#ornate hand: third life

[arytha]

[ID copied from ALT: A digital drawing of my OC Lorne's arm stretching out (Lorne's body unseen) and grabbed or reached for by 5 individual's hands, all of whom are the first 5 lives of Era. Lorne's arm stretches from left to right, hand open as if reaching to grab something, nails painted turquoise. Starting from the top right, we have a young child's chubby hand reaching down to clutch at Lorne's fingers, an abnormal red flush spreading from the base of the child's hand down his arm. Next, from the side, is a delicate man's hand with a ring on his ring finger and ornate dark blue sleeves latching on to Lorne's wrist. Underneath, not touching Lorne's arm but reaching for it, is a sickly pale looking young man's hand with a grey bandage wrapped around his hand to support his thumb and wrist. The fourth man's hand is strongly gripping the middle of Lorne's forearm, wearing light leather gloves and a dark colored jacket. The last hand is hooked on to the very right of Lorne's arm from behind, feminine and with red painted nails, a red string bracelet with a blue pendant, and the sleeve of a brown dress. The lighting is focused on Lorne's ourstretched hand and dims outwards. End ID]

"You will not persuade me to stay my hand."

"I am asking You how to endure it."

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Tim Drake

cw: blood & injury, bad parents Dr. Fentons, bad parents Jack and Janet Drake, bad others?, child neglect, child abuse.

He’d bled through the bandages.

His third set.

The first two sets had been from the the to-go bag that he had grabbed from the cemetery. Sam had found the old crypt, of course she had. She said since technically they were ancestors of hers, they had full right to use the crypt.

“Besides,” she had said, “what does it mater if we keep a bag there, they’re dead.”

Danny had done his best to hide his wince at that.

They didn’t know that part of him ached for not having a grave.

He never told them.

They wouldn’t get it.

The third set of bandages were ones he had stolen from the drug store he raided. He hated stealing like that, but this was life and death. Death and forever death? Whatever. He chose a chain to steal from. Bandages, pills, water, food. Most of that wouldn’t help Phantom.

He hoped to make it back to being Danny.

But he couldn’t yet.

He had to get away first. He had to be strong first. He had to fly.

It was so hard to keep flying.

Flight was usually a relief for him. It was a way for him to escape the weight of it all and just be. He used to say he could fly for hours. Turned out that wasn’t so true. Danny held back a scream as he suddenly dropped several feet and his injury pulled. He needed to find somewhere to rest and soon.

There, the house under him was dark. It was large, towering, and abandoned. Danny wasn’t sure how exactly he knew that, but something about that house, the lack of lights, the perfectly done yard, the unused driveway… the lack of attachment. That house was abandoned.

Perfect for a ghost to haunt.

Even with what his sense said, Danny was still careful as he poked his head through a wall. It was a living room— wait, what did Sam’s mom call it? It was a sitting room of some sort but all the furniture was covered in white sheets. As Danny slipped in and let himself land on the ornate rug, a plume of dust rose under his feet.

Abandoned.

Danny sank to the ground, hand pressed desperately to his side.

Abandoned.

---

AN: So the HH discord conned me into starting this *swoons*. This is a fic where Danny descides haunts Drake Manor only to quickly learn it's not so abandoned. But ghost rules are rules and now Danny is there and there's a tiny Tim who needs taking care of. For Tim, this is finally someone to talk to, someone who needs help. It isn't long before their brothers.

The question is...

(Jason will get to join the batfam no matter which option- and likely be saved/not have the Ethiopia trip.)

*I might not take the winner of the poll, but I'm curious for your thoughts!

**this is far far back burner, but what can I say, it won the poll.

[starlight-sev]

Joy Looks Good on You (Snape x Artist!Reader)

Request: Snape with an artist reader- she makes gorgeous paintings, teaches an art class at Hogwarts (Bob Ross style, for reference). Doesn't have many students, but when he comes into her classroom its such a calming atmosphere. Maybe a short drabble about how he falls in love with her and her skill with paintings?

Requested by: anon

Warnings: none

A/N: this is more platonic than I had initially intended it to be, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Oh! Gender neutral reader as I always try my best to write 💕

Hogwarts was home to many secrets, one of them being that the school offered painting classes as an elective for those in third year or higher.

Even you were shocked when you first heard about the job posting. You always figured art would be just a hobby of yours. When it came to jobs in the wizarding world, anything to do with art and painting was quite rare to find.

So when you were finally offered the job for art teacher at Hogwarts, to say you were overjoyed would have been an understatement. You never thought you’d be able to turn your love of painting into your career.

Dumbledore had placed you in the North Tower, just below Professor Trelawney’s Divination classroom. Compared to her room, yours was rather small: you only had to walk ten steps and you’d already be at the other side of the room. A handful of round tables with matching wooden chairs had been crammed into the tiny space. There was a small desk nestled in the corner for you to work, along with a shelf against the wall to store your paints and supplies.

Your favourite feature about the room, and perhaps one of its only redeeming qualities, was the large window in the middle of the wall. It was rounded at the top, with an ornate stained glass inlay that covered almost half the window. It was the source of your inspiration on sunny days.

It certainly wasn’t the nicest classroom, and sometimes a theory crossed your mind that your classroom had once been a generously-sized storage closet, but anything was better than being down in the dungeons of the castle.

You glanced up from your own painting to quickly sweep your eyes over the paintings your students were finishing up. You never had more than ten students a year, painting certainly wasn’t a common interest for wizards (much to your disappointment), but it didn’t matter. It gave you the opportunity to grow closer to your students, to get to know everyone’s individual art style. It made you all the more proud when you were able to see how much they progressed over the course of the year.

“Professor?”

You glanced over to see Luna Lovegood, one of your students with the biggest imaginations, waving politely to catch your attention.

“Yes?” You asked softly.

“We won’t have time to finish our paintings this class. I know we’re not supposed to, but since it’s Friday, could we leave our supplies out? We’ll be back first thing on Monday.”

A few other students murmured their agreement. You smiled apologetically, silently cursing that you had given them an assignment far bigger than they had time to complete.

“Of course. That’s fine.” You dismissed everyone with a wave of your hand. “Go on. Enjoy the weekend. And don’t worry about handing in your still life sketches this week, you’ve got enough on your hands with the landscape painting I assigned.”

A handful of cheers erupted among the students, and you smiled as each one nodded and murmured their thanks before leaving.

You stood up from your desk, walking across the room to collect everyone’s paintbrushes one by one.

“Letting your students go without cleaning up after themselves?” A deep voice murmured softly from the doorway. “I’m surprised Y/N, I thought you were more disciplined than that.”

It never failed to startle you, how Severus had this uncanny ability to sneak up silently on you. Usually you’d be able to hear students’ footsteps echoing as they made their way up the stairs to your classroom, but Severus seemed to be able to glide noiselessly around the castle like a ghost.

You set your paintbrushes in the small sink that rested in the corner of your room, smiling in acknowledgement and beckoning the professor to come in.

“It’s Friday,” you answered, grabbing a paintbrush and using your fingers to work the paint out of the bristles. “They’ve got enough going on, I figured I’d give them a bit of a break.”

You heard Severus scoff as he approached you from behind.

“You’re too easy on them.”

“And you’re too hard on your own students, but you don’t see me waltzing into your classroom to nag.”

That earned a soft chuckle from the professor as he stood beside you.

“You can use magic to clean those.” Severus observed, nodding toward your fingers as you worked the leftover paint out of the brush.

“I know I can,” you shrug, watching the water beneath the brush turn a bright turquoise. “But I prefer not to. Helps me clear my mind a bit.”

“Hm.” Was the small response you got in reply. To your surprise, Severus reached into the sink and grabbed a paintbrush, mimicking your movements as he began cleaning it.

“Oh,” you exclaimed softly. “It’s okay, I can do that-”

“Too late,” Severus retorted, casting a quick glance at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve already started.”

The two of you scrubbed brushes in silence, and you just barely caught Severus let out a small, tired sigh. As you placed your final brush to the side to dry, you glanced at him.

“Rough day today?”

You had to hold in your giggles as he answered your question with the biggest eye roll you’d ever seen.

“That’s putting it lightly,” he muttered.

“Come,” you beckoned as you sat down in one of the empty seats in the middle of the class. You nodded for Severus to join you as you crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in your seat. “Tell me about it. What happened? Was it Potter again?

You smirked at the eye roll Severus gave you in response before tiredly making his way over to the seat across from you.

“Someone’s been stealing supplies for a Polyjuice potion,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have reasons to believe it’s Potter and his dunderhead friends.”

You bit back a smile, and raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s him? Do you have evidence?”

“Trouble follows him wherever he goes, isn’t that evidence enough?”

You had trouble holding in a giggle, and Severus glared at you.

“He’s brewed Polyjuice potion before.” Severus continued. “It’s the only thing he can actually do well. And those specific ingredients keep going missing.”

You frown a little and shook your head.

“Really, Severus. I don’t know what you have against that boy, but you’ve got to give him a break,” you encouraged gently. “He’s got enough on his shoulders right now, with the Triwizard Tournament going on.”

“And what if he is stealing from my supplies?” Severus retorted.

“What if he isn’t?” You challenged calmly. Severus sighed again, shaking his head as he gazed at you.

“Should we place bets on whether it’s Potter who’s stealing from you?” You asked jokingly, leaning forward in your seat with a smirk. Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because every damned time we make a bet, you win.”

You snickered at Severus’ remark, before standing up from your seat and placing your hand reassuringly on the professor’s shoulder. He looked up at you with dark eyes that warmed very slightly at your touch.

“I truly do not know how you always manage to see the good in people.” He murmured, sighing tiredly. You squeezed his shoulder lightly.

“I just… see the good in everything I guess.” You shrugged. “Even things that seem terrible can be beautiful, if they’re in the right lighting.”

Severus let out a little snort at your comment, shaking his head.

“C’mon grumpypants,” you teased lightly, patting your friend on the back. “I know what’ll cheer you up.”

You walked over to your desk and opened the far left drawer. Upon hearing the dull scrape of wood as the drawer pulled open, Severus looked over at you with the tiniest smile.

“Have you added any teas to your collection?” He asked. He kept a somewhat level expression, but you couldn’t help but grin at the hint of a hopeful tone in his voice.

“I went to Hogsmeade last weekend and got a few more. Some just for you. Come over here and pick one, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Severus stood up just as you moved to the corner of the room to fill the kettle. You noticed out of the corner of your eye how shadow-like he was: the way his cloak billowed slightly as he almost seemed to glide over to your desk.

You heard a few papers rustle as you filled the kettle, and that’s when your heart stopped.

Oh no, oh god no.

You forgot to move your sketchbook, bloody hell.

Maybe Severus was looking at something else, you thought to yourself. Maybe you misheard and he was only rifling through your tea stash-

“Is this… me?”

Nope. He found it. Shit.

You set the kettle down slowly, your hands trembling as you felt a rush of heat fly up to your cheeks.

“S-Sorry?”

You kept your eyes glued to the teacups on the small wooden countertop, trying your best not to cringe as you continued to hear pages being flipped over gently.

“Y/N…” Severus murmured. “You drew these?”

You chewed your lip, just about ready to sink through the floorboards at this point.

“Y-yes.” Your voice came out as a small squeak, barely even intelligible.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you heard gentle footsteps approach you from behind.

“Turn around,” Severus encouraged softly. Clenching your jaw, you tried to ignore the burning heat in your cheeks as you shuffled around to face Severus.

His dark eyes were swirling with so many emotions, you genuinely couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It terrified you. You looked down, and saw that he was holding one of your sketches in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t show those to anyone, they’re just for me to practice with…”

“This is how you see me?”

You heard Severus‘ voice catch in his throat, and you looked up to see his features had softened into a gentle and almost sad expression. You lowered your gaze to his hands again, taking a closer look at the sketch he brought over.

It was from the Yule Ball a few months ago. You had sketched Severus during dinner after you saw him throw his head back in a hearty laugh, thanks to a dirty joke Professor Sprout had casually dropped at the staff table that night. You couldn’t remember the joke for the life of you, but you’d never forget the way Severus’ eyes lit up with a rare joy few ever saw. Nor would you forget the way his hair curled that night, perfectly framing his face and making him look almost angelic.

“Joy looks good on you.” You explained in the tiniest whisper, pressing your lips together nervously. “I… that was one of my first times seeing you laugh, and I just…”

You trailed off, silently cursing the fact that your face was still as red as ever. Finally, to your relief, Severus set your sketch down. But when you looked up at him, you noticed his eyes were glassy.

Was he… crying?

“Oh.” You gasp softly. “Oh no, I’m sorry. It’s a terrible drawing, I know-”

Severus shook his head. “Stop bloody apologizing. It’s beautiful. All your sketches are. I had no idea.”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to find out.” You muttered, laughing your nerves out softly. Your heart nearly stopped as Severus reached out, gently cradling your hands in his.

“Thank you.” He murmured quietly. “For… what you said.”

You frowned. “What did I say?”

“About… seeing the joy in me,” he replied. “That’s perhaps the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Your heart sank as you took in Severus’ words. You looked up, your soft eyes meeting his dark ones.

“It’s true.” You said simply. “It doesn’t take an expert to see you’ve been through some real shit, Sev. You deserve to be happy.”

Severus froze at your words, unsure of what to do or how to react. Then, to your surprise, he took one more step forward and closed the distance between the two of you. He wrapped his arms around you, and you nearly gasped at how tightly he held you to him. You returned his embrace without hesitation, finally calming after the initial scare of Severus finding your sketches. He was warm. You could get used to this feeling.

“Thank you, Y/N.” You heard Severus whisper.

“For what?” You asked back just as softly.

“Showing me how you see the world. How you see… me.”

[jtargaryen18]

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 35

A/N: The center photo is indicative of the reader's gown only. Not her appearance which isn't defined.

Part 35: Dance with the Devil

Series Masterlist

Words: 5.2k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, intimidation, dark seduction. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

"You are almost ready," Yelena said with a smile, just after the stylists left. "Now the jewelry."

You paused, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your gown was an exclusive creation by a top designer, a beautiful sleeveless, a-line creation in layers of tulle, sequins, and matte satin. Shades of pale blue and gold transformed you, enhanced by the ornate way your hair was done, the subtelty of your carefully applied makeup. Beneath you wore the most elegant little gold heels that were surprising comfortable despite their minimal style. The stockings were sheer, hugging your upper thighs just below the skimpy ice-blue panties you wore.

The mention of jewelry brought up an unhappy memory and you knew Yelena recalled it too when your gaze met hers. How your husband's ex-mistress smuggled her necklace in for you to wear on another special occasion had never been solved.Had it been Neal? Hansen? A reminder from the not-too-distant past that your enemies could reach you at any time. A reminder to be vigilant. 

"What jewelry?" you asked carefully.

Yelena smiled. "I picked it up myself," she told you, lifting a delicate strand of diamonds set in gold from a black velvet box on the bed. 

When she draped it around your throat, you smiled at the way it completed your look. There were matching earrings, diamond studs each with a teardrop diamond dangling and catching the light. The set was exquisite. 

"Harry Winston," your friend told you, admiring how they looked on you.

"Nice of them to loan these for the ball," you told her, grateful you got to wear them. 

Yelena reached for the golden mask on the bed, holding it to you. "No loan. Steve bought them."

What?

"These must have cost a fortune," you mused. They probably cost more than everything else you owned combined. "Glad you're going with us. I'd hate to get mugged for these."

Yelena grinned. "Security is going to be tight already with so many important people there. The mayor will be there. One of the state senators."

You scoffed. "Why am I going? I'm no one special."

"But you are," Yelena told you. 'The fact that everyone wants you has been a powerful motivator in this game of chess. Your husband is completely devoted to you. Barnes would love to get his hands on you."

"Barnes would ring my neck the first chance he got," you pointed out.

Yelena's expression was difficult to read. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Hansen would for sure kill me," you said, putting your mask in place carefully. The soft mask of golden sequins fit over your eyes. 

Yelena's gaze dropped at the mention of the name and you were ashamed. You needed to work harder not to bring that up to her. And you needed a subject change. Fast.

"Who's going to be here with Nat tonight?" You weren't surprised Nat didn't want to go. She'd been through so much between the horrific end of her abusive marriage and all trauma of years being left to the sadistic nature of Banner. You wanted to make sure she was well looked after while you and Steve were gone.

"Clint is staying here of course," Yelena said quietly. "Dyson will be here too. He's arranged for extra security for the house tonight."

You nodded your approval. "What about Scott?"

"He's coming with us," Yelena explained. 

You smiled. Scott going had little to do with keeping you and Steve safe and everything to do with spending time with Yelena. You were pretty sure Yelena was aware of Scott's infatuation with her. Would she ever return his affections? You didn't know. Considering her tragic history, you weren't sure she could feel the same way towards him or anyone. But in the time you'd known Scott, you learned he was a good man who always had your back and never once questioned your authority. You trusted him with your life. You trusted him with Yelena too.

But would she ever give him - or anyone - a chance after all she'd been through?

You blew out an exhale, preparing yourself for the night ahead. "I guess we should let Steve know I'm ready."

"He knows," a deep voice caught you and Yelena both off guard. 

Your husband strolled into the bedroom and Yelena stepped back to allow him a clear path to you. He looked breathtakingly handsome in the classic black tuxedo he wore, tailored perfectly to fit his tall, broad-shouldered physique. His tawny hair was perfectly styled, diamond cufflinks winking in the light. His tie was shades of gold and blue to match your gown, a subtle touch but one you appreciated.

Steve moved to stand behind you in the mirror of your vanity, bending to fit his handsome face in the reflection with yours. 

"You look so beautiful," he said with something like reverence in his voice. "I can't wait to show you off."

"I'll be downstairs," Yelena said, making her way out to give you some privacy. "We worked very hard on her, boss. Don't mess her up."

Steve smiled at what he took as a playful warning, his large hands smoothing over your bare shoulders. Slowly, you removed the mask, placing it in your lap with your hands. His watchful gaze didn't miss the slight tremble of their movements.

"Everything is going to be fine," he explained. "I've been to this event before. All the rich, politic elite of Boston come out to dance and drink the night away and wallow in excess. It's probably Tony's favorite night of the year."

You could see it. And you were excited to go to the annual masquerade ball, as Steve's wife and not his trophy, and to enjoy a fabulous night on the town. You felt like Cinderella, going to the ball in the gown that truly looked as if magic had created it.

But you couldn't fight back an impending sense of dread. It had been so quiet in the weeks of your recovery and Steve's. Life went on. You were included in all the family's business meetings. The family business had recovered and was branching out, deals with three of the other four families made things even better. 

Not that you agreed with all of it. You weren't crazy about the loan sharking or protection deals the family made. The casinos and restaurants didn't bother you as much. And at least the family wasn't making any money off drugs or trafficking. Some of the stories about the business and how other families operated you heard now were just horrific. You made up your mind early that no matter what, you'd never allow the family to make money off the misfortunes of women and children. Never.

It had been very quiet where the Barnes family was concerned. Too quiet.

"I'll  be the envy of every man there tonight," he murmured, pressing a kiss into your neck. The soft brush of his beard made you shiver. A sensual smiled curved Steve's lips. "Are you ready?"

You nodded. You trusted your husband. You were going to do your best to have a wonderful night, just like he intended.

And still that little kernel of dread lingered.

You felt like you were in an old Hollywood movie to walk down the staircase on your husband's arm with the gown flowing softly with your movements. Honestly, you were grateful for Steve's help in keeping you balanced, relieved when you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Dyson, Yelena, Scott, Clint and Nat were a small crowd, watching in admiration as you approached. Nat's smile was all you needed to feel like a princess. Her lovely green eyes lit up as her gaze swept over you. 

"You look perfect," she exclaimed, carefully hugging you. "I knew that gown was the one."

Nat had been the one to find it when the two of you went out shopping for it. And you were all too happy to give her the credit. You knew very little about fashion. You would learn. Until you did, it was nice to have the advice of someone who already understood it.

As Nat stepped back, you forced yourself to smile. She still looked so small, so frail. She had yet to gain weight and regain her amazing figure. Your sister-in-law seemed fragile, even with the protection and love of the man she'd always wanted. Even with the full support and love of her brother. It worried you.

Dyson looked worried too, but as you did, he put on a quick smile. "You two had best get going. The line at dropoff takes forever."

"True enough," Steve said, nodding to Yelena and Scott.

You stopped to hug Dyson. "Keep her safe for me," you whispered.

"You know I will," he muttered.

Steve whisked you away to the sleek black limousine waiting in the driveway. Its glossy, jet-black exterior reflected the fading sunlight with a mirror-like finish. The long, streamlined body stretched gracefully, its tinted windows offering privacy and adding to its air of mystery. Scott climbed in behind the wheel and Yelena rode shotgun as Steve got you into the back seat, helping you keep your gown away from the doors. Once you were settled, you studied your husband. Something was missing.

"Did you bring a mask?" you asked him. 

Steve smiled, pulling a small black mass from inside his tuxedo coat. No sequins, just a matte black mask he could wear. But he wasn't interested in the mask as he fidgeted with it. He was too busy staring at you.

"Are you excited?" he asked.

You couldn't help the smile the question brought on. "Yes."

Steve looked pleased. "As time goes on and things settle down, we'll get out more. Do more things like this. You look like a princess tonight."

Tears pricked at the backs of your eyes at his heartfelt words. He meant them. He was taking you out to a society function, dressed you up like you were going to the fucking Oscars. A night out like nothing you'd ever experienced before. You'd been excited since he told you he got the tickets a few weeks ago.

"There are going to be a lot of people there, sweetheart," Steve explained quietly. "I'm sure Belova went over everything with you. But I need you to listen. You are going to be with me at all times. If you're not with me, you'll be with Belova and Lang. No wandering off to talk to people or sightsee. Okay?"

You nodded. Yelena had covered the plans thoroughly while she helped you get ready for the evening. 

"If I have to talk business for a moment, Belova will be with you. You have to go to the ladies' room, Belova will be with you," he continued. "Take it easy on the drinks. You're not used to alcohol and I need you vigilant tonight. We're going to have a wonderful time but..."

"I understand," you told him. "Besides, I don't want to miss any part of tonight because I'm drinking. It's my first masquerade ball. I'd like to enjoy every minute of it."

The smile Steve flashed you had your heart fluttering in your chest.

"There will be dancing, right?" you asked.

"Of course," he told you. 

"You'll dance with me?" Would Steve dance with you to a beautiful ballad or classic song?

Reaching over, he tipped up your chin with his fingers, his touch careful. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you when you smile at me like that. I love you."

"I love you, too." 

His lips were a teasing brush against your own but in seconds it deepened, filled with longing and need. 

The sharp wrap on the dark glass that separated the two of you in the back seat of the limo from Scott and Yelena up front scared you. Then the glass slid down just a couple of inches. 

"Later," Yelena admonished. "I worked too hard on her for this party, boss."

You froze thinking that was going to piss your husband off but he laughed. "Okay, sorry," he called back to her.

It made you happy. Ever since everything happened that day between your family and Barnes', your husband and your best friend got along a lot better. Steve was kinder to her, treated her with the same respect as he would any of the men in his employ. That being the case, Yelena felt comfortable enough to tease him about things like tonight. She worked hard on carefully picking her moments with him to tease. She did even better at being thoughtful when offering criticism or advice. The fact that they were getting along better just made your life easier.

"That's supposed to be privacy glass," he said, still grinning.

"Or she's just that good at her job." Honestly, she was.

"After the ball," Steve said once the privacy glass has slid back up, "I want you out of that dress. Especially if you want to keep it."

The sly warning had you grinning. "I would like to keep it. It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."

"Noted," your husband said. "I'll do my best to contain myself until you get the gown to safety."

The heated looks he cut you the entire way into Boston made you wonder if he'd be able to. You couldn't wait to find out.

Once you reached the venue, you saw there was indeed an endless line of limos in the que leading up to the door. It moved surprisingly fast. Within ten minutes, Scott pulled up to the door and Yelena darted out to open the door for you. Before you could reach for her hand, Steve was there, helping you out of the back of the car with ease and ushering you up the carpeted stairs with Yelena behind you. The decorations and festive lighting dazzled you as you moved along on Steve's arm. The way the soft light reflected off the gown you wore made you feel like you were in a fairytale. 

Steve stopped and greeted more than a few gentlemen on the way into the venue. One man you recognized as a senator and the easy way the two men spoke had you curious. Did the senator know who Steve was? Were they old friends? For a moment, the two of them seemed to forget all going on around them. Just as quickly, the senator's gaze fell on you and the handsome older man smiled. 

"Is this your new bride?" the senator asked.

"She is," Steve replied, introducing you with obvious pride. You meant to shake the man's hand. He kissed the back of yours in an old fashioned gesture. You found him completely charming. 

"Have you been to the masquerade before?" the senator asked.

You shook your head. "This is my first one."

The man smiled. "I hope you enjoy tonight. If I get the chance, I'll introduce you to my wife. It's one of her favorite nights of the year."

"I'd like that," you told him. "It was nice to meet you."

Was it your imagination that Steve watched you with such wonder? Once his conversation with the senator ended, he led you further into the venue where the main ballroom was all prepared, looking like a view from a movie set. 

Clusters of elegant tables arranged in a wide horseshoe shape framed the dance floor, each adorned with lavish centerpieces sparkling beneath the soft glow of the majestic chandelier overhead. The chandelier's light cascaded down like a shimmering waterfall, casting a warm, golden hue over the room, making every surface gleam. A full bar stood ready, offering the finest drinks, while an orchestra played a symphony of enchanting melodies, weaving through the air like a spell. The room was a sea of Boston's political powerhouses, movie stars, and the wealthy elite, all dressed in exquisite gowns and tailored suits, their masks concealing only their identities—not their status. As you paused to take it all in, your husband's familiar warmth pressed against your back, grounding you in the moment as the dazzling scene unfolded before your eyes.

"What do you think?" Steve's whisper at your ear made you shiver.

"I love this," you told him with enthusiasm. "Thank you for bringing me tonight."

"You don't have to thank me." Your husband took your hand, looking like a tawny-haired prince in his tuxedo and black mask, and led you to the dance floor. Your surprise must have shown on your face because he laughed as he swept you into his arms at the edge of the dancing crowd and led you in an easy waltz.

Steve was a wonderful dancer much to your surprise. He led you with an easy grace that you delighted in and found easy to keep up with given your own love of dance. You knew you had to be staring at him but he kept you close, enjoying your surprise.

"When did you learn to dance like this?" you had to ask after he twirled you around gracefully. 

"It's not so hard," he said, his attention solely on you. "Not nearly as hard as your type of dancing."

Ballet was discipline but dancing a perfect waltz wasn't easy either. You were impressed. 

"Is this why you got us all dressed up?" you teased. "So you could show off your dancing skills?"

Steve chuckled. "Is there something wrong with wanting to have a magical night with your wife?"

You were delighted. But you knew it wasn't the only reason Steve brought you here. And now that you were involved in the family business, you weren't offended by the other reason the two of you were there.

Not long before he married you, Steve had acquired a prized property on the outskirts of Boston. He'd been so involved with marrying you and taking over the families he'd neglected it for a time. Now his attention was back on it, plans were being made to develop it. Together, you'd decided on an exclusive resort with fine dining, glitzy nightclubs, and a casino for the wealthy. It was a massive investment and to make it work, certain permits would need to be acquired. The senator and a few key businessmen there tonight could make or break the project that would expand your family's wealth. 

It was a very important night for Steve.

He'd be spending some time talking to these gentlemen tonight which is why Yelena and Scott were there, to keep you safe. You really didn't mind. You felt like Cinderella at the ball in the beautiful gown that flowed and captured the light with your movements as you danced with your husband among the wealthy citizens of the city. As the two of you moved through the dance, you caught a glimpse of Yelena, dressed in her dark suit and standing next to Scott, blending into the background. Your best friend's gaze never left you. Scott's never left her. You smiled, enjoying the beauty of the moment, dancing with your husband at your very first masquerade ball.

When the dance came to an end, it took you a moment to realize it. One of the musicians announced the band would take a short break and be back in just a few minutes. Steve's hand at your lower back urged you to turn. The senator making his way towards you with a lovely older lady at his side. 

The senator's wife was polished from head to toe. Her gown was bright pink layers of satin that matched her lipstick. Otherwise her white hair and face gave her a cold countenance, like she was an ice queen dressed for her best guess at spring. Her eyes were dark, small and mean as her gaze swept over you. The senator assured you that you and his wife would have plenty to talk about. As the woman stood there studying you with pursed lips, you decided talking to her probably wasn't the best idea.

Steve's gaze met yours and he nodded as he let the senator lead him away, leaving you with the judgy woman before you.

"This must be a special night for you," she said tartly.

Straightening your spine, you smiled. "Why is that?"

The woman's white brows rose slightly but a smile played about her lips. "You don't belong here."

"Excuse me?" You kept your smile in place.

"My father was a direct descendent from The Mayflower," she informed you. "We're practically royalty here. We built our fortune through hard work and our good name. You, on the other hand, come from poverty and crime. You father crawled out the shadows and robbed good people blind. That's why you have the money to play dress up and act like you belong here. We all know your husband fancies himself some sort of underworld prince. But he doesn't belong here either."

Oh, no, she didn't just put you and your husband down. Lifting your chin, you looked her in the eye.

"Your ancestors came over on a ship over four hundred years ago and nobody cares anymore," you told her. "You can pretend to be royalty, and tell yourself you made your money working hard and protecting your good name. But the sad truth is, your family made your money the same way mine did. In fact, your family probably paid mine to keep from getting your hands dirty or to protect your interests. And my husband is the king of Boston's underworld and so was my father before him. You may be someone in society right now, but your husband is currently anelected official. If you were smart, you'd spending a little more time being respectful."

Gracefully as you could manage, you turned your back to the rude woman and marched off. Yeah, maybe you hurt your husband's chances of getting the permits you needed for the project development once she talked to her husband. But you weren't about to put up with someone like that. 

You looked all around for Yelena. You were dying to tell her about the conversation you'd just had. But you weren't watching where you were going and you collided with someone hard.

And whoever he was, he caught you in his arms, sweeping you out onto the dance floor as another waltz began. He was as tall as your husband and the scent of his expensive cologne was familiar. You realized who held you a beat before he spoke, a low purr by your ear.

"Did you miss me, beautiful?"

Barnes.

Easing back, you glanced up at your uninvited dancing partner, wearing an aura of allure and danger with ease. Barnes' chiseled jawline was partially obscured by the intricately designed black mask he wore, adorned with silver accents catching the light. Those steely-blue eyes were shadowed but still piercing, glinting with a cold intensity as his gaze met yours.

His tuxedo was entirely black and tailored to perfection, hugging his muscular frame effortlessly. His attire seemed to absorb the light, creating a sense that he came from the shadows. Even his shirt was dark onyx, subtle embroidery only revealing itself when he moved. And he felt strong as he held you, solid and healed.

Stop staring at the man and answer.

"I haven't thought about you at all," you told him, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite hitting that note.

As much as you hated to admit it, Barnes was undeniably handsome. From the way his hair was slicked back with precision to the confident smirk curling his lips, the man was... magnetic. But there was a sinister edge beneath the polished surface. There always had been. Barnes' posture was too poised, his movements too calculated. Every inch of him whispered danger, a wolf in the presence of unsuspecting lambs.

Pulling you close to him, Barnes chuckled. "I don't believe that. I think you I live rent free in that beautiful head of yours."

"Maybe," you said, feeling his smile widen. "I do think about how I wished we'd used more poison."

Now he laughed, a deep rich sound. "I don't doubt that."

"What do you want?" You looked anywhere but at him. Still, you were so focused on the predator that held you, you weren't really seeing your surroundings. The music, the lights, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

"What do you think I want?" Barnes asked.

As Barnes swept you around the floor, your mind scrambled for a comeback. "Your hands around my throat," you said, going with honesty. "And me dead?"

Leaning in, he ran his nose gently up the column of your neck, making you shiver. "Oh, I did. I really did. And I could have made that happen."

You were dangerously close to having him think he had the upper hand here. "No, you couldn't."

Again, he chuckled. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?" Releasing you only long enough to spin you in the dance, he pulled you back into him tightly. "You made peace with your husband. You're now involved in the family business. I would call Steve a pussy for even thinking about that if it were any other woman. But you're not just any woman. But you're special."

You missed a step in your alarm. How the hell did Barnes know you were in the all the family business meetings now? And that you and Steve had made peace? The questions triggered your anxiety, reminding you of the days early in your marriage when Neal had been Barnes' rat and you were always looking over your shoulder. Was someone else talking to Barnes?

"A long time ago, your mother seduced my father," Barnes whispered. "She tore my family apart. And when you came along and you weren't the poor disfigured little girl we were told you were, I assumed you were a little whore like your mother. You look almost exactly like her. Has anyone told you that?"

You didn't answer, trying hard to put a little space between the two of you. Where was Steve? It wouldn't be too conspicuous if he broke in on the dance. If Yelena or Scott came to save you, it could create a scene and unwanted attention. 

"I even thought maybe, horrible thought I know," Barnes went on, "that you might be my half-sister. But it didn't take me long to realize that wasn't true either. Besides, that devious little mind in there, hidden behind all that beauty? You didn't get that from your mother. Or my father."

"What's it to you?" you snapped at him, trying to pull off pissed even though you held anger and fear in equal measure. "I'm Steve's wife. He's your boss. You'd do well to remember that."

Barnes was unfazed. "You're Steve's wife. For now. But he can't handle you." Barnes leaned closer, his gaze locking with yours. "You should belong to someone stronger."

Now you really were getting pissed. "I don't need you or any man, including my husband, to tell me who I am and what I should be doing," you said.

"You may be right," he purred. "But it's that attitude, that fire. It got me thinking... I had the wrong idea about you from the beginning. Yeah, all the bitterness from the past clouded my judgment for a while. I wanted you dead and buried next to your loser husband." When you tried to pull free of him, he tightened his grip. His grin widened. "Now I realize you're exactly what I need."

"For what?" You didn't know how much of your glare he got from behind your mask.

"To finally take my rightful place," he said as if it were gospel. "The position occupied by your current husband."

Current husband? Who the fuck did he think he was?

"Our children will be kings and queens," Barnes went on. "That dynasty would rule Boston for decades."

"My children with Steve will rule Boston," you told him angrily. "And when we're done with you, no one will even remember the Barnes family."

"One day," he said with meaning, leaning closer, "you'll be mine."

Despite yourself, you shivered. Barnes caught it.

"You want me too," he whispered. "I'll make you admit it."

As the song neared its end, you were prepared to do whatever you had to do to get away from the bastard, the man who'd done so much damage to your family. As the last strains of the symphony ended, Barnes released you to bow. You did curtsy to him, then you straightened.

"I will never be yours." You meant it with every fibre of your being. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my husband."

Barnes' grin didn't fade. "Better find a way to keep him safe."

You spun on your heel, marching off the dance floor. You needed air, and a moment to calm down. You were blinking back tears, you were that angry. You felt someone on your heels as you made you way out of the main event room out ornate glass doors left open. It was chilly out there but you welcomed it, fighting back anger.

"Are you okay?" Yelena asked, her hand at your back as you gripped the railing and hung on. 

"No, I'm not... o-fucking-kay," you said, trying to regain your composure. "He came out of nowhere."

"He did," Yelena said. "He got to you so quickly after you talked to the senator's wife."

"Where's Steve?" you asked.

"Talking very intently to the senator," she replied. "It appears to be going well."

You had to wonder if that would still be true once the senator's wife caught a moment to tell her husband and your little "talk."

But you had bigger problems right now. Barnes.

"Barnes is all healed up," you told her. Looking beyond her, you saw Scott by the entranceway back into the ball. "And he's got big plans."

"He wants you," Yelena said it. "That much was obvious. It gives me some idea of his plans."

You nodded. "Don't say anything to Steve or Scott right now. I just want to find a glass of champagne to take the edge off and get through the rest of the ball."

With any luck, you could maybe enjoy one more magical dance with Steve before the evening ended.

You couldn't, however, complain. You wanted to be in on the family business and this was part of it. Barnes, unfortunately, was also part of it.  And he'd just announced his intentions to you and you realized now it was the pit that had been in your stomach the entire evening. 

Barnes would keep tearing your life apart until he was stopped. Somehow between his drastic plans and the animosity between you and your husband, you'd found your way to a happy marriage. A path to be queen in this world. And you'd be damned if you let Barnes threaten that future.

"You're going to tell Steve, right?" 

"I am." You didn't miss the concern in Yelena's voice. "I'm telling all of you. But not here."

Nodding her agreement, Yelena watched as you straightened, steeled yourself to return to the event. 

"Let's find you a glass of champagne, boss," she said with a wink.

Boss? Now that put the smile back on your face. 

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[serpentandlily]

Wicked Games

Dark!Batboys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Warnings: Violence, dark themes (will update per chapter)

Part II

Part I

༺♥༻

It had been too easy sneaking in through the back door of The Sidra, a huge building filled with luxury apartments only the top one-percent could afford. Too easy sneaking into the laundry rooms downstairs and finding a freshly cleaned maid’s uniform. And too easy convincing one of the maids on duty into believing you were a newly hired employee.

It wasn’t hard to play the role. You had worked as a cleaning lady before—at a motel when you were only sixteen. So it wasn’t long before she was dropping a keychain filled with master keys for each floor into the pocket of your apron and pushing a cleaning cart into your hands.

Before you knew it, you had an access card to the elevators in one pocket and those all too important keys in the other. You waited until no one else was near the elevators before slipping into one and immediately pressing the button that would take you to the penthouse.

According to your sources, aka one of your exes, one of the richest males in Prythian lived in that penthouse. A male who was rumored to make his money in a…less than legal way. And if you knew anything about those types, you knew they’d have cash stuffed into just about every hidden crevice of that apartment. Because that kind of dirty money never made it into banks.

You had tried to do some research on who was living here but it seemed like he was a rather elusive male. All you could find was a first name, Rhysand—and that he had ties to Velaris, the illustrious night club downtown.

It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was getting into this penthouse, finding his hidden stacks of cash and getting the hell out of here. You needed this money and this guy was rich enough that you doubted he’d even notice a measly six grand missing from his piles of cash.

But that six grand meant life or death for you. Because you needed to pay off the debt you owe your ex. You knew his patience with you was slipping and you were worried that for once he’d actually go through with his threats.

The elevator dinged, signaling you had made it to your destination. You stepped out of the elevator, leaving the cleaning cart behind, and found yourself in a grand corridor. There was only one direction to go, only one set of large double doors up here.

You knocked once. Twice. A third time. No answer, no noise, nothing. You thanked God for your luck today as you fumbled with your ring of master keys, trying to figure out which one worked for this door.

It took you longer than you liked but soon you were pushing the doors open and making your way into the insanely large penthouse. Your jaw dropped as you took in the place, envy crawling up your skin like thorny vines.

This place was…incredible. It was opulent, full of expensive looking furniture and high-tech electronics. You spun around, taking in everything. Jesus, the sitting area alone was larger than your own studio apartment. Everything looked so ornate and for this being the supposed bachelor pad for one of Prythian’s richest males, you were surprised by how elegant it all was.

But you quickly snapped yourself out of your admiration. You had a job to do. Find the money you needed and get out of here before someone returned. You checked the usual spots for hidden safes—behind paintings, where medicine cabinets should be, in closets. You cursed as you found nothing out of place.

That was until you stumbled upon a large painting of three mountaintops with a star painted above each in the master bedroom. It was incredibly heavy, but you managed to get it off the wall and nearly let out a squeal of joy when you caught sight of the safe built into the wall. You pulled out the small electronic stethoscope that you had found at a pawn shop years ago and got to work with cracking the safe.

It was one of the skills your ex had taught you. A skill that had come in handy quite a few times. And you were particularly good at this part. So good that you had the safe opened within the hour. Your jaw dropped as the door clicked open and revealed piles and piles of cash, some gems and gold chains. You were half tempted to take it all but restrained yourself.

Just enough. You needed to take just enough to pay off your debt…and maybe some extra for rent this month. Just to get you back on track with your payments. Still, just a small amount that hopefully would go unnoticed. You opened the satchel you had hidden under the maid apron and started tossing stacks into your bag.

Once you were certain you had enough, you closed the safe and went through the strenuous process of hanging the large painting back up on the wall. You were sweating a bit as you finished, wiping your clammy hands on the apron.

Now all you had to do was get the fuck out of here. You could not believe your luck as you made your way back to the front door. Could not believe that everything had gone exactly to plan.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised at the sound of a key unlocking the front door. Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy. Fuck. You looked around quickly, spotting a closet in the hallway and managed to slid yourself into it right as the front doors opened. You held your breath as three large men came walking in, the two in the back lugging in another person whose head was covered with a burlap sack.

Your eyes widened as you took in the scene, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. The male who led the group forward was one of the most handsome males you had ever seen. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was short, a dark blue-black color which suited his golden skin.

The two guys holding up their captive were equally attractive, if not more. One was huge, taller than the other two, with muscles cut from stone like a God. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had been pulled into a bun and wore black pants and a white button-up shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows, exposing his veiny forearms.

The other male was just straight up beautiful. His features were more elegant than the other two, as if a romantic artist had spent their whole life carefully crafting him out of clay. He also had dark brown hair, cut short like the first guy, and golden skin that matched the other two. His face was expressionless, unreadable, and that made him look all the more lethal.

The two guys dropped the captive to his knees and yanked the burlap sack off his head. You nearly gasped in surprise as you recognized him. He was known widely in the criminal world as “The Attor.” He was a slimy looking male who used all sorts of weird torture methods to get his victims to talk. Last you heard of him, he was working with Hybern, one of the many gang leaders in Prythian.

“Are you going to talk now?” The male in the suit purred. He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, resting his ankle over a knee. He held an air of authority and you guessed that he was the leader here.

“Fuck you, Rhysand,” The Attor spat, wiggling to try and break free of his bonds.

Ah, so this was the famed Rhysand. You had expected someone older, someone maybe in their fifties. But this guy couldn’t be older than thirty. And god, he was so hot. Most criminals were ugly, aging men. Nothing like the handsome devil who sat in his chair like it was a throne.

Rhysand merely chuckled before running a finger down the armrest of his chair. “Tell us what Hybern’s planning and I might just decide to let you leave with your life.”

But The Attor just spat at his feet. “You and I both know I’ve been a dead man since your dogs caught me.”

The lethal looking male snarled at that. The noise was so animalistic, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re right, you have been,” Rhysand answered with amusement. “And now I tire of our games.” He nodded at the male who had snarled. “Kill him,” he ordered.

Before you could even process those words, the man yanked a blade out of his pocket and swiftly stabbed it straight through The Attor’s throat. A small gasp escaped your mouth as red blood sputtered out of the wound and the man slumped to the ground, his eyes glazing over. You quickly slammed a hand over your mouth, praying to God that they hadn’t heard your slip-up. But you had never seen someone killed before. You had only ever dealt with petty criminals, mostly thieves.

“Did you hear that?” The one built like a God asked, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the place.

You smothered yourself further with your hand, pressing your body against the wall of the closet—as far from the door as you could get.

“I did,” the lethal one answered, yanking his dagger from the dead man’s neck and wiping it clean on his clothes before returning it to his own pocket.

“Who’s here?” Rhysand called out, standing up.

The other two began to search through the room, their footsteps surprisingly silent. You squeezed your eyes shut and sank onto the floor, praying and praying that they wouldn’t look in the closet, that they wouldn’t find you. As a few moments passed, you were beginning to grow hopeful.

But then the closet doors were yanked open and you were being pulled out by your upper arms. You let out a small cry as you opened your eyes to see the lethal one staring down at you, his face impassive as he dragged you into the sitting room and tossed you onto the floor next to the dead man’s body.

You let out a whimper, your apron soaking up some of the blood on the floor.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an intruder,” he called out, gaining the attention of the other two who returned from wherever they had been searching.

Rhysand stepped forward, looking down at you in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected to find one of the maids hiding in his closet. Your whole body tensed as the corners of his lips ticked up. This close now, you could see the unusual color of his eyes, a rich shade of blue that almost looked violet.

“Well what do we have here?” His voice was so sensual, bringing color to your cheeks. “What a pretty little mouse you’ve caught, Az.”

“I’d say so,” the other one smirked, his eyes roaming your face. But you kept your attention on the leader.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I was cleaning in the bedroom when I heard the ruckus and…I swear I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’m sorry. Please, just let me go,” you pleaded, quivering under his amused stare.

“That’s odd,” he said, tilting his head at you. “I didn’t schedule any cleaning services today.”

You blinked, trying to come up with another lie. “I-I’m a new hire, sir. I only d-did as I was told.”

He stroked his jaw, glancing at the other two men who stood behind you. “Interesting. You know, I didn’t happen to see any cleaning supplies when I was looking around just now. Did you two see any during your search?”

“Nope,” the bigger one chimed. You could hear the smile in his voice. The other one must’ve shaken his head because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I-I…” you choked on your own words. Fuck, how were you going to get yourself out of this one? You were screwed. So fucking screwed. You were going to die right here just like the man next to you.

Rhysand stepped forward before bending down on his haunches in front of you. A pathetic whimper fell from your lips as you backed away, only to run into a pair of legs. You gulped, looking up to see the pretty one staring down at you, that unfeeling face sent another shiver through your body.

“You’re not a maid, are you, little mouse?” Rhysand purred, reaching a gloved hand out to brush some hair from your face. You were shaking like a leaf now, as you found yourself surrounded by three dangerous males.

Fuck, you were going to die. All twenty-one years of your life wasted just to die here, likely never to be found. Not that anyone would be looking for you or miss you. You had grown up in foster care, never knowing who your parents were.

“I-I am,” you lied. “I swear it.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, giving you a mocking frown. “What a pretty little liar you are. I don’t like liars, little mouse. Do you know what I like to do to the people who lie to me?”

You shook your head, not able to form any words. He gave you a wolfish grin and pointed a finger at the dead body on the ground, blood still oozing from the wound on his neck. You whimpered again, a few pathetic tears now slipping from your eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry, pretty girl,” Rhysand purred. “It would be a waste to kill a little thing like you. Don’t you agree?”

Your head was spinning now.

“What…what do you want from me?” Your voice shook, making you feel even more pathetic. Rhysand smiled again but it was not reassuring—more like a predator showing off its sharp teeth.

He glanced up at the other two. “What do you guys think? Should we let this little mouse go or should we punish her for her trespassing?”

“We don’t even know what she’s here for yet,” the pretty one said. His voice was as dark as him and just as cold.

You used this time to glance towards the front door, noting how far away it was. You could make a break for it. You were a fast runner and you had the advantage of being smaller and more agile than them.

It could go horrible but you had to try. You had to try and get out of here before they did whatever it was they wanted to you. You would only have one shot, one chance.

Before any of them could notice you plotting, you scooped a handful of blood from the floor and flicked it into Rhysand’s face. He let out a noise of surprise and you used the distraction to slip between the other two and dart towards the door.

You could hear their yells from behind you but didn’t look back as you yanked the door open and sprinted into the hallway. You bypassed the elevators and slammed into the stairway.

You could hear footsteps running behind you and you pushed yourself to run faster, hopping over railings to other floors when you could. You burst through the door leading into one of the other floors and sprinted down the hallway.

A man was leaving his apartment, his eyes glued to the phone in his hand. You pushed him out of your way and slipped into the open door, ignoring his curse from behind you. You ran into the bedroom, darting for the window.

You let out a small cry of relief when you noticed it was connected to a fire escape. You quickly pushed it open and flung yourself through the window, landing with a thud on the metal landing.

You didn’t waste any time climbing down the ladders from landing to landing. You had made decent progress by the time one of the males had figured out where you had gone. The metal fire escape rattled with both of your weights now on it, but you continued climbing down until you reached the bottom.

As soon as you landed on the ground, you took off down an alleyway—twisting and turning down different paths, trying to keep them off your trail. Unlike those rich pricks, you knew the underside of this city like the back of your hand.

As soon as you were confident you had lost them, you found a spot in the shadows to rip the maid uniform off. You tossed it on the ground and quickly got dressed back into the clothes you had brought in your bag.

Once you had pulled on the jeans and jacket, you tossed the hood up and slung your bag back over your shoulder. This time you made your way to a busy street, hoping to get lost in the crowd.

You didn’t let out a breath of relief until you were on the subway, on the line that would take you back to your neighborhood where your shitty apartment would be waiting for you.

You bit your lip, unzipping your bag to make sure all the money you had stolen was accounted for. You finally let out a breath and rested your head against the cold wall of the subway cart.

You had fucking done it. You had stolen from one of the richest men in Prythian and gotten away with it.

༺♥༻

“This is only six grand, bunny,” your ex, Tamlin, said with a small frown. “Where’s the rest?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I owed you six grand, right? That’s what you said. It’s all there.”

“Oh, bunny, you owed me six grand last week,” Tamlin replied, pushing some of his blonde hair away from his face as he looked up at you. You bounced from one foot to the other, standing in front of his desk. “It’s seven thousand, five hundred now—you know, because of interest.”

“What?” You breathed out. “You never mentioned anything about interest!”

Tamlin chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “I did. You must’ve not understood. It’s okay, bunny, not all of us can be smart. It’s a good thing you’ve got that pretty face of yours to get by. But I’ll take this for now. I’ll need the rest by next week, though. And it’ll be an extra one thousand, eight hundred seventy five by then.”

“You can’t be serious! Tam, I—do you know what it took to get that money! Please, I’m begging you. Can’t this be it? An extra thousand dollars is nothing but petty cash to you. Please.”

“I don’t think so, bunny,” Tamlin responded with a mockingly sad voice. “You see, you lost those kinds of privileges when you broke up with me. I could’ve taken care of all of this for you but you’re the one who wanted to cut ties. So now you have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”

“This is ridiculous, please,” you begged. You were willing to get on your knees at this point. All you wanted was to be done with this—done with him. “I can barely afford rent. Barely feed myself. I won’t be able to get you another grand by next week.”

“That stopped being my problem a long time ago, bunny,” Tamlin said, all niceties gone from his voice now as he stood from his desk, placing his palms flat against the surface. “Get the money to me by next week. I’d hate to see that pretty little face of yours ruined. Do you understand?”

You scoffed but Hart, one of his guards, took a step closer to you, so you swallowed your pride, ignored the tears building in your eyes, and nodded your head. You quickly left the room, made a quick exit from the warehouse and started the long walk back to your apartment.

How the hell were you going to get more money for him? He was doing this on purpose, still upset with you for breaking up with him. You wiped at the angry tears spilling down your face. Would you ever be able to pay him off? Would you ever be able to get rid of his presence in your life?

You kicked at the loose concrete pebbles on the ground as you made your way home. You kept your hood on, head ducked towards the ground to avoid any unwanted attention. Now that you no longer had Tamlin’s protection, the men in this neighborhood had gotten rowdier with you.

Once you reached your apartment building, you took two stairs at a time to get to the fourth floor, wincing as you heard Marcus yelling at his wife again for the third time today. You wished she’d put a kitchen knife through his gut and do your whole neighborhood a favor.

You pulled your cheap, burner phone out of your pocket along with your keys, ready to call your friend Valerie to bitch and moan about Tamlin as soon as you were inside.

But apparently God had other plans.

As soon as you flicked on the lights to your apartment, your phone slipped out of your hands and landed with a thud on the floor. Your eyes widened, your heart plummeted all the way to your stomach as your gaze fell on a pair of unusual violet eyes.

Rhysand.

Rhysand was sitting there on your dingy mattress, his nice clothes a stark contrast to your fraying sheets. He gave you a grin that could rival the devil’s.

“There you are, little mouse,” he purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

[extra-v1rgin]

The reader is a wolf hybrid written with a vagina and breasts, I don’t think there’s any direct references to gender.

Contains: Mentions of previous poor living conditions, Imprisonment (sex doesn’t occur while reader is directly imprisoned), Cunnilingus, Vaginal fingering, Vaginal Intercourse, Groping.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

“Criminal case number forty-seven.” The chains around your hands clink loudly as a guard drags you forward. “The defendant has repeatedly robbed several stands throughout the capital. Jail time has had no effect and we seek more severe punishment.”

You keep your eyes on the ground. Without your comfortable cloak you feel exposed. The fur on your arms stands on end. Your hideous appearance is revealed in the scrappy prison clothes you wear. You suppose you really do look like some sort of criminal now.

“Are you a kobold?” A loud voice rings out. The words bounce around the ornate room until they burns your ears.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to dignify his idiotic question with a response. The crown king or prince or whatever should just sentence you to death by hanging and leave you be.

The guard to your left smacks the back of your head. “Answer,” he commands gruffly.

“I’m not.” You mumble the words so softly you’re sure you’ll just be reprimanded again but the quiet words appear to be satisfactory.

“Beastkin then? Or some kind of-“

“Laios focus on your duties!”

Your eyes flick upwards to watch the… advisor or confidant- you can’t pay attention to the intricacies of royal life -scold the king. They exchange quiet words that even your sensitive ears can’t make out. When the conversation ends you bow your head once more.

“We’ll keep her in the barracks for further investigation.”

Your ears twitch but otherwise you don’t react. Music sounds from your restraints again, jingling as you’re dragged off.

—-

The cells in the castle aren’t much nicer than any of the others you’ve been in. Most are relatively similar other than the temperature inside. You’re warm here at least which is better than the wooden walls that let in every gust of wind back on the outskirts of town.

The guards are the same, quiet and rude.

You sit around for 3 days in absolute silence. All the other cells are far away enough that you don’t know who else is kept locked up. The only sounds you hear are footsteps from the floor above and murmurs from the guards. They probably think they’re being quiet but you can still hear everything the pair is saying. Mostly it’s useless gossip. You now know all about who’s fucking who and who slacks off and who is stealing extra portions at dinner.

Every once in a while you hear a murmur about the king. There’s so many rumors about him that you don’t know what to believe. You can trust the guards a little bit more but nothing they say is useful in any way.

“The guy’s fucking weird, friends are too.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s been through fifty chefs at this point. All the food tastes fine but he fires them after one week.”

“We get to eat some exotic shit though.”

“Damn right.”

All you get is the same bowl of porridge three times a day. For dinner there’s two dry slices of beef to accompany the slop. You treasure the meat though. Even if everything tastes the same having protein is a gift. You chew it slowly as if you can pull any kind of flavor out of it.

You don’t know why you’re here. You’ve already been tried for execution twice and it’s likely the third time will be the charm. It’s a miracle you’ve kept your hands this long. Most dogs get put down after their first bite.

—-

By the fifth day the guards have gotten bored enough to bother you. Their swords clang against your door. “Are you awake?”

You don’t answer but they peak through the slot in the door. “Hello? You got hearing problems?”

“No way she does, her ears are fucking giant.”

“Whaddo you think she is?”

“Why the fuck would I know? Maybe some kind of beastkin or an ogre or something.”

“How dumb are you? That’s not what ogres look like.”

While their focus turns away from you, you shrink against the wall. Your appearance has often been debated and you’ve heard just about every comparison by now. With how much you’ve heard about ogres you thought they might not mind your circumstances but they found you too human. Now you exist in a limbo with no race to call home. Even your own mother discarded you.

They murmur about a wide variety of monsters. Even you don’t recognize most of the things they list. For a place devoid of monsters the guards seem to know a lot about them.

—-

Someone slams their fists against your cell. As his face comes into view a short guard reveals himself. His nose is big and his neck is skinny. It reminds you of a bird. In response your stomach growls.

“Hands against the wall.” You obey wordlessly. There’s no point in delaying your death another day.

“You better thank the divine or whatever you believe in. His Majesty wants a personal interview before sending you to the gallows.” He laughs at the end. Though you can’t do much to retaliate a harsh growl scares him for a moment. He slaps you afterwards but it doesn’t hurt much. His hands are strangely thin. It only adds to the bird imagery.

You follow the man with a wide smile. He complains about your fangs but that only makes your mouth open wider. You run your tongue over your sharpest canines.

“Don’t act all high and mighty. You’ll be a dead bitch by the end of the day.”

You’re not smiling about any supposed freedom, it’s just fun to watch his eyes trace your teeth. Will the king react the same? Too many stories go around to know if he’s actually a brave hero or another coward hiding behind fables.

When you enter he looks much less extravagant than he did a few days ago. The lion-skin cloak is gone from his shoulders. A crown sat atop is head but it was a plain band of gold. You still admired how it shined in the low light of the room.

You’re still trying to figure out what you think of the man when the guards leave and you’re left alone.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Laios extends his hand but you ignore it. You keep your eyes pointed at the table now. He should just drag you towards the guillotine and have it over with.

The man seems unperturbed and smiles widely at you.

“Oh and you shouldn’t worry about… dying or anything.” He pulls an odd face that isn’t quite a frown. “We’re all about rehabilitation here- or well it depends, but mostly rehabilitation yes.”

“So you’re gonna give me a job cleaning up shit or something?”

“Probably not, Marcille handles that kind of thing though. The job assigning I mean. She’s very good at it.”

You go quiet again. You’re not sure why the king has to be involved in something as simple as this. He speaks very casually but appearance wise does give off an air of royalty.

As the silence stretches on for a bit too long before Laios takes it as a cue to open his mouth again. “I’m interested in your heritage, if you’ll share. I meant to ask if you were beastkin earlier but I didn’t get an answer!” His eyes light up and you find yourself caught off guard. Usually the people who take interest in you do it for less than honest reasons. Laios hasn’t completely ruled out that possibility but his innocent look does relax you slightly.

“Ah well I don’t really know the full story.” Your mother had barely ever spoken to you about anything, much less your progenitors. “My mother was one, a beastkin. She was a werewolf. I don’t know about my father though.”

“Amazing! I didn’t know beastkin could have children. We’ll have to write to Izutsmi.” He stands up, knocking his chair backwards. Quickly the man crosses over to you. He easily towers over you. The eyes of his lion cape look down on you in judgement. “Can I ask you a few more questions?” He’s growing loud, almost shouting.

“Maybe.” Laios is making a mad dash back towards creepy territory but he still looks rather excited so you push down the feeling.

“Can I see your hands?”

This time you do extend just one. He cradles it for a moment, twisting your wrist and curling your fingers. It’s such a delicate touch. You’ve never had someone hold you without intending to hurt.

Laios’s thumb glides over the thick skin of your palm. “It’s like a paw pad,” he murmurs. You’re glad that he doesn’t mind your silence. As he moves upwards to trace over your nails, claws, you wince. They’re brittle and chipped in some places. Overall they have a strange stripped texture that looks hideous.

“Are they good for digging?” The question catches you so off guard you stifle a laugh.

“I dunno. I’ve never tried… I guess they’re good a tearing through wood though.” Not enough to escape any kind cell of course, but enough to piss off the guards.

“Ah that’s clever!” There’s a lot of firsts happening today. You can’t remember receiving any compliment without a sarcastic undertone spoiling it. It makes your cheeks burn a little but you try to will the feeling away.

Without asking, though honestly you don’t care, his hands trace their way higher up. Laios runs his fingers through the short fur on your forearm. “The color matches your hair, though the texture is a little different.” To confirm he plants a hand on your head, right between your ears. Immediately they flatten while a growl bursts out from your chest. “Sorry.” He pulls back with a sheepish look. “Does that happen instinctually?”

“Usually… sometimes I know why but sometimes it just happens I guess.” Slowly your ears rise back up as his hand lowers.

“If I ask can I touch your ears?” Immediately they flatten again.

“No!” It’s a commanding tone that comes out louder than you intend. There’s a hint of embarrassment but Laios doesn’t look bothered so it quickly fades.

“Your tail?”

It curls around your hips protectively. If you keep saying no will he get violent? Is your death still set in stone? Getting friendly with a king might not be such a bad idea.

“Just the tip of it.” Slowly your tail sticks out to the side. As he approaches it you hold your breath.

“Ah it’s so soft!” He pinches some of the fur between two of fingers. “Does it feel nice?”

“It feels… fine.” It’s like someone petting your hands. The sensation itself is calming though.

He continues on this path for a while. Laios comments on your inhuman features with fascination and listens when you tell him no. When you don’t allow him to measure your tongue or poke his fingers into your ears he happily moves on to another aspect of your canine features.

You’re still debating if his interest in you is flattering or creepy when the king finally seems to tire himself out. Actually one of his attendants knocks softly on the door and Laios wilts. You’re happy to have his hands off you but overall the experience was not entirely unpleasant.

Afterwards you’re brought back to the chilly prison with snarky guards but you carry the warmth from your meeting.

—-

After your third meeting you get moved from the prison to a proper room. It’s still solitary with a guard outside your door but it’s nicer than anywhere else you’ve ever been. The bed is plush and soft. Since you first ran your hands over it you’ve picked up the habit of sleeping nude. People knock properly before entering now and fur covers most of your back.

While you don’t sleep longer you do sleep better. One hour in a huge bed with an actual mattress gives you better sleep than you’ve had in your entire life.

The meals you eat are filling and delicious. You can’t help but scarf them down as quickly as possible. Somewhere in the back of your mind you regret not savoring the food but you can’t help yourself.

The guards are just as rude, seemingly aware of how you first came to the castle. You don’t necessarily expect any better but it does sour the extravagance of everything else.

In between meetings with Laios you stay tucked away in your room. Whenever you leave people narrow their eyes as you pass. The hallways are too confusing and there’s nothing to do anyways. If you don’t have to steal and scrounge around for food you’re happy to laze about. Everything you need is within reasonable distance.

When you do meet with Laios the meetings stretch to be longer. He always seems to find new questions to ask you, rarely repeating asks you’ve already turned down.

If you need breaks between the man counting tufts of fur and measuring the growth of your claws he agrees. Though even when you eat or simply rest in the silence golden eyes observe you intently.

“Can you eat raw meat?” He easily interjects in the middle of a quiet meal.

As with many of his questions you don’t know the answer. You admit the truth sheepishly each time but he accepts your answer.

“If I bring you some will you try it?”

“Maybe…” Your nose twitches at the thought. It can’t be any worse than rotten meat and that didn’t taste half bad either.

—-

Looking forward to your meetings with Laios is an awful thing. He brings you divine food (At least raw meet agrees surprisingly well with your tastebuds) and a few gifts even if they’re thinly veiled things to test you with. You go through a few different physicals, one by an actual doctor, and general trials. Laios makes bold comments about your natural strength and other physical characteristics. It gives you a rather big head.

His questions get a little bolder but after your thirty-fifth bubble bath you’re a little more lenient with what you allow. If he wants to check your ears or count your teeth then you’re happy to allow him.

The whole time Laios’s interest in you was purely based on your characteristics. Some might’ve considered him rude— he had barely asked you any personal questions after all —you liked his open attitude. A few humans had had an interest in your form, though for less strange purposes (or possibly more strange depending on how you looked at it). Though rather than approaching you openly most resorted to tricks or sly words. It made your stomach twist uncomfortable.

Laios was earnest. If he wanted to measure your feet and stride you knew there wasn’t an ulterior motive. It made complying with his requests easier despite how strange they got.

That was perhaps your downfall. Questions got more wild though you knew the reasoning was the same. Once he had asked to measure your tongue, insistent that it looked longer than any human-races. He hand crammed his fingers into your mouth, oddly stroking the wet muscle.

“Do my fingers taste weird? Do you think you’d ever eat a human?” You couldn’t answer with his rough fingertips still tracing your tastebuds.

“Ha your tongue is longer! I wonder if your vocal cords are different too. Kobolds have trouble speaking the common language because of it. Though your speech sounds fine.” While he speaks his fingers slip from your mouth. His hand traces your neck, skimming over your Adam’s apple.

You smack your lips a few times to get the taste of skin out of your mouth. It didn’t taste good or bad (well maybe it was a little bad), just strange.

“Do you want a drink?” Laios hardly looks guilty as he offers you a cup to cleanse your tastebuds. The tangy juice is a welcome change.

“Is that all?” The man tries not to subject you to more than one or two strange requests a day. You haven’t been out long but you’d be surprised if he asked for another odd exploration.

He looks a little disappointed now, as he always does at the end of your meetings. Still he excuses you with a wave of his hand and a small nod.

—-

Laios does not call on you for almost a week, a strange break in your schedule. While your visits are not always daily they happen at least twice a week. The king’s curiosity is never-ending. Though you wonder if he has finally asked all his questions.

You’re hesitant to leave your room, and instead find ways to entertain yourself inside. There are a few books with simple enough language that you can read them. You’re happy to take bathes and sleep to fill up the rest of your time, but admittedly you miss your meetings. Faintly you’re aware of the great power Laios holds over you as a king but he’d also the only man that hasn’t turned his nose down at you. Even with the upgrade in your residence the guards still snicker and sneer when they near you.

You’re awfully bored without him as a companion. In the end books aren’t very entertaining and taking too many baths makes your fur dry. The lack of contact with others drives you to taunt the guards. It created a nice distraction right up until they stopped responding at all.

So when the man finally shows onto your room you nearly leap into his arms. You hope your excitement isn’t too obvious.

Laios enters your room fully, closing the door behind him. He’s oddly quiet and the guards outside your door have been dismissed. “Is it alright if I sit?” He moves to rest at the edge of your bed. The man wears a serious expression but he sinks deeply into your soft mattress.

You struggle to think of what could have the normally cheerful man so quiet. His lips press together into a sharp line. “I have been very glad to have you indulge my questions… Though I believe that they’ve all been answered. I think Marcille is mad at me for letting you stay here so long.” His eyes don’t quite meet your face. Your ears flatten as you realize what he implies.

“I see.” Your disappointment is plain. You barely try to hide it though you feel a bit foolish for growing so comfortable. “Though I’m surprised you quieted your curiosity.” It’s a bad attempt at lightening the mood. Laios reacts strangely, staring resolutely at the floor.

You aren’t particularly good at reading others but the quiet here is like whispering in your ear. “Or you have found someone else to aim your questions at?” The idea doesn’t quite hit its mark. Laios responds much too openly.

“Ah no. Most people just get angry at me.” He looks very sad about it and you find yourself caring too much. You almost ask him to visit but that is much too forward. It’s more likely you will skip town and find another place to get arrested.

“Right well… I am glad you’ve told me in person.” The words sound lame. It’s not a proper goodbye.

Laios still doesn’t move. He seems comfortable in your bed. You would rather be the one sitting but you don’t want to move too close.

“I have… I have more questions truthfully, but I don’t think you would want to answer them.”

You blink. “I have answered them so far haven’t I?”

“Marcille scolds me for being too open. If she knew what I wanted to ask I’m sure she’d curse me.”

You stifle a laugh. “Most others would already considered my virtue compromised. I don’t think I had any in the first place.” Even as a theif you are aware of how people gossip. Whether you are a vagrant or a peasant little will change others view of you.

It takes you a moment but you gather all the maturity within yourself. “I’m happy to go, but you should not let others decide what I will be comfortable with.”

“I’m sure you’ll be mad.”

“Well I’m often mad so that’s fine.”

Laios’s shoulders relax and you’re sure he’ll ask another question of you.

—-

You stand nude. It’s more embarrassing than you expected. For all your criminal activity you’ve never been convicted for public nudity. Even on the rare occasions you’ve been observed naked it wasn’t as if the observer had any interest in you. Usually they were simply kicking you out of a bathhouse or spare room you tucked yourself into.

“There’s no fur on your stomach!” Laios in all his excitement forgets to ask before placing his hand over the area. The temperature difference pushes a weird noise from your throat. His hand is large, it covers half your skin. “Does it just not grow there?”

You struggle to respond. Laios looks at you with no issue but you feel… shy. Maybe for the first time in your life.

“Y-yea. It’s like that on my face and feet too.”

“I noticed that too. Isn’t it funny that plenty of humans grow hair one their faces but you don’t?” He has a strange idea of what funny is. You offer a tight smile and he seems satisfied by the reaction.

Laios finally takes his hand off your stomach. The skin there tingles in the aftermath.

“D-do you…” For the first time ever Laios looks embarrassed himself.

Encouraging him may be a bad idea but you urge him on cautiously. “It’s ok, you can ask.”

“I got yelled at last time.” The man scratches his head. “How many-“ he mumbles the last bit, “-nipples do you have?”

Your mouth drops open in surprise. Your face ignites in embarrassment and indigence.

“I-I’m asking because most animals have multiple! Even minotaurs have four. I mean you’re already naked.” At the reminder you’re quick to hold an arm over your breasts.

“Just the two… sorry.”

Laios does look slightly disappointed. “Your reproductive system is probably more similar to a humans. If you’re only having one or two kids at a time then that would make sense.” His eyes trace over your stomach again. It’s like he had x-ray vision.

The man stops touching you, instead walking around your entire body. He circles you four or five times. When he dips around your back you focus to make sure your tail stays still.

The appendage keeps lifting up and to the side. Once you noticed it you had tried your best to stop the behavior, but unless you focused on your tails actions it tended to move on its own.

Laios, as observant as always, notices. “Your tail does some funny things! I grew up with dogs so some of the behavior is familiar to me.” You don’t particularly enjoy the comparison.

“It just does what it wants most of the time. Most of it is random I think.” Your tail doesn’t exactly wag when you’re happy. About half of the time it agrees with you. Right now it’s an annoyance.

“I should’ve been keeping track better.” Laios sounds sorely disappointed in himself. His hand ghosts over the fur and then goes in closer. The way he suddenly holds your hips startles you. A disgrungtled noise escapes your lips. The odd squeak makes your cheeks burn.

“Sorry.” He releases you quickly enough but you stay in place. “Am I making you uncomfortable? We can be done.”

“It’s fine.” You should crawl into a hole and die but you doubt you can move.

“Are you sure?” He lingers behind you, hand hovering an inch or two away.

You have to answer through gritted teeth. “Yes.” When his hand goes back to your hip you don’t know whether you should stiffen or relax.

Laios stands closer now. Your back occasionally brushes against his chest. The only bothersome part is that your tail is squished upwards. It’s not painful but it is highly uncomfortable.

“What are you doing now?”

“Just feeling, it’s good to do that sometimes.” His hands move with purpose. They trace up your hips and under your arms. It’s quiet except for his breathing that warms the back of your neck.

“The difference between fur and your actual hair is interesting.” Laios brushes against your scalp but doesn’t comb through it. You’re glad, his clumsy fingers would just tangle it. “The fur sheds right?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?!” He runs a thumb over your neck, where your fur starts to grow in.

“Just a little I guess. It’s bits and pieces until the summer when it gets worse.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Itchy… and I ruin all my clothes.”

“Are you- do you turn, naked? O-or does the fur grow in thinner?”

“Thinner fur most places, but on my chest and neck I loose it completely.” You hide from his gaze as it shifts down to the area. You want to scold him for staring but you find it more embarrassing than something you’re truly uncomfortable with.

Laios scratches absentmindedly along the slope of your shoulder. His eyes narrow with concentration until thin flecks of grey pull free. The man seems pleased with the strands of fur that he’s pulled out. His eyes flicker back to your chest.

“You can touch it.” You have no idea what propelled you to say that but the words have already left your mouth. Afterwards you can’t do much except bite your tongue.

There’s such excitement in Laios’s eyes. “Can I really?” His hands are already poised to grope you. It’s almost off-putting but you nod your head.

His hands cup your breasts gently. Surprisingly you don’t have to hold back any noises or shudders. The warmth of his skin is pleasant but your fur dampens any erotic sensations. Laios squeezes, glances at your face, then squeezes again slightly harder. You frown slightly, if anything the handling is a little uncomfortable.

“That doesn’t feel good?” The man sounds slightly surprised. Almost immediately his hands fall back to his sides.

“Um, it feels fine. You can keep going if you want.” Most of your shyness disappears with the lackluster touch.

He’s blushing now, a pretty addition of color. “I want to figure out what makes you feel good…”

You don’t know how to respond. Laios is nice to you. His hands are sometimes a little too rough, but they’re warm. “Like, sex?” You’re embarrassed again.

For the first time you’re the one to surprise Laios. His mouth opens and then clamps it shut. “If that’s something you’re- uh, interested in.”

You took a long minute to consider if this was what you wanted. Something you were “interested” in. Laios had… technically, imprisoned you, or at least his laws led to the guards imprisoning you. But he was also a handsome and honest. His face was stained red as you stared at him intensely.

“Ok.” It was unlikely an opportunity like this would arise again. Sex wasn’t at the top of your bucket list but you didn’t want to give up the chance to actually enjoy yourself.

Laios seemed surprised again by your response. He didn’t move any closer for another minute or two. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he stumbled in your direction. One large hand moved to your hip.

“I’m not actually an expert.” Laios coughed into his hand. “So let me know if… somethings wrong.” It was unclear what that implied but you nodded dutifully.

After a deep breath the man moved in to kiss you. You were surprised that he chose a more innocent and soft action to begin with. You expected your hands to go right to your ass. His lips were clumsy but your own were as unfamiliar with the movements of a kiss.

The blond wastes lots of time exploring your body. His hands run up and down your stomach. They dip down to your thighs but don’t quite reach your pussy.

You pull Laios back until you bump into the table, sitting down on it. Your hands remain wrapped in his shirt. You’re not sure where else to put them.

When the man pulls back you feel slightly shy again. His eyes go straight to your cunt now that there’s no reason to avoid the area. The first touches are hesitant. Once the man is more sure of himself his thumb runs over your labia and spreads the lips apart. Your hairless center is exposed to his eyes. The cool air makes your quivering muscles tighten and relax.

Laios notices your slight wetness. His lips twitch excitedly. The man’s actions get more bold. His finger dips into your warm cunt. It’s thick and even a single digit spreads your hole wide open.

Both of you look down breathless as his finger thrusts in and out gently. Your foreheads bump together which prompts your eyes meet briefly.

“Does it feel good?”

“U-um it’s fine I guess.” The finger itself isn’t uncomfortable, but Laios’s pink face and his breath against your cheeks is much nicer. A sudden urge to kiss him strikes you again but you hesitate. Though the man is exploring your naked body the idea of gentle touching feels much more intimate.

He moves forward to sink the entirety of his finger inside of you. It’s still an odd feeling of just the right amount but nowhere near enough. Though once the digit is planted firmly inside your core it wiggles around slightly to rub against your walls.

More wetness slips from your core. It sticks to Laios’s finger and dries sticky on your thighs. The slick is enough to smooth the way for a second finger. This stretches your walls slightly but other than a heavy breath you manage not to react.

Laios is focused. His other hand grips your hips tightly. You barely wiggle but each time you shift his hand twitches at your side. The man’s head is tilted so far down it almost collides with your chest. You don’t need to see his eyes to know exactly where they’re pointed.

Eventually his fingers pull free from your hole. You expect him to try for a third but there’s too long of a pause. His actions are somewhat obscured. Though his hand becomes visible once more as it raises to his lips.

“That’s- That’s-“ You don’t know what else to say as the man licks his fingers. He dips his tongue in between them to get every drop of your slick.

“It’s a strange taste.” He laughs and you’re horrified. “Salty…”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from scolding him. Instead you try to focus on the feelings more. Laios’s fingers go back in between your legs and thats much better.

There’s more exploration and it’s nice.

“Can I use my mouth?” The man sounds so excited. He smiles wide and continues to pet your walls gently.

You shake more. “Do… do people do that?” You know what sex is but some of the finer details escape your knowledge.

This time you finally manage to catch Laios off guard. His cheeks are a very pretty pink. “I’ve… read about it.” You’re not sure if you’re inclined to put your faith in his literary knowledge.

“If you bite me I’ll… rip your tongue off.” It’s a lame threat that rings hollow. Laios smiles weakly and kneels down. His hands pry your thighs even further apart so his head can sit between them.

“It’s warm,” he mumbles. You’re not expected to respond to it. Laios’s lips near your cunt and you resist the urge to shove him away or cry.

When they touch the outer lips of your labia you breathe out heavily. The feeling is almost ticklish as you tremble. Though as Laios pushes against you harder the arousal comes back. His lips are much softer than his fingers were. They’re soft and slow against the entrance of your core.

His tongue reveals itself and you bend over into his head. The feeling is wet and smooth as Laios sinks into your cunt further. He takes the map born from his fingers and retraces it with his lips. You weave your fingers into his hair and can’t decide where to guide him. Moans and whimpers fall from your lips without anything to stop their exit.

“W-wait I’ll-“ You’re familiar with the idea of an orgasm. Though the feeling pushing through your gut is frightening you know where it ends. It urges your thighs to squeeze Laios’s head and keep him in place. Your hips rock into the strokes of his tongue.

The man himself eagerly continues. He doesn’t mind how you try to suffocate him or the strange moans you let out.

Laios keeps his tongue inside of you even after your orgasm. His strokes are much softer now but you continue to twitch with overstimulation. You keep your hands in his hair to try and stable yourself.

The man laps at your cunt until he’s satisfied himself with the taste of it. He pulls away, cheeks and lips shiny and wet. His eyes are half-lidded and still focused on your core.

You slump backwards, breathless. Whining you push him backwards. He sits backwards on the floor and you’re slightly pleased to see his erection underneath his pants.

Laios scrambles upwards and hesitantly stands in front of you. He seems unsure of how to proceed.

“G-give me a second and then we can…” You’re unsure if he wants to fuck you properly or if his mouth was the end goal.

“Did it feel good?” The man looks slightly embarrassed but he seems pleased too.

“Yes.” You break eye-contact. There’s a very pretty pillar in the corner. The bottom of it twists into ornate curls.

Laios draws closer to tower over you once more. “I’m glad.” He pats your head gently and moves his hand to cradle your cheek.

You push past the gentle moment and move forward. Laios seems surprised when you move to tug at his waistband but he lets you drag it down. The shape of his cock is a little more clear through just his boxers. It’s plump and you don’t have anything to compare it to but the size is nice as well. The thought of putting it… well it’s not so large you’re frightened.

Before you reveal his cock to your eyes you glance upwards. “Take your shirt off.” It feels better if he strips off the rest of his clothes before revealing himself. You find a moment to breathe in the seconds it takes for the man to pull off the other layers he wears.

There is a good amount of muscle barely hidden under fine layers of fat. It is clear he is well fed. You find yourself jealous of his figure.

“Alright, underwear now.” If Laios will listen to your orders then you are content to watch. He slips his boots off and steps out of his pants. The man shows no shyness as he pulls his underwear off. You are the one who stares now.

Again you have never truly seen a cock. Glimpses of nude old men on the streets were not pleasurable nor sufficient. Laios is young and handsome which extends even between his legs.

“Can I touch?” You have the common sense to ask first though your hand is already moving forward.

With a nod you cradle his length in your palm. It’s warm and heavy, alive. You wrap your fingers around it, what you think is an acceptable tightness. Laios’s breath deepens and he leans towards you. His chest is warm against your shoulder. Each sigh echoes against your head.

Mostly you just feel his cock. You don’t have much intent on getting him off like this. Watching him twitch and shudder is entertaining enough. You spread your legs further apart and urge him forward.

Laios breathes heavily against your shoulder. “Sorry I might be bad… I’ve never done this part before.” You have to stifle a laugh and pull him closer still.

“Go slow.” You let the man position you, pushing and shifting until you’re a perfect display. You try your best to stay still but your legs shake slightly.

His cock is much scarier when it’s positioned right at your entrance. Though Laios is still slightly clumsy, gripping your arm much too tight, he takes his time moving. The head of his dick is suddenly right at your entrance. Both of you are once again staring right at your cunt. Your view is slightly worse but that makes the feeling even more intense.

The stretch isn’t as bad as you expect. There’s a soft pain but with gritted teeth you ignore it. Laios does his best to get you used to the stimulation, rocking slowly. He only plants himself a few inches in for now.

Though it’s clear the man has to restrain himself. He breathes very heavily. His grip on you was impossibly tight before but now you’re sure bruises will bloom tomorrow. You’re forced still to let Laios take control.

He finally plants himself inside of you fully and nearly crashes into your arms. You guide his hands around your waist and wrap your own around his neck. For a moment there’s reprieve. Laios shifts slightly but doesn’t attempt any big movements. A minute or two passes where you both simply breathe.

Very slowly he tries a thrust, pulling out only an inch or two before sinking back in. You let out a pathetic whine and bury your face into his shoulder. He repeats the movements a few times, pushing another small whine from your throat.

You don’t do much except hold onto Laios’s shoulders as he builds up a momentum. It is very gradual but you find yourself still startled each time there is an imperceptible shift in speed. The pace grows until a horrible squelch sounds from your bodies pressing together and pulling apart. Sweat makes your skin shiny and sticks weird to your fur.

Laios doesn’t struggle with the fast movements. His muscles are much more obvious in action. You did not care much for a sturdy man when they only used their strength to subdue you. As a support however you are happy to have him to lean on. There isn’t much else to ground you.

You let out an embarrassing chain of whimpers and more dog-like noises. Laios’s hand cradles your throat ever so gently. “I- hah, I still wonder what your v-vocal cords are like.” The casual statement coupled with his breathless voice and cock buried deep inside you is a horrible combination. You feel horrified as your cunt squeezes tighter. Laios shouldn’t be charming but you don’t hate his stupid… everything. You certainly don’t hate anything about him right now.

Once you catch your breath you force the man to kiss you again. His big mouth is much more bearable when it’s occupied. If he wasn’t fucking you right now you’d force him to use it once more.

His hand is off your neck but it hasn’t stopped traveling. It stops over your uterus. Very faintly he can feel how his dick shapes your insides. Though his true goal lies slightly lower. It does not take long for Laios to find your clit and promptly attack it.

At first his actions are slightly too aggressive but after a moment or two he finds a gentler movement.

All your focus falls to your cunt. Despite both of you being beginners to this activity Laios shows great talent. Once his fingers attached themselves to you the end was near.

You’re not sure if it’s good to try and warn the man once more of your climax. Your tongue is thick and slow. Instead all you can do is offer another kiss and fall into the feeling of pleasure.

Laios only overstimulates you for a thrust or two. He pulls out of you slowly, and takes his cock in his own hand. Within a few jerks of his wrist the man releases onto your thigh. You are too tired to complain, instead content to rest your head on his shoulder. Your companion does the same. He leans against the desk and falls into your form.

For a moment you share heavy breaths and slow caresses. Finally Laios clears his throat. “There’s probably a rag here somewhere.” He goes to full away but you let your claws prick his flesh.

“Stay.” It’s pleasing to have a king listen to your commands. He now shifts to come closer, lingering between your legs. You pull your head back, only enough to see his face. It’s pink and shiny with sweat but still rather attractive. Peeking downwards you mean to study his physique. Instead you notice the fur you’ve shed. Quickly enough you look back upwards to avoid any more embarrassment.

You’re entirely unsure of what to do now. The sex was good… but you had no idea if this was just another version of his odd questions. For a moment you feared he might still wish to cast you out.

Laios squeezed your hips gently. The movement was likely meant to be loving but it startled you upwards. Your forehead smacked against his chin and both of you let out a groan of pain.

You didn’t know whether to whine or laugh. Instead a weird combination of the two popped out of your mouth. It prompted a small smile from Laois, whose cheeks grew even redder.

The small exchange smoothed out the awkward air. You pulled away from Laios fully and ignored the cold air against your stomach and chest.

“You can stay, as long as you’d like by the way.” He leans in more.

“Ah, so was this all a trick to keep me here.” You’ve never been one to make jokes but you manage a cheeky smile.

“I-it wasn’t! You can go if you want.” He moves to back up but you’re quick to snatch his wrist.

“I’ll stay.”

[wandascrush]

Natalie, the sweet one

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Warnings: feelings developing, light touches, that’s all I think :)

Summary: Your relationship with the rich redhead slowly, but surely, blooms

Song: Opera house- Cigarettes After Sex

Nimble fingers quickly buttoned the slippery pink buttons that accented the white blouse you had on, hugging you perfectly in every corner. Swatting away the dust that fell on your black skirt in front of your mirror, you realized it showed the scar on the side of your thigh. The scar you hated. Nevermind that, you fluffed up the bouncy h/c hair that sweeetly framed your face before grabbing the cherry lipstick you stole from your mom, running out the door and down the flight of stairs in your apartment. Right as you were about to open the door leading out to the smoggy street you lived on, the tip of your shoe bent a tad too far and sent you tumbling down the last three stair steps, sending you face first into the door before your arms awkwardly caught you.

By the time you arrived at Natasha’s beautiful home in Manhattan, a small cut on your lip started to come apart and mix hints of blood with the cherry lipstick that adorned your pouty lips. Your rang the doorbell to the Romanoffs home. The ring sounded so perfect, like it belonged in one of your favorite shows with a perfect family. A dark haired, tall, lean woman with deep eyes opened the door for you with such poise and grace- Natasha’s mom. Something about the two was very similar, but it wasn’t necessarily by features. Her mother smiled, extending a gracious hand with a jewel the size of a rock on her ring finger, “Make yourself comfortable, she’ll be right down I’m sure.” This was your third time being over to their house as you two have started working together, and you found Mrs. Romanoff to be unexpectedly sweet. As you were guided into the living room, your curious eyes wandered from luxury to luxury, capturing everything like a camera. What a life. Especially their perfect family portraits, the entire family looked so beautiful and well put together. Each piece of clothing they adorned was brand new, most likely no hand-me downs.

The click-clack of Mary-Jane’s caught your attention, your study buddy ascending the winding stair case to the living room. Her eyes lit up as soon as they caught yours across the room. You two always worked in the study that sat untouched while her mom was always away doing…well no one actually knew. She just had a busy energy to her. The study is a quaint, old-fashioned space, tucked away. Time seems to stand still while your there, and 3:00 pm quickly turns into 6 before you know it. It’s filled with the comforting scent of aged paper and polished wood. The room is lined with tall wooden shelves, packed tightly with books of all kinds—some worn and weathered, others crisp and new. The shelves reach up to the ornate ceiling, where brass chandeliers hang, casting a warm, golden light that dances softly across the room.

As much as you tried to keep the conversations to concepts for the robotics project, your chats often drift beyond the pages of your textbooks. The two of you end up talking about everything, from your hopes to the constraints of your small high school, and even working after college. Natasha speaks of places she’s been, the things she’s seen. Through all of this, you get a sense that she’s lonely…that maybe no one really talks to her. It resonates with you. You notice that the redhead that sits so close to you is such a funny girl. She genuinely makes you laugh. It’s nice to not have to be the comedian for once. A part of you hurts though, when you remember the poisonous little thoughts of your mean stereotypes toward her.

As it gets later and creeps into the evening, the sun sets, casting a warm, golden glow through the windows. Natasha reads aloud from a book, her voice smooth and captivating, the words of the textbook spilling the space between you.

As she reads, you find yourself mesmerized, not just by the words, but by her. There’s something in the way she looks at you, a softness in her eyes that you’ve never noticed before. The world has taught you that feelings like these are dangerous. But in this moment, everything else fades away.

She finishes reading and looks up, meeting your gaze, “I just,” her chest falls with a sigh, “I want people to know that I’m smart. When people look at me, it’s like they see nothing. But I really am, you know…smart.” There’s a moment of silence, and the air is thick with unspoken words. You see a flicker of something in her eyes-hesitation, vulnerability. “I know you are, Nat. I know that.”

You look at her sympathetically, and gently touch her hand. Does she feel it too? This inexplicable connection that seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

Finally, Natasha speaks again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you ever feel like you’re not quite where you’re supposed to be? Like there’s something more out there, something that you can’t quite name but you know it’s meant for you?”

You nod, unable to find the words to express that you know exactly what she means.The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as your heartbeat quickens. You move closer, whispering, “I think I know what you mean.”

“I knew you would.”

The tension between you is palpable, an invisible thread pulling you together. Nat reaches out, her hand lightly brushing against your knee, sending a shiver down your spine. She hesitates, giving you a chance to pull away, but you don’t. You can’t. And just like that, a line you didn’t know could exist, was blurred.

Tag list: @kkreader78o

[reyla-the-black-wolf]

My heart speaks for you (Part 2)

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Pairing: Eris x f!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: angsty fluff?, angst, hints of anxiety, anxiety attack, nightmare

Summary: Y/n is the youngest child of the High Lord of the Night Court and lives a slightly different life than the rest of her family. But what happens, when an unexpected visitor enters the stage and decides to completely change her life?

A/N: Hey guys! It took me a bit longer to write this chapter than I had planned to (accidentally deleted a part of the story ups) but finally did it! And I recommend you listen to "Remember that night" by Sara Kays and "The night we met" by Lord Huron.

Anyway, enjoy reading! 😙

Part 1 ⎮Part 2 ⎮Part 3⎮Part 4⎮

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Six days. Six days had passed since the incident in the conference room. Six tough days and not a single glimpse of him. No word, no letter, no message of any kind.

The water of the Sidra washed up on the shore in mesmerising waves, each time stealing a bit more of the glittering sand. Sunlight reflected off the mirrored surface, magically illuminating the facade of the River House. 

The hammock I sat in swayed gently in the afternoon breeze and, thanks to Elain, the sun didn´t bother me too much. My aunt had planted two Illyrian oaks in our garden the year I was born, providing shade now that they had grown from tiny sprouts into strong, sturdy trees. As I became older, I found my favourite reading spot underneath them. They stood a few feet from the River House and were the perfect place to relax and simply be. 

A piece of bark crumbled onto the pages of the book I was holding right now. `Feathers and Fire´ was written in large, ornate letters on the leather-bound cover. Nesta had borrowed me one of her novels to keep me company, as I had spent the last few days mostly by myself. 

I give up! After reading the same paragraph for the third time in a row, I finally slammed the book shut. I had really tried to concentrate on the story in the last hour, but my mind had drifted off more than once. And always back to the same place. 

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I was in shock. Or so I thought, as I couldn´t think clearly. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding so loudly that all of Velaris must´ve heard it.

Mate. Eris Vanserra was my mate. 

I couldn´t believe it. I mean, he doesn´t even know me?

The beige sofa under my legs felt too soft, as if it wanted to pull me into a hug and never let go. And the ticking clock on the opposite wall made my ears twitch in annoyance, so I decided to get up and pace around the living room, trying to quiet my mind. I was massaging my temples to ground myself a little when a soft touch stopped me in my tracks. Small, gentle fingers starting to trail along my shoulder in a soothing rhythm. 

„Sweetheart, look at me, please.“ My mother´s calm voice made me turn to her. „Everything´s going to be all right.“ She radiated pure love. „Whatever happens next, I want you to know you´re not alone. I´m here for you, okay, honey?“ It helped slow down my racing heart a little, but not enough. I sincerely hoped my father and his brothers hadn´t beaten Eris to death just out of anger. 

Just as I thought of them, three men winnowed into the living room. With long strides, my father rushed towards me, some of his darkness still clinging onto him, and cupped my face with both hands. „Darling, are you all right? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?“ He asked worriedly as he inspected me for any injuries, whatever he was looking for. 

I withdrew from his grasp, spun around once to show him I was fine, and put on my most reassuring smile to calm his worries, making his tensed muscles relax. „I´m so sorry. I never wanted you to see this.“ Regret seeped into his voice. „But…“ He paused, visibly struggling to find his next words. „Did the bond snap for you too?“ The question caught me entirely off guard, as I thought he was angry with me, trying to argue. I could almost feel my family holding their breath, dreading my answer. Silky hair fell around my face, casting tender shadows on my features as I shook my head. A quick glance at my parents and I knew they were having a silent conversation. Sweat formed on my palms as I unconsciously clenched my hand into a fist. With each passing second, an unpleasant feeling returned to my stomach, making me want to throw up.

It spread even further when my father turned his attention back to me, and my heart sank as I noticed the sudden change in his expression. A completely blank canvas. The mask of a High Lord. Others probably wouldn´t see through his masquerade of deceit. But I could. I did. I had studied his features over the years, every time he put it on. How his jaw tightened just an inch, noticeable only to the trained eye. How his eyes shimmered in a more vibrant shade of violet. I´d seen him in his role so many times that I´d learned to watch out for him. The real him. Not the High Lord, but my father. He kept his face sealed, but I could see what he hid behind that mask. Fury over Eris. His worry. But the strongest emotion was his love for me. 

„I want you to stay away from him. Or even talk to him.“ Someone had just knocked all the air out of my lungs and punched me in the guts. I hadn´t been braced for what was to come. My pulse skipped a beat and the blood in my veins began to boil. He can´t do this! Voices shouted in my head and a lump formed in the back of my throat. But why? I didn´t even know Eris, even though he was my mate. I shouldn´t be so disappointed. He is practically a stranger. 

At a loss for words, I stared at my parents. „We don´t want to make decisions about your life, but Eris is a... complicated man.“ my mother interjected. You mean dangerous. 

„Wait, Eris is your mate?“ I flinched and turned around, only to spot my brother hidden in the darkness with a shit-eating grin on his face. „Finally something interesting is happening.“ he chuckled, earning him a slap on the neck from Cass. „Hey!“ he cried out as my father shot him a warning glare before continuing his lecture. „Darling, listen. We only want to protect you and make sure you don´t get hurt. And Eris is not good company. He has proven that several times in the past. So please believe us when we tell you to stay away from him. We have our reasons.“ And what are they? A knot tightened in my stomach when I heard Azriel whispering from behind: „Especially after what he did to Mor.“

But he is my mate! Even if we don´t know each other well, don´t I have the right to figure out what´s happening between us? My mind screamed at me. Say something! Anything! You know you can! I forced my thoughts to shut down. We would not have this conversation now. Fight back! But I didn´t. I understood that my parents were trying to protect me. They were angry, no doubt, but with the love in their eyes, I couldn´t argue against them. 

So I only looked up and nodded, giving them a coy smile, even though it felt wrong. So terribly wrong. 

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This moment had been stuck in my head for the past few days. Although I´d agreed not to approach Eris, somehow I still hoped he would talk to me. Maybe to explain when and how the bond had snapped for him. 

Starlight? Az is waiting for you in the training ring.

Oh, right. I looked at the sun, which was already sinking deeper into the sky. Uncle Az had asked me yesterday if I wanted to train with him. We usually met at the same time every week to train, but over the last few days he had become more careful around me, giving me more space.

I quickly stowed the book away, not wanting Nesta to get upset if something happened to her beloved book. Changing into my fighting gear, I winnowed to meet Azriel. 

„Faster!“ Azriel shouted, lunging forward, but not fast enough. I sidestepped his punch to the right, and in the brief moment his defence was down, I landed three swift blows to his ribs. He groaned in pain and tried to sweep me off my feet in one smooth motion. Just as I was about to dive again, my back hit the sandy ground, Truthteller at my throat. A sweaty Azriel lay on top of me. 

He pulled me up, brushing the sand from my clothes. „That wasn´t too bad, but you´re less focused today.“ A questioning look crossed his face for a second as he looked down at me, then it returned to his usual straight expression.

I opened my mouth slightly as if to reply, but shrugged instead and walked towards the edge of the training ground, breathing heavily. Az only threw a knowing look in my direction. He knows. He knows how I feel. 

We had been training for about two hours and I didn´t know how my muscles were still able to keep me standing, but anyway, I was grateful for them when I winnowed us back to the River House for dinner. 

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After a quick shower, I now sat opposite to my brother at the wooden table eating dinner and it was truly a symphony for the senses. Wine glasses clinking. Knives scraping against plates. The aromatic scent of grilled steak and vegetables wafting through the room as my family engaged in a huge debate about who had the biggest wingspan. All I could do was smile at the silliness of it all and feel it seep into my soul. 

My father stroked my back lazily beside me, probably to keep calm, as Nyx started throwing peas across the table at Cassian, who dodged them. It really was ridiculous. „Seriously! A little decency, please!“ Amren hissed at this `display of strength´. Mor chuckled, „They´re Illyrians. Do you really think their egos would just ignore it if someone with bigger wings came along?“ My mother nearly choked on her wine at this comment, earning an amused look from her husband. „Can we all just calm down a little before the whole dining room is decorated with pieces of food?“ A quick, stern glance around the table from the High Lord and everyone resumed eating, interrupted now and then by a few giggles.

Ten minutes had passed, and the others had just finished chatting about upcoming events in Velaris, when Amren apparently decided to break the comfortable silence. „So y/n. Has anything been happening with the Autumn Heir lately?“ The wicked smirk on her face made her look like a cat that had caught a mouse to play with. All of a sudden, the room fell silent and everyone stopped eating. I felt my father stiffen beside me, his muscles tense. „Amren.“ Azriel warned, a low growl escaping his throat. „What? Just a sincere question.“ Not impressed by his threatening face. Not in the slightest.

Of course, the incident with Eris had spread around the River House throughout the last few days, fuelling rumours, but the others hadn´t said anything to me yet. I should have guessed that it was only a matter of time until the tension would blow up.

I think I might throw up. I certainly wasn´t in the mood to talk about it with my family. Not today. My blood froze as I gathered the strength to look into Amren´s cold, steely eyes, which were fixed directly on me. She didn´t even flinch when my father shot her a terrifying glare that would send shivers down your spine. 

Words began to flow into my mind, begging to be heard and a familiar feeling crept through my entire body, making my nerves go blank. It felt like I couldn´t breathe. 

„Are you all right, dear? You look a bit pale.“ she said, making me feel even more nauseous. „Amren, don´t.“ Everyone had stopped breathing by now. „You don´t have to answer her question, darling.“ My father´s hand darted out to graze my fingers, but I pulled back at the sensation. „You are his mate y/n, aren´t you? Must be desperate to know why.“ „Enough!“ Pure darkness collected in the corners of the dining room, ready to consume everything. I´d never seen my father so pissed off. „Why would you say such a thing?“ Mor uttered. „Exactly! She´s my sister, I´m the only one allowed to make fun of her!“, Nyx joined in. „I´m in the mood for some trouble.“ she responded honestly, taking a sip from her wine glass, completely untroubled. 

Everyone began to talk over each other, making it difficult to distinguish the individual voices. Tears welled up in my eyes as I covered my ears. The noise was becoming too much to bear. I sniffled, holding back a cry as I stood up and took a few steps away from the table. My chair scraped along the floor, causing everyone to turn around to me and all the shouting stopped. The tears began to trickle down my cheeks as my mother noticed them first, „Sweetheart, we´re so sorry.“ She stood up too. „We didn't mean to make you cry.“ Mor tried to reassure me, guilt clouding her voice. Everything felt too overwhelming. Leave. Walk away. Get out of this situation. 

„Starlight, come here. It´ll be fine.“ He took a few steps in my direction, but I quickly held my hand up in front of him to keep a distance between me and my father. 

„Y/n. Darling, we´re…“ But he stopped when I shook my head and scowled at him. Stared at all of them, anger written on my face, before I winnowed to my room. Leaving them all guilty and silent. 

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With my back against the door, I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. It´s my life! I get to decide how I deal with Eris! Why do they keep talking about it like it isn´t my decision? Like it´s not my life? 

My nails scraped the floor, attempting to hold on to something, anything, as I spiralled down a path I didn´t want to go. A guttural sound escaped my lips as my hand clenched into a fist and slammed into the expensive wood panels beneath me. Pain shot through my knuckles, making me want to scream. Anger. Fear. Emptiness. These emotions ran through my mind as my body shook with sobs. Why can´t I just talk? I want to, but I can´t... I don´t know... the words just won´t come out when I try. It made me even angrier when I thought about it. Do I not feel safe enough around my own family to talk to them? Or is there something wrong with me? 

A knot formed in my stomach. I had never had a big problem with myself before. Not with my body, nor with my inability to speak to others. But now I wished, longed to talk to someone. Just someone who understood me. Someone who...

A certain scent wafted through the room making me pay attention. Was that smoke? I sat up straighter to observe my own bedroom. Books were scattered across the floor and the door to the neighbouring bathroom was open. My bed was made, covered in indigo silk sheets that shimmered slightly in the moonlight streaming in through the closed windows. A few plants hung from the frescoed ceiling. Nothing more.

My eyes were no longer watery and my heartbeat had stabilised. But I could still smell that there was... something. Parchment.

I looked over at my desk, which was littered with various rolls of parchment, papers and pencils of all kinds. But right in the middle. Something had changed. 

Slowly, on shaky legs, I got up and walked over to my desk. A crimson envelope lay there, and next to it a shiny golden feather with light brown spots. I couldn´t remember putting anything like that here. It smelled of an open fire, fresh rain and a hint of vanilla. 

Deep down I knew who must have sent it. I opened the letter with trembling hands.

 ・✧✵✧・✧✵✧・

Hello Princess,

Do you remember the night we met? To be honest, I can´t forget you. Standing on the balcony in your stunning gown, watching the stars fall upon you, even though they couldn´t diminish your appearance. At first I wasn´t sure how to approach you, but I did it anyway.

And it turned out to be one of the most wonderful nights I have ever had, and I wanted to thank you for it.

I could almost hear him chuckling to himself as a warmth filled my heart.

As you probably know by now, I'm your mate, but I don´t want you to feel obligated to anything that concerns me. It is your decision whether or not you wish to meet with me. ( Though I wouldn´t mind, of course) 

A blush spread across my tear-stained cheeks and I instinctively smiled. He had thought of me. He really had. My heart melted like snow in early spring. Something about him made me feel complete and understood. 

But if that´s the case, winnow to the border of Autumn in two days. I´ll be waiting for you under a birch tree when the sun sets. You can´t miss it. Sleep well, Princess! 

His letter also contained a small note. 

(Oh, the feather and the paper you write on will appear on my desk as soon as you write back).

・✧✵✧・✧✵✧・

I was speechless. Not just because he had thought of me or wanted to meet me. No. But because he would let me decide for myself. He wouldn´t force me to accept the bond, even if it hadn´t snapped for me yet. 

Not wanting to think clearly at the moment, I did the only thing that seemed right. I broke the agreement with my parents. 

I pulled out the chair, sat down, picked up the quill and wrote back. 

Half an hour later, I was lying in my bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows and a gentle night breeze caressing my form. A few candles were lit to provide some sort of night light. 

Just as I was falling asleep, footsteps came from the hallway and my bedroom door creaked as it slowly opened. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, not wanting to talk to whoever it was. „Darling, are you still awake?“ My father´s voice echoed through the room as he peeked out from behind the door. 

Just breathe. He won´t recognise it.

And he didn´t. He only walked over to my bed and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ear, while the last thing I heard was him whispering: „I´m deeply sorry, Starlight.“ before he silently walked out of my room, leaving me alone. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not the slightest flicker of light. Total darkness consumed everything around me. No light, nor sun, nor any kind of something... soft. Something to keep me warm as the cold crept up my body, like a hidden shadow from the depths of darkness. 

I gasped for some air to reach my lungs, but all I could inhale was dust. Air! I need air! My lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen and a tingling sensation shot through my entire being.

I felt like a flame being smothered as a deep, dark wave crashed over me, trying to drown me, as if I were nothing. As if I didn´t matter. 

The darkness drew closer with each passing second. Minute? Hour? Time didn´t matter in this place of emptiness. A place without walls or windows or even solid ground. The only things that trapped me were my own thoughts and the giant beast I couldn´t see, but felt. It swallowed everything around it as its claws raked along my skin, my soul, leaving scratches all over me.

I screamed, but all that came out of my mouth was... nothing. Every sound, no matter how small, was absorbed by the emptiness of this place. 

My body was drenched in sweat and my voice must have been hoarse by now from screaming my heart out for I don´t know how long. Slowly my body was losing consciousness and I was drifting further and further into the devouring void as I frantically tried to breathe. Please! I need to breathe! My heart stuttered for a moment. Help... help me! Somebody! Please, I... Hot tears streamed down my face and my eyes slowly closed as I was suffocated and drowned by the beast that guarded this place. My body went limp, tired from fighting. 

A gentle brush of soft fur against my back was the last thing I felt as I drifted into nothingness. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

I jolted out of my sleep, my heart racing and the sheets beneath me damp with sweat. You´re awake! Everything is fine! I placed my hand over my chest, feeling my pulse slowly steady as I realised it was all just a nightmare. The silver curtains swayed slightly at the open windows and the moon shone so brightly I had to blink my eyes. `Shh, it´s all right, Little one. I´m here´ it yearned to say. My breathing had normalised and I ran a hand through my sticky hair. It was just a dream. I lay back and tried to sleep again, but I knew it was going to be a long night. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

@tele86 @circe143 @impossibelle @st4r-girl-official @cherry-cin

[bapple117]

Memory Reboot - A One-Sided Radiostatic One-Shot (Vox x Alastor)

Third person - Fluff, Pining, Angst - mild adult references

~ A03 Link ~ text is also included below after the break ~ excuse the crappy art ~

Summary: Every now and then, Vox allows himself a trip down memory lane; back to when he and Alastor were good friends. This night, Vox rediscovers an old bit of memorabilia that has him reminiscing, all about one night when he and the Radio Demon shared a drink or two. The memory is a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, and what almost happened; lips meeting for the sweetest of stolen moments.

---------------------------------

Vox stumbles into his room, clumsy and heavy with drink. He bashes his head into the door as it rebounds; groaning, he rubs at his screen with a grimace. 

Drinking alone is always a bad idea. With the other two Vees both out for the night, Vox had allowed himself a little more stalking than he usually does; drinking in his surveillance room, watching and rewatching clips of the Radio Demon going about his day. It’s obsessive; Vox knows it is. He still can’t help himself. 

He teeters wildly on his legs now, looking through his belongings for some painkillers for the inevitable screen-ache he’ll have in the morning; where the fuck are they?!

Not a single drawer he searches yields any results. Vox tosses items left and right, searching through masses of cables and piles of clothes. He rifles through his bathroom cabinet, knocking down an assortment of pill bottles in the process; none of them what he needs right now.

“Fuck my life,” the Television Demon mutters to himself. 

On his hands and knees, he pulls out a bottom drawer from a huge dresser. Vox moves sloppily with inebriation as he pilfers through all the junk and bric-a-brac. And then - his hand is on something that feels familiar yet forgotten all at once. Vox pulls it out; and there it is.

His electric heart shudders within his chest. 

The tiny die-cast CRT TV model that Alastor had gifted to him years ago. So many years ago. So long ago, in-fact, that when Alastor had presented Vox with this small model, it had been exactly what Vox’s own head had looked like. A chunky, heavy, 70s television. Long outdated technology, these days, of course; Vox has upgraded several times over the years since then. 

Vox can hardly believe his tired eyes; it’s been years since he thought about this. He remembers the night Alastor gave it to him all too well - too painfully well. Vox sighs; his sadness threatening to leak into the forefront of his drink-weakened mind. 

The search for the painkillers now given up on and forgotten, Vox crawls to his bed and lays on it in the dark, the small metal totem still in his hand. Neon lights from the city outside dance and skitter on the walls. Vox stares at the ceiling. 

He can’t help himself; the memory begins to play in his mind, like an old VHS recording, discovered and dusty. Vox usually represses these memories, but for some reason, he allows this one to consume his thoughts this night. He drifts off into it; a broken heart indulging itself despite the pain. 

---------------------------------

It’s the past. Long, long ago; some time in the 1970s. Vox is drinking with Alastor - the Radio Demon, his friend. They are drinking together in Alastor’s old apartment, sharing each other’s company in the easy way that they used to. The apartment is full of antique furniture and vintage radio paraphernalia; Vox has been here many times, and yet he always eyes Alastor’s decor with the same dry observations. 

“You really need to get with the times, Al,” Vox says. “Get some more modern stuff.”

The Television Demon gawks at himself in an ornate mirror on the wall; his on-screen features blink back at him, set in his wide CRT TV head. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with my decor choices. Some things never go out of style.”

Vox huffs in amusement to himself. Secretly, he adores Alastor’s presentation. Vox looks up to the Radio Demon; he admires him. Vox wants to be just like Alastor, really. Powerful, respected, smart, classy. Alastor is everything Vox wants to be. At this point in time, Vox is a much weaker Overlord than Alastor, having only been in Hell for less than twenty years. It’s never an issue between them, of course, but Vox knows he is inferior. One day, he’ll be better. 

The Television Demon joins his friend in the kitchen then; Alastor is pouring new glasses of drink for them. Something expensive. 

“Woah,” Vox says, laughing. “What are we celebrating?”

“Well, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Alastor says sassily. “I took down another one of my rivals today.”

Vox blinks. His screen buzzes. 

“Another Overlord?” He asks, both impressed and appalled. 

Alastor nods, pleased. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Alastor says, grinning. “It was no effort at all, really. Hardly worth you looking so gormless over. What fun it was though!”

Vox laughs nervously. 

“Well, uh, that’s great, Al!” He says, accepting the drink. “You gotta promise not to ever try and take me down like that though, huh?”

It’s a weak joke; both demons know that it stinks of a true fear. Alastor scoffs. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vox,” the Radio Demon says. “How long have we known each other now, hmm?”

Vox scans his memories to try and answer accurately.

“Uhhh… Well years,” he says. “Almost two decades.”

“Exactly. And have I ever once betrayed you?” Alastor asks, gesturing for them to sit at the table. 

Vox follows Alastor’s lead and sits. 

“I guess not,” Vox says. 

The two demons sit in silence for a while; which is odd, given how prone to idle conversation they both usually are. Alastor hums along to a jazz tune playing in the background; Vox fiddles with his glass.

Alastor is deep in contented thought; eyes closed, a red claw tapping at the table to the rhythm of the song. Vox takes a gulp of his drink, still not knowing what it is; his question is answered as soon as it hits his throat. Some kind of very strong spiced rum, neat on ice. The Television Demon coughs a little, white noise filling the silence. Alastor grins. 

Vox looks up at his friend then; sees his smile. His own grin creeps up on to his screen. How simple it is between them; how easy it’s always been. Just the two of them. Alastor doesn’t have many friends; Vox is honoured to be one of them. Friends. Vox wishes they were so much more. 

“You know,” Vox says then, staring at his drink. “We could be something. Together, I mean.”

Alastor’s neck snaps a little as his head twitches to the side in confusion. 

“Something?” 

Vox hastens to clarify. 

“You know. A team. Take down Overlords together,” he says. 

Alastor seems to genuinely consider this for a moment; he drifts away into the thought of it. Vox lets himself hope for a second; his hopes are dashed just as quickly. 

“Hmm,” Alastor says. “You know me, though! I prefer to work solo.”

Vox slumps a little. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up messily; one begins to loosen from its turn-up, so he focuses on re-rolling it. 

“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, though?”

“I don’t think so,” Alastor says, amused. 

“Oh.”

The Radio Demon ponders this for a beat longer; he senses he has insulted his friend somehow. This is meant to be a nice evening celebrating his latest victory; Alastor supposes he should show a little courtesy to keep things jovial. 

“I suppose it does, sometimes,” Alastor says. 

Vox feels his inner wiring twisting in his abdomen. 

“Oh?”

Alastor rolls his eyes; must he elaborate?

“Well, I suppose having more allies couldn’t hurt,” he says. 

“Oh, well,” Vox says. “I could… I could be that for you?”

Alastor grins. 

“In your current state, I feel you may not be of any use to me, Vox old pal,” Alastor teases. “Come back to me when you’re stronger, hmm?”

The Radio Demon knocks playfully on the side of Vox’s clunky CRT head; it echoes within him. Vox knows that Alastor only means this as a cheeky gibe between friends; it wounds him all the same. 

Vox lets out a nervous laugh as response and tries to conceal the hurt.

The night is salvaged somewhat; the two demons continue to drink into the early hours. They chat, they listen to music, they share stories about various occurrences in Hell. Despite the fact they are undying souls in burning eternity, they are also both something else; two beings who both died as young men, now frozen in time. 

Alastor isn’t who he’ll truly be just yet; neither is Vox. In this memory, they are their younger, slightly sweeter selves. It’s enough to make present-day Vox cry with how much he’d give anything to have those days back. 

Towards the end of the night, the two demons sit side by side together, wasted. They use the sofa as a backrest as they sit sloppily on the floor. Vox hiccups and it sounds like a channel being changed; Alastor laughs.

“You know,” the Radio Demon starts. “I do enjoy these little chats of ours, despite our conflicting technology.”

Vox is giddy; he nods, eager. 

“One day I’m gonna be great, Al,” Vox says, suddenly. “I’m gonna build an empire. It’s gonna be huge.”

Alastor smiles; it’s the soft, fond smile of a friend humouring someone. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Vox says, slurring slightly. “And I’ll be as strong as you - no! - even stronger.” 

Alastor is laughing; genuine and warm. Vox grins wide at the sound of it. 

“I’ll take over all of Hell!” Vox says, clenching a fist. 

Alastor chuckles. 

“Hm. That sounds nice,” he says, drunk and feeling it. 

“Well,” Vox starts. “You’ll be there with me, right?”

Alastor quirks his head. 

“Will I?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together,” Vox says, wicked intent on his screened features. “We’ll rule Hell together. No fucker will cross us with our combined skills.”

Alastor is giggling; Vox wants to climb into the sound of it and live there. 

“Well, that is a lofty concept, to be sure,” Alastor says. “But it is pleasing, I have to admit. You truly do get some devious ideas don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” Vox says, delighted. 

Alastor smiles to himself, looking away. 

“Well, if that ever comes to fruition, you can count on me being there,” he says.

“Yeah?!” Vox is beaming. “I can’t wait for what the future brings, Al. This old thing will be the first to get an upgrade, that’s for sure.”

Vox taps his own head; even now in the late 70s, his TV set head is looking a bit vintage. Vox just needs to wait for Earth technology to advance and filter down; he can’t wait to be better. Stronger. Faster. Alastor tenses as a thought seems to come to him.

“That reminds me!” The Radio Demon says. “I have something for you.”

Alastor retrieves something from his pocket and hands it to a captivated Vox; it's a tiny metal die-cast model of a Sony Triniton KV-1820UB television set. It looks just like Vox’s current head. 

“Here you are,” Alastor says, pleased with himself. 

Vox is enamoured; the Radio Demon doesn’t do gifts. This is special; it means Vox is special. 

“Al, I don’t know what to say,” Vox says, his nerves alive and crackling. “I can’t believe you got this for me… I love it.”

Alastor grins wide. 

“I got one for me, too,” he says, holding up a tiny model of an old radio. “I found a charming boutique selling all kinds of little novelties. Aren’t they fun?”

Vox is astonished; not only did Alastor get him a gift, he got one for himself to match. This surely is symbolic? Vox’s receivers are scrabbling to interpret the signals Alastor is giving off. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s uh… That’s cute, Al,” Vox says, shakily. “It’s not like you to give gifts.”

Alastor laughs. 

“Well. My conquest today put me in an especially good mood, I suppose,” he says. 

Vox nods. 

“Thank you, Al,” he says, screen blinking. “I will treasure this. I mean it.”

Alastor’s quota for sincerity has reached its limit; eager to return the conversation to playful jibes and gossip, the Radio Demon scoffs. Vox grins; he knows Alastor hates to be perceived as kind, despite the fact he can be. Vox shoves himself into Alastor’s shoulder in a playful bump.

“You’re goin’ soft on me, old man,” Vox jokes; Alastor pretends to be aghast. 

“Old man?” He scorns. “How dare you, Vox. I only died two decades before you and we were both more or less the same age at death. Watch your tongue.”

Vox chuckles to himself. The two demons sit together for a little while longer in peaceful quiet; Vox’s mind is full of static. He’s processing, thinking. Vox has tried to broach this topic before, but he can’t help himself; he needs to push it again. 

“Hey, uh, Al?” He says. 

Alastor looks at him and hums an acknowledgement. Vox’s gaze shifts around nervously. 

“Do you remember that… conversation, we had a while ago?” Vox says. 

Alastor does remember; he pretends for now that he doesn’t. He shakes his head. Vox exhales shakily. 

“Look, I, uh… I know you don’t like talking about… feelings, and stuff, but…”

Alastor wants this nipped in the bud as soon as possible. 

“Is this about your infatuation, hmm?” The Radio Demon says, trying to sound casual about it. “I’ve told you Vox. It will pass, it’s just a-“

“No,” Vox says, urgent. “It won’t, Al, and you know it.”

Vox grabs Alastor’s hand; the Radio Demon doesn’t recoil. He lets his claws sit limply within Vox’s; a tiny concession for this display of vulnerability. And anyway; they’ve linked hands before, when dancing or fleeing a crime scene, or such. No big deal. Alastor sighs. 

“You know I can’t give you want you want,” he says, radio filter slipping away. “This is all I can give you. My time. My friendship, my consort to you as a fellow Overlord.”

Vox is exasperated. 

“Can’t you give me just a little bit more?” He asks.

Alastor avoids the Television Demon’s gaze. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. 

Vox grabs Alastor’s chin in his, then; pulling it in his direction to make Alastor look at him. 

“How do you know you won’t like it?” Vox says. “You’ve never even tried it.”

Alastor blushes at the sudden contact, the intrusiveness of it. He’s flustered simply because Vox is being so forward; any sign of aggressive intent is entertaining to Alastor, of course. 

“Why don’t you let me just try?” Vox says, his voice a thin whine.

“Vox, old friend, come on now-“

“Why won’t you let me just kiss you?” Vox whispers. “Please, Al.”

Alastor hesitates; if he relents, will it be enough to just shut Vox up about this once and for all? This topic cropping up every couple of years is getting tiresome. And... he does care about Vox. Alastor loves him, in his own way; platonic but true.

“Please, Al,” Vox murmurs, his eyes fixed on Alastor’s lips. “I’m begging you. I know it’ll feel right when it happens.”

Vox’s hand tightens around Alastor’s chin; he’s trying to pull him inwards. Alastor’s heart rate quickens; annoyingly. He’s a deer in headlights; drunk and unsure how to retaliate. Vox is closing the distance between their faces; Alastor can feel their hot breath exchanging in the small gap between their mouths. 

Alastor’s ears are flat against his head; Vox is staring at his lips.

“Please,” he whispers again. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Alastor whispers back. 

“Please,” Vox begs, desperate. 

Alastor huffs in defeat, and Vox knows he has won. Vox leans in and presses his screen to Alastor’s mouth; for a moment, the Radio Demon is rigid. But then… his mouth is moving; Vox is elated. Alastor is relenting. Vox cannot believe it. Alastor is kissing him back; his hand at the edge of Vox’s screen. Their mouths move together quickly, the taste of rum amongst it all. Vox's mind is awash with joy.

Yes, YES. Fucking YES! This is it, this is IT! 

Vox moans into Alastor’s mouth; he risks letting his tongue breech Alastor’s lips, tries sticking it down Alastor’s throat - 

Alastor pulls away; Vox is devastated. Too far. 

“Hmm!” Alastor says, recovering, trying to sound light-hearted. “No, still not for me, I don’t think.”

Vox is panting, red in the screen. He’s hard; of course he is. Vox’s eyes dart all over Alastor, looking for signs - proof that he did like it. 

“No, Al, come on,” Vox says. “Please, you know it works, WE work, c'maaan!”

Alastor is sad; a part of him does wish he could give Vox what he wants. It would make things so much easier; it would ensure keeping his loyalty, for one. And… well. It would make things a bit less lonely. But Alastor just can’t let himself go there.

“I’m sorry, Vox,” he says, genuinely melancholy. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. I really am.”

“No,” Vox is angry. “It cannot be like this, please, we were so close-“

“I think it’s high time we went to bed, hmm?” Alastor says. “You’re in no state to get yourself home. You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Al, stop, just, can we talk about this? Can we try again, I’ll go slower, I promise,” Vox says, grasping at straws.

Alastor smiles weakly. He reaches up and turns one of Vox’s dials fondly; Vox’s erection twitches in his jeans. 

“You’ve just had too much to drink, hmm?” Alastor says. “We’ll sleep this off and tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten about.”

Alastor stands then; Vox groans, his screen in his hands. 

“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, eh, old pal?” Alastor says with forced jollity.

Vox sighs; it’s guttural. He looks up at the Radio Demon, agonised. 

“I’m never going to be back to normal,” Vox says. “I’m always going to want this. I’m always going to want you.”

Alastor hesitates; he looks forlorn. Only in the eyes, of course; but his smile is a tight, thin line on his face. 

“I know," he says.

Vox's heart shatters in his chest; not for the first time. 

"Do try to get over it, though, won’t you?” Alastor says, and he turns to leave for his bedroom. “Get some sleep.”

Vox is left alone in the living room; ruined. 

---------------------------------

The memory of that night, so many decades ago, drifts away from present-day Vox, just as cruelly as Alastor had slipped from his grasp.

The pain of it - and indeed, remembering what came later - is unbearable; Vox can only cope with these memories now by wanting Alastor dead. Just so he’d be gone for good; just to rid himself of the pain of knowing Vox never got to keep him. He came close, of course; some years later, in the 80s. For a while, Vox had had Alastor; it had been so sweet. Vox doesn’t let himself think on this, for now. It’s too brutal. He’d be a mess; for now, he needs to compose himself. Vox places the die-cast vintage TV model on his bedside table and looks at it for a few beats. 

I wonder if Alastor still has his radio model. 

I wonder if he still thinks of me.

Vox curls into a ball in his bed; the truth hums around him, thick and heavy, like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. 

He’ll never love me like I love him.

He never did.

---------------------------------

This story continues in:

Bluest Monday

Read all my stuff on AO3 🍎

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Light the Way - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Angst, date rape/roofies, slight BDSM Word count: ~4k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: Starting a new job is never easy, it's even worse when your boss is an arsehole. When he unexpectedly comes to the rescue though, the relationship dynamic changes drastically.

She graduated from university a year ago with a Bachelor’s degree in PR and Marketing, and still has no idea what she wants from life, although the last twelve months of working as a barista have proven to her that a career in hospitality and customer service is definitely not it. Having happened across an online advertisement of a vacancy for the position of a personal assistant at a private law firm, she applied on a whim, never expecting to hear back. It’s not like she was qualified anyway, so she had nothing to lose

Yet, here she is, almost four weeks later, standing in the foyer of Red Keep Legal, preparing to begin her first day. The office building is sleek and modern, minimalist in decor, yet the polish of everything suggests it is incomprehensibly expensive. A handsome, bearded, older man, dressed in a sharp suit collects her from reception. She learns his name is Otto Hightower and he is a partner at the firm. They are high end solicitors and only take on the most exclusive of clients. She turns his business card over in her hands, the thickness of the smooth, matte black cardstock is high quality, with ornate golden lettering and a blood red logo of a three headed dragon. She knows she has seen that logo before, but can’t place where exactly.

“You’ll be a personal assistant to my grandson, Aemond.” Otto tells her. “He’s working on a particularly tricky case at the moment, so you’ll be responsible for ensuring he has everything he needs. I imagine he won’t ask you to do much more than get him coffee.” 

So there it was, the reason she’d gotten the job. She was hoping her coffee making days were behind her, but no such luck. She sighs inwardly, the bitter irony is almost comical.

“Anyway, if you have no further questions, I shall introduce you to Aemond.” Otto concludes.

She smiles and nods politely as he turns on his heel and leads her towards the elevator, stopping on the second to last floor. She follows him along a marble floored corridor, before he gently raps his knuckles against the rich mahogany of an office door. After a few moments the door swings open to reveal the most ethereal being she’d ever laid eyes upon. He is impossibly tall without being gangly or awkward; his long, lithe limbs flow like water as he props himself against the doorframe. His silky, silver locks are perfectly coiffed and she feels self conscious as the bright blue of his right eye scans all the way from her feet to the top of her head, analysing every inch. She notices the skin around his left eye is lightly scarred - the only indication that the realistic prosthetic that sits within the socket isn’t something he can actually see out of. The simple long sleeved top and black trousers she’s wearing suddenly feel drab in comparison to the well tailored navy blue suit he wears, and she fights the urge to hide herself. 

“Aemond, this is your new personal assistant.” Otto informs him, gesturing towards her. “Your mother and I worked hard to find this one, so perhaps you could try being a little more cordial than last time.”

She doesn’t stop to think about what that could possibly mean, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in and rushing forward, smiling wide and extending a hand. 

“Hi Aemond! It’s wonderful to meet you!” 

His plush, full lips remain unmoving, as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, not returning the gesture and continuing to study her. 

She drops her hand, feeling deflated and laughs nervously.

Clearly not picking up on the awkwardness, or simply not caring, Otto glances between the two of them, before giving a curt nod and striding back towards the elevator.

Aemond watches him go before returning his attention back to her. 

“Wonderful to meet me, hm?” he finally says, quirking an eyebrow. 

Before she can respond, he continues, “Look, I’ve told my grandfather I don’t need an assistant and I like my own space. I’m looking over some contracts at the moment, so I would prefer it if you could make yourself scarce.” He disappears from view, allowing his office door to close behind him.

She immediately feels miserable. Her shoulders slump as she stands in front of the closed door. The first day of a new job should feel exciting, especially when your boss is so breathtakingly handsome, but this guy is rude and has declared her useless within minutes of meeting her. For a moment she considers just walking out and not returning.

She spends the remainder of the day sitting at her desk that’s positioned to the outer left of Aemond’s door. No one goes in or out, and not once does she catch sight of him. As far as first days go this is undoubtedly the worst she has ever experienced. As tempting as it is to just bail and head home, she desperately needs the cash, so she watches the hours slowly tick by on the off chance her stand-offish boss may suddenly decide he needs something. By the time 6pm rolls around, and she stands to gather her things, her legs have cramped from sitting for so long and she curses herself for only stretching her legs on the few occasions she went to the bathroom.

Arriving home, she finds her flatmate isn’t back yet and breathes a sigh of relief, knowing she’d be bombarded with questions about her first day and not have a positive answer for any of them. She uses the opportunity to pace the flat, rifling through the contact sheet and paperwork she has been given. She sighs when she happens upon the number listed for Aemond - what was the point of having the number of someone who seemingly wanted nothing to do with her? She saves it to her phone anyway, tomorrow was a new day after all. Perhaps she’ll score a few brownie points if she texts and offers to grab him coffee on her way to the office. She still can’t figure out why he’d been so cold towards her. Flopping down on the couch with a glass of wine, she boots up her laptop, deciding to do some research on Aemond Targaryen, as she realises that beyond meeting him today and knowing he works for one of the most prestigious law firms in all of Westeros, she really knows nothing about the man she is supposed to be working for.

She wakes up early the next morning, armed with a plan. Her evening of wine-fuelled research had been fruitful. She’d discovered that Aemond was from a family of famous Valyrian legal, political and business figures. Her recognition of the logo on Otto’s card was because it was regularly splashed across all of the major tabloid and broadsheet newspapers. She’d read through a few old articles regarding family drama, disputes over assets, and the death of his father to get an idea of who he was, before deciding his cold demeanour is likely attributed to the combined stress of his job and seemingly endless rifts between his mother and half-sister. She decides that if she is to break down his walls then she will do so with kindness, but she also wants to look the part - if she is to fit in with such sophisticated people then she needs to start dressing like one. She slips into a pencil skirt so fitted it looks like it has been painted on, alongside a sheer white blouse and a killer pair of black stilettos. She completes the look with perfectly styled hair and a thick coat of blood red lipstick. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t vying for more than Aemond’s professional attention, but she’d try anything at this point just to get him to acknowledge her presence. Giving herself a last once over look in the mirror, she fires off what she considers to be a breezy good morning text to Aemond, before heading to the coffee shop she used to work at. “Good morning Mr. Targaryen! Hope you’re well today. I’ll grab you a coffee on my way to the office. See you soon!”

Arriving exactly thirty minutes later, coffees in hand, she is disappointed to see that she’s been left on read. Nevermind. She has gone all out with the coffee order, asking for the special roast of beans with an extra shot and foamed milk. This was sure to win him over. She knocks timidly at his office door and after a long moment is about to knock again when it swings slowly open with a perfectly poised Aemond on the other side. God, he was breathtaking.

She realises she has gone too long without saying anything when he snaps out an impatient “Yes?” She jumps slightly, stepping forward into his office without an invitation. Aemond cautiously backs away, his brow furrowing with suspicion and confusion.

She thrusts one of the cups towards him, “Umm…I text you. Did you - uh - coffee?” Great, now I’ve lost the fucking power of speech.

Aemond gingerly accepts the cup from her, without saying thank you. “Are you always this articulate?” He says flatly, before taking a sip. His nose instantly wrinkles, “Ugh, does this have milk in it? I’m allergic to dairy."

Her eyes widen in horror, "Oh gods,, I’m so sorry! I should have thought to ask, I can always get you-"

"Forget it.” He cuts her off, “That will be all for the day, before you try to poison me any further. Close the door on your way out.”

Fantastic, another day sat at my desk, except this time I’m dressed like a cheap escort. 

The confidence she’d felt when she stepped out of the door this morning had been crushed flat by Aemond in a matter of seconds. She sits with her hands clasped tightly in front of her on the desk, willing her unshed tears away. Did he want her to quit? She’d placed everything on this job and she didn’t want to give it up without a fight. Sje simply couldn’t understand why Aemond seemed to hate her so much.

After a few hours pass by, she notices it is lunch time - he has to take a break some time. She decides that now is when she’ll make her move. Standing purposefully, she sniffs back her tears and checks her make-up in her compact mirror, before strutting back towards Aemond’s door. She’ll give that arsehole a piece of her mind. It was about time he learned to respect her.

She bursts into Aemond’s office without knocking. “Just who in the hell do you think you are?!” she rants, not waiting for his reaction to her sudden intrusion.

He looks up from the documents he has been reading and stares at her, but his expression is unreadable.

He stays silent, so she continues her tirade. “I didn’t have a fucking clue who you were when I accepted this job, despite that I’ve treated you with nothing but respect and you can’t even extend me the same courtesy!” She paces as she yells at him, gesticulating wildly. There’s a part of her telling her to stop, that this behaviour will likely get her fired, but at this point it would have been like attempting to put toothpaste back in the tube. “I know you think you’re hot shit, but that doesn’t exempt you from behaving like a decent human being.” She stops and looks at him then, his face still a mask of neutrality as he gazes up at her from his seat at the desk. “Why aren’t you saying anything?!” She demands.

“Oh, are you done?” He replies sarcastically.

She throws her hands up in exasperation, eliciting a huge sigh at his complete lack of emotion. 

Accepting her reaction as affirmation, he diverts his attention back to his paperwork and mutters “Well, if that’s all, you know where the door is.”

It takes all of her willpower not to grab the nearest object and launch it towards his head. She storms outside, slamming the door as she goes. Fuck this. Walking purposefully straight to the elevator, she lets it take her to the ground floor before hastily exiting the office building. There was absolutely no way she was spending another second in this godforsaken building.

Arriving home she throws her keys a little too aggressively onto the kitchen counter and heads straight towards the fridge, grabbing for the can of whipped cream. As she loudly squirts an unhealthy sized swirl of it into her mouth, her flatmate, Rhea, looks up from her laptop with an amused smile and asks “Rough morning?”

She hadn’t noticed her sitting at the dining table, too engrossed in her own foul mood to have any awareness of her surroundings. “Think I lost my job.” She slurs without bothering to swallow.

Rhea closes the lid of her laptop and rushes to pull her into a bear hug. Finally releasing her, she smiles kindly and wipes cream from her chin, before saying “First of all, you’re gross, and second, how has that happened? You’ve been there less than 48 hours!”

“It’s a long story.” She sighs, “The short version is that my boss is an arsehole, so I yelled at him and then left the office.”

“Oh.” Rhea winces, “That’s bad.”

“What the fuck am I going to do?!” She whines, rubbing her temples.

“Well, it might not solve your impending unemployment, but we could go out tonight?”

“Are you high right now, Rhea?! The only thing I’ll be doing tonight is looking at the classifieds!”

“Come on, you were miserable for so long in your last job and don’t seem to be faring much better in this one. You deserve a little fun!”

“I dunno…”

“I’m not taking no for an answer! I’m working from home today, so having a reason to leave the flat later will keep me sane. Plus you don’t even need to get changed - you are wearing that outfit!”

“Fine. I guess one drink couldn’t hurt.”

Rhea squeals with excitement, clapping her hands. “Amazing! Now be a doll and fuck off until 7pm, I have to concentrate.”

Rhea returns to her laptop while she retreats to her room, wondering if there will ever be a point this week where she isn’t being told to go away by someone.

The bar they end up at later that evening is loud and overcrowded. Despite that, she can feel herself relaxing. Perhaps it was the second white wine she was sipping or the steady beat of the music causing her to sway your hips involuntarily, but for the first time in two days she wasn't thinking about Aemond. She sighs contentedly, draining her glass and flashing Rhea a toothy grin as she pushes through the crowd with their next round of drinks. 

“Having fun?” Rhea half shouts over the cacophony of noise. 

Nodding, she grabs her hand, dragging her towards the dance floor. She chugs her drink as they both move to the rhythm of the song playing. She feels woozy and attributes it to drinking too much wine too fast.

“You want water?” She shouts to Rhea, making a drinking motion with her hand. Rhea nods gratefully and she staggers her way to the bar. She can feel her vision shifting in and out of focus and getting her legs to work the way she wants them to is proving difficult. Changing course, she heads outside, deciding a few lungfuls of fresh air will help set her straight.

As she slides down the brick exterior of the building she barely notices the dark figure that has followed her outside. “Easy.” A gruff male voice says, though in her mind it sounds far away, “Just relax.” Rough hands paw at her as her head flops around on a neck that feels boneless.

“Get the fuck off her.” She hears a familiar voice snarl demandingly. The man is gone in a flash and replaced instead by someone crouching in front of her, cupping her cheeks and coaxing her to look up into a concerned blue eye.

“Aemond?” She slurs.

“Keep looking at me.” Aemond says, cradling her head, “I’m fairly certain that that prick spiked your drink. I’m going to make sure you get home safely, but you need to stay awake, okay?”

Her eyes are glassy and Aemond blurs and duplicates in her vision as he keeps her face tilted up towards him. “Rhea.” She mumbles groggily.

As if summoned by the utterance of her name, her room mate pushes her way out of the bar, phone in hand, looking left and right. When she finally catches sight of her slumped on the ground with a man crouching over her, she shrieks and runs towards her. “What are you doing to her?!”

“Helping her.” Aemond replies flatly, without looking away from her. “Pretty sure she’s been spiked.”

“Jesus!” Rhea squeals, kneeling at her side, before finally looking over at Aemond. “Holy shit! You’re Aemond Targaryen! Your uncle is so hot!”

Aemond rolls his eye, hooking his arms around the body of the semi-conscious woman in front of him and slowly lifting her to her feet.

“Should we call the police?” Rhea asks, slowly realising the gravity of the situation.

Aemond turns to stare at her. “It will take an hour for them to get here.” He explains. “And when they do they’ll just file a report which they’ll never follow up on. Our time is better spent getting her home, so she’s at least safe. I’m assuming you know where she lives?”

Rhea nods. “We’re flatmates.”

Aemond momentarily supports her weight with a single arm as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and passes it to Rhea. “Order an Uber”.

“Thanks for helping her.” Rhea says, as the Uber finally pulls up to the curb. They waited in total silence and any excitement Rhea had felt at having met Aemond was rapidly dissipating into awkward discomfort. “I can look after her from here.” She moves to take her from the supporting hold he has on her.

“Because you’ve done such an incredible job of that so far.” He retorts icily. “I’m coming with you.”

He maneuveres her limp form into the back of the car as Rhea makes her way around to the other side to sit next to her. She is surprised to see Aemond fold his tall frame into the backseat beside her, fully expecting him to ride shotgun. The drive back is tense and uncomfortable. She sits unconscious, sandwiched between the two of them, her heading lolling against Aemond’s shoulder.

“So…” Rhea begins, attempting to break the silence, “You’re the arsehole boss then?”

It was intended as a joke, but Aemond’s humourless chuckle instantly makes her cheeks burn at having said something so rude. “Is it true you’re going to fire her?”

Aemond seems surprised at that. “No,” He says simply. “I won’t expect to see her in the office tomorrow, she’ll need a day to recover, but tell her to be there at 9am sharp on Thursday. And I take my coffee black.”

“Sure.” Rhea smiles meekly. By this point, the Uber has pulled up to its destination. “Would you like to uh…?” She asks, gesturing towards the block of flats.

“No, I think you’ll be fine from here.” He responds, “Goodnight.”

With that, Rhea is left to help her out of the car, which pulls away as soon as she's closed the door.

The next day she awakens with no memory of the evening before, feeling like she has the mother of all hangovers. She swears loudly as she looks at the time and realises it’s almost midday. If she wasn’t fired before, she certainly was now.

Hearing she is awake, Rhea sweeps into the room with a tall glass of water for her. She fills her in on the details of the previous evening and she listens in stunned silence. She spends the rest of the day in bed, struggling to process what has happened to her and the fact that a man she’d assumed hated her had come so valiantly to her rescue.

Thursday morning rolls around quickly and she dresses simply in black trousers and a sensible cardigan. She heads to grab Aemond his morning coffee; black coffee. No sooner had she deposited the cup into his hand had apologies begun tumbling from her lips, saying sorry for how she’d spoken to him, sorry for storming off, sorry for him having to look after her. He cuts her off, sliding a sheet of paper towards her.

“This,” He begins, “Is a list of things I need you to do for me today. Think you can handle it?”

She nods, stunned at finally being asked to help him out.

“Perfect. See you later.”

The day passes in a blur and she struggles. This is the first day she’s actually performing the job she has been hired to do and the busy, demanding nature of a prestigious law firm was worlds apart from the past two days of sitting at her desk and sulking. She gets lost trying to deliver documents to various people’s offices, forgets to seal contracts in confidential envelopes and accidentally hangs up on no less than five clients while trying to transfer their calls. It is a complete disaster.

She sits, highlighting every instance of the word “Harrenhal” in a document, feeling totally overwhelmed. How could anyone manage to be so bad at a relatively simple job?! The truth was, she kept finding herself distracted, thinking about what had happened to her two nights ago. What would have happened if Aemond hadn’t shown up? She caps the highlighter pen, resting her head in her hands and fails to suppress a sob.

Hearing his office door open, she turns to face Aemond as he exits, attempting to compose herself, but knows he has likely already seen her crying. “Sorry.” She whispers. “I’m just having a bad day. Ignore me.” She sniffles and wipes her eyes.

Silently Aemond beckons her into his office, maintaining eye contact as he does so.

She follows obediently, dread gnawing at her insides, certain he’s going to fire her.

 “Kneel.” He quietly commands, once the door is closed behind them.

“What?!” Her eyes widen in shock.

“Trust me, you need this. Kneel.” He insists.

She does as she is told, kneeling before him, gazing up at his impossibly tall frame with curiosity.

He slowly reaches out a hand, fingers gently grazing her jawline, before running a thumb over her lips. He pushes gently, parting them and meeting the resistance of her teeth. “Open”.

This time she doesn’t question his request, silently accepting the alien intrusion of Aemond’s thumb into her mouth. Instinctively she feels herself sucking on the digit and gradually relaxes. The sensation sends a throb of arousal straight to her core. She’d never experienced anything like this before, but seeing him tower over her, offering his thumb for her to suck was strangely erotic.

“Better?” He asks.

She simply nods, doe-eyed and staring at him in awe.

“Good.” He smiles slightly, stooping down until his lips are ghosting the shell of her ear. It makes her shiver. “I much preferred Tuesday’s outfit, by the way. Maybe that can make a reappearance tomorrow?”

[adore-laur]

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets—it's all pure, unadulterated bliss. 

Sharing that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual—two weeks to be exact—the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop. 

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually. 

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way. 

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by. 

"I guess," you say flatly. 

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough out of you." 

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of. 

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not." 

"Pardon?" 

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax." 

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin. 

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?" 

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket." 

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about—vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come. 

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand. 

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water. 

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat. 

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You let him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space. 

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face." 

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix." 

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land. 

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back. 

The destination of the cliffs is a short one; their imminent height is visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle. 

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix." 

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, with only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it. 

"Harry, I swear," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean, infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!" 

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?" 

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally." 

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?" 

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato and basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches out his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence. 

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it; the waves are more active in this area, and you tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of. 

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you. 

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks. 

"Wanna do something stupid?" you say into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to the hours spent sunbathing. 

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him. 

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip. 

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. 

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water. 

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, his drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is at an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect. 

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now." 

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often. 

Bliss, bliss, bliss. 

—— 

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag—a gray crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it. 

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you. 

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly, but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar. 

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit. "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?" 

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?" 

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight. 

"I wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience. 

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there. 

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake." 

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car. 

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?" 

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari." 

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders to ensure you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step. 

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread. 

You sit, and Harry does the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap, like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands. 

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend, who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him, but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive. 

You rip off a piece of bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey. 

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously. 

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente." 

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs. 

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange. 

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?" 

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing—not a picture—on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant. 

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

The wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics—slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap. 

Anything to see you smile. 

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out. 

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees. 

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight. 

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze. 

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds. 

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead. 

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?" 

He's still giggling, with crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato." 

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?" 

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion.' The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like, a pair." 

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry." 

"Shut up." 

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up." 

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his. 

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

—— 

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater, which still clings to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he says, his voice rising to a higher octave. 

"Sitting by the fire and drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while you're tucked into his side. The next thing you wake up to are silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress. 

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms. 

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek. 

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know." 

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise." 

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back. 

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams, which always pale compared to life with the man next to you. 

—— 

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep. 

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough. 

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between. 

While the bread bakes, you clean up the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head. 

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary." 

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long." 

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom. 

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend." 

"Being sassy this morning, are we?" 

"You love it." 

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck on his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool. 

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!" 

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter. 

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday. 

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open, and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back after trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right? 

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it—especially on your anniversary—but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc? 

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught. 

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge. 

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs. 

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got into an accident. What are we going to do?" 

"Seriously? What the hell? How... I don't..." He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game. 

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean." 

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart." 

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life." 

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it." 

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer." 

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit. 

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs. 

Someone's needy today. 

He tosses the bread into his mouth, his eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, his jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away—wanting to save your pent-up tension for later—you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later. 

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside. 

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years, and hopefully a lifetime more.

—— 

You're nervous. 

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets. 

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character. 

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary is glimmering against your neck. 

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, with his new tan and stubble pulling you into his coziness. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done." 

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car." 

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture. 

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're headed since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches. 

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him. 

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise." 

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat." 

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine Alfredo with peas—a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing." 

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool. 

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach." 

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?" 

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas. 

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He can usually drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset. 

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork. 

"Just thinking." 

"About what?" 

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been." 

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear. 

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life. 

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas? 

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain. 

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do? 

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then he begins lowering himself on one knee, and you just about go down with him. 

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate. 

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me makes me fall for you deeper and deeper. And you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but also need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours." 

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly. 

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me." 

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress." 

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married." 

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source. 

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we"—you whimper breathily—"go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things." 

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones. 

"Sì, mi amore." 

—— 

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere. 

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky. 

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body. 

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where. 

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry." 

"Patience, my love. Let me see you." 

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you." 

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wet lace drive you crazy. You're clenching and internally soliciting for him to just do something. 

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy." 

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me." 

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? Does my fiancée want me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. I'm always good for you; you know that." 

"You are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off." 

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread them wide open so he can resume. 

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, and his nose fits perfectly above it. You moan loudly, your back arching and your hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's like a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, his eyes shut, and his pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way. 

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience. 

The feeling of both his fingers and mouth is overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair. 

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby." 

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing across your body while his fingers continue to bring you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, and soft moans escape when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself. 

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body. 

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch. 

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last." 

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now." 

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing. 

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background. 

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says. 

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?" 

"Dunno. We're, like, together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more." 

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too." 

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million words. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh. 

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?" 

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered." 

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard, as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably. 

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you." 

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep. 

—— 

Two Weeks Later 

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories. 

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened. 

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use—Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature. 

How it feels between your thighs—well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture—a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to look at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly. 

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named Peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad. 

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

[anastasiaskarsgard]

I have an idea for a marquis ineshot.

so the reader and the marquis (don’t know each other) are at a masquerade ball. In the middle of the ball, the reader walks in and catches the marquis torturing or killing someone (minor inconvenience to major offense). The reader gasps, the marquis sees them and the reader runs. He eventually catches up to the reader and instead of killing then, he goes “I think I’ll keep you”

WARNING: NSFW sex, cursing, violence, criminal activity, p in v, coercion, possessive behavior etc.

Where are you taking me?” You pleaded. You looked around frantically, trying to figure out where you were.

The man that had you sling over his shoulder just ignored you and carried on what seemed like an endless concrete hallway. Everything was just gray, with an occasional light fixture.

Looking down his broad back, to you handcuffed hands, you knew these were the real deal, and would only get tighter if you struggled. They were already hurting your wrists:

Maybe if you just behaved and were quiet, he’d trust you and you could get away when he let his guard down. If you were being honest, you never thought you’d get away from the Marquis alive.

Ever since that night, he had kept you as if you were a possession, and not a living breathing human being.

At first you’d fought him, and tried to escape. Spitting on him had been a huge mistake, and you’d woken up on the floor by yourself, wondering if it’d all been a bad dream. Then you’d pushed yourself up, and placed your hand on the small puddle of blood that, as you felt your face, must have come out of your nose. You’d never been hit in your life.

The day after “the incident”

Sitting up, and looking around, you looked to see if any doors were open. getting to your feet, you made your way over to the window to see how far from the ground you were.

Seeing you were only on the third floor of this mansion, you figured you could most likely crawl down the heavily ornate stone accents of the home. Your heart soared when the window opened up easily, until the clearing of a throat, made it crash back down to the ground.

Gathering your bearings, you turned around to find the Marquis sitting in a chair not far from you, in the corner. You wondered if he had been there all along, and wanted to kick yourself for not even seeing him.

“Do you need some fresh air, ma nenette?” He asked you with an arrogant sneer on his face. Leaning forward and slowly standing, he slowly approached you, offering his hand.

You just looked between his hand and his eyes, trying to think what you could do. He was so imposing, and the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Under different circumstances, any attention from this man may have likely been welcomed. But he wasn’t a man at all, he was a monster and you had seen just how vicious and cruel he could be.

Growing impatient, he snatched your hand and pulled you close to him. “Why must you fight me? You fucking American women are all the same.” He gritted in your ear, as he buried his face in your hair and took a big sniff.

Not wanting to get hit in the face again, you stood as stiff and rigid as possible, just waiting for this interaction to end.

Pulling back so he could look at your face, he placed his hands on your cheeks and forced you to make eye contact. “I appreciate beautiful things such as art, well tailored suits, amazing architecture. All these are things I can own and control. I never have appreciated a woman, like I did when I saw your face the first time, or how I do now as I look at you. Logically I should have killed you. You are a liability. You have the potential to hurt me.” He released your face and turned away from you.

After a moment, he spoke again. “I don’t want to destroy such beauty. You will never want for anything. You will have the best of everything, and I will protect you, as long as you are mine.”

You felt panic rising up, and before you could think how it would affect him, you blurted out that you don’t want to belong to anyone.

Turning on his heel, he flashed a condescending smirk your way, “as soon as you burst through that door, and interrupted that little incident, you became mine. I am the only reason, you’re alive. If you left my protection, you’d be dead before morning. I wasn’t the only one in that room that sees you as a liability.”

He’d stormed out of the room then, leaving you unsure what to do. You sat down on the plush bed and figured that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. You didn’t have any kids waiting on you, and no boyfriend to speak of. You drifted off to sleep, and woke the next day, to a whole new closet full of clothing you’d only seen in magazines. Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton and brands you’d never even known about.

Two women had come in to do your hair and make up and help you choose the right clothing. You’d tried to talk to them, but beyond getting you ready, they were unresponsive. You soon realized that you’d find no sort of solidarity or friendship in them.

The next month had been a whirlwind of private jets all over the world, fashion shows, galas and being treated like a literal princess. You tried to remind yourself that he was a monster, but then he’d give you a bejeweled necklace that reminded him of your eyes or take you to see whales because you’d always wanted to see them.

At first you’d been uncomfortable with traveling with his full entourage and small army of bodyguards, but since none would speak to you beyond professional politeness, they soon became part of the background. Like a sofa, or artwork.

The Marquis was the only one that spoke to you, or seemed to care about your thoughts or needs. He hadn’t been kidding, when he said you could have whatever you wanted. It became a game, to think up ridiculous things, and see if he could provide them.

That brought you to earlier today…

“It’s my mothers birthday, may I call her please? She’s probably worried sick about me.” You’d asked hopefully. Even though you were with him against your will, you felt like maybe you didn’t really mind him so much. He had only hit you because you spit in his face, and he’d never done anything more than kiss you. If you were being honest, you kind of wanted him to do more.

He looked up from his paperwork and contemplated you, before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “How do I know you won’t tell her to come rescue you. You’ve been being such a good girl for me, I cannot let you ruin that.”

Was he actually insecure? He always seemed so sure of himself. Your mind raced for something to say, when the most obvious strategy occurred to you. He was a man after all.

“Can I talk to you alone for a minute.” You asked, looking pointedly at the bodyguards around the room. “I need to show you something private.”

His eyebrows rose, and he scanned your body up and down. Waving his hand, they all exited, and you suddenly weren’t so sure you were brave enough to do this.

You weren’t a virgin, but you also never used your assets to get your way. You could feel your insecurities clawing to the surface, but you quickly mentally crushed them. He was obsessed with you, and liked what he saw. Not the other way around.

You gave him a knowing smile, standing up straight and facing him, taking a few steps towards him, finding yourself behind his desk. Grabbing his office chair, you spun it around, so you had his full attention, and room to move freely.

You took a few steps back and brought your hair over your shoulder, idly swaying your hips in a figure eight to the imaginary beat, rubbing your hands down your body.

The Marquis was fully invested in what you were doing, and bit his plump bottom lip, when you grabbed your breasts and pushed them together. He almost looked adorable, except he was too gorgeous to ever be called anything but beautiful.

“Do you like what you see?” You asked as you bit your lip, looking at him mischievously out from under your thick lashes, “do you want to see more skin, Vinnie?” You turned around before he could see your smile. He hated it when you called him Vinnie, but you were nearly positive it secretly amused him. pulling your blouse up and over your head, you tossed it to the side, before spreading your legs a bit, and bending over. Reaching between your legs, you lightly skimmed your sex over your lacy underwear, that were peeking from beneath your short skirt. You slowly stood up straight again, continuing to sway as you casually pulled your bra off, before tossing it over your shoulder into his lap.

Covering your breast with one arm, you spun around and made your way in front of him, you let your arm fall to your side, as you climbed into his lap, straddling him.

The smile on his face wasn’t as arrogant as usual, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart at the thought of what could of made this beautiful man into a monster. Swiftly pushing those thoughts from your mind, you instead focused on the rock hard member straining against his pants. You were surprised he hadn’t touched you yet, and wondered why the same man that essentially imprisoned you to stay by his side, was so respectful.

Out of curiosity, you took his large hands from where they lay on the armrests, and slid them up onto your stomach, then up your ribs, finally letting them go just at the bottom of your breasts. The Marquis let out a sensual moan, before firmly cupping each breast in each hand, as he undulated his hips up against your core. Sucking air through his teeth, he looked you in the eyes, as he firmly grabbed you by the hips, to create more friction. His eyes didn’t leave yours as you watched them darken with lust, and you wondered if he was going to be upset that your pussy was positively soaking his pants.

He reached up and grabbed your face, but released it just as fast, knitting his brows together. “Do you want me as much as I want you? I don’t think it is possible.” Nodding your head yes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his desire, you leaned down to take his lips in a furious kiss. Lips brushed lips, teeth hit teeth, tongues met and separated in a rush of pure raw need. A groan ripped from his throat as you wordlessly grabbed a fistful of his thick chestnut hair and pushed his head hard against your lips, before sucking his bottom lip between your teeth. He stood suddenly, nearly losing his footing, in his haste to lay you down on one of his large white leather sofas.

Dropping to his knees, he quickly pulled your panties down your legs, before tossing them haphazardly to the side. Lifting your legs over his shoulders, before setting to work like a starved man, that only survival lay in your core. . A shudder rolled through your body and you bucked your hips against his face as his tongue circled, entered, and whispered sweet prayers against your sex. The sounds he made as he devoured you were the most erotic sounds you ever heard, and you quickly were approaching an orgasm faster than you ever had before.

“Vinnie.” You moaned as your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m going to fucking cum! As soon as I do, I need you to take that big cock out of your pants and fuck me like it’s the last time you’ll ever see me again.”

He growled into your sex, as he used his fingers to penetrate you as he sucked on your clit. Your orgasm slammed into you so hard, it took your breath away. His name fell from your lips over and over like a prayer as he lapped up all you had to offer him. He left your sex, only a moment as he crawled up on top of you, his erection already free and weeping precum. “I want to cum inside of you. I have never done this, but I wish to fuck a baby into you.” He rubbed the mushroom tip of his cock up and down your slick folds, teasing you.

So turned on you could hardly think straight, you nodded eagerly, to his obviously pleased expression. Slowly pushing his thick length inside of you, you loved the way he stretched you to almost the point of pain, but not quite.

Once he was inside you, the rest became a blur of hands, mouths, and skin. Your breasts pressed flat against his chest, as your arms encircled him, pulling at him – his hair, his lower back, his arms. You desperately pressed up against him as if you wanted him to fuse your bodies completely. Even if it was physically impossible, she knew he was hers in every other sense of the word. Each time he thrust his hips upward, leaning his forehead against your ankle as your feet crossed behind his head, his hands under your bottom as he lifted you up to take all of him as best you could, he body began to tense, as he attempted to maintain control.

When you felt another orgasm fast approaching, you grabbed him and forced his forehead to yours, “cum with me. Cum inside me.” As you came again, it was with a scream into his kiss. His hips pressed firmly into you, as he joined you in mindblowing ecstasy, spilling himself completely inside you, his whole body shivering from foot to fingertip, before holding himself above you, but not separating your bodies where they remained joined. Smiling bashfully, and reaching a hand up to brush a few strands of hair from his forehead you wished you’d found each other in different circumstances.

As if reading your mind, he looked into your eyes, and said, “you are mine. I’ll never let you go now.” Pulling out of you, and tucking himself back into his pants, he walked over to his private restroom, and brought you a towel.

Staring up at him, you didn’t move to take it from him, as the possible consequences of your actions punched you in the gut, like a wave slamming you beneath the surface.

Just as you were about to take it from him, the alarms sounded. Popping up to a seated position, you frantically looked around for your clothes.

“Get dressed and do not leave this room.” The Marquis stated as he made his way to the door. Pausing as his hand met the handle, he repeated, “do not leave this room.” Before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Running around the room like a crazy person, you found all your clothes and dressed yourself in record time. The alarm was still blaring, and after several minutes, you were relieved when the office door swung open.

That’s until you saw it was not the Marquis or one of his men. You could hear gunfire in another wing of the mansion, and started to panic, until you realized this might be your way out of here.

Peeking up, you smiled nervously at the man, stopping him in his tracks. He looked you up and down, before coming forward again and grabbing you by the arm.

“Let’s go princess. Don’t make me have to hurt ya.” He bit out harshly.

“Oh I’d never. I’m so happy your here. My hero.” You attempted to sound confident.

Glancing over at you, he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not gonna say that when we get to where we’re going.”

Not liking how that sounded at all, you wrenched your arm free, and ran to the door. Just as you made it nearly through, a sharp pain ripped through your body, as all went black and you fell in a heap on the floor.

[yutafrita]

[09:22AM]

☾⋆｡ ๋࣭ ⭑˚ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Pairing: Actor!Sungchan x Actress!Reader (she/her, femme presenting)

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references (18+), proceed with caution.

WC: approx. 1K

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your polite smile was stable as you sat at the interview seat, watching the same clip. This was the third interview this week that had brought the clip for you to force a reaction to, and god it was getting difficult to feign ignorance.

“Look at how gently he caresses her hair there folks!” The interviewer gushed. You jokingly rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

The clip was a behind the scenes feature of your latest film. Your co-star, Sungchan, had noticed a small piece of confetti from your scene got stuck to your hair. He carefully picked it out, and as he did so, you were talking and laughing together. It was completely natural, but the action was clipped out and plastered everywhere online.

Yes, he may have fucked you stupid in your dressing room afterwards, but that was besides the point.

“No, no!” You giggled to the interviewer, trying to stay focused on squashing the rumors. “I am extremely professional- plus, I wouldn’t want to date another actor. We are just friends- he was taking out the confetti from my hair.”

“Well, he’s also a singer…” the interviewer noted, earning oooohhh’s from the audience.

“That doesn’t cancel out the acting, sorry!” You raised your hand in defeat, that fake smile still scrawled across your face. “I will say, he did a great job on set. All of the crew loved working with him, and I can’t wait for you all to check out the movie!”

After the interview, your manager and you quickly maneuvered to your last task of the day- a promotional photoshoot with Sungchan.

“How did the interview go?” He asked. You two stood on set in front of an ornately decorated table in costumes complimentary to your movie characters. The lighting was being adjusted, so that gave you two time to speak casually.

“Terrible. Everyone keeps gushing over that stupid clip.”

“Hm, good thing the cameras weren’t allowed in the dressing rooms,” he whispered in your ear. You frowned, holding back a glare.

“You are so conceited.”

“Did I mention how wonderful you look today?” He turned his head fully towards you, his stupid, infectious smile on full display. You looked ahead, hoping most people on set weren’t picking up on your conversation.

“This is why people are suspicious,” you sighed. Your celebrity image was usually that of a sweet, but very serious professional. You hated having to do interviews as it was, but the studio for this recent film was threatening to blacklist you if you didn’t.

The clip to you wasn’t anything spectacular, either. Sungchan had snuck over to your place later that night, and you were snuggled under your sheets together as you, for the fourth time, rewatched it.

“You look so pretty,” he commented, zooming in on your wide eyes that were staring up at him.

“Hm, you’re looking at me in that way an old man looks at his wife,” you teased, in turning zooming in on the soft gaze he had set on you. He was beautiful, this there was no doubt. His eyes were soft and wide, and so easily conveyed his emotions.

“I’ll make you my wife, one day,” he muttered, his voice buried in your neck as if he was embarrassed.

“Yknow, with both of us being famous, our marriage would only last a month.”

“Then that’ll be the best month of my life,” he kissed your cheek, his hand gently motioning your chin to meet his eyes. You were avoiding these eyes- you felt like jello when you were pinned under them. He was needy though, and you gave into his wish to meet his eyes. To the public, you were stern and focused. Sungchan though, you were anything but. You could feign ignorance to any number of talk show hosts, but it was getting beyond difficult pretending that you didn’t have intense feelings for Sungchan.

“Your fans would kill me.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Sungchan defended. Unlike a lot of young statelets, he had a solid head on his shoulders. It was one of the many things you liked about him. He was clear to set boundaries whenever possible with his fans and with the media, but he still held a lovable and warm persona. You could believe that he would do his best.

Your manager, though, wasn’t so impressed.

“You’ll be over him once you stop promoting the film together,” she rolled her eyes, typing away on her phones.

You crossed your arms, staring out of the window of the airplane. You were taking a flight from New York to Toronto after shooting a cameo in a TV show, and were hoping to see Sungchan before he had to fly back to Los Angeles for a recording session.

Your manager was wrong, of course.

Even after you both moved on to new projects, it was almost gross how often you would try to communicate and be with each other. It was a wonder still that no one had caught any photos of you two out together. Sungchan was getting more bold by sometimes not wearing sunglasses or a hat when out with you. He wanted to show you off, he’d say. And so, years after you both privately committed to the other, you finally walked the red carpet as an official couple.

Permatag! @nini0620

[joelalorian]

Whisked Away

Dave York x f!reader | WC: 3200+ | Masterlist

Summary: Dave York is full of surprises. A secret getaway leads to the next step in your life with Dave. A follow-up to my one-shot Blown Away, but could be read as a standalone.

My contribution to @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs Creative Challenge.

No warnings for this one - it's pretty tame with some humor, fluff, and a teensy bit of angst. No use of y/n. Reader is pretty much a blank slate with hair.

Sunlight reflected off the crystal blue waters as the small plane descended over the luxury resort town. Your mouth dropped open at the view.  

“Welcome to Secret Springs,” the pilot announced over the radio. “The best-kept secret this side of the Rockies. Hope you all enjoy your stay.”

Dave refused to tell you a thing about this surprise getaway to celebrate your first anniversary together, the only information he offered limited to advice on what to pack. Even in your wildest dreams, you didn’t expect a trip to somewhere so extravagant.

Quaint like Cape Cod, the town was rich with culture and life, an air of money and vibrant excitement wafting through town the moment you stepped out of the airport. Artisanal shops and cafes lined both sides of the cobblestone street, the hired driver pointing out his favorite spots to recommend. Dave nodded in response to the recommendations he agreed with – apparently, he did a lot of preparation for this little getaway.

Your mouth dropped open again when the car pulled up in front of a stately inn, the wrap around porch and beautiful awnings restored to its once historical perfection. “Dave,” you breathed in astonishment as you walked inside, eyes widening at the silver leaf domed ceiling and hand carved wooden grand staircase. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, placing a kiss on the crown of your head after slipping the attendant a tip for taking care of your luggage. “This is exactly enough. Come on.” His handsome face split into a cheeky grin.

A weight had lifted from Dave’s shoulders after he quit the DIA and the contract work. Now, there was a bounce to his step and a brightness to his burnt umber eyes. You smiled lovingly watching him stride to the concierge and followed as Dave led you up the grand staircase to your third-floor suite. Good thing the attendant took care of the luggage for you both – there was no elevator in this historical treasure.

Breath once again stolen from your lungs, you shuffled into the large room, eyes taking in every little detail from the ornate, mahogany four-post bed to the clawfoot tub to the bay windows overlooking the lush landscape below. You could just see the water sparkling in the sunshine in the distance. The room was resplendent in antique furnishings, and, certain you’d never stayed anywhere quite so beautiful, you hesitated to touch anything for fear of breaking something priceless.

Flopping back onto the plush mattress, you giggled when Dave plopped down on his side next to you. Right arm bent to support his head, he stared down at you with those soulful puppy eyes, a smile curving his pouty lips.

“Did I make you happy?” Dave asked, fingertips blazing a gentle path down the side of your face.

“You always make me happy, Dave,” you replied in a soft voice. “But, right now, I’m downright euphoric.”

Chuckling, Dave leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” you giggled, pulling his face close for another kiss, this one deeper and sweeter, stoking the fire building inside you. “I think I should show you special thanks for making me delirious with happiness.”

“I like the sound of that,” his voice rumbled from deep within his chest as he pulled you up from the bed. “Let’s test out that tub before dinner.”

Filled with hot water and copious amounts of bubbles, the clawfoot tub was a luxury you wished you could take home with you when this trip ended. More than large enough for two, you could spend all night in there cuddled against Dave’s chest with his arms wrapped around you. Lovely and romantic, it gave honeymoon vibes, and, not for the first time, you wondered what it would be like to be married to Dave, though you dared not mention if for fear of scaring him away. During your time together, you got the sense he didn’t want to get married again, though he never explicitly said so.

Your vivid dreams and imagination pictured lazy afternoons, sketching him and the girls in your book as they played together in the yard, trips to the park and the mall, holidays full of merriment, maybe even a dog. A large, fluffy thing always happy to see you and chase the girls around the yard.

You pictured a house in the mountains, exchanging suits and dress skirts for jeans and hiking boots at the end of the day. Taking long hikes on the weekends. Romantic candlelight dinners on the patio during the weeks the girls were at Carol’s.

There would be the usual responsibilities like work and school and bills and… but you shook that reality away in favor of focusing on the happiness and love of being together, of coming together and changing each other’s lives the way that you did.

It was a pretty picture.

Your fingers itched to draw it.

Your heart longed to live it.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?” Dave questioned after a period of prolonged silence. He always read you so well.

“Hmmm,” you hummed,” just imagining the future.”

His broad body practically engulfed you as his arms tightened. “Tell me,” Dave’s voice purred in your ear, a command you could not deny. So, heart in your throat, you told him all the precious things you imagined while he nuzzled into your neck. When you finished, he peppered kisses across your shoulders. “Is that what you want? A life with me and the girls?”

The moment of truth… and you froze. Dave’s tone gave nothing away. Terrified of rejection, however soft he was with you, you merely hummed noncommittally.

Dave chuckled warmly. “Mmhmm, I get it. We haven’t talked about the future yet and you don’t want to get hurt if I don’t want the same things as you,” he murmured, hot breath in your ear causing a wave of gooseflesh across your skin. He was too good at getting right to the heart of the matter.

“I’ll go first, then. Ok?” he asked, placing a kiss on the tender flesh right beneath your ear. “That is the life I want… with you. Getting married and living somewhere exactly like this, spending our lives together in a quaint town with lots to do and see, watching the girls grow up and flourish. In fact, I can’t think of anything I want more.”

“Really? That’s what you want?” Turning your head, you saw him nod reassuringly. “It’s just… you always made it seem like you didn’t want to get married again.”

A laugh slipped past his lips before he could stop it and your shoulders hunched in dejection. “No, sweetheart…” his arms tightened around you until your skin practically melded together. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”

Part of you didn’t believe him, your breath catching in your throat as he tried to explain himself.

“My life was so different before I met you, sweetheart. I didn’t think finding love again was possible, not the way that I lost myself in the darkness of the contract work. Carol and I had been together so long, it was comfortable, but not romantic, not like it used to be. I thought I’d never have that again, so I put it from my mind.”

Dave’s thick fingers grazed across your skin as he spoke.

“I fell for you fast and hard, and if I’m being honest, it scared me a little. I couldn’t bring you into my life the way it was – it would have been unfair to you. It was already unfair to Carol and the girls… I couldn’t tell her everything, that’s part of why Carol wanted a divorce. I found myself wanting to tell you everything, to be a better man for you and the girls.”

“Dave—” He cut you off to continue his train of thought.

“Without realizing it, you gave me a reason to quit that life and all the things that made me unhappy,” he said, strong arms turned you to face him. His dark eyes glistened in the low light of the bathroom. “The past year has been amazing and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you how seriously I take what we have. I do want to get married again… to you. And only to you. When you’re ready.”

Tears leaked from your eyes, mixing with the tiny droplets of water still falling from your wet hair. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m glad we want the same things,” you said, voice rough from fighting back the tears for so long.

“Me, too. I love you, sweetheart.” Dave kissed you deeply then, teasing his tongue into your mouth. When he finally pulled back, he added, “I have another surprise to show you after dinner. After this conversation, I’m certain you’ll love it.”

“Just how many surprises have you been hiding from me?” you questioned with a grin.

“Just this last one, I promise.”

“I love you, Dave York.”

Dinner consisted of exquisite, tapas-style portions of tuna tartare, pan-seared scallops, mini beef wellingtons, and a few other delicacies cooked to perfection. Savory flavors burst across your palette with each bite. You didn’t want the culinary experience to end, especially when dessert included the most decadent chocolate mousse concoction that nearly had you orgasming at the table.

Appetites sated and senses dulled by a heady wine buzz, Dave escorted you down the sidewalk along the main street, your hands clasped with fingers entwined. The evening air was warm and dry without being oppressive, a gentle breeze tickling your skin and rustling your hair as you walked.

“I love you,” you blurted happily, feelings for this amazing man suddenly overwhelming, especially after your confessions earlier and the romantic dinner you just shared. His grip tightened around your hand as his lips curled up into a smile. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Could this evening get any better? Could this life you were building together get any better? You didn’t think so.

Dave slowed to a stop in front of an empty store front. “Here we are.”

Confused, you glanced around, searching for evidence of the surprise he told you about. All you saw were dark, empty windows and a tinted glass door giving nothing away. Seeing your bewildered expression, Dave stepped back towards the cobblestone street, pulling you with him, and pointed upward.

An artful marquee sparkled brightly above you, finally cluing you in to what he wanted you to see. “Whisked Away Art Gallery,” you read aloud in a shaky voice, “very whimsical.” After a moment, you turned to Dave with wide, wondrous eyes. “What is this?”

His resulting grin and excited, warm eyes melted your heart. “This is your art gallery, sweetheart.”

You gulped. Did you hear that right? Surely not. “Mine?” you questioned. “What do you mean my art gallery?”

Smile never dropping, Dave motioned you to follow him as he unlocked the door and led you inside, one hand reaching out to flick the lights on.

“I bought it, for you. It’s yours, baby. You can display your work and that of any other artists you chose. It’s time you shared your work with the world. It’s too good to keep hidden in that sketchbook of yours.”

His words washed over you without absorbing into your bewildered brain. Too fixated on staring around the large, empty space with your mouth open, imagination running wild as you envisioned various pieces artfully displayed on the walls. Shaking your head, you asked him to repeat what he said. You couldn’t believe it.

“But… how? I mean, it must have cost a fortune in a town like this. And how am I meant to—”

Pressing a thick finger to your lips, Dave cut off your impending spiral. “Remember that future we talked about earlier? This is the next step in building the life we want. You fell in love with this town as quickly and deeply as you fell in love with me. That’s gotta be a sign, right? This town was meant for us.”

You melted against his chest. How did he always know exactly what to say to you?

“You want to live here in Secret Springs? Together?” You spoke into Dave’s neck, lips grazing the skin.

“I know we haven’t talked about officially moving in together, but we’re always together at your place or mine. I thought maybe it’s time to take the next step,” he explained. A moment later, he hesitantly added, “Would you like that?”

You leant back, placing your hands on either side of Dave’s face, and stared directly into his beautiful brown eyes. “I would love that. A life with you is all I want.” You kissed him, letting your lips convey the depth of your feelings, your happiness instead of your words.

The world around you disappeared as Dave gave in fully to the kiss, the coil inside your core tightening with each playful stroke of his tongue against yours. At the first moan that slipped past your lips into Dave’s mouth, he pulled back, eyes full of lust and breathing heavily.

“Let’s get back to the inn, sweetheart. I have an idea on how we can celebrate taking the next step in our relationship.” Without waiting for a response, Dave grabbed your hand and practically dragged you out of the gallery, stopping only long enough to lock the door behind him.

The inn wasn’t far, conveniently located in the heart of the small town, but the journey back still took too long for your liking. Your need for Dave nearly overwhelmed you when he tugged you through the front door of the inn and up the three flights of stairs, all the while ignoring greetings from the staff and other guests. He was a man on a mission.

The door to the suite barely clicked shut before Dave pounced. He left a trail of searing, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and along the bare skin of your shoulders, slipping the thin straps of your dress down your arms. Dexterous fingers pulled the zipper down as his mouth blazed a trail of kisses right behind the falling fabric.

Dave stepped back when you stood before him in nothing but a pair of black, lacy panties. “Damn, baby,” he breathed, dark eyes burning with desire as he drank in the sight of you. Pointing to the large, cushioned ottoman near the antique settee, Dave added, “Face down and ass up on the ottoman, sweetheart.”

Later that night, you laid in bed with your head resting on Dave’s chest, one ear pressed to his skin listening to his heart thump. Having forgotten to close the curtains earlier, moonlight danced across the room from the bay windows. You loved the ethereal glow it left on yours and Dave’s skin.

“Dave?” you asked, lifting your head to rest your chin on his chest. Head resting on a pillow propped against the wooden headboard, he peeked at you with sleepy eyes.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” You felt more than heard his response, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.

A million questions swirled in your brain from the conversation earlier, but where did you start?

“How were you able to buy the gallery? It had to be expensive in such a hidden gem like Secret Springs.”

With a yawn, Dave ran a hand over his face before smoothing it down your back. “I, uh, made a lot of money doing that contract work. That’s why the boys and I started doing it to begin with – to support ourselves and our families when the military kicked us to the wayside. It turned out to be more lucrative than any of us expected. I made more than enough to make sure the girls are taken care of and build our new life together.”

He paused, giving you the opportunity to ask for specifics if you felt the need, but you didn’t. You knew enough of the man he used to be and the things he thought he had to do to give Carol and the girls a life worth living. He wasn’t proud of the things he had to do to survive, but at least he did them with good intentions.

“Besides, it wasn’t nearly as expensive as you might think. I am a very thorough negotiator.” Dave smirked as you rolled your eyes.

“What about the girls?” you questioned.

“What about them?” he returned with furrowed brows.

“Won’t we be too far from them to keep the visitation the way it is? I don’t want you to miss out on any time with them, not with how fast they’re growing up.”

This was probably your biggest concern. You didn’t want Dave to regret any moves he made with you if they impacted his relationship with his girls. A truly devoted father, he loved Alice and Molly to pieces, and you refused to be an impediment to that.

Silence filled the air like static and you panicked for a moment. Was this the moment he realized being with you, starting a new life would cost him too much in terms of time with his girls?

Dave shifted down the bed until your bodies curled together from head to toe and his dark eyes stared into your worried gaze.

“Stop worrying, sweetheart,” he said, his deep voice gentle and smooth. “It will all work out, I promise. Carol was offered a promotion with a relocation; her new office will be in the next town over. Believe it or not, she’s the one who told me about this place and set all this in motion.”

You beamed at him. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it?” You couldn’t help the ‘what if’ thought of what would have happened if you weren’t both ready to move into together? Would you have tried long distance?

Looking at you with a gooey warmth in his eyes, Dave kissed your lips. “I know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. Stop worrying. Everything is working out just as it is meant to. Don’t waste energy thinking about the what ifs. Besides, if things didn’t work out like this, I would have figured out another way to have you with me wherever life took me.”

Tears sprang to your eyes unbidden. You couldn’t help it. Strong feelings always made you cry, and you felt such overwhelming love for Dave in that moment, fighting back the tears would have been a complete waste of time.

“Baby,” Dave cooed, pulling you impossibly closer, worried about your tears.

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” you blubbered, the tears only coming faster as you added, “I’m just so in love with you.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m so in love with you, too. It would really suck if I was in this on my own,” he teased, one hand cradling your as he pressed his lips to yours in a watery kiss.

“Are we really going to live in this amazing town?” you asked a little while later after the overwhelming emotions settled.

“As soon as we find the perfect house. Speaking of, I talked to a realtor, and we have a few lined up to see the day after tomorrow.”

How was this your life?

Exhaustion finally took over and you dreamt of finding the perfect house and building a life in this beautiful paradise.

fin

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 18

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 5.6k

Chapter 18: 'Funny'

Juliet’s POV:

Her father’s hand on her back was surprisingly gentle, cautious even. His fingers didn’t dig into her flesh, didn’t cling to the curve of her bones, didn’t leave imprints. Elijah walked Juliet up the porch steps and into the towering, battered, house which had made an appearance in every nightmare she awoke from for the past several years. Scott led the way, gripping her confiscated backpack in the same hand he used to turn the handle on the front door, his other hand reached into his red hair, scratching his skull. Juliet remembered the nervous tics of the men her father liked to keep in his employ, she remembered their stares, she remembered everything. 

Her father’s hand was delicate, soft… until it wasn't. Until it pushed against her in one staggering movement. Juliet could practically feel her father’s strength rippling down his arm before it met her back, propelling her forward into the dark green armchair. Juliet landed with a thump, her head smacking off the hardwood hidden behind the velvet material. She groaned, twisting her body to sit upright, to place her world back on its axis. 

Elijah stared down at her, his piercing pale blue eyes were so intense they looked almost white as they watched her struggle to sit upright. Juliet didn’t reach a hand up to touch the bump now forming on her forehead, neither did she allow any glimmer of tears to approach her wide stare. Juliet just straightened her back, tilted her chin up, and met her father’s icy look with a dark glare of her own. 

A satisfied smirk crossed her father’s mouth, his lips tilting into a wicked curve. Then he stepped backwards into the matching armchair opposite her. His landing was much softer, less painful. 

They sat in the living room, surrounded by ornate furniture and trinkets which covered nearly every surface of the room. Bookshelves were filled with religious texts, their spines bent and cracked with age and repeated use. Juliet’s eyes scanned the stiflingly familiar room as Elijah’s eyes roamed across her face, investigating every change in her features with raised eyebrows. Juliet’s gaze moved in the direction of the hall and she had to stop herself from flinching, she was excruciatingly aware that every microscopic movement she made would be caught by her father's analytical stare. Juliet peered through the open door which led into the darkening hall, and all she could see was her past self standing before her father as the air slowly left her weakening lungs. 

Juliet looked away, into Elijah’s awaiting gaze. Her nails began to dig into her palms, the fresh pain mingled with the crescent shaped scars which had already left their mark. 

Her father’s smirk deepened, then his eyes shifted to the space behind her. “Scott and Daniel, we will require some tea,” he said to the men Juliet hadn’t noticed stood behind her, lingering around her chair like metal statues. Her father’s voice was quiet and pleasant as he made his request, but Juliet knew that the men were entirely under his authority, under his control. They would follow his every order, without question or argument. Both men nodded and left the room, the sound of their footsteps following them to the kitchen. 

“Now,” her father began, pausing as he sat further back in his chair, sinking into the plush cushions before resting his arms on its sides. When he was comfortable, he continued.

“I see you got my letter,” Elijah mused. 

It wasn’t a question, but he still awaited an answer. Juliet swallowed. “Yes,” she croaked out. Her voice was rough, her reply caught in the backlog all the words she had wanted to say outside to Joel, but was forced to choke down instead. 

Her father nodded, amusement now glimmering in his cold stare. He liked when Juliet was nervous, when he was the obvious one in control. 

“It took quite a while to find you. Hiding all the way in Boston,” he observed, stopping to make a repeated tsk, tsk, tsk sound with his tongue. Juliet dug her nails in deeper, then checked her features to ensure her expression was still entirely vacant, giving her father no weaknesses to cling to. “How did you make it so far?” her father finally asked, leaning forward in his chair. 

When Elijah shifted forward, Juliet leaned back. “I found a group, travelled with them,” she replied, keeping her answer as vague as possible. Juliet’s eyes never left her father’s face, she was desperate to see his reaction. Her words were treason, she had just admitted to her knowledge that there were more survivors in the world, that her father had been lying to her and their entire community. Of course her father knew of her new understanding, he had found her in a QZ after all, and she had arrived here with a stranger to the town. But to actually say the words, words that, only a few years ago, would have been blasphemy to her… Juliet was desperate to see how her father would spin this, how he would deny her claims. 

To her surprise, her father’s expression did not change, there were no signs of shock or anger. Elijah just raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I suspected as much. You lived sheltered and cared for your whole life, I assumed you had found someone to latch onto. You always were a dependent, vulnerable little girl.”

White hot rage sparked through Juliet’s body. She felt her muscles begin to harden, her entire body turning to stone as burning anger flowed through her. Juliet knew her father’s games, she understood completely that he was challenging her, playing with her.

What he didn’t know, however, was that, while his game had stayed the same all these years, his opponent had changed. 

Juliet swallowed her anger, careful to not let it show on her face. She kept her reactions minimised to the clench of her fists, to the blood that bloomed under her fingernails. 

“So you knew?” she asked, a crease forming between her eyebrows. No hint of her blazing rage appeared in her features, only a mild curiosity. “You knew that we weren’t the only survivors? That there were other people alive?” she continued, her voice calm and inquisitive. 

Her father was quiet for a moment, surveying her face like a chessboard. Then he barked out a laugh and leaned back, folding his hands across his chest. “Look at you, demanding answers from me,” he accused, all the humour dying in his eyes. His permanent smirk was gone, his mouth had hardened into a thin line as he stared at Juliet. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

At that moment, Scott walked back in the room with Daniel behind him, one holding a tray of teas and the other holding a jug of milk. Elijah clapped his hands in delight, sitting up straighter in his chair as the men placed the mugs on the table between them. Once all of the items were laid out, the men resumed their position behind Juliet. She squirmed in her seat. 

Elijah made them both a cup of tea, sliding Juliet’s towards her. She leaned forward to pick it up, almost flinching when the hot mug met her bloodied palms. As always, Juliet got used to the pain, it grounded her, reminded her of why she was there, and what she needed to do. 

She took a slow sip, mirroring her father’s movements, then brought the mug down to rest on her dark jeans. Juliet glanced up, ensuring she had her father’s entire focus. “Where is Ethan?” she demanded, her voice strong and steady. The heat of the tea sliding down her throat stoked the blazing rage in her gut.

Elijah displayed no sense of anger or surprise at her tone, he just continued to leisurely sip at his tea. This was another one of his famous moves, Juliet was amazed at how quick they returned to her mind. Probably because her memories of her father had never really faded, they had always been there, present and ready to remind her of the horrors she left behind. 

Eventually, her father brought his mug down to rest on his lap. “I was wondering when you would ask,” he pondered, his voice almost monotone as though they were discussing something as boring as the weather. “He’s alive, of course,” her father revealed.

Juliet couldn’t help the strangled gasp that released from her mouth, relief flooded her body like a bucket of cold water over a raging fire. This whole time, every step of her journey here, Juliet feared the worst. But if Ethan was alive, it meant he could be saved. And Juliet was so close. 

“Although,” her father’s voice interrupted her racing thoughts. “I’m surprised you still care for him, it looked as though you had found someone new. What was his name again? Joel?” 

Despite herself, Juliet shifted in her seat. She feared the direction this conversation was taking. Her final night in this home was marred by her father’s allconsuming rage over her relationship with Ethan, and now he assumed she had a relationship with another man. Her father kept his cards close to his chest but Juliet knew that he was flaming inside with fury. Juliet just hoped she could ensure Ethan’s safety, and that Joel had left the community, before he erupted. 

Juliet gritted her teeth. “I’m not here to talk about Joel, I want to know where Ethan is,” she insisted, nearly breathless with the strength it took to say those words. 

Her demand was met with silence, but Juliet could feel the men behind her shifting on their feet. She looked down at the mug resting on her thighs and began to run her finger around the rim, attempting to distract herself from her father’s weighted silence.

Before she could look back up, a sudden crash filled the room. Juliet flinched as her head flew upwards to search for the source of the sound. Her father was standing in front of his chair, and below him, on the table was his mug, now smashed to pieces as tea rapidly spilled over the dark wood. 

A numbness swept over Juliet, tightening her muscles and slowing her mind. At the sound of the crash, at the evidence of her father’s rage, Juliet’s body had reverted back to its usual response from all those years ago. Time began to slow, as it always had, and Juliet sunk deeper into the green velvet armchair, wishing she could fold herself between the cushions and disappear. Her father stalked over to her, his steps slow and deliberate before he stopped right in front of her chair, towering over her. 

Juliet watched him with intense precision as he stared down at her, his chest moving with his heavy breaths. She desperately calculated what his next move might be. Her father might have left his seat, but the game continued. 

Without warning, Juliet felt her father’s hands grip the front of her shirt and pull her to her feet. The mug on her lap fell to the floor, smashing into tiny pieces as the tea splashed on the ends of her jeans. Once she had stumbled to her feet, her father did not let go, he continued to hold tight against her shirt, tilting it upwards, using the pressure to restrict her breathing. This was one another of his favourite moves. He stood before her, his face just inches from away, a snarl covered his mouth as his eyes widened in pure satisfaction. 

As the pressure on her throat increased, Juliet felt an intense blast of fear. But it was different this time. Juliet had changed a lot in the past few years, she was no longer the naïve, cowardly girl who was entirely unable to fight back. Juliet could fight, she was a survivor, she could do a number of things to her father right now to get him to let go. But she wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t just her life that hung in the balance, it was Ethan’s too. Her father hadn’t agreed to release him yet, Juliet had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. So she had to pretend, she had to face her father’s punishments and hopefully, in a fit of rage, her father would reveal something about Ethan’s whereabouts. 

When the familiar black spots began to enter her vision, her father finally let go. Juliet dropped back into the armchair, clutching her throat and coughing brutally. Her father continued to tower over her, seething with rage. 

“Do you have any idea what you did when you ran away? Do you?” he shouted into her face as he leaned closer. Juliet flinched as the words met her ears. “I am the leader of this town and my own daughter left in the dead of night. How do you think that made me look? Huh?” her father spat.

“How was I supposed to explain that? To the good people of this town, how was I supposed to explain that my daughter took everything we gave her for granted and abandoned us? Abandoned me?” he seethed, his eyes wild.

Juliet tried not to let her eagerness seep into her expression as she watched her father rage. This was what she wanted, she wanted to rile him up, to force some sort of confession out of him, to trick him into revealing Ethan’s location. She looked up at him, allowing a sliver of her anger to coat her words as she slowly whispered. “Maybe you could have told them the truth. Maybe you could have stopped lying to them, stopped controlling everything they do and actually told them why your daughter had to risk her life escaping from this hellhole.” Her voice was quiet but cold as she watched the fury ripple in her father’s pale eyes. 

Juliet wasn’t surprised when her head flew to the side with the force of her father’s slap. “You selfish, ungrateful bitch,” her father growled. “You think because you lived outside the fence, because you whored yourself out to any man who would help you, that you know anything at all?” he started to laugh, a dry humourless laugh which didn’t come close to meeting his eyes. 

“Ethan’s screams lasted for months before we broke him, before he told us all about your little love story,” he seethed. Juliet began to tremble at the thought of Ethan suffering her father’s punishment. 

“His confession saved him, he’s on the right path now. Praying all day, every day, for his sins,” Elijah explained, a sick sense of pride seeping into his cold tone. 

“He understands now that it was you , my sweet Juliet, who led him astray. That it was you who was touched by the devil, not him,” her father’s smile returned as he continued to speak. “You see, I misjudged Ethan. And now that you have returned to us, he will watch you complete the same journey.” Elijah stepped back, finally giving Juliet some space to breathe.

Her mind was swirling with never ending questions. Her plan was unravelling, Ethan was alive but at what cost? Her father had brainwashed him, convinced him that she had damned him, and led him away from the path of God. Juliet felt sick, she couldn’t even gloat in the knowledge that she had forced her father to reveal his plan, because it was just so horrific. Juliet just wanted to know that Ethan was alive, where he was, and when he was going to be released. She hadn’t realised how far her father’s rage had spread, although she shouldn’t be surprised. 

“In fact, Ethan should join us for this first stage,” Elijah spoke, shaking Juliet from her mind’s entanglement of confusion and dread. “Go fetch him, will you?” he asked Scott, who nodded and immediately left the room. Juliet heard the front door slam shut seconds later.

Juliet felt hollow. It was like she was back at that fence, all those years ago, as she watched the gate close behind her, sealing Ethan in. Juliet felt that loss all over again. Ethan was gone, she was too late, she couldn’t save him. He might be alive, but if what her father said was true, he wasn’t Ethan anymore. 

Juliet choked on a sob. She had come all this way to save a man who could no longer be saved. She had dragged Joel into this mess, bribed him to come all this way, for nothing. 

A new stab of fear pulsed through her. Joel. Would her father just let him go free once the morning came? Or would her father’s possessiveness strike him down too. Juliet never thought it would get to this point, she imagined her father would be so grateful towards Joel, so thankful that he returned her to him. She was so stupid, it was so reckless to involve another person in her horror. Juliet prayed her father would forget about Joel, forget that Juliet hadn’t actually denied her feelings towards him, prayed that he would go free in the morning with his gifted supplies and never return. 

Saying goodbye to him earlier was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. When she had squeezed his rough fingers, Juliet nearly whispered that she wanted to stay with him. Nearly said those words, used that out that he had offered her, and continued to travel the country side by side. And when her eyes flashed to his lips, Juliet thought back to the night she leaned over his injured body, when the heat in Joel’s eyes matched her own. The memory of his hot lips crashing over hers entered her mind with a staggering intensity, and with it, came the sickening guilt that stayed with her long after that night. It was wrong to kiss him, and allow him to kiss her back. 

There was an attraction between them, a spark of desire which built in every lingering stare or accidental touch. Juliet watched that spark blaze in Joel’s eyes just the night before, when he had pinned her to the tree. She had watched his gaze drop to her lips and dart away so quickly she almost thought she had imagined it. 

But Juliet hadn’t imagined that look in his eyes, she hadn’t imagined the way his pupils dilated until his stare was as black as the night around them, and she hadn’t imagined the way his hard body pressed against hers.

There was an attraction between them, yes. Juliet struggled to deny this. But it meant nothing, they weren’t even friends. Joel and Juliet were acquaintances with a mutual goal. Juliet didn’t see him any other way, and she knew that Joel didn’t care for her beyond the supplies she promised him. Joel would never look at her with anything other than a fleeting attraction. She was too young, too reckless, too broken. Joel and Juliet were always meant to part ways. Any lingering feelings were just the result of being trapped together for so long. 

All this flashed through Juliet’s head as she squeezed Joel's fingers and darted away towards her father. And all those conflicted emotions must have been painted on her face when she met her father’s eyes. In that moment, he must have known how she felt about Joel. 

Fuck.  

Juliet blinked away the past and looked up at her father, who still stood before her, now with his hand outstretched. “Come,” he whispered, “it is time to begin your journey to salvation.”

Juliet had felt helpless before, many times, in fact. But not like this. Those tears she had pushed back with all her might began to fill her dark eyes. Elijah smiled in response. There was victory in his stare. He had won his little game. And Juliet, despite her years of training, years building a defence, had lost. 

Her bleeding palm met her father’s smooth hand and Juliet allowed her body to be pulled up until she stood on her shaking legs. 

Elijah’s triumphant smile did not leave his face as he led his daughter towards the basement. 

Joel’s POV:

“I’m Ethan,” he croaked out, then squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long breath, before opening his eyes back into Joel’s dark gaze. “Juliet’s boyfriend.” 

Joel’s entire body tensed, he almost dropped the knife in his hand. But Ethan wasn’t finished, he inhaled another breath, licked his lips, then swallowed again. 

“And you’ve signed her death sentence bringing her back here,” he spat, venom dripping from his words. 

Joel recoiled, the force of Ethan’s words almost knocked him backwards, then he moved. In one smooth motion, Joel knocked the bartender to the side with his elbow and wrapped his hand around Ethan’s throat. The bartender began to shout at him but Joel couldn’t hear it, wouldn’t hear it. All Joel wanted to listen to was the sputtering breath of the fucking liar wriggling against his hand. 

Joel leaned closer, until his face was inches away from Ethan’s wild eyes, then he moved to his ear and murmured, in a voice like gravel. “I’m gonna let you go, and you’re not gonna say her name again until I say so. We clear?” 

Despite the strong hand crushing his windpipe, Ethan managed a shaky nod and Joel instantly released him, stepping back a few steps. The bartender was livid, shooting Joel a dark look before he ran to Ethan, and helped him put an arm over his shoulder before they both staggered to the metal chair in the corner of the room. The single light bulb hanging from the ceiling made the room look fit for an interrogation, like on one of those detective shows Joel used to watch, in another life. 

Joel watched the interaction between Ethan and the bartender with an inquisitive stare. They clearly knew each other and Ethan was obviously injured beyond the fresh bruising on his throat, courtesy of Joel. As he observed their interactions, Ethan’s words echoed around Joel’s head, reminding him that he needed answers and he needed them now. 

“Get off him, I’ll take it from here,” Joel said to the bartender, gesturing for him to leave using the knife still gripped tight in his hand. 

“What are you going to do with him?” the bartender asked as he stood, his eyes flicking between Joel’s menacing stare and Ethan’s pleading eyes. Ethan’s coughing filled the narrow room, he placed a hand on the stone wall beside him to steady himself. 

“Just talk,” Joel answered with a tilt of his head. 

The bartender didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but if Juliet’s back,” he paused, swallowing rough after mentioning Juliet’s name, “then Ethan’s right, she’s in trouble. Hear him out,” the bartender urged, then turned to face the door. “I’ll keep the eyes and ears away from you both, but talk quick.” With one last look at Ethan’s weary form, the bartender left the room. 

Wasting no time, Joel stalked closer to Ethan. His coughing had stopped, but his heavy breathing remained. Now that Joel took a proper look at him, he noticed the fresh blood spread across his knuckles. 

“I’m gonna give you two minutes to explain who the hell you are and what the hell you know about Juliet, or that bruise on your throat will be the least of your worries,” Joel ground out, actively restraining himself from gripping hold of Ethan and shaking the answers out of him. The mention of Juliet’s name had confirmed his worst fears, and as always, when Juliet was in danger, Joel was quick to turn to anger and violence. 

Ethan looked up at him and rolled his eyes. Joel put his hand, which gripped his knife, on the wall above Ethan’s head, reminding him who he was talking to. 

“I already told you, I’m Juliet’s b -” Ethan started, before Joel’s sharp words cut him off. “Why is she in danger? What do you know?” Joel demanded, he couldn’t bear to hear the word ‘boyfriend’ come out of Ethan’s mouth again. Joel refused to think about why. 

“Her dad,” Ethan started, and Joel’s stomach dropped. “Her dad, Elijah, is the leader of his town. And he’s a real psychopath. I’ve known Juliet since we were both kids and he was always strange, especially around Juliet, but it wasn’t till we got older that I noticed the bruises,” Ethan explained, pausing to catch his breath.

Joel’s throat was burning with the need to shout and rage, but he contained himself, and waited for Ethan to continue. “Juliet would have these thick bruises all over her arms and her legs, in places you could cover with trousers or long t-shirts. When I realised it was her dad, I tried to convince her to leave with me. But she wouldn’t go, see, Elijah told us all that we were the only survivors. He’d have a patrol route for his inner circle but he would always say it was just to find new hunting ground,” Ethan scoffed, his eyes were glassy, as though his mind was trapped in the past he spoke of. Joel listened intently, his rage practically simmering on his skin. 

“One night, probably four years ago now, Elijah found out about us,” Ethan paused, as Joel moved closer, towering over him now. Then Ethan wiped his nose with a trembling hand and continued his brutal tale. “And he nearly killed her. That night, I had enough and made the decision for Juliet. I helped her escape her house and we made it to the fence, but her dad found us and I distracted him to let Juliet get through the fence -”

“You sent her out there on her own?” Joel interrupted, his words viciously accusatory. 

“It was either that or let her dad kill her. What would you have done?” Ethan shot back. 

Joel pushed himself off the wall, turning his back to Ethan and running a hand over his forehead. It was unbearable, the pressure on his chest. Joel had brought her back here, he walked her through that gate and all the way to her father’s house, to her abuser’s house. Fuck. Joel kicked the stone wall, a chunk of crumbling paint fell to the ground with the force of his boot. 

Joel turned back to Ethan. “What happened after she left?” he demanded, but didn’t give Ethan a chance to answer before he fired another question his way. “She told me her dad was sick, why would she say that? Why would she want to come back here?” 

“She’s back because of me,” Ethan answered, his voice quiet as his eyes began to study his bloody knuckles. Joel, in a rare display of patience, waited for him to continue. 

“After I got Juliet out, Elijah decided I was no longer fit for society. He decided that I had forsaken the word of God and had to be punished, or ‘saved’ as he called it,” Ethan said, with a humourless laugh. “Locked me in a fucking barn, like an animal. Only letting me out long enough for the rest of the town to see I was still alive. He told my parents that I was on a ‘journey with God’ and they actually believed him. He’s got this whole town wrapped around his finger,” he scoffed. 

“Nearly four years of torture, and tonight, when Scott turned up at my door and told me Juliet was home, I knew exactly what Elijah had done,” Ethan’s hands began to tremble. “You know, Elijah is a sick man, but he’s also incredibly smart. I don’t know how he did it but I’d bet my life that he lured her back here by threatening to kill me, he’d know that’s the only way Juliet would return to this hellhole.”

Joel was clenching his fist so tight he thought the bones in his fingers might fracture. Everything was starting to make sense. Juliet’s dad was never sick and she always knew what she was returning to. That was why she had that haunted look in her eyes every time he even broached the subject of her dad. Shit, how could he be so blind? Joel wanted to kick the wall again, but he was frozen in place, it was like his body was shutting down. The whole journey with Juliet was a lie, and she didn’t say anything to him. 

Why would she? In Juliet’s eyes, all Joel wanted from her was the supplies she promised. And he had given her no reason to think otherwise. She had delivered, fulfilled her promise despite the cost, and then she had squeezed his hand and walked away from him. Joel ground his jaw hard. 

Ethan’s voice broke through the turmoil in Joel’s head. “I don’t know what Elijah has planned, but I’m involved somehow. For the past year maybe, his ‘lessons’ became very focused on Juliet and all the ways she had wronged me and the town. I think he’s been trying to turn me against her, that's when I began to suspect that he was trying to find her.”

“When Scott came to me, he tried to take me to Elijah but I managed to knock him out,” Ethan glanced at the broken skin on his hands. Joel raised his eyebrows, surprised this almost emaciated man had the strength to knock someone unconscious. 

“He’ll wake up soon, if he hasn’t already. Elijah will know I’m not on his side,” Ethan murmured, fear creeping into his quiet voice. 

Joel wanted to shut him up, he was sick of hearing the horrors that passed his lips. Every word from Ethan’s mouth tightened the knot in Joel’s chest. All Joel could think of was getting Juliet back to him, getting her out of here safely. 

Joel wasn’t sure when he began to think of her beyond the supplies she offered him. It was gradual, achingly slow, almost unnoticeable, but Joel began to crave the feeling of her eyes on him. He began to long for the way his chest tightened when a smile brightened her face. How she was able to smile this whole time, knowing what was waiting for her… Joel almost choked on the fury that caught in his throat. 

Joel struggled to understand the feeling, or even the thought, but Juliet had wormed her way into his chest and now the thought of her in pain or hurt in any way filled his whole body with a rage so intense that searched desperately for a release. 

He should be forming a plan, should be continuing to listen to Ethan’s words which his mind had begun to drown out. But Joel was caught in between the past and present. Every interaction with Juliet had to be reevaluated with this new information, which forced Joel to relive those moments in his mind. When he thought of the night he was injured, he gasped out a strangled breath, refusing to look at Ethan’s confused expression. 

Joel had awoken the following morning with the remaining feeling of Juliet’s lips on his, with the taste of her still lingering in his mouth. He had thought it was a dream, his brain was unable to conceptualise the idea of Juliet touching him without revulsion. But then he had looked in her wide eyes and watched the horror and guilt ripple through them, and Joel knew it had been real. 

Joel was always quick to anger, but this time, it was towards himself. His hands shook with rage as his mind tore into him. He had been delirious, shaken with his injury, but it was no excuse. He had kissed her, kissed Juliet, the girl he was tasked with protecting. It was wrong, sick, even. He had prayed on a younger woman, taken advantage of her, forced himself on her after she had so bravely stitched him up. 

When she had helped him onto the couch that morning, Joel bit his tongue till it bled, forcing himself not to register the feeling of her body on his. His stomach churned with self-hatred, stronger than the feeling usually was. 

He was sick, depraved, a monster… because he found that had begun to crave Juliet’s touch, to find ways to be close to her.

But when she looked at him with that dark gaze, like it had been dropped in warm honey, Joel’s control had slipped. Joel began to taunt her, like the monster had taken hold of his mind for a brief moment, he did things like pin her against a tree and let his breath warm her cheeks. Every action was followed by gut wrenching guilt, and an ache low in his stomach, lower even, that he was unable to ignore. 

Joel ran his hand through his hair, continuing to ignore Ethan’s rambling. He was utterly lost in the memory of Juliet, stuck in the past with the image of her smile, the look in her eyes when she fought men twice her size, and the way she laughed. Juliet laughed like she had no care in the world, like she actually enjoyed his silent, brooding company. 

“Hey!” Ethan’s voice finally sliced through his thoughts, forcing his mind out of the past and into the present. “Are you listening?” 

“What?” Joel fumed, turning to face him. 

“I asked what you were thinking, we don’t have much time,” Ethan huffed, running a hand through his slicked hair. 

Joel nodded quickly, and twisted the knife in his hand. The movement mirrored the repeated churning of his thoughts. 

After a moment, he stopped, stilling the knife immediately before he turned to Ethan. Joel’s eyes dragged over his slim body and his unshaven face, then nodded down at him, the only peace offering he would give.

“Get up,” Joel ordered. “We’re gonna go get her.”

_____________________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

[popjunkie42]

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter Two

The Thief and the Rake

Chapter Two: All That Shines Isn't Sterrling

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It's their first ball in London, and everything's going exactly as one might expect. Elain is sought by all, Nesta runs fierce interference, and Feyre...well, Feyre is trying her best.

This chapter was a bit shorter (split in two) so I have the whole thing pasted below the cut! Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts in the comments. <3

Noisy, hot, bustling — the ballroom was the largest building she had ever been in and thrumming with life, the sounds and smells and heat of the room rippling like a living creature.

When the sisters had walked into the Sterling ballroom, several steps behind a bustling Aunt Ripleigh, a sense of blind panic had threatened to overwhelm Feyre at the sight.

The ballroom was large and lavish, the girls entering down a grand staircase and their arrival announced by the booming voice of a servant. The party was in full swing, at least a dozen couples dancing on patterned marble floors, the sound of the band and conversation and the tinkling of crystal building to a frenzied cacophony.

For a girl used to a two-bedroom cottage and the quiet country forests, it felt like entering the lair of a beast that might consume her whole.

Aunt Ripleigh was an old battleaxe who seemed to have suffered from an empty house with her two sons now grown and married. The gruff widow was certainly not overly affectionate nor verbose. Stout and demanding, she now lived in a row house in Mayfair with her five little dogs who were the only thing she doted on in life.

Their patron turned to nod in dismissal and left the girls on the stairs, beelining for the card tables.

Hot air simmered around them as they paused at the top of the stairs. Feyre took a deep, steeling breath.

This couldn’t be any worse than risking freezing in the woods, than the third day of hunger pangs. Than a deer in her sights when her vision blurred and hands shook from weakness. Her stomach was full and she had slept on a soft bed last night, with the knowledge her family were housed and fed for another day. Feyre let her breaths deepen and her mind quiet, looking for that center of iron she found within.

The Archerons were unknown and joining in the middle of the season, and quite a few heads had turned when they were announced.

Tension hovered in the air between the sisters, following the sound of their name across the room. Hopefully one long, long forgotten.

If Nesta had her way, their father’s name would be buried so deeply no one would ever find the connection. If they weren’t hiding from debtors, they were avoiding rumors of their father’s lost wealth and desperation that made him turn to to trade and gamble.

Convincing him to stay home had been an easy task for the eldest, his days in London spent largely staring into their Aunt’s large fireplace or walking slowly around the streets, going God knows where.

Walking down the stairs, arm in arm with Elain, Feyre had willed her heart to calm. Nesta had called these balls a battlefield, and while she had laughed, now it didn’t seem so far from the truth.

If they were going to war, she hoped they looked the part. Feyre tried not to tug nervously at the skirts of her dress, a white gown in shimmering fabric that was nicer than anything she had worn in a decade, but still was bare of the ornate beading and embroidery and shining threads she saw across the room.

She hadn’t even had money left for gloves.

Nesta was similarly attired on the other side of Elain, her slate grey dress severe and prim, the neck high and sleeves coming to her sharp elbows.

But Elain…

The sisters strategically flanked Elain, presenting her clearly as the star of the family.

For Elain, Feyre had stolen and bartered. Nesta had schemed and bargained.

The skirts of Elain’s dress hovered breathlessly over the marble, her tiny slippered feet pulling them gracefully towards the throng step by step. Her dress was soft gold, covered by a layer of finely embroidered vines and leaves and flowers encircling her body, the lovely skin of her neck and chest on full display.

Unlike Feyre, her skin was pale and creamy without a hint of sun, and one of the maids had done up her hair into a soft bun surrounded by golden-brown curls, gently brushing her temple and the long column of her neck. On her collarbone sat a short strand of pearls, borrowed from their Aunt, who was taciturn most of the time but who had been won over already by Elain’s gentle smiles and sweet conversation.

Nesta and Feyre’s necks were bare.

When Elain had appeared at the top of the stairs in Aunt Ripleigh’s manor, cheeks pink with a nervous blush, it was the first time in years that Feyre allowed herself to hope.

Who could possibly resist Elain, a vision among them walking in beauty? Feyre watched from the corner of her eye as Elain’s warm brown eyes shimmered with excitement, the pink of her mouth slightly parted as her gaze combed the party.

Feyre could have sworn the room paused when Elain took her first step, like everyone took a deep breath all at once. Elain descended the stairs arm in arm with her sisters as naturally as water flowing through the pebbles of a stream, rushing towards its delta.

Did the ton even deserve such a goddess, sweet and kind?

She supposed she would leave it up to Nesta.

It didn’t take long for a collection of smiling gentlemen to surround them, and Feyre followed her sisters’ leads in soft bows and the offering of her hand to any who asked. And when every gentleman’s attention had quickly focused in on the middle Archeron, Feyre had slipped away, ignoring the steely eyes of Nesta.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

The huntress wandered on the edges of the ball, using sly feet to tiptoe around bodies and dancers and eager servants.

Feyre clung to that girl in the woods like a lifeline, pulling the noises and smells from her memory against the numbing din of the party. The attendants were prey to be observed, the conversation and dance steps to be absorbed, and her slow footsteps let her her stalk in the shadows and around corners.

She let her smile show as she snuck up on Nesta, her sister jolting as Feyre tapped her shoulder.

But allowing Feyre the upper hand was not in Nesta’s nature.

”I hope you’re not thinking about working at the ball,” her sister said with sharp judgment.

Feyre huffed at her sister’s presumption. ”Don’t we all have a job today? Elain to be beautiful and charming, you to protect her. Why should I waste my time when there’s another ball in five day’s time? When we all need dresses?”

Nesta had frowned, a deep line forming in between her brows. “You have to be careful here. Any hint of scandal or impropriety —”

”I know.”

”Everyone will be watching. We’ll be curiosities. And gossips are everywhere. If anyone —”

”Nesta, I know. I’m not going to risk Elain. Or you. But you said it yourself, we need ball gowns, day dresses, jewelry, shoes…If everyone is as vicious as you say, we’ll be found out in days without money. So how else do you suggest I get it?”

Nesta was silent at that.

“I still wish you wouldn’t work at the parties. And keep it small. If something large goes missing, there will be an inquiry and all of this will be lost.”

Eyes narrowed on her prey: the smiles, the leers, the vicious silver tongues. She wondered if her sister would truly stop her, or how long it would take for her to come begging for more coin for the modiste. “You don’t have to remind me. I know what’s at stake.” Elain, their family, any hope at a future that was more than the cold and hungry bellies. And one sister buried in the mud, lifting them all up.

Feyre knew what she risked.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

Feyre circled the ballroom for the third time, eyes sweeping over the reveling partygoers, the sparkling chandeliers, the fine black coats and tails amongst the peacock colors of dresses.

There must be three hundred people here, large glass doors open to a breathtaking green lawn with sparkling fountains, letting in a cool night breeze. Overhead, the center of the room peaked to a domed window, the early evening stars just beginning to sparkle down on them.

Nesta had said there would be smaller balls, more intimate gatherings, if they managed invitations. There would be dancing, rooms with card games, performers and fireworks and nights at opera houses. Art and poetry and theater.

All dependent on Nesta’s scheming and Elain’s charm.

And Feyre providing the funds.

For a moment her eyes caught on Elain, in the center of the dance floor, her tinkling laugh rising above the cacophony of noise. She was in the arms of someone young and handsome. She wore a smile so wide and bright it made the breath catch in Feyre’s throat.

Feyre searched her memory for the last time her sister had smiled so. Those long years in a dank country cottage seemed to have swept away at once in the radiant light of Elain’s happiness.

“Miss Feyre Archeron?”

A hand was at her elbow and she turned to face the man, a few moments passing before she remembered to fall into an awkward curtsy.

The man laughed, a cruel glint in his eye. His suit was fine, as far as Feyre could tell. He seemed a slithery sort, somewhere in his 30’s with brown hair and brown eyes with a wide nose and a mocking look on his face.

“Archeron, eh? I’m not familiar with your family. Lucien said you’ve been settled in the country with your father?”

Feyre blinked. “My father’s family has always owned ships and harborland. It’s his pleasure to be traveling often.”

The man, Smith, smiled. Knowingly. “Indeed. Well let me be the first to welcome you into town.”

”That’s very kind of you.” His gaze raked over her. Feyre worked hard not to frown, or cover up her body with her arms. She was certainly no prude, but she was unaccustomed to the cool air on her chest and her bare arms, the way the rough shift tickled her legs.  

The way she felt so many eyes on her, even in the shadows.

”I believe we have matters to discuss. Maybe while we take a turn on the dance floor?” He offered her his arm.

”I’m afraid I’m not much for dancing, sir.”

”Oh? I thought society ladies were accomplished in all the fine arts.”

”I believe I have other accomplishments that you have expressed interest in.”

Smith smiled, his eyes again flickering to her bare neck. Lower. “Quite right. Shall we find somewhere to discuss what you can do for me, Miss Archeron?”

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

Feyre wandered down quiet, darkened hallways, trailing her finger through the film of dust coating the walls and furniture.

Whatever rich bastard lived here, he could afford to clean better.

Shoes clipped on the wooden floorboards as she made a mental note to get softer slippers.

Maybe a darker colored dress, to blend into the shadows.

Still, this was possibly going to turn out to be the easiest job she ever pulled.

Double doors, at the end of the west wing, the master suite. You can’t miss it.

What did it say about this well-to-do, insanely wealthy prick that he let an entire wing of his house go dark and unused like this? Didn’t have enough servants to maintain, or didn’t ask them to. Her entire village in Clopton could have lived here.

Instead it belonged to one person, one man, who probably left for warmer climes half of the year.

The kind of man who would leave valuable jewels in some old dusty corner of his house. Probably didn’t even remember they were here.

With the amount her customer was paying, she was anticipating something quite impressive. It probably could provide a handsome dowry for her and her sisters all at once.

At the end of the hall, two double doors stood imposing and grimed, the moonlight streaming in from the windows to cut stripes across her path.

She laughed when the doors opened, not even a simple handle lock in place. These people, the ton, the aristocracy — they were hers for the picking.

If anyone came across her here, now, all she would have to do is simper about getting lost between sniffling tears. No one would question a sweet young lady of the ton, dressed for a ball, on the verge of an embarrassed display.

And if someone did happen to try and look under her skirts for her quarry, they’d also find her short hunting knife strapped to her thigh.

Nesta worried too much, not about the morality perse but the repercussions, whether the risk was worth it. And Feyre knew Nesta saw herself as one of them in some way – their proper position in society was something that could be won, restored.

Still, she knew Nesta didn’t love Feyre’s nighttime occupation as a thief.

Like every hand in this place wasn’t stained with blood and greed.

And even then, these people had so many rules, so many unspoken pitfalls. Nesta and Elain had done their best with her, but she was ten the last time she was in high society, and then just on the sidelines. Feyre had only just begun to learn the simpler dances, to be thrust into lessons about tea etiquette and the piano forte.

Lot of good it did her. Fortunately for her, one can’t support a family on fine needlework, because Feyre didn’t have the patience for it anyway. But of course, no one had thought that the youngest Archeron would be in the woods just a few years later, gutting a deer and hauling it alone through the forest.

She smiled, thinking about what the sniffling society mavens would say if they knew about her, if they could even wrap their minds around such a life.

But that was the thing about the rules: they only mattered if you cared about the consequences of breaking them. Feyre would be good, as much as she could. She swore to Nesta in the carriage, after Elain had stepped out onto the bright London street, that she would listen and behave.

Only to keep from anything marring Elain. Only until she was married, and settled, and Feyre could pocket enough money from her brother-in-law (whether from kindness or theft, she didn’t mind either) to start over in Europe. Maybe if the war ended, if things opened up again…she afford the ferry and train ticket and a few months rent on a decent place in some artist’s quarter, far away from the ton.

What would happen after was anyone’s guess, as Feyre’s imagination had never stretched that far. Too dulled with hunger and cold and the angry frustration seeping out the walls of their cottage.

The room was a maze of somehow heavier dust and draped tarps over furniture she was sure would be ornate and opulent. Her steps made marks in the dust like footprints in the snow.

The full moon cast into the room through a bay window, as large as the room itself, turning everything to glowing silver, the tiny particles drifting in the air like fairy dust.

Unbidden, she remembered her mother’s room, foreboding and barred. First against infection and then because her father perhaps never opened it again, or so they had thought. She, Nesta and Elain had gone in there one last time, in the rush to sell the manor when the debtors were breathing down her father’s neck. The furniture was covered with yellowing sheets and everything seemed smaller, less vibrant.

And whether picked clean by the servants, or her father selling off heirlooms one by one, there had been nothing left. No jewelry or mirrors or combs with just a thread or two of hair left to remember her by. Empty of nothing but dust and memories.

Feyre wondered if her fathers mind resembled this hall. Abandoned and neglected. Soaked with something like grief.

She covered her mouth from the cloud of debris she kicked up in the air as she scanned the room. A tall thin dresser, next to a mirror, filmed over with grime, caught her eye.

Feyre stepped to it with her breath held.

Each small drawer held a trove of treasures, like a pirate’s chest from her childhood stories. Necklaces and rings and brooches, dull with age but shimmering with promise when she swiped a thumb over the smooth surfaces.

The necklace was in the third drawer, unmistakable from the description. Dark purple sapphires, mounted in fine silver filigree work, with swooping strands of pearls connecting each stone. Seven in all, as fat as her thumb.

A sense of regret, foreign and sharp, welled up suddenly within her. She used her kerchief to polish the stones, and on a whim, cleared off a section of the mirror to see her face.

A woman had loved these, once. Had brought them out for special occasions. Maybe they were a gift from a loved one. Maybe she treasured them, planned outfits around them. And now here they were, caked in dust in a bedroom that might as well be a tomb.

In the mirror, Feyre draped the necklace around her throat. She imagined what it might be like, to be the kind of woman who would treasure things just because they were pretty, instead of selling them off for food and shelter and a little bit of freedom.

“Hello, darling.”

Feyre gasped as the deep male voice, sensuous and amused, purred from behind her.

In a swift moment she dropped the necklace into her dress, whirled around and pushed.

The man, tall and broad, yelped and fell into the bed, pulling dust covers with him, the plume of dirt rising up from where he fell like a heavy storm.

Her feet flew down the hall as she left him, coughing and cursing. Ages later, when her heartbeat finally began to slow, she only had one dreadful thought:

She hadn’t seen his face. Had he seen hers?

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