “She really likes you, Eris.”

Eris looked at his feet for a brief moment before gesturing to the sofa by the fireplace. “Shall we sit?”

“Don’t you need to return to the ballroom?” Y/N questions. 

“I have disappeared from these events before,” Eris explains. “No one will miss me. If they do, Lucien will deal with them.”

Y/N took a seat on the sofa and Eris sat next to her, his thigh brushing against hers. The pull within Y/N made her shuffle closer, seeking as much contact as possible. She craved it. 

“Eris, there is something I need to tell you,” Y/N said, suddenly serious. “It might be a lot to take in and I really don’t want you to run from the room screaming in fear.”

Eris chuckled. “Whatever you are about to tell me probably is not going to match the news I need to tell you.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Earlier, when you kissed my cheek, something snapped into place. A mating bond. You are my mate, Eris.”

For a brief moment, Eris stilled and Y/N was afraid that he would end up running from the room. But her fears were not brought to life as Eris began to laugh quietly. Y/N frowned. “What is so funny?”

A warmth enveloped Y/N’s hand. She didn’t need to look down to know that it was Eris’s own hands. 

“The news I wished to share with you is the same as yours,” Eris said with a smile. “I felt it too. The moment you walked into that ballroom. That snap I never thought I would feel.”

“And are you…happy about it?” Y/N asked, holding her breath. 

Eris frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be happy? Y/N, I never thought I would be blessed with a mate, let alone someone as beautiful and incredible as you. I never thought I deserved it.” Eris caressed her cheek as he leaned closer to Y/N. “But now that I see you Y/N, you are everything I have ever wanted. Deep down I always craved a mate, I always craved to be loved by someone unconditionally and the mother has blessed me with you. I must be the luckiest male in the entire world.”

Y/N’s eyes watered. “Oh, Eris.  You really mean all of those things?”

“Of course I do,” Eris said. “I have only known you a short time, Y/N. But everything about you I admire. And you are someone I could easily fall in love with.”

Y/N placed her hands on Eris’s chest, her fingers gripping onto the lapels of his jacket. “Eris, you must realise that Sapphira will always be part of my life and she is the most important thing to me. You say you want me, but you have to want her too.”

Eris rested his forehead against Y/N’s. “Y/N, I already know. And I already adore Sapphira, she reminds me a lot of Lucien when he was younger, before my father–” Eris cut himself off. “What I am saying is that I have already accepted her. If you choose me too, I will continue to provide for her. Whatever she wishes I will try my damn hardest to make that wish come true.”

Y/N smiled. “Don’t spoil her too much.”

“So do you accept me as your mate?” Eris asked. “Obviously we don’t need to accept the bond until you are ready. Of course not until we tell Sapphira everything, because if she doesn’t accept it then I will gladly step back and–”

“Eris,” Y/N said, cutting him off. “I accept you as my mate. I may have only known you a short time but from how you are with Sapphira tells me all I need to know about you. You are a good male.”

Eris looked into Y/N’s eyes and Y/N already had a new favourite colour. Everything about this felt right to her. It was as if everything around her had fallen into place and this was what she was destined for. A life with Eris, raising her daughter together. 

“May I kiss you?” Eris asked, hesitation evident in his voice. 

“Yes, you may,” Y/N replied.

Without any hesitation, Eris pressed his lips against Y/N’s and she could feel the bond tighten between them, pulling them into one another. Eris’s arms wrapped around her body as Y/N caressed his face, her hands brushing over his stubble before moving up to tangle in this hair. The kiss was nothing but perfect. 

The only thing that interrupted Y/N and Eris was a small mumble from Sapphira. Y/N pulled away and shot to her feet to check on her daughter only to find her still fast asleep, mumbling incoherently. Y/N sighed and sat back down on the sofa, she leaned into Eris. 

“Do you think I could borrow some of your clothes?” Y/N asked. “I don’t think this dress will be very comfortable to sleep in.”

Eris’s eyes scanned over her body. “I do have some clothes you can borrow, though it will be unfortunate not to see you in this dress any longer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned closer to him, her lips brushing over his. “If you play your cards right, I may just wear this dress again. Just for you.”

Eris smirked. “Is that a promise?”

“It will be after you get me some clothes,” Y/N answered. 

Eris got to his feet and left the room swiftly and Y/N only giggled lightly at his hasty departure. He was back only moments later with a pile of clothes in his arms. 

“You were quick,” Y/N commented, standing to her feet. 

“My room is only across the hall,” Eris answered, a faint blush coating his cheeks. 

Y/N took the clothes from his arms. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris nodded and took a step back. “I should get back to the ballroom to tell everyone the event is over.”

“Yes you should,” Y/N said.

“I should be going now,” Eris said, still remaining where he is standing. 

Y/N is the first to give in. She dumped the clothes on the chair and pulled Eris into her, planting her lips on his. It was an addicting feeling already. Eris held onto the back of her neck deepening the kiss, bending over Y/N causing her to tilt her head back. If Eris wasn’t holding her up, Y/N was sure she would collapse from the sheer amount of emotions coursing through her veins. Some were her own and some were Eris’s, that golden thread connecting them doing its best to convey what the other thought of one another. 

Y/N gripped onto Eris tightly not wanting to ever let go. On one hand she was grateful that Sapphira had been allowed to come along with her, she had not seen her daughter as smiley as she was tonight in a while. But on the other hand Y/N wished that her usual babysitter was available so she could pull Eris down onto the bed and continue what they were doing all night, preferably with no clothes obstructing their bodies. 

Y/N was the first to pull away, panting for air. “We should stop. I don’t want to get carried away.”

Eris brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me neither.”

Y/N kissed him again. 

However this time the kiss did not last long at all as a quiet young voice cut through the air. 

“Are you going to get married?” Sapphira’s voice was like a bucket of ice cold water poured over both Y/N and Eris, causing them to jump apart. 

Y/N turned to face her daughter. “No, we aren’t Sapphira. Eris and I…we were just helping each other with our hair.”

Sapphira huffed. “Can you get married? I like Eris.”

Eris looked down at the floor, his face bright red. Y/N chuckled lightly. “Okay, Sapphira, I think you should get back to sleep. It is late and you need to be rested for tomorrow.”

“Will Eris be here tomorrow?” Sapphira asked, pointing at Eris.

Y/N perched on the edge of the bed next to her daughter. “Of course he will.” Y/N turned to face him. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Eris smiled. “I will be here bright and early tomorrow, Sapphira.”

Sapphira smiled sleepily and yawned. Y/N brushed her daughter's hair from her face and watched as she fell back into a peaceful sleep. Once she was asleep, Y/N laughed and approached Eris. 

“Well you have Sapphira’s blessing,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Eris pulled her closer by her hips and rested his arms lazily around her. “And I’m glad to have it.”

Y/N hugged Eris. “Goodnight, Eris. I will see you tomorrow.”

Eris hugged her back. “Bright and early.”

Y/N smiled and pecked his lips quickly. “My mate.”

Eris smiled. “My mate.”

Reluctantly she let go of Eris and allowed him to leave the room. Before the door closed he turned around and blew her a kiss. Y/N smiled at the lopsided grin on his face before the door closed completely. 

Y/N changed into the clothes Eris had given her. They smelt of him and Y/N wrapped her arms around herself. She climbed into the soft bed next to her daughter and swiftly fell asleep, dreaming about her future life with Sapphira and Eris. 

[potofsoup]

Happy July 4th, everyone, and good luck to the UK voters out there!

Wow it's Year 11 of doing these!! Here's the AO3 link to the past 10 years, and here's the tumblr link.

Reminder that this is a long game -- some of the judges making decisions were appointed back in the 80s. Many of the cases that were decided this round were from Trump's term. So it's going to take long-term, consistent voting over a decade to start tipping things in the other direction. (Which I talked about in 2018 re: Trump shenanigans and 2022 re: Dobbs).

A lot has been done by the Biden administration (I'm assuming most folks have seen this post by boreal-sea with their very helpful sources), and much of that will be overturned by Trump, especially if he gets the Senate, and especially now that he would have a blank check for anything "official". So let's make sure that doesn't happen.

And even if Trump does get elected, your decisions down-ballot might effect control of the House or Senate, or might make it easier to vote next time, plus the whole plethora of state and local issues. It's Republican state attorney generals who are challenging climate regulations, for example.

Plus, when you really get down to it, only one of the candidates plans on pardoning himself and all his friends if he wins, and attacking the government if he loses. Maybe that guy shouldn't be the President.

If you're new to voting, remember to check voter registration deadlines! I'm a permanent vote-by-mail voter and it's so nice. :)

Transcript under the readmore

Page 1: Sam and Bucky meet up with Steve for a picnic. Steve: Thought you guys were still in Sudan? Bucky: I’m forcing Sam to take a break.

Sam collapses onto the picnic blanket. Sam: Oof, it just never stops, does it? Steve: Nope.

Bucky hands Sam an orange popsicle. Bucky: Eat and relax for a bit, Sam. Sam: Thanks.

Page 2: Bucky asks Steve: How are things state-side? Steve responds: HORRIBLE. Bucky: I thought you’ve been tentatively hopeful about what Biden has been able to achieve? Steve: I was! Student loans, child care, climate regulations, infrastructure, labor, trans rights … he’s quietly done a lot through regulatory improvements and congress bills. But now all people will talk about is how he’s OLD. And then there’s the Supreme Court’s decisions … Chevron and immunity… Steve puts his head in his hands, while Sam and Bucky look on with some concern.

Page 3: Bucky hands Steve a blue/raspberry popsicle: Steve, take a deep breath, and a popsicle. Sam: Sounds like we missed a lot. What’s going on? How bad is it? Steve: Pretty bad. The Supreme Court has made some decisions that give the Court and the President A LOT of discretionary power. Sam: Yikes, that doesn’t sound good. Steve: Well, the Chevron thing means that judges with life-term appointments can override policies made by government agencies. And now it’ll be harder to hold a President accountable because he will have immunity for any “official” actions.

Page 4: Sam: So if the President tries to, say, overturn a democratic election result, he’ll be allowed to as long as it’s in his job description? Steve: I don’t think threatening state electors is “official” business, but that will be decided by federal judges. Who get their jobs by approval from both the President and the Senate. Bucky: Yeesh. No wonder you’re stressed. Any good news? Steve: Well, thanks the Biden and the razor-thin Senate majority, the newer bills don’t rely on the Chevron deference. Still not great but not catastrophic. Sam, squirting ketchup on his hot dog: So what I’m hearing is that it’s now more important than ever to have a President and a Senate who you can trust to appoint fair judges, pass bills, and not commit crimes.

Page 5: Steve: Plus all of the state level offices, now that more and more deciding power has been thrown back to the states — abortion, LGBTQ rights, voting access… Bucky: Hey, at least this is a big election year so we can actually do something! Steve, with his arms crossed, looking surly: Except that all people want to talk about is how Biden is “too old” and “not doing enough,” as if that is on par with Trump’s desire to dismantle basic rights! As if the candidate who doesn’t embody ALL their ideals is not worth voting for! Bucky interrupts with a smart and a loud “PFFT.”

Page 6: Bucky: Um, Steve. YOU were like that in 1940. Sam, nudging Bucky: “Oh, this I gotta hear. Spill, Barnes.” In sepia, Steve is pacing around their apartment while Bucky is sitting and reading a newspaper. Steve: I can’t believe he’s running for a 3rd term! we need a fresh candidate to vote for! This is hardly a choice at all! AND he refuses to engage in Europe! All of Europe under fascist control and we’re just twiddling our thumbs? He’s letting millions die through his inaction! Bucky: Most people don’t want another war, Steve. If he came out for it, he would lose. Steve, indignant: But Buck, it’s your Polish relative who are in danger! Bucky, closing his newspaper and looking at Steve: Yeah, and between FDR and Willkes, I trust FDR to help if he could.

Page 7: Steve, in sepia, looking away: Should he be encouraged to do more? Maybe I should vote for Browder. The Communists have historically be Anti-Fascist.

Sam interrupts off-screen: Waitaminute! STEVE was going to PROTEST-VOTE? Steve: We were in a Blue State, Sam! Sam: But what about the down ballot races?! Steve: RELAX, I did my due diligence down-ballot. I wanted a senate that’s more progressive than the President.Voted LaGuardia for Mayor, too. Steve hesitates: Then, when I got to the President… I realized that the Best case scenario would be that my vote did nothing, versus if it actually spoiled the election. And when I asked myself who I could trust to work with my Senator… well, FDR had a good record with Labor. (sepia shot of young Steve voting) Bucky interrupts: Hold on, Steve.

Page 8: Bucky, eating a cookie, arching an eyebrow: You didn’t vote for Browder? Why didn’t you tell me? Steve: And have you say “I told you so” for the next century? Bucky: Heh.

Steve, with hand on his chin: What’s weird was that, despite everything, I still felt HORRIBLE when I ticked that box. Sam: Sounds like you built up the meaning of that vote far too much in your head. Logically, we know that a single box can’t represent all of the complexity of a whole system, but the desperately WANT it to. Just look at how people have built up so much around the term “Zionis” that it’s made productive conversations difficult.

Page 9: Sam and Steve speak in the background while Bucky reaches into the cooler and pulls out a box. Steve: Sigh. And that’s something that goes beyond the election. Sam: Which is why we need to vote, AND do other things. Bucky, looking at Steve and Sam: Like how Steve works to push organizations on the local level? Or like all the work you do as Captain America? Sam: Exactly. Vote AND.

Sam looks at Bucky fondly: Like how you vote AND make me and Steve take breaks. Bucky, looking stern because he can’t handle compliments: Shush, Sam.

Bucky holds up a cake that has the number “107” on it: It’s time for cake. Happy Birthday, Steve.

[screeching-bunny]

I’m not sure if you accept thirst asks, but if you do, then, goshhhh imagine giving ‘it’ to one of your concubines and they just keep repeating the words “Thank you thank you thank you” as they suck and lap at your 🫢. They repeat the words like a prayer, almost as if they were worshipping a god (you).

But if don’t accept thirst asks then please feel free to ignore if this ever makes you uncomfortable.

Yandere! Concubine Harem Asks 1

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’ NSFW!!! MINORS DNI. This is my first time writing nsfw content so it’s kinda bad 💀.

In a magnificent office filled with many luxuries sat a grand ruler by their desk surrounded by towering piles of paperwork. The ruler's regal figure was draped in a robe of royal purple, adorned with gold trimmings, symbolizing their authority and power. As the sun's rays filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a warm glow upon the room, you sighed wearily, with brows furrowed with the weight of your responsibilities. All was quiet but if someone listened closely they could hear the faint sound of slurping.

“Can’t you be quieter? Can’t you see I’m trying to get some of my work done!?”

Beneath you and between your legs was your consort on his knees. He was undressed and was as naked as the day he was born. The man was known for his fierceness and cold heart was currently panting under you like a dog. The sounds of gasps and moans could be heard coming from the man. Currently his lips were red and swollen from the rough treatment that you have given him. Saliva dripped down his mouth as he was desperate to have a taste of you. He sucked and licked as if you were the only source of water he had in years. There was a look of desperateness in his eyes, it made you chuckle at how pathetic he looked. A constant mumbling of “thank yous” came from him each time he had a chance to breathe air.

The consort, whose name you couldn’t have bothered to remember, was as hard as a rock. Having enough of how slow this was going you decided to throw him down onto a couch. You made your way on top of him, positioned yourself, and slammed down right onto his member.

“Ahhh, agh!!”

Tears leaked from his eyes as he began to tremble. Your arms were pressed firmly into the cushions as you made your fierce movements as he was beneath you. He was huge and swollen within you. You began to rock your hips continuously down on him. His breathing became more harsh and stuttered. You leaned down and began to nibble down on his bottom lip. The kiss was very strong and aggressive. When your consort needed to breathe you made sure to slam your lips back on top of his again. His hands on your waist while your tongues intertwined with each other. Devastating pleasure overcame your consort. His eyes were hazy and you could feel a pump of warm liquid form inside of you. When you released from the kiss his mouth was red and swollen with a string of saliva attaching the two of you.

“Ah, ah, agh!!”

“I can’t believe you came from a kiss. Ugh whatever, a few of my advisors will be here any minute. If they catch us doing this, I won't be letting you off easy tonight.”

It was safe to say that the advisors were never allowed entrance into your study due to… your other matters. However, the next day whenever the maids came near that room, their faces would instantly turn bright red. The sounds that came from that room yesterday were definitely something else and they couldn’t help but blush from it. They just couldn’t believe it went on for an entire day! The good thing was that at least the maids that were in charge of cleaning up your mess got a massive raise but holy cow did you really have to break a sofa?!?! The only thing that they could do was pray for your poor consort.

[steddieas-shegoes]

headcanon- steve secretly being insanely good at something, maybe chess or something similarly associated with intelligence. when everyone finds out they are surprised and doubtful leading steve to have the realization "oh. you guys genuinely think I'm stupid."

Steve loved seeing how things worked, he had since he was too young to actually figure things out by himself.

He got caught pulling apart his dad’s office calculator when he was nine, insisted he could put it back together, and did.

It took him a week, but he did it.

Then it was the house phone.

Then his desk lamp.

The toaster.

He always got them back together and working, but his parents weren’t very pleased if they caught him in the process.

Still, he loved the feeling of understanding how certain wires connecting meant something would light up or how one color wire would make something produce a number and another would produce power.

He continued doing it with random objects for years.

The concussions made it harder, his vision going blurry if he focused a little too long on a small part of the technology, his frustration making it even worse.

When Eddie found out, he gave him an old amp that wasn’t working anymore, said it probably would never work again but he could take a look inside.

Steve got it working in two days.

Wayne gave him their VHS player when it stopped rewinding, didn’t want to have to buy a new one even if they did have the money for it now. He had it fixed in four hours.

The oven in the new Munson home randomly stopped working, so of course Steve was called.

He came during Hellfire, ignoring the strange looks as he waved and made his way straight to kitchen.

He got to work, humming to himself as he made sure electricity was cut off from it, that there was no gas hookup anywhere, and pulled it from the wall.

The wiring inside was relatively straightforward, and he saw the problem almost immediately.

A loose wire connecting from the heat source to the controls. Easy fusing. Done.

He tested to make sure it was fixed, and ten minutes later, he was calling Wayne at work on the house phone to let him know it was fixed.

When he turned around, Dustin and Lucas were standing in the doorway, mouths open.

“You’ll catch flies like that. You know Eddie leaves the windows open all the time.”

“You fixed the oven?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“By yourself? Like the inside of it?”

“Yeah?”

“How? That’s so many wires and stuff.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“That’s like, electrical engineering shit.”

Steve realized what was happening just as everyone else walked into the kitchen.

“Oh. You guys don’t think I’m smart enough.”

He felt like he hit a brick wall.

“What’s going on?” Eddie came to stand next to Steve, arm wrapping around his waist.

“We didn’t know Steve was smart.”

The words were unintentionally harsh, but Steve and Eddie flinched anyway.

“Steve’s incredibly smart. He fixes all kinds of things.”

“Eds, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. They know better than to make assumptions about someone based on grades in school or how they understand certain things.”

Steve shrunk into Eddie’s side, doing his best to hide his face while he held back tears.

“You can all apologize or you can leave.”

There was silence for a moment and Steve was almost convinced that they’d all left.

He turned his head to see everyone staring at him.

“We’re sorry, Steve. Really. Eddie’s right. We shouldn’t have assumed you weren’t super smart just because you didn’t do well in school or don’t understand us when we ramble.”

Will was always a good kid, maybe his favorite at the moment.

“‘S okay guys.”

Eddie’s fingers tightened on his waist for a moment.

“So do you fix all kinds of stuff or just appliances?”

“I like to take stuff apart and put it back together. Sometimes I just end up fixing something along the way.”

“So you could look at my walkie?” Max piped up. “It keeps going to static in the middle of me talking.”

“Sure. Probably just a disconnected wire between the speaker and the button.”

Max beamed back at him, not just happy he would try to fix it, but proud.

Everyone started asking if he could fix things they had, surprised when he agreed to it all.

They filtered back out to the dining room area where they played, except for Dustin.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that you’re stupid or anything. I know you’re not stupid. I was just surprised. I shouldn’t have been; you’re always finding the crossed wires with us and fixing those.”

Steve pulled him into a hug.

“People aren’t nearly as easy as electronics, dude.”

“Yeah, but you make it look that way.”

Steve quickly became the group’s engineer, always fixing what was broken, whether it was a flashlight or a bad day. He was pretty good at putting things and people back together.

[miaoqing]

svsss fact check/common misconceptions

"quick", i called it, and then it turned 8 pages long. sigh

this is a compilation of my own research (based on the english tl of the novel) and summaries of what @svsss-fanon-exposed has painstakingly examined; for more in-depth explanations/discussions + even more topics, please do check out @svsss-fanon-exposed <3 and of course, let me know if anything here is false, if you want a source for anything, or if there's anything else you'd like me to add!

this got quite long so! cut time!!

SHEN YUAN

death

Novel: not specified. 

Donghua: choked on a bun (not food poisoning!)

(iirc the yoghurt/food poisoning thing is the ghost of either an early draft or something mxtx allegedly posted on social media but that never made it to canon. don't quote me on that tho)

terminal illness

Entirely fanon. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

age

He transmigrated at some point between 15 at the absolute youngest and 23 at the absolute oldest; most likely 19-21. (fun fact: if he was younger than 19, LBH is actually technically older than him post-canon)

did Shen Yuan wear glasses?

Never stated in either the novel or donghua but not contradicted either. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

is shen yuan an unreliable narrator?

close enough

LUO BINGHE

early years

Fishermen got Binghe out of the river and gave him his name (Luo as the river, Binghe meaning icy river). He then wandered the streets for a few years, and then he was adopted by the washerwoman. After she died when he was 10, he joined CQM.

hair

Binghe’s hair is not canonically curly </3 

scars

The scar on his chest is from when SQQ stabbed him at the edge of the abyss. The one on his hand is from the Jinlan city arc. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

bingge’s harem

Novel: "nearing three digits", “three-digit number”, “innumerable”, “large”, “vast” .... 

Donghua: around 3000

Not specified if this is just the wives or if it also includes concubines etc

xin mo

Bingmei is more prone to Xin Mo’s backlash than Bingge, as stated in the bingge/bingmei extra

demon mark

Binghe’s zui yin (not huadian, check entry in “misc.”) can change shape and expand. He can also hide it at will, but it seems to take some effort. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

head disciple

SQQ chooses Binghe as his head disciple, probably to explain why he let him move into the bamboo house. Ming Fan isn’t and never was the head disciple - check the entry “SQQ’s disciples”

Luo Binghe is big and buff and way taller than SQQ

False. Very in-depth svsss-fanon-exposed post about lbh’s appearance here but basically… he’s built like a kpop idol… personally i’m thinking Jeonghan or Haechan but could probably go as far as like… Taemin maybe. He’s also only like 2 cm (1in) taller than SQQ.

SHEN JIU

why did SJ hate LBH???

He was jealous of LBH for getting to join a sect and improve his cultivation at the best age and for having a mother who loved him. That's it lol. He also feared Binghe's power and potential which is why he made sure to sabotage him at every step. (ch 1)

“Envy that Luo Binghe had a mother who was “the kindest in all the world to him,” envy of Luo Binghe’s talent, envy that Luo Binghe would enter Cang Qiong Mountain Sect at the best age for cultivating.” - Ch. 19

qiu haitang called qiu jianluo "a-luo", which is why SJ hated binghe

Entirely fanon; she only ever calls him gege (also the "Luo" is a different character = slightly different pronunciation)

surely SJ wasn't thaaaat mean to LBH??

yeah no he really was just that much of a child abuser :/

fake cultivation manual

ch. 1 vol 1: "The cultivation manual Ming Fan had given Luo Binghe was a fake"

SQQ&YQY extra: “Luo Binghe was using the incorrect cultivation manual that Shen Qingqiu had handed him; he should have long since died bleeding from the seven apertures, his body rupturing down to his bones, skin, meridians, tendons, and flesh.”

ch. 2: "Shen Qingqiu had inspired Ming Fan to give Luo Binghe a fake cultivation manual."

SJ was SAd by QLJ

Not explicitly stated but definitely a possible interpretation

SJ only went to brothels to sleep

Fanon but likely; svsss-fanon-exposed post here

SHEN QINGQIU

SQQ’s disciples

The number is not specified. Only Ming Fan, Binghe, and Ning Yingying are mentioned by name, but there were at least a few more (eg. Ming Fan's lackeys, the disciples waiting by SQQ’s bedside when SY transmigrates, the group he passes by on the peak). Ming Fan is (presumably) the oldest and about 16 at the start of the story, Binghe is around 14 (or 12-13; mentioned in svsss-fanon-exposed post here) Ning Yingying is the youngest (svsss-fanon-exposed post here), so all his disciples are presumably between ~12-16. no new disciples were taken in after Binghe - he's still the newest shidi when SY transmigrates.

NYY might not be the only female disciple on QJP - in the bingge/bingmei extra, SQQ refers to some disciples as “a group of teal-robed boys and girls”, however, the Chinese word used for "boys and girls" here doesn't actually specify gender. NYY is referred to as "Shen Qingqiu's youngest female disciple" but it's hard to tell if it's meant to be interpreted as "youngest of the females" or "youngest and also female, unlike the others".

Ming Fan was never head disciple - he is only ever specified to be the oldest disciple/the first one to become their master’s student. however, if a head disciple isn’t chosen, is it usually the most senior disciple who does their work - which in this case is Ming Fan. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

There might be "outer disciples" on QJP, in which case Ming Fan would be SQQ's earliest disciple, not necessarily the first on the whole peak. However, there is no outright mention of any outer disciples on QJP; the only mention of outer disciples is in regards to An Ding.

SQQ’s eye colour

In the novel his eyes are described as black. however, in many official illustrations they are green, grey, or some other lighter colour. 

svsss-fanon-exposed post(s) here

META

how long was pidw?

novel: LONG. Its posting time spanned 3-4 years (SY says 4 years in chapter 1, Airplane says 3 years in the Airplane extra). Airplane allegedly “updated ten thousand words a day, every day, for three years straight” with “periodic burst releases of eight whole chapters”. He had also written other works before PIDW.

PIDW covers 200 years of Binghe's life.

donghua: 6666 chapters

what’s the svsss timeline?

link to ao3 post by VagabondDawn

post examining the pre-canon timeline by svsss-fanon-exposed

CQM

peak lords’ ages

Shen Jiu was about 33 when he died. Yue Qingyuan is roughly three years older than him and Liu Qingge is a few years younger. others are unknown. check the svsss-fanon-exposed post re:the timeline linked above

• CQM's disciple robes are colour coded

canon. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

qing jing - the eng tl says teal but the Chinese character used to describe the color can mean one of several shades of green/blue-green/etc qiong ding - unclear but YQY wears black in the donghua and “dark-hued robes” in ch. 19 bai zhan - black disciple uniform, but LQG wears white (novel) xian shu - pink/purple (donghua) an ding - blue (official art)

others unknown :/

MISC.

how did Airplane die?

He spilled noodles onto his laptop while laughing at Peerless Cucumber's forum posts and electrocuted himself when he pulled the plug out trying to save his half-finished file. This is kind of weird because if Airplane had an unfinished draft on his laptop when he died, SY couldn’t have finished reading the entire novel; unless the system somehow finished the chapter, uploaded it as the final chapter after Airplane died, and did such a bad job that it killed SY. Alternatively, he could have been working on a bonus chapter after finishing the main story, in which case SY was already dead by this point :0

but yeah TECHNICALLY you could argue that cumplane indirectly killed each other lol

However, Airplane transmigrated into a baby Shang Qinghua; he spent probably at least 30 extra years in "PIDW" compared to SY

huan hua

little palace mistress is the old palace master’s daughter, not granddaughter

all demons have forehead marks

fanon, straight up contradicts the canon text. only heavenly demons have demon marks in the novel, despite what some of the official art suggests. also, this type of mark would be called a zui yin, not a huadian. svsss-fanon-exposed post here

Liu Mingyan

Liu Mingyan is not confirmed to be either head disciple or even the most senior disciple. she might be! but it’s not stated in canon. svsss-fanon-exposed post about head disciples here

that's it for now! again, lmk if there's anything i missed or anything else i should add!! + check notes for comments from others :)

[kentopedia]

it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — 5.3k words

PART V ♰ MASTERLIST

Human blood, when it came straight from the source, a punctured vein made up of a scarlet river, held a divine power. There was a warmth that you could only receive from drinking it, not from the animals you captured in the woods, or those that you bled dry into a goblet. 

Only then, would your icy skin be transformed into something akin to heated marble, so smooth, made up of something that had outlasted any other creature roaming the earth. 

That sort of euphoria was a feeling that fifty years had served you well in forgetting. You’d learned not to miss it. 

Until you got it back. The taste of human blood, once it had stained your lips after decades, had become the only thing on your mind. 

For two days, the blood of the woman, whom Dazai had lured to his hotel room for you, kept your hunger down. Your body had grown warm once more, skin as normal as any mortal’s. It made you feel as if you had regained life itself, the ecstasy seeping back into you like the sunbeams you’d never reach again. 

You’d pranced around your home joyfully, dancing through the halls the night before. Although it was dangerous, it was freeing, to lose yourself to the bloodlust like that. Just a taste of what your life had been, was enough to twist your mind, have you reminiscing on the vampire you’d once been. 

“You seem different,” Atsushi had said, the previous day. There had been such pleasure in his irises and the lines creasing his face, at seeing you so cheerful. Those signs of happiness in him were ones that you’d vowed never to take away, for doing so would deem you the vilest creature of them all. “Has something happened that I’m not aware of?” 

You’d laughed, let him rest in the crook of your elbow as you leaned him over your forearm, dipping him gracefully with your otherworldly strength. “I’m just glad you’re home, Atsushi,” you’d said, before twirling him around, guiding him in a dance around the room. 

It was all you could say, really. You couldn’t admit that your true gaiety came from the blood of a young woman, and your health had been restored by drinking the sweet nectar from her heart. 

Something you should’ve been doing all along. 

Then, when those two days passed, and the desperation that came with hunger returned, your mood soured. Atsushi pretended he hadn’t noticed, skirting around you with sideways glances and softened smiles. Encouragement — even if he wasn’t sure what had turned your radiance into a shade of blue. 

Life settled back into a sense of normalcy. For your fiancee, at least, who had never had a clue that anything was amiss. You, on the other hand, grappled with the immense guilt, the truth of what you’d done slamming against you, every moment your thoughts strayed. 

Dazai. 

Dazai. 

Dazai. 

The only name on your mind. Ever. Dreadfully lurking at the lines of your subconscious, even as you smiled at the one who loved you purely. Dazai’s charming grin snuck behind your eyelids as you kissed the man you were to be wed to, his name souring your tongue when you tasted Atsushi’s own. 

His voice, a melody bestowed upon you by nothing else but the devil, for a merciful god could never have created something so tempting, so horribly unholy. Those dark eyes, darker still when you punctured his throat, letting the crimson liquid flow into your mouth, staining your lips. 

And his blood… 

You growled, digging your nails into the piano that you’d failed to play at all. A screeching sound erupted as your fingers slid down the cover, deep scratches marring the wood. 

This was all his fault. If he’d never come back, then things could’ve carried on as they always had. You wouldn’t crave the taste of human blood once again, of Dazai’s blood, of his mouth, of him. 

“Get out,” you shouted, throwing the piano bench away from the instrument, the wood splintering under your strength. “Get out.” The antique vase shattered against the wall, the priceless item suddenly a million, tiny pieces. “Get out of my head.” 

Frustrated crept its way up your chest, a less than welcome old friend. 

Yet, that blend of rage and anguish was not an antidote to the way that Dazai Osamu had poisoned your mind, and you fell to your knees, sobbing hot streaks of blood into your hands. 

He’d made a cheater out of you, once again. A cheater, a killer, and a monster. And even after all that, you yearned for him. Your chest ached for the trace of his fingertips along your jawline, for those eyes to soften, only upon you. For the smile that he’d always given you, even in your darkest moments, as you laid upon him, coated in the gore of another.

Dazai was a cruel man, but he’d loved you through it all. 

And if what he said was true, he’d never meant to leave you. 

You swallowed, willing your tears away as you stared at the ceiling, dragging those regrettable emotions deep, burying them under the years of turmoil he’d put you through. All the times he’d snuck away, never telling you where he’d gone, promising he’d change and still playing the same games. 

Even then, the taste of his blood was too fresh on your mind, the tenderness of his hands still burned into your skin. 

Dazai, for all his cruelty, was right. Atsushi would never understand you the way he did. He’d never love you like that either. 

It had been a blessing, at first, that Atsushi was so vastly different from your immortal companion. Now, it had become the thorn lodged deep in your side, puncturing you through the middle. 

When the day came that you turned Atsushi, with a ring upon your finger and the promise of an immortal life, would you still long for Dazai? 

It seemed unfair to judge your vampire lover now, for all his misgivings, all the evil deeds he had committed, all the adultery, all the silence. The murder. You were the same, you and Dazai. Burned straight from the same pit, crafted by the hands of a demon, placed upon this earth for no reason but evil. 

How foolish you had been, to ever think you could be anything good. 

Three days later, when the rats were not enough, and the threat of biting Atsushi became too much to resist, you sought Dazai out. 

The realization of your buried feelings, towards him and yourself, would remain just that—hidden. You’d told Dazai you needed time, and you still did. Time to decide if you’d rather live with Atsushi, or step out into the sunlight, letting your body fall into flames before ashes. Both seemed more pleasurable than admitting that your once lover had seen straight through you. 

Truly anything was better than admitting that what you felt for Dazai was something, still, close to love. 

You’d spent the evening steeling yourself, staring awake in the darkened room as you rehearsed what you’d say to Dazai, after the last conversation you’d had. It had begun to occur to you, perhaps, that your problematic dalliance could be traced back to the mixed signals that you continued to send his way.

Yet, when you finally mustered up the courage to visit him, Dazai was not at the hotel. The room service had already cleared out the lodgings, stripped the room bare and sterilized it after his departure. 

Dazai was gone. He’d left just like you’d wanted him to, for weeks. 

So, why did your heart drop like a weight from your chest to your stomach, the agonizing twist of abandonment tearing through your immortal soul?

Briefly, you stared at the empty room, blinking at the laundress who spread fresh linens across the mattress. She seemed to be startled by the fury and misery in your darkened irises, lips parting with words she wouldn’t speak. 

“The man,” you said, hating the sound of your choked voice, raspy as it made its way out of your chalky throat. “The man that was staying in this room. He left?” 

She stared at you for a moment longer, before nodding slowly. “He did.” 

“Do you know when?” 

When? Where? Why did you let him leave? How could he just walk away without even so much as a goodbye?

The woman shook her head once more, smoothing a wrinkle across the sheets before stepping away from the four-poster bed. The same one that you had tumbled onto with Dazai, twice in the past few days, your icy hands roaming across each other’s bodies.

“That is not my business,” she offered, as kindly as she could, frightened by the sharp coils of your features, as nasty as the glare that shone in your burning eyes. “I apologize that I cannot be of more help, miss.” 

You considered carrying on, objecting, perhaps tearing apart the room in a fit of anger. It could be upended by your monstrous speed before the skittish laundress even had time to protest. 

For less than a moment, you bared your fangs, the sheer white of your teeth glinting in the moonlight. A flash of fear sheared its way through the woman’s eyes, as she caught the menacing curl of your lip, before you recovered smoothly. Quickly enough for her to believe that it had been a trick of the light, a play of her imagination.

“No. I apologize,” you said, dropping your hands to your sides, ignoring the dissonance of your humanity and your eternal curse. So quickly, with the burst of anger thrumming under your skin, you’d resorted to thoughts of violence. Ugly ideas swarmed your mind, a vision of blood, beautifully ruby red, splattering across the creamy linens. 

Perhaps it was best that Dazai left. Hopefully, it was permanent.

Without another word, you left the laundress to her work, heading back to the front desk to see if you could weasel any answers out of the manager. He had been quite adamant in keeping it private, the whereabouts of guests, both past and present, under lock and key.

“I am merely curious when he left,” you said, growing frustrated after a minute of pursuing answers. Your sharp nails, stronger than that of a normal human’s, dug into the counter, small crescents indented in the dark wood. “Can you not supply me with that simple fact?” 

The man pushed his glasses up, shook his head once, before you huffed, nearly hissing under your breath. You would resolve to more drastic measures, if you needed to. 

“Tell me when he left.” You laid your sharp gaze into him, digging past the soil of his golden brown irises, until you had reached his mind, curling your own influence around it. “Dazai Osamu, he was staying in room 29.” 

The man straightened, looked at you with parted lips, like you were the only person, the only being, in the entire world. So captivated he was, both by your beauty and your confidence, the smile on your lips softened, yet not without its cruelty. But the touch you’d laid on his mind was one of comfort, a warm caress. A feeling of laying on your chest, your fingers curling through the few, thin strands left on his balding head. 

“Earlier this week,” he replied, nodding, recollecting the evening. “Yes, I remember him. Quite an outlandish fellow—very self assured. He’d checked out earlier than expected, but seemed in no hurry.” The fog lifted from the man’s irises for just a moment, as confusion hammered against you, and you lost your focus. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

You were quite out of practice, and dug deeper, controlling his consciousness. “Did he say where he was going? Or anything at all?” 

He shrugged, eyebrows knitting together in pain as your gentle touch laid way to a cold slap against his mortal intuition. “I can only assume he would be going home.” 

You scowled, face marring into an ugly expression, as your hands shook against the countertop. Then, you turned, scoffing, and released the man from your grasp. “Fine. Forget we had this conversation.” 

The clerk said nothing to you as you stalked away, leaving a trail burned into the carpet from your steps. You were nothing more than a stranger. 

Outside, you seemed to come to your senses, the moon, your oldest friend, your eternal companion, greeting you with a kiss. You stared up at it with distant longing, wishing, perhaps, that that silvery light could shroud you, wrap you up and take you away, just as the sunlight could. 

Three steps around the corner, out of the sight of any lingering travelers, you dropped to the ground, leaning against the brick exterior of the old hotel. It was a building on the brim of decay, the colors so much different than when it’d opened, wood paneling rotting away. 

Rotting just like anyone that had ever loved you had done. 

The hotel had been born after your family, after the friends you’d had when you were human, but the state of it was more grisly than any you’d ever been in. It would age, die, collapse into the earth, and you would walk in the rubble, still as divine as you were now. 

The realization of that alone had you doubling over, laughing into your hands, a sharp, terrible sound that echoed into the emptiness of night. 

So hard, you laughed, that it threatened to tumble into tears, ones that you kept at bay, even as you stared at the decaying hotel and the stars in the night that you’d probably outlive too. 

With Dazai gone, you felt closer to the brink of insanity than you ever had, in both your lives as a human and a vampire. It felt that some cord deep within you had snapped, and suddenly, you could not see a reason for your meaningless existence. 

Day in and day out you’d suffered, looking for a reason to continue on the path of moral righteousness, to ignore all the memories that continued to resurface, floating up out of the deep, black abyss. 

You had been unhappy as a human, unsatisfied with your existence, and you had been a loose cannon in your early years as a vampire; a risk to yourself and anything that dared to step in your path. And though you’d once believed yourself to court misery, you had only shared a gentle kiss with it, never taken it to bed and let it shroud you with itself. 

Misery, now, was the only word that could encompass the deep sense of hollowness that had been carved inside of you. Even Atsushi, with his kind eyes and a smile you loved so dearly, had not been able to ease you out of bed. 

Leave me for a few days, Atsushi, you’d told him, not sure if you were being selfish, or quite the opposite. I don’t want to hurt you. 

You didn’t. You didn’t want to hurt him. But there was, and perhaps there would always be, the version of you that longed for the violence. For when had you last been happy, free, without the restraints and the threat of murdering the one you loved most, if not when you were with Dazai?

When the third day passed without a drop of blood, and the hunger had gripped you so tightly that you were on the brink of delirium, you pulled yourself out of bed, and left the apartment. 

It was warmer, humid, the air stifling and pressing down on you as you roamed the streets, looking for something, anything. While the weather had very little effect on the dead, it was your hunger that dizzied you, a sensation that was so close to the suppressive heat felt as a human that you smiled, traipsed around as if you were in a dream.

Atsushi you’d spoken to only in brief increments, your fangs bared in a threat, warning him not to come any closer. And all he’d done was smile, tightly, and grabbed a fresh set of clothes, leaving for the rest of the week to retire elsewhere. 

Despite your treatment of him, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel apologetic. If that was what it took for you to save his life, to keep him from seeing the ugliest parts of you, then so be it. 

Still, it only made you think of Dazai, who had seen all those sides of you. He had seen you, the very worst parts of you. He had seen you as a human, smiling softly at men on the streets as you slipped a hand into their pockets, stealing for the bread you couldn’t afford. He had seen you relish at the sight of fear, as the very same men began to see you as a threat, not a prize that could so easily be won. He had seen you happily drown yourself in murder, and he had loved you anyway. 

For as little as he’d shared about his own life, you’d understood him. It had been the reason he’d given you the gift of immortality, one you could never return.

Thinking of that — thinking of Dazai at all — felt like a betrayal. 

“Excuse me,” you heard a voice say beside you. A tall man approached, at least a foot above you, his eyes roaming across you with a lust you were all too familiar with. For a moment, you considered ignoring him, stepping away without turning to face him at all. 

He persisted, calling out for you again, when you finally gazed back at him with hard suspicion. 

“May I help you?��� you replied, eyes narrowed.

He startled, taking a step back at your intensity. “Ah. I’m just passing through, and I’ve lost my way. I was wondering if you would direct me back to Crescent Street. I’m staying at the hotel there,” he said.

“Perhaps I am a traveler as well.” You glanced back at the river, the shimmering water winking at you with the reflection of the stars. “What makes you so certain I am familiar with the area?”

If you threw yourself into the water, tried to drown under the darkened depths, would you? Would the water flow through your lungs, killing you over and over until the sun rose, or would you simply breath it in and out as freshly as air, coughing it up when you emerged? 

Dazai had never told you these kinds of things. You’d never been bored enough to try and find out yourself. 

“Oh,” the man said. “Forgive me. I just assumed, based on how confidently you stroll the night. With all the murders that have been happening, I thought you must have either been comfortable, or just very stupid.” 

You smiled lazily at him, as the annoyance surged up in you, so fast and without warning. “I am certainly not stupid.” 

“Certainly not.” Then, the man, with his blonde locks and eyes the colors of sapphires, stuck a gloved hand out, leaning forward. “My name is Peter,” he said, curling his hand around your own, pointedly ignoring the ring on your finger. There was hunger in his expression, though it was different from your own, as he dipped his gaze towards the red corset that hugged your curves, revealing a hint of cold skin at your chest. 

You bowed your head gracefully, giving your name in response, before looking at him from under your eyelashes. From that action alone, the sultry burn you had spilled into your irises, his demeanor changed, lips falling open from your otherworldly beauty. 

Although your gift of slipping into the minds of humans, compelling their actions and twisting their memory had come in handy many times in the past, you’d never had to use it to lure a man to his dark fate. They came so easily, once they understood your intentions, saw even a hint of desire contrasting the gentle innocence you held onto. 

“I must be quite lucky, then, to have stumbled across you,” he said, leaning into you. You could smell the tobacco that stuck to his clothes, fine cigars that he smoked quite freely. There was a hint of another scent there too, sweeter, more feminine. It soaked deeply into his clothes, lining every thread as if it had been coated there. 

“Are you traveling alone?” you asked suspiciously, stepping away from him, to find a shaded area along the bank. There were enough trees to hide any hints of murder, and any lingering eyes had fled to the other side of the city, the busier side, where the port was. 

The storm in Peter’s oceanic eyes dissipated to serene waters. 

A lie came after, and so easily it slipped off his tongue, without an ounce of guilt, of the torment you had long since succumbed to. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. Even though his eyes said no, and the scent of the woman’s perfume agreed. 

“No wife?” you returned, smiling softly, as you reached the edge of the water, the waves curling up along the muddied rocks. “Kids?” 

He laughed. “I’m afraid I am still a lonely bachelor.” 

“Well,” you said, turning back around to trace his arm gently, your diamond clad finger on full display. “I’m not.” 

Although he said nothing, you could see the anger rise up in him, the frustration at being toyed with — and how quickly it rose. His fingers tightened at his side, jaw clenching, a cruel word launching to the tip of his tongue. 

“But,” you said, quelling your own rage. The threat of a violent man may have been nothing to you, but it would be enough to the other women that happened to be passing the streets. “Perhaps, we can ignore that small detail, for the time being.” 

You slipped the ring off your finger and dropped it onto the ground, letting it fall into the earth, soiled and dirtied by the splashes of water that rose up — where you belonged. Underground, buried without a ring that never should’ve been on your finger in the first place. 

You felt crazed, your spirit slipping from the shell of morality it had resided in, as it remembered what it truly meant to be free. And you were free, weren’t you? Your nature was never meant to succumb to laws set by mortals, for you were older than them, older than the society that claimed to be civilized, but was just as monstrous as your own. 

Peter parted his lips, formulating a response you cared little for, as you shoved him up against the nearest tree, his back hitting it with a grave thump.

Even though you expected his face to morph into one of pain, he stared back at you with intrigue, eyes alight with want. That alone made you sick, with him and yourself, for doing the same thing to your fiance that you would take his life for. 

You turned his jaw, caressing him softly as you exposed the vein, and dipped your head. 

It was unfortunate that it didn’t cause him any pain, an almost erotic feeling to humans when you sunk your teeth in, tongue lapping at the puncture. But you were far too hungry to care, and ignored the warning bells in your head as you drank and drank, until the blood and breath began to fizzle out, and he was but a corpse left in your arms. 

The taste grew rancid, sour in your mouth with death, and you released him, tearing the skin with a gruesome sound as you emerged from the vein. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in his expression, despite being gruesomely torn apart, and you threw him towards the river in disgust. 

“I would apologize to your wife,” you said, smiling, rejuvenated by fresh human blood. Although he had been an easy catch, the hunt was elating, nonetheless. “But she’s better off without you.” 

You leaned down, ripping a handkerchief from his pocket, before dabbing at your mouth, a few droplets of blood staining the tan cloth. 

A sigh escaped you, and you glanced back up at the moon, the stars, the endless universe that you hardly understood at all. If there was a god out there, or the devil as you’d once feared, would they grant this as a sin, or would you be a vengeful angel, cleaning the world of the scum that committed adulterous acts?

You placed the cloth across his neck before slashing your nails across it, tearing at the skin like you were an animal, just enough to cover your tracks. Then, you dumped him into the water, watched him turn over, onto his face, before sinking just under. 

For a moment, you stared, as the once living, breathing thing turned into something pale and ugly, floating along the current as if nothing more than a piece of litter, carelessly tossed aside. The mop of hair across the top of the waves, golden and shiny in the light, was the only evidence that he had ever been alive at all. 

Then, as quickly as his life had left him, he disappeared into the night, beyond your vision. 

You paused, feeling an eerie sense of nothingness creep up on you, as you realized what you had done. It had been so long since you’d held someone’s life in your hand like that, killed without a second thought, that the feelings of deliverance and regret battled so fiercely, they turned into impassivity. 

Licking your lips, you turned around, basking in the warm glow of the night, the short hours you had left until the sun rose once again. The days would grow longer again, as would your sleep, as the dreadful months of summer sequestered you inside. 

Picking up your ring, you left the bank, elevated. The ground seemed to fall below you as you meandered home, and the sound of the humans, those still awake at such an hour, though loud, was muddled. Nothing but a cacophony of nonsense as your own thoughts rattled even louder in your head. 

The closer you got to home, to Atsushi, the more you grew to question yourself, to feel sick with your own actions. It was weakness that had drawn you to such an act. You were nothing but a slave to your hunger, to the bloodlust, and the anger that rose up in you. 

Dazai had always been so controlled, so careful and cautious. You, on the other hand, had never been a master of your emotions — you went on killing without worry. A glutton when it came to the bodies you drained. 

“Everything alright?” your neighbor asked, smoking on the balcony as her husband slept inside, perhaps the only reprieve she ever got from the miserable man. 

You approached, waved her off, hoping that she was drunk enough to forgot she ever saw you. Maybe she wouldn’t even care that the woman living next door was a killer. 

That was a laughable idea. 

“Everything’s fine.” you spat out, sharply, not even bothering to look in her direction before you returned to your townhome, slamming the door behind you. It rattled on the hinges, the wood cracking, the frame beside the door shaking, before landing crooked.

A few angry tears emerged in your eyes, and you rubbed them away, your hand coated in watery, red blood, smearing into your skin. “Fuck,” you muttered, shaking your head as you looked to the bedroom, where you knew Atsushi wasn’t… Even though he should’ve been. 

You screamed, bending over to catch yourself, before you kicked at the wall, a large hole breaking the plaster from the strength you’d forgotten you had. Then you screamed again. And again. Your nails tore into your arms in a ghastly, inhuman way, the skin merely stitching itself back up almost as immediately as you ripped it. 

You could lay there, you thought, glancing over at the windows on the opposite side of the room, the beautiful, golden rock in the sky winking at you as she began to fade into the evening. How easy it would be, to open the glass panels, stand before them and let yourself burn into ashes. You could finally face the sun, let the last century and a half become a mere fraction of what your life could’ve been.

But you didn’t. 

You had some strength in you yet. 

Turning away from the window, you crept into one of the spare bedrooms, where the old coffin you’d slept in before rested on the ground. You’d gotten so used to sleeping in that bed, with Atsushi, that you’d almost forgotten you still had that sense of comfort. 

It was a safety net, one that you happily shrouded yourself in as you dusted off the black cover, settling into the silk red sheets you’d chosen yourself. The feeling of sleep there was so reminiscent of your old life, you half expected to open your eyes and see Dazai there, who had laid beside you, many years after death. 

For the first time in decades, you felt more like a vampire than a pathetic attempt of remaining human. You weren’t sure what to make of that.

Atsushi had crept in and out that morning without making a peep, leaving for the office before the crack of dawn, and returning just as you were emerging from your coffin. 

It was, you knew, something that he had never been able to reconcile with your lifestyle — sleeping in such a way, like the old monsters did, the stories that had always been told. That had partially been the reason he’d offered to take on the daunting task of sun-proofing your home. 

“Are you okay, honey?” Atsushi had asked in his soft voice, eyes narrowed in concern as you emerged from the coffin. “I was worried when I didn’t see you in the room.” 

You smiled, tersely, suddenly remembering yourself, the entirety of last night being chalked up to a poor mistake. It was regrettable, even if Peter was a lousy husband, that his wife would wake up, not knowing where he was. And if he had children, what would they think of their father’s disappearance?

“I’m fine,” you said, shaking off those thoughts. Atsushi certainly didn’t need to be worrying about you, and the murder of a cheating man hardly seemed a sin compared to your hypocrisy. “It just feels strange sleeping in our bed, knowing you won’t be coming home.” 

Atsushi’s eyes softened. His romantic ideals had always been something you could speak to. “I know we’ve had a bit of a rough go of things, but…” he shrugged, reaching out to you, before retracting his hand. “I don’t like staying with Ranpo. I would rather be here, you know.” 

You knew. Of course you knew. It hadn’t been Atsushi that had insisted upon his removal from the apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” you sighed.

“It’s okay.” For a moment, he looked away, then rubbed his face. “I know we said we would wait — that I would wait until we were married, but,” a brief pause, as he swallowed. “Maybe, you should turn me now. If I’m still a risk to you.” 

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, even if his eyes were steadfast. Atsushi still had faith in his humanity, still held onto it tightly, though every moment spent with you left it quickly slipping through the cracks of his fingers. 

But it was never an issue of marriage that had kept you from turning Atsushi. It was the fact that he was so good, so unlike you and Dazai, that you wanted to put it off for as long as possible. 

You smiled, though it was pained, and shook your head. Imagining Atsushi as a vampire was beginning to make you ill, the vision so against the will of the universe that you weren’t sure it could ever come to pass. 

“I’m okay now, I think. I’ve taken care of it.” 

He didn’t ask what that meant. 

You didn’t bother to tell him, either. 

PART VI

sorry this one is kind of a filler >< i promise there will be more exciting stuff soon !!

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @osameowdazai @osaemu @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @hinata7346 @scinclaitnoir @mimimimiminanana @yolkyuyi @xxoolii @zephoncocaine @angelsdemonsandhumans @kouyoumarryme @avocate-assia-dazai dazai @iluv-ace @pe4rl-diver @wilbur-the-hottie @zbriia @yasu-masashige @umarureid @seikouryuu @dazaiswife1 @kxmilia @lacunaanonymousd @angelof-darkness @acacia-koi @foxydaydreamer @astrial @adoreddior @jayborderline @fandomhoestuff @destinyisastar @kierabear-1 @rosepig @aikatoru @tetsuskei @erebus-et-eigengrau @moemoekunn @amanoava @blank03sthings @himikoslove @aenishas @mncxbe @acacia-koi @stromy-weather @sugaredpersimmon @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @iheartpieck @little-miss-chaoss

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 15 ⬅ch.14

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | nsfw. violence. smut. wc 5.6k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | this chapter is very self-indulgent.,.. my bad. it also begins to stray from canon so uhh sorry if that bothers you.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“my sources tell me all the VIPs in las almas will be there tonight,” alejandro spoke, turning to face you, ghost, soap, and graves. he took in a breath. “some are invited, others are, umm…”

“volun-told…?” graves concluded. 

“yes.”

“what’s the meet about?”

“us.” he looked a bit apprehensive as he spoke. “las almas is burning, and they want to know who lit the fire.”

“sin nombre will be there, yeah?” ghost asked.

alejandro turned and walked towards ghost. “no guarantees. But this is our best shot.”

“then we take it,” graves said as he made his way into the small circle you were all forming. “I’ve got enough shadows here to take over the whole damn country.”

something about graves unsettled you. it was like he spoke with hidden meanings in each of his words, making you feel unease. but you kept quiet and listened. 

“i’d prefer if you didn’t,” alejandro rebutted. 

“i’m just sayin’... one house shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“we need sin nombre alive,” you added. everyone’s eyes shifted to you.

“well…” graves looked off into the distance as he contemplated. “then we need to meet him.”

“how?” soap questioned, his eyes intently watching graves. 

“give ‘em what they want… intel. they wanna know who’s here. let's tell ‘em.”

alejandro scoffed under his breath. “in person–?”

“correcto.” 

you rolled your eyes at graves and soap bumped your shoulder in silent reprimand, but you saw the corners of his lips curving. 

“get one of us inside, find the boss… roll him up.” graves gestured his hands together as he kept alejandro’s haughty gaze.

there was a brief lull before soap spoke up. “i’ll do it.”

“you go in there, and they’ll kill you, hermano.”

“i’ll take my chances. we came here to stop a missile, let’s stop it. i’ll offer intel for a meet with sin nombre. and if he’s there, we pounce.” 

“hell yeah—you’ve got balls, cabrón,” alejandro said with a sly smirk on his face. “you make it in, you’ll need eyes and ears.”

“i’ll go,” you chimed up.

their heads snapped to you. 

“what? no, you—” soap began, but you cut him off. 

“if one of you go and get caught, they’ll shoot. probably will call the whole fucking house to take you down. but if I go and get caught, i can talk my way out of it.”

soap shook his head. “yeah? how do you plan on doin’ that?”

you shifted on the balls of your feet. “i’m a woman. and it’s a bunch of men…”

alejandro let a breath out through his nose. “sure you wanna handle that?” you appreciated that he didn’t ask if you could handle it, but rather, if you were certain you wanted to.

you nodded. 

“there’s other ways we can go about this,” johnny added. 

“and this puts the least amount of people at risk,” you retorted. soap matched your gaze, assessing you.

ghost tensed beside you. “I’ll take overwatch.”

the rest of the conversation turned to a buzz in your ears. you weren’t sure why you offered to go. maybe because you were worried if one of them got caught, as powerful as these men were, they couldn’t take down an entire house full of killers. 

but if you got caught… you just had to play it off like you were hired to be there. not that you wanted to have to do that, but it felt like you’d be putting their lives at risk if you just sat back and let them handle it when you were perfectly capable of doing your part. 

you all departed from the roof and got geared up; ghost found you alone in one of the few rooms of the safehouse—an abandoned building you were temporarily camping in.

“tryna get yourself killed?”

you jumped slightly at his booming voice and glanced over your shoulder at him. you continued to adjust your outfit as you talked. “what was i supposed to do? sit back and let them be the only ones risking their life? what am i here for then if not to help?”

simon made a noise of dissatisfaction. “you’re a medic, not a spy.”

you spun on your heels to face him and some of the air in your lungs got lost when you saw his bare face. you swallowed, you weren’t sure you were ever going to get used to that—to seeing his face and how at ease he felt around you to strip the ghost facade. “i don’t want to just sit around and wait for someone to get hurt.”

“that’s your fuckin’ job,” he said irritated, his words quieter, but his voice deep and commanding.

“i can handle this,” you finally said, your eyes meeting his.

“i didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“then let me do this!”

he took an exasperated breath. “y’don’t need my permission.”

you sighed, your fingers intertwining anxiously. of course you didn’t need his permission, but you still wanted it. you didn’t want him mad at you.

simon could see the apprehension on your features. “keep your comms on the entire time,” he demanded. you nodded. “n’ the second things go wrong—or look like they might go wrong—you tell me, then get the hell outta there.”

“course.” you gave him a weak smile and he took a step into you. his hand found the back of your head and he pulled you close as he hunched over. you squealed. your lips parted and your hands instinctively grabbed his jacket. there were so many thoughts raging behind simon’s eyes, but he didn’t say a word. he contemplated a few, but he remained silent, his eyes dancing between yours, before closing the space between your two bodies and crashing his lips to yours.

the kiss was fast and full of irritation and indolence. he didn’t just feel the pull towards you because you frustrated him, but the sight of you resting on graves’ shoulders wouldn’t leave his thoughts. he knew it was immature, but that didn’t stop the nagging nature of it. he fisted your hair, roughly moving his mouth against yours, his free hand grabbing your hip. 

and as quickly as it started, it ended. you gasped when he pulled away. his hands remained on you for another moment before he turned around and slid his mask back on, leaving you alone in the small confines of the room.

“shadows on station” you heard graves ring in your ear. 

“copy. all set here.” ghost’s voice was a whisper as he spoke. you could tell from how he grunted his words that he was lying prone, looking down the barrel of his sniper. 

“seein’ room to set down on the roof.”

“check. eyes on two, armed at the front door.”

“iaso, how you doin’?” graves asked you.

“i’m already inside,” you said in a hushed tone as you scaled the inside wall. 

“goddamn, how’d you do that?”

“violently,” alejandro whispered.

“you went with her?” graves asked.

“she needed backup.”

alejandro motioned for you to slide down the adjacent hallway, his intention to split up. 

“visual on soap,” ghost muttered in the comms.

it was starting, and you had to figure out where sin nombre was while soap tried to convince his captors he had valuable intel. no big deal.

“they see him?”

“they do now.”

“kids’ got sand.”

“i hope he makes it…”

“he will,” you finished. 

you turned and watched as alejandro disappeared. he had slipped on one of the cartel’s masks, disguising himself as one of them. while he worked with soap, you were to find a way to el sin nombre. 

the house was huge, so many rooms and hallways, and all of them filled with opulent decor and finery. you slid down one of the multitude of hallways and found an empty room lined with wine bottles. you sighed, your heart racing in your chest.

you were about to slip out of the room when you heard voices in spanish.

“shit,” you mumbled to yourself.

“y’okay?” simon immediately chimed in your ear. 

“fine.” you tucked yourself into the corner as two men appeared in the shadows outside the doorway. “trapped in the wine cellar,” you whispered to simon.

he went to respond but went silent when he could hear the voices coming through your side of the comms. 

muffled spanish soon turned into a single english voice as one of the men entered the room. “what’re you doin’ here?” he asked, his voice sending chills down your spine. 

shit, you’ve been in the house all of ten minutes and you were already running into trouble. 

“i was sent to get another bottle,” you said, gesturing to the plethora of alcohol behind the two of you.

“by who?” he asked suspiciously, taking a step closer. you watched his hand grip the gun strapped to his side.

“el sin nombre.” you were taking a risk saying his name. what if he wasn’t even here in the building? you’d surely be outed.

his eyes traced your body and you forced yourself to relax—to act like you were meant to be here. 

“sent me to fetch the wine,” you started, imitating him and stepping closer. you tried to keep your voice low and steady. 

the man quirked a brow, clearly enjoying the way you stalked closer to him. “that so?”

he looked like he was convinced you were a prostitute and you weren’t sure if you were flattered or offended. 

you fluttered your eyelashes and reached out, placing your hand on his chest. you weren’t dressed in a suit like alejandro. you sported tight black pants and a cropped black shirt that showed just enough to be useful in a situation like this without being inconvenient if you had to run.

“i’m a show of appreciation.” your hand glided down his chest and his lips tilted upwards. 

“oh yeah?” his hand found your hip and he pulled you into him making you gasp. 

“iaso,” simon hissed in your ear. 

“n’ how do you plan on showin’ me that?” he asked a bit incredulously.

you steadied your breathing and reached a hand up to brush the side of this man's face. “well…” you paused.

“diego,” he informed you.

“well, diego. i’ll show you however you want me to.” your fingers skimmed his jaw, sliding your hand into the back of his head and into his hair. your voice was surprisingly steady for the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

he pushed you up against one of the wine racks, shaking the platform. “maybe on your knees?” he purred. 

you gulped. you needed to get out of this.

“the bottles. use a fuckin’ wine bottle,” simon growled into your ear, clearly distressed. 

you smiled sweetly at diego, your hands falling down his chest and to his belt. he grinned, watching your motions. one of your hands slid behind your back and gripped a bottleneck tightly in your fingers. 

your other hand worked his belt as a distraction, successfully getting him to drop his guards and take in the sight of you before him. before you could fully unloop his belt buckle, you swung the wine bottle from behind your back and crashed it as hard as you could against the side of his head.

it shattered and the red liquid went everywhere, including all over your clothes. 

diego’s eyes looked stunned for the brief moment they were locked on you before he fell to his knees and flopped to his side. he was knocked out.

“fuck. i can’t believe i did that,” you said in disbelief. a man almost twice your size lay unconscious on the floor before you, and it was all your doing. a little swell of pride swam through you before you steadied yourself and remembered you were here to do a job.

“he’s down,” you told simon. 

simon cursed to himself in relief. “bloody hell,” he mumbled exasperated. 

before you could reply, soap’s voice echoed in your ear. “el sinombre is in the penthouse. third floor.”

“elevator is a straight shot. we just need diego’s keycard.”

you crouched down and searched the unconscious man at your feet, digging through his suit pockets and seeing if he had anything of importance on him. 

“where’s diego?” ghost asked. 

“the offrenda. second floor.”

hearing alejandro’s words made something click inside you. you recalled the men approaching the wine room, muttering something about an ofrenda. when you pulled out a plastic card from the man’s pockets, you examined it and realized it was a keycard. it was diego’s keycard. 

“i got it,” you said quietly into the comms, still a little shocked. 

“got what?” soap asked.

“i have diego’s keycard.”

“no shit, iaso. how’d ya get that?”

“violently,” you muttered. you heard alejandro chuckle in response. 

“you on the second floor then, hermana?”

“yeah.”

“meet us at the north side stairs. Las escaleras estaban vacías antes. no guards. you think you can find it?”

you nodded then realized they couldn't see you. “yes.”

you slid out of the room, walking as quietly as you could, trying to orientate yourself enough to find the north stairs. you turned down the luxurious halls and gawked at the ostentatious decor. with your eyes preoccupied you didn’t see the man come around the hallway corner. 

“hey! what are you doing down here?”

you tried to keep your face from balking. “i… el sin nombre hired me.”

the man quirked a brow and approached you. your chest tightened in nerves. “relax,” you heard simon in your ear. 

you felt like shit. you were distracting simon. he was supposed to be keeping an eye on soap, not listening in to what you were doing. you could practically see him now as he scanned the roof through his rifle, but his ears were focused on you. maybe it was a bad idea to have volunteered to act as eyes on the inside. 

“then why are you down here?” the man asked again. as he got closer, you fully took in his size. he was quite a bit taller than you and you spotted a gun strapped to his hip. 

you decided to stick with your other story. “i was just getting more wine.”

he scoffed. “you’re goin’ the wrong way then.”

you bit your lip. “oh, right. thanks.” you turned to leave and he reached out and grabbed your bicep. 

“why don’t you come with me, cariño.”

you gulped. “remember your training,” simon spoke to you. you could clearly hear the tension in his words. 

before you had a chance to properly panic, the man’s arms were being pulled off of you and you heard him choking. he fell to the floor behind you and in his place stood alejandro. 

“you okay, hermana?”

“yeah…” you said exasperated. “thanks.”

“de nada. you got the keycard?”

you pulled it from your pocket and handed it to him. 

you followed him to the stairs and met up with soap. the three of you made it to the penthouse door. soap nodded at you before crouching at the door and tilting his head to ease drop. 

after several moments of alejandro and soap whispering back and forth, it was finally time.

“graves, sin nombre is posing as a female sicaria. we’re moving in. you set?”

“check.”

“ghost?”

“ready.”

“take her alive.”

alejadro kicked down the door, his gun at the ready, and both him and soap began shooting. you braced yourself against the wall, hiding from their line of sight. gunfire made you wince, hoping the two men were okay. 

“don’t let her escape!” you heard alejandro call. 

you darted into the room and out onto the balcony where you heard their voices. several dead bodies lay in your wake as you entered the warm breeze of outside air. you spotted soap as he fumbled with a woman. he had her in cuffs, saying something to her with a scowl on his face. 

as you got closer, the helicopter blowing your hair back, graves called for you all to board. “lets go.”

you came up to stand beside soap and alejandro. then felt hands on your waist from behind. you jumped and turned to find simon looking down at you. “where did you come from?”

soap and alejandro said something to one another, you had ocmpletely tuned them out, their voices carried by the whooshing of the helicopter blades. 

“soon as I heard word you were in the penthouse, i made my way here.”

with simon in front of you, your heart finally settled. you were able to breathe again. and while previous times you wondered if you were cut out for this sort of thing, this time, you knew you were. you felt good. nervous and overwhelmed, but good.

“worried about me, were you?” you teased.

simon’s eyes narrowed in on you and your smirk instantly fell. he was worried about you . 

and selfishly, he hated that he wasn’t there. you held your own back in the larder, but he hated how helpless he felt. and when that other bastard had his arms on you, it was alejandro who took him out. and while he was just grateful he got to you in time, it bothered him that it wasn’t simon ripping that man’s hands from your body. 

his eyes flared as he assessed you. you traced his line of vision to the red that covered your exposed skin. “just wine.”

his body settled but he still seemed more tense than usual. he gestured his head towards the copter and waited for you to turn and go first. you studied him a moment longer before boarding. 

it was late when the men got back from interrogating valeria. you were still in the safehouse, cleaning up. 

simon was silent as he slid into the small room you were occupying—the same one from earlier—and you jumped when you finally realized he was lingering in the doorway. 

“jesus. when did you get there?”

he reached up a hand and tore his mask away. “y’okay?” he asked you. 

you gave him a weak smile and nodded. simon appraised you and you watched as he narrowed in on your neck before striding over to you. he gripped the back of your head and tilted it so he could see your exposed skin. you had red marks on your neck from earlier when the man had stopped you. it didn’t hurt but you knew that wouldn’t matter to him.

simon’s gaze left your neck and switched to your eyes. “i’m okay,” you told him. 

before he could say more, soap called down the hall to the two of you. “goin’ out for drinks! lets fuckin’ go!”

he didn’t give either of you much of a choice. there was still so much you all had to get done, but after a day like today, a drink couldn’t hurt. 

simon dropped his hand and followed behind you as you left the room. he must have slid his mask on in that time because when he strolled into the room, his hand in his jacket pockets, his face was covered again. 

“goin’ like that, lt.?” soap teased. 

“s’wrong with this?” he asked incredulously, though you suspected he knew his outfit was a bit… intimidating. 

when you all finally got to the bar—after simon stripped his vest and other unnecessary gear, as well as forfeiting his hard-shell mask for his simple balaclava—the atmosphere was more welcoming than you thought it would be. 

spanish music played on the speakers and the warm air rushed in through the open windows, hugging your body in a pleasant embrace. 

alejandro went to the bar and ordered a round of drinks for everyone. 

it didn’t take long for you to feel tipsy, laughing animatedly at something graves said while you clutched a beer. the lot of you seemed to be having fun for once. the laughter felt so natural on soap, it made your heart grow slightly. you were just happy everyone was okay and you made it out of there alive today. 

ghost stood across on the other side of the table, his eyes tracing you the entire night. he watched as johnny swung an arm around you and mumbled drunken nonsense in your ear. he watched as you laughed loudly in response. he watched as graves joined in and sent a crude remark your way that made your cheeks flush ever so slightly—and simon knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. he watched as the men seemed to soak up your presence. you fit right in. he should be glad. 

fucking hell, he hated this. this is why he couldn’t do relationships. he was no good at them. he didn’t know how to navigate them. he knew he had no right to be jealous just because you were having fun. but he’d be lying if he said watching you with other men didn’t send an angry pang through his chest. 

his eyes narrowed, his jaw tensing under his mask, as he watched graves rest a hand on your shoulder. there was nothing simon could do; the two of you were not publicly a couple. he had to sit in irate silence as you seemed oblivious to graves’ advances. ever since his comments back in the humvee, he knew graves had his eyes on you. and he didn’t like it. he almost considered telling him to back off, but he would have been out of line. 

in this moment, three beers in, he was starting to put caution to the wind. some carnal and primal force inside him was escaping and telling him to claim you. to mark you as his in front of everyone. 

his hands twitched on the glass beer bottle. soap slapped simon on the back and said something to him but he didn’t hear it at all—it was white noise to him. 

graves’ fingers slid under your chin and tilted your head to look up at him. your eyes widened in shock, a bit unsure of what to do. and that was simon’s final straw. he left his beer on the table, sick of having to lift his mask to drink it anyway, and took several long strides to you. you jumped when you felt his hand on your lower back. 

graves looked up at simon and seemed irritated that he was ruining this moment for him. simon couldn’t believe it, graves was pissed at him for being a cockblock. and that pissed him off even further. he pried graves’ hand away from you, uncaring of what he might think. he had to control himself to not crush it in his palm.

he’d blame it on the booze, but simon was a big guy, in reality, three beers were barely giving him a buzz. 

“the hell?” graves cursed.

you mouthed simon’s name and he grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd and outside of the bar. you stumbled after him, trying to catch up as he had you in tow. 

“stop!” you finally called, stumbling over the cobblestone street. 

he halted and turned to face you, dropping your hand. you caught your breath before speaking. “what’s gotten into—”

before you could even finish your sentence, simon had pushed you into a small alleyway beside the bar, his body pinning you to the brick wall. his mask was hiked up and his lips were on yours before you had time to think. you gasped but your body quickly reciprocated. his hands held your hips tightly before one slid up your side and onto the back of your neck. he pushed against you and your head got a bit dizzy. he was desperate in the way he was pawing at you.

“you’re mine,” he muttered between kisses. 

heat coursed through you at his words, his voice low and gravely as he spoke. you could feel the anger radiating off of him. he was jealous . 

you wanted to tell him he had nothing to be jealous of, you didn’t even like graves, let alone in a romantic way. but when he pulled away, you didn’t have time to speak when he interlaced your fingers and dragged you all the way back to the safehouse—which was conveniently only a few blocks from the las almas bar. 

simon pulled you into the small safehouse and slammed you up against the door the second it closed, his lips attacking yours, his mask dropping to the floor. he kissed down your jaw and onto your neck. you struggled to hold on to him, your words getting caught in your throat. 

“si-simon, what are—” you groaned when he nipped at your skin. all rationale abandoned you. the fire from simon’s hands along your curves made you forget why you were trying to stop him. why would you want this to end?

if anything, you wanted more. 

his hands crept down your back and over the curve of your ass, dragging you against him. he stumbled with you, his lips never leaving your body, barely able to drag you into one of the small rooms before stripping you. he tugged at the hem of your shirt, wanting to pry it from your chest. 

you stood back slightly so he had enough room to strip you of it. “what—what if someone comes back?” you said breathlessly. 

his hand maneuvered into your hair, backing you up against the small cot in the room. you fell back and he crawled on top of you, parting your legs to give him space. “doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. 

he hooked the waistband of your pants and began to yank them down. he was impatient. desperate. 

he removed his sweatshirt before blindly tangling his fingers with his belt, trying to shove his pants down. your eyes rounded in the dark, taking in the sight of him. he was raw; showing you just how much he could feel. he needed you. wanted you. wanted you all to himself. 

he was back between your legs his fingers sliding into your underwear, feeling just how wet you had already become. he gave you a sly grin. “what if they hear?” you asked in a last attempt at your sanity. 

simon clicked his tongue. “let ‘em.”

you swallowed hard when he slid a finger inside you. let them listen?! you’d never be able to face them again out of sheer embarrassment. and what happened to him agreeing to keep this thing between you two private for the time being?

his eyes darkened, running a hand up your side and groping your breast over your bra. “want ‘em to know you’re mine.”

you sucked in a breath of air, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. he pulled your bra down enough to expose your breast and gave it another squeeze before removing both his hands from you. you pouted at the loss. he gripped your thighs and hiked them up slightly so he could wedge himself more properly between your legs. he pushed your underwear to the side and lined his cock up with your entrance. 

you were a bit taken aback at how fast he was doing everything. this was only going to be the second time you had sex with him. your hands held his biceps as he nudged his way into you, wasting no time. he groaned and you held your breath. “fuck,” he mouthed, both of you looking down to where your bodies connected.

he guided himself in painfully slow, the feeling so overwhelming you couldn’t help but whimper. 

your noises seemed to spur him on more because he jolted his hips a bit. he pulled back and then edged in. he kept doing that until he was able to fill you to the hilt. then he began a steady rhythm. “god, you’re so fuckin’ tight, love.”

your hands fought between running through his short hair and scratching along his back. he picked up speed and your eyes fluttered shut. “oh my god,” you said softly. 

simon shifted your legs so your knees were being pushed back towards the bed, your thighs up against him. you squealed at the position change. he was able to hit you far deeper like this. his fingers snaked to your chin and shook you ever so gently. “look at me,” he demanded. his hand slid to rest around your neck, his thumb stroking your jaw.

your eyes opened and were met with his, his nose almost touching yours. "you're mine. all fuckin' mine," he managed to get out through strained breaths. “you’re fuckin' my girl, ” he grunted, "you're my fuckin' girl." your lips parted and he met your hips with his own in a hard thrust. “my fuckin’ girl,” he said a bit more aggressively and feral. you nodded, unable to form coherent words. his eyes narrowed in on you. “you’re— thrust —my— thrust —fuckin’— thrust —girl.”

you couldn’t tell if he was repeating it because he wanted you to acknowledge it, to tell him you were in fact his. or because he was trying to convince himself.

“yes,” you mewled. “m’yours.”

“my fuckin’ girl,” he growled as he continued his hard thrusts. he didn’t like the men talking to you like you were single. available. like he wasn’t sitting right there. you were his whether they knew it or not. and a sick part of him hoped the men came back—at least graves—and were forced to hear the way you cried for him. he wanted them to know how good he was fucking you. he wanted them to know you were his. and his alone. 

he pulled out of you and flipped you onto your stomach before you had time to protest. he pulled your hips up so your back arched and he slid back into you. your hands fisted the sheets of the simple bed, hoping you two wouldn’t break it. that would be difficult to explain to the others. though, you had a feeling simon would actually like that to happen. 

his fingers dug into the fat along your waist and hips and you groaned every time he pulled you back into him. 

you were embarrassed at how close you already were. you shouldn’t be so turned on from simon being so possessive. shouldn’t that be a red flag? but you didn’t care. all you knew was the way he was fucking you right now felt better than any other man had ever felt against you. and the way his deep voice uttered those words “my girl ,” had you swooning. you could listen to him call you that all day. you wanted him to claim you. you wanted him to know you were his. 

he felt you clench around him and he moaned. “close, princess?” he asked you, his accent heavier than usual. 

you nodded against the mattress and he chuckled. but his laugh quickly turned to a long groan and a few curses as you tightened against him. you were so fucking tight. and he was so fucking close. 

“my girl wanna come?” he all but growled.

“y-yes!”

the sight of you was everything to him. seeing you pushed into the bed before him, your knuckles whitening from how tightly you were gripping the bedsheets, your back arched, your body safe. you were safe. he couldn’t protect you today, but you. were. safe . 

so many feelings had brewed in his chest these past few days. this new and strong connection he felt with you. jealousy from even the smallest glance another man gave you. fear for your safety as you acted recklessly. anger that he wasn’t always the one there saving you. 

you were going to be the absolute death of him.

“this cunt is all fuckin' mine. you hear me, pet? all. mine.”

you cried his name and that was enough to send him tipping over the edge. “shit,” he cursed. 

you spasmed around him, your legs shaking, your hips pushing back to meet each of his thrusts. 

simon released inside you, following your orgasm closely. “take it. take it all,” he said through strained lips. he continued to pump himself into you, his thrusts becoming more languid. 

he finally slowed, both of you catching your breath and steadying your heart. he stilled inside you for a few brief moments, white liquid escaping around his cock, as he took in the sight before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, yanking you into his arms. 

you rolled over so you could face him and his hand locked behind your lower back. he kept your gaze and you drew a hand up to softly trace the side of his scarred face. his eyes fluttered from your delicate touch. he forgot how gentle touch could be. not everything had to be rough and violent, as much as he enjoyed that. feeling your tiny fingers ghosting his skin felt better than any relief he got from killing men. far more.

“you don’t have to be jealous, you know.”

“m’not jealous,” he said, tucking your head under his chin so you couldn’t see his face. 

“right,” you mumbled. 

you laid with him wrapped around you for several minutes before you broke the silence. “we should get up before they come back.”

“mmm. why?” his words rumbled in his chest, his voice hoarse, clearly exhausted. 

“you know why,” you said in faux annoyance. 

“they’ll all be sloshed. gonna stumble in ‘n’ collapse wherever they can. no one will b’lookin’ for us.”

you were plastered to his side. if you tried to move at all, you’d fall off the cot that was clearly made for one person. 

sensing you might protest, simon began stroking your hair, his other hand rubbing circles on your bare back. you sighed, feeling safe and loved. you didn’t want to get up as he touched you so gently and lovingly. so you snuggled up closer to him and his grip tightened. 

“mine,” he muttered quietly before kissing the top of your head.

OKAY THE WHOLE "MY GIRL" SCENE CAME FROM A NSFW BADJHUR AUDIO LMAOOO. he says "my girl" in such a feral and simon-esque way that it literally sparked the whole idea for this chapter. this is it if you wanna hear it... it's very nsfw just fyi (24:05 is the timestamp where he says it 😇)

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (8)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all the chapters visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 400+

- Previous chapter: 7

- Next part: 9

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The next day, the sun was already setting when you returned to the Red Keep, your muscles sore from the long flight on Silverwing. The day spent soaring through the skies had provided you with the solitude you so desperately needed. The wind, the open air, and the distant landscape below had been a temporary balm for the weight pressing on your mind. Yet, as you dismounted Silverwing in the Dragonpit and made your way back to your chambers, the problems that you had left behind now felt even heavier.

The familiar smell of ash and dragon musk clung to you as you opened the door to your quarters. The moment you entered, you saw her—Rhaenyra—waiting for you. She was seated near the hearth, her arms crossed, and though she said nothing at first, her silence spoke louder than any words. The anxiety in the room was palpable, and you immediately sensed her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

You paused by the door, watching her, trying to gauge her mood. She didn’t look at you when you entered, and it was clear that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, and you finally spoke, your voice calm but cautious. “Rhaenyra,” you said, stepping further into the room, “I can see you’re upset.”

She turned her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Upset?” she echoed, her voice sharp with bitterness. “No, dear brother, I’m not upset. I’m furious.”

You let out a quiet sigh, understanding the source of her anger but unsure how to respond. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “But I needed to clear my head.”

“Clear your head?” Rhaenyra’s voice rose as she stood up, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “How convenient for you. You can fly away whenever the problems here become too much. But I am left behind, stuck with all of it.”

You frowned, moving closer to her, though you kept your distance, allowing her the space to speak. “That’s not what I intended,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to leave you to deal with it alone. But… I don’t know how else to handle this right now. I needed to think.”

Rhaenyra let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “And what did you think about, then? Did you come to any great revelation while flying above the clouds?”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “No,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I’m still not sure. But I know I have to do something. We can’t keep going like this.”

Her eyes flashed with frustration, and she took a step closer, her expression filled with both anger and a deep sense of hurt. “When, then? When will you do something? After they’ve married us off to people we don’t even care about? After we’ve been torn apart and used as pawns for alliances?”

You felt the sting of her words, and it only fueled the fire burning inside you. You had thought about this endlessly, turning the problem over and over in your mind, but the answers were elusive. The weight of your responsibilities to the realm was crushing, but the thought of losing her—of losing what the two of you shared—was unbearable.

“I won’t let that happen,” you said, your voice firm with resolve.

Rhaenyra scoffed, her frustration evident. “How can you promise that? Do you even know what you’re fighting against?”

You stepped closer to her, the distance between you closing, and before she could pull away, you reached out, gently cradling her face in your hands. Her skin was warm beneath your touch, and though she stiffened at first, she didn’t pull away.

“I know what I’m fighting for,” you whispered, your eyes locking onto hers. “I’m fighting for you. For us.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched slightly, the anger in her eyes softening, though the frustration still lingered. She wanted to believe you—needed to believe you—but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on her heart.

“You can’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured, her voice faltering slightly.

“I can,” you insisted, your thumb brushing her cheek gently. “And I will. I won’t let them marry us off to others. I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

Before she could respond, you leaned in, pressing your lips to hers in a deep, lingering kiss. The tension in the room seemed to dissolve as your mouths met, the heat between you reigniting the bond that had been tested by the pressures of the realm. Her arms uncrossed, and she slowly melted into the kiss, her hands finding their way to your shoulders, holding onto you as if grounding herself in the only thing that felt certain—this moment.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breath mingling with hers. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, the fire in them was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that she rarely showed.

“You’re all I have,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

“And you’re all I need,” you replied, your voice steady and full of the conviction you felt.

The silence that followed was not heavy like before. It was filled with understanding, with the unspoken promise that, despite the forces trying to pull you apart, you would fight for each other.

The sun streamed through the narrow windows of the small council chamber, casting long rays of light across the polished table where King Viserys sat, surrounded by his closest advisors. The atmosphere was lively, a stark contrast to the usual tension that filled the room during discussions of politics and war. This time, the subject at hand was one of celebration, as the annual festival of The Maiden's Day approached—a cherished tradition that honored the Maiden, one of the Seven, with grand festivities throughout King’s Landing.

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He always enjoyed the planning of this festival. For a few days, the court could set aside its burdens and enjoy the excitement of tourneys, feasts, and pageantry. The people of the realm, too, celebrated with dancing, music, and markets that filled the streets.

“This year must be grander than the last,” Viserys said, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “The people need a celebration to lift their spirits. The war in the Stepstones has dragged on, and with the tensions rising in the realm, we must remind them of the peace and prosperity we still have.”

Tyland Lannister, ever the pragmatic voice on the council, leaned forward slightly. “Your Grace, if I may suggest… the people are fond of displays of power and grandeur, particularly when it involves dragons. Perhaps the prince could open the festival with a flight on Silverwing? It would be a grand gesture—one that would certainly captivate the smallfolk.”

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment as the other council members considered it. Viserys’s expression shifted into one of contemplation, his fingers still tapping lightly against the table. The thought of you, his son and heir, leading the festival’s opening with a dragonflight was certainly an idea he hadn’t considered before. The people of King’s Landing adored you, as much for your strength in battle as for your dragon, Silverwing, whose presence alone inspired awe.

“The prince,” Viserys mused aloud, glancing at Tyland. “Yes, that would certainly appeal to the people.” He turned his attention to Otto Hightower, his Hand. “What say you, Otto?”

Otto, ever cautious, stroked his beard as he considered the proposal. “Your Grace, it is an idea with merit. The smallfolk have always been drawn to the spectacle of dragons, and the prince is well-loved. Such a display could certainly bolster the morale of the people.”

Viserys nodded thoughtfully, turning the idea over in his mind. “And what of the safety concerns? A large crowd, dragons in the air… we must ensure nothing goes amiss.”

Tyland waved a hand dismissively. “Your Grace, the people have seen dragons fly overhead before. As long as the proper precautions are taken, it should be perfectly safe. And besides, the sight of Silverwing soaring over King’s Landing would remind everyone of the power of House Targaryen—an image the realm could use right now.”

The other members of the council murmured in agreement, the idea of a public display of dragonriding growing in appeal. Even Lord Lyonel Strong, known for his measured and careful approach, seemed to nod his approval.

Viserys looked around the room, gauging the mood of his council. It was clear they all saw the potential in Tyland’s suggestion. He leaned forward, folding his hands together on the table. “Very well. If my son is agreeable, I see no reason why we shouldn’t proceed with this plan.”

There was a general murmur of approval around the table, and the meeting continued, with various plans being discussed for the festival—jousting tournaments, feasts, and the unveiling of new sculptures in the royal gardens. But as the conversation flowed, your presence became the centerpiece of the event, your flight on Silverwing the crown jewel of the celebration.

Later that day, you were summoned to your father’s chambers. As you entered, the familiar scent of parchment and ink greeted you, along with the sight of Viserys poring over maps and scrolls detailing the plans for The Maiden’s Day festival. He looked up as you approached, a warm smile breaking across his face.

“Ah, my son,” he said, setting the papers aside. “Come, sit with me.”

You took a seat across from him, sensing the excitement in the air. “What is it, Father?”

Viserys leaned forward, his eyes bright with anticipation. “We’ve been discussing the plans for the upcoming festival. The small council has proposed that you lead the opening ceremony with a flight on Silverwing. A grand display for the people.”

You raised an eyebrow, the suggestion catching you off guard. “A flight?” you asked, considering the implications. “You wish for me to fly over King’s Landing?”

Viserys nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! The people love you, and they love dragons. You flying Silverwing over the city to open the festival would be a spectacle like none other. It would remind everyone of the power and majesty of House Targaryen.”

You could see the appeal of the idea. Dragons had always been a symbol of your family’s dominance, and with Silverwing’s grace and power, it would certainly be an unforgettable moment for the people. But there was also a weight to the responsibility—flying before the crowds, representing the strength of your house, was no simple matter.

“I’ll admit, it’s an intriguing idea,” you said after a moment, leaning back in your chair. “But have the safety measures been considered? Large crowds, a dragon in the air… It’s a dangerous combination.”

Viserys waved his hand dismissively. “The small council assures me it can be managed. You’ve flown Silverwing over the city before. This will be no different, only with more eyes on you.”

You sighed, considering the proposition. “I trust Silverwing, but this is no simple display. If anything were to go wrong…”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Viserys cut in, his tone reassuring. “I know you. I know your skill, and I know Silverwing. The people will adore it. And more importantly, they’ll adore you.”

You hesitated for another moment, feeling the weight of his words. You had always felt the eyes of the realm on you, but this would be different. This was a public display of your strength as the future king, a reminder to everyone that the power of dragons was still very much alive.

Finally, you nodded. “Very well. If it pleases the realm and strengthens our house, I’ll do it.”

Viserys beamed, pride shining in his eyes. “Good. It will be a sight to remember, I’m sure of it.”

As you stood to leave, Viserys reached out and clasped your shoulder. “You are the future of this house,” he said softly. “Let them see it with their own eyes.”

You left the room with your father’s words echoing in your mind, the weight of expectation once again settling on your shoulders. The festival, The Maiden’s Day, loomed ahead, and with it, the eyes of the realm would once more be upon you.

The early afternoon sun bathed the gardens of the Red Keep in a soft, golden light. The scent of fresh blooms filled the air as Rhaenyra and Alicent sat together under a large tree, shaded from the warmth of the day. They were surrounded by a few of Rhaenyra’s handmaidens, who busied themselves with sewing and idle chatter. But despite the peaceful scene, there was an undercurrent of tension between the two friends that even the handmaidens could sense.

Rhaenyra was lounging on a cushioned bench, her body relaxed but her mind anything but. She cast a glance at Alicent, who sat more upright, her expression calm yet distant. It had been some time since their last argument, but the lingering awkwardness still clung to the air between them, despite their best efforts to appear unaffected.

“So,” Rhaenyra began, breaking the silence that had settled over them. Her tone was light, but there was an edge to it. “The preparations for The Maiden’s Day festival seem to be progressing well. I hear they’re planning something grand this year.”

Alicent nodded, her fingers absently smoothing the folds of her gown. “Yes, the whole court is buzzing with anticipation. I imagine it will be quite the spectacle.” She glanced at Rhaenyra, her expression neutral, though her mind churned with conflicting emotions. Spending time with Rhaenyra like this used to feel easy, natural, but now… now it felt like walking on a tightrope.

Rhaenyra forced a smile, watching Alicent carefully, noticing the guarded tone in her voice. It had been like this since the council meeting, since the proposal she and her brother had brought before the king. There was something unspoken between them, a silent competition that Rhaenyra couldn’t quite shake. Even though she knew it was her who held her brother’s affection—who shared his secret moments and desires—she couldn’t ignore the way Alicent hovered around him, even if it was under her father’s orders.

She wasn’t blind. She had seen the looks, the subtle glances between Alicent and her brother. And though she trusted him, the knowledge still stung.

“Yes, a spectacle,” Rhaenyra echoed, her voice carrying just the slightest hint of sarcasm. “I hear there’s even talk of my brother flying Silverwing over the city. It’s all anyone seems to be talking about.”

Alicent smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “The people adore him,” she said softly, her gaze shifting toward the gardens, avoiding Rhaenyra’s piercing look. “It makes sense they would want him to lead the festival. He’s… well-loved.”

“Well-loved indeed,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone sharper than she intended. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Alicent, catching the underlying meaning in her words. “But it’s not just the people who admire him, is it?”

The comment hung in the air, and one of Rhaenyra’s handmaidens shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two women. Alicent’s face remained carefully composed, though her fingers stilled on her gown.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alicent said, her voice soft but firm. She met Rhaenyra’s gaze, holding it with a quiet intensity. “He’s the prince and the heir to the throne. It’s only natural that people admire him.”

Rhaenyra smirked, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering so only Alicent could hear. “Oh, I’m sure. But let’s not pretend you’re not among them, Alicent.”

The jab was subtle but pointed, and Alicent’s grip tightened briefly on her skirts before she forced herself to relax. She wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not here, not now. “I have great respect for your brother, as I do for you, Rhaenyra,” she said, her tone measured, carefully choosing her words. “But my admiration for him is no different than that of the rest of the court.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in Alicent’s demeanor. “Of course,” she said, leaning back again, though the challenge in her gaze remained. “I just find it curious how often you seem to be in his company lately. Surely it must be exhausting to spend so much time ensuring his comfort.”

A tense silence followed, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. The handmaidens exchanged awkward glances, clearly feeling the weight of the conversation but unsure of how to respond. One of them coughed softly, trying to break the silence, but it only added to the uncomfortable mood.

Alicent, keeping her composure, straightened in her seat. “I am his sister’s friend,” she said, her voice cool. “It’s only natural that I would be close to your family.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed again, though she kept her smile in place. “Yes, you are my friend, aren’t you? It’s comforting to know that.” The words, though seemingly kind, held a subtle edge to them, one that Alicent didn’t miss.

Alicent nodded once, accepting the veiled barb for what it was. Her own emotions remained carefully guarded, though inside, she felt the sting of Rhaenyra’s words more deeply than she wanted to admit. The two of them had always been close, but since the prince’s return, things had changed. She knew that Rhaenyra was aware of her father’s ambitions, of Otto’s constant push for her to win the prince’s favor. But it wasn’t just Otto’s desires that drove her. There was something more, something she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself yet.

“You know,” Alicent said after a long pause, her voice softening, “I sometimes miss the days when things were simpler between us.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered, the tension in her posture easing just a little. “Simpler?” she echoed, her voice quieter now. “Yes… I suppose things were simpler then.”

For a moment, the two of them sat in a rare silence, the weight of their words settling over them. It was a brief return to the friendship they once had, a fleeting memory of a time before duty, ambition, and jealousy had driven a wedge between them.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Rhaenyra, ever proud, wasn’t one to let her guard down for long. She smiled again, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, we must look forward, not back. The Maiden’s Day will be a grand occasion, I’m sure. And we both have our roles to play, don’t we?”

Alicent smiled faintly, though the sadness in her eyes remained. “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “We do.”

The soft clinking of metal filled your chambers as your young squire, Trystan Tyrell, worked diligently to prepare your gear for the upcoming events. His small hands moved with precision, fastening the straps of your armor and ensuring that every piece was polished to perfection. You watched him absently, seated in front of the hearth, your thoughts drifting to the constant pressure that had been mounting over the past weeks.

The Maiden’s Day festival loomed ahead, a grand spectacle that demanded your presence, both in the tournament and in the ceremonial dragonflight over the city. But the weight of it all felt suffocating, not because of the duties themselves, but because of the constant dismissal of your true desires by your father and the council.

You let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through your hair as you stared into the flames. The fire crackled softly, but it did little to ease the frustration gnawing at your mind. The preparations for the tournament were nothing new—polishing armor, sharpening swords—but the festival itself, the spectacle of flying Silverwing low over the city, felt like a show, a display meant to dazzle the smallfolk while ignoring the real issues that pressed against you like iron chains.

Trystan, ever focused on his duties, was silent as he worked, but you could sense his presence beside you as he finished with the armor and began laying out your dragonriding gear. The boy had proven himself capable and diligent, qualities you appreciated, though at the moment, your thoughts were too consumed with other matters to engage him fully.

The ceremonial dragonrider gear glimmered as Trystan laid it out piece by piece. The polished leather and intricate silver embroidery (to honor Silverwing) marked your status as heir to the Iron Throne, the sigil of House Targaryen woven into the fabric with precision. Each piece was designed for both protection and spectacle, ensuring that when you flew over King’s Landing, the sight of you on Silverwing would be unforgettable. But the thought of it only served to deepen the knot of frustration in your chest.

Trystan, sensing the tension in the room, finally spoke, his voice quiet but filled with the curiosity of youth. “Your Grace, is something troubling you? You’ve seemed… distracted lately.”

You glanced over at him, his wide, honest eyes searching your face for an answer. You appreciated the boy’s directness, though you weren’t sure how much to share with him. He was still young, after all, and your burdens were not easily explained.

You let out a long sigh and leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s just… this festival. These constant celebrations,” you muttered, the frustration evident in your tone. “Every year it’s the same. Grand displays, feasts, tournaments. And for what? To keep the smallfolk entertained while real issues are brushed aside.”

Trystan blinked, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. “But… the people love the festivals, Your Grace. They admire you. They’ll be excited to see you fly Silverwing over the city. It gives them hope.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the boy’s innocence. He saw the festival for what it appeared to be on the surface—a celebration of joy and unity. But there was so much more beneath it, layers of politics and expectations that weighed heavily on your shoulders.

“Yes, they love the spectacle,” you admitted, your voice softening slightly. “But that’s all it is, Trystan. A spectacle. A distraction from the real problems.”

The squire looked thoughtful for a moment, his hands pausing over the straps of your gear. “You mean… the council?”

You nodded, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. “The council, my father, all of them. They talk of unity, of strength, but when I speak—when Rhaenyra and I offer solutions that could actually benefit our House—they dismiss us. As if we’re children playing at being rulers.”

Trystan frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But… you’re the prince. They should listen to you.”

A bitter chuckle escaped your lips at the boy’s words. “You would think so. But being a prince means more than just having a voice. It means living under the constant weight of duty. My father… he believes in tradition, in keeping the realm at peace through alliances and displays like this festival. But he doesn’t see what’s really needed.”

Trystan’s eyes widened slightly, and he stood a little straighter. “What is needed, Your Grace?”

You stared into the flames for a long moment before answering, your voice low and filled with conviction. “Change. We can’t keep pretending everything is fine while the realm simmers with threat from all sides. The war in the Stepstones, Dorne’s constant provocations, the internal strife between the great Houses… these are not problems that can be solved with tournaments and festivals.”

The boy remained silent, clearly absorbing your words. His innocence was endearing, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He had always been a bright lad, and though young, he had a keen sense of observation.

Trystan finally spoke again, his voice hesitant but thoughtful. “Do you… do you think the festival is wrong, then? That it’s not worth doing?”

You shook your head, offering the boy a small, reassuring smile. “No, the festival has its place. The people need hope, and they need to see that their leaders are strong. It’s just… it’s hard to focus on such things when I feel that we’re being kept from what truly matters.”

Trystan seemed to understand, nodding slowly as he continued adjusting the gear. “I’m sure the people will appreciate seeing you fly, Your Grace,” he said softly. “They look up to you.”

You sighed again, running a hand through your hair. “Perhaps. But sometimes I wonder if that’s enough.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as Trystan finished preparing the gear. The ceremonial leathers, embroidered with dragons and silver thread, sat perfectly arranged on the bench beside your armor. The festival, the tournament, the dragonflight—it was all set in motion, and soon you would have to play your part.

As the flames flickered in the hearth, you rose from your chair and walked over to the window, staring out over the city below. The sight of King’s Landing stretched before you, bustling with life and activity. It was a city that depended on you—on your House—to lead. And though you would fulfill your role in the festival, the weight of responsibility and the need for change still pressed heavily on your mind.

Trystan, ever loyal and attentive, stood quietly behind you, waiting for your next command. You turned to him after a moment, your expression softer but still marked with determination.

“Thank you for your help today, Trystan,” you said, your voice filled with gratitude. “I appreciate your hard work.”

The boy bowed his head respectfully. “It’s my honor, Your Grace.”

As Trystan gathered the gear and prepared to leave, you found yourself staring into the fire once more. The festival would come and go, the spectacle would dazzle the people, but the real battles—the ones that mattered—were still to be fought. And you would not let them be ignored any longer.

The sun had barely risen when the streets of King’s Landing came alive with the energy of The Maiden’s Day festival. The morning air was cool but filled with the sounds of bustling crowds, laughter, and the vibrant notes of musicians who had already set up along the cobbled streets. Stalls selling food, trinkets, and colorful garlands lined every avenue, and children ran freely, their faces painted with joy as they darted between groups of excited adults.

The city had transformed into a sea of celebration, with banners hanging from every building, their colors catching the light as they fluttered in the gentle breeze. The smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread mingled with the scent of flowers being handed out by smiling vendors. The mood was infectious, and even the most serious-faced guards allowed themselves a moment to enjoy the spectacle.

But it wasn’t just the music and laughter that had the people excited. A ripple of anticipation spread through the streets as word began to pass from one group to the next: the prince would be flying Silverwing today. People began craning their necks, eyes scanning the skies, waiting for the moment when they would catch sight of the dragon’s mighty wings.

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, casting a brief darkness over the marketplace. Gasps filled the air, followed quickly by cheers as people looked up to see the enormous, gleaming form of Silverwing soaring above them. The dragon’s wings spread wide, catching the morning sun and reflecting a brilliant silver sheen. And there you were, perched atop her back, your figure a regal silhouette against the clear sky.

The crowd erupted into applause, and shouts of excitement rang out as Silverwing dipped lower than expected, gliding gracefully just above the rooftops. The sight of the dragon, so close to the ground, left the people in awe. Mothers clutched their children close, while men raised their mugs in salute, shouting praises to their prince.

“She’s flying so low!” someone in the crowd exclaimed, their voice filled with wonder.

“The prince is showing us his mastery of the skies!” another shouted, their eyes wide with admiration.

Silverwing’s massive wings beat steadily, creating gusts of wind that ruffled the banners and sent hats flying from the heads of those too close. The dragon’s descent over the crowded streets was so precise, so controlled, that it was clear to all just how skilled you were as a dragonrider. The people of King’s Landing had seen dragons before, but never like this—so close, so tangible. It was a reminder of the power and majesty of House Targaryen.

As you guided Silverwing through the city, you could hear the cheers and gasps from below, feel the energy of the crowd pulsing up toward you. Silverwing’s eyes glinted with intelligence, and you could sense her excitement as well. She was always at her best in the air, her wings cutting through the sky with ease, her every movement precise and graceful.

You circled the city twice more, performing a series of slow, sweeping turns. Each time you passed over the main square, the crowds erupted into fresh waves of cheers. Children pointed excitedly, their eyes wide with amazement as they watched the dragon glide effortlessly through the air. You brought Silverwing lower still, her massive tail skimming dangerously close to the rooftops before she ascended again, soaring high above the streets to the delighted roars of the people below.

From your vantage point, you could see the entire city stretched out beneath you—its winding streets, its towers and keeps, the narrow alleyways filled with life and color. But your destination was now clear: the ceremonial pyre that had been prepared in the heart of the city.

Silverwing banked gently to the left, her wings adjusting as you guided her toward the center of the festival grounds. The pyre stood tall in the middle of the square, stacked high with wood and kindling. It was the traditional signal that marked the official opening of The Maiden’s Day festival. Once the pyre was lit, the celebrations would begin in earnest.

As you approached, you whispered softly to Silverwing, feeling the familiar bond between you and your dragon. She let out a low, rumbling growl of understanding, and her chest began to glow with the faint light of dragonfire building within her. The crowds below watched in breathless anticipation as you brought Silverwing lower, her wings barely a few feet above the ground.

And then, in one fluid motion, Silverwing opened her maw and released a torrent of brilliant, orange-red flames. The pyre below was instantly engulfed in dragonfire, the wood crackling and sparking as the flames roared to life. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a deafening roar of approval. The sight of the flames, the heat radiating from the pyre, and the presence of the dragon overhead—it was a moment of pure spectacle, one that the people would speak of for years to come.

You urged Silverwing upward once more, her wings beating powerfully as she rose above the flames. The fire blazed brightly, a symbol of the festival’s beginning, and the sound of trumpets echoed through the streets, signaling that the festivities had officially commenced.

As Silverwing soared above the city, you glanced down at the faces of the people below—men, women, and children alike, all looking up at you with awe and admiration. The sight filled you with a strange mixture of pride and frustration. Pride for the strength of your House, for the connection you shared with your dragon. But the frustration remained, lingering beneath the surface, because as grand as this display was, you knew it was just that—a display. A performance for the smallfolk, meant to distract from the real issues that weighed heavily on your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside as Silverwing carried you further from the square. For now, the people were happy. For now, the celebrations were enough to keep them content. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this—the pageantry, the spectacle—wasn’t enough to solve the deeper problems facing the realm.

As Silverwing glided effortlessly above the city, you made your way back toward the Dragonpit. The cheers of the crowd slowly faded into the distance, but their energy remained with you, a reminder of the power you held—and the responsibility that came with it.

The festival was in full swing, the city below a riot of color and sound. But your mind was already turning toward the future, toward the battles that lay ahead, both on the field and in the halls of power. Today, the people had seen their prince soar above them, a symbol of strength and unity. But tomorrow? Tomorrow would be a different story entirely.

[monstrifex-art]

Howls in the Heights

Art and story by me, for the TF anthology Shifts from the Shelves.

Story:

Smoke hung in the air like an unanswered question. Between the blotchy wallpaper and the liquor-stained floorboards, the poker room couldn’t accurately be described as “nice.” But Donovan owed me a favor, so for the time being this space in the back of his bar was mine. The faint music of a jazz combo leaked under the door, distant and a little sad. I stretched, twine running through my fingers as I looped it around the tack pinning a balding man’s mug-shot to the wall.

“That one’s kind of handsome,” Rita mused from behind me.

I scoffed and shot a glance over my shoulder. Rita stood close enough that I could smell her perfume. She was watching me map my thoughts on the wall with casual amusement, her dark eyes skimming lightly over the collection of newspaper clippings and photographs.

“Maybe he was. But he’s not looking so good anymore.” I uncapped a pen and drew a large red X over his face. “Handyman Wharton was a real piece of work. But no one deserves to die like that. These murders… in all my years of investigating, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Mmm, sounds to me like he had it coming,” she breathed as she leaned her chin on my shoulder. Rita was beautiful in a way that made it hard to think straight. She had wavy hair that fell like a black curtain on one side of her face, eyelids and lips done up in a matching smoky coal. Tonight she wore a cocktail dress that poured smoothly down her curves. The thin fabric left very little to the imagination.

Rita and I had crossed paths in a couple chance encounters over the last couple weeks. She had a habit of turning up just as things were getting interesting, and making just about everything a little more complicated. For some reason she seemed to take a shine to me. We’d started spending nights together, and she proved as enthusiastic between the sheets as she was on the dance floor. Maybe more so.

“I’m getting close,” I murmured softly. “All these bodies—there’s a pattern here. Crime barons, crooked cops… someone is making a power play for this city’s underworld. Whoever they are, they can’t hide from the truth.”

Rita slid off my back and glided over to the card table where she’d left her lighter. She sat, one leg crossed over the other, and took a long drag from the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder.

“I like watching you think, Detective. It’s like watching an old car struggle up a steep road.”

“This car still has some miles left in it,” I chuckled. “See here—Wharton was a regular at the Glass Eye. You remember, where we met at the craps table. And here, if my sources are right, Wharton was smuggling ammo for the Pinstripe gang. They’re based out of Turnstile, where you took me to see that boxing match. Hell, if I didn’t know any better Rita I’d say…”

Something cold ran down my spine. Old instincts flared to life, telling me I’d just stumbled into something big. My eyes flitted from headline to headshot, arcs of twine adding up in an intricate equation. My thoughts clicked like a typewriter, checking hunch against evidence, step-by-step. It was impossible but… the data points aligned. How could…

“Ahhh… starting to put the pieces together, are we, darling?” Rita’s voice found me from far away, as if I was at the bottom of a well. I turned to face her, limbs numb.

“You…”

She smiled, white teeth flashing in the smoky gloom. “Of course it was me, dear. It was all me. All along.”

“But… the bodies. They were torn apart. How did you…”

She laughed in that pitying little way she did when she knew something I didn’t. The melodic sound of it almost made me want to laugh with her.

“Mhmhmm aww, you still look so confused! Don’t worry sweet thing, this one is above your pay grade.” She stood with a little flourish, like a magician’s assistant. “Here. Perhaps a demonstration will make you understand.”

A part of my mind, not sure which, suddenly sounded alarm bells. An instinct to run pumped through me, made my heart beat fast and my perception sharpen. Rita was just standing there, but some awareness deep in my hindbrain was screaming danger. Predator. Flee.

I gritted my teeth. Not yet. Not when I was so close to the answer.

A shiver ran across Rita’s pale skin, starting at her back and working out to her limbs. I could see her hair stand on end. She stretched, luxuriating in the movement. Her lips parted, and a long sigh streamed from her throat like a release of pressurized air. “Hahhhh… You’re about to see who I really am, dearest.”

A quiet snapping noise, then another. Dozens of meaty clicks inside her like the sound of dislocating joints. Rita pitched forward, bending double in a violent motion that knocked the card table behind her slamming to the floor. She gasped, lurching upright with an ecstatic grin on her face. Her eyes! They had changed, darker around the edges and brighter in the middle. Her pupils reflected light like burning headlights. I couldn’t look away.

“All the rest, it’s an… affectation. Like a favorite dress that I wear around town.”

Her elbow-length gloves were starting to tear. I could see dark fur through the rips, black claws cutting neatly through the satin fingertips. She groaned, and I could hear the timbre of her voice roughening. Something cracked in her legs. Her feet shifted, pushing her taller inch by inch as they extended into long sinewy paws.

Her dress clung tightly to her curves as her frame broadened. The cloth strained, her collar line deepening as the flesh of her shoulders and chest rippled with new bulk. I could see her nipples pressing through the black cloth, erect with sensation.

She gestured to the dress, to her glittering necklace and sheer stockings. “This, all these pretty things. It used to be me… Gruuhh.” Her voice faltered as an involuntary growl rattled through her. She smiled sweetly, regaining her composure. “But not anymore.”

The fabric gave with a loud tearing noise as a large tail, black and shaggy, thrust out behind her. She took a few balancing steps forward, then reached up to brush the hair out of her face with one clawed hand. Her breathing was coming deep and heavy now, hot fog mingling with smoke in curls around her smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling. I do love our little song-and-dances. Being the stunning vision on your arm is a treat! But the real me can’t dazzle a cocktail party in quite the same way.”

She grimaced, and I could see her teeth lengthening into interlocking fangs. Fur crept down her face, pressing in at the edges of her cheeks and trailing down her nose.

She blinked and stared deep into me with those burning eyes. “I clean up pretty nice, wouldn’t you say? I certainly had you fooled!” She cackled with a wild abandon that approached madness.

Her shaking laughter choked off into gasps as she convulsed with another surge of growth. The wet sounds of her bones rearranging were almost drowned out by the noise of her widening hips and shoulders finally tearing her dress to ribbons. I could just see her face masked in shadow, distorting and stretching as her mouth extended into a snout full of pointed lupine teeth. Rivulets of saliva dripped from her black lips.

I stumbled away instinctively, felt the pins of my map wall dig into my back. Stray clues drifted to the floor like leaves. I could feel my cheeks burning hot as I tried to look away, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from her nakedness as it was torn free before me.

Between gasping breaths, she laughed violently. “YOUR FACE!” she snarled, muzzle curling into a feral grin. “You weren’t this SHY when we MADE LOVE LAST NIGHT!”

She was right, of course. I had seen every inch of her in our evenings together. But there was something about seeing her this way—it was rawer, deeper, more intimate and carnal. I was enraptured with a fascination that had never possessed me during our previous dalliances. I couldn’t understand it. I was hopelessly lost in the rhythm of her shifting flesh. Why? The scene before me was horrific, so why was I feeling this way?

“You’re… I just… I…” I stammered, struggling to put words in order.

“You still WANT me, DON’T YOU?” She was shouting now. “I can smell your desire… What is it you always say? YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE TRUTH, DETECTIVE!”

That was it. I was more attracted to her now than I ever had been before. What was wrong with me? Why did my heart feel like it was about to pound its way out of my chest? I shut my eyes, turning away with a strangled cry.

“I don’t understand! Please… I can’t, I don’t…”

“LOOK AT ME, DARLING.”

I blinked toward her, seeing only blurred glimpses. I saw the fur bristling from muscle-laden thighs, the tattered sweat-soaked remnants of her dress stretched over her rippling abdominals. God, parts of her were still so human. She wasn’t an animal or a person - she was something monstrous in-between. She was a terrifying beast, but she was still recognizably… her.

“LOOK AT ME!” she roared, and the room shook. I cried out, and opened my eyes to behold her entirely.

She was beautiful.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

I stepped toward her, and fell into her arms as she embraced me. We fell together to a gasping heap on the floor. We began anew, pressing ourselves into one another with bestial fervor.

The case would have to go on a little while longer.

[blaisenova]

hello, my beautiful, awesome, coolest husband.. ♡

I demand a killer x dust fic !!! do it!!! It's an order!!

thank you ❤

your wish is my command and all that

putting this one under the cut since it's got some vulgar language and is just generally pretty toxic. y'know, it's killer and dust. all par for the course LMAO. also i would just feel bad taking up too much of someone's dashboard if they weren't interested XD

as usual, the link to this fic on ao3 will be in the reblogs, and if YOU want a fic like THIS!!! my requests are open. i cannot promise swiftness, but i do my best

please do enjoy :)

or don't. i can't make you

“Oh, lover boy!”

That lilting voice was carefully crafted to be as infuriating as it was unmistakable, and the reaction it evoked was equally instinctual; the tensing of the shoulders, and the crackle of magic. Dust didn’t have to turn around for Killer to know exactly what expression would twist his features: one of undeniable annoyance; thinly veiled fury that Killer knew exactly how to pull taut until it snapped.

The moment he laid his hand on Dust’s shoulder, the skeleton whirled around, hand wrapping around Killer’s neck as he slammed him into the wall. The impact was enough to rattle the glass lantern mounted high above them, providing a meagre amount of golden light that was just as quickly swallowed up by the castle’s darkness. 

Nevertheless, Killer didn’t even flinch. In fact, his grin widened. “Geez. Handsy today, huh?”

And, there was the snap; just as sudden and quick as it always was.

A growl erupted from Dust’s throat as his grip tightened enough to hurt. “What the fuck do you want, whore?” he snarled, sounding every bit as furious as he looked. “Haven’t you been indulged enough today?”

Indulge he had, but wasn’t indulgence the point of their missions in the first place? Nightmare had plenty of negativity to not only survive on but, also, to thrive, but that never stopped him. Plentifulness, Killer had learned, was naught but a tool through which to obtain the true ecstasy of life: shameless, unnecessary indulgence. 

Gluttony was one hell of a sin and, often, Killer found, lust went right alongside it. Pleasure of the body was far holier than pleasure of the mind, for not even the most powerful of deities could take away the physical sensation of pure instinct; not even his own, innate numbness could douse the heat sparked between one body against another (or, more, if he was really feeling shameless).

Whore, Dust had said, and wasn’t it true? 

He knew how to use his body to draw attention, and he did just that. He’d pluck the frayed string of his soul and offer it to whoever would take it so that they could pull him apart at the very seams, and, then, he’d thank them. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being unravelled, over and over again, and, so, Killer indulged in it. If that made him a whore, then he’d be one gladly.

“Oh, stop, you’re making me blush,” Killer drawled, undeterred. “I’m afraid I’m entirely insatiable, as always.”

As if disgusted – and maybe he was; Killer was never sure – Dust immediately released his grip, backing away and grimacing at his hand like it had been contaminated. Then, his vitriol turned right back towards the source, and he made a point of keeping eye contact while he wiped his hand of Killer’s filth. “Do you care about anything other than getting your dick wet?”

Absentmindedly, Killer raised a hand to rub at his neck; it would surely bruise, but it wasn’t as if he minded the idea. “Sure I do,” he hummed. “I’ve got a pussy, too.” Then, he grinned, wide and sharp. “And a mouth.”

Scoffing, a soft purple tinted Dust’s cheeks. “Didn’t have to mention your mouth with how often you fucking use it.”

“I have a lot to say,” Killer said, snickering.

“Yeah, and all of it is needlessly vulgar,” Dust hissed in return.

Gracefully, and too quickly to be stopped, Killer stepped around Dust’s frame before pushing the shorter skeleton up against the wall, switching their positions. The motion was notably more gentle than the furious pin of earlier, and Killer’s arms boxed Dust in on either side without touching. Purple rushed to the hooded skeleton’s face in an instant, and it almost would have been unnoticable in the dark shadow cast across his face if Killer hadn’t known it would be there. His fingers curled into fists against the wall while Dust’s hovered uncertainly in front of his chest, as if he hadn’t quite decided whether or not to push him away.

“I’m thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts right now, actually,” Killer finally agreed. “Wanna hear them?”

With a shaky inhale and eyelights pointedly avoiding Killer’s face, Dust nodded.

“Are you sure? They’re absolutely filthy,” he breathed.

“Just spit it out already,” Dust hissed.

And, with all the tenderness in the world, Killer took Dust’s hand into his own. Their fingers interlocked perfectly, like they were made for one another, and it would have been impossible to miss the way that Dust’s breath immediately hitched at the contact. His eyelights stared at their union with an uncharacteristic longing, and Killer relished in it. 

Then, he snickered, and the sound made Dust jump. “See?” Killer chirped. “What’d I tell you? Premarital hand holding. We’re fucking disgusting.”

The almost reverence that had beheld Dust’s expression fell away into complete and utter distaste. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not in the slightest!” He wiggled his fingers, testingly, enjoying the feeling of them against one another. It wasn’t a new sensation, by any means, but, nevertheless, it never got old. “I mean, my god! Is this lewd or what?”

Again, Dust scoffed, though he didn’t attempt to pull away. “You’re not funny.”

“I think I’m hilarious,” Killer mewled.

Like the words were a spark to gasoline, Dust immediately bristled. His grip on Killer’s hand tightened, their bones grinding together achingly. “You’re leading me on,” he hissed. “Why? Because you think it’s funny?”

With an over-dramatic gasp, Killer placed a hand to his chest as if he’d been scorned. “I’ve never led you on. I’m just getting started.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s next? Premarital kissing?”

All at once, Killer yanked Dust’s hand, forcing him forward and against his chest. His other hand wrapped around to press against the small of Dust’s back. He smiled wickedly down at the other skeleton, and a fresh wave of flushed purple magic dusted the other’s cheeks. It was a pretty shade, Killer had to admit, and he’d always loved that wide-eyed, unabashed desire that the slightest touch seemed to elicit.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he purred. “Not before premarital eye-contact.”

“I hate you,” Dust snarled, though his furious expression was subdued.

Laughing, Killer pulled Dust along in a half-hearted, clumsy sort of dance through the hallway. The floor was plush against their feet, and the walls were too narrow to allow for any sort of grace in their movement, but it was enough to be pleasant; enough for them to dance anyway. Each time the warm, orange light of the hall’s lanterns shone onto Dust’s face, Killer drank in every expression he tried to hide beneath his hood, or harsh words, or violence, and it was enough to be pleasant; enough for it to feel like love.

Clutching tightly to Dust’s hand, he spun away, then allowed himself to be pulled back, flush with Dust’s chest as they continued down the hall, and he smiled down at him wryly. “You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Dust pressed his head against Killer’s shoulder, shrouding his face from view, and, when he spoke, it was almost too quiet to be heard. “I just want this.”

Browbones furrowing, he snickered, though there was something about Dust’s tone that made his soul wobble and the sound of his laughter come out hollow. “What, terrible dancing?”

“No,” Dust immediately corrected, and there was more insistence to his tone this time. “To be held. To be with you.”

And, Killer’s smile widened. And, he ignored the way that it didn’t reach his eyes. “And, nothing more?”

“Isn’t that enough?” he asked, and it sounded like a plea. “Aren’t I enough?”

It was difficult to speak around the inexplicable knot in his throat. The one that always showed up when it came to conversations like this. “Of course you are.”

Slowly, their dance came to a stop; the hallway couldn’t go on forever, so neither could they. But, neither of them released one another, still clinging to what they could reach as if they were afraid for the dance to end. To dance without movement is simply to embrace, but there’s something more intimate about that, that Killer cannot face.

“Then, why…” Dust choked, and the words were lost, but they both knew them anyway. 

Why are there others?

Why isn’t enough enough?

Why does this have to be indulgence?

Why can’t this be love?

“Let go of me,” Killer whispered.

Dust scoffed, and there was something rueful in it. His grip on Killer’s shoulders tightened. “Thought you never led me on.”

“Get off,” he hissed, and he pushed away from Dust as if he’d been burned. Feeling the way that his bones buzzed, he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been. Something burned in his chest, and it must have been fire. There was no other explanation. “Go fuck someone else if you need it so bad.”

Stumbling backwards, Dust caught himself on the wall, and his eyelights glowed dangerously when he looked back up, shining ever brighter as they reflected off of unshed tears. “Fuck you,” he spat, venemous. “I’m not some fucking slut that sways his hips to get the attention of strangers. I’m not like you. I don’t need that. Enough is enough. You are enough.”

“You’re making this into something it’s not,” Killer breathed.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, even harsher. He stepped forward, and Killer fought off the instinct to step back in tandem; another dance. “Why isn’t it?”

“It can’t be,” he said.

And, there was the snap; just as sudden and quick as it always was.

Again, Killer found himself pinned to the wall by his neck, feeling an awful lot like cornered prey, with his teeth gritted into a smile. His hands wrapped around Dust’s wrist, though he didn’t attempt to pull it away. Sharp fingertips pressed into bone, almost as sharp as the look on Dust’s face; features alight with magic that sparked between his joints and made the spots where there was contact tingle unpleasantly, like a warning. Maybe it was one.

“I love you,” Dust said, and it sounded an awful lot like a damnation.

Killer didn’t answer – couldn’t find the words, or, maybe, refused to. His grip on Dust’s wrist tightened as the hand around his throat turned vice-like and stole the breath that he didn’t really need.

“Say it back,” came the demand.

With a laugh that came out more like a wheeze, Killer spat thick, black determination into Dust’s face. “Or, what?”

All at once, with a crack that Killer wasn’t sure was entirely in his head, his skull connected harshly with the wall. He bit back a noise of pain and forced it to come out as another laugh. Once the stars cleared from his vision, he was met with another furious flush of purple and white hot tears as Dust wiped at his face, and he wished that it meant anything to him.

“You think I won’t kill your little side hoes?” Dust hissed. “You think I won’t make you fuck their dust?”

Wasn’t that indulgence, too? To kill that which got in your way? It wasn’t necessary. It was strictly something done because it felt good to. Wasn’t that, by the definition of the word, indulgence? Maybe Dust hadn’t spent as much time under Nightmare’s care as Killer had, but, clearly, he’d learned something. 

Violence, which clung to indulgence’s hand in the same way that lust did; equally disgusting; equally unnecessary; equally beautiful. Killer couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought.

Dust cut him off with a growl. “Is this funny to you?”

“It is, actually,” Killer purred. “You’d find a way to be jealous of a pile of dust if I gave it attention in front of you.”

A choked sound fell from Dust’s throat, and, for just a moment, he averted his gaze, hand squeezing Killer’s neck harshly and drawing a matching noise from him. Then, it loosened, and his eyelights bore into Killer’s empty sockets once more. “I love you,” he said again. “Say it back.”

“Or, what?” Killer wheezed again, undeterred.

“Or, I’ll kill us both,” came the response.

His expression was carefully even, sockets half-lidded and mouth smoothed into a thin line. Magic crackled dangerously through his form, making his eyelights flare that same bright, terrifying purple, and the glow of his magic reflected prettily off of his tears. His touch burned like fire; the same one that burned in Killer’s chest that not even the instinctual, icy dose of panic that flared in his soul – because both of them knew that Dust wasn’t bluffing – could put out. It was perfect. Disgusting, unnecessary, beautiful indulgence.

“God, I love you,” Killer breathed.

And, in an instant, their mouths crashed together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, pressed up against the wall like art.

[bloody-peach]

Eat Me, Drink Me (Hazbin Hotel: Vox x F!Reader smut fic)

(Gif made by me, original image found on google images)

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Now Playing: Muse - Sing for Absolution, Marilyn Manson - Blood Honey

Goodie bag: vaginal sex, drugs (aphrodisiac), vaginal fingering, clit rubbing, drinking, dom Vox, bottom Y/N, vanilla stuff around the end [let me know if i missed anything!]

A/N: Yep, had to make some smut with Vox now, didn't I? Welp, here ya go! I would recommend listening to the recommended songs while reading this, to get into the atmosphere. Headphones required, just for added experience. ENJOY!!

Taglist: @omniuravity @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @neonvehk

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You left the Hotel, exhausted. You had to deal with Niffty trying to kill new guests, Angel Dust’s bullshit with Cherri Bomb, and Husk drinking his life away on top of all the other duties you had there. But the worst of the worst was Alastor, he always loved to torment you and make you suffer or feel scared. Even now as you walk further away from the building, you could still hear his laugh deep in your mind. At least you were able to leave for the night, but you always felt like someone was watching you. Someone....much more powerful than you.

Vox, the TV Demon, has had his eye on you for some time, ever since he caught you on the hotel’s TV commercial. He remembers pausing the clip when it froze on you and he’d jack off, just imagining of what he could do to you. He was obsessed. And he decided that tonight was the night.

You kept walking when you heard electricity buzzing. You looked and it was just a broken neon sign, but it still left you uncomfortable. You kept walking, but the buzzing came back. You started to quicken your pace to try to escape the noise or the potential source of it, but it just kept following you, even when you started to run. You then run into a brick wall, realizing you must’ve turned a wrong way while you ran. You just turned with your back against the wall, unable to escape. You saw a glowing blue square in the dark along with small blue zaps of electricity spreading through the area. Soon, the thing came closer to reveal it was Vox, the overlord that controlled the masses through the visual media. You had never met him before, but you felt a sense of dread, thinking this was another guy just like Alastor. Once he came close to you, he said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, darlin'.” You sigh in mild annoyance and say, “Look, I just...Alastor already torments me. If you just want to make my life a living hell like he does, then don’t bother. I don’t need another demon doing it too.” You didn’t have anything against him in particular, you were just too stressed out to deal with another demon who wanted to watch you suffer.

Vox’s red eyes flickered with a mix of confusion, then it turned to deep-seated rage. “Alastor...” he snarled. He controlled himself and then looked at you, with a slightly annoyed look in his face. “Is that why you were running? Because of that radio trash?” He put his hands behind his back, and said, “You know I’m not like him, right? I ain’t the type to get off to torturing folks. Well, not much at least. But you’re different.” He smiled as he placed his hand on your shoulder, “I don’t want to see you suffer, Y/N. I...well, i’m not entirely sure what I want with you.” He looked a little sheepish, an emotion you didn’t expect from him, but he quickly fixed himself and played with a strand of your hair. “But I do know I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I don’t plan on hurting you.”

You wondered why he knew your name, but then another thought came to mind. “Wait...you know Alastor?” He then chuckled, saying, “Do I know him? I wish I didn’t. That motherfucker and I go way back. Can’t stand him, frankly. He’s all about radio and all that outdated shit, but me? I’m all for anything new, as you can see.” He then petted your head. “Has he been giving you a hard time? Of course he would, he always enjoys that kind of shit. You poor thing.” His gaze softened as you put your head down, your expression full of fear and sadness, due to those traumatic memories. Vox gently grabbed your chin and brought your head up to look at him, saying with an unusual tenderness, “I promise you, Y/N, I ain’t like that. I can be...different. If you’d let me.”

You got the sense that he seemed to care for your struggles, but you’ve been in Hell for a long time. Very rarely have you encountered a person who actually cared about anyone. The only ones you knew of were Charlie and Vaggie, and out of all of Hell, that’s saying something. How can you trust what this man was saying? How can you be sure he isn’t out to hurt you or take advantage of you?

You look away from him, your face still holding that sad expression. “I want to believe you, but...how do I know you’re not just manipulating me? This is Hell, after all. Hard to find a genuine soul around here.” Vox sighed, the sound of static echoing through the alleyway. His eyes held a look of understanding, a flash of empathy. “Can’t say I blame ya for thinkin’ that way,” he admitted. “This place isn’t exactly known for its honesty.” He petted your head again, this time almost touching his forehead on yours, his voice going soft. “I don't know if I can promise you heaven, Y/N. But what I can promise you is that I ain’t here to make your life more miserable than it already is.” He then extended his hand, a smile on his face, “How about we try something? No tricks, no manipulation. Just you and I. See where it goes.”

You think about it. Well, he did seem pretty convincing, and whatever he had to offer had to be much better than what you have to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

You sigh and say as you shake his hand, “Ok.” Vox’s screen lit up with a cheerful grin as he felt your hand in his, the cool electricity sparking between your fingers. “That’s more like it, Y/N!” He said as he shook your hand. He let go of your hand and stepped back with a flourish. “Now let’s get outta this dump. If we’re gonna be...whatever we are, we might as well do it in style.” He then had an idea, his eyes glowing with excitement. “How about we head to my place? The entertainment district ain’t much, but it beats this shithole any day.” His usual cocky smile returned, the light of his screen casting a glow around the alley. “Besides, I’ve got the best view in Hell. You won’t be disappointed, I can assure you.” You smile, liking the idea. “Ok, that sounds real nice.”

You end up following him to his place and you’re amazed at how luxurious it was. Expensive furniture, so clean you could eat off of the floor, and a couch in front of a large window, showing the hellish night sky. You look out the window and he could see your eyes sparkle with delight as you marveled his abode. “Wow...you can see all of Hell from up here!” He chuckled as he crossed his arms, finding your joy adorable. He could get used to making you this happy. “Told ya, didn’t I? Best view in Hell.” He strode over to join you by the window, his eyes looking down at the fiery grounds below. “You get a good look at this place, you realize it ain’t all that bad. Got its charms, don’t it?” You turn to him and you nod. He turns to look at you, a genuine smile lighting up his screen. “Glad you like it, Y/N. Hopefully it makes your whole...situation a bit more bearable.” His gaze lingered on you for a few moments longer before he turned away to the bar, his screen showing an unclear emotion. “Now, how ‘bout a drink? I got a stash of the finest bourbon in all of Hell. Helps take the edge off.” “A drink sounds great. Thanks.”

He smiles to himself, knowing that you were slowly starting to warm up to him. “One helluva drink, coming right up!” As he grabs the bottle of bourbon, he then had a thought. He sat the bourbon down and dug out a small vial from the inside of his tux. It was a bottle of Valentino and Velvette’s ‘Love Potion’, an aphrodisiac they were collaborating on. Val gave him a bottle as a gift, but he never thought of using it. But knowing what Y/N had been going though day by day, dealing with that radio fucker’s bullshit all the time, he figured that maybe you needed a little something to help you relax, to feel pleasure and bliss instead of pain and fear. It’s not a betrayal of your trust if there’s good intentions behind it, right?

He pours the potion into the bourbon and mixed it, making sure Y/N wasn’t looking. “This stuff’s got a kick like a mule, but it’s smooth. Just like me.” He chuckles at his own joke, and he hears her giggle along with it. Oh, how he adored that laugh and how he hoped that once his plan worked, he would hear more of it, along with other lovely sounds. Once he poured a glass for himself, he brought the glasses to the couch, giving you the tainted drink and offering you to sit on the couch with him. You couldn’t help but blush a tiny bit from how he looked, the way he was sitting, offering you to join him in a moment to yourselves. You sat next to him, a bit shy, but soon relaxing in the couch. Vox raised his glass, the light from his screen reflecting from the swirling liquor. “To new beginnings, Y/N. May they be as interesting as the journey here.” With that, you both clinked your glasses together, the sound echoing through the room as you both take a long sip, his eyes never leaving you. Luckily, you didn’t notice his gaze as you downed the drink completely.

You could handle bourbon pretty well, that’s pretty much what Husk served at the bar usually, but never as high quality as this. “Man, this stuff is really good. Sweeter than any other bourbon I’ve had.” ‘Yeah, that’s the love potion that’s doing that,’ Vox thought in his head. He smirks, watching you enjoy the drink. His heart pounded in his chest, light flicks of static on his screen due to anticipation. “Glad ya like it, Y/N. It’s a special brand, adds a bit of sweetness to the usual burn. Perfect for those wanting to unwind.” He couldn’t deny the thrill he felt, seeing you this relaxed and comfortable in his presence, even if it was artificially manufactured. He knew it must’ve been a rare sight, one he’d yearned to see for a while now.

He finishes his drink, sitting his empty glass on the coffee table. “Feeling better, sweetheart?” He asks, a tinge of genuine concern in his voice. As he asked that, you started to feel a change in your body. You started to feel way more relaxed, your mind beginning to feel a bit hazy. You weren’t sure why; maybe the bourbon was that good. Your body started to feel hot and you could feel a throbbing feeling between your legs. “I...I’m not sure...I...I feel kinda funny...” you say, your voice slightly slurred. Vox’s smirk widened, his eyes glowing with a devilish delight. “Oh, it’s just the effects of the bourbon, darlin’. Besides, you’ve been so stressed out, you haven’t had any time to just sit and relax.” He moved closer, his hand lightly tracing a line up your arm, causing you to shiver. “Just relax and enjoy the ride, Y/N. I promise it’ll be one hell of a time.” His voice drops to a sultry whisper, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “You trust me, don’t you?” You feel your face grow even warmer as he started to pull you closer to him, his face so close to yours. “I..I guess so... You are a lot nicer than Alastor..” Vox chuckled, the sound low and rich in his throat. “Well, that’s the highest praise i’ve ever heard.” His hand rested on the small of your back, his fingers tracing small circles against your shirt. “I told ya, didn’t I? I ain’t like him. Not one bit.” He tilted his screen down, his glowing eyes meeting your slightly dilated ones. “Just relax, my dear. Let ol’ Vox take care of ya. You won’t regret it.” With that, he leaned in, pressing his lips against your forehead softly, something you were confused on how that worked, but that thought flew away like all the others. “Just trust me, Y/N. I won’t let ya down.”

In what your mind could come up with, as you stared at him and as he spoke with you, the thought of letting him take the wheel was starting to sound really good and you figured that it was better to trust him than anyone else in Hell. At least for now. “Ok..” Vox’s screen lit up with a triumphant grin, his red eyes glowing with delight. “That’s my girl,” he purred, his hand tightening around your waist. He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. He whispered against your lips, “You're so cute, Y/N. Just keep relaxing. There’s no need to fight it.” His other hand started explore, trailing down your body to rest on your thigh. His fingers squeezed gently, a small spark of electricity coursing through your body, causing you to moan. He knew your body was growing more sensitive by the minute. He pulled back, his screen displaying a smug smirk. “That’s it, baby. Enjoy the good feelings. Don’t be afraid, darlin’. I’ll take good care of you.”

His hand continued its exploration, trailing up your thigh to rest on your hip. He dug his fingers into your flesh, pulling you even closer against him. His screen returned to your face, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re so responsive, sweetheart. It’s...intoxicating.” He leans in to your ear, his screen barely touching it. “I’m here. There’s no need to be scared.” His touch felt so good, all you wanted in that moment was for him to touch you more. “Ok,” you said. Vox chuckled, his eyes glowing with anticipation. “That’s what I like to hear, Y/N.” His hand slid up from your hip, tracing a path up your side and under your shirt. His fingers curled around your breast, squeezing gently, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips. “You’re so sensitive, darlin’. It’s so sweet.” His other hand slid down, resting on your thigh once more. He pulls your leg around him, positioning himself between your legs. He then starts to slowly strip you of your clothes. You were getting really hot, so it was a relief to get all those clothes off. Soon, you were completely nude before him, on full display. Vox’s eyes roamed your naked form, a low buzz rumbing from his chest. “Damn, Y/N. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” His hands traced over your body, exploring every inch of your skin. He savored every moan and gasp, his touch sparking bits of static wherever he touched. He leaned in, his lips against your neck. “I'll make you feel all kinds of good, baby...”

His hand slid down, tracing a path down your body to rest between your thighs. His fingers teased your folds, a spark of static making you gasp. “That’s it, Y/N, just enjoy it,” he murmured, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. He then moved his face to you and kissed you deeply. You kissed back just as deep, moaning in his mouth as you felt his fingers slowly slip into your pussy. Vox groaned into the kiss, his fingers going deeper into you. He savored your moans, the taste of you on his screen intoxicating. He pulled back, a devilish smirk on his face. “You’re so wet, baby. All for me.” His fingers curled inside you, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp. His other hand was busy teasing your nipple, pinching and twisting it until you were writhing in his arms. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you...”

With that, he picked up the pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you with a fervor that left you breathless. You moaned more, the pleasure growing in intensity, “Ahh..mm..ohh..” Vox grinned and moved his fingers faster, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit. The combination of him working on your pussy and playing with your breast had you crying out, your body trembling in his arms. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Go ahead and cum for me, baby girl.” It’s not too long until you cum, covering his hand in your juices as your body tensed up.

Vox growled, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he felt you release all over his hand. His fingers slowed, gently stroking you through your orgasm. He slowly removed his hand and marveled at the wetness on it, licking it up until his hand was clean. “You taste so good, darlin’. So good..” His hand moved up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face. “You alright, Y/N?” You were there, still somewhat dazed from your orgasm. But there was one thought going through your head. “I...I...more...I need more...please...” Vox chuckled, “Needy little girl, aren’t you? Don’t worry, baby. I’m far from done with ya.” With that, he gently laid you down on the couch, his screen and his body hovering over you. “You ready for more, Y/N?” “Yes...please...I need it...” Vox’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Good girl, ” he purred. You see him take his jacket and pants off, revealing his hard and erect cock. You just sat there, amazed by its size. Could an overlord have a cock that big? Vox smiled, saying, “You like what you see?” He gave his cock a few strokes, pre-cum leaking from the tip. “It’s all for you, baby girl.”

With that, he lined himself up with your entrance, his hands holding your thighs gently. He slowly pushed himself inside you, groaning at the tightness that enveloped him. “Fuuck...that’s it, baby... take it in deep..” Once he was fully inside you, he started to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. You gasp and moan in pleasure as he thrusts into you, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting the pleasure consume you. Vox felt a wave of pleasure hit him as he felt your arms go around him. “That’s it, baby. Let it all out.” His thrusts picked up in pace, each one hitting that sweet spot inside you. His hand moved down, his fingers slowly rubbing your clit. “You’re so tight, darlin’. So fucking good..” With that, he picked up the pace, his cock pumping in and out of you. “Ahh..ohh..V..Vox...i..it feels so good...” you moaned, causing Vox to grin. “That’s what I like to hear, baby.” He continued his assault on your pussy, pounding into you so much that you were seeing stars. You weren’t sure how many times you came, but you didn’t care. You just wanted Vox to keep fucking you.

“Gahh, fuck yeah...gotta get even deeper...” He then stopped his thrusts and pulled out of you, flipped you onto your belly, and grabbed your hips. “Hold on tight, Y/N. It’s gonna be a wild ride.��� He lined himself up with your entrance once more, pushing inside you with a single thrust. He quickly sped up his thrusts, making you a moaning mess. “Ahh..oohh..yes...yes..I...I love it... I love your cock...!” Vox grinned a prideful smile, proud of the fact he was causing you to lose yourself just from his dick. “You’re such a dirty girl, baby. I fucking love it.” It’s not too long til he could feel his climax coming, and he felt your walls flutter, meaning yours was coming too. “Cum for me again, Y/N. Let it out.” “Ahh..mm..V..Vox..! Please cum in me..! Please..! Fill me up with your cum! I can’t take it anymore..!” Vox growled, your pleas of ecstasy driving him further over the edge. “You ready, baby girl? Ready for me to fill you up? I’ll do it, but only on one condition. You belong to me from now on. You like that?” “I..I’ll do it! I’ll only belong to you, Vox! Please, fuck me!” Vox smiled, thrusting even more. “Alright, darlin’. Here it comes...!” With one final, powerful thrust, Vox released inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his cum. “That’s it, baby..Take it...take it all..” You cum at the same time he does, feeling his cum filling up your womb. You cry out in pure pleasure, your body riddled with pleasure. It was the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Vox kept thrusting, but he started to slow down, letting you both ride your orgasms for as long as possible.

Once everything was done, he pulled out of you and marveled at the cum-covered mess your pussy had become. He smiled, and pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “You did amazing, baby.” He brushed a strand of hair away and he looked at you, a bit concerned since you were so quiet, “You okay, Y/N? Do you need anything?” You turned to him and he was amazed at how beautiful you looked. Your eyes looked so full of joy and bliss, and your smile was so warm and genuine. You could almost cry if you saw it for yourself. He felt his heart flutter when he saw that. Yeah, he made the right choice.

You hug him and rest your head on his chest. “I love you so much...”

Time stood still for a moment for Vox when he heard those words. He hoped that he would hear those words come out of your lips towards him, and seeing and hearing it now, it filled his heart with joy. He slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. He let out a quiet chuckle, his screen pressing against the top of your head. “Well you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I feel exactly the same, baby girl.” He gently waves his hand and summons a wisp of smoke around your neck and along his hand, it soon turning into a collar with a chain leash, him gently gripping onto the chain. You now belonged to him, permanently. And he wasn’t gonna let just anyone touch you like he just did.

He held you close, his hand gently stroking your back in a soothing rhythm. “Just rest now, Y/N. Vox has got you.” You let yourself drift off to sleep in his arms, forgetting about the world and any worries you had. Vox cleaned you up and carried you to his bed, laying you on it then entering it himself. He pulls you close, letting the sound of your breathing and the beating of your heart lull him to sleep.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

[novelistrry]

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss. 

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

Or

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is incredibly deceptive

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, wet dreams, praise kink, deception, etc!

Word Count: 15k+ with the prologue, 12k without.

Prologue (A/N: only read this if you have not read the blurb, if you’ve already read the blurb you can scroll down to where part one “The Ruse” starts)

Y/N hated Harry.

Actually, she wasn’t quite sure the loathing could run quite as deep as it did. It was almost as if when her eyes locked with his, or she got a whiff of his cologne in the corridor, the hatred would flow through her veins and act as a power source. As if the only fuel she needed was how much she absolutely and utterly loathed that man.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor. 

Summer was supposed to be excellent, filled with fruits and sunny skies. It was supposed to be warm and lovely, but when Y/N’s parents invite Harry and his family to the palace every summer, it’s hard to find enjoyment in the season. 

He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and Y/N wasn’t one to deny it. Green mosaic eyes, captivating and alluring like a siren sat atop a rock luring sailors in with that beautiful voice. Only instead of using his rhythmic voice to lure her in, he used the gaze of his eyes. Soft features and delicate sculpting to his face that were so perfect it was absolutely infuriating. He was perfect, truly, in every way possible and the people loved his beautiful face and charming personality. 

Except when the large wooden doors shut, leaving Y/N and Harry alone (which wasn’t supposed to happen per Y/N’s request, by the way), his mouth was foul and his charming qualities were consigned to oblivion. Around Y/N, Harry was his worst version of himself and Y/N could not stand him. 

“I don’t want him to come this year, Dorothea!” Y/N exclaimed to her chambermaid as her heels clicked against the large tile pieces. She was pacing back and forth, a nervous tick she’s had since she was little. 

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down. 

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn. 

“I know, dear.” Dorothea, the sweetest old lady the palace could find, spent most of her day assisting Y/N in her needs even though there weren’t very many of those. Y/N was relatively low maintenance and hated to be waited on, “It’s only three months.”

With that sentiment, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed that was just made and fluffed, deciding she would spend her day sulking in her room rather than participating in any of the start of summer festivities. As if Dorothea could tell Y/N just wanted to be left alone, she quietly made her way out of the room, and left Y/N to her own devices.

____

Maybe dreams do come true, because the summer season had officially been in swing for three days and there were no sights of Harry, or his family, lingering around the palace. Eventually, she thought she would turn the corner and catch him chatting up a chambermaid with a devilish smile and eyes that would turn a girl into a puddle of melted candy, but it had been three days and even the girls she passed (who were anticipating him heavily) were whispering about the prince being late.

By the fifth day, Y/N was beginning to feel the weight lift off her chest and the ease flood through her veins. Though she didn’t dare to ask her parents about Prince Harry’s whereabouts because that would come with an agonizingly painful interrogation (they truly believed their daughter would wed the man), and a small reprimand because of her prior years sour behavior toward him, though they didn’t know just how insufferable he was in return. 

Small talk whisked throughout the palace by the seventh day, explaining that Prince Harry would not be attending this summer season because he was to be married by the end of the year to a princess Y/N had never heard of. A small twitch shot through her chest, but she brushed it off feigning it as relief she never had to deal with him again. While Y/N acted oblivious, everyone knew the reason Harry and his family visited the palace every summer is because the families were hoping for an alliance of sorts— for Harry and Y/N to form a union, to form a bond that would end in marriage. As much as she chalked the twitch in her chest and the hollow in her belly as a feeling of relief, she was confused as to why she wished he would have written. Not necessarily her, but at least to her parents, informing that he would not be there this summer (or any summer for that matter because he was getting married) that way she didn’t have to walk around for days on end, thinking there would be a jumpscare in the corridor or the dining hall.

A flicker of annoyance lit inside of her, an emotion she was familiar with and actually grateful for at the moment because it took away from the abnormal sensation in the chest and abdomen. Why wouldn’t he write? Or his parents at the very least? What kind of person does that? Y/N knew just how hard the chambermaids, the scullery kitchen, and the people who made the palace function as well as it did were working to ensure their guests were accommodated and comfortable for the three months they were staying with them.

It was very unlike Y/N, usually very polite and soft-spoken to feel that kind of irritation. The kind that was so pent up it was making her breathing slightly erratic and she was puffing breaths in and out through her nose. In a very un-Y/N like fashion, she decided that if Prince Harry wasn’t going to write to her, then she was going to write to him and tell him how distasteful his lack of presence or notification on the betrothal was.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she was in the main library of the palace, sitting at the writing table and crafting a heartfelt message to her dear friend Prince Harry, slightly berating him in each line for his so-called prince ethics (or lack-there-of). 

Dear Prince Harry,

I am sitting here, writing to tell you how distasteful I find your lack of arrival. It is great news within our palace that you are to be married, which in turn, delays your arrival to our annual summer festivities, and possibly inhibits you from attending these festivities ever again.

A true prince, knowing royal ethics, would have written far in advance, revoking his acceptance to my family’s invitation. It seems that, as always, you are too engrossed in your own endeavors to care about the people around you who have taken the time to prepare for your arrival. 

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

“I knew I would find you in here,” his voice, clear and steady, echoed through the library bouncing off the walls and the leather bindings of the books which sat on the shelves of the wall, “You’re always in here doing something or another.”

She knew who it was by the sound of his voice, deep and sultry. He always spoke with such precision and so bluntly that even with her eyes closed, she could tell who it was just by the energy that filled the space. Arrogance and tempting were his two most significant qualities and they always filled the room, leaving her to suffocate in his presence.

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deepsea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

He took a step forward, and she realized he thought she would just hand the letter over to him, like it was his property to be read. And even though it technically was, the letter was now void because he did, in fact, show up for the summer season. While it may have been intended for him, the content of the letter did not matter, and because he expected her to walk over and drop the letter in the palm of his hand, that absolutely infuriated her.

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

He held the letter above the both of them, the words still readable even though the ink was smeared on the page. As he read aloud, Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and cover her ears from listening to speak her foolish words out loud. If anything, the letter was an act of catharsis. She probably would have never actually sent it to Harry, even if she said she was going to, but writing the words on the paper and pretending like she was going to send it to him was semi-therapeutic. By the second line, she was jumping in the air like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the letter from his hands so he couldn’t continue. To make matters worse, he was chuckling between words and flashing wide grins in her direction when he paused.

Eventually, the way she was jumping and frantically trying to snatch the letter from him was just as humiliating as the strong words she had put on that piece of paper he held in his hands, so she stopped and turned away from him so that he could not see the look of horror on her face as he finished reading the letter.

Finally, he got to the part where he walked in and startled her from her writing desk, her thoughts coming to an abrupt halt on the paper when his voice echoed throughout the room, and even though he was done reading the letter, she couldn’t bear to look at him. If there was one thing about Harry, he always had the upper hand with her. Always.

“I wish I hadn’t interrupted your thoughts when I came in here a few moments ago. I’m positive the rest of this letter would have been a great read, and you print your thoughts so eloquently, Y/N.” He was trying to get under her skin, even though he knew he had already burrowed himself under the flesh like a mite the second he walked in the room. That was another one of Harry’s traits— he wanted to see just how much he could push her until she snapped, because he loved watching her snap.

“Enough,” she spoke, barely turning to look at him. She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, enough for her to squint just barely and for him to know she was giving him a dirty look.

“Well, Y/N, clearly this letter was for me. Was it not?” He was doing it; pushing and pressing until the temper within her flicked on a light and her thoughts rifling through her brain started spewing like fire, the world around them turning to ash with each word that fell from her lips and targeted him like a huntsman and its prey. 

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers. To no avail, she didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Grinning like the devil, he spoke slowly and quietly so any chambermaids passing by could not hear the words he was about to speak to her, “Are you embarrassed, Princess? The girl everyone thinks is so ladylike and polite writing words that would tarnish that sweet reputation.”

“I was never going to send it, and I think you know that,” she countered, and even though she knew he knew that letter was never going to leave her possession, she felt like she needed to reiterate that point.

Carefully and slowly—almost painfully slowly— he brought his finger to her cheeks and swiped across to feel the heat radiating off of her skin and she knew he was gaining even more satisfaction at the heat in her cheeks confirming his question, that she was embarrassed by him finding her letter. To rub salt in the wound, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the pit of his pocket where she would not dare to fish out, as it was not very polite to stick your hand in someone else’s pocket, “For safekeeping,” he stated.

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it in little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

“You are absolutely unbearable, Prince. Do not think my opinion on you has changed. I can assure you it has not,” she wanted to get under his skin the way he got under hers, so she added, “Where is your betrothed?” 

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

The tone was cut and brief, not the same tone he had when she was pushing his buttons, but a clear line was drawn showing her this is where the boundary was placed, and as much as she wanted to upset him the way he upset her, Y/N did not want to pick and pry about his presumably failed engagement. Though, she did not blame the girl for not wanting to marry someone with such an insufferable attitude. And maybe, just maybe, she also didn’t want to hear about the girl. She didn’t want Harry to talk about how beautiful she was, or what her hobbies were. She didn’t want to know a thing about her or how she wormed her way into the heart of someone so aloof and out of touch with the idea of love. To put it plainly, she didn’t want to hear about their courtship and what he did to make her swoon.

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

With a mere couple inches between them, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Soft lips grazed the tops of her ears, a warm heat shooting through her, and though she was disgusted with herself for having such an instinctual reaction to his body and his lips so close to her skin, she was graceful enough to remind herself that it was only natural for her core to stir and her stomach to flip.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

I. The Ruse

Y/N had told Dorothea she was feeling too ill to attend the breakfast table that morning. Albeit, the truth of the matter was that she was shaken by her dreams poisoned by Harry— maybe they were good dreams about his lips, his fingers, the way he caressed her cheek, but the fact that it was Harry doing those things to her was enough to deduce it was a nightmare. A terrible, terrible nightmare.

“Should I fetch you some tea?” Dorothea pressed her hand to Y/N’s forehead, feeling for a fever, but when the skin under her hands was cool rather than clammy, Dorothea raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“No, no,” Y/N swung the covers over her, revealing her nightgown. Stiffly, she planted her feet on the wooden planks beneath the bed as she made a show of stretching, “Don’t fuss over me. I’m already feeling much better, Dorothea.”

“Better enough to attend breakfast?” Dorothea questioned her, the brow still raised in suspicion, and Y/N knows she should just tell Dorothea the truth but it was her stubborn nature that prevented her from letting Dorothea know about her encounter with the Prince yesterday. 

“I believe it’s late anyway,” Y/N reasoned, “I will fetch something when the dining hall has been cleared out.”

Dorothea only shook her head in disappointment, but Y/N pretended not to notice. 

______________

In an effort to maintain his dignity, Harry had to stop looking at the chestnut oak double doors separating the dining hall from the rest of the castle. Each time a servant opened the door to replenish something on the table, Harry’s head snapped over, hoping it would be Y/N that walked through the doors just so he could see her again. 

It was agonizing, honestly. She was sweeter than droplets of nectar. Bees were probably drawn to her, knowing her personality was as sweet as the honey they produced, attracting to her like the pollen they longed to search for. 

That, precisely, is why she aggravated Harry so much. From the time Harry was born, it was engraved in his brain that he was a ruler; he was honorable, decisive, and empathetic. All the qualities that made up a leader, and he knew it, too. Though, he was self-aware enough to know where he was lacking, and he was lacking (probably) the most important quality a leader can have—compassion and the ability to connect. 

For Y/N, that was something that came so naturally. She could connect with just about anyone. The princess blended in with the common folk so... Seamlessly, it was absolutely infuriating. Harry had tried, plenty of times, to blend in, to connect with his people and his royal household but he could never achieve it the way Y/N did. She was a real princess, and it made him feel like a fraud. 

Years had passed with him learning about how to rule, the best way, the honorable way. For Y/N, it seemed that she was born with the knowledge, never having to lift a finger or read a book. 

So it pleased him, angering her to the point of outbursts. In her court, she was polite, loved, and deemed the absolute most charismatic one can be. When she was just about shaking with rage, foul words dripping from her lips, that is when Harry was content— when she looked less like a statue, the perfect creation this court has formed her to be, and more like a human. More like him. 

That is when the irritation he felt toward her stopped festering, just for a moment in time. 

And he knew he was absolutely terrible for it, absolutely atrocious, but he wanted to corrupt her. Ruin the molding she was fit into. 

Sounds of fingers fiddling on the doorknob caused him to look up, and when a servant walked in with another tray of warm bread and fresh butter, his eyes averted to his plate to avoid the teasing that was about to come from the King’s Hand— or well, Prince’s Hand, really, since he wouldn’t truly be the King’s Hand until Harry’s coronation.

But he was too late, and the words were already coming out of Niall’s mouth, “If you’re going to keep glancing up every time someone walks in, wishing her to walk through those doors, then why don’t you just go seek her out?”

“I don’t wish for her to walk through those doors, Niall,” Harry’s jaw tensed as he spoke, the inclination that he was waiting for her making him somewhat irate, “I am merely observing, isn’t that important? To be aware of one’s surroundings?”

“Yes,” Niall sucked in his teeth, moving his gaze from the angle of Harry’s jaw back to his plate of food, “Indeed it is.”

Harry spread butter on a fresh piece of bread, ignoring Niall’s comment, and when Niall realized Harry wasn’t going to say anything else, he continued to poke the bear. “Why didn’t you marry Duchess Violet when you had the opportunity? Why push the wedding? So you could come here? See her?”

A hiss left Harry’s mouth before answering in a hushed voice, low enough that the people around them could not hear. “Why so many questions, Niall?”

“I’m trying to understand,” he shrugged his shoulders, the level of his voice now matching Harry’s.

“I pushed the wedding because I did not want to marry the Duchess, Niall. Simple as that. I came here because my parents are convinced that Princess Y/N and I will form an attachment if I spend enough time with her. That is what they want after all.”

“Then what?” Niall’s questioning was causing sweat to bead on Harry’s forehead. He didn’t want to think of the then what factor.

“I suppose when I return home, the arrangement between the Duchess and I will initiate once more.” Harry cocked his head over to Niall, dropping the piece of bread on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“What is your game here this summer, Prince?” Niall asked, locking eyes with Harry’s whose eyes were the same pigment as a field of green clovers populating in the crisp months of Spring, mischief dancing in his irises.

Slowly and carefully he gave Niall the essence of his plan, “I will convince the Princess to form an alliance with me— A facade, if you will. We will put on a show, and before our attachment is sealed with a ring, she will say she can no longer do it. And I will be so heartbroken, to the nation’s knowledge, that they will not pester me about marrying. I do not need to marry. I will not need to marry.”

“And will you be heartbroken, Prince?” This seemed to be Niall’s only concern.

“No,” Harry paused and then added on, “I do not believe so.”

“And what if she does not agree to a facade?” 

“Then I will charm her. Seduce her.” This was all Harry was willing to say on the matter as he pushed his chair up.

______________

Y/N, to her credit, was full of secrets.

Every now and again, she would poke her head out, scan the corridor, then jump back into her bedchamber when she heard the sound of heels clicking against the flooring. 

And she’s never felt quite so childish before. Usually, when Harry came for the summer, Y/N didn’t go out of her way to avoid him, but after their interaction in the study she didn’t think she was ready to face him yet. 

If Y/N was honest with herself, two years ago when she first met the prince, she was quite smitten. And maybe it was the fact that he was engaged to someone else. .. Someone Y/N didn’t know. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t bother to tell her, or write to her family that got her so worked up. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that someone wormed their way into his icy chest and planted a seed of fire that caused him to want them.

She had trouble admitting it to herself, but she fancied Harry more than she let on. The only person in the entire castle that knew just how deep her feelings for Harry ran was Dorothea, though the words had never left Y/N’s lips and they might not ever. 

Rage has simmered in her gut, boiling over into her fingertips that flowed against the page where she etched words onto a canvas that conveyed her grievances with Harry. The memory of her sitting there, rage-writing a letter she never intended to send, and Harry snatching it out of her hands and reading aloud sent a churn in her stomach, the humiliation of the moment festering inside her once more. 

The true reason she had been avoiding him, at last. She was utterly embarrassed by the entire ordeal. All he had to do was read in between the lines, and all of her feelings were on display. Harry having that letter was a different kind of vulnerability. 

So she snuck out to the stables, where her good friend Brad worked as the stable boy. Y/N and Brad shared a secret the people did not know, it was kept between the two of them, and she liked Brad for the fact he has known her secret for about four years and has not told a soul has made her like them all the more. 

Boots trudged in the muddy grass as she made her way out to the stables, where Brad tended to her horses (and the other horses, of course). Birds cooed in the sky, the sing-song noises filling her ears and putting her at peace for the first time since yesterday. 

When she had finally made it to the big barn, nearly a quarter mile away from the actual castle, Brad was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, she lurked around, craning her head around corners and scouting him out. 

Right as she was about to call out his name, because it was very unlikely for him to not be here, she rounded one more corner and saw him nestled next to the Prince— next to Harry. 

She almost audibly groaned when she saw him standing there, invading her space. Where she liked to go to clear her head, but before a noise could escape her lips, she realized if she slowly backed out of the hall then she might escape the pair before either of them saw her.

As she slowly tried to back out of the hall encompassed by horse stables, the two rather close together, both snapped their heads in her direction. Two sets of eyes locked with hers, her mouth watering as her stomach turns nervously when Harry’s green gaze of disapproval scans her up and down.

“Y/N?” Brad asked, projecting his tone down the length of the hall so she could hear him clearly, “What are you doing all the way down there?”

“Nothing!” Her tone projected as well, matching Brad’s. “I was thinking I could see Freya, but I see you’re busy.”

“Why don’t you come closer, Princess? So we don’t have to shout too loud.” Harry said, and Y/N knew the look upon his face. Whenever he was about to do something devious, a smirk would spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the game he was about to partake in.

And Y/N doesn’t know why she listened to him, why she didn’t just turn away, but before she could tell herself to stop, she was walking toward the both of them. Each step felt shameful, her eyes averting from Harry’s and to Brad. She couldn’t stand the way Harry looked at her, like she was a toy, like he could burn holes through her soul if he really wanted to.

She shifted her body to angle more toward Brad, not completely cutting Harry out of the circle they were now standing in, but angling herself enough to show that her body language was more open to Brad than she was to Harry.

“Isn’t this one Freya?” Harry pointed to the stall directly across from them. There stood her light gray horse, mane and tail braided perfectly. 

Actually, if someone saw Y/N and Freya standing side by side, they would simply know Freya was meant for Y/N by the way she holds herself; strong, with a gentle demeanor radiating off her. The only problem is that people would never see Freya and Y/N side by side, because Y/N (as much as she loved Freya) was too afraid to take her out of her stall. In Y/N’s kingdom, it was inevitable that every young prince or princess had to ride, because at their coronation one of the requirements was to ride in on their horse. The issue wasn’t that Y/N didn’t know how to ride. She did. The issue was that Y/N wouldn’t because of an accident that happened three years ago, leaving Y/N scared to ever get on the back of a horse, or to even walk around with her lead rope in hand. Nobody knew, except Brad, that Y/N hadn’t been on the back of her horse since the accident, it was a secret the two of them kept together.

“Yes,” Y/N turned to him, just slightly, “That is her.”

“Go on, then,” Harry motioned toward her, “We don’t mind if you take her out.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, glancing at Brad to see if he could help her worm her way out of this situation. He has helped her before, when her parents would find her in the stable and ask if she wanted to go on a ride with them. Brad would say something like, Princess Y/N just put Freya back, they went on a lengthy ride earlier and Freya is resting now. It made Y/N feel selfish to know how much trouble Brad could get in for lying, but she was too much of a coward to tell anyone her fears.

Brad interjected, just not with what she hoped for, “Y/N doesn’t ride.”

Confusion contorted Y/N’s features as he outed her secret to the one person she didn’t want to know an inkling about her. “Brad!”

Brad’s eyes widened slightly, his brows raising as he replied, “I’m sorry, Y/N! I thought it was okay for him to know? It’s not as if he lives in the palace.”

Harry stepped closer, putting a pin in the conversation Brad and Y/N were beginning to have right in front of him, “Why doesn’t she ride?”

Brad waited, momentarily, for Y/N to respond but when her lips stayed sealed, withholding the information from Harry he decided to come clean for her. “Y/N has panic attacks when she gets too close to horses. Nobody knows.”

At least he didn’t tell Harry why horses made her panic.

“Yet you come out here anyway?”

Heedfully, she took in a deep breath and began to collect her thoughts which seemed to be swimming everywhere. These past two days, she had never felt so exposed, so bare in front of him. First with the letter, and now with Brad’s indiscretion to Y/N’s secret. “As you may already know, horse riding is big in our culture, so I come out here to keep up appearances. And, I do love my Freya.”

“You’re a fraud, then? A liar?” Harry sucked in a breath, that grin teetering on amusement— a fine line between pure and utter cruelty. 

“If that’s what you will call it,” Y/N tried not to let the emotions welling inside show on her face, remaining neutral and stoic was the best way to ignore Harry. She, too, could sink her claws in him and tear him apart by simply ignoring him. “I must be going.”

Swiftly, she turned, paying no mind to Freya and blocking out the snickering coming from Harry as she walked out of the barn. Her boots trudged in the mud once more, and the frustration brewing inside was threatening to spill over, though she would not allow it to until she was alone in the privacy of her own room. 

The palace was in plain sight, she only needed to walk a straight narrow path before she could take a side door to the main corridor and scurry off to her room (hopefully avoiding many of the household staff on the way). It was unfair, but she wanted to yell at Brad for offering Harry such private information. Should she blame him, though? He’s been keeping her secret for nearly three years, lying for her, and obviously he didn’t know that Harry had brutish tendencies— especially when it came to her. In fact, she thought back to it. The way the two of them were standing, how Harry was shifting closer to Brad with each word. If Y/N didn’t know better, Harry was trying to turn Brad into putty in his hands which honestly might have been more of an issue than him knowing her secret panic attacks she would have in the privacy of Freya’s stall. Was Harry interested in Brad, trying to charm him with his good looks and that personality that oozed sweetness? Y/N may have never seen that side of him, but amongst the chambermaids he was quite the sweet-talker.

“Y/N,” a low, gruff voice called from behind her. When she tried to pick up the pace, she only heard the shuffling of Harry’s boots behind her go faster. 

It wasn’t like she would be able to escape him, if he truly wanted to pester her he would find her in her bedchamber. It was better to have a discussion with him out in the open instead of him tainting her bedchamber with his attitude. 

“What?” She turned on her heels and snapped her head toward him, the tone of her voice laced with anger.

“I wanted to have a discussion with you,” he took a few steps closer so they were only an arms distance from each other. He wanted his next words to be just barely above a whisper.

“Then speak,” Y/N pursed her lips together, crossing her arms so that she could shield herself against him in some way. Clearly, crossing her arms wasn’t actually going to protect her from him, but in a way, it felt like a mental shield, keeping him out of her head and far away.

“It has been two days of me gracing you with my company, and within those two days, I have obtained a letter I’m convinced you would not like to fall into the wrong hands, and I have discovered you have been deceiving many people and getting the stable boy to lie for you,” Harry’s pointer finger traced under her chin, noting the shiver that ran down her back as she stepped away from his touch, “Now, if you do not want that letter circulating throughout the palace, and if you do not want everyone to know you are a fraud, then you will offer me something I need.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Harry was blackmailing her? She had always taken him for possessing a certain cruelty about him, but never thought he would stoop low to the point where blackmail (quite literally when she takes the letter into consideration) would be hanging over her head like a bundle of mistletoe. 

“What is wrong with you?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, stepping backward as her arms tightened around herself once more. 

“What is your answer, Y/N?” He spoke with such an airy indifference that she almost couldn’t tell if he was playing a very humorless joke on her.

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice in the matter!” She barked back, and that flicker of anger displayed on her face and in her tone of voice made his lips curve up into a cursed smile, so she tried to cool herself down and remain stoic— just as unbothered as he seemed to be.

“I am giving you a choice, darling,” Harry said, the word rolling off his tongue like the pet name was second nature to him, “One option is unfavorable, though. For you, at the very least.”

It was written across his face; either answer she gave him was a win for him. This was a situation where she was going to lose, a situation where the upper hand was in his court and he was playing the game with no mercy. If she said yes, she was indebted to him, owing him a favor. And if she said no, the shame of her actions would not only reflect on her, but her family as well. 

“Tell me what you need,” an exasperated sigh she didn’t mean to let out, falling from her lips.

“Agree first.” Harry was a politician first, a prince second, and a human being last.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Do you believe I haven’t learned to never agree to something binding without knowing the stipulations first, Prince?”

“And do you think I would present my vulnerabilities to you without an answer first? I tell you, you don’t agree with the clause, and now you know what I need. Why should I do that?” His reasoning was valid to her, though she would never admit to it.

“Then my answer is no,” Y/N began turning on her heels to walk away; get as far away as she possibly could, but she stopped in her tracks when he caught up behind her, hooking his fingers around her waist and pressing his front against her back.

Incredibly cool and collected, he pressed his lips against her ears before he spoke, causing a chill to rip down her spine and a tightening coil in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve made your choice, then. Tonight in the dining hall, while we are in the middle of dinner with the most important people, I will stand and tell everyone of your fraudulent activities. In fact, I might even embellish it— explain how you’ve been keeping the stable boy so quiet with your mouth. Do you know what that means, princess? I will tell them how you’ve squandered his innocence, and when the shame is rising from here,” Harry’s fingers trailed from her hip to her stomach, and then all the way up to the apple of her cheeks, “To here… That is when I will twist the knife, and begin reading your finest letter aloud. And when you are crying, I will not stop.”

Y/N turned back around, stepping away from him to get distance before spitting out, “You are cruel, Harry. So, very, cruel.”

“You are flattering me,” he quirked an eyebrow, and she so badly wanted to connect her fist to that stupid smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Y/N nodded her head, refusing to give him any more leverage, “I will help you.”

“Great, then I will court you for the entire summer, and just before it is time for me to propose to you… You will come up with some excuse to break it off, and I will pretend I am utterly heartbroken and need time to heal.” 

Y/N was shocked his ruse was not nearly as bad as she had expected it to be. She thought maybe he would be requesting her to break into the general’s office and steal classified military documents, or something absolutely absurd and dangerous. But a courtship under false pretenses was… Dishonorable, but not a crime.

“That’s it?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why?”

“Because,” he was beginning to feel frustrated, and Y/N could tell by the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. “I do not want to marry the Dutchess, and I fear if I do not place a ring on your finger, that is my destiny. However, if you end our courtship and I feign heartbreak, how could anyone tell me I need to marry when I lost the love of my life.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words.

“And—” Y/N began to ask another question before Harry interrupted her.

“That is all the information I will give you on the topic.”

“Fine,” she, herself, was done with the conversation anyway. There were much better things for her to do than scheme with Harry, “Now if you would leave me be, I would like some space from you.”

“Take what you need, because after dinner we will be attached at the hip once we announce our courtship.”

This might be the death of Y/N.

______________

Pretending to be under the weather was not going to cut it this evening, Y/N knew she couldn’t get out of another meal with her family, Harry’s, and the other important people that made it to the dining hall list without a stern talking to from Dorothea. 

On top of that, she knew that Harry was going to announce their courtship, and he probably wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of announcing it without her there. Actually, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, either. Who knows what he would say?

With thoughts racing through her head, and the click of her ballet flats on the mosaic tile, she made her way down the corridor until she was standing just outside of the tall oak doors. As soon as they opened, she would find her seat, and her fate for the summer would be sealed.

“Looking nervous, darling.” Harry spoke from behind her, creeping up on her for the third time since he’s been here. Rolling her eyes was beginning to become a natural reaction at this point. 

“Don’t call me that,” Y/N hissed out, barely taking her eyes from the door as he walked up behind her so he was nearly touching her backside as his fingers reached for the knob and turned it slowly. 

It was quiet when her eyes locked with her mother and father’s eyes, and when she slid her gaze over to Harry’s parents, she couldn’t help but feel shame that ticked in her lower stomach. It was one thing to be deceptive to her own parents; it was another to be deceptive to someone else’s. This was definitely something she was going to bring up to Harry later. 

Dorothea was sitting beside Y/N’s mother, and when she noticed her, Dorothea offered an approving smile and a small glance toward Harry’s direction. On multiple occasions, Dorothea had tried to convince Y/N that Harry was not that horrible as she knew him since he was a young boy, but Y/N would gawk and scoff and exclaim with exasperation: Why are you taking his side? Now, Dorothea had believed Harry finally charmed Y/N just enough to weasel his way into her heart, but little did Dorothea know, it was quite the opposite. 

Dinner was going by smoothly. Every now and again, Harry would make some small talk with Y/N, and as soon as the pair began speaking softly under their breath, the entire table would stop talking to hear what the two of them were conversing about. It was making Y/N rather anxious to have so much attention thrown in her general direction, but she supposed if she were in their shoes, she would be just as curious.

Before the meal came to a close, Harry tapped a shiny piece of silverware against his glass, gaining everyone’s attention. Though, Y/N wanted to tell him if he wanted all eyes on him, all he would have to do is look at her, whisper her name, and the chattering amongst the table would cease so everyone could hone in on their private conversation. “Everyone, I wanted to announce mine and precious Y/N’s courtships. After two long summers of denying our tension amongst one another, we decided it was in everyone’s best interest if we gave our compatibility a shot.”

A couple people clapped, and Y/N tried so hard to repress the eyeroll and the scoff that wanted to surface so badly. Dorothea shot a wink in her direction, so Y/N offered a small smile because a grimace would lead to questioning from her later, and lying to Dorothea was not something she felt too good about. Y/N had already deceived her once today by feigning illness, and twice with Harry’s speech of their courtship, but she did not want to have a separate conversation with Dorothea that contained the weight of her lies.

As soon as dinner ended, Y/N found herself rushing from the dining hall, nausea filling her gut as bile threatened to creep up her throat. In a few turns, she was down the corridor, and finally, she was on the terrace, breathing in the crisp night air. Stars illuminated the sky, the moon brightening the path she was walking down, and she should have known better to think she would get just one moment alone (or one moment where Harry was not creeping up behind her).

“Y/N, I want to talk,” Harry whispered, although the words may have been hushed, but they were on the louder side like a… Hushed shout?

“I’m not sure I would like to talk right now,” Y/N replied back, kicking scattered rocks out of the path they were taking that led to the gardens on the right side of the palace.

“I promise I will leave you alone for the night after this,” Harry sounded sincere, “I just want to work out the logistics with you.”

“The logistics with me?” Y/N scoffed, pivoting on her heels and throwing her hands up in exasperation. The tone of her voice was laced with venom, and the scrunch of her nose which led all the way up to her eyebrows, giving her the look of an angry kitten was enough to tell Harry she was quite upset with the ordeal, “You mean, you would like to speak of your deception?”

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss. 

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

“Maybe you’re not,” he looked her up and down, the sinister glare in his eyes making her want to recoil into herself, “But you want to.”

Y/N did not deny her attraction to the stable boy, though, she had never fantasized of him in such salacious ways, and that little flicker of emotion that ran across her features was something Harry picked up on immediately. 

“Would it break your little heart, Princess?” Harry took a step closer, the vein on his neck popping out as he clenched his jaw harder, “If I let your stable boy lay in my bed?”

Y/N gasped. She had never heard someone be so… Vulgar. 

The response she was looking for swam through her head but she couldn’t quite locate it as she filed through the crevices of her brain. How could she answer that? To her luck, Harry was on his heels and walking toward the direction of the stables so she didn’t have to respond to him. He muttered out the grumpiest, “I’ll find you later,” and Y/N’s heart sank as she realized Harry was trying to find Brad to either bed him, or tell Brad about her embarrassing little crush. Y/N had never felt so exposed in her own territory. 

______________

“This is never going to work, Niall!” Harry exclaimed, kicking off his riding boots and pacing his way back and forth in Niall’s personal cabin. Niall was the Prince’s Hand, his second in command, but he needed his space. When they would come for the summer, Niall would occupy the cottage on the outskirts of the palace, the only way to get there was by horseback, which is part of the reason he felt so comfortable being open with Niall. There was no possible way the princess would be strolling down the corridor and overhear him chatting with Niall when they were so far away, and the only way she could get there was by horseback, which he knew she wouldn’t do.

“What do you mean?” Niall looked over at him, pouring a glass of sparkling wine that was located on the bar top near the kitchenette. Harry noted that Niall was pouring two glasses, one for Harry and one for himself.

“She’s too stubborn.” Harry sighed out, taking the glass from Niall as he reached his hand out, then plummeted into one of the cushion filled chairs in the corner of the room. “She won’t be able to go through with it.”

“And you have leverage over her, do you not? I thought that was why you were so sure of your plan?” Niall pressed the frosted glass to his lips, then tipped his head back.

Harry followed suit, tipping his head back after pressing the cool glass to his lip. The slight carbonation of the alcohol, and the burn of the alcohol itself singed the back of his throat before he shook his head and shut his eyes tightly. “I do have leverage as I told you about. I fear if she backs out, I would never be able to put her through that, though.”

“It was my understanding that you didn’t care and you do not like her. If that is the case, then what is the issue, Prince?” Niall questioned.

“I do not care about her and I do not like her, but what would it say about me if I grasped that leverage and exposed her so openly like that…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he brought the glass back to his lips once more.

“So you do not care about her, and you do not like her, but you care about what others would think if you humiliated her so publicly?” Niall was beginning to understand.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.

Niall didn’t like giving Harry advice like this, but he was loyal to Harry first and always. When he began fitting the puzzle pieces together of the dynamic between Harry and Y/N, before he could even process his own thought process he blurted, “If you think she is too stubborn, then change that. Have you thought that maybe the reason she is so stubborn around you is because of the fact you are so mean to her. Stop being so cruel. Be a gentleman, make her like you. Hell, make her even love you, and at the end of the summer, if you still do not believe you are the type of man to marry, then begin corresponding with the Duchess again, forcing Y/N to break it off with you. You told her it was all a ruse, then so be it. However, that does not mean you have to make her life a living hell. You can charm her, make her fall for you, and when you invite the Duchess to the ball at the end of the summer, Y/N will have no other choice than to call it off.”

Harry paused, sitting upright in the chair rather than slouching over, “So you are saying to charm her still, even though she’s already agreed to the facade with me?”

“Precisely,” Niall pushed the guilty feeling down.

“And at the end of the summer when I want her to call it off, let her find me entangled with Duchess Violet?” Harry was the one asking questions now.

“Yes,” Niall let out a small breath.

“Smart man,” was all Harry said, and that was the end of the conversation as Harry slipped his boots on, bolted out the door, mounted his horse, and rode back to the main palace so he could talk to Y/N.

______________

Y/N was still in the garden, ruminating over the argument she just had with Harry. How could someone be so handsome, resembling a person who was probably carved by the most delicate angels themselves, have such a crude mouth and an evil demeanor? If Harry was a little bit nicer, she thinks he would be the easiest person to fall in love with.

“Y/N?” Harry whispered, and when she turned around to look at him, he noted the way the light from the moon reflected off the top of his curly brown hair, where it hit the highs of his cheekbones, and she noted the delicacy in his sea moss green eyes.

“I’m too exhausted to argue, Prince.” She remained grounded, her feet planted into the soil. Her cheeks were still wet from the tears spilled over after Harry left her feeling silly, and even though the streaks remained on her cheeks, there were no more droplets forming in her eyes.

He stepped closer, so close that his body was almost pressed against the front of hers. She noted the way his hand lingered by her hip, wanting badly to close the gap between them by positioning his hand behind her and pulling her close. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” She was strong, she was going to be tough.

“I feel terrible, Y/N,” the sincerity in his eyes was enough to send a ripple of shock through her. Honestly, the sincerity he felt was enough to send a ripple of shock through him. It was true, he did feel terrible. He never meant to make her cry.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, beginning to turn away from him, but he caught her with his hand around her hip, then closed the gap between them so there was no space between the pair.

“It’s not,” he disagreed, “I… I want to be your friend, Y/N.”

“My friend?” She was so fucking confused.

“Yes,” he nodded his head, creeping his free hand under her chin and forcing her to look up and directly at him. “I do not want to be the only person benefiting from this deception.”

“Okay,” she didn’t know what else to say.

“Let me teach you how to feel comfortable on a horse again. I can give you lessons.” He decided showing her how to be confident atop a horse would be something she would benefit from. She wouldn’t have to feel confined to the palace anymore or lie to the people around her.

“So you can belittle me in our lessons?” Y/N asked, raising a brow at him.

“No, Y/N. No more of that, I can assure you.” He sounded so sincere, he was convincing himself. Maybe the truth was that arguing with her, getting under her skin, and picking her apart was exhausting and he didn’t like feeling like the worst version of himself around her. He was so confused. So confused. He hated this perfect princess exterior she put on, but he disliked being an asshole more.

“You really want to help me?” She could hardly believe it.

“Yes,” he dropped his hand from her chin and her hip, taking a step away from her, “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the stables.”

With that, he turned away and found his way back to his bedchambers. Harry really needed to decompress.

______________

The next morning, Harry found her in the stables. She had gotten there before him and was waiting by Freya’s stall. Brad wasn’t there quite yet. It was so early, the sun was just starting to poke through the horizon. 

Colors of red, pink, and gold reflected from his skin as he approached her, and Y/N noted that the colors peaking from the horizon were almost as beautiful as him. While the sun rise was beautiful, it was not nearly as beautiful as him.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, walking up to where she leaned against Freya’s stall.

“I’m ready,” she explained.

They had spent hours talking about how to form a bond with a horse, how to treat a horse, and where not to stand when around a horse. They talked about how to saddle a horse up, how to put the bit in a horse’s mouth without injuring yourself or the animal you need to be taking care of. Harry was actually a very good teacher. He wasn’t pushing her out of her comfort zone, he wasn’t belittling her for the things she was taught when she was younger but forgot how to maneuver. Harry even brought up what Brad had said about her having panic attacks when she was too close to horses, and told her that if she was feeling anxious to let him know, they could find a spot where she felt safe. Overall, working with him wasn’t too bad.

Y/N tried not to talk about the incident that made her so fearful of horses to begin with, and as much as Harry wanted to know why she was so afraid of them, he didn’t want to push and pry. He knew what it was like when people pushed their way into your personal space, and it was his biggest pet peeve, so he wasn’t going to subject her to something he hated deep in his bones.

Brad was surprised the first day when he came in, and saw Y/N, with shaky hands, petting on Freya. Freya seemed to enjoy it, and Harry stabilized her shaky arm as she reached in the window of the stall and pet her, whispering small encouragements in her ear. He was standing directly behind her, the front of his body pressed to her back as she reached in.

“Good girl,” Harry said, his fingers clutched around her elbow to combat the shakiness in her arm.

“She is a rather good girl,” Y/N said, touching the softness on Freya’s nose.

“No,” Harry laughed out, his fingers still gently holding her elbow steady, “I was talking about you. You’re being a very good girl.”

Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but chose to say nothing, and much to her good luck, Brad had finally showed up for the day, amazed at how Harry stood there with Y/N and held her from behind as she touched Freya.

“Wow,” Brad said, dropping some of the grain he was holding into the stall next to Freya’s, “You’re doing very well, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t think she could handle all the compliments, so she redirected the attention to Harry, “It’s all him. He's a great teacher.”

“I bet he is,” Brad shot a look toward Harry, a smirk forming on the edges of both their mouths. It made Y/N wonder if they actually had some sort of relationship like Harry hinted at the night he told her he was going to bed Brad in order to spite her. “I just hope you don’t have nightmares tonight.”

“Nightmares?” Harry’s grip around her elbow tightened, pulling her arm out of Freya’s stall and letting Y/N’s arm fall to her side. “What does he mean?”

Y/N turned around, and threw a scowl in Brad’s direction. Her back pressed against the stall door as she let a sheepish smile appear on her face when she turned all her attention toward Harry. “I used to have nightmares about the incident.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a hardline, a serious look glossed in his eyes. “If you start having nightmares again, tell me. Please.”

“I will.”

______________

Y/N didn’t know what to do about the dreams she was having regarding Harry. It seemed that every single night her dreams of Harry were becoming more and more graphic. The first night she dreamt of him was the first night he was in the palace, and she dreamt of what his lips felt like on hers. 

The second time she dreamt of him, she dreamt of the ways his hands felt around her body, and ever since then she had been having that same dream of him, over and over again. He would start by kissing her neck and touching her all over, calling her sweet names, and making her cry out in pleasure.

Every morning she woke up feeling debauched, and when she would meet Harry at the stables in the morning, she tried her best to not let the emotion flood her face. Sometimes she was scared that he could just look at her and know she was having inappropriate dreams about him.

A week had passed of her spending time with Harry. She learned about his favorite food, what he loved about his own kingdom, and even found out that the Marigold flower was native to his kingdom. 

“You kind of remind me of a Marigold.” Harry said softly.

“Why is that?” She looked over at him, as he began putting the bit on Freya. Y/N wasn’t ready to ride yet, but today she was going to walk Freya along the property with Harry to get used to her holding the lead rope in her hand.

“They’re bright and beautiful,” Harry buckled the bit, pulling the lead rope through as he spoke to Y/N, “A lot like you.”

“I think we’ve come a long way,” Y/N noted, grabbing the lead rope with shaky fingers when Harry handed it to her.

When Harry realized that her fingers were shaking and her eyes were nervously glancing around, he grabbed the lead rope back from her and began walking Freya out of the barn and toward a trail nearby, “I’ll walk her for now. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

They walked together, talking about the most random things and getting to know each other. Y/N couldn’t believe she didn’t like Harry at first. Fine, he was slightly annoying, and when she thought about how she was technically still being blackmailed it made her a little furious, but when he was being so pleasant and lovely, she tried not to think of those things. 

On top of all that, how could she say she still disliked him when she was dreaming of him every single night?

“Why don’t you try holding the lead rope as we walk, and I’ll hold your hand over it?” He suggested, coming to a stop in the middle of the trail. As much as he liked walking Freya, he did want Y/N to make some progress. 

“I think I can do that,” Y/N agreed, grabbing the rope in her hand and locking it securely between her fingers. Her hand wasn’t on the rope for even two seconds before Harry threw his hand around hers and gave her a look that she knew said I’m here for you. 

Her heart nearly skipped a beat as his hand enveloped hers and his eyes brought comfort to her hammering heart. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined how his lips would taste— probably sickeningly sweet. She thought of the way he might moan against her, like he did in her dream. The vibrations flooding through her, feeling like pure ecstasy.

What the hell was she doing?

______________

Y/N thought back to the first night Harry had been to the palace. That night, she had a dream of Harry pressing his lips against hers. The more time she spent with Harry, the more she dreamt about him at night, and as the days passed, the more graphic they got. 

Today wasn’t the first time she had woken up with a puddle between her legs due to a steamy dream she had about Harry, though, it was the first time she had reached her climax in her sleep and she couldn’t help the shame that picked away inside her.

Quickly, she cleaned herself off and began putting on her riding clothes to meet Harry in the stables. 

______________

This morning, Y/N could barely look Harry in the eye, and he wondered why that was. They had been working together for a little over two weeks now, and she was growing much more comfortable with him each day. Actually, it was rather frustrating for him to find out that he somewhat enjoyed spending time with her. She was kind of funny, a little sweet, and overall, easy to teach. 

“Will you tell me why you can’t look at me today?” Harry grinned at her, and noted the way she dropped her gaze from his eyes back down to her hands, an emotion he couldn’t quite place lingering on her features. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled out, still refusing to meet his eyes. This might actually drive him crazy.

“Tell me, darling,” Harry reached for the water that was sitting atop Freya’s stall door, and began taking a few sips, his eyes still locked on Y/N, waiting for her to explain. Sooner or later, she would tell him. She was quite bad at keeping secrets.

“Did you actually take Brad to bed?” Y/N still didn’t look up at him.

Harry choked on his water; that was the last thing he expected Y/N to say to him. “Why do you think that?”

“You told me you were going to take him to bed the night you told me you wanted to be my friend,” Y/N recalled.

“I did say that,” Harry hummed out, placing the water back atop the door of the horse stall before moving toward her, “No, I did not take him to bed.”

“Do you want to… You know? Do you like him in that way?” Y/N was trying to avoid certain words, too shy to actually say what she was thinking, and the shyness in her tone was enough to make Harry’s knees almost buckle.

“I think he’s handsome, Y/N, but I would not hurt your feelings like that,” Harry explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“So you only like him, then? That is why you would not marry the Duchess?” Y/N had so many questions rifling through her mind, she didn’t know where to begin.

Realization dawned on Harry’s face, “I have a preference for both, Y/N. I do find men attractive, but I find women attractive too.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N nodded her head, “I’m sorry I was just thinking of that night and how maybe you and Brad—”

“That’s so naughty, Y/N.” He took a couple steps toward her, reminding her of the night he told her he would teach her how to ride. There was only a small gap between them, the front of his chest pressed to the front of her chest, but this time, there was a wooden wall behind her and if he only took one more small step, she would be pressed against the wooden wall in the barn and the front of Harry’s bodice. She was so depraved.

Harry’s voice was full of teasing, but Y/N was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she thought he was chastising her, “I’m sorry, Harry! Not like that!”

“Darling, I’m only teasing you,” Harry’s grin was contagious, Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her lips, “Now won’t you tell me a secret? I’ve given you one of mine.”

Y/N didn’t even think about it before blurting out, “I wish I knew what it was like to be kissed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his hand pressed against the wooden wall, trapping Y/N between his body and the wall (still offering her a way out from the position on his left). All he needed to do was bend down and connect his lips to hers and she would know what it’s like, but he would never do it without asking first. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I would like that,” she breathed.

So, he would give her what she wanted. In the matter of seconds, his knee was positioned in between her legs, almost touching her center. His head had swooped down so his lips were just a few centimeters from her own, and his eyes were full of peer lust. Without much thought, he pressed his lips against her gentle ones, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, begging for her to open up for him and let him in. Though, Y/N didn’t understand the cue, and Harry understood that since this is her first time being kissed, she wouldn’t know the trick of sliding your tongue against someone’s bottom lip and what that was asking for.

Gently, he brought his lips to her chin and pulled down ever so slightly, parting her lips and allowing access to her mouth. It was the most pleasant noise he had ever heard, the moan that vibrated into his mouth and warmed his muscles. The blood was flowing to his cheeks, his heart rate quickening and pumping the blood through his body, and straight to his cock. Honestly, if they didn’t stop kissing, he might actually come in his pants, so he pulled away, leaving her breathless and hot.

“How was that?” He asked.

“I think I liked it a lot,” she panted out, pressing her legs together and Harry knew the signs of that all too well, but decided not to comment on it.

“We can do it again sometime.” He shrugged, removing his hand from the wall and taking a few steps back.

“O-okay.” She muttered.

Y/N was feeling things she had never known were possible.

______________

Harry’s lips were pressed against her neck, his hands wandering to the waistband of her underwear before looping his fingers around the elastic and pulling them down her legs. Before she even had time to process what was going on, he was gently laying her against the bed, but they weren’t in her room… No, she didn’t know where they were, and for a moment she was dissecting the bedchamber and all its decor until Harry’s thumb found its way to her clit and one of his fingers sunk into her, rubbing against the button that had her back arching off of the bed.

“Oh,” she gasped out, her breathing becoming erratic with each stroke. “Please, Harry. Please…”

In this scenario, she didn’t feel ashamed for calling out his name, for begging for his fingers. Harry had positioned himself so that he was on top of her, one hand holding him up so that he good get a good look at her face (in this scenario, he liked to watch the way her nose scrunched when she hit her climax) while his hand worked her clit and flicked against her g-spot. 

“Don’t worry, darling girl,” he leaned down, his lips pressed against her lips as he spoke, “I’m going to get you there.”

She couldn’t help it, she needed him so badly. When he pulled his fingers out and inserted another, expanding the space inside her, she arched her back off the bed and bucked her hips into his hand begging for more friction than he was supplying her with.

“Don’t be greedy, love.” He found a different position so he could use one hand to pin her hips to the bed, and the other one to tease her with his fingers. “You need help orgasming, darling?”

“Harry, I need help!”

“Y/N!” Harry shook her shoulders, causing her whole body to shake as her eyes opened to reveal a panicked Harry peering down at her.

It took a moment for her to understand what was going on, but when she looked at her surroundings which were dimly lit by candles, Y/N realized that she was in her bedchamber, and no longer in the bedchamber in her dream, and Harry had pulled the chair sitting in the corner of her room to the side of her bed.

A dream. It was just another dream. And it took a moment before she realized that Harry was here, waking her from her dream frantically.

“Harry,” she breathed out, and though he heard the breathiness in her tone as a sigh of relief, for Y/N she was coming down from the orgasm she just had in her sleep. In front of Harry. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby, you were having a nightmare. You’ve been screaming my name,” he tucked a strand of hair that was coated in sweat behind her ear, and she noted the softness in his voice, a guilty feeling ripping through her.

Actually, his voice wasn’t the only thing soft about him. Harry was still sporting sleepwear, white linen pajama pants and a matching button top. His curls which were normally assorted and crisp looking flopped against his forehead, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he stroked his thumb against her head whispering sweet nicknames he had never called her before, but what she really couldn’t stand was the guilt and worry flooding those cloverfield eyes of his.

“I—” she went to explain that she wasn’t having a nightmare, but before she had a chance to get the words out, he was telling her what happened.

“They came and got me. Dorothea told me this is the fifth consecutive night you’ve been screaming my name, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me the lessons weren’t working, and they were putting you in such a bad place. I didn’t want this for you, baby,” Harry continued to stroke his thumb against her head, this time lowering his hand so that his thumb was stroking along her lips which wasn’t helping the sticky wetness pooling in her panties and the ache in her lower belly.

Y/N, filled with shame at the guilt in his eyes and the crude dreams she’s been having, tried to find her voice, “Wasn’t having a nightmare.”

“What do you mean, darling? You were screaming my name, asking for help?” 

In response, Y/N only pulled the edge of her blanket closer to her chest, tucking herself away from him.

It took Harry only two seconds to understand, “Oh?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her head and inching away from the touch of his fingers.

“No!” He exclaimed, hooking his fingers around her arm as she tried to scoot to the other side of the bed, “Don’t be sorry. There is no need for that, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and expected him to get up and leave her to her own devices.

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I just didn’t take you for a beggar, darling girl.”

It could have been the nickname, the same one dream Harry had given her as he brought her to her climax or the fact that he was calling her a beggar but she couldn’t help the heat that flooded through her cheeks as she averted her gaze from his, “Stop!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, and Y/N noted the way his fingers that were once tracing circled over her cheeks and then rubbing against her lips were now touching and grasping at her arm, like he had to be in constant contact with her. “You should never be embarrassed of what your body naturally desires.”

“Easy for you to say,” she scooted closer to him, back to where she was before she began inching away, “You’ve never been embarrassed.”

“I have. The first time I ever let someone touch me, I reached my orgasm in my trousers,” he began, offering her a questioning glance to ask if this is okay? When she nodded, letting him know he could climb into her bed, probably against her better judgment, he stood from the chair and put his knee on the bed. Before she knew it, he was putting his knee over her, straddling her momentarily, then found his way to the other side of her bed, so that they were laying side-by-side. Y/N couldn’t help the way heat filled her cheeks, tearing at the tiny tendrils of muscle throughout her body and igniting a fire from deep within her abdomen. How could she think straight when she was dripping with need, her body begging for some sort of release. 

Harry continued what he was saying once he was in a comfortable position next to her, but Y/N had trouble listening to his words when the only thing she could focus on was regulating her breaths, “That was pretty embarrassing. The second time I was embarrassed was the first time I met you, and you were standing there looking so beautiful and perfect, I tripped over my words. The third time I felt embarrassed was when I read your letter in the office and you expressed that my actions were not that of a gentleman, and you were right.”

She didn’t know what to say, only that she was burning with desire and needed him as close to her as possible. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You’ve got me all soft tonight. I was under the impression you were having nightmares because you were too nervous to tell me you didn’t want to continue with lessons. I am cruel, Y/N, you have always been right about that, but I am not a monster,” his words were honest and true, something he would probably regret tomorrow, “Believe it or not, I never wanted to give you nightmares.”

“You haven’t given me nightmares,” Y/N was used to feeling shame around Harry, even though she could cover it quickly by hurling a snarky comment toward him.

“You have no idea how relieved I was to hear that your dreams about me are nothing but good… I would like to rectify the situation for you.”

“Rectify the situation?” Y/N was beginning to feel even more confused than when she woke up in her bedchamber with Harry’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder, waking her from her vivid dream.

“Yes,” he breathed, turning his body so he was laying directly parallel to her, “Would you like me to take care of you?”

“I… I would like that,” her fingers held the quilt tighter to her chest, not quite sure if this was going to be a mean joke to toy with her and then laugh about it later.

“Do you trust me?” His eyebrow raised, knowing her answer without her even needing to speak the words.

“Not… particularly,” her breathing was becoming more rapid as the conversation took such a sultry turn.

“If you don’t trust me, I can’t make you feel good, darling.” He tried to reason with her, and as much as he wanted to run his hands over her sides and touch her all over, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not while he was trying to gain her trust.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said quietly, barely audible.

“I know,” he agreed, “We are going to take it slow. You are safe with me.”

And Y/N didn’t know if it was the look in eyes, or if it was because of the fact he rushed to her bedchamber when someone woke him up from his peaceful slumber to come comfort her from her “bad dream,” but in this moment, she really felt as though she could trust him. On top of that, he knew her biggest fear, and never let her feel uncomfortable when he was teaching her how to ride, so why shouldn’t she trust him?

“I feel safe,” she told him and expressed her limits, “I trust you. No mean words, Harry.”

“No, baby, only praise for how well you’re doing.” 

Those three little words, the innocence in her eyes, and the way she clung to her blanket for a security measure could have sent Harry into a downward spiral. He tried to compose himself, tried to contain himself, because he knew he had to take it slow with her. He propped himself up so that he could loop his hands around where she clutched her blanket so tightly. “Have to relax, darling.”

She took in a few deep breaths, just how he taught her when she was trying something new, and her body released the tension as she made eye contact with him. Something about Harry was so contradictory. How could he make her feel so guarded and upset, but also make her feel so safe in her most vulnerable moments. As her grip loosened from the blanket, he asked if it was okay for him to remove it, to expose her body only dressed in her white nightgown. When she murmured a small yes, he peeled the blanket from her body. Cool air encompassed her, and she hadn’t realized just how hot she’d been under the blanket.

Y/N used her elbows to prop herself up, leaning back against the pillows, giving herself a full view as she sat up right, and Harry took this moment to lean back, so his upper body was still parallel to hers, but he still had enough room to use his fingers to work her to the brink of her orgasm. Fortunately for her, he was reading the situation thoroughly, checking for the signs that she wasn’t ready and verbally communicating with her to make sure she was feeling okay.

“How are you feeling, love?” Small touches is what he started with, using the arm that he wasn’t propped up on to trace heart shapes (though, Y/N couldn’t tell what shape he was making) with his forefinger around the bare skin of her hip.

“Feeling good,” her words were breathy, making his cock twitch in his pants, “I’m ready for you.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, his eyes glancing between both of her eyes as he spoke, “We’re going to take it very slow. I’m gonna teach you about pleasure, darling, with my fingers. How does that sound?”

“With your fingers?” She hated how demure it sounded, how underprepared and unknowledgeable the words sounded coming from her.

“Yes. With my fingers first,” he trailed his fingers from her hip, to her lower abdomen until he was over the cotton of her panties, feeling the wetness seep through, “You’re so wet, it feels like you’ve already reached your pinnacle. Did you?”

Sheepishly, she nodded. Though she may not know what it felt like when she was awake, she knew the signs when she woke up from a dream about him. Typically, she was as wet as she is now, a sticky feeling between her legs. “In my sleep.”

“Christ,” he breathed, pulling her panties to the side, but not taking them completely off in an effort to make her not feel so exposed. First, he used his thumb to touch her clit, using small circular motions at a very steady pace. When her breathing picked up once more, and small guttural moans fell from her lips in encouragement for him, he picked up the pace. Harry couldn’t help it, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing his lips against her own as he continued to rub in circular motions. Her back arched from the bed, his lips still on hers as he swallowed the noises she was making against him, and her mind was spinning with absolute desire. Pure bliss is what she felt, her flesh hot with each touch as he continued to work her most sensitive spot while his lips moved against hers. She didn’t know she could feel this… Good. In her dreams she was a sweaty, whiny, mess, but in this experience. In this very, very real experience, she couldn’t hold back the whines or the way her back kept arching into his touch. It was a complete parallel to the way she felt in her dreams, the way dream Harry took care of her and the way real Harry was taking care of her now was so similar.

____

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of emotion; he loved the way he was making her come undone beneath his fingers. While his thumb worked her clit, he slipped his middle finger in, the cool gold of his rings making her gasp against his mouth, and he took this moment to slick his tongue over her bottom lip and find his way into her mouth. Her mouth was warm, tasting of sweet fruit and honey… She was everything he could ever desire, and he hated the way he crumpled beneath her. She made him feel so out of control, but in this very moment, he had all the power. For a second, he removed his lips, staring down at her with her eyes shut. Her ribcage flared with each breath, her chest heaved as small whimpers tumbled from her lips with his name somewhere in the mix.

As soon as he found that spot inside of her, the spot he knew could make a woman buckle at the knees, she was finding her release and rocking against her hand. Normally, he would tell his partner to stop riding his hand to control the situation, to make them so pent up with frustration and desire that they could barely stand it. He loved to see tears form in his partner's eyes due to overstimulation and pure desire, but this time around, he just wanted her to feel good and comfortable as she reached her climax. This was a vulnerable moment for her, and he didn’t want her to remember it by looking back and thinking about how he wouldn’t let her cum… No, she was being such a good girl for him, rocking against him with such a politeness as she whimpered small pleases and thank you’s that he didn’t want to reprimand her for feeling what she was feeling. In fact, he decided she needed a good reminder.

“You’re being such a good girl, Y/N. So good for me,” as soon as those words filled her ears, her walls began pulsing around his fingers and he knew she was about to reach the brink of the universe, so he continued to encourage her, “Let it out, baby.”

“T-thank you,” she said, clutching the sheets in her hands as her back arched from the bed, and she clenched once more around his fingers, drenching his hand, his wrist, and the end of his pajama sleeves. 

“So polite, darling,” Harry noted as her hips thrusted up once more, riding out her orgasm on his hand. Once she was completely fucked out against his hand, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as she tried to maintain eye contact with him, and when Harry brough his hands coated in her arousal to his mouth and licked them clean, another wave of arousal shot down her spine.

“Is it your turn?” She asked him, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Not tonight, darling,” his hands found their way to the quilt, covering her up with the blanket so she wouldn’t get cold after she fell asleep. Normally, he would clean his partner up before allowing them to get cozy in bed, but the thought of making her get out of bed and wash up felt too evil as she could barely keep her eyes open.

“When?” She muttered, eyes still closed, “I want to.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Y/N.” He lifted himself off the bed, and she mumbled a small okay as he walked out of the room.

Harry was so fucked.