#little prince stamp

[holespoles]

Today, June 29, 1900, is "The Little Prince Day" because it is the birthday of Saint-Exupéry, the author of the novel "The Little Prince". The greeting stamp "The Little Prince" (issued in 2019) features a stamp design with illustrations from the original artwork.

今日6月29日は1900年(明治33年)のこの日、小説「星の王子さま」の作者サン＝テグジュペリの生誕日なので「星の王子さまの日」だそうです。 グリーティング切手「星の王子さま」(2019年発行)は、原画作品のイラストを使用した切手デザインになっています。

[stickeriffic]

Disney Princesses: Retro Cute

Check out the Disney Princesses, brought to you in style of '90s Japanimation! Use these in your chats to give them a hint of nostalgia.

[kittyoverlord]

Neverafter Finale pt. 1 nails!

I wasn't able to fit in Rosamund, but I've already done sleeping beauty nails. I did a version of a sweater that Ally wore as Tim, w/ the gay and trans symbols ofc. Then I got my frog designs in so I have a little Frog Prince! This is my first version of Pib. I have better puss in boots designs coming in the mail.

I'm getting more comfortable w/ some free handing, and reverse stamping. Happy w/ how these came out, but also have improvements I want to make.

I'm gonna do a rewatch w/ nails themed to each episode now that I have more designs. :)

[killjoy-prince]

My ANYC haul

I bought some spicy stuff which you can see under the cut

[susiestamps]

JP 2019 63¥ The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1900 - 1944) JP 2019 7¥ Mandarin Ducks by Hiroshige Utagawa

[frostwork]

The Blood of Youth slaps man i needed wuxia like this

[lalunanymph]

𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽

ੈ✩‧₊˚ mornings are always blissful with xavier by your side

ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings:- unprotected sex, cock warming, somnophilia, morning sex, messy sex, clit play, nipple play, sleepy xavier, breathplay, just me tearing up and giving xavier all the love he deserves

ੈ✩‧₊˚ i love him sm i need to talk abt xav xav more . . . my little bun bun of a man

Mornings are always blissful with Xavier by your side. The sun streaming past the thin blinds, illuminating the silver of his hair, highlighting the princely bridge of his nose, made your heart somersault right in your chest.

And yet, what he was doing to you wasn't exactly in your plans for a lazy Saturday morning.

“Xav…”

Your whimpers carry past the layers of cotton; muffled, yet heard by him all the same.

His hips snap heavily into yours, one hand on your lower back, the other twined above your splayed palm. 

"Mhmmph," you whine.

“Are you alright?”

His breathy question strikes lightning up your spine, especially when the tip of his cock catches on a spongy spot in your cunt that has you squeezing down tightly on him. 

“Fuck…” he moans shakily. 

You can’t see him, but can plainly imagine the knit of his brows. His perfect lips shaped into an ‘O’. 

The image burns into your memory like a flash of light, and your thighs clench, pussy fluttering like a heartbeat.

“... close,” you murmur. 

He slides a hand underneath your stomach, lifting you up slightly to get a better leverage. 

“Yeah?” Xavier sounds strained. “Me too, beautiful.”

His cock twitches within your walls, and you squirm, fighting back the cresting pleasure to focus on cumming together.

“Give it to me, please,” you gasp, lifting your head up and turning to catch his eye. 

Xavier feels like he’s on cloud nine; that little, desperate look you give when you have three seconds of eye contact gets him harder. 

He hums, thrusts growing erratically. Below, a wet patch is starting to form on the gray sheets, a cumulation of both your excitement.

It should gross him out, but all he feels is an enthralling sense of pride. 

Your pussy is gushing, lewd sounds filling the air and making his brain go hazy. The string of fairy lights in your room casts a warm glow across your back, and Xavier leans in to place hot stamps up your shoulders; across your neck.

Your pussy throbs at his affection, and you whimper his name again. 

Good girl… make a mess for me. 

It’s impossible to resist his low and husky drawl. 

The band in your belly tightens, coils, and then snaps.

More wetness gushes forth from where you’re connected, spilling out in between the cracks of your bodies till you’re limp and drained.

Xavier, Xavier, Xavier, you call out his name, fisting the sheets in your delirium. 

The weight of his body sinks into you, driving you deeper into the mattress. 

Xavier’s dense breaths hit your cheek and neck, the stringy warmth filling you up wells and threatens to spill.

But, he’s faster. 

Turning you in his arms, your lover presses your back to his chest, free arm under your head while the other drapes around your chest, pulling you tighter to him.

A comforting blanket of silence settles over the two of you, and he murmurs your name in his drowsy state.

His cock remains plugged inside of you, keeping his warmth and cum safe in your walls.

You try to paw his arm off you to clean up, but Xavier was having none of that.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he mumbles tiredly. “We can do this later.”

“Mhm... Xav,” you whine, and he chuckles.

Nosing your hair, he settles on kissing your pulse point. Cheekily, his hand cups your tit, thumb gently running circles on your stiffening nipple. You squirm, feeling his cock twitch deep inside of you.

��No,” he says tiredly. “Sleep. Now.” 

You’re making it hard not to. 

But, you don’t get to bite that quip back to him.

Xavier’s already nodding off, breathing growing heavier.

Despite your discomfort, you drift off soon after him, safe in the circle of his arms; his presence a warm light you could bask in forever.

Sweet dreams, you feel him mouth into your skin. I’m here, my little light.

Loving Xavier comes with the territory of lazy mornings and even more languid sex.

You wake up with his cock slowly easing and out of you, inert thrusts rutting against your walls. Blinking wearily, you feel him kissing up your neck; boldly smoothing his palm down your belly and pushing your thighs apart to dive straight to your sensitive core.

Still tender from last night, he rubs sweet circles onto your twitchy clit, focused on building up your release.

You reel back, teeth catching on your lower lip. “Mhmmm…”

His ash blonde lashes flutter against your throat. A soft kiss is placed right in the hollow of your pulse point.

“Good morning,” he mumbles huskily.

You flit your gaze to the outside world, weak sunshine streaming past the thin curtains.

“It’s early,” you whisper, trying hard to ignore how the circles on your clit were growing faster and erratic.

“Mhm,” Xavier moans. He mouths at your neck, leaving hot kisses all over the strip of vulnerable skin.

You feel the ache rising, stoking to a fever pitch.

Like his swordsmanship, Xavier was swift at striking right where it mattered. He puts you on your back, gazing down at you with soft, azure eyes that leaves your heartbeat stuttering.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he mumbles. “All open and spread wide for me.”

He’s one to talk, you exasperate. 

With his tousled light hair, swollen lips and heavy lidded gaze, Xavier looks like he was made to be used first thing in the morning.

He grips the plush fat of your thighs, spreading you wider to accommodate his slim build in between your legs.

His cock pulses inside of you—hot and heavy. Stickiness from yesterday’s fun dribbles out of your puffy hole, staining the bed with a thick white. It causes a slippery mess, joining the slick of sweat smearing across the already soiled sheets.

Xavier can’t be bothered to see past the lust fringing his vision; tunneling right onto your tits which were jiggling with every hard slam of his cock into you.

He paws at the right one, pinching your nipple till it swells and stiffens in his firm grip.

Your hips buck, a low moan slipping past your clenched teeth.

“You’re too irresistible,” he grunts. 

You don’t have time to respond, not when he pries you up to your knees and lets you lean back against his chest. 

This position is new—his cock bullies its way back into your hole and he has the liberty to grip your throat with every heavy slam. 

Lithe fingers slip in between your spread legs, finding your puffy clit and giving it a few taps.

You squeal, flinching from the overstimulation.

“Xavier… oh my god… feels so good,” you’re babbling now, unable to think straight.

The entire universe is condensed to the sensation of his cock stretching you out until it burns; his fingers skillfully twisting and pinching your sensitive nub. 

Your ears are ringing, breaths coming out in foggy pants.

His lips are right at your ear, and his free hand clamps tighter on your neck.

“You should see yourself,” he breathes, beads of his sweat dripping onto your shoulder. “All spread out and taking me so well… I love you.”

His confession leaves something hot and achy in your chest. It’s the first time he's ever uttered those words while inside of you.

“I love you, too,” you mumble tearily. His fingers dig tighter into your airway, choking off your devotion.

Shit, he gasps when you clench down on him. Gonna cum, my love… this pussy is too good. 

Xavier, you cry out his name, reaching back to clutch threads of his soft, ash-blonde locks.

He grunts, giving two more heavy thrusts—spilling inside of you just as your own orgasm crests.

Xavier! Your syrupy cry makes his ears ring. He's catching you, pressing you close and scooping up your melted body into his arms as the both of you slump back to the bed, already drained.

He chuckles tiredly, smoothing a peck onto your nose and cheeks as your release simmers; the pulsing pleasure finally become bearable. 

“I think… we may need to shower and change the bedsheets.”

Tiredly, you rub your nose with his, the icky, sticky feeling growing harder to ignore.

“Give me a few more minutes.” 

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you bury your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of his pine body wash and musk.

Xavier exhales, stroking your hair. “Take as many minutes as you need, my little light.”

You closed your eyes, feeling more content than you had ever dared. 

Work, Wanderers, protocores… they all fade in the background in your Xavier’s arms. 

He comforts you from the world, shields you from the pain and trauma with his steady strength.

No matter the cost, you would give up anything to be like this with him forever—cocooned in safety and idyllic peace.

Though you knew in your bones that nothing in this world was permanent, you thought you would never be able to forget how Xavier made you feel. 

He was your slice of heaven here on earth; he was all yours.

And in the morning peace, you drift off again with the reassurance that if nothing else belonged to you, you were certain that his love did.

— i need tew munch him and swallow him writing about him is not enough </3 reblogs and feedbacks will give you smooches 💋

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, translate or recommend across any platform

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere deer Hybrid with a hunter darling.

Tw.Nsfw themes! Dead dove do not eat!

Kidnapping, death, Yandere, MDNI

He's so regal and princely, with auburn colored curls framing his face like ribbon would a doll. Ciervus is a proud one, and he doesn't shy away from it. He stands taller than his peers, and his winding horns only add to his already imposing stature. He's a catch by all means: strong and intimidating to the point where no predator would mess with him and his future doe.

No one except you at least.

Ciervus is absolutely fascinated. He knows you're not something he should trust, but you've got so many things about you that he just can't tear his eyes from. Your hands are rough from handling your rifle all day, everyday, and you've got this permanent frown on your grimed streaked face. How odd. He thinks you'd be a cute doe, if you weren't fully human that is. He can't blame you for that, but it is a bit frustrating. He has his pick of potential mates, and if you just had little fuzzy ears or shiny black hooves, then he's sure he could've had you squealing and under him a long time ago.

He stamps his feet in frustration as he watches you. There's something thrilling about watching you settled in the underbrush, pointing your weapon at those he would consider his people. Every few days or so, someone he grew up with, frolicking in the spring once long ago, would disappear with only a loud bang and a streak of blood to signal their fate.

He knows it's bad to even seek you out. He could die. You would have no reservations about killing him after all. But Ciervus can't help the way his loins grow warm when he catches your scent through the trees. Even when you've dragged off the body of another poor deer, he's crouched, pressing his nose into the earth where you had sat in wait only hours before. There's something primal in the way he huffs your lingering smell off of the scattered leaves and smushed grass.

He wishes that you would know he was here, so that he could woo you properly.

Ciervus approaches you one day, and in his hands are his shed horns.

You're apprehensive, to be certain, but you let him come close. He feels shivers run up his spine. He can feel your body heat as he leans in close and presses his gift into your hands. He doesn't know why for sure you hunt those like him, but he thinks the antlers might have to do with it. He doesn't care all that much. You can't shoot him from this angle, pressed up against your back with his teeth grazing over your skin. He can feel you freeze up, and he grins at the though that this might be the first time you've ever felt like prey out here in these woods.

He lets his hands wander, dipping down the curve of your waist. You smell like death, iron, and sulfur, like you're a devil haunting this place. He relishes your pounding heart, and his lips press into the thrumming pulse point. It's then he reaches back and presses his fallen antlers to you. He figures you should have them. They take a year to grow and fall off, and he's spent that time yearning for you. It's only fair that the human tangled in greenery is the one who gets it.

"You deserve these," He whispers and finally pulls back. You're too shocked to do anything but sit there with eyes almost as wide as his and watch as he disappears.

After that day Ciervus becomes more brazen. He starts to stalk after you. He knows that to you, he's just some weird fawn with a death wish. Maybe he is, but that doesn't mean he'll let you kill him so easily. He gives you so many reasons not to.

He knows that other deer trust him. He knows that to the other woodland critter, he's just an innocent face that is not to be messed with. In that sense, he knows he can be of use to you. For as much as he follows you, you now also follow him. It sends a thrill down his spine, knowing that the barrel of your rifle is trailed after him. If he was going to lose his life to anyone, he'd want it to be you and not some drooling, snarling creature that would tear his beautiful face into a bloody mess. But he wants more time with you, so he leads you to other hybrids.

A fox, a goose, a wolf, other deer, it doesn't matter. You learn quickly, and you know that where he goes, there's an easy catch.

You vanish into the dark tree line, a body dragged behind you, and each night he lets you leave. You always return for some reason or another, and he doesn't fear the lack of you. At least he doesn't until you're gone for over two weeks.

Ciervus is beside himself. It's the first time that he's been without you for this long, and he begins to wonder if you'll ever come back. He's especially volatile during then. He fights any other young buck that come near, his nostrils flaring and his little tail wagging in utter annoyance. He expands his territory in an attempt to see if you went anywhere else, if you finally decided you were done with him.

When you appear once more, face blank and unchanged, he decided he can no longer take it. You must think nothing of him. Truly what a little fool you are. You must learn. You have to understand how he feels, and that he will have you even if it kills him.

He doesn't lead you to another hybrid this time, and he feels his cock twitch when he sees the frustration on your face. Oh...you were looking for him. It's a gratifying notion, and he bites his plump lip in excitement. He lets you go about your normal routine, but this time when you start to take your hunt for the day and leave the woods, he follows.

He's never left the sanctity of the woods. Not once in his entire life. There's this twisted sort of pride that fills him knowing that he's doing this for you. And as he peers inside your little cabin nestled along the roadside, he knows that the only reason why he would be doing any of this is because you're going to be his mate.

Your home is filled with the smell of iron and chemicals that burn his nose, but he watches from your window as you wrap a stiffening body (A rabbit hybrid this time) in a tarp and wait for a rumbling truck to come and take it away. He can see you be vulnerable in a way you'd never been before. Your bulky hunting gear is off, and he can finally see just how little you are compared to him in all his hulking glory. His ears twitch. You really are just a little doe.

He waits for you to relax, sitting on your bed and yawning as you prepare to rest for the day. He strikes then, breaking your window and yanking you out with little regard for how the glass cuts into you on the way out. His lithe and bulging arms wrap tightly around your midriff and knock the air out of you. He smiled at the way you try to fight despite struggling to breathe. He croons and presses a kiss to your cheek. He suspected as much when he gave you his antlers, but you really aren't all that strong, are you? At least not enough to fight him off.

He shushes you and shoves two thick fingers into your mouth when you try to scream, and a wide, unnatural smile crosses his lovely face.

"Shhh, shh its okay- ow! Hnh, haha, I guess I deserved that. No more biting, okay little doe?" He murmurs as he pets your hair and drags you further into the forest. It's so dark, and he knows that your human eyes won't be able to see where he's taking you. He takes you to a little cave decorated all pretty with soft furs, flowers, and moss. He sets you down, thrashing and screeching, into a little nest he's made.

He knows you think you're strong, but he's going to make sure you know your place. You were never really meant to be a hunter, you were always meant to be the strong mate he deserved.

His large hand reaches down and finds your ankle, catching it from where you tried to kick his sides. His wide, dark eyes peer down at you, and he smiles. Oh he how he loves you, but you're far too stubborn. Even now you're clawing at his arms, and his face crinkles apologetically.

"Little doe, this is for your own good," He says with a firm tone. You part your lips to argue, but a sickening crunch reverberates throughout the cold, stone walls of the cave. You let out a bloodcurdling scream as your leg twitches in pain. He releases your now broken ankle, and he wipes away your tears as he puts extra padding around your wounded foot.

"There there, don't cry. Shhh, shhh you're okay. I'll take care of you," He soothes and presses you down. You're a little heap of sobs, and his heart squeezes painfully. "Don't worry, little doe. I'll be a good mate. I'll wait until you're allllllll better before I start trying to get you used to me down here," He says softly as he presses his hand to your clothed crotch. He feels you flinch away, and Cervius can only chuckle.

"I know, I know, we won't do that until you feel better," He assures you and presses his palm over your mouth to muffle the insults and screams that were trying to escape that pretty mouth of yours. He waits until you pass you before he finally relaxes and snuggles up against you.

He's finally caught you. His little doe. His prey.

Continuation here

[the20thangel]

The Realm's Jewel

Another Request! Summary: (like an Au where there was no war) The reader is Rhaenyra’s only daughter and Damon’s daughter. She comes to King's Landing but with Benji, whom she married. BUT Aemond loved the reader and thought that when they married, her life with Benji would be horrible. When they show up, she’s very happy and has two little boys that look exactly like Benji. And maybe a little fight scene?

Word Count: 2510

The whole Red Keep was buzzing with excitement; Princess Daenys was returning to Kingslanding after five years away. King Viserys was overjoyed he missed his sweet granddaughter. She was indeed a beauty, with beautiful, long platinum hair and large doe-like eyes that were a gorgeous purple color. She was the eldest daughter of Princess Regent Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon. Twin sister of Prince Jacaerys, she was the realm’s jewel. Everyone in the realm adored the lovely princess, so they celebrated her return. She spent five years away due to her marriage to the Lord of Raventree Hall. When the two were babes, Lord Benjicot and Princess Daenys were betrothed secretly by Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Samwell. Princess Rhaenyra noted that House Blackwood was not a House Paramount but had a great army and fierce warriors. It was a considerable advantage for her own house, and House Blackwood was honored with a princess. 

Daenys and Benjicot met a few times growing up. Unbeknownst to the rest of the court, the betrothed and Prince Jacaerys bonded by playing pranks on numerous Lords and Ladies who visited Kingslanding. Benjicot and Jace created a bond of brothers and, in turn, would sometimes try to play pranks on the princess. Unfortunately for Jace, all Daenys needed to do was bat her doe-eyes and push a pout to have Benji forget everything and follow her around like a love-sick puppy. Jace would tease Benji for it, but Benjicot couldn't care less. Benjicot and Daeny were due to marry each other on their 18th name day, but when Daenys turned six and ten, something changed. 

Viserys declared his wish to see Daenys and Aemond married. Rhaenyra raged at her father, stating that Daenys was her daughter and her daughter's marriage would not be decided by someone else. Viserys grew angry, declaring that he was the King and Aemond was a Targaryen prince; there was no better match than him. As Aemond walked smugly to the training yard, he taunted Jacaerys and Lucerys before shouting to Daenys that they would soon wed and asking her to reign in her brothers. Daenys blood ran cold hearing the news, and she ran to her mother sobbing. She did not want to marry Aemond; her heart belonged to Benji, and she would rather die than be married to someone else. Rhaenyra knew that the only way Daenys could marry her chosen husband would be how she married Daemon, going off and marrying, not allowing her marriage to be broken. Quietly in the night, Rhaneyra prepared Princess Daenys, writing a letter to Lord Samwell, explaining the situation and hopefully allowing her daughter to marry his son sooner than planned. 

In the cover of the night, Daenys flew out on her dragon Sliverwing to Raventree Hall. When the Red Keep noticed the princes' absence and scouts were sent to find the princess, a raven arrived from the Riverlands—stating the Princess's marriage to the Heir of House Blackwood, with the Septon’s stamp of officiality and a Septa’s account of the couple consummating the marriage. Viserys internally fumed, but he knew he could do nothing, only glaring at Rhaenyra, knowing she was the one who helped Daenys leave the Red Keep. 

Aemond was a whole different story. The Prince raged for three days, beating up anyone in his way, upset that the Heir to Raventree Hall stole his princess. He all but commanded his father to let him travel to Raventree Hall and bring back the traitor's head. This caused Viserys rage, stating that he would not risk a war with the Riverlands by killing an heir. Viserys noted that not only would the whole realm rage, but the seven, Aemond’s gods,  would curse him for killing his niece’s husband. Aemond huffed, leaving, and he would wait; he knew Daenys would soon see she made the wrong decision and come back begging for an annul, and they would marry the way the seven wanted them to be. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years, and finally, the princess was back for the first-year celebration of her mother’s time as a Princess Regent. The whole court was waiting eagerly in the sides and gallery to catch how married life faired for the princess. Everyone quieted down when two Kingsguards slammed their swords to the ground, calling for attention, as a herald shouted—presenting Lord Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, and his lady wife Crown Princess Daenys Targaryen, with their two sons, their heir Davos Blackwood and his brother Aenar Blackwood. The whole court gasped when they saw the two four-name day-old sons walking between their parents. Davos wore mainly a red doublet with little ravens on his collar, looking like an exact copy of his father saved for the beautiful purple Valyrian eyes. While Aenar wore a black doublet with little red dragons on his collar, one eye was grey and the other purple, showing off the blood of the First Men and Valyrian running through his veins. They grew more in shock, seeing how Princess Daenys matured into a fine jewel. Her hair was raised in braids and then into a bun, letting a few hair strains frame her face. She walked side by side with her family, caressing a medium-sized bump, signaling that she was expecting another child with her husband, who looked smug, walking into the throne room. 

All four stopped infront of the iron throne, bowing to the Princess Regent, who walked down to hug her daughter and greet her grandchildren. 

The two boys grinned at their grandmother, bowing before they said, “Good morrow, your grace. It's nice to meet you.” 

This caused the whole court to swoon, well, all but the Targaryen/Hightower side of the family, especially Aemond, who fumed those sons and future children should have been his children, not some smug lord. He could not believe his Daenys took this long to return. Was she being held captive, and was her regal persona just that, a persona? He knew he needed to help her escape, and after she and he were married, he promised to treat those boys as if they were his, for they had to be more of Daenys in them than of Benjicot. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the Blackwood family settled into their suite, Daenys could not help but reminisce about her time in the Red Keep. There were many things she missed at her old home. 

“Wow! Muna, this your old room?! It's bigger than mine and Aenie’s rooms together!” asked Davos as he ran around in circles, causing Benjicot to laugh and pick up his son. 

“Yes, your mother was very spoiled here; she sometimes would act like it too,” taunted Benji as he smirked at his wife, who turned and playfully glared at her husband. 

“You dare lie to our sons, dear husband? Hmm, I will not stand for such lies.” She walks towards her eldest son, kissing him on the crown as she asks the servants to bathe both boys in preparation for the upcoming feast. 

“I only jest, love. You were not that spoiled,” grinned Benji, laughing as Daenys mock gasped, lightly hitting her husband.

“We shall see if I let you sleep in the bed with me at night, then we’ll see who truly is spoiled,” Daenys lightly threatened Benji, the princess grinning as he brought her to his arms and kissed her before the doors opened to bring in the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys, who then pretended to gag. 

“Ugh, we did not need to see that!” jested Lucerys, jumping on Benjicot’s back, causing the lord to laugh, letting go of his wife as he pretended to wrestle with Luke. Jace shook his head at the two men and walked to his twin, kissing her on the cheek. 

“How was your trip here, dear sister,” asked Jace. 

“Tiresome, with two restless boys and a babe who would not cease kicking every time they felt their father’s hand on my stomach,” stated Daenys, smiling as her husband and younger brother messed around. 

“Then you have two overgrown children here, so what are we to do?” joked Jace, who then shouted, feeling Ben grab him and bring him into the fight. 

“I thought you both came here to warn Daenys not to mess around like children?” questioned Baela walking in with her sister Rhaena, both being betrothed to the Targaryen brothers. 

The men separated breathing heavily as Daenys looked confused, “Warn me? About what?” asked Daenys. 

Luke groaned, “about uncle Aemond, he is still in his ass, thinking that you were stolen from him and that Ben here is a terrible husband to you.” 

Daenys scoffed, “Is he truly into his delusions to think I ever loved him? Anybody with eyes could see how Ben and I acted around each other. There was a reason why House Blackwood was constantly invited to the Red Keep.” 

Jace snorted as the two boys ran into the room, into their uncles’ arms. “Well, not him, so don’t be surprised if he tries to pick a fight with you, Ben.” 

Little Davos smirked uncanny to his father's smirk, “Kepa will just then break his nose, just like he did with the loser Braken when he tried to kiss Muna !” exclaimed Davos, while Aenar cheered. 

The two Targaryen Princes and their future wives gaped, staring at the Lord of Raven Tree Hall, who only grinned. 

“That will be a story to tell when the children are sleeping,” explained Daenys. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The feast was going well, and everyone was enjoying the food and entertainment brought by Princess Rhaenyra. Well, all but one. Aemond kept glaring at Benjicot any chance he had. His glare only worsened when someone complimented the couple or when Benjicot showed affection to his wife. Aemond could have sworn that he once saw the lord smirk at him as he caressed the Princess’s growing belly. Aegon noticed before snorting into his wine that a storm was brewing, and he was much too sober for it yet. 

As the toasts began, everyone was toasting Princess Rhaenyra’s first year of reign or the welcome back of Princess Daenys. Finally, everyone grew tense when it came to Aemond as the Prince rose, staring straight at Daenys, who scowled, pressing herself to her husband. 

“A toast to Princess Daenys; welcome back, my princess. I have missed your pretty eyes all these years, but you are back where you belong. It is truly a shame your sons look so much like their sire. Nevertheless, they will be loved…” started Aemond, smirking at Benjicot, who was becoming upset with each word coming out of his mouth. 

Davos and Aenar were confused. Why was this man saying that it was a shame they looked like their Kepa? Muna always stated that she loved how they looked like him when they asked the question. Alicent was trying to shut Aemond up, telling him to be quiet and sit down, but Aemond only pushed her away. 

“You both should have pure Valyrian blood, but your father stole your mother from me and, in turn, tainted your blood with that of those barbarians blood of the First Men.” as soon as the words left Aemond’s mouth. 

Benjicot angrily rose from the table, which caused Aemond to start walking around, ready to fight Lord Blackwood. The whole table exploded with chaos, and Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Alicent called for order and peace. Jace and Luke each took one of the boys far from the conflict with Baela and Rhaena. Daemon reached his daughter, leading her away for her husband, as Daenys yelled for Benjicot to return. Heleana covered her ears as she pressed her eyes closed, not wanting to see, with lastly Aegon laughing drunkenly at his brother’s stupidity. Lord Blackwood was not called Bloody Ben for nothing. 

As Aemond ran to Benjicot, he took out his sword, swinging it towards the head. Benjicot, who had seen actual conflict and not just training, quickly ducked as he punched Aemond’s face. This caused Aemond's eyebrow to bleed, and he stumbled back. Angered, he threw himself on Benjicot, who in turn grabbed him as they fell to the ground, punching and kicking each other. 

Alicent began screeching as Rhaenyra called for the kingsguard to separate the two. As the guards ran in, Benji was able to get on top of Aemond, and he wildly punched the Prince’s face repeatedly, Ben’s knuckles becoming a bloody mess; he would have continued if he had not heard Daenys distraught yell. 

“Ben, that’s enough; you’ll kill him!,” shouted Daenys as she broke free from her father, running to her husband. 

As Benjicot smiled widely, he raised away from Prince Aemond and threw one last kick. Daenys reached her husband, grabbing his face into her hands. 

“Come back, Ben. You did enough; I’m here,” she whispered as she kissed Benji, who finally exhaled and pressed a small kiss in return. 

“Guards, seize Lord Blackwood, have him whipped for striking Prince Aemond!” screeched Alicent as she tried ordering, growing angry when no one moved. 

Viserys, although weak from the chaos, walked with the help of Heleana. “That’s enough, Alicent; if anything, Aemond should be punished for insulting Lord Benjicot and Princess Daenys and their children. He caused this violence!” 

Alicent gasped, “He is your son Viserys!” 

“That does not excuse him from insulting guests or trying to kill them; get Prince Ameond a maester for his injuries and the rest back to our rooms. No, Alicent enough! Guards take the queen consort back to her rooms, with a tea to calm her.” ordered Viserys as both his daughters led him away. 

Daenys sighed in relief and quietly apologized. She asked her brothers to take her sons to the nursery and led her husband back to her rooms. Once in her chambers, Daenys cleaned up her husband's wounds, mainly his knuckles. 

“Was that all necessarily Ben?” asked Daenys as she cleaned him up. 

Benjicot sighed, feeling only slightly ashamed. He had not meant to cause stress to his wife. “Yes, he insulted our sons, and I grew tired of him thinking you are his when you are mine, my princess, my love, my wife,” said Ben as he kissed her neck. 

Daenys sighed, “I know, but you know how much I hate seeing you injured; it kills me every time.” stated Daenys, kissing him softly on his lips. 

Benji apologized again to his wife, holding her close to him, kissing her crown as he gently rocked them. Daenys sighed in contentment before a mischievous look crossed her face. 

“Although I grew very excited once I saw you winning the fight. You look radiant, my love,” whispered Daenys, her grin growing as she heard her husband growled. 

Daenys squealed as Benjicot flipped her, him in between her legs. 

“One day, your pretty words will not have such an effect on me, my princess,” growled playful Benji as he nibbled on Daenys lips. 

Daenys giggled, “One day, but that day is not today,” grabbing her husband's shoulders as they continued to kiss.

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 9)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated Explicit.

Warning: Character Death, and minor details of childbirth.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“You’re glowing!”

You’d scoffed while watching as your body literally began to illuminate from the inside out.

“Well of course.” You’d snickered, looking from your hands to Lucifer. “Every mother does.” 

Your hand came up to clasp your mouth shut, but the Freudian slip was already out there. Lucifer stared at you and you stared back. 

Your lips wobbled and torso trembled until you could no longer hold it in and burst into laughter. Elation ran its course, and Lucifer joined you — laughing so hard that he slapped his knee. 

When you fell into his arms and let yourself be held, you imagined it would only be for a little while. This bizarro pregnancy had you on some kind of high, and all the worries and doubts that had been building up disappeared. 

—

You can’t remember for how long you’ve been walking but there’s discomfort in the soles of your feet. The landscape changes as soon as you truly behold it. 

The endless field of tall grass and the trees so tall they could touch the sky had been replaced by golden sand. You could feel its gentle heat on the ends of your toes. Beyond the sand is a gently rolling ocean, lilac beneath a honey gold sky as the sun has only just set. The sound of rhythmic, rushing water is so real and so close that you’re immediately calm. 

Memories flood your mind like a sneaker wave. You’re a child again, running away from the water as it laps at you. The shock of the cold water goes away quickly and you want to follow the pebbles and seashells that drift back out with the retreating tide. 

You look back, away from the sea, and see the blonde woman behind you. You grin. 

She’s wistful. 

It stamps down on your joy. The air is salty and wet blowing through your hair and inhaled through your nostrils. You want to speak, but you can’t think of a thing to say. 

“I wish this was goodbye.” Her voice carries above the waves, muffling them until they’re nothing but a dull roar. 

—

You awoke to the sensation of falling and seized in your bed. Lucifer startled beside you. He’d been sleeping wrapped around your belly; a compromise to laying perpendicular to you so that he could continue talking to the soccer-player in your stomach. 

He or she had not stopped moving since they decided to make it known that they were, in fact, not dead.

(You’d chided the baby for that, and for doubling in size in less than two week’s time, much to Lou’s amazement:

“Hell isn’t ready to be ruled by two speed demons.” You’d deadpanned.)

“Huh?” He grabbed you without thought. “What—”

Movement erupted from deep down in your core, muscles clenching and unclenching quickly, forcing you to seize again. 

“I think I’m — ugh!” You gritted your teeth. “—I’m going into labor.” 

Lucifer doesn’t do anything for a long moment. 

Then he flew into a panic before you could say ‘Jesus Christ!’. 

—

The hallway outside illuminated with the sheer brilliance of your body, literally glowing. It hadn’t stopped since it started, only a few weeks ago. Fortunately, the glow was tied to an almost paralyzing euphoria. It was the kind of delight that turned your blood into gold while racing through your body. The kind that kept you from complaining that you’d become Tinkerbell.  

“Steady. I’ve got you!” Lucifer assured whilst trudging over the carpet with you in his arms. 

An influx of pain rippled through you for the first time, providing distraction from the mortification you might’ve felt in that position. It hasn’t escaped your notice that the Prince of Darkness was a shortstack. Your brain had a hard time accepting that for as small as he appeared, Lucifer was capable of unimaginable feats of strength and endurance. 

So, you didn’t think about it. Instead you focused on breathing in and out deeply as your partner kicked at the front door of your neighbors’ apartment with the toe of his boot. 

As if waiting at the door, Warren Farrow appeared from behind the polished wood. His expression was of minute surprise, but within seconds he was turning back and calling for his wife.

Lucifer managed to pivot the two of you into the Farrow home. Warren guided you with an unusual vigor in his step, as though he were a man decades younger. 

“We’ve had it set up for weeks now, Sir.” Warren said gravely. 

Through the convulsions, you observed the inlet that Lucifer had taken you into. It was like a roomy closet, covered in tapestries and littered with candles of all shapes and colors. 

Warren’s wife was flitting about, quickly lighting the pitch-black surroundings until you could see the mere outline of things. 

You were drawn to the center of the crowded room, where a humble white cot covered in white towels contrasted everything else.

It occurred to you then that this entire pregnancy had been a shit show, not the least bit because you’d never gone to any OB. You hadn’t checked in with any hospital, or stepped foot in one — how could you? 

Therefore, any  and all “check-ups” you’d had had come from your creepy neighbors with their tea and their scrutinizing questions and their buzzard-like stares.

You’d consoled yourself throughout with the brief, semi-serious talk with Mrs. Farrow three months into gestation.

“What? Were you a midwife or something?” You asked incredulously. 

“Yes, honey.” Cass had patted your hand like you were a simpleton. “I helped deliver babies for over 15 years. I was younger than you were when I first started!” 

You had stared. ‘Oh god, how many crazy cultists are actually nurses in disguise?’

“Here we go, all set. You can lay her down here.” Cassie came over brusquely, smoothing over the wrinkles in the cot before Lucifer put you down. 

He laid you on the sheets, light as a feather, jarring as you felt your belly weigh you down. The King didn’t go far, reluctant to let go of your hand. You held on like a vice as well, gripping and squeezing with each contraction. 

You felt pinches in and around your abdomen, but the pain was… off. It came not from true agony, but the overworking of your internal organs in contrast to the pleasantness that you embodied post-glow stick phase. 

Hearing childbirth horror stories all your life, and just the horrors of raising children in general, you expected to be screaming and thrashing. 

This wasn’t as bad as some of your past periods had been. What’s worse than that, however, is the unnecessary guilt you feel for how troublesome it isn’t. 

—

Lucifer struggled to remain in one spot as the urge to pace up and down the cramped little birthing room ate at him. 

He didn’t want to leave you — not that his two hosts would dare make him, regardless of tradition — but old habits die hard. He was fidgeting, putting all his weight on one foot then the other. 

You were his exact opposite, laying placid and relaxed on the birthing bed, eyeing the little room. Microexpressions flitted across your face, some of confusion and some of hurt, but aside from your firm grasp on his hand, and the occasional grunt, you may as well have been dozing off. 

Eventually you glanced at him. 

“Do you wanna sit down?” You asked calmly. 

Lucifer tried to laugh but it came out like a strangled wheeze. “Nahhh, this is fine. I’m fine. Are you fine? I mean I know you’re not fine, but can I do something? Whatever you need, I can get it for you!” 

His rambling ends with you bopping him between the eyes teasingly. “You’re silly.” 

It’s inexplicable, but Lucifer’s mood lightened at your mellow admonishment. He meets your warm, drowsy expression with an adoring smile of his own. 

“I am.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re an angel to put up with it.” 

A too-loud rasp interrupted the soft moment of nothing but affection and kisses. Cass was standing at the foot of your cot, hands on each of your knees as she kept your legs apart. 

“Get ready, honey. You’re on your way.” She hailed. 

–

A cry split through the air and it went straight to your heart. 

You gulp down air (Lucifer mimicking you without meaning to) with sweat pouring from your hairline. The lack of pain hadn’t meant a lack of effort, and you still felt like you’d run a marathon just to pass the little being currently wailing in Mrs. Farrow’s arms. 

“It’s a girl.” Mrs. Farrow declared.

There was no attempt to hide the sidelong glance she gave Mr. Farrow. The lines and grooves on the elderly man’s face deepened until he resembled a gnarled tree trunk.

“Hmm.” Was his reply, deep baritone rolling like thunder in the tiny room. 

Vehement indignance blazed to life inside your mind when the old man looked at you, critical and disappointed. You felt like tearing him and the rest of this old, tacky room to shreds. Yet, exhaustion had planted its roots deep inside of you, and all you could do was glare at the old couple from your makeshift bed. 

‘Why does it fucking matter?’

“Gimme my kid.” You growled.

As if to piss you off further, Cass ignored you in favor of wiping the baby clean before passing her off to Lucifer. The old bat presented her to the King like she was a fallen bannerman’s sword, even curtsying while doing it. 

It was so weird that it brought you out of your anger for a second. 

Lucifer was clearly apprehensive, and his insecurity made the grand gesture stranger. He swallowed visibly, making eye contact with you when he couldn’t break away from the internal turmoil he was struggling with. 

“Bring her to me.” You demanded. Lucifer nodded vigorously, cocking a head toward you. 

It was fucking nonsensical, but at last Cass obeyed and brought you a bundle wrapped in silky black. 

The baby’s wailing tapered off as soon as she’d made contact with you. And like a child on Christmas morning, you shifted to sit up as much as you could and pry open the swaddling cloth. 

You sniffled. 

All at once, the breath caught in your throat and your eyes welled up with tears.

The newborn was as flagrant as her father in terms of skin tone and hair. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes but already you could see none other than a spitting image of Lucifer himself. Right down to the rosy apple cheeks that made up her pudgy little face. 

You were a little surprised to see that she had a nose. A little black smudge, puppy-like - anomalous like the little growths on her forehead and the itty bitty spade on the tip of her wagging tail. 

She was perfect. 

“I think she’s a Charlotte.” You manage to tear your eyes away from the miraculous hellspawn in your arms just long enough to search Lucifer’s golden gaze. “What do you think?” 

His Majesty is a whimpering mess beside you. “Y-yeah. That’s perfect.” 

Peeling the blanket back just that much more, you lean toward him. It takes a little coaxing, but sure enough Lucifer traces a delicate claw over the child’s tiny brow. 

“Hello Charlotte.” He whispered. “We’re so happy you’re here.” 

Adoration overwhelmed you, nigh on visible like the air was tinged with its color, its scent, its warmth cocooning the three of you. 

Daddy, Mommy and baby. A strange but happy little family. 

Lou embraced the two of you, hiding his face, and subsequent weeping, in the side of your neck while your baby cooed. 

The background chants of ‘Hail Princess Charlotte’ and ‘Hail King Lucifer’ were, thankfully, not enough to ruin the moment. 

Nothing could. Until. 

It doesn’t dawn on you that anything is wrong when the glow has faded. It’s only the incidental look at your fingers, with Charlotte’s tail curled around them, that freezes you. Numbness then began to crawl up your body, as if waiting for the moment that you’re brain would connect the dots. The copper scent of blood made your nostrils flare and heart hammer.

Fear clutched at you in an instant. “Take her. Take the baby.” 

Your desperate hiss and barely-there shuffle to push Charlotte into Lucifer’s arms fully had his face falling. 

“W-wai-wh-What’s happening?” He asked, panic rising. 

Mrs. Farrow is prompt, crone’s face scrunched and nose prominent as if she could sniff out the issue. She’s stood at the end of the bed, already lifting the sheets off your body before you can seek her out. 

A stiff hand appears over the covers, covered in shiny dark claret. “She’s bleedin’ too much.” 

Lucifer’s eyes blazed from where he hovered. “Why?”

The elderly woman was ready to shrug, but she stalled. Perhaps out of fear. “It happens, your Grace. Birthing a baby takes a toll on the mother, sometimes it’s too much.”

“Then why are you just standing there?”Lucifer bared his fangs, ivory in the lowlight. His eyes were a haze of vermillion, so opaque that you couldn’t find his pupils or the soul inside. “Help her!” 

The truly demonic scrape of his vocal chords frightened you, as did the sudden appearance of tusk-like horns protruding from his skull and the fire coming to life between them. His beautiful skin marred and stretched and cracked as if his form were a prison barely containing the true beast within. 

Energy crackled in the air, heat rising to blow back your hair and dry the air from your lungs like a flung-open kiln. The breath was stolen from your lungs as ivory wings shot out and overtook what little space was left in the alcove. 

Reality was literally distorting around Lucifer’s warped rage. 

Mr. Farrow, for all his reticence, reached for his wife’s shoulder from within your line of sight. 

“Lucifer.” You hissed, bearing the brunt of his inhuman stare when he turned to you. It took real energy to speak. “I need you… the baby…”

It didn’t take anymore prodding for the blond to intercept your daughter once your desperation got through to him. The Devil slowly shifted back, revealing the depth of his fear in the cloudless turn of his gaze. He met you halfway - finally - and pulled Charlotte close to his chest.

A pang of thankfulness made laughter bubble up from your diaphragm. It hurt. Everything hurt again.

“Stop. Wait.” Lucifer begged, voice turned to ice. Fragile, cracking. His natural white glow had dimmed significantly like a cooling star. “This isn’t— I promised you this wouldn’t happen! This can’t happen!”

A shudder ran through you. 

“Hey.” You lifted a hand and placed it on his pale cheek, thumb brushing over where white met red. “Nothing… for it now.” 

“No, don’t, that’s… No.” His agony was so palpable, as his fury had been. 

“You’re gonna be a great dad.” You murmured. 

Lucifer bowed over the side of the bed with Charlotte snug against him. You could feel the warmth of his breath, and then the splash of his tears against your cheek as he broke down. You felt it deep in your bones, and the lump in your throat that choked you. 

“Not without you.” He said. “I can’t do this without you.”

A pained smile was your response. Vision a-blur. Cotton tongue.  

“You… will.”

Lucifer shook his head fiercely. “I promised you. I swore I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I can’t… I can’t...” 

“Please. Please don’t — ” Anguish turned Lucifer’s once melodic voice into broken notes. “Don’t leave us. Please, please, please.” 

His sobs intermingled with Charlotte’s whimpering. She fussed as she was woken from her doze by the growing, tangible urgency. You wished you could calm both of them. Take them in your arms and make it all go away, promise that you weren’t going anywhere. 

“Please. Please. Please.” The word fell from the Devil’s mouth like a prayer. 

You wondered if he really was praying. Praying to his Father. 

It broke your heart. 

The candlelight around you was getting brighter as the rest of your surroundings grew dark. Lucifer, as brilliant as he was, lingered somewhere in between. You squinted when his features began to fuse together in your mind. It did little to help, as large, dark shadows blotted out the corners of your sight. 

Charlotte was bawling and you fought to open your eyes again. You hadn’t realized they’d closed. 

You were so tired. The will to rise up and comfort your baby was dwindling. Everything had succumbed to a thin stream of light in a sea of darkness. 

With a breath, and another Herculean effort, you opened your eyes again. 

White blinded you. 

And then you were nothing.

***

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[inkdrinkerworld]

hey! is it possible for you to write a bestfriend! spencer x reader with mutual pining and a little jealously sprinkled in?

only if you want to! :)

based on this pairing of spencer and reader

Spencer is scowling in your direction. His glasses are high up on the bridge of his nose as he frowns at your back. 

You’re all out for drinks after a long couple of days. That’s not what bothers Spencer. The bartender that keeps talking to you and making you smile is. He watches you smile and nod along but he can’t really see your entire face clearly. 

It irks him how easily the man seems to speak to you, no sign of shy admiration at all. None of his insecure stuttering or the timid extension of his hands.

It’s hard not to think that you’d want someone much braver or more open in their affection than he is. You’re open and brave in your own affections to him.

It’s logical to think it too. 

“Reid, you okay?” Morgan asks him over his beer, watching Spencer’s frown worsen as the bartender’s hand drops atop yours. 

“Fine.” Spencer sips his water, turning back to you without a second thought. 

“You know, she wouldn’t be over there if you’d man up and tell her.” Spencer is grateful that Derek is whispering, he doesn’t know how he’d react if the rest of the team saw his obvious distress. 

Derek isn’t above teasing him and he knows that, but Spencer knows the eyes of JJ, Emily, Hotch and Rossi will have his palms a bit sweatier. 

“I just don’t want to rush things. What if she changes her mind?” Derek wants to laugh. For as smart as Spencer is, he’s still self conscious. He doesn’t though and instead he pats Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Pretty Ricky, you’re worried that the girl who brings you the good coffee every morning with homemade honey almond cake is going to change her mind?” Derek needs him to see just how infatuated you both are with each other. “We taking about the same girl who recorded bedtime stories for you to listen to when you couldn’t sleep for months?” 

Spencer blushes, deep crimson as he remembers falling asleep to the recordings on the plane when you were ill that one week. The team hadn’t known about it till Derek came to wake him up and heard your voice reciting, ‘The Little Prince’ in Spencer’s headset. 

“C’mon man, you’re a good profiler, you both are and you know she’s not going to change her mind,” Derek drains his beer. “Plus, she’s been scratching her thigh for the last five minutes, she’s ready to get out of that conversation.”

Spencer stands suddenly, the table turns to him and Emily smiles. “Finally going to save our girl?” 

He doesn’t say anything, preparing what he’s going to say in his head as he approaches you. 

His hand falls between your shoulder blades, “You doing okay?” he whispers, eyes on the bartender who frowns at his presence. 

“Spence,” your voice is a whisper. Your body turns to face him completely, the bartender a long gone thought. “I thought I would’ve had to call you to get you over here.” Spencer frowns now. 

“You what?” he pays your tab and starts leading you over to the table when you stop. 

“I was scratching my thigh for like twenty minutes,” you’re exaggerating, “Thought you knew I only had eyes for you? You left me to the wolves on purpose?” you ask with a pout, red lips still glossy in a way that confuses Spencer, especially since you’ve had four drinks already. 

Spencer stutters to answer, “No! You were smiling and you were… I thought-” Spencer stops speaking when you grin at him. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” he shakes his head when you giggle. 

“I was smiling because I was being polite, but I was really trying to get an out of the conversation.” Your hands link with Spencer’s. 

“I really wanted you to come get me, Spence. He was boring, hardly knew any obscure facts like you do.” You kiss his cheek, stamping your lipstick to his porcelain skin with a smug smile. 

Spencer feels the room heat a couple degrees as you pull away and your smile is even brighter. “You know what?” you ask him and he shakes his head- the words are currently hard to form. 

“I think next time we go out, I’m gonna wear a shirt with a picture of your face on it with a bunch of heart eyes all over it. Maybe then people will get the message.” 

Emily smiles when she notices Spencer shaking his head with a smile on his face. They’re all waiting for you to ask him out. 

“You don’t have any pictures of me.” Spencer reminds you and you pout sadly. 

“Can I take one of you right now? I like this cute little nerd-next-door thing you have going on. The lipstick kiss really completes the look.” 

Spencer grumbles, but agrees to you taking the picture. It yields amazing results because it ends with him getting a couple more kisses to his cheek- red lipstick all over his face. 

Emily’s sure by next week Spencer will finally get that first date.

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ (pt 2) (JWW)

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 8.2 k (consistency is key??) warnings: none for now?? hot wonwoo, lowkey obsessed wonwoo, theres like a part where he's like "oh i couldn't control myself" but it's not like a sexual predator sorta way i promise, joshua featuring!! ᴀ/ɴ: i told myself i would post this before the la concert BUT i got too distracted buying a clear fucking bag from target bc i didnt know you had to bring a clear bag to us concerts??? bc ive only gone to korea concerts??? anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏ��� ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3 OH also if you're confused by the (y/n) (wonwoo) parts it's like the perspective thing (the perspectives switch bc i got boredd writing only y/n pov sorry!!)

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

y/n

“Your grace.” 

A silver fine-toothed comb gently brushed through your morning hair, untangling your curled knots. The winter air chilled the room and the hazy morning sunlight shined through the sheer curtains. 

You hummed in acknowledgement. 

Nai continued with her rhythmic brushing, slowly adding oils and perfumes to the ends of your hair. “I do not understand these rumors as of late, your grace,” Nai huffed, setting the comb down on the vanity desk with a little more force than necessary. 

You let out a breathy laugh, slowly running your fingers through your silken hair. “I do not think rumors exist to be understood, Nai.” 

Nai crosses her arms, the space between her eyebrows creasing. “But your grace! These rumors are absolutely outlandish! You! Infertile! I just cannot even begin to wrap my head-”

At her words, you notice a new cream-colored envelope sitting on the edge of the vanity. “-then don’t, Nai.” You look up at her. Her brown ringlets sit neatly against her shoulders and her wide hazel eyes are full of pure exasperation. It feels good, you think, to have someone care this much. It’s been a while. 

“You don’t have to understand anything for me. Rumors will remain rumors,” you hum, reaching for the envelope. 

Nai huffs in annoyance. You know it isn’t directed at you, but it still makes you smile nonetheless. Seungcheol might have been ruining your Society life, but at least he hired a maid right. Speaking of which, as your eyes glided through the contents of the palace-stamped envelope, it focused on the beginning: 

My darling archduchess y/n, 

I hope the duchy is prospering after my small present for your twenty third birthday. Speaking of, I have scheduled a tea for you in two days with Baron-

Again. Fucking again with the stupid engagement offers. If Seungcheol wasn’t the king, you would have already slapped him twice. He had always been somewhat of a parent figure in your life, especially after your grandmother’s death. But this? This was dangerously toeing the line of overstepping your boundaries. Actually, maybe the boundaries had been overstepped at your fifth engagement that ended with yet another cheating scandal. At this point, Prince Mingyu was right – how did Seungcheol even manage to conjure only cheating scandals for your shame to marinate in? 

“Whose ball are we attending tonight, Nai?” 

Nai tries to speak around the pearl bobby pin in her mouth. “Uck gong, er ace,” she starts, before she shakes her head. The bobby pin slides into your hair. “My apologies, your grace. Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball.” 

You hum, toying with the edges of the envelope. If it wasn’t considered palace property, you would have burned it. God. Seungcheol was really teething at your fraying nerves. There’s only a certain number of engagements a Society woman can go through before she is considered unmarriable. You were way past that point. 

If the king himself was not backing you, you would have already been the Society’s laughing stock. Because what failure of a woman cannot keep a man to herself for more than a couple of measly weeks?

At this point, you might as well just live and die alone. 

Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball. You wouldn’t have agreed to attend if it was hosted by anyone else. Duke Hong happened to be your fellow library attendant during your formative years at the National Academy. Really, it was a pity you could not just conjure up a lie and stay back in the safety of your room. You would, except you had a sinking feeling Joshua would send you letter after annoying letter until you finally decided to let up and attend. 

You don’t think you are fully ready for the full impact of the Society nobles just yet. To make matters worse, Nai had told you that she heard the people were giddy about the return of the Jeon Duchy to the capitol after the death of the previous heads of the house, and the return of the direct line, now the archduke, after his series of triumphant wins on the frontiers of the warring enemy country. The Society, you told yourself, was what you were afraid of. But a tiny (not so secret) part of you was not fully ready to see him again just yet.

The stuffy crowded ballroom seemed even more overpopulated under the yellow chandelier lights and the exponentially building pressure inside your chest. And Joshua’s estate’s not-so-hidden balcony did not give you enough coverage in the darkening night. If Joshua had not proposed for you to stay the night (“You should not be out after dark, y/n. Even if you have the best footmen in the world,” were his words), you would have retired to your own estate an hour ago. Actually, if Joshua had not been so adamant about your attending, you would have never left your estate in the first place.

But you could never say no to his face, especially when he pulled his little pout and sigh of faux disappointment that had followed him even out of the Academy.

There was a not-so-secret side of you that wanted to pull your hair out by the roots. The whispers, the gossips, the mumblings, the laughter that follows you wherever you go, you could do. You could live with it. You could do with it because that was what you had lived with for three years. Three miserable years of back-to-back engagements with all of High Society’s eligible men, hand-picked by the dear, beloved king. And no, of course, Seungcheol was not to carry the entire burden of blame. You blamed every single elder in your family and the royal courts. Every male figure in your life expects you to marry some rich, handsome man. If he knew how to dance, drink, breathe, and hold some semblance of self respect, he was eligible in their eyes. Even if, in the dark cover of night, they leave their homes and sneak onto the back alleyways of carnal desire. 

Each season of Society that passes by you is another couple of months in which your vain, naive, wishful childhood dream of wanting to marry for love!! could not come true. In some ways, it was because you fully believe that love has its time (and your time had passed away three years ago), but also because sometimes, you had learned to give up things you innately wanted for something that would benefit you a little more in the future. Something that would cause you less pain. Something that could slowly become something you love.

You feel the built-up tears fill your eyes, champagne flute resting loosely between your gloved fingers. For a moment, you wish your grandmother was back with you. She would know what to do, what to say, what to choose. You wish she could have been there, three years ago, when you tried desperately to balance the exhausting, choking, mountains of pressure of an archduchess and a fragmented heart, which slowly shattered into unmendable glass pieces. You wish she could have pulled Wonwoo aside then and told him how you had suffered, maybe bring up even a smidge of guilt, worry, regret, something. 

But that’s all wishful thinking, y/n, you chide yourself. Let it go, like you have done for the past three years. 

But he wasn’t here during the three years, you wish you could argue. You wish you could hope for something and follow the tugs of your heart, but there is a shallow part of your mind that tells you no. Because the first time ended in shambles. Made you the laughing stock for two whole seasons. Kick-started your rather permanent fixture in the Society’s rumor mills. And just as you thought you had figured everything out, he comes waltzing back into your life – as part of the same royal council – like he had never left. And that in itself left a gaping, bubbling hole of rage in your heart. 

The thin wooden door and curtain that separates you from the rest of the dancing ballroom flutters with the breeze. Your head pounds along with the bass of the cello inside – not too sure if it was caused by the champagne flute in your gloved hand or the incessant whispers that had followed your footsteps inside. 

“Why did you have to come back,” you mutter bitterly, gazing up at the darkened night sky. A disbelieving laugh and a shake of your head. “Stop thinking about-”

 You cut yourself off when the balcony door suddenly creaks open. You turn with half a mind to tell off whoever was bold enough to interrupt your obvious solitude. However, that train of thought very quickly comes to an end when you look back over your shoulder. The face you see almost makes you want to let out a laugh. 

The very man you were ranting to yourself about stands in the curtained doorway. You hate that you can’t see his eyes behind his glasses in this light. 

You open your mouth, nose scrunching in annoyance, about to say something along the lines of why the fuck are you here or do you find pleasure in giving me pain or can you leave, before the clouds move from the moon and you actually take him in. And not just take him in but take him in. 

Wonwoo is standing there, chest rising and falling like he had just raced to the ball on his horse or had run around the entire Hong Estate trying to find something. Now, in the soft rays of the moonlight and the biting early-winter breeze, you can see his dark eyes behind his glasses – guarded. But as you study his (rather chiseled) face, he’s changed somehow. Your last memories of a twenty-one-year-old Wonwoo do not show the sharp intense prick of his gaze as it holds your own. You don’t remember it holding the same sort of pain and weight – like he was Atlas, holding the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. 

Handsome, you think. But it’s gone before you can put a finger on it to hold it down long enough to fully think about it. You can’t really describe Wonwoo in words. That was something you had decided a long time ago. 

He was handsome in the old-fashioned sense. A straight nose, dark almond eyes, the slightest permanent downturn of his lips. His defined jawline and his glasses that he had grown into. He was handsome in the most eligible bachelor sense. If your mother was still alive, she would have wanted you to be courted by him – no one less and no one more because there was no one more. And perhaps that was why you had been so over-the-top with him before: he was everything your mom would have adored – tall, pale, smart, handsome, built. 

You steel yourself, letting a soft breath escape you before you say, “Your grace,” the title sounds oddly cold now coming from your parted lips, “this is hardly the place for a welcomed noble.” You hate how your voice trembles ever so slightly at the end. Perhaps you had not been as ready for this as you thought you were.  

Your voice seems to snap Wonwoo back to life. His lips twitch slightly but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable. “Just,” he starts, before his eyes glance at the floor, “I needed a moment,” he finally replies. And this time, his gaze is locked on yours. 

Your throat tightens at his reply. 

If you were nineteen-

No. You were not nineteen or twenty anymore. He had left. 

Like everyone else did.

“So did I.” You take a small step backwards before whispering, “I always do.” 

You think Wonwoo is going to continue the conversation, however strained, but he lets a silence hang in the air. It grows so thick you feel like it steals some of your oxygen away. You wonder if Wonwoo is also thinking about the past – about three years ago, about when you had nothing to worry about but being yourselves and completing school, when you had thought you would not inherit such a pressuring role until you were happily married for love. Like idiots. But even if he isn’t thinking the same thing as you, the silence is almost palpable in the air. Like it is giving room, a lost opportunity back. 

Wonwoo’s eyes linger on you – not just your face but you – like he’s trying to make sense of the very thing you had tried your best to bury deep inside of you. Like he wanted you to either throw it all back up or he wanted to personally haul it to the surface. And you hated how he could make you feel naked, vulnerable, weak and like a naive, stupid child with just one look. 

Finally, he whispers softly, “It’s been a long time, y/n.” 

His voice is deep and not at all how you remembered it from three years ago. It seems different from his soft murmurs you had barely heard during his royal reentry ball. Your pulse jumps traitorously. 

“Not long enough, it seems.” The words are supposed to come out icy, but it doesn’t come out as hard as you had hoped. Instead, your voice has a rather meek tone to it, as if even your vocal chords knew something you refused to admit. 

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. The only indicator that he heard you at all is the brief upward twitch of his eyebrows. 

You’re too proud, you know, to look away first. And you know what that will do. You can already feel the old memories – the ones you had (wished) long buried in the deepest parts of your fragmented heart – creep up: the warmth of the sun on your skin exposed on your sundress as you walked the grassy walkways of the park; the quiet laughs during an royal-sponsored opera; the knowing glances exchanged during another one of Mingyu’s complaints about a possible partner. 

A burst of sudden loud laughter and chatter from below the balcony makes you whip around in a speed your grandmother would have called “excruciatingly unladylike,” and catch the tip of your heel in the grooves of the marble flooring. You have one second to register Wonwoo’s eyes widening and another second that is wasted on trying to save your champagne flute, before your palms are flat against Wonwoo’s defined chest. Your shattered champagne flute glints against the thin moonlight, forgotten at the sudden intrusion of your privacy – a sudden casualty of his presence. 

His hands are barely there on your waist – the only things that are preventing you from falling off the rather low balcony railing are his arms, wrapped around your frame. His face is taut, as if he was actually worried about you falling off, and your corset feels excruciatingly tight around your straining ribs. 

His stare is heavy and it feels like that one time again. Like when he whisked you away for your first dance as a debutante and accidentally dipped you in the middle of your opening waltz and you stayed there until the eye contact became unbearably awkward. He is doing the same thing – mouth just barely open, eyes unblinking and hands fleeting on your waist. 

You can feel his entire chest under the thin fabric of his white button down. You go to push him away but something makes you hesitate. 

You look up at him, breath hitching automatically at the closeness between you two. 

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, fingers digging in just a little bit, “this is…” you trail off, too breathless and gobsmacked at this entire situation to continue. You just hope he is smart enough to fill in the rather obvious blanks. 

You try to shake off the small detail that your eyes keep wandering back to Wonwoo’s arms, straining against his tailored suit. Small military stars adorn his collar, and you briefly wonder if you can blame his new aura of attractive ruggedness on the war and not your own deprived state of imagination. 

You can feel Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tighten, a small crease appearing between his brow. His voice is a low murmur amongst the laughing crowd behind the curtain. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. His breath fans over your lips. His voice is quiet and gentle – too gentle, too familiar. 

You nod. You physically can’t bring yourself to pull away. You know, you know, what this would look like if someone just simply opens the balcony door. But in your proximity, Wonwoo’s cologne of some sort of earthy, gilded scent fills your senses and overwhelms your thoughts.

“Yes,” you manage, although it’s barely audible. “Your grace,” you add, hoping it would force distance, force out proximity. You swallow down the lump in your throat. Your lace-covered fingers pull at your gloves. 

The title stings the tip of your tongue as it leaves. 

The corners of his lips pull down at the utterance of the formal title leaving your lips. His forehead creases as if the formality of your words had disrupted some sort of intercontinental balance in him. “I apologize if I intruded and startled you,” he breathes, almost too quietly. Then, softer, as if he could not help himself, “y/n.” 

Your name flows off of his tongue like a familiar melody – as if he had never gone away. You want to argue that he had no right to say your name – let it roll off his tongue so gently, as if he had caressed every syllable of your name. You want to yell at him to use your title. But you don’t.

Your fingers tighten on the lapels of his coat.

Under his heavy stare, you can’t help but feel seventeen again: waltzing gracefully up and down the gilded ballroom floors of every season’s opening ball; laughing under the Jeon Duchy’s library’s dim chandelier candle-light; walking down the Capitol’s Main Road, disguised as the common people, during the Mid Autumn Festivals. It’s like everything you had ever experienced with the man standing in front of you crashes into your pressured body like a tidal tsunami wave. And it just keeps on coming. Wave after wave of endless memories that you thought you had wrapped and hidden in the deepest parts of your brain, being uprooted from their perfectly comfortable spot and forced back into the main chamber of your heart. 

To make matters worse, Wonwoo just stares. His expression is silent, unreadable. Not a single word leaves his mouth. Nor a noise. He just stares, like he knows what he’s doing. Like he knows exactly what’s going on inside your head. 

It’s as if the entire room – the whole world – comes to a timeless standstill. You can faintly hear the orchestra playing a classical waltz – your favorite – in the ballroom and the taps of heels as the ladies dance the night away. 

It’s as if Wonwoo’s gaze pierces you to your soul. As if he knew exactly how hard your heart was pounding against your rib cage. As if he could hear the stifled pants and gasps of breath you were trying to hide. His face moves ever so slightly closer to yours. Strands of black hair tickle your forehead. 

His glasses slide down slowly from the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. Grief? Regret? 

You look up at him at his sudden apology. “For what, your grace?” You stubbornly keep the title. As if it could push you two apart. As if it could mask the thundering pounding of your poor heart. 

For a second, Wonwoo looks almost pained. But it washes over back to his vague expressionless face again. You briefly wonder when his youthful tugs of emotion had disappeared. 

“Everything,” he murmurs, and you feel his hand slowly make its way up – first your waist, shoulders, fingertips brushing against your neck – until his gloved hand cups your jaw, thumb resting lightly against your cheekbone. 

Your eyes widen at his touches. “Won-”

“-y/n.” Wonwoo holds you like you are the only thing keeping him grounded – keeping him from flying away into the dark night sky. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, opening his mouth again, and this time, his eyes seem much deeper. A smile – a genuine one, unlike the one from his reentry ball – curves along his lips, dimples forming at the tips. “I missed you.” 

Your entire body stiffens at his three words, and you can feel tears against your waterline. Your mouth falls open in a small ‘o’ and your hands clench tighter against his coat lapel. Your nails dig into the thick fabric. 

Not fair.

Wonwoo looks at you like you just hung up the stars and moon in the twilight expanse. 

“Wonwoo,” you mutter, looking away from his eyes. You’re afraid that if you keep eye contact, he’ll find out what you truly feel – what your walls are hiding. 

“Y/n,” he replies, before his hand gently turns your head. He sounds so confident – as if he could protect you from everything – Society, marriage, whispers, gossip. His touch is so soft, so warm, so familiar that you let yourself be turned. You let his fingertips linger on your jaw, your cheek, thumbing your lips. You let his hair droop down to your forehead. You let his eyes trail down to the necklace that rests on the space between your collarbones and trail lower and lower. You let him do everything for a second. 

And your heart stops. 

Because in the next second, his head dips. His hand on your waist tightens its grip. His thumb caresses your cheek. And his lips are on yours. 

His lips are on yours. 

Eyes closed, Wonwoo presses his lips against yours like they never left. Like his lips alone could mend the gaping hole in your heart. 

And it’s almost as if you have no control of your body because you find yourself melting into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut and hands pulling him a little closer than necessary. 

Soft, is your first thought. 

Wonwoo’s hand suddenly wraps around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a deeper embrace. He breaks away for the briefest of moments, eyes dark and breath coming out in small pants like yours. You feel like your lungs are on fire. You find your hands buried in his messy black locks. 

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathes, and you swear he looks a little crazed. Like he had been starved off of something he desperately needed for the longest time. “I missed you so much,” he confesses. 

His words trickle down your throat like agave honey – like sweet distilled liquor. It’s everything you had asked for. 

Except he’s late. Maybe too late? 

But you don’t really have the time to delve into that train of thought before Wonwoo’s lips are on yours again, stealing your words and breath from the confines of your mouth. His tongue swipes testingly against your lips and out of habit, they open the slightest bit. 

Wonwoo’s grip against your neck, your waist, is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll fall out of his arms. Like he’s so afraid of you sinking into the dark. 

And then it’s as if your entire being is suddenly wide awake – out of this weird, hazy, wrong drunken stupor. 

Because at that moment, the balcony door that had once shielded you is thrown open and loud, half-drunken conversations flood both your ears. 

You don’t even have the time to step away from Wonwoo before a scandalized gasp allows itself to pierce and fill the silenced air. 

Lady Lim stands in the doorway, her fan dangling from her hand and another holding a champagne flute. 

Your eyes snap open first. 

Out of pure fight-or-flight, you shove Wonwoo off of you, breaking the kiss immediately. Wonwoo’s eyes are wide in shock, like he did not even expect himself to kiss you. Both of your chests heave (more yours than his), and you can feel your body tremble as adrenaline runs through you. 

“Oh my!” Lady Lim’s shocked voice pierces through the night. “Oh dear, please forgive me,” she stumbles through her words, fan snapping open. You hear the quick snap of another fan unfurling and the hurried click-clack of heeled shoes running the other way. She fans herself with a dramatic flare, though her eyes never leave the scandalous little tableau that she had walked herself into. 

It’s like all blood circulation is cut off from your limbs and any blood circulating in your head rushes to your thudding heart when you finally realize just how close, how unfitting, you and Wonwoo seem. Literally, you can already hear whispers form. And you can already picture it. It’s clear as a spring morning in your head. This scandal will ripple through every single fucking household by tomorrow morning. And if not tomorrow morning, then by afternoon tea. 

“Oh I am terribly sorry,” she starts, and without even a single glance towards her, you know she knows it is you. “So very sorry,” she repeats, though it is obvious her apology is directed more towards the laughable sight of you than the indecent situation itself and the mischievous glint in her eyes tell another story. 

You can physically feel your reputation, your dignity, your name that you had worked up from absolutely nothing shatter on the floor. You can feel your stomach twisting in on itself and every little thing you ate tonight makes its slow way back up your esophagus. Your honor is at stake. And although you had said something about not marrying (ever) and just living your life in your countryside ducal house, at the end of the day, you were nothing without Society. As a woman you were absolutely nothing without Society. But Wonwoo’s grasp of you doesn't seem to falter and your inhales quicken into an almost-desperate gasp of breaths when you start to see a crowd form and whisper.

You blame it on your imagination when you think you feel Wonwoo shift slightly to completely shield you from view. His body is still too close. It’s not what you think it is, you want to scream, but you know that will only worsen the situation. Your brain feels like a ticking bomb and you briefly wonder if Joshua will save you from this situation or if you will need to figure it out yourself. Now, your breaths are clearly audible – almost gasps of oxygen as you try desperately to not cry, scream, and throw up. 

Suddenly, you feel Wonwoo slowly move his hands up towards your shoulder, gently patting it, as if to calm you. It does absolutely jack shit to calm you. You shove his hand off of your skin.

His calm voice cuts through the chatter: “This is not what it appears to be.” 

But those words and his hands only serve to quicken your anxiety-induced breath.

Wonwoo’s been out of Society, not you. You don’t even have the time to think about your shit-show of a reputation, especially now that the entire three quarters of High Society has caught you so precariously positioned. So, you shove Wonwoo off of you with all your strength. It’s not much, but he stumbles backwards, leaving you almost shaking on the small balcony, under the wide-eyed stares and the gossiping lips beneath the fans of the ballroom. If anyone was drunk, they weren’t now. How could they ever miss another one of Duchess Y/n Park’s scandals?

Your mouth went dry. If this was anywhere but your current place, you could have scoffed and then broken down into tears. At least the high heavens are serious about not letting you find a workable marriage. 

Lady Lim slowly disperses back into the crowd, only the curtain closing behind her giddy form, no doubt to tell anyone who did not know the entire story. 

The moment the curtain closes, it’s like your soul returns to your body. You collapse into your skirts, back against the iron railing. Your hands tremble until you dig your nails into your palms. 

“This is the worst fucking thing that could have happen,” you whisper, a horrified look evident in your eyes. You dare to look up at Wonwoo and you feel a tear slip out. “Why would you do that?” Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. The only thing that circles your mind is reputation, reputation, reputation, on and on and on. You try to ignore the way you pulled him close just mere seconds ago. The way you breathily moaned into his lips as well. 

That seems to work on Wonwoo because his expression immediately softens and his eyes fill with what you haphazardly tack as genuine remorse. He reaches out to you, but then hesitates when you flinch ever so slightly. His hands fall to his sides. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his fingers gently touch his lips like he can’t believe they were just on yours. “I’ll set it right,” he promises. And maybe it's the steadiness in his voice, but for some reason, a small, naive part believes him for a fleeting moment. 

Until the curtain was strewn open again. 

This time, Duke Hong filled the doorway. 

And it isn’t even a question to anyone who he cares for more because without even a second look at Wonwoo, he runs to your side. 

“y/n.” You allow his warm touch around your shoulders as he hauls you up. He gives you one quick look over and it’s like he knows how the entire situation ran down.

At least, you think bitterly, if I finally get ousted from Society, Joshua will still entertain me. 

“Wait-” Wonwoo starts, his hand going out again, only to be stopped by a withering glare on Joshua’s part. 

His usually warm doe eyes are dreadfully, terrifyingly sharp as they drill into Wonwoo’s. “I think you have done quite enough, your grace,” he forces through clenched teeth. 

Then:

“You’re okay,” he whispers, leading you through the parting of people. A thick fabric is tossed over your shoulders, the hood coming up over your face. It was as if stepping a foot into your space could contaminate them with the Disease of the Scandals. You barely register him gesturing off to the side and saying something before he guides you again, a gentle pat here-and-there on your bare shoulder.

“You’re such a liar,” you mumble, lace gloves going up to dab at your watery eyes.

When did I even start crying?

It does nothing to quell your situation. Instead, your tears run down your cheeks. “Don’t lie to me, Shua.” 

Joshua is quiet as he leads you down a hall and into his personal parlor. When you step into the room, the door shuts. He says nothing as he sits you down on a stuffed recliner and hands you a glass of tea. 

He is quiet until you swallow down your first sip and your tears have mostly stopped. 

He clears his throat as he stands above you, thick arms crossed and his hair falling into his eyes. “What the fuck was that?” His hand rakes through his hair and his sudden emphasis on the curse word makes you jump in your seat. His concerned doe eyes turn to you and he marches over, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Did he touch you?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing together worryingly. “Did he – God forbid – force you into that situation?” His grip on your shoulder tightens as you don’t answer. 

Your cheeks heat up. “No!” you splutter, setting the teacup down. “Oh my god, no! No, no, no, no!” You chant, slapping Joshua’s arm in retaliation. “Why would you– No!” Your fingers went to your temples and your eyes closed. 

“Then what? Did he pull you in and kiss you?” Joshua demands.

You hesitate. “Well…” you trail off, looking down at your skirts. It gives Joshua all the confirmation he needs.

His eyes bug out of their sockets. “He kissed you? Out of absolutely fucking nowhere?” Joshua’s voice raises an entire pitch, ringing through the foyer. 

You wince. “God, can we not talk about what just happened?” You beg, desperation seeping into your voice. “Actually,” you state, pushing Joshua’s hand off your shoulder and standing up, “I’m leaving. No way,” a laugh of pure disbelief escapes you, “absolutely no way I’m staying here.” You turn when Joshua’s voice rings out. 

“Y/n, wait. Are you okay, though?” 

“What?”

Joshua closes the distance between you two, bringing you into a hug. It is so sudden it takes you off guard and your first reaction is to pull away – leave the situation. Like you try to do every time. But Joshua keeps you there, stroking your hair. And it’s like the entire situation feels so much more real. You feel yourself shaking and it doesn’t register to you that you are crying again until Joshua’s murmurs fill your ears. 

“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” Joshua’s whispers, however fake they will be, offer a slant of confidence in your ruined Society life at least for one season. But even his words tremble at the end and you know he’s lying to calm your soul for this fleeting moment. 

“I’m ruined, Shua,” you sob, and your hands grab his coat, tears staining his beige silk shirt. You can’t even begin to think of what would happen tomorrow, the day after, a week after, at the next ball, even. You refuse to admit how much the consequences of tonight scare you. 

Joshua hums into your hair, swaying the two of you slowly. His pats encourage more caged words to tumble out of your mouth as your sobs die down.

A stuttered breath. “I don’t know why this keeps happening to me,” you murmur, your throat hurts from your gasps of breath as you try to maintain some sort of dignity in front of the older man. “I don’t know why- I just keep becoming the, the, the rumor mill of High Society. I don’t know why- – why can’t I just keep to myself?” Your voice cracks at the end as tears fall down your cheeks again, hot and wet against your porcelain blushed cheeks. 

Joshua’s hold tightens at your ending words and he mumbles, “y/n, y/n, this – any of this – was never your fault. Wonwoo should have been more careful. He of all people knows how Society works,” he comforts, pulling away slightly. A sad smile is on his lips when he sees your tear-stricken face, black smudging your waterline. He takes a handkerchief out and dabs at your undereyes gently, wiping the running makeup. 

You sniff, looking down at your feet. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper. When you look back up, Joshua’s eyes are wide as they take in your watery eyes again. “Don’t look at me with pity. I don’t deserve it.” Without wanting to, your lips stretch into a bitter smile. It’s always been like this. Ever since he left, people had always looked at you with a fleeting sense of pity. A sense of patronizing pity – oh, you poor, poor, naive little girl, it seemed to whisper. You should’ve known better. 

Joshua shook his head. “You know I don’t pity you, y/n.” His words are firm, like he has always been. You lean back into his comforting embrace, arms pulled close to your chest, letting his familiar warmth encase you for a moment. Briefly, you wonder if this was what it would have felt like growing up with an older brother. 

“y/n, if you don’t mind me asking,” Joshua trails off, swaying gently. His fingers comb through your hair. 

You hum, body-wracking tears dying down. 

He clears his throat and you know what he is about to ask before he even opens his mouth. “Are you truly over him?” a pause. Joshua continues, “Of course, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Or that it’s wrong in any sense. Actually, I think Seungcheol would much rather you-” he cuts himself off like he just said something he wasn’t supposed to say. He coughs to fill the silence. “It’s just, maybe it’s not so simple, you know? Of course, I was never very close to the Archduke, even during our shared Academy time, but I’ve seen him more than you have, definitely, over his absence in Society. I don’t know, of course, fully, his true feelings, but I feel as though he’s always held a conflicted heart towards you.” 

You almost scoff at his words. “Conflicted?” You repeat. If anything, you were the one who was conflicted, not him. 

Joshua hesitates, as if he’s choosing the right word to continue his explanation. As if he knows with just one word, all the walls you have built over Wonwoo’s absence will come tumbling down, brick by brick. 

“Perhaps not conflicted, per se,” he hums, pulling away so he can look you in the eyes. “But maybe more so regretful? Sorrowful, I think, may be the right word to describe it.” He lets his words hang in the foyer air. 

Sorrowful, you think. It’s almost laughable how comparable that word is to how you felt – wrathful, destitute, longing for something you knew was never going to come true. 

You catch yourself before your thoughts go further down, shaking your head as if it would get rid of everything. “Whatever he feels, we are over. We are a scandal waiting to happen – even tonight! Look at us! Look at me! Whenever I’m around him, Shua, I just completely lose it! Fuck,” you sigh, and you sink down into your skirts. Your brain hurts from how much your two sides are arguing. One part of you wants desperately to tell Joshua how you feel. How, since Wonwoo’s return, every night as you laid in bed, you could only replay the image of him kissing your knuckles. How, since his greeting words, your fluttering heart started to stutter when the morning mail came in, as if waiting for a letter. Another part of you want to keep it all a secret – pretend it never existed. If you pretend hard enough, maybe it will slowly become the truth. That part wants you to stay in this cycle, and maybe one day, Seungcheol would finally find someone good enough that you could ignore all of their nightly walks for. 

Joshua looks at you. And this time, both of you know it’s with pity – not for you but for your conflicted state. “Be honest with yourself, y/n. At least for matters concerning love,” he advises, bringing your hands up to his lips. A quick kiss is placed onto your knuckles before he steps away, towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” you ask. 

Joshua gives you a tired smile and a knowing look. Then you register the faint hums of the orchestra from outside. “Ducal duties, I guess. I have a ball to run,” he laughs, before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Stay here for however long you need to. I’ll have the kitchen staff send something up for you.” He hesitates before adding, “I’ll try to clean up this situation the best I can.” 

You must be getting closer to your period because those simple words almost have you close to tears again. You give him a watery smile. “Thank you, Joshua.” 

Joshua just grins, stepping out. “Anything for my junior.” And the door clicks shut behind him. 

As soon as the door closes, you collapse onto the nearest couch. You swallow, head slamming into the nearest cushion. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it and maybe it’ll just die over. 

You laugh to yourself. 

When has it ever “just” died over. 

Wonwoo 

Wonwoo swears he didn’t even know y/n was on the balcony. He was just overwhelmed – overwhelmed by the sudden mass of people crowding him when he didn’t expect it. It made his heart thud in his chest and made him forget every noble etiquette he learned in his formative years. 

Wonwoo swears his first intention was to kiss you. But when he had you so close and you looked up at him with such honeyed eyes, everything he learned, he forgot. It was as if his years on the battlefield rid him of his confidence with you. It was as if he was back when he was twenty one, stealing a first (and last) hesitant kiss from you in the royal orchards. 

Wonwoo swears he didn’t mean for this entire thing to happen. He’s not praying for your societal downfall, of course not! He didn’t waltz himself into the stupid winter season opening ball just to kiss you and then have one of the biggest blabbermouths of Society walk in on you two. Hell, he didn’t even want to be at the stupid fucking ball to begin with. But Seungcheol said something about his duty as an archduke to show up to opening season balls or something and he found himself in a carriage, being dropped off in front of the Hong Estate. 

After Joshua had taken you away, it was like the world started spinning again. And he found himself trying to escape a crowd of people until Joshua had returned and concluded the ball. 

Which is how he finds himself in Joshua’s study, staring at Joshua’s back as he watches the last of his guests leave through the large study windows. 

The room is hushed, and a thick tension overlays the entire atmosphere of the room. It’s dimly lit and Wonwoo notices the sheer number of bookshelves and portraits of the previous dukes of the Hong line that decorate the walls. Joshua’s study is the epitome of tradition, of duty, of something he never saw himself to be. Joshua himself stands at the windowsill, arms crossed, and his usually calm demeanor obviously frayed at the end. 

It makes Wonwoo’s current situation that much more terrifying. 

Joshua breaks the silence first, his voice low but unmistakably sharp. 

“What the fuck was that, Wonwoo?” 

There is no preamble, no pleasantries. It was very unlike Joshua to get straight to the point.

The words are distinctly sharp but they very obviously carry a tone of accusation and an undercurrent of disbelief. Like he could not believe Wonwoo was here to begin with. 

Joshua turns slowly, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing. “You’ve been gone for years and this is the first thing you do?” A laugh of disbelief cuts through the air. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” 

Wonwoo’s jaw locks at his accusing words. His voice is tight with irritation. Joshua’s (in)advertent accusation pricks some shallow part of his conscience. “Maintain your-” 

“-Maintain my what? My position?” Joshua interrupts like he just heard the most outrageous thing from the night. He leans against a bookshelf, a shaking exhale leaving his body. “Do you even know what you just dragged the poor girl into?” 

“What exactly do you think I did?” Wonwoo blanches, straightening. He didn’t hold her against her will or force her into any situation. He was just-

Joshua steps a step closer and under this light, Wonwoo can very clearly see the barely-controlled anger in Joshua’s eyes. “You know what I mean. What you did tonight,” he gestures vaguely off to the side, “there is no excuse for that.” His arms cross, tone dropping to something quieter and much more piercing. “And you pull this shit after everything she’s been through?” he scoffs, “Do you know what this scandal will do to her? What she had to fucking live with for the three years you were conveniently gone from her life?” Every curse word that leaves Joshua’s unlikely mouth stings. Especially because during the entirety of Wonwoo’s fifteen years of knowing Joshua, he’s never heard a single curse word leave the man’s mouth until now. 

Wonwoo’s brows furrow in confusion. “What-” Joshua’s words echo in his head. “What do you mean by that?” 

Joshua’s frustration only deepens at his words. “The whispers that followed y/n?” He lets out a small, bitter laugh when Wonwoo stares at him like he just uttered something in a completely different language. “Of course,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you didn’t know. You weren’t even here,” he strains. “You have no idea – not even an inkling – of what she had to go through. The rumors, the scandals, the fucking engagements that all ended in-” Joshua cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes. 

Wonwoo blinks, a sense of dread overcoming his senses. ‘Engagements? What- what are you-” 

Joshua perfectly ignores him. “You think she can just simply brush off whatever you just did? That Society will let her brush it off?” 

Wonwoo’s gaze wavers as something tightens in his chest. It’s like every one of Joshua’s words hit something in him. He steps backwards slightly. His hands shake in fists next to him. “I never meant for this entire thing to happen,” he mutters. But he can’t help the guilt that begins to creep into his voice. “I never intended for any of this, Joshua.” 

At his shaking words, Joshua’s posture lets up the slightest bit. Instead of pure anger, there is now a quiet concern that mixes itself in.

“You think she’s been waiting for you this entire time, Wonwoo?” he asks. “No, your grace.” The title hits Wonwoo hard. “She’s been through enough, man. Let her live.” He takes a slow step towards Wonwoo, eyes softer now. “Do you know how each of her engagements ended, Wonwoo?” Joshua’s jaw clenches. “With each and every man going off with some other whore in the back alleys. Every. Single. One.” 

The weight of Joshua’s words hit him like a horse plowing through the fields. “I-” he doesn’t even know what to say. Each and every man going off with some other whore. The phrase repeats itself over and over and over inside his head. He doesn’t even know what the emotions that wrack his body are. Anger? Guilt? Some sort of combination? 

“She’s always been frightfully alone – against Society, the judgment, the pain of the engagements. The entire Society just sees her as a scandal waiting to happen.” Joshua lets out a breath, swallowing. 

Wonwoo is frozen in his place, every word that leaves Joshua’s mouth cutting a deeper wound into his heart. “I never wanted that for her,” he whispers. “I never wanted her to feel alone. I never-”

“-But you did, Wonwoo.” Joshua’s voice cracks and his eyes glisten with pity. “Wonwoo, when you left, you absolutely broke her.” 

At his words, Wonwoo stumbles back like it is a physical blow. 

“She cried almost every other night. She wouldn’t eat at her own estate so Seungcheol ordered her to stay at the palace. Mingyu,” he lets out a frustrated laugh, “Mingyu, he had to carry her up to a guest room every night because she would fall asleep in the library.” Joshua’s gaze is piercing. “But I guess you were too busy doing whatever.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes are wide, his breath still in his throat. He feels his stomach twist and his hands clench into fists. “I didn’t know,” he repeats, almost as if it's a mantra that keeps him afloat. As if he was trying to convince himself. He feels something break inside of him – a dam, a wall, something. Because for the first time since his return, he feels the full weight of the distance between him and y/n. No. Maybe it was always there to begin with and he had refused to face it. He can finally feel the missed years, the cut conversations, the things she had to endure without him. The things she had to endure because of him. It’s like everything is crashing down around him in pieces of broken glass, cutting small pieces of his skin. It’s like all of his mistakes, his failures, his greed that made him think only of himself, comes crashing down in full-force. 

“How do I-” Wonwoo mumbles. There is a strange pressure behind his eyes. “How do I fix this?” When he looks back up at Joshua, he’s at a loss for words. “I never meant to hurt her.” 

Joshua shakes his head slowly, voice firm in this. “But you did. You can’t change that now, three years later. Just fix it. She’s suffered long enough.” Joshua steps back, turning to the window. “Show her that you’re not leaving again. That she can trust you again.” 

“And if it doesn’t work?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds broken, even to his own ears. 

Joshua pauses. He looks over his shoulder. “Then it doesn’t. But if you feel anything towards her, you’ll try.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes close and his hands find purchase on Joshua’s desk. Stupid, he thinks, swallowing back lumps in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Should’ve stayed away. 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @mj-szaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

[stickeriffic]

Disney Princesses: Retro Cute

Check out the Disney Princesses, brought to you in style of '90s Japanimation! Use these in your chats to give them a hint of nostalgia.

[thoughtsonkm]

I’ve always tried to look at things with a cold head and not get too delulu, but after behind the scenes I have zero doubts left. That’s it. They are together.

Tell me what was it that you found so shocking and conclusive that you made up your mind? 😋

Was it Jimin's stamp on Jk's body? Was it the way they never run out of things to talk? Was it the way they always make little sacrifices and take some private time even in the most surveilled moments? Was it the "I was with him last night and we didn't even get an ounce of sleep yepyep"? Was it the *taking photos of each other 24/7 bc we're obsessed with each other*? Was it the *we have inside jokes to alienate a whole country*? Was it the *we're making someone third wheel while we read each others minds*? Was it the "stay put little prince, I'll cook for you until the day I die"? Was it the "I don't remember that trip but I do remember that you sneezed tuesday night at 10pm that week"? Was it the "I love your song so much, I'm your number one fan, let us dance to it for the 100th time today"? Was it the looming Japan baby fever? Was it the "idk what to do with myself when my man is not around"?

Oh the list can get really long huh..

[bonniebird]

Aemond X Fem!Targ!Reader

Warnings:

Summery: In an attempt to keep peace, Viserys wed Rhaenyra's only daughter to Aemond. Years later Alicent finds herself caught between the loyalty to her son or her daughter-in-law. With Aemond showing he cares very little about what happens to the mother of his heir he is surprisingly enraged when she vanishes one afternoon during a council meeting.

Part 1 here

.

Aemond crumpled the paper in his hands as his fury began to make him tremble. Taking a deep breath to steady himself he let out a low seethed puff of breath that growled out between gritted teeth.

“My Prince.” One of the council members said. Aemond ignored them as he stormed to the door, ripping it open hard enough to startle the guard on the other side as the heavy wood made loud protests against being opened so furiously. His footsteps forewarned his appearance. Echoing doom as he walked the corridors. He reached Helaena’s apartments and found his mother waiting for him. She was sitting, lounging, in one of the armchairs looking out at the sea through the wide window that illuminated the empty room. She lazily sipped at the goblet in her hand as she looked at him. He stopped and looked around the empty room from the doorway. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows.

“Do you need something, Aemond?” She asked. His eyes flicked over to her and he shook his head.

“Where is she?” He snapped.

“Who?” Alicent asked and looked at him with a devious innocence.

“My sister, where is she?” Aemond demanded and took a step further into the room. Alicent took a moment, sipping her drink and letting her hand holding the goblet swing out lazily to drape over the side of her chair. Not a drop spilled.

“My poor boy. You do seem to be having trouble keeping track of your women.” She smiled to herself as he stamped closer. He would have been intimidating to her. But now he looked little more than a large toddler stamping his feet.

“She has been exchanging letters with my wife! I WANT MY SON!” Aemond lost his temper and leaned down over Alicent. She sat up in the chair. Her free hand reached up to embrace his cheek and she smiled sadly. 

“This is the stress of helping your brother. Let the council make some decisions and take some time to rest.” Alicent said in a patronising tone. Aemond shrank back and gave her a disgusted look. 

“Perhaps it is time you sobered up, mother.” Turning on his heels he stormed out of view. After a few moments, Alicent got up to find Helaena, stopping at the door. A wilted plant was shoved into a corner. With a shrug, she tipped the rest of her water from her goblet into the pot and smiled to herself.

Helaena was not found until late in the evening. Despite being summoned multiple times, Aemond had to go to her. They managed to meet right outside the doors of the throne room. Aemond hadn’t expected her to be there and looked quite surprised for a moment. Helaena’s expression was unreadable. She gave the impression that this was always where she had intended to come across Aemond. 

“Where is my wife?” Aemond asked as he took in the sight of his sister. She was wearing a dark green dress so dark you could mistake it for being cut from black cloth. As calmly as if he’d asked her about the weather, she answered.

“Not here.” Her voice was soft and soothing. He scoffed, swallowed a slew of vulgar words and took a threatening step towards her. Helaena took a step forward herself, unflinching and fearless. She held Aemond’s gaze and he felt a shiver of hesitation crawl down his spine.

“You know where she is and I demand to know.” He tried to control the tone of his voice, afraid she would hear the trembling in his breath. “She has my son.”

“I knew where she was. But she is not there any more. You should not worry about the children. I know my sister-by-law well. I trust her.” Helaena smiled as if she was reassuring him but Aemond let his head bow low as he closed his eyes. It was always frustrating trying to get a clear answer from his sister.

“She is my enemy. HE is my heir. Of course, I should worry.” He muttered out as if he were sick of explaining something simple to a child. Helaena smiled and looked at him as if he had just solved a great mystery for her.

“She has never been your enemy. But you have always thought the worst of her. No wonder you allowed her love to be taken from you by someone else.” Helaena turned to leave. For some reason, a reason Aemond could not name or explain, those words squeezed his chest. As if his sister had reached right into his chest, gripped his heart and twisted for good measure. You were HIS wife. His. If he liked you or not it didn’t matter. No one else could have you. Helaena had retreated into the corridors of the keep. Aemond, stood alone outside the throne room. He was uncertain what the writhing feeling in the pit of his stomach was or what the ache in his chest meant. All he knew for sure. 

He should have left Helaena alone.

**********************

The wagon slowed and stopped a short distance from the men. Davos stepped away from the small camp and watched carefully before he was beckoned over. A group of men followed him from the camp and he stopped short at the wagon as the men who had stopped it pulled back the fabric cover. It revealed a small group, four women and among them, a young girl, frightened and wide eyed. Unmistakably Targaryen.

Davos glanced around and saw the men looking at him, waiting for a command. Sucking in a quick breath and bouncing on the balls of his feet he tried to look as if he knew what he was doing.

“You… urm… you are in lands…under the rules of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Declare your name.” Davos said and cleared his throat a little as he finished talking, hoping that he looked tall and formidable. 

“We are travelling to join (Y/N) Targaryen, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. The queen’s half sister has sent us to the vale and instructed us to travel this way.” One lady with long dark hair spoke up. Davos looked at the girl carefully before motioning to his men.

“Keep them here. Delay the plans to move on until later in the day.” With that, he turned on his heels and hurried towards the small camp. Men were already taking down the tens and loading them into carts. Shouts followed Davos to halt the preparations to move until further notice. At the centre of the camp was a small tent surrounded by men guarding carefully. Each armed and looking around as if they expected an attack from every direction. Davos ducked as he entered the tent. There was a raised bed made of small trees, one of his men had spent a good portion of the day crafting the makeshift bed for the princess who sat with silver hair spilling over her shoulders. She smiled as she looked at Davos, the baby in her arms charming her with gurgles and squeals.

“There is a wagon. The women in it claim they were sent by your aunt… the girl with them is Targaryen. Of that I am certain.” Davos said quickly. He found himself smiling when the baby looked at him curiously, squealed and then waved his arms about as Davos let out a light laugh.

“I will go.” You said sweetly. Davos frowned and wanted to object but nodded reluctantly. When he left the tent with you he muttered a quiet curse. He had been quick to take up the request to rescue you when the raven had come. It had not occurred to him that a princess and a baby would need someone more than soldiers to tend to them. A young man hurried to take the baby and vanished inside the tent. Some of the men guarding the tent broke off and followed the two of you.

When the canvas covering the wagon was pulled back there was only time for a breath before the tiny girl surged forward in a silver streak. “(Y/N)” The quiet relieved voice broke out in almost a whisper. Davos watched as the girl clung to you, wrapping herself around you so tightly it was a wonder you could pull in breath. “Mother sent me.”

“I know. Come we shall see the baby together.” You said and your arms cradled the girl as if you planned to never let her go.

“If they are not here to hinder us… we must move.” Davos said. You nodded and paused on your path back to your tent. 

“When should we arrive?” You asked.

“If we push ourselves late in the evening, perhaps early morning.” Davos said hopefully. You nodded and paused to mutter something to the girl who answered in Valyrian. 

“The children and I will be ready… May the women come with me? It will help.” You asked. Glancing back you recognised all of them. Two were women who usually helped Helaena Targaryen, and the other two were highborn ladies who tended to you. One was a cousin of Elinda’s, Adrya Massey, who had become one of your ladies in waiting when you were young, the other a girl from the Reach. A Hightower cousin of Alicent’s you thought, though in truth you couldn’t quite recall.

“If you trust them. Then they are welcome.” Davos said with a nod. You turned back and caught the eye of Adrya who gave a slight nod and encouraged the others to follow her. She marched through soldiers bravely to reach you.

***********************

Cole paused as he was speaking. He realised that Aemond was no longer listening to him and instead was staring up at the sky. When Cole looked up he couldn’t see anything but there was a look on Aemond’s face that had him glancing around.

“Should we have the men take cover?” He asked and Aemond scoffed. 

“It would do little to help them.” Aemond answered. There was a far-off cry. It repeated and echoed out in the sky, silencing the birds and the animals that made homes in the corners of the Red Keep's courtyard. 

 “My horse!” Aemond bellowed. Cole saw several men hurry to fetch the fine chestnut horse Aemond favoured. As Aemond hurried to mount the horse and ordered the gates to be opened Cole saw the sky above them split. A sleek shadow glided down and broke apart the clouds, swirling and singing lazily in the sky. “It’s the princess’s dragon!” Someone said in a hushed whisper.

“Maybe she never left the city.” Another sounded out. Cole had always found your dragon as close to beautiful as a dragon could be. Unusually large for her age the dragon was sleek, graceful and deceptively gentle. The membrane of its wings were gold like the she-dragon Syrax who was known to have laid the egg. Though the rest of the dragon was a pale grey-green colour its body resembled Caraxes, long, slender and sleek. Though Rhaenyra insisted that both you and your dragon were the offspring of her lord husband Laenor and his dragon, respectively, it had never prevented the rumours that you were secretly Daemon’s and your dragon sired by Caraxes. 

“Out of my way!” Aemond shouted as he urged his horse forward. He pushed the horse as fast as it would go as he hurried to find Vhagar. He found the mass of green beast looking up at the dragon that was gliding above singing. She let out a song of her own and received one in response. Aemond could feel his heart pounding. It made his breath come and go quickly. There was a thought in the back of his mind.

~She is finally fleeing the city.~ He shook the idea from his head. He had torn the city apart. It had been likened to Daemon’s days as leader of the gold cloaks.

“Sōvēs, Vhagar!” Aemond commanded once he had dropped into the saddle. He growled with frustration when he had to repeat himself and urge her up. With a heave that could be seen as dramatic Vhagar rose and took flight. 

Something rose in Aemond’s chest as the smaller dragon flirted through the sky around Vhagar who hummed happily. The dragon often tried to follow them, usually to Aemond’s irritation. As the dragon turned Aemond felt as if his insides were stone and they had dropped to his feet. An emptiness filled him as rage poured into his body. The saddle was empty. Aemond again felt a deep pain as if part of him had hoped to find the saddle full. 

“Angōs! Angōs Vhagar!” Aemond shouted with fury. Vhagar turned towards your dragon who obliviously twirled and swung about, dipping in and out of the air that Vhargar’s flight disturbed and using it to glide neatly about them. Vhagar rumbled and let out a furious screech. The ground had moved miles below them in a blur. Vhagar let out a short burst of flames, turning towards the ground as she did, clearing her landing of trees. Aemond gave a shout in frustration as the dragon circled them and then continued on its lazy path through the air and out of sight. Vhagar lay among the smouldering ashes, refusing to rise no matter how Aemond coaxed her up. Disappointment and frustration washed over him as he sat in the sweltering heat and watched the dot in the sky slowly vanish.

[dilatorywriting]

The Prince & The Pauper Prefect

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: 'Dear Ramshackle Prefect, you are cordially invited to tour the Royal Sword Academy at your leisure. We hope our libraries may have something of use to aid in your journey home. And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’ Clearly, nothing about this could go wrong at all.

A/N: A commission for the very lovely @thefiasco-onyourblock. I'm having so much fun with all y'alls ideas, and this is one of the few that was asked to be public, so I'm happy you all get to see it! It was a lot of fun to dive back into this himbo~

You’d just stumbled your way back onto Ramshackle’s sagging porch after your second third fourth foray into this wonderful new world of Near-Death Experiences when the letter arrived.  It popped into existence in a pleasant burst of bubbles and sparks—a scroll of soft, cream, paper stamped with a shimmering wax seal that looked like it could have been melted down out of literal gold. You waved a hand under it, over it, all around the thing in grand loop-de-loop. The letter just kept hovering in place, occasionally spitting out another bout of multicolored sparkles.

“Hello?” you tried, cautious, and the thing crinkled at the corners. Like it was trying to wave back at you.

You glared up at the grey sky for a moment, daring whatever higher power existed in this stupid world to try fucking with you yet again, before reaching out to grab the ridiculous, magic, note.

It unrolled at your touch, like a cat stretching when you scratched along its spine. And instead of some horrible prank or wayward contract, you were greeted with an opportunity.

.

.

“POACHERS!” Crowley howled.

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “So can I go?”

“INTERLOPERS!” he forged onwards, waving the letter back and forth like a parent raging over a bad report card. “Who do they think they are?! Trying to swipe my most precious intern—student! My most precious and beloved of students!—out from under my nose?! As if I wouldn’t be able to see through something so—so—ACK!”

“I mean,” you grumbled miserably under your breath, “it is a pretty long nose. Could hide a lot under there.”

He turned on you with a gasp, like you’d just insulted his mother. Or… whatever the Headmaster’s no doubt vaguely evil and eldritch equivalent would be. 

“It’s a mask! A mask!”

He crumpled the letter petulantly between his clawed fingers and went to hurl it to the ground, but the paper smoothed itself out with another one of those magical ‘pops!’ and floated up on an artificial breeze to land neatly in your lap. Crowley sneered at the thing like he was planning to light it on fire, and honestly, with how strange and ethereal this little letter was, you sort of wanted to see him try.

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable opportunity,” Professor Trein shrugged, unbothered by his superior’s usual nonsense.

“It’s not as if the Royal Sword Academy is known for their treachery,” Professor Crewel added, sounding a bit like the acknowledgement had to be yanked out of his mouth with a pair of pliers. He glanced your way for a moment with those narrowed, steely, eyes of his before turning that glare back on the old crow. “And in comparison, I don’t think any of us can truthfully claim that Night Raven has provided a particularly safe learning environment for the Prefect.”

Crowley sniffed, indignant. “A sprinkling of danger is all part of the educational experience!”

Trein sighed and Crewel pinched at his brow like he was fighting the start of a migraine.

“They’re just offering to let me look through their library archives for more information on how I could find a way home,” you tried, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which would mean less work for you, you know.”

For a moment you could see the calculations whirling behind those glowing, yellow, eyes—the promise of entirely unearned vacation time and accolades for tasks he’d had absolutely bupkis to do with. But then the sharp line of his mouth hardened in determination and he turned away from you with a huff.

“We’ll discuss this betrayal of yours later—when my poor, old, heart has had some time to stitch itself back together!” he harumphed and you sighed miserably. Then he snapped his fingers with a little ‘ah!’ and turned on you with a perfectly sunny smile. “And of course there’s the VDC to plan for! Do get on that, my favorite, little, busy bee!”

Afterwards you stood in the little alcove outside of Crowley’s office, the golden letter clutched tightly in your fists. The soft edges of the scroll lifted to curl around your knuckles, like a gentle reassurance. Before you could work yourself up into getting too upset about the unfairness of it all, Professor Crewel placed a hand on your shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll drop you off Monday morning.”

You fought the tremble that was doing its best to turn your mouth into a wobbling mess, and turned to launch yourself into his furs with a crushing hug. The alchemist patted your back with a great deal of aggrieved grumbling, but he didn’t bother to push you away either, so he probably didn’t mind you creasing his coat as much as he said he did.

.

.

Your assurance that this was just a jaunt through the RSA’s library had been… mostly a fib. Or at least, deceptive in the same way that the sweeping, cursive, missive was also sort of sneaky. You’d dealt with enough genuine schemers at this point to recognize subtle promises woven into the words of the well-meaning.

‘And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’

You sighed and tucked the letter into your bag. It felt a bit wrong to be ducking away from your friends and your hovel of a home like a thief absconding in the night. But this was just… You were just looking. Spending a day away from the cloying, tarry, taste of pooling blot, and the endless runaround of all your little duties, and Crowley was not nearly the same as flipping your new friends the bird and fucking off into the sunset.

You repeated this to yourself ad nauseum as you pulled on your cleanest uniform, and then again throughout the entirety of the drive down the coast, and then more when Crewel waved you out of his car with a pointed look, leaving you at the RSA’s doorstep with a little shoo shoo gesture to get you moving.

Everything was so white. And not the gentle sort of lightness that came with nice things like fluffy sheep or foam off rolling ocean waves. It was sterile—so sharply bright in the morning light that it was nearly blue. The brick path beneath your feet was white, the guardrails lining the walkways were white, the walls of the looming castle, the impressive archways, the fluttering flags bearing the school’s regal coat of arms—all bone-bleached beneath the sun and shimmering like the architecture itself had literally been polished to a gleam. The only variation to be seen amidst the sea of monochromatic brilliance was the occasional pop of a cerulean spire—like some sort of awful party hat to top off the whole mess of it.

Say what you might about Night Raven’s gothic chic and whole ‘I mean, of course the cobwebs in the halls are Intentional’ aesthetic, but at least walking around the drab buildings there didn’t leave you feeling like someone had just set off a camera flash in your face. You felt like you were dirtying the roads by just existing near them. How did anything ever get done here without everyone having to constantly stop just to sweep up their footprints behind them?!

But such was the way of this dumb world apparently. Everything had to operate in extremes—nothing could just be normal. Real. It was all some fairytale recreation, varying only in if it fell hard on one side of the spectrum or the other.

You pulled out the letter with a sigh, and began roving over the contents yet again to see where exactly you were supposed to be headed. This whole fieldtrip turning into a miserable confirmation of your unintended loyalty to Night Raven or otherwise, at least you might be able to get some information out of these promised libraries.

You managed to cross a sweeping stone bridge, descend three separate flights of stairs, and follow nearly half a dozen signs with little, circled, stars on them before realizing you were probably only making things worse for yourself. You were still on one of those glistening, pearlescent, pathways, but now there were trees everywhere. It was a far cry from the twisting, black, forests smattered throughout Night Raven’s estate. Light filtered down pleasantly through the lush trees and the air was so nicely scented with flowers and pine that it was almost like someone had gone through with a bottle of Perfume de Forest and personally spritzed each and every plant. Which—ugh. Even the birds seemed to singing in tempo to some pre-orchestrated song. It was trippy.

But speaking of trippy—

You were so busy glaring suspiciously at a tree with a literal smiley face twisted into its bark that you didn’t notice the drop-off until it was too late. To be fair, it was still all very lovely—an overhang leading to a crystalline lake that bubbled gently under the roar of nearby waterfall. No jagged rocks at the bottom or anything. You probably wouldn’t even have to tumble all the way into the water, just into the little ditch about ten feet down. But of course, all that didn’t stop you from ‘eeping’ inelegantly in a panic as you stepped over the edge and started to fall.

And then you jerked back with a wheeze when something caught you around the collar of your uniform and tugged. You flailed wildly as you were hauled back up and into the air, and something behind you made a high-pitched, nervous, whinnying noise.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy! Easy! You’re going to send all three of us over, you big baby!”

The huffing, angry, noises just got worse and you were dropped unceremoniously back on the pathway you’d wandered off from just in time to see a pair of hooves come crashing down precariously close to where you’d been dumped. You scurried back in a hurry, because you’d survived too much nonsense at this point to get taken out from something as mundane as a kick to the head.

The horse eventually got its singular braincell working well enough to realize it had to back away from the ledge, and you were finally able to look upon your savior without being too worried about taking a hoof to the face.  

He was clearly an RSA student, what with the garishly bleached uniform and impeccably put together everything. There was a crimson cloak tossed over one of his shoulders though, which did more to break the monotony of colorless brightness than any other architecture in the entire campus, so well done him you supposed. There was a sort of effortless attractiveness to everyone in this stupid world, but your new acquaintance in particular seemed to fall hard into that ‘windswept, accidental model’ sort of look, with loose brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, and wide, warm, hazel eyes. He looked a bit like the sort of person that a school might slather on all their recruitment posters to be like ‘see! We have jocks that know how to shower and brush their hair! Look how put together we are!’

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at you with a canted head—curious. “You don’t look a student here.”

“I’m not,” you sighed, making your way to your feet with a sore grumble. “I have an invitation. I’m just trying to find the Headmaster’s Office,” you said, holding out the letter like a hall pass.

“Oh!” He chirped, brightening. “I can show you the way,” He offered. “Not that I’m in trouble enough to know the way there by heart or anything, but I guess just enough that there isn’t too much of a chance that I’ll get the both of us lost,” he winked and you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Normally this sort of overly familiar banter meant you were about to get dragged into all sorts of Shenanigans.

Before you could decide whether to take the chance or politely decline, his stupid, too big, horse reared its head back with a frustrated huff. Mister Red Cloak took the mini-tantrum in stride, despite the fact that the thing had nearly just clocked him right in the face with a head that looked as solid as a boulder.

“Oh, come now,” he sighed, patting the beast’s neck. “We can finish the course later. Don’t be a baby.”

The horse made some sort of unpleasant shrieking noise like some nightmare creature from just beyond the gates of Hell that had you flinching back to avoid being Murdered, but its rider simply rolled his eyes and tugged sharply at the reins.

“What do you think, huh? Just this once?” he asked, leaning forward over the withers to talk to the raging horse in its face. Like a lunatic. “For an extra bucket of oats? And maybe, just a few—” cue an absolutely horrendous eyebrow waggle, “carrots?”

And then the horse tossed its head back with a whinny that should absolutely not have sounded anything like a ‘hell yeah! Whatever you say, dude!’ before turning and prancing around you in tight, bouncy, circles. You scrunched in on yourself, because the thing was still probably a thousand pounds of muscle and flailing limbs. Even if it wasn’t actively huffing at you anymore, now it was just getting closer faster.

“You really don’t have to,” you tried. “Just point me in the right direction and I can find my own way.”

“Nonsense!” he chirped, dropping down from the saddle to land before you in the grass with a heavy thud. He brushed at his trousers, as if he wasn’t expecting his hands to come back completely clean. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on him. “What sort of savior would I be if I let you get lost in the wild and wonderful woods of this grand institution?”

“I can see the castle,” you griped, pointing to the blue peaks over the trees.

“Last I checked, you can see it from the entrance too,” he smiled and gestured to the forested path around you, chuffing a bit like he was laughing under his breath. “Must’ve been quite a turnaround, to wind up here anyways.”

Instantly you felt your hackles rising and a familiar, prickly, heat work its way up into your cheeks.

“Thank you, for your concern,” you grit out and swiveled on your heel. “But I guess even I should be able to find my way eventually.”

The pleasantly amused expression on the brunette’s face instantly fell and he darted back in front of you with a grimace.

“Sorry—that was. Sorry. I guess I put my foot in my mouth,” he rushed out. A gloved hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You snorted and glared off into the trees.

“Now you really have to let me show you the way,” he laughed, stilted and bordering on too polite. “For making an ass out of myself like that. It’s the least I can do.”

You glared at him sourly for a moment before sighing and glancing back at the looming Andalusian still prancing along the tree line. “Will… that be coming with us?”

“Helios?” he asked, like you had any concept of what a ‘Helios’ was supposed to be. Probably the horse. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, waving you off. “He can find his way back to the stables on his own. Right, boy?”

The horse made another one of those high-pitched, blustery, noises and you forcefully reminded yourself that you had faced inky goop monsters that were personifications of your classmates’ literal demons, and also kidnapping plots involving another of said classmates diving into your brain to rewire it like you were his own personal puppet. And in comparison to all those trials, Sentient Animals should not be creepy.

“Fine,” you huffed. “It’s fine. Just—let’s just get going.”

“Right!” he beamed, instantly bouncing back to his earlier enthusiasm. “I’m Stefan, by the way.”

You offered your own name in return, if only to be polite, and he smiled like the fact that you’d managed to grit out those familiar syllables was a gift in and of itself and not just, you know, generic introduction protocol.

“You have a lovely name,” he chirped, falling into step at your side.

You snorted, still a bit too bitter and sore. “You don’t have to try so hard to be nice, you know. To make up for saying something you feel bad about, I mean. It’s fine.”

His blinked his wide, hazel, eyes at you in way that looked a bit like you’d managed to surprise him. His eyelashes were long and soft, and they brushed against his cheeks with each shutter. Never trust people with nice eyelashes, you thought a bit petulantly. You’d known you were right to be cautious.

“You think I’m just saying that because I feel guilty?” he asked, not sounding particularly incredulous or insulted so much as genuinely curious. He tilted his head at you and some of his fringe slipped in front of his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Do people normally do that?”

You didn’t quite frown at him, but it was a close thing. You could feel your brow pinch.

“…I guess,” you huffed after a long moment, turning to stare back at the path ahead.

“Huh,” he mused, thoughtful. “Well, I really did mean it. And it’s a lot better than my name by far. I mean, really, Stefan? A bit on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Crown?’ Come on. Couldn’t my parents have been anymore original?”

You glanced over at him, a bit lost. “What does that mean?”

“Stefan?” he repeated with another one of those eyelash-sweeping blinks. “It means ‘crown.’”

“No,” you sighed, long suffering. “As in, how is that unoriginal? It’s a nice name.”

“Well, it’s because I—” he trailed off, gaze lingering in open astonishment. After a long moment of gaping at you like he’d just been clobbered across the back of the head with a baseball bat, he finally cleared his throat and looked back off into the trees with a tight shrug. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything I guess. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on that train of thought for a moment or two longer before turning back to face you with a wide grin that was just on the right side of smug. “You think it’s a nice name?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, cheeks starting to heat with something other than bitter chagrin. “Just please get me out of this forest before I fall over another cliff.”

.

.

Headmaster Ambrose the 63rd (the sixty-third! What in the nepo-nonsense was that?!) looked like a wizard straight out of some homey after-school-special, with silver spectacles perched on his rounded nose and a soft, pointed, cap atop his head that flopped endearingly at the tip. He was an antithesis to Crowley in every sense of the word—flowing robes replacing tight vests and formal wear, faded white accents rather than sharp black, and not a single bit of Sparkling Flair to be seen. Like everything else, as nice as he seemed, it was such a stark jump into the opposite direction that it had your hackles raised in caution.

“Our libraries are some of the most extensive in the country,” he smiled, warm and fond. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle behind the rims of his glasses. “I hope you’ll be able to find something that may be of some help to your situation.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, fighting the insane storybook urge to do something like curtsy.

He waved you off with a gentle shake of the head. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense. You’re a guest a here! I hope my students have been treating you well?”

Stefan rubbed at the back of his neck and shot his headmaster a sheepish smile that was entirely, unfairly, handsome.

“Doing my best, sir.”

“Good lad,” he hummed, something nearly mischievous sparking in those blue-grey eyes of his. But you were hesitant to label it anything of the sort now that you’d seen what real sneaky nonsense looked like. This was more like… Children’s Program Mischief. That kind that usually involved an adult thinking themselves very clever for being able to sneak some vegetables into an afternoon snack. He turned back on you with that shining smile. “Allow me to find you an escort for the afternoon, and then we can get off to the library.”

“I’d be happy to show them around!” Stefan piped in.

“Is that so,” Ambrose mused, that same little grin playing over his mouth. “I thought you were meant to be in Equestrian Studies at the moment, hmm?”

“Well, I mean,” he spluttered, before collecting his argument and squaring his shoulders with another one of those blindingly bright smiles, “how could I possibly have left someone in need to fend for themselves, sir? I would have brought shame down on this entire institution! Heroes are meant to be made not born, after all!” He boomed, like someone cheering a school’s motto at a sports game.

All of this sounded like the largest crock of self-aggrandizing bullshit you’d ever heard, and by the time you’d had a whole internal debate with yourself over the merits of NRC’s outright nastiness versus this… whatever it was supposed to be, Ambrose was gesturing between the pair of you and saying something that you probably ought to be being paying attention to.

“Thank you, sir!” Stefan grinned, and Ambrose waved him off in that same pleasant way he had you earlier.

“You’re in excellent hands, Prefect,” the Headmaster assured as you were rushed out the door by the guy who was clearly going to be your newest Problem. “Take care! And please let me know if there’s anything at all that we can help you with.”

And then you were back out in the hallway, with Stefan already steering you towards who knew what. The archives, you hoped. But knowing your luck, probably not.

“You must be hungry, right?” he asked, perfectly polite. “Why don’t I take you to the cafeteria before we head over to the library?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as your stomach gurgled a very loud complaint. You patted at your traitor of an abdomen in a silent reprimand and sighed, “You can just show me the way. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me the whole day.”

“Nonsense,” he beamed, intertwining his arm with yours and tugging you off down another hallway before you could protest. He was so tall, and it should have been hard to keep up with his longer stride, but it wasn’t. “I like spending time with you.”

“What?” you blinked, thrown. Because maybe you’d hit your head or something, but you were pretty sure the last half hour had consisted of very little other than you being grumpy and unpleasant.

He canted his head to look down at you and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“You’re nice to talk to,” he said. “Honest, I think. Would be the best way I could describe it. Genuine.” His hazel eyes went a bit distant, wistful. “There aren’t many people here like that. It’s different. Good different,” he promised, the corners of his smile tugging into something a bit teasing.

Your gaze tracked down to the brilliantly blue carpet beneath your feet and then around to the perfectly white walls. Other students filtered by in their starched uniforms and shiny, black, dress shoes—all impeccably groomed and all chattering idle nothings about the weather, about classes, exams. You could see the muddy imprints from your boots trailing along the floor and a few errant bits of grass fell in clumps from where they were still tangled up in your shoelaces. Something tight in you eased a bit at the mess, and you turned back to your companion with a sigh that was bordering far too close on ‘begrudgingly fond’ rather than the properly ‘put upon’ you were aiming for.

“If you say so.”

You hadn’t thought it was possible for the guy’s smile to get brighter, but somehow he managed. You squinted into the warmth of it with a strange, squirmy, feeling in your stomach that you didn’t think had much to do with being hungry.

“Come on then!” he beamed, tugging you along. “We don’t want to miss the Feast!”

“Feast?” you echoed, incredulous.

“With dancing silverware and everything,” he mock-whispered, like a secret just for the two of you.

“What the fuck,” you gaped, brain immediately latching onto the most ridiculous aspect of all of it. “How do you eat anything if it’s dancing?”

Stefan threw his head back with a roaring laugh that had you wanting to sink into your collar with your shoulders hunched up to your ears. But no one stopped to stare, or point, or snicker into their palms at his open enthusiasm. There were a few curious peepers, but once they seemed to identify the source of the noise, they all went back to wandering the halls in their perfectly pressed uniforms with nary a sly comment or sneer to be seen.

“See?” he beamed, tilting sideways to knock his shoulder against yours. “Honest. Now come on—we don’t want to miss out on all the grey stuff. It tastes way better than it sounds, promise.”

.

.

The pair of you entered the cafeteria right at the start of things, with dishes and forks just beginning to fly overhead in waves of strange, blinking, lights and motes of golden sparks. More than a few people waved at Stefan as he walked in, and he returned the greetings with polite, buoyant, ones of his own before herding you to an empty table off to the side.

“You don’t want to sit with your friends?” you asked, brow pinching in confusion.

“Hmm?” he mumbled around a spoonful of something already shoved in his mouth. There wasn’t any kind of plate in front of him, so he must have snatched it right out of the air. He swallowed and reached up to grab another. “Oh, no. That’s fine. Here! Try this!”

You leaned away from the spoon he held up to your lips with a huff and some obligatory complaints about how ‘you could feed yourself just fine, thank you very much.’ You plucked the bit of silverware from his fingers with a wary frown and very tactfully ignored that lingering, fluttering, warmth in your gut that you still hadn’t managed to completely snuff out.

“Is this… grey stuff?”

“Right on the money,” he winked, leaning forward to snatch up another flying fork. “My family’s not usually a fan of more ‘modern’ cuisine, so it’s always a treat to be able to try all the different foods at the Feasts here.”

You looked hesitantly at the goopy mess of monochromatic paste smeared across the spoon, and then back up at Stefan who was casually digging into his own floating mountain of toxic waste with an absolutely enraptured hum of satisfaction.

“Remind me to buy you a grilled cheese or something…” you muttered under your breath, before bravely swallowing the entire spoonful of sludge. And—huh. That was actually… pretty delicious. How weird.

You spent the rest of the luncheon event picking at random bits of floating foods as they danced by. Occasionally Stefan would lean forward to point out his favorites and give recommendations. He was surprisingly observant, despite whatever initial impressions his jock’s jawline and guileless grins may have led you to believe otherwise—taking easy note of the things you pushed aside and the ones you nibbled at more enthusiastically.

“Oh—you missed the desserts,” he lamented as the last remnants of a picked apart pie flew over your head.

“That’s fine,” you said, but he only shook his head and began to drag you off again with another of those brilliant grins.

And so began a weird sort of pseudo treasure hunt, where Stefan would take your hand and haul you off to some random corner of the castle with promises of whatever seemed to strike his fancy, or more accurately you supposed, whatever he seemed to think you might fancy.

“No one really uses this vending machine anymore, but somehow it always restocks and it has the best ice cream bars I’ve ever had. It’s wild! I’m sure you’ll love it!—“

“Oh, it is pretty cold down here, right? I didn’t even think about that. But… hmm… Here! I know the best place to grab a hot chocolate! It’s just over this way a bit—“

“These walls are kind of a drab view, yeah? Here! If we go down this way there’s a great little area to sit where you can see the whole bay—“

By the end of things, somehow you ended up back at the stables with that terror of a horse of his. And despite the runaround and the vaguely exhausting fact that Stefan’s social battery never seemed to wear itself out ever, it wasn’t… it wasn’t that bad, actually. Sometimes people would wave him down to talk, and he always introduced you and left the proverbial door open for you to join the conversation, but never asked you to participate, which was nice. You’d taken to just sort of slouching against his side in a food coma like a lizard on a rock as he answered whatever mundane questions all the other students asked of him. But otherwise, it was just the pair of you bopping around all over the campus.

Helios saw his master and whinnied merrily, and Stefan made an odd sort of chuffing noise in return that had you laughing into your palm.

“What?” He complained good-naturedly. “You’ve never barked at a dog before? It’s the same thing!”

“Of course it is,” you droned, lips twitching up at the corners.

The next destination was someplace on the coast that he was insisting was the absolute best place in the world to sit and think. Which if you wanted to do research, naturally you needed to get your head together about where to start, right? The only problem was that it was a solid hour hike away, but Stefan assured you that on horseback it was a much shorter journey.

You leaned forward on your tiptoes to get a look down the sprawling corridor of stalls, each larger and grander than the last. And each of their occupants following that exact same trend. There even looked like there was a horse with wings, which was—ah. Not helping the intimidation factor, to say the least.

“You can ride with me,” he offered. “If you’re uncomfortable, I mean. Sometimes it helps to feel like there’s someone more adept at the reins.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback that he’d picked up on your discomfort so easily. But then then you focused on the rest of that offer and you and the horse shared a Look. And wasn’t that a trippy thing to notice. You immediately forced yourself not to think about it.

“I don’t know if that’s fair to Helios,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense!” Stefan waved you off, and Helios pinned his ears indignantly. “He’s an Andalusian. They’re war horses, you know? Built to be as sturdy and strong as any horse can be.” He said the last part with a sickly-sweet uptick to his voice, and leaned up against the beast’s flank like they were sharing an inside joke. “They say Prince Phillip’s legendary steed was an Andalusian, and they rode into battle against a dragon together.”

Helios’s grey muzzle twitched prissily and eventually the horse lowered his great head to thump against Stefan’s side with a gusty ‘harumph’ that had the man stumbling forward with a pleasant laugh.

“There you are, you big baby. I knew you had it in you.”

After giving the horse a firm pat pat on his rump, Stefan turned and offered you a hand.

“It’s easier if I help you up first,” he explained.

“Isn’t there like… a ladder, or something?” You tried, and Stefan grinned sneakily before ducking behind you and hauling you up on Helios’s back all in one go. You absolutely, positively, did not squeak, or anything else ridiculous like that. It was a—a squawk! The most indignant and put upon of noises!

Stefan laughed and waved off whatever terrible sounds you were making with a bemused ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ that was the absolute least apologetic thing you’d ever heard. And then he was swinging himself up near effortlessly into the saddle behind you and looping an arm around your waist.

“Sometimes it’s better to just get it over with,” he explained in your ear, like your brain hadn’t just absolutely Blue Screened at the new weight along your hips. “Like ripping off a bandaid. I know it can all be sort of intimidating for people who aren’t used to being around horses.”

When you didn’t respond, because you were still trying to sort cognizant thoughts of the mess of ‘!!!’ that was hard at work blotting out the rest of your brain, you felt him start to shift a bit behind you. His hands flexed a bit tighter, as if the idea of you not being secure enough in the saddle was in anyway the problem here. After another moment of your continued silence, Stefan leaned forward carefully to hook his chin over your shoulder and spoke in that same carefully polite way he had when he’d worried he’d insulted you all those hours ago in the forest.

“If you’re still uncomfortable I can get you down if you want,” he offered, voice dipping low in something that sounded like hesitance. “I know I—I mean, you don’t have to go riding with me, if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be…” He cleared his throat, and you must have been going delirious because out of the corner of your eyes you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning pink. “I can… I can just take you to the library now, if you want,” he said. “I know I’ve already been pretty selfish with your time today.”

Helios shifted to stamp his feet and you twisted your fingers nervously into his mane. You really didn’t feel entirely great about being so high, on something so wild and big. And honestly, you had wasted a lot of time sightseeing with your impromptu tour guide. If you were being in anyway rational, you should demand Stefan dismount and take you to the library like he promised. But all the same… Today had been—all of it had been…

“Just don’t let me fall,” you huffed, fighting the urge to duck your chin down into your collar to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

“Of course not!” Stefan beamed, straightening himself back up so suddenly that he nearly tipped the both of you from the saddle. You sent him a glare over your shoulder and he laughed, loud and boisterous. “Sorry, sorry. From here out starts the ��of course not.’ That was just a test run.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, letting him maneuver your hands to better hold the reins alongside his.

Naturally, by the time you got halfway to the beach, Stefan remembered that the library closed early on Mondays, and that you’d well and truly missed your opportunity as you’d been off gallivanting with him and his ridiculousness all day.

But you know what? It was fine. You’d just come back tomorrow. And maybe the next day too.

.

.