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kingsmoot · 6 days ago

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Honestly I’ve always been confused on Roose’s problem (among the many others he has) on why he doesn’t remarry and have actual true born heirs.

Obviously Domeric is killed by Ramsay and he’s like hm that will happen again, but he should just marry some woman and have as many children as possible, surely Ramsay can’t kill then all, espically if he just hides them away.

This is only controversial because whenever I talk to people about this like they’re like are you fucking forgetteting about the serial killer in the back garden but just KILL him if you have more sons it’s not that hard Big Goosey!

ooooooooough i'm so happy to talk about this, and i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to respond to you. i just wanted to be able to sit down with this ask and get nice and carried away.

you are right that roose COULD remarry and just try for as many kids as possible. and if wife number four dies in childbirth or from pregnancy complications well let's just line up wife number five and try again. he could walder frey it and play a simple numbers game. surely rams can't kill ALL of them as babies. maybe we'll hide a few. send them off to foster. maybe rams will finally get murdered in one of those almost-happy-accidents that keep happening to him but somehow letting him fail upwards instead of dropping dead. what if everything worked out for a change!

but even though roose is a self-serving pragmatist, this isn't something he would do. i do not think roose will ever have another child after ramsay. he tells theon that walda has a "fertile feel to her" and that if she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts the dreadfort will soon be overrun with the fruit of their loins. but i think he's just being.... glib. especially because he dismisses this fantasy as soon as he shares it.

Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

adwd, chapter 32, reek iii

i'll back up a bit, here, to make my point.

the thing that makes roose bolton such a terrifying villain is not his leeching, his voice so soft other men strain to hear it, his ageless face or his queer, cold, pale eyes. it is the fact that he does not see other people as worthwhile. he simply does not believe in their personhood.

This is a cold man, Catelyn realized, not for the first time.

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

to me, the roose moment that makes my blood run cold is actually the above excerpt from reek iii where he describes himself as "oddly fond of his fat little wife". this passage gets memed on a lot. so much so that i feel like people take the whole thing as a joke that it's easy to dismiss. but i really disagree. roose's description of walda isn't funny to me. it isn't awkward. it's chilling.

this is not the way you talk about your living human wife. this is the kind of distant, impersonal affection you would use to describe a neighbor's dog. not your own dog, who you know well, but your neighbor's, who you only see from time to time. this is how roose bolton talks about a woman he likes. a woman he is fond of and intimate with and married to. and she's less than a pet to him.

there are lots more examples of roose's cold calloused solipsism in this chapter. for another:

"This miller's marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day. "A year later this same wench had the impudence to turn up at the Dreadfort with a squalling, red-faced monster that she claimed was my own get. I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes. She told me that when her dead husband's brother saw those eyes, he beat her bloody and drove her from the mill. That annoyed me, so I gave her the mill and had the brother's tongue cut out, to make certain he did not go running to Winterfell with tales that might disturb Lord Rickard. Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule."

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

besides the abject horror of roose running down a random woman he spotted on a river bank with a gang of armed men to hold her down and rape her under her husband's corpse, the thing that really makes his treatment of ramsay's mother frightening to me is how casually he pays for her upkeep for the next couple decades.

i find it almost impossible to compare roose and the unnamed miller's wife of weeping waters socially and economically. she lives on the dreadfort's lands and he is her lord. the kind of money and resources that roose can toss around on an afternoon's diversion of fox hunting is more money and resources than this woman could have ever hoped to see if she had lived a dozen lifetimes. and when she comes to him beaten and scorned with his rape baby brandished in her arms, he maims her brother in law and gifts her her dead husband's mill and a generous annual allowance. in one casual motion he grants her more than she ever could have hoped to have. and he could have done that from the beginning. there was nothing stopping roose from making a gift of the mill to her after he raped her and left her bleeding on the river bank. besides, of course, the fact that it would never occur to him to do so. not until he got annoyed. before then, he hadn't thought of her at all.

but in addition to reek iii giving us a glimpse at roose bolton's pre-canon, casual, wanton, cruelty, it also gives us a glimpse into his own self perception. he says:

to ramsay:

"You are mistaken. It is not good. No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise? Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count, but you must be more discreet. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That has always been my rule. Make it yours." "Is this why you left Lady Dustin and your fat pig wife? So you could come down here and tell me to be quiet?"

and again to theon:

A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." "A fine rule, m'lord."

roose's criticism of ramsay is not the fact that he is a serial killing serial rapist. roose is both of those things. roose's criticism of ramsay is the fact that he's gouche. he's bruttish and rude and was not raised in a noble household to act a lord. he's classless as well as lower class.

roose's greatest criticism of ramsay is that he makes him look bad.

but, and this is the point i've been ramping up to make, i think that roose is actually ashamed of ramsay and what ramsay says about him. i think roose, like tywin, sees his child as evidence of his own corruption.

don't worry i have pullquotes.

"They're only leeches. My lord." "My squire could take a lesson from you, it would seem. Frequent leechings are the secret of a long life. A man must purge himself of bad blood. You will do, I think. For so long as I remain at Harrenhal, Nan, you shall be my cupbearer, and serve me at table and in chambers." This time she knew better than to say that she'd sooner work in the stables. "Yes, your lord. I mean, my lord."

acok; chapter 47; arya ix

"Yes," Roose Bolton said. "His blood is tainted, that cannot be denied. Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless. When the ironmen cut down Ser Rodrik, and Leobald Tallhart soon after, it fell to Ramsay to lead the battle, and he did. He swears that he shall not sheathe his sword so long as a single Greyjoy remains in the north. Perhaps such service might atone in some small measure for whatever crimes his bastard blood has led him to commit." He shrugged. "Or not. When the war is done, His Grace must weigh and judge. By then I hope to have a trueborn son by Lady Walda."

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

"Tell him … tell him to be afraid?" Reek felt ill at the very thought of it. "M'lord, I … if I did that, he'd …" "I know." Lord Bolton sighed. "His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger. Ramsay, though … his tainted blood would poison even leeches, I fear." "He is your only son."

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii (sidenote i can't help but hear a note of pain in theon's voice, here. i don't think he's feelings empathy or sympathy for ramsay, here, but he does know what it's like to be dismissed and discounted by a lord father who has no other sons to choose from, and hearing how roose talks about ramsay threatens to remind him of a feeling he had before he learned his name.)

i have a really long post in which i pull these same quotes where i talk about the parallel of how robert talks about joff to how roose talks about ramsay. and while i'm talking about joffrey there, i did make the point that roose's phrasing about ramsay's bad blood that not even the leeches can drain away leaves us with the obvious question of whose blood it is that's in ramsay. and if we know whose blood it is that's in rams, then we can look at roose's frequent and obsessive leechings in a very different light.

roose tells ramsay that no tales were ever spread of him, and yet he is notoriously regarded as cold, cruel, and deeply unnerving by the whole of the north. he does, in fact, have a bad reputation. and it does precede him. but roose is protected by his high birth, his status and position as lord of the dreadfort, by his military strength, and by his political and social loyalties + securities as ned stark's bannerman who raised his banners in support of robert's (successful!) rebellion. he, like his son, preys on anonymous northern peasant girls who have no recourse for justice, but he's not quite so loud about it.

speaking of roose's son, let's pivot to domeric real quick.

"Lord Bolton has never acknowledged the boy, so far as I know," Ser Rodrik said. "I confess, I do not know him." "Few do," she replied. "He lived with his mother until two years past, when young Domeric died and left Bolton without an heir. That was when he brought his bastard to the Dreadfort. The boy is a sly creature by all accounts, and he has a servant who is almost as cruel as he is. Reek, they call the man. It's said he never bathes. They hunt together, the Bastard and this Reek, and not for deer. I've heard tales, things I can scarce believe, even of a Bolton. And now that my lord husband and my sweet son have gone to the gods, the Bastard looks at my lands hungrily."

acok; chapter 16, bran ii

from lady hornwood we learn that ramsay was only brought to the dreadfort (and still not publicly acknowledged) after the death of roose's only son and heir

The Lady Walda wrote from the Twins almost every day, but all the letters were the same. "I pray for you morn, noon, and night, my sweet lord," she wrote, "and count the days until you share my bed again. Return to me soon, and I will give you many trueborn sons to take the place of your dear Domeric and rule the Dreadfort after you." Arya pictured a plump pink baby in a cradle, covered with plump pink leeches.

acok; chapter 64, arya x

from walda we get a very young noblewoman's practiced courtesies, assuring her lord husband (a stranger to her) that she will do her duty as his wife and produce him healthy, hale heirs. and we might assume that "your dear domeric" here is just a bit of poetic alliteration that walda includes in her letter to be flowery.

but roose himself talks about domeric in a way that is totally unlike how roose talks about anyone else at all.

"He is your only son." "For the moment. I had another, once. Domeric. A quiet boy, but most accomplished. He served four years as Lady Dustin's page, and three in the Vale as a squire to Lord Redfort. He played the high harp, read histories, and rode like the wind. Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. Redfort said he showed great promise in the lists. A great jouster must be a great horseman first." "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

domeric is given a depth and a personhood in roose's memories that his three wives and his rape victim are not. he speaks about domeric with a great and enduring father's love and a fierce pride. he goes out of his way to tell theon (a boy lord reduced to a pitiful, nearly inhuman state) about his accomplishments and his interests. roose loved his son.

and his other son -- a culmination of all his many years of cruelty and predation, a congealing together of all his bad blood -- kills him.

roose bringing ramsay to the dreadfort, even before legitimizing him, is his admission that ramsay is the only son he will ever have. he will never sire another heir. ramsay will make certain that any he might produce go to their graves. rams is the death of his house. roose acknowledges that explicitly in reek iii, but he admitted it to himself as soon as he summoned rams from weeping water.

roose's decision not to have any more children is a very intentional one. he is not trying to solve the problem of ramsay killing all his potential heirs. he knows that this will be inevitable. he has accepted that his bastard son snuffed out his one beloved heir, and that the gods have bound his hands. he cannot kill ramsay, for the gods abhor a kinslayer. and yet ramsay is a kinslayer himself, which roose is well aware of. ramsay is only a shadow of the father, and a reflection of his many sins. he is both a result of and a punishment for roose's cruelty.

#ask tag #anon tag #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #unnamed miller's wife of weeping waters #roose tag #ramsay tag #every lord has need of a beaft from time to time

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shuenkio · 10 months ago

Text

You never know || ☆

Paring: Jake x male!reader

Genre: Fluffy, crush.

Cw: Pet name - "Beautiful"

Summary: You thought he was straight .

Wc: 1.0k

What is love? That's what you've been wondering and low-key craving for. You always thought that love was just a phase during your school time; nevertheless, seeing your friend always bragging about their love life somehow made a small part of you eager to experience it too.

As a boy yourself, it was one in a million that someone would suddenly appear in your life, ask you out for a date, and eventually enter a relationship. You give up for your own good, moving on from this heavy chest feeling.

Not until you developed a crush on one of your boy classmates. The one whose friends shipped you with, as a joke, however, you did fall into your own trap.

His face was Europe-like with his sharp jawline that could cut through paper, while his eyes are as clear as a beautiful brown color, tracing down to his kissable plumping lip. His body is built for spots only, since every day is football day. I'm not going to lie when he's sweating; he looks majestic and hot, and the veins that are pumping on his arms almost make you pass out from time to time. And he's also the physics teacher's favorite student. Perfect; definitely everyone's type.

You know you wouldn't have any chance with him; he's a boy, and you're a boy, even though he's always making a lot of a lot of jokes about femininity in a teasing way that you prefer to admire from afar.

One day you told your group of friends about it when they're doing a silly challenge by asking if anyone had a crush or been taken. You expect that they'll all be in awe, but to your surprise, they've said it's nothing new; they knew it since the very beginning when you gazed back in time at him with your unhidden heart eyes.

You are gritting your teeth in embarrassing, blinking hard, and trying to wash your failure moment away as you cover your face. Instead of bushing on you, your friends suggested you should give it a shot. What if he likes men? You don't know if you don't give it a try.

You think otherwise. There's no way a guy like him is gay; he might have had a secret relationship with a girl already. Losing hope, your best friends come up with a plan without your knowledge; it'd be good if you're oblivious.

During the school trip, technically you were supposed to be with your other classmates; however, your girl friend said she was uncomfortable with Jake on purpose and wanted to switch you with your partner, who's a girl, so you could have time with him, Sim Jaeyun.

You zone out for a moment before realizing this lame plan coming from your group, and as you throw a dagger glance at them, you still switch with her for some reasons.

Under one roof, once you helped him set up the tent, in return, you got a "thanks" from your handsome crush. Who wouldn't go crazy if you could have your times with your one-sided love? Not only that, maybe you could stare at him in his sleep.

The night fell upon you later on, and you settled down on the soft, thin bed underneath your skin as you tucked in a blanket, covered up to your chest like a burrito. You wonder what he's up to as you steal a glance at the older man right next to you. Accidentally, your eyes met him, and you quickly turned your face away in a swift motion, feeling all your nerves tense up and shaking. You zipped your mouth into a straight line, pretending to sleep on the spot, back facing him, ashamed or—shy?

"Hey mn!" He spoke up, in a lower raspy tone under his chin, and mumbled as quietly as possible since he was afraid he would wake the others up.

Your breath stops midway, clenching tight together. Did you just hear him calling your name, oh Lord? You are unable to turn to face him as you respond to him with a simple "yes."

"Can I ask you something crazy?" He uttered back, his voice remaining the same, as he looked above the tent ceiling, waiting for you.

Once again, you thought you were about to explode in any second. If you could eat your fist right now, you would swallow without leaving any pieces.

"Sure, go on, I'm all ears," you finally reply, pulling in together to sound as natural as possible, but luck is not by your side. Your voice comes out like you've been chasing by a bear.

Jake takes a deep breath. He narrows his eyebrows in a mad expression, poking his tongue against his mouth, as you turn to face him. He looks like he's about to break things into pieces.

"Did you like me?" He breaks the silence, and the atmosphere grows thicker instantly. Those sentences are both pleading and terrifying at the same time, as you feel a ping of reality hit you once you process his words.

You swallow hard, finding good words to answer back. Not even the exam was hard, like confessing your true feelings to your crush.

"I'm sorry if I do. I'll stop if you're uncomfortable; it was just a silly fee." Before you could finish your words, he burst in, even more upset.

"Why did you hide such things from me? You supposed to tell me, Do you know how much I try to impress you with all the efforts I put in?" He announced, folding his arms on his chest, while laying down, still looking at the ceiling, frowning.

Your heart is racing, beating in the wrong rhyme, taken aback by his unexpected statement. All along, is he doing all of those things just for you? You feel like a shrimp.

"Yeah, you don't have anyone?"

"Why would I when you're existing??"

Catching your guard, you cover your mouth with your palm in a shocking experience. This is going to haunt all of your dreams. Jake looks unfazed; his face is slightly blushing, but he didn't care; all he cared about was you.

"Don't be such an idiot; we're crushing on each other now; we're boyfriends; no more talking; come here!!"

The last thing you realize is that you're already in his embrace as he tightens the hug, resting his chin on your head as he places a soft kiss on your head.

"Stop leaving me hanging again; I hate it, okay, beautiful?"

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ English is not my language

🗣️ crd to the owner pic(cherish)&dividers(anitalenia)

Ps: I wrote this unconsciously, lmk if there's any wrong 👹

#enhypen #enhypen x male reader #enha x you #enha x male reader #enha imagines #enha fluff #enhypen scenarios #kpop x male reader #enha x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfiction #enha fanfic #enha fics #enha jake #enhypen jake #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun x reader #jake x reader #jake fluff

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 2 years ago

Text

The first time Steve touches the guitar Eddie makes a strangled sound in his throat. Steve freezes, looks at Eddie, his mouth is hanging open, and he's frowning. Steve sets the guitar back down, so fucking gently.

"Sorry. I just- sorry." He nearly whispers, stands back up, back straight, his palms moving over his thighs. Eddie clears his throat, shakes his head, removes his black guitar from his lap as he stands.

"No it's okay. I didn't mean to like... make that weird fucking sound. Just um... it was my moms." He says, his hand wrapped around the neck of the black guitar as he holds it at his side. Steve's eyes go wide.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I wouldn've-"

"It's okay really. Here. You can use this one." He holds the guitar out. Smiles when Steve steps closer, hesitant as he raises his hand. Eddie nods. Steve takes it, climbs onto Eddie's bed awkwardly and sets it in his lap. Watching as Eddie gently picks up his mothers guitar and sits back down.

Eddie smiles at Steve, strums a few notes.

"Do you play?" He asks, because Steve's never said anything about playing. Never touched one of Eddie's guitars before. But Eddie had noticed him watching, as Eddie plays, or writes songs, while they hang out.

Steve's at his house a lot these days. Eddie feels like they might be dancing around something. But he hasn't been brave enough to make a move. Or even ask a question. They just... spend time together. He's been teaching Steve about DND for Dustin’s upcoming birthday. Steve wants to surprise him. And he'd been letting Steve read his copies of Lord of the Rings. It's been taking him a while.

But he lays on Eddie's bed while he reads, feet kicked out in the air above him when he lays on his stomach, as Eddie plans his campaigns, or writes songs, and tries not to think about how Steve looks like he belongs there, in Eddie's bed, frowning down at Eddie's tattered books until he looks up and asks Eddie to explain something for him.

And Eddie does. Always.

But this is new. Steve holds Eddie's guitar in his lap, a soft smile on his face, his fingers holding the neck gently. He shakes his head at Eddie's question, just the smallest movement.

"Naw. I always wanted to learn. But my dad always said-" he cuts off, his eyes jumping to Eddie, his cheeks flushing a little. Eddie's never met Steve's father, but he's sure he could guess some of the things he'd said. Steve shakes his head again, tries to smile.

"I just never got around to it. And then things went to shit around here so..." he shrugs, moves his thumb over the strings. Eddie smiles at the sound.

"I like how it feels. Holding it though." Steve says, blinks up at Eddie. Eddie wills his mouth to work, to say something, to say fucking anything, but it doesn't. He just smiles, softly, and nods. Steve looks away, back down at the guitar, and Eddie does the same. Fingers moving over his mother's guitar as he tries to work out the next verse he's writing.

~°~

Two months later he still hasn't said anything. But they have a rhythm now. Eddie's at home, doing whatever it is he's doing that day. Planning, or drawing, or writing. Maybe even just watching tv. Steve shows up, goes to his room, gets the black guitar, and sits with it in his lap, some days until he leaves. And Eddie sits, and watches him, and tries to will himself to say something.

It's a friday. It's raining. And Steve gets off work early, comes to Eddie's. Like always.

He takes a shower, changes clothes, and then crawls into Eddie's bed, guitar settled in his lap. Eddie looks up from his notebook, watches Steve's brow furrow as he moves his fingers over the strings. Just positioning them, not making any sound. Turns out that's all it takes, Steve's little frown.

"I could teach you." Eddie blurts, Steve startles, just a bit, a small flinch before his eyes move to Eddie, brows raised.

"Ya know if you- if you'd want... that." Eddie's lame attempt to backpeddle falling out of his mouth in fragments. But Steve smiles, big and bright.

"Yeah? You'd do that?" He asks, his hand flat against the guitar now, he's practically cradling it to his chest, holding it to himself like it's something special.

Eddie shrugs, tries to play it cool.

"I mean yeah. It's not a big deal. Just, guitar. Kinda my thing." He huffs a laugh when Steve's smile grows impossibly bigger.

"Can we start now? Or are you- you're busy. Planning stuff." Steve voice drifts to a soft dismissive tone, like he's talking himself down. And Eddie hates it. Hates that he's been conditioned to talk himself down from his own excitement. Eddie slaps his notebook shut with a purpose. The noise loud in the quiet room.

"We can absolutely start now. C'mhere." He moves from his desk to the edge of the bed, reaches for his moms guitar, stops, thinks better of it and just settles his hands on his thighs as Steve shuffles to the edge of the bed to sit next to him.

Eddie watches him look at him, waiting, and so fucking close. He can hear the rain on the roof outside.

"Where do we start?" Steve asks, his hands flexing as Eddie watches him.

"I'm gonna teach you some notes. See how well you pick it up." Eddie says, trying hard to keep the smile on his face to a minimum. Steve nods, serious.

"What if I suck at it?" Steve asks, his fingers fluttering nervously over the strings. Eddie looks at him, narrows his eyes.

"You've never played before? At all?" He asks, head tilting. Steve shakes his slowly, his cheeks tinting as he looks at his knees.

"Well then, and I hate to break this to you sweetheart, but you're probably gonna suck. At least a little. At first." Eddie scrunches his nose, delights in the way Steve's mouth drops open as he looks Eddie.

"You gonna be able to handle that? Not being perfect?" Eddie twitches his head to the side, bumps his shoulder into Steve's, Steve rolls his eyes, bumps Eddie back.

"I'll do my best." He huffs, his brow furrowing again as Eddie begins to guide him.

He plays something small, shows Steve how he moves his fingers, and then lets Steve mimic him. He picks it up pretty quick. His ears and cheeks flushing a pretty red when Eddie complements him, tells him he's doing good.

It takes Steve about three hours to realize Eddie had been teaching him a DIO song. He rolls his eyes again, shoves Eddie off the edge of the bed, but goes red again when Eddie says he's proud of him for recognizing it at all.

~°~

A week later, Steve comes rushing into his room, guitar in hand. Eddie had let him take the black acoustic home, so he could practice there as well. He stops short, his legs bumping into Eddie's bed, and then he looks, shy.

"Well good morning to you too Harrington." Eddie sighs, yawns, stretches his hands above his head and smirks as Steve's eyes trail over his stomach, his shirt riding up off his hips.

"Yeah. Morning." Steve says, his voice distant, eyes still focused on Eddie's mid section.

"What can I do you for?" Eddie asks, smirk planted firmly on his lips now. Steve's body jerks, just a fraction, as he tears his eyes away from Eddie's hips, to look at his face.

"What?" He asks, sounding startled. Eddie laughs, shakes his head.

"Forget it. What's up? You looked excited." Eddie says with a shake of his head, pushing himself up in bed a bit. Steve's eyes move to the ground, his fingers tighten on the neck of the guitar.

"I just- wanted to show you something. But you like... just woke up. Did I wake you up?" Steve asks, his voice going high like he's just realized he may have woken Eddie up. Eddie shakes his head, rubs at his eyes, holds back another yawn.

"Whaaaat? No. I've been up for ages." He smiles, watches Steve's face drop.

"Really?" His eyes narrowing as they move over Eddie, pajamas still wrinkled, hair a fucking mess he's sure.

"Yep. Been awake for hours. I mean I woke up at like- what time is it?" He looks at the watch on his wrist, his eyes bugging out.

"It's 7am!?" His voice is high, incredulous, he sounds... maybe a little disgusted. Steve clears his throat, his free hand going to his hip as he looks down at Eddie. Eddie clears his own throat, crossing his arms, schools his face.

"I mean... it's 7am. Which I knew. Because I've been awake since like... 5 o'clock. So 7am is the perfect time. For you to show up here. In my trailer." He glances to the small window in the door outside his room, his face falling a bit.

"Before the sun has risen, even. How... wonderful." His voice is flat by the time he finishes speaking, and he can see Steve trying not to laugh at him.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." He says, and he sounds so sincere Eddie can't even really be mad. He will be taking a nap later though, for sure. He yawns, waves his hand.

"It's fine babe. Just show me whatcha got." He wiggles his fingers at the guitar and Steve flushes, nods, and steps back, sits himself in Eddie's desk chair, and moves the guitar into his lap.

Eddie's heart flutters as Steve starts playing. It always does. Ever since that first day when Steve had picked up the DIO rif he'd shown him. It had been small, but he'd looked so proud of himself when his fingers had danced across the strings perfectly, bringing the tune to life.

Eddie smiles when he recognizes the song, some Billy Joel number Steve was always humming. Eddie had actually been playing peices of it here and there recently, sometimes, without paying attention. But it reminded him of Steve, and so his fingers tended to play it when his mind began to drift.

He smiles as he watches Steve play, his hair falling in his face a little, his brows knitted together in concentration. Eddie bites his lip and refuses to think about moving his fingers over those furrowed brows. Refuses to think about how Steve might let him. Refuses to think about how soft Steve's skin might feel underneath his calloused fingers.

Steve's own fingers pick that moment to stumble, he misses notes, trips up, flushes deeply and curses himself, his head hanging as he stops, takes a deep breathe.

Eddie was proud, he'd gotten better at dealing with messing up. But he could tell he was upset.

"Steve." He says name gently, too genlty, maybe, for this quiet morning in the dark. Steve huffs, but looks up at him.

"I always fuck that part up. It's too fast." He sighs, his voice harsh, he's being hard on himself. And Eddie doesn't know if it's the early morning hour, or the fact that it's still quite dark in his room, or maybe it's the fact that he hadn't slept much and now Steve was in his room. But he scoots back, just a bit, and pats the bed, swinging his legs over the edge.

And his chest flutters again when Steve doesn't even hesitate to come and sit beside him. Doesn't flinch away when Eddie presses close, moves his arm around Steve, curls his fingers over his on the guitar.

He does feel Steve's breathe catch when Eddie sighs across his neck, but he keeps the smirk off his face. Instead he strums the guitar, moves his fingers quickly, hitting the notes that Steve missed with ease. And he almost laughs when Steve turns, his shoulder pressing into Eddie's chest as he gapes at him.

"How did you- you know how to play this song?" Steve asks, his eyes wide. Eddie shrugs, his eyes dropping to Steve's lips, he's so close.

"Parts of it. You hum it a lot." Eddie says, almost whispers between them. Steve's face does some strange movement, jumping between a smile and frown and back again.

"Wait, have you never even heard the song?" Steve asks, his voice accusing.

"I dunno. Maybe like once. It was on in your car that time right?" Eddie shrugs again, looks away from Steve, his cheeks heating in the dark, with Steve so close. And Eddie is still sleep warm, and he swears Steve keeps leaning back into his chest.

"You're not even sure if you've heard the song and you can just play it like that!?" Steve asks, his voice a little louder now. But there's an amused edge to it that Eddie can't shake.

"Yeah. I'm-" he stops, swallows, his palms are starting to sweat so he moves his hands away from Steve's, hears him make a small sound in his throat, and finally, looks back at Steve's face. His features have softened, his eyes still sparkling with amusement, but there's something else there too.

"You can just play things by ear like that?" Steve asks, his voice soft, he's looking at Eddie, really looking at him in the low light of Eddie's room. And Eddie's arms are still wrapped half around him, he swallows, and nods.

"Guess so. Never been great at actually reading music. I don't focus well." He scrunches his nose.

"No. You?" Steve teases, and Eddie feels any lingering insecurities wash away. He shrugs.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure I could teach you actually. And I might have you all messed up. But you're good. Real good." He says it softly, and feels, without a doubt, Steve lean back, pressing his back into Eddie's chest.

"I think you're a good teacher. Maybe a little impatient sometimes." Steve elbows him gently. Eddie flushes, his hand moving to Steve's shoulder.

"Shit was I? I was trying really hard not to be." He frowns, and then Steve is turning, letting the guitar slip slowly to the floor. Eddie gulps, Steve's face is so close, and he's so warm pressed against him. And Eddie might have a real issue here soon if Steve doesn't move out his space.

"No it wasn't bad. I- I kinda like you impatient. You get bossy." Steve laughs, a small, giddy sounding thing, light in his throat. Eddie feels like he might vibrate out of his skin. Steve's hands move to his shirt, resting against his chest.

"You uh- you like when I'm bossy?" Eddie asks, his voice shaking, his hands trembling at his sides, he's moved them away from Steve. Doesn't want him to feel him shaking. Steve nods, once.

"Kinda yeah. Is that bad?" Steve asks, his eyes squinting, nose scrunching. And he sounds like he might be genuinely asking, like Eddie has any fucking clue.

"I don't think so. I'm sure it's fine. I-" Eddie stammers, is about to keep talking, not sure what's gonna come out of his mouth if he does. But Steve beats him to it.

"Why did you offer to teach me to play?" Steve asks, his thumbs move over Eddie's chest gently. Eddie feels his entire body flushing. He doesn't wanna talk about this. Not with Steve. He doesn't wanna scare him away. But Steve is looking at him, soothing his fingers into Eddie's shirt like he knows Eddie feels like he might float away. Like he's trying to ground him. Eddie licks his lips, sinks his teeth into his bottom one, and frowns.

"You can say it. It's okay." Steve assures him, a soft whisper between them.

"I thought you wanted to learn." Eddie says, his voice weak, unsure. Steve nods, slowly, one hand moving up, his fingers gently moving over the hot skin of Eddie's neck. Eddie makes a small wounded sound in his throat, and he swears Steve's eyes darken.

"That all?" Steve asks, his thumb pressing into the rapid heartbeat in Eddie's throat. Eddie shakes his head.

"I wanted to be close to you. But I didn't think that you'd want that... like that. With me. So-" he cuts off, swallows again, his breathe catching in throat. Steve softens in front of him, melts impossibly closer.

"So you offered to teach me to play. And then you curled yourself around me. Touched me. Moved me around like clay in your hands." Steve whispers, pressing closer, and Eddie can't breathe. And he feels guilty, all of a sudden. It burns in his throat, choking him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have done that." He stammers, and he tries to pull away from Steve, weakly. But Steve is stronger, holds him in place, and moves closer, his lips pressing to Eddie's ear.

"Don't be sorry. I liked it. Liked the way you moved me, and touched me, and taught my hands how to move and make music. I liked you pressed against me Eddie." He moved back, smiling at the whine that escaped Eddie's throat.

"I like you. Is- is that okay?" Steve looks shy, somehow, as he says this. After he's set every nerve ending in Eddie's body alight. Eddie nods. His body trembling now.

"Can I kiss you?" Steve breathes between, his hands moving to Eddie's cheeks now, holding him gently, the way he always holds Eddie's guitar.

"Yeah." Eddie nods. Steve smiles. And then a jolt of fear runs through Eddie, his hands land on Steve's chest, harder than he means too, holding him back.

Steve's brow furrows.

"What is it?" He asks, and Eddie almost laughs in his face, he sounds so concerned. But Eddie clears his throat, his eyes falling to his lap.

"I don't know how." He says, his voice so quiet he's not sure Steve will hear him. But it's early morning, and his room is quiet as the sun rises, filling the room with a warm glow, and of course Steve hears him, Steve always hears him. His hands moves under Eddie's chin, lifts head til he's looking at him. And Eddie watches Steve watch him, watches the sweet crooked smile that tilts Steve lips, his breath hitching in his chest as Steve moves his thumb over Eddie's bottom lip.

"I could teach you." Steve says, echoing Eddie's offer from all those weeks ago, and Eddie feels weak. His body shaking as he nods, his mouth frozen. Steve pulls him closer, his hand moving down Eddie's neck again.

"What if I suck at it?" Eddie asks, a wobbly smile fluttering across his face as he echoes Steve, and opens the door for Steve to tell him he will. That he will suck at it, at first, like Eddie had told him. But Steve's eyes darken again, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he stares at Eddie's mouth. Eddie feels trapped, in the best possible way, trapped under Steve's gaze. Steve's head moves slowly, side to side, his eyes still locked on Eddie's lips, Eddie feels Steve's fingers curl into his shirt near his ribs as he pulls him a fraction closer.

"With a mouth like that? I don't think that's possible." He breathes, and Eddie nearly fucking swoons, his hands fisting in Steve's shirt on his chest. Steve smirks at him them, moves the hand near his ribs around Eddie's back, holds him tight.

"I bet you're a natural. And if you're not," Steve presses his lips to Eddie's nose, pulls back.

"I'm willing to teach you. You'll be perfect when I'm done with you." Steve whispers, like it's a secret. It makes Eddie shiver.

"I might be a slow learner?" Eddie asks, his voice shaking but he's teasing now, and Steve smirks again, his fingers curling up into Eddie's hair and pulling, tilting his head to the side.

"God I fucking hope so." Steve almost growls the words against Eddie's lips and then he's kissing him. And despite the growl, and the low dip of his voice, the kiss is sweet. And slow.

Steve moves his lips genlty, let's Eddie get a feel for it. And, to Eddie's relief, doesn't deepen the kiss. His body is so overwhelmed already, he's sure Steve's tongue in his mouth would just send him into a meltdown.

But Steve doesn't press. He just kisses Eddie. Slow. Moves his lips over Eddie's, hums into the kiss when Eddie moves his hand into Steve's hair, hesitant, his hand shaking. Steve's arm around him pulls him closer, until he's tugged Eddie into his lap.

Eddie whimpers as Steve holds him, does his best to kiss Steve back, moves his lips the way he feels Steve's moving against his. Steve pulls back first, his hands moving up Eddie’s back. Eddie frowns down at him.

"Was that okay?" He asks, his fingers drumming nervously against Steve's shoulders. Steve smiles up at him, kisses him again, and Eddie's not sure he'll ever be over that warm press of soft skin.

"It was perfect." Steve says, tucks a lock of Eddie's sleep disheveled hair behind his ear.

"You're good at that." Eddie says, his body shaking against Steve. Steve smiles, and then moves, quick, he flips them over, landing on top of Eddie, hovering over him, his hands planted near his head. Steve leans down, presses close.

"Thank you. So are you." He moves his fingers over Eddie's cheek, fingertips tracing the jagged scar there. Eddie's brow twitches, he tries not to frown. Steve dips, presses his lips to the scar.

"Wanna make a deal?" He asks, lifting back up to look at Eddie.

"Sure. What deal?" Eddie agrees, before he even knows what it is. Steve smiles.

"I'll keep kissing you later. If you-" he stops, looks unsure as he looks down at Eddie. So Eddie reaches up, cups Steve cheek, because he can now.

"If I what?" Eddie whispers.

"If you hold me while we go back to sleep." Steve sounds shy, after everything that just happened.

Eddie smiles up at him, moves his fingertips over Steve's lips now.

"I'll hold you whenever you want. Just don't ever stop kissing me." Eddie says, tugging Steve down on top of him, Steve laughs against his lips and then sighs, deep, and happy, as Eddie wraps his arms around him.

Steve cuddles closer, presses his face into Eddie's chest and just breathes. Eddie listens to his breathing until they both drift off, the sun finally pulling itself over the horizon, Eddie and Steve's shared guitar temporarily forgotten, resting on the floor.

#fates Endless Inkwell #fei #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #my writing #mine #my fic #inexperienced eddie munson #virgin eddie munson

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icarusflewsworld · 3 months ago

Text

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 20 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

! Next chapter on Sunday, January 5 !

I hope you enjoyed the read and the kisses !! Don't hesitate to leave me comments on what you think of the story. I will love to talk about it with you.

I also hope you had a very good Christmas and that you got lots of beautiful gifts. I know that we are all disappointed not to have had Rhysand, Cassian or Azriel under the tree but I still hope that you enjoyed your gifts.

I wish you a very very very happy New Year's Eve on December 31st as well as an excellent year 2025 full of happiness, joy, love and peace. Take care of yourself! With all my love ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

! Don't forget to read the other chapters ! : Here

Enjoy the read ! ❤️❤️❤️

Chapter 20

Luxiana was beginning to lose patience. Mor, Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel had been keeping her occupied as best as they could for a good eight days now. They took her shopping, to restaurants and bars. Thanks to the blonde, Luixiana now knew every corner of Velaris. Of course, she loved the many outings she went on with Mor and Amren-forced by Rhys's cousin-but that wasn't why she was there. No matter how many times she asked the three Illyrians - who followed her everywhere, even when she was with Mor - when they were going to steal the Book of Breathing, they always came up with some excuse.

Rhysand kept telling Luxiana that this kind of visit between high lords had to be prepared well in advance and that they couldn't just go to the summer court unannounced. But Luxiana was wary. The three Illyrians told her they had to organize this meeting, but all they did was follow her. And she couldn't understand why. Were they afraid she wanted to betray or attack them? In that case, Mor and Amren's surveillance alone should be enough. Luxiana was confused and impatient, but every time she wanted to raise the subject with one of them, they gave her lame excuses, changed the subject or even ignored her.

Luxiana wasn't really complaining. She enjoyed the company of the three males. In fact, the more the days went by, the more she enjoyed them. They spent all their moments with her and she got to know them a little more every minute. She really enjoyed spending time with them, but then again, that's not why she was there.

She sighed all her air, disturbed by her thoughts, then she put on her black silk nightgown with thin straps that reached halfway up her thigh. She untied her long white hair, which fell in a waterfall down her back. She looked at herself in the huge mirror in her bathroom. She couldn't keep the red from rising to her cheeks or her smile from growing when she saw the night dress. She couldn't help but wonder if Rhysand had given her only sexy underwear and clothes like that on purpose. But she wasn't complaining, she loved feeling beautiful and in these pieces of tissue, she felt hot. But, above all, it was in the pupils of the three Illyrians that she felt attractive.

The way they looked at her and acted with her, unnerved her a little more at every moment. They were so sweet and thoughtful. She thought back to when, one evening, while they were out, Rhysand had slipped his jacket over her shoulders. She wasn't even really cold, but he'd preferred her to be warm. Then she remembered all the other times he'd acted so thoughtfully and gently towards her. She also thought of how Cassian always detailed her up and down with eyes blazing with desire and the way he always complimented her or flirted with her. She remembered Azriel's possessiveness that exploded when she talked to other people or when he touched her all the time with force and vigor, as if Luxiana were his. She loved this. She adored every one of those three's behaviors.

But she was lost. Once again, their reactions were strange and incomprehensible. They gave her the impression they were flirting with her, but it didn't seem to bother them that their brothers were courting her too. On the contrary, something in their eyes lit up when they saw one of their own getting close to her. But they were Illyrians, it wasn't in their nature.

She lowered her eyes and gritted her teeth. They were Illyrians. She had to close her eyelids under her violently churning stomach. They were Illyrians. She put her hand to her shoulder to massage it. It hurt. She reopened her eyes and rested them on her silver bracelet composed of blue gems and magic stones. She smiled sadly. She already missed Kayden so much.

She shook her head. She couldn't let herself go like that. Not now. Besides, Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel weren't at all like all the other Illyrians she'd met. In fact, they seemed so kind, thoughtful and adorable that it seemed a little too suspicious. She thought they were playing her, but she could never detect any trace of lies or pretense in them. But why were they so possessive and protective of her? She couldn't understand it.

They seemed to get irritated every time she talked to someone else, especially a man. They didn't like it when she went out in revealing clothes, but her closet was full of them. They always made sure they could chat with her at all times. And their cute ways to act??? Cassian brought her flowers every morning, Rhysand was incredibly gallant and Azriel blew on her meals and drinks when they were hot so she wouldn't burn herself. They did all sorts of sweet things that drove her crazy.

She just didn't understand. She'd thought they simply behaved like that with everyone, but that argument had been quickly refuted when she'd watched them talking with Mor and Amren. They didn't act at all the same way with them as they did with Luxiana, even though these two faes were supposed to be the two most important women in their lives. She really couldn't understand it. Were they really flirting with her? If so, did they really accept that their brothers were also flirting with her? Did they even agree to "share"? It was all so strange.

She looked up at the ceiling and let out a little cry of frustration as she realized she was still thinking about them. They were all she thought about all the time. All the time, really. Even when she was thinking about something else, her head always found a way to bring her thoughts back to the three Illyrians.

She left the bathroom, trying to concentrate and stop thinking about the handsome males. She'd spent the day with Mor, and of course with them, shopping. Although she'd tried not to look bored, she wasn't made for this kind of day. She was made for action. In fact, she was still full of energy. She began to pace around her bedroom, trying to find something to do. Maybe she should do a little sport to burn off some energy. She wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. Convinced, she was about to throw herself on the floor and start doing push-ups, but someone knocked on her door. She straightened up and looked curiously at the entrance to the room. It was already late, around ten o'clock p.m. Who could it be and why?

She moved quickly to her door but opened it with apprehension. She raised an eyebrow in surprise when she saw Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian standing in front of her entrance. The Illyrian with the red syphons was holding out four glasses of wine in one hand and just as many bottles in the other. They were dressed simply. Rhysand wore a black shirt with a kind of jogging of the same color. Cassian wore a dark gray jacket laced up at the front, revealing the muscular skin of his torso in a fine line, and he wore a wide pants in dark brown leather. Azriel, meanwhile, wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt and gray lounge pants. Luxiana thought to herself that this was the first time she hadn't seen them formally dressed or in combat gear, but then gasped and realized that they were really hot. She cleared her throat, shaking her head to regain her composure. "Yes?"

The three Illyrians had come to a complete standstill at the door. It wasn't the first time they'd seen her in a nightie, and although they'd thought black really suited her, they'd given it no more thought. They'd even forgotten the purpose of their existence, to breathe and their hearts to beat, when they'd seen her with her hair down. Because this, on the other hand, was the first time. She'd always had her hair tied back in front of them, and the three brunettes had never thought of it as something important, but it was. They could hear and feel their hearts beating like raging beasts in their rib cages. She was divinely beautiful with that mass of white silk surrounding her and falling around her face. It suited her so well that it would completely unnerve them.

Luxiana tilted her head, smiling with a questioning, worried expression. "Are you all right?" she asked in a gentle voice as she noticed their paralysis.

Cassian didn't even know why they'd come. He made his arms fall limply back along his body, not even sure how he managed not to let go of the wine bottles and glasses wedged between his fingers. "Your ha..." He was stuttering again. Why on earth did she have that effect on him? "Your hair... It's the first time we've seen you with your hair down."

Luxiana frowned in incomprehension. Was it her hair that had put them in such a state?" Really?" she asked uncertainly, not understanding why it mattered to them and why they were reacting like this. She released the door handle to give her back to them and shake her hair in front of their noses, then turned back in their direction with a broad smile, rubbing her skull on both sides to tousle her locks. "So do you like me like this?"

Rhysand had to take a step back. His chest was on fire and he couldn't breathe. She was so sexy he could die. He was still thanking the gods -as he had done every second since he'd met her- for making his mate so beautiful. "It suits you incredibly well," he managed to articulate. "You look gorgeous, as always."

Luxiana's smile widened in spite of herself as she mustered all her strength to fight the blushes that wanted to take up residence on her cheeks. She'd done nothing but blush since she'd been here, and she hated the effect they had on her. "It's adorable," she raved helplessly. "I should let them down more often then," she added in a seductive tone, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" replied Azriel immediately with urgency. He cleared his throat and blinked several times, only to catch himself under Luxiana's questioning gaze. By heavens. He hadn't been able to hold back the flood of jealousy that had flowed through him at the idea of other men seeing his soul mate with her hair like that. She was far too sexy that way and he was sure everyone else would have bad thoughts when they saw her like that. And it was completely out of the question for anyone but them, to imagine things with his wife. "Or just for us," he added earnestly.

He didn't even notice Luxiana's surprised expression or her disconcerted chuckle as his pupils were still fixed on her white locks. Unable to restrain himself, he raised his hand towards them and Luxiana let him do so with curiosity as he caught the whole of her mane in his hand to wrap it around his fist. He grunted in satisfaction as he pulled his soulmate's head back a little. "Perfect size", he muttered, more to himself.

Luxiana frowned sharply and threw a confused glance at Cassian and Rhysand without understanding what was going on, but the other two Illyrians were far too focused on staring at Azriel's gesture and nodding in agreement to notice. The spymaster slid his soulmate's locks into his fist along their entire length. He couldn't contain his shiver at the silky touch of her hair before releasing it completely. Luxiana rolled her eyes before giving up with a sigh. She was taking too much thoughts for them. Maybe they were just weird. "And so why are you here?"

Cassian smiled wryly as he raised the wine bottles. "We're going to continue the evening in my room, would you like to join us?" His irises shone with seduction.

Luxiana raised an eyebrow in pleasant astonishment. She glanced back at her room. She should stay. She shouldn't get attached to the three of them. She wasn't here for that. But she could enjoy herself a little while she was here, especially as she always had a great time with them. She turned a determined gaze back to Cassian to return his seductive expression. "With pleasure." She left her room and closed the door behind her without even thinking of changing or putting on something to cover herself. She felt beautiful, and she loved feeling the burning gazes of the three Illyrians on her, staring at her from behind and up and down as she advanced without waiting for them.

Eventually, they entered the room. Rhysand had filled and served them four glasses with wine. Cassian had grabbed one and handed it to Luxiana, but Azriel grabbed it before she could take it. He glanced reprovingly at Cassian, "she shouldn't drink that, it's strong alcohol, especially for humans."

Luxiana rolled her eyes, a little wearily, then quickly retrieved the glass, with such speed that it surprised Azriel, who hadn't even been able to react. "Need I remind you that I work in a bar?" she told him. "I'm used to strong alcohol, believe me."

Rhysand laughed softly as he detailed her tenderly. She was so naive." Surely not the one of the faes."

Luxiana glanced at him sideways, grimacing. She wrinkled her nose and leaned forward towards Rhysand. She glanced left and right as if she were about to tell him a secret and was afraid someone would overhear. "Don't tell the high lord here, but his booze is smuggled over the wall," she scoffed.

Rhysand opened his mouth wide in surprise as Cassian exploded with laughter. "See, she's used to it," he added, holding out his own glass toward her to toast his mate. He raised the glass to his mouth.

Luxiana also took a sip of the golden beverage before groaning as she closed her eyes. "This is so good."

Cassian choked on the wine in his mouth as he started coughing under the salacious images of his soul mate that came into his mind at her words and tone. Hell, he'd had an erection whenever he laid eyes on her and that from the start, but now he'd almost cum in his pants just hearing her moan. He had to do something about this.

Luxiana hiccupped in surprise as she opened her eyes wide, then jumped up and down on the spot, "you know what we should do?"

Azriel smiled tenderly as he detailed her, he never tired of her reactions. He took a sip of his liquor before speaking. "What's that?"

The exclamation of hope and joy faded from their soulmate's face to disappeared. "Oh, but I don't think you'll agree."

Rhysand also swallowed a drop from his glass, detailing Luxiana with squinted eyes. "Tell us."

The blonde's smile emerged again, but differently this time. It was mischievous. Her pupils sparkled with mischief and the seductive look she suddenly had on her face disconcerts the three males for a second. She detailed them up and down with desire, biting her lower lip. "We should play strip poker!"

Rhysand blinked slowly in surprise at his soulmate's proposal, but couldn't prevent a broad smile from forming on his face. Cassian laughed out loud, but his whole body was already on fire with excitement at the idea of it, "I'm in, I'm in". Azriel closed his eyes, blowing out his breath to hold the bridge of his nose wearily, "You know you've only got one layer of clothing on you, right? And that you're therefore likely to find yourself naked in front of us very quickly."

Luxiana's expression became provocative and the glint of playfulness in her irises awakened Azriel's erection. "Oh I'm well aware of that but...," she licked her lips to detail the three of them again avidly, "it's not me who's going to lose."

Rhysand's eyes filled with a playful gleam, "Well, let's go then." but every muscle in his body was vibrating with anticipation and excitement. Was he going to see his soul mate naked for the first time tonight? Now that she knew the risks and agreed, he was going to do everything he could to win.

They finally settled on Cassian's huge bed. Luxiana was kneeling in the middle of the mattress, facing her was Rhysand with his legs crossed, to his left was Cassian in the same position and Azriel was on the other side of the high lord, leaning against the headboard with his forearm resting on one of his raised knees. Cards had appeared between them thanks to the magic of the house and they had now begun a game.

Although the four of them continued to drink their alcoholic beverages and even refill their glasses regularly, they were all playing very well. Rhysand and Azriel were cautious, not wanting to lose or miss the opportunity to make their soul mate lose. They ended up fold, but Cassian wasn't so cautious. He was confident because, either way, he would be victorious. If he won, he could see his soul mate naked, but if he lost, he could show himself naked to her. Unfortunately, his game wasn't as good as Luxiana's. He lost.

The blonde began jumping up and down all over the bed, shouting, "I won, I won." She threw herself in front of Cassian to land close to his shins. She leaned toward him, bringing her proud face close to Cassian's half-disappointed, half-jubilant one. She ran her tongue over her lips and her smile widened when she noticed the Illyrian leering longingly at them. "You need to take something off now," she demanded mischievously.

Rhysand smiled wryly as he detailed her with shining eyes. "You know, you don't need a game. If you want to see us naked, all you have to do is ask."

Luxiana gave him a playful, confident look. "I want to see you naked," she assured with a determined air. "But it's a lot more fun to get that by making you lose at a game."

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. He was always pleasantly surprised by her repartee and the way she flirted back with them. Azriel laughed, shaking his head. She was so cute yet so provocative. He loved it. He loved knowing she liked them.

Cassian caught Luxiana's chin between his fingers to turn her head towards him. His irises were bright with confidence, he was hardly intimidated or bothered by taking off a piece of clothing. In fact, when he'd come out of his room and proposed this little evening to his two brothers, he'd only been in his boxers. It was Rhysand and Azriel who had forced him to put something on so as not to disturb the woman. And now it was she who wanted to undress him. He was boiling with joy. "What do you want me to take off? If it helps you choose, I don't have anything under my pants." He did have underwear, but if after saying that, his soul mate still asked him to take off his pants, he'd take it all off.

Luxiana swallowed hard at the palpable tension between them. She forced herself to smile while maintaining her air of confidence to divert attention from her blushes. "No..." she murmured slowly, inclining her head, "not right away at least." Her haughty, confident expression must have been convincing because she saw Cassian raise an eyebrow in surprise and amusement. "Take the top off first."

Cassian wasted no time. He released Luxiana and, without breaking eye contact with her, reached for the end of the lace holding her vest to untie and open it. His movements were slow and calculated. He removed his vest and let it fall to his side.

Luxiana pulled away to rest on her knees and fully admire Cassian's muscular torso, pecs, shoulders and arms. Her mouth opened wide, very wide, gradually. This fae was really well built, sculpted like nothing she'd ever seen. He was so sexy. She couldn't even see his tattoos, he had so much muscle to look at. She was almost drooling. "Uh... I..." She was at a loss for words. "So sexy," she breathed simply, unable to think or speak properly.

The three Illyrians burst out laughing at her reaction. She was looking at Cassian as if he were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and he found this childish attitude so adorable. But Cassian, though he didn't look like it, was burning. Every inch of skin, where his soul mate's pupils rested, was aflame. He felt so proud to have provoked this reaction in her.

"Wait but waiiiiitt ?????" cried Luxiana suddenly, shaking her head and barely able to breathe. "You're so muscular, how is that possible?" She couldn't believe her eyes. Did he spend his days lifting weights? She moved closer to him to come to his side and stick her arm to the Illyrian's. "Look at the size of your arm and the difference with mine! It's twice... no, at least three times the thickness of mine." She moved back in front of him to detail him with wide eyes while he laughed his head off, then squinted at his abs. She hiccupped again in surprise as she held out her index finger. "Can I... can I touch?"

Cassian calmed his laughter a little to straighten up and look at her with intense eyes. "Oh as much as you want, honey."

Luxiana opened her mouth in a wide smile, pleased by the agreement he had given her. She pursed her lips in concentration. She felt one of Cassian's abs with her fingerprint for a tiny second before retracting her arm, hiccupping in surprise. That was super hard. "Holy cow!"

Rhysand dropped onto the headboard, unable to stand up straight as he laughed so hard. His soul mate was too cute.

Azriel detailed her with amusement and tenderness. "Have you ever seen at least one naked man?" He'd asked lightly, but he couldn't stop his smile from fading gently at the weight settling in his stomach. He so wished she'd tell him she hadn't. He knew it wasn't possible, not when she was such a beautiful, outgoing young woman but ... he'd so much like her to tell him that she'd never done anything with anyone. That she hadn't belonged to any other man before them.

Luxiana gave him a quick glance before blushing all over her face. "Whaaaaaat?" She giggled, lowering her head. "Pfff, of course I do," she stammered. Then she closed her eyes fiercely. The alcohol was going to her head and she couldn't figure out what she was doing.

All three Illyrians froze at once, straightening up from laughter to seriousness. "You're lying," Azriel remarked. And you didn't have to speak the language of the invisible to see that.

"But no, not at all, I..." tried to defend herself Luxiana but she felt so embarrassed and ashamed that she couldn't even think or breathe properly. She clamped her hands over her hot, red face and moaned a plaintive cry.

The three Illyrians were just completely paralyzed. They couldn't believe it. They couldn't believe their eyes and ears. She was lying, it couldn't be any other way. Cassian exploded. He shouted, "You're virgi..."

"Don't say it!" cried Luxiana, interrupting him and putting her hands on the sheets to hold on to them. She felt as if she were dying of shame. She let out a cry of frustration, then killed the three breathless wide-eyed Illyrians with her pupils. "I've never slept with anyone, but that doesn't mean I can't kick your ass, so shut up!" She realized she'd just confessed. She whimpered another sob as she pressed her palms to her face again to hide. She let herself fall on her side on the mattress to get into a lateral safety position.

Rhysand was frozen from head to toe. He was completely shocked by this news. If there was one thing he thought Luxiana had done, it was sleep with men. Especially with the seductive attitude she always had. But now that he'd learned this, he was just completely paralyzed. A ball of anxiety settled in his stomach. He didn't know what to do. He was starting to panic. She was a virgin and so pure and they only wanted to do dirty things to her. She couldn't give them her first time. They didn't deserve it. Yet something primal awoke in him, something typically Illyrian that made him vibrate with possessiveness from head to toe. He raised his head to the ceiling, trying to reason and calm himself.

Azriel was gasping for air. His eyes burned with joy and his whole body seemed to palpitate. He waved his hands in front of him in all directions, staring into space. He opened his mouth several times, not knowing whether to speak, scream, jump for joy or just breathe. He was so happy. His soul mate had never belonged to anyone else, and she would forever belong only to them. To him. What had he done in his life to make this happen? He even wanted to cry, so happy was he.

Cassian's mouth was wide open. He rose slowly, robotically, to land feverishly on his two feet, keeping his eyes and mouth wide open. He walked to his bedroom door, stepped outside and closed it behind him. He took a few steps forward before taking a deep breath, tensing all his muscles and clenching his fists. Then he began throwing his limbs furiously in all directions as he screamed silently, opening his mouth and letting only a muffled sound come out. "YES! FUCK YES! YEEEESSS !" Then, once relieved of his joy and although his heart was still beating madly in his chest, he returned to the bedroom to resume his seat as if nothing had happened.

Rhysand shook his head to compose himself. He glanced at Azriel, who had an absent but dreamy look on his face as he was watching Luxiana -still curled up in a ball- with glowing eyes. He then turned his eyes to Cassian to see him with rapid breathing and a broad smile on his lips. He couldn't count on them. He huffed, then grabbed Luxiana by the shoulders to straighten her up. She relented but didn't remove her hands from her face, so Rhysand grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms down.

Her face revealed itself. She had pursed lips and a cute, pleading pout. "Don't make fun of me," she whispered imploringly.

Rhysand widened his eyes for a second. "We don't make fun of you, ever. Quite the contrary! We're so..." He huffed, pausing. He just couldn't tell her how happy he was. She wouldn't understand. He let go of her arms to cup his soul mate's face. "We're very admiring. Really." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, but couldn't help brushing her hair all the way down, so soft it was. He followed her movement with his pupils. "Never be ashamed of it. Don't ever be. Okay?"

Without leaving his pleading face she nodded, but she still felt embarrassed in a way she'd never felt before. She let out a cry of frustration before moving away to lean over the side of the bed to catch something on the ground.

Only, by leaning this way, she gave the three Illyrians a good view of her legs, her shape and her buttocks, which the dress hid just enough. Cassian threw himself back with all his might, almost knocking himself out on the headboard of his bed to avoid rushing into her or cumming in his pants. No, no, they couldn't act that way with her now. Not when it was her first time that was at stake. Azriel closed one of his fists and slammed it into his forehead several times while closing his eyes and trying to think of something else. Rhysand grabbed the pillow from behind him, placing it behind Luxiana's buttocks to cover her, but he couldn't help smiling in exasperation.

Luxiana grabbed the bottle of wine on the floor beside the bed, stood up and rushed the drink to her mouth. She took several large gulps, before Azriel, realizing this, jumped up to snatch the alcohol from her hands. "Certainly not, no," he growled, pulling the bottle away from her and placing it beside her on the bedside table.

Luxiana let out a plaintive cry before killing Cassian with her eyes. "This is all your fault, if you hadn't been so sexy, none of this would have happened."

Cassian smiled with all his teeth, his chest vibrating with pride. "So you find me attractive?"

Luxiana rolled her eyes blasély, "you know you are." Then she turned to Azriel to glare at him, "you're next on the list." There was no way she was going to be the only one embarrassed. She was going to get them all naked tonight.

Luxiana repositioned herself in her initial place and resumed dealing the cards with a stern, determined air. And so they began to play again. There were several stalemates, the three Illyrians fighting like hell to win, but Luxiana was far too cautious, especially as she seemed to know the three males' game and what they were going to do before they did. Then, just as she'd planned, she beat Azriel. "YES!" she exclaimed, drawing her fist towards her. She pointed at Azriel with her index finger. "Now it's your turn! Take off the top." She laughed sadistically as she clapped her hands together.

Azriel smiled softly, shaking his head. His shadows weren't helping him even a little to cheat against his soul mate, the bitches. Without a word, he stood up from the headboard to remove his T-shirt and reveal his tattooed torso.

Luxiana gazed at him hungrily for a moment. Her mouth gradually opened. Then she let herself fall onto her side, without taking her eyes off Azriel's abs. "Woaah," she moaned in complete wonder. "It's so beautiful."

The three Illyrians laughed softly as they detailed her tenderly. Then she jumped to her knees one of a sudden, startling them. She slid down her shins to Azriel to raise her hand and run her fingers over one of the curves of one of his tattoos on his pectoral. He was as sexy as Cassian, and although she pretended to be obsessed with the black ink on his skin, she was only doing it so she could touch him. "I really like the direction this evening is taking," she said, unable to hold back her seductive smile.

Azriel watched her do it with a tilted head and a smirk, but he was just too focused not to shiver violently under her touch.

Cassian laughed even harder as he felt the excitement rise in both his brother and himself. "Oh us too, believe me."

"Is it going to be my turn now?" asked Rhysand seriously, although glimmers of playfulness and hope resounded in his pupils. He was a little disappointed that she hadn't tried to undress him first. He knew the card game could be random, but his mate gave the impression of knowing exactly what she was doing. As if all her actions were always calculated.

Luxiana turned a confident gaze towards the lord, but inside she was filled with reluctance. She hadn't forgotten what Rhysand had suffered in Amarantha's hands and she certainly didn't want to bring back any bad memories or force him to get naked in front of her without him wanting to. "Why? Are you that eager to show me your abs?" Her question sounded unimportant, but it was. She was asking for Rhysand's agreement, and his answer would then determine her behavior.

Rhysand smiled, unsuspecting. "Yes," he added seriously.

Luxiana breathed imperceptibly, reassured then playful. She ran her tongue between her teeth and lips trying not to sound as euphoric as she was from the alcohol and the three handsome Illyrians before her. "So it's your turn."

Then, as they continued to empty their wine glasses, they played several long draws before Luxiana managed to win against Rhysand. She jumped up and down on the bed in delight, the alcohol really beginning to go to her head a little, so much that she had to sit down again because it made her dizzy. The four of them had already drunk three bottles and she'd swallowed the same amount as the three males, maybe even a little more. She threw herself in front of Rhysand, almost falling on him. She looked at him with shining eyes but said nothing, forcing him into nothing, waiting patiently for him to take the plunge on his own. That way, he could always turn back and do nothing if he wanted to.

But Rhysand didn't want that. He wanted his soul mate to see him, he wanted his soul mate to touch him. He took off his shirt slowly, opening its buttons one by one as he stared at Luxiana, who followed his gesture with her eyes. He took off his top and smiled when he saw Luxiana's eyes sparkle. She was about to open her mouth wide but pursed her lips to keep her lower jaw from dropping. "By all gods" she breathed again, detailing Rhysand as if he were a work of art. It took her breath away. "It's incredible." But she wasn't touching him. She wasn't touching him even though she'd touched both of Rhys's brothers, and it was driving him crazy. So he grabbed Luxiana's wrist to press the blonde's palm against his abs.

Luxiana hiccupped in surprise as she clamped her other hand over her mouth. She gave Rhys a questioning look. "I want you to touch me," he whispered earnestly.

She widened her eyes for a second before returning her gaze to his abs and slowly lowering her hand in a caress to the V of the lord's lower abdomen. Then, understanding his words and seeing a bulge in his pants, she flushed violently. She shook her head while gently and repeatedly hitting Rhys's shoulder, who burst out laughing.

"Now it's our turn to make you take off a piece of clothing," says Rhysand, regaining a serious but seductive air.

Luxiana gave him a laughing look, unable to hide her playful smile, before jumping out of the bed. "Um, no, I don't want to play anymore."

"Out of the question, it doesn't work like that," screamed Cassian, offended.

Azriel smiled tenderly. "He's right. Come back here!"

"Nooo," she moaned imploringly, throwing large dilated pupils at them. "I want to do something else."

Rhysand breathed in resignation. She could get what she wanted from him with his face. "What's that?"

Luxiana spun around to find something to do before stopping, realizing that her head was also turning from the inside. This alcohol was really strong, and although she was used to it, she'd been drinking a lot. "Oh I know!" she exclaimed suddenly, setting her eyes on Cassian. "I want to style your hair and make you lots of braids."

Rhysand and Azriel exploded with laughter and Cassian's eyes widened. "You want what?" Had he misheard?

Luxiana ran to him to throw herself in front of him and make big, imploring eyes. "Please," she insisted with the cutest face in the world.

Cassian couldn't even hesitate. He huffed as he grabbed the little rubber bands of different colors he'd just conjured up in front of him. He held them out to Luxiana. "Put on lots of pink rubber bands."

Luxiana jumped up, screaming with joy. She positioned herself behind Cassian, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him towards her. She settled his head on her thighs and began braiding his hair.

Azriel and Rhysand were laughing their heads off and couldn't even breathe. Luxiana glared at them. "Don't laugh too hard, it'll be your turn next."

The two Illyrians instantly fell silent as they stood up straight.

Cassian didn't feel even a little ashamed by the act. He felt far too soothed by his soulmate's touch in his hair, so much so that he couldn't even hear his brothers' mocking laughter. Hell, his heart even felt like it was stopping, so relaxed was he.

Luxiana, despite her fingers digging into Cassian's mane, was chatting happily with Rhysand and Azriel about anything and everything, continuing to drink alcohol in the meantime.

After perhaps an hour of chatting and laughing, Luxiana finished her work. She moved away from Cassian, who was struggling to fight off the sleep that had overtaken him under her soulmate's caresses in his hair. But when he straightened up to reveal lots of shaggy little braids - with pink rubber bands and little pink butterfly clips hanging in them - to his brothers, their laughter woke him up suddenly. Cassian laughed in turn, imagining his face and seeing his soulmate laughing with them.

"It suits you, you're so cute like that," the blonde teased softly, pinching his cheeks.

Cassian looked at her with shining eyes without even feeling humiliated. And Luxiana was a little disappointed to notice that he wasn't blushing even a little. She wanted revenge and to embarrass them.

Cassian pointed to Rhysand and Azriel with a mischievous grin. "They're laughing a little too hard, don't you think?"

Luxiana returned his mischievous expression. "Oh totally." She turned back to the two Illyrians with a psychopathic look.

Rhysand's and Azriel's smiles halted again as they glanced at Luxiana, a little terrified.

The blonde rested her index finger on her chin to consider what she was going to do to them before hiccupping, "Found it!" She looked up at the ceiling to speak to the house. "Can I have some markers, please?" Without question, the house offered her a string of felt-tip pens in several flashy colors. She thanked the house vigorously before turning to Rhys and pointing. "I want to draw in your tattoos."

"You want to do what?" laughed Rhysand in surprise. But Luxiana had already broken the distance between them. She placed her cold hands on Rhysand's pectorals to push him down onto his back. "May I?" she asked permission to settle astride him, pointing to his lower abdomen.

Rhysand contracted for a second. This was a permission Amarantha had never asked of him, but he refrained from telling Luxiana. He knew she would be saddened and that it would spoil her evening and the one of his brothers. In any case, he didn't want to think about this horror right now. He just wanted so much for his soul mate to touch him, and it annoyed him that she asked his permission when she didn't ask his brothers'. "Always," he answered her seriously without any playful or joking air.

Luxiana blinked once, surprised by his tone, then smiled gently at him, feeling herself blush. She climbed astride him and began coloring the inside of the tattoos on Rhys's pecs, arms and shoulders.

The lord of the night watched his soulmate's look of concentration with tenderness. But he had to fight with all his might against the tickle of Luxiana's touch and his growing erection in his pants. If his mate had landed a few centimeters lower, she'd clearly have been able to feel it between her thighs.

The blonde didn't stop talking, though, concentrating on her task and chatting with the three Illyrians. Then, once she was satisfied and her work done, she stood up to let Rhys straighten up and show his brothers the various shades of pink, yellow and green that surrounded his tattoos.

Rhysand wanted to look weary under his brothers' mockery, but he couldn't hide his joy.

Luxiana turned to Azriel, who didn't feel threatened for a second. He only huffed as he stopped laughing and opened his arms wide. "Do what you want with me."

The blonde let out a squeal of delight. She grabbed a candy-pink felt-tip pen and glided over to Azriel, drawing cat whiskers on his face and coloring in his nose. The other two Illyrians couldn't help but laugh as Luxiana pulled away from the now cat-like spymaster. Azriel looked up at the ceiling. "Never in my five hundred years of existence have I been so humiliated," he laughed softly, staring at his soulmate with sparkling eyes.

Luxiana laughed too, but rolled her eyes. Why had she wanted to humiliate them again? She didn't know, and now she felt bad. She huffed as she handed the marker to Azriel, who caught it without understanding, tilting his head. "Your turn. Do something to me."

She closed her eyes and stretched out her smiling face towards Azriel. She waited while the three Illyrians stared at her, not knowing what to do. All they could think of was how cute she looked, with her beautiful smiling pink lips, her alcohol-reddened cheeks and her dimples.

Azriel couldn't breathe or think properly with his soulmate's sweet, ready face stretched out in front of him. He wanted to kiss her. So he squinted at her mouth for a moment, but when Luxiana moistened her lips without opening her eyes, something inside him gave way. He couldn't resist any longer and took the plunge. He placed his lips softly on those of his soul mate.

Feeling someone's mouth on hers, Luxiana hiccupped in surprise, opening her eyes wide and jerking back. Realizing that Azriel had kissed her, she clamped her hand over her mouth. But her heart was pounding in her chest as the echo of the Illyrian's mouth still tickled hers.

Cassian and Rhysand glanced at each other uneasily before cursing Azriel. "Az, damn it," Rhysand growled with a slightly quicker breath. Then they set their eyes on their Luxiana. How was she going to react? They didn't want to scare them.

"Forgive me," Azriel breathed without taking his eyes off the blond to observe her reaction. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long and I couldn't help it, you were so cute."

Luxiana felt warm from head to toe. No kiss had ever had this effect on her. "No," she let out in a high-pitched voice and with an almost inaudible sigh, letting her hand fall back. She squinted at Azriel's mouth. "Don't be." She moved closer to him again, sticking her knees to the Illyrian's crossed legs. "Can you do it again?" Her cheeks were flushed and felt like exploding, but she wanted more.

The chests of the three Illyrians filled with hope, and Azriel's with joy. He couldn't hold back his wide, seductive, teasing smile. "Would you like me to do it again?"

Luxiana nodded briskly, with the cutest face possible. She couldn't breathe. "Do it again, please," she implored. She absolutely had to know if his kiss was still having that effect on her.

It was the last straw that made Azriel snap. With one hand, he grabbed her throat possessively and pulled her towards him, while the other rested on his mate’s cheek. He crushed his mouth to hers, closing his eyes. Fireworks exploded in their bellies and their lips tickled so hard it was almost unbearable.

Azriel stuck out his tongue to caress the blonde's lips and request access to her mouth. Luxiana opened her mouth to let him in. They kissed deeply, Azriel's tongue trying to control Luxiana's as she gave in completely. The kiss was so powerful that it made both of them dizzy. Luxiana had to cling to the Illyrian's forearms to keep from fainting as a moan of pleasure escaped her. Her nipples jutted out from under her nightie in excitement, and the silk fabric began to itch her.

Eventually, they parted gasping for air, their chests trembling. They gazed into each other's eyes, completely shocked and blown away by the intensity of their kiss. Neither of them had ever felt anything like it. Azriel wanted more. He wanted so much more, but he gently released Luxiana to see what she would do. But he prayed she'd come back for more, because damn it, he could spend his life kissing her.

Luxiana came back to her after a few seconds' absence, trying to calm herself down. She clamped both hands over her mouth, hiccupping. Then she threw herself backwards, stomach down on the bed, to make her legs go quickly and slam her feet on the mattress. She buried her flushed face in the sheets while shouting a muffled sound of joy. Then she started laughing, so happy was she. She didn't even understand why she felt so happy. It was the best kiss she'd ever had and she couldn't even think about what she was doing. She just needed to let out the happiness she was feeling. "I kissed him, I kissed him," she cried, still not quite able to realize what had just happened.

Azriel smiled with all his teeth. He felt buoyant. She'd wanted to kiss him, and she'd liked it.

But Cassian and Rhysand had watched the scene with bated breath, completely frozen. They couldn't move, paralyzed by a mixture of joy and jealousy. Azriel had succeeded. One of them had gotten close enough to their mate to be able to kiss her. But there were three of them. Would she be afraid to kiss them after that? Did she only want Azriel now? They were scared to death.

Fuck it, it was now or never. Rhysand tried to regain his haughty, confident posture, but he was having great difficulty. "You can kiss me too if you like," he let out, his chest full of hope.

Luxiana jerked upright with shock and seriousness as she detailed Rhysand. She frowned, then glanced at Azriel to see what he was going to do. They had just kissed, after all, and that was not nothing, but the Illyrian only looked at her with a smirk and a tilted head, curious to know what she was going to do. That said, he didn't seem to mind her kissing his brother, and Luxiana wanted to. She didn't think any further, as she couldn't think much about what she was doing anyway because of the alcohol coursing through her veins. She then moved quickly towards Rhysand to position herself in front of him with big eyes shining with impatience. "Can I really?"

Rhysand's heart missed a beat. He nodded solemnly. Luxiana opened her eyes wide before throwing herself at Rhys to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before hiccupping away in surprise. She shivered. Rhys smiled at her cuteness but she rushed to his mouth to give him the same kiss again, a little longer this time. Then she pulled away again, still hiccupping in surprise. She placed her hand over her mouth this time, unable to believe she was kissing the high lord of the night court after kissing his brother.

Rhysand laughed before shaking his head tenderly. His mate was so cute. He caught her delicately, placing both hands on either side of her face to pull her mouth over his and kiss her. Their tongues tangled together by themselves and began to dance, gently caressing each other.

Rhysand's entire body was tingling. His chest was vibrating and his heart had stopped completely. He was finally kissing his soul mate. After all this time. And it was even better than in his dreams.

Luxiana's body was vibrating and her lower abdomen was on fire from the kissing. She was shaking so hard her muscles ached. She felt like she was in a cottony cloud of ecstasy and sensation. She wanted so much more.

They parted away, lacking air, forcing Luxiana to groan in disappointment as she opened her eyes. Rhysand couldn't help smiling at the sound, but he was just too breathless to speak or start again. That kiss had been so intense that it had just taken his breath away.

Cassian couldn't take it anymore. His two brothers had tasted it before him and these visions were slowly killing him. He'd come close to cumming several times in his pants, "So now it's my turn," he declared in a deep voice filled with excitement.

Luxiana barely had time to turn towards him and calm down before he threw himself at her, placing one hand on the back of her head and another on her back to pull her towards him and press his lips to hers. He forced his tongue into Luxiana's mouth, and she let him in to return the feverish kiss where their tongues fought. She placed her hands on Cassian's torso to take advantage and caress his pectoral muscles. Both began to shudder at the same time under the explosion in their bellies and the tickle in their mouths. Luxiana moaned as she felt her panties getting wet.

Cassian, at this sound, couldn't hold back. He pushed her down and laid her back on the mattress, towering over her with his body as he continued to kiss her. He passed a leg between Luxiana's thighs to rest his knee on her part.

Luxiana moaned into Cassian's mouth again, feeling herself vibrate all over as he pressed her clit with his leg. She wanted more.

Unfortunately, Azriel grabbed Cassian by the shoulder to break their kiss, pulling him back and away from Luxiana. "No," he growled through clenched teeth, killing his brother with his eyes.

"What do you mean 'no'?" offended Cassian in disbelief. Anger bubbled up in his veins, replacing his euphoria and excitement far too savagely.

"She's been drinking, she's drunk," Rhysand explained. There was no way he was going to take advantage of her condition to go any further. Even if he wanted to. On the other hand, if tomorrow she wanted it again... then he wouldn't hold back.

"I'm not drunk!" exclaimed Luxiana just as shocked and offended as Cassian that they'd interrupted her. She raised herself on her forearms to glare at Azriel and Rhysand, but they only gave her a weary look.

Cassian grunted in frustration, eyes firmly ferocious. They were right. He huffed in resignation as he rested his back on the headboard of his bed. He hadn't intended to go any further anyway, but he realized they'd already overstepped the boundaries.

Luxiana dropped onto the mattress, also screaming in frustration, her teeth clenched. She was completely turned on now. How was she supposed to keep ... and she fell asleep suddenly. Maybe she was a little drunk after all.

#a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acotar #acowar #azriel #rhysand #cassian #cassian x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x oc #rhysand x oc #rhysand & cassian & azriel x oc #high lord rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar

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ass-deep-in-demons · 2 months ago

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WIP tag game!

I got tagged by @nerdanel01 which was a double treat because not only I get to share my WiPs but also I got to read excerpts from the next update of Love is a Stranger 😍😍😍

Rules: You will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

Right now I have three WiPs going on: 1. Under our Darkening Skies (Boromir) - Chapter 3 2. Tales from the Lighthouse (Emmrich x Osla "Rook" Mercar, multichapter, cannon setting) 3. Small Town Horror (Emmrich x Osla, multichapter, small town AU) My key word is:

LIGHT

[L] - from Small Town Horror

"Listen, Varric, I appreciate…" Varric held out his hand. "Just… hear me out, Rook. I know you won't accept charity, so how about a deal?" "A deal?" Osla echoed warily. Varric nodded. "We help each other, just like in the old times. No handouts, no debts, just clean cut business." "Alright," said Osla, "I'm listening." "You remember my brother Bartrand?" "Of course," said Osla. The mention of Bartrand got her attention. "Tarquin told me he's had some sort of a… crisis. How is he?" "Hmm… Better than a month ago, when his head went crackers. Still nowhere near mentally stable. He's been admitted to an… institution. It was going to be temporary, initially, but with how his recovery is going so far, the doctors think it might become more of a… permanent arrangement." Osla felt a pang of guilt. She wasn't the only one going though it. Hers wasn't the only family that got broken. Suddenly her drunken antics seemed like a childish tantrum. She should get a grip. "Shit, Varric, I'm sorry," she offered lamely. "Yeah, well, it is what it is," said Varric. "But this is where you come in. You see, I need someone looking after the Tethras Farm in the meantime. How about you move in there, take care of the animals during the cold season, and uncle Varric will cover your living expenses ? Hm?" "Please don't refer to yourself as my uncle ever again," said Osla.

[I] - from Small Town Horror

In a moment of bravado, he decided to drive to the farm and check on her. Maybe something had happened. Maybe… Maybe she broke and… indulged? He was glad he himself hadn't been drinking at the party. He walked the short distance along the Main Street to the clinic, popped in the front door to grab his car keys. The ride to the Tethras Farm wasn't a long one, but it required some concentration - the country road had no street lights. As he approached the farm, he could see from afar that the windows were lit. That meant Osla was likely at home. Emmrich felt relieved. As he approached, more details became apparent: one, that the gate to the farm's frontyard was open, and two, that a silver minivan was parked right next to Osla's old pickup. Emmrich did not recognize the car. Did Osla have guests over from outside of Mournville? He read the minivan's plate - it was from the Nevarra City, which confirmed his suspicion. Emmrich felt self-conscious. Coming to check up on Osla when she was alone was one thing, but ringing her doorbell to be greeted by her family or a group of friends - that would be something else entirely. What if… what if she had a gentleman, or a lady friend over? Was that why she'd missed the party?

[G] - from Under our Darkening Skies

"(…) go," said a voice over Boromir’s head, and he felt the weight that was pinning him down lift. An outstretched hand appeared above him; Boromir took it and hauled himself upright. “Hail Boromir of the White Tower,” said the rider who had helped him up. Boromir recognized his pointed helmet with horsehair crest as the sign of the Marshal of the Mark, but even without it, his voice was familiar and gladdened Boromir’s heart. “Hail Eomer, son of Eomund!”, he said. “Ever are the Lords of Gondor welcome in the King’s Folde, and Boromir first among them,” said Eomer, who seemed to be in high spirits, still in battle frenzy. “Even when he appears mid-fight, out of thin air, no less. Now I must know, whatever were you doing in this orcish camp, alone and unarmed?” “Preparing for dinner,” said Boromir tersely.

[H] - from Tales from the Lighthouse

He saw, with some mortification, that Manfred had taken the Tevene medallion out of his satchel and was waving it at Rook, proudly displaying his plunder in front of her. “Hiss!” the spirit called out, pointing to the decoration. Emmrich saw Rook turn pale and wide-eyed. He hastily stood up, preparing to intervene. “Rook, if you would allow me to expla-” he began, but was interrupted. “That’s mine!” Rook hissed, snatched the medal with a trembling hand and clutched it to her breast. Whatever the origin of the trinket, it must have held a great value to Rook, judging by her immediate reaction. Emmrich approached her carefully, feeling everyone’s eyes on himself. “Please, accept mine and Manfred’s sincerest apologies. He didn’t mean to steal it from you, he just collects random objects that he finds interesting,” he sighed. “I will strive to watch him more carefully next time.” He could tell that his apology had only been moderately successful at mollifying Rook’s outrage. Clearly, she counted touching the medallion for a serious transgression. Her eyes remained trained on Manfred, who in turn was giving off a strong aura of alarm and confusion at her outburst - an aura that Rook, lacking magical talent, had no way of perceiving, Emmrich knew. Still, she appeared hesitant, perhaps fighting some inner battle about how to respond in this situation. At last, she came to a resolve. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, which appeared to be her preferred method of soothing her nerves. “You are welcome to look at it, Manfred, but please, ask me next time,” she told the skeleton calmly, even though Emmrich could tell how much it cost her. “I really don’t want it to get lost or damaged,” she added.

[T] - from Tales from the Lighthouse

They entered the battered pier carefully, looking for any sign of movement on the deck, detecting no one. They couldn’t see the actual deck over the board. Suddenly, an elf swung from the air on a rope and landed on the board, in an acrobatic feat. He was well out of reach of any direct attack, and no walkway has been lowered to the pier, so there was no way to arrest the newcomer. Osla took the stranger's measure. He was an adult elf, maybe a few years younger than Emmrich, which would give him well over a decade over Osla herself. Slender physique with catlike movements and a well fitting leather armor marked him as a rogue type of fighter. His skin was tan and wind-weathered, with prominent charming laugh lines surrounding his eyes. He was favoring them with a self-satisfied grin, framed by a mop of blonde hair flying in the wind. “Arainai!” growled Lucanis. “Get down here so I can end you.” “Lucanis, you know him?” Osla asked, incredulous. Lucanis frowned and was about to answer when the strange elf cut him short. “Evidently not as well as he thinks he does. I no longer belong to House Arainai, nor do I claim their name. These days, I go simply by Zevran. At my lady’s service," he bowed theatrically. “Zevran? I’ve heard that name somewhere,” said Taash. “Do not trust a word out of his mouth, Rook” warned Lucanis. “Why? Is he a rival assassin?” asked Osla. “Worse! He is a contract breaker!” said Lucanis and spat, as if the very phrase left a bad taste in his mouth. The elf uttered an exaggerated sigh. “As ever my reputation precedes me, I see,” he tutted and shook his head in mocked disbelief. “In my life, I have only ever broken a single contract (…)"

***

Tagging: @scyllas-revenge, @sotwk, @konartiste, @esta-elavaris, @dismalzelenka, @lavenderprose, @emmg, @lucifers-legions

Your word is:

TRUTH

#tag game #ass deep in demons #[tales from the lighthouse]#osla mercar #boromir #emmrich volkarin #[wandering birds]#[small town horror]

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oldworldghost · 1 year ago

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Telling stories to Pinochio fron Lies of P about Fairytales or whatever crap reader made when reader is bored !!

[Preferably former librarian Reader x Pino :3]

Tell me a story and I'll tell you I love you

↳ Anon I absolutely love this prompt, so I had to write a little something for it. This is definitely more focused on Pincchios' feelings for you as opposed to the actually story telling bit, and I think by the end especially it kind of stops being about the request a bit I am so sorry LMAO. Let me know if you want hcs or something else instead! :D

↳ This is currently unedited, I’ll do that tomorrow!

Pinocchio sits beside you, head resting limply on your shoulder as he finds himself falling deeper in love with you.

You’re sharing one of the many stories in your knowledge with him, something old and undoubtedly picked up from your time as a librarian. Something – Pinocchio thinks – that only you know now, expect maybe Antonia, but he’s seen you catch even her by surprise with fanciful worlds and characters. It’s an insurmountable act of love, to hold so much in your mind and with such care. No details [at least from his knowledge] forgotten, no characters left aside for fear of boring the crowd. Every bit just as important as the other, no matter how minuscule it is.

Some part of him wonders if you do the same for everyone else, collect the lore of the hotels final inhabitants with the same wonder you share for characters. What do you remember about him? Pinocchio likes to think that you hold onto everything he’s shared with you, sprinkle him across the stories of your own making. Maybe he’s something that inspiration can be found in, someone you admire more than anything. Built up in your mind like the greatest of heroes. You could care that much, he thinks, and he could even be your favourite.

Maybe you’ve even found Pinocchios’ love for you spread across his pages. He doesn’t see how you could miss it, there’s so much that he doesn’t even know what to do with it except sink in it. Day after day, night after night. He’s sinking even now, nestled into you side in one of the hotels many unused rooms.

It’s your voice that keeps Pinocchios’ attention. You’re onto the part of the story where a great battle takes place, the last defence of mankind against a dark and terrible lord. Both the lords strongest servant and a king have been slain, and yet despite the story nearing its peak Pinocchio finds himself unable to focus on your words. He catches phrases, can understand your tone and the pronunciation of speech, but it’s difficult to put the meaning together. Any other day and he’d be engrossed in it, hanging of every syllable like a starving animal, but today his mind is preoccupied.

The feeling in his chest is growing unbearable, and he wonders if his gears will simply cease to work as a result. It might not be the worst thing in the world, to die by your side. He might even be able to call it a pleasure, a privilege.

Still, Pinocchio doesn’t particularly care for the idea of his own death, especially not when there are more pressing matters on his mind, and so with a bout of almost uncharacteristic boldness he sits up. You don’t pay him any mind, not until hands – rougher than he means them to be – turn your body towards his. Lamely your sentence finishes, head tilting to the side and eyebrows knitting together in a look of confusion and mild amusement.

Pinocchio takes the opportunity to look at you, really look at you. Blue glass eyes take in every detail, every curve and dip and mark, your breathes growing shakier as he leans in. There is a mole under your left eye, he notes, a faint scar running across your mouth. He traces it with his finger and your breath hitches, an incoherent mumble of something that feels like it’s his name. Moonlight shines in above your head like a halo, and Pinocchio thinks you couldn’t look anymore gorgeous than you already do. He wonders if he looks as beautiful to you as you do to him. The sparkle in your eyes, the glint of what could be called awe suggests that he does. Pride and love fill in Pinocchios’ chest until he’s moving without thought, leaning – sinking, always sinking - into you. Lips, clumsy and adoring, press against your own in a fleeting kiss, pulling away before you’re given the chance to respond.

You see the man before you grow from confident to timid in the moonlight, as if coming to the realisation of what he had just done.

“I-” Pinocchio cuts himself off, going to speak only to be met with his own silence.

He doesn’t know why words aren’t forming, and for a moment he wonders if something malfunctioned in him during the kiss. You can see the gears turning in his head, a question forming on the tip of your tongue. This time, Pinocchio cuts you off instead of himself.

“I’m in love with you. I’m sorry to be so sudden, but I,” he takes a moment to steady himself, “I could not be quiet about it any longer.”

A breathless laugh bubbles in your throat in response, a smile curving its way on your mouth as you go to speak, “I was wondering if you did. For a puppet you’re not exactly the most subtle person I’ve met.”

It’s Pinocchios’ turn to be surprised.

“You knew?”

“I was hoping I did. Never said anything because I didn’t know if you felt that way or if it was wishful thinking on my part. Hell, didn’t even know if you could actually feel such a thing. I mean, I know my stories are good, but I didn’t know if they were that good.”

“You... feel the same.”

“Of course,” the smile on your face is crooked and it takes everything in him not to kiss you again, “you’re a very hard person not to love.”

“Say it, please.”

You laugh once more. It is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“I love you, Pinocchio. More than anything,” his heart feels fit to burst, “now can I please get back to my story? We’re nearing my favourite part and I’d like to be done by morning.”

“Yes, please. I would like that.”

As Pinocchio settles back into your side something in him clinks into place. He is unsure what it is, but as your hand slides into his and your fingers intertwine Pinocchio thinks that this is what it means to feel at home. The feeling of love only deepens, tearing it’s way further still into the recesses of his being. It will leave him bare and broken before you, he is certain of it.

Listening to you speak; Pinocchio can’t think of a better way to be swallowed whole.

#sorry about how long this took nonnie!!#still trying to get the writing juices flowing properly #anyway enjoy nonnie :D #lies of p #lies of p x reader #pinocchio #pinocchio x reader #my writing

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 1 year ago

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Alright, I took a quick nap and Ive decided that I wanna get the UTM reenactment over with as quickly as possible so Im reading chapter 42 and then I'll reward myself with some pain au chocolats and not thinking about this book for the rest of the day and watching the 2002 takarazuka flower troupe production of elisabeth instead. lets go

Chapter 42

here we fucking go with the illyrian wingspan-dicksize correlation, how would Amren even know that isnt she above sex or something. Honestly, I think Cassian would know wayyyyy more about that. on account of all the gay sex hes having i mean. I thought of that joke and then I realized that you could interpret it to mean that he knows about that because hes illyrian and has a dick, but I want to make it very clear that this is a gay sex joke

how come wings are so sensitive that just barely stroking them makes you moan and shudder but you can still fly with them in harsh winds with no issue. My headcanon is that wings arent actually that sensitive, Rhysand and Cassian are just weirdos with a specific kink

This conversation Feyre and Rhys are having about his wings is so weird, its like dirty and yet uncomfortably clinical

oh Rhysand is quicker than death just fucking kill me, im getting so angry again

Syphons are called 'Trichtersteine' ['funnel stones' or 'funnel gems'] in german which is more accurate to how we're actually told they work imo but it sounds pretty lame

Is it just me or is Rhysand being kinda weirdly paranoid rn. I mean granted, they did just get attacked with ash arrows so maybe hes actually doing a good job for once and Im just biased against him

Okay so we finally get some night court fae wearing white, but of course its not for moon symbolism its so they can blend in with the rock of the mountain because this series does nothing but disappoint me

The Hewn City actually sounds really cool, why couldnt this have been the secret city where we spend most of our time, you couldve made it a whole thing about Feyre healing from her trauma UTM through like, exposure therapy or something idk. That wouldve been neat and dramatic, her healing from her UTM trauma in the place that inspired it with the person that inflicted it. I mean, maybe that would be less healthy and even more controversial than Feysand already is but then you could atleast lean into the dark romance of it

I mightve said this already but you knowwww sjm is NOT a painter and consulted ZERO painters because Ive never heard of anyone think about creating art the way feyre does

and Mor is wearing red AGAIN why would you make this a trigger for Feyre just go back and edit it out its not like it matters

God, the description of her outfit is so deeply discomfortingl like it literally is exactly what she wore while she was being drugged assaulted but atleast they left the bodypaint out this time

"[Keir] looked at my face, then my body. I had thought that he would stare and drool greedily but... there was nothing. No emotion. Just ice cold. Shaking internally, - from anger and revulsion - I followed Mor." Im sorry, is she mad that Keir doesnt find her hot????

Theres something uncomfortable about Feyre referring to Rhysand as 'Mor's Lord' especially when we just had a whole paragraph describing her as a proud and empowered queen

"Usually, one Syphon was enough for an Illyrian to to able to steer his urge to kill down the right path." what???

Now shes describing Azriel as dark and beautiful as death and oughhhhhh i knoww im the only who cares about this and its for a pretty stupid reason but I care a lot and it makes me very angry

Feyre referring to a 19 year old Mor as 'barely more than a child' is weirdddddd

of COURSE hes wearing a black tunic for this, I cant believe this is the guy that the fandom has designated the fashion lover when he has two (2) outfits

Feyre describing Rhysand as sooooo powerful and beautiful with a face of nightmares and dreams makes me want to vomit, but more importantly, it makes me yearn to rewatch the 1996 takarazuka star troupe production of Elisabeth with Asaji Saki as Death who unirionically fits all of Feyres descriptors 1000 times better

Not Rhysand using Feyres Cursebreaker title while hes thoroughly humiliating her

Now Feyre is calling him a god, bro youre not gonna be able to have sex if you jack him off this hard hes gonna be all sore

Imagine being a hewn city noble and you all get together because your high lord wants something from you and youre kinda scared because hes the worst, and then you just have to watch him finger some random lady. and you cant leave because then he'll just kill you

I dont like that this is framed as empowering to Feyre, i think its one thing to write a female character who sexualises herself in order to empower herself but the fact that Feyre is doing this at the behest of Rhys automatically renders it non-empowering to me. Like yeah, she obviously consented to this but it wasnt her idea but this was not her idea and this is not something she usually does, the only times shes been sexualized like this is because it was part of some plan that Rhysand came up with

"[Keir] apparently clung to the power. But Rhys was the power." i hate that that sentence made me think of Keir/Rhysand as a ship why am I so goddamn yaoi-brained. And yeah, i know theyre related but according to Rhys himself, he and Mor are only cousins in the most distant sense, so. Man, that would make the IC dynamics so much more fucked up but also so much funnier

Theyre trying so hard to make this hot n sexy but its just so unappealing and dragged out. Granted, sorry if this is TMI, but I did just jerk off so Im all out of horniness for the next little while so maybe I just dont like this because Im not in the mood but idk. theres something so annoying about this, i think its how over-the-top and artificial Rhysands hotness feels, not to mention the fact that he is absolutely not my type

Imagine being Keir rn, just trying to do your job and tell your high lord everything that he needs to know, meanwhile his high lord is sitting in front of him fondling his new sex slave and you just have to keep a straight face. i mean, he sucks ass so i guess he deserves it but man

Presented to you with no further comment: "My breasts became heavy and full, longing, desiring, just like my crotch."

goddamnit, Rhysand just said that he put Feyre on his leash and then Keir made a kinda slutshame-y remark about her clothes and then I thought Rhys was like "maybe I'll put you on a leash too" but it was Feyre who said that. another loss for big gay incest

"He liked this as little as I did" uhhhhh no offense girlie but you actually seem to be having a pretty great time rn

I dont even know what to say about this part where Feyre is like, detaching herself from her thoughts that are calling her a traitor a liar and a whore ?? I think thats whats happening here?? Like, its trying so hard to be sexy but its invoking the imagery of Feyre's (and even Rhysand's) trauma and its just very strange

It took Rhys a fucking eternity to actually touch her pussy

What if Keir developed a voyerism kink because of this. would that be fucked up or what

Its so weird how Feyre thinks about how maybe Rhysand doesnt like sex or being desirable anymore because of amarantha and that certainly sounds like a trauma response he should have but instead it just never matters

"I had been tortured and tormented but my pain was nothing compared to his." YOU DIED

Oh man I cant believe I completely forgot about the absolutely iconic part where Rhysand gets so mad Keir for calling the woman he introduced as a whore a whore that he telepathically breaks his hand about it

what was the point of doing that, Feyre didnt even seem to like it that much

#anti acotar #anti sjm #anti acomaf #anti rhysand #anti feysand #flames and darkness liveblog

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i-have-a-sideblog-problem · 2 years ago

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They grow up so fast: Teenage Luke Headcanons

I can't get out of my head Luke going through a teenage angst faze while in the exchange program and making it everyone's problem. Clearly, demons and angels don't age at the same rate as humans, but if I can blindly have baby Satan, I can have teen Luke.

The program takes place over four years. So sit with me for a minute and think about how everyone would react to sweet, annoying, and adorable 10-year-old Luke turning into a goblin of a 14-year-old!

------------- <3.<3.<3.<3.<3. ------------- <3.<3.<3.<3.<3. -------------

All the brothers (mostly Mams, Satan, and Luci) wondering when the hell did the Chihuahua get so tall. He can look Belphie in the eyes!

What do you mean he's still growing, Simone! He's already too tall!

MC having an uno reverse with Luke. He's now tall enough to use them as an armrest.

Luke is also at the stage where teens think the stuff they like or idealized as a kid is cringe. Being Micheal's assistant angel is the worst thing in the world because Michael is the lamest angel in the Celestial Releam.

He starts bad-mouthing Michael every time he comes back from a check-in. It throws everyone off the first time it happens. Simeon and Solomon questioned if Luke was cursed.

Luke also tries to like baking less since it's now lame due to Michael liking sweets so much.

He fails, he can't say no to Barbatos, Simoen, or MC asking him to bake with them. Plus he really does love baking. He's slowly learning how to make it his own thing, and not doing it to impress Michael.

Luke's envy really comes out as a teen. As a 10-year-old his outburst could be perceived as aww he's just a kid. But now he can get pushy and mean, like when the others try to take MC away. That's his best friend, and MC is spending time with me!

He's not above using his blessing to keep those nasty demons away.

The strangest and most agita-inducing thing to come out of Teen Luke is him and Mammon getting along. Barbots and Simone now know why Lucifer went gray so quickly.

Don't get me wrong, Mammon still teases Luke 24-7. It is this job as his adoptive older brother.

Luke now openly wants to hang out with Mammon, and they cause so much trouble together. Pranks, staying out past curfew, a classic Mammon scheme here and there.

Luke has definitely been strung up from the chandelier at least once. And he defiantly learned his lesson to be way more sneaky.

Luke making friends his own age! Just a weird bunch of young dorky demons and angles running around causing chaos. They are helping unite the realm but at the cost of every adult's sanity.

Luke is the cool one out of his friend group because he goes to RAD and hangs out with the future king and the seven lords!

#obey me #obey me brothers #obey me mc #obey me luke #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #this again is self indulgent #i just wanna see my son grow up and get to be a menace like the rest of his family #I'm also bias with Luke growing up and seeing Michael as a dick or at least annoying like everyone else does #obey me this is my canon

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yourlocalbadgerscales · 8 months ago

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That one Drarry scene in PoA…

The show must go on - Drarry microfic by @yourlocalbadgerscales

”Shut up, Malfoy.” Make me. Draco is immediately embarrassed by his own thoughts. Potter’s words ring in his ears and his heartbeat speeds up at the roughness of his voice.

Draco hates the way his own voice goes up an octave or so higher as he laughs mockingly, not sure to what exactly, and he’s looking around to see who’s with him. Of course Vince and Greg are, they’re too stupid to make their own decisions. Draco turns back to Potter, who’s staring at him intensely.

Draco gives Vince or Greg, he doesn’t know who, they’re both equally ugly, his school bag. He does not take his eyes off of Potter while he does.

It’s so quiet. All Draco hears is the way his heart is rushing blood through his body way too loudly. Will Potter hear? Is Draco’s face red? Better not be. Potter’s eyes are still locked on him.

Draco moves slowly, walks towards him and tries to act cool, but he can’t help but eye the other boy up and down and up again, a bit intimidated by the way Potter always manages to uphold his Potterish grace while he’s on his guard like now. He’s got that look of fiery, yet stone-cold fury in his eyes that he’s famous for, even though a bit less than that scar on his forehead. Draco can’t help but notice that his hair is longer, more messy than it was last year. Of course it isn’t news to him or to any of the lame girls who adore Harry that Potter came back to school looking more mature this year. He’s no longer the specky git he was when he was new to school, or when he was twelve. Okay, he is and will always be a git and he’s still fairly short and very thin, but he’s grown. His eyes seem to be more intense, his jet-black hair always looking like he’s just woken up. Or possibly like he’s just had a very passionate shag.

Do not think about that, Draco, do not think about shagging do not think about shagging-

Fuck, he’s staring. Draco flinches, and goes absolutely still. Potter is still looking at him, but now his lips, those full and slightly tinted lips, are curved in a little smile. A dimple appears in his cheek, oh so slightly, and fucking hell. Draco finds himself unable to breathe. He could inch closer, take one or two more steps, inhale Potter’s scent, tilt his head up by the chin and study those emerald eyes more carefully… he could do that…

But there’s people around, and it doesn’t matter that Draco could stand here forever and watch Potter smile at him, a smile that’s probably there to mock and embarrass… Draco can’t let his mask slip. Someone’s coughing awkwardly, leaves are crunching under another student’s shoe. Draco’s throat is dry, and it takes a few more seconds in awkward silence for him to gather his thoughts and get his voice back enough to exclaim “Dementor, dementor!” and watch as the words take effect. Potter, and countless others, spin around. Draco takes the chance to wipe away a drop of sweat above his eyebrow and let his gaze wander down, but his eyes snap back up as soon as Potter turns back.

He can’t let himself be this weak. He can’t, no matter how hot this new Harry Potter may be. No matter that the sun shining through the green leaves above them is igniting Harry’s glasses, his eyes, his hair, his jaw, his pale but healthy looking skin. He reminds himself that he’s Draco Malfoy, Malfoy, a Malfoy. Potter’s sworn enemy, a title and place in Harry’s life that he shares with the Dark Lord himself, which is satisfying but cruel and horrible too. He can’t let himself be weak. Harry Potter is forbidden territory. The show must go on.

Hiiiee <3 I wish I could post longer fics on some platform for y’all, but as it is now it’s not an option to do so. This has been on my mind for a while now, so here ya go! ^^ I’m thinking of doing the same kind of thing with another scene in PoA that in my opinion screams drarry… but let’s see. If I get 50 reblogs and 250 likes on this post, maybe I’ll consider 😉 Feel free to tag people who might be interested in my writing or just drarry in general, and reblog too! Maybe you’ll see more of my lame ass works in the future :D

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #PoA #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #harry potter 3 #*that* scene #ellastag #potterhead humour #harry x draco #draco x harry #potterhead #potterverse #hp #harry potter fandom #drarry fandom

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strange-and-off-putting · 5 months ago

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Smegtober Prompt Eleven: Jealousy

Actually, Prompts 11, 12, and 13 are up on AO3. It's 3 pm local on October 14th, so I still have time for todays, lol. Response to "Jealousy" under the cut.

“People like you,” Rimmer slurs, half hanging off the bunk, his gangly arms and legs draped haphazardly over the edge of the mattress. “People see you, and their faces light up like it’s Christmas. Me?”

He points unsteadily at himself, his raised eyebrows disappearing beneath a tuft of disheveled curls hanging in the center of his forehead.

“Me? Like a shot of orange juice after brushing their teeth. Unpleasant, unwanted,” he rolls over, groaning, “unloved.”

“People like you, Rimmer,” Lister sighs, squinting as he tries to keep count of his stitches in his half-inebriated state. “Or they would if you weren’t so–”

He fumbles, trying to think of the right word.

“--Rimmer-ish,” he finishes, lamely, catching the yarn with the tip of his right needle. “You get in your own way, man. People’d like you if you could just chill the smeg out for a minute, you know?”

“I don’t know,” Rimmer groans. “I don’t know how to ‘chill the smeg out,’ I don’t think I’ve ever come close to feeling ‘chill’ in my entire life. Or death, come to that.”

“You think too much,” Lister says. “You’re too wrapped up in making yourself look important. I don’t know how to explain this to you, Rimmer, but most people don’t really care about how important you claim to be, how many pips you have, what rank you are...”

“Well, what else do I have?” Rimmer’s voice is fast approaching a whine. Lister blinks.

“What else do you have?” he says incredulously. “Smeg, Rimmer, you don’t even have that! You’re a second technician, repairing vending machines!”

Rimmer stares at him with wide, pathetic eyes.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

Lister sighs.

“Looks, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a second technician, man,” he sighs. “But it doesn’t exactly elevate you above anyone else, does it? The problem is your whole attitude, Rimmer! You act like you’re king of the hill, but you’re not. And even if you had the rank, no one likes the bloke who lords his privilege over everyone else.”

Rimmer blinks up at the ceiling.

“I don’t have anything else,” he says again. His voice is wavering, a plaintive, pleading note that corkscrews right through Lister’s chest. Lister puts down his knitting and sighs. He stands up and walks over to the bunk unsteadily, throwing himself onto the bunk with a grunt.

“Listen,” Lister says, resting a hand on Rimmer’s knee thoughtlessly. “Somewhere in there is a likable guy, ok? I’ve caught little glimpses and glances of him, yeah, those times you manage to let your guard down.”

Rimmer raises himself up to a sitting position, resting most of his weight on his arms, braced behind him. He looks doubtful, but there’s a tentative, hopeful twitch, just at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lister reassures, clapping his knee again. “That bloke’s got real potential. He’s open, and honest, and affectionate. And he doesn’t overthink things, you know? That’s so much of your baggage, man; you kill yourself overthinking things, over-complicating things. Sometimes you’ve just gotta go with it, you know? Be spontaneous.”

“Spontaneous?”

“Yeah. Act on your feelings,” he says, “Like I do.”

Rimmer snorts.

“You do do that, don’t you? No thoughts, head empty,” Rimmer mused, his voice thick with longing, “‘Do what the wilt shall be the whole of the law’ and all that.”

He shakes his head.

“But what if I regret it? What if I just traipse off, willy-nilly, doing anything and everything I please, and then regret it all?”

“How much smeg do you regret not doing cause you’ve talked yourself out of it?” Lister points out quietly. “Regret’s always gonna be a pocket on the roulette wheel, Rimmer. But so is happiness, right? I’d rather take my chance and do the thing, eh?”

“Do the thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Just – spontaneously. In the moment. Without thinking?”

Yeah.”

“Hmm,” Rimmer muses a moment.

He pulls Lister in and kisses him.

“Whoa, hey–” Lister pulls away in a panic, a flat hand on Rimmer’s chest holding him at bay. “That’s not – you – not, not that, Rimmer. You – you’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.”

“But you said–”

“Yeah, I know what I said, but–”

“You’ve kissed people drunk,” Rimmer slurs accusingly. “You’ve done plenty, absolutely smashed out of your gourd. Do you think I didn’t know what you were up to all those night you had me locked out of our bunk? All those nights you came back reeking of beer and sex??”

Lister’s face goes crimson.

“That’s… that’s different, Rimmer,” he murmurs, avoiding Rimmer’s gaze.

“Oh.” Rimmer’s voice is flat; Lister can feel him pulling away, in every sense. He crosses his arms across his chest and turns away petulantly.

“Of course. Of course, the great Dave Lister is different. The rules don’t apply to him.”

Lister sighs, deflating slightly. There was really no talking to him once he got to this stage.

“You’re drunk, Rimmer,” he says gently. “And in the morning you’ll be relieved you have that to hide behind.”

“Of course, when you do it, it’s an impetuous whim,” Rimmer mumbled. “But for me it’s just a drunken mistake, I suppose.”

Rimmer is silent, back to Lister, the hem of his pajama shirt riding up against the small of his back. There’s something about that small sliver of exposed skin that makes Lister inexplicably sad.

“We can talk about this in the morning,” Lister says, stumbling back over to the desk and picking up his knitting. “If you want to. Which you won’t.”

“Of course, I won’t,” Rimmer says. “You don't get it, do you? You can do this sober. Do what you want, go after what you want. Who you want.”

Lister stares at his knitting, the stitching a jumble of knits and purls swimming in front of his eyes. He feels vaguely guilty, but he’s not sure what for.

“Must be nice,” Rimmer murmurs, drifting off to sleep, “to be you.”

He casts a glance at Rimmer’s back, the sweaty curls clinging to the nape of his neck, his shoulders rising and falling in the simulated rhythm of breathing. He turns back to his knitting, trying to make sense of it – the project, the pattern, the state of his life. He sighs.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “you would think.”

#red dwarf #smegtober #smegtober2024

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beevean · 1 year ago

Note

Changing Castlevania from a living Creature of Chaos to Dracula's Castle of Science was so lame

It is, and not just because you have such a cool concept of a castle that is actually an eldritch location that defies the laws of logic and reality, intimately tied with its Lord, and there was nothing done with it. (special shout out to LoS for actually doing something very cool with it)

Reducing Dracula to a "man of science" is a bit... I don't know how to say. My first word is "tasteless"?

One, I noticed the focus the story puts on Dracula's supposed holding on knowledge. Lisa going to him to ask him to teach him older ways to heal people is cute. Isaac wanting to protect him because his knowledge is more important than his own life is ehhh feels reductive IMO (and this is why making Isaac both a worshipper and Dracula's bestie doesn't work), but whatever. Alucard lamenting that with his madness and death the world will lose "a repository of centuries of learning" feels weird at this point. Like. Why is the main concern what Dracula can offer to the world? Why is he only worth something because he's a giant living library? Besides, the castle didn't crumble with his death unlike in the games, so all of his books and inventions or whatever he has still stand. What about him as a person? Don't you care about your damn father, Alucard?

Two, it's just another way to CHURCH BAD. See? Humans are stupid because they have the CHURCH BAD that holds them back! Vampires don't, so they get to have electricity in the 15th century! Ohhh, ahhh! And Lisa doesn't get to escape this, ofc, because she was the one who was offended at the idea of being seen as a witch - no no she wants to learn real science, thank you very much!

And three, tied to the above, it's yet another piece that adds to the elvification of vampires. I'm reminded of this scene:

Lenore: Mm. It's a lovely night, don't you think? Hector: It's a bloody chilly night. It was warmer in my cell. Lenore: That's because we channel waste heat around the castle with pipes. Hector: Really? Even to the cells? Lenore: I keep telling you. We're not monsters. Hector: Dracula's castle moved heat around with pipes. Is that vampire magic? Lenore: Actually, just science. Centuries old. The thing is, Hector, humans forget things and vampires don't. You have a lot to learn.

(yeah sure you're not monsters because you keep the cell warm, that's why you guys stripped hector naked and doused him in icy water, lenore you are such a bad liar and you're lucky hector was lobotomized after s2)

And this scene, where Alucard lights the lamps in the Belmont Hold and the Japanese not-twins are all amazed:

Sumi: Magic lanterns! Alucard: Lightning. Not magic. Taka: You put lightning into lamps and you tell us it's not magic? Alucard: It's really not. The Parthians were storing lightning in jars two hundred years before Christ.

Again, vampires are soooo cool because they have advanced technology to dazzle the inferior rac-- I mean, humans with. They have their own culture, their own books with their own "vampire philosophy", untampered by the stupid CHURCH BAD. That's what makes them worthy of being protected :) and that's why the Belmonts are mean when they kill them and their mysterious children :)

In some aspects, NFCV really reminds me of Twilight - and in this case, it's the insistence on both making vampires "creatures of science" (something something crosses freak them out because amazing predator vision) and elevating them to a noble, smarter race that is nothing but superior to the stupid humans. The only thing missing was Hector or Isaac going all Bella Swan and begging to be turned by Lenore or Dracula to become a superior creature.

#anti netflixvania

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 year ago

Text

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4823

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

15. A Dream, a Visit, a Game

This Chapter: It’s going to be painful, but in the end it’ll be the best thing for both of them. Steve doesn’t love him, and despite everything Bucky hates about their union, Steve is a good man. He deserves to be with someone he truly loves.

That night, Bucky dreams of pain. Twisting his body up in agony instead of the sheets that he can’t feel, sweating madly even as he relives freezing to death in the cold sludge of streetside snow, everything around him stained red from the blood.

Oh God, oh God.

His arm is so badly mangled he can hardly recognize it. Nobody's coming to help. The horses have broken from the shaft and run away, and nobody from the carriage that hit him is moving.

Help!

He writhes and screams, unable to escape the terror, the pain and the cold. Oh God, the pain! He gasps and pants, terrified to look and see what’s happened to him. When he finally manages to look, he feels like he’ll vomit. Oh! His arm, his arm!

There’s the sound of glass shattering and the stench of whale oil, a ‘whoosh’ of flames skipping up, up, up. And Bucky thought he knew pain before but he didn’t, he didn’t! He flails his already broken body, trying to put it out, but it’s no use. He’s burning, freezing, dying. He wants to die. It doesn’t end until he rolls into the snow, and then he’s still left there in both searing pain and freezing cold, wishing that he’d let the fire kill him after all. The pain is everywhere and it’s never ending, so horrible that he can’t draw breath to keep on screaming. And no one is coming and Oh God, he wants to die!

“Bucky, Bucky wake up!”

It takes Steve shaking him, hard, before Bucky escapes the nightmare. He gasps and wakes up, eyes flooded with tears and throat aching from phantom screams. He’s lying on his back, but not in the snow, in Steve's bed. And Steve is there above him, looking distraught. Bucky gasps as a sob bursts from his chest. “S-Steve!” He grabs onto Steve’s shoulders, one hand clinging desperately and the other curling in, lame and weak. He claws and pulls at the fabric of Steve’s nightshirt, sobbing and moaning. “No, no, no, ooh, Steve!”

“Shhh,” Steve hushes, pressing his lips to Bucky’s forehead. He’s lying over top of him. He looks and smells upset, worried. “Shh sh sh. It’s okay. You’re okay. You were dreaming. It was just a dream.”

Bucky pants as he comes to his senses, the panicked sweat from the nightmare gone cold on his skin, making him shiver. Steve shifts above him, and the motion stirs up his scent. It hits Bucky harder than it ever has before, and he finds himself inhaling harder, seeking out more of it.

Steve’s hands flit over his shoulders worriedly, and he starts rumbling deep in his chest to calm him. “Shh, it’s okay. Just a dream, Buck. I’m right here. You’re safe.” Bucky stares up at his handsome face, twisted in worry. His concerned blue eyes, pinched brow, parted lips, and helpless-to-help hands.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, more tears flooding to the surface as he remembers the dream: the cold, the smell of it, the never-ending pain…

“—scaring me. Look at me, please Bucky.” Steve’s voice pulls him back from the memory and Bucky blinks away the tears, latching onto the sensations of Steve's heavy body, his rumbling chest and his scent. Steve’s lips brush across his forehead. “It’s okay, Sweetheart.”

Even while Bucky's heart continues to pound against his ribcage, not slowing down despite the fact that the nightmare’s over, something else starts to stir as well. Fear still quickens his pulse, but alongside it there's a surge of desperation and neediness welling up, like a tide pulling back for the next wave of grief. Bucky's wide, pleading eyes skip over Steve’s face. “Steve,” he whimpers.

“I’ve got you,” Steve soothes, rubbing his shoulder, his upper arm—the arm that not even a minute ago was broken and searing, the smell of blood and burnt wool and … oh God. Bucky starts to panic, but Steve nuzzles into his neck at just that moment, replacing the stench of whale oil and melting flesh with his alpha scent, a scent that Bucky only associates with safety and pleasure—things he’s suddenly desperate for to replace the pain and fear, the pounding of his heart that won’t slow down no matter how many gulping breaths he takes. He shivers and clings to Steve, seeking more of him out, anything to not feel like this. Anything to not remember.

When Steve pulls back and looks down at him in the dark, the wave that’s been building inside of Bucky swells and crashes over. He whines, hears Steve’s mournful “Honey” as though from underwater, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s pulling Steve down and kissing him—hard.

Steve makes a muffled ‘mmph!’ of surprise. It quickly morphs into an inhale and a grunt of understanding, and then he’s turning into him and sliding his leg between Bucky's, lying over him and holding his face to calm him down as they kiss. "It's okay," he manages to say between one kiss and the next, repeating it a few times when Bucky's crying and desperation don't wane. "It's okay. It's okay."

Bucky just moans, hands scrabbling at Steve’s shoulders, yanking on his nightshirt inelegantly, trying to crawl inside of him.

It’s pitch dark in the room, and silent except for their fast breathing and the rustling of sheets as they move. They grind against each other, cocks hard between them, shoving rough and crude and panting into each other’s mouths as they kiss without any grace whatsoever. Bucky feels Steve start to stall a couple of times, his eyes wide and unsure each time he pulls back to stop and try to look at him. But Bucky doesn’t want to be looked at, and he doesn’t want to stop. He clings to Steve’s larger body and shoves, rolling them over and putting himself on top.

“Bucky—” Steve starts to say.

Bucky smashes their mouths back together, not giving him the chance to speak. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to hear the worry in Steve’s voice, asking him if he’s okay—He’s not okay, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants to feel, to flush out the horror with physical pleasure. “Touch me,” he pants against Steve’s lips, once they’ve both finally shed their night clothes and are pressed together, skin against skin. Bucky is slick with the cold sweat from his nightmares, but Steve’s wandering hands and naturally hot body draw the chill away. His cock, almost as hard as Bucky’s own, twitches and jerks where it’s trapped between their bodies. Bucky looks down at it, then back up to Steve with pleading eyes. “Fuck me.”

Steve looks sad, but he grabs onto his hips and nods. “Yeah, Honey. If you’re sure.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in a grateful sob and he buries his face against Steve’s shoulder, scrubbing away the tears that he doesn’t want him to see. “Steve. Ughnn, Steve …” He rocks down hard against him, graceless and greedy. Steve holds him and takes it, allowing him to mouth at and cling to his body, hands everywhere and probably a little too rough, rutting against him frantically as he gasps and whines for more. “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“It’s okay, Honey. I’ve got you. You’re good, you’re so good.”

Steve’s reassuring words make him cry harder, make his cock harder, his movements more desperate. He moans and ruts furiously at the feeling of Steve’s big hands sliding all over his back, the glancing kisses he gives him and the gentle sounds he makes. Bucky doesn’t mean to keep crying, but he can’t seem to stop.

When Steve hands him the lubricant, he isn’t gentle with himself. He hurries through it, sitting back and stretching himself with two fingers and not enough time or slick before he holds Steve’s cock in place and sinks down. It burns as he goes, but he doesn’t stop. He gasps and grits his teeth and pushes through the pain. Steve hisses and grips him hard, fingers digging into the fat of his hips. “Bucky, wait, wait, wait. You’re gonna—”

“Don’t talk.” Bucky falls back over him and seals their mouths, shoving his tongue inside and distracting them both. He doesn’t want to think, he just wants to feel. He rocks in place with Steve’s cock fully seated inside, whimpering against his chest at the size of it, the ache. “Fuck, ohnffuck …”

When Steve starts pulsing his hips, Bucky pulls back and sits up, bracing himself on Steve’s chest. Their eyes meet in the darkness.

He starts to ride him.

It’s quiet and rushed and not graceful at all. He rocks himself hard on Steve’s cock, selfishly seeking his own pleasure. It hurts, aches exquisitely, the pleasure building fast until it’s pulling hot and tight in his pelvis and forcing punched-out moans from his throat. “Fuck,” he whines through his teeth, shoving harder, harder. His balls grind on Steve's pubic hair, his cockhead slapping and smearing sticky strings of precum against their bellies. “Nnngh, f-fuck, ogn …”

The harsh, desperate grinding has little to do with thrusting and everything to do with rubbing Steve’s cock right over his prostate, again and again and again. It probably isn’t very good for Steve, is probably frustrating as hell, but Bucky doesn’t care. He wraps his hand around his cock and starts ruthlessly stripping it, desperate to come.

It’s when Steve’s knot starts to swell that he really gets close. He grunts and clenches up at the feeling of it bumping against his rim, inhaling sharply as a wave of filthy desire surges through him. He wants Steve’s knot, he realizes. Wants it hot and hard and trapping them together. Wants to feel it tugging and throbbing inside. Oh God, he wants it so bad. He growls and pushes down hard against the bulge, feeling the threat of it there, the pressure, imagining it popping inside and filling him up, tying them together.

Steve’s eyes widen as he realizes what Bucky’s doing, and for a brief second he looks so aroused that it seems like he might come right then and there. But he growls and yanks Bucky down against his chest, arms wrapping around his back like steel bands, holding him down and taking away his control of the movement. Instead, he takes over, hips pistoning up into him furiously, balls slapping his ass and knot grinding against his rim on every thrust. His face is buried in Bucky’s neck, and Bucky whines and struggles against him, trying to move his hips, trying to take control again. But Steve’s strong arms hold him even tighter as he keeps fucking up into him.

“Steeve,” Bucky keens, burying his face in Steve’s neck to get more of his scent, wiggling desperately against him. He can barely move, but he rocks and rubs his cock where it’s sandwiched between their bellies, sobbing at how good it feels, at how tightly Steve’s holding him and how strong he is. “Fuck, Steve, please! Let me, let me, let me!”

Steve growls possessively against his neck. “Go on, Baby,” he rasps, “No one’s stopping you. Jus’ let it come, now. Let Alpha fuck it outta you.”

Bucky’s breathing absolutely stops at hearing Steve talk like that. And then he lets forth a pitiful, unintended moan that completely betrays how much he likes it. He was already close to coming a second ago, but when Steve fits his teeth into place on his neck and bites down—hard—Bucky’s done for. He shouts and tips into a brutal orgasm; a wave that bowls him over and sucks him under, tossing him in its undertow as he sobs with relief and rides it out. He's only vaguely aware of Steve’s following grunts of completion.

Afterwards, once he’s been washed up and marooned like a dead fish on Steve’s chest, Steve refuses to pull out, arms holding fast when Bucky tries to move. “Lie still.” He Voices it in a whisper, giving him another comforting squeeze. “Close your eyes. Fall asleep like this.”

Bucky whimpers at how unbearably intimate that is. Steve’s cock is still inside him, still partly hard from his knot not being gone yet. “Steve,” he slurs, eye slipping shut despite the fact that he’s lying full atop his husband right now. Hm, Steve’s pec muscle really doesn’t make the worst pillow. “Mnnn.”

Steve pets his hair and kisses his temple. “Shh. Go to sleep Buck. I’ll be right here with you.”

Bucky thinks it’s ridiculous, falling asleep with Steve's cock still inside him, his entire body weight squishing the guy, his own cum smeared between their bellies. But he’s too sated to move, and it feels too good being held like this to argue. So he doesn’t.

They don’t talk about it, after. Or at least not the sex part of it. Bucky’s not sure when they fall asleep, but they wake with the sunlight early the next morning, having moved off each other in their sleep, bodies in desperate need of a shower. Steve goes in to use the master bedroom’s en suite, probably expecting Bucky to join him. Bucky uses the guest bath. He avoids looking in the mirror.

He still has the memory of it, and the hot shower water stings when it hits that spot, so Bucky knows it’s there—but it’s not until he’s standing in front of the dressing mirror in their bedroom that he gets a look at the bite mark on his neck. His fingers hesitate at the last few buttons of his shirt. He tips his head to the side to see it better: It’s red and irritated, teeth marks visible. Steve broke the skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Steve has come up to stand behind him, likewise fully dressed, regret visible in his eyes where they meet Bucky’s in the mirror. “It might not scar.”

Bucky brings his hand back down. “Yeah,” he echoes. “Might not.”

Steve steps closer and takes hold of Bucky’s hips, pulling him back against his body. “Last night …” he hedges.

Bucky winces. “It’s what I wanted.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. It’d been a frenzied, frantic thing. Confusing. He’s not sure that he doesn’t regret it. “It’s fine.”

“I meant the nightmare,” Steve says softly. He looks at him searchingly in the mirror. “Does that happen often?” Bucky’s answer is a wordless nod, which Steve seems to accept. He sighs and pets at his sides in a way that Bucky immediately wants to shrug off. Bucky looks down at where he’s holding him, at his big hands and the wedding band on his finger. “I have them too, sometimes,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes jerk up in surprise. “You do?”

He nods. “From my time in the service. I actually should’ve warned you by now, since we’re sharing a bed.” He smiles sadly. “I didn’t figure you’d be the one to have a nightmare first.”

Bucky frowns. He wiggles out of Steve’s hold, uncomfortable. “Was just a dream,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”

“You can talk to me about it,” Steve presses, and goddamn him for being kind about this, Bucky thinks. He just wants Steve to leave it alone. “It was about your accident, wasn’t it?”

“How do you know that?”

“You talked,” Steve says. “Between the screaming, at least. You said things about your arm.”

Bucky sighs and forces himself to turn around and face Steve. “Please just leave it alone. I don’t … I don’t like to think about it, okay? It’s in the past, there’s no point.” At his left side, he curls his fingers into his palm. Weak. “Please?”

Steve doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods anyway. “Okay.” He takes Bucky’s hand—his right one—and leads him towards the door. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go have a big breakfast.”

Sharon serves them a full English breakfast, with coffee for Bucky prepared just the way he likes it, and tea for Steve. Bucky wonders how she knew his preference, wonders if Steve told her or if she just assumed. He’d ask, but she makes herself scarce after serving them, going off somewhere else in the apartment. This leaves Bucky to wonder what he should say to fill the strange brand of silence that’s settled between him and Steve. It’s not awkward, per se, but he gets the feeling that Steve would like for them to converse, and is leaving it up to Bucky to decide if they do.

"... This is good,” he eventually winds up saying, indicating the breakfast spread with his fork. There are eggs and toast, sausages and tomatoes and beans; even a pitcher of orange juice. “Sharon is a, um, a good cook.” He’s disappointed in himself the moment the words leave his lips. Ugh, how pathetically trite.

But Steve is visibly pleased that Bucky’s decided to converse after all. “Yes,” he says, smiling a little. “Yes, she is. You’ll be able to work with her in planning out the Household’s menus once we return home. Perhaps you could have your family’s Cookie share a few of your favorites with her.”

Bucky regrets having spoken. Why did he feel the need to please Steve with conversation? “Yeah,” he murmurs, forking around his little pile of beans. “Erm … has she been with you long?” He knows she and Steve have a history together, but he hasn’t got any idea how long ago Steve set up his Household. He’s been a Senator for less than five years, and was unmarried until recently, after all; and by his own admission had only hired most of their staff once their engagement had been officially contracted.

“Since the beginning,” Steve says, something hesitant in his tone as he reaches to take another piece of toast from the rack.

Bucky frowns. “What does that mean? Since you assumed the Seat?”

“Yes. Just after.” Steve avoids looking at him, eyes fixed on spreading butter and jam as he says, “I ah, I was still deployed just before that, when I received word of my mother’s passing.”

Bucky blinks, taken-aback. He’d all but forgotten that Steve was in the service, and a Veteran. Across the table, Steve clears his throat uncomfortably.

“The war was at its end by then, so I was able to take bereavement leave once I got the news. I came home, assumed the Seat. I would’ve gladly stayed in my family’s home, but it’s expected for a Senator to establish their own Household, so.” His lips thin unhappily and he shrugs. “Sharon offered to come along with me. Pietro and Jarvis, too. My fathers agreed to it.”

“Oh.” Bucky bites his lip, wondering if he should say anything about Steve’s loss of his mother. “Well … that was nice of them.”

Steve nods. “Yes. Indeed.”

Bucky thinks about what a horrible shock it must’ve been for Steve to go straight from a war zone to his own mother’s funeral, and then shoved straight from there into a Senate Seat and the requisite celebrations, draped with the heavy mantle of American nobility and forced out of his childhood home all at once. Most Senatorial heirs don’t assume their family’s Seat until well into their thirties, if not their forties. That’s part of the reason why, prior to this marriage, Bucky had been so convinced that he’d have a good decade or more before having to settle down.

Across the table, Steve’s features are pinched, and he’s gone from buttering the toast to fixing a second cup of tea. It’s not like him to avoid eye contact so much. Bucky’s about to open his mouth to try and say something sympathetic, but at that moment a knock comes from the doorway. Sharon is standing there. “Sir? There’s a guest.”

Steve sets his teacup down. “Who?”

“A Ms. Carter.”

It’s impossible to miss how Steve perks up at this. He goes from looking glum and rueful to very pleased, indeed. “Oh! Well invite her in!” He turns to Bucky, all but beaming. “Margaret Carter’s a friend of mine. You don’t mind a visit, do you?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, thinking: Do I really have a choice? But he holds the remark back. He’s curious to see just who this woman is who’s made Steve light up. “Sure,” he says mildly. “But, here?” He indicates where they’re sitting. It would be crass to entertain a guest at their breakfast table, and Steve seems to understand.

“Oh! Of course, you’re right.” He laughs nervously and stands up, reaching for Bucky’s hand. Bucky feels … odd giving it. Steve has taken to leading him around by the hand sometimes. It seems to be one of his ways of expressing affection, and Bucky’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be going along with it. But for now he lets it slide. He’s mostly intrigued about who this woman is who’s got Steve acting so enthused. “We’ll meet with her in the parlor,” Steve decides. “I’m sure she’s already there. Come on.”

Bucky follows along, and when they enter the room, Ms. Carter is indeed seated on one of the sofas. She doesn’t stand as they appear, which immediately strikes Bucky as improper, but he doesn’t get much chance to think on it because he’s too busy being taken-aback by how pretty she is: red-painted lips and perfectly coiffed hair, pert features and a tiny waist underneath her dress. Bucky follows Steve’s lead into the room, feeling unsure.

Ms. Carter smiles broadly at them—or well, at Steve. Her eyes are only on him, and they’re full of warm affection. “Steven,” she gushes. “Oh it’s good to see you. How are you, Darling?”

Oh, she’s British. Bucky doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, given the fact that they’re in England right now, but he is. He waits for her to acknowledge him while thinking that it’s awfully rude for her to be addressing Steve with endearments in front of the man’s Spouse.

“Bucky,” Steve introduces. “This is my good friend, Margaret Carter.”

“And you must be James,” she croons. She smiles up at him as though they’re old friends, which Bucky hates. It feels contrived. “Please do call me Peggy. It’s so good to meet you.”

“… Yes,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry but, how is it that you know Steve?”

“Pegs and I served together in the war,” Steve cuts in. He’s got one hand at the small of Bucky’s back as he explains. “She’s saved my life a time or two.”

“You’re damned right,” Peggy smirks, eyes roving up and down Steve’s body, flicking briefly to Bucky, but then right back to Steve. “Oh Stevie, it’s been too long. How I’ve missed you!”

Stevie? Bucky fights to school the disdain from his face. This woman cannot possibly be Society, he thinks. Not if her mannerisms are anything to go by. There are too many tells.

“—and when I heard that you were in London? Well I decided I simply must pay you a visit. We have so much to catch up on!” She makes no mention of the fact that it’s Steve’s honeymoon that’s brought him to London, and she pats the sofa cushion right next to her in a shockingly inappropriate invitation. “Sit, sit!”

Her presumptuousness makes annoyance flash in Bucky, which is as surprising as it is confusing. He’s even more unsettled that, when Steve pointedly guides him to sit together on the opposite sofa and places a husbandly arm around his waist, his reaction is to relax into it, satisfied. He straightens up and tries to look even a fraction as pleasant as Peggy does. He’s not sure he succeeds, but at least Steve still has his arm around him.

“So tell me,” Peggy’s saying eagerly. “Have you heard from any of the Howlies lately?”

Steve laughs. “Oh, let me tell you:—”

And that’s how it begins: Peggy starting up the passive aggressive exclusion of Bucky from the conversation by talking only about her and Steve’s old war buddies and adventures, and then segueing to other topics which Bucky can hardly contribute anything to. He sits there and endures it, hating this uncouth woman but not quite able to make himself ruin the visit. Steve is obviously very happy to see an old friend, and seems to be thoroughly enjoying every second of Peggy’s company.

He’s still sitting with and holding Bucky, of course; and he doesn’t do anything inappropriate, other than refer to the woman as “Pegs” multiple times. But it doesn’t take Bucky long to figure out that she and Steve have a meaningful history together: A romantic one. Peggy is beta, and Bucky is struck by the jarring thought that she might very well have been the one Steve would’ve preferred to take for his Second, had circumstances permitted it.

Sharon had introduced her as “Miss” not “Lady” Carter, and Bucky can tell from the relaxed way she dresses and presents herself that she’s not Society like they are. He watches her talk with Steve and thinks that the two of them probably would have married, if they could have. Steve is so happy and relaxed with her, so natural in her presence. He talks to her like a dear friend, but there’s a softness in his eyes, too—something too close to love for Bucky’s taste.

By the time Peggy kisses Steve on each cheek and says goodbye, Bucky has swallowed down an embarrassing amount of jealousy and convinced himself all over again that he needs to expedite this plan to make Steve want a divorce. It’s going to be painful, but in the end it’ll be the best thing for both of them, he’s sure of it now. Steve doesn’t love him, and despite everything Bucky hates about their union, Steve is a good man. He deserves to be with someone he truly loves, someone who isn’t crippled and scarred, someone who doesn’t have a tarnished family name and who truly wants a family life with him. A divorce will be in everyone’s best interest in the long run. Bucky will gain his freedom, and so will Steve. It’s what’s best.

He ignores the confusing jealousy that tinges his mood for the rest of the morning, and when he’s alone with Steve again and the two of them are playing a game of chess before lunch, he pretends that he doesn’t know exactly what Peggy’s past with Steve is. “Ms. Carter seemed nice,” he says lightly. “You two seem to be very close.”

Steve flushes. “Well … yes. We are. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“You’re good friends.”

“Yes.”

Bucky considers his pieces, rotating a rook with the tips of his fingers. He can afford to lose it to Steve’s bishop. Three moves down the line and it’ll be worth it. “You were lovers, weren’t you?”

Steve inhales sharply. He looks utterly shocked that Bucky’s asked the question. “What? No!”

“You don’t have to lie,” Bucky drawls. He moves his rook. “Your turn.”

“I’m not lying,” Steve says, and now his tone is stern, his eyes sharp. “Peggy and I were never together like that.”

“But you wanted to be,” Bucky presses. “If you hadn’t been at war, if she weren’t common.”

“Bucky.”

“Would you have married her?”

Steve sighs. He moves his bishop and takes the rook. “How can I answer that? It was never a possibility.”

Bucky shrugs. He makes his next move and gets a little satisfaction as Steve’s following move is as he predicted. He advances his knight. “Will you take her as a mistress one day?”

“Bucky!” Steve glares at him. “No, I won’t. Stop it.”

“Stop what? It’s a common enough arrangement. I saw the way you were with her. You love her, don’t you?”

Bucky’s goading is working, if the tick in Steve’s jaw and the blush creeping down his neck is anything to go by. “I did have feelings for her once, I’ll admit.”

“Please,” Bucky scoffs. “It’s obvious you still do.”

“Are you jealous?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Not really.” He nods at the board and waits for Steve to make his next move. It’s predictable, and Bucky follows suit by sliding his knight up the board. “Check.”

Steve twists his lips in frustration. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I still do.” Bucky flushes, working his jaw and fighting not to react to that. Steve adds, “But I don’t love her, not in the same way I once did. That’s faded. It’s in the past. She’s just a very good friend now.” He gives Bucky a fiercely reproachful look. “I’m not the sort to take lovers on the side.”

“Pity.”

Steve growls. “And neither are you.” He jerkily moves his queen, interposing, but Bucky can see a way around it. “Is that clear?”

Bucky feels his guts swoop in something similar to, but not exactly the same as, arousal. He moves in for the kill and knocks over Steve’s queen. “Checkmate.”

“Is. that. clear?” Steve says again, voice dangerously low. His face is turning pink, and Bucky has to fight back a smirk at having successfully aroused jealousy in him.

“Crystal,” he says. He smiles pleasantly at Steve. “Now are we playing again, or having lunch?”

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