#swishing them around in a glass like fine wine. if you even care

[crunchy-rocc]

would you guys still love me if i started rarepair posting

[princelylove]

Hello your highness! I thought about some of the things I’m into and was wondering if Leone would either feed into it or already participates in.

He’s a real creep when it comes to his darlings items and in another request someone mentioned Leone and darling share a bed. Once darling falls asleep he could honestly just do anything, but do you think he’d just want to inhale them? Or maybe just want to smell their things.

Imagining he gets a piece a hold of something darling owns (specifically a fabric or clothing item) and absolutely goes feral over it. I’m talking like locking himself in the bathroom leaning over the sink and just shoving his face into the clothing. He’s deep in some type of fantasy. I don’t know just a thought.

Well... usually, once his darling falls asleep, Leone lays there as still as possible as to not disturb them. Especially if they're touching. God forbid he discomforts the love of his life for a mere few seconds.

But sometimes he just can't sleep, and likes to take care of a few chores he was going to get around to during the day. He normally does this when his darling falls asleep without him- but he'll just lay awake and think really hard about what he could be doing if his darling is on top of him out cold. Mainly to distract himself from the sensation. The pressure, the warmth, their smell. It's a bit too much for someone as overly in love as Leone.

Leone's a bit embarrassed of his own fetishes and kinks. He already hates himself a lot for acting like this in front of his darling, he can't be a pervert on top of it. But he is. It eats him alive- his fetishes aren't things he's open about, so he always microdoses to get his fill. This in-love degenerate loves to get what he can from his darling- damp towels, just worn still warm clothes, your side of the bed, any blankets you favor, any stuffed animal you may or may not have, nothing is sacred to him. If it's fabric, there's a chance his darling's scent is lingering on it.

He's always been a smells person. It's better to smell wine than to drink it, sometimes. He'll often pour a glass just to swish it around in front of his face for a few hours. He sincerely wishes he could do that with your perfume or cologne, but the most he can do is take the cap off when you aren't looking every now and again. You should keep it in the bathroom, away from the sun. It's better for its health. Not because he wants to smell every single one of your hygienic products in the order that you use them in an attempt to recreate yours.

Leone's rather sensitive about it. He doesn't revel in feeling like a pervert, yet he indulges quite heavily. It's impulsive. Maybe he inhales a bit too hard when he's trying to force himself out of bed in the morning. His face always ends up on his darling's side of the bed, for some reason. Quite the chaser, that man.

Sometimes he can get a bit upset about it after. Since most of his indulgence comes from small, maximum five second sniffs, he feels a bit dirty. He's being gross, you have every reason to hate a perverse old man like him. There's no way you consent to him stealing your things- even if he's not doing it to creep on you, he genuinely just loves you a lot and wants to smell you, it's still a little weird to do when his darling does not feel the same way towards him.

He tells himself it's fine as long as it's not your underwear, because that is somehow less forgivable than kidnapping someone. He feels awful, horrible guilt for making you unknowingly participate in his fetish, but it doesn't stop him from backing up against the bathroom door and sliding his hand down his own abdomen. It won't stop him from sliding his hand into his pants, it won't stop him from working himself up to the point where he has to unzip them and get himself out of his underwear. His darling's smell makes him act like a damn dog. He's never had a better idea than suggesting his darling should put their hamper in their shared bathroom. The one Guido doesn't go into.

He's just so happy. He swears it makes him high. Leone holds whatever article of clothing he's taken captive up to his face and keeps it there until he finishes, a bit too intensely for his tastes.

The worst part is when he has to put it back in the hamper. Is it bad to say he misses it?

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Date - Fresh/Nightmare

Prompt: Meet Cute/Blind Date

Prompt from: @yearoftheotpevent

Media: UTMV/Undertale AUs

Genres: Human AU, blind date, first date, romance (I guess haha), rivals (?) to lovers, ooooo Fresh is from Nightmare’s past ooooo, use of 90s slang because lord knows I’m not going to write Fresh without it

Pairing(s): Fresh/Nightmare

CW/TW - Mentions of Fresh infecting people, mentions of theft

Other Notes: I’m not the most proud of this one tbh😔 this month was rough for writing. I would’ve loved to write their date but I did not have the time. maybe another day…

Word Count: 1837 Words

“Can I start you for tonight, sir?”

“I am waiting for someone, but a lambrusco would be excellent.”

“I will get that for you sir.”

“Thank you.” Nightmare nodded, watching the waiter walk off.

Blind dates were stupid. Absolutely stupid. Nightmare set the menu down and rubbed his forehead, looking out at the window. He had to be about ninety stories up, he could still see the sun, despite it trying to set on the horizon. The restaurant's ambiance was nice. It was formal, quiet, and the live music was a great touch. A small orchestra was playing a variety of classical music, and Nightmare quite liked it. It wasn’t the fanciest restaurant he’s ever been to, but he didn’t expect much from his boys. He also didn’t expect himself to agree to a blind date set up by said boys, and yet here he was.

Did he seem sad and pathetic? Is that why they set him up on a date with a stranger? Nightmare didn’t feel sad and pathetic, he was the King of Negativity after all, there was no one better than he. Which is why this blind date idea felt so stupid to him. He could get any man he wanted, and yet his boys decide to set him up with a stranger? How stupid.

…Yet he agreed to it, didn’t he? He supposed that the worst thing that could happen is that it’s some weirdo, and he just chucks them out the window and treats himself to dinner. The best thing that could happen was that no one showed up and he got to eat by himself. The quiet of the restaurant was nice compared to what often happened during meal times. There was always a lot of shouting and lack of manners at Nightmare’s dinner table.

The waiter returned with his wine, opening the bottle and pouring a glass for him. He didn’t allow the waiter to set it back down, as he took it from their hands directly. He thanked them before turning back to the window. He twirled the wine around in the glass for a moment before taking a sip.

Oh, how he absolutely adored red wine. One could call him a wine connoisseur, and he would wear that title with pride. Perhaps it made him seem a bit arrogant, but he didn’t care. He was arrogant, might as well pair it with a fine wine.

Another swish of the glass before he took a sip, slowly feeling the alcoholic juice slip down his throat. His teal eyes shut as he did so, allowing himself the satisfaction of taking in no other sensation than the taste of the wine. Lambrusco was really a hidden gem in the wine world. This particular wine was of great quality. Nightmare could tell. Cheap lambrusco was often very sweet, and this was aged and dry to perfection. He took another sip, his lips curling back into a smile. There was nothing like a good wine on a calm evening. It was perfect. Even if his date decided to show up right at that moment, he wouldn’t even care.

“Yo, Nightmare, brah! I think you’re my date for tonight!”

Nightmare could hear the glass of his soul cracking in his mind. His eyes opened into a confused scowl as he looked to his left. Standing in front of him was that abhorrent, nineties parasite. Standing at a horrific six feet (or two hundred centimeters) was Fresh, and the bastard didn’t even try to dress up! Nightmare was horrified. Fresh was in his everyday wear, which was already beginning to hurt his eyes. He was wearing that stupidly obnoxious blue, purple, and white sweatshirt of his, and the pink shirt underneath and the massive 90s collar. His pants were also a variety of neon colors, and frankly, if it pissed Nightmare off. Pick a color scheme and stick with it goddamnit! Even Cross, the most idiotic man he’s ever met, could understand that!

Fresh cocked his head to the side, a smile on his face. He was wearing his rectangular sunglasses (Nightmare wasn’t convinced that they were actual sunglasses, considering their properties) that currently said “YOLO” in bright yellow and blue lettering. Nightmare knew what the glasses were concealing. This particular host of Fresh’s was tall, a little lanky, and had dark skin. The host had their hair styled into box braids, with neon colored hair extensions weaved into it. No doubt it was Fresh’s doing. Nightmare couldn’t put his finger on it, but he could see the way they had been woven together had Fresh’s name written all over it.

“This cannot possibly be right. What are you doing here?” Nightmare asked, his face pulled back into a scowl. He only got more visibly angry when Fresh sat himself down on the chair across from Nightmare. Fresh grinned at him, leaning back in the seat and man-spreading as he did so. Nightmare didn’t even want to know what the other guests thought of this horrid exchange.

“It most certainly is correct my dude!” Fresh clicked his teeth and gave Nightmare finger guns which made him cringe. “Ya know, when I got the invite from your boys, I was a bit nervous y’know? I thought they were gonna kill me whenever I arrived here, haha!”

Wine glasses were usually supposed to be filled to around halfway, perhaps even less, depending on the type of wine and the consumer. However, Nightmare filled his glass nearly all of the way as Fresh spoke. He nearly downed the entire glass in one sip. He’d need a little alcohol to deal with this nonsense.

“How long have you been here? Sorry for not getting here sooner! Nearly got lost a couple times!”

“It would have been a major shame if you did.” Nightmare stated, sarcasm dripping from his lips as he took another sip of his wine.

“Hella broski!” Fresh, however, did not pick up on his sarcastic tone. Unless he did, and was just messing with Nightmare? God, Nightmare could never tell with this guy! He just could not read Fresh, and it pissed him off.

There was an awkward silence that Nightmare didn’t even attempt to fill. He gently sipped his alcohol as he watched Fresh, noticing that he barely twitches, his stupid smile still on his face. Nightmare didn’t want to look at him nonstop, but there was this awful feeling in his chest, that if he looked away Fresh would disappear or get closer to him. Fresh always had this uncanniness about him. Similar to a robot, or a statue.

In a way, Nightmare was right for feeling that way. Fresh was just puppeting a flesh suit, and all of his mannerisms showed that clearly. It was like he was pretending, acting as if he was human. He was doing an incredibly poor job.

With one final rub to his temple, Nightmare held up his hand to get the attention of a waiter. He was not going to deal with this. He would pay for his wine (as any respectable person would do, he may be an evil king but he wasn’t a monster!), leave, and then discipline whoever thought that playing with his love life was a joke.

“Ah ah! Wait a minute will you brah?!” Fresh reached across the table, grabbing Nightmare by his hand and yanking it down. “C’mon! At least give me a chance?”

“Why?” Nightmare hissed, yanking his hand away. “I know what you are. You can’t possibly feel any actual attraction to me.”

“Woah, bold assumptions there!” Fresh leaned over, putting a hand against his chin. “I mean, you’re the king, broski! Who wouldn’t be attracted to ya?”

Nightmare rubbed his forehead, debating just getting out of there.

“Ah, but anyways, I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you for a while now! You’re just so…” Fresh’s expression changes into something more sinister, and Nightmare can feel the aura of the room changing as it did so. “Interestin’, y’know?” Always have been. Ever since you were purple.”

Ah, right. Nightmare had nearly forgotten his small encounter with Fresh. It had to have been around two hundred or so years ago since their first meeting. It wasn’t anything revolutionary, but it had planted the seed in Nightmare’s mind that there was something else out there. After all, a small, bright purple, four-tentacled creature with a black and yellow eye-mouth isn’t something you say everyday. Especially if your everyday consisted of living in the same forest that never changed. Nightmare dared Dream to eat it- er, Fresh, but he refused. And for better or for worse that decision somehow led Nightmare to be sitting at a dinner table with the man. If only Dream had more balls and eaten him when they were kids. Perhaps this could’ve been avoided.

“So lemme treat ya!”

“With what money? Last time I checked, you lived in a void with your furbies.” Nightmare scoffed, a sly smirk forming on his face as Fresh’s expression fell.

“Yowch!” Fresh held his hands up, a surprised look on his face. “I’m a lil’ hurt by your words, brah! I’ve got money! How’d you think I got all mah trinkets?”

“I figured you just took them.”

Out of all the things, Fresh looked most offended at that. “Whaaa??? Nightmare, brah, that hurts even more! Stealin’ and breakin’ the law is so uncool yo! I would never! I get my money completely legit-ly!”

“Yeah? How?”

“Well, I use the money from my hosts of course! I take their body right? Then I get access to whatever they have! Real simple.”

“That…is stealing, Fresh.”

“Nuh uh.”

Putting a hand to his temple once more, Nightmare gave Fresh a look of incredible incredulity. “Really. It’s not stealing?”

“Nah! Doesn’t count.” He laughed, and Nightmare could hear the cruelty in his voice. “Anyways!”

Fresh leaned over the table and grabbed Nightmare by his hand. The grasp was gentle, as if he knew that Nightmare wouldn’t yank it away. Nightmare couldn’t deny it, there was something alluring about Fresh. It wasn’t the way he dressed, obviously, but his past, how he operated, made Nightmare want to tear into him and see how he ticked.

“Nightmare, brah, please.” Nightmare was surprised to feel that despite the silver piercing in the host’s bottom lip, Fresh’s lips felt soft as they connected with the back of his hand. When was the last time someone had, sincerely, kissed the back of his hand? Was it Cross? It had to have been, when Cross pledged his allegiance to Nightmare those long seven months ago. His lips twitched as he wanted to smile, but remained stoic. “Lemme treat you tonight. It might be fun.”

Nightmare could see the sinister smile in Fresh’s face from a mile away. More often than not, his own grins held that sort of minacious quality to them.

“Maybe I’ll surprise ya in ways you couldn’t even imagine.”

Oh, how could Nightmare decline such an offer?

[justafrogandherumbrella]

Welcome to Nowhere: Betrayal- pt. 2

You startle awake, leaping up off the floor only to immediately trip over your own feet. 

“Careful there,” Mr. Rotary’s sardonic voice says. “You don’t want to hurt yourself even more, now do you?”

Slowly, you rise back to your feet, using Mr. Rotary’s desk as a prop to help you up. What the hell happened? Why are you here?

“Now then,” Mr. Rotary says, a hint of anger lacing his voice. “Care to explain what it is you were doing in,” he pauses, thinking for a moment while he swishes the wine in his glass back and forth. “... restricted areas?”

You stay silent, trying to piece together what happened. 

“Just tell me!” Mr. Rotary snaps, slamming his glass against the desk, causing three blood-red droplets to spill out onto the many pieces of paper scattered on its surface. 

You flinch, shocked by the sudden outburst. He expects an answer now- and you certainly can’t tell him the truth. 

“I… got lost,” you mutter weakly. It isn’t entirely a lie, and you feel it’s a reasonable explanation, given your location at the time. 

“You got lost?” Mr. Rotary says skeptically, picking his glass of wine back up off the desk. “Really? You got lost while delivering a package that had detailed instructions telling you exactly where you needed to go. And you expect me to believe this?”

“Well, Sir,” you say, trying to look and sound as meek as possible. “In my defense, your elevator system is very confusing.”

He scoffs, looking at you in disbelief. “Okay, fine,” he says. “You just so happened to get lost. Sure, why not? If that’s the case, then why don’t you explain to me why you were found in an area only accessible if you go through…” he trails off, not wanting to give away any important information. 

He’s talking about the room where he keeps his contracts, of course. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you say, trying to come up with a good lie on the spot. It’s harder than it looks. “One of my co-workers and I were delivering our packages together, since we had nearly the exact same instructions. We both got a little turned around and we ended up in this room filled with paperwork. She suggested we split up and had me go down the empty elevator shaft. I’m terribly sorry, I lost my package during the fall.” 

You really shouldn’t be throwing Felicity under the bus like this. It puts her in a lot of danger. Even if she did push you, you don’t know all the facts of the situation. You don’t actually know if she’s a traitor or not.

“Hmmmn,” Mr. Rotary muses. “And who is this co-worker?”

But right now you need to save your own skin.

“Felicity, Sir,” you say, feeling an immense wave of guilt wash over you. 

Mr. Rotary goes silent, looking shocked. “A-are you sure,” he stutters uncharacteristically. 

You’d be lying if you were to say that seeing him so caught off guard doesn’t bring you some sense of joy. 

“Yes?” You say, trying to look as innocent and naive as possible. “Is something wrong, sir?”

“No, nothings wrong,” he says, taking a drink from his wine. 

You grimace. Mr. Rotary drinking looks��� incredibly strange to you. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that he doesn’t actually have a mouth… or even a proper face. 

“You know,” Mr. Rotary says, the anger returning to his voice. “I have given you dozens of chances, and yet you somehow manage to mess each and every one of them up.”

You blink at him, trying to look surprised. “Sorry? I- I didn’t realize,” you say. “I can’t seem to recall…”

“Of course you don’t,” he says, waving his hand dismissively at you. “Of course you don’t…” he trails off again, looking at you intensely. “Anyway,” he says, snapping back to reality. “As I was saying, I should have you fired for your incompetence at this point. You know,” he says, a devilish tone of glee creeping into his voice. “That’s who you heard on the phone, earlier. Those who have been fired.”

… Well shit. 

“But I’m not going to fire you,” he says with a sigh. “You’re one of my most productive employees, here at Dispassion Offices.”

Really? That comes as a surprise. Given how slow and methodical everything you did was, you would have assumed that you’re one of the worst performing employees. 

“Still,” he continues. “I cannot allow you to continue to work outside your cubicle- for obvious reasons.  It seems that you’re meant for paperwork.”

“Thank you so much Sir,” you say,  “Thank you for giving me another chance.” Thank you for believing my bullshit. You pause, trying to decide if you should amp up the act even more. “Really, thank you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, not even looking at you. “Now get to work.”

Without anything else to do, you head back to your cubicle to get some work done. As per usual, all the writing is gibberish. Your legs are twitching, and you keep clenching and unclenching your fists over and over as you work. You feel itchy. You want to get up, to find the others and tell them what happened. But you can’t do anything- not right now. Just leaving your cubicle would raise suspicion, and you can’t risk that at the moment. 

Instead, you’ll leave your cubicle later, when you’re sure no one has their eyes on you. You’ll print off some paperwork, and head to the elevator. You’ll pretend that you need something from someone in another department. You’ve done just that plenty of times in the past, so you doubt anyone will question you. Then, you’d use what you know of the elevator system to get to the gas station, where Emerson, Aderyn, and presumably the rest of the others will be waiting. 

Until then though, you work, letting the familiar state of misery and drowsiness take control.

Time passes somehow both quickly and slowly at once as you work, and soon, (or not) you’re leaving your desk, carrying a small stack of paperwork with you to the elevator. You were right, no one stops to question you when you enter. In fact, no one seems to even notice you. Everyone else is walking in circles, tired and mindless, while your own melancholy is rapidly dissipating to make way for adrenaline. What’s going to happen next?

When you finally arrive at the gas station, it’s still night there. You wonder if the sun ever shines here. 

… Poor Aderyn.

Much to your surprise, the moment you enter the building, the first thing you see is Emerson’s tear-stricken face. 

“R-rue?” They sniffle, looking at you in shock the moment you pass through the door. 

Aderyn snaps her head up, looking directly at you. She too, has tears streaking down her face. 

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Without another word, Emerson runs toward you, locking you in a tight, slimy embrace.

“Uuuuh… hi,” you say, a little caught off guard by everyone’s strange behavior. 

Lucas, Ollie, Ava, Jenny, Caitlyn, and Bianca are all staring at you in shock, while Aderyn is hovering just behind Emerson, waiting her turn to hug you. 

Felicity isn’t here. 

“So, uhm,” you stutter, gently pushing Emerson away. “What’s this all about?”

Jenny sniffles, rising to her feet. “Well,” she says, “E-earlier, when Ava and I met up with Felicity again, she told us what happened. And- oh, I’m just so glad you’re alive!”

You hesitate, looking at everyone’s faces. 

“Why… wouldn’t I be?” You ask, speaking slowly. 

“What do you mean?” Ava asks, her roses turning a sort of gold color. You think it signifies some sort of relief. 

“What exactly did Felicity tell you?” You ask, regarding everyone with a sense of concern. 

“Well,” Jenny says, regaining some of her composure. “Earlier, we met up and she told us that you had been exploring some restricted areas together, and then… security showed up. Felicity told us that she was able to hide before they noticed her, but they dragged you away… and- well, may have killed you. Ava and I, we uh- made the announcement since Felicity isn’t here yet.”

A small chuckle escapes you. “Is that so?”

Jenny and Ava share a concerned look, while everyone else just looks shocked or perturbed. 

“...Yes?” Ava says at last, looking extremely confused. 

“Well,” you say, starting to feel a little angry. “That’s certainly not what happened.” You reach into your pocket, pulling out the tiny slip of paper. To your surprise, that’s not the only thing that comes out of your pocket. There’s a small roll of interconnected, faded tickets. Where did these come from? 

That isn’t important right now. You throw the tiny scrap of paper on the floor, so that everyone can see it. 

“Traitor.”

“Rue,” Aderyn says slowly. “What is this?”

“When you showed us the burnt remains of everyone’s old journals, this scrap of paper was among everything else. I hid it because I didn’t think it would be a good idea for everyone to be at each other's throats, especially when we didn’t have any context for why it was written.”

“Right,” Lucas says slowly. “That makes sense. We still don’t have any context though, so why are you telling us now?” 

Ollie nods along next to him. 

“Because,” you say, “I think it might provide some context as to what I’m about to tell you next. Felicity and I found where Mr. Rotary keeps his contracts.”

Ava looks up at you, shocked. “Sh- she didn’t tell us that…” she stutters. 

“I don’t think she wants you guys to know- and I say this because right after we found it she pushed me down an elevator shaft, and left me for dead.”

Everyone stares at you, saying nothing.

“No… '' Ava mutters after a moment. “No, she wouldn’t do that.”

You shake your head. “But she did. Now, it looks super suspicious, but we don’t really have any-”

“Of course!” Bianca shouts, the static on her TV screen briefly glitching. “Of course there was a rat! Of course! That’s why our plans must have always failed before! That’s why we kept being reset! That’s why-”

Ding. 

The gas station door jingles as none other than Felicity herself walks through the door. She takes one look at the room- and at you, and mutters something under her breath. “Fuck.”

No one says anything, not at first. All eyes are locked on Felicity, and Felicity’s eyes are locked on yours. 

“Rue!” She says cheerfully. “I’m so glad you're okay!”

“Don’t,” Adeyrn growls, glowering at her. “Don’t lie, just explain.”

Felicity steps back. “Look,” she says. “I don’t know what they’ve told you- but they’re lying, okay?”

Bianca scoffs. “What possible reason would they have to lie?”

“You hardly even know them!” Felicity cries out incredulously.  “They could have a million reasons to lie for all we know!”

Ollie shoots you a doubtful look, shakes their eye-head, and turns back to Felicity. “Do they though?” They ask, starting to sound irritated. “Think about it, what could they possibly have to gain for making up some story about a traitor? They have absolutely nothing to gain from working with Mr. Rotary. They want to leave with their friends- and Mr. Rotary would never allow that to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” Felicity says, taking a deep breath. She’s trying to remain calm, you think.  “Besides, if they have nothing to gain, than what could I possibly want from some kind of fucked-up bargain with Bianca’s dad.”

“You…” Caitlyn hesitates, looking at Felicity with worry etched across her rabbit-features. “You have everything to gain.”

“C’mon,” she scoffs. “No I don’t.”

“Actually,” Lucas says, chiming in. “I think you do. We’ve known you pretty much our whole lives, even if we weren’t always friends. You’ve always spent so much energy on licking our employer’s boots. You want power- and you want respect. On top of that, if Mr. Rotary has a special use for you, you can get away with a lot more without being fired. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slacking off in the office.”

“We all slack off in the office though,” Ava says, her voice cracking. “She wouldn’t do this.”

Lucas shakes his head. “We slack off in the office- she never has. So why would she start all of a sudden?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ava protests, sounding almost like she’s begging. “She wouldn’t do that,” she repeats. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”

Felicity’s gaze softens when her eyes land on Ava. “You’re right,” she whispers. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

She turns, glowering at you. She glances around, trying to gauge everyone’s emotions. It becomes very clear that Ava is the only one on her side. 

“Fine,” she says, relenting. “I may have pushed Rue, but-”

“So, you admit it,” Adeyn says, glaring at her. “You tried to kill my friend.” 

“I did not try to kill Rue!” Felicity protests. “I just tried to… get them out of the way.”

“Get them out of the way for what?” Caitlyn says, her voice trembling with rage.  “What were they in the way of?” 

“Her backstabbing plans,” Jenny says with a scoff. 

“What?” No-” Felicity stops, raking her paws through her fur. “Look,” she says, taking a step forward. “I’m sorry I pushed you but Jerrell-”

“Oh, Jerrell?” Ollie says, rolling their eye. “You mean the guy who Mr. Rotary’s always calling? The guy Mr. Rotary is having a fucking affair with?”

Bianca glowers angrily. “Fucking Jerrell. Really? I can’t believe we even allowed him to come anywhere near us- he and my dad clearly have some kind of deal between them. And so do you, apparently.”

“I don’t!” Felicity cries out in protest, throwing her paws into the air. “If you would just-”

“Enough with the bullshit!” Jenny shouts, cutting her off. 

“Guys…” Ava mutters, sounding miserable. “Please, just… stop.”

No one seems to hear her. 

Felicity steps toward you again. “Look,” she says, reaching out one of her paws toward you. “I’m sorry I pushed you, but you know I’m not some kind of traitor, don’t you? You-”

Emerson steps in front of you placing their hand against your chest. “Don’t you come near them,” they growl, sounding angrier than he ever has in all the time you’ve known him. “Get out.”

“But I-”

“No,” Bianca says, her static sounding a lot less soothing than you’re familiar with. “Get out. Stay away from us.”

“Guys,” Ava whimpers. “Please…”

Felicity stares at you all for a moment, completely flabbergasted. She glances around the room, seeing that the only emotion on everyone’s face is rage. 

“Fine then,” she says, her voice breaking a little. Her eyes are wet. She turns sound, leaving the gas station and heading back toward the elevator. 

Jenny, Bianca, and Lucas start speaking to each other in hushed, angry whispers while Caitlyn watches Felicity leave. Aderyn paces back and forth, muttering to herself. Ollie looks down at their own hands, and Emerson places a gooey hand on your shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

Ava lets out a quiet sob in the corner of the room, curling herself up into a ball. 

And you do absolutely nothing.

[silvercrystalwhump]

Cornered

(I know I'm late) For @whumptober Day 1

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | “This wasn’t supposed to happen”

No. 2 NOWHERE TO RUNCornered | Caged | Confrontation

Vince belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: intimate whumper, Owen is a smarmy bastard, noncon touch, stalking, staring,

-

Vince spent every waking second for the past four years hiding his relationships. Privately hoping that when he does go out that no one would see or if they saw, they wouldn’t send photos to some gossip rag. 

Now, after someone snapped a photo, Dmitri stands at Vince’s side in the corner of a giant event center, dressed to the nine. For the first and most nerve racking time, Vince decided to bring Dmitri to one of these godforsaken networking events. Everyone dances around the room, laughing through the haze of wine and champagne. Little tables with hors d'oeuvres dot the room. A long table that had plates on it an hour ago sits behind him. 

Dmitri runs his thumb across Vince’s knuckles and he squeezes his hand. His co-stars for his last project stand in front of him, barely sober laughter floating between them. Vince also holds a champagne glass, lazily swirling the contents as he idly listens. Dmitri’s the only one who hasn’t touched alcohol tonight.

“I have to say Vince,” Anastasia laughs as she gestures towards Dmitri. Her smile is bright, flashing in the chandelier light, and coated in a thin haze of tipsiness, “Congrats on getting married.”

Vince returns the smile which is only half an act as he rotates his wedding ring, “Thanks.”

Paul, who was substantially more intoxicated than his girlfriend, looks up at Dmitri and asks with a cockeyed smirk, “What’s it like, married to one of the hottest men in America.”

Dmitri chuckles, flashing a quiet smile, “I wouldn’t know, ask my husband.”

Vince playfully rolls his eyes as he takes another sip of champagne. His eyes flick from each of his co-stars as they laugh along with Dmitri. Vince leans into his shoulder, trying to not look down at his watch. Time is molasses with so many eyes and drunken laughter.

“Speaking of,” Dmitri says as he turns to Vince, returning the squeeze, “I’m going to grab more food, you want anything while I’m over there.”

“I'll take anything really,” Vince says as he swirls the liquor again. He watches the white liquid swish around in the glass as Dmitri steps away. The absence left from Dmitri’s hand is surprisingly cold and Vince fights the urge to reach out after him. 

It’s just until ten, you’ll be fine.

Vince quickly feels eyes on him, not that the shield he’d been rubbing shoulders with all night is gone. He shifts slightly as his co-stars exchange words, smiling without any care. Anastasia, who Vince knows for a fact loves these events, turns to him and chuckles, “Even married you still draw eyes.”

Vince would rather shave his head into the floor and fade from existence than be the center of attention. His grip tightens slightly around the small glass as he takes a long sip. 

“Sorry?” Vince raises an eyebrow and tosses on the intrigued smile he’s perfected over the years, “What do you mean?”

“Look behind you.”

Vince glances over his shoulder and instantly rips his head forward. There was barely  second where the two  looked at each other. The sensation of eyes on him grows sharp and puts stkes through his feet. He wants to run or atleast find somewhere where he cn hide. Yet, not a fiber in his body even contemplates moving. Glued to the spot, Vince returns his gae to Anastasia and just shakes his head, pretending to be nonchalant. 

Owen leans on that table behind him, a glass of either whiskey or wine, Vince didn’t look long enough to see for sure. He doesn’t want to know.

“Weren’t you two like two peas in a pod when you two started,” Paul says as his words just barely slur for a second as he sets his glass down on the table behind them. He practically stares at Owen over his shoulder, not helping the burning and boring feeling of eyes into the back of his head. 

“We worked together when I was young,” Vince murmurs as his voice falters somewhat. He can barely move. Drinking the last of his champagne, Vince walks over to the table and ets the glass down before stepping away just enough to put a hair more distance between the two.

He never wanted a conversation to end quicker.

“Please,” Anastasia jokes, “Who doesn’t think you're attractive Vince? Dmitri’s lucky”

Vince gives a half chuckle, his voice quieter than he’d hoped, “I’m the lucky one out of the two of us.”

Not right now, that’s for sure.

Footsteps echo up to them, almost sauntering right behind him. They plant themselves directly behind Vince and fear starts to rise up his spine. He wants to crawl into his skin and never come out and he doesn’t dare look behind him.

Dmitri, please come back.

“It’s been a minute Vince,” Owen starts as he nearly steps into Vince. Vince freezes, he can feel the gap behind him close and the tables loom on either side of him. Then, Vince feels a hand reach down and grab him from behind. 

Vince flinches and steps closer to the table, neary walking into it. He looks over and curses himself to already standing in a literal corner between two of the heavy wooden tables. 

“Speak of the devil,” Paul says as he smiles at Owen, “It’s been a minute since I’ve seen you.”

Trying to inch away, he steps closer to the table and backwards, putting distance but also locking him into the corner. Vince stares into the table cloth and feels the weights pin his feet on the floor.

His breath catches in his chest, his legs feel like they're filled with lead.

Seconds that feel like hours tick by as Owen jokes with the other two. Owen, once the other two are distracted by something elsewhere, reaches out for Vince again. He inches into the table, his hip pressing against the cloth.

“Speaking of,” Paul waves and takes Anastasia by the hand, “We have to catch Hank before he disappears into the night, see you two around.”

Before Vince can say or do anything, they both step away, leaving Vince alone with Owen. Terror is an understatement.

Owen takes a step forward, and Vince wishes he could walk through the table behind him. 

“I didn’t know you were the marriage type Vince,” Owen’s cheerful demeanor slowly begins to evaporate as he takes another step closer.

The weight of Owen’s gaze holds him in place as he looms within a foot of Vince’s face. 

“Hell,” Owen chuckles darkly, “I didn’t even know you were dating someone.”

Vince can’t move.

A heavier gait than Owen’s echoes behind them. Vince glances over his shoulder for a half a second and sees Dmitri slide a plate over on the other side.

Owen practically jumps back.

“So there is more fish over there than I care to eat tonight,” Dmitri says as he starts around the table, “I brought you-”

Vince throws a look behind him at Dmitri. He can already start to feel himself shake as Owen’s demeanor lightens up. He watches Dmitri’s face fall flat. If Vince hadn’t known him for as long as he’d had, he’d probably assume he was angry.

The second he gets around the table, Dmitri steps between Vince and Owen. Vince, shuffling behind his husband, hides his face and lets out a trembling breath. Vince only looks past Dmitri when he sees Owen almost step back in surprise.

He towers over Owen. Vince knew that Dmitri is significantly taller than Owen since they were about the same height and he still had to physically look up to meet Dmitri’s eyes. But, the sheer foot of height difference is incredibly glaring as Owen shrinks down slightly. Owen looks tiny in comparison. Almost puny.

“Well,” Owen starts, the aggression in his voice deflating like a stabbed balloon, “I assume that you’re Dmitri?”

“I am,” Dmitri says, voice flat and nearly devoid of emotion, “You’re Owen.”

Vince watches Owen pale, the certainty in Dmitri’s voice leaching the color from his skin. A dash of regret flashes across his face for a microsecond. Owen takes a large step back and flashes a camera smile, the bes act he’s ever given, “I have to say Congratu-

“We’re not starting this conversation, you can go.”

Owen cocks his head to the side, relatively gaining his bearings. He blinks, feigning ignorance. It’s almost believable. “I’m sorry but I don’t under-”

“No,” Dmitri states with enough sternness in his voice to set even Vince off guard. Dmitri's jovial and laughing tone is long gone. Vince glances up at him and feels Dmitri’s hand take his and squeezes it, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles again. “And you know damn well why.”

Owen’s face twitches, destain leaking through the act. He looks through Dmitri and down at Vince, “I didn’t know that you were into the possessive type Vince.”

Vince steps behind Dmitri and stares into his back, silently begging for Owen to just leave him alone. Take the damned hint.

“Leave.”

Vince closes his eyes and he hears Owen sigh and mutter something under his break before stomping off. His saunter is just as gone as his bravado.

Every fiber in Vince’s body still refuses to budge. Dmitri turns around and takes Vince’s other hand, whispering, “You’re alright. You’re safe Vee.”

You have no idea.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 3 - "Who did this to you?"

Fandoms: Linked Universe

Ao3

Warnings: major injury, attempted murder, blood, near-death experiences

---

Trouble comes with a smiling face; not that Wild knows that yet. All he sees is an eager young woman with kind eyes and a humble dress, offering to show him where he can get some wine to cook with tonight.

He and the rest of the heroes have been on the road for quite a while now, without a single town in sight. Nothing but various barns to cross their path. This is the first actual town they’ve seen in miles, even though it’s not a very big one. Yet, there is a small inn for weary travelers, and a marketplace near the front entrance of the town where farmers can sell their goods and towns-folk and gossip. The whole group of them are rather low on funds, but the market seemed like the perfect excuse to relax. Spend some money that they just barely have. Pretend to be normal people for just a few hours.

Just until sunset.

It was Wild, Twilight, Warriors, and Hyrule out in the market while the others were making deals with the innkeepers to get cheaper rooms and more beds. Wild wasn’t really sure what the others were wanting to find out in the market today, but Wild was on the hunt for quality ingredients for quality food that he couldn’t make while on the road. He planned on making a meal tonight fit enough for Zelda herself, and he needed wine to do it. Not to drink, of course not, but to soak into fine slices of meat to add extra flavoring. Nothing strong enough to get a man tipsy—and if he ends up with extra wine, he’ll put it in a flask and gift it to the Old Man. Hylia knows he deserves it.

But he couldn’t find anything even remotely related to wine in these small markets. Some stalls sell alcoholic jars of milk, but Wild honestly has never even heard of milk that could be alcoholic, let alone ever cooked with it. By the time the sun was starting to caress the horizon, frustration was bubbling in his belly because of this and all he could think about were those berries he saw on a tree a few days ago that looked perfect for making some of his own wine out of.

Twilight and Warriors were looking at a jewel-smith's stall, admiring the finely crafted trinkets and murmuring to themselves about the ones that would match her eyes, or impress that gentleman at the tavern, and Wild soon lost interest in both the stall and his love-sick companions. He had stood several feet off, leaning against a brick wall, eyeing the closest stalls to him and hoping for even a small sight of anything close to wine set up for sale.

And then he saw her. Trouble, despite him not knowing it. He didn’t even suspect it. Perhaps he’s gotten too used to the threats of other worlds, that he forgot the threats of his own.

She walked up to him, a swish to her brown dress that seemed to almost have a pink tint. Her hair was brown, done up in messy braids and a bun above her head. Wild assumed she was the daughter of a farmer who was selling crops from their farm, so he didn’t assess her too critically. Before he knew it, she was stopped a few feet from him, swaying her dress side to side between her thin fingers.

“Is there something you’re looking for, travelers?” she asked, her voice sweet like sugared honey. Beside him, Hyrule blushed a bit at the ears.

Wild wasn’t much in a good mood at the moment, but he decided that asking for help might be his only option at this point. “I’m looking for wine, or any kind of beverage like it made out of berries?”

The girl hummed, pressing her finger to her chin in thought. “The most popular beverage ‘round here is milk…” she said, and Wild’s shoulders slumped. But then she continued. “Though, I know a liquor shop further in town where they sell all kinds of drinks. I’ll show you the way, but it closes really soon.”

Hope surged in Wild’s chest. Perhaps he would be able to make a fancy meal tonight after all! Feeling in lighter spirits than he had all night, he told Hyrule to inform Twilight and Warriors that he would be going to the liquor shop. Wild barely noticed the slight hesitation on Hyrule’s face before he turned and did as he was asked. Wild should have noticed it. He should have thought more about how eager and smooth talking the girl was, should have been more in tune with his companion’s concerns, but he followed her out of the market anyway.

And now he’s here, laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood thanks to a hole in his stomach. The “liquor store” was nothing more than an abandoned shop several blocks away from the market, but he only found that out when he walked inside and saw the hastily put together lanterns to give the illusion of life, each one placed among dust and cobwebs. Before he could even turn back and question what was going on, the girl was sliding her arm around his side and heartlessly impaling him with a familiarly curved, sickle-like blade.

Her laugh was also familiar as his knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, wheezing. Though not familiar in a way that he knew her name; he knew her kind.

“Wh-” he gasps, using one hand to clutch at the floor blanketed in bloody dust, and the other to press onto the wound in his stomach like he’s trying to keep everything in. “What-”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, hero,” the girl… Yiga chuckles, stepping over his crumpled body to squat by his head. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure either. I fell into a portal… and found myself in a whole new world. And I saw you, and your friends. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to take you down. This is for Master Kohga-” Wild’s too weak to fight her off as she reaches for his body, searching his pockets and taking the only healing potions that he had. “-and for Calamity Ganon. I don’t care what happens to me now, as long as you die painfully and slowly, right here.”

Then, she stands up, takes his potions, and leaves, shutting the door behind her as she laughs into the night.

Stupid. Wild is so stupid. How did he not guess something like this would happen? Did he truly let his guard down so badly that he forgot to always be on the lookout for Yiga soldiers? Has he become so comfortable traveling between worlds that didn’t have rogue Sheikah that it didn’t matter for him to worry about them as much?

He’s going to bleed out and die here, all because he wanted some wine to cook with in a town that only sold fucking milk and he couldn’t bother to make sure the person he was following was actually someone with good intentions. He can already feel his vision swirling, and his entire body feels pathetically weak and cold. The pain is unbearable, bringing tears to his eyes.

He coughs up blood, and does his best to prepare himself for a failure’s death, as he’s too weak to even call for help; let alone try and save himself.

Stupid…

His vision swirls white, and then fades black, and he knows nothing more.

-o-o-o-o-

“Something’s wrong,” Twilight says, several minutes after Hyrule told him and Warriors that Wild had gone off with some farmer girl to find a liquor store.

“Something is wrong,” Twilight repeats when they ask a local villager for directions to the nearest liquor store, and they reply the only alcohol this town sells is the milk in the market.

Hyrule is quick to point out the direction he remembers seeing Wild and the girl go off in, and then they thankfully split up to cover more ground. The second there’s no one to see, Twilight changes into his wolf form, sniffing the air desperately for his kid. Wild’s scent is one that he will always remember, it’s stored and locked within his brain, right next to Mipha, Zelda, and all the kids at Ordon.

He finds Wild’s trail after a nerve wracking few moments, and then he’s dashing through dimly lit streets like his life depends on it.

The feeling of something being horribly wrong only gets stronger when he finds Wild’s scent leading inside a run down looking building with dim, flickering lanterns in the windows. Then, the reek of blood hits his nostrils at full force. He shifts back into his human form and bursts into the front door without a single care on what’s on the other side.

The stench of blood is stronger here, even for his human nose. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that his eyes drop to the floor along with what feels like a stone in his stomach. Wild is at his feet, curled up like a child, red pooling around his terribly pale body.

“No-” Twilight drops down to his knees, already pulling out his spare red potion and gathering Wild into his arms. Wild makes a strangled groan through his throat, but his eyes are squeezed closed.

He’s alive though. The thought that he’s still alive is the only thing that gives Twilight enough strength to pull out the cork of his jar and shove the opening to Wild’s lips.

Wild chokes as the liquid enters his mouth, but Twilight doesn’t let up. It’s preferable to drink red potions, but when it comes to drastic situations like this, just getting it in the injured person's body is enough to save their lives. Wild coughs through the liquid and writhes in Twilight's arms, and it’s all Twilight can do to keep the bottle there and shakily whisper every comforting word that he knows. Eventually, color returns to Wild’s cheeks, and his eyes blink open blearily as his choking turns into instinctive swallows.

When the contents of the bottle is gone, Twilight lets the glass jar fall to the floor as he now uses his newly freed hand to check Wild’s wound.

It’s still nasty, and deep, but no longer life threatening. Another potion or some stitches and Wild will be as good as new. For the first time in what feels like years, Twilight allows himself to breath out a sigh of intense relief.

“Twi…?” Wild asks, voice incredibly small.

Twilight holds him just a little tighter, willing his heart to calm down. He’s almost… he’s come so close to almost losing-

“Who did this to you?” Twilight demands with a bite to his tone that he doesn’t mean to direct at Wild.

Wild doesn’t react to it though. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It… doesn’t matter…” he replies in a whisper. Twilight feels anger swell in his stomach and he almost argues back, but Wild talks more despite how much it must still hurt. “Later,” he says. “’M hurt, wanna sleep. Deal with… it later.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, counts to five, then lets it out. He doesn’t feel any less upset. However, he keeps his voice level, deciding that arguing with Wild here will just upset the boy more than help him.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “I’m going to carry you, okay? I’m out of potions, but Wars or Hyrule should be nearby with some of their own. Then we can go get a well deserved sleep.”

Wild simply nods and relaxes into Twilight’s arms, breathing a sigh and closing his eyes. Twilight bites his lip, then resolves himself to hold one of his dearest friends close to his chest as he stands up. There’s blood everywhere, staining his hands, his tunic, his boots, his pants. But he got here in time. Wild will be okay.

That’s all that matters now. Once Wild has all his color back and his stomach no longer has a hole in it… then Twilight can make sure whoever did this regrets being born.

“I got you, kid,” he says, “I got you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 III

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers. (This chapter: oral)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You await the king’s next move.

Note: One day off. Managed to get this done!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

When at last you managed to look away from the likeness of the imperious king, you tried to sit. You found it hard to stay still however and instead, paced the expanse of the chamber. You stopped at the tall windows to look out onto the palace lawns, a glimpse of the city visible beyond the walls. Would you ever see the other side of them again?

You looked down at yourself as you swept away from the glass panes. The gaudy gown made you grimace and you went back to your restless strides. You rung your hands and made yourself stop, fidgeted with the thin fabric that swished around your legs, and squinted closely at the few pieces of miscellany scattered on tables; a few pens, a ring, and a bound book.

The sound of boots came muffled from the corridor and you turned as the doors shifted. The guard without pushed inward and stood back as the king swept past him. You stopped behind the sofa and watched Loki as he didn’t seem aware of your presence. A boy, about fifteen or so, followed at his heels and barely evaded the snap of the doors as they shut.

You bowed and waited for his acknowledgement. You received none as you kept your head down and followed him with strained eyes as he crossed to the set of doors painted with winding snakes. The young boy opened them and the king disappeared beyond them, though they remained ajar.

You waited, hands folded, chin lowered, and listened. The soft rustle of clothing, the ruffle of activity unseen. It was a time before the king bid away his servant.

“Go.” His voice slithered through the silence, “Fetch my dinner, boy.”

You held your breath as the adolescent emerged and swiftly crossed to the other doors. He left you there and another deathly hush rose around you, laced with anticipation and impatience. You heard soft footsteps approach the open doorway and halt upon the threshold.

“Little mouse,” the king said cloyingly, “You might stand up straight now.”

You bit down and raised your head. Your eyes met his as he smirked across at you. He wore a deep green robe embroidered with golden serpents, tied loosely at his waist to allow a glimpse of his pale torso. His silk pants were loose as finely stitched slippers poked out from beneath the hems. His crown did not top his locks as they hung loosely along his shoulders.

“Why, you do look much recovered,” he purred as he casually pushed away form the doorframe, “Better, even.” He did not come close, merely went to the table and pulled out a chair to perch. He slung a leg over the other as he bent an elbow on the tabletop. “I was, most irritatingly, called away to council.”

You were quiet. You stayed on the other side of the couch as if it were a barricade from his lingering gaze.

“Come closer,” he beckoned with two fingers, “I should like a proper look at… the gown.”

You hesitated. Your flesh, though healing, was still tender along your back. You went to him with careful steps and stopped a foot away from him. He looked you up and down. He reached out and his fingers closed around your wrist and he drew you between his legs as he uncrossed them.

His fingertips flew quickly to the beading along your bodice and he traced the curve of your side. He hummed as he peered up at you, your chest obscuring you slightly.

“Hmmm, I think I preferred you naked and chained,” he snickered. “Do you feel me still? Is the lesson still seared into your flesh, little mouse?”

Your lip curled and you swallowed. You nodded.

“Speak, when you are addressed by your king.” He demanded.

“Yes, your majesty,” you uttered, “The marks remain.”

He bunched your skirts in his hands and bared your thighs. He tickled your skin and pushed firmly to knead the muscle.

“Alas, I did send for my supper and I would not the boy happen upon my little games,” his thumb grazed the crease of your pelvis, “He is innocent and easily frightened.”

You stood, tolerant of his touch, as you felt a peculiar tingle inside. Disgust laced with something more; something you wanted to deny. His hands dropped reluctantly and he shifted in his seat.

“You will sit and eat. I understand you did little of that during your internment,” he said sharply, “I suspect it is the reason you had to be dragged out of there. That I did need to charge my staff with reviving you.”

“Must be the reason,” you muttered as you sat in the other chair across from him. You caught the gleam in his eye. “Your majesty.”

“Throughout your tenure here, thus far, I’ve a chance to learn more of the errant trespasser,” he preened, “Your uncle, Bo, he is a crafter and a merchant. You were charged with shaping clay pots for his shelf. Your little friend, Gilla, she is a baker’s daughter. I did not care much for her though.”

“Gilla…” you repeated quietly. “You…”

“I did not harm her. I only asked her some questions.” 

The door opened suddenly and he sat up. The boy was accompanied by two other servants who set out wine, glasses, and plates. The flurry of activity departed as quickly as it had arrived and you were left alone once more with the king.

“She’s a talkative one but she does not say much of substance,” he mused as he took his fork, “But I still learned much.”

“Oh?” You twirled your fork anxiously.

“Nothing more than I couldn’t surmise on my own,” he shrugged, “I’ve come to realise your obstinacy.” He mused, “And let me say, that will not hold and I do look forward to testing it.”

You frowned and he bit into a morsel of pork. He chewed and swallowed emphatically.

“Oh, that look,” he pointed at you with his fork, “It assured me I am right.”

🐍

Your stomach was both happy and sore from the meal. It had been long since you had eaten much more than broth and hard bread, if anything at all. While the food was delicious, the circumstance was less than. You found it less than hospitable to be under the gaze of the king. Though he was not so intent, his eyes returned often enough to make you worry. You were wise enough to know that when the meal was over, there would be no pretense left, though you could not guess exactly at what he meant to do.

The young boy, who he called Hal, cleared the table and left another bottle of wine in his stead. Loki poured another glass for himself and glanced at the one you’d barely touched.

“I’d suggest you drink but truly it makes no difference to me,” he winked as he took a gulp of his own. “But you do seem rather… antsy.”

You said nothing and took the glass. You drank deeply and nearly spluttered. You drained the cup and placed it back on the table.

“I do not enjoy your ploys, your majesty, I would prefer you be to the point,” you said, “I am not naïve and the idea would be entirely unknown to you.”

“Ploys? To the point? I haven’t an idea of what you mean, little mouse.”

You drew your brows together and blinked. “If you long to see me squirm, I already am.”

“Oh, I do see it but I will not be done with you so quickly,” he threw back the last of his glass and set it beside your own, “Come.”

He took your head and led you to the door of his bedchamber. You had the urge to stop before you could enter but let him guide you. The black drapings of his bed, the silver sheets, and the lush pillows assured you of your fate. You knew what would come but you could not fathom the extent of his cruelty.

It was said that it hurt the first time for maidens. You suspected the pain would be worse with him. He didn’t make anything easy. He always added to any discomfort. He pleasured in it.

“Squirming, shaking, or shivering, mouse?” he wondered as he neared the bed and you trailed behind him. He tugged you onward. “Is it fear? It must be for there is no draft.”

“Stop, stop, please,” you said breathily, “Do not draw this out any further.”

He tilted his head as he turned and sat on the edge of the bed. He released you and untied his robe and lifted himself to drag the tails from under him. He tossed it away and sprawled across the mattress with a sigh. He sidled over and bent an arm behind his head. You tried to ignore the bulge in his silk pants as he rubbed the space beside him.

“I had the impression that you already slept for quite a time but… I suppose the dungeon still takes a toll,” he remarked, “Lay down, little mouse. You might put out the light before you do.”

You looked around and went to the lamp on the round table in the corner. You blew it out and the silver slats of moonlight lit your path back to the bed. You slid your slippers off before you touched the woven blanket. You lifted a knee onto the mattress and the king gripped your wrist again. He pulled you down against him in a single motion.

“I am rather tired. My day did stretch on,” he said as he nestled you against him. His other hand went down and rested over his crotch. He rubbed himself and groaned. “A good night’s sleep would do us both well.”

He retracted his hand and pulled your arm across his torso. The taut muscles of his stomach were warm against your skin and sent a tickle along your spin.

“The nights of late summer do tend to grow chilly,” he reached over and played with the embroidery of your bodice. “And I find myself restless.”

He let out a long breath and the tension left his body. You laid in silence, eyes wide as you waited for him to do something. Anything. A rumble went through his chest and made you flinch. He chuckled.

“In due time, little mouse,” he promised, “Our games are not over yet.”

🐍

You didn’t recall dozing but you awoke gently to stirring beside you. The king slipped his arm from beneath you carefully. You were surprised by his caution. The bed moved slightly as he shimmied to the other side and stood. He moved in the dark as you remained as you were.

He rounded the bed and paused. He slid his hand along your thigh, your skirts tangled in your legs. He drew away and you listened to him retreat to the bath chamber. There was the subtle swish of water and dainty activity beyond. You wanted to fall back asleep and escape the odd reality.

Then you heard more. A low groan that soon grew to laboured breaths. It went on for several minutes. You crushed your head into the pillow as you tried not to listen. A stifled grunt ended the illicit rhythm. Another sigh.

He didn’t emerge for a few more minutes. He went into the receiving chamber and you heard the other set of doors creak. Shortly, you heard the thin voice of the boy, Hal, and the king returned to let the boy dress him. You watched him by his shadow in the early morning light.

“Go to Birger and fetch the rest of the girl’s wardrobe,” he bid, “I expect that all will be put away before my return. Bring her some food when she wakes and ask Birger to help you, should you require it.” The king strode to the door and stopped again, “And make sure the guards remain on watch. She is more trouble than she seems.”

You laid still until you were certain they were gone, though Hal remained in the receiving chamber. You wouldn’t fall back asleep. You were too on edge. So you stared up at the ceiling and brushed your arm over the spot where Loki had slept beside you. 

It hadn’t been at all what you expected. It was like you were holding your breath, waiting for the tension to snap the branch beneath you. Waiting for Loki to be just who you knew him to be. The king who had lashed you in the dungeon, the arrogant prince who demanded and got all that he wanted.

When you dared to rise and poked your head out into the next chamber, the boy hopped up from where he sat before the hearth. You were careful not to take long steps as the skirt threatened to bare more than you wanted. 

“You don’t have to,” you waved him down, “I can tend to myself.”

“I must bring your morning meal,” he insisted. “As the king wishes.”

“The king,” you mulled as you took a seat at the table, “Is he kind to you?”

He narrowed his eyes and thought, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose he is crueler to others so yes.”

“That is hardly kindness,” you said.

“I’ve had worse masters,” Hal replied. “And less rich.”

You nodded and ran your fingernail along the tabletop. “Well then…” You tapped the wood, “Go on then.”

The boy left and you let out your breath. You hung your head and rubbed your eyes. You listened to the morning birds and the breeze in the leaves. You knew the calm would give way soon to a great storm.

🐍

After you picked at a hard-boiled egg and some rashers, Hal returned with Birgir. They carried a large chest between them and set it down heavily before a painted armoire in the bedchamber. You watched as they hung the silks, satins, and brocades. Slippers were placed along the lower shelves and a few cloaks slung alongside the numerous gowns.

Birger bid you change your outfit and you placated him if only to rid yourself of his disapproval. You dressed in a burgundy dress with a similar cut as the first. None offered much more coverage, often less, and you scowled at the thought of donning them. You tucked your feet into a pair of slippers and washed your face of the make-up that remained from the previous day.

You were once more alone and left to languish in the king’s empty chambers. You thought of the dungeon. At least that was not a farce. At least the dank, dripping depths did not try to disguise your sentence.

You pulled the curtains back from the glass doors in the bedchamber. A balcony stood without as the sun peaked. You slowly turned the curved handle and pulled them open. You stepped out tentatively and looked around. You inhaled the scent of the wind and pollen. You hadn’t been outside in so long that you were overcome with nostalgia, with longing and dread. 

Would you ever know what it was to run across the grass again? To watch the rivers flow and dream of following them?

You went to the rail and looked down at the trimmed lawns and their pristine hedges and the beds of colourful buds. Birds danced along the rims of the fountain and other critters dove in and out of the maze of greenery. You leaned your elbows on the marble rail and stared down. It was far; far enough to kill.

You looked at the balcony, at the slates of the railing, at any foothold that might be found along the wall. You bent further over as you tried to spy those below and if they were close enough to land. Your thoughts ventured to escape, as risky as it might be, and you were want to laugh at your foolishness.

You felt something in your skirts, then a firm grip on your ankles. Suddenly you were tipped over the edge and you cried out as you were certain you would plummet to your death. You grabbed onto the marble slats as you we held dangling over the rail and you looked up at your accoster.

The king guffawed at your fear as you clung to the side of the balcony and slowly pulled your feet back over to the other side. His hand slid up your leg and ass and he grabbed the back of your bodice as he drew you up straight. He caught your hand before you could slap him.

“Now, now,” his hand crushed yours, “Did we not already learn this lesson?”

“You could’ve killed me!” You whined.

“I could’ve. And still could,” he smirked as he trapped you against the rail. “There is much I could do to you.”

You stared at him in disgust as he pressed his body to yours. His hand went to your chin and he framed your face with his long fingers.

“I could bend you back over this bannister and let my kingdom hear what it is I want to do to you,” he sneered. “Gods, the thought has me harder than last eve.”

He dragged his thumb over to your lips and poked inside your mouth. You resisted for a moment, until it hurt, and he pressed down on your tongue.

“If you were to be on your knees, no one should see you,” he said, “They wouldn’t know why it was you kneel before me…”

You swallowed as your stomach filled with bile. He pulled his thumb from your mouth and took a step back.

“So on your knees for your king,” he pushed apart the tails of his overcoat and lifted the bottom of his tunic as he unlaced his trousers, “I’ve been rather patient and it is not a habit I know well.”

You stared in aghast as he rubbed himself through his trousers and winced. His eyes flicked back to you and his face darkened.

“I said ‘on your knees’,” he barked, “Little mouse, you must really start obeying me or I shall have to repeat that lesson.”

You slowly bent your leg and rigidly got down to your knees. He pushed open the front of his trousers and stepped close. You stared at the ground as he pulled himself free and stroked his length. He grabbed your chin again and forced your head up. You tried not to look at his member bobbing in your vision.

“Open that trite little mouth. I will make better use of it than your bitter words,” he squeezed and you gasped at the sharp twinge it sent through your skull.

You opened your mouth and he pressed his tip to your lips. He rested it there and rubbed it back and forth teasingly. You closed your eyes and he slapped your cheek lightly with his fingers.

“No, no, keep those eyes open,” he demanded, “They look so nice staring up at me.” He slid slowly inside your mouth, “So frightened. I daresay, you look, almost, innocent.”

He pushed further in until he was at your throat. You gagged and he went deeper with a snicker. He gripped your head with one head as he thrust to his limit and your eyes welled as you struggled to breathe around him. You’d never done anything with a man more than a playful peck on the lips. You never spent very much time thinking of more.

He eased you back and you took a deep gulp of air before he invaded your throat again. The sickly noise of your spit and his member was repulsive. His eyes held yours as he moved his hips slowly and you latched onto his belt to keep from slipping.

“Little mouse, I only hope your mouth is an omen of what else you have to offer,” he purred as he rocked his pelvis, “A delight…”

Each thrust felt deeper than the last, harder, faster. His groans rose in the warm air as he was encouraged by his own voice. He grew louder as your eyes threatened to roll back and his face contorted in his pleasure. He kept a hand on your jaw and the other on the back of your head as he used your mouth.

You were dizzy as his intrusion felt as if it would never end. He threw his head back and you dared to close your eyes as your mouth turned salty. His voice rose louder and louder and filled your head. He dipped down your throat and his motion staggered. He gripped you tightly and moaned as he emptied himself down your throat.

He grunted with his few final jerks and pulled out sharply. He released you just as quickly and you fell to the side as he backed away and panted. You coughed his seed up onto the stone as he watched you. You could feel his shadow as he neared and you looked up as he cradled his glistening member.

“You’ve made such a mess, little mouse,” he reproached, “I shall forgive it this time, but the next, you won’t muddy my floors so.”

You choked as you sat back on your heels and stared at him with wet eyes. Your throat ached horribly and your head still spun.

“Go on, clean me up, darling,” he looked down at his cock in his hand. “I suspect I am late already.”

You shoved your repulsion down and neared him on your knees. He angled his tip back to your lips and you took him again in your mouth. You pressed your tongue to his member and slowly pulled back as you lapped up the last of his cum. He guided you up and down a few times and relented once more. 

He parted from you again, content, and tucked himself away in his trousers. As he laced himself up, he cleared his throat.

“Well, little mouse, I will say, I’ve done little for my patience,” he chuckled, “I do suggest you might have some wine before I return again… it is said to dull the pain.” He neatened his tunic and overcoat and ran his fingers through his hair. “And I promise, there will be a lot of pain.

[julek]

five times jaskier does nice things for roach, and one time she returns the favor.

(or, jaskier spends a ridiculous amount of time and money on a horse).

*

“i told you not to touch roach,” geralt says when he hears his mare stomping her feet on the ground, displeased. she’s tethered to a tree near their fire and geralt, now busy brewing some potions, had finished brushing her a few minutes ago.

jaskier curses himself mentally, still not used to geralt and his witcher hearing, capable of listening to a bird’s cry three towns away. reluctantly, he draws his hand away from the horse, grinning innocently in geralt’s direction.

“i was just saying goodnight!” he says, sitting down cross-legged on his bedroll, “first impressions are very important, you know. wouldn’t want her to think i was being impolite on purpose, not when we are this”—he pinches his fingers together—“close to being best friends.”

geralt looks up at him, unimpressed. “she doesn’t like you.”

behind them, roach snorts in agreement, and jaskier splutters in indignance.

*

the forest is quiet.

no birds chirping, no predators lurking around, no sound. ideal work conditions, in geralt’s opinion. he’s crouched down next to a fallen tree, waiting for the drowners to take his bait.

suddenly, the swamp’s stillness is breached by soft singing and feet stepping on branches. rolling his eyes, geralt stands up as quietly as possible and walks over to jaskier, who’s busy picking flowers from a nearby meadow.

“i told you to stay with roach,” he says in greeting, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

jaskier yelps and turns around to face him, clutching his heart and letting the flowers fall to the ground.

“gods, geralt! warn a guy, would you? i thought you were one of those, um… what do you call them? swimmers.”  

“drowners.”

“my words exactly,” he says, gathering some long stems. “i was waiting with roach, mind you, but i got bored. so i looked around and thought hey! roach looks awfully dull without some pretty flowers weaved in her mane, so here i am.”

geralt lifts his eyebrows, abandoning all hope for a peaceful, quick hunt.

“she’ll trample you to death before she lets you touch her,” he deadpans.

jaskier tsks, already making his way back to their camp with his fresh selection of flowers.

geralt waits for the inevitable.

“fucking ow!” he hears, and feels a smile tugging at his lips. “that doublet was new! that is not how one reacts to gifts, you vicious horse. did that witcher teach you nothing about manners?”

he did, actually. he’s glad she’s putting them to use.

*

“fuck, i’m cold.”

they’re in the outskirts of blaviken, and much to jaskier’s chagrin, they’re making camp in the forest. winter’s near, and as much as he would have liked to sleep in a warm bed, he would have turned it down anyway. he’d seen the look on geralt’s face as they approached the town, and that had been enough of a reason to follow him into the forest.

jaskier is pacing around the fire, his woolen cloak snug around his shoulders, doing little to protect him from the biting wind. geralt had gone deeper into the forest to hunt something for their dinner and hadn’t yet returned.

he looks over his shoulder at roach, who’s laying down on the ground, her legs tucked under her body. geralt had slung a blanket over her back, and she’d been dozing off for the last half hour, seemingly unfazed by the cold.

he knows it’s a bad decision, and he’ll probably be kicked and yelled at, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. his fingers are frozen and he can’t feel his ears, and he’s sure he’ll drop dead any minute now from hypothermia, so why not?

“hi, beautiful,” he whispers, crouching down next to roach, watching her reaction. “do you mind if i sit next to you? you see, it’s horribly cold,” he sits down, carefully as not to startle her, “and it’s something my brothers and i used to do, you know? huddling for warmth.”

if roach notices him laying against her side, she doesn’t show it. he gently places his head on top of her spine, and drapes himself in his cloak.

“you’re incredibly warm, did you know that? had i known that before, i would have cuddled you sooner.”

he’s so warm and comfortable he almost doesn’t notice geralt coming back. he hears his footfalls but decides to ignore them, too cozy to move, but roach has other plans. all of a sudden, she stands up, leaving him on the floor, confused.

“wha—roach!” he exclaims, picking himself off the ground. “we were doing fine! what happened?”

geralt smirks as he starts to skin the rabbit. “maybe that will teach you not to bother her.”

“but you don’t understand, i—we were happily laying side by side just a minute ago!” jaskier says, sitting in front of the fire. “you startled her.”

geralt snorts. “i did?”

jaskier rolls his eyes and looks at roach, who’s laying down again, unperturbed. “traitor,” he whispers.

*

spices, curated meats, oils, and baked goods are all geralt can smell, meaning this particular market isn’t too big and they’ll be out on the road soon. that, if he can get jaskier to hurry and get whatever he so desperately needs.

“oh, that stone is beautiful,” the bard says to a bald salesman, keen on selling him a new ring. “alas, it’s much too expensive for me.”

he gives the salesman a sheepish smile and moves on to the next stall.

“i just need one more thing, dear witcher, and we can be on our way,” he says, grinning.

geralt arches a brow, but says nothing. better not to distract him, he’s learned.

“hello, madam!” he chirps, looking at the goods displayed on her counter, “if you would be so kind, i’d like a full bag of sugar cubes.”

huh. that’s not what geralt had been expecting. cherries, maybe, or a honeycake, not sugar cubes.

jaskier pays the woman and kindly thanks her, then ties the small bag to his belt. “well, i’m done. are we leaving?”

geralt nods.

they make their way to the side of the road, where roach is nibbling on the outgrown grass. he takes the herbs he’d purchased and places them inside roach’s saddlebag, while jaskier resumes his daily chattering.

“you’re looking quite dashing today, my lady,” he says, gently stroking the mare’s neck.

geralt expects roach to hastily brush jaskier’s hand aside, but much to his surprise, she doesn’t, snorting happily instead. he looks at them for a second, dumbfounded.

“geralt? are we going, then?”

“hmm.”

*

summer is kind enough to let a gentle breeze filter through the trees, giving jaskier a breath of clean air.

he’s got his breeches rolled up to his knees, and his doublet is nowhere to be seen. they’d been traveling nonstop for two long, humid days, the burning sun above them, and jaskier had been too tired to even sing, lazily strumming his lute as he walked next to geralt. then, in the middle of a pointless rant about how the world would be better off without the sun and its infernal heat, jaskier spotted a stream.

grabbing roach’s brush from geralt’s saddlebags, jaskier takes her reins and gently leads her into the stream. she complies, braying lightly as she feels the water on her legs.

“i know, girl,” jaskier says, gathering water on his cupped hands and letting it pour on her head, minding her ears, “it’s too hot out, even for you.”

he looks over to geralt, who’s got his back to them, scrubbing mud from his boots.

“you know,” he murmurs, smoothly brushing her mane, scratching behind her ears, “he doesn’t think we’re friends, you and i.” she snorts in response, and he chuckles. “he still thinks you don’t like me.”

she moves forward, and jaskier’s about to move out of the way to let her walk out of the stream when she bumps her head affectionately against his chest.

“oh,” he whispers, overcome with emotion. “as you know, i’ve become quite the expert at reading geralt’s hums and silences, but this is uncharted territory. animal behavior is foreign to me.”

she swishes her tail, and jaskier huffs out a laugh.

“i’ll give it my own meaning, then,” he says, pressing his nose against her snout. “i love you too.”

*

the tavern is packed to the brim, overflowing with hearty patrons who served as a great audience, generously rewarding jaskier with applause and tankards of ale with his name written on them.

“thank you, my good men and women, for listening to my tales!” he exclaims, hopping off the stool he’d been using as a makeshift stage.

he heads to the bar, picking up two of the mugs and moving toward the corner where geralt’s sitting, half-hidden under the shadows.

“help yourself, witcher,” he says, smiling brightly. “the crowd was kind to us tonight.”

to you, geralt thinks but doesn’t say. instead, he takes a swig of ale. “so i’ve seen.”

jaskier beams at him, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted with sweat. he downs half his glass, sitting back on his chair, sighing contentedly.  

they spend the evening in comfortable silence, jaskier casually making remarks about the town or the last contract, taking small bites out of a piece of bread. after a while, geralt stands up.

“i’ll go check on roach.”

“oh, good!” jaskier says, standing next to him. “i forgot my quill in her saddlebags, i’ll go with you.”

geralt hums, and they walk past the people at the tavern. they reach the half-lit stables at the back, where roach chews on some straw in her stall.

“hey, sweetheart,” jaskier greets, stroking her snout. geralt starts brushing her down, and jaskier looks into her saddlebags for his forgotten quill. a long time ago, geralt had given up on trying to split their belongings into different bags, realizing the your side, my side logic meant nothing to jaskier.

after all, they shared everything. coin, wine, food. beds, sometimes, waking up with their legs entwined, jaskier’s head on geralt’s shoulder, embraced in what they both tried to pass off as the natural seeking of warmth on cold nights, nothing else.

jaskier leans against a pillar, watching geralt take care of his horse. they’d been traveling together for so long, yet it still amazes jaskier to see geralt move around roach. how his gaze softens, and a small smile stretches across his lips, only for roach to see. how he murmurs sweet nothings, rubbing that spot on her jaw he knows she likes.

“okay,” geralt says, “go to sleep, now. we’re leaving at dawn.”

roach bumps her head against geralt’s chest, lovingly, and he gives her a smile.

“goodnight, darling,” jaskier says, sneaking a sugar cube into her mouth. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

when he turns back, geralt’s looking at them with a fond expression, a small smile on his lips. he moves toward jaskier, his eyes soft.

“you’re spoiling her”, he says, amused. this close, jaskier can see geralt’s got a little bit of mud on his chin, and he wants to wipe it off.

“she’s a good horse,” jaskier tells him, feeling roach’s eyes on him. “she deserves nice things.”

“hmm.” geralt closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly.

jaskier moves forward, licking his thumb, and gently wipes geralt’s chin. he opens his eyes, watching jaskier.

“there,” jaskier whispers, his thumb now stroking geralt’s cheek.

suddenly, he feels roach nudge him forward with her snout, and he stumbles onwards, clutching geralt’s shirt for balance. they’re close, geralt’s breath on jaskier’s cheek, his hands on the bard’s waist.

“she’s a clever horse, too,” geralt says, pressing the tip of his nose against jaskier’s, rubbing softly.

“she is,” jaskier murmurs against geralt’s lips.

roach nickers softly in agreement.

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 6 - Misogynist

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot​

“Don’t offend me.”

“No, I think the best course of action for HERA & ARTEMIS is that we not only branch out to collaborate with other companies, but also to make um… say, connections with non-profit organisations. Orphanages, charities, you name it. The publicity HERA & ARTEMIS will get after being recognised as a community-caring brand, a brand that cares no less than it’s maximum ability to about children, the elderly and the disabled.” 

“Charitable. I like it,” The Resources CEO of The Board nods with a wine of champagne in his glass. even at her own wedding, all the bride can think of is work. All she cares about is how to make sure HERA & ARTEMIS is heard in the crowd of attendees to her wedding. “Anyway, a gorgeous wedding, I must say. What made you have it at home? I’d expect that your father and brother would have wanted it somewhere more… ravish, y’know, more extravagant.” 

It takes some effort to hide her disgust at the thought that her father had a say over where she wanted to have her wedding. 

“Of course not,” The service smile almost feels surgically implanted into her face, even Jang Won herself is put off. “Juyeon and I have already planned this right off the bat, have it at Hera’s Manor.” 

“Why not at the Lee House? I thought the Lee’s would’ve preferred it there, you know, husband and all.” 

Jang Won could’ve slapped the glass of champagne out of his grasp if she wanted to, then probably break the bowl off the stem and send it into his eye. 

Misogynist. 

“We—” 

“The Lee House doesn’t have the facility and resources to hold a wedding now,” Juyeon comes round with a cup of whiskey, cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol as he rounds his arm around Jang Won, pulling her into his torso and even bothering to press a kiss into her temple. “It isn’t as presentable as you’d expect it to be. Hera’s Manor is well-kept and it looks like it’s prepped for a party every other day.” 

Juyeon smiles politely, eyes drifting from the Resources CEO to Jang Won, and for a split second, Jang Won might just feel somewhat impressed he stood up for her. “You know what they say, if you need something done, a lady will do it fast and efficient.”

The Resources CEO provides the newly wedded couple an awkward smile, not really able to spit out a proper response to Juyeon’s rebuttal. 

“Anyway, love, your brother’s asking for you in your office. Some administrative issues that cropped up,” Juyeon pulls away and turns his body, feet already pointing away from the Resources CEO. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr Teuk.” 

Juyeon lowers his head as a sign of respect, though he probably doesn’t mean it. He gently tugs on Jang Won and leads her out of the courtyard. 

“Please tell me there aren’t any actual administrative manners Younghoon wants to talk to me about,” Jang Won seethes as she walks up the yard stairs and into the main hall. 

“‘Course not,” Juyeon subtly shakes his head. “He’s having the time of his life actually, getting acquainted with the other members of The Board. Have you always been the one helping him with Artemis?” 

“In his defence, I don’t let him handle anything. It’s a subsidiary of HERA & ARTEMIS so I might as well take things into my own hands and worry about it on my own.” 

“Well, maybe you should let him figure his hand out at things. He doesn’t legally own Artemis for nothing.” 

Jang Won turns to shoot a look of distaste at Juyeon. 

“What?” He frowns, forehead creasing. “I’m literally telling you to split your workload.”

“I don’t need to split my workload. I’m doing fine on my own and frankly, I’d rather he sit back and let me do most of it so that at least I know what the Hell’s going on with my companies without worrying about any secrets.” 

Juyeon rubs the back of his neck and shoves his hands into his pockets. “In other words, you don’t trust your brother.” 

“Please,” She walks off first, heading for her office where she usually seeks refuge amongst her bottles of whiskey and bourbon and documents. “Just because I love him for being my brother doesn’t mean I should trust him with my finances.” 

“You’re literally born into a family of fortune. Even if he does mess up, you’d be able to recover from it. The consequences would mean absolutely nothing to you.” 

Jang Won pushes the heavy doors of her office open, admiring the late-morning sun that’s spilling all over her chair and her desk. 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, pretty boy. I choose not to rely on whatever I have at birth because I always felt like whatever my dad had was just handed to him,” She reaches for the ice bucket and picks up a ball of ice, dropping it into the whiskey glass, then coats most of its surface with bourbon. “But God forsake my hard work, huh? I guess if hard work really did pay off then I wouldn’t be standing here, in a wedding-lunch dress, talking to my husband.” 

Juyeon raises both brows and throws himself into one of the sofa seats, the clinking of the whiskey decanter echoing ever so slightly throughout the office. “Ever heard of a holiday? You should go on one.”

She scoffs with exaggeration, the gentle swishing of the alcohol meeting the ice and the glass gleaming like liquid honey under the sunlight. “Yes, because I’m just like you, the one who would run away from the responsibilities he was born into whenever he doesn’t want them.”

“I’m sorry,” Juyeon grimaces, standing up and allowing the silvers of his suit glimmer as he walks into where the sunlight kisses the floor. “Which toe did I step on? I just pulled you out of a situation you would’ve otherwise not wanted to be in.” 

“Unfortunately for you, I didn’t need pulling out. I could’ve handled myself right there and then. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember - I don’t need myself a nanny to save me,” Cocking one of her brows, she gives a wry laugh before downing the shot of whiskey.

Juyeon is in disbelief in her ability to perceive gratitude - or rather, a lack thereof. 

“Maybe your father came back to save HERA & ARTEMIS from your terrible people’s skills, ever thought of that?”

“Wrong again, pretty boy!” She peels the glass off her lips and stares at the lipstick mark. “I’m perfect with the people I wanna be perfect with to get what I want, and when they are of no use to me, I’m well aware I treat them less than average.”

“There it is,” He sneers, stopping right before her as she finishes the last bit of her whiskey. “So, you’re a hypocrite.”

A smirk draws across her lips. Jang Won almost slams the glass back down in the tray of other glasses and the whiskey decanter. “And I’m proud of it. There’s nothing you can do about it, Lee Juyeon. You agreed to play this game my way and now that we’re wearing matching rings. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it.”

Jang Won squares up and jabs a finger into his shoulder. But Juyeon catches her wrist and holds it in place, causing her to grunt and attempt to writhe her way out, but to no avail. 

“Kim Jang Won, you listen to me and you listen well. Just because I agreed to play this game by your rules, doesn’t mean I’m your puppet. We both know who will be the more powerful one in May, so my advice?” By now, Juyeon’s nose is almost in her eye. He’s not even bothering to look at her. 

“Don’t offend me.”

Jang Won finally snatches her wrist out of his hold when she feels his grip loosen. Huffing, she stomps past him, shoulder bumping into his arm for good measure as she leaves the office.

Younghoon just about catches his sister rolling her eyes so hard, she was this close to hurling a string of vulgarities at the wooden of her office door. “Hey, what were you doing in your office? People are looking for you!”

Without a word, her eyes are locked with his in frustration. 

“What?” He frowns. 

She thinks for a moment. 

She can ruin him and destroy him by asking him to take Artemis for himself before the deal is due in June. Ask him why he was so useless and had his little sister do everything for him, never once really fighting to take ownership of a company legally his. 

“Nothing,” The brush-off is sharp and distinct as she waves him off, turning to walk into the main hall. “Go get yourself more sponsors before June, will you? I’m not sure the same people would want to keep in touch with HERA & ARTEMIS after the separation and collaboration is made official.”

Juyeon returns home later that evening, still wearing the fourth outfit of the day. It was a blue suit with a black collar and details and all he wants to do is soak himself in his bath. Maybe he could go to sleep safe and sound, and he’d wake up single and free to do whatever he actually wants to do. 

He walks down the entrance corridor, sick of all the staged portraits of him and his family hung on the walls. The main hall comes into sight, past the stairs on his right, where the television was still broadcasting bits and pieces of his wedding earlier. In the million-dollar couch sat his father, eyes and ears attentive to the screen. 

“Was it so entertaining that you have to watch it again? I know you were there this afternoon.”

His father turns his head subtly. Juyeon pulls off his blazer and removes his watch, laying the heavy clothing over his forearm as he scans the broadcast.

“The Lee-Kim wedding saw nothing short of nothing but a perfect list of investors, sponsors, fellow colleagues and leaders of several enterprises...”

He turns to look at his father, obviously still somewhat hurt that he hadn’t been officially invited by his son - Mr Ro had sent out mandatory invites to family members.

“It was a gorgeous wedding.”

“Yeah, well...” Juyeon shrugs lifelessly, already turning around to head for the stairs. “I had no say in it. It was her wedding and I don’t care, so.”

“The Board is expecting you to go on a Honeymoon, you have that in place, right?”

Juyeon gives a dry chuckle, already on the first step of the stairs. “Yeah, we’re going to Guatemala.”

“Guatemala?” His father shifts his attention from the television and looks at Juyeon, halfway up the stairs. “You’re just finding a chance to go diving in Belize, aren’t you?”

His son doesn’t falter, only continuing taking each step towards the second level, in hopes that he wouldn’t have to listen to his father criticise the only thing Jang Won let him do. At least it was some kind of freedom. 

“Juyeon-”

“Mom better not be in my room.”

The second floor corridor greets him with even more portraits of his family, most of the pictures of him when he was younger. He halts right outside his door when he notices light seeping out from beneath. 

Sighing with exasperation, he lays his hand on the door handle, readying himself to listen to his mother ramble. But his attention drifts from the cream-painted mahogany to the low cabinet next to him, the blue shade of the stingray shining under the hallway lights.

There was a ceramic statue of a standing coral frame with the stingray within the arc, and on it engraved ‘Hawaii 2018′. He smiles, remembering only fond memories of seeing a huge stingray while diving. Sunwoo had been dragged out by him - one of those times when he fought with his parents and couldn’t stand being in the same house as them. He covered travel cost and hospitality fees, ensuring Sunwoo’s parents (whose family was also on the smaller arm of The Board’s administration) that he’d take care of them. 

Juyeon got an earful from his parents when he came back. Young Jin Seol had been the one to tell his parents his whereabouts, solely because he had arranged for her to make sure it seemed like he was still doing his job at the office. So, of course, when his parents walked into office and she was doing his work for him, they had threatened to fire her. 

But Juyeon knew he was indebted, and told his parents, “No Jin Seol, then you can forget about me taking over Apple-Korea.”

Sucking a deep breath, Juyeon shakes himself out of his mental trance, and pushes the door open. 

The back of his mother seems so fragile on first sight, and he’s well aware she’s getting on in her years. For a split second, he feels emotional, possibly feeling some tinge of remorse at how horrible of a son he’s been.

Then he remembers that she’s had an abundance of spa treatments, country-club lunches with her fellow rich moms after a game of gold or tennis, and a bunch of other things she definitely didn’t need. He wish he could tell himself otherwise, that she had been born into this life and thus living anything else dissimilar to this would be tiring on her.

But he can’t.

“I’m surprised you bothered to come home,” She says without looking at him. Juyeon rests his blazer on the back of the single sofa seat that’s angled to face the one she’s sitting in. “I was wondering if I should send some pajamas over to Hera’s Manor.”

Juyeon sits in the crystal encrusted sofa seat, crossing his legs and eyeing his mother fiddle with the wedding band on her finger. It reminds him of his own. 

“You realise you’re the one who bound me to the Kim family, don’t you? You’re the one who said okay to marrying Kim Jang Won, not me.”

“It was for your own good.”

“For mine or for our family?” Juyeon leans back in his seat and interlocks his fingers, placing them in his lap. “What else do you really need from the Lee family that you simply cannot take your eyes off? Their money? HERA & ARTEMIS? What?”

Only now does Juyeon notice the cup of tea on the small coffee table infront of them. 

“A child,” She says, like it was the most casual thought one could have, before taking a sip of tea. Her son shuts his eyes then opens them with his eyebrows as far up his forehead as he can. 

Providing a dry, tortured chuckle, Juyeon blinks multiple times, wishing that it was a condition with his hearing and not just something his mother had just spat out.

“A what?” Juyeon pulls apart his hands and leans forward, fists now clenched and pressed into the cushion he was sitting in.

“You heard me,” She places the tea cup down and refuses to look at him. “A child would mean inheritance. The Lee family will inherit the wealth of the Kims and it could possibly start a new system. It could rewrite The Board. We could become The Board.”

“What the-” He finally stands, barely choking out some kind of laughter filled with confusion and utter disbelief. “You want a child just to bond our families together and take over The fucking Board? My God, why are you so obsessed with The Board?”

“Because The Board is everything! No board, no us, no wealth and comfort like the kind we raised you in-”

“Does it look like I wanted it?!” Juyeon runs his hands through his hair, pulling his hair back and stretching his hairline. 

“You ingrate-”

“So I am an ingrate. But I had no choice, I have no life of my own because guess who’s making my decisions for me? You! If I don’t even have the ability to make my own choices then how do I even qualify as an ingrate?!”

She’s silent, and very much staring at the words spewing out of her son’s mouth now. She huffs through her flared nostrils, picking up the saucer and the tea cup and standing. “I don’t know what kind of ideas Kim Jang Won has planted in your head but you are still part of the Lee family and-”

“For Gods’ sake, Jang Won has nothing to do with any of this! In fact, she can’t care less about what I’m doing, so long as it doesn’t change the course of this entire situation. If anything, she’s playing it safe; she’s playing it against her father, and not us,” The veins on Juyeon’s hands are about to rip through his skin when he cannot close his fist any more. “Her father literally climbed out the grave... and you took this chance to capitalise on that in order to make our family richer the moment you heard of The Board’s announcement regarding HERA & ARTEMIS’s ownership complications...”

Juyeon shakes his head subtly, realising that he was panting from the sheer force of anger and disgust rushing through him. 

“And she’s younger than me. Lost her mother, lost her father, who only comes back to take what she built? You know, for a woman under The Board, I’d think you’d understand what she’s gone through. I thought... I thought you would’ve known how hard it is to be the successful one in the family but cannot pass down the family name... but everytime I think the world of you, and I think you’d act a little more like the woman I thought you are... you prove me wrong.”

Juyeon glares down at her, hands holding the teacup in the saucer with some kind of disapproving, disappointed look of fury in her eyes. Then he sighs heavily, hands rushing to pick up his blazer and storms out the room before she can.

“Leave Kim Jang Won alone, or else I’ll refuse Apple-Korea. By then, you can forget about all your stupid green bills and diamond rings.”

And with that, he slams the door shut. 

Juyeon appears along the second floor hallway, visible from the first floor’s living hall, where his father was still watching the news of his wedding earlier on in the day. Of course, the door slamming would’ve caught his attention, so when his son rushes down the stairs while putting his blazer back on, the elder man removes himself off the couch.

“Juyeon! Where are you going?!”

“Don’t call me, and don’t even think of calling Hera’s Manor,” He opens the heavy front door with such determination, then slams it harder than he intends to. By the foot of the stairs leading down to the pick up point by the entrance, his two bodyguards are taken aback and flustered when Juyeon appears again.

“Uh, can I get Mr Bong around-”

The instruction through the guard’s earpiece is cut short and interrupted abruptly as Juyeon unplugs the earpiece from the transmitter. 

“Mr Lee-” 

Juyeon doesn’t hesitate to do the same with the other guard. By now, his father has gotten the front door open and yelling at him with disapproving scolds. 

Rushing around the hood of the Porsche, Juyeon steps into the drivers’ seat - an unlikely sight, since he’s been chauffeured around most of the time.

“What in the world are you two doing? Stop him from leaving!” 

The vehicle revs to life, and Juyeon fumbles under the passenger seat’s compartment box and every crook and cranny in the front of the car.

“Juyeon!”

He winds up the window on the driver’s side and locks the entire vehicle just as his father reaches the window. He tugs on the handle angrily, almost able to shake the entire car with his aggression. 

“Juyeon, don’t you dare!”

Then, he finds it. A tracking device attached to all the cars his family owns.

Ripping it off the surface it was stuck into, he rolls down the window on the passenger’s side and hurls it out, straight into the arms of one of the bodyguards.

“Juyeon!”

He starts up the car and pulls it into drive, forcing his father to back off as he moves off.

[seiyasabi]

Beta

(This is a Yandere Alpha N’Doul x Beta Female Reader! I hope you guys enjoy this :))

TW: !Noncon/Dubcon!, no stand au, sexual harassment (from the big man himself, Dio),  mentions of disability(blindness)!, mentions of organised crime!, mentions of violence!, !knotting!, breeding kink!, you have no rights even as a Beta :((, !Alpha kink, !slight scent kink, !slight body horror at the end but nothing explicit!, etc..) 

When you accepted the role as a caregiver, you assumed that the man you were going to watch after was normal. After all, the man was rumoured to have a trust fund, and you assumed that he was rich from old money. 

How wrong you had been. 

How would you have known that the man you’re helping is in one of the most feared mafia’s in the world? 

You’d found this out by accident. He’d asked you to bring an expensive wine for him and a ‘friend,’ but when you walked in, you saw his ‘friend’ sprawled out on the floor, dead. That’s when he used his ‘Alpha Voice’ on you for the first time. He demanded you move into his estate, because he couldn’t risk you being a snitch. 

The ultimatum was to move in, or die, and by God, you weren’t going to die. 

-

“If you weren’t a Beta, I’d have stolen you away a long time ago,” Your hands shake slightly when you pour an expensive scotch into the blond Alpha’s cup. You’d always been sensitive to an Alpha’s scent or words, and this man’s smell is overwhelming. 

“Thank you, Mister Brando, but I’m sure my boss wouldn’t like that,” You chuckle nervously, as you swiftly move away from his large form. Taking a small glance towards N’Doul, you see an impassive look on his well-sculpted face. He’s used to his boss’ crude words towards you, but the annoyed pheromone in his scent is very apparent. 

“Of course he wouldn’t, you’re one of the few useful servants here,” He swishes the amber liquid around in his cup, the ice clinking against the glass making you flinch, “But, I have a proposition for you that I know you can’t refuse; you smell very… enchanting for a mere Beta. This is a known fact. The only differences between you and an Omega is that you’re level-headed and less annoying. That means that you’ll make a very good mate for one of my most trusted men,” By this time, you’d made your way to your boss, and were in the middle of pouring him a glass of a strong smelling bourbon. The blond Alpha’s words make your blood run cold, and you quickly stop pouring N’Doul his drink in fear of your shaking causing a spill. Dio’s golden eyes flash in amusement, “Why do you seem so surprised, Beta? You’ve been faithful to us for quite some time now, and I believe you deserve some comfort. If you marry him, you’ll live a lavish life. The only thing you must do for us, besides giving us unwavering loyalty, is bear him many children. The mafia needs a future generation, after all.” 

You gasp in disbelief, your free hand covering your gawking mouth. He can’t be serious. You weren’t born into a mafia family, you weren’t rich, you aren’t good on the field, etc., why would he want you to marry one of his high ranking men? 

“I, uhm, I’m flattered that you’d offer me such an amazing, uhm, opportunity, but I don’t think I can up and leave my boss. I’ve helped him for about two years, so it might not be very good for him-” N’Doul suddenly grabs your right wrist, scaring you half to death. You almost drop the bourbon bottle in your left hand, but luckily regain your hold on it. 

“She’s right, Master Dio, I still need her assistance in my manor. She helps me write my paperwork, reads off important messages, and assists with many other equally as important tasks. It would be quite hard for me to find someone who is as trusted and reliable as she is,” He slowly releases his hold on you, gently squeezing your right hand’s fingers. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, Dio looks positively pleased with himself, while your boss looks in his general direction with an unamused expression. 

“Are you both sure that you want to miss out on this opportunity? I didn’t even say the Alpha’s name yet,” The both of you vehemently nod, you because you don’t want to marry some rando to become a baby factory, and your boss because he can’t bear the thought of you being mated to someone else. “I see, what a shame. I was actually going to offer her to you, N’Doul, but I guess she can continue to be your servant if you want,” The dark haired Alpha’s scent turns sour, making you gulp in both fear and confusion. 

“Master Dio, what are you implying?” 

“You want to marry her, don't you? Your sweet Beta always takes care of you, she’s willing to do anything to make you comfortable,” Oh God, Dio thinks you’re in love with your boss, “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the change of your scent when she walks into the room, or how you treat her so kindly. The N’Doul I know wouldn’t have hesitated to kill someone if they found out his secret, yet you spared her without a second thought. It seems that the both of you have found your match,” He throws his drink back, finishing it with a single swig, “But, if you still don’t wish to marry, I understand-”

“Please don’t play with my feelings,” Your boss stands to his feet, his scent now overwhelmingly angry, “Of course I’d want to marry her, is that really a question you must ask?” Dio smirks at his uncharacteristic anger. 

“Oh, is that so? Then I suppose I will allow it,” He stands to his feet as well, easily towering over the both of you, “Now that that’s settled-”

“Wait! I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but don’t I get a say in this?” N’Doul, who is closest to you, tries to reach out for you again, but you easily dodge his hand, “I’m sorry Master N’Doul, but I don’t want to marry you. I also don’t want any children, and I don’t want any direct involvement with the mafia. I’m fine helping you out around the house and doing my job, but I don’t want anything besides a professional relationship,” It’s quiet for a long moment, a look of hurt flashing over your boss’ face, along with an upset smell permeating the room, before Dio begins to laugh. 

“Oh my, it’s so adorable that you think you have a choice. Did you forget that even though you’re not an Omega, the law still views you as lesser to an Alpha? For once, we’d be following the law in making you submit to your Alpha,” The blond rounds the left side of the table, heading straight towards you. In a panic, you try to move to your right to round the table and run for the door, but you run into your boss. 

Instead of being thrown off kilter like usual, he stands firm. His arms wrap around your middle, forcing you up against him. You think that he’s surprisingly well built for a man who needs your help 24/7, and that’s when you realise that you’re just a cover. The police know that you work for him, and whenever they’ve questioned you, you’ve always said the same thing; he has no sense of balance, he needs your help to get around the house, etc.. But, looking at the situation at hand, it’s clear that he’s never needed you for anything besides his mafia paperwork. 

“I think she’s figured it out N’Doul,” The scary Alpha is now before you, staring down at you with a shit-eating grin, “Though, that doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you listen to me well,” Oh no, “You’re going to marry him, whether you want to or not. You will give him as many pups as he wants, or else you’ll be punished. If you try to escape, you will be punished. Do you understand me?” He’s used his Alpha voice on you. Normally this wouldn’t phase a Beta, but you were no normal Beta. 

Against your better judgement, you nod, saying a very forced, “Yes, Alpha,”

“Good. His rut will begin in a few days. When that happens, you will service him as an Omega would. I will give you some heat inducing pills, and you will take them the moment his rut begins,” You stare at the ground with a frown, and nod. 

“Okay… but how will they work? I’m not an Omega-” N’Doul’s hold tightens around your ribs exponentially, making you wheeze. 

“Don’t act too rash,” He scolds the dark haired Alpha, “That’s an excellent question, Beta,” You flinch at his words, and freeze in fear when he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him, “There are many drugs on the market that can trigger a reaction from your kind. Many Alphas find it fun to break a Beta down into a gushing, cock or pussy hungry whore. You, my dear, are going to be my dear friends’ mate, which means you need to be ready for a long and hard week. If you aren’t you’ll surely die of exhaustion,” N’Doul growls at that, causing Dio to shush him softly, “So, to stop that, you’re going to go into heat as well. It’s as simple as that.”

His words are calming ones, trying to lull you into a false sense of security. But, you know better. You know that both men can kill you easily, you know that your boss could give you up, ending with you becoming a sex slave. So, to save your own skin, you give in. 

“Okay. I understand.”

-

The next few days are a whirlwind of emotion. Because his cover has now been blown, N’Doul refuses your help with any task besides paperwork. Turns out, he’s very high functioning, and he is able to count his steps to-and-fro, and is also able to do things like cooking without your help. 

Ever since that day with Dio, he’s been trying to make it up to you. He’ll make you your favourite food, dress you in pretty dresses, help you shower, etc..  It’s honestly suffocating, but whenever you try to distance yourself, one of his few servants will detain you, only to return you back to the patient Alpha. 

The day before his scheduled rut, one of the female servants took it upon herself to wax your entire body. Unfortunately for you, she’s a very old fashioned Alpha, and she had no qualms in using her Alpha voice against you. So, she sat you down on the edge of a large jacuzzi like bath tub, and went to town. When your soon to be mate called for you, it’d taken all of your power to walk down the stairs without falling flat on your face. He’d known something was wrong, because your smell wasn’t as lovely as usual, and the way you walked sounded completely different than normal. You didn’t bother lying to him, and to say he was pissed was an understatement. 

A low growl draws you from your thoughts, along with the heavy smell of arousal trailing from N’Doul’s quarters. Sighing in dread, you head towards your dresser, grabbing the pills Dio gave you from a small unused jewelry box. Chucking them into your mouth, you unscrew the cap of your water bottle and take a large swig, swallowing down the aphrodisiac you are forced to take. 

Shuffling towards your door, you hear the male’s groaning grow loader. Is he outside your door? Grabbing the cool doorknob, you practically throw the door open, expecting to see him kneeling outside. When the hallway is exposed, there’s no one there. Sticking your head outside, you check to see if he was farther down the hall. Nope. It’s empty. 

You see his room a few doors down, and realise he’s just that noisy. 

Straightening your posture and taking a deep breath, you trudge towards his abode. Knocking lightly on the door, you call out to him, “A-are you okay in there?” All noises cease, leaving you in suspense. Putting your ear against the door, you try to listen in to see if he dropped dead or if he was walking towards the door. You hear nothing, and prepare to pull away, only for the door to open, making you fall forward. Two warm arms catch you with a quickness, before you’re dragged into the dark room, and tossed onto a very comfortable bed. 

You bounce once you hit the mattress, only to be pinned down in an instant. He noses your throat, ghosting over your scent glands. His tongue laps at your neck greedily, trying to taste your skin on his tongue. N’Doul’s large, Rough hands grope at the fat of your hips, trailing up to your breasts. He seems to be trying to get a reaction out of you, but all you do is cringe. 

The pills haven’t fully kicked in yet, so you’re very uncomfortable under the rough treatment the Alpha is giving you. Noticing this, he growls in annoyance, “Don’t act shy, Darling. I’ll make you feel good if you make me feel good,” Did he truly mistake your discomfort for timidity? 

“I, uhm,” He silences you with a heated kiss, both of your spit mixing together, much to your disgust. His fingers pull and prod at your blouse covered nipples, twisting slightly to elicit a reaction. A gasp leaves your lips, as you try to remove his hands. The medicine was slowly, but surely starting to work, making your breasts more sensitive than usual. 

He grips the material of your shirt with two fingers, a small snarl coming from his lips, “I want this off. If you want to keep it, you better strip fast,” You practically throw your shirt over your head, moving as fast as you can. Your best friend had given you his shirt years ago, and you’ve used it as a sleep shirt ever since. 

A small smile decorates his harsh features, as he is finally able to feel your skin against his. He squeezes your breasts, loving the feeling of your fat between your fingers. You try not to look, hoping to zone out the entire session, but the rapid heat appearing in your tummy is making it very hard to do so. 

“I can’t wait until these are filled with milk, your Alpha might have to have a taste for himself,” A gasp leaves your lips at his erotic words, especially when his lips connect with your right nipple. He suckles on it like a child, whilst toying with the hem of your panties. With one swift movement, he shucks them down your legs without separating from your chest. 

A loud moan escapes your throat, as he starts to toy with your puffy pussy. The waxing from the night before makes you more sensitive than normal, eliciting all the right reactions. He removes himself from your chest, bringing your panties to his nose, breathing in your slick. 

“Such a yummy and cute little Beta, no wonder everyone everyone confuses you for an Omega,” He licks the seat of your panties, practically cumming in his drawers at your taste, “Fuck, you even taste fertile. Does your little womb want my cum, Darling? Want me to pump a cute baby into you?” His words send another wave of heat to your core, causing your slit to gush out your arousal. 

“Yes, yes please! Please fill me up!” He smirks at your neediness, and he shoves your legs apart. The smell of your arousal permeates the room, causing the large man to choke on his own spit. 

“Oh my, your pussy smells so good,” N’Doul practically dives between your legs, sniffing at your dripping pussy. Your hands reach down and grip at his black locks, practically begging him to eat you out. 

“Please lick my pussy! I was to take your knot,” He starts to kitten lick at your clit, causing tour hips to buck into his face, smearing your arousal over his chin and nose. He moans, loving the thought of everyone knowing that he belongs to you. 

“Such a Good Girl, in no Time, we’ll have a cute pup running around. Then I’ll fuck another one into you, giving them a sibling to hang out with,” You keen at his words, especially when he inserts two fingers into you at once. He scissors them at a fast pace, sucking on your clit harshly. Your cunt gushes in your first orgasm, making your back arch and a scream leave your lips, “What a good Darling, loosen up so I can fuck you full.” 

He adds two more into your cunt, your pussy sucking his fingers with an iron grip. His hips rut into the mattress below, as he brings you to a second release. 

“I’m gonna stuff you full, keep you locked on my knot. My Darling Beta, my cute cumslut,” he withdraws his hand from your heat, making you whine. But, he’s quick to shut you up with another heated kiss. Pushing your knees back, he puts you into a mating press. With one hand he keeps you in that position, and the other pushes his drawers off of his hips, kicking them off onto the floor. 

Lining his tip to your slick hole, he dips it in, testing the waters. When he feels your ring of muscle practically pulling you in, he can’t help but slam his entire length into you, causing you to scream out in both pleasure and pain. His tip rams into your cervix harshly, trying to access your deepest point. 

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, and starts to roughly fuck into you. His heavy balls slap against your ass in a rhythmic fashion, whilst he forced your knees by your head. 

“Fuck, your sloppy cunt is taking me so well. I love the way you gush around my cock,” You can’t say anything, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back into your head. Pathetic moans rattle your chest, as he smashes himself as close as he can to you, “Don’t worry, Beta, your Alpha will fill you up nicely. I’ll make you round with my baby, I’ll give you pretty milky tits, and I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life!” 

He picks up his pace, trying to draw out more noises and slick to help him force his way in. His knot is quickly forming at the base of his cock, and it pulls almost painfully at the opening of your slit. 

“A-Alpha, I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum!” He smiles at your admission, starting to force his knot inside. 

“Good Beta, cum around your Alpha’s knot,” N’Doul forces his entire weight onto you, bucking his hips even harsher than before. 

His knot catches on your opening one more time, before breaching your drooling cunt. He ruts into you for a few moments longer, before his knot hardens fully, breaching the opening of your womb, locking himself inside of you. 

The feeling of him knotting you causes you to squirt, your release just barely slipping past your stuffed opening, painting his abs with your cum. He forces his mouth onto yours, as his seed pumps into you in thick spurts. He fills you up so much, that you feel bloated, your tummy poking out a little bit more than normal. N’Doul Real esse your legs, letting you settle into a comfortable position, his warm hand lays on your stuffed womb. 

“My beautiful mate, I’m so happy you accepted me. We’ll have the best pups, I’ll make sure none of you want for anything. Fuck, why’re you squeezing me so harshly?” 

You whine in both pain and pleasure, laying your forearm across your eyes, “I think I need to go to the hospital. Betas aren't meant to take knots, and you’re currently deep in my womb,” He scrambles to pull himself out, only to yank on your womb harshly, making a small scream of pain escape your lips, and tears dot your eyes, “No! No! Not right now, oh god, that hurts so bad!” 

His moment of post nut clarity, brings him to kiss your face with multiple tender kisses. 

“It’s okay, Darling, we’ll patch you up soon. Maybe Dio will have a drug to make this less painful for you.” 

You stare up at the ceiling with dread, the pills he gave you makes you feel good, yes, but the pain of no longer having freedom and a knotted cock in your womb is enough to make you sick. 

Hopefully your kid will be cute. Because, if not, you don’t know what you’ll do. 

[castleshadows]

Honeydew

Poppy and Casteel attend a banquet with several important members of court, and Casteel decides to be innapropriate at the worst time.

Written May 24, 2021

The banquet hall was filled with people from all across Atlantia, coming to celebrate the Queen’s coronation, a year after it actually happened. The War of Two Queens, as all had taken to calling it, had been brutal and had lasted what felt like forever despite the real fighting ending after a little less than three months. Apparently when you had the gods on your side, war ended much more quickly.

Poppy swept through the hall, her deep green and golden embellished gown making a delightful swishing noise as she walked. Her subjects stopped and bowed as she passed, and she nodded, still a little uncomfortable with the whole bowing thing, but too hungry to take the time to encourage all of them to stand.

Kieran walked a foot or two behind her, surveying the large room as if on guard duty. Her real guards were a couple steps behind her Royal Advisor, looking at every newcomer as if they were a potential threat. Poppy glanced at Delano, who was eyeing a blonde-haired man as if he were holding a knife to her throat. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t attempt to stop him. She’d already tried several times and it never worked.

The room had gone considerably quieter, and though her guests still murmured occasionally to one another, all eyes were on her. Poppy was rather proud of herself that she managed not to squirm under their gaze.

She eventually made it to the head table at the back of the hall, which raised on a platform, a couple feet in the air. Casteel and several other noblemen were all waiting to take their seats. Apparently, it was custom in Atlantia for the most powerful ruler to enter the room last, and no one was allowed to take their seats or start dining until the ruler announced the start of the feast. Several days ago, she’d tried to convince her husband to enter with her, finding it ridiculous that the Royal Advisor was supposed to walk by her side, but not the King. Casteel, of course, had ardently refused, saying that it was her big entrance, and she should own it or whatever. She’d agreed, only because she knew she would get nowhere no matter how much she protested, but that didn’t mean it made any sense.

Her footsteps echoed throughout the room, and Poppy inwardly cringed at how loud they sounded in the silence. She took the steps as quickly as she could without tripping in the heels she had been given to wear. She’d practiced walking up these steps in the raised shoes too many times to trip now.

When she reached her seat, Casteel pulled it backwards, the loud scrape of the wooden legs across the floor practically deafening. Her husband, sensing her anxiety, took her hand in his callused one, and gave her a supportive smile. Poppy smiled back, but even though she couldn’t see it, she could feel how strained the expression was. Cas responded with a quick kiss to her temple, and then dropped her hand stepping back towards his seat.

Poppy cleared her throat and raised her voice, “Let the feast begin.”

Immediately, much of the stress drained out of her. Having to speak to such a large crowd had always been one of her biggest anxieties, and having that part over and done with left a feeling of euphoric relief.

Casteel grasped her hand again, and Poppy realized that she was still standing. She sat down so quickly that she almost missed the chair altogether. She blushed and pulled the seat closer to the table, settling into the surprisingly comfortable cushion.

Conversation resumed again, and servants poured out from all sides of the room to uncover dishes and offer other treats that weren’t set out onto the table. Poppy reached for a plate of ham but was beaten to it by Kieran who speared the two pieces she had been going for on his fork.

“Really, Kieran?”

Kieran looked up from the piece of ham that was halfway to his mouth and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Poppy just shook her head, returning to her plate which had apparently already been heaped with different meats, fruits, and other assorted foods that she liked. And cheese. Lots of cheese.

“Is that enough?” Casteel asked, his plate still empty. He was probably waiting to serve himself until she was satisfied.

“How much do you think I eat?” Poppy replied, scooping some potatoes onto her fork, “Yes, Hawke, this is more than enough.”

The chocolate and berries taste swelled as it did every time Poppy called him that. And so did the smoky taste of arousal. But, that was ever-present around her, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

He chuckled and started to serve himself, but saved the best pieces for someone else. Probably her. It was unlikely he’d bother saving anything for Kieran.

“Your Majesty?”

Poppy turned her head, quickly swallowing the chunk of cheese she’d stuffed in her mouth, and searched for the source of the voice. Her eyes landed on a rather stout man with Atlantian eyes and graying brown hair. Lord Donahue if she remembered correctly. She really hoped she did. There had been no embarrassments so far this evening, and she would’ve liked to keep it that way.

“Yes, Lord Donahue?” If she had gotten his name wrong, he didn’t correct her. “Your Majesty, I was wondering if now would be a good time to discuss the building of healing centers throughout smaller towns?”

“Yes of course,” Poppy set down her fork and turned her attention to the Atlantian, “What is it you would like to discuss.”

It was easy to get lost in the conversation, as it was something that was quite important to Poppy. She had been the one to come up with this particular project after learning that several smaller communities in Atlantia didn’t have access to the medical care that those who lived in Evaemon or any of the much bigger cities did. It was something that would be needed across the kingdom, especially after the war, with all the soldiers who had come home injured and in need of constant care. She had become rather passionate about the cause, and did most of the work herself, though she was forced to bring in Casteel or Kieran occasionally to help run numbers. Math was not one of her strong suits. Mostly though, they were a supportive presence, answering any question she had and helping with anything she needed them to.

Lord Donahue’s questions, thankfully, were ones she had answered a million times before. Repetitive, yes, but a lot easier than answering the difficult logistics questions several of the Treasurers often had.

Poppy ended up mostly tuning out of the conversation, and paying more attention to what was around her than the answers she was reciting from memory. Kieran was already through his fourth piece of ham, and was reaching for another one, but was slapped away by Casteel. Her husband was barley half-way through his plate, paying more attention to her conversation with Lord Donahue than she was.

Just then, a servant walked by carrying a bowl of assorted fruits passed by their seats. She stopped near Poppy, offering the fruit to her. Poppy absently-mindedly waved her away, and the woman continued onto Casteel.

“Would you like anything, Your Majesty,” she asked him.

Poppy was vaguely aware of nodding at something the Lord said, and lifting her glass to her mouth to take a sip of the wine.

“Some of that honeydew would be perfect, thank you.”

Poppy choked on her drink, sending her into a small coughing fit. Some of her drink splattered across her cleavage, and she grabbed a napkin to mop it up.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” Lord Donahue looked very concerned and attempted to shove an armful of napkins towards her. She waved him away, coughing once more and then clearing her throat.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He still looked concerned, but backed off.

Poppy glanced at Casteel out of the corner of her eye and the bastard was smirking. She shot him a glare that he either didn’t see or ignored (probably the latter) and turned her attention back to Donahue.

“What were you saying, my lord?”

Casteel let the conversation continue uninterrupted for another minute at most before he picked up a piece of honeydew between two fingers and brought it to his mouth. Locking eyes with her, he slowly bit into it, the juice dribbling down his chin and fingers. He chewed slowly, almost… sensually, and ate the rest of it. Then he took his fingers, and one by one swirled his tongue across the digits, licking up every drop of the liquid.

He smiled then, showing just a hint of fang, and that damned heat in her stomach curled and twisted. She squirmed a bit and he smirked. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

“Your Majesty?” Lord Donahue said somewhere in the background. Poppy wasn’t able to focus on anything other than her husband bringing another piece of the green fruit up to his full lips and taking a bite, his golden gaze still connected with hers.

Casteel brought his thumb across his chin, wiping up the remaining juice and stuck it in his mouth, sucking the last bit of the flavor off of his skin.

“Delicious,” he said, and that one word made the flesh between her legs throb that much harder.

She brought her glass up to her mouth, the cup shaking in her unsteady hand, and took a long sip.

“But you’re better.”

Water spewed across the table, and the coughing fit resumed.

Several servants in the vicinity rushed to clean up the mess, shoving napkins at her at a concerning rate. This whole debacle was all but ignored by Poppy who didn’t look away from her grinning husband.

“Casteel!”

“What,” he said, speaking a piece of potato with his fork and inspecting it, “I was just commenting on how the flavor of the honeydew wasn’t nearly as lush and sweet as the flavor of your—”

Poppy snapped into action before he could say anything truly embarrassing, and slapped a hand over his mouth. This got the attention of Kieran, who up until that point, had been studiously ignoring everything that was going on to his left and continuing to eat large amounts of ham.

He looked up from his plate, rolled his eyes at the scene before him, and proceeded to usher away all the servants and make sure all eyes were averted from the King and Queen before turning to Poppy with a world-weary look.

“Poppy I swear to the gods if you and Casteel don’t let me have my dinner in peace, I don’t care that you are Meyyah Liessa, I will drag you out of this hall by the hair if I have to.”

Poppy subconsciously, gripped her hair as if she was trying to protect it, and then blushed removing her hand from Casteel’s mouth.

“Sorry,” she muttered, clearing her throat and dabbing at her now wet plate.

“Thank you,” Kieran replied dryly, shoving more ham in his mouth. Good gods, how much ham did he plan to eat.

“Your Majesty?” Lord Doanhue said nervously, looking from Poppy to Casteel and then back again, “Would there be a better time for us to talk?”

“No, not at all,” she replied, shooting Casteel a warning glance, “Now is fine.”

Her husband did not heed the warning whatsoever, taking the last remaining piece of honeydew, and in front of everyone, giving it a long, sensual lick. Poppy’s eyes went wide, and she could vaguely hear Kieran sighing behind her.

She turned back to the Lord one last time, “On second thought, why do we postpone this discussion until a later date.”

The Atlantian, nodded frantically and then dashed off, taking his plate with him.

[catracorner962]

Karaoke

I promise I can write something that’s pure fluff. See?! 

In the newly renovated Fright Zone, the gang is having a party. Catra and Glimmer duet Shaggy. Catra has a surprise. --- AJ Michalka has a phenomenal voice and covers "Warriors" on the SheRa soundtrack. She does this in character as Catra and even says "Hey Adora," at the end, what else did you expect me to do with that except come up with an excuse for Catra to sing this for Adora? I'm sure this has been done before this is just my take. Also whenever I hear "Wasn't Me," or "Angel," by Shaggy I imagine Glimmer and Catra getting drunk and singing it.

Adora brought a hand to her nose, trying to cover her snorting laughter. Besider her Bow swayed in time to the music. Light flashed from above blue and pink.

“HA!!”

Adora couldn’t stop herself, exploding into a fit of giggles, nearly toppling the cocktail in her hand. Nearly sending pink liquid all over her white pants and halter top.

On the stage, her girlfriend and her best friend sang like they hadn’t a care in the world.

“How could I forget that I had given her an extra key? All this time she was standing there she never took her eyes off me!”

Glimmer sang into the mic, her purple leather skirt sparkling in the stage lights.

“Wooow! Yeah Glimmer!” Bow cheered, he took another sip of his beer. More delicately then anyone else around them and probably the only one with a modicum of sobriety left. All around them people sang along, swaying and trying to dance.

“To be a true player you have to know how to play!” Catra sang, winking at Adora from her place on the stage. Her hair had grown out again in the year after the war. Already falling just beyond her shoulders. Adora took a sip of her drink to conceal the blush rising in her cheeks.

“ To be a true player you have to know how to play, if she stay a night, convince her stay a day, Never admit to a word when she say. And if she claim, ah, you tell her, "Baby, no way"

“But she caught me on the counter!” Glimmer’s voice cracked but she kept going,  

“It wasn’t me!” Catra leaned forward into the mic.

“Saw me banging on the sofa!” Glimmer laughed, leaning in to meet Catra halfway.

“It wasn’t me!”

“I even had her in the shower!”

“They’re not bad,” Bow admitted whispering in Adora’s ear. The blonde nodded, pulling a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Catra had convinced her to wear it down for once.

“Saw the marks on my shoulder!” Glimmer and Catra sang in unison. Catra unsheathed her claws in flash, winking again, this time a little more suggestively at her girlfriend in the audience. Cheers erupted throughout the bar, an eager welcome Adora thought, her chest warming. To have Catra greeted with rounds of applause rather than boos and hisses and threats.

“ Honey came in and she caught me red-handed, creeping with the girl next door, picture this, we were both butt-naked, banging on the bathroom floor. I had tried to keep her from what she was about to see, why should she believe me when I told her it wasn't me.”

Glimmer and Catra belted through the mic. It was all Adora could do not to transform into Shera. Just the sight of seeing Catra in the limelight, black pants held up by suspenders, her white shirt open just a tad too loose. She took a swig of her whisky mid chorus and continued to sing.

“I have to hand it to Scorpia and Perfuma; they've really done wonders with the Fright Zone,” Bow mused. He clapped along to the music and finished his drink.

“They sure have!” Adora answered, finally turning her attention from the stage. “Glad they were able to renovate the place into a karaoke bar. Somewhere in the distance Mermista’s groan could be heard, Adora turned. Seahawk and the water princess sat at one of the tables, the pirate’s eyes wide with amazement at the flaming martini set down before him.

“Should I….?” Adora made a b-line towards their table. Mermista flunk out her hand, a spray of water dousing the flames.

“Just drink it,” she groaned to Seahawk’s evident dismay. Adora bit back a grin. It had been awhile since they’d been able to just kickback and relax, indulge even. Post-war meant bringing magic to all the galaxy. Which meant traveling around, squashing the last of Prime’s brotherhood. Plus meetings after meetings and much needed reconciliation between Catra, Entrapta, Wrong Hordak, Scorpia and everyone else. It had been trying and difficult and the work was far from finished. But tonight, tonight was a chance to simply let loose.

“Honey came in and she caught me red-handed, creeping with the girl next door, picture this, we were both butt-naked, banging on the bathroom floor. How could I forget that I had, given her an extra key, All this time she was standing there, she never took her eyes off me!!” Glimmer and Catra finished in unison. Again cheers lifted from the crowd. Glimmer bowed, losing her balance until Catra caught her by the arm to steady her and they made their way down the stage.

“Wow, that was...wow,” Scorpia’s face nearly matched the color of her claws. “That was..I don’t think I understood half those words! But uhh next, next...we have...Perfuma! Who I’ve been told is going to do an...an interpretive dance called Ode to Rain, so that will be….uhh….fantastic.” Scorpia laughed nervously but clapped all the same while Perfuma seemingly floated up the stage.

“Hey!” Glimmer greeted Adora with a hug and Bow with a kiss.

“You were great!” Bow put his arm around her waist. “Who knew you and Catra could duet so well together!”

Glimmer laughed, full and hearty, accepting a glass of sparkling wine from Bow.

“Where is Catra?” Adora looked around the crowd. “I thought she came down with you?”

“She said she had to get ready for something,” Glimmer shrugged.

Adora nodded, trying to quell the bubble of anxiety that threatened to rise.

Catra would be fine, she can be left alone. She’s not a child. She’s perfectly capable.

Bodies pressed against Adora in the maylay of the crowd. Talking and drinking and laughing. The lights flashed all around them. Dizzying.

There’s so many people here….what if...there could be….threats. Some clone we forgot?

Someone wanting to take Catra down?

Adora forced herself to breathe, gripping her glass tight.

“Adora, you alright?” Glimmer touched her arm.

“Yes!” She smiled automatically, “I’m great!” She took a breath, eyes flicking upward as Perfuma left the stage.

Still no sign of Catra.

“It’s just...I worry sometimes...I worry about leaving Catra alone sometimes...what if there’s…”

Glimmer opened her mouth to respond when a cool light drifted across the crowd from above to the stage.

“Adora….you might want to…” Glimmer pointed. Adora followed her gaze, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. Silhouetted against the limelight a lone figure stood before the mic. The outline of someone wearing a tight fitting black dress that fanned out toward the bottom. Catra’s tail swished nervously behind her, ears flicking. She stepped forward, the high slit of her dress revealing one leg as she moved. The light illuminating her freckled face, mismatched eyes gleaming.

“Oh my….” Adora took the last sip of her drink. Beside her bow gasped. Even Glimmer’s eyes stared wide with shock. The hub-bub of the crowd died instantly, everyone holding their breath. Even Emily and Entrapta, who were observing in the corner, fell silent.

Catra’s shaky inhale of breath sounded through the mic throughout the bar. Adora waited, stunned. Taking in her girlfriend, the deep V of her dress, the way she shifted her weight. Then finally, after a mini-eternity, Catra’s eyes slipped close and her voice drifted out:

“We're warriors, unstoppable. We feel the evil coming, and shadows all around.”

She sang low and haunting, each word a melodic whisper. Goosebumps rose on Adora’s skin.

“Danger surrounds us, but won't bring us down. We're on the edge of greatness, turning darkness to liiightt,”

Her voice undulated and moved like the waves, the crowd beginning to hum. She opened her eyes, gold and blue sparkling in the light. Catra’s gaze looked through the throngs of people finally meeting Adora’s. The blonde felt her knees shake, she passed her glass to Glimmer without looking away. Catra smiled,

“We're right beside you, ready to fight. We must be strong! And we must be brave! We gotta find every bit of strength that we have and never let it go!”

“Wooo!! Yaaaah!!!” People exclaimed, clapping. Catra’s smile widened, she took the mic from it’s stand, now walking across the stage, tall and proud and brimming with pride. Adora’s cheeks ached, beaming with a smile. She too clapped along.

“We're bound to this struggle, with mighty sword and flame, we'll never fail you, when you call our name.”

She turned, again meeting Adora’s radiant face across the audience. Their eyes met, though Adora could hardly see her through a fog of tears pressing against her eyes. Her heart expanded so fast and full she thought it would explode. Catra too grinned with confidence, revealing pointed fangs. Her eyes dazzled, shoulders lifting as she sang, not once looking away from Adora.

“Together we'll be heroes, joining forces as one. Strong as the steel we carry, we rise like a su...uu...uu...un!”

She hit the note perfectly, the whole bar erupting into ecstatic joy.

“Yeah Horde Scum!” Glimmer fist pumped at the air, jumping up and down. Off to the side of the stage, Perfuma pat Scorpia on the shoulder through her tears.

“That’s my wildcat!”

Catra sang through another round of the chorus, parading back and forth. People reached out from below towards her, laughing and whooping.

“Cause we're warriors, we are unstoppable,nothing's gonna get in our way. We're gonna win in the end….”

Catra sang through the last chorus, coming to stand gracefully before the microphone stand once more.

“We're gonna reach inside, still together and fight and never let it go. We must be strong…” She finished with a flourishing whisper. Looking at Adora from her poised position stage, she blinked, slowly, her own voice cracking with emotion.

“Hey Adora.”

Tears streamed down Adora’s face, her heart hammering in her chest. She could feel herself glowing, transforming, this time brought on by pride and admiration for Catra. Catra who only sang in secret, in dark places, until now. Catra who had always deserved every bit of attention and affection and praise but never got it, until now. Catra who was so guarded who never let herself betray emotion or vulnerability, until now.

There was a white flash, people gasped, and Adora didn’t need to look down at herself to know she’d become Shera.

Catra climbed down from the stage with Scorpia’s assistance and made her way Adora, people parting for her instantly, cheering and clapping.

“Catra! Y...you! You’re…”

Catra’s lips cut off the rest of her sentence, pressing in a full deep kiss, nearly melting against Adora, well, Shera’s chest. Adora put her arms around her girlfriend holding her close, one hand to the small of her back. She had to control herself in public after all, though it was hard to do with her girlfriend looking so...so ravishingly gorgeous, so happy and exuberant. A new round of tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I knew you could sing,” she breathed, breaking the kiss only to press her forehead against Catra’s which required her to lean down a little more in this form. “But not...l...like that.”

Catra laughed, holding Adora’s hand to her face and leaning into her touch. The ruckus of people seemingly disappearing. The only thing that mattered, the center of her universe was already right in front of her.

“I love you,” Catra whispered.

“I love you too, so much.” Adora pulled her in for another kiss, the cheers escalating around them.

Catra rolled her eyes only to be shoved by Glimmer’s arms around her waist.

“Catra, where was that voice when we were singing?! I need to up my game!”

“That...that was beautiful Catra!” Bow wiped his eyes with his yellow jacket. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Alright, alright Sparkles,” she pulled away from Adora’s hold. “Next time we do Angel by Shaggy I’ll be sure to really sing it with pathos, yeah? And take it easy Arrow Boy your gonna get snot all over your jacket.”

Glimmer only rolled her eyes but gave Catra a kiss on the cheek.

“Well next rounds on me Wildcat!” Scorpia announced happily clapping Catra across the back gently. This time Catra didn’t stiffen or bristle at the touch but smirked. A testament to how far she’d come in such a short time. Adora could hardly contain her emotion.

“You may regret that Scorp.”

The night continued on, Catra changed back into more comfortable pants and dress-shirt. Rogeilo sang...well..grunt roared some prolonged ballad that no one but Lonnie understood. Mermista and Seahawk performed no less than seven shanties. A curtin was set on fire by the third one. Frosta entertained with a series of impressive ice sculptures and Double Trouble, dramatic as they were, impressions that left everyone’s sides sore from laughter. Scorpia closed out the evening, singing a rendition of “Beautiful,”  by Christina Aguilera that had everyone, even Catra in tears by the end. Though Catra swore her eyes were she only  irritated by the bright lights.

Adora put her arms around Catra from behind, still having advantage of being in her Shera form. Muscular arms holding her girlfriend close in the dark of the crowd while Scorpia, sang her last few notes. Catra swayed in tandem, tail going around her girlfriend’s leg, she leaned her back against Shera’s broad torso and hummed. Adora planted a kiss on the crown of Catra’s head. The mark of the Heart of Etheria glowing against her chest. In the mass of folks and the company of friends, lights glowing and Catra content in her arms, sniffled happily through tears of joy.

They had indeed won in the end.

[playlistmusings]

Make your mark on me (a golden tattoo)

2,532 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Jude is fed up with Cardan having the upper hand when it comes to antagonizing each other, so she gets dressed up. Cardan has no idea that there was any competition to begin with—but he's not mad. (set post Queen of Nothing) 

Just some fluff with my two favorites messing with each other and a little spice at the end (but not a lot because I can’t write smut lol) Title from Dress by Taylor Swift

Also on my AO3

-----

Jude had definitively decided she didn’t mind revels anymore. In fact, if pressed, she could almost be persuaded to say she liked them. It wasn’t because she thought they were more fun or that she didn’t have to manage all of the dangers hiding among the food and dance anymore—just because she was queen didn’t mean that she wasn’t still vulnerable to faerie food induced madness. But there was just something about revels that made them better than when she was dragged to court during her school days. While Jude could be persuaded to admit that revels weren’t the worst, she’d be damned if she ever said what the something that made them better was.

Luckily for her, she didn’t have to. Because for every moment she spent biting her tongue, there was a matching moment where Cardan was whispering in her ear saying that “You should just admit that you think I’m irresistible, we both know that’s what you’re thinking”. Which was not true, even if he always looked a particular shade of devastatingly handsome with his elaborate outfits and shimmering paint on his cheeks, his crown tipping off the side of his head. Even if Jude could barely resist him when he got to that stage of just tipsy enough that his cheeks flushed with color and he didn’t mind leaving the courtiers to slip into hidden rooms with Jude. Even if he grinned with a special light in his eyes when Jude whispered things like you’re so handsome and I could stay like this forever while wrapped in his embrace after one of their trysts.

It was a true dilemma.

But, Jude, after all, was not known for backing down from a challenge, not when Cardan was antagonizing her during their school days, not when Orlagh and Balekin tried to manipulate her, and definitely not when Madoc tried to take her crown, she there was no chance in hell that she would fold because Cardan looked too handsome. So, in conjunction with admitting to herself that she didn’t mind revels, Jude pledged that she was going to go on the offensive and show Cardan that he wasn’t the only one who could use their looks to get what they wanted.

Hence why Jude was looking into a mirror at herself with a far too happy Tatterfell looking on with pride at her work. Jude’s hair was done up so it was out of her face, rubies threaded below her crown in a way that made it seem like there were flames crawling towards it when the light shined on her just right. Her dress was another shade of shimmering red, with silken skirts flowing down from her waist, and a neckline that cut down her sternum in a way that none of the other dresses she owned did. It was truly beautiful, even if it wasn’t like anything Jude had worn before, which was exactly what she wanted. She felt like she could command the attention of a whole crowd with a single look, which was all very good considering she just needed to command the attention of one particular faerie.

It was all out of her comfort zone, dressing up proactively so she could catch someone’s eye, but Jude was nothing if not determined to, at least this once, make Cardan break before her.

-----

Cardan was smug as he prepared for the revel. He knew that every time he put just a little extra effort into his clothes, while playing it off as just another boring thing he had to do, Jude couldn’t resist him. Revels would always hold a special place in his heart now that they began with good food and a little alcohol and ended with a lot more alcohol and Jude dragging him away from the crowd, frowning as he laughed softly at his comments about her eagerness. And, though he would be loathed to admit it, the way Jude dressed for revels, with beautiful gowns and her crown sitting atop perfectly done hair—no doubt the work of Tatterfell—got under his skin just as much as he seemed to get under hers. His only saving grace was that he had been hiding his feelings for years of her effortless beauty, working everyday to keep himself from accosting her. But now he didn’t have to worry, and it was much more fun to stave off his impulses as his wife glared at him, trying to pretend that she wasn’t as much of a fool for him as he was for her.

So, Cardan felt pretty happy as he slipped into the grand room where the night’s revel was being held. Even without his wife on his arm, as usual—someone had mentioned that she would be late and it had slipped Cardan’s mind to ask why—he already felt himself buzzing with anticipatory energy for what the night would hold.

As he walked through the crowd towards his throne, greeted by all sorts of courtiers that laughed and danced around him, Cardan grabbed a glass of wine from a servant. Walking up the steps to the dais that his throne sat upon, he nodded to the knights that protected it before turning and sitting upon the throne with an air of practiced ease. He was much better at sitting on his throne while listening to the problems of his subjects, now, but that was mostly due to the way he didn’t usually have to do anything except watch Jude while she gave advice and guidance and even the occasional punishment. But now, alone, he still couldn’t be bothered pretending that he didn’t enjoy the personal aspect of ruling.

Sipping on wine, Cardan spent time listening to his subjects, offering advice when it was needed and accepting gifts only when he understood the terms completely. He wasn’t aware of specifically how much time was passing but knew that it was especially odd that Jude hadn’t appeared yet, and his mind began to wander—as it often did—to her twinkling eyes and disarming smile.

-----

Jude knew purposefully arriving late to the revel so that Cardan would see her for the first time that evening while, most likely, working his way towards being tipsy and amongst a crowd of other people was at the very least petty, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. After all, most of her plan involved doing things she wouldn’t normally do for the sake of being petty and getting Cardan flustered. So, when she walked into the revel, she was already anticipating some reaction, she was walking in late in an uncharacteristically attention-grabbing outfit. However, Jude didn’t anticipate the way nearly everyone was staring at her by the time she reached the dais where the thrones sat. As she worked her way through the crowd, she was aware of all the eyes on her, of everyone seeing their queen in a new light, but she only paid attention to Cardan. Cardan, whose eyes had snapped towards the entrance to the room the second she was announced, who was clearly trying to figure out why his wife was wearing an outfit like that, who appeared to be choking on air as he saw the determined glint in Jude’s eyes as she lowered herself into her throne.

Everything was going perfectly. Jude knew that Cardan was struggling to maintain composure, mainly because his tail was swishing back and forth behind him, the tip occasionally flicking sharply towards her. She suppressed the grin working its way to her face, turning towards Cardan and looking him dead in the eyes for the first time since she had entered the throne room. His breath hitched ever so slightly.

-----

It was torture. Jude walked into the room confident and stunning, and immediately began ignoring Cardan in favor of speaking to people that came up to the dais in search of advice and conversations with the King and Queen. It took what felt like hours for her to say anything to him, evening though he was acutely aware of the way she suppressed a smirk every time she glanced his direction.

“So, how has your evening been?” Jude’s voice was cool and detached, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to Cardan. He wanted to scream.

His mind was blank, all he could think of was the way Jude seemed to be glowing in the light of the throne room. If he tried very hard he could think about how this was definitely on purpose—why, he didn’t know—but every thought of Jude’s motives were very quickly interrupted by how ethereal she looked. He was trapped by her—which, if he was honest, was absolutely not a new thing, but it was definitively different this time.

“It’s been fine,” he finally choked out, trying his best to pretend unaffected. Jude smirked, clearly hearing the effect she had on him in his voice.

“Very well. I am so sorry for my late arrival, Tatterfell just spent longer than normal on my hair.” Cardan didn’t know enough about doing hair to say anything that contracted her excuse, but he did know enough about Jude to know that it wasn’t true.

“It’s alright.” Cardan decided that short responses would be best. Anything longer than a few words and he could accidentally blurt out too much—something about how stunning she looked or how he could usually barely resist her but like this, done up and confident and determined, made him vulnerable of giving away everything he had for her.

-----

Jude knew her plan was working. It was better than she had imagined. Cardan’s cool demeaner disrupted, leaving him stuttering short responses, looking as if he was going to lose it if he had to sit in his throne for a single second longer.

But, she couldn’t taunt him enough like this, while he was feet away on his throne and every word they said could be overheard by knights and wandering courtiers. So, Jude stood at the end of the current song, reaching her hand out to Cardan.

“Come, my King, won’t you dance with me?”

Cardan looked like he was fighting himself, his tail rapidly flicking back and forth, his dark eyes shimmering with lust and a spot of confusion, but eventually he stood without a word and took her hand, steering her down the stairs and into the crowd. But instead of going towards the area where faeries were congregating for the next song, he gripped her hand tight and led her to the secret room behind the thrones. His whole body was tense when he lightly pushed her through the door, firmly shutting it behind them.

“Cardan, what are you doing? We can’t exactly walk out in the middle of—” Jude was barely able to finish her sentence as she turned to face him before his lips were on hers.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asked when his lips finally left hers, leaving them both panting and disheveled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jude replied breathlessly as he worked his mouth down her neck, pushing her hair out of the way.

Jude didn’t even receive a verbal response, just a groan and a vague gesture at her body. It was enough to nearly make her laugh, if she knew all she had to do to create a barely coherent and perfectly agreeable Cardan was pretty outfits, she might have let Tatterfell dress her however she wanted back when she was Seneschal.

However, it perhaps wouldn’t have been a perfect solution seeing as she was quickly losing her coherence as well, only focusing on the way that Cardan’s lips felt on her rapidly heating skin and the desire pooling in her stomach. It felt like a dream. Like something she’d wake up from right when it got to this point, left alone in a cold bed, wishing that it were real.

-----

Cardan had never been happier that this was real. That his reality could consist of working his way back up Jude’s neck, leaving bruises in his path, listening to the sharp intake of her breath as he got to her jaw, just before he kissed her in earnest again. Then it was her hands in his hair, tugging sharply against his scalp, leaving him groaning and gasping into her mouth, vaguely aware of his tail snaking its way around her leg. It felt like the kind of thing he would dream of back when they were in school. The kind of thing that he would wake up from and go to that paper and write Jude Jude Jude until the paper ripped and his ink blotted the words, hoping that it could leave his mind. But this was real and happening right now and Jude was kissing back in a way that made him worry that his legs would give out and they’d be left sprawled on the floor.

He steered her toward the couch, as gracefully as he could with their bodies pressed against each other and his mouth never leaving hers, before slowly stepping back. Somehow Jude looked even better like this, eyes alight with passion and love, hair just barely messed up from his fingers, lips swollen and gasping for air. He couldn’t even be bothered to care about the way she looked smug, like she had been expecting this, hoping for him to lose control.

She twisted them around, pushing him to sit on the couch, before maneuvering herself onto his lap, one of her legs slipping out of a slit in her dress he hadn’t noticed before so that she held him down with her hips. It was all he could do to stop from groaning as she began to slide his coat off his shoulders before unbuttoning his shirt, her mouth following her fingers on the way down. As she got his shirt off of him, he was acutely aware of the arousal that had been building up all night reaching unbearable heights, and as she looked into his eyes, before moving to kiss him deeply, he could tell that she knew too.

He kissed her back as every ounce of self-control left his body—which admittedly was very little ever since he had led them to the hidden room—running his hands along her back, up her sides, everywhere he could reach. But as he struggled to find the tie to her dress, doing his best to not just rip the damn thing off, because he very much would like to see Jude wear it again, she pulled away.

Even with her eyes wild, looking halfway to thoroughly debauched, Jude managed to smirk in a smug way that made Cardan suddenly aware that he had lost some unknown game. As he tried to pull her back, pull her dress off, something, she simply leaned in, whispering in his ear, “You should just admit that you think I’m irresistible, we both know that’s what you’re thinking.”

And in that moment, he knew she would ruin him—if she hadn’t already—and all he could do was love her.

[fullmetalscullyy]

Royai prompt: Are you flirting with me, Colonel?

thank u sm for the prompt!! it was so fun to delve into this even if i can’t flirt to save my life lmaooo hope u enjoy some royai banter and roy just trying to make riza smile uwu

rated: t | words: 1991 | tags: wedding, alcohol, romance, flirting

read on: ao3 | ffnet

The atmosphere in the room was electric as Roy made his way through it. The party was in full swing and the dancefloor was filled with people, dancing their cares away and having a good time.

Roy watched as Edward danced with Winry in the centre of the dancefloor. Alphonse and Mei were beside them, all four laughing together as they moved in time to the music. Havoc was trying to impress Catalina with his “moves” but they weren’t very impressive. He looked quite hopeless, unable to find the beat properly, but he was still having a good time and that was all that mattered. Catalina laughed with him though and the way she hung onto his arm told Roy that it didn’t really matter. She was impressed by him despite his awful timing with music. Fuery and Breda were deep in conversation with Falman and his wife, talking animatedly with red rosy cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and their amusement.

It was a wonderful scene to witness. It made Roy smile widely as he wandered over to where his companion was waiting for him, a glass in each hand.

Riza was sitting at the table they’d been allocated for the meal, opting to remain there and watch, pleased, as everyone had fun and celebrated Edward and Winry’s wedding.

The dress she was wearing was high backed and formed a collar around her throat. It was a pale pink colour and fell down to her ankles, swishing mesmerizingly every time she walked. It also revealed her shoes which matched the colour of the dress perfectly. The heel on them was small but it was still enough to give her an extra inch in height. On her wrist there was a silver bracelet she’d received as a gift “a long time ago”. Roy had bought her it for her birthday once. He’d been surprised to see her wearing it and Riza had just smiled warmly at him once he noticed and recognised the piece of jewellery, saying nothing more on the matter.

Taking a deep breath, Roy tried to collect himself as he approached her. She was the epitome of beauty and grace today and it was extremely distracting. But in the most wonderful of ways.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” Roy grinned and dropped his voice as deep as he could, changing it completely.

The effect worked because Riza turned around at the surprised interruption. It was clear she didn’t recognise who it was who’d approached her. Once she realised though her shoulders fell, and she shook her head fondly at his antics.

“Is this seat taken?” He continued his charade, pleased to have gotten such a surprised reaction from her from his joke.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Roy did manage to catch the smile she tried to hide though once she looked away.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left sitting alone at a party such as this,” he added, speaking lowly as he handed her the wine glass in his left. “You should shoot the bastard who left you all alone. How rude of him.”

“Are you flirting with me, Colonel?” The Lieutenant lifted a disapproving eyebrow that strongly hinted that he better not be. “Well,” she smirked, “are you trying to?”

“You wound me, Hawkeye.” He clutched at his chest for dramatic effect. “So what if I am?” His reply was nonchalant as he settled into his chair and took a sip of his whisky. It went down smooth, settling inside his chest and spreading warmth across it.

“I would have to disapprove, of course.” Her tone gave nothing away so Roy tilted his head so he could get a better read on her out the corner of his eye.

“You would ‘have to’, huh?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied evenly. Her wine glass lifted to her perfectly painted lips and Roy was distracted for a moment as he watched her move. “It would be highly unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

Roy hummed noncommittally, pulling himself out of his distracted thoughts.

“In response to your violent proposal,” she added, “lucky for you, my weapon is concealed, and I don’t intend to remove it at a friend’s wedding, sir.”

That interested Roy. He hadn’t seen a weapon anywhere on her person. But then, Roy thought dumbly, that was the whole point.

Damn this alcohol and your ability to be so easily distracted by her. Not that he really minded that last part though.

“Like you said, it’s a wedding. It’s where people show their love for one another,” he shrugged.

“By trying poor pickup lines on me? Now you’re begging me to shoot you,” she deadpanned, and Roy laughed to himself as he watched the rest of the room. “At least if I do it will keep you quiet.”

“Well, I can turn it on more if you’d like me too?” He flashed an excited smile at her.

Riza groaned in response. She pressed a hand to her face. “Please don’t.”

“So, do you come here often, Ma’am?” His voice dropped to the same deep one he’d used before as he joked with her. It resulted in a sideways glare from Riza.

“That’s another poor effort. Even from you.”

“So, it’s not working?”

She scoffed. Loudly. “Not one bit.”

He sighed dramatically. “Darn.”

“I would’ve expected better than that from the likes of you.”

“Well, I thought it was funny,” he snickered, thoroughly enjoying their banter.

“You would.” There was no real ire in her eyes, nor irritation. Just fondness as she shook her head at him.

“All right,” he relented, lifting his hands in surrender, “I’ll stop.”

“I think that would be best, sir.”

Looking over, he was worried she really was annoyed at him now, but her expression was neutral. However, there was a hint of a smile on her face and she shook her head minutely as she placed her glass back on the table.

“Your flirting is so terrible that I cannot bear to listen to it any longer,” Riza added after a beat. One corner of her mouth quirked up into a smirk as she laughed at his surprised expression. “I can’t believe you actually use those on your dates.” She was enjoying teasing him.

His jaw had gone slack and he huffed in mock indignation. “It wasn’t that bad,” he joked, pretending to be sullen.

“It was torture.”

“Hush, you,” he glared at her.

“Is that an order, sir?”

The mood of the conversation shifted. Roy refocussed his attention on Riza as he picked up her husky tone. She looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her smile was playful and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. However there was something else in there too. Something that wasn’t completely innocent.

Roy swallowed. “Do you want it to be?” He was dumbstruck suddenly, left reeling by the wanting look in her eyes.

Her expression broke down and she started to laugh. Roy blinked and was snapped out of the spell she’d cast upon him with just a single look and one suggestive question.

“What?” He recovered quickly then frowned at her laughter.

“That’s how you do it, sir.” She’d leaned in close to speak to him softly and Roy was caught off guard by the wonderful smell of her perfume that wafted his way.

“You played me,” he cried as loudly as he dared. No one was around but it still wouldn’t do to draw attention to them both loudly.

She giggled. Riza actually giggled. Once more, Roy was rendered mute. All he could do is stare at her as she winked at him playfully and nudged his knee with her own underneath the table.

“I’m simply better at it than you. Clearly,” she snorted.

Roy huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Don’t feel bad, sir.” Her neutral tone was back however she still looked far too pleased with herself. “We all have our strength and weaknesses.”

He muttered to himself underneath his breath.

“But,” she sighed, “I suppose we should stop. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation any more than I already have.”

“You are relentless today, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

“You said it yourself. Call it payback for leaving a lady alone by herself at a party.”

He uncrossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair. “I didn’t say that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smile. “Yes you did.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I said a pretty lady.”

The skin of her nose and cheeks turned a shade pinker after his compliment. Riza coughed and looked away from him but Roy could see her hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass.

“And that was the truth,” Roy added, tilting his body over towards her and dropping his voice low. “I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“Sir,” she scolded lightly.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just telling the truth,” he defended.

Her mouth snapped closed and she was silent for a moment. “Hush, you,” she muttered finally, cheeks still pink.

“Are you telling me to lie, Riza?” He acted scandalised, opening his mouth in shock at her suggestion.

“Fine,” she relented, looking around their vicinity to see if anyone could overhear, but there was no one to be found. “I’ll admit, it is nice to hear.” She mumbled it so quietly that Roy had to lean forwards to hear her.

“I’ll just have to tell you at every opportunity I can then.”

A warning look was shot his way.

“And I’ll do it, too,” he grinned brightly. “You know I will.”

“Maybe I will extract my weapon.” She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped it with one finger as she pondered the thought.

The two fell silent, laughing quietly together as all joking was dropped for the moment. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer and Roy couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried.

“Thank you, Roy,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For being so good to me.”

“It’s what you deserve,” he replied simply. “If I could show you it every day then I would.”

“I know,” she reassured him with an appreciative look. “I would do the same.”

“You already know you own this,” he added quietly. He stretched above his head but as his hands lowered he tapped the left side of his chest above his heart, feigning that it was just a tic of his. “That will never change.”

Riza’s hand slowly moved underneath the tablecloth, as if she was moving to fix her dress. She tapped his knee with the back of her hand and Roy slid his own hand underneath it too. Riza latched onto it tightly, giving it a hard squeeze of gratitude. Roy smiled at her, lost in her eyes, and stroked his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. Suddenly, everything else just fell away. The party, the noise, the music, it was all gone. It was just the two of them.

Subtly looking around one final time, Riza deemed it was safe to speak what was on her mind. Still, her glass was lifted to her lips so her mouth was hidden from the rest of the room, but Roy could still see it moving. She paused before she took a drink.

“I love you,” she breathed.

Roy squeezed her hand tightly in his. Then, he extracted it from her hold but didn’t let Riza move far. He guided her hand to rest flat atop his knee. The warmth from her palm seeped into his trousers, making him smile to himself. Maintaining eye contact, he drew a love heart on the back of her hand and placed his own atop hers, covering it completely.

“That’s a new one,” she commented softly.

He grinned at her. “I like to keep things fresh, Lieutenant. And I return your sentiment. Wholeheartedly.”

[ohsnapcracklepopfriends]

To be named GGMU fic: Part three - Drunk Mancs and Karaoke Don't Mix

After way too long, I'm back with another instalment of my GGMU fic (three parts down, four to go). Sorry, it took so long, life has been insanely hectic. I just wrote this in an hour of power writing, I hope you like it. Part one and part two if you haven't read them <3

Christmas parties at Sky were generally a disaster. Not only did they usually involve a room full of people all too competitive for their own good, there was usually the presence of both alcohol and cell phones which were a dangerous combination. All of this was worse to witness sober. Jamie had made the terrible decision of being the designated driver. Gary had one rule that he’d made clear to Jamie when they first started going out together: do not put drunk Gary in a cab. Gary’s a handsy drunk with zero self-control. They both know sitting in the back of a cab with drunk Gary was a recipe for a traumatized cabbie and a couple of disastrous news articles in the morning. So Jamie had agreed to drive, and that was fine. He was fine with it, truly. Jamie watched as Gary danced around in the bar they had rented out, jumping around freely while Graeme looked on with his disapproving grimace. Jamie wished he could be dancing with him, blaming it on the alcohol.

Jamie took a sip of his apple juice--which was fucking good, okay? Back off. He swished it around in his mouth, pretending it was something stronger. He swallowed and looked up. Gary was still jumping around without a care in the world. Jamie could tell he was really drunk. Gary was a total lightweight and he’d probably had about four beers to get to this point. Jamie chuckled to himself, thinking back to the nights they’d shared together when they first started dating. They’d spent quite a few nights on the floor of Gary’s living room with a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps. Jamie treasured those nights. He treasured the moments where Gary was buzzing and less scared of his emotions, letting them just enjoy their time together without Gary’s mind spinning.

Gary looked in Jamie’s direction. His face lit up when he saw Jamie leaning against the counter. He scrambled over until he stood right up against Jamie’s shoes.

“Did you see Redders?” Gary asked in a rush. Jamie laughed at the big goofy smile on his lips. He did, in fact, see Redders. Redders had taken to the small stage in the corner after his third pint. He’d been singing away at the top of his lungs--very poorly, Jamie might add--for the past hour or so.

“I want to sing, James. Come sing with me.” He tugged at Jamie’s arm. Jamie had fallen for this trap before. Last year he’d made the mistake of joining Gary for some drunk karaoke and ended up trending on Twitter. Jamie was not a singer for a reason.

“I’m sure Redders will sing with you” Jamie offered. Gary pouted. Gary was one of those people who were easy to imagine as a child. He could see a younger Gary in the way he acted when he was tired, grumpy, stubborn, and bleary-eyed. He could see a younger Gary in the way he giggled at Jamie’s jokes. He could see a younger Gary in the way he pouted during times like this, trying to sway Jamie to agree with him. It worked more than Jamie liked to admit.

“I’ll come and watch you?” Jamie tried to bargain again. Gary nodded this time and dragged Jamie towards the stage. Jamie happily let himself be pulled along. Gary’s hand was warm and sweaty where it was clutching at Jamie’s, but Jamie didn’t mind. After playing football for that long, he couldn’t be bothered by sweat anymore. After one testimonial match, Jamie found he actually liked Gary sweaty: he liked to lick beads of sweat off of Gary’s furrowed brows and watch him shutter--but that’s a story for another time.

Jamie wished they could stay like this, Gary holding his hand tightly, tugging insistently on it every few seconds, but all too soon, they found themselves at the stage. Gary dropped his hand and hopped up onto the small, wooden platform. Redders was still on the stage, red-faced and (poorly) belting the ending to Tainted Love. The stage was so small that the two men took up most of the space. Gary reached behind Redders to grab the second microphone. He grabbed Redders by the shoulder and whispered in his ear. Redders’ amused smile made Jamie nervous: what the hell did this drunk idiot have in mind?

Redders jumped off the stage with far too much grace for someone as injury prone and drunk as Jamie knew he was. He ran over to the karaoke machine and picked their song before scurrying back onto the stage to join Gary. Jamie was confused when the guitar started and he couldn’t place it.

“I got chills--” Redders started to sing and realization set into Jamie’s mind. Oh dear god, he thought, they’re doing Grease. “--It’s electrifying!” Jamie groaned. He couldn’t help himself. There was no way this wouldn’t somehow end up on Twitter. He knew sober Gary would not find this nearly as funny if it made headlines. Jamie started scanning the crowd for people with their phones out. Thankfully, most people had either gone home or were drowning themselves at the bar, after all, what was free booze for? Jamie noticed Geoff filming out of the corner of his eye. He practically ran over to him.

“You better shape up!” Gary starting singing now. He was by no means an angel, if Jamie was honest he was pretty fucking terrible. But like everything Gary did, he sang with a fiery passion and excitement that just made it utterly endearing. Jamie loved it when Gary sang.

“Give me that,” Jamie grabbed Geoff’s phone from his hands, which was pretty easy considering how sloshed he was. He barely even protested as Jamie deleted the videos and shut off his phone because Jamie was smart and knew Geoff was too far gone to figure out how to turn it back on.

“--tooooooo my heart I must be trueeeeeeee,” Gary was dancing around on the stage and Jamie couldn’t help but take a moment to stop worrying and just admire the carefree smile of his boyfriend, so blissfully happy as he made a fool out of himself in front of all of their colleagues. Jamie noticed that Gary was staring at him. Gary then brought his hand up to point directly at him.

“You’re the one that I want! Oh! Oh! Oh! Jamie!” Oh no. Oh no. This was a complete disaster. Jamie couldn’t stop himself, he jumped up on the stage. The limited space meant he had to stand pressed against Gary. Gary just smiled up at him and shoved his microphone up to Jamie’s lips. And as much as he hated it, Jamie could never deny him anything.

“Oh yes indeed,” Jamie half-sang, half spoke. It was awkward and hard to listen to even to his own ears, but Gary beamed at him and Jamie felt a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

And then he remembered why he got up here in the first place: not to sing, not to smile at Gary like a big, lovesick dork--no, he was here to put an end to this. He was here to take Gary home safely before any further disaster could strike just like he’d promised.

“If you’re filled with affection--” Redders started to sing again. Jamie used this opportunity to make their escape. He pried the microphone from Gary’s hands before placing it gently on the stage. He put his arm around Gary’s middle and firmly led him off the stage.

“Where are we going?” Gary asked. He was looking up at Jamie from where he was tucked against Jamie’s side. Jamie knew it was probably too intimate a position for them to hold in public but he found he was too exhausted to care.

“We’re going home, love,” Jamie said softly against Gary’s ear. Gary gave him a wicked grin and started to worm his fingers under Jamie’s jacket. Jamie pushed his arm away holding it against Gary’s side. This was not the time or place.

“You’re going to make me wait for it?” Gary asked. “That’s okay. It’ll be better when you fuck me later. I’ll be so ready. I’ll be begging for you.” Jamie let out a long breath. Fuck. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you looked at it, they were out of the bar, walking down the street towards Jamie’s car. On the bright side, no one was close enough to hear Gary being far too drunk to care that he’s being far too loud. However, anyone could be on the street: reporters, idiots with cameras, though now Jamie is realizing that those are kind of the same thing. Jamie’s kidding, of course. He guessed he was kind of a journalist himself now. He generally thought of journalists as no-life drama vultures for the Daily Mail or worse The S*n.

Jamie was pretty used to wrangling drunk Gary into vehicles against his will, but this time was different. Gary was usually uncooperative just for the sake of being uncooperative. This trait just worsened after a few pints. That night Gary was shockingly content, though. He wasn’t argumentative or difficult, he was sweet and happy. He leaned into Jamie’s side on their walk and looked up at him like he just signed Messi for Man United (which Jamie couldn’t do obviously, and even if he could, he wouldn’t). When it came time to get into Jamie’s car, Gary went without complaint, let alone their usual wrestling match. Jamie was honestly getting kind of worried.

“Are you high?” He asked as he put the car in reverse. Jamie had never known Gary to smoke but he figured it was a possible explanation for his strange behaviour. Gary hummed in confusion.

“What?” He asked. Gary’s face was smushed against the passenger window, fogging up the glass with every breath.

“Are you okay?” Jamie rephrased his question for Gary’s scrambled brain, “you seem weird.”

“I’m not weird, James,” he said, his words even more drawn out than usual, “I’m happy.” He started humming something under his breath but it was so quiet that Jamie could not make it out over the engine. “Singing makes me happy, Jamie,” Gary said and Jamie knew. Gary was generally not as public of a singer as he had been that night, but he always loved singing. He sang in the shower, something that Jamie found entirely endearing. Jamie loved waking up in the morning to the sound of water and Gary’s slow voice. Jamie remembered Gary doing karaoke all the way back in their England days. He and Crouchy were always the most enthusiastic, though Jamie would never have guessed that until he saw it with his own eyes.

“I know,” Jamie said, “it makes me happy, too.” It was probably a little too honest but Jamie knew Gary wouldn’t notice. Even if he did notice, he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

“Do you want me to sing to you?” And yet again, Jamie just couldn’t say no to Gary. Jamie expected more of what he’d heard at the pub: some eighties songs, maybe an NSYNC song or two (Redders loved NSYNC). He didn’t expect Gary to start happily singing Glory Glory Man United in his fucking car.

“Gary, what the hell?” Jamie protested but Gary just shushed him and kept singing. Jamie could hear his feet tapping against the mat of the car. And right when Jamie was about to smack Gary in the head, he realized something: Gary was drunk. Now obviously it didn’t take a genius to figure that out: he’d been steadily drinking since the party began and you could see the drunkenness in his red, flushed ears. But Jamie realized that Gary’s drunk brain was prone to forgetting basic, fundamental information. Like, for example, that Jamie was a Scouser.

Jamie figured that in Gary’s drunk brain, he wanted to sing a song to make Jamie happy. But like he’d forgotten that Tracey played netball on New Year the year before or that he was a right-back on one especially wild Wednesday night, he had forgotten that the song that brought his manc heart so much joy, did not spark the same happy memories for his boyfriend. He wasn’t trying to get on Jamie’s nerves and that knowledge comforted Jamie enough not to reach over and strangle him. So Jamie just let him sing and quietly suffered as he drove along. He tried to tamp down the simmering irritation the song automatically sparked in the pit of his stomach.

Mercifully for Jamie, Gary drifted off in the passenger’s seat less than ten minutes into their drive. Jamie instead drove the rest of the way to the sound of Gary’s loud snores.

[saphie3243]

First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.  

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There  was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this. 

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year. 

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting. 

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass. 

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.” 

__

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares. 

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it. 

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.” 

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers. 

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented. 

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.” 

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.” 

“Why is there an R in it?” 

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.  

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?” 

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes. 

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop. 

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?” 

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?” 

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me.  Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first. 

“Not sure, why?” 

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta. 

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.” 

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.  

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew. 

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.” 

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced. 

“I would have picked you up if you asked.” 

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian. 

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch. 

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either. 

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.” 

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper. 

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.”  Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.” 

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t push. 

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.” 

__

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in. 

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted. 

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night. 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window. 

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved. 

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning. 

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him. 

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.” 

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.” 

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle. 

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do. 

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out? 

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited. 

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal. 

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.” 

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?” 

“The bacon looks done.” 

“Azriel.” 

He sighed. “No.” 

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.” 

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him. 

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered. 

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.” 

__

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.” 

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then. 

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room. 

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year… 

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up -  but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents! 

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice. 

“I honestly don’t know.” 

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?” 

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year. 

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked. 

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices...  even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society. 

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip. 

“It is the longest night of the year.” 

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army. 

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.” 

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?” 

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed. 

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them. 

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring. 

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another. 

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.” 

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.” 

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.” 

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something. 

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time. 

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there. 

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound. 

“Devlon,” she said very carefully. 

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.” 

“We need to get him out.” 

“His friends will get him out.” 

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it. 

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.” 

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit. 

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own? 

“Nesta!” 

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?”  She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso. 

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie. 

“He needs a healer.” 

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.” 

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

__

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night. 

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked. 

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table. 

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know. 

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter. 

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong. 

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.” 

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway. 

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note. 

Dear Nesta, 

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help. 

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry. 

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me. 

Your sister, 

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out. 

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who? 

“You’re up.” 

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?” 

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.” 

“How’s the boy?” 

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.” 

“That’s good.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?” 

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed. 

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth