#i remember HIM bowing. i do NOT remember her doing it too

[star2fishmeg]

ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ | sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs

Pairing | Quinn Hughes x afab!reader Summary | six years later Quinn and y/n find themselves back in the place it started and old memories truly are precious...but so are new ones Authors Note | enjoy the (long) blurb @thehugheslover, sorry it took so long! This is only going to make sense if you read Feel This Way!!

The familiar clink of pool balls hitting each other, music at a moderate volume but mainly muffled by laughter and chatting and the back doors wide, opening the basement onto the patio where meat roasted on the barbeque under the balmy sun. Everything had stayed. The world was almost the same as they were back as teenagers but this time, they weren’t as naive, and everyone had grown up. Really grown up, into adults with jobs and lives, new ambitions and what happened six years ago were nothing but fond memories protected by the walls of the lake house. 

Y/n and Quinn sat on the sofa, turned slightly to face each other so they could look out into the rest of the room, her finger gently brushing over the stain between them. The second her skin touched the fabric, it all came flooding back like film tapes, the night Brady stayed over in particular. 

“We were so stupid, but it was a lot of fun,” she began with a chuckle, Quinn turning his head in interest, watching her trace around the splotch, “The Vodka Incident, when Brady brought that vodka, and we all thought it was fucking amazing.”

Cole’s voice groaned out from the distance, followed by Trevor and Jack’s obnoxious laughing, clearly relishing in Cole losing their game of pool. The couple giggled, glancing over at the group, their memories fading in and suddenly they were bought back to that night, and they were sixteen with three fifteen-year-olds and little Luke sat in a circle. The way Cole’s face had screwed up hideously, Jack and Trevor’s attempts to be ‘cool’ but landed them both in the bathroom and gagging and Luke tucked into her side most the night. 

“Yeah, Luke used to cling to you all the time, he was literally your shadow,” he said, watching Luke take a cocky bow after a successful turn, “and Brady, oh my God, you two used to torture me, like, come on, ‘who do you currently have a crush on?’ while you were sitting on my lap? You two killed me.”

Y/n laughed fondly, watching Brady enter the basement waving tongs like a magic wand, passionately interrupting the guys by fact checking them about something too muffled to make out from where she was sat. She then remembered the argument she and Brady fell into that everyone retold as if they’d thrown fists at each other, “Honestly, I thought you’d be jealous that I’m close with Brady too, but I was so wrong.”

“How about we not bring up my teenage insecurity, I felt so lame,” he smiled, hand taking hers and interlacing their fingers. He remembered that part too well, Jack and Luke loved to bring it up with him because for them, it was peak comedy and a learning curve on what not to do. Watching it happen was not as funny, but Quinn was their older brother, so how could it not be funny? “You don’t even understand, y/n, I got a scolding, from Jack.”

“Well, I was also lame so we’re even. Luke told my brother about the whole thing and that fucker did not let me live it down.” She grinned and placed a kiss on his nose, “You know what he said? ‘Yeah, everyone knew Quinnifer was, like, in love with you’ the little loser.” 

He groaned playfully at the nickname, even after all the years her brother still called him that. He really couldn’t escape that one, he’d somehow obtained it during college, y/n’s brother just started calling him Quinnifer out of the blue and his only explanation being that the women love it and it’s catchy, but it was better than other thing’s he’d been called.

Looking back over at the group, their friends that’d grown up with them, but whose personalities hadn’t changed, they wondered what it’d be like if they were sixteen again, and what they’d do differently. But they weren’t sixteen anymore and all the angst had been and gone, that chapter closed. Quinn was captain of the Vancouver Canucks and y/n was flying in her own career, and while they’d achieved so much by twenty-five, Quinn still had a list he wanted before he could feel satisfied.

Moonlight shimmering over the ripples of the lake, warm lanterns illuminating along the dock just like it always had. Y/n and Quinn’s bare feet padded along the wood leisurely, hands encased in each other’s and not a word spoken between them, they just needed a bit of peace away from everyone, even just for a moment. Passing the boats harboured up, Mila came to mind. Not in any other way than what happened that day and how he felt y/n’s desperate, burning glares from the other side of the boat, how he wished it was y/n breasts pressed against his shoulders and not some random girl’s. 

“I should’ve just told you how I felt from the start,” Quinn mumbled, but his voice clear from the serenity of the dock, nothing but crickets singing and distant chatter, “Like, we wouldn’t have had to go through that confusing, are-we-are-we-not phase. I can’t believe I was such a pussy.” 

Y/n giggled, swinging their arms, “Don’t blame yourself, I was also responsible. I told most the story to some friends in college, and even they thought it was obvious we liked each other. I sort of wish we hadn’t had that situationship, like, we were just hurting ourselves.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. Had me crying myself to sleep, it was fucking stupid.” 

“I know, Jack told me the night of the Vodka Incident, he saw you crying when we were going to sleep.” She didn’t need Jack to tell her Quinn cried that night, she felt his tears on her skin and the way he’d squeezed her like she would evaporate, his favourite teddy bear. She just never said anything, no need to bring up the painful past when they were living in their own paradise in the future. 

The more time she spent in the lake house, the more the memories swirled in her mind, not dwelling just remembering the times she couldn’t during the hockey season. The lake was a sanctuary, a museum of youth that held so many minor details you’d never see unless you were searching for them, like the names etched into the decking, aged but still prominent.

Quinn glanced down, barely reading the names scratched into the wood until he walked over something he distinctively remembered scratching with Brady, right before they were off to college; Q + y/n in a heart. He stopped right above it, tugging y/n back to face him, sweat forming on the back of his neck with butterflies in his stomach. Y/n blinked twice at him before raising a brow. He pulled his hand away, wiping both on his shorts before taking a deep breath.

“Uh, hey, listen…” his eyes shifted to her ‘Q’ necklace, to her eyes and then back to the etching on the floorboards before her necklace again.

“Q?” she asked, head flooding with multiple scenarios, piecing together location and their ages, his sweating, the fizzling in her chest and down to her stomach, “Oh God, you’re not getting traded, are you?”

His eyes widened, “Huh? No, no, Jesus no. It’s uh…well…um, just wanted to tell you how much I love you and appreciate you. You’ve, um, been by my side forever and I’ve been, uh, thinking about the future…”

He dropped to one knee, sliding a little, velvet box from his pocket and held it out in front of her, eyes sparkling under all the little lamps but more importantly because when he looked at her, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The most caring, supportive, girlfriend. His best friend who, no matter what, never gave up on him. He gazed at her with dilated pupils that may have well been hearts. Y/n’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she gasped gently, hands covering her mouth, and she struggled to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Y/n L/n, I have loved you since we were fifteen and only you can make me feel this way. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, in sickness and in health. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” Quinn’s voice shook, not a filler word tumbling out for once. All those days rehearsing his speech in the mirror paid off, all that stress lifting off his shoulders and she watched his hands tremble.

Y/n nodded desperately, tears spilling down her cheeks, “Yes, of course!” 

He grinned from ear to ear, corners of his eyes creasing as his eyes watered, wiggling the ring - polished with her birthstone - from the cushioning and sliding it onto her finger, his arms wrapping around her waist firmly. He held her close into his chest, spinning her around with his face buried in her shoulder, his heart swelling. When they rounded back to their original spot, they melted into each other’s bodies as they always had, t-shirts soaking up the salty tears of joy, the realisation of how far they’d come hitting them like bricks. Y/n and Quinn Hughes, forever and always. Their new chapter, with new adventures and the start of their own little family one day.

small worlds | @bunbunbl0gs

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[Requests CLOSED]

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[forthegothicheroine]

I don't know if you do requests for the Great Detectives, but I'd love to see how you think the Great Detectives would handle the murder of King Hamlet of Denmark.

This is a GREAT one! The big question is whether they all talk to the ghost of the dead king; I think I'm going to have to take that on a case-by-case basis, with whatever feels right for any specific detective.

So, in a series I do sometimes, how would various great detectives solve the murder of King Hamlet...

Sherlock Holmes: Well, obviously ghosts don't exist, so jot that down. But in Holmes's experience, living humans often pretend to be ghosts (or even make dogs pretend to be ghosts!) so who could this be? The young prince Hamlet, who everybody says has gone mad? Holmes deduces that he isn't mad at all, and is in fact conducting psychological warfare against his hated uncle; while Holmes disapproves, he concludes that the boy is completely right about Claudius due to his knowledge of the play The Murder of Gonzago, as seen when he's upset about changes in a production. The Murder of Gonzago is a play which premiered in a town in Denmark known for its manufacturing of poisons for pest control!

Hercule Poirot: Poirot is quite sad to hear that the monarch who invited him as a celebrity guest has died; why does this always have to happen when he goes on vacation? Polonius spies on the guy to see what he's up to, but Poirot is much better at snooping on people than he is, and nobody can keep anything hidden for very long. He gives a summation where he reveals Claudius killed his brother. Prince Hamlet immediately goes to attack his uncle and they struggle over a sword. King Claudius falls dead and Poirot bows out, because determining whether Hamlet should suffer consequences or just become king is not his department.

Sam and Peter: Hear me out- if we bump Hamlet down from ambiguously college-aged to ambiguously high school aged, we can replace Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. These two nerdy kids are shipped in to cheer their friend (more like acquaintance) Hamlet up, and to his surprise, they respond to his depressing monologues by taking notes and asking for further details on why the world is so corrupt. Hamlet isn't so happy about them doing an investigation into "What is up with Hamlet's super hot mom?" but when they suggest interviewing Claudius to see if he has the face of a liar, he enlists them to help out with putting on The Murder of Gonzago. The rest of the play mostly goes the same, but they find the letter Claudius planted on them and show it to Hamlet. One of the last lines of the play is when Fortinbras is looking at everyone lying dead, but then Osric points out "Sam and Peter are alive!"

Phryne Fisher: Phryne is a dubious (if genteel) woman Laertes has taken up with, whom Polonius is doing everything in his power to drive away. Phryne doesn't care, but it does bring her attention to the fact that the man is apparently constantly spying on everyone in the castle. On whose behalf is he doing this? King Claudius? Is he afraid someone may assassinate him because of his brother's suspicious death? What was the official story about that, anyway? She exchanges sexy insults with Prince Hamlet, refusing to be cowed, and ultimately agrees to play the queen in his production of The Murder of Gonzago (where she gets a little too into the love scene.) When she turns and looks directly in Claudius's eye in the audience during a crucial line, she can see the answer to everything. Claudius tries to convince Laertes to kill her, saying she corrupted Ophelia into being a whore for a mad prince, but Laertes can't go through with it and kills Claudius instead.

Dale Cooper: King Hamlet's ghost tells him who killed him in a dream, but Cooper doesn't remember. He befriends Horatio and tells him that in order to understand the death of the king, it is crucial for them to study an old Icelanic poem about a man who feigns madness, because the answer to the mystery lies somewhere within. Horatio doesn't totally get it, but he figures Cooper must know what he's doing and goes along with it. When everyone is gathered to watch a production of The Murder of Gonzago, Cooper first steps up onto the stage, guided by a spirit in the form of a snake wearing a crown, to announce that King Claudius killed his brother. Prince Hamlet immediately stabs his uncle. Determining whether Hamlet should suffer consequences or just become king is not Cooper's department.

Philip Marlowe: All I know is, most of this mystery involves him getting thrown off the palace grounds repeatedly and being told that a bum like him better keep away from King Claudius if he knows what's good for him. If he ever gets out of Denmark alive, Marlowe thinks to himself, he's never leaving LA during the winter ever again.

Sam Vimes: Vimes can actually interview the ghost, but that doesn't mean the case is closed. He's not worried about the ghost actually being a deceitful fiend, he just thinks there's a possibility he's wrong. After all, if Vimes was poisoned and his ghost found out some creepy relative immediately married his wife and took his job, he would also jump to conclusions! He spends a lot of time yelling at royal people and getting threatened with execution (Vimes doesn't know how his job ended up involving so many clashes with royalty, but so it goes), and is disrespectful of religion enough to spy on Claudius while he's having his remorseful confession. He can't arrest him, but he spreads the word around, and as the royal court dissolves into backstabbing and finger-pointing, Vetinari walks in with a full retinue (and more importantly, a list of all the debts Denmark owes to Ankh-Morpork) to evaluate the situation and congratulate Claudius on his "excellent decision" to abdicate. Claudius later dies of a totally natural snake bite in his ear.

Columbo:

Your Majesty, King Claudius, forgive My clumsy common nature. I am not A noble gentleman, nor do I live With such great honor as yourself- a thought, However, troubles me this night. For how Should some strange serpent come to bite a king? And why within his ear? It puzzles! Now, I beg that I may ask just one more thing…

[estrellami-1]

Lavender Letters

Part 7

Eddie grins.

He drops it in his locker.

Friday at 7 sharp, he’s locking his van and knocking on the Harringtons’ front door.

It swings open to reveal Steve, blush high on his cheeks. “You made it,” he says, almost breathily.

Eddie grins. “I said I would, didn’t I?” He steps closer. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” Robin Buckley agrees. “Let’s come inside before the whole neighborhood has to watch you play tonsil hockey.”

Eddie chuckles. “R,” he says, and holds out his fist.

Robin blinks at it for a second before she remembers. “The biggest, gayest fist bump!” She exclaims, bumping his fist with hers. “Okay, now come on, into the living room, I finally got the set list down and I’m not waiting on you bozos to start the party.” She drags them to the living room, where Eddie sees Nancy, Jonathan, Vickie, and…

“Miss Cunningham,” Eddie grins, bowing to kiss her hand. “Looking lovely as always.”

“Eddie!” Chrissy grins, pulling him up and into a hug. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

Eddie chuckles. “Where else would I be? Prom?” He grins wide, and Chrissy laughs.

“Who invited you?”

“Ah, only the man of the hour.”

“Oh, this is years in the making,” she laughs, pushing him back over to Steve. “Don’t let me steal you away from him!”

Eddie lets himself stumble over, almost falling before Steve catches him. “Hi, sweetheart,” he grins. “I think I just fell for you.”

Steve grins wide. His eyes are barely slits. “According to your letter, you fell for me a while ago.”

“Maybe so,” he acquiesces. “But now I know you. Really know you.” He finds his feet, offers Steve a hand. “May I have this dance?”

“You dance?” Steve grins, accepting Eddie’s offer.

“I… shuffle,” Eddie admits, grinning when Steve laughs. “But I can follow if you lead.”

Steve grins. “That’s not what your hanky says.”

Eddie is delighted. “You looked it up!”

“A while ago, actually, yeah. You’re not exactly subtle, flagging in Hawkins.”

Eddie shrugs. “If I have to, I can play it off as being a metal thing. James Hetfield wears one, too.”

“James Hetfield?”

“Metallica frontman. The point is that I have an alibi if I need it.”

“Have you ever needed it?”

Eddie laughs. “In Hawkins? Hell no.”

“How about in Indy? How do you know what you like?”

Eddie hums. “Some reading, and some… hands-on. Not as much as you’d think.” He grins wryly at Steve. “Most guys take one look at me and assume I’ve got the wrong side.”

Steve frowns. “That’s stupid. They think you’d go to all the trouble of getting a hanky just to forget which pocket you should put it in?”

Eddie shrugs a shoulder. “It happens. I do have some experience, though.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

Steve grins at him. “I’m glad one of us does, yeah.”

“And you? How do you know what you like?”

Steve blushes. “A lot of nights with a zine and my right hand.”

Eddie laughs. “We’ve all gotta start somewhere. What did you discover?”

Steve’s blush is permanent now. “Kitchen?”

Eddie leads him there. “How about a drink first?” He suggests. “I’d get you a water but I don’t know where anything is.”

Steve giggles, grabs two bottles. “There’s beer in the fridge that you’re welcome to, or Nancy brought punch, but I’d be careful.”

Eddie dips a glass in for a little taste and nearly gags. “Christ, what is that, paint thinner?”

Steve snorts. “Just about. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”

“No kidding.” He wipes his mouth, rinses out the glass, and accepts the bottle Steve offers. “Yikes,” he murmurs, causing Steve to snort.

He leans on the island. “So?”

“So,” Steve agrees. “Um. I’d like it if you would take more control. Not- not be mean. I don’t like being called names or put down in any way. But, um. I do like some pain. You-you can, um, slap me around a little? And-”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, “you seem nervous.”

“I’ve never actually, uh, said any of it out loud before.”

Eddie crowds into his space, absolutely delights in the way his eyes go half-lidded and his blush takes over his face. “Then how about we try something else?”

[revvethasmythh]

revisited the epilogue scenes from my first bg3 playthrough since they've added more things, and when gale re-introduces himself as gale dekarios and does a little bow, I am enamored with the way my durge gave a little bow right back

[carmarriage]

red vs blue restoration blew such huge chunks im actually mad. like completely enraged. and i wouldnt have it any other way. rest in peace you son of a bitch

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[cursingtoji]

“hm hello? do you need help?” yuuji approached the lady walking the hallways so slowly she seemed lost.

“huh?” you turned and he smiled, thinking how gorgeous you looked. your uniform was a lot like nobara’s, although it was lighter, like it was slightly bleached or just worn a lot, “no, i… i go here.”

“oh are you gojo-sensei’s student too?” he was excited to meet another student, it was such a big school for just a few people.

“gojo… sensei” you repeated confused.

“oh you must be utahime-sensei’s student then? from kyoto?” he tilted his head, like a puppy.

“utahime…” you whispered, “is geto here?” you asked with a certain urgency in your voice, “geto suguru.”

“who? geto?” he scratched his head, trying to remember if he heard about a sensei called geto suguru, “i don’t think i—“

“itadori!” megumi called from outside, yuuji saw him below through the open windows of the second floor he was at, his classmate probably saw him as well.

“ah fushiguro!” he greeted his friend and turned back to you, “i’ll ask megumi, he’s been here for longer than me.”

“who you talking to?!” megumi shouted.

“her!” he pointed, you were in front of him, right by the opened window too, he couldn’t see you?

megumi even moved a bit, “itadori, there’s no one there. stop playing, we got to leave!” megumi scolded him before entering the building.

“eh?” yuuji was frowning.

“sorry, i think i’m in the wrong place” you bowed and turned away running.

“wait!” he ran after you, turning corners he thought you could’ve gone but after a few ones he reached a dead end.

“hm? yuuji?” gojo emerged from a classroom.

“gojo-sensei! there was… someone…” he looked around.

“oi, we’re waiting for you, let’s go” megumi came from where he was, grabbing yuuji by the hood of his uniform and dragging him away.

gojo watched through a window as they walked down the staircase until both boys walked out of the building.

“that was weird” you murmured from inside the classroom he was in, “that boy called you sensei” you put more rice into your hungry mouth, “does yaga know you’re pretending to be a teacher here?”

satoru closed the door, lighting another incense on the table that you used to sit. where every year on the anniversary of your death he built a shrine with food you liked.

“i thought haibara was on a mission but i saw him by the tree” you pointed behind you with your chopsticks, where, outside the classroom and behind the building remained the tree you always had lunch underneath during hot summer days.

satoru undid the blindfold, letting his hair fall as he sat in front of you, admiring how you never aged a day. after all, you couldn’t.

in fact, it seemed like you didn’t realize how much time has passed. every year you appeared and every year you thought it was still 2006, when you had two kouhais that did everything you asked, a girl best friend that insisted you smoked with her and two boys that were helplessly in love with you. the last year you were alive.

“is suguru not coming?” you asked with your mouth full.

gojo swallowed hard, “no, angel. it’s just us.”

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of a miscarriage, just pure agony! wc: 1.8k inspired by the song 'touchy subject' by peach prc. part 2

a white baby gate fixed in my hallway stays haunting the house with the angels we made; sometimes, i dream, a decade away, we meet in a grocery store; you look the same, with just a few grey hairs. the blonde little girl who tugs on your shirt with your smile looks nothing like me.

it had been four years since you had last been on kildare island; four years of trying to forget the life, or the ruined bones of one, that you'd been escaping from.

after ending your engagement with your fiancé, you'd traveled all around the country in your beat-up truck, hoping to find a place where you'd belong; only to end up back in the outer banks. they say there's no place like home, and in a way, it was true. you can leave kildare island, but kildare island will never leave you.

"everything okay?"

you're startled out of your thoughts by the melodic sound of your mother's voice, and when she follows your gaze to the baby-gate attached to the door leading to the kitchen, her mouth twists into a frown. "i was meant to take that down before you got here..." she chewed on her lower lip, a pang of guilt almost punching her in the chest.

"it's fine." you shrug, trying to lift the ends of your lips into a smile, only for it to look artificial and rehearsed. "i should start unpacking."

"alright." your mother placed her hand on your shoulder, but should've been a comforting gesture, made you feel like you were underwater and the hand was simply pushing you deeper.

you stood alone in the living room of your apartment, the only thing to be heard of was the ticking of the clock your mother had already mounted on the clock, mixed in with the sounds of passing cars, so unlike the day you first moved into the apartment, yet so much like the day you were last there.

"you should keep the apartment."

"rafe, i can't do that. it's way too much, and i'm leaving-"

"it's already in your name." the man sighed, smoothing his hand over his shaved head; he looked so different than usual, the dark bags under his eyes making him look like he had aged ten years, his usually tan face almost pale. "you can do whatever you want with it. keep it, sell it, i don't care. it's yours. i never want to step foot in this place again."

your feet were almost moving on their own, the hardwood floor cold under your feet, leading you to that door, and even though you felt your blood run cold, every cell of your body telling you not to open it, you couldn't help but nudge the door open.

you didn't know what you were expecting.

stepping into the room, you let your hand trail over the soft-pink wall, still remembering the smell of paint.

"you know, you shouldn't be doing that." he sighed, leaning against the doorway. "i can just hire someone to paint the walls."

you roll your eyes, your denim overalls covered in the soft pink paint as the paint stained the white wall, "i want to do this. i'm not gonna hire someone to do everything for me when i'm perfectly fine doing it on my own."

"you're not-"

"hush." you pointed the paint roller at rafe, "i'm doing this. now pick up a paint roller or quit whining."

you look down at the crib, lined with white lace, picking up the brown teddy bear that used to belong to you when you were a child, brushing your hand over the fur, straightening the pink bow around its neck.

hung above the crib, was a picture of a couple that had just gotten engaged, wide smiles on both of their faces; a couple that had once been so familiar to you, but now, it was like you couldn't recognize either of the people in the photos.

it felt like everyone was staring at you as they walked past you; four years clearly hadn't been long enough to make the people of outer banks forget about you, and as you made your way towards the local cafe, you couldn't help but think about how long it'd take for the person you didn't want to know you were in town to find out.

you were strolling down the street, rafe's hand in yours, your fingers intertwined. you licked the ice cream cone, deep in thought, letting rafe take the lead.

"what's going through that pretty head of yours?" he chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, your engagement ring glimmering under the sunlight.

"baby names." you shrug, "what should we name her?"

"do you have any names in mind?"

"i was thinking..." you pursed your lips, not sure if the name you had been considering would be appropriate or not, chewing on your lower lip as you turn your head to face your fiancé, an expectant smile on his lips and his brows lifted in question, "evelyn."

when the name left your lips, you saw his mouth fall open, and for a moment you thought that you never should've spoken, but after rafe cleared his throat, there was a clear smile on his lips, his blue eyes glassy.

"you- you uh, wanna name her after my mom?"

"yeah." you smile, squeezing his hand. "i do."

for the millionth night, you were laid in bed, looking through pictures, featuring the faces of the couple above the crib in the room next door. pictures with the man's arms wrapped around the woman's waist, ones of them holding hands, ones where one was pressing a kiss the other person's cheek, ones from the several midsummers parties they spent together, ones from halloween, thanksgiving, christmas...

the girl in the dress she had planned to wear on her wedding day.

"rafe, where are you taking me?" you laughed, the blindfold covering your eyes, "if the blindfold's for some kinky purpose, you better forget about it."

rafe laughed, continuing to lead you, his large hands on your waist, "come on, have a little faith in me. i'm not that bad, am i?"

"oh, you definitely are. just last week we were an hour late to ava's party because you just thought i was irresistible."

rafe snorted, "well, that's because you were." he pressed a kiss on your cheek, "you can take it off." he whispered, taking a step away from you.

untying the blindfold, you blinked a few times, letting yourself get used to actually being able to see again, only to be startled by the sight of your boyfriend on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, "rafe...?"

you wiped away the stray tear that had left your eye without permission before it could reach your jaw, continuing to scroll through the pictures, knowing that it'd be yet another sleepless night, but when you saw a picture of her, you paused.

you weren't sure who was more nervous, you or rafe, even though you were the one in the examination chair, your shirt pulled up and your rounded stomach on full display. his hand was tightly gripping yours, the man's jaw clenched.

"let's take a look, shall we?" the ultrasound technician smiled, and you nodded, feeling her spread the cold gel onto your stomach, a slight yelp leaving your lips, making rafe squeeze your hand even tighter. you looked to him, nodding reassuringly, speaking softly, "it's okay."

rafe's grip loosened slightly and he softened his grip, both of you turning your heads to the screen, and the moment you saw the little lump on the screen, you couldn't help but feel tears stinging in your eyes.

"look. that's our baby."

"shit..." rafe stared at the screen wide-eyed, letting out a low breath, "that's our baby."

just like on any average day on the island, the sun was shining, your skin radiating with warmth as you walked down the street, looking in through shop windows; it had been a few days since you'd first stepped outside, and it seemed like your arrival had become widespread news, and you didn't receive as many stares as you did before.

you arrived at rafe's door, bringing your hand up and pounding on the door before you could stop yourself and chicken out for the third time that week. you were a wreck, unable to sleep, to think about anything other than how much you knew you needed to talk to rafe.

you waited, tapping your foot against the ground and biting down on your lip, when finally, the door slowly started opening, a small smile forming on rafe's lips when he realized that it was you.

"hey baby," he chuckled softly, placing his hands on your waist, "you miss me so much you couldn't even text me to let you know you were coming?" he grinned.

"i have to talk to you." you pull away from his embrace, taking his hands off your waist, the blonde looking down at you with furrowed brows, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, clearly alarmed by the slight frown on your lips.

"what's wrong?"

"i'm pregnant."

without even realizing it, you had stopped in front of a jewelry store, gazing inside at the things on display as you were going down memory lane inside your head. you let out a small chuckle, about to step back and continue walking, when your blood ran cold, the smile fading away from your face, feeling as if someone had stabbed you in the heart.

to anyone else, it would've just been the backs of two random people. but even without seeing his face, you could recognize the only man you'd ever loved no matter where you went.

his short-sleeved white collared shirt was tucked into his dark jeans, riding up slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, having grown out slightly since the last time you'd seen it, his signet ring on his middle finger.

you saw him let out a chuckle, and you could almost picture how it'd sound, his hand going to rest on the back of the person he was with.

a younger woman smiled up at him, and even just from her side profile, you could tell that she was gorgeous, her flaming hair flowing over her shoulders, the smile on her face genuine, matching his.

and when you saw what she was holding up and showing to him, the knife in your chest was twisted.

an engagement ring.

[pseudowho]

You could have walked to the café to meet Nanami Kento alone; you'd have preferred to, in truth, walking slowly in slow drizzle.

Instead, He walked you there, pushing through the tinkling door that He held for you, begrudgingly, as if you should be grateful. You could not look up to meet Kento's eye.

When you did look up to see Kento, stood waiting for your pre-mission meeting, He pulled your gaze back with a scowl, and a grab of your jaw.

Kento caught whispered berating; mumbled pleas.

"--just a work meeting...please--"

"--you remember to text me. You'll do well to remember you're mine."

You jolted from His pat-slap to your cheek, too sharp to be affectionate but too weak to turn heads. Still, humiliation festered on your face, putrefaction laid by His hand.

Kento remained unmoved, passively unthreatened by His filthy glance before He retreated from the shop. Something dark stirred in Kento's gut. The malice was not meant for you.

You sat at the table, wordless, your cold hands wrapping around a coffee which seemed to be, curiously, your exact order. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

Kento pulled his own chair out, sitting opposite you, one long tan-trousered leg crossing over the other. You looked down, your eyes cast in shadow. Kento looked to the insidious, gloomy drizzle outside, his sharp features cast sharper by the midday lamplight.

Eventually, achingly smooth, his voice called you home.

"What does 'mine' mean to you?"

You looked up at him, blinking. Your brain ticked.

"I don't...I don't know."

Kento was quiet again, leaning back in his armchair beneath the arching lamp, regarding the rain as though it watered his thoughts. He spoke again; you hung onto every word.

"When I was a boy, my grandfather left me a diamond."

The coffee shop buzz dimmed, and slowed, and muted. Kento captivated you so easily. The world fell away. Here he was. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

"It was...exquisite-- the diamond. The best and the brightest. A beauty amongst beauties." Kento took a deep breath in through his nose, feeling your cold little heart slow. "I didn't deserve it. It was...a privilege, to call it mine. A mantle that I bowed my head to bear."

Your fingers loosened around your coffee as Kento continued. His voice strained, aching for something.

"I could never be enough for the diamond, so I...I would build my life around it. Not in spite of it, but because of it. I hesitate to say I possessed it; it was no painting, or ivory box. Its beauty was far too timeless to be owned, for this diamond's beauty would outlive us all. If not in body, at least in memory."

The air felt light in your lungs, and you with it, as if you floated on helium, high and sweet. You yearned to reach for what was not yours. Your little voice spoke up, braver in Kento's ambient warmth.

"Tell me...tell me more."

Kento obliged. "On days when my diamond was dull, without its shine, I'd polish it more. I'm...gentle. I know it better than my own skin, and by the time I'm done, it sparkles."

Your eyes drifted closed to trap your sorrow. Your head bowed down, as if to be a diamond in daydream.

"On days when it shines-- and, god it does shine-- I can only step back and admire it, while it takes its time in the sun. They...deserve each others' beauty, the sun and she, and I would wither and rot if I kept them from each other. My diamond...my diamond deserves the world, and it deserves her."

Kento leaned forwards, now. His ambient warmth kindled higher until you burned as though he were the sun, and you yearned to blossom.

"I fear its loss; I am only, of course, a man, and I couldn't expect others not to covet such treasure, and so I keep it close. I would bring it to my bed, if only it would let me. I'd hold it in my sheets, if I did not fear I would sully it by my proximity alone."

Your lips parted so briefly, your objections snagging on your teeth to remain upon your tongue. Your heart weighed down with mercury and lead. Kento's voice could not be more than a whisper, and yet, with the steam-arm shrieks and the tamping chatter muted to insignificance, you could hear him.

"I would surround her with other beautiful things; not costly things, not necessarily, as if material goods were needed to enhance her. But rather, those things, and only those things that compliment her as she compliments them, be they wildflower or fairytale or fine wine."

Your coffee salted with the drop of a tear from your bowed face. Kento turned aside from your tears; not to disregard them, but to allow their trails to bloom as if creeping wisteria-- growth, in grief. A handkerchief slid across the table to you in one broad, calloused hand, and Kento sounded physically pained.

"Eventually, as I age, I recognise that all I was, am, and will be, can be traced back to such a diamond; not because I could not live without it-- that wouldn't be accurate. Rather, because, with the diamond removed from the equations which make the sum of me, the equations would unravel-- nothing would make sense, and if I ever tried to replace it, I would always come up short. I would never find the answer again. If I were to lose it...I could only surmise that I did not deserve it, like...like a prophecy fulfilled. It is not mine, and it will never be, if I seek to possess it."

As you fought the urge to gasp for air, Kento's voice grew bitter, snide. You caught the sharp edge of a blade; the darkness that reminded you that he could be a dangerous man.

"Men who use 'mine' for their partners are less than a stone's throw from boys who would use 'mine' for a toy car or a set of dominoes. As if...as if they are a thing to be played with, and jealously possessed, until they are discarded and forgotten."

Your coffees cooled in the chilly aftermath of Kento's monologue. Your purpose for meeting was forgotten. You were numb-footed as you stood, and followed Kento outside to the rain in the shelter of his great umbrella. He offered you an arm, and you took it, tucked close to his body.

It was curious, you thought, as Kento walked you to the train station. Arm in arm was less intimate in the eyes of society than hand in hand, but the hold was so much more intimate upon the body of the receiver.

Kento closed his fingers around yours, gently refusing, as you offered him back his handkerchief. He waited until you were beneath shelter, and did not turn to walk away until you did. Your heart pounded. Your body and mind were alive with sweet botanicals and promise. You turned on a pinhead, calling back up the subway steps.

"Kento! Did you...do you really have a...a diamond like that?"

A pause in wet footsteps. Fine needles of rain upon his umbrella. Kento called back.

"Sadly, no. It's only a dream. But if I did have that diamond...well. I would be proud to call her mine."

Your heart would surely burst. You couldn't breathe. Your cold little hand clasped the handrail on the stairs, and you sought to deny Kento's morbid prophecy.

"You could...you could steal it. A...a diamond. Your diamond."

A smile, and a hum.

"I could. Perhaps I shall. Perhaps...soon."

[neo-nomatrix]

Sunshine and Midnight Rain

Luke Castellan x Apollo kid!Reader

word count: 851

summary: Luke castellan and the daughter of apollos love story

a/n: “remember who the enemy is” IM TRYING

Luke Castellan held your heart since the day you met, and you held his.

You arrived at camp a few months after Luke. You were one of the lucky ones, claimed within an hour of being there. Your godly father is Apollo, god of poetry, the sun, music, narcissism, idiocy, stupidity, all that. You had assumed the gods would act superior to all, no matter if they were or weren’t. But Apollo was on a completely different level. You didn’t know why he had taken such a liking to you.

“You remind him of himself,” Your half sister, Kayla, had told you, “an archer who never misses, healer who fixes every wound, gifted singer, and somehow picked up the lyre in a day. And yet, you still ask why Apollo loves you the most?”

“I wish he wouldn’t,” you twirl the golden arrow he gifted you.

“y’know, that hermes boy has been staring since the moment you stepped foot here,” she smiles, nodding to the tan boy sitting on a picnic table.

“Great, more attention,” you keep your sights on the boy, lucas? Luca, maybe?

“His name’s luke castellan,” kayla says, ah luke, that’s it.

“He’s handsome,” you say matter of factly.

“Don’t trust those Hermes boys, all they do is lie,” Kayla leans back and rolls her eyes.

“It’s a good thing I play the lyre.”

——————

“You’ve got a great shot,” a deep voice says from behind you.

You’ve been at the range for around an hour, it’s 4:30, you always practice when no one else is around.

“The whole reason why I come out here this early is so i can be alone,” sure, it sounds mean but you swear you’re not trying to be.

“Sorry, once I see you it’s hard to look away,” you’re not looking at him but you can tell me has the biggest smirk on his face.

“Funny,” you tell him bluntly.

You set down your bow, keeping the arrow in your hand, and sit on the nearby grass. He lays down beside you, you follow his lead and put your hands behind your head.

“That arrow, it’s like it’s made of the sun,” He says amazed.

“A gift from dear old dad. No matter how far I shoot it’ll always come back. Supposed to be a sign of his love or something. But I think he just constantly wants me to be annoyed by him,” you inform him possibly too much.

“Most people would be grateful if their godly parent cares that much,” he says.

“It’s different with Apollo, there is no such thing as true altruism with him,” you bite your inner lip.

“I get that, I’m just tryna say- Hermes never showed up for me, and I'd kill to just have him tell me he cares,” His eyes furrow.

“Guess we both have different priorities,” you smile.

“Opposites work best don’t they?” He smiles back.

“Isn’t it opposites attract?” You wonder.

“Hey, your words, not mine,” he laughs.

“That one’s Orion,” You point up at the constellation.

“He was always my favorite,” he adds.

“Mine has always been Cassiopeia, but you can never see her over here,” You look back up at the sky.

“That one’s Taurus, and then Sirius below, and Gemini above,” you point each of them out.

Even though he hums in acknowledgment his eyes are locked on you.

“You’re staring, again” You mention.

“I told you I can’t help it, especially when you glow like that,” he reaches out and touches your face.

You reach out and grab his hand, running your fingers against his slender digits.

“I’d like to be a constellation when I die, maybe my father will fulfill that wish,” you say to him.

“That’ll be my last wish too, we can lay in the stars together.”

——————

It’s been a day since Percy Jackson came to Camp Half-blood. It just so happens to be your favorite day of the year, capture the flag. You have led the archers on the blue team for years, you’d say you’re doing well for what you’re given. Besides your siblings in Apollo the rest of the kids weren’t as gifted in archery.

As the first conch shell blew you were preparing for your mock-battle. Annabeth in charge of the plan and Percy, Luke with company, and you with the archers. You knew you could, no- would win. The archers took the trees, helping stray company from the skies.

“Today feels like a winning kind of day?” Annabeth asks luke.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” He smiles.

“Luke!” You pull him aside for a moment.

You cup his face the best you can through his armor. “You don’t get hurt okay? I don’t feel like healing anymore wounds from you. Understand?”

“Oh but I love to see you healing” he holds your hand and smirks

“Archers! Move out!” You call your team, eyes still locked with his, smiling.

“so… you and her?” Percy asks the taller boy.

“how could I not? She's perfect. I mean, I genuinely believe I could live without the sun if I just had her.”

And maybe, just maybe, he could.

[lanabuckybarnes]

| A Door Away |

Minors DNI 18+

2 weeks. It’s been 2 weeks of biological warfare in the sense of your heat. When he met up with you in the hall, Bucky knew with just with a glance just how fucked he was, and he needed it badly

✧Pairing✧ Alpha!MilitaryVet!Bucky x Omega!Fem!Reader

✧Warnings✧ Alpha!Bucky, Pining, Fluff, Buck being a cutie, Wet dreams, Oral (M), Rut, Heat, A/B/O Themes, Dirty Talk, Petnames [Omega, Pretty Girl, Baby, Princess], Dirty talk, Confessions - Any other warnings let me know

✧Word Count✧ 3.7k

✧Events✧ Hot Bucky Summer | WEEK 2 | “What should I call you? | Master, Alpha, Pet | @buckybarnesevents

Buckys-wintersoldier 2K followers Bingo | Square: Confessions in a weird situation | @buckys-wintersoldier

James Bucky Barnes was aloof. He kept to himself most of the time, rarely speaking beyond a hello or a soft ‘how are you?’ You had to admit that there was something about the man that intrigued you. Was it his cold gaze that seemed to melt whenever he looked at you, those rippling arms and toned body you’d caught a glimpse of through your peephole one warm day. Or maybe it was the sweet gentle nature he hid behind those layers of hardened emotions. You can always remember the first time you met your neighbour face to face. He held a basket in his hand filled to the brim with household items that you could easily have forgotten with a big move.

“Oh hi” you chirped when you noticed that you’d been taking in the man for a little too long. His scent captivates you, keeping you glued to your doormat. A rich vanilla permeating your nostrils, it was one of the nicest scents you’d encountered around your time with alphas.

He cleared his throat, the tip of his nose and ears darkening to a deep pink.

“My sister…I mentioned to her I had a new neighbour and she made this…for you” his voice dropped off at the end of the sentence, his deep blue eyes unable to hold your own for more than a minute. He was peculiar for an Alpha, most of them reeked of arrogance, treating their subordinates like gum on the sole of their shoe. But here he was, a basket stretched out to you and his eyes pinned to his shoes.

You’d been staring again.

A few months into living in the new apartment, everything was finally settled and you were settling into your little home just great. Bucky helped an awful lot which surprised you beyond belief. When your AC broke and your landlord wouldn’t pick up your calls James knocked on your door, tools in hand. He had it fixed in under an hour.

The same with your shower, sink and that time you bought a bigger bed, determined you could do it yourself only to knock on James’ door with your tail tucked between your legs.

After an offer of his favourite dish and beer, he found it hard to keep the ‘annoyed’ scowl on his face. You were just too cute looking up at him like that, with wide puppy dog eyes, looking so defeated. His animal brain lived for the domestic life you two had accidentally created.

“Today was nice Buck” You turned in his embrace to lean into his side a little more, your legs tucked under you and your face inches away from his. The swans in the water splashed around, courting each other with their pretty dances.

“I’m glad you liked it” he let his hand, the metal one that he’d lost while serving, cup your cheek, the plates clicking softly as he soothed his thumb over the bone.

His eyes dropped to the perfect bow of your lips, how close they were to his. It would take only a slight movement to connect them, swallowing your soft sounds.

“You don’t gotta stare,” you teased. He lurched forward, capturing your lips in a tight embrace, his tongue pressing against your mouth looking for entry which you gladly granted.

There was no fight for dominance in the kiss, your tongues dancing instead. His lungs stung with lack of oxygen but he didn't want to pull away, he couldn’t, your soft floral scent mixing with the dewy air keeping him trapped. When it became too much you parted, his lip captured by your teeth.

There was something so primal in your eyes, a longing that had him twitching inside his jeans in anticipation.

“James” his name came out of your mouth as a breathy whimper, almost like it was excruciating to say his name. The air around you both changed into something humid, biting at him, rearing its erogenous head.

He didn’t even notice the way your hand had drifted down, his breath catching in his throat as you rubbed your palm over him.

“Need you James” you whispered so sweetly in his ear, leaving soft kisses down his neck, completely missing his scent gland. The rhythmic clanks of his belt sounded in his ears and you pulled back with a victorious sound.

You looked like an angel as you pulled him from his briefs, pumping his length until precum beaded at the tip. Your eyes never left his as you sunk, your tongue rolling out to taste him.

You were so close he could feel your hot breath against his tip, your pink muscle drawing ever closer—

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Bucky’s eyes shot open. His chest heaving against his mattress euphoria, evidence of his actions that he’d just imagined soaked his underwear and sheets.

But the dream was more than just a run-of-the-mill thing. It only meant one thing for Bucky. His rut.

To say you were growing concerned for James was an understatement. For over two weeks now you hadn't seen him, hadn’t heard a thing from him at all. It was like he just vanished. It was when he didn’t show up for your weekly meal together that it reached its boiling point.

You couldn’t even eat the food you prepared as you sat, staring blankly at the spot James would usually sit, letting you drag on and on about your day with a soft smile or a little comment here and there. Your heart always fluttered when he did that, even if it was just a small hum it sent butterflies flapping about aimlessly in your stomach.

You went to bed in a sour mood, hangry and entirely terrified for your friend.

You tossed and turned in dreamless slumber, any slight sound shocking you awake, no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t force yourself into deeper rest.

The clock on your bedside table read 3am when you heard a bang in the hallway, a curse following it. You slipped out from under the covers and grabbed the first thing that came into your hand, your dad’s baseball bat he gave to you for good luck—and for a scenario just like this one.

You crept silently down your hall to the front door, avoiding each creaky floorboard that Bucky promised to fix sometime last week. Peaking through the peephole you found the very man that had made your life a living pain for the past few weeks.

You swung your door open quickly, meeting the wild eyes of James, anger bubbling in your chest fighting with the concern you also felt. The concern won by a slim margin.

“James” you whispered, inspecting his body with your eyes. His hair was a tousled mess, and his pale blue shirt was wrinkled. Still the same man and with no sign of injury, except the pained expression across his face.

“Bucky. Call me Bucky” he forced a smile but he couldn’t hide the low rumblings of a growl in his broad chest. His brain short-circuited at the way your sweet voice sounded. It brought him right back into his bed and into that dream. He couldn’t deal with that and he sure as hell wouldn’t force you to either. He wasn’t that kind of alpha.

Then your nose picked up on something in the air around you, that vanilla smell that Bucky had, it swirled with something much more fruity, something suggestive that had your omega brain wrestling with your logical human side.

His rut.

That’s where he was.

His voice rasped as he spoke, lying dormant for too long but your mind was far too occupied with more nefarious thoughts. You couldn’t help but imagine him, legs spread wide on a couch, his naked chest blushed pink, his mouth agape as strangled moans, growls, any sound of pleasure falling from him. His hips fucking up into his hand, or one of those silicone pussy’s you’d seen in porn.

Would he be thinking of you while he called out for his omega?

“Hello?” You shook out of your trance, realising that you’d been staring at Bucky the whole time. You shot him an awkward smile, confusing him further.

“Bye.”

Slam. Your door shook on its hinges as you slid down the other end of it.

Bye? Why the fuck did you say that? You let your head fall backwards, sucking in some much-needed fresh air. Your thighs clenched, your hand wandering between your legs to your soaked panties. And that was only because of his smell.

Bucky was no better, the remains of his rut flaring up at the sight of you, in that tank and panties. You hadn’t anticipated anyone and opened the door in a panic, completely forgetting about your half-naked look. Bucky grunted, mumbling under his breath about how ridiculous he was being. He threw his keys into the bowl and stripped off his clothes, heading straight for the shower. If he left it any longer he didn’t want to think of the ways he’d ruin your tiny body.

His cock throbbed at the notion. God he hated his brain sometimes.

You shot out of bed in a panic at the first twinge. It couldn’t be happening, you hadn’t had one in months. The second twinge had your legs like jelly, your hands slapping onto the nearest surface.

Oh, it was happening, and you had only a little time to prepare.

Throwing on a pair of sweats and quickly doing your teeth you frantically made your way to the car park to grab your car, almost speeding to the shop just so you could be at home in time.

You raided the store of all its protein products and energy drinks. The bags almost burst at the seam as you carried them to the elevator. Your fingers ached and your body cried out. Come on it won’t be that much longer, you reassured that animalistic part of your brain.

Stepping out onto your floor you struggled down the carpeted hall, the bags feeling heavier and heavier. Thankfully Bucky would be at work, you didn’t have any chance of bumping into him.

You fished for your keys in your pocket, grasping them tightly before fumbling with them.

“Need a hand?” Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh yesss. A range of emotions crossed your brain at his deep voice, your logical brain cursing while your omega brain reeled.

Yes. you need a hand, let the alpha know what’s wrong. Your animal brain demanded.

Don’t be fucking stupid, he’s your neighbour and he doesn’t even like you. You’re wanting us to wriggle our ass in his face and beg to be bred, yeah I’m sure he wouldn’t call the cops.

It wasn’t unheard of for omegas to ask alphas for help during their heat, kind of like a friends-with-benefits scenario. But you’d be damned if you were asking Bucky for help. You could get a bit…passionate about sex and it doubled during your heat, you liked Bucky too much to let him bear witness to that, your mind plaguing you with thoughts of him hightailing it and running at the first sight of you.

You’d settle with your little knotted friend that rested neatly in your drawer.

After politely declining Bucky’s offer you for straight to work.

Night drew closer, your nest established on your floor, perfectly poised just the way you like it. Energy drinks and your trusty silicone dildo lay off to the side.

You took your time showering, doing your entire routine. Drying yourself off before lathering your body in lotion, you didn’t even bother to put on some clothing, instead settling yourself into the nest in a foetal position.

Your hips rolled into the air, soft whimpers falling from you at around 2am. Without hesitation you grabbed the rubber cock, squirting some lube on it and running it through your soaked slit. You pushed it in slowly until the knot pressed against your entrance, your pussy not quite ready yet but with the way your wetness rolled out of your body, it wouldn’t be too long.

Bucky could hear your whimpering from the next apartment, your scent wafting through his house and straight into his nostrils. His cock twitched at your soft sounds, your muffled pleading for an Alpha to fill you up.

His mind wandered, were you using your fingers to get off or one of those cocks he knew companies made to exploit little omega’s like you.

“Mmm fuck Alpha hurts so much need your pups”

God it was going to be a long night.

The longer you went on the worse Bucky got, his cock dribbling all over his tight briefs, his skin glistening with a layer of sweat. He sat on the side of his bed, his head leaning against the wall, listening to you please yourself.

2 weeks later your heat was showing no signs of subsiding. Your supplies from your first run had gone long ago and you had to ask your friend to grab you some more. You’d never felt a heat like this, usually they’d last a couple of days and that would be that but you were still riding your dildo a week later.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Alpha please so good” you slurred, a flurry of whimpers slipping out of your mouth as you rocked your hips back and forth, the head of the dildo brushing against your sweet spot. Your pussy gushing more slick around the plastic, smearing all over your thighs and onto the blankets of your nest.

It just wasn’t cutting it anymore. Your orgasms shook through you but you were left unsatisfied and riding the rubber cock desperately. Trying to seek that one good, back arching blissful climax that had you sinking into your sheets in exhaustion.

But it never came.

“Oh fuck Alpha gimme that fucking knot mmmm need your knot so bad, need you to breed me full” your moans mixed with the sloshing of your cunt, your lips stretching around the knot as it sunk into you repeatedly with a sloppy sound, your fingers frantically strumming your clit for anything. You could feel the coils in your stomach tighten almost painfully but no matter what you did they just wouldn’t snap.

“Fuckkkkk” You stopped your movements, sitting on the dildo and catching your breath. You were at a loss, you didn’t know what to do, if you didn’t cum you were going to drive yourself insane but no matter how hard you fucked yourself it just wouldn’t make anything happen.

You were so desperate, so fucking needy. You needed an Alpha.

The dildo fell out of you with a pop as you stood on shaky legs, each step towards your bedside cabinet sending pleasured shocks up your spine. You unlocked your phone, scrolling through your contacts until you reached the one you needed.

‘Bucky 🤭🩵’

For a second you hovered over the call button, unsure if you should do it. But need prevailed and the ringing brought you back to reality.

“Hello?”

You almost moaned pathetically down the phone at the sound of his voice, thick with sleep deprivation and so fucking husky.

“B-Bucky…” you hadn’t thought this far, your brain was so fogged with need that you didn’t even stop to think about how you’d ask him for help. Bucky’s voice at the end of the line was quick to respond. You didn’t need to tell him a thing he could hear just how much you struggled.

“I’ll be over in 5”

You could’ve cum on the spot, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you bit your lip and clenched your thighs. You looked around your room, a mess of blankets and pillows arranged in a circle on your floor and in the centre, your dildo. You sunk to the floor, no longer able to stand as the waves were just too much. The hardwood hurt your hands and knees as you crawled into the centre of your nest but you couldn’t care.

You were finally getting help and you couldn’t have been happier with who it was.

Your cheek smooshed against one of the pillows as you lay waiting, your hips grinding into the air subconsciously. You were so wrapped up in your trance that you failed to hear the front door opening or the soft knock on your bedroom door.

“Look at you pretty ‘mega” Bucky drawled from behind you, his slate blue eyes boring into your core. A fresh wave of slick trickled from you at the sight of him, his smell infecting the air in a way that had you gulping down oxygen like you were starved of it.

You watched as he slipped his shirt over his head, dog tags jingling before resting on his sternum, his metal hand drifting down to unbuckle his belt. You took him in like he was a cold glass of water on a boiling hot day. He was the magic medicine to your ailment.

He wasted no time in pushing his jeans and briefs to the floor, his thick cock slapping against washboard abs. He was so much bigger than the toy you relied on, your brain fought with itself, wondering if you could even take a cock that size.

You’d come this far.

“How’d you want it pretty girl? Want me to fuck you like you are just now, on your hands and knees presented to me like a little slut. Maybe you want me to flip you over and pound you, let you watch me as I hit every little inch of that hot ‘mega cunt” he spoke, words dripping with lust.

“I don’t care please Alpha” You slipped, pushing your ass back to him, waving it enticingly as more slick dripped from your folds. You needed it now, none of the teasing.

“Alpha?” He questioned with a teasing smirk, sinking to his knees behind you and flipping you with ease onto your back.

Fuck looked beautiful all fucked out, your face wet with frustrated tears, your pupils so dilated you could barely see the colour. Your chest heaving causing your tits to bounce and that sopping pussy, pathetically clenching around nothing, silently begging for him to fill you, make you full with him and only him.

“What should I call you?” You blinked up at him, blushing lightly despite the fact you lay spread wide for him. You’d never called someone Alpha before, it just fell from your mouth in bliss. Insecurity bubbled up at the thought of maybe Bucky not wanting to be your Alpha, even for just a short period.

Your worries were all squashed when he lined his fat head up with your core, sinking fully in a single thrust.

“Alpha’s fine baby, now lemme fuck that omega brain dumb alright. You don’t gotta think anymore, your alpha will do that for you.”

Dominance radiated off him. The kind that made you want to submit, roll your head back and present your neck for him to mark, letting him claim you.

He slid out slowly, letting you feel every inch, every vein of his length until just his head remained buried inside you before he thrust forward again, his tip kissing your cervix.

His thrusts picked up at the sound of your heavenly sounds, your body arching up to meet him, to be as close to him as possible.

“Ohh fuck ‘mega, that pussy ain’t been fucked good in a long time huh, she’s sucking me back in, such greedy little cunt…so fucking tight…that’s alright though, your alpha’s got you now, won’t let that pussy go unsatisfied again” Bucky fell to his elbows, his nose bumping yours as you shared each other's air. Your legs spread underneath him as his hips pushed your thighs open further.

You couldn’t think. he was everywhere. A hand in your hair, his hot breath fanning over your face and neck, his dick filling you up. You were ruined for any other Alpha you just knew.

Sobs bounced off the walls, sounds you’d never heard before falling from your mouth. Your hands clung to him, wrapping around his back, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

Fuck you were so close, those coils tightening deep in your belly again, hot spikes of pleasure rolling up your spine, your cunt spewing your essence around him.

“Fuck ‘mega my fucking knots swelling already ohhh shit, my knot ain’t swelled this fast before” he laughed between guttural grunts, his teeth nipping your jawline.

“Mmmm Alpha” you heave, your pussy clenching him tightly.

“Gonna cum baby? Gonna squirt around my fucking knot yeah? Oh fuck oh shit come on sweet omega, cum on my fucking dick.”

Your world went white when the swollen base of his cock pushed into you, stretching you wide, your preen stuck in your throat as your body convulsed with such an intense orgasm. Bucky rammed his whole weight into you a few more times before following suit, dumping his huge load inside your ruined cunt.

You don’t know when he rolled you over, his arms wrapping around you, your leg hooked over his hip. Your soft whines were the only indication that you hadn’t passed out, along with the look of sheer unbridled joy melting over your features. The softness and domestic nature of it all grounded Bucky. He didn’t feel regret like he thought he would, or guilt that he’d corrupted you

He felt at home.

“You did so good for me, pretty girl, don’t know anyone that’s taken my dick so good. Such a pretty little ‘mega” he praised, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Love you alpha” You forced despite your tongue feeling like lead in your mouth.

“I love you too princess, now get some rest alright? I’ll be here when you get up, then I’ll make you feel nice and good again.”

Bucky’s warm embrace and strong scent lulled you to sleep. A deep satisfied slumber that you hadn’t felt for months, a smile on your face.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

[hello-eden]

Unexpected Hope

Damian has been disoriented all week. When he was told that stopping the ritual would have repercussions, he did not expect this. He had been dealing with the memories on his own but unfortunately he could not postpone this gala. 

He had been stopping a ritual that would end up summoning the being he now knows as Undergrowth. Damien does not regret that choice especially now that he has the context. Unfortunately it brought back his memories of Phantom.

He didn't quite understand they were memories for quite a while honestly he was a little bit concerned he got possessed. Thankfully after some compartmentalizing and a little bit of isolation, he figured out what was wrong. It did not help the confusion that comes with being a Midwestern teen and an assassin child put into one body but he has gotten the hang of it. 

Unfortunately Damian did not get long before he was forced back into the presence of his family. he had put off many public family events in the last few months so he was not able to get out of this event. he probably could have faked being sick but he'd much prefer to be able to pass off any of his symptoms from the memories as uncomfortableness being around strangers then be alone with his family. 

He's honestly very happy with his choice after he sees her. He doesn't recognize her at first with the dark auburn braided hair and the dress being something other than black but something made him turn around when he heard her rant.

She was giving a humanitarian speech to one of the investors. At first he got closer just to hear about it. It's always funny to see the faces of the imbeciles when people don't bow to their wishes.

Damien thought he finally found someone who was not a gold digger or a social climber. What made him really stop in his tracks was her body language. It was like a neon flashing sign opened up and said ‘hey this is Sam Mason’. 

Damien walked over with hope in his chest that he was not alone. she eventually seemed to get tired of the man or maybe he was able to scramble an excuse and walk away. he couldn't quite hear but by the time he walked over there it was only her.

 “you seem to be quite passionate,” Damian says, trying to start a conversation and figuring out how to ask the hard question.

 What is he exactly supposed to say? ‘Hey, are you my best friend for my last life or hey do you remember being on my ghost hero vigilante team that ended up with all of us being Undead royalty.’

The girl looks him over, probably trying to figure out what he wants. 

“Are you here to argue?” She says angrily, obviously ready for another fight.

“Your speech reminds me of someone, have you ever heard of Samantha Mason” Damien says trying to be nonchalant.

Her eyes seem to widen and look him over again.

“Where'd you hear that name.” She ordered.

“I've heard enough of her rants to be able to pick it out from a crowd.”

 “Danny,”  She said softly her grabbing his hands and squeezing as she looked around to make sure no one saw. “what how I thought it was the only one” Hope seemed to be filling her eyes. 

“Hi Sam” Damien Whispers just as softly just as glad he is not alone. 

Without another word Sam drags them to the stairway rushing up to the floor upstairs and trying to find a room that isn't being used. She eventually finds one two floors above the room they were using for the gala and pushes him into what looks like a break room.

 “How the hell did you get your memories” Sam demands 

“Why are you yelling at me? You have your memories too obviously if you are recognizing your name” Damian says shouting back at her. 

Sam always has a way of catching him off guard. She was happy just a minute ago. 

“yeah well I did something stupid which means I know you did something stupid” Sam said pointing her finger at him.

“ Well I may have accidentally stumbled upon a ritual for summoning an ancient and when I stopped it the backlash gave me my memories back. ” Damien stumbled over their words trying to justify themselves. "What stupid thing did you do?”

“The girls in my stupid Prep School in my grade went through a very witchy phase. there was a slumber party and they were stupid enough to actually find real magic. I had a cut on my hand earlier in the day and try to freak them out by adding a little bit of my blood. apparently my protection spell is literally stuck into my soul, so things went down” Sam says just as hesitantly as Damien

 “you have zero leg to stand on okay fine we were both stupid” 

They both sat there in silence for a while, mostly just basking in each other's presents realizing they weren't alone anymore.

“it's good to have you back," Damian says, giving her a weak smile and running his hands through his hair.

He'd been trained out of all of his nervous ticks but it probably makes her more comfortable to see him just as nervous as she is.

“it's good to see you too da- do you have the same name?” both of them don't seem to realize at the same time that they didn't get each other's names. 

“Damien” he says as he pulls his hand out of his hair and puts his hand out for a handshake. 

“Sarah” she says, grabbing his hand and giving it a shake.

the two of them shake their hand for a moment before they look at each other's eyes and burst out giggling. 

Damien's really glad he decided to not pretend to be sick.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ The ballad of the raven and the dragon ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!! PLEASE KIERAN BURTON ONE CHANCE JUST ONE!!!!!!!!

Pairing: Benjicot ("Davos") Blackwood x targ!princess!reader

Summary: Being the only daughter of queen Rhaenrya and the heir to the throne is not easy, after convincing your mother to let you patrol near the riverlands you come across a battle where you meet the infamous Bloody Ben.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, burning brackens, making out, dry humping, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), wine play, vaginal sex.

It was another grey and windy morning at Dragon Stone. The sea waves crashing against the cliffs, dragons roaring in the sky. War was brewing and so was the tension at Dragon Stone. Being heir to the iron throne was heavier than you thought, the meetings with the black council were getting more dreadful and your mother, the queen, more protective of you and your brothers by the day. Ever since Ser Arryks intrusion she had more guards on watch and you were rarely allowed to leave, especially because you are the queen's only daughter and heir. 

However this morning after begging her to let you patrol the lands, she finally gave in, only for a short while. So your handmaiden quickly helped you change and put your hair up for the flight. Practically running towards the cave, you could barely pace yourself to get to your dragon. She was big for her age and almost as fierce as Caraxes. After getting on her, she felt your excitement and quickly flew out. After a while of flying around Dragon Stone you decided to go a bit further, near the riverlands. 

When you were getting closer high in the sky, you spotted some people near cow fields and a mill, so to take a closer look you descended down enough so you could see them better. Just to check if you didn’t come across the greens knights. Now being lower you could hear some yelling, and then their clothes became more apparent. Around four or so in yellow and brown and the other 4 in black and red, which in the riverlands only meant one thing. Brackens and Blackwoods. However they did not seem to notice you, too caught up in the argument. You were debating on landing out of curiosity but quickly made your decision when swords were drawn and a fight broke out. 

Then you noticed that more Brackens turned up, you knew they declared for Aegon and even though your mother told you not to engage, you never turned away from a fight. You quickly descended with your dragon and she let out a shrieking roar. The faces of the men looked up but there was no time for the Brackens to run as you commanded, “Dracarys!”. Your dragon incinerated a good half of the brackens, the other now starting to run. You quickly turned the two of you around to get on their heels and burn the remaining of them. Your body filled with adrenaline and you dragon roaring with triumph and excitement herself you heard the victorious chants of the Blackwood men down below. 

So deciding to officially meet your allies you landed near them, seemingly their commander already heading towards you. As you stood on the ground you met him halfway and could barely hold in your smile at the sight of him. Never had you seen someone as fierce, unique and handsome looking as him. “My princess, thank the gods for you and your dragon. You saved us many men.” He greeted you with a grin. “It was my pleasure, any green I see I’ll turn black.” He laughed at that, took a step closer and gave you a soft bow with his head. 

“However exciting I find to burn my enemies, this was still unnecessary my lord. I don’t remember my mother giving out orders to kill Brackens.” You lectured, your tone a bit more serious now. Even though it was thrilling, your mother would surely hear of this and get upset. “I understand your grace but those cunts deserve death, anyone who stands with the usurper does.” The fearsome lord gritted out. “But I do apologise, I meant no offence to her grace the queen…or the beautiful princess.” He said that last part softer and with a smile. 

You felt like a little girl again, blushing at his words. “I know you didn't, my lord.” He smiled again and you felt your skin heat up beneath your clothes, there was just something about him...a certain mischief. “Raventree Hall is not too far your grace, I would like to offer you some wine and food for your troubles.” He petitioned. “It was no trouble my lord but I’ll take that offer. I assume you’re on horseback?” You smiled. “Yes your grace, you could ride with me if it pleases you.” He offered. “Have you ever flown on a dragon my lord?” The words left your lips before you could even think about them. The lord of house Blackwood made you say and do things you never thought you would for a man. 

“I haven’t your grace, what are you suggesting?” He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and nervousness on his face. “Fly with me, it’s faster and more fun.” Your words surprised him and he seemed to debate on whether he should. But Benjicot Blackwood was a brave man and at this moment he would do anything to please the princess, even risking his life on a dragon's back. His men cheered behind him and one of them even pushed him in your direction. “Even if I didn’t want to, it looks like I have no choice.” He chuckled. 

“Well let’s go then.” You walked over to your dragon who didn’t seem to love the idea but always did as you commanded anyway. When you were seated, you asked your dragon to lower herself a bit for Lord Blackwood “Ivestragī zirȳla va.” and she did, almost with a grunt.  He climbed on behind you in the saddle as you scootched a bit forward to make room for the tall man. “Ready?” You asked him, grabbing the reins, his men moving out of the way before you. “I think so.” He said, holding on to your waist, which totally didn’t make your heart skip a beat. “Sōvēs.” The second the word left your lips, your dragon started to move, taking some steps before rising into the sky, wings flapping. You could hear the men below you gasp and cheer and felt the lord's hands holding on tighter to your waist. 

After some time of soaring through the skies, Raventree Hall finally came into view. With a loud thump your dragon landed on the ground and you showed lord Blackwood on how to get off, after he got off as well he grinned and led you to the gates of Raventree Hall, the tall weirwood tree looming not too far away. Following Lord Blackwood through his home you were greeted by the guards and servants roaming the place, all with a polite bow or curtsy and a soft “your grace” or “princess”. When you arrived in the big dining hall, it was empty except for you two and some guards. 

Sitting opposite to each other at the table he had a servant fetch some wine, bread, cheese and fruits. “Do you have a favourite fruit or cheese princess?” He asked while removing his gloves. “I wouldn’t want your servants to go out of their way, really anything is fine.” You smiled, cautiously observing his handsome face and veiny hands. He still had some blood on his face, which somehow made him even more alluring. When the food and wine arrived he sent the few guards and servants away and poured you some wine himself. “Thank you my lord.” You said politely, hands in your lap as you watched his tall figure looming over you behind your seat, putting the goblet in front of you. Pouring himself some too he sat back down.

“My princess you needn't call me ‘my lord’, please call me Ben.” His request surprised you but you gave him a smile and nod nonetheless. “Alright... I will.” He took a sip of his wine and looked at you shamelessly. Normally you hated men looking at you like that, but him doing it- made you hot and flushed. “I know it has been a year already but I still wanted to say how sorry I was to hear of your father. I didn’t know him well but I knew he was fierce on the battlefield.” You spoke softly. “Thank you, I must admit that seeing those Brackens today triggered some grief I still had left.” He looked down as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, I know how it feels to have your father taken by the stranger. It will get better, if there is anything I can do for you.” 

He looked at you with kind eyes. “You are too kind, and quite fierce on the battlefield yourself.” He complimented you, now with his mischievous smile back on his face. “Thank you.” You glanced around the empty room before you spoke again. “Do you- have a wife?” You almost stumbled over your words, the question wasn’t disgraceful... but how it was perceived could be. “No, the war and finding my place as new lord of Raventree Hall have kept me busy. It gives me space to...explore and experience, I guess.” He said looking at you once again- did he just look at your chest? “I see. A man is lucky enough to do that, many even continue to explore and experience well into marriage.” You said with a certain jealousy behind it. You seemed to both understand the meaning behind your words, the impure meaning. 

The winds blowing through the cold Raventree Hall made the room cool your heated conversation down a bit but your want for him couldn’t be blown away. Your eyes met each other and you couldn’t help but notice a certain change in demeanour from him. “Have you had the opportunity to explore or experience much in life yet princess?” The way he said the words, low and almost raspy, made your breath catch in your throat. “No.” You said soft and meek. He paused before he dared speak his next words. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like…” His tone was still low and soft. “Yes-” You answered quickly, you wanted nothing more than his touch. 

Before you could protest he rose from his seat, walked to the hall doors and opened them. You thought you had perhaps scared him off but then you heard him speak to the guards outside the door. “The princess has a delicate matter to discuss with me, so take your leave for the night. Make sure no servants pass here.” You could hear a hushed ‘yes my lord’ and footsteps leaving as he closed the doors again. On instinct you stood up and he walked over to you. Looking at each other's eyes and lips once more he surged forward and crashed his lips against yours. His strong grip on your waist and lips moving against yours made a soft moan escape your lips. He moved you tighter against him and your arms were holding on to his back.

His veiny hands moving down to your ass and gripping it tightly caused your clothed pussy and his hardening cock to grind on each other making him groan against your lips. Pausing the kiss for a moment you begged him to do it again. “I have a better idea.” He mumbled against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss as he moved you towards the table. With your ass now touching the edge of the table his hands moved to knead your breasts before lifting you up on the table and standing between your legs. He held onto you before kissing you again, your own hands moving to his dark hair. 

Bringing you close again he started to grind his hard on right against your clothed cunt, making you moan and whine into his mouth. He left your lips to kiss along your jaw, sucking on your neck next. “Please- harder...feels so good.” You pleaded. “Fuck-” He muttered against your neck, now full on humping you like a dog, panting and cussing underneath his ragged breaths. The table was croaking and scratching the floor from the movements. Your hands held on tighter in your hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you, sudden and unknown but you never felt this amount of pleasure. As the pleasure overtook you you held your breath, his moans now becoming louder as well. “Feels good- doesn’t it pretty princess? Just wait until I fuck you on my cock.” His dirty words made you gasp and whine in response before he sadly stopped his movements. Instead he started removing your clothes, you quickly helped, once left in your undergarments and chemise he started to remove his own clothes as well, leaving him in just his breeches, the thin fabric gave you a full view of the big tent that his hard cock created. 

You couldn’t stop your hand from wanting to touch his cock, his breath hitched as your fingers touched his tip. “Does that feel good?” You asked in a seductive tone, you knew what you were doing and this newfound sinful power made you wonder what else you could do to him. “Ohh yesss.” He shuddered, “Just like that-” Your hand now fully grasped his cock moving the skin over his tip underneath the cloth. “S-stop, fuck, before you make me cum already.” Ben said with a breathy chuckle. Setting you back on the table he removed the remainder of your clothes, at the sight of your breasts he paused and couldn’t help but stare. Throwing the rest of your clothes on the floor he reached behind you and grabbed the goblet of half filled wine. “Shall we make this memorable?” He smiled mischievously. You could only nod and look at him with slight confusion, but it all became clear when he tipped the goblet over by your left breast, wine trickling down your nipple before Ben moved to lick it up and suck on the skin. You inhaled at the sensation. 

Moving to your right nipple he once again let some wine flow down your breast before he licked it up again. He kissed you once more. Then he licked your lips and sank to his knees. Your brows furrowed in confusion but you were excited for what he was about to do next. He started to kiss up your legs, kneading your thighs and hips. Your eyes rolled back at the sight before you. His head now moved between your thighs, moving the cup right above your already wet cunt he tipped it over again letting wine spill over your pussy and again he didn’t fail to lick it up. 

But this time it felt a thousand times better than your breasts. A gasp and moan left your mouth and you grabbed his head for support when he repeated the action, however this time he started to suck, lick and devour you. Putting the wine on the ground he grabbed your hips to hold you still as he went in like you were his dinner. “Gods- please- Ben!” You could never keep quiet with the way his tongue was fucking you now. And due to your sensitivity from your previous orgasm, you came undone in a matter of seconds, coating his face in your arousal. 

“Thats a good fucking girl.” He smiled leaving soft kisses on your mound before rising again. “Please, please take me. Bend me over the table and take me Ben.” You breathlessly begged. With a look of pure lust on his face he did as his princess told. Moving you off the table and turning you around he bended you over, your breasts pressing against the hard table. Hurriedly removing his breeches, he lined up his hard cock with your entrance. Using his tip to spread around your juices. “Seven hells-” He groaned as he let his tip slip inside you. You moaned and gripped the table for support as he now slowly sank into you. 

“You okay? Can I move?” He asked breathlessly. “Yes- please I’m fine- just fuck me already-” He wasted no time and grabbed your ass cheeks as he fucked into you. Gaspes, pants and moans filled the room as he pounded harder into you. He couldn’t help but slap your ass and grip it harder making you roll your eyes back in ecstasy. The table shook underneath you and now you understand why he even sent the guards outside away. 

The noises of sweaty skin slapping against each other, the moans, the cusses, the pleading, panting and creaking of the table spurred Benjicot on even more. Lifting your right leg so your knee was resting on the table as well allowed in to fuck you even deeper. His cock now fully hitting your cervix. He had to remind himself who he was fucking and that he couldn’t fill you with his cum. That became an even more difficult task as he could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him tighter making him moan your name with each pound into you. 

Moving his fingers to your clit while thrusting into you, moaning your name against your shoulder you came with a moan of his name. Benji quickly pulled out and you turned around “On your knees.” He commanded, and you did. You had a feeling of what he wanted and opened your mouth, with a smile Ben put his leaking cock in your mouth as you started sucking. His moans became louder again and he filled your mouth, cussing as he came too, swallowing his cum he caressed your cheek before helping you up. Heavy breaths filled the room and breathy laughs from you both. He pulled you closer and you held each other for a bit.

Until you had to break the silence. “No one can know Ben.” You spoke resting your chin on his chest when you looked at him. “I know.” You shared a solemn smile before you pulled away from him reaching for your chemise on the ground. “Let me keep it.” He stammered. “Why would-” He took it from you. “Because, when you leave I’ll have something of you. And when I am lonely at night...I could relive the memory of my cock deep in your cunt.” He spoke lowly. “Okay.” You smiled, giving him a light kiss before getting dressed. Anxiety filled you as your mother must be worried by now. “I do have to leave now.” You said after Ben got dressed as well. “I know.” You kissed each other one last time before you left with your dragon, soaring through the sky as your heart hurt at the thought of not being with him.

[magicbystarlight]

A Lady and Her Knight

Gwayne Hightower x Velyaron! (Vaemond’s daughter) Reader

Summary: You tease a knight and he falls ridiculously in love with you for it.

Word Count: 6.3k (I had to stop myself)

Warnings: 18+, Brief misogyny and xenophobia (not from Gwayne), injuries, verbal & physical teasing, milk comes out your nose, fluuufff, Gwayne is a romantic, oral sex (fem! receiving), grinding, Gwayne makes a mess. Minors DNI.

A/N: This is self indulgent, I make no apologies

“All this,” you muttered, eyeing the servants as they continued to scurry about in preparation for the various nobles who’d be arriving within the following days, “for a boy that may not even exist.”

Your aunt, Princess Rheanys, sighed beside you. “As is the way of the world.”

You could still remember her standing between your Uncle Corlys and the old King Jahearyes, Visyers and his then pregnant wife Aemma opposite them. The Queen Who Never Was. Your father’s confidence she’d be made queen and that his brother would pass High Tide to him. Your father’s sudden switch in loyalties when the council had named Viserys instead. “A woman can never rule.” What a statement to make to a daughter.

“At least,” she said, taking your arm to continue strolling through the bustling courtyard, “this shall offer you a chance to be amongst more than sailors and children.”

You mirrored her teasing smile. “The children I do not so much mind. Perhaps I shall take them to see the knights practice in the training yard.”

She said you name warmly, a fondness built through years of companionship during her husband’s frequent voyages and trips to King’s Landing, “perhaps instead you will find company with those more suited for your age while you are here.”

Nose scrunched, you asked, “Are you trying to rid yourself of me? Or is Laena?” It was all in jest, but you wouldn’t doubt your young cousin would like a less astute guardian during her time here. It wouldn’t surprise you if there wasn’t at least one attempt to sneak off to the dragon pit. “No, it must be Laenor. I have embarrassed him too oft on our journey with my superior knots.” He’d need to improve them soon. Not only for the sake of his future as Lord of the Tides, but if he ever hoped to be a dragon rider like his mother. Rope secured the saddles better than anything else.

“I assure you, sweet niece, no one is displeased with you. It is only my wish that you enjoy this trip as much as everyone else.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you assented. “I suppose I shall try, if only to please you, Princess.”

—

The wish went unfulfilled. Instead, you found yourself hidden behind closed doors serving as cupbearer to the Small Council in place of the younger princess. The Realm’s Delight, it was reasoned, should be the face that greeted the lords and their kin in the absence of the king or his queen. That the Hand’s daughter stood at her side was only right. And, you who so oft served as cupbearer within High Tide, were a perfect replacement for the time being.

It was not the sort of gossip you’d hoped to partake in, but still you listened intently as you filled cups again and again with their preferred Dornish Red. Your uncle hardly touched his now as he gave another plea for them to take his warning of the Crab Feeder seriously. But once again, it was brushed off by the Hand with the empty promise that it was taken under advisement. Talk turned quickly into that of the tourny. You had to turn your back so they could not see the roll of your eyes. Back and forth, the king argued his child was a boy who’d be born at some time during the week despite the insistence of part of his council that it wasn’t certain.

When you turned back, you caught Corlys’s frustrated eye. The Triarchy had already made trouble for ships that ported in Driftmark. Were it to continue there would be financial burden on the realm. One your house would feel first. And the king and his council did not much care. Your head bowed ever so slightly in acknowledgement of his ire before his attention returned to the discussion at hand. You made to do the same, but the heavy gaze of the Hand himself had you quickly averting your own to the floor. It stayed there for the remaining minutes as the inane chatter dissolved and the men rose to depart.

You were quick to your uncle’s side. He’d want to speak with his wife and air his grievances in a more hospitable setting. You’d take the children to the gardens or perhaps the training yard as you’d first planned.

“Lord Corlys,” Otto Hightower called, pausing your escape. He strode down the table, coming to stand on his other side. “I wish to assuage your worries that you have gone unheard today. You have not. Once the tourney has passed and the heir is in the king’s hand, there shall be a much more comprehensive discussion with the Council of what shall be done with this crab feeder.”

The stiff posture your uncles had held eased. “That is good to hear.”

Otto hummed. “And I would like to invite you, Princess Rhaenys, and,” his attention fell on you, “your niece to dine with me this evening.”

An eyebrow rose on your uncle’s face.

“My nephew arrived with my son from Old Town this morning. As he is the future Lord of Old Town, I think it would be very wise for him to build a relationship with Driftmark and learn from your many successes.”

Flattery was always your uncle’s vice. As was the opportunity to talk of his great adventures. He bowed his head. “We’d be honored.”

—

You weren’t nearly drunk enough. But your aunt had ceased the flow of wine and had whispered to a servant to have it replaced with a nut milk after you’d downed your second glass. Perhaps it was for the best. A loose tongue would surely injure the idiot beside you.

On and on Lord Ormund went, talking about nothing save for his own life. The gardens in Old Town he’d one day inherit, the two links he’d earned at the Citadel, how well trained he was with a sword, how he’d received three offers of marriage from lords of lesser houses for their daughters, and how thrice he’d denied them.

“Lovely girls, I am sure, but too commonly pretty. I myself want a wife of more exotic beauty.”

“Perhaps you should speak with my uncle then,” you said, shoving your fork so forcefully into a slice of potato it broke apart, “he could help you prepare for your journey across the Narrow Sea. He knows many of the nobility within Volantis and Braavos as well. He may know of a match suitable for a future Lord.”

He laughed. “No, no. I am not a man built for sea travel. Nor would I wish for a wife of a foreign mind. Too many queer customs.”

You held in a rather rude retort. “An exotic beauty without a foreign mind? I believe you may find a mermaid with more ease.”

“You are a modest creature.”

You choked on your milk trying to stifle a laugh followed by the awful feeling of it snorting out of your nose. You’d been flirted with before, but never so poorly. As he showed concern and your aunt and a servant mopped up your mess with napkins, Otto’s eldest son drawled, “Careful, cousin. You’ll kill the poor girl with your charm.”

A coughing fit covered another repressed laugh. Your aunt’s hand patted your back. Once you���d caught your breath and cleared the water from your eyes with a handkerchief pulled from the bust of your dress, you met Gwayne’s sea-blue ones. They crinkled in a way that had you thinking there was a smile hidden behind his own goblet. The cloth in your hand pressed against your mouth to try to stop yet another bout of laughter and you had to train your gaze on the table to keep any composure. Gods, this dinner could be the death of you.

“Are you feeling ill, my lady?” Ormund questioned.

“I am afraid I am,” you said, still hiding your mouth behind the cloth. “I had hoped it would pass as I was very much looking forward to this lovely dinner, but I fear it has crippled me beyond politeness. My apologies, but I think it best I retire for the evening and rest.”

“But of course,” Otto said. The Hand of the King saw through your act. You realized it as he offered his nephew to walk you to your chambers. When you rejected the idea, trying to implore the table you were fine to go alone, Otto merely said with a smile, “It is a long walk. It would ease my mind to know you were escorted there safely, especially given your delicate health at the present.”

Your eyes flicked from your aunt’s to your uncle’s looking for support. You had no desire to deal with Ormund alone. But they merely agreed. Your aunt’s arched brow hinted that it was a consequence of your own actions.

“Ormund should stay.” Gwayne was already standing as he spoke. “It’s a rare thing to get to speak with a Lord such as Lord Coryls. As I am not set to inherit a Lordship like you cousin, I shall ensure the lady is returned safely. I wish to visit the stables anyways.” He was a man of confidence, striding to the door and pausing at it to offer his arm. “My lady?”

You nearly knocked over your chair standing. A rushed farewell is all you offered the rest of the table before meeting Gwayne at the door and taking his arm. “This is where you say thank you,” he said when you reached the bottom of the stairs, far far away from the ears of your respective families.

“Thank you?”

He smirked. “For aiding you in your distress.”

“I was not in distress.”

A snort.

“I wasn’t! I was mildly inconvenienced at best.”

“Perhaps when I return this evening, I shall tell my dear cousin how fondly you spoke of him. How struck you were by him that you nearly swooned speaking of his handsome features.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, retracting your arm from his. “You would not dare.”

He grinned. A grin so charming, it could convince a saint to sin. A grin you had a strong urge to smack. “Is that a risk you’re willing to take over a few words of gratitude?”

You stared at him for a long while. His grin never wavered. The fool thought he had won. You cocked your head and, with a voice so sweet you could taste it, said, “You are right, Ser Gwayne. Thank you for your daring rescue. Though I fear a simple ‘thank you’ is not nearly enough.” His grin shrank as you stepped closer to him. “Perhaps a kiss for such chilvary?” Your hand rose to his chin.

His throat bobbed as you stroked his jaw. “My lady,” he tried to say, hand rising to halt yours.

“No, I suppose a kiss would not be appropriate.” You took another step forward, chest pressing against him. “My maidenhead is much more proportionate to such an act of bravery.” You grinned then.

His smile had fallen away. “You mock me?”

“You started it,” you shrugged. You tried to step back, but his grip tightened on your wrist to hold you in place.

A breath left him. He stared down at you, a look of shock that melted to one of amusement. Breath warm on your cheek, Gwayne leaned in and whispered, "A dangerous game to play. A lesser man would take your teasing as an invitation.”

You tilted your head up, nose brushing his, and mockingly cooed, "My savior.”

He snorted and released his grip, fingers dragging along your palm before his touch vanished. He shook his head and took a step away, putting distance between the two of you. It did little to help the tension. “We should get you to your rooms before dinner ends less you wish to tell Ormund the truth of your spilled milk.”

—

“It’s not fair,” Leanor whined as he tugged at the rope that bound his wrists. “How am I supposed to untie something without any hands?”

Leana giggled, her own ropes dangling from her wrists. “It’s easy!”

Leanor frowned.

“It’s not easy,” you corrected, plucking his knot until it came loose. The godswood was empty besides your trio. “It takes skill and practice to be able to do. It took me years to do it.”

“But why do I have to?”

You sighed. “Because, you,” you poked his nose, “are a valuable captive to have. And if you ever are in such a position, I want you to be able to get out of it.”

Leanor pouted, but didn’t argue more. He rubbed his freed wrists and watched as you tied Leana. It didn’t take long before he was bored, complaining he wanted to go to the training yards to see the knights practice. Leana soon followed.

You were on the verge of caving to their pleas when another trio entered the godswood. Rhaynera, Alicent, and Gwayne.

“Are you holding these children hostage?” Gwayne called.

“Yes!” the children yelled back. The ladies were giggling as they came upon you, Alicent holding a large book to her chest.

You rolled your eyes. “Tis a pleasure to see you again, Ser Gwayne. Though I fear it is poor timing as we are about to depart to the training yard.”

“We are?” Leana asked excitedly

“What fortunate timing,” Rhaynera disagreed, sharing a smirk with his sister, ���as that is where Ser Gwayne is headed.”

Leanor looked at him with round, awed filled eyes. “To train for the tournament?”

“Indeed,” he said, kneeling to pull the knot on the boy’s wrists. It came undone easily. “Do you intend to become a knight one day?”

The boy nodded eagerly.

Gwayne looked to Leana, offering her the same aid. Her eyes were not quite as wide with awe. She freed herself with her teeth.

Gwayne chuckled. “I see you take after your cousin.” He stood and extended his hand towards you. You looked from it to his face. A teasing smile and a spark of challenge in his eyes. You could have sworn his lips curled wider when your fingers grasped his palm.

“Careful, Ser. Such high praise will inflate my ego nearly as much as your own. I’m not sure there’s enough space in all King’s Landing for that.”

—

Gwayne was a very pretty man. Clean, well groomed, and handsomely dressed, he was the sort songs would be written about. But after hours in the training yard, dirt clinging to his sweat drenched skin and hair askew? You were not sure there was a word for it, but whatever it was made you ache in ways unfit of a lady. The children had been sheparded off an hour before by their mother, much to their chagrin. They'd been entranced by the fighting and weapons and grieved to leave it behind for arithmetic. But you'd stayed. Leaned against a wall as he'd shown off and you'd pretended to be unimpressed.

"You are still here, my lady?" he asked as he stepped out of the crowd of knights and squires, chest heaving from exertion.

You shrugged, trying to keep your eyes trained on his face. "I've not else to do."

"And you are certain you have not stayed to avoid anyone?" He leaned beside you.

That confused you. "Who would I be avoiding?"

Your confusion confused him. "Ormund?"

You breathed a laugh. "Oh my, I had forgotten he existed." Another giggle. Gwayne's beautiful smile spread wide. The bright white a contrast against his dirtied skin. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. You reached into the bust of your gown and withdrew a handkerchief. "You're dripping."

He accepted it and wiped his face, pausing to inhale the scent. "Lavender?"

"And rosemary." You grieved to see the grim wiped away.

He grimaced as he surveyed the cloth. "I fear I may have stained it."

"It is only a handkercief."

"I shall have it cleaned."

"Ser Gwayne," you cut him off and reached into the otherside, pulling free another. Your body tingled as his gaze lingered on your breasts. "Tis a cloth. I have many more." His cheeks colored as he realized his gaze had yet to waver. He accepted the second and mopped up the sweat from his neck.

"I have offended you."

You snorted. "Hardly." Flattered more like.

"Still," he said, folding the cloths and tucking them in his pocket, "I do not wish to have you think me a pig."

"A pig you are most certainly not. As you said, a lesser man would have taken my teasing as invitation last night," you assured.

Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back and nearly choking on the sound. "You are truly a wonder."

Your nonchalance was beginning to crack. The teasing had heated your skin in such a way it turned damp. You fanned yourself with your hand to aleve the warmth. "A wonder who is in want of a bath."

"You wish to join me in a bath?"

Surprise colored your laugh. “My, my, you have grown quite bold in but a day! Perhaps you do belong in a pen.”

—

You sat beside Alicent, clapping along at the Dornishman who’d unseated a Tarley squire. You remembered him from the training yard from the last few days you’d spent watching. Vaguely. Most of your attention had been concentrated on someone else. Lord Baratheon embarrassed himself next, asking for favor of The Queen Who Never Was only to be unseated by the very same Dornishman. Your aunt’s smirk as he was dragged away matched your own.

Your heart raced as Gwayne rode out in the line of knights for Prince Daemon to choose from. His face was hidden behind his helmet, the motif of the High Tower adorning it like a crown. Prince Daemon passed the line slowly, studying the options. He veered his horse back at the end of the line and strutted past several knights before pausing, backtracking, and pointing his lance. At Gwayne. From the spat Daemon and Otto had had during the last Small Council meeting the day before, you doubted it was anything more than some petty vendetta on the prince's part.

But Gwayne trotted happily to the stands and came to a halt in front of you. He lifted his visor, grin wide. He held his lance towards you. "Might you do me the honor, my lady, of giving me your favor?"

Heat bloomed through your face as you stood, clutching the garland tightly. Eyes bore into you from every angle. You let garland, wrapped in rope and seashells, slide down the lance. "I wish you luck, my knight."

He gave a short bow, shutting his visor and returning to the field. The herald announced the start as you returned to your seat. Nails dug into the wood. Gwayne clipped the prince's shield, nearly knocking him off his horse and sending his lance flying. But upon their second meeting, the prince speared his new lance into the ground in front of Gwayne's horse. Both horse and rider hit the ground hard. His helmet had flown off and his face took the full force of the fall.

You stood as his body lay limp on the ground. For the few seconds he did not move, a crushing despair wrapped around your lungs. He’d only been in your life for a fortnight now, but you could not imagine it without him. A silly romantic notion you’d have mocked another for. But you could not help it. The despair eased only slightly when his head rose. Alive. Squires took hold of his arms and half carried, half dragged him away.

"My apologies, my lady," Daemon called cheerily as he cantered over, "for besting your knight. Perhaps I may take on your favour in recompense?"

Gwayne's retreating form disappeared behind the flaps of a tent. Your gaze turned on the prince, hard and cold. "Thank you, but my favor is not so easily redirected."

His smirk did not falter. "Well, that is a pity." You do not stay to see what conversation he had with his niece and Alicent.

The men in the tent tried to force you away. Not a place for a lady. But after years on docks and ships, you knew how to hold your ground in places much harsher than some medical tent. Gwayne laid on a bed, armor gone and face cleaned. Cuts littered his face and his eye was beginning to bruise. But he was awake, watching you in amusement. "Are you lost, my lady?"

Relief sagged your shoulders. "I was worried." You knelt at his bed and gripped his hand. "Are you alright?"

"My ego may never recover, but my body will."

Your other hand brushed hair from his face. "You do not give your ego enough credit. It shall recover quite well." Your teasing lacked any bite.

He leaned his head into your palm. "With your attentions nursing it, perhaps."

You shook your head, but smiled. "Perhaps." You lowered your voice. "If there is anything you need, any way I can help, you must tell me."

"There is one thing." His hand squeezed yours. "I have not yet asked your uncle. I had hoped to after I crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty, but alas." You bit your lip at the heat creeping up your neck. He sat up, holding your hand tighter. "I cannot think of a less romantic setting than here, but I can no longer contain myself. Will you allow me the honor of your hand?"

"Do you not already have it?" you teased.

His eyes narrowed. "That is not an answer."

"It is not," you agreed. "But it is a taste of what to expect when you are my husband."

His smile returned. "Call me that again."

"My husband?"

He hummed, bringing your hand to his lips. "Yes I quite like the sound of that."

Your smile mirrored his. "Shall I call for a Septon?"

"Tempting as the offer is, I have already denied you romance in my offer. I will not deny you a true wedding as well." He kissed the back of your hand again. "Nor am I up to face your uncle's sword were I to marry you without his consent."

You heaved a sigh and pouted. "Denied me? What is romance if not a confession made from nothing more than one's heart? I shall be the envy of all who learn that your love was so repulsed by restraint. I could marry you here and now and be just as happy." You leaned forward and placed a kiss against his temple. In a whisper you added, "Happier perhaps, as I would share your bed this night."

He groaned. "Do not make my recovery so difficult, my lady."

You smiled, pulling away. "You are right, my knight. We should perhaps wait until you are at least fully capable of taking me in the ways a man should his wife."

"You are cruel," he chuckled. "Perhaps I should rescind my offer."

"And deprive yourself of a wife such as me? Never."

"No, never.

—

Nine moons. They wanted to wait nine moons for a wedding. Time for you both to return to your respective homes and then for you to travel via ship to Old Town. Nine whole moons apart.

“It’s not ideal,” Gwayne agreed as you walked through the gardens. “But it is not as long as it could be. I’ve seen engagements last years.”

Your head rested against his arm. “I should have convinced you to marry me in that tent.” The scars had nearly healed on his face. A tragedy. They suited him well.

He stopped and took both your hands in his. His lips brushed across your knuckles. “It would not have taken much.”

You tilted your head, a soft smile spreading across your face. His nose bumped against yours. His breath fanned across your cheeks. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb tracing a scar. “How cruel for you to tell me days later. Is it not punishment enough I must wait nine moons for even a kiss?”

He hummed. His hand raised to cradle the back of your neck. The tips of his fingers danced along the exposed skin there. Tension coiled tight in your stomach. You tilted your head up ever so slightly, breath fanning against his mouth.

Gwayne hesitated. “We should not.”

“Please?”

He closed the little distance, lips pressing softly against yours. It was quick and light and not nearly enough. You chased his lips as he pulled away, the hand on his cheek not letting him escape. Another kiss. Longer, less delicate. Then another. His lips parted and his tongue slid across yours in a plea for entrance. One you granted happily. Your hand fell to his tunic and tugged him along as you began to walk backwards into a small alcove where you’d be less likely to be seen.

Hidden away, his arm wrapped around your waist and held you taut against him. The kiss was deep and desperate and the ache between your legs maddening.

"Gwayne," you gasped against his lips. You pressed closer. The groan that left his mouth shot straight to your core. You whined, pulling back from the kiss and looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Gwayne," you repeated.

"We shouldn't," he muttered, kissing your cheek. "Not here. Not now."

Your head fell back as his lips traced the column of your neck. "Why?"

"Because," his teeth nipped at the underside of your jaw, "I am not a lesser man." His nose traced along your jaw, stopping at the hinge. "And the first time I take you, I want to be able to spend the entire night worshiping you in our wedding bed."

"Gwayne.”

His groan was pained. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder, grip on your waist tightening. Had it not been for the call of your name from further in the gardens, you were sure you could have convinced him of much more than a few stolen kisses.

—

Daemon was not an easy man to find. After the birth of the king’s son and his loss of the tourney, he’d been absent much of the remaining festivities. But luck was on your side as you found him strolling through the same corridor as you. Alone.

"Prince Daemon," you called, catching his attention. He paused and turned towards you, an easy smirk on his face.

"My Lady," he greeted, bowing his head. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

You smiled. “How would you like to displease the Lord Hand?”

—

Just as promised, guards were nowhere to be found when you scurried through the sleeping Keep. The unattended door opened without resistance. Crackling from the fire and soft snores were the only sounds in the room. With a smile, you shut the door and drooped your cloak over a chair.

Your steps were silent, careful, as you came upon the bed.

Gwayne snored. Not loud, not obnoxious. Soft and sweet. He slept on his stomach, arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. Only a thin sheet covered him and it laid dangerously low on his hips. His bare back a canvas of muscle and freckles.

You called his name and shook his shoulder. He snorted, turning his head and cracking his eyes. They went wide. Like the pure maiden he was, he reached for the sheet and pulled it to cover his bare chest.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could not sleep.”

His head tilted and eyebrows drew together. "That is...not a good reason."

"I could not sleep," you repeated, a teasing edge to your voice, "because I could not stop thinking about you."

He swallowed, the lump in his throat bobbing. "My love," he said, voice thick. It was the first time he called you that. “You should not be here. If someone saw you—“

"They didn’t.”

His gaze was heavy as he searched your face and then fell to the lace trimmed shift. And your bare thighs. “Have you come to seduce me?”

You leaned forward, breath ghosting across his lips. His hand gripped the sheet tightly, knuckles white. His tongue flicked across his lower lip. "Is it working?"

“This is highly improper. We are not married.”

“But we will be.” You pulled back. “Unless you have changed your mind.”

His arm snaked around your waist, dragging you on top of him with a surprised yelp. The sheet was the only thing between you. Something pressed against your rear. No, not something. Him. Cock. Penis. Member. Whatever it was called. It was hard. His hands settled on your waist. Adoration and desire had him staring at you like a man starved. "My lady, my love," he murmured, thumbs stroking your ribs, "I shall never change my mind."

"Good," you whispered, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss against his lips. A kiss that turned more urgent and deep as your hands roamed along his chest. He groaned, the sound muffled by your mouth. His hands slid to your hips to push you lower. His hardness pressed against your aching cunt. You rocked against it, relishing the feeling and the way his head fell back, breaking the kiss, and a string of curses you’d never heard from him escaped.

"Gwayne," you gasped, rolling your hips. His grip tightened. He rocked with you, creating an addicting friction.

”This must go,” he said, tugging up your shift. You helped him discard it quickly. "Gods," he hissed. Your own curse fell from your lips as his hands cupped your breasts. “How are they more beautiful than I imagined?”

“Imagined?”

His thumb flicked across a nipple, drawing a gasp from you. “Every night since you offered me your maidenhead.” The coil in your belly tightened. He flipped the two of you over, the weight of his body pinning you down. The sheet had been pushed down enough for his cock to spring free. It lay hard against your thigh. His lips pressed kisses along your jaw. His hand returned to your breast. His other snaked between your bodies and down.

His finger pressed against the little bundle of nerves. Pleasure shot through your veins, your back arching. He kissed down your chest and took a nipple into his mouth. His finger worked slow, teasing circles around the nub. The coil wound tighter.

"Gwayne," you sighed as a second finger joined the first. They dipped inside of you. "Gwayne."

His chuckle vibrated against your skin. His lips traveled lower, peppering kisses over your stomach. The hand on your breast slipped lower, wrapping around your thigh and spreading your legs wider.

You moaned as his tongue flicked over the bundle.

"So wet," he moaned, dipping his tongue inside. Your hand buried in his hair, urging him to keep going. And he did. Licking, sucking, teasing. Every motion had the coil winding tighter. Your toes curled. Your hips bucked. With a cry, pleasure flooded through every vein.

Trembling, panting. Eyes shut from the blissful high. The bed shifted. The warmth of his body above yours disappeared. A moment later, his lips pressed against yours.

"My love," he said, stroking a thumb along your jaw.

Your eyes opened, staring at his flushed face. A sheen of sweat covered his brow. His lips swollen. You surged forward, crashing your lips against his.

A growl rumbled through his chest as he pinned you to the bed again. His tongue invaded your mouth, claiming it as his. His cock pressed against your thigh. You spread your legs wider, welcoming him between them. He rocked, the tip brushing between your folds. He sucked in a breath and his eyes squeezed shut. His fingers dug into the mattress. He was holding himself back.

"We shouldn't," he mumbled.

You frowned, sitting up on your elbows. "Why not?”

“Because I will not take your maidenhead until by law and the gods I am your husband.”

Your hips rolled and his tip slid through the wetness once more, drawing another moan from him. He pressed his forehead against yours.

"You are cruel."

"Tis what you love about me," you countered.

"My love," he murmured, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, brief kiss. "My love." Another. And another.

Your hands braced against his chest. "My husband."

He groaned, burying his head against your neck. He nipped at the skin and rocked against you, careful to not slip inside. You bit your lip to stifle your own sounds as his cock rubbed against your bundle. Your hand slid to his rear, digging into the flesh, and rocking with him. It was an intoxicating sensation. Feeling him against you, hard and heavy. "My love," he gasped against your collarbone.

"My husband," you breathed.

A stilted breath. He hips snapped forward once. Twice. Spend coated your thigh. His cock softened against your leg. He pressed kisses along your neck and shoulder. "My love."

You chuckled. "I believe you've made a mess, good Ser."

He grunted and lifted his head, grinning. He pressed a kiss against the tip of your nose. "I believe that is your fault, my love."

"My fault? I hardly think so."

He nuzzled his nose against yours. "I am but little more than the victim of your temptation. I was peacefully sleeping when you came near nude into my private chambers to seduce me."

"Perhaps you should lock your doors if you do not wish to be disturbed."

"Perhaps I should." Another soft kiss and he peeled himself away. A moment later he returned with two handkerchiefs in his hands. Your handkerchiefs. "The servents are going to think I had these cleaned so I could relieve myself in them." He used them to clean the mess he'd left across your thigh.

Tears welled in your eyes as you watched. He was set to leave in two days time and then you would not see him for nine moons. Not see his face, not hear his voice, not make him laugh. You did not fear he would change his mind. Only that his absence would drown you in despair.

Concern painted his face as he looked up to your face. “What is wrong?”

“I shall miss you.”

Handkerchiefs discarded on the floor, he came and cradled you against him. “I shall miss you too.”

—

“Funny thing,” the prince said as you poured a new bottle of wine into the decanter. You were surprised he made it to the small council meeting. “I sent servants this morning to discover a defilled maiden in her bethrothed’s bed, but all they found was said betrothed and a few defiled handkerchiefs.”

You bit your tongue to quell the giggle that threatened. What beautiful shade of red had Gwayne turned upon discovery? “The betrothed sounds like an honorable man.”

“And the maiden like a woman who denied me a great pleasure.”

“If it’s any consolation, she too was denied a great pleasure.” You paused, cocking your head. “Well, not entirely denied. But she is a maiden still.”

“A pity for all.”

—

The carriages were packed, the Hightower entourage trilling about to leave in less than an hour's time. Alicent and Rhaynera were amongst the pack. They’d be in Old Town for the next year to witness the wedding. But Gwayne had yet to join them.

“My cousin is not the timeliest. Prepare to be late for much. You shall spend much of your marriage waiting for him to tear away from his own reflection,” Ormund taunted. He’d been less than happy about the match. A bruised ego.

You smiled sweetly at him. “I expect to be late to much. For I shall find it difficult to tear myself away from him and our bed.” He blanched at that and soon excused himself.

“What in heavens did you say to send him running off like that?”

You spun to find your betrothed and his teasing smirk. “I have no idea. We were only speaking of your tardiness and how frequently you and I shall be tardy once we are wed.”

“And here I thought your cruelty could only be aimed at me.” He took your hand and placed a kiss against it. The most he could offer in such a public place. And the last for many moons.

A pain shot through your heart.

“Have you come to say goodbye?” Alicent called from a few yards away. It confused you as she made her way over. Had you not already wished her a safe trip?

“Indeed, sister,” Gwayne said, bowing his head. “What sort of brother would I be if I did not come to see you off?”

You held your tongue long enough for them to speak their farewells. When she’d returned to the princess’s side, you rounded on him. “You’re staying?”

He continued to stare ahead, watching his kin prepare for their journey. “Nine moons was far too long to be apart. Lady Leana was kind enough to help convince the Lord and Lady of the Tides that I should see the ancestral home of my betrothed.” Tears fell down your cheeks. Fretting over the display, his thumb swept away the wet streaks “My love, I thought you would be happy?”

“I am sorry. These are not sad tears, I am happy.” How you wished you were alone. “I am beyond happy.” The tears continued to fall. You pulled free a handkerchief from your bust and dabbed your face. You were prepared to say something heartfelt about how glad you were to have him, but his eyes were locked on your breasts. And a bulge was forming in the trousers. “Does a handkerchief arose you?”

Red colored his face and he attempted a casual pose with his hands to hide the growing problem. “It is your and your lovely bosom’s fault.”

A wicked grin spread across your face. “It is like a dog trained with a bell,” you mused. “I wonder what other tricks I can teach you in nine moons trapped with me on ships and an island.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

chewtoy | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, noncon, humiliation, abuse of power / power imbalance, master / servant relationship, titles like master satoru, he's being Really Fucking Weird (sniffs u a bunch...rip), oral(f!receiving) 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (????)

✮ a/n ; horrible horrible man. can he leave me alone. extension of this

"The young Master is calling for you."

You try not to flinch. Aiko gives you a warm, summery smile and a soft nudge to your side. You can only assume this means you've succeeded and she doesn't sense your disgust.

"He's so fond of you," She ends her sentence with a wispy sigh. "Must be nice to have a rich, powerful man fawn over you a bit, right?"

You remain indifferent. She smiles again. You think she is infinitely more beautiful than you. Soft, bouncy hair and smooth skin. Her naive nature makes her shine brighter than one thousand suns. It'd be nice if the young Master showed interest in someone like her.

You put the dream to rest quickly.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting," She hums. It's so innocent. "Go on, don't let me keep you."

You don't tell her you wish she would keep you. She is also right that you should not keep him waiting. If he's summoned you to his chambers deliberately, that means he is already feeling impatient. Master Satoru never seeks you out unless he is in some kind of mood.

He's had this habit since childhood. You've never made him aware of it, and you don't plan too. One of the few things you help you know what to expect from him.

You nod her along, tell her to finish up work in the living quarters to which she agrees merrily. Her spirits are lifted by the prospect of the young Master showing you fondness. Some part of you wishes you could share in her joy.

A pit of dread makes your steps heavy, but your footfall is light and beautiful. You are poised and cool as you walk along the dark, dreary hallways that lead to the Master's office.

A door swallowed in shadow, a single light shining on the golden plaque with the young Master's full name. You knock twice, announcing yourself.

"You're here," He says. You try not to flinch. You're certain you do not succeed. You are thankful he cannot see you - or you hope he can't. "Come in,"

You open the door and step inside to his office - shutting the door behind you. Muscle memory guides you to your curtsy. You bow politely.

"Yes, Master?"

"So stuffy," His voice makes your chest feel tight with discomfort. Frustration ebbs underneath it, cuts like a jagged edged knife. "At least call me, Satoru. Our relationship is much better than that, I thought."

"I could never be so informal to the young Master," You say, and then concede. "But I will call you Master Satoru, if you wish."

"How obstinate," He drawls. You do not life your head to see the face he makes. You already know what it looks like. It's burned into your mind. "But I suppose I'll make do. Lift your head."

You lift your head, but do not look at his face.

"Come closer,"

You step towards him, your lungs pushing air out of you manually. Remembering to breathe evenly is a herculean task. He beckons you closer until you're within distance of his touch.

He glances at you. "Look at me."

You try not to hesitate and force your eyes forward. His eyes undress you. Pointed gaze falls along your features, outlines your every inch, and analyzes your face. You remain even. He hums.

His frivolity is missing. This is suddenly more frightening. His mood is worse than you thought.

"Lift your skirt,"

Your muscles tense as you try not to shake. You succeed. He lets out a soft breath before he drops down onto his knees. You do not let yourself make any sort of expression, averting your gaze. He stares long and hard at your clothed pussy.

You tremble. He assess you silently, eyes flitting up.

"Sit in my chair with your skirt over your waist. So I can see you properly and all."

You listen to his instructions mindlessly. The velvet of his chair and warmth of his remaining body heat touch your bare ass and thighs. Satoru turns to you, still on knees. His hand wraps around your ankles and slips your shoes off of you.

You close your eyes. Sudden intimacy makes you slink back.

"Look at me."

It is is a command. You let your gaze fall on him again and watch on in excruciating nausea. Your stomach twists violently at the fragility of it all. Slender fingers hook into your knee socks and pull them down along your calve until they're off. His gaze catches yours. He does not smile at you. His hand comes around your ankle again and lifts your leg closer to his face. His nose presses against the bend of your foot.

He inhales. You try not to react but you can feel your eyes go wide. Feel your muscles clench, your heart sinking. Iron fills your mouth.

He lets his nose nudge up against the top of your calf.

"Young Master,"

He stares at you. Irritation flits through his gaze. There's no getting out of this, no mercy. You slink back again. He does smile that time.

Your body prickles with unwanted heat at the sensation. He licks along your legs, biting the supple skin - huffing the scent of your sweat every time he goes along. His teeth sink perversely into your flesh, sucking until there's throbbing, marks against your calves. The color of an orchid, purple and red. Fear strikes in you like a match. His grip on your ankles moves to the back of your calves and squeezes tight. He repeats the process on both calves intently.

There's claim to this. You know this part of him. He is claiming you with vicious confidence. Something with deeper magnitude then lust. For you, he is desire and ownership and want incarnat. A testament of his own beliefs. You willfully do no make noise aside from a gasp or breath.

You don't know how long it takes until he's satisfied with the state both legs.

He moves up. Bites the soft flesh of your thigh. You nearly spit out another useless plea. Shamelessness makes up his every move. His tongue slides over every single inch of your bare skin until his noses brushes along your cunt.

He doesn't lick you there. Not right away. Again he sniffs, breathes you in deep and uncomfortable. It's violating in all senses of the word, his grip tightening on your thighs as he huffs your scent. You haven't bathed. You've practically been running around since morning, but he doesn't let up and breathes you in anyway.

You squirm at that point. Your face contorts so slightly and he's watching you for it. His face finally cracks a smile and abject dread makes your spine lock up.

"Mm," He emphasizes the sound. It's so loud in such a quiet room. "That's it."

You don't have the strength to say anything.

It's frighteningly abrupt and rough, the feeling of his mouth along your pussy. He sucks at your clit from outside the fabric and you gasp - suddenly helpless. It's not the first time, of course not. But it's never this... random. Never this rough.

Your back arches at the sudden motion, face breaking - and Satoru grips you tighter and forces you back into the chair. Forces his tongue against your clit and sucks hard through the cotton material. Your body betrays you in its reaction - nipples pebbling underneath your clothes. Nearly screaming from the sensitivity. Your lower body is all ache - hickeys and bruises and bite marks making you throb perpetually. Too much, too much, too much.

Shame floods your system as the first spike of arousal forces itself from you - your cunt floods, gushing with a sudden spike of want from rough treatment. The sound of him sucking you so hard and drenching it with his saliva echoes across the room. You're sure it's traveling into the hall.

"Master Satoru," Your voice is even but it cracks on his name. Tears form at the corners of your eyes - fear and shame mixing into desperation. "Satoru,"

He hums into your pussy and you shake. "What is it? What wish would you like your master to fulfill for you.

"Please," Your voice is hoarse. Bone-deep exhaustion is out done by adrenaline. "Not through the fabric, please. It's dirty."

He sucks again and you keen - nails digging into your palms as you throw your head back.

"Your Masters spit soaking your panties is dirty? How rude." He teases. The whimper leaves your mouth without permission. You wish this would end soon but even amidst your fog you know that is not more than a pipe dream.

He takes them off. Rolls them down your thighs all wet and drops them. You let out a sigh of relief before his nose bridges touches your clit again. Swallowing the sound, you look away.

"It's soaked," He says conversationally, "Your needy little cunt is making a mess of your Master's chair. Tsk, tsk - so shameful."

"I'm sorry," You croak, unsure of what else to say. "I'll clean it."

He laughs, seemingly alleviated from his prior upset at the state of your humiliation.

"I'm sure you'll do an excellent job," He rests his hand over the mound of your sex - using pointer and thumb to spread your lips apart and get view of your swollen little clit. He breathes on it. "But you're still begging me for my attention down here. Filthy pussy for such a meticulous maid. Do you know how wet you are? Did you miss me so much?"

You don't answer him. He goes on.

"I thought of you all week," His voice is soft. Tinged with affection, or something like it. "Ahh, dealing with higher ups is such a pain."

You stare at him. He looks back at you with a smile. You flinch. You flinch certainly. "But I can always take it out on you, can't I? This perfect, filthy, needy cunt. It'll only every belong to me and I get to use it to my hearts content. I thought of that suddenly then called you."

It's not just your cunt he's interested in. That'd be relieving if that were the case. If he only ever used you to vent his sexual frustrations, treat you like a personal cocksleeve. You think it might be better that way.

He's too fond of you for that.

The young Master treats you like a chew toy instead. He bites, licks, slobbers, and misuses you. He might hump you to chase his high from time to time, might throw you around for rough sex should the mood suit him. But he's not a clueless oaf, some classless barbarian who only feels pleasure from his cock.

His violation is something else. It's deeper in scent, richer in taste. It is born from his greatness.

He's smart enough to know exploitation and that's what gets him off most. He exploits you. Exploits your reactive body, exploits your stoicism, exploits your dedication to your duty. You're his chew toy because you are designed to be unbreakable. You are indestructible.

But you have the perfect amount of give. You flinch, sigh, and whimper enough to make your Master thrilled. You squeak and moan like you're heat addled when he plays with you enough.

To Satoru, you're the most perfect thing to ever grace his life. His favorite toy that he's bitten at since he was just a boy and grew so fond of.

No matter how much you end up in tatters, Satoru can't help but love you with all of his heart.

You get exhausted being thrown around. But you can't go anywhere, either. He's so watchful of you. He might go crazy and bite if you were to disappear.

"Cum for me," He says, sucking on your clit much more softly. He's gentle but exact. Knows the ins and outs of your body enough to send you racing towards the edge with an unimaginable speed. You gasp and shudder, holding onto his chair for your life as an orgasm shoots through like lightning through a telephone wire.

You cum. You cum hard, bruised and mind-broken and nauseous and you cum so hard something spurts out of you and makes the chair wet. The young Master is nonplussed of course, and laps it up like a dog drinking water.

"Ahh, much better." He's pleased as he stands up and then bends down to your height. His hand cradles the back of your neck with a pleasant sigh as he forces a cum-soaked kiss onto your mouth. "Just as I thought, you were just what I needed."

Utterly defeated, you pull away with a gasp. "...I'm happy to serve you, Master Satoru."

"Such a nice sentence from your mouth, true or not." He gives you one more kiss, to the crown of your head. Too tender, too raw. "Prepare yourself to service me a bit more, then."