#prisoner of the iron mask

[drawingquest21]

[callum-hunt-is-bisexual]

i explained to my best friend the entire plot of the magisterium series today and he insists call is a terrible person who needs to be locked up and that celia is the only sane character

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

L'Homme au Masque de Fer (The Man in the Iron Mask). Anonymous print (etching and mezzotint, hand-colored) from 1789

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Though he adopted the guise of a warrior from the badlands, it was rumored that the Tarnished had arrived from across the fog wearing a ghastly mask and tattered clothing, brandishing ancient Carian sorceries. Indeed, though he bellows and rages on the battlefield with abandon, he wields even enormous hunks of iron with a tell-tale refinement that hints towards a noble background.

[movieposters1]

[randomwriteronline]

for the metru i always thought it was partially a matter of "almost everything in this city is fucking protodermis so i cant do SHIT" and partially one of those classic im-still-a-matoran mindset brainfarts. like forgetting theyre toa sized and slamming head first into the top of the door. oh shit im underground without any digging tools, im doomed <- brain hasnt caught on the fact that it unlocked elemental bending yet

lhikan never using his mask is a good point tho. maybe he was so fucking tired and burnt out from everything that happened in the last (checks watch) abt 48 hours that he also just Forgot. which was Very Unfortunate since he could have avoided Death: Slorped Edition

Holy fuck, at NO POINT in Legends of Metru Nui to the Metru ever use Elemental Powers. At most, Nokama uses a bit to swim and Matau uses some to fly, but nothing else! It's all about mask powers, and yet Lhikan never makes use of his Hau.

"Toa mask powers are needed to escape here" BUDDY UOU HAVE A TOA OF EARTH. EARTHBEND THOSE WALLS

They're in PO-METRU, AND HAVE ONEWA TRAPPED. STONEBEND. PLEASE

[contact-guy]

“It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–”

- Sherlock Holmes, the Adventure of the Three Garridebs

Full text and individual pages under cut:

In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes’s pistol came down on the man’s head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Then my friend’s wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.

“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say that you are not hurt!”

It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

“It’s nothing, Holmes. It’s a mere scratch.”

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.

“You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #36

[reidrum]

good night moon | s.r

A/N: hi again ! this one is deeply self indulgent i fear but who cares i hope you like it as much as i do <3 ps let me know what kinda fics i should write next !!

cw: spencer reid x bau!reader, cm type violence, reader is afab but this only is referred to when mentioning reader is a daughter, sad thoughts, hurt/comfort, talks about nightmares, spencer just wants to take care you gdm it why won’t you let him

wc: 2.4k

_______________________________________________

trudging up the stairs of the bullpen, you tried your best to use whatever sense you had left to beeline to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. thank god the bau had minimal reflective surfaces because you’re sure you look like the evil old lady from snow white. that was just, your opinion of course. to everyone else you looked fine.

fine was so subjective. what did these fuckers know about being fine? they weren’t the ones on the mission. they don’t know what you saw, how you did nothing, how you couldn’t do anything.

���FBI hands up!” you yell holding your gun and flashlight at the unsub. he’s holding the victim at knifepoint, a twelve year old girl who reminded you too much of yourself.

this unsub’s MO was kidnapping eldest daughters of families that had sons as well, because he believed the son should be the eldest child with the most responsibility and that the daughters were only there to create more babies. the team had deduced that he was the youngest child to an older sister who he felt had too much control over him, combined with his fascination with the perfect nuclear family, it slowly turned him into a sociopathic killer.

“come any closer and i’ll slit her throat!” the unsub bellowed, getting dangerously close to her carotid artery.

“you don’t wanna do that, man,” derek says behind you, “just put the knife down and we can talk.”

“there’s nothing left to talk anymore! i’m already going to prison. there’s no point.”

you called out the unsub’s name, “i know how you’re feeling, i have a younger brother too and he feels the same way you do sometimes. what your sister did to you was not okay, but not all sisters are like that. we just want to care for our family. let them have the chance to be the big sister you wished for.”

the unsub seemed to contemplate your words for a minute, then looks up at you with eyes devoid of any light, “then this one is dedicated to you, agent.” and he drags the knife across her neck leaving waterfalls of blood coming out.

you’re not really sure what happened next. a gun went off, presumably derek’s, to kill the unsub. and then it was you screaming as you rushed to the young girl to try and stop her bleeding, but it was no use. the cut was deep enough to nick that damn carotid and all you could do was hold her in her last moments.

“te- tell my family i love them, and that i’m sorry.” the young girl spurts out so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“no sweet girl, don’t be sorry,” you say through hiccuped cries, “i’m sorry i couldn’t save you.”

the last thing you remember was feeling strong hands carrying you out of the building. you couldn’t hear much, the sound of your wails pretty much masked anything in a five mile radius. you could taste the iron lingering in your mouth from biting your lip too hard and desperately collecting the salty tears and sweat trickling down your face. at first you smelled smoke and dust, most likely from being in the cave where the unsub was. but as you were being dragged away from the crime scene you were influxxed with a musky scent, and a hint of vanilla with that fresh laundry smell. spencer. the last thing you see are his worried little brown eyes staring down at you before everything goes dark.

that was monday. it is now thursday. the case had wrapped up, the unsub was dead the families were notified and now you all were in the office doing your paperwork for the case.

and all of you were doing fine, right? everyone else had already coped and processed the case, already stepping back into their normal life routines. but you, you couldn’t have it that easy, but god you wish you did.

since that day, you’d been holing up in your apartment with all the lights turned on. you sat in your living room, eating a bowl of fruit loops and watching bluey, because listen it’s a great show and we should acknowledge it. you cry out loud seeing bluey care for her little sister bingo, and it brings you back to that dusty cave and the bloodied hands.

you could feel sleep creeping up on you, yet you subconsciously found a way to push bedtime by doing menial tasks like cleaning, extra long skincare, watching a movie. when you ran out of things to do, you entered your room and just stared at your bed. how were you supposed to admit to yourself that the horror isn’t in the movie you just watched where the creepy demons kill everyone, but it’s what is waiting for you behind closed eyelids.

so the only logical solution was to just, not sleep. you whipped out every trick in the book to stay awake for as long as you could— energy drinks, coffee, splashing cold water, anything so you wouldn’t have to reface your plagued memories.

spencer observed you from a distance. he watched as you got coffee a whopping three times before 10am, you picking at your skin, not to mention the bags growing under your eyes. it was then he formed a hypothesis, he was a scientist after all. that you simply were not sleeping because of the case. it was much less a hypothesis and more of a fact because he knew exactly what it was upon first sight of you, hell he invented the sleep avoidance look.

and as the inventor it meant he knew the feeling more intimately than he would like to admit. spencer knew what it felt like to be debilitated by the confines of your brain, holding onto shreds of memories you know are not worth remembering but have somehow marked their territory anyway. and everyone coped differently, for spencer he isolated himself for days and then threw himself into work. for you? well, that was the next part of spencer’s experiment.

spencer approaches you in the kitchen as you’re pouring your fourth cup before noon, “hi.”

“hi.”

“how are you? feels like we haven’t talked in a bit.”

“i’m good, sorry i’ve just been. busy.”

spencer frowned internally, he knew you weren’t doing a single thing but working at the office. “are you okay? do you want to talk about last week?”

you cut him off abruptly and start walking out, “i really have to finish these reports spence, talk to you later.”

spencer knew better, he should give you space to cope by yourself. you were an adult, you can take care of yourself. but you shouldn’t have to, he thinks. spencer still tells himself he knows better as he’s waiting on your doorstep that night, about to the rapp the door.

after a minute of no answer he knocks again this time calling your name through the door, “will you let me in please? i want to show you something.”

still nothing. he continues, “i know what you’re feeling, and i want to help, please.”

he almost gives up and turns around when he hears the turn of a lock and slight creek of the door opening to see you in all your beautiful glory.

now you, you were definitely a sight for sore eyes. avengers pj shorts with a baggy uni t shirt, hair flying in any direction, and a look that spencer could only describe as grief. but god if you weren’t the most beautiful human he’d seen in his life, he’d be lying.

you were coming up on day 3? or was it 4? of no sleep. it’s not like you were not sleeping at all you took little 30 minute naps each day, enough to get you some shut eye but not enough to make it your rem stage of sleep.

spencer speaks again, “can i come in?” you nod silently and open the door wider for him to step in. he removes his shoes and it’s then you notice a big ole tote bag he’s lugging to your living room.

“what’s in the bag?”

“ah, come sit. i brought magical things.” he smiles playfully.

you shuffle over to sit a seat’s cushion away from him and watch as he starts pulling item by item from his mary poppins bag.

candles, essential oils, books, but specifically romance novels with the silly cartoon covers that he swears aren’t real books but you argue with him until he concedes, melatonin gummies, pillow sleep spray, and one more item that he’s holding onto for what seems to be dramatic effect. you’re not amused.

“and the piece de resistance,” he presents the last item, and you look confused for a second, until you recognize the item in front of you and immediately start tearing up. in his hands is a grogu weighted stuffed animal that he holds out for you to take. “i know you’re not sleeping. it happened to me when, you know. i figured it would be helpful if you had someone who could empathize how you’re feeling. and because you’re my best friend and i care about you.”

your bottom lip trembles, and you feel the ice block you’ve kept yourself in this past week start to melt uncontrollably. “spence…” you breathe out so quietly. he did all this? for you? doctor spencer reid went out to the store, and bought a grogu stuffed animal for you to cuddle at night to ease your loneliness?

the concept of being taken care of was so foreign to you, as the eldest daughter in your family it was always you taking care of others and making sure everyone was okay. but rarely did anyone check on you, how you were holding up. and you had learned to cope by yourself, to handle the big emotions by yourself, but for once, someone was willing to take all that weight off your shoulders and let you breathe. and god, did it feel so cathartic you could burst out in sobs.

so you did.

“hey,” he says scooting closer to you so he can scoop you into his chest, “was that a lot? penelope said i’d probably overwhelm you but all of the things i brought are scientifically proven sleep additives-“

“no i just, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” you whimper.

spencer’s eyes soften, “you deserve it. what happened last week… was hard. i just wanted to help.”

“thank you,” he hears a muffled response and rubs his hands affectionately down your back, “damn, all this crying is making me so tired.”

“see! the magic of the poppins bag.” he chuckles. you laugh too. spencer thinks all the flowers in a mile radius just bloomed.

“it’s just,” you start out, nuzzling into his chest deeper, “the second i close my eyes and dream, i see her. and how i couldn’t save her. and how the others i couldn’t save either.” you feel your chest seizing up again.

“okay well hey, hey. you did what you were trained to do. any other agent in your position would’ve tried talking him down the way you did. and your personal story gave you an advantage that no one else would’ve had. statistically speaking, you were the best chance at getting through to him. yeah it didn’t work, but it wouldn’t be probability if it always worked,” he cradles your face in his big hands, “we’re all so proud of you, you know. rossi’s waiting for you to be back on your feet so he can host pasta night at his hou- sorry his mansion again.”

spencer looks down at you properly to your tear stained cheeks and brushes your hair back. he sees the pain and tiredness fighting behind your eyes and asks softly, “what do you need right now?”

“i’m tired.” you lament.

“then lets go sleep.”

“i can’t.”

“why not?”

“im scared.”

“well that’s why i brought the stuff silly goose,” he taps your nose, “come on, let’s go set it up.”

spencer brings all the sleep aids to your room and sets them up appropriately, even plugging in your sunrise lamp to help with the ambient lighting. the only thing left to do is for you to get into your bed.

you both stand on opposite sides of your bed, and he’s waiting for you to get in so can tuck you in. you hesitate and look up at him with the same worried eyes he saw all those days ago.

“could you stay for bit?”

“i can stay for some time if you want” you both speak at the same time. you giggle again, spencer thinks an angel got its wings.

thank god he wore sweats and a comfy t shirt he thinks. he slid in under the blanket and holds it open for you to come in, “come on, you’re missing the cuddle party with grogu and i!” you beam widely and finally sink into your bed.

spencer pulls you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder blade, and the other taking a spot on your hip rubbing soft circles. you lay your head to rest on his chest, right above his beating heart. you try to let the metronomic thumps lull you to sleep, but spencer can still feel your eyelashes fluttering about on his chest. he knows what you’re thinking, because of course he does.

“look at me,” he nudges you, you look up at his eyes again and see nothing but pure love and reassurance as he continues, “you are safe. nothing can hurt you. i promise.”

“are you sure?” you let out meekly,

“i’m sure. it’s okay, go to sleep,” he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your forehead. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

you shakily take a deep breath, and close your eyes.

after five minutes of spencer rubbing shapes into your back, he can finally hear the soft snores coming from below. he places another kiss on your head, whispers, “good night angel girl,” and doses off.

you wake up the next morning feeling so rested and relieved you can’t help but give spencer a big hug that wakes him up. spencer thinks he’d be the luckiest man in the universe if he could wake up like this everyday.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (19/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, kind of role-play, smut, the angst, nightmares ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Our son will have my eyes.

Helaena saw me holding him in my arms.

They will have a child.

This thought burned in his chest like fire – the knowledge that, though he did not know when, his male offspring, his first-born son, the heir to the Iron Throne would be born, brought him relief.

He felt a sense of pride at the thought – he, unlike his sister-whore, would have legitimate descendant from the righteous bed, from his wife, from Targaryen blood.

He tried to push away the thought that he would have to share his cousin with someone, focusing on the fact that there was a future for them together – he knew his hāedar was worried about whether she was fertile, and his sister's vision must surely have reassured and comforted her.

This information, her words, pleased him so much that his rage at what Daemon had done passed – he found it amusing that his uncle thought he would fall into his trap, leaving his wife and her dragon at his fingertips.

They spent that night together in one of the chambers – the wood in the hearth was so wet that the servants were unable to light a fire.

His wife walked around the room, restless, and stopped at last, looking up – he watched out of the corner of his eye as she slowly walked over to the dried herbs piled up over the windows, hung there for sure to mask the unpleasant smell of dampness.

"Hand me your dagger." She said, extending her arm to him, wrinkling her brow as if something about this sight disturbed her.

He rose from his chair, startled, and slid out of his scabbard the dagger with the head of Vhagar, turning it in his hand, handing her the hilt. She took it from his grip and cut the rope holding the flowers together, looking at them closely – she leaned over and sniffed them, as if pondering something.

"This is a blue holly. My nanny used to show me these herbs in the meadow. She said you musn't sniff them because their pollen makes you daydream." She said, throwing him an anxious look full of tension.

When they lifted their heads, they noticed dozens of bouquets of herbs tied one next to the other, as if someone had specially prepared them and hung them up so that they wouldn't draw anyone's attention.

"They were also in the corridor. And in the room where we spoke this morning," she muttered, "from a distance they look like lavender. I'm not surprised that people think this fortress is haunted – someone who is exposed to so many of them at once surely experiences hallucinations. Perhaps the bodies of servants and lords who have lived here for years have managed to accustom themselves and are no longer affected, but we, my husband, will not experience a peaceful sleep here."

"Guards!" He called out towards the door – one of the men stepped inside and bowed to him.

"Your Grace. My Lady."

"Get those fucking weeds off the ceiling and make sure they're gone from the whole fortress. Does anyone here practice herbalism? Any Maester?" He asked coolly, wondering if this was another part of the trap Daemon had set for them.

What else awaited them within these walls?

The man shook his head.

"There is no Maester in this fortress, Your Grace, but there is a woman they call a witch. Apparently she practises magic. She's in the dungeon with the other prisoners." The man said, and he nodded.

"Make sure she stays locked up. Tie her hands and gag her mouth. I will speak with her on the morrow." He ordered.

"No." His wife said. "I wish to do it, lēkia. Let me."

He pressed his lips together and nodded, telling the man wordlessly to leave the chamber, which he did after a moment.

He ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, trying to control his irritation and choose his words properly.

"Once again you undermine my words in the presence of others." He remarked dryly.

"She is going to try to seduce you." She said.

He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief, thinking that she had allowed herself to be driven by simple feminine jealousy.

"Don't be foolish." He replied.

"I would if I were her. She'll play with you, but she won't tell you anything. But maybe she'll confide in the other woman." She stated, making him regret his hasty assessment.

He remained silent, concluding that she was probably right, and he had no time for this – he needed to send word to his grandfather as soon as possible and communicate with him as to their further actions regarding Daemon.

He decided that he could leave this matter to her.

"Ser Criston will accompany you on this visit. I do not want this woman to cast a spell on the mother of my child." He said.

The night was chilly, and the lack of warmth that a fire lit in the hearth would have given them meant that although they had slept bare in the Red Keep, now they lay snuggled together – she dressed in a thick nightgown, he in a shirt and breeches, covered by several layers of furs.

"Stay close to me through the night." He whispered, not wanting her to get cold.

He kissed her forehead when she nodded and breathed a sigh, thanking the gods in his mind for bestowing upon him such an attentive, tender, devoted wife.

He realised that their marriage was successful.

He woke up feeling that she wanted to get up – he frowned in displeasure, putting his arm around her tighter, pulling her close again.

"– where are you going? –" He muttered, not opening his eyes, thinking, still sunk half asleep, that he was comfortable in that position and wanted to snuggle into her back again.

He heard her helpless sob, as if she was choking, her hands gripped his arms tightly, causing him pain – he hissed and raised himself up on his elbow, shaking her, terrified.

"– hāedar – hāedar, wake up –" He mumbled, seeing that she was whooping with her tears, her eyelids clenched, her eyebrows arched in horror and distress.

Her body shuddered and jerked up as she suddenly opened her eyes – she looked at him, but it seemed to him that she didn't recognise him, because she started screaming before throwing herself around his neck.

"– lēkia! – lēkia, oh gods –" She whimpered, digging her fingers into his back, snuggling into him as tightly as if she wanted to melt into him – he embraced her close and pressed her to him, kissing her temple, rocking her like a small child, trying to soothe her.

"– easy – you are safe – your husband is by your side –" He whispered in pain.

She took a breath and cried out loud with some kind of relief.

"– breath, sweet girl – breath –" He repeated quietly, again and again placing tender, warm kisses on her forehead.

"– I dreamt I woke up and you weren't here – I could hear only the sound of the water, all around me complete darkness –" She whined, and he nodded.

Subconsciously she was afraid that he might really leave her.

That he would have fled to King's Landing like a coward, abandoning her.

"– it was just a bad dream, hāedar – nothing more –" He assured her, but instead of calming down she moaned loudly on the verge of hysteria, wiping her cheeks, all red from tears.

"– and then your cold hand grabbed me, as if – as if you were drowning – I tried to pull you out, but you were too heavy – and then you let me go –" She choked out with difficulty in a breaking voice.

He took her hair from her face and settled down so that he could look at her, stroking her head.

"Hāedar. We still live in fear of what the future will bring. I too am haunted by grim thoughts, visions of how you could perish trying to protect me in the sky." He whispered hesitantly, and she took a loud breath, as if gathering her courage, as if she wanted to say something more.

"– Helaena – then, when you walked into my chamber – she said she could only see me and the child, but you were not with us – she said she could only hear the sound of the water –" She mumbled and burst out crying again, louder this time, covering her mouth with her hand, as if the words spoken aloud scared her even more.

He froze, looking at her in disbelief, feeling his heart pounding like mad – her words filled him with a cold, unpleasant discomfort, but on the other hand, it was such a general description that it could mean anything.

He could have been close to the sea, in Dragonstone, to strike the final blow against Rhaenyra and secure their descendant's inheritance.

He could have been patrolling King's Landing while his wife looked after their child to keep them safe.

Helaena's words stuck in her head, and the situation they found themselves in compounded her fear, he consoled himself with an effort, trying to grasp onto his sanity.

It meant nothing.

"You said yourself how these herbs affect us. After all, we were around them for hours before you noticed them. It's certainly their fault and what you found out. Your heart is suffering." He whispered, tentatively slipping his large hand under the material of her nightgown, placing it where he could feel a gentle, quick pounding.

She sighed and looked up at him, placing her hand over his, as if something in his touch, his gaze, his caring tenderness and his soothing, calm voice brought her relief.

He kissed her – it was a slow, gentle, moist caress, her mouth wonderfully warm under his – he heard her purr of delight, felt her lips part before his, allowing his slick tongue to slide lazily between her teeth.

"– mmm –" She murmured – he grinned when he felt her spread her legs in front of him in some involuntary, natural reflex of trust.

He thought he loved the way her body reacted to his touch as his hand from her cheek slid down her neck lower, to her full breasts, and then further down to her stomach before finally reaching the warmth between her thighs.

She sighed and clasped her hands in his hair as his fingers collected the moisture that had managed to spill out of her, circling around her little pearl – he felt her body quiver with pleasure, her breath heavy and raspy, the tips of her fingers digging into his back.

"– lēkia –" She gasped, throwing her head back, rolling her hips in rhythm with his gentle caresses. He felt his erection swell painfully in his breeches at this sight, pushing against her thigh, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"– I'm with you – alive and warm – hard – can't you feel it? –" He whispered in a trembling voice – he heard her moan softly, nodding, rubbing her hip against his long manhood.

"– I feel it – I need you –" She muttered like a small child.

He did not let her wait – he lay down between her legs, spreading the material of his trousers to the sides, releasing his throbbing length. He teased her for a moment, running the tip of it over her hot, leaking slit, looking down at her, raised on his hands.

"– please –" She urged him, desperate and impatient – a low, long grunt of pleasure escaped their lips as he pushed against her flesh, slowly forcing his way into her plump, moist interior.

"– yes –" She whispered, and he kissed her, pressing his thirsty lips against hers in a soft, passionate caress, filling her to the brim with himself.

They sighed as he began rocking his hips back and forth, with lazy, slow thrusts building the tension in their veins – their breaths became heavy and loud, their bodies pounding against each other rhythmically with the sticky smacks of their exposed skin.

"– if I were a courtesan – would you choose me over the others? –" She asked suddenly, startling him completely – he involuntarily chuckled, stopping moving, looking at her in disbelief.

"– what kind of question is it? –" He exhaled, looking her straight in the eyes, seeing even in the darkness that she was red with embarrassment and probably regretted that those words had left her mouth.

"– would you have thought I was beautiful? –" She whispered, stroking his cheeks with her smooth, small fingers.

He snorted and shook his head, grinning under his breath, wondering what he should answer, feeling his manhood throb hard inside her at the thought.

Instead of Madam, she, a young girl lying on sheets soaked in perfume to mask the smell of the other couples before them. She would be dressed in a robe of fine, expensive material, meant for his eyes – for the Prince. She would be freshly bathed, her long, dark curls would be arranged in waves around her head, her doe eyes looking at him full of curiosity and confidence.

"– I would certainly delight in the spirit of your beauty – but I would not choose you –" He said at last.

He saw that his words caused her pain – her lips tightened and then opened in an anxious breath, her eyebrows arched in an expression of sadness and disappointment.

"– why? –" She asked regretfully.

He sighed, with a soft, gentle thrust of his hips pushing his erection into her heat, wanting to feel her with all of himself – he leaned over her so that the tips of their noses almost touched, his thumb running over her silky cheek.

"– the fear of your judgement of me would not allow me to experience the pleasure of the act –" He confessed at last, placing a tender, lingering kiss on her jaw.

He heard her swallow hard, her hands stroking his shoulders as if she imagined it was really happening, and she tried to comfort him.

"– after all, you know that I would never mock you – that I would never hurt you –" She whispered, and he closed his eyes.

"– I wouldn't have known it then – would I? –" He asked, feeling that he couldn't last any longer – he slid out of her halfway and slammed hard into her, then again and again, making their hips bump against each other.

"– ah –" She cried out, throwing her head back, crossing her legs over his back – he gripped her buttocks in his hands, surrendering completely to his masculine, primal desire to take a woman, panting loudly along with her.

"– I would desire you from afar – I would imagine myself taking you while another lay beneath me –" He gasped out, feeling that for some reason this thought and these words aroused him even more – his erection was so hard that it almost caused him pain, the tension in his lower abdomen unbearable.

"– I'd watch you from afar – I'd beg in my mind for at least one word, one look of yours –" She mewled beneath him – he grunted out loud in pleasure feeling how hard her slick walls began to pulsate around his length, clearly as close to peak as he was.

Their bodies snuggled into each other, their fingers tightened on their hot, bare skin as he pressed her against the bed, the frame of which began to creak beneath them.

"– please, my Prince – take me, take me, take me –" She begged, and he sank into their fantasy, imagining that he had done it, that he had finally taken the one he wanted and no other.

"– mmm – fuck – g-gods –" He exhaled, panting heavily and closed his eye, feeling a sudden, wonderful relief when his warm seed filled her womb – her sweet, surprised moan of pleasure and the greedy, drawn-out squeezes of her spasming cunt told him that his lover had come as quickly as he had.

He collapsed on top of her, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart, cuddling his face into her cheek – they were embracing each other loosely, like a couple of strangers who had just fucked each other.

He opened his eye and swallowed hard, noticing a familiar pretty face, a face he had been looking at for several moons now.

His hand stroked her hot, sweaty cheek as she looked up at him and smiled in a way that only she could.

He wasn't sure what had just happened between them, but he enjoyed it.

He didn't know, however, if he should admit it, so he kept a safe silence.

"If you paid me for every fulfillment of yours that I was the cause of, I would be the richest courtesan in Westeros." She said lightly, amused, her voice filled with innocent sweetness.

He involuntarily huffed and shook his head.

"To your misfortune, you are my wife and must perform this duty deprived of my golden coins." He scoffed, clenching his fingers in her hair – she murmured when his thumb ran over her lower lip.

"Open." He ordered, and she obediently followed his command – as his finger slid deep between her teeth, she closed her eyes and began to suck.

He gasped when he felt her slick tongue swirl around the tip of his thumb, exactly as she did with the pink, delicate head of his long cock when she satisfied him with her mouth.

"– you would make a perfect whore – I would take you to the Red Keep as my servant and fuck you every night –" He hummed – she purred like a kitten, looking up at him softly, his finger slipping out from between her puffy lips with a loud, sticky plop.

"– your mother and wife would be delighted –" She exhaled – he closed her mouth with his own, not wanting her to blaspheme any more and gripped her hips in his hands again, repeating everything from the beginning.

He was awakened by the sound of rain outside the window – when he opened his eyelid, he saw that although the sun had certainly risen, everything around him was grey because of the clouds that stretched across the sky.

He sighed quietly, feeling a strange kind of discomfort, though he didn't know for what reason – he blinked, looking down to see that their bodies were still joined, despite the fact that his manhood deep inside her was completely soft now.

He was warm and comfortable – snuggled into her back, sunken into her, embracing her at the waist, he felt comforted.

He tried to recall his dream – in it, he was in a brothel again, however, he had not taken Sylvi, but some other girl – he then spoke to her about taking her to the Red Keep.

What had occurred to him to think of such things?

He swallowed hard, assuring himself that it meant nothing – he leaned over to look at Floris's face, but although the colour of her hair was similar, her face looked completely different.

He closed his eye, feeling his mind finally completely awake, and sighed loudly in wonderful relief, realising that he had not married Lord Baratheon's daughter, or been to a brothel, or taken anyone to the Red Keep.

He was in Harrenhal with his cousin.

He felt that he was suddenly in the perfect mood and clung to her like a small child, burying his face in her shoulder.

She purred contentedly, stroking his skin with her hands, continuing to sleep.

His wife was his mistress.

Before they ate anything in the morning, one of the servants tasted everything they had been served.

"You may leave." He said at last, and the boy nodded.

"Your Grace. My Lady."

He sighed, reaching for the bread, thinking in the back of his mind that their meal was meagre, but they could not eat like kings, forcing his soldiers to starve.

He ordered that the portion of food meant for him and his wife be distributed equally among his army so that their supplies would last longer.

"I will speak with the Witch of Harrenhal today." She communicated to him while eating bread with a piece of smoked sausage.

"I don't like this." He replied.

"Criston Cole will be with me."

"What if she tries to put a…curse on you?" He asked uncertainly, feeling how silly and naïve those words sounded.

And yet, dragons were an effect of magic, so it wasn't impossible.

"She won't. I won't give her a reason to do it." She said lightly, rising from her chair, wiping her hands in a white cloth.

"I'll return to you as soon as I've finished." She assured him – she walked over to him and leaned in, placing a lingering, warm kiss on the top of his head.

His hand grasped hers before she cast him a reassuring, calm look and turned away, disappearing after a moment behind the door, where Ser Criston was already waiting for her.

He sighed heavily and tilted his head back, closing his eye, feeling anxious.

The silence before the storm.

He waited patiently for her, meanwhile in his letter informing his grandfather of what had happened and of his decisions.

Daemon returned to Dragonstone, stripping Harrenhal of its supplies beforehand. He made a mockery of us, but I will not leave the fortress unprotected. Send us food as soon as possible and convince Helaena to be on guard, ready for enemy attack at any moment. Prepare for a possible siege. I will try, together with my wife, to draw the Lords of the Riverlands and the Vale to our side. Aemond

He was sure she was the one who had walked into his chamber when the door opened suddenly.

"Your Grace. Word from Dragonstone has arrived."

He froze, looking at his servant in disbelief, feeling a drop of cold sweat on his back, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He nodded and held out his hand to him – the boy walked up to him and handed him a small, rolled piece of parchment.

"You may leave." He said coldly, and the boy bowed to him and left without another word.

He bit his lower lip, knowing that whatever he read inside, it would not be good news.

Would Rhaenyra tell him that she had just burned King's Landing?

That she is sitting on the Iron Throne?

That his mother, his sister, his grandfather are dead?

He unrolled the parchment and swallowed hard, seeing that only two sentences was written on it.

The Gods Eye, tonight. Face me like a true man, nephew.

[baguettesandbows]

4

tw!! talk and show of pill addiction.

Do you want to be a part of the tag list? Add yourself to the doc!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-A756u-0PdmBkb7qv8wzsCYWRKwdeICoUvSlrfOYzW4/edit

You stared at the bag of pills Anna’s friend had given you.

Nightmares had started to haunt you. Worse than before Arkham. Your evidence, having not seen it physically in years, suddenly filled your mind at every turn.

Nightly, you’d throw up into a pail that they had given you. Obviously, seeing a nurse wasn’t an option in Arkham, especially with the low staff count. And you wouldn’t even try to meet with your new physiatrist.

You realized that after more of the guards were fired, breakouts happened more often. Of course, they were more on the lower levels. Villains that had already escaped before.

You didn’t attempt to break out because one, you were not strong enough. Whether that was the point or not, Arkhams food didn’t supply you a great deal of protein.

Two, because you didn’t know where you’d go. You couldn’t leave Gotham, not if Jason came back. But you also knew Bruce would find you instantly, so it wasn’t an option.

Plus, with the fear has supposedly breaking out in places, you didn’t want to be in the streets of Gotham exactly.

Fuck, where were you? Right, the pills.

You think you’ve gotten addicted. You cant sleep without them, cant go through Arkhams day without them, and you classify that as maybe addiction.

You’d have to get off of them before Jason comes back. If he knew..

You didn’t want to disappoint him the moment he steps back into Gotham.

A loud bang of metal on metal makes you grab your baggie and shove them in your sweatsuit. Anna had slid your door open, grinning ear to ear.

“Me and Steph are gettin’ out.” She said, showing her baton she had stolen, waving it around. “You comin?”

You shook your head. You had gotten invitations like this all week.

“I’m waiting for someone.” You mumble. Anna scrunches her nose and points the baton at you.

“No man is worth stayin’ here, Reader.” She says. Noticing you staying on your bed, she sighs and lowers the baton. “Thanks for the baked goods, neighbor.”

She’s off down the hallway before you can even look.

An explosion sounding noise wakes you up.

The ground thumped under you. Your bare feet could feel the vibrations of many footsteps. Suddenly, your pills look more and more appetizing.

You walk to your window, before looking for something to stand on. You quickly grab the bottom of your night table and pull it over to the window with a grunt.

You step up onto the nightstand, and balancing on it, you peer over the stone bricks and look through the metal bars.

Prisoners left and right are practically rushing out of Arkham. You assume a large hole had been blown in, since you don’t remember an exit being there.

In the middle of the rushing crowd of patients, you notice red wearing men directing them. Most of the patients don’t listen, but some follow the orders.

That’s when you see him.

The iron man. The metal man. Robotic man? No, Knight man.

Fuck, these pills were making you crazy.

All you could think of is Anna telling you something about the new villain in Gotham.

You peer closer, trying to get a better view, but the metal bars stop you from looking out too much.

Whoever the man was, clearly held power over the red wearing men. He directed them angrily, and if you weren’t drugged out of your mind, you’d question why he’s at Arkham.

Until the man, without warning- looks up at your window, his mask staring directly at you.

“What the fu-“

Your ass hits the floor as you fall backwards, having lost your balance by the man’s contact.

You scramble to your feet and quickly try to move the nightstand back in the spot, before climbing onto it and looking out the window again.

The man’s gone- yet the red wearing men are still adamantly ordering around the patients.

You sigh of relief, telling yourself the man didn’t actually see you staring directly at him. You get off the nightstand, shivering when you feel your feet touch the cold floor. You grab a baguette to arm yourself, and walk over to the door, sliding it open.

It was left unlocked the day before, when Anna had broken out it seems.

You scrunch your nose and slide it back closed, trying to lock it, when a much stronger hand rips the door open.

You practically stumble back from the strength, your arm sore from being pulled along with the door. You take a couple steps back before remembering what you were holding and aiming it at the doorway.

“Don’t- don’t come in! I have a weapon.. and.. i’m not afraid to lose it!”

Jeez, did you slur that much yesterday?

You wince when loud, incredibly loud footsteps walk in, and you close your eyes, bracing for impact- or for something.

“Jesus-“ A click, and a hissing is heard. A loud slam of metal against your floor makes you flinch, your body jolting at the noise and vibration. You open your eyes, ready to threaten the stranger-

“Jason?”

[drawingquest21]

[cherrycranes]

Under His Desk (Judge Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Judge Jonathan Crane x female reader. Summary: Your husband is Judge Crane and you get under his desk while he's working. Word count: 1,159 Contents: +18 (minors DNI), oral sex (male receiving), public (but you're hidden under the desk), death of a made-up character. Autor's notes: As you can tell, I have on obsession with Judge Crane that is not meant to stop. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer.

Things went in interesting directions after Bane took over Gotham. And your villainous husband Jonathan, seizing the opportunity, decided to get more... Theatrical... Because of it. A side of him you never imagined he had.

It all started with his suits. Seeing the pointlessness of proper presentation in the anarchy, Jonathan got creative. Tearing at the shoulders of his suit so the messed up threads resembled the hay popping out of a scarecrow. He also stopped ironing his shirts, no real scarecrow had wrinkle-free clothes.

Then, he allowed his now grayish stubble to grow. Something inconceivable to the younger, perfectly polished Doctor Crane.

But 'Doctor Crane' was a thing of the past. Your husband had stopped practicing psychiatry a long time ago anyways. You were both full time criminals, going in and out of Arkham or prison semi-regularly until Bane took over and the changes began.

The man you had married and stuck with through thick and thin had metamorphosed into a dramatical representation of his moniker: unpolished, shamelessly torn at the seams and scary.

It's not like he was going to get judged for it. In fact, he was the one doing the judging.

Bane appreciated the Scarecrow. He was a self-declared admirer of his fear toxin. Thus, he pretty much gave him free will over a kangaroo court set to sentence the enemies of the people of Gotham.

This is where you now found yourself at. Jonathan put you in charge of collecting all the information available of the accused parties, specifically anything incriminating. You were his most trusted advisor, and, in a way, you were the one to decide if the person investigated was worthy of a death sentence. If they hadn't done anything that could really anger the people of Gotham or Bane, your word was enough to earn them a lighter sentence. Although, this rarely happened. Every day they always brought scum after scum to the sentencing chair. And your husband always ended the hearing with a sentence of death or exile. Both deadly either way.

Obviously, this only meant that after easily finding their crime and guilt, you had nothing else to do in the courtroom. And Jonathan didn't want you out there in the lawless land. So you lazed around. Sitting on his lap or on one of the many desks that formed his big mountain of judgment. Sometimes you read books or just watched the scene unfold. But some other times, when the hearings went on for long and you were restless, you would kneel under your husband's main desk and hear him struggle to keep his composure.

"NOW. Mister Smith. You have been accused of treason to the people of Gotham! How do you- ..." Jonathan paused, holding back a little sound at the feeling of your hands undoing his zipper and taking his cock out of his pants. He smirked after a quick recovery. You always caught him off guard when you did that but he was always eager.

"How do you plea, Mister Smith?" Jonathan repeated sternly, pretending that his beloved wife wasn't stroking his dick under his desk.

"Innocent! I'm innocent, sir! Please!" Mister Smith begged, completely unaware that his plea didn't matter at all. His fate was pre-decided, and Judge Crane was asking him just to toy with him and be an asshole.

The crowd present protested against Mister Smith's words, screaming insults at him and calling him a traitor. Jonathan slammed his gavel, commanding the room to be quiet, and masking the reaction he had when you licked the tip of his dick.

"ORDER!" He yelled, slamming the gavel one more time as you swirled your hot tongue around the head, your hand pumping the rest.

"Please, Sir. I haven't done anything! Please!" Mister Smith insisted, and Jonathan was glad he had, because it gave him an excuse to keep masking his growing pleasure by slamming the gavel a third time.

"Order, Mister Smith." Something in Jonathan's voice faltered ever so slightly. A 'don't-pay-attention-and-you-miss-it' sort of weakness produced by the feeling of your pretty mouth taking him in inch by inch.

Jonathan exhaled hotly. He pretended to adjust his glasses and read the case files. You, hidden under the desk, continued with your slow torture.

You had to be stealthy, being almost obvious was your husband's job. So in order to not gag around his length, you hummed. A low vibration concentrated in your throat that was always a killer for Jonathan and his sensitive cock.

"Mister... Tobias Smith..." Your head started to move, your humming never stopped. Judge Crane swallowed thickly and his nostrils flared in an expression that poor Mister Smith must have read as irritation towards him.

"You have been declared guilty of charges of high treason..." Just when he thought he had it under control, you started to hollow out your cheeks. The suction made his cock twitch.

"You have the choice here..." Judge Crane lied with a groan. The case files started to get wrinkly in his hands and you only got brutal. Sucking, humming, bobbing your head and moving your tongue as much as you could and as fast as you could get.

"Exile!... Or... Or death!" Jonathan stumbled upon his words and he quickly placed a hand over your hair, a silent sign for you to slow it down, to have mercy on him. But as he didn't have mercy on the man in front of him, you didn't have mercy on him.

The crowd, thankfully, yelled again. Clamoring for death or exile in a big entanglement of voices. If it were for Jonathan, he would leave them to quarrel so he could cum.

Your warm mouth felt so good around him, your humming sent him straight to heaven. The fact that you, his love, his wife, were always there to please him, to love him and make him feel worshiped, made his heart burst out of his chest and his balls tighten. You were always so good to him, he had a hard time not grabbing you, pushing you ass up over his desk and fucking you right there, for everyone to see and envy.

But he couldn't. Against his most primal desires, he had a Bane-given duty to fulfill... And a sentence to announce.

Nearing his orgasm and with his senses overwhelmed, Judge Crane slammed the gavel a final time.

"DEATH!" He growled, not even listening to the sentenced man's choice after all. His jaw trembled and his knuckles went pale from his iron grip on the handle. The commotion of the crowd that so eagerly obeyed his command, and the screams of Mister Smith served as the smoke screen he needed. The carnage took up all the attention. Nobody in that room even noticed Judge Crane leaning back on his chair with his head thrown back and his eyes shut. Thick hot ropes of cum went down your throat so easily, the only thing that made you flinch was the sound of a gunshot that ended Mister Smith's wails.

[mooniiify]

Lexiiiiii

I go insane thinking about the idea of Wriothsley when he was still imprisoned at the fortress as a prisoner, and hes ended up in a super sweet but also painstakingly angsty star crossed lover situation with the current Duke's son/daughter/gn!reader

It's forbidden but stolen glances and if he starts fighting in the pancration ring to try and show off to reader, and gets beat up and reader goes to tend to him and wriothsley protects reader from any other prisoners trying to overstep and mess with reader because of their negative feelings for her father and aaaa reader sneaks into their dad's office to find wriothsleys record because they can't believe he could ever hurt anyone then they find out and - RIP MY HEART OUT ALREADYY

the girl from the fortress and the convict | wriothesley x reader

word count: 4.3k cw: fem! reader, use of y/n, fluff and a lil angst towards the end, making out but nothing explicit, not proofread! notes: i think i got a little carried off with this request bc it SO GOOD thank you anon <3 this could've been longer but i was feeling a lil uncreative sorry, hope you enjoy it anyway!

She was no inmate, yet she was bound to a life in prison, wether she liked it or not. The Fortress of Meropede was all she knew, having been born and raised within the metal structure. There were few times where her father had taken pity on her as a child and brought her outside with him, though that was always only due to him having work in the overworld. Besides that, she didn't particularly like hanging around her father, anyway.

Her life was boring, but she was used to it. 

The inmates never interested her, mostly due to them always being older than her. It was to be expected, of course, due to crime rates among younger people much much lower, if not non-existend in Fontaine.

That was until when she was just seventeen, when she'd heard whispers of a young boy, supposedly around her age, being sent to the Fortress. She hadn't seen him yet, though all the rumours about him piqued her interest. 

It was about three months after she'd first heard of his inprisonment that she heard about him fighting at the pankration ring. She wasn't allowed there, her father would kill her if he found out, but what was life without a little risk? 

With a mask over the lower half of her face and her head low, Y/n managed to sneak into the rink with no trouble. She stood to the side, watching, making sure no one was approaching her. 

The spirits were high, chatter filling the arena. They were talking about the newbie who'd started climbing the ranks quickly, and that was when she'd first heard of his name. Wriothesley. She wondered what a person with such an interesting, noble name would look like. 

An announcer got on the rink, no mircophone since it was still, after all, a prison, yelling over to the audience. ''On the left corner, we have the beast that is he is in the rink, the monster he unleashes against those who dare challenge him, I want to hear your applaus for Dougier!''

A rather buff man appeared on the stage, his hands in the air as he enjoyed the praise. Y/n clapped along, still hidded in the back and trying not to stand out. 

Once the cheers died down, the announcer continued. ''Now, in the right corner, we have the newest rising star in the pankration rink, the one with iron fists, go off for . . . Wriothesley!''

Y/n stood straighter at the name, her eyes stuck on the rink. Up walked the youngest inmate she'd seen around. His black hair was tousled, his eyes icy like the vision that hung on his hip. His attire was simple, his boots heavy. She watched him as he pulled on the Cryo Vision and flung it to the side, it falling near the corner. No one dared touch it. Y/n wondered how no one has stolen it yet. 

The two fighters got into position, fists in the air. Y/n watched as the bigger man flung himself at Wriothesley, who expertly dodged before throwing a punch in his gut. He was moving so quick Y/n could barely follow, and before she knew it, the buff man was on the ground, knocked out. The announcer grabbed Wriothesley's arm and put it up, declaring him winner. 

Wriothesley seemed rather indifferent to his victory. He walked off the stage as the other man had to be hauled away, making his way towards the betting table where he was able to recieve his payment for the win. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, watching as he waited for his coupons to be counted. 

She kicked off the wall she'd been leaning on, manneuvering through the people. She was planning to leave at first, then noticed the Cryo Vision still on the edge of the rink, Wriothesley seeming none the wiser. She contemplated for a moment, then seized the chance, picking up the vision and making her way towards Wriothesley. 

He'd just recieved his coupons when Y/n tapped him on the shoulder, mask down as to seem more inviting, holding out his vision. ''You forgot this.''

Wriothesley seemed stunned for a moment, staring in her eyes. Y/n was no different, taking a closer look to his face. There was a small scar under his eye that seemed to be almost healed, so it must've been rather recent. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten it. 

He was the first one to shake himself off. ''Thank you.'' He took the vision, reattaching it to his belt. ''Sorry, I didn't catch your name?'' 

''It's Y/n,'' she said, holding onto her mask. ''I'll see you around, Wriothesley.'' 

''Hey, wait━'' 

She didn't. She walked away, her mask back on, convering the small smile on her face. 

The Fortress wasn't the biggest place in Teyvat, yet it took a few days before Y/n finally spotted Wriothesley again. He was at the canteen at the same time she was making her way there, sitting alone to the side. She understood, though. Everyone else was much older than them. It was weird. 

She picked up her food, the most appetizing one of the day, and made her way to Wriothesley with her tray. ''This seat taken?'' 

Wriothesley looked up, one of his cheeks stuffed with food. He quickly swallowed down his food, clearing his throat. ''No, go ahead.''

Y/n sat down, putting her tray down. She looked over at Wriothesley's, noticing he'd gotten the welfare meal of the day. It didn't look nearly as appetizing as hers. She looked down at her tray, at the bowl with mashed potatoes. Picking it up, she placed it on Wriothesley's tray. ''Here. Have at least one actually edible thing.''

Wriothesley furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her. ''Doesn't this cost, like, a bunch of coupons? Don't just give it to me.'' 

''Just accept the gift, will you?'' Y/n said as she picked up her fork. ''Call it the forging of our friendship, or whatever.''

Wriothesley quirked his eyebrows. ''Since when are we friends?''

''Since we, my dear friend, are the only people of our age in this hell of a place,'' Y/n said as she messed with her food with her fork. ''Trust me, I've checked. Unless you want to hang out with all the oldies, that is. I can gladly take my mashed potatoes back.''

''No, it's . . . it's fine.'' Wriothesley said, taking a bite of her offer, humming. ''It really is good. At least, better than anything else I've had so far.''

The rest of the lunch passed in silence, which Y/n didn't find awkward. Wriothesley opened his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to speak, but never went through with it, so neither did Y/n. At the end of their meal, both of them returned their trays, Y/n looking at him with her arms crossed and a smile. ''Same time tomorrow?'' 

''. . . Right.'' 

They kept up their silent lunches for a week. It was nice, finally having company and not having to bring her lunch back to her room so it wouldn't feel awkward with all the other inmates. Then, one day, Wriothesley finally dared ask her a question. 

''How long have you been here for?'' he asked, making Y/n look up at him. ''I mean, you seem oddly experienced about the Fortress, considering you're about the same age as me. You must've done something insane to have come here even before me.''

Y/n hummed, tapping her plate with her fork twice before answering. ''I've been here since birth.''

Wriothesley furrowed his eyebrows. ''What?'' 

Before Y/n could answer, she felt a looming presence behind her. Looking back, she made eye contact with Dougier, the same convict Wriothesley had beaten just a week before. He stood behind her with his arms crossed, but looking at Wriothesley. 

''Well, look what we have here. The newbie sweet-talking his way to the Administrator's daughter's pants.''

Y/n watched as Wriothesley's eyes widened slightly. It wouldn't have been really noticable if she hadn't spent the last week observing every possible expression and manneurism he would show in her presence. 

''I'm not sweet-talking myself into anything.'' Wriothesley's eyes narrowed at the man. ''I apologize that I happen to be a better company to some.'' 

''You━'' Dougier stopped himself before he could throw a punch at Wriothesley, then looked at Y/n. ''So, seems like after all this time, you've finally found yourself a boy-toy? I'm not sure how well your father would take that in.'' 

''What, are you going to go tattle-tale to my dad now? What are you, twelve?'' Y/n challenged, seemingly making Dougier even madder. 

''You little━''

''How about you leave the girl alone?'' Wriothesley stepped in before any filthy words can be uttered in her direction, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ''Do I need to send you running with your tail between your legs again?'' 

Dougier only scoffed, sent each of them a last look, then left. Y/n chuckled as she looked at Wriothesley. ''Thanks for that, but I had it handled.''

''Oh, I could tell, Miss Administrator's Daughter,'' Wriothesley said, leaning on his forearms on the table, eyebrows raised. ''Why didn't you say anything?''

Y/n shrugged. ''Not like we've really talked. But, you know now, so. Truthfully, I don't really talk to anyone here because they're scared of getting on my father's bad side, so they mostly avoid me, except to tease me, as you just saw. I don't really rat anyone out because I don't care.'' She looked down, playing with her food. ''Now's the moment to get up and leave, if you're also scared of the Administrator.''

Truthfully, she expected him to stand up and walk away. When she didn't hear any movement, she looked up and noticed him still rooted in his position, his eyebrows raised. ''What? You think I'm some sort of a coward?'' 

Y/n smiled at him, genuenly for the first time since she'd actually met him. ''No, not really.'' 

She thought that from that day on, their relationship would blossom, in one way or another. That was, until she was called into her father's office later that same day, urgency written all over the guard's face.

She made it in, seeing her father in his chair. She's rarely seen him out of it, really. ''You called for me, father?'' 

''I hear you've been getting cozy with a new inmate.'' Her father took a smoke of his pipe despite the poor ventilation in his office. ''Wriothesley, isn't it?''

Y/n sighed. ''Look, I don't know what Dougier or anyone else told you, but Wriothesley and I are just friends.''

''You cannot be friends with convicts, Y/n.''

Y/n scoffed. ''If you haven't noticed, you've kept me stuck here my whole life. I don't really have much of a choice.'' 

''I have no time to deal with you. If you do not stop associating yourself with that boy, I will have no choice but to punish him instead.''

Y/n's breath hitched. She watched her father as he got back to work, essentially showing her the conversation was over. She opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but there was no point. She stomped out of his office, straight to her room. 

The next day, she went to the cafeteria to pick up her lunch. A note was stuffed away in her pocket, her eyes scanning the area, falling on Wriothesley. He was sat on their usual table, already waiting, his lunch untouched. 

Y/n walked over to the table, seeing the small smirk appear on his lips. ''Well, look who decided to━''

Y/n slammed her hand on the table, startling Wriothesley. ''I can't hang out with you anymore,'' was all she said before she walked away, leaving a confused Wriothesley behind. He watched her as she picked up her lunch, then made her way away from the cafeteria. 

He looked down at his tray puzzled. Something white caught his eye, just where Y/n's hand had slammed on the table. He quickly took it, looking around to make sure no one was looking at him. Unfolding it, he was met in a few sentences. The handwriting was rather neat.

Dougier ratted me out to my father, and he doesn't want us to hang out anymore. He said if he hears of us again, he will hurt you. I'll wait for you at the infirmary, Sigewinne won't tell on us, so we can talk later tonight. If you're willing to take the risk, that is. Since you're no coward. 

Wriothesley stared at the note, re-reading it a few times. He thought of Y/n and how cold expression had looked just moments before, but it all must've been a mask. He wondered if it was worth it. He'd only known her for a week. Was it worth risking making his life even more miserable for a girl he barely knew? They've talked twice for the whole time they've known each other. 

Y/n sat on one of the infirmary beds that night. Sigewinne was gone, treating someone in their own room. Her feet dangled over the bed as she waited, playing with an icy dagger she'd created with her own vision. When she heard footsteps approaching, she let it disappear, standing up. 

Wriothesley appeared atop the stairs, looking down at her. He stood there for a moment, staring at her before he made his way down. The two stood face to face, a little too close for comfort, normally. Each of their arms was crossed over their chests. 

''So.'' Wriothesley was the one to start. ''You father would hurt me if he finds me with you again?'' 

''Mhm.''

''Which means if we want to be friends, we have to sneak around?''

''Precisely.''

''What do I get out of all of this, if we don't count potentially getting my teeth knocked out of my mouth if caught?''

''Well, you get my amazing friendship, first of all, filled with my sparkling personality,'' Y/n explained, doing jazz hands for emphasis. ''And you also prove you're not a pussy.'' 

''Hm. Sounds like a deal.''

Y/n was rigth at the end. Their friendship continued, though descreetly. They no longer dared have lunch together, but getting dinner at odd times and eating it in the infirmary with Sigewinne was nice. Every time they would pass each other anywhere, each of them would be unable not to steal a glance at the other. Y/n wasn't required to work since her father gave her as many coupons as she needed, but she'd made a habit of visiting the work stations under the pretense of checking how the work was going, definitely not just to stare at Wriothesley. 

She was, after all, just a girl. And Wriothesley was kind, attractive, caring and funny. Everything she'd learned she wanted in a guy from all the books she'd read. 

Wriothesley had informed her he was fighting that night, so she'd snuck into the pankration ring again, back in with her mask. She watched as Wriothesley was once again declared victorious. His face was still rather stoic, his eyes looking over the crowd. Once he found her face, a smirk broke out on his lips, making Y/n roll her eyes. 

His next match he won again, though this time not unscated. Once he walked off the rink, Y/n rushed by his side, worry driving her, not caring about anyone seeing her. ''Are you alright?'' she asked as soon as she'd reached him. There was blood coming out of his mouth and he was clutching his side. 

''I'm fine.''

''You're not. Come on, let's get you to Sigewinne.''

Y/n used her vision to keep her hands cold as she held onto Wriothesley's side where he'd gotten punched pretty badly, trying to soothe him as best as he can. The infirmary was empty when they made it and Sigewinne worked her magic on him immediatelly, while Y/n cleaned the blood off his face. 

Once he was patched and ordered bed rest, Sigewinne left to attend other matters, leaving the two alone once again. Y/n sat on the bed next to him as he continued to lay, watching him despite his closed eyes. 

''Are you feeling better?'' she whispered in case he was asleep. 

''Yeah.'' Wriothesley's eyes opened and he moved to sit up, leaning his elbows on his knees. ''Thanks.'' 

''Yeah, no worries.'' 

The two stared at each other's eyes, slowly leaning in simultaneously. The moment their lips met, Y/n was glad she'd cleaned the blood off. 

Wriothesley's arms found their way to her waist, holding on. Y/n held his neck, pulling him closer, humming into the kiss at the satisfaction. When they pulled back, they rested their foreheads on each other's, eyes closed. Y/n moved one of her hands up to his cheek, caressing it as she spoke the words that were either going to ruin or make everything.

''You're not doing this because I'm the only girl available, are you?'' 

Wriothesley chuckled, his warm breath hitting her face, sending shivers down her spine. ''I'm doing this because you're the best girl I've ever met.'' 

Right. Wriothesley, unlike her, hadn't spent his whole life stuck here. She opened her eyes, taking a quick glance at the now fully-healed scar under his eye. She ran her thumb over it, unable to help the corners of her lips twitching up. Wriothesley also opened his eyes, seeing the smile on her face and kissing it right away, his lips matching hers. 

For the first time in her life, Y/n felt the thrill of life. 

From then on, it was sneaking off, stolen kisses and glances. They would be in a random hallway, away from praying eyes as Wriothesley would have her pressed against one of the cold, metal walls, his lips on hers as he held her tightly, keeping her legs wrapped around him. Y/n giggled into the kiss, at his touches, at the comfort he gave her. 

They were in the infirmary, laying on one of the beds, side to side. They faced each other, none of their limbs really touching, but it felt oddly intimate. ''Tell me something, Wriothesley.'' He hummed as a response. ''How is it in the overworld?'' 

''The overworld?'' Wriothesley looked like he was thinking for a moment. ''I mean, it's pretty nice, I think. Have you never been out?'' 

''A few times. Only to the Opera Epiclese and back, when I was really young. I don't remember much.''

''Hm, I see. I mean, I lived a little outside of the city, so we were always surrounded by nature, which was pretty nice. The grass was always green and there was a field of flowers my siblings and I used to like playing at. My favorites were the rainbow roses.'' 

''Oh, I've read about those,'' Y/n said. ''Never seen them, though.'' 

Silence fell between them. Wriothesley kept looking all over her face and seemed like he wanted to say something, but he kept silent. Regardless, there was some sort of a promise hanging in the air, though Y/n wasn't exactly sure what. 

She'd snuck into his room one night, thankful he wasn't sharing with anyone at the moment. His bed wasn't nearly as comfortable as hers, but laying on his chest felt much warmer than under her own blanket. He was playing with her hair, pressing the occasional kiss on the crown of her head. Y/n would've fallen asleep had it not been for the question that was plaguing her mind. 

''Wrio, I want to ask you something.''

''What is it, princess?''

Y/n moved to sit up on her folded legs, watching as Wriothesley followed, leaning his back on the railing behidn his bed. Y/n took a deep breath, then finally let her thoughts out. ''Why are you here? What . . . what was your crime?''

Wriothesley's face fell. He sighed. ''If I tell you, will that . . . change anything?'' 

Truthfully, she wasn't sure. His answer scared her. 

When he noticed her lack of responce, Wriothesley reached out, placing a comforting hand over hers. ''Y/n, I promise what I did, I did because I had to. And I promise that I would never, ever hurt you, alright?'' 

Y/n gulped and gave him a slow nod. She interlaced her fingers, not looking away from his eyes, waiting. 

Wriothesley nodded. ''Okay. My crime . . . my crime is that I murdered my parents.''

Y/n didn't react. She tried not to visibly, at least. She wanted to ask him why, what had happened, but based on the look on his face, she thought he'd shared enough for the night. She didn't want to pressure him further. ''Thank you for telling me.'' 

''Yeah . . . no worries.'' 

Regardless of his promises, regardless of the comfort he'd brought her just moments before, Y/n felt uneasy when she laid back down on his chest. She was laying down with a murderer. 

After she left that night, she couldn't bring herself to face Wriothesley. Of course she knew he'd been a criminal from the very beginning, they were in a prison, for Archon's sake, but she never would've thought someone like Wriothesley, someone that was so kind and gentle and nice to her, could ever take the life of another. She couldn't shake off the thought.

He was a murderer. 

She'd expected some petty theft, maybe tax fraud or something. She felt shivers every time she thought about his crime and couldn't bring herself to face him. Every time she'd see him at the canteen she would ignore him, picking up her lunch and running back to her room. 

A whole week had passed. She decided to take her mind off by going to the pankration rink, unaware that it was Wriothesley fighting that night. He'd won once again, but once he'd found her face in the crowd, he'd simply looked away and left, not even picking up his coupons. 

She felt like shit. She'd promised him things wouldn't change, that she would accept anything, yet here she was now, avoiding him like the plague despite him being truthful with her. 

Her father, the lazy person that he was, had decided one day that he couldn't be bothered to sort through some inmate files, sending Y/n to do it in his stead. She'd done it begrudgingly, doing as told. Her eyes were droopy until she reached a certain file, one with Wriothesley's name on it. Her eyes widened. 

Should she read it? Was this invasion of privacy? But she had to. If she didn't find out why, what he meant when he'd said he'd done what he had to, she thought that she might never be able to approach Wriothesley again, despite the burn she felt in her heart every time she saw him alone to the side. 

She opened the file, her eyes scanning the words. They widened, dropping the folder on the ground as she ran out. 

She checked his room first, but he wasn't there. Not at the canteen, at his station or at the pankration rink. She finally made her way to the infirmary, where she found him with his arm bandaged as Sigewinne was telling him to be more careful. 

Y/n breathed heavily as she realized her search had finally come to an end, catching the attention of Wriothesley and Sigewinne. Sigewinne looked between them before making her way out, once again leaving them alone. 

Slowly walking down the stairs, Y/n couldn't bear to look at him, ashamed of what had happened. She pulled a chair to sit in front of him, looking down at his hand. ''What happened?''

''Sparring gone wrong.'' His voice was cold, but she couldn't blame him.

''I'm sorr━''

''You promised.''

''I know.'' 

Silence fell between them and, for the first time since they'd met, it felt uncomfortable. Y/n looked up, realizing Wriothesley had been looking her the whole time. She realized he wasn't going to say anything more. It was on her to fix things. 

''I came across your file.'' Y/n admitted, her voice quiet. She'd never felt so small under Wriothesley's gaze, the one person who always made her feel like . . . well, a person. ''I'm so, so sorry for assuming the worst. I . . . understand why you did it. And I'm so, so proud of you for stepping up for your siblings.'' 

Wriothesley looked down then, his fingers picking on his bandages. ''You could've just asked me. I would've told you.''

''I'm sorry.'' Y/n moved to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. ''You're such a kind person, I just couldn't wrap my head around it. I'm sorry. It's no excuse, I know, but Wriothesley, you're the most important person in my life and I just━ I can't bear the thought of losing you, but if you want nothing to do with me after this stunt, I'd understand.''

Silence again. It was starting to get unnerving. Wriothesley didn't move either, so Y/n gave his hand another squeeze, still to no reaction. 

It felt like an eternity when he finally squeezed back. ''I just think you're such an idiot if you think something so small could make me not want you anymore.'' Wriothesley finally looked at her, bringing his bandaged hand up to cup her face. ''Next time, just talk to me about it, yeah?''

Y/n felt relief wash over her shoulders. ''Yeah. Thank you, Wrio.''

At that moment, Y/n didn't know that in just a few years time Wriothesley would challenge her father for his title and would win, that his sentence would end he would be bestowed with his new title of Duke, that his sentence would be over and, despite his new responsibilities, he would keep his wordless promise he'd given her years ago and take her out to the world to see the green grass and rainbow roses and everything the world had to offer, if she so wished. That he would make her his wife and, despite the fact that she would still have ties to the fortress, she was finally going to be happy. 

No, she didn't know all of that. At the moment, all she could think about was how warm Wriothesley's embrace was and how much her love for him seemed to grow with each day. 

requests are still open!

[death-rebirth-senshi]

This is what Elden Ring is about actually

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