#the bow is a gift from Rarity and she loves it

[transmascsunburst]

OK. I'm gonna say something. Pls hold on

Trans fem Big Mac would be a butch.

This girl has grown up in a farm with strong strong women who don't give a toss about clothes or makeup

Maybe she'd go through a phase of being hyper fem but I think she'd settle into a butch look (excluding special occasions).

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 6

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 6 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

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In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

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“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

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Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

You handled the fall out from Alastor's previous visit in the most mature and level-headed fashion possible; by ignoring your coworkers’ teasing and pretending that absolutely nothing of note had happened.  

And aside from Dorcas’ incessant pestering about the events you would never deign to mention again, you were overall pleased with how successful your endeavor was.

That is until a veritable shadow arrived at the shop, a sharp-fanged piranha plant held between its transparent hands.  With a half bow and an elaborate flourish, the shadow extended the plant out towards you, expectantly waiting for you to accept its offering.  

“Oh, uh - thank you?” You said, unsure if touching shadows was some sort of social faux paus and doing your best to grab hold of the pot around its inky digits.  

The shadow chittered merrily as you investigated your gift, the carnivorous plant sniffing excitedly at the scent of blood that lingered on your skin.  Living plants were a rarity in the Pride Ring, a way for the well-to-do to flaunt their wealth and standing.  Dorcas peered at the plant over your shoulder, letting out appreciative ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as the plant fluttered its leaves much like a peacock shakes its tail; basking in the glow of your admiration.

You could have easily spent the rest of the day watching the plant, but your attention was stolen by a bright bolt of light as the shadow suddenly snapped, a creamy envelope materializing in an acid green haze between its outstretched hands.  

The letter floated in the air between you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that the shadow meant for you to take possession of this offering as well.  The envelope was sturdy, made from the sort of expensive paper your Grandpa had insisted you send resumes out on ‘to make a good impression’. 

“What is it?” Dorcas asked breathlessly, taking a hold of the plant pot to free up your hands.  

You pried open the deep red seal, taking care to not crack the intricate design that had been stamped into the wax; an eyeball with a slit pupil set in front of a musical staff full of discordant notes.  It was a bit of casual luxury that seemed so impossibly distant from your way of life where you pinched pennies together to afford packs of tissue-thin paper from the corner five-and-dime.  

“It's an invitation,” you stated in bewilderment after silently reading the immaculately penned card.

Dorcas was silent for a beat before she pushed the fang-tooth plant into your arms and swiped the invitation in one quick motion.  The little bulb in your hands starts to gnash its teeth towards your thumb, fluttering its leaves in obvious frustration when you pull your hand away and leave it snapping at empty air.  

“Looks like I'll be feeding you with tongs,” you coo chidingly to the plant as Dorcas reads over the invitation, her chest heaving in excitement. 

“Alastor, The Alastor,” she repeated with unnecessary emphasis. “Has invited you to a party at the hotel.” 

“That seems to be the case, yes.”

“Are you- are you actually going to attend?”

Considering there wasn't any information printed to RSVP, it appeared to you that this was to be taken as more of a formal summons than a polite invitation.  

“I don't think I have much of a choice,” you admit quietly, doing your best to level your breathing in an attempt to remain calm; aware that the shadow had yet to dissipate and would likely be reporting your actions back to its master in excruciating detail.

“Right,” Dorcas nodded, reading over the note for the umpteenth time when her head suddenly shot up in alarm. “What are you going to wear?”

Shit.

“Well, good morning sunshine!” Rosie greets brightly when you finally make it to the head of the line at the Emporium. “What brings ya’ to my neck of the woods?”

“I need your help, Ms. Rosie,” you croak pathetically, unable to put any energy into maintaining a congenial facade after enduring multiple sleepless nights; beset by worry as the date printed on the invitation drew ever closer. 

“That's what I'm here for!” Rosie assures you, patting your hand comfortingly.  Her fingers were unpleasantly boney and cold, but you appreciated the gesture just the same.  “Now, what can Rosie assist ya’ with?”

You reached wordlessly into your velveteen handbag, a second hand find worn thin at the edges, and handed the invitation to Rosie.

“I got this last week,” you explained as the Overlord read over the card. “There's no mention of dress code, so I have no clue what would be appropriate.  And even if I did know, I'm not sure I would be able to afford it anyway-”

Rosie daintily held up her pointer finger, which not only silenced you, but everyone in the immediate vicinity.  

“Let me make sure I've got this straight,” Rosie said, her voice level and unsettlingly calm.  “Alastor has invited you to a garden party at the Hazbin Hotel.”

You tried to not be offended by the disbelief heavy in her words and mentally shrug off the slight, but it still stung.  

“Yes,” you nod your head slightly in affirmation, reaching into your handbag once again and withdrawing a handful of pendants and brooches you had carved; laying them out gently on the counter between you.  “I don't have a lot of cash at the moment, but I was hoping that maybe you'd take these in exchange for- for something.  Anything, really.”

“These certainly are lovely,” Rosie said as she picked up your newest creation, a large pin carved to look like a gaping, sharp toothed maw.  “and I'd certainly love to talk about selling these in my shop in the future.”

“Really?”  You gasped, your heart suddenly bursting with pride at the notion that Ms. Rosie thought your creations were good enough to not just sell, but were good enough to sell in her very posh store.

“I won't be accepting them as payment though,” Rosie informed you gently, pushing them back across the counter to you to collect back up.

The warm glow of pride in your chest was quickly extinguished by a crashing swell of panic.  It had been a long shot, offering up your handmade goods for Rosie's couture fashion, but they were the only things of any value you possessed.  

You had briefly thought about offering up your carnivorous plant, affectionately named Captain Crunch due to its love of chewing on bones as loudly as possible; but you had grown fond of the tiny shrub.  Caring for Captain brought you immense satisfaction, and you inevitably decided you were more willing to show up underdressed to a fancy party than part with your leafy companion.   

“I- I understand,” you warbled, holding back frustrated tears as you picked your jewelry back up with shaking hands. 

“I can't accept payment because I'm dressing ya' for free, ” Rosie beamed, apparently taking great satisfaction in sending you through an emotional spiral.  

“Oh,” you breathed in utter shock, barely comprehending the Overlord's generous proclamation.

“I'll fix ya’ up, bonnet to boots, on one condition,” Rosie said, holding up that commanding pointer finger again.

You weren't some wet behind the ears sinner, unknowingly agreeing to lopsided deals out of desperation.  This conversation was spiraling into dangerous territory and you needed to be on your guard, lest you end up bound into an afterlife of eternal servitude.

“What's your stipulation?”

Rosie grinned, apparently pleased at your shrewdness.  “I want to hear all the juicy details!”

“That's it?” You mumble, caught off guard by her mundane request.  “You don't want my soul or anything?”

“Oh, honey!” Rosie laughed.  “A good bit of gossip is way more valuable than any old soul!”

Tag List:

For the first time ever I have been requested to create a tag list, so let me know if you want to be added!

@wendds

[zaynmirrors]

A/N: I’ll be starting a tag list for this fic. Daryl and reader have been together for a while. I have their whole love story mapped out so I can post that at some point too. Let me know what you guys think!

JUST US

Chapter One: Riders On the Storm

Day Zero

Police sirens sounded as she reached for her phone, dialing her husband. The phone rang and rang, and rang. She cursed to herself putting her phone back into her pocket.

They were far from town, but the sirens blared loud enough to hear miles away. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she tried to breathe, confused but also fully aware of what this all meant.

Two hours ago the TV they kept turned on in the living room had gone blank, then displayed an emergency broadcast. Now the phones wouldn’t work.

Her husband was working at the local garage this morning, one of the few odd jobs he did. If she knew her husband well enough he’d be speeding home in that banged-up red pickup.

Just then Daryl walked through the door, clearly rattled. “Pack a bag, we gotta go,” he said hurriedly.

“What’s going on?” He brushes past her opening the hall closet grabbing his crossbow and holding it out to her. “Daryl”

“Y/n we gotta go, now” he looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes were wide like he’d seen something that had shaken him. She said nothing and grabbed the bow setting it on the back of the couch.

She watched as he grabbed their backpacks out of the closet, then began to frantically pack clothing, and canned food into their packs.

Y/n went into their bedroom, grabbing Daryl’s wedding band. One of the few sentimental things she didn’t want to leave behind. He hardly wore the band but it still meant a lot to the both of them. The second thing she grabbed was a necklace chain, placing his wedding band onto the chain, then clasping it around her neck.

She opened their closet door and began digging for the hunting knife Daryl had gifted her one year. It was missing, “I grabbed it” Daryl spoke behind her. Watching her as she stood and turned to look at him.

He noted the worn golden band on the silver chain around her neck. He should’ve known. She stepped closer to him, worry in her eyes. With his free hand, he rubbed her cheek, leaning his forehead against hers. “I love you” he spoke. Hearing those words was a rarity.

She sighed closing her eyes. This was it, the end of the world. Though it’s not how she thought it would happen. She guessed it didn’t matter. “We have to go get Dad” she spoke quietly, he only gave a curt nod.

Daryl jerked away as he heard the screen door creak open. “Stay here,” he told her. Grabbing the hunting knife from her pack. She watched as he walked down the hall, disappearing from her sight.

“Son of a bitch” she heard, albeit muffled, “Merle you can’t just-“ the rest she couldn’t make out. She made her way back out to the living room, where Merle and her husband stood.

“Hey princess” Merle drawled, smirking down at her. She shuddered, hating the nickname he’d chosen to call her over the years.

“You finished packing?” Daryl turned to her, eyes soft and questioning. She simply nodded, even though she wanted to pack the whole house in those two packs. Daryl sighed, knowing what she was thinking. He wished they could too.

Merle whistled, “Alright lovebirds, let’s get on with this shit show” walking to the screen door. It groaned as he opened it, stepping onto their porch.

Y/n followed behind him, turning to watch as Daryl locked and shut the door. He walked past her and down the steps of their porch.

The stairs creaked as she stepped down them one last time and over to the beat-up red Ford truck. Daryl held the door open for her as she stepped up into the truck.

Daryl slammed the door shut as she stared at their home. She barely noticed as he slipped in beside her. The engine of the old truck roared to life. Suddenly their home became smaller and smaller as he backed down their driveway.

The roads twisted as they made their way to her father's. The two sat in silence as he turned down the gravel driveway. Y/n noticed the front door was ajar as the truck came to a stop.

She went to get out but Daryl put an arm over her chest, stopping her. He slid out of the truck, rounding the front of the truck. Y/n watched as he made his way inside. Deciding not to wait she got out and headed inside.

A heavy metallic fragrance sat in the air. Instantly she knew the smell. Blood. “Daryl” She called out quietly, stepping a foot over the threshold of the door. There was a scraping noise, like an end table scuffing against the floor.

Y/n didn’t have a chance to react as she was tackled to the ground. She tried to push the being off of her, but with no luck. Screaming, she tried again as it snarled and lunged at her.

Y/n struggling against the being on top of her for what felt like an eternity. Then suddenly the thing on top of her went slack. She cried out pushing it off of her, scrambling to get far away from it.

“Y/n you alright?” Daryl asked crouching to her level, “did it get you?” She shook her head, gasping for breath as she looked at the person lying limp next to them.

“What the fuck” she breathes out, still unable to comprehend what had just happened. Her dad, they were here for her dad. “Where’s dad?”

“Y/n” he spoke softly, like he was speaking to a wounded animal. Her stomach dropped and she shook her head, tears forming in her eyes.

She scrambled to get up, Daryl stood with her grabbing her as she tried to make her way back into the house. There was no way he’d let her lay eyes on the scene in her father’s bedroom.

“No” she croaked, pushing against Daryl. He only held onto her tighter. “No” was all she could say before sobbing into his chest. He was unsure of what to say, so he just held her.

Neither of them had heard Merle approach the porch until he spoke, “As touching as this is, we need to get on the road” Daryl glared at his brother, though he was right but he wouldn’t admit that out loud.

Y/n sniffled, as Daryl released her from his grip and ushered her back to the truck. She stared down at the floorboard, unsure of how she’d gotten back in the vehicle. Daryl had spoken to her, but she hadn’t paid attention.

She wanted nothing more than to curl in on herself, maybe even wake up cause this had to have been a dream. Right? Y/n rested her head against his shoulder, staring at the road ahead as he drove.

Chapter 2

[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter XVII "Tryst"

Series Description :The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : Y/n finds out what Otto has been plotting.

A/n : Sorry for my extended absence

Warnings : Mentions of underage marriage, weapons, kissing, incest

Pairing :  Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 5.7 K

Horses hooves against the soft damp dirt, leather and metal moving as they rode further into the Kingswood. 

There was one guard ahead of them, the sound of his armor was the loudest to Y/n. He was the closest. While the guards behind them were far more faint. The sounds of leather came from Theobrand and Y/n respectively. This was not the first time they had ventured out into the Kingswood, but it was a first for two reasons. 

Theobrand had hired someone to make her something fit for an archer. With leather and warm fabric. It was the first time Y/n had ever had boots similar to the ones Aemond, Theobrand, and even Aegon wore. The time she’d gone to practice with Theobrand, she’d worn a pair of shoes in the same style as the ones she wore with her dresses. The kind that were a thin fabric with a thin sole. Whenever they came out into the Kingswood, she’d often get a bur stuck in the fabric of the shoe, or it would end up in the shoe, and once, there had even been a stick so sharp it had stabbed into the shoe. When it had happened, she’d sworn she was fine, but once they’d returned to the Keep, she found she’d been bleeding into the shoe. Now, there was a small scar on the anterior side of her left foot. 

Another thing that was different, was that she did not carry her old wooden bow. Rather, this was the first time tha Y/n had taken her dragonbone bow with her at the request of Theobrand. He thought she was ready to begin practicing with Rhaenyra’s gift. She’d grown quite a bit since she’d received it for her name day. As had the rest of her siblings, though Aemond seemed to out grow all of them within the past few months. 

Dragonbone was a hefty material, meant only for those who were adept in their style of combat, heavier than a wooden bow, and lighter than steel. Dragonbone was a rarity. The type of material only the highest of lords could possess and truly turn into a weapon if they had the means to. 

Y/n’s bow had gone untouched for years now, Sitting like a prized piece of art on her wall, awaiting the day she would climb a chair to retrieve it from it’s home. When she had pulled it down, her hands were coated in dust she had to wash off at the washing stand in her chambers. 

“We may stop here,” Theobrand announced, pulling the reigns of his horse to bring himself to a stop as Y/n followed his actions, as did the guards. 

“Little Princess, get off your horse for me,” He instructed. 

The princess did not question his request. She hardly ever had. Y/n only gave a curt nod and secured one foot in a sterup and swung the other foot off of her horse, coming to stand on the soft dirt ground. A light rain had come through the day prior, and it was rumoured that a rainstorm from the Stormlands would travel through King’s Landing soon. But Y/n didn’t think much of it. 

Theobrand also got off of his horse, pulling his own bow from his back. “Take out your bow.” 

Y/n reached behind her, grabbing her bow and pulling it off of her body, holding the heavy material in her soft hands. Despite how heavy and the potential danger the weapon could cause, it was beautiful, and just as smooth and bright as the gemstones in the jewlery she wore at home. As smooth as the sapphires of her most worn waistchain 

Theobrand hummed for a second, “Aim without an arrow,” It was a common instruction he gave her. He did it everytime they began practice, and even more so whenever she had a new bow to practice with. As she had gotten older, she needed larger and better bows. And hopefully, this would be her last. Y/n turned her body to be in the correct position, having a firm grasp on the grip of the bow, the fingers of her spare hand grabbing the bow string, pulling it to bebeside her cheek, her eyes trained on the bellyside of the bow. 

Theobrand approached her, kicking a bit at her feet to correct her stance in the most minute ways it hardly even mattered. He then reached out and readjusting her grip on it. “This is a warrior’s bow, Little Princess. It must be held differently.” Theobrand’s nickname never bothered her. It reminded her of when he had first begun training her. Only nine when Rhaenyra had brought him to King’s Landing from some of the most northern reaches of Westeros to train her. She’d been missing a tooth when they’d met. 

“Of course,” She agreed. The grip he changed her hands to was uncomfortable. The weight of the bow dug the smooth hard material into the side of her knuckle of her index finger. She tried to hide her grimace, but Theobrand noticed. 

“Does the weight hurt?” The tone the older man used was not that of a true question, but of knowing amusement. And knowing exactly what she would say next. 

“No, Of course not.” 

“Some archers wrap the grip of such bows like this one in a soft material. It helps to custimize a weapon, and to make it more comfortable to hold. This is the largest bow you’ve ever weilded, I would not blame you if it is uncomfortable.” 

“It hurts my hand,” She finally confessed, dropping her posture, now holding the bow in both hands. “It feels as though it is digging into the bones of my hand.” She gave a bitter chuckle, now looking up at Theobrand who had his arms crossed with a grin. 

“Well,” He began. “I will not be turning back anytime soon. I do suggest you learn how to suffer through a discomfort and build a callous.”

“Mother says callouses are only proper for men. A lady’s hands must be soft. It is why we use thimbles when we embroider.” Y/n retorted. She could practically hear her mother now if she were to find a callous on her hands. 

Aemond and Aegon both had them from years of training with swords. Both had scars on their hands from small cuts, and Y/n had done a well enough hiding the small cuts and scars on her own hands from her moments of foolishness when she fumbled an arrow and cut her hand. A majority of the time the small nicks were on her fingers, blending into the bitten and scabbed cuticles surrounding her nails. 

“Dragonbone is a rare material. It shares a similar quality to Valyrian steel,” Theobran told her, taking his own bown and pulling a arrow from the quiver that was slung over his back. “It is one of the sturdiest materials known to man. Difficult for a weapon maker to carve weapons out of it. It requires such a skill that it is scarcely seen in the realm. It’s a durable material. Unlike a wooden bow it does not need nearly as much maintenance.” Theobrand nocked the arrow, facing the woods surrounding them. “You do not need to polish and seal it like you would with wood. It does not splinter, warp, or buckle when exposed to water for vast amounts of time. . . And it is the most flexible and long range bow known to man.” He finished his sentence with the firing of the arrow, allowing it to fly through the air. And somewhere within the woods, they heard a ‘thunk’ as the steel arrowhead lodged itself into a tree trunk. 

Y/n looked at him curiously, brows furrowed. 

“You try.” He told her. “We shall see if your attempt is worth you putting up with the discomfort.” 

His amusement at her discomfort was not endearing to her. It often times was, but in the instance of being out in the woods, with royal guard surrounding them, and nothing but forest surrounding them from where they were, had her glaring at him as she reached behind her, pulling an arrow out of her own quiver that was on her back and quickly nocking it, the fletching tickling her cheekbone as she aimed in the same direction as Theobrand had, steadying her breath before she let the arrow go. 

Y/n dropped her posure immediately after hearing the ‘thunk.’ 

“Let us see,” Theobrand encouraged, beginning to walk into the treeline. Y/n was not far behind him, urging the lead guard to stay with the others and the horses. Going through the bristle, Y/n brought the bow closer to her chest, keeping it from hitting the ground or the trees they were weaving themselves through. 

She had not even realized how close behind him she truly was until he came to an abrupt stop and she slammed into his back. Stumbling back away from her, she held her nose, rubbing the bridge as Theobran turned to look at her, completely unfazed by the incident as he pointed to the tree in front of them. There was one arrow lodged into the tree at Y/n’s eye level, completely straight. Then a second one, lodged in at an angle and far closer to the roots than the other one. 

The lower arrow was just barely in the trunk of the tree. Just the tip of it in the bark. While the other one, the entire arrow head was lodged into the tree. 

“Dragonbone bows have such force behind them that the arrows loosed from it  could travel such a distance that a traditional archer could not even fathom. I once visited my brother at the northern wall. . . They had an old dragonbone bow in the armory. I had never seen one before, so one of their archers gave a demonstration. They shot an arrow up at the wall with it. And when we took the wooden lift to the top of the wall. . . We could not find it.”

“Did you ever find it?” Y/n inquired, her finger coming up to her arrow, delicately running her finger across the fletching. 

“A few rangers came back from an exposition from over the wall. Looking worse for wear. A couple of wildlings had attacked them, and they somehow made it out with their lives. And as they had been on the trip back, not far from the wall, an arrow came falling from the sky, hitting one of ther rangers in the thigh.”

Y/n turned her head to look at Theobrand, and incredulous look upon her face as she did. “What?” 

“It is the longest range weapon.” He said simply.

Y/n looked back to her arrow, reaching out to grab the cresting and the shaft, pulling as hard as she could on the arrow. Struggling for a moment before Theobrand assisted her in pulling it out. 

With the force that the arrow came out, both of them stumbled back a few paces. But she held the arrow in her hand. The steel arrowhead was covered in an amber colored sap. 

Y/n placed the arrow back in her quiver. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, looking at the ends of her silver hair where the red ribbon had been tied off. It had also been braided into her hair. It was a long velvet ribbon gifted to her from Helaena. It had black embroidery along it. It was a beautiful ribbon. 

The Princess shoved her bow into Theobrand’s hands, using both of her own to undo the tie her braid was in, and began to undo the braid, collecting the ribbon in her hands as she did, allowing her hair to be let loose in waves , and as she finally had all of the ribbon in her hands, she allowed the silver strands to fall over her shoulder and down her back. 

Reaching back out for her bow, Y/n  held it by the lower limb of the weapon, beginning to wrap the grip in the ribbon, making it softer and easier to hold. And once she had tied it off, she held it up, and the discomfort was gone. 

“Certainly innovative, Princess. Come, let us find something to hunt.” Theobrand did not give her time to catch up to what he meant before he began walking further into the woods, but once she noticed him walking away, she soon caught up to him. 

Y/n with care, stepped over the rough roots that stuck up out of the soft dirt ground, The soft clover that looked as though it had sprouted from the ground overnight being pressed into the ground whenever one of them stepped on it, only for the clover to slowly push itself back up once they had stepped off of it. 

“It is nothing more than a quarrel between shepherds that I’m sure Lord Tyrell can come to an agreeable solution for both of them before it has any ramifications.” Y/n’s mother spoke, her back was turned to her as she had entered the royal apartments, however, her grandsire had instantly laid eyes on Y/n. 

His ever prying and suspicious gaze took in her appearance, from the small amount of mud on her leather vest, her free hair, and her bow clutched in her hands as she and Otto made eye contact, holding it as he made his reply to her mother. 

“Lord Matthos Tyrell is an imbecile.” 

“I am aware of his nature. But I am as aware as you are that in truth it is not him who controls the land surrounding Highgarden, but Lady Tyrell. It has always been truth that women-”

“have influence in their households.” Y/n finished her mother’s words. It had gotten Alicent’s attention then, and the auburn haired woman finally turned to look upon her daughter. 

Her mother’s brown eyes took her in before she released a sigh. The youngest Targaryen daughter didn’t need to be told that her mother disapproved of her craft. It was something she’d made clear to Y/n from a young age. She was not allowed to practice the art of the sword with her brothers and nephew as a child, but Y/n had not let up. She could still recall the days when all she’d been allotted was an old bow that gave her splinters, and a single arrow.

“Darling, you look a mess.” Alicent finally spoke to her. 

“Theobrand and I were off in the Kingswood.” Y/n spoke as Alicent approached her. Her mother’s soft hands coming to tuck back the loose hair behind her ears, before she bagan to fiddle with a chunk that was over her shoulder. It was reminiscent of when her mother gently stroked her hair as she braided it back when she was only a child. 

“I was made well aware of your whereabouts.” Alicent told her, her spare hand fixing the leather material of her vest. a habit her mother had picked up when fixing Y/n’s bodices. “Lady Maris tried to find you, she seemed quite displeased when she could not.” 

A hum bubbled up from Y/n’s throat, a habit she’d begun to pick up from Aemond. 

“She finds my disappearing acts troubling.” Y/n confessed with a grin, taking in her mother’s appearance. The green silk of her gown was embroidered with beautiful gold thread and beads, the soft fabric reflecting the light that seeped into the royal apartments from the windows. 

Her mother shook her head in disapproval. “I find that you have gotten far too adept at the act of disappearing.” Despite her mother’s tone, Y/n knew she found it to be an endearing quality. “Go change into proper attire, Darling. Then go find Lady Maris.” 

Y/n did as she was instructed, walking away down the corridors to her bedchambers, asking for one of the maids to follow her so she may assist her in dressing herself. 

Once the Princess was changed and presentable, with her hair combed through and shining like molten silver, she had placed her bow back on its display, and stored the quiver away in her wardrobe. 

She’d found Lady Maris in the gardens, sitting under a gazebo in a wooden chair, with a glass of pink wine, and overlooking the blackwater, the ships coming to and from the ports, carrying many different kinds of goods to be traded and sold. 

“Whatever is on your mind, Maris?” Y/n pondered aloud as she came under the gazebo as well, taking a seat right beside her friend, joining her in gazing over the blackwater. 

Maris Tarly’s gaze felt like a heavy weight as the redhaired girl looked over Y/n’s form as she leaned over to rest her arms on the stone wall separating them from the stoney and water filled fall below. 

The sound of crashing waves against the rocks below and seagulls cawing in the distance was a familiar sound. One that Y/n had only ever associated with being in the Red Keep. They had shared many moments like this one. Sitting in a silence, enjoying one another’s company, and a beautiful view that you would find provided from the various rooms, balconies, and spots in the garden of the Red Keep. However, the silence that presided over them now was not one that was comfortable for either of them. The air between them was thick, unnerving. Ominous. 

“Your Grandsire. . . And Lord Reyne.” Maris confessed after a moment, extending an arm to Y/n, and when the Princess had turned her head to look at her friend, Maris had the glass of wine in her hand, offering it to Y/n. 

With a hesitant gaze, Y/n took the glass from Maris, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip of the pink liquid. It was sweet, and it smelled of spring. 

“They are conspiring against you, Princess. Dealing with one another for their own benefit, even if it means your own detriment.” 

Maris’ words were calloused, and sharp. It was a familiar tone. The same she had heard in Maris’ voice on Aegon and Helaena’s wedding night. 

“What?” Y/n’s own voice was low as she stared at Maris. The girl’s amber eyes trained on the ships in the water, her jaw clenched in deep thought. “Why would my own Grandsire conspire against me? He has nothing to gain from me-”

“If I may speak freely, Princess, you are mistaken.” Maris cut Y/n off. 

“I’ve always given the freedom to speak freely, My Lady.” She reminded

“Otto Hightower is a conniving, lying, scheming, power hungry, little man.” Maris was sitting in such a way that the Princess could feel the rage seeping off of the Tarly girl. “It is a common trait among second sons. They feel inferior to their elder brothers on the very fact that they do not inherit the titles, wealth, or power, so they feel the need to find and take it somewhere else. Even if it means putting their family at risk.” Maris then looked at Y/n, strands of her red hair being picked up by the gust of wind that came to them from the bay. “He’s in negotiations with Lord Reyne to have you married to Ser Raymond.”

Her words had stunned Y/n into silence. The lump in her throat and her blood feeling cold prevented her from speaking. She desperately wanted to say something, anything, ask questions, but in the moment, she could not even open her mouth as Maris’ striking eyes were burning with a fury that had been well kept all morning, her pupils so small they looked like the tip of a needle. She looked half a woman crazed. 

“He feels as though you have wasted your chances with every other suitor in the court. Ser Raymond is the only one who shows any legitimate interest in having your hand in marriage-” 

“He does not wish for me!” Y/n stood so suddenly that the chair she sat in toppled over onto the stone. She had not even realized she’d shouted till Maris stood up as well, trying to grab Y/n to calm her. 

“He wishes for my name! My blood! He wishes for a power that it is only granted by house name! That is only given by the house of the dragon!” 

Maris grabbed onto Y/n’s wrist, “Princess, please-” Y/n snatched her wrist out of Maris’ grasp. 

“It is clear can you not see it?” She inquired. “The houses of the Westerlands only lust for power, especially House Reyne. The Lannisters lust for the power they had before Aegon’s conquer. ‘Kings of the Rock.’” Y/n bitterly chuckled. “And Reynes? They want to be as respected as the Lannisters. They want their power! They believe themselves to be one in the same,  both cats, just of different color coats. The only way for them to gain such power is to be in the King’s favor! And with the King indisposed, they must deal the vulture ruling in his place.”

“Y/n, lower your voice,” Maris finally grabbed Y/n’s arms, holding her still. In this state, the Princess was sure they must both looked crazed to one another. With Maris’ eyes wide, and pupils hardly even there, and Y/n? with her outburst and a toppled over chair beside them. 

“Your anger is justifiable, expected even. But you cannot allow it to rule you-” Maris’ hushed anger made Y/n look around the gardens, the only person there was on the other end, by the roses, completely unaware of their words, but Maris must have seen something else, as she quickly hooked her own arm with Y/n, and faced them towards the bay once more. 

In the corner of her eye, she could see Lady Reyne walking out into the gardens with her daughter, Lady Eleyna Reyne. Both were perfectly dressed in the white and red colors of their house, with gold embellishments. The two women had arrived in King’s Landing from Castamere a week prior, and suddenly, the explanation as to why they would have left Castamere under Lord Robert’s brother’s watch became clear.

“Ser Raymond is perfectly gallant, and kind. But it is not him making the arrangement, it is his father, Maris. It is clear what he wants.” 

Maris seemed to become cautious of their environment now as her free hand came to squeez Y/n’s arm in comfort. “And what is that?”

“He wishes for his own bloodline to be seated on the Iron Throne.” Y/n muttered, watching as a ship with the sigil of the free city of Volantis. 

“Yes, he does.” Maris agreed. “But how would you suspect he’d accomplish that? When Rhaenyra is set to inherit the throne? And Prince Jacerys is her heir?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes, tensing as she heard one of the Reyne women laughing in the garden. 

“I would expect. . . Lord Reyne is playing a long game. . . He expects me to marry his son, produce children, and when Prince Jacerys’ own children are born, Raymond would negotiate a betrothal between one of our children with the oldest child Jacerys has.” 

She could tell Maris was nodding. Y/n did not know why she was suddenly so angry at the very prospect of marrying Ser Raymond. He presented himself as a good man, and Y/n had even attempted to ease Aemond’s own nerves about the knight, but now? The thought of being married to the man enraged her. 

“What do you want to do?” 

The question, although whispered, felt as though it echoed through the gardens and against the surface of the bay below them and back to their ears. She did not feel as though she had much of a choice in the matter. Her ears felt as though they were ringing. 

Did her mother know? 

The ringing came to a stop, and she then looked up at Maris. “How do you know this?” The question did not disturb Maris. She did not even appear to blink in response to the question. 

“Cup bearers, maids, stewards. . . They all whisper awful gossip in the corridors. They do not realize that rumors whispered in corridors echo like none other. Some rumors they echo to one another have merit.” 

Aemond’s presence was of comfort to her. For four nights now, Y/n had stared at her grandsire with such hatred she prayed to the seven that he choked on his food at every dinner. She had almost gotten her wish tonight. It had the corners of her lips wanting to tug up in a grin, though she had fought it. But he had only been coughing to clear his throat to continue babbling something political to her mother. 

Y/n peacefully lounged on the chaise, with a book in hand, and a candelabra on the end table beside her providing the light she needed to follow the words on the page. Her night gown allowed the breeze from the balcony to cool her skin from the rage she was bottling up like it was a precious wine intended to be shipped off to some distant land. Aemond was sat on the ground, his back against the chaise, and his head resting on the side of her thigh that was on the edge of the cushion. 

Her fingers were running through the silky strands of silver hair that she had brought to be draped over her lap. She had not even realized how long he allowed his hair to grow, but it suited him. He’d once told her that he liked to look intimiatating to the men at court. With an eyepatch covering his sapphire eye, the scar showing on his cheek and forehead, with long silver hair that was reminiscent of the old portraits of Aegon the Conquerer. 

But the moon had long entered the sky, and almost every other soul in the keep had found itself at rest, their’s seemed to be the exception. But Aemond had shifted from beside her, standing on his feet then, and turning towards her with his book now closed in his hand, the ribbon bookmark placed between two pages well into the book. 

“Must you go?” 

Aemond hummed, reaching a free hand down to brush some of her hair out of her face. “I have already stayed longer than I tend to in honor of your name day, sweet sister.” He replied. 

Y/n grabbed the ribbon bookmark of her own book, putting it between the page she was on the page she had just finished, snapping it closed and sitting up straight. “Yes. But must you go?” Y/n repeated the question, holding her hand out so Aemond would help her to her feet, which he did without even a second thought. 

“You know I must. Ser Criston insists on an early training in the morrow.” 

Y/n sighed, looking down at her book and placing it down on the chaise, and looking up to her brother. “Then I shall walk you to your chambers.” 

Aemond grinned at that, setting his own book down as well. In truth, it was her book that she was allowing him to read. Aemond then turned to the large table in the room, grabbing the lantern. The table was low enough to the ground so that if you sat on the ground it would be at your chest. 

Her brother reached for her hand which she gladly offered to him, happily following him to the wall, where he pulled the entrance to the passageway open, and began leading her into the thin and dark passage.  

They walked in near silence, the only sounds heard were their own footsteps, his in boots, and her’s bare against the stone, and their breathing that echoed against the stone walls around them. 

The eventually reached his chambers, where he pushed to stone wall enough that it finally peaked open, allowing the candle light from his room to seep into the passage. 

Y/n stepped into his chambers right after him, looking around the familiar room as he placed the lantern down on the table beside the passage so she could take it back with her. As she examined the room, she noticed the sword that was placed to be leaning against the wall, still in its sheath, the steel hilt glittering in the candle light. 

Aemond and had begun to unbuckled the green doublet he wore. revealing the white tunic he wore underneath. 

Y/n noticed the stack of books on the floor at the foot of his bed that seemed to have grown since the last time she had been in his chambers. It made her smile, as did the spare eyepatch that she spotted on top of his bed.

Then her attention was back on Aemond as he approached her, She could not help but to notice how he appeared before her, having rid himself of his doublet and somehow of his eyepatch, showing her the sapphire freely. 

Aemond reached for the lantern and put the handle into her hands, but as she looked up from the candle flickering inside of the lantern, she noticed just how close Aemond was to her, not that it was abnormal for him to be so close to her, but in this moment, it was different. 

They seemed to both be examining each other’s features, and they seemed to have both noticed the close proximity. But neither made the move to step away. And all at once she recalled seeing his sapphire for the first time, how she could feel his breathing when he’d reached for her waist chain with the sapphires on it. That was how close they were now. If someone had seen them on that day, they would have told them it was improper. If someone were to see them now? She was sure he entire keep would be awoken by it. She did not even wish to know what their mother would say. 

But as she held the lantern in one hand, she brought one to rest against his chest. She was not even thinking as she did it. But with her palm pressed against the thin fabric of his tunic, she could feel his heart hammering against his chest. But she did not push him away. 

No, instead he only stepped closer to her, their chests now pressed against each other, and so close that her eyes could not even bring his features into focus, it was mostly blurry as she felt a hand on her hip, and his other hand coming up to hold the side of her face.

His heart was now hammering against her own chest, to the same beat as her own. His scent completely surrounding her as looked up at him. The oils he used on his hair to keep pin straight mixing with his natural scent was almost as intoxicating as northern ale. 

It happened all at once, him resting his forehead against her own, blocking out most light so all she could see was his lilac eye, sapphire, and his scar, and not even a second later, she was closing her eyes as he came impossibly closer, his lips meeting her own.

Her stomach felt as though it was sprouting wings to try to fly away, and she could hear her heart in her own ears. 

Y/n knew she should pull away and run back to her own chambers, but she couldn’t find herself able to. But he had pulled away first, only to look down at her. 

With the anxious lick of her lips, Y/n could taste Aemond on them. Her stomach flipped at the taste, and she found herself bringing the hand resting on his chest to then bringing her fingers to the back of his neck, gently urging him to do it again with a small tug. 

And he did. Without an ounce of hesitation he kissed her once again, the hand on her hip then coming to wrap his entire arm around her back, squeezing her to him as though she could get any closer to him. 

This was wrong. According to the Faith of The Seven they were sinners now. Even if they were exempt due to the very nature of their house, it had been engrained into Y/n from a young age by her mother that it was wrong. 

But despite all the talk her mother had done about it, Y/n could not help but to find it silly now as Aemond kissed her and held her this way. She simply could not find it in her in the moment to feel guilty for being in her undergarment in front of her brother, nor could she feel guilty for enjoying the feeling of his lips against her own.

As Aemond broke away from her only for a second, both of them briefly catching their breath before he moved his lips against her’s once more, she felt. . . almost peaceful. As though what she’d heard from Maris was no longer relevant, and that she was meant to be between Aemond’s arms, with his body against her’s and the taste of him against her lips. 

It felt like it was too soon when Aemond fully pulled away from her, no longer holding her so tight against him, and his lips no longer on her own, it felt as though a warm blanket had been torn away from her in the cold of night. 

She went to protest his actions, but he kissed the crown of her head. “You must go, little sister.” He muttered against her hair before he pulled away, leaving a gently kiss on her lips before stepping away. 

Y/n could only nod and turn away with the lantern in hand, stepping down the passage back to her own chambers. 

For the rest of the night, she could only smell him on her, and taste him on her lips.

Add yourself to the taglist!

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[bodrewritten]

Daughter of Discord Rewritten Chapter 2: Special Delivery

2:00pm

"We're almost there!" Pinkie Pie chimed as she led Fluttershy and Discord towards Sugar Cube Corner. The gravel path crunched satisfyingly under their hooves, and Celestia's sun was sharing its warm spring embrace onto their backs. Fluttershy's face glowed bright and her eyelashes bat away in the glare of the beautiful sunlight.

"You sure you don't want me to carry you?"

She shook her head as she steadied herself. "No, I can handle it. Pinkie, what's this all about, anyway?"

"You'll see!" Pinkie snorted as she bounced up the bakery steps.

Fluttershy was about to follow her when Discord scooped her into his arms.

"Oh dearie, you're such a gentleman!" She giggled.

As soon as they were inside, every pony jumped out of hiding and shouted:

"SURPRISE!"

Fluttershy gasped at the decorated room before her. Her five best friends as well as Spike and her three favorite fillies were there. On the wall was a banner reading: 'Congratulations!'

"What is…?"

"We threw you a baby shower!" Pinkie Pie squealed.

"But it isn't even born yet, it can't even take baths..." Discord said, confused.

The mares laughed.

"A baby shower is a party for expecting mothers," Twilight explained. "Her female friends organize it and bring gifts for the new baby."

Tears filled Fluttershy's eyes. "Girls, this is wonderful! Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank us yet!" Pinkie insisted. "You haven't opened your presents yet!"

She led her friend to the stack of presents and handed her one wrapped in pink, with a green bow.

Discord turned to the young spike, who was now taller and sharper than before. He even had wings now!

"if this is a mare's party, then why are we here? You're a little man," discord accentuated with a noogie, "and I'm... Some sort of he-what-who-thing." Spike shrugged and sat on Discord's shoulders.

"Open mine first!"

Fluttershy was about to sit down when Discord summoned a comfortable pillow beneath her. Pinkie placed the gift in her lap and Fluttershy began unwrapping it. She opened the box to reveal a yellow and orange hat with a green propeller. She took it out and looked at it questioningly.

"I saw it in the hat shop the other day and thought it would look cutesy wootsy on your baby!" Pinkie said excitedly.

Discord twirled the propeller. "It is kind of cute."

"Thank you, Pinkie," Fluttershy smiled. "I'm sure our child will love it."

"Now for the one from me!" Rarity said, handing her a box in purple wrapping and a periwinkle bow.

Inside were six sets of foal-sized foot pajamas in red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple.

"Of course, when the baby arrives, I can make a whole new set with proper measurements on the case that it isn't... Pony shaped."

"They're beautiful, Rarity," Fluttershy said.

She opened Twilight's present next: an illustrated book on fairytales to read to the child. Then Rainbow Dash gave her a red, green, and white rattle, which she explained had been hers as a foal.

Next was Applejack's present: a baby bonnet with apples embroidered along the edge.

"It was mine," Applejack explained, "I figured you should have it."

"Me next!" Apple Bloom bounced!

The filly gave her a small quilt. It was checkered in brown and yellow. Each yellow square was decorated with a pink butterfly matching Fluttershy's cutie mark and each brown square had a black and white spiral in the center.

"I made it myself!" Apple Bloom said proudly. "I incorporated both the parents' personalities into it, so that your baby may always be reminded how special she is!"

"Apple Bloom," Fluttershy uttered, "this is beautiful!"

She slid out of her seat and gave the filly a hug. The dragon then hopped off of Discord with his gift.

"I had to ask Twilight's permission for this first," he said.

In the box was an old stuffed green dragon, covered in felt armor.

"This is Sir Lionheart," Spike explained. "Twilight gave him to me after she took me home, but I've kind of grown out of it. I'm sure Discord Jr. will like it!"

"I have a toy for the baby too!" Scootaloo announced. She brought out a tiny red scooter with a yellow bow on it. "This was my first scooter, but I've gotten too big for it now."

"And I have a record of my favorite lullabies!" Sweetie Belle said, holding up said record.

"Oh, thank you, everyone!" Fluttershy exclaimed. "These are all such wonderful presents!"

"We're not done," Twilight declared. "We all pitched in on this one."

Pinkie Pie bounced upstairs, followed by the cowgirl. The returned with a wooden crib painted glittery green and decorated with pink roses on the side. The cushion was feathered and the laced pillow was made of silk. Fluttershy was sobbing with a smile.

"You are all such wonderful friends and I know our baby is going to have the best aunts, and cousin, in the world!"

They all moved into a group hug when suddenly, Fluttershy felt a sharp pain in her belly. She let out a cry and clutched her stomach. Her friends backed away as Discord flew to her side.

"Honey, what's wrong?!" he pleaded.

"The baby," she wheezed. "I think it's coming!"

"Now?! But it's too early!"

"Tell that to the baby!"

The broken water spread from the floor.

"But it's only been nine months!" Rarity exclaimed.

"that's the issue," Twilight said frantically. "We need to get her to the hospital."

Discord did not waste a second to teleport her out of there, leaving the eight ponies and dragon alone in silence.

...

"Guess we're walking."

The hospital staff was caught by surprise when Discord came barging into the emergency room, pushing Fluttershy on a stretcher.

"The baby's coming, the baby's coming!" he screamed frantically.

"What?" Dr. Stable uttered. "The baby's not due for another two months!"

"Well, it's impatient! It is my kid, after all!"

The doctor was quick and fast, leading the couple to the maternity ward. On the way, they passed by Derpy.

"Fluttershy!" she exclaimed. "I thought you weren't due for another two months!"

Fluttershy's breathing staggered. "So did I, but the baby had other plans!"

"Sweet! Our kids are going to have the same birthday!"

Derpy's stretcher steered away while Fluttershy's entered another room.

"I'll need to get an x-ray…" Dr. Stable said.

Discord summoned up the device and hung it over his wife's stomach. The doctor examined it with wide eyes.

"Yep, the foal's a preemie, but it's safe enough that we can deliver without harm to it. It will have to stay in the NICU until it's ready."

"Then what are we waiting for?" the draconequus demanded. "You're the doctor! Please help my wife!"

Dr. Stable called for Nurses Sweetheart and Coldheart. They put on their scrubs and masks and got the patient into position. Discord had summoned up a mask as well and tightly held his wife's hoof.

The five ponies, three fillies and dragon paced around the waiting room. They stiffened when they heard Fluttershy's scream.

"What are they doing to her?!" Pinkie Pie squealed.

"I'm sure she's fine," Twilight said calmly.

When Dr. Stable entered the room, the duchess jumped out of her seat.

"Is she still alive?!" she asked frantically.

The doctor laughed. "Fluttershy has successfully given birth to a healthy baby girl and is going to be fine."

Every pony gasped.

"A girl?" Pinkie repeated. "This is fantastic!"

"Wait," Rarity said. "What does it look like?"

Fluttershy sobbed into her husband's chest.

"She's okay my queen, just small. She's okay."

"I only got to hold her for a second..."

Discord needed to distract her, keep her mind off of her filly in the NICU.

Discord scratched his head. "She looks so…normal."

The infant was an earth pony with a pink coat and bounding curls of purple and white hair on her head.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Fluttershy sniffled. "You said you didn't want our child to be judged by her looks like you were."

"Yeah, but…how will people know she's ours?"

The pegasus lay in thought. "I don't think it matters dear, she's ours, and..."

Discord held her hoof. "If we're loud enough with our pride, ponies will know."

Fluttershy chuckled. "Y'know, I've got an earth pony grandma on my Dad's side. I guess the genes just skipped mine and my dad's generations."

Weeks later, NICU visiting hours.

"It's mine alright!" He bent down and tickled the infant. Her eyes were bright spirals with no pupils. "Cootchie-cootchie-coo!" The baby let out a laugh as she attempted to squirm away from the delightful torture. "Aw, look at her! Isn't she just an adorable little screwball?" His face lit up. "That's it! We'll call her Screwball!... If you want to, that is."

Fluttershy smiled as she caressed her baby through the glass. "Of course, it's perfect."

"Nah, but that's why it's good."

"Which one is it?!" Pinkie demanded, eagerly pressing her face against the window of the nursery.

"The one in the middle," Nurse Sweetheart said, pointing.

The ponies turned their attention to the pink foal sucking on her hoof.

"she's…" Rainbow speculated, "…normal."

Screwball then opened her swirly eyes.

"Never mind."

Every pony jumped as Discord appeared behind them. "I know, isn't she precious? We named her Screwball!"

"How lovely," Rarity cooed.

"Aw, she's so cute!" Pinkie squeaked.

"We had another that day. Nurse Sweetheart explained, "from a Miz Muffins. Maybe you know her?"

"You mean Derpy?" Rainbow asked. She mumbled, "no one calls her muffins, dude."

The nurse pointed to the cradle beside Screwball's. Lying inside was a gray unicorn with blonde hair. Her eyes were looking in opposite directions.

"That's Derpy's alright," the pegasus confirmed. "What's its name?"

"She called her Dinky," the nurse replied. "Dinky Doo."

Screwball stared in wonder at the large ponies looking at her. She thought they were quite funny, especially the pink one. She then imagined what it would be like to tug on that beautiful poofy hair.

She turned her head as the baby in the crib next to her started crying. She could tell this pony was different from the others because of her eyes, and seemed drawn to her. She wanted her to stop crying and a pacifier suddenly appeared in the unicorn's mouth. The ponies saw this and gasped.

"Celestia save her." Discord said in awe. "Oh, oh not now. Not with the magic..." He grimaced. She was like him, with the problems he would have had at her age.

"A baby with Discord's powers?" Spike uttered.

Twilight shook with anxiety. Or was it excitement at the prospect of a pony with chaotic magic? In any case, she whispered:

"oh boy."

[midnightshade]

🏮 𝐀 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 🏮 | Kenjaku's reaction to seeing you in lingerie

𖤐 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,603

𖤐 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Female Reader, Reader has a pussy, Third-Person POV, not beta read, biting to draw blood, creampie, light choking, slight breeding kink

𖤐 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: N/A

𖤐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"I'll be back soon."

A lone woman walked through the streets of Tokyo, tucking her phone back into her pocket as the call ended. To anyone else on the street, she was a normal woman. In reality, she was anything but.

She was centuries old despite her youthful appearance, but then, this wasn't her original body. Coming from the Kamakura era, she had only managed to cheat death with the aid of one man.

Kenjaku.

Ever since the two of them met, she had been faithfully serving as his assistant. He liked her enough to continue bringing her back from death, using the bodies of others as suitable vessels.

It never bothered her, knowing that someone else had to die for her to come back. She refused to feel guilty about living and she was thankful to Kenjaku for the continued gift of life.

For centuries, she had been loyal to him, not out of obligation, but out of want. He made life interesting; she enjoyed his company.

She loved him.

Staying with Kenjaku, making him happy – It was enough for her.

The crowd carried her with them through the busy streets like the current of a river, and she allowed herself to be pulled along. She took the time to sightsee, looking around at all the different shops and stalls from clothing stores to arcades and food stands.

Occasionally, she would pop in and browse the selections, but none seemed to catch her eye today. . .except for one.

She stumbled over her own feet, nearly colliding with a man in front of her. Quickly regaining her balance, she pushed her way out of the crowd and towards the shop.

It was small and easy to miss, tucked away between two larger buildings. The face of the building was styled like a traditional Japanese minka house, and the sign was written in ink calligraphy, broadcasting its primary wares: lingerie.

The juxtaposition between this traditional style and the items being sold immediately piqued her interest. She stepped inside, finding the theming on the outside to be consistent with the interior. The shop was designed like a tea room, with clean tatami mats.

She took her shoes off, spotting a place to leave them before continuing inside. There were a variety of different mannequins dressed up in different styles of lingerie.

A worker spotted her, coming over to greet her and welcome her into the store with a polite bow. "Hello! May I help you today? Looking for anything in particular?"

As she examined the store, a mischievous idea began to form in her mind. She walked over to one of the mannequins, examining the high quality material it was dressed in.

"Yes, please. I would appreciate the help."

──────

An artificial night had fallen within Dagon's Domain. The ocean waves lapped at the shore, creating a tranquil atmosphere that stretched towards the Tiki Hut sitting just beyond the treeline.

The building was of modest make, containing only two bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a shower. Curses may not need to sleep or eat, but their human allies did.

One of whom stood within the master bedroom, adjusting her new outfit in front of a full-length mirror.

She admired her form, running her hands up her body and over the red rope that mapped itself across her skin. The lingerie was styled after shibari, made of soft threaded rope that allowed easy access to her bare chest and pussy.

The only thing keeping her modesty was a silken robe overtop, styled loosely after a yukata. It was black with a red floral pattern. Red lace adorned the front, along with red stitching on the seams.

This type of luxury was a rarity for her to indulge in, but it had been a while since she and Kenjaku did something like this. This was as much a surprise gift for him as it had been for her.

The thought of that made her heart skip a beat. Even after centuries spent at his side, it was still so easy to feel like a lovestruck teenager doing these types of things.

The ivory sheets felt cool to the touch as she climbed into the master bed. She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly as she moved her hands down her body, relaxing against the plush surface.

Kenjaku would be back any minute now. His face would be priceless, she was sure of it. She suppressed a giggle, imagining it, as her hands moved down to the in-between on her thighs.

Her giggles died down, turning into soft moans as she spread her folds apart with her fingers. Her cunt clenched around nothing and she bit her lip, already imagining Kenjaku on top of her.

"Fuck. . .Kenjaku," she moaned out, her now trembling fingers beginning to rub at her throbbing clit.

She dipped her fingers down, collecting some of the slick that was beginning to build as her arousal grew, but she didn't get far before she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

Kenjaku was home.

For a moment, she found herself conflicted. Should she stop now or should she keep going and let him watch?

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from her core, sitting up and adjusting her robe so that she was properly covered. Shs was just in time, as the door opened with a silent 'click' just as she finished adjusting her robe.

Kenjaku walked in through the bedroom door. Unlike usual, he was not wearing his Gojo-kesa, instead opting for a pair of black pants and a black shirt.

It's not like it mattered. The vessel he was in now, Suguru Geto, was more than handsome enough to pull off just about any look. Kenjaku's confidence always helped as well.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes immediately landing on her form, sprawled out seductively on the bed.

"Welcome home," she purred. Her voice was dripping in amusement as she watched Kenjaku. She would be lying if she said she didn't feel the slightest bit proud of herself for managing to catch him off guard.

Any trace of surprise was quickly wiped from his face, replaced with his typical self-assured smile that she'd come to love so much.

He walked over to the bed, his eyes never once leaving hers. He stopped in front of her, and his hand came to rest against her cheek. She closed her eyes, immediately leaning into his touch.

"Isn't this a pleasant surprise," he soothed. "What's the occasion?"

At his question, she chuckled and kissed his palm. "Do I need an occasion to surprise you? Maybe I just wanted to show my appreciation."

His hand moved down from her cheek to wrap around her throat. His grip was firm, but not enough to harm her. She gasped, pupils dilating as her skin prickled with anticipation.

He made her look at him, and she clenched her thighs together when she saw his gaze clouded with lust.

"Who am I to deny you, then? If you're so eager to offer yourself up to me, I think I'd like to unwrap my gift."

She breathed out, already feeling heady with anticipation. All she could manage was a small nod, which seemed to be enough as Kenjaku firmly pushed her back against the bed.

The bed sank as Kenjaku climbed into bed with her, not bothering with his own clothing as he loomed over her. He leaned down to catch her lips in a kiss, squeezing a little more firmly as he did.

Kissing Kenjaku was always an event. Whether he was being rough or slow, his kisses were always hungry and filled with passion. He bit at her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. The sting of pain was welcome, and she opened her mouth to him, allowing his tongue to slip inside her mouth without argument.

As Kenjaku kissed her, his hands began to roam up and down her body, feeling the lace of her robe and groping at her tits through the fabric. She held his face in her palms as she kissed him back with equal passion, moaning even as she tasted her own blood. She nipped playfully at his tongue, arching her back to be closer to him.

Kenjaku began to grind himself against her, and she could feel how hard he was getting already just by kissing her. Feeling coy, she removed one of her hands from his face, rubbing at his clothed erection.

He growled against her lips, breaking the kiss. He stared down at her, lips bruised and bleeding from his bite. His own cheeks were flushed slightly.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling it away from his aching cock. When she whined, he grinned down at her.

"Needy, aren't we? You never were very patient," he teased

She pouted at the accusation. "You're not much better right now. You look like you're about to cum in your pants."

Kenjaku laughed, releasing her wrist. "Maybe we're both a little pent up. These last few weeks have been busy."

He wasn't wrong. With their plans finally so close to starting, the last several weeks had been a whirlwind of activity just ensuring everything would run smoothly. It was as exciting as it was stressful.

They hardly had a moment to themselves anymore.

Her gaze softened slightly as she sat up, reaching to kiss the stitches along his forehead. No matter what body he was in, she only loved him.

"Then use me however you'd like tonight," she whispered, pressing more gentle kisses against the stitching.

Kenjaku shivered at her touch, suppressing a breathy moan. His stitches were always a sensitive spot for him, and the offer of doing whatever he wanted was just too good. His dick throbbed painfully in anticipation.

His eyes immediately went back to her robe, admiring the outfit as he traced the red lace. "This suits you. You should dress like this more often."

She smiled at the compliment, directing his hand to the sash that kept the robe closed. "You haven't even seen the actual outfit yet. I picked it out just for you."

Kenjaku moved her back against the bed, letting her settle down before he finally pulled the knot. He opened the robe, admiring the sight laid out before him.

"Beautiful," he groaned, tracing his hand over her bare skin. He watched as her skin prickled under his touch, as if every cell in her body rose with anticipation to be touched by him.

He looked down, seeing her petals were dripping with her arousal and her cunt was clenching around nothing, desperate to be fucked.

She looked up at him in anticipation, but before Kenjaku gave her what she wanted, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, exposing his muscular chest. The X-shaped scar across his Vessel's chest always caught her eye, and she couldn't help but to reach up and trace it.

Kenjaku hummed at the touch, allowing her to smooth her hand over his skin while he pulled his cock free from the confines of his pants. He sighed in relief as his dick sprung loose, hard and throbbing.

Suguru's body certainly didn't disappoint. The man was a work of art; lithe and muscular like a wild cat with that long, silky black hair she could spend hours playing with. His cock was long and thick, curving gently up with a supple head.

"You really are needy," she teased, watching as pearls of pre-cum dripped down the side of his shaft.

"You're no better," he responded, quickly folding her legs back as he mounted her.

She felt his cockhead nudge against her entrance and she relaxed, feeling him begin to push his way inside of her. Both of them groaned as he slotted himself inside, her velvety soft walls gripping his shaft and sucking him in deeper.

His pelvis met her own when he finally sheathed himself fully inside. Time stood still as they savored this moment, adjusting to the blissful embrace of each other's bodies.

"You always feel so good for me," he said, leaning in and pressing his forehead against hers. "No matter what vessel. This pussy of yours takes me so well."

She grinned shakily, pecking at his lips. "So glad I can make myself useful."

As Kenjaku began to rock his hips, starting a steady rhythm, he hummed and closed his eyes, savoring each blissful drag of her walls against his cock.

"No one else," he muttered, his voice trailing off as he failed to finish the thought, choosing instead to focus on kissing and nipping at her jaw.

She moaned as he began to fuck into her, the room quickly filling with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Her thoughts began to grow fuzzy, lost in the feelings of pleasure he was giving her.

Kenjaku's expression was beautiful, and it struck her that she was the only one lucky enough to see him like this regularly. Mouth parted, eyebrows furrowed, and his pale face dusted a pretty shade of pink.

She would gladly sacrifice her body to him like this any time he asked. This was all she wanted in return – to bring him pleasure and comfort.

Kenjaku's hands held her thighs back against her chest as he properly mounted her, getting more aggressive with his thrusts as his pleasure began to climb.

He smothered her cries with a hungry kiss, forcing his tongue back inside her mouth as he began to jackhammer his hips into hers. His touch was no longer just firm, it was rough.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping into his mouth as his dick throbbed deep inside of her, desperate to fill her with his seed.

His fat cockhead pounded against her cervix as he violently bucked into her, his hips colliding with hers and leaving bruises, proof of his love for her.

Kenjaku's fat balls smacked rhythmically with his thrusts, each time sending sparks of pleasure careening through his body. He moaned, grinding into her with every thrust.

"I should have put a baby in you years ago," he panted against her lips. "I'll have to make up for lost time."

She clenched hard around his shaft, gasping in delight at the thought. Her nails dug into his back as she cried out. "Please! Kenjaku, please. Don't pull out."

He grinned, moving one hand away from her thigh to pull her hair, forcing her to bare her throat. He bit down harshly, leaving a mark as he growled out, "Everyone will know you're mine."

The pleasure reached a fever pitch as they both reached their climax. Her body locked and spasmed as she pulsed around him, sucking him in deeper. Kenjaku breathed in sharply, emptying his balls deep inside of her.

She could feel his dick twitching with every pulse, painting her insides white, and for several moments, they stayed like that, enjoying the comfort of each other's bodies.

When Kenjaku finally let her thighs down, she collapsed onto the bed, totally spent. Her chest heaved with effort, but her entire body felt heavy and relaxed.

Kenjaku didn't pull out, instead opting to pull her on top of him as he laid back against the cool sheets. He pressed soft kisses against her face, petting her hair as he basked in the afterglow.

He rubbed his hand down her back, taking another opportunity to admire the lingerie she had gotten just for him.

He smiled, pulling her closer as she began to drift off, his cock still snuggly slotted inside of her.

"Thank you for this gift."

©Midnightshade. All rights reserved. Do NOT repost, reupload, or modify my works. Do not translate my works, do not link to them or recommend them on other websites, and do not use them for AI training

[nuclearforest]

surprise gift for @cry-ptidd because i wanted to write a werewolf with a predatory side and a BAMF middle aged woman. partly inspired by a convo we had. i can probably be convinced to continue it.

closest you'll get to a TW is threats of gore and predatory behaviors. Laura is a werewolf.

Laura is not permitted to go hunting as often as she’d like; no outings into the night in general, much less the violent sort that ended with men’s limbs gripped between her snarling jaws as they cried in agony. That was almost never. But tonight must be special—her very own Sir Integra had deigned it a night she was allowed to go out. Not for a violent hunt, no, but for something to sate a different kind of hunger.

She stands in the head office at her master’s side where the traitor once stood, rigid in posture with her hands clasped at her front. The marble floor is painfully clean and shining, even under the low light of the too-high crystal chandeliers. Even after all these years, Integra’s wide mahogany desk and tall upright chair remain the only furniture in the room. An expendable agent stands before the two women, rattling something off from a newfangled tablet. It was the kind of technology that had an unpleasant whine in her ears more often than not.

But after listening to the nightly debrief from operational intelligence, Integra waves her hand. “It sounds like a sleepy night,” she muses, “truly a rarity.”

Laura finds herself tensing in anticipation, hair on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end. That wasn’t how Integra usually led into training exercises or the housework given on other dull evenings. The middle-aged heiress to the Hellsing name cracks open the center drawer of her desk to unearth a golden cigar case. Through the tall windows behind them, the dark sky and full moon called, speckled with the faintest of stars and framed by red curtains. The werewolf’s eyes widen a sliver and her nose twitches.

“Better than the alternative,” the man quips back with a smile, straightening the pages and laying them on Integra’s desk for her to review. The arteries in his neck pulse ever so faintly with his heartbeat. His hair is salt and pepper grey, with movements slow and sluggish in the werewolf’s eyes. If not for the red armband on his suit and the woman at her side, Laura would’ve thought him a fitful, lean snack.

“I suppose so,” she hums, “but I can’t leave my girls bored forever.” For a second, something flutters in Laura’s chest at the possessive tone. But she just as soon crushes it, forcing it away as Integra flicks open her case and plucks a cigar. “Laura.” Integra snips the end of the cigar for a crisp start. “Be a dear, will you?”

The werewolf reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a golden lighter, offering a flame with a quick flick.

“Good girl.” The praise sends an imperceptible shudder down Laura’s back. “That will be all.” She replaces the lighter in her pocket and the lowly peon bows, turning his back to shuffle away like he wasn’t one wrong step from being picked up and shaken like a ragdoll.

They are far too comfortable around her.

The door clicks shut behind him, echoing in the high ceiling, and the ever-lovely Integra swivels her chair to look at the werewolf over the rim of her glasses. Laura just stares back at her piercing blue eye, waiting for an order.

“Do you think I should approve Seras’ request?” Integra asks before inhaling slowly from the cigar. The strong smell is almost enough to make Laura’s stomach churn with memories of dingy pubs and disgusting pigs but on her master? It is another matter entirely.

“What did she request?” the werewolf replies, nose almost wrinkling as Integra blows out another puff of smoke.

“A night on the town with you.” The Hellsing cracks a wry smile. Something in her eye glimmers. In the back of her mind, Laura wonders how long ago this request had been placed. They didn’t exactly go out frequently, and the vampiress frequently complained in her ear the next evening about how she’d snuck away.

“And why ask for my approval?” Laura’s hand twitches with the urge to brush a strand of hair, slipping from her ponytail, away from her eyes. Almost like she was a schoolgirl again. Distant memories of flowers crushed in her tense grip for some faceless young thing; a first crush. She swallows.

“Figured I’d see if you’d like to go,” Integra muses with the cigar between her lips, “If you were up for behaving tonight.” Heat almost rises to Laura’s cheeks at the thought of the last time, almost getting caught by all-too-perceptive humans. Funny that the woman hadn’t put together the teeth and the eyes until they were almost to her home. Funnier yet that Laura had been on her best behavior at the time and simply disappeared.

“I am bound to your command,” Laura replies gruffly, finally breaking eye contact to look away.

“Fine then.” Integra blows an almost playful puff of smoke at her. “I command you to accompany Seras for the night with nothing but your very best behavior.”

A smirk crawls up on Laura’s face at the thought of innocent women at the bar, straying like a young rabbit from its den. Tonight is a night for hunting bunny rabbits. With wide eyes and rosy cheeks. Soft skin and a dainty perfume. The big, bad wolf would eat them right up. “Oui, sir.”

[clottedscream]

[Image ID: a digitally illustrated redesign of Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony. Pinkie is a hot pink unicorn pony. Her mane and tale are both light pink afros filled with yellow and blue sprinkles, as well as little candies. Her eyes are very dark blue. Her cutie mark shows 4 balloons in yellow and blue. She hears a blue ribbon bow-tie around her neck, and alternating-colored blue and yellow roller skates. She has a lighter pink heart on the end of her snout, and she wears glittery makeup. End ID]

Pinkie Pie spent her entire childhood in schooling to hone her alchemical magic. When she was little, she was a gifted kid, way above all her peers in channeling spells and manipulating the elements. But after years in a stifling school environment, she got more and more worn down and burnt out. Her grades slipped and it felt like she lost the spark that made magic so special to her in the first place. The year Pinkie was supposed to graduate, she decided she’d had enough. She dropped out of school and hit the road, looking for a place she felt like she actually belonged. That’s when she met Applejack, and fell in love with the town of Ponyville.

Pinkie is the town’s odd-job pony. She’s there when you need her to fix your gutters, or you need someone to man the register at your store for a while while you run out, or babysit your foals for the night, or anything else! Pinkie pie loves to be helpful, but she never stays in one place for too long. Whether it’s her place in the loft of the barn at Apple Orchard Farms, or the guest bedroom at Rarity’s Antiques and Boutique, or the attic at the Cakes’ Bakery, Pinkie is a bit tricky to pin down. Pinkie might seem a little flighty, but all she really needs is some space and independence from time to time. She’s the friendliest, silliest, handiest pony in town, but her appellation “The Celebration Pony” doesn’t really reflect that. It gives her the ability to summon party poppers, balloons, confetti… Pinkie got her powers when she was pretty young, still in school, and she doesn’t really feel like that person anymore. Maybe someday her title will change?

[amplifyme]

I read Sis the dialogue between Father and Diana (and some of Father and Vincent) in The Possibility of Being; and she had a blast. You even got an "awwwww" out of her, which is rare!

The "awwww" quote in question:

"...Vincent has a gift for drawing out the best of us. And he’s been fortunate, twice blessed, in both Catherine and now, in you."

Sis states that you wrote Father, Diana, and Vincent completely in-character (an absolute rarity to hear from her after all the fic journeys I've taken her on); Baby Jacob is the guest star she bows down to at every mention; and, overall, she is delighted with the cozy vibes and comfortable atmosphere that you capture in the world Below. No complaints, nor has she deviated an iota from her original compliments (but doesn't know what else to say except to repeat them-- meaning, you've kept her interest from waning~) and is on board for any parts I pick out to read to her in the future. :DDD

On another sidenote, she is turning into a Cathy apologist because I'm all for S3 content and onward... that and Cathy annoyed me a little; and Sis is used to taking a balanced perspective to any and all dramatic complaints I make to entertain or amuse. ;)))) (And yes, the debate is more fun than actually conceding that Cathy was just fine and had a few things to work on, but doesn't everyone?)

And that's that! Hopefully will get around to more BATB updates soon-- always sucked right back in when I crack open your fics. :))))

Howdy!

Sis states that you wrote Father, Diana, and Vincent completely in-character (an absolute rarity to hear from her after all the fic journeys I've taken her on)

That is high praise indeed! Please pass along my thanks to Sis. And assure her there's nothing wrong with being a Cathy apologist. In fact even I would consider myself a bit of one, though Diana is #1 for me. Vincent loved Cathy fiercely and completely. For that reason alone, I always try to give her the benefit of the doubt. At least through the first half of S2. It gets harder after that. 😄

Enjoy your reread!

[ineffable-opinions]

VIP Only (2023) ep. 6 - 9

previous posts: ep. 1-2 | ep. 3, 4 & 5

Ongoing review: Gloriously bumpy royal road Current Rating: 7.5/10

Summary: A novelist struggling with writer’s block seeks solace in a restaurant. Budding romantic ambiguity between the novelist and the restaurant owner is threatened by former’s old crush and latter’s mother’s growing debt.

Pairing: weakish gong X strongish shou

What I liked:

# Gu Jing’s mom & the debt plot

Scummy parent - now a rarity in BL – I gladly accept this precious gift.

Gu Jing’s mother is a very good source of tension. She is so ruthless. She morally kidnaped Gu Jing with such viciousness. She topped off the too drained to date situation Gu Jing was in with a pretty little loan from an underground lender. She is on a downward spiral and is dragging Gu Jing down as well. Imagine trying to date while running from the triad! IRL, debts are sure shot deal breaker when it comes to serious courtship and marriage. Add one of the triads into the mix and you have the recipe for tragedy. eg: 北城天街 by 非天夜翔 – shou’s straight best friend is the one who is running from triad.

I love falling out of love stories. Debt-driven poverty as a strain to relationship is one of my favorites. Maybe in the future, we will get a riches-to-rags BL with a couple who gets overwhelmed by one party’s debt and breaks-up. Taiwan, live-action adaptation of 后来的冬天 by 大风不是木偶 please.

I am so glad Gu Jing pragmatically decided to let Liu Li go. I wonder if Liu Li knows what he is signing up for. But since his modus operandi is focused on his future mother-in-law, I am relieved.

# White moonlight attack

Return of the old crush was in classic Taiwanese style: when gong is at his lowest as an individual and our couple’s relationship still ambiguous. From Wu Xin’s perspective, this is 追妻火葬场 (regret and grovel) plot.

It was played for laughs and I thoroughly enjoyed Gu Jing competing with Wu Xin. I was rooting for Gu Jing to get the indoor slippers – I wanted him to win it so bad. Gu Jing pushing aside Wu Xin with two fingers was perfect. However, I am glad that Gu Jing and Wu Xin didn’t bicker for too long cause bickering love-rivals to lovers is one of my weaknesses.

# Moon bridge shot

To indicate that the relationship manned by white moonlight is sinking! I think. I chuckled when I saw it.

# Disaster date and dreamy shots of Gu Jing

Of course, Gu Jing’s gonna look the most yi jie in Liu Li’s imagination while on date with a straight-presenting guy.

Wu Xin, babe, Liu Li’s manuscript is titled ‘A Hope Like a Rainbow’ – it can’t get more tongzhiwen than that, could it? Why are you not putting in any effort? Gu Jing has a beard; you could at least wear white socks*.

# Foods as a sentiment

There are plenty of food related BL but this kind is still rare, I think. With Liu Li being a left-behind kid** it makes sense that he would have attachments to foods – back then, the steakhouse behind his school and now, Gu Jing’s Old House restaurant.

# Right type of artificial sweetener

Liu Li have had met Ju Ging’s grandmother who raised him. It is to her that they will kowtow in their second bow during their 拜堂 (bai tang) ceremony.

Matching ornaments - that too DIY.

Friends’ interventions – perfection both in quantity and quality.

What I didn’t like:

# POV shots of faces

Please stop. It is not flattering anyone.

__

* male tongzhi use white socks for signaling (gaydar).

** whose parents have moved to urban region/abroad, leaving them behind.

[soranihimawari]

His Royal Highness

Strangers to lovers, but make it a royalty!au

Pairing: iwazumi x (f!) reader

Word Count: 6.9K

Warnings: fluff with angsty undertones & suggestive ending.

The sundial in the garden is currently out of commission. It is late into the evening as the moon is rising steadily over the rest of the kingdom. Behind, encased in the glass windows of the grand ballroom, a birthday gala is being held for a young ruler. Name day celebrations are taken very seriously here in this kingdom regardless of status. Inside said ballroom the celebrant celebrates with his comrades in arms: High King Oikawa (who came from abroad to visit an old friend), Sir Hanamaki who still serves the guards closest to the prince, and Sir Mattsukawa, head of training newer clergymen under the guise of preparing for another uprising in neighboring estates. This quartet of young men are also the talk of the town considering all of them were listed as the most eligible bachelor's this side of the country had to offer.

Truly, it was a sight to behold, considering the company that you keep is filled with butlers and maids in attendance. Unlike those four who flirt and dance with the young socialites around them, you were given the task to clear the emptying plates and such. You were part of the kitchen detail today, which was a bit of a far reach for your work as an apothecary's assistant. Flowers within the queen's royal private garden were often tended by herself, the gardner and you. You came to the castle at an odd turn of events in your young life. With being no older than nineteen, a full year ahead of her son, you were sent for in the orphanage after the queen mother requested you. It seemed you were of age when Mother Superior asks for you to pack your things; your sketches of the flowers used to assist the sick children who were too fond of you seemed to have caught the eye of the royal family's physician and personal apothecary. Regardless, why you're here in the ballroom now seems a bit odd. Even for the birthday celebrant.

The music the orchestra plays is one of flirtatious desire; a tug and pull of sorts. What you don't see while you're speaking with the personal butler of the prince, is the same prince who eyes you from afar. He is not paying attention to the woman pretending to be interested in political gains nor further nurturing the trade routes as of late. You shake your head at some joke, said prince reasons when he sees a rarity for him: a genuine smile. For what it's worth, Prince Iwazumi Hajime doesn't care for such ridiculous festivities. Perhaps come the first light of day he will send for your aid mentioning he needs a draught to cure a hangover. When the lady to his left notices where his attention seemed to have been for a while, she bows as she bids them all a good evening. She haughtily gathers her skirt in her hands and storms off.

"That has to be a record," Oikawa tries not to laugh, though his eyes do. He pats Iwazumi's shoulder. "For the past few months Lady Riz over there has tried to grab your attention and you could not be bothered with a woman like her."

Iwazumi rolls his eyes. "What are you insinuating Shittykawa?"

"That you're in love with that fiore over there," Hanamaki takes a swig of the mead in his goblet. "Wouldn't be the first time you've been caught ogling 'er. C'mon Mattsun. Let's see which woman would care to spend the night with us."

Mattsukawa cracks a joke about the orgy he was planning to have mentioning corests and stays are easy to undo when you've got a short dagger in your boot. The two knights leave in search for such a lady. The grand king and his princely best friend stand by an ice sculpture of the palace. A gift made from the artisans ages prior. How it has not begun to thoroughly melt is a mystery. Anyways, the prince still stares in your direction, whenever you move on to the next table or take a quick break to switch trays, he is intrigued by what his mother told you to wear. It's not much different than the very clothes he's seen you in, yet the ivory and cerulean shade of your formal attire seemed to make you have the figure of an angel, or a demon if his best friend was truly being honest.

"Talk to her, lest you want me to go in your stead," Oikawa nudges him.

"And say what?"

"I don't know. That's for you to figure out because," the king downs the rest of his wine before calling out your name. You wave when he does, beckoning you to come over. "Here she comes."

Fuck.

“Good evening your majesty,” your voice is molten honey to someone’s ear. Oikawa notices the bow you give him before greeting the person he is with. “Your highness.”

Oikawa hands you his cup asking if the party was going well for you. Your compatriots who walk by the champagne table are swapping the used glasses for more filled ones at the moment.

“As well as any other gala her majesty throws I suppose,” you reply.

“You rather be doing your work in the garden gazebo,” the prince observes after finding his voice.

“Exactly. I don’t see why I have to be here to help clean your party goers’ mess, but alas this order came from queen mother, so I must comply.”

You let out a sigh as you bow again bidding them good night.

“You should have asked her,” oikawa scolds his friend.

“I know.”

Iwazumi groans while Oikawa leaves to work his way round the room.

…

As the party dwindled down, you’re finding yourself in the public garden. The hedges are quite nice this time of year. A wisteria tree begins to blossom by the north side of the palace. In your hands a gardenia bloom flutters away from the tree supporting your back as you are seated on the bench. The light from the celestials above keep your company until a breaking of a twig is heard. You don’t have the heart to gasp because a familiar scent wafts above: mint, and the lightest hint of cinnamon create an image in your mind.

“Miss YN,” Ah yes, that voice you’ve become familiar with greets you.

“Your highness,” you return his greeting, half rising from the bench when he makes a sign you didn’t have to bow.

“May I ask why you’re out here when there’s still some people to entertain within?”

He takes a deep breath and upon the exhale he summons every ounce of courage he can at this hour.

“Because I rather spend time out here with a person I like versus the ones who’s only after me for my titles,” he is rather stiff when he states the truth.

You don’t really mind.

“Glad to know that,” you tease a toothy grin at him. Patting the space next to you, you both converse for what seems to be hours, only to have another guard come fetch him to give his thank you speech.

“Go on, I’ll be right behind you…” your voice encourages him to finally stand.

There’s a raw break in your voice when he hears your dress rustle. You do follow him like you said, yet he was amused by the way the gardenia he placed behind your ear moments ago still sits there. You’re thinking he looks back to flustered you more than he already has, but that is not the case: the crown prince knew his heart wanted to be given the chance to do something a bit outrageous.

“Dance with me,” words escape faster than he could swallow them back in.

“Now?” You blink at him, sort of embarrassed by the sweet command.

The prince nods, looking above the halo the moon makes of your hair. In the same light, you look at how the aquamarine jewels sparkle on his broach. They were the same ones gifted to his father once by his mother long ago. However, if you notice the reddening of his ears, you say nothing; upon closer inspection, you do notice the details of the refined silks he wears this summer evening. The threads feel soft against your knuckles and you can tell he is waiting your next move with a baited breath.

You seemed amused and baffled by this, but you oblige in his request. You take hold of his hand and the music from the ballroom is still loud enough to create a softer ambiance here. The tiles in this side of the garden serve as your floor away from prying eyes of the aristocracy.

“Your highn—”

“Hajime,” he interjects, placing your free hand on his shoulder.

With that settled, he moves that same hand down your back to push you closer than before. The other which you hold is pressed against his chest. A small smile on either face masks the truth for a short while.

“Call me that when we’re alone,” he sounds like he’s begging, but you hum a reply the moment he does lead you with the intent of making you feel lighter than spun sugar.

You know this dance, you haven’t had time to try to find a partner lately in the party, yet you found one who is confident in his steps. Toward the end of the dance, there is a lift, a spin, and a bow. Gracefully, he does all three and your hair brushes against his tunic, making you laugh when your feet touch the ground. He still holds you, yet this time he is the one choosing to smile widely in wonder hoping his intentions were clear; he has yet to let you go, hands remaining where they are—yours on his shoulders, his on either side of your waist.

“Miss YN.”

“Hmm?”

“May I be bold one more time?”

You glance up to see a spark reflective in hopes emerald eyes; the moon is bright today seeing as to how it creates the shadows on his sharp features. You choose to nod rather than say anything because of you did, you might have stopped him before his right hand cups your face, asking you to look at him. He’s so close to you now and in a matter of seconds, you feel his lips brush against yours like he’s sealing a secret. Your eyes blink close the second his hand slides away from your face only to hold the back of your head pushing you to deepen what he started. He doesn’t want to break apart, you know this. You feel it in the way he gingerly pulls you to his body; the ridges of your formal stays are played with, lingering touches ignite your skin on fire. On the other hand, your leaning into your lover’s touch more; you feel like you’re going to pass out because all you know is how your heart holds out hope for him before you.

“Hajime,” your voice is small when he lets himself and you breathe. His lips curl into a smile when he pressed them against your forehead.

“Tomorrow,” he answers, understanding your concerns. “Tomorrow we can go back to our duties.”

You inhale a deep breath only to create some distance between each other.

“And for tonight?”

He holds your hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles. A mischievous grin on his face makes you insinuate more intimate moments were to follow.

“Tonight stays between us, fiore mia.”

It was not long after his lips crash into yours again, committing his first confession to memory. You inhale sharply, slowly losing yourself into the desire that has ebbed at your heart. His highness must have felt that too considering now his hands raise themselves higher when your own wrap around thee base of his neck, pushing him further into your figure.

He breathes rather roughly like there is no time to waste; you are too drunk on his touch to care about how wrong this would be if you two were caught. Calloused hands push the fabric you wear a bit higher to expose the scars of your past transgressions—ankle shackles on children who were kept in old houses with crueler leads; you often were a troublemaker in the few houses you stayed in until you reached here by age ten. If the prince sees these scars when opens his eye, he doesn’t say anything; he’s too preoccupied by having you melt into him more. One day you tell him candidly in full, and eventually your scars are where he kisses you the most. For now, though, his focus is on the warmth you provide in the summer heat. He feels you bite his lips, causing a chuckle to escape.

“I think you’re falling for me,” your breath is scalding against his lips, especially when his nose brushes against your cheek.

“Not ‘falling,’” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “Fell.”

You almost bucked up his chin when you raise your head to see if he’s joking. The crowned prince realizes what’s he saying right? That this wasn’t a trick, the dance, speaking to you? Not with the sincerity he’s emoting s he’s listing off various yn-isms he finds makes you worthy of being exclusively his.

“Oikawa’s been waiting for me to do this,” he pauses to make a sign between your lips and his. “with you.”

How quaint, you think when you drape an arm around his shoulder.

“We should be lovers,” he confesses in the quiet space between you. He can’t take the words back just like how you ponder your next words not so carefully either.

“Sweet boy, I thought we already were,” your answer is a dangerous one because you stand on your toes to reach him.

Gently like the seafaring breeze are your kisses; satisfyingly simple and unlike the urgency of his, you teach him what there is to know about being quietly bold. He whispers in your ear where to find him later seeing as he had delayed the speech long enough. You turn him round by the shoulders and politely push him back toward the ballroom. You give yourself a few minutes to calm down, laughing at the way he presses his fingers against his lips making sure your warmth stays there.

What neither of you see is a pair of prying eyes between the rose bushes; the dress of a familiar lady is as red as her face angry up stood on a place where she thought she could reach. It doesn’t do well when the same lady is also an aristocrat’s daughter who usually gets what she wants. And right now, you’re walking behind the young ruler she wishes to marry.

Ever since that night, you tend to have been motivated to end your work early in the garden. The prince formally calls for you to join him at least twice a week for afternoon tea or for you to accompany him to the knights barracks. Often during these times, he dismisses those who cater to his every whim, even the queen mother. She doesn’t pick up on the way her son requests your presence, not yet anyway. She thinks it’s grand her son found some lady to confide in, which is odd considering the company her son keeps consists of his two head knights and a king whom assumed the throne quite young in another neighboring estate to the east. Does the queen wish it was an aristocratic lady of noble pedigree? Sure, but as it stands, she doesn’t mind the blossoming friendship between her son and you.

During those days when you are called to be by his side for hours on end, you ponder what is it about you that vexes him so. One day, you come to aid him in the barracks after hearing a young squire came to defend his commander during a bout. You don’t inquire why the prince doesn’t choose the physician, but here you are tending to a rough injury during a sword cut from a drill. The blonde squire who was injured protecting his master from a sore loser on the ground grumbles curses after the prince makes his name known as the next to take the kingdom vows for knighthood. You stand in the back, waiting for the cheers to die down and you’re able to escort the lad to a stone bench. You bring a healing sauce and bandages. Honestly, in your opinion, the squire is of age and should be taking his oath soon. You kneel down in front of him, asking him to hold out his arm.

“Lady?” his voice is gruff.

“Yes?” You dismiss the others except for the prince who watches your movements. You hold his arm steady, inspecting the wound for any other debris.

“Are you always this kind?” the boy asks.

“And are you always getting into fights Kyōtani?” Your dabbing the salve now. “Be mindful this will sting like all hell, ok?”

Her braces himself and he slightly whimpers when you place the fabric on there.

“I’ll make quick work of this. Hand me the rest of the ribbon… excellent.”

You wrap and secure the bandage in an efficient manner. The blonde looks away from you for a moment, slightly pink in the face before running off. The rest of the training session, he was seen polishing and sharpening blades. Although, you were currently preoccupied by the hands of a royal which held you up against a cold wall.

“How many kisses are you going to steal from me?” You tease, punching your captor softly on the chest.

“As many as you like,” is his reply.

“Then give them all to me.”

Your feet barely touch the floor as he uses the wall to support you when he bunches your skirts higher than your knees. He holds you steady by the waist until your legs hang from the side of his hips. Clattering of teeth in the silence makes it possible for you to swallow more groans of pleasure from him the further you let this kiss steal the air in your lungs. It doesn’t take very long for him to find the correct path to give you both more privacy. Bruising lips create marks well hidden by your stays and bustier come the daylight hours. A few steps more and the door is completely closed behind you, a bed is nearby and you are too drunk on his teasing touches to care where you are. All you know is that you wish he’d hurry up and untie your garments because as it stands, he is making it very hard for you to keep breathing with how harshly his kisses become.

“Stay the night?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

It doesn’t take very long before you find yourself waking up in a room you don’t belong in. The first time this happened, nothing occurred. You sent word to your teachers saying the prince was not feeling the best and had requested you monitor him. Fine. The second and third were the weather’s fault: the last of the rain and the beginnings of the autumnal season had begun. Running around stealing baked goods with said prince was enough to have the kitchen staff notice the growing friendship between you two. Some say friendship, others think the prince is taken with you. Whatever the case may be, you don’t give off any other boundary defining snippets except when you argue with him over who makes the best croissants.

Regardless, you’re lying awake, half dressed and behind you, you feel him breathe heavily. Last night you almost thoroughly lost yourselves in the throes of young love, but you decided it was for the best to not engage in such activities. You don’t wish to be a royal concubine, you had your eyes set on taking your teacher’s apothecary spot. The prince honors this request, understanding if the roles were reversed he would advise the same thing. You try to shuffle out of the comfortable bed only to be drawn back into the warmth of his embrace.

“Not yet,” his groggy voice brought up some amusement in these hours.

“We have to go,” you whisper back.

Breathing in your scent from your shoulder, he turns you round to see him above you. There is a lazy smile on his face when he’s sees how flustered you are staring up at his bare chest.

“No, we don’t,” he scoops you up in one arm to place morning kisses along your exposed neckline. The chemise you wore had silence that easily slide off if he’s being bold enough. You echo his words when you prop yourself up, breathing in between the languid kisses your lover plants against your neck. You keep him here in your arms safe from the outside responsibilities just as he keeps you safe here in his chambers. Both of you decide to stay a little while longer, lingering in each other’s touches. With a final kiss on your brow, you effortlessly hold his chin in your hands. You bring him to eye level, inquiring about a certain thing even a prince can’t ignore:

“Your highness, don’t you have a meeting with the aristocracy today?”

“Ugh… don’t remind me,” he frowns. “They’re now trying to sell me their daughters to wed.”

You dropped your hand leaning in against the pillow there.

“I see… well then,” you move quicker than he does out of the bed bc that is not yours. “I shouldn’t keep you from that.”

You are dressed in the garments from last night and before your counterpart can stand, he hears the passageway door open and close. Today was the first of many when you decided to create more distance between your visits with him. What a day for hell to have frozen over, your thoughts circulated your mind enough to have you some out when trimming some of the nightshade blooms. The gardener seems to have noticed at this point and you apologize for not listening fully.

“Seems you’re preoccupied by something,” he says.

There’s a laughter across the promenade at the gazebo where you see the queen converse with green guests. One of which seems familiar, then it clicks. The same girl you saw at the gala; the one who haughtily walks away from the prince and friendly king. You see her parent with her while the queen laughs at a joke; suddenly you’re reminded of your place. You excuse yourself from the gardener’s care, mentioning you weren’t feeling well.

“Too much sun?” Your company asks, motioning for a child in the garden to escort you to your room.

“Something like that.”

The older man looks down at his grandchild with instructions to deliver a message to the prince. The kid looks back between you and their grandfather, the realization on the child’s face is priceless.

“Take care of her,” he says, patting the kid’s shoulder. Off you went with the child, who you find out wishes to take over in their grandfather’s stead. As they prattle on, you could not help glancing over your shoulder as the prince, who’s bed you keep warm during this season, greets his mother.

“I saw you speak with Lady—Hajime?” His mother’s voice seems distant as she sees what or rather who has her son’s attention. She sees you being escorted out of the gardens, a hand on your head checking to see if you were ill. Glancing between your disappearing figure and her son, she sees his concern on his brow. Surely hiding romantic feelings from the woman who raised you would be a rather difficult task, but alas even Prince Iwazumi Hajime is impervious to a mother’s intuition.

“Yes?”

“A word,” she excuses them from their (her company) instructing the other father-daughter to enjoy the garden.

As they create more distance, away from prying ears, a mother consults her son. She gives her son a pointed stare.

“Son, be honest with me,” she begins. Moss green eyes reflect her own with a sentiment of dejectedness in them. “How long?”

“Mother,” his voice is pleading at best.

“How long Hajime?”

“…since the gala…” he mumbles his answer.

His mother sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. She turns over her shoulder to see her esteemed guests walking around another set of bougainvillea bushes before she returns her sights to her son.

“You can have your fun for now, but as it stands, she is a better match for you in status alone,” is all the advice she gives before being embraced by her son.

Even if it’s for a short or long time, the prince knows his mother was looking out for his best interest.

Currently, you’re laying down in your room’s couch, a headache from the sun was roaring its way in between your ears. The child from earlier was dismissed by you after fetching some juice and fever reducing potions. Your fever came next though as you were sitting down with the apothecary who served you a portion of clear broth and some bread with meat and cheese. He rests the palm of his hand over your forehead and he confirms you’re suspicions.

“Fevers are usual this time of year my dear girl,” he says.

You smirk as you sip your tea.

“Get some rest and worry not about the affairs of the castle. I’ll see to it word reaches a certain boy prince to not visit for a few days time since the people wish to see their future ruler healthy.”

“Of course,” your voice is a bit hoarse now too since the meats you had were of a smokey variety.

Approximately six days later, you are seen by the handmaids you know to travel with a certain grand king. The solstice for this season is around the corner when you enter the library, which for right now, is in a disarray. Certain chefs along side other personnel were searching the cookbooks for feast-day meal ideas. The others were interior decorators looking to spruce up the space in its entirety. You were honestly looking for refuge from the eyes of a certain lady who seemed to have nothing more than her claim as future queen. In the back corners of the second level of the library, by the stained glass window, you sit on the floor with a sketch book filled with your own parchment drawings of certain flowers and their healing properties; to your right were the books on the winter flora and spring fauna that’s sprout sightings as early or as late in the year here in the kingdom. A few paint brushes were left behind in your room while you were recovering from said brush of fever chills by the gardener and his grandchild as a get well soon gift, thankful your pockets in your dress were deep enough to carry them along with the bottle of ink you typically used to make calligraphy notes.

Moments later, there is a commotion downstairs as royal greetings were heard, and you were unbothered to check who had entered. Clearly it was someone higher than the friend of the prince. The queen just that morning mentioned she had extended invitations to the neighboring kingdoms as it was their turn to host the solstice festivities. Hushes were heard delicately placed as a familiar voice is heard giving the tour of the castle. You keep writing the notes you had begun to make as the company exits. Regardless of who they were, you were sure you;d be introduced when the party makes their way to your shared workshop a day later. For right now, you’re able to research in peace.

In your efforts to create some distance between yourselves, the crowned prince paces his room. His friends who keep his company are sharing a carafe of aged liquor amongst them. The chess game is long since abandoned while the young men speak of their latest conquest. One ought to be wise when dealing with the affairs of bedding and the like since one was a king, the other a future ruler, the third a flirtatious smart ass, and the fourth the most loyal of the women he has thoroughly fucked in times of peace.

“And you? Have you bed that apothecary girl yet?” Crowns lay forgotten on the end tables by the ottoman in the solarium.

“Judging by how red he is turning, I think our lovely friend has not,” the knight has a wolffish smile. “I wonder why that is especially when Mattsun here has seen the lady sneak out of your room multiple times…”

Iwazumi sees Mattsukawa shake his head violently when the knight feels the eyes of his commander on him.

“Ohohoho, Iwa-chan you dog,” Oikawa’s eyes turn into amused crescents.

Iwazumi sighs, his blush almost completely disappearing. A cross look on his furrowed brows reads as something opposite of what his friends insinuated.

“She refuses me every time I bring it up,” the prince sits dejectedly on the nearest chair. “Something about not being the right fit for me.”

“Right fit?” Oikawa repeats. The other two, Hanamaki and Mattsukawa figure it out before Iwazumi has a chance to explain.

“Lower status, is what she means,” Mattsukawa rubs his chin. Hanamaki leans back against his own chair closing his eyes before he slaps his leg with a large smile on his face.

“Whatever you’re about to propose, I want no part in it,” Iwazumi says with his hands raised in innocence. Mattsukawa agrees to this as well.

“Fine, I’ll have his majesty do it then,” Hanamaki states eyeing said king. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, knight the lady?”

“…excuse me?” Iwazumi grumbles. “Oikawa can’t just knight a lady, can you?”

“Why not?” Oikawa questions. He straightens up his posture. “I’m a king who aims to please my friends, and be it as it may, you are quite taken with YN-san, so who am I stand in your way of happiness?”

“Besides,” Mattsukawa leans forward, folding his arms over his thighs. “Wouldn’t you be able to actively court her if she were a true lady of Oikawa’s court? Your mother seemed very adamant about letting word get out her only son is in love with an apothecary apprentice.”

The four men talk about the plans to have you knighted properly by the time the second day of the festivities are in full swing. A fifth, a squire who is supposed to take his vows to uphold the kingdom’s safety with his life, is asked to be a witness to the title being bestowed upon you. The boy is said to be one year younger than the prince whom he looks up to, yet he is a bit rough around the edges, however he does befriend you one afternoon when he received a rather harsh punishment for speaking his opinion during a capture the flag exercise. He recalls you showing him kindness and is actually one of the few young squires you trust with your life especially since he covered for you when he witnesses the prince exit the balcony of your room. You inform him of the truth and though he isn’t bothered by the story of your private affair, you are grateful he chooses to not blabber to the gossips in the court since a certain lady caller was still with her father for the entirety of the winter season.

Lady Riz is not an easy woman to scare off, she is rather brazen in the ways she attempts to start flirting with anything and everything the prince does. You encourage them to keep meeting, much to the prince’s dismay for his reasons are as follows: “She doesn’t understand why I can’t be with her one-hundred percent of the time”; “That woman is an emotional leech, draining me of my energy,” he rests his head on your lap for that one; “The lady bores me so much with her ignorant speech about those of lower rankings and says I should start speaking down to my personal staff. Can you believe that?” That one stung the most. Lately, even with the festival beginning, the prince and you rarely see each other, something that must have been remedied according to the squire whom you’ve formed a friendly bond with. He notices the toll it has on you as your room certainly gains a few additions: plants, books, medical texts, etc crowd the various tables at the moment.

In the end of your reflective moments for the year’s end as the festivities were a week long, while you were retiring for the night, not really wanting to go see the last bit of the floating lanterns traditions, you’re sudddenly pulled by the hand into a darkened hallway. You almost scream, except you hear a familiar voice in your ear stating to calm down.

“You’re going to be the death of me I swear,” your voice is as harsh as winter’s first frost. You turn to face an apologetic lover who seemed to be a bit anxious because he would have spoiled the surprise awaiting you in the underground grotto (it runs into a hot spring you discovered last spring).

“Come with me for a while,” he says lightly pecking your forehead. “Seems I forgot how you enchant me when we are alone.”

“Lead the way your highness,” is all he heard you say before squeezing your hand, giving you a final kiss on your cold lips.

The path is a familiar one you reason as you pass by the ivy covered stones and slicked moss walls. Prince and you walk behind the other, no hands being held until a certain checkpoint has been past. It was to keep the appearance of formal etiquette when following a royal in those days. Candles and such line the walls every couple of yards until you see a group of men dressed in formal attire—a rare sight indeed it was to see knights and said squire out of their chainmail (amongst other armors). The only one to be wearing any defining pieces of regalia were Oikawa (who stood on a pedestal in the center of the grotto) with his everyday crown adorning his head and, of course, the prince whose crown was replaced for the season with the one made of silver and white gold. Hanamaki and Mattsukawa each hold a few things you’ve heard about when a knight does eventually take his final oaths prior to donning the garb of a sentry. The other set in the chest, apparently, is meant as a gift. For who, you don’t really think you need to know just yet.

“I feel very underdressed at the moment,” you said when all of them greet you. You in return bow to those of higher status, and as you straighten back up, you notice how quickly the prince lets your hand go.

“Don’t worry, yn,” Oikawa begins. “I’ve knighted people who have worn less before, you’re fine.”

“Oh, hah,” you peer to your left looking at the lad from earlier. “Congrats then Kyotani.”

“He wasn’t talking about me alone, yn-san,” the squire says.

You turn to face the friendly king who at the moment has a rather obnoxious smile on his face. To his left stands your lover, proud and tall, nodding this was indeed a thing that is about to happen.

“A-are you sure?” You stutter. “This might be too much.”

“Yes,” Oikawa answers. “Is it really too much if a king wishes to see his childhood best friend be with the woman he loves most in the world? And if elevating your status is the way your relationship can come out of hiding, so be it. I am of course elated to oblige…Kneel whenever you’re ready YN.”

You do as you’re asked almost immediately, focusing on the dirt accumulating on your knees, the shoes of those around you, right before you hear the unsheathing of Oikawa’s sword, you take a deep breath. Upon the exhale you repeat the vows that would forever change your life (and the future way you are to be treated).

“By the gods above us and the people here to witness this act, I, King Oikawa Tooru, dub thee YLN, YN, grand duchess of the northern skies,” this causes Iwazumi to stare wide eyed at his friend as the shock settles in. You were only supposed to be knighted to lady, not a duchy. Oikawa makes a hand sign to Hanamaki holds a bronze arm band which rests high on your upper arm. You rise shortly thereafter before asking the question on everyone’s mind:

“Have you completely lost your mind? The northern territories are going to riot because they had no ruler since their duke died,” you glare as you finally stand in equal footing with the royals ahead of you.

“No, I haven’t,” Oikawa stays his ground. “Because I looked into it. Although the duchy is vacant, I’ve had scholars and scribes look into the family tree of the dearly departed and a rather nice piece of juicy intel was revealed. Tell me, your grace, have you ever known your lineage?”

Silence ensured shortly thereafter. You answer the king’s questions efficiently and when the official documents are signed nearly twelve hours later, you are suddenly called into the court of which you serve. Guests whisper as you are escorted by familiar two guards nod with Hanamaki on your left and Mattsukawa on your right, you bow as you extend your greetings to the woman on the throne.

“King Oikawa has informed me of a rather intriguing secret,” she says rising from her chair. “He mentions he discovered a bastard offspring of an egotistical duke and handmaid, both of whom are dead.”

“Mother,” Iwazumi tries to spare you his mother’s ire, but fails as she reluctantly tears into you calling you liar, fool, and thief. You, in your humble commoner’s clothes stand tall as the insults and whispers are hurled around or on to your persona.

“What you speak of is news to me my queen,” you have a chance for retribution, so you steady your quivering hand. “For I have no right to claim anything other than what his royal majesty had bestowed upon me in title alone.”

“Now why would he do such a thing? Hmm?” Her lips are taut into a tight line, like her son when he is enraged.

“Because he couldn’t bear seeing his best friend, his royal highness, lose his opportunity at a love best hidden from prying eyes, so forgive them both for trying to aid a girl who fell for a good man,” your words are filled with wisdom in their earnest honesty. “You can do with me as you see fit your majesty, but since I have a duchy to run, I pray this season does it’s best to shake you to your senses.”

You turn on your heel without so much as a bow nor a farewell. The prince has a wicked smile on his face ignoring her calls for him to return to her side, choosing to follow you with a ready mind. The queen quiets down as she watches her son call after you with a pep in his step before he runs to the woman who ought to rule one day. Before the doors do close, your prince takes your hand only to make sure his mother sees her son kiss the duchess soundly on the mouth before scurrying off to the northern territories.

“He loves her auntie. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it they are safe,” her son’s closest friend said as he too follows the lovers’ lead.

King Oikawa immediately bows to his friend’s mother prior to following both of you out of the court laughing about how lion like you truly are. Hanamaki and Mattsukawa exit after their kingly friend while looking at the stunned court mentioning something about how the north seemed to be sparkle in the winter months. The lady and her father from many weeks past are ultimately baffled by this meeting thereby withdrawing their running to be considered candidates for a royal match.

Clarity comes one evening at the one dinner table—the queen dines with her company who celebrate her husband’s death anniversary. A somber day indeed is now filled with a memory which over plays on her head while flashes of raising their son when she roams her garden freely.

“I don’t want to marry out of convenience mother,” young prince Hajime says. A scowl on his lips he has yet to break the habit of using. His father kneels down to pick up his decade old first born, glancing at his wife with a wink.

“Then if not for convenience, how about love hmm?” The king asks.

“Love?” The boy closes his eye and ponders. He closes his small fist and imitates his father’s mannerism when deciding upon an idea. “If I fall recklessly in love with someone, then I’d marry them!”

“Haha! Spoken like a true prince!” The king raises his son into the air before placing him back down.

At the time, the queen laughs just like she did now. The tree where the memory took place in front of now has began to bloom again.

The past couple of days there had been many a fine one; there is a trained falcon delivering letters to the queen’s room. No doubt the letters come from her son who did take the last bit of wisdom his father gave him to heart. The note as of late includes an inscription in your handwriting: ‘know that an invitation is to follow if you’ll have us.’ And for the first time in a long while, the queen sends the falcon back with a personal script mentioning she will be looking forward to it.

Come the spring, your new estate is restored to its former glory. You’ve met the city councilmen as you explain to them you are not here to discredit their progress, but rather are here as a figurehead for all official meetings with certain nobles. Those who were older seemed to have been open to the idea while their sons and grown grandsons were a bit weary of your expertise on certain subjects. However, your dedication in the willingness to learn is what turned them to raise your popularity. Does it help your beau is the crown prince? A little, but for the time being, he is a fantastic tutor in running stately affairs as your esteemed guest, the one who had the authority to give you said title.

For now, though the sun has set, your books remained opened on the desk, yet you are forced to take a break especially since a certain young man had pinned you to your bed. It doesn’t take very long for clothing to be discarded and a rustling of sheets to be heard while a quick, “shh, not so loud,” is heard from you. You cup his face as he seemed to settle between your legs, a chuckle rumbles through his chest. Teasing touches across the exposed parts of you with his hands serves as a reminder this was a very real practice; it’s something this lover of yours always does since the first time you’ve let him come this far.

“Are saying that more for yourself or for me beautiful girl?” his voice is always like this when he’s about to bed you. Again. For the fifth time that day.

You arch your back to have his lips meet yours before he eventually gets to hear his name be pulled from your lips in hoarse tones. Bruises from the last time have started to fade, so naturally you ask him to start slow, yet he treats you as gently as he can. If this is how your days start and end with him, you’d both learn to proclaim your studies (or meetings) over at a reasonable hour. Your scarred ankles are always kissed last and one night you told him how they came to exist, but he doesn’t mind because you are the most beautiful person to him. No titles are said to have been heard come from this room allegedly, but those who now serve here only know that their lady is just as satisfied as her lover.

Courting rituals are thrown to the wayside you’ve imagined. Yet with a cat like grin, you beckon your exclusive royal to carry on since, after all, he has all the time in the world to remind you who you truly belong to.

[the-blind-geisha]

Hello, I hope your having a wonderful day. I wasn't sure if requests were open or not but I'd thought I toss one in anyway. It was a request for Demiurge. So I had this idea in mind of a SB reader meeting an unfortunate end. However thanks to Ainz they have been revived but lost a few levels and something else, their memory. No memories of anyone or anything besides their name. I was thinking what if Demiurge and SB reader had confessed their feelings for eachother right before SB reader lost their memories. I wondering what lengths would Demiurge go to bring SB reader's memories back or just the pain he may be in. You can have it end in fluff or leave it at angst. Thank you for your time reading this.

Thank you so much for the lovely idea, anon. It was a beautiful request. ♥

Chapter 28: SB MC - Lost to Time

Leaning closer, she rested her head against his chest. The demon stiffened for a moment at the act, continuing to dance regardless.

The black aspect wings of the devil spawned from his back as the dance slowly began to come to an end. Embracing her tightly within them, he had forgotten his place compared to her. She smells so nice, he thought to himself, bringing her closer. I wish I could just…

“Demiurge?”

Hearing his name, his eyes opened, showing the glittering jewels beneath the lids. Realizing what he was doing, he quickly pulled away in a panic. “F-Forgive me, my Lady! It was not my intention to step so boldly out of line!” He nearly curled into a submissive bow.

Seeing him recoil, she sighed to herself. He was falling back into what he saw as ‘his place in line’. “Demiurge,” she began sternly, “you are not in any trouble. If anything, I appreciate you for being so honest in your emotions just now.”

“Mm?” He wasn't expecting that response, causing him to bring himself back to normal posture. “Still, my Lady, I should at least be allowed to give you something as an apology.”

She shook her head, denying that thought. “There’s no need, for I am not mad.”

His gloved hand pressed against his chest. “Please, my Lady. Even so, there must be something I can give you if this world is not what you so seek.”

She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “Anything?” It had to be simple. Knowing Demiurge, he would destroy the world just to make her happy. “Alright, how about a flower?”

“A flower?” He fixed his glasses on the slope of his nose.

“Yes, a flower.” She tilted her head to the side, smiling innocently. “I believe I saw a blue lotus flower within the woodlands about here somewhere. They are a rarity where I was once from, Demiurge. Well, flowers are in general, to be honest.” She curled her fingers upon her chest, looking away from him. “But, a blue lotus flower would be a beautiful thing to have.”

He bowed before her. “Then I shall grant you such a thing.”

“One more thing, Demiurge.” When he looked at her, she continued, “I do not want you to destroy anything or kill anybody just to fetch me this gift. Leave the world at peace as you do so.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” said the devil, swearing such with a noble bow once more.

[chatonne-rousse]

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her.  ILY, my friend!  

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.

[supremeinlilac]

Greiving for something not lost

Sally Mckenna x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Canon death, mentions of suicide, grief, slight mention of nsfw activities but it’s literally nothing.

A/n: Here’s the exchange gift for @cissa-calls , and I hope it’s not too dark for you :/ I researched a lot of Greek Mythology because you said you enjoyed it so it’s based around a myth, although as always I got carried away so it ended up only being a small portion. I hope you like it :))

Instead of taking the direct route to the Cortez, you idled down the backstreets of LA, one hand stuffed deeply into your pocket as you scuffed feet against stones on the path. It did little to clear the fog in your brain after yet another argument with Sally, it was always too loud in the city and you seemed to never be able to silence it enough to think.

Sally had promised you, time and time again that the next job would be the last, and you clutch at the hopes that each time she’d be telling the truth. Each time you’d fumble with fingers against the hem of her jacket and beg her to stay, and she’d pry them off and tell you not to follow her.

“The Hotel Cortez is not a place for you babe,” she’d say, and then she’d be gone.

Usually, you’d accept that, and would wait by the window for glimpses of her silhouette along the street when she’d returned. Your heart would thrum in protest against your ribs almost painfully until you’d see her safe again. This time, you’d both cried and fumed. Neither understood the other, neither wanting to admit that they feared what that meant.

Your other hand held a small spray of white anemones, and an apology scribbled on paper. You had to rehearse it before you met with her again, she seemed to be able to sense when you weren’t genuine. You’d wanted flowers of a darker colour, they were more Sally, but had had to settle with that of purity and innocence. Not Sally at all, but you were still too proud and stubborn to stalk around more shops to find the perfect gift for her when you’d both been in the wrong.

The detour meant you’d probably find your girlfriend already high, stumbling aimlessly around rooms with that grin on her face that always made you want to kiss it off her. No doubt that tonight would end as it always did. Possessive and passionate in your shared bed. Sometimes you wouldn’t even reach it. Sorry with Sally was always spoken through sex.

The thought of apologising through kisses and softly idle fingertips had your pace quickening, and the guilt heating up within you. You didn’t like fighting with Sally, and you sure as hell didn’t like what you fought about, but you loved to bribe her back to you this way. But as you turned the corner to the hotel, the guilt in your stomach dropped into that of dread, and a lump formed so quickly in your throat that you felt you would choke on it with what you saw.

Aphrodite had warned Adonis about the dangers, just like you had Sally, and yet, here they both lay. It was as if her body blurred into two with your tears, two lovers, separated by the cruel twist of deaths knife in a hollow chest.

You seemed to be able to do nothing but stagger towards her, vision smoky and you prayed it was a dream. That you may stir in the sheets beside Sally, and she’d reach to still your tremors like the silent hand of a god against the rumble of an earthquake. Be still my love, do not fear what can not hurt you. I’m here, reach for me.

Now, you wished for something as merciful as a dream.

Her face paled to grey as you neared, and the world seemed to fall away. Passers by seemed unaffected as hurried feet carried them home, anxious to block out the city with thick blinds and gentle music. Your despair willowed to nothing, a commotion simply on the other side of the road wasn’t a rarity. The city had seen it all before.

It turns out the Hotel Cortez wasn’t a place for her either.

You felt like throwing yourself to the ground beside her, bare knees scraping against the harsh pavement, yet you’d welcome the pain beside your lover. White noise filled your ears, and only the blaring of car horns could cut through its insistent ringing. You couldn’t even hear yourself crying for help to anyone who might listen.

Her eyes were wide, glassy and pleading, but you saw no life in them. The glass gave way to murky water and it was clear you’d reached her too late. Defeated, you crumpled beside her, flowers forgotten in leu of pressing lips to her temple and whispering the apology as if it may be heard by her soul and it might return to her body. To you.

You wanted to close her eyes with gentle fingertips but feared that if she stopped seeing you then it would be the end. That it would mean she was gone.

A flower sprang where he lay, hours after Adonis’ death, a deep crimson anemone that bore the shade of his blood. Born from the sweet nectar from Aphrodite’s hand, the wildflower bloomed. Beautiful trauma.

The flowers on the ground by your side seemed to wilt, sensing the sour odour of deaths passing, they hung their heads in mourning and shrank into their petals. Heavy with grief. White anemones turned red under the suns dying love, its light bowing behind the buildings so it may pretend to have not bared silent witness to souls divided.

Aphrodite pleaded for her lover’s life in the underworld, so he could be with her once again in life. You would have plead as she did, knelt and sold your soul for Sally to be returned. You would have done as Aphrodite did, if you thought it would help. If you thought that someone could see your pain and render it pure enough to grant the impossible.

In the real world, there are no gracious second chances for such a fickle thing as love.

And now, it seemed that the Hotel Cortez would be her place, tied to her always in death.

You stayed by her side until the coroner arrived to take her away. You couldn’t cry, instead just watched through eyes of steel as the back doors of the van were slammed obnoxiously, ringing in your ears long after it had pulled away and been lost to the traffic. You vaguely registered someone’s hand on your shoulder, a soothing motion, talking as if underwater, muffled and unintelligible. You felt like you were barely clinging to driftwood on an unsettled sea, each swell of a wave bigger than the last.

In shock- you heard someone say. Suicide. That broke your haze.

When you’d got home that night, the silence had screamed at you. It had been too quiet to sleep, and you ached for the way she’d blast music loud enough to warrant the neighbours complaints the next day, so you’d have to bake horrendously in the kitchen cookies as apologies. Or when she’d strum against her guitar and the gentle tones would pull you from your work and into her lap to watch her fingers manipulate the instrument into art.

You craved the shrill laughter of Sally when she’d prank you childishly, how she’d pull you towards her and you’d see how joy creased her face beautifully. You’d always want to make her laugh and brush the pads of curious fingers over the dimples formed and make her shy away.

You’d never hear her song again, you realised, blinking away tears when the guitar propped in the corner caught your eye. Chest heaving painfully, you half wanted to grasp it by the neck and slam it against the ground over and over until anger diffused and you could cry into its shards. The other half, the winning half, wanted to pick it up and set it against you, ghost fingers over its strings so the thrum was barely audible. She’d played this tune, taught you this tune, and you vowed you’d never forget it. Fingers in her shadow, you ran them over the smooth wood, eyes closed and head back on the sofa.

She was everywhere in the apartment, and it only served to remind you that she was also nowhere.

The suffocating hands of her absence pressed against you, a ribbon of blackened ash around your ribs, until they threatened to crack under its pressure. Was it possible to miss how she hurt? Your lover, with her wild hair and glassy eyes, you could see her as she was, you would drunk in how she would move. Dancing slowly in an empty room, as if the world were watching her.

Wild hair was born to writhing snakes, and you feared to look directly into her eyes now. Death had claimed her as its own, and you refused to accept her insistent fate. She’d return. You’d look into her eyes and see that of your lover, and not of Medusa. Lungs of stone, how could they swell to receive the gift of a breath without her beside you?

Now you drowned the guilt, drunk in its depths instead of in her eyes.

Stuck in endless loops of questioning what if. What if you hadn’t taken the detour, what if you hadn’t argued, or if you had made her stay instead of letting her leave the apartment? Would she still be alive?

It wasn’t your fault but oh, how that option seemed so sweet in this moment. To be swarmed with an actual reason to hate, how it would be easier than the reality. You’d rather have yourself to blame than have no one. Responsibility for actions you weren’t even sure of. Questions unanswered by police, that would remain unanswered because the only person with the solution was gone. What had happened?

The pressure seemed to build up in your head, an unbearable thickness of thoughts that had nowhere to go but to force themselves down your throat so you’d choke on them, and the feeling of sickness would resurface. They’d swim in your gut like parasite and never still.

It was worse at night.

Distractions were less and your emotions ran so far above you on blackened clouds, so out of reach that you doubted you’d ever be able to wrestle them back into submission. Would they eternally be dancing in mockery and pulling at marionette strings in your limbs? A shell of your former self, only held up by unpredictable emotions that could burn you with their ice just as much as their fire.

After your first day back at work after the incident, you’d returned home exhausted, wanting nothing more than to collapse into yourself on the sofa and cradle one of her jackets. You forgot the lock the door on your way in, and remembered hours later, after the sun had drooped once more that you needed to lock yourself with your thoughts again for the night.

You reached into your handbag, searching for something that seemed menial now, and instead your fingers curled around her packet of cigarettes. You stopped, hand still in the bag, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

It had been the first since that night, raw and salty tears that burned your eyes red and blurred your vision. The kind of crying that wore you to nothing within minutes and had you clutching bony fingers to your chest as if to pry open ribs and reach your lungs. You couldn’t breathe.

Everything caught up with you, and you felt as if you were falling alongside her, scrabbling to find purchase against nothing. The rational side of your brain knew that you wouldn’t crash to the ground, but you couldn’t help but be brought back to her side in that moment, a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t control, circling your head in a way that made you dizzy with your grief.

Her pale face, mottled with the tears of her death invaded your mind, the blood staining the pavement. Suddenly you felt hot with it, as if the sticky blood was covering you, pulling you to drown. You could smell its invasive metallic scent, almost taste its musk in your throat with every breath. It was thick, and you were clawing at your arms to try and wipe it away. It was everywhere, and then it was nowhere, and you wondered why you’d been tricked by grief in the first place.

Shaking, your fingers had flipped open the packet and picked one out. You didn’t smoke, yet trembling hands found the lighter and lips found the filter which already had a smudge of red on it. Almost as if Sally had gone to light it but changed her mind, discarding it back for later use. She never used it again, now it was you that drew in an unsteady breath, drawing the panel door to the side as you took the rest of the cigarettes onto the small apartment balcony you both shared to smoke them, alone.

There was really only room for one person out there at a time, yet you and Sally would huddle together on the nights when the city would keep you awake, and she’d wrap pale arms around your waist and nuzzle her chin into the crook of your neck. Passing her cigarette back and forth you’d overlook the streets below and watch the living.

You’d both used to wonder what it would be like to lead the lives of those people below, those on their way to work before the sun even surfaced over the horizon and set its path for the day. Working before the pair of you had even been asleep. The banality of their routine, oh, how you both pitied them. They’d work boring jobs to pay the rent for the whitewashed walls they’d come home to each night, eat the same meals at the same time, prepared by wives wearing lines of age, deeply set in valleys on their faces. These people always looked older than their years, tired and worn from work and children born to save a marriage already lost.

You’d used to pity them, yet now, you craved the intimacy of a boring life with someone you loved. You’d rather the predictability of this life than the one you had now. Nothing.

On the balcony, you smoked all the remaining cigarettes in the pack. Usually, you didn’t smoke, but you did, just to feel close to her again. Curling your fingers around the butt the way that she used to, and blowing the smoke out, watching it furl and twist into the cold night. You craved the warm roughness of her hands.

She’d kiss you with the lingering taste of those cigarettes, and you’d grown addicted to it. Still, once you’d finished the packet, you’d found yourself unable to rebuy them.

Slowly, you forgot its essence. You felt like you were forgetting her.

In the news, you waited for them to show a photo of Sally, one detached from everything she’d grown to be, beside a headline of death. The low hum of the city news was background noise to your grief, and you ached for someone to care enough to tell about her passing. For weeks, there was nothing. There was nothing and then there was everything, all at once, and in that moment, you knew that you would’ve preferred the nothing.

They said she’d jumped.

They hadn’t known her, and they said she’d jumped.

How dare they when you’d screamed at them until hoarse that she would never, that she promised she would never? The quick solution, one that wouldn’t raise questions, or demand the precious funds of the very system she’d been cheated by, to fork out for justice. She was an addict, they’d said. Painting the sky above her head an angry black, with clouds that swirled with viscous intent. She was a junkie, and therefore the answer was simple.

Death had been an inevitability with a life like that, habits like that. A person such as that.

You wasted grief on your anger, long nights where you’d clutch the phone to your mottled cheek with whitening knuckles, cursing everyone who’d rendered your love unimportant. You’d fall asleep on hold to police that had no more answers for you, no more pitied excuses and apologies for a loss they knew nothing about.

And it was on one of those long nights, when you sought for comfort that could be not offered by the living, that you reach for the memory of the dead. Running fingers deliberately slowly over the clothes that hung in the wardrobe, fingering through her dresses on the railing before slowly closing the door again, leaning against it and sinking to the floor.

You’d opened all her drawers that night, some for the first time. Spritzed her dresses with her perfume that still stood on the mantle, revitalised Sally in the apartment with her smell. It was as if you were back to then, when she’d return from work, stroppy and tired, yet still reach for her perfume and generously sprayed the air that she’d then dance into.

Picking one of her band shirts out of the drawer, you slipped your shirt off and replaced it with hers. It was soft cotton, the one she’d most frequently sleep in, and it brought you warmth like her hugs used to, arms enclosing you and grounding you in moments of fear.

You slept in it that night. Telling yourself that that would be it and then it would return to the drawer. But one night stretched painfully into three, and you found yourself unable to sever the small mercy you’d given yourself in wearing her clothes, the attachment to her that only you would know when you walked the street. No one else knew the chain you wore were hers, the boots, the dress. No one knew sally because there was no one left to know.

It had been a year since that day.

You’d woken with a headache and turned over in bed, wanting to shelter yourself from the day with blankets, sleep until the moon shone and the day turned into the next. You knew you could do that, but guilt had you pulling on the covers and groaning as the sunlight poured like liquid through the slit in the curtains.

It was going to be a long day. You already felt tired.

Pulling one of Sally’s band shirts over your head, you traipsed sluggishly through the apartment, purposefully ignoring the mess, like she would after a night of drinking. Not that it mattered today. You unhooked Sally’s oversized jacket from the peg and slumped it over your shoulder. Today was the day, you’d decided. You were going to visit her grave.

In the past year, you’d planned to visit her grave on several occasions, but avoided it at the last second. You couldn’t stand the thought of Sally trapped there, tied to the soil when she should be dancing upon it with you.

Sally couldn’t be tied down to a single place, she moved freely, without reign. It was how she liked it, and how you’d learned to love her. Labels had never been her thing. And now she was labelled on stone, with a corny phrase that she’d hate, with a date too early, a life too short. Sally deserved to be free.

She was the wind, unpredictable and changing and wild, she would go where she pleased and return on the breeze. Sally would’ve hated being buried, and yet through the selfish need to have a real place to visit her, she had been. You can’t capture the wind in bare hands, can’t collar it or tame it and make it beg. It controls you and you have no choice but to concede to it.

That was Sally.

Even now, a year later, you found yourself faltering. The gates of the cemetery loomed ahead of you, and your hands bunched at the material of your pants nervously. You could feel it calling, begging almost, for you to simply reach out and push the gate open with a metallic creak of protest. To visit the place you’d always avoided.

But just as you always did, you lost your nerve, sighing and peering down the road for a reason to be drawn away. For a distraction, even just for a moment. An excuse to gather your thoughts just enough to face your lover.

A corner shop caught your eye, with the newspapers in the windows just begging for customers. How convenient. Stuffing hands into pockets, you strode over the road with new purpose.

Dragging yourself down the claustrophobic aisles in the store, you distracted yourself with exited colours on packaging, picking items of shelves and replacing them further down the aisle. You didn’t care for tidiness today.

When a shop attendant asked you if you needed any help, you gave him a sad smile in appreciation and picked up a small bunch of white anemone flowers, her flowers. Last year, they’d been a peace offering, this year, an apology. The employee shuffled along again, and you set your eyes down to the floor.

Flowers in hand, you made your way to the till, placing them delicately onto the counter and fiddling for coins in your coat. You hadn’t planned on buying anything, so neglected to bring your wallet. Luckily, this was a coat you’d not worn since Sally’s death, and she was a fan of keeping loose change in the deep pockets.

“Is that everything for today?” the woman behind the till chirped with the voice of someone with long experience in public services. It cried out in tired falsity, in ‘how long have I left on my shift?’ It was a line well-rehearsed and overused.

Just as you were about to nod in answer, your eyes caught the tobacco cabinet behind the bored check out assistant. “What brand?” She asked pointedly, and you stared dumbly past her. Had Sally ever bought cigarettes from this store? Shaking out the thought from your mind, you answered her, asking for Sally’s brand and quickly paying and leaving.

Outside the shop, you held the package tentatively in your palm, fingering at the packaging as she used to when she was nervous. She’d wrap a tune with her chipped nails against the boxes edge, and you’d coax it from her, and dip her under the moonlight in your arms. Now, holding the cigarettes held no comfort for you, feeling both foreign and familiar, it left you aching for her.

Still, you found yourself unable to visit her grave. It was all too real to see where she lay. You needed something tying Sally to you that wasn’t so physical. You laughed to yourself. How ironic it was, to force her into a grave for something so trivial as to have a place to call her resting place, only to find yourself too weak to face your choice.

Instead, you took a left, and then another, and then a right, and continued until you could no longer smell your own fear in the air with the concept of her grave. Deeper into the city, where the pollution stained white houses grey, you could breathe clearly again. Guilt will consume a person, clog their lungs with it until their breathing is laborious and the weight drags them down into their thoughts.

You’d walked this route before, one year before, with white anemones and an apology in hand. You’d never gotten to tell Sally what you’d wanted, but perhaps you’d take her the flowers, and smoke her cigarettes in the window where she’d fell. You’d tell her what you didn’t get the chance to.

The hotel was just as you remembered it, flickering neon 34w`lights that read ‘Hotel Cortez’, and the eery alleys and parked cars that seemed to be in the same position as the year prior. It was as if time had paused, hotel residents left their cars and had never returned to them.

You weren’t really aware of yourself in that moment, feet leading a silent path as you found yourself stuck in a memory. When you reached the place you found her, your feet faltered, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the paving.

The pavement was clear, physically untainted, and any normal pedestrian would question your loitering. But although it appeared to be clean, you know because you’ve seen, you’ve remembered. The pain that would still remain, deep in the cracks of the paving stone, no matter how much scrubbing the clean up team undoubtably did after Sally’s body was removed, they couldn’t remove. They couldn’t fade the scarring, or the feeling of death that overcame you when you stared at the place she’d laid.

Someone bumped your shoulder as they passed on the street, muttered remarks about people standing in the middle of the street, and you raised your eyes to watch them walk away. When you looked back at the stone, the connection to it had been lost, and you found yourself unable to re-enter the trance you’d been in.

Pressing through the hotel doors, you left the light of the sun behind, left the living, and joined the death of the dusky lobby. Wondering through its room, you imagined Sally doing the same, with confident strides and a purpose. It was a nice place for downtown LA, you had to admit, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that came with it, of being watched by invisible eyes in the walls. The feeling one gets when you visit a place where death rules over occupants.

You looked up to the next floor, and swore you saw a flash of an animal print coat moving behind the barriers. No. Must’ve been the lighting change from coming inside.

A woman pointed you towards the bar, and you nodded towards her. Did all visitors come for the hotels bar? She seemed to know exactly what you needed, tired eyes searching for something not quite there.

In the bar, you drank and you smoked and spoke with the woman behind the bar who must’ve noticed the void behind your eyes. She didn’t question you, why you were alone, just slid extra drinks across the table with a wink and a smile. You didn’t return it, opting for a grateful grimace instead.

All of a sudden, the smell of Sally’s perfume seemed to melt into your senses, overpowering that of the cigarette, and the liquor, until your head swam with memories linked with its scent. You didn’t remember spraying it this morning, and it confused you. It was so strong, and real. It didn’t seem like your brain was tricking you with its musk, like it so often would with a silhouette against the apartment window.

Suffocated by Sally. You drowned in its poetry.

Searching for its origin, your eyes roamed the bar. It was real, you figured. Turning on the bar stool, your eyes met those that you thought you’d forgotten, and you found they were exactly like you remembered. Sally stood, leant against the wall opposite you, arms folded at her chest yet wearing cheeks stained with tears and widened eyes. You scrambled out of your chair, and the world fell away from you. You didn’t even try and catch it when she was next to you.

You palmed at your eyes, begging yourself to wake up from what must be a dream. Despite knowing she wasn’t real, you ached for your mind to stay in this fantasy so at least you wouldn’t be alone. Removing your hands, you felt yourself lighten. Sally remained still, unmoving yet she was closer that ever. You could reach and brush against her cheek if only your arms would cooperate.

“Y/n?” she breathed, in that choked up voice, and you were falling again.

As if trapped in a dream, you startled awake with the feeling of cool fingers massaging against your scalp. The room was foreign, and it smelled like her. Foreign, yet startingly familiar as if you’d been there before.

Sally was curled into your side, and your breathing laboured again. You didn’t understand how she was here, you- you buried her. Sniffling broke your doubts, and Sally adjusted her head atop your chest. When you wiggled beneath her, her sniffs turned to coos, and her fingers in your hair and clutching your top were soothing at your cheeks.

“I love you, I’m here,” she flustered, worrying her lip between teeth, and you could see the moon in between buildings outside the window. It watched you with bated breath and shone onto her pale skin until her tears seemed to shine. “Say I love you Sally.”

Sitting up against the pillows, you caught her face in your hands, cupping it so she couldn’t move away as you remembered the outlines of her eyes, lips, the curve of her jaw and cheekbones. “I love you,” you found yourself admitting, tears welling in eyes that couldn’t believe what they were witnessing, “are you real?”

“I’m-” Sally started, faltering as if she didn’t quite know the answer either. “I’m here.”

You wanted to apologise anew, whisper the memorised speech that you’d spoken to her that night, but the words seemed to catch in your throat, sharp like the barbs from barbed wire were caught against the delicate skin. Instead, you pulled her in to brush lips against hers, testing slowly if they actually would meet and not melt through what your mind was making up.

They did meet, and you muffled a wail against hers, all the pent-up grief for the woman you were now kissing resurfacing. Fingers clung to her coat, which was still soft beneath your touch, and you pulled her closer to you. She cried, and you cried, and hands met to brush them away.

“I missed you baby.”

You didn’t stop to think about what it meant that she was here. Focusing only on her hands linked firmly in yours, and how she deserved to feel the taut string of a guitar again. You’d bring it to her, and she’d play her song. You’d hear her voice and feel the vibrations of her throat against your lips as she sang.

You’d do it all again.

Time you thought was lost was now frozen, suspended in a single heartbeat. She hadn’t aged a single day, and yet her eyes showed more trouble than you’d ever seen. You couldn’t wait to return and kiss away her worries, reintroduce yourself and love her and be loved like you both deserved. But for now, you were content to simply exist in her presence again.

You wouldn’t take her for granted.

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[nagaficat]

Did she really think he'd forget her?

Not after, only days prior, receiving a gift from today's birthday girl. Lewyn knows the best way to show his gratitude for the effort she put into his present is to get her one of her own, and for a while now he's had the perfect idea.

How did it go again? "Hope your birthday is wonderful!" A little callback to the exact words she used for his, "Seriously though, happy birthday, Deirdre. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

And then comes the time for the grand reveal! From behind the bard's back, a tightly wrapped bundle is produced. It isn't any kind of fancy paper or tied with glittery bows--turns out street vendors don't do gift-wrappings--instead taking the form of a simple burlap sack.

But what's inside isn't so crude.

"Here. Open it up and enjoy. It's the least I can do for thinkin' about me a few weeks ago." He speaks with a smile--whimsical and carefree--with the hopes that his Lewyn-brand charm is enough to convince her to wear it right away. Deirdre's gift this year is a patterned neck-scarf, white with fading purple stripes and sporting a pair of golden orbs at each end, which serve as decorations to complete the look. What's more, it's made of Silessian silk--a rarity that proved to be near-impossible to come by in these parts. But dig deep enough, and you can find just about anything in a secret seller's wares. It costed him an arm and a leg, as well as the ridiculous time commitment, to procure, but it'll be worth it. Clothing from Silesse is made to resists the elements, so much so that even a simple shawl can keep one warm in a snowstorm.

Lewyn's only hope is that with the scarf in her possession, Deirdre won't let the cold keep her from visiting him back home.

Even though she had gathered flowers for his own birthday, Deirdre had not expected Lewyn to go out of his way for hers. He still manages to surprise her with how open and accepting he has been in spite of everything that's been forced between them. Though he has always been very easy going.

She pulls a beautiful scarf out of the bag she's given. But it is not simply beautiful. It is impossibly soft and, even before she wraps it around her neck, Deirdre recognizes the luxury material.

"Oh, Lord Lewyn! This is Silessian, is it not? Grandfather gifted me a blanket of Silessian silk during my first Belhallan winter. I loved it so much I had swaddling cloths for the twins made from the same."

The colors...the design...everything about it suggests that he procured this with her specifically in mind, not that he simply had it with him from home. "Where did you manage to find something like this here? Oh! I cannot thank you enough!"

[mythicamagic]

As usual... I can never just choose one... soo here are my top choices you choose one. Lol

1. Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?

2. The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

3.that ship has sailed. i’ve had my one great love already

4. we’re just…friends.” “friends don’t do this type of shit!

5. Did you just slap my ass?” / “Actually, I firmly grasped it.” 

Why did I decide 2 of the hurt/sad/angst.. idk.. i suppose im glutton for punishment. Dont hurt me too bad if you choose to do one of them myth.

Decided to do a part two for - this ask. 

I chose;  The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

---

The air felt crisp and clean, biting at Kagome's cheeks as she wound her scarf tighter around her neck. Winter markets were so much fun. The vast array of cute little items on display made warmth light up her chest, even as the candy and children's toys reminded her of a certain fox she'd left behind in the past.

Kagome smiled at Ayumi as she prattled on about something or other.

She shouldn't feel guilty. Shippo had barely visited the village in the last year she'd been there. Everyone had moved on. Including herself, somewhat. She'd been so wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with a certain Daiyoukai- the feudal era had been irreparably damaged as a home for her the second they'd broken up.

But she missed her friends. Dearly.

She shook herself. It was too late to go back on her choice now. The well had sealed shut for good.

Ayumi stopped to grab some hot chocolate from a street vendor, allowing Kagome a moment to warm her hands, rubbing them together.

Snowflakes gently danced about like powdered sugar, kissing Kagome's face as she turned- almost bumping face-first into a muscular chest. Fresh scents of wild forests and thunderstorms filled her nose, and she stiffened.

He smells the same.

Kagome bit the inside of her cheek, blue eyes narrowing. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"Haven't the faintest idea of what you mean," he arranged his features into mild innocence, which was near impossible due to his smiling eyes.

"Riiight," she muttered, wishing Ayumi would hurry up.

Sesshoumaru gazed down at her, a pink gift bag in hand. Kagome grit her teeth, hating that she wondered who it was meant for.

"I did not intend to run into you here, before you accuse me of anything," his silky voice caressed her hearing once more. It sounded so lulling, designed to draw her back in. "Did you take my gift home with you or did you throw it away?" he asked, deceptively casually.

"Home. But don't think that means anything- it's not the plant's fault you're trying to worm your way back into my life."

The Daiyouki smiled to himself, obviously absurdly pleased. He began pursuing the street vendor's items right beside her, gazing at children's toys with a touch of gentleness in his steady gaze. Kagome was prepared to ignore him- until he leaned down, breath fanning 'accidentally' over her cheek as he picked up a doll and straightened.

"Do you remember Rin? And the other children-"

"Don't," Kagome said, unable to move away. She hated the thrumming of her skin so much. The way it cried out. Hated him.

Her skin flared alive, body humming with hunger. Like a shot of adrenalin to the heart, Kagome dipped her chin into her scarf to try and mask her escalating breathing due to his proximity. When they'd had sex- so many years ago- it hadn't been like human lovemaking.

He'd wired new pathways within her system via his youki. Sometimes she felt like it still lived inside her, having made a home for itself. They hadn't mated, but she felt irreversibly changed by it.

Kagome made a faint noise, squeezing her eyes shut.

Resist him-

"Kagome?"

Oh thank God.

"Ayumi, let's go," she said abruptly, facing her friend with an urgent look in her eyes.

Ayumi tilted her head slightly, eyeing Sesshoumaru curiously. "A-alright?"

"You do not need to leave," he turned, exuding a magnanimous air. "I am the one who intruded on your time, please continue," he gestured to the market, ensnaring Kagome's gaze with his own. Unblinking, unable to hide his more animalistic habits even after so many years.

"I hope to see you some other time when my presence does not disturb you," he said softly, walking away.

---

When entering work that Saturday, Kagome could already sense the buzz in the air. Someone had generously donated some priceless artefacts to their museum. The previously undiscovered finds that shaken everyone due to their rarity and mint condition. No one could stop talking about it.

Kagome's blood ran cold the second the items in question were described to her. Pushing through the crowd that had gathered, she stared in horror at the display case.

Itching for a fight, she immediately stormed to his office downtown, opening the door to reception and letting herself in. "Is Sesshoumaru here?" she burst, stopping in front of the secretary's desk.

"Mr Taisho?" the woman blinked, obviously thrown by the petite, angry miko currently glaring at her and using his name so informally. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. Just tell him Kagome is here."

She was let into his office soon enough, trying to keep a lid on her crackling reiki. Sesshoumaru glanced up from his computer. "Miko? What a pleasant surprise."

Kagome slammed an article atop his desk. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped.

He raised a brow, briefly flicking his attention to the contents. A photo of red and white silks, coupled with polished spiked armour sat in a display unit. "Something wrong? It was just a donation, given in good faith."

"Donated to my workplace!" Kagome seethed, groaning and burying her face in her hands. "Don't you realise I'm going to have to see your things now every day? I've worn those clothes! I've slept in them as pyjamas! Are you trying to mess with me because you want me back?"

"That's a little dramatic, dear one, I'm not trying to 'mess with you.' It was just a donation," he rose from his seat, face inches from hers. "And if I wanted to romance you, I'd go about it much differently."

"Don't 'dear one' me," she snapped. "You could've donated that stuff years ago- or to a different museum. But no, you had to give it to mine."

"My gift was not meant to distress you, but," he rounded the table slowly, fingers dragging over the wood. "It does make me worry, seeing you so worn thin. Is something else going on? Separate from...us?"

Kagome stiffened, avoiding eye contact. Things with her boyfriend had been strained as of late, and the Daiyoukai's sudden appearance back into her life wasn't helping matters.

"There is no 'us.' I'm frustrated and exhausted, that's all. Don't make things even more complicated by asking about that stuff."

Sesshoumaru lingered close, and Kagome didn't shy away. The one person she couldn't bear to be near was also the only being who could offer some semblance of comfort to her due to his familiarity.

"This one meant to give you something," reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card, handing it over. Kagome immediately froze, staring at the name. "You miss him," Sesshoumaru murmured. "The kit lives in Kyoto now with his wife and children. Call him."

Tears pricked her eyes, and Kagome bowed her head. Full lips crumpled into a wobbly line.

"If there is something I regret more than our parting, it is that you felt compelled to leave. The fault lies with me."

Shaking her head, a saddened laugh bubbled up her throat. "It was my decision to break up, and it was my decision to leave the Feudal Era. Don't...blame yourself for that part."

"You did not do anything wrong," a long-fingered hand reached out, blunt nails losing their glamour. Sharp claws stroked dark curling hair back from her neck. Kagome's breathing hitched. "When we were together- you did not do anything wrong. We were both so young. It was foolish of me to act as I did, but I think it is now... that we are in the right place for something more."

Kagome shivered, body warming to him. Intuitively, the brush of fingers on her neck made her foolishly anticipate a kiss- sorely disappointed when it didn't come. "I'm not," she forced herself to say. Seeing the disappointment darken his brown eyes, she sighed. "I miss you," Kagome admitted quietly, turning away to escape from his touch. "I miss how... we were. I'm terrified of that, though. I was...under the impression we'd be together. Permanently. Then you had to go and tell me you needed 'pure' heirs to continue the family bloodline."

She laughed bitterly, loosely holding her arms. "The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I'm still in love with you."

"You are frightened that I will hurt you again."

Kagome nodded mutely. She then forced a giggle, giving a weak smile. "Besides, you may not like me as I am now. I'm more jaded than before."

"I like what I see very much," moving closer once more as though experiencing a gravitational pull, he stopped inches away. "I have missed you too," he muttered quietly, genuinely. She could feel him inhale her scent through her hair. "Very much."

Her mouth suddenly became dry. "I'm with Natsuki-"

"Leave him," a rush of passion entered his voice as Sesshoumaru swept closer, backing her into the desk. The wood dug into her thighs, their hips meeting. "This one is not interested in being 'the other man' in an affair. Nor am I interested in watching you remain with someone less than ideal," he snorted, resting his hand over her wrist and grazing his thumb over it.

"Y-you don't know anything about it!"

"I could smell your scent. It was not bright and cheerful even before I re-entered your life the other day. His feels...murky on you. Unhappy."

Kagome swallowed thickly, glancing away. "Observant as ever," she admitted softly.

"Or perhaps you did a poor job of hiding it," backing off a little- he rested his hip next to hers beside the desk, remaining near but barely touching. And yet everything felt so close. "You've changed. But you're still the same at your core, miko," hot breath fanned over her neck, teeth ghosting over the shell of her ear. "If you permitted me, I would not be reckless with your heart again, as I was in my youth."

Her palms traitorously slid up, sliding over firm muscles- running across his chest. He felt warm. His heart was beating fast. Was he nervous? Such a thing sounded impossible.

She bit her lip, secretly longing for the sensation of silks under her hands again instead of the modern cotton of his shirt.

"I don't know that I believe you," Kagome met his gaze, rewarded with the golden glow of his eyes instead of human brown.

"I've gotta go," she said reluctantly, forcing herself to pull away. "I need to be at work."

"Very well," he hummed, unmoving. "But if you...need something. You know where to find me."

He sounded almost desperate for an excuse to talk with her. Giving a curt nod, she let herself out of his office with a long breath, shaking her head. Sesshoumaru's static youki haunted her steps for the remainder of the day.