#lord he is so damn precious

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

Precious cinnamon roll

[somedaytakethetime]

*girlblogger filled with anguish and JEALOUSY*

-PATRIOTISM TAKES OVER-

-crabby, judgy, hates everyone, misses beloved sauna (it's warmer in there...)-

SPITS

-is sexy-

DEFENDS AT ALL COST

current cost: cute nosie and some ribs..

*girlblogger slows gif down*..

[maegalkarven]

Noah is really incredibly lucky he is who he is, because he's the only version of Gortash and Levi's child Gortash could love.

If Noah looked more like Levi, or was a girl, or if Levi visibly loved him from the beginning, when the best possible thing he could hope for from his father would be indifference. In the worst case he'd be a pawn, discarded when no longer needed.

But this combination of looking like Gortash and having alike pattern of parental abandonment repeated sow a seed of Gortash warming up to the boy, and that, combined with the feeling like a god to his child, somehow wrapped Gortash into a good father.

The statistical possibility of this was so incredibly low, and yet...

Noah is truly nothing but a miracle.

[myownwholewildworld]

gif by @\pedrospascaled

“for emergencies only” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel has a lil' accident, but you know exactly how to help. or joel cums in his boxers a bit too early and you feed him a blue pill for endurance. a/n: uhm... yeah, hi? i promise you this fic wrote itself, i almost had nothing to do with it. i am so fucking feral over this man, can't flush him out of my system. lord have mercy... 🙇‍♀️ tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. joel cums in his boxers like the old man he is. mortified!joel but you make him feel good i promise <3 use of viagra. kneading the bulge, kissing the bulge, worshipping the bulge. pussy eating. face/nose riding. squirting. fingering. your slick is his hair gel (scent marking? idk). blowjob. you go cowgirl on him because the poor man can't do extraneous exercise, protect his bones. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. petnames. no description of reader other than afab. w/c: ~4.2k

Joel let go of a big sigh, knees cracking as he sat down on the couch. Even taking a shower was damn exhausting at his age—he preferred it when you scrubbed his back in the bath, massaged his biceps and forearms, gently squeezed his dick while the movement created rippling waves in the water.

He’d only managed to comb through his dry, silvery curls, to throw a worn shirt and some loose boxers on, before he needed to take a break. He was getting too old to go on long, extenuating patrols. Perhaps Joel should take up Tommy’s offer and solely focus on managing the construction in Jackson. He’d have more time with you that way too.

His mind was drifting away, thinking about all the things he would do to you in his free time, when his most delicious desire materialised in front of him. His precious little thing—you.

“Why are you so lonely over here, handsome?” you teased, lips curling into a sinful smile.

You lost no time, sitting beside him, snuggling up to his side. Joel’s arm draped around your shoulders instinctively, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your collarbone.

“I dunno, someone didn’t want to join me in the shower…” he pouted slightly, a laugh tearing up your throat as you poked his ribs with one finger.

“I told you to wait for me, but you’re a grumpy old man who has no patience,” you reproached jokingly.

His eyes rolled back in exasperation, but you were right. He’d just wanted to hop in the shower as soon as he got home, ready to dust off the fatigue of the day.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging.

His hand slowly moved away from your collarbone up to your neck. Carefully, his fingers dug around your throat, just enough for you to look up at him and gape for air—the sweet pressure on your trachea making you gasp like a little fish out of the water.

“Give your old man a kiss, will ya?” he husked, bowing down his head.

You reached up to him, mouth agape, almost touching his lips. You froze there, your sight simmering with need, awaiting his permission… and when his eyes flicked with lust, you closed the distance and pressed your lips on his.

The kiss quickly became sloppy, your spit coating the stubble around his mouth. Muted, needy moans bubbled up your windpipe—an irresistible call of nature, silently begging him to give you what you wanted, what you needed.

How could he resist you? Joel simply couldn’t, especially when your hand landed on his knee and the making out session came to an end, the tip of your nose tracing his jawline before you pressed a kiss to his beating jugular and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your palm squeezed the back of his hairy knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh whilst he manspread on the couch. His brown eyes tracked your every move, his legs’ muscles tensing as you playfully approached his groin. A pull in his soft tummy made him flinch when you reached the dip between his crotch and thigh, his cock hardening at the seductive tease.

A throaty moan rumbled through his chest when you tightly gripped the flesh of his inner thigh, thumb lazily stroking the outline of his shaft over the boxers.

“You’re a bit starved for touch today, aren’tcha?” you nudged him, lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

His cock twitched.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped back, nerves on edge.

You simply giggled, shaking your head as your hand finally cupped his growing bulge. Gently kneaded him, massaging his aching balls over the fabric. Joel could feel the warmth of your touch seeping through the boxers, compelling him to grow bigger, harder, thicker.

Your palm rubbed against the covered length of him, then dropped to his sacks again—and, irremediably, his hips bucked up, bare heels dug in the wooden floor. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you cupped his balls like that—lovingly, languidly, exquisitely, taking the weight off him so he could find some bliss.

Seeing you so locked in on his pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips… It just added to your appeal, another reason to love you. Because he did—fuck, yes he did, with all his fucking heart.

Suddenly, you squeezed his balls a bit too harsh, holding your grip as if your life depended on him, kissing his jawline. The unexpected squash on his testicles forced a moan out of him—and something else.

A firing pulse took a hold of him, surging down from his spine directly into his balls, and inevitably his cock throbbed with releasing strength. Joel couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He first felt the sticky warmth soaking his boxers, and his eyes quickly shot down to his lap.

There was a wet, growing spot on his underwear. He’d fucking cummed in his boxers like an inexperienced teenager—or the old man he was, despite how adamant he was to deny it—and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

Embarrassed wouldn’t even start to cover it. Joel was fucking mortified.

His mouth ran dry, heartrate throbbing in his eardrums like a shameful cacophony. This had never occurred before—cumming way too early in his loose boxers, the proof right there for you to see, staining the grey fabric. It happened so fast, so intensely, Joel hadn’t had the time to rein in his own orgasm.

His face flushed with abasement; the tips of his ears hot as embers. Unwrapping his arm from around your shoulders, Joel leaned back, his head slacking back and resting on top of the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand tight in a fist, before a trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“Oh, it’s okay, baby,” you replied reassuringly, your tone too sweet for the circumstances you both were in. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing his hand out of his face. “This just proves how much you love me, so much you can’t even resist me. It’s hot.”

Joel finally had the courage to look you in the eye, a cocked brow showing his disbelief.

“Hot? You think it’s hot I just came in my boxers with a lil’ tugging?” he repeated out loud, unable to believe what you just had said. “I’m not even hard, sweetheart. It’s… humiliating.”

You nodded to his question, your top teeth sinking in your plump bottom lip. Your eyes locked in on his as your hand travelled down his frame, your thumb stroking the obvious wet spot in his underwear.

“Mhm,” you cooed with a playful grin. “Very hot, not humiliating. And I can fix that. Fix him so we can have a good cuddle.”

“I don’t think I can…” you silenced him with a kiss before you got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

A minute later you were back, towering above him with a sinful little smirk, one hand hidden behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” you requested.

“Huh?”

“Just open it for me, please?” you dragged the last word, blinking rather exaggeratedly.

Joel huffed his disagreement, but ended up obeying. His tongue slid out, patiently waiting for whatever you had in mind. With a flourish, you opened your fist to reveal a blue pill. His eyes lighted up in understanding—he thought he had run out of viagra.

“I always keep a secret stock,” you confessed, reading his mind. “For emergencies only.”

Slowly, you set the pill down on his tongue, your thumb caressing the tip of his wet muscle before you retreated to let him close his mouth. Before Joel could swallow, you bowed down to kiss him, your tongue pushing the pill down his throat with a little needy moan.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pill secure in his belly now. It was just a matter of time, but meanwhile…

“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he growled, the taste of your sweet cunt haunting him. “You deserve to be eaten out—so thoughtful of your old man. It’s what you enjoy most, right? Having your swollen pussy drooling all over my face, leaking into my mouth…”

His words had an immediate effect on you. Joel knew exactly how to get you off—not that you needed any more encouragement. Your clit was already palpitating, your hole gushing for his attention. The promise of a good pussy eating was everything you’d hoped for after feeding him that viagra pill.

You straightened your back, ready to get started, and Joel slithered off the couch until he was sat on the floor, his achy back leaned against the bottom part of the sofa. He sat back a little, his head resting on the edge of the couch while your pants and underwear dropped to the floor.

“Someone’s eager,” he taunted when you kicked off your clothing to one side.

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you exhaled sharply.

Joel curled one long, thick finger at you to invite you to sit on his face, and that was exactly what you did.

You knelt on the sofa, his head right between your thighs, and you anchored your hands to the back of the furniture. His warm breath fanned your pussy, a shiver running up your spine. His broad, calloused hands ran up the back of your legs, coaxing your ass cheeks apart so your slit would crack open for him.

“My sweet girl… You’re already so wet,” he tutted at you, pecking your perineum, the tip of his aquiline nose tickling your entrance. “You really like your old man, don’tcha?”

You were about to answer when Joel lapped your entire seam in one smooth motion before his mouth latched onto your pulsing clit. You sobbed audibly, head lolled back, fingers curling tightly around the cushion of the backrest. Only managing a hushed “mhm,” Joel suckled on your throbbing nub again, pulling the hood back with his tongue.

A myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids when Joel gently nibbled at your bud, his middle finger sliding in your tight hole to rub that precise spot inside your cunt. He ate you out diligently—sucked, licked, bit, flicked your clit… rinse and repeat. Your pussy fluttered around his finger, your moans louder than they should have been considering the thin walls of the house. Sensing your desperation, Joel’s finger slipped out with a pop, to quickly fill your drooling entrance with his tongue.

It was too much—deliciously so. When you thought you’d had the best head ever, Joel always outdid himself. His wet muscle thrusted in and your pussy reciprocated with stuttering squeezes on his tongue. He didn’t falter, not even for a breather—as if he was trying to pull something out of your cunt.

“Jo-Joel…” you mewled, half whimper, half prayer.

You were so drenched, you could feel a flood forming in your womb—a heap of your arousal waiting to drip into his mouth. A tight coil low in your belly with a strangling force, so intense your shut eyes were tearing up, the drops of your silent cries sliding off your temples. Joel didn’t leave a spot unattended, worshipping your puffy pussy lips, your gushing hole, your thudding clit with his tongue and teeth.

Unable to rein in your own lust anymore, you dropped one hand and fisted his hair, forcing him to stay put, still between your trembling thighs. Your body was asking to take control, to let go of the tethers of decency—not that you had much left anyway.

“Wanna ride my face, hm?” Joel muttered with a shaky laugh.

“Mhmmm,” you moaned, shaking your head yes, your bottom lip twitching.

“Go on, baby, use me,” and then he rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth.

That was the last straw—his words, your undoing. So you did exactly that. Still anchoring his head to the couch, you rocked your hips on his face, just once. His nose traced the entirety of your slit, catching on your clit, and you whined. A second later you were completely sat on his face, almost smothering him, while you rode not only his face, but specifically his nose.

Looking down, you saw his forehead reappear when your hips moved back. Every time you glided over him, the coil tightened and the flood dropped further down in your uterus. Stilling, you circled your waist on his mouth, and then resumed the riding.

It happened too quickly. Suddenly, the dam in your pussy just gave way, and you squirted all over his face while the most wanton moan tore up your throat, your vocal chords feeling raw from so much screaming. The biggest wave—no, tsunami—of your life washed over you, your thighs quivering like crazy while you locked them shut around his head.

Joel eagerly drank everything you offered him, groaning below you like a thirsty man who had not tasted water in days. For a long minute you couldn’t control the spasms of your cunt, dripping onto his nose, mouth and chin, your slick running down his neck and wetting the neck of his shirt.

Heaving, all your muscles finally relaxed, and you dropped to one side to release Joel from the imprisonment of your thighs. A side glance at Joel told you that he was licking off your juices from anywhere his tongue could reach, and that vision made you whimper again.

“I… Uh…” you mumbled, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened. “That was… the best head you’ve ever given me, you handsome old man.”

“You mean the best head you’ve ever had, full stop. Right?” he joked while he planted his hands on the edge of the couch to push himself up and sit besides you, his knees loudly cracking.

You laughed, nodding vehemently as you curled up to his side. His face was still wet from your cum, so you swept off some of it for him, kissing it away. The curls freely hanging over his forehead were damp with your slick too, and just that sight made your clit throb again. Raking your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, you combed it back with the product of your arousal.

“You don’t need hair gel if you’ve got me,” you said with a smile, and Joel tsked before letting go of a hearty chuckle.

“My personal hairdresser,” Joel quipped.

His laugh died in his mouth when your taunting hand flew to his bulge again. This time, he was extremely hard. Balls loaded and heavy, cock drumming.

“How’s my toy doing? Ready?” It was a rhetoric question, you could feel how ready he was.

“All… yours,” his words hitched, eyes darkening with a burning desire.

Without wasting another second, you knelt before him on the floor, his thighs spread open to house your frame. You couldn’t resist to lean forward and kiss the wet spot on his underwear, stealing a quick taste. Licking off the stain, you gazed up at him.

Joel was watching your every move with predatory attention, his tight fists resting to either side of him. Trying to convey calmness, but you could feel the eagerness simmering under the surface.

You buried your face in his bulge again, rubbing him over the fabric with your mouth, lips and cheeks. Kneaded him with worshipping heed, pulling the textile between your teeth, drunk with the crispy, sticky sound the wet boxers made when they unglued from his damp cock. Feeling his heartbeat, you inhaled keenly—his scent swarming your senses.

You could spend hours like this, with your face tucked away in his groin, feeling the length of him hardening against your cheek. But you were anxious to shove him down your throat.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his old man’s loose boxers, and Joel lifted his hips off the pillows just enough for you to pull them down his legs, tangled around his ankles. His dick sprung free, swaying in front of you like a tasty lollypop. Cockhead flushed and painfully red, the vein on his underside visibly pulsing, his heavy, full balls tightened up into the base of his dick. And then the cum he’d been so embarrassed about, topping his mushroom head and sliding off his shaft.

It really was a beautiful sight. You pushed his girthy length against his soft tummy and lapped at his balls first, to then find your way up his shaft until your lips sealed shut around his angry cockhead, cleaning off all his nutty spent.

Joel groaned above you, shifting his position ever so slightly, and was gentle enough to caress your cheek with his thumb before he gave you a soft smack.

“Careful not to choke, sweetheart. Take it easy,” he growled, words dying off when you pushed him down your mouth, the hoarse curls at the base tingling your nose. “Easy does it.”

With your mouth full, you gave free rein to your instincts. Took him out completely, a bridge of saliva linking your lips to the tip of his cock, and then shoved him down your throat again. You gagged and whimpered at the same time, precum and spit overflowing from the corners of your mouth. How the end of him hit your uvula, breaching past it… it was the most elated you had ever felt.

Your pace quickly picked up, and soon enough you were bobbing your head on his lap to the point that tomorrow you’d have a stiff neck. But it would be completely worth it. Sucking him off, your tongue swirled around his leaky cockhead to then nip at it. Closing your mouth, you slid his tip over your clenched teeth and lips, making a mess of your face.

“Eaaaasy… Fuck, stop,” Joel tugged at your hair.

You had been so lost in the moment, you looked up at him bewildered. You didn’t want to stop, you could never have enough of him. But realisation quickly hit. His balls were twitching against your chin, a sign that Joel was about to lose it.

“I could have my dick in your mouth all day and night, sweetheart, but I need your pussy now,” he husked, half plea, half threat.

Joel relaxed against the couch when you got up to your feet and straddled him, your knees sunk in the pillows to either side of his legs. Reaching behind you, you grabbed at his throbbing cock, gliding it over your entire slit until it hitched in your entrance.

Biting your lip down to stop a slutty moan from coming out, you locked eyes with him. Watching his façade tumble down every time you descended on his lap was one of the most beautiful sights. So slowly you impaled yourself, taking in how Joel’s face loosened up, his hands firm on your hips—how the crows’ feet kissing the corners of his chocolate eyes would smooth out, how his cheeks would flush, how his nose would do a cute little scrunch, or how his lips would part, letting out a heavy sigh.

Joel tried to fuck up into you when you lifted your hips and you tutted at him, pinning him down so he wouldn’t move.

“Nuh-uh. I’m doing all the work tonight, baby. You just lean back and relax, let me fuck you,” you warned him, an edge to your tone advising him to refrain from complaining.

He’d been on patrol out all day—you knew how tired he was, how his old man’s bones would crack with the gentlest of moves.

“But—”

“No, no buts. If you stay still and behave, I’ll let you come inside. Be good for me, please,” you cooed, your mouth moving against his with every suggestive word.

Joel finally grunted in agreement, and the smile on your face couldn’t be wider—even your cheeks hurt. Despite how badly you wanted to say “good boy,” you didn’t press your luck. Joel was quite dominant, but you enjoyed these subtle shifts in your relationship when he was very tired. So tired you could boss him around with no reprimands.

Once he had settled down, you began riding him, his reassuring hands kneading your hips for encouragement. At first it was slow-paced, his cock lazily swallowed by your labia only half-way through. With every pump, you let him slide a little bit deeper, sweet desperation building up behind his adoring eyes.

And after a few minutes, you were bouncing up and down on his throbbing shaft with heavy, quick dives. You laced your hands behind his neck for support, your forehead resting on his, your sweats mixing. Every time he exhaled, you inhaled his needy groans, high with the passion burning between you two.

His cock filled you up to the brim, especially when he was fully seated in your crying cunt. His tip would kiss your cervix, sending firing signals up your spine, numbing your mind. He was so girthy, your inner walls parted like the Red Sea to greet him, to house him. Every time he pulsed inside, your pussy squeezed him hard—as if they were talking to each other. Joel was the perfect fit to you, in every fucking sense.

His cockhead dragged along your anterior wall, putting pressure on the exact spot that always had you gushing. You were so close to nirvana, you could almost touch the sky with your fingertips. Understanding how close you were—probably because your pussy was uncontrollably fluttering around him—Joel took it upon himself to tip you over the cliff of your pleasure. One of his hands flew to your clit, pressing tight circles on your nub as you, quite literally, jumped on him like a demon possessed—and your whole brain short-circuited right there and then.

“Come for you old man, sweetheart. Squirt all over my cock, drench my lap. Wanna feel her sing around me, milk me fucking dry until my balls are completely empty,” Joel husked against your lips, his thumb quicker on your clit now, pushing back the hood to expose your bundle of nerves to his incessant touch even more. “Can you do that for me, hm?”

You did exactly that the moment Joel stopped petting your clit and, instead, he gently tapped at it with four fingers, the squelching sound driving you crazy. The clapping of skin on skin driving you wild. You finally came, screaming at the top of your lungs, while your hips stuttered above him. Incapable of maintaining any pace now, you sat on his lap—his thudding cock buried down to the hilt in your quivering pussy, the best orgasm of your life hitting you at once.

Your entire body was quaking, your pussy flitting arrhythmically as the last squirts left your insides. Joel was throbbing inside you, grown to a point you thought he might explode. And with the last bit of energy, you clamped down on him as strongly as you could, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Joel moaned loudly, head tilting back against the couch.

He pulsed one last time, and then finally filled you up. His cum flooded your pussy with long, thick ropes—so much that it was soon gushing out, mixed with your own arousal. It was warm and comforting, knowing that his seed was safe in your cunt. You squeezed once more to completely drain his balls, and he gifted you with some more drops.

You hummed in approval, so satisfied you almost felt sleepy. Joel smacked your right buttock and then hugged you around the waist, feeling your weight on him like a blanket. Neither of you moved, his cock still snug inside your pussy, your breathings loud and heavy.

“We still have a couple of hours before they serve dinner in the community hall. Can’t go anywhere in this… state,” Joel snickered, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna have to take care of this for you, ain’t I?” you whispered, batting your eyelashes at him before you grinded your hips on his lap. Your clit twitched in response, overstimulated. “I need a minute though, I feel like my whole nervous system is on fire right now.”

“Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I could be here all day right until the last minute,” he muttered, his hands gliding over the sweaty skin on your back.

“You’ll need to at least take a shower before we leave. I made a mess of your hair,” you laughed, nudging the vein on his neck with the tip of your nose.

“No, I like this hair gel better. I ain’t washing my hair.”

Your eyes shot up to him. The mere idea of him leaving the house with your slick dampening his hair, him being in public bathed in your pussy scent… while talking to others, fully claiming him as yours… Right then, you brain chemistry was changed forever.

Your clit throbbed, and you purposefully clutched around his still hard shaft.

“I’m ready again.”

[ophelieverse]

This is the first time that i send in a request,but I’ve been your fan for quite a while now🥰🥰I love your blog and your content,especially your writing,so can I please ask you to write something about Daemon x niece!reader where she is the daughter of Aemma and Viserys and he’s obsessed with her?It can be whatever you want!Thank you so much!🫶🏻

⋆ ˚｡⋆little bird

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

-Summary:Daemon is in Harrenhal and he’s tormented by the memories of the only woman that he had ever loved:his niece,the long gone princess Y/n.

-Warnings:death of character,incest,age gap,Daemon never married Laena,reader has valyrian features,reader died of childbirth,reader is mother of twin girls(you can decide if Baela and Rhaena),mental torture(?)sexual thoughts,Daemon being himself,Alys tormenting Daemon and him losing his mind.

•-aww thank you so much for your words and support,also thank you for requesting and let me know what you guys think,sending love🩷🫶🏻

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The palate is a treacherous bastard,a vile traitor.The palate,the tongue,the teeth,the throat:damned monsters,damned stabs in the shoulders.

They rebelled and tortured Daemon intimately,as well as the strawled murmurs of soaking whispers in the dark and lonely castle,as well as the murmurs of that nameless woman.Everything bothered him,in that world built by the blood-stained hands of false and courteous murderers,and the raw truths of the tormented men were no exception.

After all,he should have known - and he knew it, he knew it and he had not stopped,he had become crazy! -that once he tasted the most precious wine of the Seven Kingdoms his mouth would detest any other drink.His primordial instinct and his spirit of survival had tried to warn him,to make him understand,to make him glimpse the inexorable fate in which there would be a before and there would of course be an after.

Because any other flavor would never have been as sweet as the taste of her.

And nothing more would have been the same, nothing would make sense anymore.Daemon had only really understood it after kissing her:it had become impossible to even look at another woman.

He could still remember the first time that he had kissed her,before going to win the war in the Narrow Sea in her father’s name.He had only kissed her once and it had been like savoring the mouth of a fucking divine gift that fell down from heaven,kissing a promise of grace and eternal damnation.An inexperienced,sweet,innocent mouth.

His,Y/n was all his.

She was still a girl at the time,two years younger than her older sister Rhaenyra,just a naive girl that stug with two skinny legs and without even a woman's shape,the silver-haired doll,the trained King's Landing little bird that squeakes and chirps in the shade of her father's words and actions:Y/n, stupid and spoiled princess,daughter of the Long Summer,had let herself be kissed by him and had not stopped him,she had not pushed him away.

Crazy him and crazy her.Or maybe just him, or maybe just her.Who went crazy first,who did? Who had it been?Daemom didn't remember the fucking way those damn events that had folded him in two,disintegrated his entire soul.Killed him not once but a hundred,a thousand,a thousand and again a thousand times.

Who went crazy first?Who?Daemon has started to believe it was him.

It’s been years since the last time he had kissed Y/n,years since he last touched her warm skin,looked into her bright lilac eyes,that he had saw her with their daughters in her arms.

Yet,that night,in the dark and anguish halls of Harrenhal,his little bird had shown up to him.The ghost of Y/n imagine had suddenly appeared in a corridor in the west wing yard like an evanescent appearance,like his worst nightmare and had resumed chirping the same nauseating and tormenting phrases she cunningly gave to all her lords,to all her knights.

She had chirped her thanks,the beautiful words she used to tear from the verses of her beloved romantic ballads,which she used to steal from the fairy tales narrated with placid fervor from the endless rows of her old and decrepit Septas.

She had chirped and chirped and chirped.

Daemon hadn't listened to any of her melancholic sentences and hadn't even paid the slightest attention to her,nothing at all.So the deities and that witch then must have decided to punish him and mock him.They had taken their revenge on all his blasphemies and on all the lives he had snatched with joy.

The pale light of the moon had begun to inflame Y/n long silver braids,braids knotted in a bushy tangle,shaped into circles of blood rays that made her hairstyle look like the one of a small child.The young and innocent girl she once was before Daemon had touched her.A stupid hairstyle that she persided - with a pout - to make her maidens intertwine just like her mother did when she was just a small child.

The red dress that wrapped perfectly around her body,the one that she had wore at the tourney for her last Name Day as a maiden,seemed made of pure liquid blood.Daemon was lost.The red had become fire,it had turned into copper,it had melted into wine.A crown of thorns and autumn leaves in the cold wind of the godswood.

Y/n rosy mouth had stretched out in a brief,false smile,yet what was really false about her?And her elusive purple eyes had reminded him of reality.

The reality where she no longer existed,the one where now he was married to his older sister.He just wants to use her.Everyone uses everyone.He remind himself,he could never love her,not in the way he still loves Y/n.

Suddenly Daemon had realized the existence of his foolish thoughts,he had awakened by the torpor in which her sweet and familiar scent had induced him,and he had understood that he was behaving like a little child that had just woken up from a bed dream,an inexperienced young boy,he looked at her hair,looked at her ephelids,and didn't focus on those small stall tits and her flat,tight belly,and then he thought he had to fix it,that he had to prove to himself that he was a man.

Not the silly man who secretly watched the tears entangled in the eyelashes of a little girl who still slept with the dolls,squeezed in his little embrace,but the real man who fucked women in brothels and got rid of all his most itchy desires. Not the man who trembled in front of a little girl's gaze,but the man who fucked the women quickly and impatiently,without even looking them in the face,fulfilling his needs and his morbid needs.

The man that Daemon was before devoting his life,heart and soul to Y/n.

These thoughts had clouded his soaky mind with vulgar images,they had made his body drunk and frenny.Then he had stretched out towards Y/n, almost staggering,and had devoured her face. Mouth to mouth,he had eaten her lies and her breath.Was it really her,the spectral and little figure that had hunted him since he had step in Harrenhal?Was it really her,the cold and young body he was holding in his arms?He didn’t cared,he needed to feel what he once called love.

His little girl still tasted good,just like he remembered,something sweet,extremely pure. Snow and honey together,what an absurd madness of the senses.Y/n had closed her mouth,her lips soft and eyelids tight,but she had done nothing else.She hadn't disappeared from his touch just like the night before,his rough hands that had begun to mess up her hair and squeeze her thin throat like they used to.

They had kept both eyes closed and he had thought that she was beautiful even in the dark of the dull and worn lights,even in the black of the lowered eyelashes,under the Sun or under the Moon.

Y/n was still as beautiful as the day he had lost her.

And now that she was there,real or not,Daemon had kissed her with a disturbing need and Y/n mouth had moved on his without opening,without granting him anything more.Nothing more of what he already had when she was flourishing with life.

In that moment a cold wind had crept all over his back,until it even caressed his neck and wet cheeks.When did he started crying?Too late he had realized that it had not been a cold wind that had appeased his burns.

«Y/n,my Y/n.»Daemon had murmured«My little bird of the summer,my frightened little bird.»he kept talking on her lips.

«Uncle.»even her voice sounded like she was still that young girl he used to watch run to him,blushing when he would bring her a gift from one of the cities he had visited.

She had caressed his pained face and kissed him like a little girl who can't even imagine that there is anything else after a kiss on the lips.Like a sweet child that still dreamed and hoped for a bright and long future ahead of her.

Maybe at that moment Daemon must have said her name again,because the figure in his arms smiled«Y/n,my little girl,Y/n.»like a prayer.

«Do you still desire me,uncle?Do you still think about me?»her voice,a soft whisper,that cut into his heart.

How naive and stupid,stupid little woman.

He could have turned her like a worn sock,lifted her skirt and possessed it in any dark corner of the castle,stretched her on the floor and forced her to open her legs for him.For him,only for him. First the knees,then the thighs,until he devour her with his hands and tongue,until he fuck her all.

That little creature who didn't even know the thoughts that animated the minds of the men around her,the minds of all animal men just like him.He could have done anything to her,anything unimaginable and unpronounceable,and continued to devour her for whole hours,years and centurie, millennia and other millennia,to the point of satisfying her every repressed need and even more.

And Daemon did it,fulfilling his duties as a husband that resulted in the living love that took form in their twin daughters and son.

He enjoyed her,eat her,mark her at every possible point.He could have done anything for her even now.But Y/n had placed a hand on his heart and more snow had fallen into his chest,appeasing his every pain,every craving.

«Or is my sister crown that you lust over now?»Y/n sharp tongue managed to open another cut in his chest.

Yes,he wanted Rhaenyra crown but it was her he wanted to make his Queen.It’s always been like that,in his deepest dreams,to rule by her side,to pass the throne to their son and be with her forever to the end of his days.

«It’s always ever been you and i’m sorry that this has costed your life.»Daemon words were half stuck in his throat.

Stupid little girl,stupid.She was too good for him.She was pathetically pure.She will never be able to survive in this world,she would become food donated to dogs and worms.Another dead flesh left danging on the spades of this rotten and corrupt castle from the slimy foundation.Another head detached from one's body and turned into a trophy to show to enemies.

Another life that he had ruined.

The images of these elucubrations of his had scared him so much was he afraid?Was the burning in the pupils and ribs fear of seeing her dead or desire to kill or even a fever to possess her?To push her away from his arms,from his belly outstretched towards her.

Daemon had already lost Y/n once,in their old shared chambers of the Red Keep,drenched in sweat and blood.Screaming in fear and pain,just like her mother,as she gave birth to their son.A life for a life,the child survived and the mother died without being able to meet each other.

And now she was there,after so many years,Daemon had only glimpsed at her wet lips and red cheeks,then started yelling at her to leave.It wasn’t real,nothing of this was,his wife,his Y/n was dead,ashes in the wind.

«Go away.Get away right away or you'll regret it.I'll make you regret it,I swear to you.I'll make you regret anything you've ever done or thought if you don't leave now.Go away!»Daemon was screaming like a mad man,but his words were not directed towards Y/n.

His crude and harsh words were echoed only for the silent witch that lived in that old and empty castle.

He must have insulted her,or he had cursed the bastard witch back.He didn’t cared because now Y/n had escaped from his head and eyes with every new sip of wine that he took once he walked back into the dark halls.

Her ethereal figure disappeared at each red bottom of a cup he had swallowed in an attempt to forget the circles of her damn braids.A new cup of wine at every turn of the silver locks and then a hysterical laugh every moment he saw the lilac eyes of that damn girl in the accusatory ones of the witch who sat next to him.

«You are rather unrequited tonight,your grace.What’s bothering you?»Alys Rivers was her name and her voice was as enchanting as her looks.

A punch against the table at every drop of watered down flavor,at every cup of all those lousy drinks that she had given him to help him sleep.A mediocre taste that made him miss better flavors - the taste of him.

Almost as she could read his mind«In love?You?»Alys sound surprised.

And a thud in the heart as every second passes,at the stroke of the hours,at the slow formation of a nebulous wall of chaos inside him.Honey,snow,sweet salt of tears never shed. What was happening to him?What was going on in his head,in his sternum,between his legs?Had Alys poisoned him?

«Y/n.»she spoke again«The little girl that you used to bounce on your knees,the woman that died to give you an heir.»she taunted him,the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Daemon felt his heart shatter in his chest,pain at every breath.His hands burning like the rest of his body,the wine down his throat ready to choke him with all his guilt.

«Where is she?»he asked then,turning to look at the woman next to him.

Where is Y/n?

He had screamed at her out in the gardens and she was gone,she had flown away.

«Where is she?Tell me.Tell me where she is!»the cups on the wooden table crushed on the floor,the cold stones now painted of red wine.

«Where is Y/n?»Alys asked calmly,not even getting up from her chair as his grace thrown everything around«The little girl is far away.But she’s not unreachable,you will see her again soon.»she answered him.

Daemon had was spinning,he felt the nausea coming up from his stomach.He tried to walk and a gag forced him to kneel on the ground,to throw his head against the floor.

«Y/n,my little bird,Y/n.Y/n where are you?»he choked out.

She was there,he had seen her just a few moments before and the other previous nights that he had spent in Harrenhal.He held her,kissed her and it felt so real.She didn't run away,she didn't cry,she didn't even lower her head.Nothing,nothing of nothing.She just looked at him for a second and then she left.

Now she was gone,again.She was gone,Y/n,was gone and Daemon wanted her back,like he had always wanted her,he couldn’t breathe,Y/n come back to him.

Come back,stupid little girl,come back here right away.One moment,he needed to touch her,to kiss her,to have her,just another moment to share with her.His little girl,his little bird.His,his,his,she had always been his.Come back,he needed to hold her and protect her.He would protect her from anyone,even himself if she was so afraid.He was scared too.

«Your grace?»Alys voice was distant,loosing itself in the air.

Daemon crawled on the wet floor,getting up«The little bird.I have to find,I have to find...»the world became dark and dyed of red.There was laughter around his body and someone sneering his name.

«I have to find...»he repeated.

He had to look for her.He hadn't been able to resist her,he hadn't slept even a minute.He had walked around the castle like a mad man,reaching his chambers only to find her inside.

The room looked like the one they lived in the Red Keep,warm and familiar.A small figure appeared,wearing a old white nightgown drenched in blood,pale hair wild on her head in the same that she had died in.

Y/n was there,holding to her chest a child wrapped into a blue blanket like a present.Their son,the joyful and smart boy that looked exactly like his mother and that she had never even seen before closing her eyes forever.She was sitting and crying .He had felt like he was dying and had taken a few uncertain steps.His eyes had moved frantically and they had glimpsed the blood-stained sheets,the stained dress on her thighs, the hands holding the child.

As soon as Y/n had seen him,with shiny eyes, huge tears on that small face she had brought her red fingers on her lips,as if to ask him to be silent as she rocked her baby.The smell of iron had never disgusted him,never shaken him,not until that moment.The little girl's legs had continued to drip and form spots on slippery spots on the floor.

«You always wanted a son.»Y/n voice was paralyzing«I should have know that this would have been my end.You can never surrender to your desires.»she didn’t looked at him,calmly holding the cloth in her arms but he knew she was accusing him of the same sin his brother had committed.

He had never hated blood with such despair,never hesitated before his duties,never thought of spitting acid on his oldest loyalty«I should have…i should have saved you.»he breathed.

Y/n smiled softly«No,this is the price you have to pay for taking what isn’t yours.The throne,the crown…me.»her empty eyes burned his flesh«You will die here,uncle,and you will loose everything.»she warned him.

Daemon vomited until he almost fainted,almost suffocated in his own vomit.Tears mixed with the pain and guilt on his face and his arms suddenly gave in.He felt hands on his neck and lips near his ear.He hit his head against the floor again and rocky voices pronounced his name more times.

He tried to crawl but threw up again,and then again and again.He couldn't stop anymore.He tried to grab a the chair next to door,but the world began swirling to turn and he lost himself in meaningless images.Before closing his eyes Daemon only saw pale silver birds with broken necks and torn wings.

[gweelczz]

“Baritone”

Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)

Genre: Fluff, smut (Y’all KNOW he a FREAK) MDNI

Warnings: he eats the 🐱like a pro!

Summary: Y/N has always been a sucker for his voice, he’s about to put what Stack taught him to the test

Y/N or Sugar as. Sammie called her was addicted to Sammie’s deep voice, and Lord, he knew it too well. It rumbled low, like slow thunder rollin’ over the Delta fields, sweet and sinful all at once. Sammie, mischievous grin tucked beneath the tilt of his hat, made it his mission to use that voice to his advantage — especially in moments like this one, when he was tryin’ to sweet-talk her into lettin’ him sing to her.

They were loungin’ outside Smoke and Stack’s juke joint, the sun startin’ to dip low, throwin’ gold light across the dusty ground. Sugar was sittin’ pretty on the porch steps, her dress catchin’ the breeze just enough to drive him halfway mad. Sammie leaned against the post, arms crossed, his mouth curled into that easy, lazy smile she hated herself for likin’ so much.

“Come on now, Sugar,” he drawled, that voice slow and syrupy, rollin’ over her like molasses. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lettin’ a man sing for his lady.”

Sugar rolled her eyes, tryin’ — and failin’ — to fight the shiver that went up her spine at the way he said lady. “You just want to hear yourself talk, Sammie Moore,” she said, turnin’ her head away to hide her smirk.

Sammie chuckled low under his breath, the sound of it makin’ her knees weak. He knew he had her, and he wasn’t about to let up.

All that afternoon, he teased her without mercy. Every chance he got, he’d lean close, lettin’ his voice dip low when he whispered in her ear.

“You sure smell sweet today, Sugar…”

Or he’d brush by her, lettin’ the roughness of his hand skim her waist, his voice a murmur:

“Almost sweeter’n honeysuckle bloom in July.”

By the time night fell and the juke joint started hummin’ with music and laughter, Sugar was wound tighter than a fiddle string. Sammie watched her from across the room, his eyes heavy-lidded, his smirk growin’ every time he caught her sneakin’ a glance at him.

She tried to escape it — tried to busy herself helpin’ Stack and Smoke set up in the back — but Sammie wasn’t lettin’ her off that easy.

He found her in the storage room, her back turned to him as she sorted through crates of bottled soda and whiskey. The little oil lamp barely lit the room, makin’ it feel small and warm, the air thick with dust and old wood and that sweet scent of Sugar that drove him half-crazy.

He slipped in, quiet as a cat, and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“Whatcha runnin’ from, Sugar?” he murmured, his voice damn near a growl in the dim light.

She jumped, hand flyin’ to her chest, and when she spun around, her glare could’ve set him on fire if it wasn’t for the way her lips trembled — like she was fightin’ a smile, fightin’ herself.

“Sammie,” she hissed, takin’ a step back, but he was already there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiatin’ off him.

“You know you love it,” he teased, his voice low and slow, velvet-draped and dangerous. His hand slid to her waist, thumb strokin’ the soft fabric of her dress. “You love the way I talk to you, Sugar. Gets you all flustered.”

She opened her mouth to fuss at him, but he didn’t give her the chance.

Sammie dipped his head, brushin’ his lips against hers — feather-light, teasin’ her the same way he had all day.

Sugar whimpered, barely a breath of sound, and that was all it took. Sammie deepened the kiss, pullin’ her flush against him, his hands roammin’ her hips like he couldn’t get enough.

Their mouths moved together desperate, hungrily, years of want pourin’ out between them. Sammie’s hat fell to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten, as he pressed her against the wall, his fingers threadin’ into her thick coils, cradlin’ her like somethin’ precious.

The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she clung to him — Sammie was losin’ himself, and he didn’t give a damn.

His deep voice rumbled against her lips between kisses, a rough, reverent murmur:

“Mine, Sugar… You hear me? You always been mine…”

The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she clung to him — Sammie was losin’ himself, and he didn’t give a damn.

Without breakin’ the kiss, he hoisted her up easy, settlin’ her on the old wooden table in the middle of the storage room. The wood groaned under their weight, but neither of ‘em cared. Sammie stepped between her knees, his big hands slidin’ up her thighs slow, bunchin’ the soft fabric of her dress as he went.

Sugar gasped, breakin’ the kiss, her hands catchin’ at his wrists. “Sammie… wait a minute baby, I-I ain’t presentable down there—”

But Sammie didn’t listen.

Didn’t even pause.

His hands slid up higher, sure and hungry, feelin’ every bit of that sweet, full body he’d dreamt about since he was a boy. His voice rumbled low against her skin, his mouth findin’ the crook of her neck, suckin’ and kissin’ like he couldn’t help himself.

He speaks clearly looking in her eyes, his voice a deep, sinful thing that made her whole body tremble. “You beautiful, I just wanna taste you”

He kissed her again, rougher this time, drownin’ out whatever protest was on her lips. His hands kept movin’, slidin’ up under that dress like he was claimin’ every inch of her, and Sugar — Lord help her — stopped tryin’ to stop him.

Stopped thinkin’ altogether.

There was only Sammie. His voice, his touch, his heart beatin’ right alongside hers, strong and sure and steady.

And there wasn’t no turnin’ back now.

He dropped to his knees pulling her panties down with him tucking them into his pocket, she wouldn’t be need’em right now anyway. He spreads her legs lifting them over his broad shoulders before diving in, going over everything Stack had taught him in his head he dove in head first.

His lips slowly kissed up her thighs sucking and biting the skin at times but never quite touching where she needed him. He blew softly onto her clit swirling his tongue twice before sucking on it harshly pulling off with a pop.

He remembered what Stack told him: “Once you find the button you wanna stimulate both her insides and her button, if you usin ya fingers then curl them upward while lickin on her button. If you just usin ya tongue then curl your tongue upward while making sure ya nose is nuzzling her button.”

He does as told and places a gentle kiss to her clit moving down to slip his tongue inside of her making sure his nose was rubbing her clit. Y/N pants heavily above him slowly leaning back while gripping the shelf next to her, her free hand lifting her skirt so she can see him better.

The sight of him staring up at her like a hungry predator making her heart stop for a second. Sammie speeds up the tempo of his tongue curling it upward while nuzzling her clit and gripping her thighs holding her in place.

Y/N moans quietly, her hips moving against his face slowly riding his tongue. Her chest heaves and her back arches feeling herself getting closer to the edge, “Sammie baby.. I-“ he cuts her off with a look, his eyes dark as he continues to feast on her slurping up her juices that spill. He brings her over the edge making her cry out his name while he swallowed everything greedily, not wanting to waste a drop.

He eats her through it until she’s pushing his head away causing him to pull back with a sly grin. Coming up he kisses her once again allowing her to taste herself before pulling back, “C’mon here, got folks waitin on us”

[batboysanonymous]

A Thousand Kisses Later

Cassian x Reader

Summary: He held her face like it was the most precious thing in the world, like he couldn't kiss her fast enough, like he had loved her for centuries and still hadn’t gotten enough.

The war had ended three weeks ago. Three long weeks since Cassian had come back from the front lines bloodied but breathing. Since Y/n had sat beside his healing body in the House of Wind, her hand glued to his, whispering promises she wasn’t sure he could hear.

Now, he wouldn’t stop touching her.

Not that she minded. Not when the pads of his calloused fingers brushed her cheek like a prayer. Not when his palms cradled her face like he’d crumble if he let go. Not when his lips pressed tiny kisses over every inch of her face—cheeks, chin, nose, brow—like it was instinct.

She was seated cross-legged on their shared bed, hair still damp from a bath he’d drawn for her, the scent of lavender clinging to her skin. Cassian had taken one look at her—soft, flushed, relaxed—and crossed the room like a man starved.

Now she was giggling, helpless under the affection of a war-hardened general who kissed like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Cass,” she laughed, eyes squeezed shut as he pressed yet another peck to her nose, then her cheek, then her jaw. “That’s the fiftieth one.”

“Fifty-first,” he murmured, lips barely brushing hers. “And that’s for calling me Cass.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—Lord Commander General Cassian of the Night Court—”

His groan cut her off as he buried his face in her neck, letting out a dramatic sigh that made her laugh harder.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he murmured into her skin, voice rasped from laughter and love. “In excessive affection.”

“I’m already drowning in it.”

He lifted his head and cupped her cheeks again, his grin boyish and wicked. “Good.”

Another kiss. This one to her temple.

And another. Her eyelid.

And another. The tip of her nose.

She melted in his hands, the kind of love-sick, soul-deep softness that only a mate bond could bring. His thumbs swept gently across her skin, and she looked up at him with stars in her eyes.

“I missed this,” she whispered. “Missed you.”

His expression crumpled with emotion so fast she barely caught it. But she did. Because she knew him. And he hadn’t let himself feel everything that needed to be felt—not yet.

Cassian settled beside her, tugging her into his lap, her legs over his. His wings curled instinctively around her, a shield of warm, powerful muscle and love. He rested his forehead to hers.

“I was so scared,” he said hoarsely, voice barely audible. “That I wouldn’t get to do this again. That I’d never touch you again.”

Her heart cracked open. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, nose tucked under his jaw.

“I know. I felt it too.”

Cassian pulled back just enough to cup her face again. She loved when he did that—how reverently he held her, like his entire world existed between his hands.

“I made a promise,” he said. “Out there. That if I made it home, I’d spend the rest of my life making sure you knew how much I love you. Every damn day. Every moment I get.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she nodded. “You already do. Every time you look at me like that. Every time you touch me like I’m...everything.”

“You are everything,” he said fiercely.

He kissed her again—quick, soft, sweet—and another giggle bubbled from her throat. He grinned, lips brushing the corner of her mouth.

“You laugh like you were made for me,” he murmured.

She scrunched her nose. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does to me.” He kissed her again. “Your laugh is my favorite sound. Second only to your moans.”

“Cassian!”

He smirked, clearly proud of himself, before pressing a kiss just under her ear. “What? I like all your sounds.”

“I swear,” she muttered, cheeks warm, “you are the clingiest, softest Illyrian warrior in history.”

“I almost died. I earned the right to be clingy.” His hand slid around her back, pressing her tighter against him. “Now hush. I’m not done kissing you.”

He tilted her chin up again, and she let him. Let herself fall into him, into the warm hum of their bond that wrapped around her heart like velvet. Kiss after kiss after kiss, until she was breathless and smiling and so, so in love.

She brushed her fingers through his thick hair, letting her other hand rest over his beating heart. Cassian kissed her palm, then nuzzled into it, eyes half-lidded.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You deserve everything,” she whispered back.

His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing her brow.

“And yet, somehow, I got you.”

They sat there for a while in the hush of evening, the world slowed to a heartbeat between them. He didn’t stop touching her. She didn’t want him to. Every brush of his thumb, every lingering kiss, every whispered promise—it was a prayer they both needed.

“You really want to spend the rest of your life kissing me like that?” she teased softly.

Cassian gave her a slow, roguish grin. “Absolutely.”

“What if I get wrinkly?”

“I’ll kiss every wrinkle.”

“What if I snore?”

“I’ll wear earplugs.”

“What if I—”

He kissed her. Full and firm and breathtaking.

“I’ll love you anyway,” he finished for her.

She blinked up at him, tears rising again. And then she laughed—light and unguarded—her cheeks squished in his palms, lips pecked again and again by the male who had given her everything.

“I love you, Cass.”

His eyes glowed. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Again.

“I love you.”

He kissed her once more, a thousand soft promises in one lingering touch.

And she knew—without question, without fear—that she would never stop hearing those words from him. Never stop being held like that. Never stop being his.

And he—gods help him—would never stop kissing her.

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[ysmtttty]

Do you think that sometimes Eris thinks his mother hates him?

For his bloodline, for being Beron’s son. That sometimes he envies Lucien so damn much it hurts. He loves his brother, loves him very much. But sometimes, a very ugly part of him wishes to have what Lucien has.

Eris would think Lucien is their mother’s favorite son. Of course she would say there were no favorites. But he would still think that. He would look at his brother’s eyes, how he glowed, how he smiled, and see Helion. He would see love. The result of pure, genuine love.

And then he would turn to the mirror and see something ugly. Something cruel, monstrous, vile.

He is a living reminder of centuries of abuse. He was their start. Eris loathes himself for that.

Beron would know that too. He would say that as both praise and cold jab at dinners, making comments how Eris reminds him of himself. Beron would say that in front of LoA on purpose. And hours later, Eris would stare at the mirror trying to convince himself he is not Beron.

Eris would envy shapeshifting magic. He would want to change his face, form, and body. To something else entirely.

Once Eris becomes a High Lord, he would spend more time in beast form just to never see himself in the mirror.

LoA would break into tears once she finds out how he thought of himself. She would put her hands on his cheeks and cry, calling him her precious beautiful boy. Eris wouldn’t cry. But he would start a very slow path of healing. To accept his appearance.

Sometimes, he would still think how much pain he brought to his mother. How his decision of asking Tamlin for help cost her lives of three sons. Eris was at fault. Sometimes, he would think how his methods, calculated and coldly measured, reminded her and his brothers of Beron. Sometimes, he would think how his mother would never look at Lucien and think of Beron. Never. Eris always wanted the same.

Sometimes, Eris would think they all fear him. And that were the worst nights when he thought of that. Because he had no idea how to fix it. How to fix himself.

Eris thought he was unlovable and that was his price.

[schlattsdarling]

ugh that dad schlatt headcanon has me thinking about my own!! he would soooo want like a pretty big family (like a minimum of three kiddos) :(( he also just loves seeing you pregnant with HIS kids

IM SO GLAD PEOPLE LIKED IT BC I THINK ABOUT THIS NON STOP

Dad!Schlatt HC’s Part 2

• “Jay I’m not on the pill, you gotta pull out”

• “Shhh sweetheart, lemme fill you up yeah?. You'll look so fucking pretty with my kids in you”

• “Mmm yeah you wanna knock me up? Get your pretty girl pregnant?”

• And oh boy he’s done for

• Bottoming out as soon as he hears those filthy words leave your mouth

• Fills you up to the brim… and a few times after just to make sure, right?

• Telling him you’re pregnant?

• He cries, don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise

• “Don’t fucking play with me doll”

• You show him the test and the waterworks start

• “I’m gonna be a dad! A DAD! Oh my, look at you my pretty mama”

• You genuinely couldn’t ask for a better person to do this with

• He’d be so hands on during the whole process, wanting you both to be involved in everything

• Painting the nursery? He’s reaching all the parts you can’t

• Changed your mind on the colour? He’s running to the shop to get another

• The birth of your firstborn. oh my lord

• TERRIFIED

• He’s more scared than you, and you’re about to push an entire human out of you

• He’s pacing the room the entire time

• Constantly interrupting doctors to ask questions, I mean his minds running at 100mph

• Gets you everything you need in a heartbeat

• When it’s actually time he’s by your side, brushing hair out of your face, letting you crush his hand

• “Doing so well mama” “Doing such a good job” “Hey, hey you’re so close!”

• The calm after the storm

• He’s sitting half on the hospital bed, an arm around you and your little girl

• “Holy shit. Now it feels real”

• You just laugh and hit his arm playfully

• You cried. He cried. She cried. Everyone cried.

• But now it’s the 3 of you in silence

• “You wanna hold her?”

• You’ve never seen him nod that frantically

• He holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world

• Well, she is

• You have your head on his shoulder, gazing up at the two of them

• How did you get so damn lucky

[luvyeni]

❛CUPID AND HIS ANGEL❜ ( l. know )

💬nia's notes: i seen the shoot and got hella inspired.

p. cupid!leeknow x angel!reader w. 2.5k+

warnings? yandere themes, corruption kink, talks of blood, oral (m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, poor knowledge of greek mythology ( like zesus should strike me down), leeknow is referred to as both lk and cupid.

— 𖦹 ( youre lee knows precious angel, and he'll be damned if he shoots his arrow into your hear for anyone but himself ) !

“she is a beauty, isn’t she?” lee know stared at the photo in front of him, ready to snap his bow and arrows in half. “she isn’t a goddess by any means, just a mere angel, but she’s special.” he knew who you were, he’d been watching you since you arrived here in olympus, he already claimed you as his. “you want me to use my arrows on a useless angel?”

he didn’t mean to be so harsh, but if this male angel found out he also had an eye out on you, he’d surely try and start a war over it – and lee know didn’t bother for another war, nor did he wish bloodshed, but he’d spill the angels blood all over olympus if it meant you’d be his alone – plus the angel would never win against lee know, he was a god of course, but that wouldn’t stop him, male angels are very prideful. “please, i’ll pay you a generous amount.” lee know smiled, tapping the table. “of course.” the angel put the sack of gold on the table, lee know scooped up the bag, putting it in his pocket. “good day to you.” he turned to walk away. “so you’ll do it?” he turned back facing the angel. “consider it already done, i’ll inform you when it will take place.” he smirked walking out of the establishment.

of course he wasn’t gonna do it, no way was he gonna let you be taken from him by some lowly angel, no you deserved more than that – you deserved to be treated like the goddess you really were, spoiled with many jewels and dresses, to eat the best foods… you deserved to be with him, he could give you all that and more.

of course, he already knew where you hung out, in the fields with the other angels, he’d often watch you picking flowers, your wings fluttering behind you, perfect for him. “hi my precious little angel.”

you turned around to face the voice, with a smile, it was your friend leeknow, you smiled running over to him. “hi cupid.” you teased, he smiled, patting your head. “i told you to call me leeknow.” you chuckled. “i know, but i like teasing you.” you were so cute, so unaware of the explicit things he thought about doing to you. “are you here to stay or are you gonna go make people fall in love today.” he shook his head, he only had one person he was gonna make fall in love today – and she was standing right in front of him. “no i’m just here to watch you today, make sure you’re being the good angel i know you are.” he took a flower from your pile. “(y/n), come!” your friend called for you. “go little angel, i’ll be here when you’re done.”

he sat down watching you run over to your friend who wanted to show you something in the grass, probably a animal or something – he didn’t mind, he had business to attend to. pulling out his trusty bow, along with a single love arrow, he waited for yours and your friend to be far enough so you’d be to look at him first, but you won’t see him shoot you, before aiming the arrow, making sure to wait for the exact moment – lord knows that if he shot your friend by accident he’d sure end up killing them, he didn’t want anyone else but you, and was willing to do anything, and he couldn’t have that if he has a stupid little angel floating around here actually thinking he’d love them, no all his love was for you.

once you were in the right place, he wasted no time, letting the arrow go, shoot right in the heart, right where it needed to be. he saw you stumble, meaning the arrow did hit you – making direct eye contact with him. he smiled, and just as he planned, you dropped the flowers, waving goodbye to your friend, running over to him. “you’re back my little angel.” you smiled, he seen the look in your eyes. “pretty little angel.” he held the flower he took from you, placing it behind your ear. “leeknow, i feel- shh, i know angel, let’s get you back to my castle okay?”

lee know was ecstatic, the magic from the arrow seemed to hit faster than anyone he ever shot before, you were all over him on the ride back, to the point he had to hold your wrist down to keep you from unbuckling his pants, “angel stop it.” he sighed as you pressed warm kisses to his neck. you pouted, whining. “but why, i just want to show you that i love you so much.” he smiled, this is exactly what you wanted. “yeah? you love me?” you nodded. “yup, so so much.” he chuckled. “and i love you too angel, but you have no clue what you’re doing, just wait a little while longer, and i’ll show you exactly how you can show me how much you love me.”

as soon as you touched the inside of your castle he was taking you to his chambers, not even caring to explain to the maids, close his door, leaving you both alone. you rushed to kiss him, he finally allowed you to, it was messy, due to your lack of knowledge of how to kiss someone or do anything in a sexual nature at in general. he pulled away grabbing both your cheeks. “calm down my little angel, you don’t even know what you’re doing.” he chuckled. “let me guide you, okay? i’ll give you anything you want, just submit to me.”

Your body finally calm down some, he smiled. “good girl, now undress for me.” you untied the string of your dress, that was tied around your neck, letting it fall, uncovering your boobs, the cold air hitting your nipples. “perfect, my perfect little angel.” he brought his hands up to your nipples, pinching them, you whimpered at the sensation. “sensitive baby.”

he sat down in the chair, patting his lap. “come here pretty.” you moved to where here was, standing in between his legs. “be my sweet little angel and get on your knees for me.” you obeyed, sinking down on your knees, looking up at him. “good little angel, listen so well for me.” he caressed your face, the lovesick look in your eyes making him smile. “gonna do whatever i ask you, be a good angel for me.” you nodded. “anything.”

he let your face go, sitting back to unbuckle his slacks, pulling them down along with his underwear, his cock slapping again his abdomen, his hissed at the cold air. “are you hurt?” your eyes filled with worry, he let out a dry laugh. “no angel, i’m fine.” he groaned, stroking his cock in front of your face. “you want to show me how much you love?, prove to cupid how much you love him?” you nodded. “i do.”

he grabbed the base of his cock, bringing it to your pink glossy lips. “open for me angel.” you slowly parted your lips, he slid his cock into your mouth, moaning as he guided you down his length. “there we go angel, keep going, don’t use your teeth.” you took as much as you could, until his tip hit the back of your throat. “pretty girl, my cock is too big for your little mouth.”

you shook your head, desperate to please him, you tried to take him further down, gagging around his length. “you really want to please me little angel, you took me all the way.” he threw his head back as you worked your mouth up and down, eventually getting the hang of it. “sh-shit you’re a natural angel.” the god was losing his mind, the way your mouth worked on his cock, he had to grip the chair to keep from grabbing your head, fucking up into your mouth – not wanting to frighten you during your first time, plus you both had all the time in the world, both of you being immortal, he had all the time in the world to fuck your face, teach you and corrupt you even more than he was about to.

“fuck angel, angel i’m about to cum.” he groaned. “wanna cum in your mouth okay? gonna fill your mouth with my cum.” you hummed, he grabbed the back of your head, pushing it down until your nose poked his pubic bone. “breath through your nose angel.” he groaned out, stilling your head. “ngh, fuck angel, i’m cumming!” his cock twitched before you felt his warm cum hit the back of your throat. “mhm shit, take all my cum love.” he cursed, his cum filling your mouth.

he finally released your head; you coughed, spit and cum wetting your lips as you caught your breath. “did i do well?” your voice was scratchy due to his previous assault, he smiled at your need to please him – even though he was the cause of it. “yeah angel, you did good.” he said grabbing your cheek, wiping the cum from your lips. “now it’s time for me to show you how much i love you now.”

he helped you up, guiding you to the bed. “lay down angel.” you complied, laying down, your wings spread behind you, your skin glowing, you were truly a beauty. “such a pretty creature.” he lifted the skirt of your dress up on your waist, your white panties on display. “so fucking pretty angel.” he kissed your navel. “spread your legs for me angel.”

he sat on his knees between your legs, the wet spot in the middle of your panties, proving your arousal. “look at the mess you made angel, you love me that much?” he rubbed you through your panties. “leeknow.” you whimpered, your eyes widened at the noise that so easily came out of your mouth. “it’s normal sweet angel, it’s just you showing how much you love me.” he moved your panties to the side, your cunt soaked with your juices. “look so sweet angel, gonna let have a taste later.” it didn’t sound like a question, and lee know didn’t mean it as either, he would spend the rest of eternity in between your legs, but he was equally as desperate to fuck you, his cock swelled just at the thought. he pushed a finger into your hole, you whimpered out his name in reaction. “that feels nice angel?” you nodded. “i’ll let it slide this once angel, but when i speak to you, you use your words, okay?” he pressed a second finger at your hole. “you want another?”

“pl-please.” you moaned as he added the second finger, using his thumb to rub your clit. “sweet angel your little cunt is squeezing my fingers like crazy.” he said. “you’re barely taking them, how can you take me cock if you can’t even take my fingers.” you whined. “i-i can, i promise.”he smiled, speeding up his movements, curling his fingers. “you gotta cum on my fingers first then, gotta open you up to take my cock.”

you felt something, your thighs began to tremble, your legs trying to close around leeknows wrist, but he held them open. “s-something- shh let it out angel, this is a good thing, that means you’re about to cum, be a good angel and cum all over my fingers.” on his word, you felt yourself release, cumming on his hand. “le-leeknow.” your body convulsed as he worked you through your orgasm, pulling his fingers out, bringing them to his lips. “oh fuck angel, you taste so good.” he groaned, tapping on your sticky clit.

“you ready for cock angel?” he rubbed his length on your folds, your juices coating his cock. “y-yes.” your whimpers turned into a loud moan as he slowly entered you, the tip of his cock alone stretching your cunt. “leeknow.” he sighed, his cock sinking into your cunt, your walls gripping him like vice. “fu-fuck angel, your cunt is squeezing me like crazy.” he grunted. “relax your pretty cunt for me, let me in.” he slowly moved his hips, taking his cock out, pushing back in.

you were a mess as he slowly moved inside you, the uncomfortable feeling slowly subsiding, turning into pure pleasure. “m-more.” that’s all he needed to speed up his movements, your moans bouncing off the walls of his chambers as he fucked you. “that’s it angel, take all of my cock.” his hand toyed with your nipples, pinching them.

you felt like you were floating, the tip of his cock slamming into your cervix. “are you going dumb on my cock already angel?” he chuckled. “it’s okay love, i’ll be right here, your love will be here when you come back.” he lifted your hips fucking deeper into you.

“fu-fuck angel, gonna make you my wife.” he grunted. “give you everything you deserve.” he promised. “no one will ever be able to harm you.” you listened to his confession, unable to speak. “sh-shit you’re clenching so tight around me, gonna cum aren’t you, tell me you love me first, i want to hear you say it.” he grabbed your chin. “i-i love you, i love you so much.” you mustered out. “lee-leeknow i’m gonna cum!” you screamed.

“cum for me angel, cum for me so i can fill your little cunt with my cum.” his words alone made you yell out his name as you came, your thighs shaking. “fuck angel, you came so fast -shit- you want my cum that bad, want to have my children, give me a heir?” you nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist. “p-please.” his hips began to falter, his thrust becoming more messy. “fu-fuck angel, i’m gonna cum, gonna fill your pretty cunt up -ngh- fuckfuckfuck.” he cursed, his cum filling your cunt up. “take my cum, my little angel.”

your body laid there limp, your eyes fluttering close. “little angel are you sleepy, my cock made you that tired?” he chuckled as you nodded. “go ahead and sleep, i’ll clean your sweet body up.” that’s all you heard before you drifted off to sleep.

“you cannot enter cupids chambers right now he is-.” his door swung open, lee knows eyes opened, the angry angel making his way in. “you bastard! you’re a thief and a crook.” he yelled at the god, you can tell he was angry, because not even a prideful angel would dare do what he was doing. “you stole my gold and my angel.”

your eyes opened due to the commotion. “leeknow?” leeknows eyes darken upon hearing your voice. “you woke up my little angel with all your yapping.” he said. “your angel? she’s supposed to be mine!” the angel yelled. “enough of this.” leeknow belted. “why would i need your gold? you’re a lowlife.”he scoffed, the angel stood there fuming. “now get the fuck out before i have you killed, you’re scaring my wife.” with a snap of his fingers, two guards came in dragging the male out. “who was that?”

he turned to you, starring up at him. “just a upset customer, don’t worry about you’ll never see him again.” he dipped under the blanket, kissing your thighs. “wh-what are you doing?” you stuttered.

“gonna eat my little angels pretty pussy.”

©LUVYENI

[starrihan]

Hii <3

How do you think &Team Hyung line would react to female best friend not wearing a bra and they accidentally touch them.

I love ur writing! ⭐️

hiii nonnie! youre too sweet thank you!!! i always appriciate when people say they love my writing 🥹🥹 also its crazy that i already had an idea to write something like this so im excited that we had the same idea!

each part is ~500-700 words long (they get longer for each member 😅)

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

K:

he called you over to the dorms as if it were an emergency. you were laying in bed, about to go to sleep when his messages kept buzzing your phone. you groaned, picking up the device and looking at the dimly lit screen, only to read in all caps: "Y/N COME QUICK ITS URGENT I NEED YOUR HELP!" so of course you spring into action, not bothering to put on a bra and just grabbing your jacket, bolting out the door.

you're there within minutes, making sure you brought emergency meds and a first aid kit just incase, knowing the boys didn't have any at their dorm.

"whats all this for?"

K says casually as he opens the door. But you don't pay him any mind, running in:

"WHERES THE EMERGENCY? WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY? WHERE'S TAKI? DID MY SON GET INJURED?!"

you look around frantic, adrenaline still pumping through your veins.

"what? no. i needed your help with this recipe. i don't know how to do this one technique and you cook so i thought–"

your back is turned to him, anger bubbling up inside of you.

"–Koga Yudai. you texted me that it was an emergency but ALL YOU NEEDED WAS HELP WITH A GODDAMNED RECIPE??!! I COULD JUST KILL–"

he reaches his hand out, trying to grab your shoulder to spin you around when you decide to turn yourself, stopping your sentence when his big hand lands straight on your right boob. he's frozen in place, stunned by his own hand placement.

"hello? earth to K? mind taking your hand off of my chest so i can yell at you more you sick pervert?"

"oh, uh... yeah, sorry..."

he says, nervously, an awkward hand going to scratch at the nape of his neck as a light pink blush dusts his cheeks.

"what? you've never touched a boob before? why the bashfulness?"

his blush grows deeper, quickly denying your allegations.

"i've touched a woman's boobs before but never my best friend's! sorry for feeling embarrassed, damn."

you shrug your shoulder, crossing your arms over your chest, elevating them.

"i didn't mind it. you could've kept it there longer, its been a while since someone's touched them anyway, what better person to do it then you i guess."

its like his brain short-circuited for a second. like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"you're serious? you want me to keep touching your boobs?"

"i didn't mean it like that. i'm just saying if you want to, you can."

you look away, feeling a little embarrassed yourself now for even suggesting the idea.

"and suddenly i'm not hungry anymore."

he looks at you dead in the face as you look down, watching the ever-growing tent in his pants forming before your eyes, a smirk creeping its way onto your face as you let out a little chuckle.

"you're too easy, you know that?"

"i'm a touch starved man and busy, what did you think was going to happen?"

༄ ༄ ༄

Fuma:

you wanted to start going to the gym to get in shape. you had many events coming up and you wanted to be in the best shape you could, at least to keep your energy up throughout the day, so of course you enlisted the help of your best friend and gym rat, Fuma.

"you better be grateful, i'm skipping one of my precious gym days to help you out."

you stop in tracks, bowing down to him and being extra dramatic in your delivery:

"thank you, oh great lord Fuma. your assistance is much appreciated i have no earthly idea what i would do without your holy guidance!"

he rolls his eyes, gently nudging you forward as you laugh at your own antics. upon making it to the gym, you set your belongings down near the yoga mats, stretching first as a warm-up. he shows you what to do, like your own personal trainer, having you complete a set of stretches and even some Pilates-style workouts before heading over to the big machines.

after your workout, you both decided to get some food. you head over the bathrooms, showering quickly before putting your gym clothes away and putting on your regular outfit. you look in your bag, finding everything you needed except for a spare bra. after looking in your bag two more times, you curse at yourself, realizing that you forgot to pack an extra bra. the shirt you brought to wear after your workout was a little tight, but you hoped not much could be seen, you didn't really have an other choices for clothing, opting not to bring a jacket today because it was nice out.

upon walking out, you can't help but shiver, the cool air from the AC's blasting throughout the gym catching you off guard. you didn't notice the way your nipples had pebbled due to the cold. you sit at one of the nearby benches, waiting for Fuma. a couple minutes later, he walks out with all of his belongings.

"finally, took you long enough!"

you exasperate, getting up and facing him. he laughs, looking down at you when he notices your nipples poking through the shirt. you don't notice his wandering eyes, another shiver running up your body.

"cold?"

he says as you nod.

"i think its just the AC's though, i should be fine outside."

"no, here."

he says, going to put his jacket over your shoulders. you laugh, trying to fight his jacket away, saying you'll be fine one you leave the gym. he continues his actions though, now just to tease you but stops when he manages to get the jacket over both of your shoulders, the palm of his hand grazing your hard nipple as you let out a soft moan.

he looks at you in shock as your face flushes a deep red, embarrassment coursing through your body as the moan you let out because of your best friend. you take the jacket, forcefully pulling it over your shoulders to hide your chest.

"if i had known you would be moaning for me i wouldn't have done it in public."

he says, trying to lighten the mood.

"so you would do it in private?"

you look at him, dumbfounded by the audacity of the man in front of you to crack such jokes.

"only if you wanted me to."

he says, walking ahead of you while laughing. you scoff angrily, catching up to him.

"you're a freak!"

"i'm not the one that moaned in public because of my best friend."

the smirk he wore on his face was smug, but you couldn't lie and say you didn't consider his offer after that.

༄ ༄ ༄

Nicholas:

he called you over to the practice room one day, asking for help on this new choreography that he was trying to learn. you had both met in a dance academy so he knew he could rely on you as a dance partner to help him out.

thinking that it wasn’t going to be anything too vigorous, you opted for a comfy outfit, a simple hoodie and leggings and no bra. heading to the room, you greet your best friend with a hug.

“Y/N!”

Nicholas calls out. you hadn’t seen him in a while with his group being so busy promoting and preparing for a comeback and tour, so naturally you were really excited to see him again.

“Nicho!”

after catching up for a bit, he showed you the choreo, laughing a little when you tried to replicate the moves with just your arms first. once you felt you had the hand movements down, you stood up to practice the actual steps of the dance, the footwork a little confusing at first.

after practicing by yourself for a while, you told Nicholas that you were ready to practice with him, going over each move step by step. he was having difficulty executing the move smoothly. the way he was doing it made the dance feel segmented instead of flowing naturally with his body. the move required him to spin into a backflip, then having to continue the dance without getting dizzy as the footwork was hard.

you practiced over and over again, helping him with his spins into the flip, but each time he’d mess up the footwork afterwards, still slightly disoriented from the spin-flip.

you tell him to rest a little, practicing the moves separately at first before trying to combine them. you started off fine, facing the same struggles as him before understanding how you kept yourself oriented. Nicholas just stood there, watching as you tried over and over again to perfect the move. he could tell you were starting to get a little dizzy yourself, the speed in combination with such difficult moves catching up to you.

you tried again, losing control of your spin. you braced yourself, expecting your back to hit the hardwood floor, but never feeling the impact. instead, you look up, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Nicho looking down at you in horror.

“geez, do I look that ugly from this angle? why do you look so scared?”

but it isn’t until the adrenaline wears off that you feel it: both of Nicholas’s hands cupping your unsupported tits. your eyes go just as wide as his before you find the footing to get yourself up.

“why aren’t you wearing a bra? we’re practicing a dance!”

“i didn’t think it was gonna be this hard! bras are uncomfortable!”

you’re yelling at each other out of embarrassment, the blush on both of your cheeks the same color as Nicho’s hair, but he couldn't argue your logic.

"next time i ask you to practice can you please wear a bra?"

"why? its not like you'll have to hold them again."

"well what if i do?"

and you look at him confused, cause why would he need to hold your boobs for a dance?

"if you do then you're a pervert for wanting to hold them again. too good to keep your hands off?"

he looks away from you as if your stare could turn him into stone, but his silence intrigues you.

"oh my god Nicholas do you want to hold my boobs again?"

"well not when you put it like that, you weirdo."

he grumbles, hands in his face that he even admitted that in the first place.

"if you can perfect this part by the end of the day i'll let you hold them again."

his head shoots up from his palms, the motivation to learn the dance rushing back. he gets up without a word, practicing again.

"and i'm the weirdo."

༄ ༄ ༄

Euijoo:

you had asked him to study at library together. you both had exams coming up, but you didn't want to study alone, so you called him to keep you company knowing he had his own work to catch up on.

"hey Y/N! thanks for inviting me out to study with you. i've gotten so sick and tired of being holed away in my dorm. Nicholas can be a handful sometimes."

he sighs, putting his stuff down across from you at the library table. you laugh, enjoying his little anecdote.

"i've only met him a couple of times, but he does seem a little high-maintenance. i'm glad i could get you out of there for a bit! i know i'm gonna be here for at least 4 hours studying for this exam."

you sigh, getting ready to bury yourself in your books, catching a glimpse of Euijoo putting his glasses on above your laptop screen. you didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you had been crushing on Euijoo for a while now. you felt wrong about it, knowing that he was your best friend and that he probably didn't see you in that way.

about an hour into your study session, you look around your work space, overwhelmed at the amount of papers and books you have scoured open to write this essay. it was a 15-page research paper for your biomed class that required you to search through published books you couldn't find online. you stand up, alerting Euijoo of your plan to search for a particular book, not to mention the fact that you needed to stretch your legs. he nods, going back to his work.

you don't travel very far, still within Euijoo's line of sight as you come across the biomed section. you scan the bookshelf, silently cheering when you find the book. you go on your tippy-toes, the book much higher on the shelf than you were able to distinguish upon initially seeing it. you kept trying, just barely grazing the book each time.

looking up from his laptop, he notices your struggle, finding it cute before chuckling to himself and getting up to help you.

"need some help?"

he chuckles, watching you struggle some more. you turn to face him, about to say yes when you feel your hand on the book slip, knocking it out of place. Euijoo moves quickly, grabbing your waist to move you out of the way of the book's fall, or what he thought was your waist.

you look up at him, surprised etched on your face, one because of how quickly he reacted in moving you out of the way, essentially protecting you, but two because of his risqué hand placement, especially since you chose today of all days not to wear a bra underneath your hoodie. it didn't help that he was holding onto you so tight, effectively squeezing your tits.

"are you okay? you didn't get hurt, right?"

you smile at his concern, shaking your head 'no,' awkwardly pointing your finger at his hand that was still wrapped around you, probably out of shock and making sure you were okay. the blush on your face makes so much sense to him now, reeling his hand back in horror after realizing what he had been holding this whole time, but he couldn't help but think about how your tits felt in his hands, especially without a bra.

"oh my god i'm so sorry. i guess i underestimated our height difference, i thought i was holding your waist..."

you found his nervousness adorable but you thanked him nonetheless for helping you out.

"do you usually not wear bras?"

your entire body heats up at his question, not expecting him to be so bold. you shake your head, looking down to avoid his gaze while picking up the dropped book.

"i normally do wear them, but they do get uncomfy, maybe i shouldn't wear them as often."

you look up to see his reaction, his face the same shade of red as yours. you exchange quiet glances during the rest of your study session, not being able to shake the thought of your crush holding your boobs.

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-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

[thestarlitmidnight]

✨ Rewrite the Stars ✨

Summary: Being mated to Feyre doesn’t stop Rhysand to seek comfort from his former lover Y/N. One more night, that became their mantra.

Fandom: ACOTAr

Pairing: Rhysand X Y/N

Warnings: Mention of explicit content, be aware of that and consider being 15+ before reading this.

Word Count: 2 810

Previous Chapter

Master List

Chapter Two

"You are an insufferable idiot, Rhysand!" I raised my hand and threw a pillow at him, my voice fierce with anger.

"Angel, calm down, will you?" He raised his hands up, letting the pillow hit his tummy without any attempts to move aside.

"Take that angel and shove it up your arrogant ass!" I picked another pillow from his sofa in the River House, throwing it at him.

"I know about better activities involving those bodily parts," he dared to send me a seductive smile, sounding so damn sure of himself.

"I would rather throw myself off the nearest cliff with my wings tied before getting involved with you ever again!" I seethed and walked over to the sofa to a chair, where I picked another way too decorated pillow and threw it once again, aiming for his cock this time.

"Now, Y/n, let's not get ahead of ourselves," the seductive smirk fell from his face and was replaced with a more serious look.

"You said you had my back! So where were you?!" I picked up a vase that was holding some pastel pink flowers with a weirdly sweet smell and pointed with the vase at Rhysand, my eyes holding murder in them.

"I was tending to my duties, angel," he eyed the vase in my hand like it was his future executor. "Put that vase down, darling, those flowers were grown from seed by Elain, it would break her heart seeing them on the floor."

I bared my teeth at his damn aloofness and growled.

"I don't give a single fuck about what would break Elain's heart," with that, I grabbed the flowers out of that vase and threw them on the near table. "And frankly, you should not as well, not now, I am serious you piece of arrogant male, what the hell was more important than backing me up at the mission!"

He eyed me with caution in his eyes now, yet his eyebrows were raised with mocking amusement. This idiot always knew how to get under my skin.

"You speak of it as if I let you on the battlefield, Angel, it was mere two more hours spent in the presence of Helion," he tried to ease my irritation, but he was doing a terrible job at it.

"Exactly! One more hour with Helion might as well be two on the battlefield, and I would always choose the battle over that little friend of yours! If Azriel wouldn't come check on me, he would have me now in his bedsheets, making me scream his mane," I growled, throwing the vase with full force at him.

It never hit the target. His hand, swift as ever, quickly grabbed the vase a few inches away from his face. Those violet eyes were now glued on me, a predatory look set in them.

"Helion wouldn't dare lay a finger on you," he growled, the irritation in his voice clear now.

Caudlron forbid that another male will touch me. He can go around and fuck his precious little mate, and then situations like this come, and he can erupt with the stored wrath at the mere mention of such a thing.

"And why is that?" My voice was sweet, way too sweet, to the point it was laced with mighty venom. "I am no longer out of the market, as you made very clear when you introduced Feyre to them as your High Lady."

The moment he introduced her as his mate, the eyes of the other High Lords landed on me, the desire and challenge all over their eyes.

"Y/n, a very thin ice," he spoke with such a calm voice that a shiver ran down my spine. Icy fury and possessiveness were all over him. Clear and visible.

"Fuck you, Rhys, I had enough," I bared my teeth at him once again, my hand twitching to reach for my throwing dagger.

"Angel, you know just as I do that Helion or anyone else wouldn't dare to even come too close to you. Stop being dramatic and come here," he placed the damn vase back on the table and spoke with such confidence that I ached to slap that look out of his ridiculously handsome face.

"You were with her, weren't you? That's why you forget," I raised my hand, stopping him from coming too close to me.

If he were too close, I would lose my ground and give into those flirty eyes of his and let my feelings sway me back into the safety of his arms.

"She needed help with explaining the customs of Illyria, and time slipped from my mind. Y/n, angel, I am sorry," he placed his hand over mine, which was on his chest, keeping him at arm’s length.

His fingers brushed across my hand with a gentle caress, his voice a brush of midnight comfort, and those damn eyes, full of those cursed emotions, any of us should no longer feel.

"Can't you just send me on a few-year-long diplomatic mission on the Continent? It strengthens the relationship between Prythian and them?" I breathed out, feeling all the fight leaving my body, leaving just a pure heartache.

What else the fuck did I expect? Of course, he would prioritise his time with his mate over me. Lately, I had stopped being anyone's first choice.

"This is not fair. Not to Feyre, not to me, and not to you. We are just prolonging the suffering, don't you see? I am spending Rhys. I can't go on like this anymore. For a fucking three centuries, I was your only, and now, I was rendered into your fucking side piece! Do you understand how fucking unfair that is?!" I hit his chest, then again and again, angry, hurting, and desperate. "Just send me away and let me go. I am too weak to do it on my own accord, Rhys."

"No," he bit out, but there was raw pain all over his beautiful face. Like he was battling his own demons, his own needs, trying to do the best decision with the best possible outcome. Like he always did. "I am not sending you anywhere, Y/n, you belong here with me."

"Do you even listen to yourself?" I hit him once more, but he grabbed my arms and held them still. "You belong to your mate, you made that fucking decision, not me! She belongs here with you. It's no longer me! We were a pair, we were so damn in love, me being idiot waited for you faithfully for those damn fifty years Rhys! I was there! Always. Yet you fucking accepted that bond! You threw us behind like it never happened and then came to me and wrapped me in this lying, broken blanket of who we used to be! We keep fucking, but why loving you feels like I need to give up my soul?! It's so fucking dysfunctional! Pleasure paid for with guilt and pain!"

It just poured. It always did when he made me this angry.

He let me speak. Let me slap him with my cruel words without protecting himself. Rhys knew how much it was eating me alive. How it was destroying me. Because he had it the same. This was destroying both of us...

"I fucking love you, you Y/n, not her, my heart was, is and always will be yours, hoping to rewrite the stars for us. My soul is the culprit, forcefully tied to someone I did not wished to be tied to. You are the only one I can imagine living my life with. It was always you, angel. Please, do not leave me, you are the last precious thing that I have left," he grabbed my face into his hands, brushing my cheeks with his fingers, pushing the stubborn tears away.

"Then choose me, if you love me Rhys, choose me," I sobbed, throwing my arms around his neck, sounding way too desperate to my own liking.

"Amren-" Rhys opened his mouth, but a sound echoed from the hallway leading into the living room where we were.

"Wait here," he quickly pressed a tender kiss onto my forehead and went to check what the sound was.

How low we fell? Scared of a little sound... Like we were doing something wrong. And being honest, we maybe were, but Cauldron, it felt so right at some moments.

"Oh? I did not knew you had a cat?" I raised an eyebrow, watching the creature with forcefully hidden appal. "The ugliest cat I have ever seen, might I add."

It was true. This can was something uncalled for. Way too large eyes that threatened to fall out of its sockets, each looking at different side. Legs each different length and it was way too long tail. The fur was the real deal though. Patches of different colours, length and structure.

"We do not have a cat. I don't know how this... strange thing... ended here," Rhys sounded just as surprised and stunned as I was.

"Are you sure it is a cat? Can't it be something that came stray from up the mountains? Weak cup of the hoard?" I came closer, suddenly completely forgetting about the argument we had, in favour to entertain the curiosity of inspecting this strange creature.

We had millions of those arguments, this was the first time I ever seen anything like this.

"I have no clue what this is supposed to be," he raised his violet to look at me and gave me a cheeky smile. "But it still looks better than you in the morning after a night full of creaming my name."

I cannot help but burst into laughter at that stupidly hilarious comment.

"This cat looks indeed better than you when you have a bad hair day," I nodded, shaking my head at the absurdity and looked closer at the cat.

"Hello there, little one, are you hungry?" I cooed at it, daring to touch the creature between its ears and scratched it.

To my surprise, it purred, just like a proper cat.

"I have a very expensive fish at my home, this manner lacking donkey fancied himself to have it for a dinner when he would come today, but I will gladly serve his portion to you," I kept cooing at the cat, ignoring the hurt snort from Rhys at my very purposeful teasing at his expense.

"You want to take this... resemblance of a cat... with you back home?" Rhys said with disbelief, looking between the cat he still held and me.

"Yes? Fangie looked rough as well when she happened to come across me," I reported to him, snatching the cat out of his hands. "I will feed this poor creature, bath it and do my research to find out, if it is indeed a cat or something that came down from the mountain."

"Do not mention that bat living in your closet please," Rhys started to laugh, a mirthful, joyful sound as he now studied me with the poor thing in my arms. "It's enough I need to greet her every damn time, I open the closet to take fresh clothes out and pray she will not claw out my eyes."

"Fangie did that only one time and you pissed her and you know it! She is nice bat with proper manners, thank you very much, can't blame a lady for defending herself when she is accused of getting fat," I gave Rhys a pointed look and rocked the reincarnation of misplacement in my arms.

"I merely said, that you are feeding her too much to the point, she can't see her little legs over that fluffy belly," he folded his hands over his broad chest.

He looked like a sulking child instead of a High Lord. I simply rolled my eyes at him and walked closer to him.

"I will go feed it, you tend to your duties and come over, if you will be lucky, this one will leave you some fish for dinner," I leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his lips.

Rhys grabbed my face and deepened the kiss, stealing air from my lungs.

"Wear that lingerie, angel, for me?" He made a sad eyes at me, knowing damn well what works at me.

I forcefully pulled myself away from the comfort of his arms and winked at him, without confirming or denying anything.

He will see, his patience deserves to have some practice as well. Cauldron knows that he gets everything he wants way too easily.

————

I was in the shower, when a warm body pressed against my back and my wings and strong, familiar hands wrapped  around my body.

"There is no time for this, seriously Rhys, are you still horny?" I giggled when I felt his hardened length at my thigh.

"I am always horny, when you are around, you are well aware of that fact, Y/n," he practically purred and started to shower my neck with torturous kisses, while his hands started to explore.

“The dinner is supposed to be in half an hour,” I reminded him, but let my head fall backwards, resting it against his shoulder.

“Plenty of time to hear you cry my name, angel,” he assured me and I did not doubted that statement even the slightest.

His leg came between mine and forced them further apart, while his fingers crossed the path over my chest, down my belly and landed right where I wished to have them.

A pleased moan fell from my lips as they started to brush between my folds, spreading the wetness around.

“Always so fucking ready for me, aren’t you?” He growled into my ear and then bite at it with quite a force, while two of his fingers entered me, forcing a load cry of his name filled with pleasure.

His other hand traveled from my breast, where it was contently busy till now, and he travelled with it to my neck, where he playfully squeezed and at the same time he added more pressure into his fingers pumping in and out of me.

Then that hand disappeared from my throat and went up. “Open that pretty mouth for me, darling.”

It fell out right away and he placed two of his fingers inside. I sucked on them instinctively, he always had a weak spot for a good sucking on various places of his body.

Those fingers then stoped on my tongue and I moaned out loud when he starts to mimic the same rhythm on my tongue that he was using on my clit.

The same time his fingers lazily moved on my clit, it did the same on my tongue.

“Fuck,” I whimpered over his fingers, overwhelmed by how erotic this prick could make it feel witch such a simple little things.

And when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he entered my body with his cock and started to pump into me without any mercy, while in contrast kept the slow, lazy, torturing tempo on my bud and tongue.

“My name, Y/n, I went to hear it,” he grunted, his voice full of dirty demands.

And I obeyed. His name started to fall from my lips like a prayer, even though mumbled by his fingers in my mouth.

My arms reached behind me, wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to gain some stability to don’t fall forward by the force he was taking me with.

My undoing was when his cursed mouth began to kiss at my wings, rendering me senseless when my mind clouded with overwhelming pleasure, forcing me over the edge.

When we walked out of the shower, now cleaned and satisfied, smiling like, I almost had a heart attack at the sight that came across us.

“Cauldron that’s truly one hell of an ugly cat,” Rhys made a grimace and then leaned towards me and started to place kisses all over my wings.

“Rhys! You offended it!” I stared to laugh, even though I tried to sound scolding.

The cat seized both of us and limped away from the bathroom with quite an attitude.

“I will buy it pretty bowl and keep it full, that ought to make up for stating the obvious,” he dismissed the matter completely and kept the gentle assault at my wings.

With Rhys, I could feel so blissfully happy, that it was impossible to don’t forget about all the looming problems and dramas surrounding our difficult situation.

I trusted in Rhys. When he say he will rewrite the stars for us, he will do it, even if it means to travel through the space and time to get the Mother into a chokehold and force her to untie what she ties together.

Chapter Three

Tag-List: @j-pendragonx @stonerpersona

[lure-of-writing]

His little Sister: I'm sorry

Summary: The mating bond between you and Azriel has been revealed and he isn't sure if any apology will ever make up for the hurt he has cause you.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: none that I know of

Authors note: Guys I just got my nails done so if there is typos it's because I'm not used to typing with daggers on my hands. But anyways that's not what we're here for. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Azriel was screwed. Royally screwed. Even as the spymaster of the night court he had no idea how he was going to get out of this one unscathed. First and foremost there was you. You were the mosting important thing in this giant mess that your cousin just caused and making sure you were ok was his first priority. That is once you inevitably get all of the hurt and betrayal out of your system. He could feel your emotions barrelling down the bond and it damn near made him crumple under the weight of your hurt. Next on the list of casualties was Rhysand. And by the look on the high lord's face it was a mixture of pure unfiltered anger and the need to protect his little sister. Azriel can’t blame him, you look like you could either rip him to shreds and bawl your eyes out while doing so.

Rationally Azriel knew that Rhys would never really do anything to hurt him but the other part knew that Rhysand played dirty when it came to his family and it was some sort of unwritten rule that he would go to the end of the world to make sure you were ok. If Rhysand played dirty before he was about to get filthy now. This would not be the first time he stepped toe to toe against a high lord, specifically against Rhys, but this time would without a doubt be different. This time Rhysand would pocket away all of the years of their friendship and in turn he would fight Azriel like a traitor. He, without trying, had broken your heart and betrayed your trust. To Rhysand this was the ultimate act of betrayal. 

Only being one hundred years younger than your brother means all three males were also relatively young in the grand scheme of things. Rhysand held your tiny body against his. The three males had taken a break forming training in the mountains to visit you in Velaris. It wasn’t often Rhysand was allowed to leave the camps, much less often for Azriel and Cassian. But with the arrival of a new babe they had been permitted to leave. It became a tradition to visit the ever growing babe once a year. Somewhere in the chaos of training for the Blood Rite you had grown into a teenager. Cassian was sprawled out on one of the couches in the cabin and Azirel had taken his place in the chair that was unofficially deemed as his. There in a seat a little bit bigger than his own but yet still smaller than the couch Cassian claimed you were curled up against your older brother, peacefully sleeping.

Rhysand had always disliked the way things were run in the camps, oftentimes they made his blood boil but something changed in him the day you were born. Rhys knew from a young age that he would be a protector. A protector of his friends, his family, his people and his court. But he never knew that the most precious thing he would come to protect was you. He never wanted in the camps, walking amongst those who would take any opportunity to clip your wings or even kill you without a second thought. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do to stop your visit as your father deemed it necessary. 

Silence was light in the room. Occasionally there was a pop or crackle from the fire, the sound of clothes shifting against the couch from Cassian and the light noise of you breathing. With a heavy sigh Rhys rubbed his face causing both males to look at their friend in confusion. “Something on your mind brother?” Cassian's deep voice filled the once quiet room.  For a moment nothing was said as Rhysand just looked deep into the fire before once again sighing and rubbing his face before throwing his head back to rest on the couch. “What if I’m not capable of protecting her?” The two males looked at each other in confusion before turning their attention back on their friend. Everyone knew that the power Rhys possessed was quite frankly, insane, to put it simply. “Rhys, I think you're forgetting you are there, bud.” Once more Cassian's voice takes over the room. This time in a gentle laughter. “It’s not that I’m unaware of what I am capable of.” Rhys stops speaking as he looks down at your resting form laying against him. Gently he moves a piece of hair that had fallen in your face. “I know what I can do. What I am willing to do to keep her safe but I will not always be around to protect her and that is what I fear.”

“Being her brother is the greatest honor I have ever been given but what if I fail? What will it cost her? Just her being here possesses a threat to her life. Those males out there would not hesitate to clip her wings or flat out kill her. What happens when I am needed elsewhere and she is in trouble? Who will save her then? I know my mother is training her to fight but I never want her to be put in that position where she has to. Making sure she is safe, happy and loved is all I want for her. I never want her to experience the world we have endured.” 

Neither males have a sister but they do have the love of siblings for each other and they know the lengths they would go to for the other males. They may not know what it's like to have a sibling but they do know what it's like to love you. Since the day you were born they have done nothing but love and dote on you. If you tripped and fell and scraped your knees Cassian would scoop you up and cradle you until you stopped crying. Only then would he set you somewhere where he could properly clean the cuts littering your body and then take you for a treat to make you feel better. Azriel would help you with any of the boring assignments your mother would hand out. “I don’t even know what this means!” you would groan out in frustration before dramatically letting your head fall face first into the book. Luckly Az knew you very well. Without looking up from what he was doing he placed his hand palm up in the book and waited for the impact of your head against his hand. 

Finally once your head was in his hand, did he finally look up. “You may not understand it right now but eventually you will and you will be grateful your mother made you do this.” Groaning once more you left your head where it was. “Easy for you to say you're like a genius or something.” You grumble while Azriel lifts your head for you. Gently he pats the top of your head. “Maybe if you studied more you could be one too.” A mixture of a frustrated groan and sigh made its way through your lips causing Azriel to chuckle. 

It was safe to say that they understood what a light you are in the world. In their world. And each male would do anything to protect it. “You know we would protect her with our lives, right?” Cassian now sat up on the couch. This conversation was important. “We have known her since the day she was born. We have watched her grow and reach each millstone just like you have Rhys. We would never let anything happen to her. If it were my life or hers, I would happily give up mine. I’m sure Az feels the same way.” And Azriel did. “You don’t have to worry about her by yourself. We can share the worry Rhys. You know you can count on us. If anything ever happens to you, we will protect her just as fiercely as you do. You know that right?”  And Rhysand did in fact know that but there would always be some part of him that thinks only he will ever be able to do a good enough job at keeping you safe. 

Apparently Rhysand was right. Only he would protect you. Azriel had broken his promise and now he would pay. Next on his list of people to deal with was Morrigian. At the moment she was not a priority but eventually would be. First he needed to survive the night. 

If Azriel were to go back in time less than a week ago, he would have been more or less avoiding you. After his talk with Rhysand about the more interesting part of your relationship the shadowsinger thought it would be a good idea to give you some space, not wanting it to seem like he was trying to pursue something with you. Obviously that was the exact opposite of what he wanted but he was also keenly aware of your brother's disapproval of any male you chose to date. Azriel was sure he wouldn’t fare better than the others. On the other side Azriel truly had no idea how you would react to you being his mate and that terrified him. 

He hadn’t seen you much since the training incident with Cassian. As much as it bothered him to not be able to check on your healing himself he had Cassian right there basically giving me second by second updates. Which he did appreciate but since Cassian knew you were his brother's mate he was being a little over the top. Which is why Azriel was not expecting to see you on the rooftop for the daily morning training session. 

Az and his shadows watched from across the room as Cass ushered you back towards the house. That was until you saw him and course corrected to be right in front of him. “You’ve been avoiding me. Why?” The hurt in your voice made him feel like a terrible person but he also couldn’t give you the real answer why. Not right now and definitely not right here. “I haven’t been avoiding you.” He knew he was whispering but he also knew there were more listening ears then just yours, mainly Cassians. Azriel watched as Cassian scooped you up and walked back to where he was herding you, just moments before you veered off on your own. 

As the shadowsinger and spymaster of the night court there wasn’t much, if anything, that made him nervous. The piercing stare of your gaze following his every move was definitely unsettling. But his male ego wouldn’t let him slip into that unflinching state of mind that he would usually find himself in when sparring. Now he was keenly aware of each move he was making while in front of you. His need to impress didn’t go unnoticed by his brother. Thankfully Cassian decided to have mercy on his soul and let him get in a few good punches as his repayment for when Cassian did the same to him while in front of Nesta. 

The daily sparring session was over sooner and also later then he wanted it to be. One part of him wanted to continue to impress you, even if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that you were even impressed in the first place. The other part of him just really wants to get the awaiting conversation over with. Azriel headed over the bench where his long forgotten shirt and water bottle had been previously placed. He had barely gotten in one drink of water when you appeared in front of him. “Why have you been avoiding me?” It was the same question that you had previously asked him before being dragged away by Cassian. And yet this time it made him even more nervous then the first time you had asked him. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was make you feel like he didn’t want to be around you. Even before the bond he wanted to be around you every chance he could get and you knew that. He needed a reason you would believe. A downfall that came with spending all of his spare time with you is that you were able to tell when he was lying better than anyone else in the inner circle. There was only one thing he could tell you that wasn’t the full truth nor a complete lie. Rhys wasn’t a fan of the relationship, or lack thereof, between the two of us and he needed to step back in respect for Rhysand. 

Thankfully the mother was on his side that morning because you believed him. 

Opening up his arms in a form of some peace offering he’s quickly wrapped in your arms. Even though hugging anyone who was sweaty was something that he knew drove you crazy you did it anyways and it warmed his heart. But watching you place your chin on top of his chest just about made his heart melt. He prayed that you wouldn’t be able to feel or hear just how fast his heart is beating, and it is not from the training. 

Oh how Azriel wished he could go back in time to just a few days ago. Hell he would even go back to when he was avoiding you. Truthfully anything would be better than what was currently unraveling in front of him. 

“How long have you known?” Azriel tore his eyes away from Morr to look at you. The look of heartbreak that painted your face was like a suckerpunch to his gut. He took a sharp breath in. You were always stunning in Azriels eyes but looking at you now was like looking like a fallen angel. As much as the poetic beauty was undeniable he also never wanted to see that look on your face again. He would do anything to make you trust him again. 

“I-” Azriel didn’t realize just how dry his throat was until he tried speaking. Actually now that he was focused on his body he was pretty sure he felt like he was going to throw up. Swallowing he takes another deep breath. A quick glance to his right reveals Rhysand with a raised eyebrow and barely contained anger. “I’ve known since the war.” Azriel always imagined this moment would be very different. Just the two of you in private. And it would finally feel like a brick being lifted off of his chest. 

But watching your reaction to his confession felt like the opposite. He watched as you blew out a heavy breath and grabbed the back of Morrigians chair for support. Looking at the look he watches a tear finally free itself and makes its way to the ground. Just as quickly as the first tear had fallen the rest had also followed suit. He watches as you shake your head and look at your brother for the answer of what you are supposed to do. The dining room had never been as quiet as it was in these waking moments and Azriel despised it. Even if he was the cause of it. “You’ve known for almost a year and you never told me?” The spymaster watched as you fought against the lump in your throat only for your voice to crack on the last word. “Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me continue to dream about the love I desired. Let me think I was never going to get the love Rhys and Fey have? You’ve known for months!”  Azriel sat unmoving as your betrayal turned to sadness and then anger. You had never raised your voice and yelled at him before but he knew he deserved every ounce of anger you threw at him. “You-you out of all people knew how I felt about mates and yet you held this from me. My mate! I-I-I -oh my god.” Time seemed to slow down in that moment as he watched you grab your chest in pain then collapse to the floor. He felt himself rise. Azriel wasn’t sure why, was it to move to the other side of the table and comfort you? Was it in shock? Fear for your breaking heart? He wasn’t sure. It was like slow motion as Mor swiftly twisted out of her seat and caught your limp body on the way down to the floor. Together the two females sat on the floor. Morrigian had wrapped her arms around your body and held you pressed against her chest as you sobbed. 

“Azriel!” That was the commanding voice of a high lord. The force of which Rhysand said his name and allowed his power to wash over him was the only thing capable of pulling his focus off of your crumpled body. Looking back to his right he notes that Rhysand has pushed the chair he was previously sitting in far behind him. It didn’t go unnoticed how Feyre made her way to you with urgency. The primal anger and need to protect his family also didn’t go unnoticed by the shadowsinger. He was about to get his ass beat. If not altogether killed. Rhysand may have been mad at Cassian for hurting you but he did go easy on him, even if it resulted in a few nasty bruises littering his body. Azriel knew for sure this would be nothing like that time. Rhysand had a look of death in his eyes and Azriel was sure death was waiting to greet him. 

“Uh oh. Yeah you guys may want to get out of here it's about to get ugly.” Cassian also stood from where he was once seated and began stretching. Noting Feyres' worry Cassian continued “Don’t worry I won’t let them hurt each other too much.” He paused, “Well I won’t let them kill each other.” 

Only after everyone except Mor and Cassian had winnowed away his Rhysand lunge at Azriel. 

Ever since learning that you were his mate one of his shadows followed you religiously. He never even told them to do that, it was just something they did naturally. His shadows always were ones to keep an eye on you even if you were completely safe. 

That's how he found himself in front of the river house. His shadows danced around him in warning of the two females sitting in the living room still awake at this hour. Without looking at a clock Azriel would assume it was around three in the morning. Gently he pushes the hard oak door open only closing it after allowing himself inside the quiet house.  Azriel knew he could make his way to your room without either one of the females knowing but he assumed it was better to get everything that could tear him apart over with while he was down. 

“I feel bad for her. I know what it's like when the other person knows they're your mate and you're left in the dark. But this is something else. If Mor hadn’t said anything would he?” He could hear the voice of his concerned high lady. “Do we know if she even still has a mate? Rhysand looked like he was going to kill him.” Nestas' voice that usually dripped in sarcasm was dry as bone. Stepping into the room he made his footsteps louder than he would ever step to announce his presence. A sharp gasp was the only noise that Feyre made as she brought her hands to cover her mouth. “Oh my gods” The scraping of the chair against the wooden floor pulls his gaze from the spot on the floor he found particularly interesting to see Feyre making her way over to him. Over her shoulder he could see Nesta taking inventory of the damage Rhysand caused. “Are you ok?” He shrugs off her question but allows her gentle hands to move his head from side to side.

“How is she?” Everybody knew who he was talking about. Feyre led him to the couch ushering him to sit down as Nesta answered “As well as you can expect.” Feyre had stepped out of the room to grab a pain relieving tonic “She just fell asleep a few minutes before you got here” she pushes the vial into his hands “Drink” she insists. “I never meant for it to go like this. For it to get this far without me telling her. I just was waiting for her to feel it herself but then I just kept waiting and waiting and waiting and the next thing I knew I was sitting at that table listening to Mor tell her. I promise I never meant to hurt her. You know that right? You have to believe me.” The constant throbbing throughout his body finally forced him to drink the tonic in hopes it could even touch the pain he was feeling. “I’m sure you never meant for this to happen az. But why didn’t you just tell her. Anyone with eyes could see that she already had feelings for you.’’

“I wanted it to be her choice. I would never force her to accept the bond. All I want is for her to be happy no matter what.” A heavy sigh fell from both females before the peaceful silence filled the room. Nesta was the first to leave in hopes of getting at least an hour of sleep before she needed to be awake for training. With a gentle squeeze of his arm Feyre stands above him “I Believe you Az. But you need to understand how hurt she is currently feeling.” looking up he sees not his high lady or Rhysands mate but a concerned friend. “I know I can feel it through the bond.” Feyre smiles sadly before stopping in the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Go be with her Az. You both need it.”

The warmth of the fire was the first thing Azriel noticed upon entering your room. Although fae ran warmer than humans you were the rare exception. Unless absorbing heat from the sun or another person you were on average at least ten degrees colder than anyone else. A small smile found its away to his face to see the fire going. His own personal relationship with fire may be nonexistent but for you he would endure it a hundred times over. The next thing he noticed was your sniffling and quiet sobs. In three large strides he was kneeing besides your bed. “Y/n” you name was like a whisper of a prayer in a silent coven meant for worship. He watched as your eyes opened to meet his and listened as a sob racked your body. “I am so sorry baby” Quickly he raised from where he was previously knelt on the floor and climbed into bed with you. The move to place your body on top of his was easy but listening to the silent cries of your heart breaking wasn’t. “I never meant to hurt you I swear.” 

Eventually the tears raining upon his chest and was replaced with the gentle breathing of your sleeping form. Azriel knew he should sleep but he couldn’t help but admire every part of you just in case this was the last time he  got to hold you like this. That's why he wasn’t startled when Rhysand barged into your room, startling you awake. “I told you to stay away from her. I’m going to kill you.” He promised. Azriel didn’t take his eyes off of your brother as you raised to sit in between his legs. Rhysand could do whatever he wished but Azriel wouldn’t leave without making sure you were ok first. “Rhys don’t. You may be mad at him, but Azriel is my mate.” The bond had never sung in happiness like it did basking in the warmth of your acknowledgement.

Taglist

@kemillyfreitas @lana08 @willowpains @username199945 @tothestarsandwhateverend

@kylaisra @lilah-asteria @nickishadow139 @br0klynbby @blacktreacle22

@amysangel @mp-littlebit @mybestfriendmademe

@olive-main @mariahoedt @tele86 @marina468 @fangirlloza010 @kennedy-brooke

[the-fiction-witch]

Bracken Bunny P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Davos Blackwood Couple - Davos X Reader Reader - (OC) Lady Y/n Bracken Rating - Smut (Non-Con) Word Count - 1900

Requested -

More please! Lowkey (highkey) into part 2! Would you consider it? I absolutely loved this Please part 2 Can we please get a part 2 of Bracken bunny?? I need to read what happens next 😫 MORE DAVOS PLEASE In desperate need of a part two for bracken bunny! So devious and wild

I contorted and writhed desperately trying to get myself out of his grasp. But Davos kept his hand locked around my upper arm leaving me with no choice but to walk with him. Often I tried to adjust myself slightly and to turn us around in circles but it never lasted long as he soon saw we were off-path and adjusted us back the way we needed to go. I screamed, swore and cursed his name a thousand times but it came out as nothing but muffled and mumbled grumbles from under the gag. If ever I tried to scream too loudly or draw attention to myself he would slap me hard on the ass to force my silence.

Finally, I saw it, Raventree Hall, The tall hall stood with ancient stone walls covered in climbing earthy moss, Large Square towers and a deep stone-lined moat.

I knew once I was inside it was too late, there would be little chance for my escape. And I hardly had hope of Davos letting me go, I used almost every last bit of my strength to try and get out of his grip but he forced me to the drawbridge, the only way across the deep moat.

“Who goes there?” A voice called out from the gate,

“It’s me you fuckwit!” Davos yelled,

“Ohh- Sorry- Who’s that with you?”

He chuckled, “Just a little bunny I found out hunting,” he purred, “Open the damn Gate!”

The thick wooden bridge slowly lowered revealing a well-kept courtyard, Davos dragged me inside with him walking me through the courtyard making sure no one saw my face.

The courtyard was busy with people. Many came and went from farming the various fertile lands House Blackwood owned, Blacksmiths working to make more and more weapons, and soldiers training and preparing. All ready for a battle at a moment’s notice, Likely a battle with my family.

He forced me inside the keep itself. The walls were tall and dark with a muddy smell to the air, and the timber rooms of the keep seemed cavernous and expansive with large dark oak beams high above it all. The walls were adorned with wollen tapestries, every piece of wood had intricate carvings, every door a detailed latticework, and each window had panes of diamond-shaped glass.

He forced me up through the Keep’s corridors until we reached a room, with stone walls lined with dark oak beams, a wooden floor, a stone fireplace in the corner, and a wooden bed lined with woven wool blankets with a window to the godswood above it.

I was thankful it wasn’t a prison cell, but fearful to be in his chambers.

He tossed my body onto the bed without care and locked the door behind him.

Davos came over to the bed leaving his weapons by the door, he pulled down the cloak and rested his finger in front of my nose. “You are not going to scream. You are not going to yell. I will remove the gag but you will not make a single sound. Do you understand me my little Bracken Bunny?”

I sighed knowing I didn’t have a choice, if I screamed the rest of his Blackwood family would come and I’d end up locked in a cell, or dead… or worse. So I nodded,

He smirked licking his bottom lip, “That’s a good girl,” He slowly untied the ribbon,

I quickly caught my breath staring into his dark brown eyes,

He grabbed my jaw hard, “I didn’t hear a thank you?”

“Thank you.” I spat,

“Humm that's a good little bracken bunny,” He smirked letting me go,

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked trying not to let my fear seep through,

He chuckled, “I am going to send a raven to your father, and we’re going to find out just how much Lord Bracken values his precious little daughter.” He growled, “You, my little bunny are going to stay here with me,” He crawled over me pinning my hips to his bed, “And we are going to have a lot of fun.” He stroked some hair from my face, “I am going to put a price on every little inch of you little bunny, your hair, your skin, your … maidenhead. All of it will have a price that your father is going to have to pay if he wants left intact.”

I tried to squirm out of his grip but he was far too strong, “My father would bring his army and burn Raventree Hall to the ground,”

“Oh, would he? Shall we find out how much he values you? Exactly how much he values? Down to the gold dragon?” he smirked forcing up my dress,

I squealed but he clamped a hand over my mouth,

“Quiet my little bracken bunny,” He growled licking my cheek,

“Don’t you dare,” I whispered,

“Don’t I?” He growled forcing me over onto my stomach pushing my head into the pillow and my feet on the floor so I’m bent over his bed. He forced my dress up to my waist exposing me completely to him,

I whined in humiliation at being so exposed, I kicked my feet trying to keep him away but he grabbed my ankles and forced my feet to the floor,

“Umm… such a cutie, “Humm… I best prep the raven now, I don’t know how long I can look at this cute little ass without ravishing it,” He growled his hands stroking my ass and digging his nails in as he forced my cheeks apart as far as they would go,

I squealed against the pillow in pain as he kept me like this for a solid minute making sure he got a good look at me, “If you do anything to me… It’ll start a war.”

“Will it?” he smirked, “Now that will be a war worthy of a song,” He growled slapping my ass hard,

“Ahh!” I complained,

“Ohh yeah do that again,” He growled slapping me again,

“Ahhh! Stop!” I pleaded,

He forced me up again by my hair and cut my hands loose with his knife,

I immediately went to hit him but he grabbed my hands and forced my wrists into chains that he attached to the bedpost of his bed, he chuckled slyly as he waved his knife around me and paced the half circle around me before he pressed the blade to my stomach,

“I think I have been very merciful, I could gut you, From cunt to cranium if I wanted to.” He growled, “But I have been very merciful, and I feel very reasonable. You are my prisoner, and you have my word that I will only harm what your family doesn’t pay to protect, So be a good little bunny and behave or your father gets a head arriving home to Stone Hedge,” He smirked cutting my dress and forcing it off me leaving me naked and utterly at his mercy, “Fuck… look at you,” He chuckled pacing around me once more, “I am gonna enjoy every last moment of this,” He growled in my ear, as his hands gripped me one on my hip and the other between my legs as he loomed behind me pressing his chest against my back,

“Ahh!” I squealed as he touched me so aggressively with no way of stopping him,

He chuckled lowly, “You are such a pretty little bunny,” he began to roughly hold my mound with his palm, his fingers slid over my lips,

“Let me go. Stop this! You gave me your word!”

“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t harm anything your family pays to protect. So… I won’t cut your hair if they pay for it, I won’t break your fingers if they pay for it, I won’t… deflower you if they pay for it.” He growled his finger circling my entrance, “But this,” He purred pushing two of his fingers inside me,

“Ahhhhh!” I screamed,

“This is fair game little bunny,” he purred,

“Stop! Please!” I begged,

“Ohh you sound so cute when you beg,” He chuckled moving his fingers fast and hard moving them in and out with no mercy for me at all, “Where’s that cute little thing threatening me in the field?”

“You gave me-”

“I said no harm, all I’m doing is having fun with you.” He smirked, “And we are going to have so very much fun the next few days… or weeks… or months. However long till your family pays up to get you back,” He smirked his hand moving off my hip and coming around to rub my clit mercilessly,

“Ahhhhhh Please stop!” I screamed my legs already shaking as he worked, standing behind me one hand thrusting his fingers at a merciless pace, the other hand rubbing my clit,

“I’m not stopping till you cum,” He growled nibbling my neck, “Ohh yeah I can feel you trembling, I can feel how wet you are, I know your gonna cum, and I’m gonna force it out of you whether you want to or not. So… Come on my little bracken bunny cum for me.”

I squealed and screamed trying not to hold back but he moved so fast and so hard I didn’t really have a choice, my body responding to the stimulation even if I didn’t want it to, I knew I was close and I tried everything to keep it back and stop it from happening not wanting to give him the satisfaction, of my satisfaction.

“You’re going to be good while you’re here, aren’t you? You’re going to behave, and be a good little bunny for me? Let me touch you and play with you?” He growled as he gave my neck a hickey,

“..Okay,” I whined, knowing I was close and there was nothing I could do to stop it,

“What was that?” he purred,

“Okay!” I yelped in frustration,

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll behave.”

“Say it,”

“What!”

“Say. It.”

“I will behave,” I said through gritted teeth my knees almost buckling as my hips and legs trembled,

“Properly bunny,”

“I promise I will behave,”

“Almost… little more,”

“Uhhhhh please stop!” I screamed clenching around his fingers trying not to drip down his hands even if it was already too late for that,

“Come on, you can do it,” He growled, “Say it. Properly.”

“I promise I will behave lord blackwood,” I screamed,

But before he could say anything I hit my orgasm, screaming out as my body was flooded with pleasure, my toes curling against the wooden floor.

He chuckled as he watched me, slowing his fingers and letting me ride it out until I was nothing but a gasping mess in his arms, “Good little Bracken Bunny,” He cooed kissing my cheek, “You did so good,” He purred his fingers slow but they hadn’t stopped,

“Please I-” I gasped as his nonstop rubbing and thrusting was sending my body into overstimulation,

“And as for war my little pet bunny,” He smirked thrusting his fingers hard and fast inside me faster than he ever had made me scream for mercy, “I would go to war for this cunt. A Thousand times over.” Before he pulled them out leaving me to gasp, “Get some rest, I’ll go send the raven.” He smirked licking his fingers clean,

“Yes my lord blackwood,” I gasped,

“Good girl,” He smiled giving my lips a kiss, “Such a good little bracken bunny,” He smirked before he left the room shutting and locking the door behind him. 

[cillivnz]

RUNAWAY BRIDE [Lord Dimitrescu]

pairing. Lord Alcides Dimitrescu x Ex!Wife Reader

genre. angst, smut.

warnings. nsfw (18+). infidelity, abandonment, cannibalism, gore descriptions, murder, separation, hunter-prey-chase dynamics, manipulation, pregnancy, cursing, pet-names, mention of cults, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, overstimulation, clit-play, breast/nipple-play, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, doggystyle, crying.

word count. 3.7k+

a/n. idk how i feel about this :,) sweet anon, thank you so much for requesting this! i apologise for not getting to work sooner, but i hope it was worth the time! feedback is always appreciated <3 NOT PROOFREAD. EXCUSE INACCURATE TRANSLATIONS (I USE GOOGLE)

translations. “Mireasa fugară” - The Runaway Bride. “draga mea sotie” - my darling wife. “mireasa mea fugitivă” - my runaway bride. “Comoara mea” - My precious. “căprița mea mică” - my little doe. “iubițel” - darling/sweetheart. “Draga mea” - My darling.

listening to. HIM — Lose You Tonight - Thulsa Doom Extended Dub

TEARING HELL FOR LEATHER, you were cursing Fate and her knack for irony, because as you galloped like a doe from one forest Spruce to another, you were sure you were being compared to one by your tiger hunters; a dumb doe, too.

For thinking you could outrun them.

Vampiric barbarians that chased prey like you for sport, and devoured your meaty, lifeless bodies for dinner.

‘None of it seemed to be a problem to you then, so why now, my darling?’

You could hear his voice ring in the eye of your mind, a taunt, perhaps a warning, that you had no choice now but to suffer the consequences of a lustful love that once became the root of your existence.

You had been the talk of the town, rather, every town coming under The Four Houses; firstly, for your damn-near blasphemous marriage to him, and then when you ran away from him, leaving him to be a bastard widow of sorts.

Lord Alcides Dimitrescu and his Runaway Bride.

“Mireasa fugară”

Of all titles given to you, from ‘his little doe’, to Lady Dimitrescu, or even ‘Mother Dearest’ by your adoptive children, the one that stuck was this.

As you tear through the verdure of the outskirts of your renounced Castle, you hope the now-grown men chasing you remember how you were their “Mother Dearest” as boys.

“Mother, that’s enough,” grunted Boian, your oldest, ever the most obedient and faithful, but his loyalties will remain to his father, and so he’ll hunt you down for his validation, if he must.

“Yeah, Mommy, aren’t you getting tired of the cats-and-mouse chase?” Cătălin intervened, a snarky comment always on the brat’s lips, but his mischief and naughtiness had always warmed your heart.

“Just come back to father— to us,” begged Dorin, your youngest. He had always been the most attached to the idea of you as his mother, clutching onto your dress and hiding behind you when his father would scold him for blinding the messenger raven by throwing rocks at it, and would always consider you to be the epitome of the ideal woman.

Your eyes well up at their cries for you, but you must do this. You mustn’t ever return to Castle Dimitrescu, the hellish abode of Satan himself.

Not after his cannibalistic tendencies were shamelessly rubbed in your face, a mortal noblewomen who lost the people of her kingdom to her husband’s appetite.

The night was cold, the frost blanketing over the foliage like a cruel lover’s intoxicating embrace.

Speaking of a noxious love, you were preparing in your chambers, to let go and breathe the air of freedom and quit living in a necromantic land ruled by tyranny.

“‘Ya almost done?” A thick transatlantic accent broke the eerie silence of your quarters.

Where the only sound heard was that of your beating heart, now, the planting of wet kisses along your spine was sounded, too.

“Karl…” you whimpered in hesitation,

“I know, bub, we’re leaving as soon as ‘ya finish packing.” He planted one final kiss on your shoulder before leaving you alone; once again the silence fell.

Your heart palpitated, sinking into the pit of your stomach with guilt, making you sigh as you second-guess your decision. It’s ironic how you spent your entire life in the belief of infidelity being the biggest sin— the ultimate blasphemy to betray whom you’re betrothed to, and now you’re forsaking your husband to live a “normal” life with his friend.

“Fuck me,” you groan. You were never one to use profanities so casually, but the given circumstances had you cursing like a sailor. Clutching your bag of belongings, you make your way outside of the chambers. You see your chamberlain bustling about the halls, eagerly preparing for dinner for the five of you— Lord, Lady, and children. She nods curtly at you, “Pasha, where must the Lord be,” you inquire. She immediately stops tending to the kitchen staff and pays full heed to you. “He is still at the Tower of Worship, m’ Lady,” Pasha replies.

Right, so he’s still where he’d said he’d be; where he requested you to accompany him, but you refused, feigning a faux headache that your stress soon turned genuine.

“I am going to accompany him there, don’t wait for me for supper,” you dismiss her and her ‘but’s’ of concern for your health.

As you walk towards the Tower, your steps felt faltered, meek. The damp, chilly air only constricted your breathing and the large ruby on your ring finger that once fit you like a glove, back when he proposed to you on one knee, levelling your height then, felt like needles pricking into your soft flesh— a beautiful but bitter reminder of your imprisonment.

The ruby glowed when you walked past the Tower, as if telling you that the object of your desires— your demise— is in there.

You ignore all omens screeching at you, and disappear into the night; Karl Heisenberg waiting for you on the outskirts of the town in a chariot.

“What happens now,” you inquire, breathless from kissing Karl. “We’ll live off of regular means. I’ll look for a job in welding, and you— well, bub, with a face like yours you could start your own cult,” he smirks, nuzzling his bearded face into your neck.

You try to laugh but your conscious was grim.

“HE KNOWS, IT’LL ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!” Cătălin had a possessed look on his face, his raven hair wild in the wind, yellow eyes fluorescent in the dark.

Tears stream down your face, the wind carrying them to your storming children.

You were tired, wanting the nightmare to be over. Never having anticipated these to be the consequences— hell, had you known, you would’ve never accepted either man’s proposal— neither Alcides nor Karl.

Alas, a woman’s beauty is to blame for bad luck.

When the sound of thunderous strides tearing through foliage is no longer heard behind, you stop dead in your tracks, hidding behind the largest tree of the forest, a century old banyan.

Your haggard breath created a veil of fog around you, your eyes dart in every nook and corner for a sign of your predators, not knowing they’re circling you from each direction, until the leap in front of you.

“Mamă,” Dorin cooed, his voice soft. Cătălin pushed past him, cornering you further in. He wipes the sweat on his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes flick from a pale beige colour to an electric yellow.

“Say you want us to take you back to Dad,” he grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to look into his eyes. Your pupils dilate, your subconscious felt manipulated into a trance.

“No!” You intended to slap away his grip, but what surprised the three was that there was no need for you to. Your own eyes glimmered a fluorescent amber, hypnotising him to back off.

“That’s enough,” Dorin intervened, his voice gruff, depicting maturity you didn’t know he was capable of possessing.

Boian stood closest to you know, your eyes watering with heavy tears, like the reflection of the sun in a stream.

“Rest, mother.” His eyes shined the brightest, compelling you to comply, and your tired mind just wanted it for the sufferance to end.

THE FIRST SIGHT YOU SEE when you awoke was of the gothic ridges adorning the ceiling of your— Alcides’ bedroom.

Wait, what—

You shoot up from your grave of silk bedding, eyes landing directly on the man you were dreading, the man you abandoned, the man you married.

His kept stubble grew into a full beard, tiny specks of grey were illuminating in his roots, and he was seemingly taller, with the pride of having stolen you from the world once again.

“Good morning, draga mea sotie,” he spoke with a nonchalant face, but you of all people knew when you heard amusement in his tone. “I take it you slept well, thanks to our oldest—”

“Keep my boy off of your necromantic ways,” you cut him off.

“Dare you suggest I cut off his diet? Starve my boy? Rob him off of his luxuries—”

“I’m suggesting you raise normal nobles, not cannibals in a cult,” your voice came out weaker than you expected, and the faux offense feigned on the tyrant Lord’s face turned into a smug grin, “There’s nothing normal about nobility, and you’re one to talk,”

“They told me what happened.”

Your eyes widen— the same eyes he’s referring to right now. “No. Th-that was an accident—”

“‘That so? How come you have the symptoms of a plague that never infected you, hm?” He moves closer, from the edge of the bed to right beside your bare knees. “Unless you’ve had it embedded in you, or you’ve resorted to our diet, the odds are not in your favour, mireasa mea fugitivă.”

“How dare you call me that,” you sneered.

“How dare you hide my unborn child from me.”

“How dare you leave me.”

You dare not look at him now, face turned away from him, clenching your jaw while your eyes well up with fury.

“Comoara mea, look at me,” his large hands grab a hold of your chin, and the gentleness took you by surprise. He makes you face him, and when you look into his amber eyes your expression softens.

He stares into your glassy doe eyes, parted plump lips quivering, “There’s căprița mea mică,” he smiled— not smirked in his usual conceit, but smiled— the smile you received when you stood in the chapel of the Tower of Worship, and swore yourself to him.

His lips find yours in a yearning kiss— gentle, longing, and passionate. You clutch his half-unbuttoned shirt, remembering how you’d have to stand on your tiptoes to button them for them, not that the trimmed chest hair ever bothered you, if anything, it got you hot and bothered, which is why you buttoned him up. The fabric crinkles under your grip, and whether you were holding onto him to push him away or pull him closer was something you couldn’t figure out.

His hands tear open your blouse, and you couldn’t help but compare the act with the way you’ve caught him ripping through human flesh.

You pull away.

“You know why I left, and why I’ll leave again,” your chest heaved, breathless.

“Because I’m cruel? A cannibal?”

“Like your little paramour was any better.” He spat, and your eyes widened.

He knew about Karl, “What?”

“Please, ‘y really think he left you in a tavern full of drunken hunters every night and day to weld weapons? He’d deal in his work for a pound of flesh from the very hunters whose tables you’d been scrubbing,” he revealed, running a hand through his onyx locs.

He knew everything.

“Karl couldn’t— where is he?!” The realisation of his a sense dawned on you.

“Being served— as dinner.” He smirked.

The metal man was dead.

“Come on, don’t tell me you felt for that bastard. He was your exit ticket, I know, but other than that what’s he got,” says your ex-husband, meaning to say, “What’s he got that I don’t— that I didn’t?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, so the tantalising question hangs over the cold tension of the room.

This time his hand grabs ahold of your nape, tugging the hair towards him.

“Don’t go all quiet on me now, my darling,” he cooed, voice husky and soft despite the harsh pain he was inflicting on your scalp.

“What do you want, Alcides?” You spat, and he smiled at his little spitfire.

“Another chance,” he spoke almost instantly, a request lingering in the air.

“—To do better for you, and my unborn child.” He’s patient, oh so careful with you, like this doe’s made of glass.

He grips your calf, causing you to wince. Immediately he searches for the reason of your pain, noting it to be a laceration.

“Lie back, relax, and let me take care of you,” he cooed, making his way to catch your lips, “Let me worship you the way I should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but lean into the kiss. He had a way with words, a way so profound that he had you wrapped around his abnormally large finger the minute he set eyes on you.

You succumb. And fuck, do you succumb?

“Mireasa fugară”, her Tyrant Lord— a cruel tale men would recite at the tavern table, laugh at Fate and her knack for irony. Perhaps, they’d compare her beauty to their distraught wives’, curse their luck for not making her theirs, they’d surely have treated her better than the Cannibal, and the barkeep ladies yearn for the sight of a mammoth hulking in their pub, offering a penny to anyone who’d tell him with whom his wife ran away with. He who hunts hunters for sport, lost all wits and appetite for destruction over a woman.

The men laugh, their ale clinks, the barkeeps scrub the tables with a satiated sigh. Such is life, a beautiful ending to a tragic tale.

His kisses follow the trail from the corner of your lips to your jawline, your prominent collarbones. He takes a minute to observe the glass flesh which was earlier always adorned in tyrian purple like a leash of love; now the slate was clean, the collar, erased— a cruel reminder of the last time you made love— so casually that night, and had he known it would’ve been the last for a very long time, he’d have given you a night to remember— not that you ever forgot.

Alcides got to work, gently suckling on your pulse points. His beard pricked your soft flesh, sending jolts of arousal through you. You bit your lip, holding back moans, but the minute his mouth landed on your breasts, you were a goner. He kneaded them, caressed and fondled them. He noticed how your breasts had swell up, your body preparing for sustaining the child that hadn’t even developed into a bump yet. His serpentine tongue peaked out, encircling your hard nipple. Wet kisses trailed along the valley of your breasts, every inch of your body was covered in his essence.

When he reached your belly, he peered at you. Amber yellow eyes were blown out in lust, staring into the crests of your soul as his lips pressed into your flesh in a chaste kiss.

“It’s happy,” he began, causing your trance to break momentarily, “To have its parents back together,” he continued. A swell of overwhelm gathered in your heart, but that was every moment in a relationship with Alcides.

All thoughts and sense left your mind when his face was between your thighs. His broad shoulders were enough to have you fully spread out for him, even more than you’d like. He observed your body, the flutter of your walls, the blood rush to your clit, all were odes to his heed, and with immediate urgency.

The first lick to your cunt sent you spiralling back to doomsday. What every fibre of your being tried to prevent was unravelling right before your eyes, and the worst part? You wanted it to happen, you craved it, needed it like he needed human flesh. Maybe you two weren’t so different in your desires, you gnaw at his being alive and he eats corpses.

“Prettiest pussy,” he spoke, smothered in your thighs. His gentle licks were putting pressure on your sensitive spots, the texture of his abnormal tongue had always coaxed your soul to ooze through your orgasmic tides. Your clit was constantly taunted by the tip of his tongue, flicking and sucking on the bundle of nerves, relishing in the sight of you writhing and pulsating.

Soon enough, his tongue slipped into your velvety walls, the wet muscle stretching your constricting walls in a manner so painfully good.

Sex with Alcides had always been excruciatingly good, and tonight this artist put on his finest performance for his favourite audience of one.

You were squirming in his grasp, trying to get away before coming undone, but he wouldn’t budge, if anything, his tongue dove in deeper into your clenching pussy.

With fervent rubs of your clit, he had you coming in his mouth, a celestial maiden quenching the thirst of a mortal with ichor.

You struggled in overstimulation, but Alcides only lapped further at the juices dripping down his chin.

“One,” he rose, parting your legs further. He positioned his fingers on your mound, pressing down firmly. The feel of your cunt convulsing with need sent him tremors down his spine. He eased a finger in, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. The sharp digit sat fat and deep inside you, slowly curling to the rhythm of its master’s drum.

Your clit throbbed, and with senses as heightened as yours, it ached. Alcides was quick to soothe or intensify the pain, leaning in to lick leisurely at the bud, while his finger teased your sweet spot.

Another digit in had tears welling up in your eyes, and soon the stream flowed down your cheeks as his rhythm picked up pace.

“Hurts, iubițel,” you whined, and Alcides froze.

‘iubițel’, was something he hadn’t been addressed as for years. A genuine smile flashed on his handsome face, you’re accepting it— accepting him.

“I know, Draga mea, but you can take it,” he got back to sucking your clit while scissoring your cunt open with his thick digits. “Alcides, fuck!” You moaned wantonly, gushing all over him. He grinned from ear to ear, eager to coax more of that squirt out. His movements tripled in velocity, and soon enough, he pulled out only to replace his digits with his mouth, drinking every spurt of your juices.

“Two,” he groaned, licking his glistening lips.

He pulled you closer by the neck, crashing his lips onto yours in a passionate tango of tongue. He was quick to turn you around, manhandling you on your fours came naturally to him; too easily did you comply.

The feeling of his fat cockhead rubbing against your tender entrance was nostalgic to say the least, but fear of not being able to take him soon crept it. Even when he’d fuck you day and night, you could barely, just barely accommodate the mammoth’s monster cock, and now that it’s been years without practise, you could only pray to Gods you wouldn’t rip in half.

As the tip slide in, you felt a wave of euphoria crash your shores of uncertainty. Concealing in lust was the love you had now opened yourself up for.

Alcides spread your ass, relishing in the feel of the plump fat of your curves in his large palms. He gave your hips a squeeze before letting his palm fall on the swell of your ass.

You gasped at the smack, looking back at him through wet eyelashes. “My little doe, my beautiful, beautiful wife,” he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

He pushed in further and further until no inch was left, until your thighs were clad together and your bodies conjoined.

Feeling merciful, Alcides decided to let you adjust to his intrusion. As you clenched and cried on his cock, Alcides took a minute to close his eyes and smile on cloud nine. The feel of your warm, tight, wet cunt choking his cock to death was a feeling he longed for, and it was then he knew no other desire of his could amount to you. He would leave it all for you. He will.

“Alcides, fuck,” your pornographic moans were sound in the whole chambers. He set out a slow pace, yet every thrust was felt in your cervix. “Good G-God, darling,” Alcides moaned, his breath hitched as your tight channel gripped him like a vice.

He snaked a hand to settle between your thighs, pinching your clit.

You were in tears, beads of sweat pearlescent on your body, brows furrowed in pleasure and pain, a beautiful symphony.

“Slow down—” you managed to shriek, but Alcides was too far gone to act on it, he could only bring you solace to endure what his desires have in store for you. He kisses your spine, bathing your silk skin in wet kisses.

He pounded into your cunt, the whole room rumbling with the thrusts of the titan above you. He had an ironclad grip on your hips, slamming them back on his cock as he pistons into you. “Fuck, I couldn’t live without you,” he croaked.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he beseeched, causing you to nod rapidly, face buried into the sheets.

“Alcides, I’m going to—” your tears and slick stained the sheets, you broke down on his cock, the sensation, the memories too much for your precious and fragile little heart to endure.

He pulled out.

He glared at your gaping hole, your flustered face crying in frustration at the painful denial.

Alcides slams inside of you, “I need— need to look at you while I cum,” he groaned, resuming his animalistic thrusts.

Your legs wrapped around his narrow waist, nails ripping through the flesh of his broad back.

Rutting into your cunt, he bent forwards to catch your bouncing breasts into his mouth, squeezing the two together.

He left your hip to abuse your clit, tormenting the swollen bud with overstimulation.

“Cum with me. Cum with your husband,” he was lost inside of you. Rambling sweet nothings like never before, making every cell inside of you swell up with love and lust.

“Alcides!” You moaned, feeling his warm seed shoot into you.

“Oh my god!” You saw stars.

It finally came to you, in bits and pieces of your being, Fate isn’t cruel, but comic.

“Three,” he groaned, crashing beside you.

Three earth-shattering orgasms for the three years you abandoned him.

“I love you, I’ll do anything for you,” he caressed the side of your face.

“I love you, too,” you sighed, feeling exhaustion embrace you.

You spent so long running, only for your strides to lead you back to bed with him, to home.

Fate isn’t cruel but comic, because the bones you were so against finding devoured in your house became your daughter’s favourite toys.

Just like her father, Alcides, Alcina Dimitrescu loves the grotesque, but her doe of a mother even more.

main masterlist. more of Lord Dimitrescu. SEE ALSO. important clarification in rgds to this fic.

[muiitoloko]

Brazen

Summary: She broke into his suite like a shadow in silk and left him shaking with fury and something far worse: longing.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Shooting, blood, theft.

Author's Notes: I just want to start by thanking everyone for the sweet comments and messages, they really mean the world to me! I’m currently going through a major creative block, and, honestly, being on my period seems to make it even worse 😅 But all the love and encouragement from you guys have really lifted my spirits. So, as "His American Thief" won the poll, here’s the third chapter! "Difficult Woman" came in second place with a ton of votes, and I’m almost done with that chapter too, so expect it soon! Just a heads up, though – it’s mostly just a lot of sex between the reader and Karl 😅

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

When Judge Turpin awoke the next morning, the light from the window was far too bright, and the pain that greeted him as he shifted on the mattress was enough to make him grit his teeth until his jaw ached. The laudanum had worn off, leaving behind only the bitter ache of bruised ribs, an aching spine, and a pounding headache born of humiliation and obsession.

It took him a moment to gather his wits, to blink against the morning haze and let the stiffness fade just enough for coherent thought. Then it hit him.

Three things, in rapid, horrifying succession.

One: he’d had a very vivid dream. A dream so painfully real that he could still feel the warmth of your skin on his fingertips. In it, you had been in his room—his room!—dressed like some libertine’s pet, wrapped in a scandalously tight camisole that bared more than it covered, your breasts nearly spilling over the neckline like some harlot waiting for coin. You had sat beside his bed like a vision conjured from fever and madness, mocking him with your grin and those damned eyes.

Two: the room—his suite, the finest in the Franklin Hotel—was in utter disarray. The desk drawers had been pulled open and left ajar, the wardrobe partially ransacked, his cloak flung carelessly over a chair as if tossed there by someone else. The carpet bore faint indentations of small boots. Female boots. Not a maid. Not staff.

He sat up, wincing, hand pressed to his ribs, his breath catching in a strangled growl.

Three: if that dream had been real… if you had actually come into his room… He reached for the drawer beside his bed. Empty.

The ring drawer—his drawer. Gone.

All six of them. His signet ring. His ruby crest. The polished garnet he wore to trials. The black enamel mourning band. The thick gold band gifted by the Chancellor. And worst of all—

“The Turpin ring,” he whispered, cold dread hollowing his chest. “No…”

It was the most precious. A thick silver band bearing the family’s coat of arms, passed from father to son since the reign of Queen Anne. He wore it to every sentencing. Every hanging. It was his birthright.

And now it was gone.

“BEADLE!” Turpin’s bellow roared through the walls like a thunderclap. “BEADLE BAMFORD!”

There was a muffled crash in the hallway—porcelain breaking, no doubt, as Beadle dropped whatever was in his hands—and seconds later the door burst open. Bamford stumbled in, his coat still half-buttoned, a bit of jam clinging to the corner of his mouth.

“My lord! I—”

“Where were you last night?” Turpin snarled, hauling himself upright with a pained grunt. “Where were you while she—that vixen—slipped into my chambers and robbed me blind?!”

Beadle paled. “Robbed—what? No one said anything, I didn’t know you had a visitor—”

“Visitor?” Turpin barked, hazel eyes blazing with fury. “You think I invited her in? That I sent for her like some weak-willed libertine craving a bit of skirt? She came on her own! Slipped past your useless eyes and stole from me again!”

Beadle stared in horror as Turpin jabbed a finger toward the empty drawer.

“She took my rings, Bamford,” he hissed. “All six. Including the family signet. That ring is worth more than your entire miserable bloodline!”

“I—I heard nothing, sir!” Beadle stammered. “If she was here, she must’ve come after I left for supper—if I’d heard a sound, I swear to God I would’ve come running—”

“You would’ve tripped over your own boots and pissed yourself, no doubt!” Turpin snapped, his voice cracking with rage. “You left me here drugged, exposed, half-naked—and now she’s gone again! Gone! And with my legacy on her thieving little fingers!”

Beadle made a desperate noise, glancing at the ransacked room. “I-I’ll make inquiries, sir—at once—I’ll alert the pawnbrokers, speak to the jewelers, question every market stall from here to the docks—”

“You’ll do more than inquire!” Turpin roared, struggling to his feet. “You’ll find her, Bamford! I want her caught. I want her chained to this bed where I can see her every filthy breath! She belongs here! With me!” He staggered, his injured leg giving out slightly, but he caught himself on the desk and growled.

Beadle stepped back instinctively. “Yes, my lord! Of course!”

“Find her,” Turpin repeated, lower now, more dangerous. “Find the pawn shops. Find the fences. She has my rings. That signet bears the Turpin crest—if it’s spotted, I want word within the hour.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And when you find her…” His voice dropped to a rasp, cruel and cold. “You bring her back to me.”

Beadle swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir.” He bolted from the room, coat flapping, already shouting for the carriage to be readied.

Turpin stood amidst the chaos of his suite, one hand braced on the desk, the other twitching with rage.

“She’s mine,” he muttered to the empty room. “She’s mine. And when I get her back—when she’s tied to this bed—I’ll see to it that she never steals anything again… except perhaps her own breath.”

And then, as if her laughter still echoed in the air, Judge Richard Turpin let out a snarl so savage it silenced even the morning birds.

The little pawnshop on Bleecker Street was dim and cluttered, its walls lined with clocks that didn’t tick and shelves that sagged under the weight of forgotten silverware, chipped porcelain, and the sorrow of the desperate. You had chosen it carefully—not the most reputable, not the cleanest, but quiet. A place that wouldn’t ask too many questions if you played the part well.

And oh, you were playing it to perfection.

You stood before the counter, draped in a plain black dress borrowed from an actress friend, a faded mourning veil tucked primly over your head. Your eyes were red—not from weeping, but from the smarting smoke of a candle you’d held too close before stepping inside. In your gloved hands rested a velvet pouch, and your voice trembled like a breeze in winter.

“I just…” you choked softly, glancing down at the rings now splayed upon the counter like tiny corpses. “He passed not a fortnight ago, and there’s naught left but these. My darling husband. Taken from me so cruelly…” You pressed a hand to your chest as if to still a heaving heart. “Why, why couldn’t he have left me something more than trinkets and heartbreak?”

The pawnbroker—an elderly man with spectacles perched low on his nose and tobacco-stained fingers—cleared his throat with a soft harrumph. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said awkwardly, eyeing the rings with a mixture of interest and suspicion. “A tragedy indeed… yes…”

You took the handkerchief you’d brought—folded neatly, edges singed ever so slightly from your earlier candle trick—and pressed it delicately to your face. A sharp sniff. A muffled sob. Just enough to make your shoulders tremble.

“Oh,” you whimpered. “He was such a good man…”

The pawnbroker cleared his throat, clearly unsure what to do with your display of grief.

“Yes, well… these are, ah… quite fine pieces,” he muttered, adjusting his spectacles and leaning forward to examine the rings. His fingers moved with practiced ease, brushing across gold, silver, enamel.

You peeked from behind your veil, watching as he turned one of them over with particular interest—a simple black band, the sheen dulled from years of wear.

“This one,” he said, voice softer now, “is a mourning ring. Black enamel, silver band, early Georgian make. The inscription… let’s see…”

You stiffened but said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t read, not a letter—but you weren’t about to confess that now. You just tilted your head, eyes watery, feigning polite interest as the man held the ring closer to the light.

“Anne Turpin,” he read aloud, squinting. “Beloved mother. This would’ve been commissioned after her passing. Must’ve meant quite a lot to the man who wore it.”

Your breath caught.

Anne Turpin. Beloved mother.

Your heart lurched painfully in your chest. That ring—it wasn’t for show. He’d worn it in mourning. For his mother. And you had stolen it. Torn it from the drawer like it was nothing. You thought of Turpin’s bruised face, his rasping voice confessing sins through laudanum haze. The way he’d spoken of shame. Of family. Of grief.

Oh God, you hadn't stolen from a judge that night.

You’d stolen from a son.

Before the guilt could settle too deeply, the bell above the door jingled. You flinched. A man entered, unbothered, the sort who didn’t belong in a place of pawning and secrets. He had ruddy cheeks, a rounded frame, and a coat a little too fine for the filth of the city. His eyes swept over the room—and then landed on you.

“Ah! Good morning, madam,” he said with a nod and doffed his hat politely. “My condolences.”

You blinked, disoriented. He thought you were truly in mourning. You nodded once, grateful for the cover.

The pawnbroker straightened behind the counter. “What can I do for you, sir?”

The man gave an apologetic smile. “Beadle Bamford. I come on behalf of his lordship, Judge Richard Turpin. There was a theft last evening—rings, six in total, of significant value. His lordship has reason to believe the thief may attempt to pawn them today.”

Your throat seized. You coughed sharply into the handkerchief—too sharply.

Neither man turned.

The pawnbroker furrowed his brow. “What sort of rings?”

Beadle, with no sense of urgency, reached into his coat for a small, crumpled sheet of notes. “Let’s see… black mourning ring, silver ring, yes, but most importantly the Turpin family signet. Heavy, gold, engraved with the family’s coat of arms. That one’s the most recognizable.”

Your eyes flicked to the ring on the counter.

No. No, no, no.

“Turpin crest?” the pawnbroker murmured, already glancing down toward the rings on the counter.

You didn’t wait. “Thank you for your time,” you blurted, sweeping the remaining rings into your pouch. Your voice cracked with feigned emotion. “But I… I can’t bear to part with them after all. Forgive me. I must go.”

Beadle looked up at the movement and froze. His eyes landed squarely on your hand.

That ring.

Recognition struck him like a slap.

“Wait—!” he shouted, voice rising. “Wait just a moment—!”

You turned, seized by instinct, and slapped him across the face so hard. The sound rang through the shop like a gunshot.

Beadle stumbled backward with a strangled squawk, clutching his cheek. You were already at the door.

“Stop her!” he bellowed. “She’s got the Turpin crest! She’s the thief—GET HER!”

But you were out the door, boots pounding the cobblestones, veil flying free behind you like a banner of war. The satchel bounced against your hip, heavy with rings, your heart thundering as footsteps thundered behind.

Beadle Bamford, bless his useless legs, tried his best. But you were fast. You had always been, and this time, you knew what you were running from. Because this wasn't just about stolen rings anymore. It was about stolen names and stolen pasts.

And the promise in Turpin’s eyes when he’d whispered: “You are mine.”

The sound of hurried footsteps clattered up the wooden stairs of the Franklin Hotel, followed by the unmistakable creak of polished boots on the landing. Beadle Bamford—red in the face, sweat dampening his collar—rushed down the corridor, not even pausing to straighten his coat. He reached the door to Room Sixteen and rapped once, twice, urgently—

Then barged in without waiting for a reply.

“My lord—!”

He stopped short, his hand still on the doorframe, breath catching at the sight before him.

Judge Turpin, bruised and swaddled in blankets like a wounded lion, sat upright in bed—but not alone. A young woman, plainly dressed in a servant’s apron and simple linen gown, was perched delicately on his lap. She was laughing—laughing!—at something he had just murmured into her ear. Her hand held a small porcelain spoon, hovering near Turpin’s mouth, while his hand rested on her hip with an ease Beadle had never seen in the man.

Turpin’s one good eye flicked toward the door, darkening with irritation. “Bamford,” he snapped, his baritone dry as old paper, “do you make it a habit to intrude upon private moments like a stable boy who’s never seen a pair of stockings?”

Beadle flushed violently. “Forgive me, my lord, but—”

“Speak outside,” Turpin growled, lifting a hand as though dismissing a gnat. “I am recovering, as you can clearly see. Return once I’m done.”

“I saw her,” Beadle blurted, breathless. “The thief. Just now. At the Bleecker Street pawnshop.”

The effect was instantaneous.

Turpin’s hand dropped from the girl’s hip as if her skin had scalded him. The weight in his chest shifted, something tight and ravenous crackling to life behind his hazel eyes. Without a word, he shoved the girl off his lap with a swift jerk of his good arm, sending her stumbling backward with a squeak and a clatter of the spoon on the floor.

“Out,” he barked.

“My lord?” she gasped, flustered, but his face was already turned from her.

“Out, I said!”

She fled, skirts rustling as she scurried from the room like a frightened rabbit. The door snapped shut behind her.

Turpin turned to Beadle, eyes gleaming. “Speak,” he growled. “Now.”

Beadle straightened, still panting from the run. “She was there, my lord. Dressed in mourning like some pathetic widow—veil and all. She tried to sell the rings. The signet one, too—your mother’s ring. I saw it with my own eyes!”

Turpin was already rising, stiff with pain, groaning as his ribs protested. “Did you catch her?”

“No, my lord—she recognized me, or perhaps she recognized the name. She fled before I could grab her.” Beadle swallowed. “But—I saw her face. Clear as day.”

Turpin froze mid-step, his body heavy with fury and exhaustion. He turned slowly, his lip curled in contempt. “And what use is a face if she’s not in irons at my feet, Beadle?”

Beadle winced. “I—I tried, sir. She ran like the very devil was at her heels. She slapped me! Loud enough to rattle the glass—”

“You let her touch you?”

Beadle flushed again. “I—yes, my lord. But—now that I know what she looks like, it will be easier to find her again. I’ve seen her—properly this time. I can describe her to every constable, every informant, every bootblack in the city if you wish. We’ll have her, sir. It’s only a matter of time.”

Turpin said nothing for a long moment. His breath came hard through his nose, his chest rising and falling beneath his half-buttoned shirt. His hair was damp with sweat. But the silence was not still; it seethed.

And then he spoke. “She touched you?”

Beadle flinched. “My lord, it was nothing—just a slap. A startled reaction, I’m sure. She was trying to flee—”

“She touched you,” Turpin growled again, his hazel eyes sharp and bright with a fevered gleam. “She put her hands on you.”

Beadle took a half-step back. “Sir, I—”

“You can’t be touched by her.” Turpin’s voice rose, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “No one can. Not you, not any man. Do you understand me?” He advanced, slow and deliberate. “She is not for touching. She is not yours to be touched by. Her hands are mine.”

“My lord—”

“Mine!” Turpin snapped, the word exploding from his chest. His hands were shaking now, curled into fists at his sides. “Only I can feel her. Only I can bruise her wrists when she fights me, only I can twist that wicked mouth until she begs.”

Beadle swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “It was a slap, sir. Nothing more.”

Turpin turned away from him as if he hadn’t spoken, stalking to the window like a storm barely held at bay. His long fingers gripped the sill, and for a moment, he said nothing—just stared at the gray blur of the city beyond the glass.

“A widow,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s how she was dressed?”

Beadle nodded slowly, wary. “Yes, sir. Black veil. Gloves. Tears and all. She nearly convinced me she was a grieving wife.”

Turpin closed his eyes.

Of course she would. She was clever. Disguises came easily to women like her—those who lived off the edges of society, slipping between the cracks like mist. She knew now that he was pursuing her. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“She’ll be more careful,” Turpin murmured, eyes still shut. “She’ll vanish again. Change her face. Her voice. She knows I’m behind her now.”

He opened his eyes, slow and deliberate. “We’ll not find her again by coin alone.”

Beadle shifted uncomfortably. “Then what shall we do?”

Turpin turned his head, his expression composed now—cold, regal, deadly. “Leave me,” he said. “Have the maid return.”

Beadle bowed, quickly, awkwardly, and slipped from the room with the haste of a man escaping floodwaters.

Moments later, the door opened once more. The maid stepped in, tentative and pale, her apron freshly pressed, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears.

“My lord,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes. “You sent for me?”

Turpin, already seated once more in the high-backed chair near the fire, gave a small, imperious gesture toward the table. “Bring the tray. Feed me.”

She obeyed without question, moving to the dresser where the half-eaten dish still sat, cooled slightly but untouched since the interruption.

He watched her movements carefully. Not because he saw her—but because, in his mind’s eye, she had become you.

As she returned with the plate and the spoon, he leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest against the carved wood.

“Slower,” he said, voice low. “Smaller bites.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The spoon reached his lips. He opened his mouth, accepting the food like a man expecting to be worshipped. She was trembling slightly—nerves, perhaps. He didn’t care. He pretended it was you. You, with that infuriating smirk replaced by quiet obedience. You, veiled in black, kneeling at his feet, feeding him with a reverent hand as if to say, I’m yours.

He closed his eyes.

He imagined you in that mourning dress again, except this time with your lips pressed to the back of his hand in silence. Your smirk gone. Your shoulders bare. Your knees on the rug beside his chair, gaze lifted only when permitted.

You would touch no other man. That right was his.

And one day, he swore by the blood in his veins and the bruises on his pride—you would be feeding him for real.

You would be his.

The mourning dress hung like a shadow on your arm as you made your way up the narrow stair to Ivy’s attic flat, the scent of old rouge and candle wax clinging to the folds. You rapped on the door with your knuckles—three short, two long—and waited.

Ivy opened it moments later, her copper curls unbound and wild, a smudge of charcoal still clinging to her jaw. “Well, look what the cat coughed up,” she said with a grin. “Come to return my widow’s weeds, or just hiding from your latest mess?”

“A bit of both,” you muttered, slipping inside and dropping the bundle onto her chaise. “I’m done playing ghost.”

She raised a brow. “You managed it then? Old man fall for it?”

You hesitated. “Not exactly.”

That earned you a look. Ivy crossed her arms and leaned back against the vanity. “Do tell.”

So you did. You told her everything—well, almost. Not the part where you snuck into his hotel room. Not the part where he kissed your hand. And certainly not the part where you nearly believed him when he said he’d marry you. But the rest—the pawnshop, the clerk, the ring—you laid it out piece by piece like a confession.

Ivy’s expression shifted the moment you mentioned the mourning ring.

“You what?”

You winced. “I didn’t know what it was at first—looked like any other black band. Thought it was just fashionable.”

“That was a mourning ring?” Her voice had dropped an octave. “For his mother?”

You nodded sheepishly. “It had her name engraved. Anne Turpin.”

Ivy recoiled as if you’d slapped her. “God’s teeth, girl. You stole from a grave.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic—”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “Mourning rings aren’t trinkets. They’re sacred. They’re worn in grief, in blood. You took the one thing he used to mourn the dead and you tried to sell it?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your heart gave a nervous little thud.

Ivy stepped closer, lowering her voice. “There are stories, you know. Old stories. About thieves who stole mourning jewelry and went mad. One girl woke screaming every night until her hair turned white. Another swore she saw the dead woman’s face in every mirror she passed.”

You rolled your eyes, though your stomach tightened. “Oh please—”

“She drowned,” Ivy said flatly. “Found her in the river with her mouth open and black enamel under her nails.”

That gave you pause.

Ivy’s voice softened. “You don’t mess with mourning rings, love. Not unless you’re ready to live with the dead.”

You glanced toward the pouch of stolen goods on the chair. That ring sat somewhere at the bottom—small, unassuming. Heavy now, like guilt pressed into gold.

“You really think I’ll be haunted?”

“I think,” Ivy said carefully, “if that ring meant anything to him—if it really belonged to his mother—then her spirit might not be all that fond of you.”

You swallowed. “She’s dead, Ivy.”

“So’s every ghost,” Ivy said.

Silence stretched.

You crossed the room and picked up the pouch, feeling its weight anew.

“What should I do?” you asked quietly.

Ivy met your eyes. “Return it.”

You looked at her, alarmed. “Return it? To him?”

“Leave it. In his room, at the church, on his doorstep—I don’t care. But put it back where it belongs. Or you’ll never sleep sound again.”

You clutched the pouch tighter. Return it.

You weren't afraid of men like Richard Turpin, but ghosts? You weren't so sure.

The streets of New York were quiet at that hour, the gaslights flickering faintly against the damp cobblestones as fog slithered between alleyways like a living thing. You moved swiftly beneath the shroud of your new disguise—a madam this time, with rouge-painted cheeks, a low-cut bodice, and a heavy velvet cloak that swept the pavement like spilled ink. You had rented a room at the Franklin under a false name, flashed a pouch of silver coins with a lazy smile, and left the clerk flustered and half in love.

But you hadn’t come for comfort.

You’d come to return a ring. Your boots made no sound as you crept down the corridor to the second floor, past the familiar door: Room Sixteen. A brass number, a polished knob, the faint creak of old wood beneath your step. You pressed your ear to the door, breath held.

Silence. A rustle. A deep breath. Then—nothing.

Asleep, you thought. Good.

You eased the door open slowly, every movement careful. The hinges groaned the faintest protest, but you slipped inside like smoke, closing it behind you.

Turpin lay in the bed, sprawled as always like some wounded bear in a robe—shirt loose, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His hair, damp from sleep, curled slightly at the temples. The fire had gone out. Only moonlight lit the room.

You crossed to the dresser, hand trembling as you fished into your bag. The mourning ring lay warm in your palm. You stared at it. Anne Turpin. Beloved mother.

You reached forward.

“I knew it,” came a low voice from the bed.

You froze.

Turpin turned his head toward you, one eye still bruised but sharp with awareness. His lips curled faintly. “You’ve got the manners of a ghost, but the smell of lavender oil gave you away.”

He sat up slowly, like a storm gathering strength, the sheet sliding down his chest. “Come to steal more, or just to torture me?”

You leapt back, heart pounding, and pulled the pistol from beneath your cloak, cocking it with a sharp, deliberate click.

“Stay where you are,” you said coldly. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Turpin blinked at the weapon, then arched a brow. “A pistol?” His baritone dipped into something smug. “Really?”

“I came,” you said through your teeth, “to return this.” You threw the mourning ring toward the bed, and it landed with a soft clink on the coverlet.

“I don’t want to be haunted by your mother’s ghost.”

Turpin blinked at the ring, stunned for just a moment—long enough.

You began backing toward the balcony.

But he surged forward, growling, “BEADLE!”

Panic flared in your chest.

“BEADLE BAMFORD!”

Turpin staggered to his feet, roaring for his lackey like a man possessed. The thundering of footsteps echoed in the hallway—

And then the door burst open. Beadle stumbled in, panting, wild-eyed.

You raised the pistol. “One more step and I shoot!”

Beadle froze, staring between you and the judge, his hand halfway to his belt.

Turpin scoffed, voice low and amused. “You won’t fire that. You’re a thief, not a killer.”

You smiled coldly. Then you pulled the trigger.

The shot cracked like thunder. Beadle screamed as the bullet tore through his leg. He collapsed, clutching his thigh, blood already seeping through his fingers as he writhed on the floor.

Turpin flinched violently, eyes wide with genuine shock. “You mad little bitch—!”

But you were already at the balcony. Without hesitation, you leapt over the rail.

Turpin was already in motion—barefoot, half-dressed, the linen of his nightshirt flapping behind him like the train of a maddened ghost. He shoved Beadle’s groaning, bleeding form aside with no more ceremony than one might give to a fallen lamp and stormed toward the railing, the cold night air biting at his flushed skin.

“Blasted girl—!” he barked, eyes scanning the alley below.

And there you were. Flat on your back in the filth, your skirt tangled around your legs, one boot half-off. You looked up at him, utterly unbothered—your cheeks flushed, your hair a wild mess of curls, and a grin on your lips so brazen it made his already bruised pride ache anew.

“You mad little beast,” he growled, leaning over the railing. “You could have broken your neck.”

You propped herself up on her elbows and winked. “But I didn’t.”

“You might have died.”

“Would’ve died free,” you said with a shrug. “Better than rotting in your silk-wrapped cage, Judge.”

“You reckless, thieving hellion,” Turpin snapped, his baritone echoing in the stone alleyway. “I will have you. One way or another.”

You only laughed and pushed herself upright, brushing dirt from your skirts. “We’ll see about that, you old lunatic.”

His nostrils flared. “Give it back!”

“What?”

“My ring!” he bellowed. “The Turpin signet—my family crest—you brazen little hound, you still have it!”

You paused, then raised your brows, lips curling into a wicked smirk. “Oh, this old thing?”

Your fingers dipped into the pouch tied at your waist. You fished out the ring and held it aloft between two fingers, letting the moonlight catch the silver. Then, without ceremony, you reared back—and threw it.

It struck him dead between the eyes.

Turpin recoiled with a snarl, one hand flying to his forehead. “GOD’S BLOODY TEETH!”

"You're welcome!" you called sweetly, and then turned on your heel and bolted down the alley, your laughter trailing behind like the hem of a taunting gown.

Turpin gripped the railing, hazel eyes narrowing. “THIEF!”

Your voice echoed from the rooftops. “Catch me if you can, darling!”

“You’ll be mine!” he howled, voice cracking with rage and something dangerously close to adoration. “Do you hear me? Mine! You’ll wear my ring, you thieving little witch!”

Your laughter echoed until it faded into the night.

And for a moment, all was still—save the wind, and the soft gurgling of Beadle groaning below.

Then Turpin... laughed. Low at first. Then louder. Rich, unhinged, a sound that scraped from deep in his chest and rang down the alley like a church bell gone mad.

He clutched the railing, blood running down his temple where the ring had struck him, and laughed until tears burned in his eyes.

Behind him, Beadle wheezed. “My lord… please… I’m losing a fair amount of blood…”

Turpin didn’t even turn. “She hit me with it, Bamford. The signet! Right in the bloody head!” He cackled again, pressing a hand to his forehead with manic glee. “She’s perfect!”

Beadle whimpered faintly from the floor. “She shot me.”

Turpin chuckled darkly, hazel eyes still fixed on the alley beyond. “And one day,” he murmured, voice dropping into something soft and terrifying, “she’ll kneel. In my courtroom… or in my bed. But she’ll kneel.”

And with that, Judge Richard Turpin straightened, blood streaking down his brow, his grin sharp and wolfish in the moonlight.