#purple velvet armchair

[embowed]

Family Room in Austin Large transitional open concept family room image with a music area and blue walls. It also has a brown floor.

[yorkfactorycomplaint]

Traditional Living Room Chicago Example of a huge classic formal and enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor living room design with purple walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[awjoffrey]

Traditional Living Room Chicago Example of a huge classic formal and enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor living room design with purple walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[pulpcomedy]

Home Office - Mediterranean Home Office Study room - huge mediterranean freestanding desk medium tone wood floor and brown floor study room idea with brown walls

[mrskokushibo]

Forgiveness

Kokushibo x fem!reader

Sequel to Beg!

Warnings: Sex, Smut, MDNI, NSFW, 18+

Summary: You were dealt penance for you have sinned. Now, Kokushibo offers you his mercy: aftercare, sleep, food, and a relaxing, hot bath. But is this really all you need? This is part 2 of BEG !

Masterlist

You were tucked away in bed, your body still aching from the events of last night. With eyes slowly opening, still dimmed after a deep sleep, gradually adjusting to the candle-lit room, you could barely make out what was in front of you, but after a few moments, the sight stirred your insides... Because in your clear line of sight was your lover.

Kokushibo was seated on his favourite armchair in the corner of the room next to the large futon you both shared. The chair was a big, European-style, heavily adorned piece, big enough for two, he jokingly called it his throne. And it might just as well have been exactly that, the countless times you were kneeling in front of him, worshipping his manhood.

He was lounging leisurely, wearing only a thin purple yukata that showed off more than it covered, making him look …. delicious to your starved senses. His muscular legs spread, chest partly bared, and his hair down. As always on his days off, he was reading, and he absolutely loved to immerse himself in a captivating story. Six eyes fixated on the text; he kept on sipping a dark red liquid out of a crystal glass. Wine, you presumed. He was a bit of a wine snob.

You loved his chamber, dark walls with tapestries, soft Persian rugs covering the tatami, chandeliers, and bookshelves, rows, and rows of bookshelves. Decorative cushions, soft down-filled quilts, and velvet blankets were all over the large bed.

The quiet sounds of you waking up must have registered with his heightened senses because he lifted his eyes to meet yours. Slowly putting down his book while still holding on to the glass, he leaned back in the armchair. His gaze studying you, lips twitching with the quickest and faintest of smiles. It looked like it was a struggle for him to remain serious. He took a sip of the wine and finally spoke.

‘You slept for a very long time. I assume you must be hungry.’

You nodded slowly in reply. He must have used the telepathic communication to call on a servant as within minutes one of them entered the chamber carrying a tray. With a nod of his head, Kokushibo pointed her in your direction. The servant put the tray on the bedside table while helping you sit down against the large pillows. You were sore… The tray had small fold-out legs that made it into a tray table perfect for eating in bed.  

While you were eating, he concentrated back on his reading and wine. Every now and then you were glancing his way, admiring the noble profile of his face. Oh, you were so horny. Despite the violent punishment you suffered last night, without reaching an orgasm of your own, your insides were almost literally on fire, wetness making you rub your thighs involuntarily. There was not much for you to resort to, but remain in this state until he allowed you near him again.

Once you were done with your meal, you put the tray aside and adjusted yourself down on the pillows. This action caught his attention.

‘I think a bath will do you good, don’t you think?’.

You nodded again, sheepishly. On the way to the bathroom, he walked past you and around the bed, still carrying his wine glass. He was so tall and fit; you were close to drooling. Very soon the sound of water pouring out of a tap was reaching the chamber. It always took ages to fill that tub as it was almost the size of a small pool. The sound of water was soothing and made you drift off into a short nap. Finally, the pouring of water stopped and a moment later you were woken up by Koku standing next to you.

‘Hmmm, you know, I am afraid you will have trouble walking for a day or two’.

His voice deep and soft now, was it compassion you could sense? With that, he buried his arms in the soft mattress under you and lifted you off the bed as if you weighed nothing. You rested your head on his chest and into his thick mane. This was heaven, you could stay like this forever.

Well in the bathroom, he placed you seated on the edge of the tub and gently helped you remove your yukata. You were too aroused and your thoughts too scattered to even register what was happening. Right now, you were trying to take in what he has prepared for you in the bathroom.

The whole place was lit with chandeliers, the smell of precious oils permeating the air and there was a large pillow next to where you were meant to rest your head on the side of the bathtub. Once again, he lifted you up and placed you in the warm, fragrant water, gently placing your head on the pillow. The sensation of the warmth engulfing every crevice of your body, refocused you on the needy feeling between your legs.

‘Make sure to relax now. I put some oils in the water that will help you regenerate faster.’

He was just about to leave when you decided you had enough of waiting. You reached out and grabbed his forearm and looked into the six eyes pleadingly.

‘Can you stay with me?’

He tilted his head slightly and scrunched his lips in a playful grin.

‘Are you sure you can handle, hmmm, sex when you are this battered?’

Your eyes widened at the shameless mention of what he knew was on your mind…

‘Yes, I am sure’ you whispered; your voice almost breaking.

Without taking his eyes off you, he slid out of his barely covering clothes and stepped into the tub. He sat down next to you and wrapped his arm behind your neck until your head rested on his large biceps. With his free hand, he started tracing your neck, up to your jawline, your ears, your eyes now closed in pleasure, then your cheek and the line of your brows. His delicate actions were sending small electric shocks of pleasure.

Your hand drifted towards his groin, his cock hard and large, you started stroking it gently moving on to grabbing hold of it and pumping up and down the entire length. His girth was huge and your small hand could not grab hold of it fully, so you were pumping in a snaking movement, trying to touch every part of his now twitching cock.

The action made him release a quiet sigh and lean over you and kiss your lips gently. He slowly but decisively pried your mouth open with his hungry tongue and the two of you entwined in a wet, passionate kiss, tongues caressing each other, that lasted for what felt like an eternity, his long fingers continuing to touch your face and hair.

Eventually, his hand started moving down your neck and onto one of your breasts. His large hand cupped the soft mound and started kneading it and thus sending even more pleasure impulses down to your sex. Suddenly, he pinched your nipple and persisted with this until you started arching your body as the wave of intense arousal and pleasure was hitting you senseless. It was lucky you were in water, because you were sopping wet. Your juices were literally running out of you now as you were slowly losing all control of yourself. You were moaning like a whore and your hand on his cock was gripping tighter for every wave of pleasure he was gifting you.

‘I want you inside me’ you moaned.

Without a word he lifted you off where you were sitting and placed you in his lap, his cock sliding in you causing you to cling on to him tight. He grabbed you under your ass cheeks and started bouncing you on him. The position was making his cock rub its whole length against your g-spot and you were slowly but surely becoming your arousal, your walls clamping around him and your pussy squirting all over the thick member. His tempo was steady and consistent and after a few minutes of this, you reached an orgasm so intense that your scream could be heard well outside of Kokushibo’s chamber.

When you collapsed onto him, he kept on going until his own release filled you up with his warm semen. The two of you stayed in this passionate embrace for a while, exchanging soft caresses and an occasional kiss. After a while, he pulled his head away from you and looking you straight in the eye and with a mischievous smile, said:

‘I hope you feel better now, my love.’

Divider by @cafekitsune

Tagging: @doumadono @cursetopia2 @crescentmoontsuki @muzansfangs @horror4themasses

[lilylovestowrite]

LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE ୨♡୧

PAIRING: (Neuvillette x AFAB!Reader x Wriothesley) SYNOPSIS:After becoming the Acting Princess of Fontaine, you've been struggling to follow the rules, but it's all okay! That's what your royal tutor Neuvillette and bodyguard Wriothesley is there to help you with! WARNINGS:(NSFW, spanking, edging, overstimulation, handcuffs, blindfolding, oral (fem. receiving), praise degradation) MDNI

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Princess?” 

Neuvillette’s baritone voice, although raised slightly so you can hear it from the other side of the door, holds the same tender lilt to it. You feel your heart leap slightly when you leap from your red chaise lounge and bound to the door to rip it open, ignoring the judgemental stare from your bodyguard, Wriothesley. 

“Neuvillette!” You beam as his purple eyes crinkle from the smile he gives you. He plants a chaste kiss on your knuckle, and the glimmer of affection in his eyes when he peers up at you through his long lashes send you reeling. Ever since you were forced to act as a stand-in Princess for Teyvat after the real one had been receiving threats from an unknown source, you believe Neuvillette’s lessons in etiquette are keeping you together. Even if the balls are unbearably boring and the fake smiles you master in the bathroom mirror strain your face, learning to dance and hearing Neuvillette praise your gleeful smile is all worth it. 

He allows you to lead him into your large bedroom, where Wriothesley is reading and sipping on tea. You never really understood why the dark haired man is to be by your side at all times. The Royal family tell you it’s because they don’t want to see you get hurt, but you know that it’s so you stay within the confines of the palace. Many times, you’ve leaped through the bushes of the rose garden, and Wriothesley has yanked you back and marched you back to the palace. Last week, you tried to escape through the library window, allowing the curtains to shield you from his view. You made it to the marble swan fountain by the exit before Wriothesley threw you over his shoulder with one arm and brought you back. At the recollection of the memory, you pull a face at Wriothesley as you sit Neuvillette down. He looks up at you with his eyes, the hue of rainy skies, and rolls them as if he were entertaining a child. 

“Now, Princess, I don’t mean to panic you, but I have been informed of some… mishaps occuring at the last ball you were at.” Neuvillette clears his throat and a small worried expression causes you to practically wilt. He notices this and scrambles to put the smile back on your face. “N-not anything too major though, I heard you did so well in dancing, I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thank you, Neuvillette, I just never want to disappoint you.” You practically simper, and Wriothesley hides a gag behind a polite cough, which Neuvillette is tactful enough to ignore. 

“You couldn’t possibly, my darling.” A gloved hand lightly pets you on the head, and you can smell the scent of moringa flowers get stronger as he approaches you. “Though I may need to teach you something a little different.” 

“Oh?” You reply, adjusting your blouse once you see how perfectly pressed Neuvillette’s navy three piece suit is. He sits you down on the armchair opposite of Wriothesley, the plush of the plum coloured crushed velvet material dipping under your weight. 

“Yes, Princess. It seems that last night,” he circles you behind the chair, his gloved hand trailing the golden embellishments on the back of her chair, “you were… enchanted by the Prince of Khaenri’ah.”

Ah, Prince Kaeya. Prince Kaeya, who moved with the unwavering elegance of a peacock. Prince Kaeya, who in his drunken daze, twirls you around when dancing, the khol lining his eyes causing that one beautiful, cobalt blue eye to gleam with brilliance. Oh, Prince Kaeya, who charmed you off your feet for one night only. You look guiltily at Neuvillette, “I apologise, I believe I had too much to drink-”

“You could have done worse, Princess. The error is on my behalf.” He murmurs from your left, still pacing across the room. You hear the clink of china on the table, and look up to see Wriothesley listening intently, even going as far as to slip a bookmark into the book he’s reading. “You see, people in balls may seem alluring to you-”

“They want you for your power, is all.” Wriothesley remarks, and Neuvillette clears his throat.

“That could be it, or they were simply taken by your own charms.” He offers. “However, I failed to warn you about this. And these men are dangerous, Princess. They might hunt you down, no matter how close Wriothesley is. This is why I thought of a… different way of teaching you.” 

“A different way?” 

Neuvillette’s long locks of white hair dance in the slight breeze as he approaches the doors to the balcony and closes them, causing the strands of starlight to halt to a stop. He pulls his hair up with a black silk ribbon in a high ponytail. The sunlight runs through the blue hued strands as he ties the ribbon into a perfect bow. “Yes, dear. Wriothesley over here and I thought that we could attempt to build up an immunity to seduction.” You feel a slight pang of fear as Wriothesley’s expressionless face glows with excitement, his half lidded eyes flooding with light.  

“You see, Princess,” Wriothesley practically snarls, “we’re going to have to show you the extent of what these desperate Dukes and Princes will go to for your affection.” He hisses into your ear, so Neuvillette can’t hear. “And I’m going to show you what happens when you make things difficult for me.”

Your face flushes and Wriothesley towers over your seated figure, his arms resting on either side of your chair. “I don’t…” You hesitate and clear your throat, your composure cracking like ice under a hammer from the dark haired man’s gaze. Seeking refuge, you look towards Neuvillette for some clarity, but instead you find your mind has gone haywire when you see him slide his gloves off with his teeth. “I don’t object to it, but why must he be here?” You nudge your chin towards Wriothesley, “He has it out for me!” You pout, knowing that Neuvillette will give you a warm smile, his pretty eyes skrunckled up cutely. He does, as you predict, but the smile is accompanied by a shake of the head which causes his ponytail to dance with it. 

“I’m sorry dear, but most of the people flirting with you do have it out for you. Whether it be for your fake status, money or beauty.” He approaches the chair you sit in, right beside Wriothesley, caging you in velvet. “We just want to make sure you aren’t so easily influenced, yes?” 

There is always something hypnotic about Neuvillette. An air of worldly knowledge interwoven with every spoken word, a charismatic voice that makes you feel as if you’re drowning in a sea of calmness. The trance he puts you in floods your train of thought and you wonder if he’s aware of the effect he has on you, the spell he has you under. When he says it like that, with so much care and tenderness, what other answer can you reply with other than “Yes”?

“Good girl, we’ll start easy, okay?” He murmurs, kissing your temple. How anyone has  ever survived this man’s charms is a mystery to you. Wriothesley on the other hand, grins down at you, fixing his glove and gripping your thigh.

“You’re gonna break tonight, Princess.” He sneers, and you feel red hot anger spurt out of you as if it were reflex. The warm, fuzzy feeling from Neuvillette boiling over. 

“I won’t. Not to the likes of you.” You tug on Neuvillette’s sleeve, “At least Monsieur Neuvillette is charming. You’re just annoying.” Comes your sharp retort, even though you both know you’ve been eyeing how perfectly his clothes accentuate his body. This causes Neuvillette to go slightly pink, the apples of his cheeks more visible due to the coy smile on his face.

“Come now, Princess, we shouldn’t play favourites.” He chuckles softly, stroking your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm and pout once more. 

“But you have faith in me, right, Neuvillette?” 

“Oh, Princess…” He pinches your cheek, but it is as light as a petal falling on your face. “I have to side with him on this one. You are going to break tonight. And that’s okay, because you can surrender to us.” Neuvillette muses, eyes glazed over with the sight of you undone and gasping already being painted in his mind. 

This is what strikes slight fear into you. You thought he would make it easy for you, maybe let Wrio bully you for a bit and then offer you dessert after a few crocodile tears. But the way that their sharp gazes pin you to the spot assures you that you are in for a ride.

“Now, angel. We are two princes vying for your attention. Keep your cool, do not show the slightest bit of interest. Not even in your body language. People will often notice what you do rather than what you say to see what pleases you, alright?” He instructs you in what is closest to a teacher's voice. You nod your head in agreement and Wriothesley snickers.  

“What a pretty little Princess we have here.” He practically spits at you, but oh-so-gently kneels and kisses the back of your hand. Neuvillette twirls a lock of hair around his finger. 

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” You want to pay attention to the white haired man but you’re interrupted by the sharp bite on your hand from the still kneeling Wriothesley, who mischievously grins up at you. “Tell me, Your Highness, do you usually lure in people like this?” Wriothesley plays with the chain on your pants, pinging them. 

“I… Lure?” You reply, and the triumphant grin on his face urges you to collect yourself. “It is not my fault you can’t keep your hands off me.” A similar grin contorts your innocent expression as you press a heeled shoe to his chest, pressing his black shirt buttons and red tie with intricate stitching of a darker, sensual shade of vermillion, akin to the hot anger that flushes his cheeks. Neuvillette takes your ankle and removes it from Wrio’s dress shirt to press a kiss on your shin. 

“You’re right, Highness. I can’t keep my hands off you.” He muses, white hair framing his face, yet not concealing the brilliant violet gaze dripping with lust. Neuvillette’s voice is soft and gentle, yet you have to supress the urge to lean back against the chair to allow him to do whatever he wishes to you. “Nor do I want to.” Nevertheless, you keep your back straight and your gaze downcast towards them, even when Wriothesley stands up to grab your face and squish your cheeks together with one hand. It seems like the blatant act of disrespect has cracked his usually calm demeanour.

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass, my Princess.” He cooes, meeting your icy gaze and then pinning your shoulders back with both hands. “You’re touchstarved too, I’ve seen what books you hide underneath your pillow.” He looks at Neuvillette, and your eyes widen with horror. “Pure erotica.” 

You feel your face fall, and the perfect, golden act you’ve kept up to allow Neuvillette’s lilac gaze to consume you like you are the only one in the world seems like it is all for naught. Your heart pulsates in your stomach. Finally meeting Neuvillete’s flushed face, a tiny chuckle leaves his lips. “Don’t bully the poor thing, Wriothesley, we all have our quirks.” He kisses your nose, “So, Princess, what sort of things do you enjoy in those books, hmm?”

Heat builds up and you feel your composure slip as Wriothesley kisses down your neck, and Neuvillette presses a kiss to your lips. Wriothesley laughs cruelly, “I bet you enjoy being toyed with.” When you moan softly, he grips your thigh, allowing Neuvillette’s soft hands to cup your face. “This kind of reaction is unbecoming of you, Princess.” He emphasises this with a bite, causing you to yelp into Neuvillette’s passionate kiss. You feel the air hit your lips when Neuvillette descends to unzip your pants, sliding the fabric down your legs. At the same time, Wriothesley rips your dress shirt open, and you squeal at his roughness. “Stand up.” He orders. 

With whatever tatters of dignity you have left, you smirk at him. “Make me.” And within a split second, he picks you up. He raises your body like a ragdoll, ready to throw you onto the bed, but Neuvillette shakes his head and rushes to prep the pillows. Wriothesley sighs and places you on the bed, guiding one of the silk pillows under your hips, the cool fabric making you shiver. He unhooks the handcuffs from his belt loop and binds you with them, you thrash against him but Neuvillette hushes you, raking his hand through your scalp. 

“Wriothesley, you’re so rough with them.” He tuts, and the dark haired man only scoffs and pinches your cheek.

“Well, this one is a brat, and they’ve been trying to escape multiple times, haven’t you?” He nudges you, and you glare up at him. Neuvillette gasps, and you look at him guiltily. 

“Is this true, Princess?” He asks, his hand stops on your waist. You avert your gaze and nod. Neuvillette shakes his head in disappointment yet amusement glitters in his violet eyes. “You’re so good for me, but such a troublemaker for him. Is it that you’re more comfortable with Duke Wriothesley, here?” 

Wriothesley rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his dark hair. “A little too comfortable.” 

“We can’t have that, darling. Need you to be completely open with me as well. And here I thought I was the favourite.” He tuts, helping you up and laying your head against Wriothesley’s chest. His pin is nearly centimetres away from your eye, noticing this, Wriothesley takes it off and places it by the bedside table, such a kind gesture from him is unfamiliar to you. 

Nevertheless, you can’t keep your mouth shut. “You are my favourite, Neuvillette. He’s just an assho- mmph!” Wriothesley tilts your chin up uncomfortably and kisses you on the lips, your bottom lip in between his teeth as he grabs your chest. You gasp and hear Neuvillette chuckle in the background. 

“Fucking brat. You think you can get me riled up by making me upset because I’m not your favourite?” Wriothesley smirks and rolls your nipple between his fingers and jostles you in his lap. 

“You are riled up. Bet you’re jealous.” You laugh, the last of your pride melts away as you moan midway through the sentence. You look at Neuvillette, who with a tiny smile, parts your thighs. 

“I see what ails this Princess. I think an attitude adjustment is in order, no?” He muses, and Wriothesley agrees eagerly. 

“Yeah, like fuck they do.” He declares, rolling up his sleeves and holding your thighs open. “Aww, what a mess already. I think you need to surrender, Princess, it’s obvious that you’re desperate~” Neuvillette spreads you open further, and you shrink into Wriothesley from embarrassment as he inspects how much you’re leaking, inner pink walls coated in light cream sheen. 

“Not surrendering! Not yet!” You hiss, although your cuffed hands covering your mouth as Neuvillette plays with your clit. You try to shut your legs, but Wriothesley effortlessly has you spread open. 

“Fine, but if your struggle is as weak as the way you’re trying to hide yourself from us by closing your legs, then expect me to make it absolute hell for you.” You whimper meekly when Neuvillette licks up and down your clit, jolting in Wriothesley’s grip. “What’s that, Princess? Finally using that mouth to make pretty noises? Hmm?” He taunts, squeezing your thighs whilst Neuvillette groans into you, the vibrations causing you to pant. He continues the taunting all the way up to your climax, in which Neuvillette stops abruptly. He tilts your chin up and smiles when he sees your fucked-out gaze. 

“Princess, you need to surrender in order for me to finish you off.” He sits you up, and you shake your head in disdain.

“No, I… I can’t, not yet!” You mumble, and Neuvillette pets your head, kissing your forehead. 

“We’ll let you come down from your high, darling. It’s okay.” His voice is coaxing, baritone, it vibrates and you feel your heart and lower regions flutter. Hyper aware of every kiss of air on your exposed flesh, and especially aware of Neuvillette and Wriothesley. Their breaths reverberate against your ear and clit. Wriothesley’s breath is cold, yet sharp, and Neuvillette,  scorching hot, but ebbing tortuously. Oh, you could surrender, but he’s prepared this lesson for you. Sweet, caring Neuvillette, who only wants the best for you, so you will do your best just to please him. Even if it is at the expense of your own pleasure. However, a darker part of you notices the nonchalant, cocky attitude that envelops Wriothesley, and how you want to prove him wrong. Surrendering to Neuvillette’s overwhelming yet gentle pleasure would be a reward, but to damn yourself to give into Wriothesley? You may as well be a rabbit waltzing into a wolf's den. 

“No! I won’t!” And with that, Neuvillette withdraws himself from between your legs, the sensation of his silver hair gliding across your thighs when he pulls himself away makes you jolt. Neuvillette smiles softly, his light purple eyes glistening and scrunching up with adoration, the same kind looks that melts your heart whenever you please him. Except now, he licks his fingers coated in a sheen of transparent, viscous liquid. It makes you squirm and twitch, the knot in your stomach dullens, but does not unravel. Wriothesley lets out a low whistle, brows raised as he watches you whine from your denied release. 

 “Seems like your stubbornness finally has some use. But you’ll buckle now that I’m gonna do you nice and fast.” The two switch positions, with Wriothesley between your legs and Neuvillette behind you. The only difference is that your head lays in Neuvillette’s lap instead of resting against his chest. The ruffled lace sleeve of his white shirt tickles your cheek as he reaches to brush your hair from your face, smiling softly. His finger trails your nose, down to your lips, and although you want to admire his smooth hands, you close your eyes when the pads of his fingers smooth your brows. Meanwhile, Wriothesley rummages through Neuvillette’s briefcase, his gloved hands producing a device with a suction-cup top. He grins deviously, and you instinctively try to back away, but Neuvillette reaches down to kiss your lips softly, murmuring a gentle reprimand.

“It’s not polite to reject a gift, little Princess.” He whispers, and you mumble a weak apology. His hair flutters across your face as he moves to tilt your chin towards the dark haired man. His eyes, the hue of starlight, glimmer with malice, lust, and innocent glee all at once. “Ah, ah, you should apologise to that gentleman over there.” Neuvillette replies softly, taking your bound wrists in one hand and massaging your chest with the other. You feel your face burn with humiliation. Apologise? To Wriothesley? Who holds a bizarre device that he will undoubtly use to torture you? 

But one look at Neuvillette makes you gulp, the way his hands squeezes and rubs at your breasts making you keel into his touch. You have no choice but to do as he says: “I-I’m sorry, Duke Wri- ah! Wriothesley.” You moan and god, you realise how pathetic you sound because the Duke tilts his head to one side and edges near your sensitive clit with the device. 

“Oh, you will be.” He waves it near your ears, and your eyes widen in horror when you hear it vibrate. You catch on quickly, even with pleasure disgruntling your senses as if playing a piano piece with the pendulum on the wrong tempo. You feel Neuvillette chuckle as his lap trembles with a low chuckle. “This is something I first found out about in the Fortress of Meriopede. They say the Fatui sometimes use pleasure to break their prey, so I’m not sure your dainty little body can take this vibrator, Princess.” His voice drips with disdain and mockery, and you want to weep from the embarrassment. You try to free yourself but Neuvillette still has his finger looped around the chains of your cuffs. Wriothesley grabs your hips and spreads your folds, whilst Neuvillette moves to circle your nipple with his finger, and you finally twitch when the first touch of the vibrator on your clit, and you yelp. Wriothesley quickly withdraws it from you and giggles with sadistic delight, before regaining his composure and diving back in with it. This time, the tantalising pleasure of the device licking your folds with mechanical speed is constant, and you cannot stifle the moans that escape your lips. 

“Fu-fuck! Ah- Wriothesley, d-haah~ put it away! This is an- mm~ order!” You whine desperately between moans, and Neuvillette has to press your lower stomach into the bed to prevent you from escaping. Wriothesley cooes at you and narrows his pretty glacial eyes, only to squish your cheeks, lightly, but it stops you from speaking.

 “An order? From a tied up,” he increases the vibrations,“ fucked out,” once more, and you whimper, “ little mess?” With a final increase, you whine. “What gives you that jurisdiction, brat? You shouldn’t even be ordering me to clean up your messy clothes, but you still do, and you ask me to do things for you out of job requirements. I thought you preferred that, so why is it that the one time I volunteer to do what is not required of me, you protest? Hmm?” He towers over you and laughs in your face as you sob. He lets you go, but you can only whine softly. 

“Fuck you!” You weakly moan, and Wriothesley tugs on a nipple, causing you to squeal. The knot in your stomach builds once more, and you hate that with every mean name he addresses you with, it tightens. 

“Yeah? Fucking adorable. Already am, you pathetic brat. Not even at the highest setting of this toy and you’re already whining like a bitch in heat.” 

Neuvillette and you answer at the same time: “I’m n-not a b-bitch in- ah~! Heat!” Out comes your languid response. “Now, that’s no language we use for a young lady.” Neuvillette shakes his head disapprovingly, but Wriothesley rolls his eyes at him, gesturing to you. 

“What do you call this then? She’s panting.” Wriothesley spits out, and Neuvillette lightly presses on your lower stomach in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but makes you see stars from pleasure. 

“I call it a masterpiece. Look, she’s going on strong.” He affirms, but that is the exact moment you buckle. 

“Please, please, please turn it off! I can’t take it, I’ll cum, please! Wriothesley!” You beg, and Wriothesley crawls on top of you, his knees on each side of your hips. His glacial gaze meets yours, and you can’t look back at them. 

“Is that how you beg? You can do better. Come on, Princess. I know you can do it. In fact, here’s some incentive.” He increases the vibrations and you scream in pleasure. 

“Please! Please, Duke Wriothesley, I’m sorry, please, please stop! I can’t take it anymore, I’m so close, please!” You whine between moans, and the pressure in your lower stomach is so strong you feel your legs tremble. Feelings of desperation, humiliation and pleasure liquidise and pool at your eyes in the form of tears, which Neuvillette swipes away as they fall. Wriothesley urges you to continue, and you swallow your pride. “Please, please stop! I want to be- to be good for the both of you and not surrender- please! Please! I beg of you, Duke.” 

“Hmm, request declined.” But it’s too late. Something inside you snaps, and waves of euphoria cause you to grasp the chains that cuff your wrists together. The pleasure consumes you, your legs tremble and let out one last moan before going limp.

Wriothesley reacts first. “You stupid brat, you came without permission. You’re not allowed to do that until you surrender.” His voice goes in through one ear and out the other, because Neuvillette handles you and you find your hole being covered in a jelly like substance and stretched out once more, his violet eyes gleam with a voracity that makes him look so ethereal, he appears to be not quite human. His actions are gentle, he slowly unzips his pants and he calmly embraces you, but the veins in his arm and one side of his neck bulge with desperation. 

You look at Neuvillette desperately, “W-wait, I just came, I’m still sensitive.” 

He looks at you, still sensitive and fucked out from your orgasm, and caresses your cheek. “Although Wriothesley was slightly out of line, your disobedience requires discipline, dear.  But I’ll never be rough with you. You know what words to say if you want this to stop, Princess.” He whispers, slowly easing you onto his length. It causes you to whine and jolt, warmth blooming in your core once more, but you rest your cuffed hands on Neuvillette’s chest, the silk of his white dress shirt clenched in your fists.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling. But you have to take it, it’s a punishment after all.” He whispers in your ear, smoothing his hand through your hair before lifting you by the waist and slamming you back down. You let out a pathetic squeal, and feel Wriothesley snake his cold arms around your neck from behind. One hand holds your chin up, forcing you to look at Neuvillette.

Pink dusts his cheeks, and his high ponytail has blue strands escaping from it, framing his blushing face. He pauses bouncing you on his lap to roll up his sleeves, giving you a kiss on your forehead before picking up the pace: “There you go, Princess- ah~! You’re doing so, fuck- so well.”

His moans are higher than his baritone drawl, but they maintain the smooth lilt his speech usually has. They mix with your louder moans and pants. This dishevelled version of the usually put-together Neuvillette makes the experience seem so much more intimate, so even if you can barely think straight with the pleasure, you hold onto him for dear life. 

Wriothesley, however, had never planned to give you a moment of peace ever since Neuvillette asked him of this favour, and he lands a sharp spank on your ass. “Enjoying this a bit too much, Princess? Should have expected that from you. I know why you squirm when I lift you up to take you back to the castle after you try and escape.” Neuvillette, hearing this, angles his hips to curve his tip more upwards, and it ends up hitting you in just the right place. He continues, his own moans growing louder and breathier. Your pleasure becomes too much once more, and you cannot muster the energy to talk back to Wriothesley, who continues his assault on your behind. “Fucking look at him. What do you say to the Iudex for making you feel so good?”

You’re too busy catching your breath, but it catches in your throat when he spanks you again. “This mouth talks back all the time but the one time I ask you to use it, you don’t?” His voice is severe, and you feel him chuckle from behind. 

“Th-thank you, Monsieur N-ah~! Neuvillette!” It comes out broken and quieter than you anticipate, but Neuvillette feels himself lose control, tears building in his eyes, matching the drizzle that darkens the sky outside of your window. 

You whine at Wriothesley’s relentless spanks and tremble once more as another orgasm builds up, and Neuvillette feels you contract around him, the orgasmic waves of yours causing him to throw his head back. “Ah~ You’re close too dear, right? I’m- haah~ sorry, darling, but I can’t- can’t give you what you want.” He whines with almost the same amount of desperation as you, but pulls out, his own orgasm takes hold and he finishes on your stomach, leaving you high and dry. You whine desperately, but Neuvillette hushes you. The two of you take a second to catch your breaths, and he leans his forehead against yours. “Well done, Princess.” 

“But you’re not done yet, Princess. One last chance to surrender?” Wriothesley guides your cuffed arms around Neuvillette’s neck, allowing you to grasp onto the back of his silk shirt that now hangs off one shoulder, exposing the flesh underneath. His breathing is still rugged and deep, but somehow, the rise and fall of his chest makes you feel safe, so when he guides your head to lay against him, you don’t protest. But at the same time, you do not surrender. You shake your head, resisting the chance to finish. If you could take Neuvillette, you could take Wriothesley. That’s what you think, but as Wriothesley slides into you from behind after propping you on your knees and face resting against Neuvillette, who is slumped against the headboard, you realise how wrong you are.

Neuvillette was going easy on you on purpose, but Wriothesley graces you with punishing thrusts that leave you reeling so hard your moans become silent and only whimpers escape your throat. He finds your sweet spot and hits it at a fast pace, perhaps not going in all the way as Neuvillette did, but his speed much higher. His hips stutter, but his rhythm is consistent otherwise. Although the sensitivity from the previous orgasm has died down, this pleasure is hard to comprehend, so when Neuvillette finds the vibrator under the covers and you hear it vibrate, you begin to squirm once more. 

“No, no, no. You’re fucking taking this, Princess. You needed to be shut up, this was inevitable, so why not enjoy it, hmm? Why not let yourself become a pathetic little mess and maybe we can let you feel even better than you do now?” 

“I’m- I’m not surrendering!” You choke out, and Neuvillette rubs the vibrator across your nipples, dipping downwards to your clit, causing you to break out into goosebumps and quivers. 

“You’re not, dear? That’s great to hear, you’re doing such a good job, I’m so proud of you.” Neuvillette praises, and you cringe when you feel yourself flutter around Wriothesley, practically hearing shit eating grin. 

“Aww, Iudex, they like it when you praise them. Just felt them tighten.” He grunts, holding you up by the hips and thrusting into you rapidly. 

“Do you, now?” Neuvillette teases, kissing the crown of your forehead when you sob in humiliation and pleasure. “Then, darling, you’re doing so well, but you would do better to surrender, hmm?” He whispers, slowly palming at your chest. “Just let us make you feel good, you’re going to be our Princess from now on, okay?” 

“N-no! I won’t g-give- ah~! Give up!” You whine, and Wriothesley feels his own orgasm building. You can tell by the way he slows down and the way his groans become deeper. He hugs you close to him and kisses you down your spine as he gets closer, and you try and buck your hips to chase your own orgasm but he holds you so tight, you cannot move. 

“Well- fucking done, brat.” Wriothesley moans into your ear as you feel liquid stain your behind. He pulls out just before finishing and sighs in relief. Neuvillette takes your cuffed arms and ducks under them to allow himself to remove his arms around your neck and walks towards his briefcase. He takes out a blindfold and what seems to be a collar, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach, where it pulsates from adrenaline and want. You can’t want more, they’re breaking your defences down and you’ve already forfeited most of your pride when begging Wriothesley, but when Neuvillette praises you for enduring thus far, how can you refuse? Might as well enjoy the pleasure the two give you. Especially now that your blacked out vision enhances the sensation of Neuvillette’s tip tapping against your lips. Wriothesley runs his hand down your back, kissing and licking the flesh hungrily. The pleasure of the vibrator remains on your clit, and you beg and plead, but the two continue to toy with you and your senses, this lesson in etiquette seemingly never ending…

…Neuvillette and Wriothesley have you bent over the bed, with Neuvillette eating you out and Wriothesley sucking your clit, and it snaps. You really can’t take anymore of the edging. The blindfold increases your sensitivity by tenfold and you grip the sheets. “I- I surrender! Please let me cum, please!” You beg, and once you look back, you’re met with the vibrant, violet gaze of your royal tutor, and the jeer of your bodyguard. You feel yourself being flipped over for the nth time, and the two ravage you. Neuvillette, with his feather light touches, and Wriothesley, who targets the spots that make you keel in pleasure. 

Truly, you didn’t think the lesson was over yet, did you..? 

[elioslover]

Masks On (Harry Styles x reader x smut).

Premise: Harry finally visits a sex club and what are the chances, you just so happen to be doing the same thing.

Word Count: 8k+ / Other Writing

Warnings: Smut from start to finish. P in V, Unprotected sex, literally all the sex things, just pure FILTH. Afab 2nd person (minimal OC description).

Also, shout-out to @justmeinatree for the encouragement and @caramello-styles for being such a sweetheart!

🍒

Harry feels the energy shift as soon as he steps out from the mass of thick, velvet curtain that worked to shield the utter filth that lay just beyond. The club- as referred to, looks more like a converted condo, with walls dyed with deep hues, ultraviolet lights instead of harsh bulbs, and purple and red bounce across the room- the floors, the ceilings.

Though the room is busy, everyone is scattered, and it feels spacious enough. Harry observes the array of beds and sofa’s instead of tables and chairs; people are going at it, moans mixing in with the deep bass emitted from nearby speakers.

Patrons- dressed in only bowties and Grecian inspired masks, carrying trays of beverages and sex toys with a formality that seemed foolish for a play like this. The pretty penny Harry had paid to be here was clearly being put to good use.

The entire thing screamed ‘filthy rich fun’, which, even for Harry, seemed almost awestriking; it was the type of elite secrecy one would never dream of, and if he had any doubt about joining this evening, it was erased the minute a waiter appeared before him, offering up a glass of whisky he wasn’t even sure he had ordered.

To be fair, after such an effort to simply enter this place, plenty of hoops to jump through and many questions to be answered and confirmed, it only made sense that the owners would ensure it was more than worth it.

Harry put the crystal to his lips, downing its contents in an anxious bid for comfortability. Instead, it burned at his chest and sent a long shiver down his spine; he shuddered, his skin sprinkled with goosebumps.

Ridding himself of his blazer, white tank top, leather loafers, and other personal belongings when he arrived, assured they would stay safe in his absence, Harry now stands in only a pair of black briefs. They cling to his thighs, pinching at the meaty expanse of his soft skin, diffing into and trapping a few of the hairs growing at the base of his pelvis.

But Harry could be fully nude for all he cares- the platinum, Phantom of the Opera mask that covers the top half of his face and stops at the bridge of his nose has him feeling invincible and fucking frisky. He feels like the god he impersonates, ready to delve into the mass of bodies stroking and loving on one another, his cock twitching against the restricting cotton as confirmation.

The beds are king-sized, holding space for at least four, and a few are evidently occupied by many more than that. Sheer material is draped across the ceilings like a canopy, creating a cosy and inviting atmosphere. Harry heads over to an empty velvet green chaise lounge, plopping down lazily, his legs spread out, thighs splayed, his one arm resting on the armchair, his other palm laying out across his lower stomach.

He turns his attention to the nearest bed, only a meter away, and begins watching as a throuple of two males and a female are switching positions. The girl lays on her stomach, flat against the bed, ass up, as the first man crawls up, spreads her ass cheeks apart and rubs his cock against her once before thrusting himself up into her. They reach a smooth rhythm, skin slapping as the second man lines up behind them, wrapping his arm around the torse of the first man; with a loud moan, the first man bucks forward, only moaning louder as the second man falls into position and starts fucking into him.

Harry hasn’t noticed the way his hand has lowered, palming himself through his briefs, his body shifting to get more comfortable. On the same bed, another couple goes at it, a woman vigorously bouncing atop the cock of a man donned in a lion mask.

In the midst of it all, bodies thrusting and shifting- you are resting sweetly, sitting atop your folded legs, disguised by a black, sequined silver mask, stopping above the nose, your eyes so sharp that Harry spots them immediately, hooked on the way the fluorescent lights flicker the reflection of filth he has succumbed to. His first thought is about who you are, his second is why you’re currently here, and the third is the only one that really matters; how the hell can he get his hands on you?

Dressed in only your underwear, you have had your gaze set on Harry from the moment the curtains had pulled back and revealed him in all of his glory. He was a mass of chocolate curls and tattoos decorating a chiselled and muscular figure that had you wishing you could get your hands on.

For a while, he had seemed nervous, and that only had your curiosity blowing through the roof, your body aching to wrap around any part of him up for grabs. As he made his way over, your heart was in your throat, attention completely thrown from the couple you had intended to participate with just moments prior. They were going at it regardless, bumping up against you, but your focus would be unwavering, your mouth watering at the view of his thighs, thick and spread out just for you.

He seems to be looking your way- maybe just observing the other couples, but something tells you by the way his body shifts, his eyes hidden but holding your own gaze, makes you feel like he might want you just as you want him.

A woman, her hair long and auburn, hidden behind a green dragon mask, drops onto the bed beside you, her knees softly hitting the mattress as she whispers suggestively into the shell of your ear. Cheeks flushed, your gaze remains on Harry, with the way he managed to stir such wanting in you, all by just sitting across the room.

His intrigue seems to pique, waiting to see what your plan was- were you going to entertain the woman next to you? Her cool fingers tickling their way up your spine, your body an eruption of goosebumps.

And you wish he would just come over or that you had the confidence to greet him yourself, but he seems comfortable and unwavering, leaving you to turn your attention back to something actually tangible; the woman currently pressing her lips to the nape of your neck.

Shifting your body to greet her own, you sit up on your knees and boldly wrap your hands like a chain around the back of her neck. She leans into your touch, anticipating your next move, a soft gasp escaping her lips as yours pressed on firmly, tongue licking into her own.

Your eyes have fluttered shut, your body soothed into the sultry kisses sucking at your bottom lip, but your thoughts wander over to the man on the couch, hoping to some god that he might be watching, that he might be regretting the choice to stay put.

Lips parting for deep inhalation, the woman’s hands are soft and static as they trail the soft mounds of your skin, and when your eyes finally open in the hopeful search of the man, you are more than surprised to find him much closer now, standing at the end of the bed.

His gaze is certainly set on your own, and you want to feel bashful at the circumstances, but the erotic stimulation happening all around you and the way Harry is looking at you hungrily, his muscles flexing involuntarily, only dampens your panties further, has your thighs clenching tighter.

He must notice because his pupils are blown, and he is crawling over now, slowly stalking out his prey, happily trapped in the arms of an auburn woman. He is more than welcome, though, your back pressing into the woman's chest, her lips still tickling at your throat, and when he comes to a halt at the base of your knees, you feel zero embarrassment as they part as a welcoming gift, offering him anything he desires.

“Well, hello pretty girl.” He greets, his cock throbbing as your chest raises and you take a sharp inhale, blinking at him in a way that has him feeling like a sinner- and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Hi handsome.” You respond, doing your best to keep your voice from cracking, almost completely distracted by the look of arousal in his eyes that seems to be increasing at just the sound of your voice, like a siren song only luring him further into the ocean in which you resided.

Harry can hardly stop himself from sighing out, from snatching you up and fucking you into submission, instead taking his time in luring you closer, his cock pleased at the ease with which you opened up for him, mind a mess of where to start.

He taps your thigh as an instruction, satisfaction shivering at his spine as you comply, spreading your legs, bum pressed flat to the mattress. Harry can't stop himself from wrapping his palms around your ankles, tugging you forward with enough force to have you exhaling a squeak, the woman’s grip tightening around your chest.

He looks at you like you are supper, his hands trailing their way up your calves, stroking slowly; as he reaches your thighs, he gives them a selfish squeeze, crawling his way over until he is almost face-to-face with the white lace of your panties.

His breath is cool as it fans over the heat of your lower abdomen, legs threatening to quake, and his grip only tightens, his stern stare never wavering, watching your every breath, the way your chest rises and falls in anticipation.

With the gentlest of kisses to your panty-clad crotch, you cannot withhold the deep sigh that slips past your lips, a keen whine whistling its way over to him, his stomach clenching, blood rushing to his cock. Harry’s tongue slips past his plump lips, licking a firm strip up your damp lace, his mouth watering in synch.

His left hand finds a firm home on your hip, helping to keep you pinned between the bed and his touch; his right-hand trails tauntingly along your sternum, fingers dancing into the dip of your belly button, playing your hipbones and pelvis like a harp before a sudden gush of coolness catches you off guard and his thumb hooking into the slit of your panties, tugging them aside in one firm go.

Your eyes widen with lust, unable to look anywhere but at the holy sight below you; the woman cradling your torso presses her lips wherever space omits, travelling in search of the mounds of your breasts, and your entirety is begging to turn to mush in the arms of pleasure as Harry leans forward and gives your pussy the gentlest of kisses, your eyes fluttering shut as he presses another, then another, his tongue joining in to lap at you, dipping into you.

He holds you in place with ease- where the hell would you rather be right now? And as the auburn woman latches her teeth around your pebbled nipple, your leg’s part even further- if possible- prompting Harry to release you from his prior grip, to hold you at the waist, his body pressed into the mattress, his cock flush and swollen from even the slightest of friction.

He can't stop from thrusting forward as a soft mewl slips past the gaps in your teeth, tongue pressing into you, gliding up your slit, flicking at your clit before his free hand cannot help but join the mix, massaging at your inner thigh, teasing at you as you buck your hips up in anticipation. 

It's difficult to keep from sighing out in pleasure, but you try your best, harshly capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, tugging harder as Harry continues licking into you, flattening his tongue, flicking it against your clit, dipping into your entrance. 

He has died and gone to heaven; his chin is coated in you, glistening under the neon lights, and with one hand still stroking and squeezing at your inner thigh, Harry uses the other to hook into the bands of your panties, hastily guiding them down the hills and valleys of your body and you assist, ass raising from the mattress, balancing on one leg as he slides the material along and off of your skin. 

Discarded and dismissed, you are bare and spread for him, a sight Harry will be committing to memory, and he looks at you hungrily- you’re ready to be ravished.

Your pussy is practically dripping, and Harry’s hand must be possessed because it reaches out, and his finger glides through your slit, quickly dampening. The sigh you release is almost sinister, and Harry has his face buried between your thighs in an instant. 

With his tongue licking at you, the almost forgotten auburn woman is still trailing kisses along your neck, her fingers tweaking and squeezing at the skin of your breasts. You are officially a mess of pleasure, ready to beg for more- anything- all of him. 

It’s like he reads your mind as his fingers start to tease at your pussy, rubbing back and forth, his tongue focusing on your clit, swirling circles, his middle finger slipping past your entrance with such ease that Harry mutters, “fuck me” and lets it slide all the way in, curling upward. With such positive reception from yours truly, he keeps at it, all of his focus dedicated to pleasing you. 

With the way his one finger becomes two, pumping into you with such vigour, you are writhing beneath him, thighs threatening to clamp around his head like earmuffs, blocked by his one hand keeping you put. 

Your head starts to lull back into the auburn woman’s lap, but Harry is quick to correct this, pulling out his fingers completely, sticky and wet, his mouth changing from loving on you to scolding, 

“Uh, uh.” He taunts, his brows furrowed, “Eyes on me, princess.” 

You do everything in your power to comply, staring at him with all your might as he gets back to work, a satisfied smile still lingering on his lips as his tongue laps at your pussy, his fingers fucking back into you, curling, picking up the pace. 

His fingers are in complete rhythm with his tongue- they are on a mission. And by the sounds currently escaping your lips, chest rising and falling needily, Harry is certainly succeeding.

But each moment that passes is becoming agonizing for him, desperate to substitute his fingers for his cock, currently aching to bury itself inside you. 

Harry tries to pacify his cock by grinding up against the mattress, but this only has him moaning against your pussy, which in turn has you doing the same, your hands fisting the sheets. 

He can no longer hold on, flattening his tongue to give you one last good licking before he removes his fingers and then himself, leaving you in absolute awe and confusion- a spark of panic flashing across your features. 

Harry doesn’t want to startle you, but you can't stop the yelp that escapes you as his hands wrap around your ankles, and with one tug, you are before him, his face aligned with your torso. 

He stands, holding out his hand to assist you in doing the same. You do, and once your feet are safely planted on the floor, Harry’s hands are kneading at your waist and hips. He permits you a moment to stabilise before his hands find the back of your thighs, and he hoists you up into your arms, legs wrapping around his waist. 

Pussy bare and pressed against his torso, the five-step walk over to the sofa feels endless, so when he finally sits, safely cradling your back, you lower with him, coming to a rest atop his cool thighs, knowing he will be slick with wet by the time you’re finished with him.

Arms wrapped loosely across his shoulders, your fingers play with the loose curls at the base of his neck, and you lean, the outline of your mask bumping up against his own as you finally retrieve what you’ve been after all along, pressing your lips to his, tongue taking out all of your prior frustrations as it tangles with his own, scrapes along his teeth, traps and tugs his bottom lip until he is left begging for breath, lips plump and freshly-stung.

Going in for more, your palms find the sides of his face, sandwiching him between lustrous kisses, your chest pressing to his own, a whine bubbling at your throat when his grip tightens, holding you hostage and creating a gap just small enough for his hands to slip from their place on your back and to cup your breasts, squeezing and palming them as his tongue continues to lap at your own.

With the feeling of your nipples perking up so nicely beneath his thumbs, Harry cannot resist the urge to start trailing sloppy kisses along the nape of your neck, your clavicle, his open mouth leaving a trail as it makes its way down your chest, his tongue licking at the valley of your breasts before his lips finally catch your nipple, flicking at it, your body arching back desperately, pleading for more.

With a harsh nip, his tongue soothes your swollen skin, his hands squeezing at the mounds of your breasts, and your body has a mind of its own now, jutting up against him, your pussy sad to be met with only the friction of his briefs, desperate to grind your wetness across his cock, feel him slipping between your folds.

After the third time, your body glides down into contact with his own, a frustrated sigh slipping past your lips; Harry seems to catch on and woefully unlatches his mouth from your skin, but with more than just happiness, he shifts beneath you- and you also shift to allow him better access- his fingers hooking into the bands of his briefs, tugging them down in one swift motion to settle around his mid-thighs.

His cock springs up, swollen with relief and flush with freedom. Your gaze never wavers, hyper-focused on how pretty the man sitting beneath yours truly is- all of him is just too good to be true at this point.

You want to spend eternity, or at least a moment, marvelling and taking him all in, but he is closer than ever, and your pussy is clenching at just the sight of him- practically screeching to have him buried deep inside you.

With that, you reach out and give him one mandatory stroke, to soothe both him and yourself, and by the way his mouth parts, his eyes hooded, body jolting and then relaxing back into your touch, you sling your leg over his lap to straddle him, his face level with your chest, his hands instinctively coming to a rest on the pillows of your hips.

Your arms become a noodle around his neck like in preparation for dancing the salsa, your hips rocking forward without hesitation, pussy skating along the length of his shaft, leaving him slick with just one stroke.

Harry doesn’t even try to stop the string of mutters he sings out into the crevasse of your breasts, breath fanning chills all along your skin just as your hips buck again, sliding up against him, squeaking out as the tip of his cock rubs up against your clit.

You push on into an agonisingly slow rhythm, dragging out each stroke until Harry is so frustrated that he works extra hard to avoid rutting up into you- oddly satisfied letting you take the lead- so his mouth begins leaving sloppy kisses along your chest, your shoulders, the creases of your neck. And whilst the idea of holding onto this sense of control was something you really wanted to indulge in, you cannot stop your body from picking up speed, ever so slightly upping the rhythm.

Harry is struggling to keep himself from turning the two of you over and fucking you into the sofa cushions, taking out his agitation by unexpectedly spitting on your chest, and both of your gazes drop to watch as the dribble of spit travels like a delicate stream down the valley of your breasts, meandering towards your bellybutton.

You rut up against him with force now, pupils swelled and hungry. At the last minute, Harry commands his pelvis not to thrust, taking a section of skin on your breast between his front teeth, nipping and sucking at it until it stings, giving you one last tug before pulling back, his tongue slipping out to softly lap at the blooming bruise. Tiny and speckled with red and purple, this mark will serve as a reminder of the scandalous events of this evening.

More so, this mark is the last straw, your lips angrily finding his own, tongues arguing for domination- Harry’s succumbs the second one of your hands reaches down between your laps, grabbing at his cock and guiding him into you without a second thought.

You take him in with ease, but he is a stretch the further you slide down on him, your belly feeling full as your body finally comes to a sitting on his cock. Harry’s head has tilted back, his eyes fluttering open and shut.

He wants to thrust up, he wants to watch your breasts and body bounce about atop of his cock, needs to see the way your skin jiggles and stretches for him, the way your face crinkles up in pleasure and satisfaction… but Harry lets you do anything you want, lets himself be at your mercy.

And fuck, you make the idea of losing control feel really good, raising your body until only his tip remains inside of you, threatening to leave him out in the cold, but at the last moment, you grind back down, letting him fill you up gluttonously, easily finding a groove, your backside slapping against his thighs, skin-to-skin creating the beat of a drum, and with each smack, you only want to go faster, harder, unable to resist the need to tease and drag things out.

Harry is a mess of moans, only making you feel like you are being cheered on during a marathon, encouraging you to up your stamina and reach the finish line in record time. His hands are all over you, tugging you closer, one hand wrapping tighter around your waist, guiding you up and down his cock, desperate to hear you whine louder, to let others know how good it felt to be riding him. And you want everyone to know, too; you want them to know that they could all leave, and you would be more than happy to just let Harry spend the rest of the evening fucking you into a semi-permanent coma.

Harry shifts, spreading his legs to offer you a new angle, ready to drool as a dragged-out sigh slips out from deep within you, and he knows he’s just hit a good spot.

So, as any good boy would, Harry bucks up into you again and again, motivated by each moan, putting his all into making you sing for him, your hand digging into his biceps, then his back, down his torso, squeezing at his thighs as your stomach starts to clench, heart rate picking up and when you start to feel lightheaded, you welcome the wave of euphoria threatening to wash over- you hear nothing but the soft praises Harry mutters for your pleasure, your body grinding down on his pelvis desperately chasing your high, whining out as his hand spreads your cheeks, guiding you through a long-anticipated orgasm.

Coming down, your head slumps against his damp shoulder, cheek pressing into his warm, soft skin. You can hear his heartbeat; it’s as fast as your own- if not faster; his breaths are scattered, and Harry wonders what will happen next.

He wants to revel in the moment but is hit with disappointment as you slowly and carefully guide him out of you, and he wants to hiss out at the cruel loss of contact.

Your leg swings over and off of his lap, standing tall and gazing down at him with a curious brow furrow that has Harry ready to question his entire existence, but when your arm extends out to him, offering to wrap his hand in your own, Harry feels butterflies beating at his belly, and he accepts in an instant, ridding himself of his briefs, tossing them aside with little to no regard before grabbing your hand, feeling fuzzy at the visual of how small it looks cradled in his own.

Trailing behind you, willing to let you drag him just about anywhere, it seems you have targeted a bed sitting empty in a quaint corner of the room.

But your ass is bouncing with each step you take, and with gravity offering him such a gracious gift, Harry's hand reaches out with the need to grab, settling with a soft slap to your left cheek, a chuckle slipping past his lips as you let out a little whimper of surprise, body jolting forward, thighs jiggling for his absolute pleasure, and all thoughts of the bed are forgotten as Harry pushes your bodies into the nearest pillars. The look in your eyes adjusts from surprise to arousal at the newfound feeling of your body being backed up into the icy marble, turning into a tornado as Harry's simmering skin keeps you mounted like a shiny trophy.

Harry thinks he's really got you now, your skin so silky, your muscles contracting against his own, keening into his hold, lashes batting up at him like he holds the keys to the garden of Eden; with softness, he presses a breathy kiss to your own parted lips, and now that he has you so perfect and patient, he hasn't the faintest clue where to start.

It would be polite to give him a moment to gather his thoughts, perhaps plot his next move, but you know exactly what you want- no, need- next, and with Harry's head so preoccupied with the idea of you that his hold isn't strong enough to stop you from slipping out from his trap, turning around, your palms pressing flat to your chest as you gift him a gentle, but firm push, his back smacking into the same marble you had just escaped.

Harry feels awestruck, unsure what to think, but his cock is certainly pleased, throbbing at the unfamiliar shift in dynamic, desperate to see what you might do next. And when his eyes, swollen with lust, focus on your own, there is a glimmer of certainty that has him almost keeling over; the need to get on his knees and beg for you is killing him.

But it seems that you are the one who will be on your knees as you keep one palm against his chest, unsure of whether he's willing to stay put, and your body drops to the floor, knees happily greeting the tiles.

With your left hand still holding him in place and your right hand coming to a rest on his waist, fingers squeezing into his fleshy cheeks, Harry's head lulls black in bliss, throat bobbing, both of his hands casting a shadow over your own, wrapping around your wrists like pretty bracelets.

Leaning forward ever so sweetly, your lips pucker and place a polite kiss on the tip of his cock. Harry's hips buck forward without his consent, and your hand leaves his chest, gliding lazily down his torso until it comes to rest on his shaft.

Thoughts of how perfectly he fits between your fingers are blurring your vision, but at the sound of Harry pathetically hissing from above, your grip tightens, body shuffling closer, his own hand settling like a scarf around the back of your neck. His hand stays statuesque, unsure of pushing your boundaries and frightened of catching your hair in one of his many rings. But when you reassuringly nuzzle your crown into his palm, Harry finally relaxes, his fingers- still carefully- slip into and massage the hair at the base of your neck.

You’ve got him right where you want him, and there’s no time to waste as you close the last of any remaining space, bowing forward and closing in like at communion, mouth opening, ready for the catholic wafer but instead closing your lips over the tip of his cock, your tongue darting out to swirl at his head and loving the way he tries to resist bucking into you, stop himself from hitting the back of your throat. 

Just the idea has you dripping, fulfilling the desire to take him further in your mouth, your free hand slowly pumping his cock, holding him in place as you suck him, slowly taking in as much as you can manage before slowly pulling back, letting your tongue trail along his shaft in your wake. 

Right as Harry begins to fear that you might release and leave him high and dry, you swallow him again, bobbing and creating a rhythm, a small sliver of spit slipping past your lips as you take him as far as your mouth will permit, tongue lapping at him, your hand pumping the base of him as Harry huffs and puffs above you. 

And when you can’t help but glance up at him from beneath hooded lashes, the way Harry cusses out and rolls his head back against the pillar is enough to have you picking up the pace, swallowing him with vigour, desperately trying to fit as much of him possible into the hollows of your cheeks.

Slowly, your head begins to bob, taking all of his cock in before pulling back, then again, and again, your hand still pumping him, spit gliding along his shaft and soaking your fingers. 

You release his cock from your mouth, still gliding your hand back and forth, pumping him and peering up at him with doe-like eyes.

“Fuck.” Harry whines, the back of his head bumping against the pillar, “Y’gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

With a mischievous grin, you place a gentle but menacing kiss on the tip of his cock before flattening your tongue and licking his shaft from base to tip before taking all of him in your mouth once more, creating the perfect rhythm, your other hand leaving his thigh and cupping around his balls, massaging him, head grooving up and down his cock. Harry is a complete mess, his muscles flexing with each suck and release. 

You guide his cock to the hollow of your left cheek, brushing him against your mouth before ever-so-softly gliding his head along your bottom teeth and rubbing him against your right cheek. He is still moaning above you, and when you suddenly tilt forward and take him so deep that his cock brushes the back of your throat, Harry is cussing out, his hand tightening around the base of your neck. 

You lean your head back into his palm as a form of encouragement, and Harry thinks you may be the most perfect creature of planet Earth itself. He cautiously begins guiding your head, testing the waters as he becomes a guide for his cock, sliding into your mouth. 

Happy to oblige, you try to remain as still as possible, your pussy throbbing each time he brushes against your throat, and when you almost gag, Harry has officially died and gone to heaven. His pace quickens, forcefully- but so carefully- bucking into you, loving how soft and plump your lips are, how well you take him- how deep. 

The thought of his cum dripping down your chin has him in utter shambles, and that is not how he wants this evening to go- yet. So, with one last thrust and grunt, he ruefully removes himself, hissing at the rush of cool air that greets his tip and almost crying at the sight of the string of spit connecting from your lips and his cock. 

Using the back of your hand to dismiss the spit, you peer up at him curiously, rather proud of your work but still hoping to have more of him.

Harry guides your head as a gesture, hissing at the rush of air that greets the tip of his cock, and this only causes his impulses to increase- so, as soon as you have found your feet and are looking up at him with blown-out pupils and puffy pink lips, Harry finally reclaims control, his hands wrapping you up and spinning you around in one swift motion and you are now facing the pillar, your palms pressing flat against the cool surface. 

His hands find your hips, thumbs pressing into your fleshy skin and, on instinct, your back arches, ass desperate to press up against him. Harry releases his right hand from your hip, wrapping it around his stiff shaft and guiding it towards your entrance. Ass up, spine curved, your breasts press into the icy pillar, your body scooting up against the pelvis, and when the head of his cock glides along your pussy, just stopping short of your entrance, you moan out enthusiastically. 

Harry gives you one last tease, his tip slipping into you before pulling back out, but before you have the opportunity to whine out, he thrusts into you, and instead, you arch out for him even more, sighing out, breasts squishing into the pillar. 

He guides his cock in and out, painfully persevering, taking his damn time, but after a third deep and forceful thrust, you shuffle back into him impatiently, and Harry wants to chuckle aloud at your lack of patience now that he has you pressed up against him. 

But your neediness is too tantalising to resist; Harry can’t stop his hips from bucking up into you, almost drooling at the hum of satisfaction you reward him with as he thrusts again, this time harder, his arm reaching around to rest his palm on your stomach, keeping you pinned as he proceeds to fuck into you. 

Harry keeps going, huffing in sync with each thrust, his stomach clenching as you mewl against him, your palms pressing into the pillar and holding on for dear life. His hand slides down from your stomach to the back of your right thigh, raising it until your knee bumps up against the marble, and when he’s certain you plan on keeping it there, he releases your leg and proceeds to pound into you, his hand snaking around until it finds your pussy, fingers gliding along your wetness, seeking out louder moans, desperate whines. 

And you are- unable to hold yourself back any longer, overcome with the electric current coursing through you with each thrust, each time his thumb brushes against your clit. You are chasing another orgasm, pushing your palms against the pillar in an attempt to get closer to him.

Harry kindly obliges, pressing his chest into your back, pulling you flush against his damp and flexed torso as he keeps at it, bucking up into you with all of his willpower, hands grabbing at you, adamant to have you as near as possible. 

Right as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge for a second time in just minutes, Harry interrupts by pulling out and wrapping you up in his arms and hastily turning you around to face him. Concern flashes across his features as your back bumps up against the pillar, but when you only whine out, your left leg lifting up, calf wrapping around his waist, Harry guides his cock back into you, bucking up with commitment and determination to have you come unravelled against him once more. 

And you are unravelling, chemistry at play as your body becomes a mix of ecstasy and euphoria. You are grabbing at every part of him, never wavering for too long, tugging at his hair, squeezing at his biceps, pressing your pelvis up against his own. Harry is doing the same, feeding off of your needy whines, unsaid pleas for him to keep going, and when you can’t help but turn them into verbal pleas, asking him so sweetly to fuck you “just like that”, he is in an absolute state, 

“Yeah?” He confirms- only for the sake of hearing you speak up again, 

“Yeah.” You stutter out, nails digging into the nape of his neck, scraping along his shoulder. 

Harry is enamoured, you’re being such a good girl for him, and he wants to reward you for being so. But he also wants to be a little testy and has the urge to see how much nicer you’re willing to be for him, so he deems it necessary to hold out on you a tad longer.

He wraps his arm around the middle of your back, pressing you into him, and he bows his head and leans in as close to your ear as possible, his warm breath fanning over the nook of your neck and clavicle, ensuring you hear him loud and clear, 

“Ask me nicely.” 

Your head snaps up, looking at him with incredulity, but too desperate to do anything other than give him what he wants. One of your hands finds his torso, palms trailing along his chest as your other hand tightens around his neck in physical protest, which is the last thing that would ever slip past your lips. Trying your best to give him your politest plea, your mouth plump and puckered, mousey eyes flickering playfully up at him, 

“Pretty please.”

And that’s all Harry needs, thrusting into you with repayment, revelling in the way your body accepts his reward so enthusiastically. He picks up the pace, pounding into you and making certain that you are more than welcome to come undone all over him, 

“Such a good girl for me.”

You’re nodding at him desperately, body crumbling with each praise he is granting you, and when his palm slips down between your bodies, landing on your pussy and lazily swirling loops atop your clit, you are a shaking mess- in a frenzy and falling over the edge, coming all over his cock, softly chanting, “yes, yes.”

“So, so good.” He reminds you, holding onto you, keeping you secure and satisfied. He can feel the familiar stirring in his stomach, his cock twitching and tempted to come all over you.

But there’s no way he’s done with you, and he cannot fathom finishing now. 

Your bucking has slowed, head lulling into the crook of his neck, trying to steady your breathing, and instead of giving in to an impending orgasm, Harry pats your bum firmly, wrapping an arm around your thigh, encouraging you to jump up into his arms. 

He is still fully inside you and doesn’t plan on changing that, effortlessly guiding you up into his arms, one of his hands still on your backside, the other cradling your back. With great care, Harry starts to walk, staying slow and peering over his shoulder to make sure he’s going in the right direction. 

Thankfully, the pillar was already the halfway point to the bed you had targeted earlier, and with your lips lazily trailing kisses along his torso, your nails digging into his back, Harry was overjoyed when his feet bumped into the base of the bed. 

Impressively, he bows forward- your bodies still bound- his knees denting the mattress, lowering your bodies onto the bed until your back is pressed into the sheets and Harry is hovering over you, balancing on his forearms, his forehead brushing against your own.

“Ready to go again, princess?” His cool breath fans across your features, and you are nodding as if your life depends on it, your pelvis bucking up against him.

Harry’s brows furrow in amusement, his head bowing, lips brushing up against the shell of your ear, “Use your words, lovely.” 

“Fuck.” You huff out, your right leg tightening around his waist, one of your hands digging into his bicep and the other tugs at his hair, “Please.” And just so he really gets the message, you add, “I want you.” 

“Want me to what?” He drawls, tongue tickling your neck as one of his hands massages your breast. 

“Fuck me.” Your reply is emotionless, stern and impatient, “Want you to fuck me.”

“Sassy little one, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles, squeezing your thigh endearingly. 

You roll your eyes as if he hasn’t just stated the obvious, lifting your pelvis up to rub against him. His pupils are blown, and you want him inside of you- now. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you ponder, nails dragging along his shoulder, “Or do I need to find someone else?” there is nobody alive that you could want more than him; he should know this from the way you are so eager to please him, but the mere suggestion has Harry thrusting into you mercilessly.

You whine out in both stupor and ecstasy, your back arching off of the bed, your breasts pressing into his chest. With one of his arms still holding him in place, Harry’s free hand comes up to cradle your face, your foreheads slick with sweat and sticking together. 

His hands are about as big as your head, and that alone contributes to the next sigh you release, bucking up into him, meeting his thrusts in the middle, your pelvises slapping into one another. 

Harry marvels at the way your bodies seem to so easily find a rhythm each time like you were made for him, and he for you. His thrusts are deep and with intention, stretching your pussy with satisfaction. 

“Christ.” He huffs in astonishment, “Y’ feel so fuckin’ good.” 

You can only moan out in agreement, at a complete loss for words. The only thing you feel is satisfaction sparking throughout your wholeness, and the only other thing you can think about is how badly you wish you knew his name- hoping to call it out to him as he pounds into you, desperate to reward him for doing such a good job. 

Harry can't remember ever feeling so engaged in fucking someone- was there a time? Nothing before or after this moment matters; he could now die a happy man. You feel so warm and worked-up, pressed into him, grabbing at any part of him available for the taking. 

He wants to let you, doesn’t mind if you spend hours or even days exploring him, poking and prodding his limbs and skin for reactions, having him like putty in your hands- all yours. 

“More.” You huff out when it seems that Harry is getting caught up in his thoughts, and he thrusts into you so generously that your head lulls back to greet the mattress. 

But now you are too far away for Harry’s liking; he needs to see those pretty eyes and pretty flushed cheeks, needs to see how good of a job he’s doing at pleasing you. His hand cradles the back of your neck, guiding your head back up, his lips waiting to latch onto your own. 

Breathy kisses become open-mouthed ones. Harry’s tongue is dancing all along your mouth, biting on your lip and sucking on your tongue. Still, in a battle of kisses, Harry’s hand sweeps along your face and his pointer finger slips into your mouth. You suck on him like you were born solely for this purpose, and it’s Harry’s turn to stop his head from rolling back. 

He keeps on at it, licking into your mouth while his cock rams into you relentlessly, each thrust accompanied by skin slapping, deep moans, hums of satisfaction and a stirring in your chest that only increases as Harry bends your leg and pins it to your chest, fucking into you from an angle that feels so good that you begin slipping away into a realm of pure pleasure. 

“Like that?” Harry pants out, each thrust more purposeful than the last. 

“Just like that.” You nod vigorously with gratefulness. 

“Good girl.” He praises with a sloppy kiss, “Look so good like this.” 

Harry keeps thrusting, and it’s not long before the look on your face starts morphing with frustrated delight, your eyes threatening to squeeze shut. But you don’t want to look away, instead glancing between your grooving bodies, in awe of the sight of his cock coated with all of you, pumping in and out so gracefully. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” He is kissing your neck, tongue wet and trailing along your skin. 

And that is all you need to guide you back into another orgasm, your hips raised off of the bed and grinding up against his pelvis in a circular motion, hands holding onto him for dear life. 

Harry groans, almost growls out, pushing into you, trying to pull you closer than physically possible, “Just like that, sweetheart.” You are definitely a sucker for his praises, desperate for more, and he obliges, “So good for me.” 

With a surprising twist, Harry is forced to confront his impending orgasm as you pose a rather prolonged request, “Want you to cum for me.” 

He wants to panic, the thought of this being over is simply heinous, but you only chuckle at the obvious distress beginning to warp his features and reassure him, “I still have plenty in store for you.” And for good measure, you add, “Unless you can’t… keep up.”

Harry knows you’re only taunting him for the fun of it, but the suggestion is obscene, and he seeks to prove you wrong. You are still grinding up against him, whimpering at the sensitivity, nevertheless needy for more, so he picks up the pace, ramming into you with everything he has to offer, his arm bending further into the bed to get closer, and your arms wrap around him to assist, tugging him flush against you, teeth nipping at his neck. 

“Gonna let me swallow you, pretty boy?” You blink up at him innocently, “Wanna taste you so badly.”

His thrusts are getting sloppier, slower and more determined. Now that the offer of an orgasm is on the table, lying beneath him, so pretty and so tasty, Harry can’t resist pushing into you harder, deeper, grunting and huffing along, skin shivering at the feel of your nails tickling at his torso. 

And when you tilt your head and aim your teeth for his ear, nipping his earlobe only to soothe it with the flick of your tongue, you ask one more time, “Pretty please.” 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Is all Harry can muster in between a mess of moans, struggling to keep his weight from coming down on you, his free hand wrapping around your waist to hold you still, his cock wailing for release.

And he gets exactly what he’s been searching for, thrusting into you once more, treasuring it as he pulls out, stroking at his cock as the two of you shuffle around and you are quickly on your knees, mouth spread wide, tongue flat and pushing past your lips. 

Harry doesn’t think he has ever seen something- someone- so beautiful, and he doesn’t stop thinking this as he starts to cum, spilling onto your tongue, his cock throbbing at the sight of you swallowing him so kindly, at the glistening of your swollen lips, the bobbing of your throat. 

You wear your satisfaction with pride, and for the first time, you wonder if Harry actually can keep up. He hadn’t said so, in words, at least. But he is still close and starts edging closer, desperate to have his hands back on you. He gets what he wants, and you shuffle closer, following his gaze as it shifts to the nearest patron, using his free hand to gesture for their attention. 

Before you get the chance to get too confused, the patron steps closer, and you can now clearly see the contents of his silver platter. Staring up at you is an array of toys, small and large, feathered or leather or even metal. You don’t even need to glance over at Harry to tell him you are definitely game, instead reaching out with an item already in mind. 

Harry watches as you select your weapon of choice, turning back to him with satisfaction and a cheeky smile, the chosen toy on display is just begging to be played with, and it seems that both of you are ready to oblige. 

🍒

Forgive me for I am a sinner and I feel zero regrets. Hell can have me because I am DONE. I hope you guys enjoy this one! It's been a while since I've blessed the children with smut and I hope I have succeeded lmao. - Emmy. xo 💞

[lou-struck]

Made With Love Part 3

OM Brothers & Datables x reader pt.3

Featuring Special parts with Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Part 1 Here

~Now that you know how to nullify the Love Potion's effects, you wander the castle in search of your loved ones. But as you venture through these darkened halls you feel like you are being hunted.

WC: 7.1k

Warnings: Love Potion based personality changes, obsessive behaviors, mention of suggestive behavior, lots of teasing, kissing, touching, etc, Reader is implied to be smaller than Beel.

Asmodeus’ part alludes to past experiences of SA (not with the reader). If that topic makes you uncomfortable please skip it.

a/n:  sorry for the wait my friends. I know so many of you have been looking forward to this part so I hope you like it!

Intro~

The air in Solomon's lab smells both burnt and strangely damp as Luke pushes his way inside. His little heart is pounding furiously as the door shuts behind him. Bits of dried herbs from experiments past litter the ground and crunch under the angel's feet. 

Running from the palace has left him winded, and the stress from the situation makes his heart beat furiously in his chest, but he can't rest. 

How could he after what he did? 

Guiltily, he pulls out his DDD and taps on the darkened screen. It glows to life at his touch, illuminating the sweet photo of you and him working behind the counter at the RAD bake sale; one look at your kind smile sends him plunging into the deep dark sea of guilt as he is reminded once again that he is the one responsible for sending you into the lion's den to save everyone. Although he knows that none of his friends would ever hurt you, he worries that their love potion induced obsession may unintentionally cause them to act carelessly. Nervously, he checks his notifications and sees that he has no new messages from you. Which at least means that everything on your end is turning out alright. 

All he has to do is find the recipe book that Solomon used to make the mysterious Potion and somehow use the knowledge from his Devildom Alchemy 101 class to reverse engineer the antidote before his unpredictable, love-sick friends try to do something stupid. 

Seems simple enough…

But as Luke's eyes scan the cluttered countertops and bookshelves, he wonders if there is any order in this cluttered chaos. Books are everywhere, they overflow the shelves, lean precariously over the tables, and some are dangerously close to the enchanted burners. 

"How am I supposed to find the book Solomon used in this mess?" He cries aloud. The lab does not answer back and Luke is met with the last thing he needs right now; silence.

Right now, you need a hero, a guardian angel. And Luke will do whatever he has to do to save your special day and free everyone from the effects of the Love Potion.

He takes a deep breath and looks determinedly at his reflection in an old mirror that Solomon keeps around so he can see the physical effects his mystery potions have, "I got this." he says, placing his hands on his hips and striking something that Asmodeus refers to as a power pose. 

This confident posture fills him with hope as the little angel rolls up his sleeves and begins to get to work.

~

"Man, my head is killin' me." Mammon groans, tossing his white hair back onto the back of one of the banquet room's many velvet armchairs. "That damn potion gave me one helluva hangover."

Sprawled on a sofa across the room lies Lucifer, who holds a cold rag to his forehead as he flinches in annoyance at every word from his younger brother. "Silence, Mammon," He murmurs in a murderously low tone. Dark tendrils of energy flare up from around him, darkening the already dimly lit room. "If you continue to run your mouth, I promise you I will string you up till you turn purple."

Mammon's eyes widen in fear, "Right… Noise… Headache… Sorry." he gulps nervously as the dark flames die down. "I'll be quiet."

"Thank you," his brother says, rubbing his temple. "I'm glad we have reached an understanding."

Mammon sinks deeper into his seat as an uncomfortable silence befalls the room. He just can't believe that the afternoon has turned into this period. He was supposed to be having a great time with you and stealing every second of your time that he could. Now, he's confined to the banquet hall, feeling like he just got run over by a pack of HellHounds. 

His head is practically throbbing with discomfort, and all he wants to do is go home and lie down in a dark room with you in his arms. 

'Why did that damn Chihuahua have to go and ruin everything?' he thinks to himself, too worried to speak aloud after Lucifer's threat. If he hadn't eaten that damn cookie, he probably would've been able to steal you away and remind you why he is your First Demon.

He continues to wallow in his self-pity and potion-induced hangover until the door to the banquet hall opens slowly. Levi takes small steps with his squeaky shoes, leaving a puddle of pool water behind him in his wake.

Intrigued by his brother's drenched appearance, Lucifer sits up a bit in his chair, and his cold rag falls off of his forehead. "do I even want to know what happened?"

Levi's eyes widen, and a deep red blush creeps up his neck. "I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbles shyly.

"Why are ya all wet?" Mammon asks from his spot; although he's curious, he keeps his voice low so as not to invoke the Wrath of Lucifer. "Did Mc see how ya were actin' like a jerk and toss ya in?"

"No…" he mumbles, looking down at his dripping shoelaces. "I pulled them in."

Both brothers jolt upwards and look at each other in alarm.  "Oi, what do ya mean ya pulled em in? Didn't ya know humans are fragile? They can't grow gills like ya can, idiot." Mammon spews worriedly. 

Lucifer, on the other hand, has fallen murderously silent, his hands gripping the arm of his sofa until the enchanted wood begins to crack under his palms. "

"I-it's not like I wanted to do it." Levi stutters, trying to defend himself. "I-it was the potion, it made me want t-to keep them someplace only I could get to."

"And do what?" Mammon asks, rolling up his sleeves as if his fist is about to make contact with the Otaku's face. "Drown 'em?"

Levi opens his mouth, but no sound escapes him. His poor brain is too busy trying to process the whirlwind of emotions swimming around in his fandom-filled brain. Guilt, Exhaustion, Lust…Lucifer clears his throat. "Clearly, you are going to have to make it up to Mc after this whole nightmare is over." he pauses for a moment as a bit of shame flashes in his crimson gaze. His features fall as he recalls his previous behavior. "We all do."

"Not me," Mammon adds unhelpfully. This partially true statement earns him a death glare from both his brothers. 

Satan~

"Come on, come one, come on," you mumble as you hold the power button to your waterlogged DDD in vain. But the screen doesn't even humor you with a weak flicker or a hum.

"Shit," you mutter, sliding the dead weight into your still-damp pockets. "Damn it Levi."

Deep down, you know it's wrong to blame the Avatar of Envy for this. After all, it was only because of the Love Potion that compelled him to lure you into the water like some kind of demonic siren and unintentionally destroying your clothes and your device.

But every squeaky step in your still-wet shoes has you wanting to send him the bill for your replacement DDD. 

Knowing how embarrassed he felt when you broke the spell on him, he probably would give you double what you asked for.

With a shrug, you shove the destroyed tech into your soaked pocket and continue your search for the others. 

Although this wasn't the day you had planned for, you have to say this lovey-dovey scavenger hunt of yours is definitely amusing to you. Getting to see the Brothers and apparently everyone else acting completely different is nothing short of entertaining. 

But as you continue to search, your wet clothes feel uncomfortable on your body; if you are going to find everyone before the end of the day, you'll need to get changed into something else. Something dry. Something more comfortable.

As you turn the corner you realize that you have been in this part of the castle before. The familiarity of this hall comforts you as you follow the path to the spare room Diavolo had gifted you for the nights you choose to stay over. Where your dresser of your spare clothing awaits you.

You step into the room as the door shuts behind you a bit louder than you expected it to. Now alone in your safe place, you take a moment for yourself and grab a set of loungewear to throw on; the soft fabric feels much better against your skin than the wet, scratchy garments of minutes past. 

Glancing down at the pile of your wet clothes on the floor, you grimace and take them to your spacious private bathroom to dry over the tub. It only takes a moment, but when you come back into the bedroom, you notice the hallway door is open.

'That's odd,' you say aloud, "I thought that door shut when I came in."

Before fear can begin to simmer in your gut, you are ambushed from behind by a warm figure. You let out a yelp as you lose your balance and fall over onto the carefully made bed with your attacker. 

You squirm, trying to twist out of the firm grip around your waist with no success. When you feel the unnatural warmth radiating from your attacker's skin, you pause and notice the familiar blond head of hair that nuzzles into the nape of your neck. Relief crashes into you like you're a bird in a window cleaner commercial, and you stop fighting. "Satan?"

Upon hearing his name, the Demon perks up and pulls away to get a look at you. And aside from the hearts where his pupils should be, the usually intelligent avatar of Wrath appears to not have a single thought behind his eyes.

"Cutie pie." He hums, reaching up and pinching your cheek. "I missed you so much."

"You missed me?" You tease, a smile curling up on your lips in amusement. You ruffle his layered blonde hair, and he seems to lean into your touch like an eager puppy. His usual cat-like nature is completely gone, thanks to the effects of the strange love potion.

"Soooo much," he whines. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"Oh really?" you hum. "So, what have you been doing up here?" 

"Was looking for you…" hu murmurs, "But then I got lost and didn't know how to find you; I got worried I would never see you again, and I got really sad."

"It's only been four hours." You remind him gently. 

He furrows his brow and cocks his head in confusion. "Oh. How long is that again?"

"Not long at all," you say, taking your hand away from his head. When the Demon no longer feels the heavenly sensation of your touch, he looks up at you with big eyes full of hurt. You feel unbelievably guilty as you place your hand back atop his head and once again return to playing with his hair.

That lovesick smile returns to his face, and you are sure that if he was in his demon form, his tail would be wagging like crazy. His heart-shaped pups seem to come in and out of focus as he looks at you. "You're the goodest ever." he smiles.

"Guess what? You're even better," you respond.

One simple compliment seems to be what drives him over the top. His blush deepens as he tosses his head back and laughs. He giggly kicks his feet on the side of his bed as he wraps his arms around you again.

"Noooooo, you're the bestest." He says stubbornly.

All right then, you win." You relent. "Do you want to know what you win as a prize?"

"What do I get?" he says eagerly, crunching his hands into fists. As cute as he is acting, you really need to break the spell. Cute puppy love is entertaining, but you know that the real Satan would hate the way he's acting now.

Gently, you take your hand and cup his cheek. He's all smiles and adoration as you lean in to claim his lips.

The moment your lips touch his, you feel his body tense up with realization, his posture straightens, and he seems to be recovering his sense of self. 

By the time you open your eyes, the Satan you know and love is back. 

"The details of how I got here may be blurry," he says softly, gently stroking the side of your face. "But ending up here with you certainly was worth it."

Now you're the one blushing.

"How are you feeling?" You ask, taking a step backward to give the Demon his space. "What do you remember?"

"He concentrates for a minute as if he is mentally tracing his steps. When embarrassment takes over his features, you know he has figured it out. "It was the cookies, wasn't it?"

"Yep," you respond, relieved that Satan is back to his usual inquisitive self.  "Luke used a bowl from Solomon's lab, and it had some weird personality-changing love potion in it."

He grimaces, no doubt recalling his behavior. "Mc, words cannot begin to express how ashamed I am of my actions, but I'm relieved that you were the only one present to witness my behavior. If I made you feel uncomfortable in any way, please accept my sincerest apologies."

"It's all good cutie pie." You say, mimicking his lovely dovey attitude from before. 

He freezes and looks at you with a dull seriousness in his green eyes. "What do I have to do to make you forget this ever happened?"

"Hmmm, I don't know if I want to forget about this," you tease him, stepping closer to you to the point you are chest to chest. 

"What If I gave you a real kiss?" he smirks, cupping your face gently. "Nothing like that pathetic excuse for one I gave you earlier."

"Are you bribing me?" You ask, endeared amusement lacing your voice as you look up at the avatar of Wrath.

"Perhaps," he grins. "I've read that kisses are an acceptable payment between lovers."

"Well then, I guess we're doing it by the book." You say, gladly accepting his payment. He kisses you desperately. Seemingly devouring your very soul as if it were the newest edition of his favorite series. But behind the genuine passion and adoration, he moves with a certain intelligence, knowing just what he has to do to take your breath away. 

By the time you are able to breathe your own air again, you notice that Satan is beginning to feel the fatigue from the Potion's effects. His skin looks pale, and you can tell he is trying to fight off the impending headache. "Are you okay?" you ask, keeping your voice soft so as not to cause him any more discomfort as his hangover-esque symptoms begin. 

"Yes, I'm alright," he murmurs. 

"No, you're not. The others were like this too; you should go back to the banquet hall and lay down."

"But what about you?" The concern in his voice touches you, but you know you have to find the others alone. "I don't remember much about the others, but they won't be acting like themselves."

"I'll be fine," you reassure him. "From what I understand about the Potion, they won't harm me. I promise, if I need help, I will let you know."

"Okay, I believe in you." He nods but still looks worried. "But just know, if anyone attempts to cause you harm, I will burn this place to the ground and stomp on its ashes until I am satisfied."

His words send a flurry of butterflies aflutter in your stomach as he disappears around the corner, his footsteps echoing menacingly through the hallway. You have a feeling that his warning wasn't so much as given to you for reassurance rather than set aloud in the hopes that everyone else would hear it. 

Alone again, you step into your guest bathroom to splash some cold water on your face to refresh yourself. 

You definitely need it.

Asmo~ 

You feel like you're being hunted. Every single time you turn a blind corner or step past a darkened doorway, you feel like another one of your cursed loved ones is going to reach out and grab you. 

Despite a few hiccups on the road, breaking the spell on the first four of the brothers has been pretty easy so far. 

All of them have practically jumped into your arms and insisted on the Potion-breaking kiss within moments of seeing you.

Movement at the end of the hallway catches your eye, and you freeze. It's too far away to tell who it is, but you have found someone. You can tell from the way they stop in their tracks that they see you, too. 

Although you do not hate the feeling of getting pounced on and smothered in affection from the beings you love the most, today has you feeling a bit jumpier than normal. The longer you stare at what is most likely a demon at the end of the hallway, the more nervous you get. 

You don't know what to do. Should you run? Should you hide? Your brain can't decide on what to do so you brace yourself for them to lunge at you, but the embrace never comes. 

"Hello?" you call out. The nervous tremor in your voice bouncing off the walls. 

To your surprise, the person at the end of the hallway dashes away, leaving you confused and just a bit scorned. 

"Wait, please," you call, running after them and into the statue gallery. Where you are surrounded by dozens of elegantly carved statues. The darkened room full of figures should make you afraid, but you get a smug sense of satisfaction from being the one doing the chasing this time.

You stop in the center of the room under the skylight. The cool moonlight shines down on you, and you can feel a pair of eyes on you somewhere in the room. "Hey, it's okay. Please come out. I just want to talk to you." you say between huffs. 

 Through the darkness, you hear a small, shy, shuffling sound as the one you were pursuing forward into the light.

Asmodeus steps forward timidly; his steps are clumsy and off-balanced, most likely due to one of the potions' many side effects. His pretty peach-colored eyes were big and sparkling. The heart-shaped pupils and light blush on his face look so fitting on him that you just stare at him in awestruck silence, taking in his beauty.

Instead of basking in your undivided attention like he usually does, The Avatar of Lust shies away from your gaze of admiration and looks down at the floor.

"Asmo," you say gently, noting this difference in his personality. "It's just me; why do you look so nervous?" You give him your friendliest, most encouraging smile and extend your hand out to him.

Just that simple gesture of love and kindness turns his cheeks a furious red, and he takes a quick step back, nearly knocking over a black marble statue of a Demoness with hair made out of pearls.

"Holding hands with you?" he asks in a soft whisper. "I-I don't know if I am ready for that?"

What?

The Asmo you know loves PDA. 

You shake that thought out of your head; this isn't the Asmo, you know. If he's not comfortable with that, you need to make sure that he feels safe with you. Love Potion or not.

"No worries," you say with a kind smile, sitting on one of the carefully carved benches in the gallery. "How about we sit down and talk? Would you be okay with that?"

He nods his head slowly and sits down on the very edge of the bench. 

The two of you sit in silence for what seems like a decade. In that time, he doesn't meet your gaze once, but whenever you don't appear to be looking at him, his eyes are on you like he has an innocent schoolyard crush.

Finally, you decide to break the silence. "how are you feeling?"

"F-fine," he says in a small voice. He shuts his mouth quickly as if he doesn't trust his words around you.

"I'm glad to hear that you're doing well," you say, noticing the subtle change in his body language. He doesn't look like he is about to run off at any moment. "Why did you decide to run from me?"

He nervously picks at his perfectly painted nails, chipping the dual-colored polish and letting the colorful strips flutter onto the patterned stone floor. "I ran because I was nervous. The others are just so bold, and I thought you would want to be with someone more confident and sexy like Simeon."

'Simeon?' you think to yourself. "That's the second time someone mentioned the Angel's uncharacteristic behavior today." Although your curiosity is fighting to the forefront of your mind, you cannot deprive Asmodeus of the attention he craves. 

"Right now, Asmo, I want to spend time with you." you say, "I want to make sure you know how much I care about you, even if you're not as confident as you usually are right now."

His eyes widen with hope as his furious blush creeps up to the tips of his slightly pointed ears. But he is too tongue-tied to utter anything. He goes to shyly cover his face with his hands but you stop him. 

His skin is hot on contact, but you pretend not to notice. You can tell there is something he wants to say. "Asmo, you know you can tell me anything. Right?"

"I can?" he whispers softly.

"Of course you can."

He takes a deep breath and clenches his fist as if he's gathering the courage to force the words from his pretty lips. "Can I kiss you?" He spits it out so quickly that you almost miss his request.

Your smile is victorious, "Of course you can."

"C-close your eyes, please," he stutters, "It's better that way."

You oblige, letting your eyelids shut. You feel him lean in close, his nervous breaths hitting your skin as the spellbound Demon gathers the courage to kiss you.

You don't dare move; this kiss has to be done on his terms, even if it takes all day. 

His breath hitches, and he goes for it, giving you the smallest, quickest peck on the cheek. Before he slides over to the other side of the bench. A melancholy feeling blooms in your gut as you begin to wonder if that little kiss would really be enough to break the spell he is under.

But to your surprise,  Asmodeus' laughter fills the room, and when you open your eyes, you see the Demon's heavy blush and unconfident posture subsiding. 

"Asmo?"

The Avatar of Lust pounces on you, wrapping his arms around you tightly and nuzzling his face into your neck. "You are just too cute, Hon." he squeals, very much back to normal. 

One thing you noticed is that he does not look anywhere near as tired as the others did after the spell is broken. Is it his concealer or is it something else?

He notices the way you are looking at him and gives you a dazzling smile. "It will take a bit more than a silly Love Potion to bring me down." he winks. 

"You remember everything?"

"Mostly," he giggles. "I know there was something in the cookies and then I just started feeling strange. I felt like I was watching some kind of bad reality TV show. If I wanted to do something, it was like my body did the opposite." His features soften just a bit, and he looks at you with sincerity. "Still, thank you for looking out for me, Mc. Even if the real me would want to do more with you than just a cute little peck on the cheek, you waited for the cursed version of me to feel comfortable enough to initiate something, and that doesn't really happen a lot." His eyes turn glassy as he grabs your hand. "When you are as beautiful as me and used to having demons, witches, and everything else throw themselves at your feet, you find that people tend to take every inch they can get."

This time, you are the one who can't speak. The meaning behind the Demon's words causes you to hold his hand just a bit tighter as he blinks away his unfallen tears rapidly. This moment between the two of you may not need anything else right now. When words fail, you can rely on something as simple as silence.

"I should go lay down," he says at last, furrowing his brow. "You have a day to save, and I feel like I just drank a whole thing of Devil's Drink."

"Do I even want to know what that is?" you ask with a voice that seems to scream 'tell me.'

He tosses his head back in laughter. "Ohhh, you are so cute. Devil's Drink is a punch that consists of whatever types of demonus someone has on hand. It gets the party started, but afterward, you have the worst hangover ever. 

"Oh my," you shudder, realizing that you and Lucifer are probably going to need to have a talk with him about drinking responsibly later on. "You should lay down then; the others are in the Banquet hall recovering as well."

He turns and starts to walk away before pausing in the corridor and giving you a sly wink. "Don't you worry, Hon; once this whole thing is over with, I promise you I will give you a proper thank you slash makeup Valentine's Date. Kay?" He puts his fingers to his lips and blows you a kiss before leaving you alone in the statue gallery. 

"I'll hold you to it," you smile catching the kiss he blows your way as the carved figures around you send you encouraging smiles to continue your quest. 

Beelzebub

All of this walking in silence makes you feel as if you are playing some weird backroom-esque game; you feel hyper-aware of your surroundings, listening for even the smallest sound that could lead you to find another one of your cursed men. 

The bottoms of your feet feel slightly fatigued but you are spurred on by the fact you have managed to find at least half of the guys so far. At this rate, you'll probably be able to find everyone by dinner time. 

Passing by a large window, the bright moonlight blinds you momentarily. You squint and step slightly out of the light, taking a glimpse of the miles and miles of dark forest that lies beyond the glass. 

You take this moment to appreciate that so far, everyone is confined to the walls of the castle. This Love Potion has changed their demeanors so much that if they were to get out into the world, they would make quite the spectacle.

Suddenly, a cool breeze hits your skin, and you stop. The two large glass front drawers to one of the back balconies of the palace are wide open, and the sheer curtains are twisting violently in the breeze.

Knowing Barbatos would never allow this door to remain open for such a long period of time, you come to the conclusion that the door was opened fairly recently.

You begin to panic, your heart thrums wildly in your chest, and you worry that you're going to have a heart attack. You rush outside thinking that someone escaped and is out in the Devildom without their wits.

The cold air embraces you as you glance frantically around. Stepping up to the ledge of the balcony, you look down into the giant hedge maze below. It's only known to few if someone were to stumble out in there. It would take a long time to find them.

Swearing under your breath, you wonder if you are really going to have to go searching in the middle of the maze.

Before you can move to climb down the steps, a thin white flower pedal flies past your face, briefly pooping your nose. This little distraction has you turning your head, and you see a massive figure hunched over on a small-looking stone bench just on the other side of the balcony.

You are with a full sense of relief as you make your way over to them more and more flower petals seem to float to the ground. As you get closer you hear that they are mumbling to themselves.

"They love me. They love me not. They Love me. They love me not." You recognize that voice anywhere.

"Beel?" you say as the Avatar of Gluttony turns eagerly toward you and lets out the happiest little squeal of delight. You've never heard him make such an adorable sound before, and it fills your heart.

He springs from his tiny chair and lumbers over to you eagerly. His inhumanly strong arms wrap around you in a bear hunt that is so tight you can hardly breathe. 

"Can't. Breathe." You out topping his arm to get his attention. He pouts but lets you down gently; even though you're out of his arms, he still has a firm grip on your hand.

"Sorry, Mc, I just love you so much I didn't wanna let you go. I've been wanting to be held by you the entire day."

"That's all right, Beel." You spot a flower petal Stuck in his hair, and you gently take your hand up to his face to remove it. He leans into your touch and lets out a happy little giggle.

"I knew you would come for me." He says enthusiastically. "but it took you so long I thought you forgot all about me. So I started picking the flowers so they could tell me if you loved me or not."

Glancing down briefly, you see flowers he was plucking earlier. You recall from a Devildom botany class they are called eternal daisies. No matter how many one plus a pedal from it, grow back after a few seconds. For the Demon to have amassed such a large pile of petals, he must have been doing this for a while.

"And what did the flowers tell you?" You tease, ruffling his hair; his violet eyes follow your hands as if they are about to show him the world's secrets. Your simple touch makes his heart-shaped pupils grow larger by the second.

"Flowers?" He sighs dreamily, unable to think of anything else but you. Curiously, you decide to let go of the gentle giant to see what he would do if you weren't touching him for a second.

His face falls, and he looks at you like you had just told him Hell's Kitchen shut down for good. 

His kicked puppy persona hurts your heart so bad you immediately grab his hand, and the look of pure bliss returns to his features. 

"You're so cute, Mc," he murmurs softly. 

"Wanna know something? You're even cuter." 

He lets out a delighted squeal and excitedly holds you again. The unnatural warmth radiating from his body makes you realize how cold you are out here on the balcony. 

"Beel, would you like to go inside, and we can get you something to eat?" you ask, hoping to tempt him with food. But he shakes his head adamantly. 

"M' not hungry."

Woah. 

You pinch yourself just to make sure you are not dreaming of Beel denying you a chance to eat.

"Isn't it a little cold out here?" you ask teasingly, trying to take his hand and guide the larger Demon backward, but he stubbornly digs his feet into the ground and shakes his head stubbornly.

 "No, If we go back inside, the others are gonna find you and take you away from me, and I won't get to hold you anymore."

"What will it take to get you to come inside with me?" you sigh. Normally, you don't barter with demons, but you are exhausted and just want to get inside.

"Could you carry me?" he asks, his heart-shaped pupils full of hope.

"Carry you?" you repeat.

"Yeah," he nods, swaying slightly, "like a piggyback ride. I am always the one giving them it would be nice to be carried around for a bit."

"That's true," you nod, glancing back at the door; it's only a few steps. "I guess I could try."

You crouch down slightly so the much larger, much heavier Demon can climb on your back. Thankfully, he goes slow so as to not throw you off balance, but you have to reach deep inside yourself to find the strength to move the Demon made of solid muscle who clings to your back.

No amount of strength training could've prepared you for this.

Beel nuzzles his face into your neck as you take step after agonizing step toward the door. When you finally let him down on the ground, your legs feel like jelly but the look of joy on his handsome features alleviates some of your back pain. 

"That was so fun," he laughs, leaning in and kissing you eagerly as a form of payment. Although you are sore from this unexpected powerlifting session, you accept his kiss happily. It starts off tame and innocent, but he begins to lose himself. 

His gluttony breaks through the spell, and he begins to devour your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. 

When he is satisfied, you pull back and are relieved to see that he has returned to normal. "Mc, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't believe I made you carry me." he frowns, holding his hands together so tightly it looks painful. 

"It's okay, Beel, I'm fine," you reply, ignoring the slight pain in your back.

"Are you sure?" he asks worriedly. There is so much concern in his gaze you find yourself immediately reassuring him.

"Still, you shouldn't have to carry me. You need it, I will carry you around.-"cut off by the loud growling of his stomach. "M' hungry"

"I bet you are, "you say. His current state of hunger is overpowering the headache the others are suffering from right now. "you should go into the banquet hall; there's still lots of food left over from the party."

"Are you sure you don't wanna come with me?" He asks, "Food tastes so much much better when I'm with you."

"I wish I could, but I have to find Belphie and the others. But I promise I'll be back soon."

You can tell from the look on his face that he wishes he could carry you back to the banquet hall with him, but he leaves. As he disappears out of sight, you hope that all the cursed cookies are hidden away by the time he reaches the banquet hall so he doesn't accidentally eat any more of them.

Belphie~

There is an uncomfortable knot in your back as you walk; giving Beel a piggyback ride certainly was not what you expected you would have to do today. 

The sound of broken glass reaches your ears, causing you to flinch slightly at the noise. 

What was that sound?

Where did it come from?

Is someone hurt?

Briskly, you walk towards the corridor where you heard the sound, your head on a constant swivel for any kind of danger or lone shard of glass until you reach a small staircase.

You don't think you've ever seen it before; the dark wood looks old but well tended by the Butler's expert hand.

Taking hold of a railing, you begin your descent into the darkened room; you feel along the wall for a light switch until you land on it and flick it upwards.

You find yourself standing in the middle of a massive wine cellar with thousands of unique bottles of Demonus. Surround you and you find yourself mesmerized by all the dancing colors of glass.

In the back corner of the room, you find the source of the earlier crash. Belpheghor kneels over a broken bottle of miscellaneous liquor. Shards of glass sprinkled the pool of deep purple liquid-like islands on the sea. 

The youngest avatar of sin moves quickly, cleaning up the mess with a speed you have not seen from him before. He is so focused on the task at hand he doesn't notice you coming up behind him until you utter his name.

"Belphie, I heard the crash. Is everything all right?

His head snaps toward you, and he beams at you, his whole body seemingly abuzz with excitement as he scoops you into his arms. "Careful, there might be some glass still on the floor, I should hold you until it's safe."

"I hope that bottle wasn't too expensive," you shudder, looking at the remains of the bottle that is most likely older than your family tree.

"Nah, that one was only 500 years old. I thought you would like it since it's not too sweet," he mutters, brushing your cheek with his thumb. " I just read the tasting card and thought you would like it more than all those dusty old bottles."

"Five. Hundred. Years?" you breathe, swallowing nervously. 

"Yeah, that's nothing." he laughs. "I am so glad you're here, Mc. I am so bored. Let's do something fun together." He is overflowing with this excitable golden retriever energy, and you can't help but be infected by it.

"Oh yeah? What do you want to do?" you tease, playing along with him. Although you still have to break the spell on him, you may as well have a bit of fun with this energetic version of Belphie while you can. 

"Let's go hiking," he says at once. "It's too boring here, but someone once told me about a great spot for a hike. I have never wanted to go on it before since I would've rather been sleeping, but I think we could have a lot of fun."

"Oh, that would be fun," you smile, leaning your head against his shoulder, "Maybe we should go on a warmer day. That wind is really cold outside, and it will be hard to look at the stars with all the clouds."

His eyes fill with confusion as he looks at you with his unnerving heart-shaped pupils. "Why would I want to look at some dumb stars when you are right in front of me? You are so amazing I don't think I ever want to stop looking at you." Although he isn't going anywhere, his body can't seem to sit still. It's like he is hooked up to an IV full of Red Bull. 

Nervous laughter leaves your lips, and you reach up to play with his hair. "That's really sweet, but wouldn't you get tired?"

"No," he says plainly. "If I close my eyes, then I won't be able to look at you until I open them again."

"Oh really?" A little plan is formulated in your head. "You mean to tell me you will never close your eyes ever again?"

He smiles innocently and shakes his head. "Never again."

"Not even to blink?" you ask, looking up at him with big eyes. With your head cradled in his chest, you notice that even his heartbeat is accelerated. Is this another one of the Potion's side effects? You make a mental note to remember as much information as you can so you can tell Solomon all about this once everything is over and done with. 

"Not even to blink," he says confidently. 

"Prove it. Staring contest right now." 

The prospect of a challenge intrigues the Demon, and he gently sets you down on top of one of the cellar's many kegs. "What do I get if I win?"

"let's see," you hum, holding your chin in consideration. "if you win, we get to go on that hike right now."

"go hiking! Let's do it." he leans him close, never taking his eyes off of you for a second.

"Ready? Go!" You open your eyes wide and meet his gaze. Now that he is face-to-face with you it makes it a lot easier to steal a kiss from him.

Demon is ruptured in the competition at hand to even think that you're going in for the Bell breaking kiss until your lips are on his. And surprise and lets his eyes close, leaving you victorious.

As he comes back to his senses, Belphie relaxes greatly. His movements are lazy, as is his kiss. It's slow and comforting but perfect, nevertheless.

By the time you pull away, you see how heavy his eyelids are drooping.

"Are you tired now, Belphie?" You ask as he rests his head against your shoulder.

"Mmmmmhmmm," he groans. "How'd I get here? What happened to the party?" 

"There was a potion accidentally mixed into the cookies," you explain. "I promise you I'll tell you everything later, but for now, you should go back to the banquet hall and get some sleep; your other brothers are back there waiting for you."

"Is Beel okay?" he murmurs.

"Yes, He's fine now."

"That's good." he sighs, dragging his feet toward the door. "Thank you for helping with all this. Why do we keep dragging you into these messes?"

"To keep me on my toes, I guess." you laugh, basking in the warmth of the Demon's gaze. 

He smiles at your comment, but then a look of realization crosses his features, and he looks at you seriously. 

"Mc, please be careful," he says suddenly, his left hand rubbing his temple as his headache grows. "I don't know why, but I feel like you should really watch yourself around Simeon."

"Don't worry," you reply softly, trying your best to sound reassuring. "I promise I've got this handled. We will all be back together soon…"

~Thank you for reading!

Part 4 coming soon...

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

@solomiracle @randomdutchgirl @dn4su @downinbedrockck @yuuvis32 @exrellian @cuddlybelphie  @yeet-skeet-nifty-neat @romaissa @littlesliceofcheese @the-panda-queen @enoe-of-noen @marvelous-maniac @irllydontcare69 @im-in-love-with-fairytales @snowthatareblack @stressed-cryptid @miracl3d @eussstasss @ishouldreallykillmyself @unixilian11032 @soupieoopieisloopie @ourfinalisation @daveyserket @fenfourks @laffytaffyspoon @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @beezgobuzzbuzz @darkflowerav @bethleeham @fangirlinindia @eternallyanxiousandstressed @the-sassiest-toaster @nanamisbigassschlong @tak3yourpill @uhnanix @anjodedesgostoeerros @orikuu @lykunsstuff

[bleachification]

⸻ EVERYTHING IS BLUE

pairing: dabi x reader

word count: 2.2k

synopsis:  when life gave you a second chance to meet your supposedly dead childhood friend, you never expected it to be in the form of a villainous encounter. your once beloved toya is now dabi—a cruel, twisted silhouette of the gentle boy he used to be. 

note: includes mentions of grief and insomnia

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

There is a very famous saying: Love conquers all. 

Supposedly love transcends time. 

Space. 

Death. 

It buries sin and cures suffering, lightening the world and its burdens. It is presented with such a peculiar resemblance to what some herald as Heaven’s gift from above—a sublime feeling only justifiable by the overpowering divine or mystical. You see it in the stars; unreachable. In the sunsets and dawn; dazzling.

But you also see it in the darkness; for the act of love has made fools of many, robbing them blind of reason and humanity. It has made liars and killers—corrupted and instilled madness. And it seldom lets its victims go. 

Love creates weakness. 

You vowed to never let it make you weak again. 

After all, the last time almost killed you. But who could blame you? Toya was dear to you. Toya was special. The closest thing to a soulmate you could ever fathom. The boy was your childhood best friend and the earliest memory of happiness you can recall. Now, that is all he is—a distant, fleeting memory that whispers of fractured promises and bygone dreams. He is never more than a nostalgic breeze tickling your skin, or a particularly bright star on an early winter night. 

He exists between the lines of your past. Simply there. But never next to you. Never in arms reach. 

As time passed agonizingly, you had slowly begun to forget the most basic things, such as the bright tenor of his laugh and the soft sound of his steps—sensations you used to know by heart. 

Sometimes, you can only remember the features of his face by looking at an old photograph you had kept. It is one of black and white film, stained on the back and crinkled at the edges from the wear of time. In it, Toya is smiling, a small hand raised up in a wave at whoever was behind the camera. You can’t remember. 

Was it your mother? His? You hope it was the former. She always adored Toya.   

His left arm was slung over your shoulder and the both of you had cake and icing smudged on your faces, courtesy of one another. 

That day—your birthday—is one of the last times you saw him alive. 

So why on earth do you see that little boy in the eyes of a villain?

The face of a young man covered in gnarled purple scars is plastered across the city. Video footage from a high speed chase is being shown in an emergency broadcast on every single screen covering the downtown core. 

His name is Dabi. Prominent member of the League of Villains. It is an organization the Pro Heroes—your colleagues—are adamantly trying to dismantle. 

The man’s picture is blown up on the big screens alongside three other criminals, each involved in the chase currently carving through the city blocks.

Something about him is so familiar, but you can’t grasp exactly what. 

Grief and nostalgia must be playing tricks again. To see a dead child’s face in a villain’s visage is ridiculous.

Laughable. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time you had… hallucinated Toya’s image. 

With a sigh, you peel your dry eyes away from the ward’s television and shut the channel off. The room is eerily silent in the late night, void of the tv’s noise. You like it. Silence helps calm the mind. Settles the chaos. 

You stand and make your way out of the ward, down the empty hallway, and into your personal office. The room is clean and tidy, the only thing out of place is a stack of research papers strewn across your mahogany desk. You round the corner and settle into the soft velvet seat of your armchair before running your right hand along the underside of the table. A familiar click sounds as you locate the button and a small cabinet pops open from the left shelf. 

Three bottles sit inside. Unassuming white ones with generic labels. You pop the smallest bottle open and dump a pill out. The red medication tastes like chalk as it grazes your tongue. 

After a second of consideration, you take another, hoping these sleeping pills will be strong enough to stave off the nightmares and vivid hallucinations. 

Hope. It’s such a small word, but also such a large one. Hope was all you had at one point. It was the only thing grounding you to a reality without him. You had hoped it was all a mistake—a joke, even. Toya would pop his head from the corner and yell: “Gotcha!”

He would be fine. Alive. 

Anything but a husk of a human, burnt beyond recognition, suffocating in the flames of his own blood.

Now, hope is nothing but a pretty word to throw around when meaning is lost. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to a dreamless sleep. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You are experiencing a startling sense of deja vu. The television glitches, interrupting regularly scheduled programming. A familiar figure appears. 

I, Toya Todorioki, was born as the eldest son of Endeavour. 

The world—your world freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the man on your screen.

You stand up, shaking. Then, you run. Heroes and medical staff alike shout after you, but it all fades into a blur. There is only one destination in your mind—and it is a dangerous, painful place. 

It doesn’t take long for you to locate him. The city is in turmoil, buildings have been razed to the ground and rubble covers the once bustling space. You spot Shoto and his father up ahead, mere steps away. And in front of him stands Dabi—no—Toya. Your Toya. 

His hair is white now, the natural color no longer concealed once he revealed his identity. The scars have spread from the last time you saw him online. No matter. You knew it. You knew it was him. How could you forget?

Enji rasps out something in disbelief. 

Toya only smiles wide and responds with a sardonic confirmation. You could see it in their eyes—a living nightmare had come true for the Todoroki family.

But you? All you cared about was reaching Toya. None of them have seen you yet, so you take advantage of that by quietly making your way closer. The muffled voices turn clearer as the distance shrinks. Toya is speaking to his father and brother, words spilling out in frantic turmoil. The rawness of his voice rings through. Such intense anger and hatred cannot be faked. The two others are stricken by Toya’s address. You don’t blame them; the brutality of his language guts even you. 

Shoto notices you first. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, but Toya notices anyway. Your old friend whips around in your direction. You freeze as his eyes land on you. Recognition immediately flashes across his face.

His face. You feel as though you have been hurtled through space and time, brought back to simpler days. A scraped knee on the playground. Food fights in the cafeteria. A million pinky promises made.

A kid you called your best friend, reduced to ash and bones. 

These memories, both awful and radiant, wash over you with so much force you almost collapse. You silently praise yourself for keeping upright against the emotional onslaught. 

“Y/N, get out of here!” Shoto yells out, urging you away in a panic. 

You ignore him. Nothing else exists right now. Not Shoto. Not his father. Only him. 

“Y/N.” The way Toya says your name is almost questioning. As if he can’t believe you’re even here. 

You’ve somehow ended up right before him. Inches separate you, if barely. 

“Hi Toya,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. It would crack otherwise. 

He’s stunned, looking like the air was knocked from his lungs. Seconds fade into forever as his familiar gaze locks onto yours, searching—but for what, you can’t tell. It takes a moment for him to seemingly gather himself. The cynical persona quickly slides back into place.

“This is a nice surprise, but I’m afraid you have me all wrong. Toya is dead, Y/N. Dabi is all that is left—all that I am.”

You swallow. The air tastes of blood. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Don’t? Or won’t?

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe. C’mon, Y/N! Don’t tell me you still have faith in who I used to be. That kid you knew is dead. Gone forever.”

You shake your head, refusing to take in his words.

“And yet, you’re standing right in front of me… how…?” Without thinking, you raise a hand up to touch his cheek. You’re operating on instinct, not logic. It's the instinct to comfort him—just like he did for you when you were children. 

But you stop yourself right before making contact with him, unsure. Toya’s gaze flits to your hand for a split second before returning to your face. There’s a question in his eyes—one you aren’t sure either of you can answer. 

“Why pretend you care? It’s cruel,” he murmurs, a subtle accusation coating his tone.

“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” You answer, bewildered. 

Pretend? How could he even begin to think that? When you’ve spent your entire life missing him?

“Then why did you move across the world the second you hit adulthood? You couldn’t even stay.”

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I grieved until what felt like my last breath. I left because every single second I stayed felt like reliving your death all over again.”

“And when you finally came back you were, what, healed? Moved on?” He laughs bitterly, arms spread in mockery. 

“Moved on?” You shake your head, the pain in your throat almost suffocating. “I saw you everywhere. Not just in dreams and nightmares. Hallucinating a dead person… I thought I was losing my mind! Even right now I’m praying this isn’t some sick, twisted nightmare.”

He drops his arms as well as the smile on his face. “Well, you’re in luck, Y/N. This is very much real. See, I thought things could change. That the consequences meant something to them. They lived my death and nothing happened! They saw what it did to me—the power, the ego, the fucking obsession that ruined this family—and did nothing!

“He’s a disease, don’t you get it? They all are. I’m simply here to rid the world of that sickness. I’m the cure, Y/N. I’ll burn the rot right out of the earth.”

Endeavour scrambles. “Son, don’t do this! Don’t—!”

“Son? Son?” Toya sneers. “You lost that right a long time ago, oh mighty Number One Hero.”

“Toya, please.”

He turns back to you. “No. Sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but you don’t get to participate in this dance.”

“What? No, Toya wait–”

An arm circles your waist before you can get another word out, and all of a sudden, you’re being carried away at breakneck speeds. 

Your screams are lost to the wind. 

An explosion in the distance. Red taints the sky and fills your vision. 

You have never felt so helpless.  

The next time you see Toya—the little that is left of him—is at the end of it all. He is confined. Half-alive. Burnt beyond recognition. It is like he is dying all over again. 

“I should hate you.”

You sit at his bedside, speaking your turn after his family just left. 

Toya is… tired. You can see it in his eyes—at the lack of fire. The passionate, ambitious boy you once knew is truly and utterly gone. 

But some of his kindness has returned. Or perhaps he has just accepted his fate, which is all the more heartbreaking. 

“You’ve done… terrible things. Hurt so many people,” you pause, considering your next words. Three tiny things lodged in your throat, struggling to be set free into the world. “You hurt me.”

He doesn’t look at you. You’re not sure if that’s any worse than his silence. 

“I didn’t think you would ever hurt me,” you whisper. 

Silence drags on for what feels like the longest minute of your life. He still has not turned his head. Still has not acknowledged you. Your heart sinks. Maybe this really is it. Maybe there’s no affection left—all of it burned up with the last of his lingering sentiments. 

You stand up, turning your back to him, ready to leave. For good. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” Toya murmurs. 

His soft voice breaks the silence—and it is overwhelming. 

You haven't turned around to face him yet. 

“In another life, would you have stayed?” 

“I…” he swallows, voice rasping. “I don’t want to leave this life. Don’t want to leave you behind… not again.”

Tears are streaming down your face. You don’t care; you sit back down right next to him, where you rightly belong. The ache in your chest is so heavy you think it might pull you to the ground and bury you below its surface to try and muffle your misery. You almost wish it did. 

Despite the pain, you muster out your next question. 

“You think we could be happy?” You take Toya’s wounded hand in yours and gently squeeze, careful not to hurt him. 

To your relief, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes back. It’s faint but the action is felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we could.”

And if another life exists, you are. 

Undoubtedly so. 

[badboydevotee]

Timeless Birthday: Tangled in Twilight

Summary: "Having you celebrate my birthday makes all these long years of life worth it. How old am I? A gentleman doesn't tell." —Edward’s birthday voiceline.

The midnight bell tolled, echoing through the stone corridors of Darkwick Academy. A chill hung in the air, you stood at the entrance of the Obscuary dorm, heart racing, clutching a small velvet box tied with a silver ribbon. Tonight was no ordinary night; it was Edward Hart’s birthday.

As you entered the dimly lit common room, the shadows danced playfully across the walls. Edward was perched on the edge of a grand, leather armchair, his pale purple hair catching the flickering light like a specter in the dark. His blood-red eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Ah, you’ve arrived,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips, revealing his sharp fangs. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten.”

“Forget your birthday? Never,” you replied, stepping closer, the warmth of your presence contrasting with the coldness of the room. “I brought you something.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his gaze. “Is that so? You spoil me.”

With a flourish, you opened the velvet box to reveal a silver pocket watch, intricately engraved with celestial patterns. “I thought it would be fitting. A reminder that time may be irrelevant to you, but to me, it’s precious.”

His expression softened, the flicker of warmth in his eyes deepening. “Having you celebrate my birthday makes all these long years of life worth it.”

You raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at your mouth. “So, how old are you exactly?”

With a dramatic flair, Edward placed a hand over his heart, feigning shock. “A gentleman never tells,” he replied, a playful smirk on his face.

You stepped closer, captivated by the ethereal beauty of his features. “A gentleman? Or a vampire who has lost track of time?” You teased, a playful grin on your lips.

He leaned in, his breath cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Perhaps both,” he murmured, his gaze intense. “But it’s a curse to live for so long without someone to share it with.”

Your heart raced as you felt the weight of his words. In the quiet of the room, it was just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken tension. “Edward…” you started, but he raised a finger to your lips, silencing you gently.

“Tonight, let us forget the past and the centuries that weigh upon my soul. Let’s celebrate the here and now.” He took your hand, his touch cool yet electrifying, guiding you to sit beside him.

The flickering candlelight illuminated the bite marks on his neck—visible reminders of a life steeped in darkness. You had often wondered about the stories behind them, the lives he had touched and lost. But tonight, you wanted only to focus on the man beside you, the connection that pulsed between you like an undeniable force.

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped. “You know, time loses its meaning after a while. It’s the moments that matter. Like this one.” His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt a warmth spreading through you, a connection that transcended the centuries that separated your lives.

“Tell me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “what do you wish for on your birthday?”

He turned his gaze to the window, where the moon hung like a silver coin in the night sky. “To feel alive again,” he replied, his tone laced with a longing that tugged at your heart. “To experience the world not as a spectator, but as someone who belongs.”

You felt a stirring within you, a flame igniting at his words. “Then let’s make this night unforgettable,” you said, emboldened by the moment.

Edward turned to you, his red eyes flickering with intrigue. “Unforgettable? I have centuries of memories, yet you want to create more?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the space between you charged with an intensity that made the world outside fade away. “Let’s write our own story, one that defies time.”

He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours, cool yet intoxicating. “You’re brave, aren’t you?” His voice was a low murmur, a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Or perhaps a bit reckless?”

“Maybe a little of both,” you replied, emboldened by the closeness, your pulse quickening. “But isn’t that what life is about? Taking risks?”

The admission hung in the air, heavy yet intoxicating. You took a breath, grounding yourself in the reality of the moment. “I may not have lived as long as you, but I’ve never felt anything like this either,” you confessed, stepping even closer, your fingers brushing against his.

In that moment, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips with his. The kiss was both tender and fierce, a meeting of two worlds—yours vibrant and fleeting, his ancient and eternal. As you melted into him, the weight of centuries seemed to lift, and the world around you faded into a blissful haze.

When the kiss finally broke, breathless, you looked into his eyes. “You feel alive,” you whispered, a soft smile gracing your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rich and dark, as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “And you, my dear, are the reason I still believe in the beauty of existence.”

The spark ignited, and Edward's expression shifted, hunger and tenderness battling within him. He reached out, his hand enveloping yours, the coolness of his skin grounding you. “Do you really understand what this means?” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath ghosting across your lips.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I think I do.”

With a swift motion, he pulled you into an embrace, the world around you fading into insignificance. The warmth of his body was a stark contrast to his cold nature, and you reveled in the feeling. His fangs grazed your neck lightly, a mere whisper of danger, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re making it hard for me to control myself,” he teased, a hint of a growl in his voice.

“I don’t want you to control yourself,” you breathed, emboldened by your desire.

His red eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, but there was a softness there too, a promise that this moment was just for the two of you. “Then let’s make it a birthday to remember,” he whispered, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss ignited a fire deep within you, a blend of passion and longing that seemed to transcend the barriers of time and space. You melted into him, the world around you forgotten as you surrendered to the connection that had blossomed between you.

As the clock chimed, marking the start of another year in Edward's long life, —a night filled with secrets, desires, and an unbreakable bond that could defy even the longest of lifetimes. Together, weaving passion and romance, a dance of shadows and light that would forever mark this night as unforgettable.

Ao3 vers.

[thegoldensanctuary]

Part II C the larger paintings and the early furniture

Saint Cecile playing music

Fig 30 : Dominiquin (Domenico Zampieri, dit Il Domenichino), Sainte Cécile avec un ange tenant une partition musicale, 1600/1625, 160 x 120 cm, Louvre, INV 793; MR 181.

Painted by Domenichino(fig 30) in the early 17th century it depicts saint Cecile playing cello while looking at the sky with a angel under the traits of an infant holding her partition. The artist chose to depict the saint wearing an outfit contemporary the artist’s life, which would have been anachronistic for a saint who live in the 3rd century. The painting was sold by Jabach to Louis XIV in 1662[22] and was placed, according to Piganiol, on the unique fireplace of the time on the southern wall.

King David playing the Harp

Fig 31: Dominiquin (Domenico Zampieri, dit Il Domenichino), Le Roi David jouant de la harpe, vers 1619, 240 x 170 cm, huile sur toile, Château de Versailles, MV 5359

Painted by Domenichino (fig 31)around the same time as the painting previously discussed, it depicts King Davis paying the harp. Just like in the saint Cecile’s painting the main protagonist is assisted by an angel depicted as young boy holding the partition, while he is looking at the sky. But unlike the previous painting, in which background is dark, the one in the King David painting appears to follow the code of a state portrait : with a tapestries with golden fringes filling the upper right corner, and a column displayed on the left. It was purchased by Louis XIV to the heir of Mazarin in 1665[23].

2.3 The Furniture

The 1684 winter set :

Fig 32 : 3d Recreation of set 1109, in the central salon in the Sims 4 engine

The 20th of November 1684 a large delivery of furniture is registered for the royal apartments in Versailles. Several sets of crimson velvet are placed in the King’s apartment. In the room where the King dresses the delivery mentions two armchairs, 16 stools 8 portiere tapestries covered in crimson velvet with gold fringes, and braids, registered under the number 1109[24](fig 32)while no specific seasonal use is mentioned it is nevertheless possible infer that the set in question was meant to used for winter, as the table cloth and daybed delivered alongside for the council cabinet under the number 1103[25], is, as late as 1740[26], still mentioned in said cabinet and used as a winter set, probably until 1749[27]. 

The 1700 summer set :

Fig 33 : 3d Recreation of set 1870, in the central salon in the Sims 4 engine

In May 1700, Doublet delivered three new summer sets for King’s apartment under the numbers 1870,1871 and 1872, the set destined for the central salon, the 1870(fig 33), contained :

-8 portiere tapestries made of 3 pieces of brocade each

-3 armchairs and 12 folding stools covered in brocade, with gold fringes and braids, with their wood sculpted and gilded [28]

The brocade in question was described as “silver background brocade, with flowers embroidered in gold and silver, contoured with silk of different colors, with gold braids at the edge and taffeta lining.”[29], the brocade discharge includes several brocades with silver background used by doublet when making the upholsteries and portieres for those three sets. The 6th brocade listed is the one used for the confection of set 1870, its description goes as follow  :”brocade from Lyon with silver background, flowers patterns of gold and silver surrounded by thin contours of red, green and purple silk”[30], the descrition is almost identical to the original but includes however the specific colors used for the outline of the silver and gold raised patterns, the origin of that brocade can be traced to a delivery from the 12th of June 1698, initially destined for the royal chapel in Versailles, and who was given at the time the number 135[31].

[22] See number 53 of Le Brun’s inventory

[23] See number 125 of Le Brun’s inventory

[24] AN O1/3305, f⁰ 153 v⁰ ; Jules Guiffrey Inventaire général du mobilier de la couronne sous Louis XIV (1663-1715). Partie 2, p. 348, number 1109

[25] Ibid

[26] AN O1/3453 f⁰ 4 r⁰

[27] AN O1/3314 f⁰ 145 v⁰

[28] AN O1/3307 f⁰ 417 v⁰

[29] Ibid

[30] Ibid f⁰ 420 r⁰

[31] Ibid f⁰ 360 r⁰

[itjazzbicch]

Spoiled

Pairing: Lee Chaolan x Fem Reader 

Summary: Having their day together interrupted by a business meeting, Lee lets the reader go on a little self-care shopping spree, returning with something special just to bring back the mood their day was supposed to have...

Requested By: @whothehelliself (I hope you enjoy it!)

Warnings:  SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!) Some swearing, Daddy kink, Pet names (baby girl, beautiful, princess), lingerie set, foreplay, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it!), creampie.

Word Count: 1.4k 

"Hello, beautiful! Did you have fun?"

Lee was the sweetest thing, arms open for me as I returned to his mansion, shopping bags in each hand and a smile on my face as I smiled back at him:

"I did! I got some things that you might like too, hehe."

He was so busy sometimes, and we were supposed to have a day to ourselves, but some work issues popped up in the morning, so to make it up to me, he gave me his credit card and let me go have some fun shopping, and I surely bought something just for him.

"Is that so?" He chuckled behind me as I entered, whispering into my ear:

"You're going to be a good girl and show me, right?"

"Of course, daddy." I winked, smirking devilishly as I skipped my way upstairs to our walk-in closet with him behind me, full of anticipation.

"I'll be right here." Sitting back in a velvet armchair, I kept a smile on my face as I went to change.

At first, it was simple dresses, outfits, and some shoes to match, but we both knew I had something else in store.

His eyes lit up as I came out in a silk robe, a smirk on his face as he had an idea of what I was going to reveal to him, motioning me with a finger:

"You saved the best for last, didn't you?"

"Of course," I smiled, standing over his lap as I slowly untied my robe, whispering, "You work so hard and are still so good to me. I had to get something special just for you, Daddy."

"Such a sweet girl," He smiled back, jaw-dropping slightly as my robe fell, revealing the lace lingerie set I had bought.

It was his favorite lavender color, soft silk lining, garter belt, and thigh straps included, the bra having purple roses along the cups of the bra.

"Do you like it?" I smirked, leaning a little closer as I noticed his hands softly gripping my hips, sliding up my sides then back down around to my ass and squeezing as a smile grew brighter on his face:

"Like it? I love it."

That was music to my ears, humming as he was quickly turning me on with his hands that kept squeezing me, spreading my cheeks apart, and noticing something particular about this set, which was that the panties were crotchless.

"Oh, what's this?" He smirked, a finger running through my folds and teasing at my clit, teasing at how wet I was already, "I see why you chose this set now."

"What can I say?" I hummed more, biting my lip at his finger that was teasing, "We can have our fun while I stay all dolled up."

"Exactly," Whispering in my ear and leaving a kiss on my neck, he pushed his finger into me softly, only pumping once before adding another, smirking more at how my legs shook. At the same time, I moaned, "I'd hate to ruin this beautiful set by accident."

"Mhm..." I moaned softly, not even worried about that now, only fixed on how quickly he could drive me to such pleasure with just two fingers, gripping his shirt as I bit my lip, able to catch a deep breath as he stopped to guide me to sit on his lap, one hand palming my lower back to make me arch, the other returning between my thighs to finger fuck me again.

"Good girl, stay just like that," He purred to me, my body staying in form, his fingertips tilting my chin up to him to kiss, my thighs trembling, barely able to kiss him back as I found myself panting, my whole-body tingling, toes curling as my wetness coated his hand, his fingers slipping out but still rubbing at my clit, fingertips teasing my entrance that was no squeezing around nothing, desperate for him again.

"God, you're beautiful when you make that face, all those pretty noises..." Whispering in my ear, I could feel how his cock was twitching in his slacks, impatience beginning to get the better of the both of us, but I noticed how his eyes lit up, listening to his command. "Go stand in front of the mirror, would you princess?"

"Of course," Kissing his cheek. My legs were still shaking from my orgasm, but I listened, taking a moment to breathe, blushing as I noticed that he brought the chair right behind me so we could see the both of us in the mirror, watching his reflection as he sat back down and I could hear his belt buckle.

"Come here, beautiful..." Pulling me back to him by the hips, we watched in the mirror as his hands started to rub all over me, smiling into my eyes as his fingers teased my nipples through the lace bra, "I think you should watch this. See what I see. Know exactly why I chose you to be my princess."

"Anything for you," Sitting across his lap in reverse style so that I was still facing the mirror, I turned my head to kiss him, our tongues dancing. At the same time, he tweaked and pinched my nipples softly, familiar with his body and naturally able to grind against his cock, slicking his shaft and tip.

He let out a soft groan as I did, his hands falling to my ass, lining me up with the tip of cock, guiding me back as I sat on him, gasping at the tight stretch, slowly taking his length.

His back fell into the chair, latching his hands back onto my hips as I sat on his every inch, rolling my hips gently, whining at how a knot was forming in my stomach already. He loved every second, smiling in the mirror, guiding my hips back and forth some as he encouraged me with a deep, sexy whisper:

"You can do it, baby girl. I know you can."

"It's just so much," I gasped, moving a little quicker, watching as his hand found my jaw, keeping my head and eyes focused on our movements in the mirror, thrusting his hips up a little, making his tip smack my sweet spot which made me moan in the dirtiest way that he loved.

"Look how beautiful you are," He cooed, thrusting his hips up again, my walls clenching hard around him as he continued to encourage me, his hands tracing the lace of my lingerie, "Don't you want to put on a good show for your daddy? Make me moan, make me even crazier for you?"

"Fuck, I do-" As I watched in the mirror, his words sparked a fire in me, making his head drop back again as I threw myself back onto his cock hard, sharing a loud, gasping moan with him, letting my head fall back, knowing he was watching in the mirror as I bounced on his cock, my breasts bouncing, thighs rippling from the pound that met our hips and went clear into my stomach.

I felt like I had lost all control, gripping the armchair and biting my lip hard as it felt like I was about to be smacked with a hurricane, gasping hard at the sudden heat I felt as he hugged my torso, his chest meeting my back, helping me bounce harder on his cock.

"Lee! F-Fuc-Daddy!"

We were both so close, his hot pants and groans filling my ear as our bodies moved together, my walls trying to milk him for everything he had, my body jerking in his tight hold, his arms flexing hard with his veins bulging against his skin.

"Just cum, baby girl," He panted, his face buried in the crook of my neck, eyes watching the mirror intensely as his body started to jerk too, feeling how I was falling off the edge, keeping his hold around me, but adding his finger to my clit, rubbing rapidly.

Gasping with a smile on his face, my head snapped back over his shoulder, whining and moaning sharply as my body burned with tingles, his cock still smacking my sensitive spots along my insides as I started gushing wet heat all over him:

"Oh my god!"

"That's my girl," He whispered, breathing heavier as he sat back, guiding me back with him against his chest, thrusting his cock as deep as he could into me, staying buried, groaning and shaking as his hot, pearly seed shot into me, spilling out a little as he had a smirk on his face, "Didn't want to ruin my new favorite set of yours."

"How thoughtful of you," I giggled quietly, completely worn down, focusing on breathing till I felt his lips on my cheek, finding mine to kiss:

"Remind me never to miss a shopping trip with you again." 

2024 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome 

[devildomditzy]

Here’s a little Christmas drabble. It’s not proof read as I didn’t plan on writing it, but my brain was whirring too much at the idea.

Happy Holidays!

——————————————————————————-

You stare ahead at the large, ornate window in front of you, one that is usually closed, large velvet drawn shut, but do to your constant nagging Lucifer deemed today to be an exception.

You’re cozy, warmth provided by waves of heat flowing from the fireplace and the large woolen purple blanket wrapped around your shoulders courtesy of the seventh born.

Your tranced gaze focuses on the twinkling lights outside, the ones that Beel had so lovingly assisted you in hanging up one late afternoon after classes. It took some convincing, but it was nothing a quick trip to Madame Scream’s wouldn’t fix. Three dozen sweets later and the sixth born was on a ladder, string of lights in hand and a pastry in his mouth.

A tap on your shoulder brings you back to the present. “Oi, here ya go. Take it before my finger prints burn off.” The second born hands you a mug filled with steaming liquid. You smile softly, fighting back a chuckle. “Oh, do you haven’t already burned them off yourself? You know, to leave no evidence?”. His face twists up in mock hurt. “Hey! ‘M not a criminal!”.

“Some would beg to differ”, Satan chides from where he sits in an armchair across from you, reading from on old book that seems worse for wear. While they begin to bicker, you turn your attention back to the mug within your grasp. “Thank you, Mammon. I appreciate it.”

At your gratitude, he shuts up, turning back towards you. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and he darts his eyes away from you. “Y-yeah. ‘Course, anytime.”

He sits down next to you on the couch, his own mug in hand. “So, when we gonna kick this shindig off?”, he questions, tilting his head towards the tree in the corner of the room. It was dazzling, truly, adorned with multicolored lights and ornaments you lead the student council in creation just for the occasion. Some where… better than others, but hey, at least an attempt was made.

“Any minute now. We just need the others-” Before you can finish your sentence, Asmo bursts through the front door with Levi in tow, the poor third born carrying so many boxes he couldn’t see in front of him. “Helllloooo~ Everyone’s favorite brother is back home. And Levi’s here too <3”.

“Whatcha got there?”, you question Levi, setting your cup down and standing to help relive him of the tower of merchandise. “Isn’t it obvious silly? I can’t pass up a little last minute shopping!”, Asmo beams, whipping a pair of sunglasses off his face. “‘Little’ is putting it lightly”, Levi grunts through his teeth, giving you a small thank you as you grabbed half the stack out of his hold.

“I hope all those purchases were necessities.” The commanding voice of the first born draws everyone’s attention as he walked into the room, crossing his arms to questioningly glare at the fifth.

Asmo laughs at his doubtful expression. “Of course! It’s Christmas! Plus, most of its for me!”

“How thoughtful,” yawns Belphie from where he was curled up on the floor near the fire. “And here I thought you were a narcissist.” While being half asleep, his sarcasm never faltered. Impressive.

“That’s almost everyone!”, you cheered, standing up with a clap of your hands. “Where’s Beel?”

As if on queue, Beel strides out of the kitchen, ripping into a large leg of what appeared to be some kind of poultry. “Foods done!”.

“Ya could have at least waited for us!”, Mammon shouts with a start, standing up to make his way to the dining room. The rest of them follow suit.

You hang back for a second, taking your surroundings. There’s many words you could use to describe holidays in the Devildom. It’s warm, cozy, comfortable, even a little… unique. But above all, there’s one word that’s come to describe it perfectly.

Mammon calls out to you from the next room. “Oi, ya comin’?”

You smile wide.

“Yes, just a second!”

Home.

Holidays in the Devildom felt like home.

[flusteredtuna]

On Your Knees // Ch.2

Loki x !fem! sorcerous

Words: 1k+

Warnings: forced proximity

Summary: After making a deal you take a tour of the palace and get yourself situated, you find out how exhausting Loki really is.

this was made with the help of Character AI Loki made by @Skullbright. The opening dialogue from Loki is provided by them.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter3

A tour was in order, indeed. He shows you every worthwhile part of Asgard’s Palace and you admire the scenes in awe. The true perks of pretending to be the mischievous lord’s lover didn’t sink in until you saw the real beauty of the place.

Loki describes every part of the place in gorgeous detail, every area has a story. As time passes you notice how soft he is under all that mischievous exterior. The glorious act seems to be a front.

The tour ended with him showing you, your chambers.

“I have prepared the most spectacular room for you of course,” he winks seductively and it makes you tingle a bit, but it’s probably out of cringe.

You both approach a wooden door. Aged and dark wood with a lovely silver doorknob, “I’m sure you will enjoy it immensely, my beauty.” He opens the door and not to your surprise it’s green. It could be a normal amount for a forest elf, but for you, it’s…not ideal. It’s not overpowering, but not extremely tasteful either.

You wrinkle your nose at it a bit and turn to him, “It’s a bit green…mind if I redecorate?” He looks a bit shocked but then nods his head. Although you are surprised he’s trusting you with that request you take the opportunity as swiftly as you can.

You flick your hand and the greens shift into soft and dark plumb purples, and some faded yet vibrant blood-orange colors. You decide to keep some of the emerald greens out of respect for his hospitality. Now that he’s shown you a different side of him. The room balances out quite nicely.

“That’s better. Thank you kindly,”. He smiles, “You’re very welcome.“

Entering further into the room, Loki walks over to the once pine-green armchair that is now a deep dark purple and traces a finger on the edge of the arm. “You aren’t afraid of taking control in situations are you, Y/N?” He smirks looking at you as he lingers by the chair.

“Only a bit in the bedroom,” You realize what you said can be twisted, “That’s too much information though.”

Loki raises a brow and his smirk grows, “a bit in the bedroom?” He chuckles. “wonder what that would entail.” His grin is so mischievous, that it sends a shiver down your spine. You shake the feeling off, “Nothing for you to know.” And it would be nothing because you brushed away that shiver he gave you.

“This is just a deal, nothing more.” Trying to not watch his hand trace the top of the chair, wondering what it felt like.

He laughs softly and nods his head at you. “Yes…our deal. I supposed I shouldn’t get ahead of myself then.” He straightens up his posture and huffs a breath, making his way back towards the door.

You notice every movement Loki makes. “I’ll leave you to it then, dinner will be in two hours”. He smiles, and grabs the handle of the door, winking as he closes it so gently behind him.

You take a deep exhale, from the release of tension that once filled the room. Again, ignoring it all and how it made you shiver. The only thing you can try to do is shower it all away, trying to be rid of the thoughts of him touching you like he did the top of that chair. The tip of the stained wood, and the back where it meets the velvet.

He’s just such an egotistical man, it’s impossible to think he had such a way with words. You shut your thoughts down as they come through, and start to wonder if he’s putting them in your head, but even that is impossible.

It’s dinner.

The dining room is large, with a long table set at just the very end. The walls were adorned with intricately wrought gold and platinum, the flooring a rich amber marble inlaid with silver and ivory. The table was set with fine china, sterling silver cutlery, and crystal glasses. Candles burned brightly, illuminating the entire room with warm, golden light. The whole space was a masterpiece of decor and artistry, a sight to behold. The opposite end that you entered to.

The God of Mischief is sitting back, wine in hand, legs crossed, with that devilish smirk on his face. “My fair witch, please join me” he raises a glass.

Rolling your eyes you make your way to the head of the table and sit at the side, trying not to look like you enjoy any part of this other than maybe your large glass of red wine.

“So, it seems our little arrangement is working out quite nicely.” Loki raises a brow. He takes a sip of wine and leans back in his chair, “How are you enjoying me so far?”.

You chuckle at his ridiculous remark, “You as in your home? Is splendid, thank you,” that was your best attempt at dodging the real question. He nods his head, clearly pleased with your answer, “I pride myself on the fact that I am an immaculate host.” Loki looks deeper into your eyes, “And you, my witch, are rather charming to look at.“ he twirls his wine cup in his hand, still staring deeply.

Humming at his compliment inquisitively, you look from his wine to his face. Loki is grinning ear to ear, leaning closer yet again.

His eyes have become dark, as they stare further into you, “What is it about me that is so intriguing to you, my witch?”. You snap to respond “What makes you think you can twist me around your finger so easily, Loki of mischief” You say with a deeper tone, deep like the color of the wine in his glass. Twirling like a whirlpool.

“Oh I don’t think I can,” he smirks and lowers his voice “I know that I can. And my fair witch of trickery, I promise you, I will charm you.”

Why does he have to call me that?

Your face grows red and flushed with annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you to not call me a witch?”. He places a hand on the table, almost reaching out for you in a subtle manner, “And what should I call you then?” He takes a deep breath and his expression is even more devilish. “Anything else that’s less, degrading.”

Your face is twisted in a scowl, eyes narrow and nostrils flaring. You want to rip him apart with your bare hands, tear him to shreds with your words.

The way he scoffs makes you want to crawl out of your skin. “Is that so? My darling…” You try your best to hide any hint of enjoyment with this exchange as the words tickle your skin, making the hair on your arm stand. Your body feels as if it’s being consumed by the gaze of those vexatious eyes. Their hypnotic gaze dances down your body, drinking in every detail. Even the way Loki looks at you feels like a form of indulgence as if you were a delicious delicacy to be savored at their leisure.

The Trickster God’s facial expressions seem to shift wildly, going from amusement and flirtation to a darker look of lust. He thinks he has you so easy, sitting there like acting like a fool.

“You are such a prick”. Loki is caught off guard by the sudden boldness and authority in your speech. But he is clearly entertained.

You stare at each other, a sense of rivalry between you both growing. He laughs softly as he raises a brow, “My my, darling you are feisty. But I shall tell you, I have no intentions of backing down.”

You shake your head in disbelief at the ignorance and stupidity of the words that just came from his mouth. Although the fire he has lit under you, makes your heart race.

“Fine.” You clench your fists. The way that name sounds coming from his mouth makes you feel so guilty.

“Charm me all you want. I won’t break,” You stand up and head to the door. Anger steaming out of your ears, “I’m headed to bed, these games exhaust me.”

Before you can reach the door frame, Loki gets up from his chair and walks in front of you, blocking the door. Towering over you, “My darling… This is only the beginning. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

His expression is dark again, as he stares down at you, challenging you. And not moving an inch.

“Move.” You say sternly, looking straight on.

He stays put, “Oh no, I don’t think I will, witch.“ The anger brewing inside you is bubbling past your brim. I hate that name. You’re trying hard to keep yourself grounded, but there’s this overwhelming feeling of emotion coursing through your veins.

With a flick of your hand, you move him to the side and walk past him

“Goodnight, Loki,”.

His cheeks are red out of anger and slight embarrassment. He stares as you exit, and says just loud enough for you to still hear, “Goodnight, my lovely witch.” Making it down the hallway, you catch a smile creeping onto your face.

The door makes a click as it locks. Finally.

[sychosid]

[nsfw]

Hi everyone! Just posting an example of the type of writing im doing for my ko-fi. i'll be posting ficlets for any type of wrestling pairing (as in canon x canon, oc x canon, or even oc x oc!). there will also be exclusive headcanons, and every request (within my personal guidelines which i will outline on my ko-fi soon) is a guarantee, unlike here where requests will be entirely optional! (I also take writing commissions, you can DM about those!)

here's my ko-fi and enjoy the fic!

Christian stood over Noel, watching it as it shivered. Stripped down bare to no clothes, just the harness it wore around it’s pale skin, the bit gag shoved into it’s mouth that was secured into the mess of purple hair, and it’s limbs awkwardly cuffed together at the ankles and wrists, forcing it to walk around on all fours like the slave that it was. If it wanted to stand it’d have to do it hunched over, which was perfect for Christian to bend Noel over and fuck it mercilessly. However, it wasn’t time for that. 

Noel looked up at Christian, eyes wide and already teary eyed. Christian knelt, caressing it’s face. His mouth was as stiff as ever, an almost displeased look on his face. His own eyes gave away to the pride that he held for his slave. It was behaved. It listened perfectly. His fingers slid down it’s face, to it’s collar. Leather, plush and soft, sewn together with sturdy silk thread. It was an entirely custom made piece that took hours just for Christian to design. It wouldn’t be the only one, but it was the one on to be used for tonight. 

Christian stepped back as he heard a whine come from Noel’s throat, a slight smirk gracing his face. He loved how desperate Noel was for it. His words hardly came out as affectionate as his thoughts. Instead, he made his way to an armchair. Velvet, purple, almost royal in the way it was designed. He sat down, crossing left leg over the right and beckoning Noel forward with just two fingers.

Immediately, it began crawling, the jangling of steel chains accompanying it. Hands and knees is how it made it’s way forward, leaving no space for doubt the way it was obedient for Christian. It waited like a dog, staring up at it’s master.

The older man tapped his heel against the tile a few times, arm resting on the arm rest, his face propped up against his fist. He patted his lap, watching as his slave scrambled up to him. His lips twitched into a smile for a moment as Noel did. He stopped it mid way, so that its upper body rested on Christian’s lap. One of his legs found its way between Noel’s legs, as he pushed it up into Noel’s dick.

Noel whimpered, adjusting slightly. That only earned it another firm push, resulting in a low pitched whine. It gave a pathetic thrust of it’s hips, finding nothing in return at that time.

“Behave.” Christian warned, leaning back as his hand slid over his leather belt. A subtle threat, one Noel had to keep itself from drooling over. It’s master could feel itself getting hard from the sight and sensations. He could smell Noel’s desperation. He found himself moving his hand from his belt to his crotch, gently kneading his own dick under his palm.

Tonight was going to be a slow night, and Christian was going to savor every moment of it.

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Fourteen: Ebb and Flow

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 14.6K

CW: Eren being an absolute boobs man / YN getting off to Eren's voice - not (dammit) but, well... read on

Never, in all his sixteen years of life, can Armin recall partaking of a private dinner as grand as this. They begin with flatbread and a stew thick with clams and cod and crabs. Then come fennel greens with radishes and crumbled cheese and olives, lamprey pie and trout, and swan served in her plumage stuffed with oysters and sun peppers. For the sweet, a heaping tray of lemon cakes is to be served.

All southron fare, Armin notes. A taste of home, Rod Reiss declared, smiling that magnanimous smile of his. A taste of home but for the swan. After all, the king must have his swan. Which is stuffed with southron victuals, to be sure, Armin grants as he bites into a sun pepper embedded in his forkful of fowl and promptly feels his mouth burning. He reaches for his glass of lemonsweet at once and sighs a secret sigh of relief as the cool sweet and tart drink douses the fires in his maw. He has never been able to tolerate heat within as well as he can the heat without. He is perhaps the only southerner made so, as his lord grandfather will often jest. Still he does not shrink from the flames. He is a true southerner in that regard; he need only have his proverbial buckets of water and he can eat his fill of spices and peppers like the true southron boy he is.

The room in which they dine is as grand as the feast set before them. Few have been fortunate enough to claim they had set foot in the king’s privy chambers - Armin cannot quite believe he can now count himself among that fortunate few. It was all he could do not to stare around like an ignorant dullard the moment he entered the very heart of the king’s private life earlier that night.

It is the richest privy chamber he has yet seen, with its high vaulted ceiling and gray marble floor, so shiny that he could see his own awed face looking back up at him from beneath his feet. Yet nothing caught his attention better than the large glass-fronted wooden display situated against the righthand wall of the room. The king’s private collection of scientific artifacts, Armin thought with a thrill of realization, eyes flitting rapidly, hungrily across the wooden shelves. He would have gladly spent the night musing on every one had the king not ushered them to their seats. They have set the long table at the heart of the chamber, moving aside the purple velvet divan and armchairs that normally occupy the space.

How very considerate - and very diplomatic - of the king to set such a table before them all, his southron subjects. And what a table it is. You would think he is feasting seventy instead of seven, with the sheer size of the portions of each course.

To be on the receiving end of the royal bounty is an uncanny thing. His grandfather, sitting to his right, feels so, too, Armin can tell. Beneath the courtesy and politesse, he can hear a note of apprehension in Granik’s voice. As well he might. Six years at court have taught Armin that such bounty is not without its costs. A generous king is a courting king, and there is little doubt that this king will have something from them. They have yet to know the price they’ll pay for this generosity. But the presence of Uncle Kaspar and his brood tells Armin much and more.

“Have a taste of the swan, Hagen, it’s most excellent. And I say that as someone not well-disposed to these tongue scorchers you southerners love so much. Server!” His Majesty barks toward the line of serving men standing dutifully behind his seat at the head of the table, ready to serve at his command. “Give his lordship a good thick slice off that roast.”

One of them obliges, a man with a common face in the purple livery and Founder’s head badge of the Royal House’s household staff. He sets about his commission and returns to his place behind his lord’s chair, expression blank and servile. Behind the line of servants, the tall glass windows flaunt the great capital of the crown lands, Belris. Against the black velvet sky, the many lights of the city’s many buildings take the place of the stars above. Lord Hagen smiles civilly down at the hunk of spiced bird on his plate and spears himself a piece, to the king’s approval.

“So, when will you leave our most vibrant court for the comforts of home?” His Majesty inquires as he starts on his third slice of lamprey pie. A plate chockful of swan and greens is lying beside the pie dish. Every few heartbeats, the king will grab a bite from one platter then the other, and back again. The man is never one to stint himself when it comes to food and drink.

Armin averts his gaze, careful not to stare too long at the ample royal frame. He takes a prim bite of his trout and listens on as his grandfather answers. “On the morrow, Majesty. So you must forgive us our surprise at this unexpected but very much welcome invitation. If we seem much harried, it will be because of our preparations.”

The king waves a swan leg about to dismiss his lord’s beg-pardons. “It’s of no consequence, my good man. I imposed upon your time and so it is I who must beg your pardon. But, see, I have thrown you an excellent leave-taking feast. That warrants your king your full forgiveness, surely?” There is a round of ingratiating laughter before Rod Reiss drains his goblet and clears his throat importantly.

“Now to business,” he says, crisp and brisk all at once. The general air of relaxed contentment about the table grows anxious and expectant at the drop of a hat.

Armin schools his features into a look of mild curiosity despite the eels in his stomach. Here it comes. For the umpteenth time that night, he wishes he is seated on the opposite side of the table if only to get his fill of the king’s curios. The gilt white marble of the fireplace and its lively flames can only offer so much distraction. Prince Urklyn and his Gudrun almost make up for that, though. Their cloying display of unabashed affection is enough to make him gag. Fourteen-year-old Cousin Gunther, seated to his left, is no better off; Armin can hear his snorts and huffs of disgust every time His Royal Highness and his sweetheart turn to each other with their sickeningly sweet simpers as they feed each other morsels from the other’s fork.

“As you know,” the king begins after a healthy bite of pie, “our Procurator, may the gods give him rest, has gone on to join his forefathers in the light of the Fields. A most untimely and tragic end for a good and devoted servant, brought about by evil hearts.”

An unseasonal chill immerses the luxuriant chamber, driving away the warmth of the hearthflames. It is enough to make even the happy couple stop their simpering. His Majesty sighs into the silence, his face grim, and waves his empty goblet around. Little Yakob Halkin totters forward, clad in his own purple tunic to match the serving men, and refills the king’s cup. The pitcher is half his height, heavy with wine and cumbersome for a little boy of six, yet not a drop is spilled.

Good lad, Armin finds himself reveling in the lordling’s success as he watches him toddle back to his place amongst the servants, at the end of the line of these much older and more capable men. The boy seems to shrink back against the tied-up swags of the long purple velvet curtain he is standing in front of, as if he can somehow make himself disappear into the folds of rich cloth.

Poor lad. Most of the Halkin clan will not be going home for this reprieve. All fear for their stripling and what the king may do in their absence. Children as young as him are a rare sight in court; the nobility prefer to keep their brood at home until their tenth yeardays. Even babes in arms born at court are soon whisked off for home, where they will grow and be raised in the ways of the highborn until they come back to court a full decade later. Yakob Halkin, at six, is a precocious little courtier. Too young to be a piece in the long game. Armin recalls the excitement and the anxiety he felt during his first few days at court six long years ago. There will be no excitement for the Halkin boy. That leaves only anxiety. Not a good sentiment for a child.

“And so we are left with an empty seat in the most illustrious Conclave, and that empty seat wants filling,” Rod Reiss announces after a long swig of wine.

Armin feels his heart beat faster, hardly daring to believe it. He shoves a forkful of swan in his mouth on reflex, unable to feel the burn of the peppers nor taste the heavy juices of the meat. Granik’s grip tightens on his table knife yet otherwise he betrays no emotion but for a discreet interest.

The king turns to Lord Hagen with an air of flourishing his favor. “It pleases me to name you the new lord treasurer and Procurator of the Royal Conclave.”

And just like that, the Arlert star rises even higher. Armin looks down at his half-emptied plate. The grease from the swan and his trout has mixed and is slowly starting to congeal. What little mouthful of pie he has lies to the side of the plate, brown, oily, and brown. Suddenly, he finds his appetite leaving him. He places his knife and fork down. His House’s fortune is being made and yet it holds no joy for him. For a moment, he feels like the most contrary boy in the world.

The joy will come, a voice inside him whispers. Shock is only natural for shocking news. It is enough to know that you rise high.

Lord Hagen finds his voice at last. “Y-Your Majesty, you honor me. I hardly think I am fit for such an office-”

“Why are you not fit when I deem you so?” The king pops an olive into his mouth, chews, swallows. “I will be judge of your fitness. I see what you have done in Krolva. You run an excellent household, they tell me.” He takes another deep draught from his goblet and continues, “I say you are more than capable. You must not presume to question my good judgment, my lord.”

“I would not dare, Your Majesty,” Lord Hagen assures hastily, hearing, as Armin heard, the edge to the royal tone as the king uttered his last sentence. It is a soft edge, and mild, but an edge it is still. “I simply meant- I am glad you deem me fit for such a station, Your Majesty, lowly man as I am. My gratefulness knows no bounds. You will not be remiss in your faith in your most humble servant.”

“Excellent.” His Majesty gestures, and a serving man sweeps at once through the lilac gossamer drapes of the entryway next to the king’s collection. The royal bedroom, Armin knows, a place even fewer have set foot in. Only those who serve Rod Reiss intimately can claim the honor, such as it is, of entering such a personal space.

The servant returns moments later with a small chest, mahogany inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which he carefully sets before Lord Hagen and opens. Nestled upon its purple velvet lining is a golden chain, the chain of the Procurator’s office with its horn of plenty medallion.

“An officer is not an officer without his badge of office,” His Majesty remarks as the manservant takes the chain from its case and waits patiently for the new Procurator to remove the chain he is wearing for the night, a sumptuous piece of gold and mother-of-pearl, with its mother-of-pearl pendant of the Arlert conch. The servant drapes the new chain neatly over Lord Hagen’s shoulders and withdraws silently to his place by the windows.

The sight of the horn of plenty upon Granik’s chest does what words cannot. The truth of his lord grandfather’s rise to power has just now hit Armin, and it hits hard. Granik is advisor to the king and in his confidence. His thoughts turn to you and Eren, issue both of Conclave lords, and suddenly he feels a thrill. Here comes the joy at last. You all three are now scions of the councilmen. In a single night, he has joined the ranks of the luminaries, whom he can finally count as equals.

His knife and fork are in his hands again as he sets to his dinner with renewed gusto. That brief lull makes everything taste better somehow. How he thought the fare was too greasy is beyond him.

“How do you like the fit, Lord Procurator?” the king inquires, eyeing the chain around his lord’s neck and looking pleased.

Lord Hagen takes the medallion and examines the sigil etched upon its golden surface. “It is… a good fit, Majesty.” He releases the disk and it falls back to its preceding place upon his chest, the gold tailor-made and seamless against the gold and yellow of his embroidered vest.

“That it is.” Rod Reiss turns his attention to Armin, to his surprise. “Mayhaps our young master Arlert here can aspire to a similar chain in time, further walk the path his lord grandfather walked. With a mentor such as this, I would expect nothing less. You can be sure I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Young Master, two eyes, even.”

Armin blinks (somewhat foolishly, he feels) and inclines his head deferentially toward his king. “I thank you for the kind words, Your Majesty. Should I ever become half as good a lord as my lord grandfather, it would be a great honor indeed,” he says, turning to beam at Granik, who returns it in kind.

“Ah, it is nice to see filial piety still good and alive in the youth of today,” the king remarks as he polishes off his pie, before turning to his son, who instantly straightens up in his seat and takes Gudrun’s hand in his own. Armin eyes their linked hands and waits with bated breath. “Speak of filial matters… I must confess I had a more personal reason for extending you this invitation, Hagen, as I think you already know. As such, I would like to discuss the matter of my son’s marriage.”

“My Lord Procurator,” the prince begins at once, a mite anxious and hasty, before soldiering on, “I would like to ask for the hand of your granddaughter in marriage. It should hearten you to know that her lord father, Lord Kaspar, has already consented.”

Uncle Kaspar sits beside his glowing daughter, doing his best not to glow himself. How long his uncle has known of his daughter’s affairs, Armin does not know, yet he does wonder. Longer than we know, it would seem. The constant deferrals and refusals of marriage offers for his only daughter suddenly became a great deal more understandable.

Armin stares long and hard at his uncle, pondering the barely contained glee on his plump face with its thick honeyed moustache, the very image of his brother Lothar before he lost all the weight. Kaspar Arlert is proving to be a more enterprising man than any of them gave him credit for. Lady Mariya had never been a robust woman and he had staked Gudrun’s hand and reputation on that. Armin can only marvel at how well he hid this affair from the hawkeyed court always hungry for scandal and secrets.

Uncle’s gamble has paid off massively. Not many can claim to have won takings as rich as royal marriage kin. Yet it is not truly his decision to make in the end. The stakes are still on. At the head of the table, the king sits with his steepled fingers pressed to his mouth, watching the proceedings with those shrewd blue eyes.

The dice seem to be loaded in Lord Kaspar’s favor.

His lord father can only listen on as his prospective grandson by marriage presents his suit. “You are the Head of my beloved’s House and so we must needs ask for your permission to wed, which I hope you will grant. I love your granddaughter dearly. I swear to the gods both old and new that I will take care of her and cherish her. ‘Til aught but death part her and me.” He smiles, loving and tender, at Gudrun, who twinkles at the words of the wedding rite.

Will you, really? Armin takes a sip of his lemonsweet to mask the derisive leer threatening to take his lips over. The Lady Mariya must be rolling in her grave right now. A woman betrayed and led on was not a woman cherished.

“What say you, my lord Procurator?” The king leans forward, expectant. Almost bullish, Armin thinks, noting the forceful cast that has taken over His Majesty’s face. “The boy makes a most compelling case. You will be glad to know they have my full blessing. And how not? You Arlerts come from good Paradisian stock, descendants of the Sea himself!” Rod Reiss laughs and takes a swig of his drink. “It is a fine match and not the first of its kind. My distant forebears deemed the blood of Nyrdos fit enough to wed, and so do I. Let the blood of gods flow anew through our lines once more.”

Armin glances once more at the happy and nervously waiting couple before him. The crystals of the great chandelier above throw rainbows over their matching cloth-of-gold raiment and their faces, so bright and alive with hope.

A matched pair. A golden, glittering pair.  

Perhaps he had judged the prince too harshly. Perhaps that look of earnest, guileless affection for his cousin is as genuine as it seems. Perhaps they truly had been lovers long before Lady Mariya, unable to wed owing to a vital and unbreakable precontract. Gods know it happens enough amongst the highborn circles. Armin has never seen Urklyn Reiss - this young man of twenty-three, a man grown - look as he does now, an anxious, eager, lovestruck boy on the verge of hearing that sweet ‘Yes’ from his beloved. Granik, the beloved in this circumstance, truly had little choice in the matter, in the end.

And so it is that House Arlert finds itself bound to the Royal House once more, after two hundred years of lull. Armin looks on at the rest of the table as they set about hammering out the terms of the marriage contract, bartering and haggling like fishwives at the market, and feels a dawning sense of immensity swallow him in its grasp.

A seat at the Conclave and the right to call themselves kin to the royal family… No one has won greater odds in a single night. We just rise higher and higher. A chill - of thrill, of dread, of something else - courses through Armin as the ground seems to fall away beneath him and vanish entirely. They are rising.

Too fast, too soon.

Any faster, any higher and they may lose sight of the earth quicker than they’d like. And gods help them if they fall.

Thousands of years ago, when this world was yet young, sand havens were godsends, places of relief from the burning heat and endless sands that held sway in much of southron Lovaya. Finding one was a matter of life and death, and this was especially true for the desert clans, those hardiest of peoples who laid claim to the hellscape as their own.

The present is a more forgiving time. The Southron Flowering had reduced the need for such havens yet godsends they remain to any traveler who braves the Deep Sands.

You adjust your grip on the bowls in your hands and make sure the fleece blanket draped over your arm is securely in place, before trudging through the camp toward your betrothed’s tent. Eren emerges from within almost at once, as though he had sensed your presence, and flashes you that sunny smile that you are so fond of.

“Dinner?” you say, proferring one of the bowls to him, and pressing on. “I thought we could eat by that glade over there,” you gesture with your chin over to the wood of palm trees that border the fringes of the lake you have camped beside for the night.

Shimmerwood, this sand haven is called, so named for the beautiful, glittering blue spheres that beset it of a night. These are no mere fireflies, as folk had once thought, but magic at its most wondrous. The spheres would emerge soon after sundown, making the blue of the lake waters come alive, a veritable crystal in all but composition. They besiege both air and water; it is always a joy to splash around the shoreline and watch the water sparkle like liquid of the bluest diamond as the little orbs fly about the surrounding palms, like the fantastical fae of yore before they vanished forevermore in the wake of the Sundering.

The progress this year had not taken you this further south, though the journey led you through Sontsovo, Shimmerwood’s highly contested Province. For as long as Vascalin had been a unified State, Sontsovo and its neighbor Rybikhna have been at loggerheads over the jurisdiction of the famed locale.

You had spotted the glade earlier that evening as your convoy set up camp. It was just visible from your viewpoint across the lake, a cozy little nook, and private. It would be nice to have some peace and quiet far removed from the hustle and bustle of the company, now larger with the addition of the desert clan you find yourselves sharing the haven with for the night.

Eren takes a bowl from you with a murmur of thanks then glances at the woods. His brow furrows. “It’s very… private. Will your guards be with us?”

You suppress the onrushing urge to grin at the way his eyes flick over you, nervous as a bride on her wedding day. You do not know who you like better: the sweet, flustered, blushing boy that he is now or the hot, sensual, teasing young man he can sometimes be at an unexpected flash. It is a wonder to you that both can live in one being at all. But that makes him all the more exciting.

“We don’t need guards where we’re going. Have no fear, Sir, your virtue is safe with me,” you chirp then carefully reach out to lace your fingers through his and tug him along. He goes willing and agreeable, but not before giving you a little scoff. You hear the amusement in it and smile.

You trek across the sands on sandaled feet, past several men and even more livestock. Camels, cattle, sheep, goats, horses, all of these you pass, the lifeblood of the nomad folk. Soon, the sights, the smells, and the sounds of the busy camp fade away as you lead your knight through a stand of date palms and into the blue.

A dreamy sigh escapes your lips the moment you emerge from the trees. You cannot recall releasing your betrothed’s hand. The blue spreads out before you, wide and sweeping, shot through with fresh green and bordered by tall palms, most heavy with sweet desert dates. A high cliff of towering sandstone surrounds half the lake. Four waterfalls flow down its rockface, dotted here and there with more palms. Everywhere and around you the azure motes fly, dazzling, ethereal, beautiful. The place ensnares your very essence and casts an enchantment upon you, one that you are reluctant to break. Shimmerwood, always and without fail, is a haven in the truest sense of the term.

You tighten your grip on your dinner and bend to unlace your sandals one-handed. You look up almost at once as you feel the bowl cupped in your hand lift away. Eren stares down at you holding both your bowls, a small smile on his face. “Wouldn’t want you wearing mutton stew now, don’t we?” he gibes lightly as he moves to place the dishes upon a long, flat stone overlooking the shimmering, luminescent lake waters.

“Thank you,” you murmur at length, now under an entirely different spell. Only Eren could have broken Shimmerwood’s hold on you.

It is putting up a good fight, though, a worthy contender to the last. Another sigh escapes you as you gaze out across the endless, sparkling blue and feel the soothing coolness of the water lapping around your bare calves. Not too cold nor too warm. The magic of the place serves as a most excellent regulator. You paddle your legs and grin at the glittering eddies you stir up beneath the depths. Tonight’s bath will be a pleasant one.

“Which clan is this one?” Eren asks, taking up his bowl from your stone seat and pressing yours on you.

“The Pejić.” A group of clansmen is settled on the lake's treeless bank opposite you. Outriders, you guess, observing their distance from the main body of their band. Your own outriders are oft stationed thus whenever camp is made. “It’s nice to see Saʂa Pejić doing well after all these years.”

The Saʂa had been deep in discussion with the Alik (as the clansmen like to call Father) in front of your cookfire when you had left your pavilion in search of dinner. No doubt they will speak late into the night apprising the other of vital civic matters - Father will come with his news of the wider realm and the court, and the Saʂa will answer with tales of the South and the state of the desertfolk.

“I’ve never been this… familiar with the sandmen before,” Eren remarks after a spoonful of stew. “They visited Lenberg once or twice during my wardship but I’ve never seen them in their natural element like this. We never crossed paths with any of them when I was escorted home for the autumn.” He takes another spoonful and observes, keen and interested.

Half a hundred clans roam the Deep Sands, from Vascalin to Krolva, as they have done since the olden days. The advent of the Southron Flowering did little to still their restless hearts. A handful had grown roots and settled, founding their own Houses and rising to further power, yet many and more held to their ancient ways, only ever stopping for a season at most in some corner of the South before moving on once more.

“They're good folk, and true.” You spoon up your stew. The meat is tender, the stew full-bodied, well-seasoned and -spiced. Kolya never misses. You eat some more, pleased. “It’s good to know that Lord Hagen is friendly with their sort. If only that was true for all of the South…” A frown creases your brow as a sudden consternation takes you over, making you lower your spoon.

Relations with the clansmen have always been ever-changeable, ever-shifting as the grains of sand will shift underfoot across the dry land they traverse. The desertfolk are not widely beloved; the Provinces of the hostile highborn are best left shunned for friendlier parts.

Even your forebears had not always been forthcoming with their itinerant subjects. Countless annals speak of countless wars waged between the Rhyzkovs and the clans. It is a fact, one of many, that shames you. Houses old in honor are also old in shame. They make much of the glory and the many attainments they have made over the millennia, yet there are just some things that do not bear lauding.

“The Paramount House is at peace with the sandmen, that counts for more than the love of some Lesser House with little clout,” Eren puts in. The profound way with which he uttered those words charms you and does an excellent job of bringing you out of the doldrums. He truly has a talent for it.

“A statewide peace would suit better… but you’re right. My great forebears’ goodwill has done much for them already.”

Somewhere within the campsite, someone has pulled out his finger drums. In a flash, the night comes alive with the music of the desert. The rhythm of a sand dance. For a moment, the yen to return to your pavilion and watch comes over you. The lake waters cling to your legs, however, watery stocks that bind you to its side. The better part of you wants to stay, stay and bask in the enchantment of this place, away from everything and everyone but your knight. Like Kaya and her paramour. Except we’re both ashore and well-dressed. The thought gives you much amusement. And just that merest bit of heat.

“We’ve had a century of goodwill between each other, the clans and most of the South. I’d love to continue that precedent and keep my predecessors’ peace.” You watch the desert outriders at their rest across the lake, their beautifully embroidered sandsilk tents as intricate as their sandsilk tunics, trading japes, whittling figures, making merry. “My people are my people, city- or sandfolk, mobile and immobile, it makes no matter. A good ruler must care for her people. At the least, I hope I can continue to bring them the peace and respect they are due.” Most of the outriders have drifted off to the heart of the camp, to mingle and revel with kin and guests alike. “Other roads might be closed to them, but they’ll always be welcome in Arsechkala.”

“You’ll make a great ruler someday.”

You give your attention back to your betrothed and still. There is a soft cast to his gaze, fond and tender, redolent of the way he stared at you as he pressed his kiss to the back of your hand a mere week ago. The pale blue light from the drifting, glowing motes gentles his expression even more. It makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I mean it. And I’ll be there to see it all.” He places his empty bowl beside him and laces his long fingers through yours. You stare, enthralled, as he places a long, slow kiss on the back of your hand, keeping his eyes resolutely, steadily, firmly on yours. Never once does he break, keeping you trapped in the blue of him, the blue and the green of those eyes, a sight more beautiful and enchanting than the lake before you.

“Ah-!”

You jump a little as he springs back in surprise, blinking rapidly at the cerulean orb that has chosen to settle (and vanish) on the tip of his nose. And just like that, his spell is broken. You tighten your grip on him, disappointed beyond belief. It is not easy keeping your ire to yourself then. You refrain from glaring outright at the pestilential motes buzzing around you. How you thought they were enchanting is beyond you. Bloody little buggers.

“Bloody little buggers,” Eren gripes, rubbing at his nose, and the sight is so endearingly comic that you giggle. The little pout he gives you makes you laugh even more, and so your disappointment ebbs away. There is no use dwelling on the regret of a lost kiss, especially not on the shadow of one. You have a whole lifetime ahead for that.

You set aside your own bowl and inch closer to him, reaching into the pocket of your cobalt vevda as you do so. “I brought sweets,” you say, holding out a couple of blood oranges you had wheedled from the cook. “Well, sweets and tarts,” you add thoughtfully, as the sharp, sweet scent of the fruits fills the space around you.

Eren takes one and proceeds to peel. “Ah, the good old blood orange. So much better than the plain old bloodless orange. It’s how an orange should be, sweet and tart and bloody.”

“You knights do love all things bloody.” You bite into a segment. The fruit is sweet and tart and full to bursting with blood-red juice, which you quickly catch in your dinner bowl before it can run down your chin and stain your skirt.

Eren frowns at you a little as he spits out a pip into his own bowl. “You make us sound barbaric.”

“But you knights do love going about hacking and hammering at things,” you beam at him but then break off abruptly with a little gasp and a whispered, “Oh, look.”

A spectral turtle has manifested high up on the side of one of the palm trees behind Eren. The sight is so fascinatingly incongruous that it drives all thought from your head.

“Interesting things, aren’t they?” Eren remarks, diverted. “I can’t say I’ve seen one on a tree before.” A cool night breeze sweeps through the haven, rustling and bending the surrounding trees slightly. Still, the ghostly turtle holds on, quite immovable.

You shiver slightly and grab the fleece blanket you have set aside for this very eventuality. The desert nights can be bitingly cold, even more so now that autumn is setting in. You throw the cover over Eren’s shoulders and wrap the other end around yourself snugly before he can so much as turn to see what you are about.

Heat suffuses you at once, to your astonishment. You know he runs hot but it takes only this night to hammer the fact home. You will be sweating beneath the fleece before long. Not that you mind. Not truly.

Eren stiffens against you as you press closer, the better to keep the quilt around you. You cannot believe how broad he had gotten over the past year. You wonder if he will grow any broader. The image is a highly attractive one. Truly.

“Y-you only brought… one?” Eren croaks, voice strained. His arm flexes beside yours.

“Mm-hmm. It was the only one they could spare.” Those halcyon nights in Reicona spent on the outer stairs of one of Highridge’s study towers comes back to you in a thrice. You brought a blanket each for yourselves then. But the lady and the squire were new trothed and still tentative with one another at the time. The lady and the knight now have grown a great deal more familiar.

The knight, stiff as a board still, shifts in his seat at the lady’s proximity. “M-mother used to say that in the dawn of time, the world was one huge ocean. There were no continents, no islands, no land. Just one unbroken world of blue.”

His voice is yet strained and higher than you are used to. You press closer, smiling. “That explains the turtle ghosts.”

“And the flying sea jellies. Nasty buggers.” His forearm is pressed lightly to your lower back beneath the blanket, you realize then. Your heart picks up pace just that bit more.

“How many times have you run afoul of those nasty buggers?”

He chuckles and all the strain in his being seems to melt into the night with the sound. “Just the once. Once is more than enough.” His voice returns at last to its customary pitch, low and soothing. Lower than it used to be, you are almost sure.

You laugh softly. “While that sounds like an exciting tale, I want to hear about your mother’s.” You hesitate for half a heartbeat then, with your heart in your throat, carefully lay your head on his strong shoulder. The scent of him further encompasses you, sweat and sand and sun and Eren, a surprisingly pleasant, heady blend that you can happily drown in.

Eren stiffens once more the moment your head touches his shoulder. His grip on his corner of the quilt tenses. “I-it’s a Paradisian legend, from the C-creed. I’m surprised Lady Theresia h-hasn’t told you…”

“She has. But I find that these tales change shape the more they change hands. Perhaps Lady Carla’s is different from Mother’s. And if it’s not, it’s still a good story. It’s been a while since I last heard it. It’ll be nice to hear it again after all this time.”

Slowly, you feel his hesitant hand slide across your lower back and come to rest on your hip, gingerly at first then firmer, surer as he holds you as close to himself as he can. “If it pleases my lady to hear the Godstale then I must oblige her.” His voice is warm, so pleasant to the ear, and his kiss, when it comes, presses light as a feather on the crown of your head.

You close your eyes a moment at that tender touch, basking in the presence of your betrothed, utterly at peace with the world. Never have you felt so safe with someone. He is… easy. So easy, so safe, so comforting.

He begins his tale and takes you into another blue, the blue of the gods and the dawn of days. Around you the orbs fly, the lake shimmers, and the night pulses with the desert’s heartbeat.

---

The water is cool, yet not unduly so, soothing and perfect for a good long soak.

A private bath is a rare and blessed thing to have on the road, and by the gods will you indulge in this luxury. You scoop up your last bowlful of river water and trickle it over your head to wash out the last of the herby lather from your hair. You watch the slow and silent current bear the foam away, swirling white scrollwork patterns upon the black waters of the ford.

Ages past, Grisha Rhyzkov, third of his name, had built the Hallowed Sphere as a bride gift for his Halkin bride. Yana Halkina was a northwoman and unused to the southron graces such as they were. Thereupon her new southron husband commissioned this sand haven, a retreat three hours’ ride away from the city, so the foreign queen could escape the hustle and bustle and bedlam of the city as it please her.

The Sphere was a wonder in its time, the best of the continent’s pleasure gardens. The place had gone to seed in the ensuing years after the War of the Ancients, however. Zoya Rhyzkova had diverted Vascalin’s funds to the war effort, in support of her Reiss liege. Unnecessary luxuries as extortionate as the Sphere were not worth precious Vascalene coin, she claimed, not during these times of unrest and upheaval. The war is long ended yet no Rhyzkov liege has seen fit to restore the place to its former glory. And so nature took it over. Only desert plants and the sands roam the once sumptuous halls - as they have for the better part of a century.

You wade through the waist-deep waters toward the cracked marble steps that lay half-submerged in the stream. Though it lay in ruins now, you can still yet see the glory the haven had once been. Gossamer drapes would have hung from these towering rounded pillars, you think, seeing, clear as day, the delicate hangings flutter all about you, light as air and sheer as ghosts. The very pillars would have been smooth and whole, the silent lilies painted on their stone columns bright, vivid, not washed out and dulled by time and the scouring sands. The silent lilies would not have been allowed to proliferate on the river as much as they have at present, and the patches of golden, prickly king’s thorn would not have been allowed to proliferate at all.

But there is beauty in ruin and destruction, you have always thought. Poignant, melancholy, desolate, yet beautiful all the same. It is fascinating to fill in the gaps from what is left behind, to wonder at what it could have been before time and fate reduced it to this shell of bygone times. The remnants could have been anything and everything once, in the flower of its existence. The mystery of the unknown, it’s that which makes it beautiful and evocative.

You place your wash bowl beside your soiled clothes, piled in a heap in the middle of the stairs, and carefully stow your bottles of wash within the wooden basin. You then sit upon one of the lower, submerged steps and tilt your head back upon the white marble step above you, serene and content. Overhead, the sky is black velvet strewn with diamond-bright stars.

So beautiful.

A soft rustling and a tiny plop from nearby make you look round. A lizard - a newt? - quickly swims away from your perch, vanishing into the clump of water weeds on the other side of the stream.

“Oi! Who goes there?”

You still, eyes widening up at the starry canopy at Pavel’s abrupt challenge.

“Oh, it’s just… me.”

You bite back a gasp and sit up, heart pounding.

“...Pavel? Ksaver?”

You lower yourself into the stream so only your head is visible above the waters. You turn to gaze up at the top of the stairs, horrified and aghast and excited beyond all measure at the sound of Eren’s footsteps coming closer, ever closer.

“Sir, we cannot allow-”

His voice comes hushed as he calls out for you.

“Y-yes?” Your voice sounds shrill, too shrill, to your own ears. You wince and clear your throat.

There is a pause.

“...are you bathing, by any chance?”

At any other time, you would have laughed at how small and strained his voice has become. Nothing could be less laughable now.

“Y-yes.”

“Alone?”

A hint of levity is starting to seep inside you now that the initial shock of his unexpected appearance begins to subside. Suddenly, it all seems comically absurd. “Yes, Eren. Do you hear Mother and the girls shouting greetings?”

“No, you’re right… stupid question, really.”

You giggle at his embarrassed tone. “Dare I ask what brings you hereabouts?” A thought occurs to you. “Are you here to make water?”

“...yes.”

“Ugh, gods.” You wrinkle your nose and make to gather your things.

He chuckles abruptly, bringing you up short. “I only jest. I wouldn't dare pollute my lady's bathwater with my foul essence," he says, dry as the desert sands.

There is a bawdy joke in there somewhere. You refrain from making it. You consider a moment, hand pressed to your neatly folded drying sheet, before proclaiming, “Pavel, Ksaver, leave us.”

The silence that falls is heavy and pregnant. “M-my lady?” Pavel stammers somewhere in his post atop the steps. “Your lord father has made it clear, you are not to-”

“It’s all right. I trust Eren with my person and my honor. I promise you, my maidenhead will come away intact by night’s end.”

Another pause comes to augment the night’s collection. You do not need to see slender Pavel and portly Ksaver to know that they are trading glances. “A-as you say, milady, but orders is orders,” Ksaver answers, firm and uncertain in equal measure.

“You don’t need to move too far away, then. Perhaps you can station yourselves at the end of the hall? You can still keep an eye on everything and keep to your duty.” And give us privacy to talk. The hallway upstairs is nice and lengthy; no words of yours should reach your guardians’ ears.

“As you will, milady,” Ksaver says at last after a whispered discussion with his compatriot. The scuff of their sandaled feet on stone resounds above, followed by a “Sir,” (this murmured to Eren), as your guards proceed to obey.

“Good blokes, and dutiful,” Eren remarks at length.

A remarkable statement, coming from one who doubted those dutiful blokes. He had been leery of those particular guards of yours once he learned of their specific duty: that of guarding you at bath. “Pavel will find you prettier than he does me, and Ksaver is a eunuch, who finds neither girls nor boys pretty,” you had told him when he raised the issue. He retracted those doubts forthwith. Which is just as well. They are good enough for your father, they should be good enough for any husband looking to safeguard his woman’s person.

“That they are.” You entertain the idea of moving farther away from the stairs just so you can get a glimpse of your betrothed. And give him a glimpse of you, another voice whispers, filled with wanton mischief. You desist. “So… what brings you here?”

A sigh, and the rustling of cloth. Eren has sat down somewhere near the steps. “If you really must know… I was chasing a newt.”

The answer is so unlooked for that you blink. “A newt?” An image of the little swimmer darting through the river waters flashes through your mind’s eye. “I’m sorry to inform you that your quarry has escaped into the watery beyond.”

“Dammit.” Another sigh. “Well, if you see one, would it be too much to ask for some assistance? If you could catch one for me, that’ll be great.”

“What would you want with a newt?” Something swims past and you tense, poised to strike, only to slump back in your seat. Only a fish.

“...reference.” This said after an unduly long silence.

“Reference.”

He must have heard the skepticism, for he adds, “Lydia wanted a newt. As a good brother by marriage, I should oblige her, yes?”

“With a wooden newt or a live one?”

That makes him snort out a little ‘Heh,’ which makes you beam. “Why aren’t you bathing with them? You’ve done so the whole journey.”

“Exactly. Private baths on the road are rare and blessed things. I wanted to have a nice long soak without Mother or Darya or Lydia harrying me along. I want to moon around in the water, you know?”

“Sweet and pretty Kaya, maid of the mere, heedless of the man she ensnared with her beauty ‘neath pure moonlight.”

Your mouth goes dry as the desert. And yet there is all this water. You lower yourself a little back into the stream at the sound of his voice. You had not wanted him here, had been dreading his presence ever since your betrothed stumbled in without notice.

Perhaps you should’ve kept your guards around, after all.

“And sweet and pretty Kaya screamed bloody murder having, at last, clapped eyes on the strange man come upon her at her bareness.”

He laughs, light and airy. “I don’t think that’s how the tale went.”

“It should. At least, if I were Kaya. That is how my tale will go.” Your shoulders relax a little at his tone, returned to its accustomed pitch.

“Where is that scream?”

And just like that, the tension is back.

“I think you’re more like Kaya than you let on, my lady. I would hardly call that sweet little peep you gave me earlier a scream,” he says, with his voice like silk.

“You’re not exactly strange to me.” You swallow and shift. The heat would have been unbearable were you not submerged. But now that you think on it, the water is not as cool as it had once been. “And you saw- see nothing. And will see nothing.” Tonight. You clutch at the tops of your thighs, kneading the skin.

The hum that escapes him is the most sinful thing you have yet heard. You shift again. “Ever? Will I see nothing ever?” Heat bursts up your face and you open your mouth to let fly a retort when he continues, “Such a sad tale we make. Great Forebear Anselm was a luckier man than I, to get a glimpse of his beloved’s exquisite bareness.”

You find your tongue once more. “I didn’t say you won't-”

“Oh, so I will get a glimpse?”

You gape at the quick riposte. And at the low, smooth laugh that follows. Sin. This is the sound of sin.

“I’ll hold you to that. My lady.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “I might yet coax a scream from you someday.”

Who is this man? You turn to stare up the steps, mouth ajar and brow furrowed. Your entire face is burning. Is this truly Eren? Now you are tempted, tempted to wade out and see if this polished silver-tongued orator is your betrothed and not some other man. He certainly sounds like Eren. At the worst, you could have a devilish skinchanger on your hands, out to take your virtue.

Part of you wants to curse him. Part of you wants to lead him on, to climb up these steps, dripping and naked as your yearday, and draw out that flushing, stuttering, fumble-tongued boy that you can tease so easily. See how he likes that. Nothing will turn the tide against him better than that. Nothing is more like to rid you of him, Eren at his most sensuous.

Eren at his most sensuous is a most dangerous man, and dangerous to your constitution. And with you so exposed and so vulnerable… You dig your nails into your thighs, frowning. All of your trained refinedness flew out of the window tonight. You can’t have that. It will not do. It will not do at all. “How deep into your cups did you get?”

“I emptied half my waterskin during dinner. And it wasn’t filled with wine, either,” he answers, forestalling your rebuttal. “I have a wineskin for that, love.”

You glance down at your sunken lap, cheeks burning at that endearment new-heard from his lips.

“I don’t need to be drunk to proclaim my interest. Is that such a strange thought?” Suddenly, he is solemn as the grave.

Yes, when you’re coming on as strong as this. “You wouldn’t be saying such things to my face as I am now. Your silver tongue will tangle worse than yarn.”

“I seem to recall a certain game of qaxan where I did say such things to your pretty face. The silver tongue that you take so much interest in did not have a problem getting under your skin.”

“Was I wet and naked then, Sir? I don’t recall that I was.” The waters of the Silent Ford are crystal-clear despite its ceaseless current, slow as it is. You can see your lap, and your hands pressed to the soft skin of your thighs. Naked, so very naked. With the water this clear, there is no hiding anything. “You’re brazen when you're not facing me. Say what you said earlier to my face as I am now. Without stuttering, without fumbling, without blushing. Tell me how much you’d love a glimpse of my bareness. Look into my eyes and tell me how much you love the sight of me when I come to you as I am now, with water running down my naked skin.” You dig your toes into the fine gray sand, watch the current snatch away the gray clouds you have dug up. The words pass through your lips, unbidden and not entirely unwanted, “Tell me how you mean to make me scream.”

You bite your lip, hard, as your eyes widen. Slowly, you place a trembling hand over your mouth, that loose and traitorous mouth that had exposed you so. How you dared to say that to him, you do not know. Whatever had possessed you to do so was a potent force and irresistible.

The silence that follows is even more pregnant than the preceding one, straining and fit to burst. And then… “Are you sure you want to hear all that, my lady?” If you thought you had known how deep his voice can go, you are sorely mistaken. Gooseflesh prickles your skin as his words sweep over you like a physical caress, intent and sensual as a lover’s. “How much I want more than a glimpse? How my hands will take the place of that water running down your skin? For you can be sure I won’t be keeping my hands to myself.”

You start a little as you feel something touch your legs. A couple of small, silvery fish are placing tentative kisses on your calves. It tickles, the way their tiny mouths press against your flesh. You wonder how Eren’s mouth will feel against your skin, if he will be tentative as these fish or bold, hard, firm as only Eren Jaeger can be.

Your fingers slowly crawl higher up your legs, the tips dipping between your thighs.

“We’re treading dangerous depths here, my lady.”

His voice has reached such low and dangerous depths. Your eyelids lower until you are staring at your lap with a half-lidded gaze. Your forefinger presses softly, carefully upon the top of your mound.

“Are you sure you want to know-” your lips part in a silent gasp- “the things I’ll do to make you scream?”

You snatch your hand away from between your legs, quick as a flash. The splash of your movement echoes into the night and wakes you from your trance.

“Oh, to see your face now…” he murmurs with his voice of spider silk. “I do love that face you make when I get a rise out of you.”

You want him to be silent. You want him to keep talking. You want… You want.

"There’s a fire in you, my lady, and I would draw it out."

You cannot understand how the boy of Shimmerwood is the very same man who torments you so tonight. The boy of Shimmerwood is easy and safe and comforting. The man of the Hallowed Sphere does not feel easy and safe and comforting.

A soft huff of bemused amusement escapes you as the fog of lust makes its gradual exit. Whatever that all was is a bawdy farce of the utmost absurdity. Perhaps this is why men love to fuck so much. Bottling lust in is enough to drive one up the wall. Would that I could take my pleasures as easily. Your sordid affair, such as it was, with Roman made your lord father sharp to such matters as regards to you, however. He will have no young man warming your bed before you are wed. Even your own betrothed will not have the privilege, practically married though you are in the eyes of gods and men. The constraints of honor and decency have reduced you to only teasing and pulling at each other with words to ease the strain.

You wrap your arms around yourself and stare at the crop of silent lilies blooming across you, their silver-gray petals eerily blurred around the edges and glowing with a strange ghostlight. Floral ghosts. “It would seem that we both love to get a rise out of the other,” you muse, a quiet observation meant more for yourself. “It makes for an interesting ebb and flow.”

“My lady should emerge and get dressed, else she’ll turn into a pretty prune.” Your body draws up tight on instinct as he speaks but relaxes once more at his tone. Eren at his most sensuous has seemingly vanished at last, leaving you with Eren. Just Eren. You turn to stare up at the steps once more and smile.

The first stroke of the soft linen of your drying sheet across your skin comes as a sharp shock. It feels almost… abrasive. It feels strangely good. Further gooseflesh rises across your body as you hurriedly wipe down, bewildered at how responsive you have become to touch. Wiping across your breasts is a torment, a most pleasurable torment. Your nipples, already hard from the chill night air, harden further at the light brush of the cloth, and you bite your lip at the pleasure that flares hot through your chest. The quickest of swipes makes do for your cunt. There is a place you do not want to linger on.

You looked down at your breasts in slight dismay as you gather your things on the steps. The thin cornsilk of your nightgown does little to hide their aroused state. Putting on your rose-satin bedrobe does nothing to help matters. The little buds poke persistently at the thicker fabric. You sigh and hold your belongings to your chest, determined not to let them betray you to your amorous betrothed. You’d suffered enough traitors from this body of yours.

Eren is sitting cross-legged on the cracked stone floor near the edge of the stairs, hunched over with his arms crossed over his lap. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, as it almost always does these days. Southron fashions truly do him justice. And he wears them with the ease and familiarity of a local. It is fashion for the men of the far South (the common sort mostly) to wear their vidnoye sans a tunic underneath, and in this Eren adheres to. His scarlet-trimmed dark blue vidnon jacket is lying half-opened over a bare chest. The way his mother’s key lies draped over the smooth, muscled skin is enticing. A large part of you wants to run your hands all over it and all over him. Learn every dip and ridge and line of his beautiful body.

How the gods came to bless you with a man so desirable is a marvel indeed. He stares up at you as you emerge. You can see the light of the nearby lanterns reflected in the dark pools of his eyes.

“Looks like I will be polluting your bathwaters,” he says without preamble in a tone one would use when talking about the good weather. The manner of his current stance is made much clearer to you then.

Immediately, helplessly, your eyes dart to his crossed arms, the only things keeping you from seeing the… evidence of his interest. “Oh.” Oh-so nice and eloquent, that, mutters a snide voice in your head. You cringe inwardly. This night has reduced you to something else entirely. Where is Rhyzkova when you need her?

He notices the object of your attention almost at once and glances down at his lap. The smile he flashes you is wry and crooked. “Since this is entirely your fault, I would ask you to take responsibility but…” Eren turns his head to look down the long lamplit hallway at your faithful guards, who are traipsing across the corridor, having seen their charge finally arise. His expression is almost petulant.

“A good ruler must always take responsibility but I’m afraid I’ll have to defer.” The looks you give each other then are heavy with mirth and something else, something a deal more loaded. You consider a moment then hand him your drying sheet all careful-like, making sure your breasts are still well-covered by your bath things. “Take care not to soil it too much.”

“I have better breeding than that, my lady. Ask any Jaeger laundress. Not a spot on my sheets anywhere, no matter the day’s… provocations.” His earlier roguish suggestiveness returns to color not only his voice but also his gaze. “And she is a most provocative lady indeed.”

“Are we now speaking of ladies? Here I thought we were speaking of days’ provocations. But she’s not so provocative as all that, surely?” You can get used to this… flirtation. It is a tentative acknowledgment of the carnal desires you had skirted around with before and, gods, is it freeing. The trained little lady would be affronted by such lewd cheek; the wanton tart with the stronger presence is thriving and wanting more. “I’m sure she’s done nothing to inflame so much passion. Or give rise to such risings.”

Eren laughs, your sheet draped across his lap, and would have answered had your guards not come up to you at last. “All finished now, milady?” Ksaver inquires.

“Oh, yes.” You try to force down the disappointment the arrival of your men gives you and are not quite successful. Would that they had walked slower. Another minute and you would have heard Eren’s most stimulating sally.

“I’ll leave you to your business, then. Perhaps you’ll finally catch that elusive newt while you’re at it,” you tell your betrothed, glancing down at his upturned face, before making to leave with the guards. You hesitate a moment then reach out to touch the crown of his head, running your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, before moving on. “Have you a good night, Sir.”

Eren catches your hand, surprising you, and presses a kiss on your fingers. “Good night, my lady.” His dark eyes gleam up at you as you walk away, fingers tingling from the warmth of his breath.

You turn to look back at him before you disappear through the sand-blasted columns that border the place. He is staring back at you likewise; he raises a hand to wave farewell with that sweet smile you love so much. You return both smile and wave and walk off.

The smell of the sea is the first thing that strikes him.

Beside him on your Nightsilver, you look up and snuff at the air. A smile lights up your face, beautiful as sunrise. “The smell of home.”

Eager as he is, your excitement feeds his own, filling him with so much elatedness it is a wonder he is not floating his way to the city. But, more than anything, it is gratifying, cheering, enchanting to see you as you are now - just you, just a girl coming home after a long time away. It is lovely and charming and beguiling. And no hint of Rhyzkova in sight. The thought thrills him more than he can say.

“It’s been years since I’ve last smelled the sea… I didn’t realize how much I could miss it.” The past couple of progresses had not taken them to the far South and its glorious coastlines. Eren spurs Goldmoon into a faster trot; at once, you follow suit. You move ahead of the column, steadily outstripping the ponderous Rhyzkov wheelhouse.

And by gods is it ponderous. He has been doing his utmost best to get the both of you out of it as much as possible. His first foray into the confines of the vehicle was rather awkward. At least it was for him - he had never been in such close quarters with his future marriage kin before. But they proved pleasant enough and soon gave him ease. Pleasant as they are, though, being stuck inside the wheelhouse only makes him restless. It doesn’t even have proper windows; the ornamental lattice over them was wrought so closely together that he can barely see anything out of them.

But having better windows will only make the vehicle just that tad bit more tolerable. Traveling the country is so much better on horseback. Better yet, having you to himself vastly improves the experience. Besides, you look better, more in your element ahorse than cooped up in that great wheeled cage.

You stop just before the company of standard bearers. The crimson banners in their hands snap and flap in the wind, displaying the golden winged orb of their masters’ House high and proud.

“Years, huh… I can’t imagine staying away that long.” You glance around at the groups of commons, mostly farmers with their wayns packed with produce to sell at market or offer to the gods for the approaching Alyfeis. They move aside to let their overlords pass with respectful inclines of the head. You nod to a handful as you breeze through the paved winding road to the city walls.

“I envy you your proximity to the sea. Land-locked Shiganshina has its charms but it’s still that, land-locked.”

“Well…” You stare down at the reins in your hands, tucking your head in further beneath your lesos. The color of flame it is today. You look almost sweetly, endearingly shy. “You won’t be away from it for that long anymore. Soon.”

He has never grinned wider. Nor blushed harder.

The capital’s city gates are nowhere near as spectacular as those of Reicona’s. But then, no city has walls that will ever match those of home. He supposes the great sandstone pilasters flanking the entrance are impressive enough, with their sculpted winged orbs perched atop the columns, but the Pillars of the Falcon outstrip them in magnificence by leagues. A pang of something akin to wistfulness steals through Eren at the thought. It will be some time ‘til next he sees the Pillars of the Falcon.

He does not mourn for too long, though. The sights drive everything but awe out of his being, the moment they pass through the inner walls. There is just so much to take in.

The last he had been in Arsechkala was a couple of years ago when the court took its progress to the greater South. He had been only once before that, in another progress, his first time in the other southron capital, Lenberg’s sister city.

He recalls being struck by how different everything was between the two, Lenberg and Arsechkala, the new South and the old. It is not the South of his childhood, that fact is little in doubt. Has it changed much these past couple of years? Perhaps. Perhaps not. He takes it in with fresh eyes filled with wonder.

Everything he sees about the place seems new yet familiar all the same. Pillars and pillared buildings are much in abundance in every square and plaza. The packed dirt ground underfoot throws up little puffs of dust as their convoy marches along. Scores and scores of people go about their business, the Arsechkai in their lesostok and their vevdaya, the catchall term for the loose, shapeless garment of the South, cinched at the waist with belts of all styles and make. He has foregone one today in favor of a dark green tunic trimmed with gray (in the southron style, of course). He prefers wearing vevdaya mostly on formal occasions; floor-length ones are too cumbersome for exploring, and the shorter knee-length ones make him feel a child. The freedom one gets from a tunic and a pair of pants is still unequaled.

A steady stream of Rakiva assails him from all sides. The convoy slows for a time so they can skirt some road accident. A cart full of figs and a cart full of the pottery Arsechkala is famous for had somehow crashed together. Broken shards of glazed clay lay everywhere amidst scores of sweet figs. The two tradesmen manning each wayn are cursing each other as a small crowd of onlookers starts to gawk and gather. Eren can understand one word in every five yet he knows the curses the vendors spit at each other well enough. A handful of passersby furtively help themselves to the tumbled figs and hurry off before the fig seller can get wise to them.

They move on to the riverside market. Fishwives are everywhere crying the day’s catch as buyers of every ilk mill around, looking for the choicest purchase. Small and slender paddle boats ply the waters carrying goods of all sorts. Lenberg is a city of pools and waterways and rivers, the far-famed City of Fountains. The only waterway Arsechkala has is this river Goldtide, which empties itself into the Cobalt Sea by way of Sandpiper Bay.

For all the differences the two capitals have, though, much still stays the same where southron conventions are concerned. Of course, southron fashions remain alike either way of Lovaya, with the barest hint of disparity in certain design elements. The pervasive heat is also common to both, yet with the onset of autumn, it is not expected to put in much of an appearance in the next few weeks. Even the smells of the cities are redolent of each other. There are scents and spices not present in one or the other but the salty scent of the sea is prevalent as to overpower most everything.

It is the smell of his childhood, and it is fresh and bracing and heady. Enlivening.

No further incident holds up their progress through the city and before long they are coming up to Goldhaven’s massive sandstone walls. They had sent a bird earlier to inform the household of their coming and so they find the gates already open. The guards on either side of the entrance stand to attention and salute as the procession passes.

Eren stares around at the sprawling courtyard, as interested as he was the last time he had set foot on the place. It is not so much a courtyard as it is a small town. Highridge’s own yard is as large yet the little buildings make Goldhaven’s seem that much larger. To the right of the path leading up to the castle is the servants’ commune, he knows. The left is where the barracks are, home to the Rhyzkov garrison. This setup has always fascinated him; he has yet to see another castle made so.

Servants and soldiers alike are darting out of their cottages to welcome their masters home. A great rumbling boom resounds through the ward as the castle gates are pushed shut. Eren vaults down Goldmoon immediately and hastens over to you before you can dismount yourself.

You throw him an amused glance before sitting sidesaddle and extending your hands out to him. He ignores them entirely and reaches out for your waist. At once you stiffen in his hold. Your surprise delights him. The way you reflexively grasp his shoulders as he lifts you off your mare delights him even more.

He gently steadies you and holds you a while longer, gazing down at you affectionately, wanting to snatch this small moment before the bustle of activity sweeps you up once more. Your touch feels good, light as it is. And there is that exquisite expression again, that look that he loves, the look of soft, tender awe, as though you would see through the very heart of him, as if you are in awe of him, of all people.

But your family is coming up, and grooms are hurrying about, and servants are busy unloading, unpacking, unburdening… The moment breaks, and you step away from each other. You reach out to twine your fingers with his. Eren tightens his grip, happy as a jester.

“Went ahead, did you now? A pair of wanderers I have in my hands here,” Lord Alexander smiles, eyes twinkling down at your linked hands.

Eren is once more struck by how much of a big man his future father by marriage is. He can only imagine how hard a punch from the burly lord will be. Not that Eren will ever hurt you. Never. Never.

“I trust the journey has been well? Not too tired?” Alexander asks Eren, who shakes his head.

“No, my lord, I thank you for asking. I still have a few more leagues in me, in fact,” he quips, grinning as you laugh.

Lord Alexander chuckles. “Ah, the glories of youth. Would that I still have mine… In any case, it would be remiss of us as hosts to not see you well-rested. My child, if you could be so good as to escort your betrothed. Paul should be on hand to assist.”

“Of course, Father.” You smile at Eren and tug him along to climb the stone steps leading up to the castle proper (definitely not as long as Highridge’s, he thinks, glancing askance at you and smiling to himself). A gilded man and woman each flank the top of the stairway, both clutching a scepter in their left hand and a winged orb in their right.

Goldhaven’s halls are entirely unchanged since last he’d seen them, with its passages of warm red stone and marble, gray and white. The vaguely familiar steward, Paul Kolas - red of hair, green of eye, and thin of frame - directs you to the guest wing and henceforth to Eren’s allotted chambers for the duration of his stay.

“Only the best for our most esteemed guest,” you remark as Eren looks around, more than impressed. That this is the best of the guestrooms he does not doubt. A large iron brazier stands in the middle of the room, unlit and filled with coal (“Sea coal. Only the very best,” you inform him).

Great rounded pillars lead out to a balcony with the most stunning view of the sea. Eren finds himself heading straight outside, as though his legs have wings. “Your view is so much better than mine,” you say, a little wistfully as you sit on the green velvet daybed that lies beside a tall potted plant. A flock of pigeons is roosting on the banister, cooing and paying their intruders no heed. “But I suppose the city and the Greatshield’s silhouette could be pleasing to the eye in certain lights.”

“Gods, it’s beautiful.” Eren leans against the parapet, feeling the wind ruffling his hair, and takes in a deep whiff of the cool salt breeze. Never has he felt so alive.

“I’m glad the young master thinks it’s so.” Mister Paul enters the room, polishing his knuckles nervously. “I hope the green is to your taste,” he adds, and Eren glances around to see what he is about.

They certainly did not stint on the green, he thinks. In addition to the daybed, everything that can be tinted with the shade is tinted in it, from the long linen hangings of the pillars to the sheets and curtains of the bed, which stands in its place upon a slightly raised dais to his right.

“We hoped it would-” the steward begins, only to be cut off by his mistress.

“-give you a taste of home.” You stand from the daybed, your lesos now pulled back from your head to lay draped about your shoulders. “As I said, only the very best for our beloved guest.”

“And for the future lord consort,” Mister Paul puts in, clapping his hands together and beaming all over his thin, freckled face.

You and Eren carefully avoid glancing at each other.

“Well,” you clear your throat and move to stand beside the steward. “If you want to bathe, the bath is over here,” you gesture to a wooden door some ways away from the bed. “Come see me after you’re done,” you throw over your shoulder as you make to leave with Mister Paul. “Meet me outside the presence chamber.”

And so he is left to his cleansing. Which he is most grateful for. The sweat and stink of horse must be abolished. Sir Levi is a stickler for cleanliness and it has absolutely rubbed off on him. As it did all the knight’s squires, Eren had been told - the cleanest men in Lovaya are almost certain to have been under the greatest (and cleanest) living knight of the realm’s tutelage at one point, it is often jested. While Eren does not mind getting into the thick of things like any other respectable soldier, he does not feel entirely at ease in his own skin until he’s scrubbed himself down. Preferably with water, if it is close to hand; with sand if he has no other choice.

The cold water pouring down from the beak of the copper birdshead above him feels incredible after all that time spent beneath the heat. He finds a bar of soap - something flowery and herbal - on its dish atop the raised edge of the small pool he is washing in. The scar on his right arm is still quite tender, over a month old though it is, and he scrubs over it gingerly so as not to further inflame the flesh.

This certainly is his largest and most impressive scar to date. Anointed knight as he is now, he wonders if he’ll accrue more of its kind. Most like. Not that the prospect daunts him. He’d never shied away from pain as a squire. Being a knight won’t change that.

His fingers trace the red puckered flesh, standing stark and sharp against the smooth skin. Sir Erwin would’ve gotten likewise marked had his arm survived. The gods and their strange games. To have Sir Erwin Smith, the Lord Commander of the elite Royal Guard himself, lose an arm; to have him, Eren Jaeger, a mere squire, go through the same thing and come out whole and intact is an irony of the cruelest sort. Even their assaulted arms are the same, the sword arm, the lifeblood of the warrior. Eren cannot imagine going on without it. He would not have handled the loss half so well as Sir Erwin.

His fingers slip down his arm and thread through his wet hair. He scrubs, slowly at first and then more vigorously, working the lather through his scalp. No use dwelling on unpleasantness. He is back in the South, back by the sea, with the promise of a whole season spent with his lady. Who is waiting for him. Thoughts of your comely smiling face make him hasten his bath - quick but thorough, a voice that sounds a lot like Sir Levi echoes inside his head. Hasty he may be but Eren will leave no patch of skin unscrubbed.

He finishes his wash feeling a good deal more refreshed. And smelling strongly of floral herbs. The water drains in the bath’s small empty pool (thank the gods for piping) as he slips into a short-sleeved dark brown tunic, with its ornamental bone-white belt, and black pants. He slides on a new pair of sandals and trudges off, heading to his lady.

Two years away have chipped at his memory of the palace. To be sure, he had not needed to visit Goldhaven’s presence chamber before. Eren stops a couple of crimson-clad servants to ask them, in his best Rakiva, for directions to the hall, which they are happy enough to provide. They could’ve spoken slower, though. In the end, he understands enough to know where to go. That wasn’t too bad. He had as well practice his Old Tongue; fluency will not come if he doesn’t at least start.

Black and gold greet him as he steps into the presence room’s antechamber, which is open to the sea. The smell of salt is strong here, as it is in the rest of the palace. He will not be free of it even within the confines of this building. Not that he wants to be. The pillars these southerners love so much are much in abundance here, beautifully wrought in black basalt and expertly fluted. Eren slowly turns round in a circle, admiring the arched ceiling with its gilded meanders and circles and triangles. He is about to head over to the nearby balustrade and bask further in the sea air when the sound of footsteps approaches.

He looks down and gapes.

Skin. So much skin, is his first thought. Breasts, is his next. His mouth snaps shut, dry as bone. Were southron fashions always this revealing? he thinks, wracking his brains frantically for memories of the southron women of his youth, the southron women of two years ago, and the manner of their clothing. Only vague impressions come back to him. The Rybikhon do not dress like this, that much he is sure of.

“Ah, here you are. Well-refreshed, I hope?” you say, with your glittering smile and pretty, pretty face.

And such pretty, pretty breasts. He wants to punch himself. Eren opens his mouth to reply. Only a faint gurgle comes out.

“Eren? Are you all right? You look-”

Whatever else you said vanishes as his eyes greedily take in the glories of your body. You are not clad in the vevda, that much is certain. While they come with all manner of sleeves, sometimes dispensing with them altogether, vevdaya never have straps. Not like this dress. Not like this sheer and gauzy dress. And its deep vee of a neckline.

Has he ever seen such pretty breasts? He cannot recall as such. Your court gowns do not do them justice, by the gods. They will fill his hands perfectly, he can tell. Soft and shapely they look; he would love nothing more than to bury his face between them and feel the warm satin of your skin beneath his lips as he presses kisses everywhere and anywhere he can reach. The alabaster fabric is near translucent enough that, in a good light and with a good eye, he will be able to just make out your nipples. He wonders how responsive they truly are… He wants to take them into his mouth and suckle them to hard peaks, hear your encouraging moans of pleasure as you run your hands through his hair and press his face closer to your breasts…

Oh. Fuck.

Eren wrenches his mind away from those sodding dangerous thoughts as the budding tension rising between his legs makes itself very, very known to him. He casts about, panic-stricken, for another thought, for an image, anything to set his head straight. Think of Zeke fucking Elva, something shouts at him, and he snatches at it wildly. At once, his mind’s eye is full of his brother’s cheeks, clenching and unclenching as he pounds away at his lady wife.

His desire and his manhood wilt in a flash. Eren suppresses a sigh of relief and a shudder of disgust. Disgust is better than desire, though, in public. Desire can be indulged much, much later, in private. He wonders how many times he will have to indulge it, though, if this is but a taste of your preferred homegrown fashions. How is he expected to survive a whole season of this?

Zeke’s ass. Zeke’s ass. Zeke’s blond, hairy ass.

He wants to weep at what he has to resort to to keep his cock limp in your presence. No, no, he will get used to it. As he did when first he’d lusted for you. He is not some beast of a man, easily tempted by the baser pleasures. And he has never been, it should be an easy thing, and simple, to temper his carnal thoughts as he can do so effortlessly with womankind.

But then, you are not just any other woman.

He helps himself to another peek at the lush curves of your breasts. Gods, he truly is a beggar for your flesh.

The snapping of fingers beneath his nose makes him recoil.

“Eren!”

You frown at him, hands on your hips. “Glad to see you back on earth. Headworm get in your ear?” You cross your arms over your chest. He wishes you hadn’t. “What’s gotten you so up in the clouds?”

You.

Your eyes flicker down to your chest and back up at him. He quickly averts his gaze, his nose and cheeks burning. A chain of golden winged orbs cinches that cursed dress about your waist. His eyes trace every one as he tries to ignore the deafening silence in the hall.

“Oh.”

He does not like the sound of that Oh. Nor does he like the look of that smile on your face, when he dares to glance up at you once more.

Eren tenses as you slink forward and loop an arm around his. He swallows as the scent of apples and winter roses assails his senses. The plain gold band you are wearing on your upper limb presses against him. But for that, you feel so deliciously soft and warm. Zeke. Zeke. Zeke.

“Where shall we head to this fine day?” you say conversationally, steering him forward and away from the antechamber. “I thought to keep our excursions within the palace for the rest of this afternoon. Don’t want to tire either of us out too much, we just got here. And we still have your welcoming feast tonight to attend. Do you have any place in mind? I’ll play the gracious hostess and oblige you.” The sly and vulpine smile is back. “Father asked Lord Grisha for permission to stud Goldmoon, did the Magister tell you? Goldmoon is such a beautiful steed, we’d love to sire our own line from him. I would love to see him breed with a sand steed. Imagine how beautiful the foals of that union would be! The Saʂa is truly a generous man.” The Lord Pejić had given them the pick of his stable as his guest gift when their convoys parted ways at Shimmerwood; the Rhyzkovs, in turn, presented him with the choicest animals of their livestock to augment his herds.

“Perhaps we should nip down to the stables, hmm? Look over the new mares the Saʂa gave us and choose which one your stallion gets to mount,” you go on, then to his horror, press your breast against the arm you are clutching.

You are as soft as you look.

But with his cunt-struck delight comes a hint of annoyance. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

You giggle and pull away, to his horror and relief. “Perhaps a little.”

“Careful, my lady. Push too far and I’ll push back. You won’t like it if I do.”

“Oh, I like it well enough.” You gleam at him, all tacit challenge. “Not exactly the first time I’ve driven you up one too many walls, is it? You have the most delectable manner when I do.”

He stops abruptly in the middle of the nigh on empty hall you are walking through to slip his arm out of your hold and tangle your fingers together. Slowly, purposefully, he saunters forward. Slowly, helplessly, you amble backward until at last he has you cornered and pressed up against a pilaster.

Eren looks down at you, watches that lovely, delectable expression take your face over. Oh-so delectable. He leans forward, close but not too close. “You haven’t pushed me far enough yet, love. Carnal words are the least of what you’ll get when you do.” Your luscious lips part and all at once you are close enough for him to smell the mint in your breath, for you to trade air. Any further and he will be able to taste the coolness on your tongue.

Footsteps echo down the hall and he pulls back as though he has been scalded. Your hands remain entwined.

“M’lord. M’lady,” a washerwoman curtseys, as best she can with her load of clothes. She eyes your linked hands, yet says nothing but, “Have you a g’day.”

“You as well, goodwife,” you answer, cool as mint. You turn to Eren once the woman goes on to her duties. “And so, where shall it be, Sir? Do you have someplace in the castle in mind? Or would you be led by me?” The inviting look on your face remains.

A corner of his mouth curls up. “Please, lead on, my lady. You can lead me anywhere.” You beam, a more guileless smile and girlish, and tug him along.

He is liking this bolder, more open flirtation of yours. At the very least, there is no doubt now: you desire him as much as he does you. With any luck, you will be speaking freely of it in a more serious context.

And he likes this back and forth, the ebb and flow as you called it that night in the Sphere. He has always liked watching you squirm - gods know you've teased and made him squirm and look the fool countless times. Some part of him likes that, though, the teasing and the squirming. Less for his dignity but more for the way you are when you are at it - so passionate, so spirited, so animated.

Eren glances at the back of you, swept along by your current. Being home seems to agree with you. Lovely. Charming. Beguiling. This autumn will be his best one yet. And it can only get better from here.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

A/N:

AOT'S BACK, BABY!!! Absolutely perfect to smash that writer's block that is the bane of every writer's existence. It's a bittersweet thing to see Eren my beloved on screen again. Sweet because ❤Eren❤ and bitter because... well, he's not exactly in the best of circumstances, is he? Compensating by giving him happiness in this AU (fornowtreasurethiswhileitlastsbahahahaha)

An absolute beggar for your flesh Eren is - boobs man, legs man, just a plain old YN man, actually, he's desperate, he'll take anything, even your ankles.

Nerdy worldbuilding info time! They tell time differently from us, obviously, but how does it work? There are only 12 hours in a day for Lovaya, each named for the twelve sacred beasts of the Creed. One hour for them is around two hours for us. I based this on the Chinese Zodiac time, which names the hours for the Chinese Zodiac, as the name suggests, and is also divided into two hours each. ASOIAF has a similar timing convention, though I'm not sure if GRRM actually based his times on the Chinese Zodiac. And trivia done!

Another long chapter... I have a feeling this arc would have them cause this is honestly my favorite arc of the story that I planned out (wartime arc aside, which I am so asjfdkjdshfksdjhfs excited to get into but! I have to lay everything down properly so, we'll get there, we'll get there...) Til the next update!

Tagging: @alekstraszas @lukepattersin @jakes-babygirl