#these are my requests that I’m working on

[norrisainz33]

baby blue || cs55

☆ summary: carlos sainz is married to famous pop star y/n who has been connected to the f1 world for years having been a mercedes ambassador and good friends with lewis hamilton. after a video of y/n and lewis surfaces, y/n shares some big news with the spanish driver.

☆ pairing: carlos sainz x famous!wife!reader x lewis hamilton

☆ fc & warnings: rihanna! a little angsty, mentions of pregnancy, translated spanish

☆ requested: yes! thanks for this idea and for your patience. had to add in some written parts to this to tell the story! hope you enjoy xxoo

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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ynuser: 📍 bahrain

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user1: pink is your color

dualipa: real! miss u my sweet gorgeous girl

user33: you just gonna post like we didnt see the video from the paddock

user18: no for realllll like girl be soooo for real

user1: nah nah nah you guys need to but out you know nothing!! they're just friends. we dont need to scrutinize everything they do

tatemcrae: my icon fr

user2: ynlewis supremacy

user8: seems like shes a ynlewis truther herself bsed on that video

user3: lewishamilton come get your girl

user4: more like carlossainz55 come get your girl yikes

[comments on this post have been limited]

✿

staring down at your phone you watched as the video played over and over each replay making your stomach twist a little more. you cursed yourself for not remembering where you were before having your very public breakdown in front of lewis at ferrari hospitality. what was supposed to be a quick visit to tell lewis (one of your closest friends) that red suited him and say a quick hello to alexandra had spiraled into something entirely different. one moment you were complimenting him and the next you were sobbing in his arms. of course, the media caught every second of it and in true fashion they plastered the video everywhere. the rumors started flying almost immediately with the world convinced you and lewis were more than just friends as they have been for years.

but here's how the conversation really went:

"hi lewis!! god that red is doing wonders for you right now," you smiled as you took in the sight of your best friend decked out in ferrari gear.

"thanks, y/n/n. i think so too," he grinned - his confidence and happiness clear.

"you ready to hop in that car and show everyone you’ve still got it grandpa?"

"absolutely. you know better than anyone how much i want to make this work." his voice was full of sincerity and something about the way he said it made your chest tighten and tears started welling up in your eyes.

"oh no, don't cry on me now…" he said his hand gently brushing at your cheek.

you laughed but it was shaky as the tears fully spilled down your face. "sorry, sorry… i just - i'm so excited for you, and i miss danny and checo," you rambled suddenly feeling overwhelmed. he gave you a confused look not exactly sure where all of this was coming form.

"something tells me there's more to this, y/n/n," he said his tone shifting as he took a step closer.

without thinking, you blurted it out. "i’m pregnant."

lewis froze for a split second before pulling you into a tight hug, letting you cry into his shoulder. the kind of cry that left you feeling both raw and relieved at the same time.

"hey, hey— the cameras are loving this," alexandra’s voice suddenly broke through and she frantically pushed both of you toward the ferrari hospitality area her tone full of urgency.

as she led the way you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything.... the unexpected turn your life had taken and the way the world was watching every moment unfold and it was too late to take it all back now.

✿

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user1: wow a rare carlos sighting on a story.. awk timing after that vid....

carlossainz55: wow posting me? surprised its not lewis.

ynuser: carlos don't start please. you know its not like that

carlossainz55: then why was it lewis holding you while you were crying and not me? and why won’t you even tell me what happened?

ynuser: i did tell you. it’s just been so overwhelming lately especially with the pressure from my label to release new music. on top of that i haven’t been feeling great which makes everything harder. you literally held my hair while i threw up all night. come on carlos please.

carlossainz55: mi amor you know I’ve had a hard time with your relationship with lewis. and now that he’s taken my seat… it just gets harder to see him in ferrari red while comforting my wife. it’s hard not to feel jealous!

ynuser: i’m really sorry carlos. i can’t even imagine how that feels. focus on your last practice session and get the data you need. we can talk properly when you’re back at the hotel ok?

carlossainz55: fine but you’ll explain everything word for word right?

ynuser: of course. now go -- i see on tv that the power’s back on

carlossainz55: yeah yeah ill go. i love you -- even when im upset

ynuser: i love you too. always

user33: damage control?

alexandrasaintmleux: love you pretty girl. please let me know if you need anything both charlie and i are here for you too

ynuser: i love you more alex 🤍 thank you for always supporting me. oh and for noticing the cameras before they got too much

alexandrasaintmleux: thats what friends are for. please please please keep me updated

user10: i just know everyone's tearing u up in these replies so im here to say i love and support you bb

lewishamilton: did you tell him yet?

ynuser: considering you’re both at the same testing... no I haven’t

lewishamilton: oh don't give me that. you could have told him last night!!

ynuser: yeah well i was scared!!

lewishamilton: sweetheart, the faster you rip off the bandaid the faster he (and everyone else) stops getting the complete wrong idea

ynuser: i know i know i know!!!!!! easier said than done here lewis.

lewishamilton: he tried to approach me this morning and i was able to avoid it but if he comes to me and starts asking what is up... i'm not going to lie

ynuser: alright message received. him and i agreed to talk everything out tonight.

lewishamilton: good.

user11: idc abt this man release new music pls im begging its been ages

schecoperez: mi amiga what in the world is going on?

ynuser: too much honestly... i'll call you bc BOY do i have a lot to share and ALSO i miss you SO MUCH

schecoperez: will be impatiently waiting :)

user44: tbh idc abt f1.. id rather see pics of u. free my queen from this nonsense sport!!!!

✿

you flopped back onto the giant hotel bed letting out a big sigh. alex and lily had just left after giving you the pep talk of a lifetime and dropping off the cake. if it wasn't for them and all the effort they’d put into running around bahrain to find someone who could make you this cake, you probably would’ve chickened out of telling carlos altogether. it wasn’t something either of you had planned for yet. you’d only gotten married a few months ago and between carlos switching to a new team and the insane pressure your label had been piling on you, it felt like the wrong time to be having a baby. hence, your breakdown in the paddock with lewis. but like alex and lily said everything happens for a reason and maybe this was just the moment it was meant to happen, no matter how daunting it all felt.

you quickly sat up when you heard carlos fumbling with the door to the hotel room and immediately, tears started to well up. you tried to hold them back but they came rushing down as soon as carlos stepped through the door. his brow furrowed when he saw you crying on the bed.

"mi amor..." he sighed setting his things down on the couch and shrugging off his williams jacket. "what’s going on with you?" he asked gently kneeling in front of you and placing his hands on your bare knees.

you were fully sobbing now desperately wiping away the tears as he watched you in silence. "i just... i..." you tried to speak but the words got tangled up in your sobs making it harder to get them out.

"cariño take a deep breath," he said softly taking your hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. you obeyed and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. which wasn’t easy these days with all the changes your body was going through. eventually you shook your head not being able to calm yourself enough and pointed toward the box on the table hoping he would understand. carlos’ eyes followed your finger and he stood up walking over to the table. "y/n, what is...?" he stopped mid-sentence struck silent as he stared down at the contents of the box—a small cake with 'we’re having a baby' written on it and a pregnancy test sitting next to it.

you kept focusing on your breathing summoning the courage to look at your husband who stood completely still. in the endless seconds it took for him to react - guilt, panic, and despair began to settle in. "i’m sorry, carlos, i know this is a horrible time. i should’ve told you earlier, we should’ve talked about this first, and i just—i’m sorry this—"

"stop, y/n," he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. you couldn’t tell if the tears in his eyes were good or bad. but then in the blink of an eye, his face softened and his expression lightened up. "don’t apologize for this, my love." he picked up the test and glanced back at you. "this is real?"

"yes," you whispered.

he dropped the test moving swiftly toward you and pulling you into a tight embrace. "we’re going to have a baby chili," he mumbled into your neck holding you like he never wanted to let go. and with that all of your worries melted away.

✿

ynuser has posted to their private story

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lando: what u posting close ups of food for

ynuser: you’ll find out when you’re older

lando: tf that supposed to mean

ynuser: means you can’t keep a secret to save your life

lando: a man accidentally includes a photo from a wedding in 1!!!! photo dump and he can’t ever come back from it

ynuser: exactly

lando: 🤨

lilymhe: THE CAKE HAS BEEN EATEN???

ynuser: it has!!!!!! and everything is ok

lilymhe: i’m so relieved

carlossainz55: the best cake i’ve ever had 🤍

ynuser: i'm really quite glad you think so

carlossainz55: of course gorgeous. i am so excited that we get to be parents

ynuser: i'm so happy that you're happy

carlossainz55: over the moon actually. i already called the florist and local bakery near casa de mi familia to get everything sorted for when we tell them in a couple weeks. i also sent you room service and some special deliveries so if you hear a loud knock on the door this morning, just know its from me

ynuser: carlos 😭😭😭😭

carlossainz55: i also may or may not have already slipped and told teto..........

ynuser: I THOUGHT WE WERE TELLING HIM AND GIGI AT DINNER ONCE YOU OFFICIALLY FINISHED TESTNG

carlosainz55: ....... i mean that was the plan originally but we were cycling this morning and he could tell something was up and well i couldnt lie!! i swore him to secrecy it is ok

ynuser: i'm making my lawyers send him an nda

carlossainz55: LOL

ynuser: i'm serious

carlossainz55: oh... well in that case… whatever makes you feel best my love!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: details mon ange

ynuser: he finally got back after testing and i completely broke down into tears bc of course i did—im a mess with these hormones. he immediately was worried ofc and was like “mi amor, what’s wrong?” but I couldn’t even stop crying long enough to explain. so i just pointed at the cake box instead and then be opened it, stared at it for what felt like an eternity… honestly, it was probably 8 million years and then HE started crying. which just made me cry even more. but honestly after we got everything out it felt like really good. he was beyond excited like already talking about the little one and brainstorming names and looking up where to buy baby clothes in spain and already planning how to tell his family and mine

alexandrasaintmleux: 🥹😭 see!! it was all ok!!! i’m so so so glad he was excited. i knew he would be!! he wanted so badly to be dad

lewishamilton: so?

ynuser: i told him

lewishamilton: thank god!! now i can assume uncle duties without getting my face bashed in

ynuser: you’re so dramatic

yourbff: i’m so happy for you guys 😭

ynuser: thank you sweetheart 😘

dualipa: assuming i’m missing context here

ynuser: i’ll face time you baby girl

carlossainz55 has posted to his story

[sharing the joy with our family ☀️💙]

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anasainzvdec: mi hermano i am so excited for you. i can't wait to be an auntie 🤍

carlossainz55: i love you ana! you will be the world's best aunt

user2: PINON!!!!!!

carlossainzoficial: ¡tal vez la mayor alegría que hayas podido compartir con nosotros! [perhaps the greatest joy you could have shared with us!]

carlossainz55: me alegro. no puedo esperar a que seas abuelo, papá. [i am glad. i can't wait for you to be a grandfather, dad]

carlossainzoficial: estoy muy orgulloso del hombre en el que te has convertido y de la vida que has construido con y/n. [i'm so proud of the man you have become and the life you have built with y/n]

carlossainz55: ¡no me hagas llorar papá! [don't make me cry dad]

user4: sharing joy??? with your family..... what does this mean?

lando: google translating this as we speak

lando: and what joy are you sharing and why are you not also sharing it with me?

carlossainz55: i will be on sunday muppet. you are coming to dinner at my house no?

lando: oh heck yeah ill be there

user18: what an interesting wording you have here mr.sainz - what are you talking about?

ynuser: petition to bring pinon with us everywhere

carlossainz55: jajaaj i don't know that she would like that

ynuser: 😭😭😭😭😭 fair ig. tho i think a baby and a puppy would be a perfect pair......

user55: the world is healing youre back with pinon

alexandrasaintmleux: EEEEEEK!!!!!! y/n filled me in on how it went. truly so excited for you. i can't wait for the big dinner party where you're telling all of us 🤍

carlossainz55: i am very much looking forward to this weekend. we'll see you soon mi amiga

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carlossainz55: spent the weekend celebrating the news with some of my favorite people. you are so loved already baby chili. you're mommy, daddy and loads of aunties and uncles can't wait to meet you so very soon 💙🌶️

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user55: crying my eyes out rn you have no idea

ynuser: thankful for you, our baby boy, and the amazing people we have supporting us 🤍

carlossainz55: even more thankful for you for giving me the greatest gift i could have ever asked for my beautiful wife

user85: may a love like this find me expeditiously

user1: well…. a baby wasn’t on my bingo card

lando: dibs on teaching baby chili how to drive

charlesleclerc: i already called dibs

georgerussell63: no i believe i did

carlossainz55: frankly, i dont trust any of you to teach him

charlesleclerc: WOW

user4: congratulations 😭 i'm seething with jealousy 😭

alex_albon: can't wait to be the favorite uncle

lilymhe: with me as the favorite aunt

alexandrasaintmleux: um hello? i'm going to be the favorite aunt

lando: FALSE I AM THE FAVORITE AUNT

ynuser: guys please lets not fight

user23: carlando having their own pic at the end is sending me. classic carlando behavior

user13: man this vroom vroom got my girl and now they’re having a baby? smh

lewishamilton: congratulations you two! overjoyed to see two of my favorite people becoming parents ❤️

carlossainz55: thank you 💙

user88: tea

user56: so many of the drivers being at their baby shower has me in genuine shambles im not ok this grid baby is going to be so loved

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: phew this took me forever... hope you enjoy!! likes and reblogs appreciated as always ❤️‍🔥

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: You're away for a few days for a work trip and even on the first night, Joaquin is making sure you know how much he misses you. Warnings: Mentions of food. Word Count: 1k A/N: I've wanted to write something regarding Joaquin + facetiming before and then I got this as a request the other day so it was perfect. I think Joaquin would be so cute in this scenario... 🥹 I adore him, my sweet angel boy.

You’re in line at the grocery store getting some things to take back to your hotel room when your phone starts buzzing. The photo on the screen, a selfie of your boyfriend that he’d taken on your phone, shows that Joaquin is trying to Facetime you. You cancel the call and quickly type out a message to him before putting your stuff up on the counter.

Sorry, baby, I can’t answer right now – in line at the grocery store xo ❤️

The phone buzzes again just as the cashier starts scanning your items and asks you how your day is going. Once you’ve paid, you check the message, smiling as you read it.

Ok…🙁

You’re away for four nights on a work trip and Joaquin is clearly already struggling having the house to himself. At first, you thought he’d enjoy the freedom of being alone… but now that you think about it, it sounds like his worst nightmare.

You reach your rental car and unlock it, climbing into the drivers seat and putting your groceries and bag on the passenger seat. Pulling your phone out from your bag, you send Joaquin another quick text to check in before heading back to your hotel.

I’m in the car now, I can call on my way to my hotel? The car has hands free.

A message from Joaquin appears seconds later. No, too dangerous. Call when u are in ur room pls, I miss u ❤️😢

You can’t help but smile at the message, sending a quick okay back to him before putting your phone in your bag, putting your seatbelt on and starting up the car. The entire drive back to the hotel, you hear your phone going off every minute or so. He says it’s too dangerous to call you via hands free but will distract you by texting you every minute… yeah, makes complete sense…

Despite your desire to check it after you park, you wait till you’re in your hotel room before getting your phone out of your bag. It would’ve been a hassle to try and read and reply to his messages while navigating the elevator and trying not to lose your room key card.

You almost laugh as you see why your phone was going off so often.

Joaquin has sent you a detailed list of everything he did today while you were gone – ever since he dropped you off at the airport at 9am right up until now at 7pm. He’s even included pictures – a variety of zoomed in photos and a couple selfies. You save them all to your camera roll. Your favourites are the one where he’s giving a thumbs up to the camera after successfully doing grocery shopping alone, another one blowing a kiss to you because he misses you and, probably the best one of all, him flipping off the microwave because it didn’t properly heat up his lunch. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you text him back.

Why did you send all of these? 😂 I mean, so cute, but are we not about to Facetime so you can tell me all about your day anyway, baby?

Unsurprisingly, his reply comes through instantly.

In case I had to go before u got back.

Go where? I thought you were staying in tonight.

Yea but what if Sam called and I had to go and help him save the world. 🦸🏽‍♂️

You can’t not laugh at that. Especially with the little superhero emoji. He’s adorable – so utterly adorable – and you miss him even more upon reading his words. You climb back up onto the bed so you can sit properly on it and hit the Facetime button, immediately calling Joaquin. 

He answers straight away.

“Angel,” he drags out the word as his face appears on the screen, a pout on his lips. 

“Hi baby,” you chuckle, smiling down at his face on your phone screen. “I’m glad Sam hasn’t called and asked you to come help him save the world yet.”

He grins. Through the screen, you can see that he’s laying on your bed, his face a little smushed into the pillow. He looks sleepy and you wish you were with him. “Me too,” he replies. “I miss you… how am I meant to sleep alone for four more nights? I’ve started a countdown on the fridge. I made it with post it notes. I should’ve sent a photo of it… I’ll take one tomorrow. I’m too comfy to get up right now. Did you see the photo about the microwave? I think I need to go buy a new one. It’s not working properly. And Fred, our neighbour, threw his dogs shit over our fence again earlier, so I had to go and ask him politely to stop doing it. Oh, and I did the washing but I think I pressed a button wrong cause it said it’d be three hours before it was done and I think that’s a bit too long. And–”

“Joaquin.”

You interrupt him, a smile on your face from listening to him ramble on about everything that had happened today. He blinks, his eyes focusing on the screen where your face is again. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his own face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“Don’t be,” you shake your head. “I miss you too, baby. But it’s only four nights. I’ll be home before you know it. But I’m going to hate sleeping without you too.” 

He squishes his face into the pillow a little more. “It should be illegal to separate us,” he huffs. 

“I doubt that they’d make that a law, baby.”

He groans into the pillow before sitting up a little so his face is a little more visible. “You know what should be illegal though? Microwaves that don’t heat up all your food… I mean, seriously, I put it in for like six minutes and it was still cold on the inside! It’s gotta be faulty, right, angel? Do you think I should go get another one tomorrow? Maybe ours is still under warranty. I’ll have to try and find the paperwork. Do you know where it is?”

Amused, you continue to listen to him waffle on about the microwave and several other things that had happened to him today… if this is what’s in store for your next few nights away… you’ll definitely have your hands full…

––––

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5 @voodoo-tofu @happypopcornprincess 

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

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XXX. In Aeternum et Ultra (Final Chapter) (Smut!18+!MDNI!)

I know, I know, I’m feeling pretty sad too. Writing this chapter was super tough for me since I’m not a fan of goodbyes and usually skip the last episodes of TV shows. Hope you like this final chapter. Huge thanks to everyone for sticking with the series from start to finish! If you can’t get enough of Marcus, I’ve got some good news—I’m working on a totally different fanfic about him, so keep an eye out! But first, I need to have a little cry. Catch you later!

Familia ante omnia

Family over all

As you galloped forward on your horse, Unio, the fabric of your stola danced wildly in the wind, creating a constant struggle against the air that tugged at your dress. The jewelry you wore felt like it might slip from you at any moment, but you had no intention of stopping, no matter what. The guards accompanying you were more concerned about your well-being than about reaching Publius on time. They knew you were with child, as your belly was visibly prominent, and they feared what Marcus would do to them if anything happened to you. Yet your worries were not only for the fragile life nestled inside you; they were also intertwined with a deep protectiveness toward Publius, your beloved child. The thought of jeopardizing his safety was simply inconceivable.

When you arrived at the port of Ostia and passed through the streets, the locals looked at you with curiosity and surprise, many greeting you as you went by. But you could only glance at them out of the corner of your eye. Your heart soared at the sight of Darius ahead, a swell of joy washing over you as your eyes landed on Publius standing beside him. Overwhelmed with concern, you dismounted carelessly and landed awkwardly, tripping as your stola caught on Unio’s saddle. The loyal creature whinnied as if it were worried about you, and you fell to the ground.

"My lady!"  

"Your Highness!"  

Suddenly, everyone gathered around you anxiously; the guards jumped off their horses, and people from the harbour rushed to your side. Darius was holding Publius' hand as he approached you. 

"Aunt Aurelia!" 

You struggled to push yourself off the cold, hard stone floor, using your palm for support and turned your head to the sound of his voice. As the guards helped you to your feet, a sharp pain shot through your ankle, probably from the fall, but you made your way to Publius anyway. 

"Publius, my love!" you cried out, opening your arms wide. He ran to you, and you embraced him, kissing the top of his head. Then you took his face in both hands, examining him for any sign of injury. 

"Are you alright, darling?" 

He nodded. "Darius saved me," he said, pointing at him. Just as your heart began to settle, you turned to Darius and felt a sharp flutter of unease wash over you when you noticed men in black cloaks being restrained by guards behind him.

You stepped toward them, gripping Publius' small hand tightly, but a sharp pain surged through your ankle once more, causing you to stumble. Darius quickly approached, concern etched across his face. "My lady, are you alright? Let me help you," he said, extending his arm toward you. You grasped it, but your gaze remained fiercely locked on the men before you.

“Darius, are these the scoundrels who tried to abduct my son?” you asked.

"Yes, my lady. We apprehended them just before they could board one of the ships," he replied.

As you glared at them, Darius continued. "I have been pursuing the rumors as you requested. Upon further investigation, I identified the Greeks' involvement, aligning perfectly with your predictions. I sensed an impending attack today, which is why I was prepared and had my men ready as well. We intercepted them just in time."

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you processed his words. "Did they know we would be outside Palatine Hill today? If the threat was so imminent, why didn’t you warn me?"

Darius lowered his head, his posture tense. "My lady, I needed to confirm my suspicions before informing you. We had taken all necessary precautions around the harbor. I would never intentionally endanger you or your children, yet I understand that’s no excuse. You are right; I ask for your forgiveness."

You squinted, grappling with your anger. "What was it you needed to confirm? Speak plainly."

He let out a troubled sigh, the weight of his revelations pressing heavily on him. "During my investigation, my men and I became convinced that someone was aiding the Greeks. Regrettably, it’s someone in a position of authority—a member of the Roman Senate."

"What?! Who is it?"

Darius hesitated, unease clouding his features as he met your gaze.

"Say it, Darius," you urged.

"Senator Consus, the Emperor's chosen regent," he finally confessed.

You froze, a cold realization settling in your chest as disbelief washed over you. 

"Do you realize what you're saying?” your voice trembled.

“Yes, my lady. I was just as incredulous when I first learned of it. I had him followed to confirm the truth. The men at my side are my witnesses.” He gestured toward the guards, who bowed their heads respectfully. “And those two over there—they are nothing but traitorous praetorians, the very ones who led the Greeks through the city gates under Consus' sinister command.” His voice was taut, almost a growl, barely concealing his outrage. “He must be paying them well.”

This couldn’t possibly be true. Someone from your own family, someone you had placed your trust in—how could he do such a thing? Marcus had relied on him, had entrusted him with your safety, your children’s, his throne, and Rome. A chilling thought crossed your mind: your aunt Antonia. Of course, she was cunning; she must have been the architect of this treachery. It had to be her.

“Bring him and my aunt Antonia to Palatine Hill at once,” you commanded with steely resolve. “Get a carriage for me and Publius, and escort us there.”

Darius nodded sharply. “And what about these mutts and the traitors, my lady?” he asked, casting a disdainful glance at the captured men. “What are your orders for them?”

You took Publius's hand tightly; he clung to the fabric of your dress, still looking frightened and uneasy. As you looked coldly at the traitors, you noticed the fear in their eyes, which pleased you. You turned to Darius and issued a direct order.

 "Kill them all.”

When you arrived at the  Palatine Hill, the first thing you did was take Publius to his chambers. The poor boy was still trembling with fear. It took a while for his racing heart to settle, but you held him close, wrapping your arms around him, offering warmth and reassurance, whispering promises that no one would ever harm him again. Eventually, the children and Decima arrived at the Domus Severiana, and all were relieved to see Publius, breathing a sigh of relief. You weren't sure if Paulina was aware of her mother and husband’s betrayal, so you decided to wait until you were sure.

Your own discomfort was acute, as the sprain in your ankle throbbed with each movement. You retrieved olive oil and carefully applied it to your swollen ankle before wrapping it tightly. It was the most effective remedy you had, even if the pain lingered stubbornly. When Flora found out about your fall, her face turned pale, tears spilling down her cheeks. You swept her into your lap, showering her with gentle kisses, cradling her close as you reassured her that you would be alright. Marcius, with a fierce glint in his eye, declared his determination to hunt down Publius’ kidnappers and make them pay. His protective instincts echoed those of his father, making you smile despite your pain.

After learning that your aunt Antonia and Consus had been brought to Palatine Hill, you changed out of your soiled clothes into something fresh and regal, with the help of the slaves. As they placed your crown above your head, you contemplated what to do about your aunt and Consus. You left the children with Decima and carefully made your way downstairs, escorted by the slaves. Going down the stairs was quite difficult, and you knew it would take weeks for your ankle to heal. 

Upon entering the grand hall, a sense of solemnity enveloped you; Darius walked alongside, escorting you. The grand doors swung open, and as you stepped inside, a hush fell over the gathering. Every head bowed in reverence, a sea of respect felt to your bones and gave you strength. You moved deliberately towards the imperial throne. Darius guided you and helped you settle. The jingling sound of your elaborate earrings, shimmering bracelets, and a heavy necklace proclaiming your imperial authority. With dignity, you adjusted your palla, the luxurious fabric gliding against your skin, reminding everyone in the room of your status. 

Soon, Antonia and Consus were brought before you, and you could sense Darius’ protective stance beside you, his gaze unwaveringly locked on them. For a moment, you chose silence, wanting to carefully analyze their expressions, to search for a flicker of innocence that would ease the dark cloud gathering in your heart. Desperation surged within you, hoping beyond hope that Darius was mistaken, that this betrayal was merely a cruel illusion. But as the truth dawned upon you—reflected in their troubled faces and the guilt that lingered in their eyes—you felt a tumult of hurt and anger swell within.

“Your Highness,” they both intoned, bowing their heads.

“Aurelia, my dear,” Antonia said, a hint of annoyance in her tone. “May I ask why have we been brought here in such haste?"

"You should address me as 'Empress Aurelia'," you replied icily, your gaze piercing. "For I stand before you as your Empress, not as your niece."

Antonia was taken aback by your demeanor and fell silent.

“My lady, there seems to be a grave misunderstanding. Please, allow me to explain,” Consus interjected. You silenced him with a simple raise of your hand, the gesture commanding immediate compliance.

“There is no need for explanations, Consus. Your collaborators have already divulged to us, one by one, the extent of your schemes—what you have plotted, what you have executed. Or will you dare to deny it?”

Consus cast a furtive glance at Antonia, a flicker of nervousness dancing across their faces, amplifying your growing ire.

Your aunt stepped forward, her voice imbued with concern. “Aurelia, if we could speak alone—”

“Why? Speak here, in front of everyone,” you snapped.

She took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself. “Your Highness, we were only looking out for you and the children. The rumors have become perilous—just the mere suggestion that Publius could be the son of Elagabalus is a threat to your safety and that of your children. We were only trying to ensure that Marcius was safe-"

“Enough!” As you rose to your feet, the atmosphere shifted, silencing her with a palpable tension. Darius instinctively reached out his arm, and you gripped it. 

Antonia's brow furrowed in concern. “Aurelia, your leg—are you hurt?” 

“My heart hurt far more. How dare you engage in such treachery? How dare you aid our enemies? What right do you have to entertain whispers about my nephew, heir to the throne, the son of Emperor Geta? Do you not know that he is as dear to me as my own flesh and blood?”

“Of course I do,” she said then bowed her head. “Forgive me.”

You ignored her and turned to Consus. “And what of you?” you asked. “My husband placed his unwavering trust in you, surrendering not only his throne but also the very essence of our lives—mine and our children's—into your hands. How could you dare to so brazenly betray that trust, your sacred position, and the honor of Rome?”

Consus swallowed hard, revealing a glimpse of his unease. “Forgive me, my lady,” he stammered. “I made a mistake. But I assure you, my intentions were never malevolent—please believe me. It was all meant to serve the good of Emperor Acacius and, in turn, you—”

“Enough with your hollow denials. I refuse to hear another word. I cannot fathom that members of my own family would resort to such deceit. You have shattered my trust in you. Let me be perfectly clear: being part of this family does not shield you from the consequences of your actions. Do not presume that I will simply forgive and forget,” you declared, your tone sharp and unyielding.

“I can explain my actions to Emperor Acacius upon his return. It would be wise for us to wait for him, my lady,” Consus suggested.

You recognized the underlying implication in his words—his belief that, despite your title, you were not as powerful as an emperor simply because you were a woman. Such archaic sentiments still lingered among certain senators and consuls, destined to persist through the ages. However, you were confident that Marcus would support you. You knew it was time to wield your authority with clarity and purpose, perhaps for the first time so openly. Yes, you had to.

“If my husband, Emperor Acacius were here,” you proclaimed, your voice resonating throughout the chamber, “What do you suppose he would say about your duplicitous scheme to abduct his beloved nephew—the very boy he cherished as his own son—all while conspiring with those treacherous Greeks? I can tell you this: he would have brushed you aside without a second thought, commanding your swift arrest and throwing you into the depths of disgrace. And I intend to do exactly that.”

Your gaze flicked toward Darius, and in an instant, he understood your silent command. With a subtle nod, he gestured to his guards, who moved swiftly to secure your will. Consus and  Antonia seized by the arms.

“Senator Consus,” you said with icy authority, “I, Empress Septimia Aurelia, and by my decree, I hereby relieve you of your duties. Effective immediately, you are suspended from the Council and will be imprisoned until my husband’s return, at which point he alone will determine your fate.” Your voice rang clear and firm. “Take him away."

“My lady, please show mercy,” Consus pleaded, his voice trembling with fear, but the guards obediently dragged him from your presence at your gesture.

Your aunt Antonia, stricken with despair, approached you and fell to her knees, grasping the hem of your dress with desperate hands. "Aurelia, please forgive this stubborn old aunt. I beseech you, show mercy."

Your gaze hardened as you addressed her. "Do you know what wounds me the most?" you asked, looking at her in the eye. "That the treachery came from my own blood whom I took in as a mother. How could you do this to me? You've proven that my true family consists only of my husband and my beloved children. Now stand."

With a cold dismissal, you signaled for the guards to assist her back to her feet. 

"Though my anger runs deep, I cannot bring myself to imprison you out of respect for your position and the memory of my mother. Thus, I am exiling you to Leptis Magna, where you will spend the remainder of your days."

"But Aurelia—" she objected.

You cut her off with a fierce shout, "My decision is final! You will never again approach my family!"

The sorrow etched on your aunt's face tugged at your resolve, nearly swaying you, but you steeled yourself against the rising tide of compassion. You had to be strong. ”One final question," you said, your voice steady and unwavering. "Was Paulina complicit in this betrayal? Did she know what you were plotting?"

"No, I swear," she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks, "My Paulina is innocent. She had no idea."

"Take her,” you ordered. This time, she went quiet, her shoulders sagging under the weight of despair as the guards moved in. They guided her away with firm hands.

Your chest tightened as you watched her departure. How naïve you had been to think that after years of yearning for true familial bonds, you might finally have found kinship in your aunt and cousin. But now, betrayal loomed large, casting a shadow over your hope. In the silence, you found comfort in the loyalty of three people you knew would always stand by you: Marcus, Lucius, and Decima. Geta would have been among them if you hadn't lost him. The ache of his absence remained a constant heavy weight in your heart; hardly a day passed without his memory echoing in your mind. Yet, amidst the pain, you couldn’t help but feel a current of gratitude that coursed through you, grateful to the Gods for bringing you Publius. In his presence and the reminder of his father, you always found a flicker of comfort that eased the relentless sting of your sorrow.

In the past few days, you orchestrated a significant shift within the council by nominating the consul Gracchus to replace Marcus as regent, a proposal that was met with unanimous approval. Gracchus, a man celebrated for his honor and deep respect, managed in just two days to accomplish what Consus had failed to achieve over an entire week, deftly resolving the pressing issues plaguing the city. His profound regard for both Geta and yourself was palpable, and as Publius embarked on his journey towards emperorship, you recognized the wisdom in keeping Gracchus close at hand. There was a sense of loyalty about him; you felt a strong intuition that he wouldn’t betray your trust, a stark contrast to the sting of betrayal you’d faced from those who were once dearest to you. But time, as it often does, would reveal the truth, and yet your instinct whispered that Gracchus was different.

One morning, the long-anticipated news swept through Domus Severiana like a refreshing breeze, igniting a joy within you so intense that it felt like your heart might burst from your chest. The glorious Roman fleet, under the command of your beloved Marcus, had been sighted off the coast of Ostia. This announcement sparked a wave of exuberance that enveloped the entire city even before the ships reached the shoreline. Your children, innocent and full of excitement, danced with glee in the courtyard, eagerly awaiting their father's return. 

A splendid flurry of preparations erupted within the Domus Severiana as you issued orders for the finest foods to be prepared and the balneum to be filled with warm water and infused with sweet scents. You chose to wear your finest purple stola for this special day and insisted that your hair be styled impeccably with elegant hairpins. You yearned for Marcus to see you in all your beauty, a glowing vision he had missed just as much as you longed for his presence. He was returning in triumph, just as he always did, and your gratitude to the gods compelled you to send exquisite animals to the temple of Jupiter for sacred sacrifice.

As the sun arched across the sky, painting the day with golden hues, you and the children eagerly awaited the arrival of the ships in the bright courtyard of Domus Severiana. Darius lined up the guards, positioning them with precision outside the gates in anticipation of Marcus’s grand entry. From the bustling street, the jubilant cheers of the crowd rose like a wave of happiness, sharing your joy. Tomorrow would mark a grand victory celebration and a solemn ceremony within the temple of Jupiter, but today, the victorious emperor was yours alone, to embrace and cherish.

Then, the gates opened, and the guards snapped to attention, forming a proud honor guard. There he was, a vision of strength and grace. The moment his gaze met yours, a surge of warmth filled your chest, and before you could take a step closer, the children burst forth, racing towards him with uncontainable exuberance. “Father!” they cried, their voices ringing out in pure delight.

He was so mesmerized by your beauty that the children had to tug at their father's shawl to get his attention. Marcus then knelt, arms wide open, as he welcomed the little ones into his embrace. He swept them up in a joyful whirl, showering each child with affectionate kisses on their cheeks. From where you stood, propped gently against the arm of the slave girl beside you, you felt a pang of envy watching their jubilant reunion. They peppered him with questions, their voices a sweet chorus of innocence, and he responded cheerfully, never once faltering in his joyful responses. You remained an observer for a moment, unable to draw any closer due to the lingering ache in your ankle, but that was alright. It filled you with warmth to watch him revel in fatherhood, the man you had missed with all your heart, even more dazzling and beloved than the memories that replayed in your mind during his absence.

"Father, did you bring me a present, I wonder?" Flora asked, her eyes sparkling with hope.

"Our father is returning from the battlefield; how could he possibly buy you a present?’ Marcius grumbled, glancing at his sister.

Marcus chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. "Ah, sweetlings, I've journeyed through war. However, I could not resist bringing you a treasure from the city I conquered."

He gestured to a soldier standing off to the side. Moments later, the soldier returned, carefully bearing a finely crafted cage that held three enchanting nightingales. "One for each of you. Treat them with kindness, yes?"

"They're lovely," Flora whispered in awe, leaning closer to admire their delicate feathers.

"We should name them," Marcius suggested enthusiastically.

"They sing so loudly, it’s like a music!" Publius added, his eyes wide with wonder.

As the children busied themselves with the birds, Marcus turned his attention towards you. You felt a pull to move closer to him, but the gnawing pain in your ankle held you back. 

"My lady, what troubles you? Are you hurt?" he asked, his brows knitting tightly in worry.

"It’s nothing, truly."

"Mother fell off the horse," Marcius interjected, making an innocent yet alarming revelation.

You shot him a frown, and he bit his lip in response. 

Marcus's worry intensified as his gaze darted from your face to your leg and back to you. "You fell off the horse?" His eyes filled with unease as he gently placed his hand over your stomach. "I hope nothing has happened to our child."

"Calm yourself, my love; our little one is perfectly healthy," you reassured him, placing your other hand over his.

“You didn’t mention this in your letter,” he said.

“I didn’t want to burden you with worry. I promise, I'm fine,” you replied, brushing your fingers softly against his cheek.

"But how did it happen?" he asked examining your leg.

"I'll tell you everything, but now, you must rest. Your bath is ready, let me feed you before that," you said with a smile.

“Very well," he said, pressing a tender kiss to your hand before wrapping his arm around you.

 As you stepped towards the triclinium, your eyes constantly met, filled with the longing that had built over the long weeks apart. "I missed you terribly," he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I missed you more, my love,” you replied, snuggling closer, feeling the warmth of his presence ease your aches.

"You still haven't told me how this happened," you urged anxiously, your gaze fixed on the wound in Marcus's shoulder. Its deep, angry red color sent a pang of sorrow through your heart, the sight nearly unbearable.

You had first spotted the wound during his bath, where the water had turned a shade darker around him. Now, sitting on the edge of your bed, your hands were gentle yet trembling as you examined his injury. The slaves had diligently prepared an herbal concoction at your request, and the air was filled with the earthy aroma of healing plants as you carefully began to apply it to his wound.

"My men raised the tower on my orders to breach their walls, but the drawbridge was stuck. There was no time to lose," he said. “Without hesitation, I put the galea on my head, drew my sword, and dashed toward the chain to break it free. Despite their efforts to shield me from the arrows raining down, a few struck true. In the end, I managed to drop the drawbridge, and we surged into the city." He added this with a grin.

Your brow furrowed in concern. "Did you really need to take such a reckless action? You could have given the command to someone else."

Marcus tenderly cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a reassuring line along your jaw. "I had to think quickly in that moment, my love. We were cornered, trapped between the walls and their menacing catapults; there was no other choice."

"But what if an arrow had struck closer to your heart?" you whispered, your throat tightening at the horrifying thought. The mere idea sent chills through you, echoing a sharp ache in your chest.

"I already have an arrow stuck in my heart," he replied with a soft smile, his fingers tucking away a few strands of hair that had fallen across your forehead.

"When you say it like that, it sounds as if my love is causing you pain."

"True, it hurts," he said, his voice low and soothing, "But it’s a beautiful kind of pain. It burns deep within me, yet it's a fire that purifies—a flame that sanctifies. It’s a fire I crave to consume me." He murmured these words as he leaned closer, the sweet aroma of wine drifting from his breath.

You touched his lips with your trembling fingers, feeling the warmth radiating from him. "Marcus," you breathed, "I can't lose you." Your words broke, and a sob welled up from deep within you, tears spilling down your cheeks.  

"Shh, carissima," he soothed, his thumb gently wiping away your tears. "You won't lose me.”

You smiled and turned your head slightly to kiss his palm.

“I love you, my beautiful Aurelia. I will love you forever, in this life, the next, and the one after that,” he whispered as his hand glided up the back of your neck in a gentle caress, his fingers softly brushing through your hair. Inhaling your scent, he pressed his lips to your hair, his breath warm against the long strands. You arched your neck, eyes closed, a soft sound escaping your throat.

You were so delicate, here in his arms; so light, so beautiful.

All your worries melted away as you pulled his mouth down to yours; he allowed you to remove his tunic, your fingers trailing over his muscled chest. A groan of desire escaped from his throat as you kissed him deeply, fiercely. He gave all of himself to you in return, stroking the tip of his tongue around the inside of your lips, pulling you closer to him possessively, tugging your lower lip gently between his teeth. The sound you made then is almost a growl, impossibly arousing to him.

It's a battle, a dance, a music. Everything you could think of fits, for this.

"I love you for waiting for me, for taking care of me, for taking care of our children, for being everything I ever wanted - and more." He purred, kissing your neck, letting his tongue run over your pulse point. You felt him smile as your lips met again, and then he pushed forward, beyond you, tilting his mouth over yours to deepen the kiss. You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he slipped his hand inside your cream-coloured tunic, his thumb brushing against your nipple beneath the thin fabric.

You broke away from the kiss, gasping sharply in response to the caress, realizing how much you've missed his touch and how much you needed it now. He took the opportunity to press tiny wet kisses along the line of your jaw, working his way over to your ear. “Have I told you how much I have missed you, darling wife?” he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. Without waiting for a response, he continued, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Countless times, but I would gladly hear it again—I’ve missed you just as deeply, my dear husband,” you said in a whisper. 

With that, he grabbed you by the waist and laid you gently yet eagerly on the bed. His fingers were no longer gentle as he undressed you roughly, and when you were completely naked, he slowly slid the knuckles of his hand from your ankle up your thighs, making you shiver. “I have missed your sweet taste,” he whispered. You moaned with pleasure when he lowered himself to you and drew your nipple between his lips, suckling against you and stroking the sensitive flesh with his tongue. As he continued to worship your breasts, one hand slid down your leg and gently grasped your ankle. "It won't hurt if I do this, will it?" he asked and, careful not to hurt you, he lifted your leg and placed it carefully over his shoulder. Your heart fluttered as you realized his intentions, and you could only nod fervently in response; he chuckled at your reaction and bent down to spread your other leg to the side. You held your breath as he lowered his head between your thighs, his warm breath showering your wet folds.

He claimed you with every yearning touch, noting how much you longed for this; you moaned as he curled first one, then two fingers into you, now nibbling, sucking greedily, ravenously on your clit, causing your hips to rock against him, your every breath another gasped cry. Since he was full of longing, he loved it as he saw how desperate you were for him, how you craved more and more. He was too, quickly lost himself in you, in what you did to him and the way you responded. You were all he could breathe, the warmth of your skin, the dampness, your scent, feeling your familiar response to his torture. 

As always, he loved it. 

It wasn't long before you were nearing your climax; he could tell by your movements; of course, he could, he knew you so well, so he deliberately increased his torment in the next step, giving you all the pleasure he could, and you cried out his name over and over again as you came. Then he held you in his arms and kissed your forehead, which was glistening with sweat.

"So beautiful," he whispered, looking into your half-closed eyes as he gently caressed your flushed cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck again to kiss him hungrily. Your lips slid down his thick neck, planting kisses on his skin along the way, and now he was fully aroused, feeling so hard it almost hurt. His eyes sparkled like gems as he rubbed against your thigh, spreading his moisture over your skin and marking you with it. You reached down with your hand, found it, stroked it, running the nail of your thumb along the groove that connected head to shaft, and it was enough to make him spread your legs wide, urgently positioning himself between your thighs with a moan of pure pleasure.

“I need to feel you, my love,” he gasped. “I need to be inside you.”

And he pushed himself fully inside you, then reached for a pillow and propped it under your leg, making sure not to hurt your ankle when you bounced against his thrusts. You shuddered, your eyes gleaming as you gazed up at him, admiring how caring and protective he was of you even at this moment. 

He made love to you until his control began to slip through his fingers, and the pleasure of being inside you was too much. He could feel you quivering under him, your warm breath against his ear as you sobbed in pleasure, and you moved together until you seemed to exist only to feel the ecstasy of it. You arched under him, and he pulled back, then slid his full length inside you, he repeated and repeated again. Clinging at his back, you were begging him not to stop. Soon, your walls began to constrict around him, and he felt himself close to the edge. 

In that moment, your fingers intertwined and your eyes locked, as you came together in perfect harmony. Then he collapsed to you, his weight cushioned on you, and you were still trying desperately to catch your breath. He reached down, once he was able to muster the strength, and pulled the sheets over both of you, covering you both. You snuggled closer to his chest, truly cherishing the warmth and happiness of your reunion, feeling an immense gratitude for this beautiful moment shared together.

Years later…

On the deck of a merchant ship sailing to Alexandria, you sighed deeply, feeling the gentle sea breeze against your skin. You leaned on the polished wooden railings, your gaze lost in the mesmerizing expanse of the Mediterranean Sea, its sapphire waves sparkling under the brilliant midday sun. It had been many years since your last sea voyage, but the rhythmic rocking of the ship, a comforting reminder of your childhood, felt soothing rather than irritating. Perhaps you were finally acclimating to it, as this was now the third day of your journey.

“Do you think the children will be alright while we're away?” you asked, concern threading your voice like a delicate vine.

Marcus, seated on the steps of the deck, his strong hands deftly sharpening his pugio, looked up with a reassuring smile before returning to his task. “Don't worry, my love. They’re all grown now and can take care of themselves. Besides, with Darius and Octavius watching over them, no one would dare to cause them trouble.”

He spoke the truth. Marcius and Publius had matured into young men, now fifteen years old, while Flora had blossomed into an exceptionally beautiful young woman. Marcus, fiercely devoted and protective of his only daughter, had resolutely declined all marriage proposals from patrician and noble families. In the traditions of Rome, marriage typically started at the tender age of twelve, but to you, she would always be your little girl. Over the years, you had been blessed with two more sons: Aurelius, now ten and full of mischief, and the sweet Severus, who was just seven, Both boys are eager imitators and antics of their older brother. Although Flora was the apple of her father’s eye, you harbored an equal love for all your children; each held a special place in your heart. Thus, it seemed wisest for them to remain in Rome during your absence.

Over the years, Marcus continued to fulfill his duties as emperor, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of passing the throne to a deserving successor, to Publius. He had faced the trials of war twice more, yet through his unwavering strength and strategic prowess, he had restored Rome to its rightful glory. 

Publius, steadfastly at his uncle's side, was actively engaged in the affairs of the city, addressing the council's decisions, negotiating treaties in the grand hall, and hosting messengers from far-off lands. Marcus meticulously trained him, preparing him for the weighty responsibilities ahead, trusting him completely—an admiration that Publius returned tenfold. Your heart swelled with pride as you observed his remarkable transformation into a capable and responsible young man.

In contrast, Marcius had chosen a different path. While brilliant and clever, he had little interest in the intrigues of politics. His true passion lay in the art of combat. He had trained rigorously, honing his skills until he often found himself in spirited duels with his father, coming tantalizingly close to besting him. Marcus, filled with pride, gleefully admitted that one day Marcius would surpass him in skill, and he was confident that eventually, Marcius would rise to become a commander like himself, leading armies to victory.

The warm touch of Marcus' arm around your waist distracted your thoughts. 

“Are you hungry? They’re serving food,” he said. 

You turned your gaze in the direction he pointed. A crowd of passengers was bustling around, filling their plates with food, while the laughter and chatter of children rang out, reminding you of your own dear ones as they happily filled their stomachs. Here, aboard the ship, you embraced the simplicity of life as one of the ordinary noble families, shedding the heavy mantle of being emperor and empress. It was your choice; it felt more comfortable this way. Besides, the citizens didn’t need to know that their emperor was slipping away from the city for a few months, did they? 

“I’ll fetch our food, my lady. Please have a seat,” he said with a charming smile, kissing you tenderly on the cheek before striding off to the food line. Your heart fluttered as you watched him move through the crowd, his presence still captivating despite the years that had shaped you both. Time had left its mark—slight wrinkles now framed your eyes, and silver strands had become more prominent in Marcus’ curls—but he remained strikingly handsome. Despite these physical changes, the essence of your relationship—the love, cherished affection, unwavering respect, burning passion, and deep admiration—had remained beautifully intact, just as it was on that fateful first day.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. A palpable tension surged among the passengers as nervous whispers filled the air. People scrambled to one side of the deck, eyes wide with fear, drawn to the railings in rush. You approached Marcus, who was equally drawn to the commotion. The Magister Navis, the ship’s captain, shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted intently at the distant vessel. After a heart-stopping moment, he dropped his hand, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“The ship has no flag,” he muttered, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd, but you still struggled to grasp the full meaning. 

“Pirates,” Marcus hissed.

You stared at him in disbelief, then back at the ominous shape of the ship on the horizon, creeping closer and darker. Tales of pirates attacking and capturing merchant ships had floated through for years, but you had never imagined facing such danger firsthand.

“How many archers are on board?” Marcus asked, his tone firm and commanding as he focused on the captain. 

“This is a simple, merchant ship, sir—only twenty,” the captain replied, his face pale and drawn. “But how can we resist them—with what?”

“With what we have,” Marcus growled, steel threading through his voice. “Get the archers here now, and anyone else who has skill with a sword.”

The captain's expression shifted to confusion. “Sir, are you a soldier?”

In one fluid motion, Marcus swept aside his cloak to reveal gleaming armor that shimmered like silver in the dim light. “Does this answer your question? Do as I say now—there is no time to lose.”

The captain nodded, looking at the other passengers, who stared at them with fearful eyes. “We need the help of men who know how to use swords. Women and children, please, head down to the hold and remain out of sight; we’ll stand guard against the pirates.”

As they exchanged nervous murmurs, Marcus grasped your arm, guiding you toward the hold with a firm yet gentle touch. “You need to go with them.”

“But I can help!” you protested. Your archery skills had sharpened remarkably, and you yearned to prove your worth. But Marcus, protective as ever, remained resolute, a stern expression etched across his handsome face.

“Aurelia, it’s far too dangerous. Please, stay where it’s safe.”

“How can I just sit there while you fight?” you asked, fire igniting in your chest. “Let me watch your back; I’m ready to stand alongside you!”

Marcus smiled. “I believe in your abilities my brave wife, but your safety is my top priority."

You frowned and crossed your arms stubbornly.

"If you don’t, I might have to lock you in there—and I wouldn’t hesitate,” he said then.

“Must you always play the protector?”

“You know the answer to that, my lady,” he replied as he led you down with the others.

As you entered the hold of the ship filled with anxious women and men, Marcus cast a discerning glance over their figures, illuminated by the low light. “Are you really going to hide here among the women? Do you truly call yourselves men?” he asked, his tone sharpened by disappointment.

The men exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of uncertainty and intimidation as they averted their gazes. Marcus sighed. “Look at yourselves. Even my wife is ready to fight by my side.”

One of the men, his voice trembling slightly, spoke up, “Forgive me, but I’ve never handled a sword before.” The others nodded in reluctant agreement, their faces betraying them. 

Marcus then rummaged through the ammunition in the hold, finally pulling out small, sturdy knives. He distributed them carefully, urging, “At least defend your women until the last moment. If you must meet your end, do so with honor.” Then he turned to you. “Whatever happens, don’t leave here.”

“I can’t promise that,” you replied stubbornly.

He glared at you. “Aurelia.”

“If you want me to stay put, you must take care of yourself out there. I can’t just stand here if something happens to you,” you insisted.

Marcus grinned. “Fair deal.” He gave you one last look, kissed the top of your head, and then closed the door before heading up on deck.

One of the women placed her hand on your shoulder and smiled. “Your man is very brave,” she said admiringly.

You smiled back. “He certainly is. He’s a hero,” you replied. You glanced at the worried women and children. “He’ll save us all. Don’t you worry.”

But soon, the air thickened with tension as shouts erupted from the deck, announcing the imminent arrival of the pirate ship. At first, their voices roared a warning to the captain, demanding he surrender the vessel. The captain’s steadfast refusal rang out like a rallying cry, and then you heard Marcus’s commanding voice slice through the chaos.

“Archers!” he called, the urgency palpable.

The pirates, undeterred, shouted back, their threats hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. When arrows flew through the air, the battle ignited, sending waves of adrenaline through you. Anxiety gripped the crew, their fears palpable, and you had hoped that the enemy would be outnumbered. But as you peered through the wooden slats of the ship, dread knotted in your stomach. It was clear that the odds were far less in your favor than you had hoped.

Chaos erupted as pirates leaped from their ship onto yours, swords clashing and fierce shouts echoing throughout the vessel. Time stretched on agonizingly, and then, suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps jolted everyone to attention. 

Instinctively, you grabbed a bow and arrows from the armory, your heart pounding in your chest as you aimed at the door, prepared to defend your position against any intruder. Behind you, children let out frightened whimpers, and women murmured desperate prayers to the gods for protection. Then, as if fueled by your quiet resolve, the men behind you drew strength from your presence. You caught a glimpse of their determination, and you nodded, silently encouraging them.

Just then, someone burst through the door, pushing it open with a heavy shoulder. He stood there for a moment, eyes wide as they took you in, then glanced at the anxious faces behind you. A cruel grin broke across his face. “What have we here?

"Stay back or I'll pierce your skull!" you barked.

The pirate looked at his friend and grinned. “How ambitious. Put it away, lady, before you hurt yourself.” He said as he approached you and you released the arrow, and just as you said, it pierced the man's skull. 

The other man opened his eyes wide, staring at his friend's collapsed body, filled with anger. “You whore! I’ll kill you!”

You picked up your new arrow, placed it on the bow, and drew back the string. In just a few seconds, you finished him off. The only reason they had managed to get down here so easily was that Marcus and the others must have been in trouble. You couldn't just stand by; you had to act. Turning to the others, you said, “Whatever happens, don’t leave here. I’ll help them.”

Perhaps if you had expressed this before taking up the bow and arrow, they might have stopped you. But now, they only nodded. The admiration in their eyes gave you strength. You jumped over the lifeless bodies of the pirates on the floor you had just killed, left the hold, and made your way out onto the deck from the stern of the ship.

It wasn't as easy as you had imagined being in a real battle. But you had to do it; you had to help your man. When you reached a high vantage point on the back deck, you leaned forward and scanned the scene ahead, your heart racing. Marcus was surrounded by at least five men, and the battle was not going well. The Captain and the others were fighting with all their might, but the situation was dire. 

You needed to think fast. Your supply of arrows was limited, so every shot had to count. Taking a deep breath, you drew your arrow, waited, and aimed carefully. You knew that if you hit someone, it wouldn’t take long for them to notice you, and you would be in immediate danger. You had to be quick. A moment later, you saw someone push Marcus to the ground, and without hesitation, you released your arrow.

It went straight through the man's throat and he collapsed violently. 

His opponents and Marcus looked in surprise in the direction of the arrow, but you ignored their expressions, concentrating solely on the most critical target: your opponent. You quickly drew another arrow and took out the other man. Their surprise lingered a bit too long as they realized you were a woman, but then the man you believed to be their leader shouted out. "Over there, kill her!”

"No! Aurelia!" Marcus roared, taking advantage of their confusion to cut down the first two and then one with angry sword thrusts. He ran towards you, but there were two more approaching you too. Fear took over your body, your hand shaking as you aimed again with the new arrow, but you tried to pull yourself together and as one man was about to swing his sword at you, you released your arrow and it struck him in the chest and he fell to the ground. 

Marcus threw his pugio at the other man and neutralized him; the sharp knife pierced his back, and he collapsed. You looked at him and smiled proudly, but before you knew what was happening, an arrow suddenly shot towards you. You felt a sharp pain in your arm and screamed in agony.

“Aurelia!” Marcus shouted at the top of his lungs as he rushed to your side. Fortunately, the arrow had only grazed you, but the wound was deep enough to bleed. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back, away from the path of raining arrows. 

“Are you all right?” The concern in his voice was evident.

“It just grazed my arm,” you replied through clenched teeth. You groaned as Marcus sheathed his sword, tore a piece of your dress, and wrapped it around your wound.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay downstairs?” he said, a mix of anger and concern in his voice. “Did you get hurt anywhere else?” He didn’t notice the men approaching behind him as he examined you from head to toe with great concern.

“Marcus, behind you!' you shouted to warn him. And it was only a matter of time before he drew his sword, turned and lunged, cutting down both men in one swift motion.  

“Stay behind me,” he ordered you, then turned to the archers. “Archers!” He pointed his sword at the pirate ship. With fewer pirates now, they could finally use their arrows. “Draw!” The archers lit their oil-soaked arrows, prepared to aim. “Release!” Marcus shouted, and fiery arrows rained down on the pirate ship. Some struck the sails, while others hit critical parts of the vessel, causing it to burst into flames.

As the pirates onboard scrambled to extinguish the fire, Marcus urged the archers to attack again. Soon, the ship was engulfed in flames, forcing the pirates to jump overboard. With the immediate threat diminished, Marcus turned to you. “Now that most of their archers and crew have been neutralized, you’re in less danger. If you want to help, assist me in taking out the rest. Can you do that?” 

You understood his words, nodded with a smile, and nocked an arrow on your bow. “I’ll watch your back!”

He shot you a wink before leaping from the ledge to the ship’s deck below. As he charged towards the dwindling band of pirates, you took aim, releasing one arrow after another with precision. Each shot found its mark, felling foes intent on rushing him. The air crackled with tension as archers and fighters alike poured their souls into the battle, and soon the ship was free of the pirate threat. 

A triumphant cheer erupted around you as the last remnants of the enemy fell, echoing with the exhilaration of victory. Your heart swelled with joy as you glanced at Marcus, who was beaming as he approached you, the sunlight glinting off his sweat-drenched brow. 

When he reached you, his gaze was intense, locked onto your lips as if they were the very lifeline he had fought for. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and kissed you with a fervor that made the world around you fade away. You both basked in the heat of the moment, utterly unbothered by the sweat and blood that clung to your skin. “I have fallen in love with you once again, my love,” he cooed, planting another passionate kiss on your lips.

From a distance, the rest of the crew watched in awe, expressions filled with admiration and gratitude. They may not have known your true identity, but they felt respect for the bond you shared, as if they could sense the strength of your love that had sealed your fates together.

After three long nights and four exhausting days, the ship finally docked at the bustling port of Alexandria. The turbulent days following the pirate attack had forged bonds among the passengers, and you found yourself surrounded by newfound friends who deeply respected you for your courage. As the captain maneuvered the vessel into the harbor, the salty breeze filled the air, and excitement thrummed through the crew as everyone gathered on deck, eager to welcome solid ground once more.

As the captain docked the ship, everyone gathered on deck, preparing to disembark. Marcus said goodbye to those he had fought alongside, then you bid farewell to the women before finally stepping onto land. You sighed deeply, looking around in awe and longing. “Oh, how I've missed this place.”

Marcus took your hand, the bag containing your belongings in his other hand. 

“I hope Vicius' house isn't far from here. I feel utterly drained,” he confessed, his exhaustion evident in his tone.

“Me too,” you replied, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “And I desperately need a bath; I still carry the brine of the sea with me. The house is just up that way—we’ll need to walk a bit.” You pointed down a sun-dappled street, its cobblestones warm beneath your feet.

Lucius knew you were coming, but your reunion with him could wait; now you really needed to rest. As you walked towards Vicius' house, navigating the vibrant streets of Alexandria felt like stepping back in time, but this time, you were not alone. Your husband, the man you loved dearly, walking beside you. You narrated tales of the places from your past: the market, the baths, the Valetudinarium, and the other significant spots that shaped your youth. Marcus listened intently, asking questions that encouraged you to delve deeper.

After about half an hour of walking, you smiled as you entered a familiar road At the end of the street stood Vicius' house, where you had spent your childhood and youth.

It felt as if the house was welcoming you with open arms. “Marcus, look! There it is! Oh, it hasn’t changed at all after all these years!” you exclaimed, running ahead toward the house.

Marcus smiled at your joyful sprint, as if you were a little girl rather than a woman nearing the end of her thirties. He followed close behind, sharing in your delight. You opened the door, and memories flooded back, enveloping you. For a moment, you simply stood there, taking in the beauty and the emotional weight of returning after all these years as a completely different person.

Carefully, Marcus set down the bag and sword belt on a sturdy oak table, then stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, their warmth enveloping you. “So, my beautiful Aurelia grew up in this house,” he murmured, looking around.

“Not as grand as your villa, but it's nice here too,” you replied.

“My villa stands grand and peaceful because you fill it with your light,” he said softly. “Every place becomes something beautiful with your presence, my love,” he breathed, his voice a velvet caress.

“Marcus,” you cooed, a smile curling your lips as you turned your head to meet his gaze. "This place takes on a whole new significance now that you’re here, my beloved husband."

He smiled in response and drew you to him, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. After meandering through the various rooms and reliving cherished memories, you led Marcus out into the courtyard, eager to share the garden, where flowers danced in the breeze, and the neighborhood. Gratitude washed over you for Lucius, who had taken the time to prepare the house, leaving it cleaned and stocked with provisions in the kitchen. Though you had intended to visit him tomorrow, you knew today was a day for rest.

In the early hours of the day, after enjoying a simple yet satisfying breakfast, you left the house and made your way outside. Stepping into the streets of Alexandria, filled with the scent of sea salt, you set off to visit Lucius at the Valetudinarium. Marcus wore a simple tunic instead of his armor, along with a cloak, while you donned a plain stola, accessorized only with earrings and bracelets. It felt much better to walk around like this—without a crown on your head or any extravagant items to showcase your status and draw curious glances from passersby. He appeared to feel the same way, as he seemed more relaxed. It was nice to stroll around Alexandria like this, at least until you returned to Rome; it felt like a vacation. As you walked through the streets where you had sometimes cried in a corner and where you had also run with joy, you took in the surroundings. The harbor, the market, and the houses around it had changed slightly after all these years, but to you, everything felt familiar.

As you strolled through familiar streets that had witnessed both your tears and your laughter, you soaked in the vibrant sights and sounds surrounding you. The harbor glistened under the sun's golden rays, turquoise waters gently lapping at the docks, while the market buzzed with animated chatter and the rich aroma of spices filled the air. Though some things had changed over the years—the colors of the market stalls perhaps a little brighter and the paths a touch more worn—everything felt inherently the same to you, a cherished tapestry of memories.

When you arrived at the Valetudinarium, the guards at the entrance stopped you. The frustrating part of disguising your identity was that you couldn’t enter as an ordinary woman when you could easily go in as an empress. Fortunately, Lucius recognized you and approached the guards, explaining the situation. The guards immediately bowed their heads, apologized, and let you pass.

“Lucius!” you called out joyfully, running to him and giving him a hug.

“Aurelia,” he chuckled, patting your back, “I nearly forgot your radiant face, my dear.” His gaze flickered toward Marcus, who stood by, watching the reunion with a smile.

“Your Highness,” Lucius greeted with a nod, tapping Marcus lightly on the shoulder.

“Just call me by name, please,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a friendly grin as he returned the gesture.

“Works for me,” Lucius grinned. “Come on in,” he said, inviting you inside.

You missed this place; after all, you used to spend half the day here. As you made your way to Vicius' room, Lucius filled you in on the changes and updates about his life. He had written to you in his letters about being married and having a son. As he shared stories about his wife and child, you walked through the familiar corridors. Now that he was supra medicus (the chief physician), he had been given Vicius' room. 

When you finally reached the room, a deep sigh escaped your lips, the memories flooding back with every glance.

“I’ve organized the room a bit, but I haven’t touched any of Vicius' belongings. They’re all in that closet; would you like to take a look?” Lucius asked.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucius,” you replied, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

You helped him carefully arrange Vicius' cherished items on the table while Marcus examined the assortment of medicine bottles lining the shelves. 

“Oh, I remember this,” you murmured, lifting a small vial of medicine that caught the light. “This was the concoction I crafted that saved that boy's life. Vicius told me to keep it and to feel proud of my work.” The memory warmed your heart, and the image of his proud face appeared before your eyes.

“How smug you were for figuring it out before I did,” Lucius said sarcastically. Then he glanced at Marcus. “She stubbornly kept making the mixture all morning; you wouldn’t believe how determined she was.”

Marcus grinned. "Knowing well about her stubbornness, I absolutely believe it," he said, looking at you with a smirk.

You giggled and looked at Lucius. “Jealous much?”

Your laughter faded as your gaze fell upon one of the other bags. It was the bag you had meticulously packed for days, preparing to take to Rome with Vicius, a dream that had been shattered by the very incident that had led you to Marcus.

“These clothes don’t belong to Vicius; I completely forgot to dispose of them,” he muttered, his voice tinged with regret. “Do you remember that man?”

You looked at him, opening Vicius's bag and peering inside. “Which one?”

“The one from Rome, the consul or something.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” you replied, your attention focused on the items in the bag. 

“These clothes definitely belong to a member of the Senate,” Marcus said, looking a little thoughtful. “Why was he here, I wonder?”

“I can’t say,” Lucius replied. “Vicius kept him a secret and worked hard to heal that man. He said he was suffering from an incurable disease.”

Suddenly, you noticed a letter tucked away at the bottom of the bag. As you reached for it and carefully unfolded the paper, a ring adorned with emeralds slipped out, landing softly on the floor and rolling toward Marcus. "I remember this letter," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Vicius wrote this man's last will and testament here. We were meant to deliver it to his family when we arrived in Rome."

A shudder ran through you as memories washed over you—the man’s illness ravaging his body, the tortured look in his eyes as he grasped the harsh reality that Vicius wouldn’t be able to save him. When you turned to collect the ring, you noticed Marcus standing frozen, his eyes wide as he stared at it.

“This... But how?” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he studied the ring with an intensity that made you curious.

Lucius and you exchanged confused looks.

“Marcus? What’s wrong?” you asked as you approached him.

“This ring,” he said, a whisper of disbelief in his voice as he turned it over in his fingers. What was it about the ring that fascinated him so much, you wondered. Marcus handed you the ring.

“Read the inscription inside,” he said, and you did. The delicate engraving revealed itself, a legacy etched into metal—a family ring, typically passed down from father to son, a tangible connection to those who had worn it before. As your eyes settled on the name within the band, 'Acacius' leapt out at you in bold letters.

You remained frozen, your mind racing with possibilities. “Marcus,” you finally managed to utter, the revelation heavy on your tongue. “That consul... that man... was he your father?”

Silence enveloped the room like a shroud, yet the storm of emotion swirling in his eyes spoke volumes. A wave of pain washed over him as he seated himself heavily with a deep sigh. “I had just risen to the rank of general, commanding the legions stationed here. In my anger, I refused the ring he offered. I thought he had returned to Rome, oblivious to the fact that he was gravely ill. Tullia said he died in Alexandria, but…” His voice quivered.

“The gods seem to possess an unusual sense of humor,” Lucius murmured.

Quickly, you reached for the letter you had earlier retrieved from the bag, handing it over with a sense of urgency. “He must have written this to you,” you insisted, your heart aching for him.

Marcus took the letter, eyeing it, his hands trembling.

“We'll give you some space,” you offered softly, glancing at Lucius, who nodded in agreement before stepping towards the door. As the door creaked open, Marcus abruptly grasped your wrist, drawing you closer.

"Please remain here with me," he requested softly. 

“I'll be right outside,” Lucius assured, retreating into the hallway as the door closed behind him.

Taking a seat beside Marcus, you instinctively encircled your arms around one of his to offer warmth and support. After a moment to compose himself, he began to unfold the letter and read words aloud.

"My beloved son, Marcus. If you are reading this letter, it means I have already taken my final breath. I journeyed to Alexandria, driven by the longing to see you, just after Septimius’s passing. It has been years since I last beheld your face, and the pain of that absence has weighed heavily on my heart. I understand that you still harbor deep-seated anger towards me—anger for forcing you into a marriage with an unfaithful woman unworthy of your love and for never honoring your valor as a soldier. But this time, I come not to seek your forgiveness for my past transgressions or to persuade you to join the Senate, as I did during our last encounter—a plea that you rightly rebuffed. My son, the illness I’ve has rendered me incapable of undertaking any journey; Vicius insists that I may not return to Rome."

Marcus swallowed hard, the emotion welling in his chest, and you placed a comforting hand on his back. He took a moment to steady himself before continuing. "My last request, should this letter reach your hands, is that you take our family ring, and bestow it upon your firstborn son—whether you wear it or not, it holds our legacy after all. One last thing..." he faltered, searching for words.

"What is it, my love? Please continue," You urged gently, meeting his gaze.

He pressed on, though a frown creased his brow. "When Vicius returns to Rome, he will seek your assistance. I implore you to aid him. He will bring with him Princess Aurelia, the only daughter and firstborn child of Septimius, and you must make it your solemn duty to protect her at all costs. Only you can do so. Guard her against the treachery of Macrinus, the scheming empress Julia, and the twin emperors, the princess’s half-brothers. If it becomes necessary, marry her to ensure her safety."

"Gods," you breathed, your hand instinctively covering your chest as shock coursed through you.

"These are the final wishes of a dying old man, and I have faith that you will honor them, regardless of your resentment towards me. I hope, one day, you will find it within yourself to forgive me.

Your father, Marcianus Acacius."

For a while, you remained silent, the weight of Marcus' father’s letter pressing upon you like a heavy shroud. The emotional turmoil it stirred would take time to process.

Later that evening, Lucius invited you to his home for dinner. You found comfort in the warmth of pleasant conversation and the sight of him happily seated beside his wife and son. Marcus seemed quiet but enjoyed spending time with Lucius’s son.

When the night finally drew to a close, you returned home. Lying in the comfort of your bed, your mind drifted back to the letter, its words lingering in the air around you like a whisper.

"So, it seems we were always destined to meet," you murmured softly, looking into his eyes.

"Indeed, my love," he replied with a smile.

Resting your head against his chest, you murmured, "How do you think our lives would have unfolded if we hadn't met that night? Do you think we would still have fallen in love in the same way?"

Marcus gazed at you. "Without a doubt. But this time, I would have asked for your hand at once," he chuckled. "And besides, my father entrusted me with your protection; how could I have dared to ignore it when I beheld your breathtaking beauty?"

You chuckled softly, "If my heart hadn't been so stubborn and weighed down by the sorrow of Vicius's death, and if our paths had crossed in your villa from the very beginning, I would have wanted to marry you without hesitation." 

He leaned closer. "It seems the Gods have woven our fates together, my lady." He intertwined his fingers with yours, and together, you admired your hands, captivated by the unique contrast in sizes, skin tones, and textures. “In the end, all paths lead to one remarkable fate,” he mused. “Isn’t it beautifully strange?”

“It truly is,” you whispered, your heart fluttering softly at the moment.

Then, he captured your lips in a kiss, igniting a passionate fire within you that flared and crackled, leaving you both suspended in the exquisite bliss of the moment, fully immersed in the magic that was undeniably yours.

"Are you going to give the ring to Marcius, or will you wear it?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of playful curiosity as you packed your belongings that morning.

The morning sun bathed the courtyard in golden light, bringing to life the memories you created during those cherished months. While peace and warmth filled your days, a persistent ache for your children tugged at your heart. You have missed them so much.

Marcus slipped the gleaming ring onto his finger. "I'll give it to him one day. Until that day arrives, I want to wear it."

A soft smile broke across your face; you understood his desire to honor his father's last wish, that connection to family bonding him to the legacy he would one day pass on.

"Are you ready to leave? Do you have everything you need?" 

"Yes, I have everything. I believe I'm ready to leave now."

"Aurelia," Marcus said, his eyes twinkling as he took your hand in his, "I have cherished my time here with you, living this simple, ordinary life, much more than I ever did as Emperor or General."

Your heart swelled at his words. "Me too," you replied softly. "It has felt as effortless as breathing. There’s something magical about stepping away from the burdens of power—without slaves bustling around, consuls debating, or guards pacing.

"We can always come back here if you wish, whenever the Empress's duties wear you down," he teased with a smirk.

"Actually, that won't be necessary," you said.

"Will it not? You surprise me, my lady. May I ask why?"

"There’s a very simple reason," you said, your gaze softening. "You are my family. As long as I have you and our children, I can make a home anywhere—whether in a modest house like this or a grand palace. Titles and status mean little; what truly matters is that you stand beside me as my husband. Together, we can turn any place into a haven of joy and love."

"My enchanting wife," he breathed, drawing you into his embrace, his arms encircling you with a protective warmth that seemed to shield you both from the trials of the outside world. It was a warmth that whispered of resilience, an unspoken promise that together, you could withstand anything life threw your way.

And so, with a gentle whisper of fate, the tale of General Marcus Acacius and Princess Aurelia drew to a close, for now. Yet, the embers of their love glimmered with an unquenchable flame, destined to endure through the sands of time, stretching into the infinity of eternity.

@orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury @shinymusicpanda @somedayheaven @ivoryandflame @negrita2345 @music-lover09 @javiismyhsbnd @idontcareihavenoidea @jisungandpedrolover @mmkkzz @ro-nahime-things @indiegirlunited @kluvspedro @movievillainess721 @berriesarepunk @bonadeamo @heramj @blushingwueen @smoochispoof @littlemisspascal @kirashess @okaaaadereeee

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your likes, comments and reblogs are soo important to me, and thank you for all support, love you all❤️

[criminallyvenomous]

Cat Toys & Blanket Covered Boys

•Plot - In which you and Spencer enjoy a day off together, glad to be able to be together instead of in secret, when Penelope stops by to deliver a present for your cat and sees a sight she’d rather not.

•Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of sex, but ultimately pretty fluffy (as usual for me)

•Word Count - 537

•A/N - please send requests lol

It had been a really good day off. You’d think working with your boyfriend every day would make you want some time apart. Yet, in reality when it came to Spencer, you just wanted time between the two of you where you could be a couple. Where you could be intimate in any way you desired. From hand holding during suspenseful scenes in movies, to random moments where you two just decide to jump each other’s bones.

Which is what happened today. You were watching something on Hulu with Spencer by your side and your cat on the edge of the couch. He had gotten quite fond of your partner. By the time the movie ended and credits began to roll in, you noticed your cat had gone off to another room and it was just you and Spencer and my god did he look good.

It was relatively short compared to your usual sessions, but enjoyable nonetheless. You probably would’ve continued on if the two of you weren’t so exhausted from working that week. You were too tired to even get dressed again, deciding that a shared blanket was good enough.

That was when a knock rang through the door, followed by another, and another. Spencer looked to you and you shrugged.

“Probably a delivery, I’ll get it.” You slipped on your shirt from the floor and followed it with Spencer’s boxers. They were basically like shorts on you. You turned to Spencer, smiling, then went to the door.

“Y/N!” Penelope chirped and took a step in from the doorway. “I saw this in the pet store window and needed to get it for my little kitty godson.”

“Awh, thank you. I’m sure he’ll love it.” You smiled gratefully.

“Where is he? I wanna see his reaction.” She started jingling the cute little squid toy and entering the apartment.

“Hey..” You tried to stop her, but it was too late.

It was complete silence other than the final jingle of the toy as it hit the floor. Penelope was slack jawed and staring directly at Spencer, who was trying to cover as much as he could with the throw blanket as he awkwardly sat up on the couch.

“What? How? What?” She was stuttering. You knew it was bad when you left Penelope speechless. You walked over to stand between the two of them.

“Now’s not a great time.”

“I can see that.” Her expression went from shock to a twisted smile as she looked from you to him and from him to you.

“Please don’t say anything.” Spencer finally spoke, blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She excused herself, but before she left your cat walked up to the toy and began playing with it, breaking the awkwardness. You chuckled at the sight.

“I’m so glad you like it!” She said to him, trying to ignore the sight of the essentially naked Dr. Reid on your couch.

“We’ll have to schedule a playdate with Sergio again. He misses his buddy.” You said as you ushered her out.

When the door closed, you sat against it, defeated.

“What the fuck?” You laughed and looked towards Spencer who smiled, laughing along.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Spoiled Rotten

The lads men showing how spoiled their girl is. ft everybody even the mystery 6th LI [Requested by: Self aware anon]

Zayne

_thedrzayne

♥️ liked by misshuntermc, yvannamama, _thedrnoah and 77k others

_thedrzayne: I want to spoil you like this for the next decade

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: Loving you isn’t enough I need to be curled up inside your frontal lobe

↳ _thedrzayne: ‘Zayne I love you’ would've sufficed My Love ↳ misshuntermc: When he says ‘I love you’ but I say ‘Let me wear you as a skin suit’ 😈 ↳ _thedrzayne: ok…..

_thedrnoah: Young love such a beautiful thing treat her well kiddo 👍🏼

↳ _thedrzayne: I wouldn’t treat her any other way and I’m not a child ↳ misshuntermc: Don’t be a smartass 😒

yvannamama: If he doesn’t love me like this I don’t want it

↳ gray.sun: You find that crush yet? 🧐 ↳ yvannamama: You think I won’t put roaches in your shoes? 🙃 ↳ _thedrzayne: Yvonne where would you acquire roaches? ↳ yvannamama: I’m sure Carter got a few crawling on him ↳ _thedrzayne: You’re probably right

— View 42 more comments

Rafayel

seagod_raf_

♥️ liked by vocalsby.talia, misshuntermc, thomasthomas_ and 75k others

seagod_raf_: You said pink long stem roses? Heard you 🙂‍↕️

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: I love you my little fishie real bad 😘

↳ seagod_raf_: 😍😍😩💞 ↳ misshuntermc: I’m still confused on how you got these so fast I asked for these like 10 minutes ago ↳ seagod_raf_: I’m the worlds best boyfriend 😏

vocalsby.talia: Are they fake?

↳ seagod_raf_: Is that a wig? 🤨

thomasthomas_: How the actual hell do you find this many roses with stems that long?

↳ misshuntermc: I’m wondering the same thing ↳ seagod_raf_: I’ll take that as the compliment I know it was meant to be ↳ thomasthomas_: 😐😐

talkthat_tara: Girl did you fall?

↳ misshuntermc: No ↳ simonesays: Are you lying right now? ↳ misshuntermc: …. yea ._. ↳ liiisa_: The wheeze I just whuzzed 🤣

— View 27 more comments

Xavier

lumiere.who

♥️ liked by whosjeremiah, misshuntermc, imjenna and 70k others

lumiere.who: Maybe she’ll let me in the kitchen after this

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: The answer is a resounding fuck no but thank you for the gifts 🥰

↳ lumiere.who: Just once? ↳ misshuntermc: No 😘

simonesays: Damn I might’ve folded lowkey 😬

↳ whosjeremiah: You haven’t seen Xavier try to cook 🫣 ↳ liiisa_: Consider yourself blessed and highly favored ↳ misshuntermc: Hes singed the tail off my eyebrow making scarmbled eggs before

talkthat_tara: Hold on don’t we work for the same company? 🤔

↳ liiisa_: Right?! The math aint mathin’ ↳ misshuntermc: He’s secretly a Prince from an entirely different planet 👀 ↳ lumiere.who: I just have a few side jobs ↳ imjenna: Are they hiring? ↳ nene.nero: Jenna asking the right questions

— View 32 more comments

Sylus

skye.109

♥️ liked by misshuntermc, thing1_luke, thing2_kieran and 82k others

skye.109: She’s humble for the masses but this is what I get

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: You get me and all my love 😘

↳ skye.109: You know what hell yeah ↳ misshuntermc: 🤭❤️ ↳ simonesays: Bitch I know thats right 👏🏼

liiisa_: This man has an unlimited money hack and he only got roses? Side eye.

↳ misshuntermc: We’re standing in a new villa he bought me as a ‘just because’ gift ↳ liiisa_: …….Girl just delete my comment next time 🙂 ↳ skye.109: Loud and wrong that’s quite the combination ↳ thing2_kieran: PFFFTT ↳ misshuntermc: Kieran I know you’re not laughing you blew on a spoonful of cold cereal today stop it ✋🏾 ↳ thing2_kieran: ☹️☹️

nene.nero: Day 109 of me opening this app and being called broke in 50 different languages

↳ thing1_luke: Damn thats tough … Stay up soldier 🫡 ↳ talkthat_tara: Luke please what if that was his 13th reason?

— View 47 more comments

Caleb

callmecaleb

♥️ liked by misshuntermc, giggity_gideon, talkthat_tara and 72k others

callmecaleb: I’ll always take you wherever you want to go

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: Taking me out of the country last minute to get authentic sushi is insane

↳ callmecaleb: I mean I am crazy in love with you ↳ misshuntermc: Okay Beyonce

talkthat_tara: Go ahead and just land that plane right on me when you get back

↳ simonesays: I’m right there with you babes ↳ liiisa_: She got that storybook love like tell me your secrets

giggity_gideon: Me and who? 🤔

↳ callmecaleb: Your right hand ↳ liiisa_: STOP OMG ☠️ ↳ giggity_gideon: It’s actually my left I hold the phone with my right 📱 ↳ misshuntermc: Gideon go ahead and log out for me 🫴🏾

— View 18 more comments

Secret Admirer

misshuntermc

♥️ liked by skye.109, seagod_raf_, callmecaleb and 140k others

misshuntermc: Found this on my doorstep ; im not complaining

comments

liiisa_: NOW WHO TF? 🤨

simonesays: Ma’am do you have beer flavored nipples or something?

talkthat_tara: Coochie got witchcraft embedded in it or something

↳ misshuntermc: Bold of you to assume im giving up Nani

skye.109: I would’ve left my black card with the pin but this is cute

↳ seagod_raf_: Here you go WE DO NOT CARE ↳ skye.109: That was quite the response….funds running low? Is that why you’re so irritable? ↳ seagod_raf_: Band for band ↳ skye.109: Don’t embarrass yourself on the internet like that

_thedrzayne: This looks like something Caleb would do but i’m just spectulating

↳ callmecaleb: I would’ve handed it to her and cooked her a meal but thanks for thinking I'd be this cowardly ↳ _thedrzayne: You’re welcome ↳ callmecaleb: 😐😐

nene.nero: I’m surprised Xavier wasn’t the first comment

↳ misshuntermc: He showed up on my balcony like 2 minutes after I posted this ↳ imjenna: The front door wasn’t an option? ↳ misshuntermc: I guess not 🥴

— View 227 more comments

[kxsagi]

hii are u able to do one where u share wired earbuds with rin, isagi, bachira (any other characters you’d like to do too ^^ ) and try to be sneaky by playing a love song / their fav songs but they notice or wtv

thank u !!

“𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

a/n: i love this request because it means i can show off my music taste 😼

writing about music is so fun that i included so many of them (all of them are set during a train ride home after school, where you play their favorite song and they notice)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, mikage reo, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu

isagi yoichi 𐙚 “and there was something ‘bout you that now i can’t remember” 

you pressed play on about you by the 1975, the soft rhythm filling the air between the two of you. as the first few notes hit, you glanced over at isagi, who suddenly straightened up in surprise, a wide smile appearing on his face.

“hold on... no way. this is my favorite song,” he said, his voice almost in disbelief. "i love this band, too."

you chuckled softly, glancing out the window. “really? i didn’t know you were into this kind of music.”

isagi shrugged, clearly trying to downplay it, though his grin didn’t fade. “i have my moments. guess we have more in common than i thought.”

the song played on, the relaxed beat weaving through the train car, and you could feel the growing connection between the two of you. isagi’s gaze lingered a bit longer than usual, his earlier surprise replaced by a more comfortable, almost fond look.

“you picked it perfectly,” he added quietly, the words lingering in the space between you.

you smiled, feeling a quiet warmth bloom in your chest. “i pay attention.”

itoshi rin 𐙚 “my heart, i never be, i never see, i never know” 

you hit play on genesis by grimes, and rin’s eyes narrowed, his focus immediately snapping to the music. 

“this is my song,” he said, more to himself than to you.

you glanced over at him, trying to keep your voice casual. “i had a feeling.”

rin met your gaze, a flicker of something almost soft in his usually guarded expression. “did you? i didn’t think you’d know this song.”

“well, i’m full of surprises,” you said, giving him a playful smile.

he looked at you for a long moment, his lips curling into a rare, small smile. “i see that.”

itoshi sae 𐙚 “i’ll mean something to you” 

when you played nikes by frank ocean, you noticed sae’s reaction instantly. his usually confident demeanor seemed to shift, a soft smile creeping onto his lips as he glanced at you.

“i didn’t think you’d play this,” he said, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and admiration.

you smirked, trying to hide the excitement bubbling inside. “figured i’d try something new.”

sae leaned back, crossing his arms, but his smile never faltered. “you’ve got good taste. guess i underestimated you.”

(any frank ocean song would’ve worked honestly, especially “thinkin bout you”)

nagi seishiro 𐙚 “i could be the one” 

you pressed play on CAN’T GET OVER YOU by joji ft. clams casino, and nagi’s lazy grin instantly turned into an excited one.

“no way, i love joji,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i guess we have similar taste.”

nagi shrugged nonchalantly, his grin only widening. “maybe you’re not that boring after all. i’ll give you that.”

the playful jab felt oddly sweet, and as the song played, the easygoing vibe between you two shifted into something more comfortable, like the music had just brought you closer in a way that was almost effortless.

(i see all of joji’s discography with him + “nuts” by lil peep) 

shidou ryusei 𐙚 “i’ll swim down with you”

you chose cherry waves by deftones, and shidou’s expression immediately shifted from his usual cocky grin to one of genuine surprise.

“you’re playing deftones?” he said, almost in disbelief.

you smirked, crossing your arms. “you don’t think i could handle this kind of music?”

shidou laughed, but there was a new glint in his eyes, something deeper than his usual arrogance. “you’ve got taste. i’m impressed.”

the way he said it, with just the slightest shift in his tone, made you realize that there was more to him than his usual brash persona, and something about that felt like a challenge.

(he’s a playboi carti glazer too, it’s canon bc i said so and i’m muneyuki kaneshiro’s daughter/j)

chigiri hyoma 𐙚 “got me tripping, falling with no safety net” 

as the first notes of safety net by ariana grande ft. ty dolla $ign played, you saw chigiri glance at you, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“this song?” he said, his tone full of disbelief, but there was a spark of excitement there too.

you smiled, casually leaning back. “figured you’d like it.”

chigiri raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. “guess you know me better than i thought. didn’t expect you to get it.”

catch him falling without a safety net for you.

kunigami rensuke 𐙚 “breathe out, so i can breathe you in”

you pressed play on everlong by foo fighters, and kunigami’s face lit up in recognition.

“no way... i love this song,” he said, his voice full of surprise and appreciation. "even though it got memed like crazy."

you laughed softly, glancing at him. “i figured you’d be into it.”

kunigami leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, a grin forming. “you’ve got good instincts. i wasn’t expecting that from you.”

(mmm he gives me 80’s lover vibes)

kaiser michael 𐙚 “‘cause maybe, close just isn’t close enough”

you pressed play on TBH by partynextdoor, and kaiser’s eyes widened just a bit, his posture straightening as he recognized the song.

“TBH, this is my favorite track,” he said, his tone smooth and almost appreciative.

you glanced at him, a little surprised. “i didn’t know you were into this kind of music.”

kaiser let out a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on you with an almost teasing intensity. “i have layers, you know? i don’t just listen to whatever everyone else is playing.”

the way he said it made you feel like you’d unlocked a piece of his personality that most people didn’t get to see. “guess i’ve been underestimating you, huh?”

kaiser smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. “or maybe you’ve been paying attention more than i realize.”

bachira meguru 𐙚 “but is there something more than that?” 

the smooth, psychedelic beats of nangs by tame impala flooded your headphones, and you could see bachira’s eyes flicker in recognition. his playful grin stretched wider, and he immediately leaned toward you, his voice full of energy.

“no way, this is my song! i love this track!” he laughed, his excitement contagious.

you couldn’t help but smile at how infectious his enthusiasm was. “didn’t know you were into tame impala.”

bachira shifted in his seat, his eyes sparkling with an almost mischievous glint. “i love tame impala. i thought you’d be all into pop stuff, but... this suits you more than i expected.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “what, you’re saying i have good taste?”

“definitely,” he replied, nudging you lightly. “you’re not just the quiet type, huh? i’m starting to think you’re way more interesting than i gave you credit for.”

mikage reo 𐙚 “all that money, the money is the motive” 

when the morning by the weeknd started playing, you noticed reo’s usual calm expression shift, his eyes softening for just a moment before he turned toward you.

“this is my favorite song,” he said, his voice a little more sincere than usual, almost like a confession.

you met his gaze with genuine surprise. “i didn’t know you liked the weeknd.”

reo shrugged slightly, running a hand through his hair. “i’ve got a few sides to me, you know?” he said with a quiet smile. “i wasn’t expecting you to pick something like this, though. it’s... unexpected.”

you tilted your head, curious. “in a good way?”

“yeah,” he said, his smile deepening as he looked at you. “definitely in a good way. didn’t know you’d get me like that.”

karasu tabito 𐙚 “‘cause i don’t wanna be in love with another”

you chose heavy by the marias, and as the delicate notes drifted through the earbuds, karasu’s usual composed demeanor seemed to soften. he gave you a glance, his eyes narrowing just slightly in surprise.

“this song,” he murmured, “it’s one of my favorites.”

you turned toward him, surprised at how casually he had admitted it. “really? didn’t expect you to be into this kind of music.”

karasu shrugged, his voice softer now. “i guess there’s more to me than you think. i just don’t talk about it much.”

the way he spoke made you feel like you were seeing a side of him that few others did. it was a rare moment of vulnerability that felt oddly intimate, like the song had unlocked a part of him that was usually hidden.

“guess i’m lucky i got to hear it then,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

karasu smiled, a rare warmth in his eyes. “you might be.”

(MARIAS LOVERS WHERE ARE YOU??? i always go back to heavy, but i also love carino, loverboy, ruthless, hush, and calling you back, but jupiter will always be my first song from them)

otoya eita 𐙚 “i don’t even wanna fuck, i just like you”

when you pressed play on lust by chase atlantic, you immediately noticed otoya's expression change. his usual teasing grin faltered for a second, replaced by a look of surprise.

“wait, you’re playing this?” he asked, his voice low, clearly impressed.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your own amusement. “you don’t like it?”

otoya shook his head, a playful smile forming. “i love it... i just didn’t think you’d be into this kind of stuff. and now you’re playing it? well, i must say i’m intrigued.”

you leaned closer, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “you think i’m too predictable?”

he chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “not anymore. guess you’ve got more to you.”

(i also see justin timberlake and bruno mars on his playlist. fetty wap or any JBL speaker music works too)

yukimiya kenyu 𐙚 “merci beaucoup, just like moulin rouge”

you pressed play on sandman by a$ap rocky, the deep bass vibrating through the headphones. when yukimiya’s eyes flickered toward you, you could see the surprise in his gaze.

“this song... no way,” he said, his tone slightly incredulous.

you smirked, looking up at him. “i thought you’d like it.”

yukimiya tilted his head, his usually carefree expression turning into something more serious. “you picked this for me? didn’t know you were so good at reading people.”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “guess i’ve been paying attention.”

his smile was almost teasing, but there was an edge to it, something that made you feel like you were on the same wavelength now.

“maybe you’ll have to share more of your picks with me sometime,” he said, his voice low with a challenge. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[satellite-evans]

lovesick

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando takes care of you when you're sick <3

Word count: 1.1k+ ( something cute and sweet)

Warnings: nothing but tooth aching fluff

A/N:

I have noticed that I always write how reader takes care of people so I decided to do the oppossite, hope you guys will like it!

Also, I think I am shadowbanned, so if you guys could please send me feedback and show some support, that would be really helpful and would mean so much to me xx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

You were curled up in bed, cocooned in a mountain of blankets, sniffling miserably as the sound of rain tapped against the window. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, your throat burned, and every muscle in your body ached. Being sick was never fun, but it was even worse when Lando was supposed to be home for the weekend, and all your plans had gone out the window.

Lando peeked his head into the bedroom, a small frown on his face as he took in the sight of you buried under the covers.

“How’s my patient doing?” he asked gently, stepping into the room with a tray in his hands.

You eyed the tray warily, voice hoarse as you spoke. “Please tell me you didn’t make that.”

Lando scoffed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as he set the tray down on the nightstand. “Wow, the lack of faith in me is honestly offensive.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Lando.”

He let out a sheepish chuckle. “Alright, alright. No, I didn’t make it. I have no intention of killing you with my cooking.”

You sighed in relief. “Smart choice.”

“Hey, I could’ve at least tried.”

“Exactly. And that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Lando let out a playful huff as he settled onto the edge of the bed. “Not even a little credit?”

You gave him a weak smile. “Fine. Thank you for your excellent decision-making skills in ordering food instead of poisoning me.”

“Much better,” he said smugly, grabbing the spoon and stirring the soup. “Now, Nurse Norris is here to make sure you eat, drink, and get back to being my energetic, non-sick girlfriend.”

You chuckled weakly, your throat scratchy from the effort. “Nurse Norris?”

“Yep. On call 24/7,” he said with a wink. “Now, open up.”

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, letting him feed you a spoonful of warm broth. The heat was soothing against your sore throat, and you sighed contentedly.

“See?” he said smugly. “Taking care of you isn’t so bad, right?”

“I guess,” you admitted, swallowing another bite. “But if you start wearing a nurse’s outfit, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Lando gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me? I would rock that look.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t doubt that, honestly.”

He grinned, brushing a few strands of hair from your forehead. His touch was warm against your clammy skin, and you instinctively leaned into it. His expression softened. “You’re burning up,” he murmured, concern flashing in his blue eyes. “Did you take any medicine?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but it hasn’t really kicked in yet.”

Lando hummed thoughtfully before tucking the blankets around you a little tighter. “Alright, let’s get some more food in you, then. Maybe it’ll help.”

You stared at the bowl of soup he handed you, not feeling hungry but knowing you needed to eat. You took a small spoonful, but your mind kept drifting back to how everything had changed.

“This was supposed to be our weekend,” you murmured, your voice hoarse as you glanced up at him, a sad smile on your face. “I was so excited for it.”

Lando frowned, his brow furrowing as he noticed the change in your tone. He gently placed the spoon back into the bowl, his focus now entirely on you. “Hey, I know. I was looking forward to it too.”

“I know,” you said, your voice quieter. “It was the first time in so long we had the weekend off together. I planned everything—movie nights, dinner, maybe even a little walk in the park. All of it. And now… I’m stuck in bed, and you’re taking care of me.”

Lando’s expression softened with empathy as he sat down next to you, brushing his hand over your hair. “You didn’t plan this, babe. You didn’t want to get sick.”

You let out a soft sigh, your eyes closing as you leaned into his touch. “I know, but it just feels like bad timing. I’ve missed you so much, Lando. The last few weeks have been crazy, and I was really looking forward to this. Just us. And now... I’m ruining it.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” he said firmly, his voice gentle but insistent. “You’re sick. It happens. And you know what? We’ll make up for it. I promise. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, seeing nothing but care and reassurance in his blue eyes. He smiled softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “Plus, this way, I get to take care of you. That’s better than any of the other plans anyway.”

You sniffed, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “I just wanted to make the most of it. We don’t always get this much time together.”

“I know, I know,” Lando said, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of your hand. “I hate that this is happening when we had so many things we wanted to do. But we’ll have other weekends, I promise. And we’ll make them just as special.”

A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, and you quickly wiped it away, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m being dramatic.”

Lando shook his head, his voice soft as he spoke. “No, it’s okay. It’s okay to feel disappointed. But you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here. And we’ll get through this weekend together, even if it’s not what we planned.”

You let out a small laugh, though it was tinged with sadness. “I guess this weekend is just me, you, and a mountain of blankets.”

“Exactly,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “And some soup, and tea, and maybe some Netflix marathons.”

“Even though you hate Netflix?” You asked with a smirk.

“Even though I hate Netflix.”

You smiled at that, grateful for his efforts to make you feel better. “You really do know how to make the best of things, don’t you?”

Lando grinned, his eyes brightening. “What can I say? I’m an expert at turning around bad situations. And right now, all I care about is making sure you feel better.”

You leaned back into the pillows, your heart swelling with affection as he continued to fuss over you, making sure you were comfortable. Even though things hadn’t gone as planned, having Lando by your side, taking care of you, was all you really needed.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting the blankets around you again. “Let’s get some rest. I’ll stay right here and keep you company. We’ll make the best of this weekend, even if it’s just us hanging out in bed.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile, the sadness in your heart slowly melting away as you realized that even though things hadn’t gone according to plan, you still had each other. “Thanks, Lando. Really.”

He kissed your forehead softly, his voice low and sincere. “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”

[velarisdusk]

Signed, Sealed, Unspoken

Rhysand x Reader

summary: Following a long and brutal war, the Dusk Court has finally reclaimed the lands seized by the Night Court generations ago. Yet its new capital, Velaris, remains tangled in the Night Court's intricate trade agreements. Now, negotiations are underway. word count: 21.3k (you're welcome, it's worth it) content: [ explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), piv, explicit language, alcohol, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of war (& like one descriptive scene) ] author's note: important! this fic takes place in an AU where the Night Court absorbed the Dusk Court forever ago, this is where the borders are (<- google drive link lol, do u like my ramiel rendition). i've never written a fic formatted like this but i'm super duper mega obsessed with how it turned out :D i always wanna hear yalls thoughts but i EXTRA wanna hear your thoughts on this one, its kinda my baby not to be dramatic, ive been working so hard on it im sad its over :( ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ midnight essence infused with a dash of blaze & a splash of venom enhanced with echo leaves stirred THANK YOU SO SO MUCH @raccoonworld FOR THE REQUEST I LOVED LOVED LOVED WRITING THIS!!!!! i saw enemies to lovers and tension/banter and RAN with it >:) I REALLY HOPE YOU LOVE THIS

To the Most Esteemed High Lord of the Night Court,

I will dispense with pleasantries, as I doubt either of us have the patience for them. 

It has come to my attention that despite Velaris now falling under Dusk Court rule, the existing trade agreements with the other courts remain bound to the Night Court’s discretion. As it stands, merchants who once conducted business freely within Velaris now find themselves unable to do so, citing the stipulations you have so conveniently chosen to uphold. 

This impasse benefits no one. The artisans and traders of Velaris are not pawns to be maneuvered at your whim, nor should they suffer disruption simply because the Night Court has yet to accept the reality of the shifting landscape. I am certain even you can see the impracticality of maintaining such restrictions. 

Thus, I formally request the reopening of Velaris’ merchant ties—with full autonomy under Dusk Court governance. This is not a demand, but an offer to facilitate an arrangement that benefits both our courts. As a gesture of good faith, I am prepared to waive all tariffs for Night Court merchants entering our borders for the first decade of this renewed arrangement. Should you find yourself inclined toward reason, I trust we can discuss terms that do not waste either of our time. 

I await your response. 

(Y/n) High Lady of the Dusk Court

✦

To Her Radiance, High Lady of the Dusk Court,

Your request has been received and thoroughly reviewed. While I appreciate your concern for Velaris’ merchants—and your attempt to frame this as an act of mutual benefit—I must remind you that these agreements were established with the Night Court for a reason. The conditions under which they may be altered are, as I’m sure you know, not so easily dismissed. To shift its economic ties without careful negotiation would be careless at best and disastrous at worst. 

That said, I am not unreasonable. I am willing to entertain a renegotiation of these trade restrictions provided certain terms are met. Surely, a ruler as pragmatic as yourself can appreciate the necessity of thorough discussion. 

I trust you’ll give the matter due consideration—after all, I’d hate to think the High Lady of the Dusk Court acts on impulse alone. 

Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court

✦

To the Most Generous High Lord of the Night Court,

I must commend you on your impressive ability to complicate what should be a simple matter.

The conditions you mentioned remain conveniently vague, and your insistence that this requires “thorough discussion” feels less like prudence and more like a deliberate attempt to stall. You claim to appreciate the merchants’ concerns, yet your actions suggest otherwise. Whatever terms you are withholding, I suggest you present them plainly rather than wasting both our time beneath the guise of diplomacy.

This trade arrangement is not the delicate, volatile affair you’re attempting to make it. It is, as I said before, a practical solution that benefits both our courts—one that should have been resolved by now had you been willing to engage in good faith.

If you are not prepared to negotiate in earnest, I suggest you say so plainly. Otherwise, I await your response—and your so-called conditions.

(Y/n) High Lady of the Dusk Court

✦

To the Illustrious and Ever-Gracious High Lady of the Dusk Court,

I assure you, I have no intention of stalling—only ensuring that all necessary terms are made clear. Since you’re so eager for my conditions, allow me to offer them plainly: full claim over Ramiel.

I assume, of course, that you understand the significance of Ramiel to the Illyrians, though I wonder if sentimentality is a concept the Dusk Court is capable of recognizing. Perhaps you’ll manage, when thousands of Illyrians take it upon themselves to storm your borders, demanding they’ve nowhere for their Blood Rite.

Of course, if you’d prefer to drag this out further, by all means keep posturing. I don’t mind waiting—I hear patience is a virtue, though I doubt that’s a concept you’re particularly fond of, either.

Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court

✦

To the Self-Appointed Arbiter of Illyrian Tradition, High Lord of the Night Court,

Your terms have been received—and rejected.

Ramiel is not yours to bargain with. Its ownership was divided between the Night and Dusk Courts long before either of us held our titles, and I have no intention of surrendering what is rightfully mine. Whatever misplaced sense of entitlement has led you to believe otherwise is your burden to bear, not mine.

If you are truly so desperate to appease your Illyrians, I suggest you find another solution—one that doesn’t involve attempting to strong-arm me under the guise of negotiation. Or did you imagine I’d be too naïve to recognize a pathetic attempt at leverage when I see it?

Next time you attempt to disguise arrogance as diplomacy, do try harder.

(Y/n) High Lady of the Dusk Court

✦

To the Tireless Defender of Lost Causes, High Lady of the Dusk Court,

Your refusal, while unsurprising, was disappointingly predictable. I had hoped you might be capable of recognizing an opportunity when presented with one.

But I understand. Ruling can be… overwhelming. Perhaps the burden of leadership has clouded your judgment—or perhaps you’re simply too proud to admit that the Dusk Court cannot stand alone. Without those trade routes, I imagine it’s only a matter of time before your court’s merchants start looking elsewhere for stability. I wonder, how long will your people’s loyalty last when faced with empty pockets?

Of course, I’m more than willing to assist you in finding a solution—if you’re willing to discuss this matter in person. Surely, a female as capable as yourself wouldn’t shy from a real conversation. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to keep trading letters instead. I can’t say I’d mind. Your insults are far more entertaining than I anticipated.

Do let me know.

Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Adriata, Summer Court

The meeting had been set. The Summer Court had been Tarquin’s suggestion—one neither you nor the High Lord of Night could easily refuse. Neutral enough ground, given the mess of alliances during the war to take back your court. Enduring his insufferable theatrics under Tarquin’s watchful eye was unpleasant enough. The thought of tolerating them indefinitely only soured it further. 

The air was thick with salt and sun, the Adriata breeze rolling in from the open sea as you ascended the marble steps of the Summer Court’s palace. The gates were already open, a silent invitation—and the two Summer Court guards flanking them did not so much as twitch as you approached, their expressions impassive. 

Inside, the refreshing chill of the palace provided welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside, a reprieve that might’ve been pleasant had your mind not already been preoccupied with thoughts of the impending meeting. Your footsteps echoed against polished floors as a familiar figure emerged from the arched hallway ahead. 

Tarquin approached, dressed in deep blue, the color of a tide just before dusk, his crown of pearl and gold glinting beneath the glow of the faelights suspended above. He had never been one for ostentatious displays of power, and yet there was something effortless about the way he carried it—shoulders squared, chin high, every inch the High Lord of Summer. 

A polite, knowing smile curved his lips as he bowed in greeting. “High Lady.”

“High Lord,” you returned, dipping your chin in greeting. “I appreciate you hosting this meeting.”

His smile deepened, but there was something almost conspiratorial behind it. “I can’t say I object to the entertainment.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “That makes one of us.”

Tarquin’s amusement lingered as he extended his arm toward you. Without hesitation, you slipped your arm through his as he led the way inside. “I take it the correspondence has been… eventful?”

“That’s a word for it,” you muttered.

He chuckled, leading you through the wide halls of polished coral and pearl, sunlight filtering through arched windows that overlooked the sea. The sound of distant music drifted through the corridors—a low hum of strings and laughter. 

It took you half a breath too long to place it. 

You glanced at Tarquin, brow furrowing. “I was under the impression this was a private meeting.”

He exhaled, something wry tugging at his mouth. “It was.”

Was.

You dropped your arm and stopped walking. 

Tarquin turned to face you fully, sighing as he rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I had planned for it to be a quiet discussion,” he admitted. “Apologies, truly. My cousin’s… enthusiasm often precedes her judgment.”

Of course. Cresseida and that damned mouth of hers. 

A headache threatened at the base of your skull, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” He shook his head, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Cresseida only meant well, but—well, you know how quickly word spreads. The moment it was known you and Rhysand would be in the same room together, the interest became… considerable.”

Your lips parted slightly, incredulous. “How considerable?”

A swell of noise—laughter, voices, the unmistakable hum of a gathering—rose from deeper within the palace, as if in answer. Tarquin’s eyes widened slightly, his expression caught between amusement and resignation.  

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together, willing patience into your voice. “And how many High Lords are in attendance?”

Tarquin’s gaze flicked toward the crowd, then back to you, his lips quirking up at one corner. “All, and at least half of Prythian, by my count.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment. 

Wonderful. 

Of course it wouldn’t be a simple negotiation. Of course this had turned into a spectacle. All of Prythian must have been abuzz with curiosity, all eager to see if the rumors were true—if the Dusk Court’s High Lady and the Night Court’s High Lord could even stand to be in the same room without bloodshed. 

And now, you’d have an audience. 

You sighed, smoothing a hand down the front of your skirts. The dress was a deep violet-black, and shimmered with a subtle, shifting sheen that caught the light as you moved, like twilight settling over the horizon. The bodice was intricately designed with delicate lace, while the long, sheer sleeves flared gently at the wrists, trimmed in silver embroidery. And resting atop your head, a slender tiara of dark metal, woven with amethyst and moonstone—like the first stars pricking through the evening sky. 

At the very least, you wouldn’t look out of place. 

Tarquin studied you for a moment before offering, “You could always turn back and we’ll reschedule.”

You arched a brow, both of you knowing that was not an option. “And let him spin his own version of events? I’d rather suffer the evening.”

A low chuckle. “I thought you might say so.”

Tarquin turned, resuming his path toward the open doors far ahead—toward the golden light and music spilling from the grand hall beyond. 

You squared your shoulders and followed. 

The noise struck first—a soft roar of conversation that swelled as you stepped through the open doors. Laughter rippled beneath the clink of glasses and the steady rise and fall of music. Strings sang from somewhere across the grand hall, their notes weaving through the air, bright and lilting—completely at odds with the tension coiling in your chest. 

The room was bathed in gold, sunlight spilling through towering windows that overlooked the sea. Gossamer curtains billowed with the breeze, carrying the scent of salt and citrus. The palace’s coral-hued walls seemed to glow beneath the faelights suspended like stars above, glittering and warm.

Nobles clustered in tight groups, each dressed in silks and jewels that shimmered like fish scales in the light. A delicate blend of perfumes clung to the air, mingling with the faintest trace of seafoam. Glasses gleamed in their hands, wine swirling dark and rich as they murmured in low voices. 

And there—by one of the open archways that overlooked the distant cliffs—stood Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.

He stood tall and commanding as ever, his usual confident smirk playing on his lips as he engaged in some pointless small talk with a cluster of nobles from some court you couldn’t be bothered to identify. His smile was sharp and easy, his laugh a low rumble that you somehow knew managed to sound genuine. He looked entirely at ease—all dark elegance in his finely tailored attire, the night-black fabric swallowing the warm light around him. 

You watched as he sipped from his glass, his fingers curling around the delicate stem with calculated ease. Ever the picture of charm—poised, composed—as if he hadn’t been hellbent on driving you to the brink of madness over the past several weeks. 

A hush rippled across the room, subtle but unmistakable. Not silence, not entirely, but it was enough. They’d seen you. And the whispers that followed? Soft, barely audible beneath the music, yet you could feel the weight of their stares. Curious eyes flicked between the two of you, waiting, wondering. 

You bit back a sigh and crossed to the nearest drinks table, letting the cool stem of a wine glass rest between your fingers. You busied yourself casually moving through the hall, eyes drifting over the various High Lords deep in conversation, striking deals in hushed tones, some more conspicuously than others. A few were already exchanging knowing glances, clearly eager to witness the first public encounter between you two since your courts had ended their bitter conflict. You could practically feel the weight of their eyes, even from across the room. 

The air was thick with pretenses, with politics, with old alliances shifting beneath carefully constructed smiles. The longer you lingered in the thrumming hum of the palace, the more you realized just how much was at stake in this charade. 

You spent the first hour engaged in clipped, careful conversation with Tamlin and Lucien. Tamlin, all tense shoulders and tight-jawed restraint, spoke little beyond what was necessary. Lucien, at least, filled the silence with dry wit, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. There was a flicker of curiosity in them, a silent question he did not voice: What exactly is your endgame here? You only smiled, noncommittal, and let him wonder. 

Then came Beron and Eris—an exercise in endurance more than diplomacy. Beron played at civility, but you could see the sneer behind his eyes, feel the weight of his disdain curling in the air between you. Eris, ever the sharper of the two, was all smooth words and knowing smirks, his amusement a blade he wielded with practiced ease. His compliments were barbed, his observations keen. And though you had no doubt he enjoyed watching you hold your ground against his father, there was a lingering watchfulness in him, a game being played that you had no interest in deciphering. 

Eventually, your glass was empty, the wine gone as quickly as the patience you’d started with. You set it down carefully on a nearby passing tray before you straightened. Taking a slow, steadying breath, you steeled your spine and finally began the long walk toward him. 

He noticed you before you reached him. 

Of course he did. 

Violet eyes flicked to yours—a brief, cutting glance that held no warmth. Then he turned back to his group, murmuring something that earned a round of soft, agreeable laughter. By the time you reached him, his companions had scattered, as if sensing the change in the air—like birds taking flight before a storm. 

“High Lady,” he greeted smoothly, taking a slow sip from his glass. His eyes gleamed above the rim—cool, knowing. “I was beginning to think you’d avoid me all evening.”

You smiled tightly. “And miss the pleasure of your company, High Lord? Please.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Dangerous words,” he warned, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “I may begin to think you enjoy it.”

“I enjoy watching you run your mouth,” you countered, feigning disinterest as you reached for another drink from a passing tray. “It’s remarkable, really. You hardly need anyone else in the conversation.”

His lips twitched. “Efficient, wouldn’t you say?”

Then his gaze dipped, tracking the movement as you took a slow sip from your glass. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, something sharp and searching—a silent dare.

And for a heartbeat, you nearly smiled. 

Okay. The bastard was funny. You’d give him that much.

 “Among other things.”

That smirk of his deepened, and you felt the annoying tug of frustration tighten in your chest. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he reveled in it. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Oh, I wouldn’t flatter yourself,” you shot back. “I’d sooner pay a compliment to the tableware.”

“I’ve been told I’m just as sharp,” he countered smoothly, lifting his glass in a mock toast. 

“Only half as useful,” you muttered, the words slipping out the moment his toast was raised, brows lifting as you took a slow sip from your glass. 

The High Lord chuckled darkly, stepping just a fraction closer—not enough to break propriety, but enough that the air between you felt thinner. Warmer. “You’ve always had a fondness for sharp things. Trouble is,” he added, with a pointed glance at your glass, “you haven’t quite learned how to hold them without cutting yourself.”

You arched a brow. “And yet I’m still standing.”

His smile widened, slow and feline. “For now.”

“High Lord,” you said, voice dripping with dry formality, “if you think you can rattle me with such feeble attempts, you’re mistaken.”

“Oh, please,” he drawled, sounding almost bored. “We’ve spent decades at each other’s throats, (y/n)—surely, you can address me by my name.”

You blinked, glass halfway to your lips. 

“...No, thank you,” you said primly, taking a slow sip. “I’d hate to give you the satisfaction.”

His gaze danced over you, sharp and glittering. “Coward.”

“I prefer to think of it as prudence.” He wouldn’t be getting a reaction out of you tonight. 

“Is that what you call it?” Rhysand mused, swirling his drink. “I was beginning to think you avoided me out of… shyness.”

You let out a breathy laugh, tasting the remnants of wine on your tongue. “I’d hardly call avoiding you a loss.”

“And yet,” he countered, voice all lazy arrogance, “here you are.”

“Only because I’m certain you’ve already cornered half the room,” you said sweetly. “I figured someone should check that you haven’t charmed them all into some terrible bargain.”

Rhysand’s smile turned cutting. “Now you’re giving me too much credit.”

“You’d take it if it were offered.”

He chuckled under his breath, gaze flicking down your face—searching, calculating. “Perhaps I just wanted to see how long you’d last before you came to find me.”

“If I knew it’d only encourage you,” you said coolly, “I may have waited longer.”

Something gleamed behind his eyes. “You wound me, High Lady,” he said smoothly, tilting his head just so. “I’d hate to think the conversation is so unbearable.”

“Oh, no. You mistake me,” you countered, gaze flicking over him with mock deliberation. “It’s not the conversation that’s unbearable. Only the company.”

His laugh was a low, knowing thing, and you hated how easily it slid down your spine. “That almost sounded personal.”

“Take it however it helps you sleep at night.” You lifted your glass to your lips, only to find it empty. Annoying. 

Rhysand followed the movement, watched as you set it down on a passing tray and took another. His gaze lingered for half a beat too long—so brief you might have missed it had you not been so attuned to the way he moved, the way he studied. 

You’d already drained a glass during this conversation, never mind the two others throughout the evening. He’d barely touched his—just one sip, if you’d been paying attention. And Rhysand certainly was, if you knew him at all. Which meant you wouldn’t be having another—at least, not until you were free of his watchful gaze. 

You let the silence stretch between you, just long enough to suggest boredom. Let him wonder if he’d lost your interest already. 

He only smiled, unruffled. “So?” he drawled, slipping a hand into his pocket. “Shall we play nicely and discuss what we’re actually here for?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tipping your head slightly. “And here I thought we’d already abandoned that pretense.”

Rhysand’s lips curved. “I suppose we have.” his gaze flicked briefly over your shoulder before settling back on you, heavy with implication. “Not that we truly have the luxury of privacy, do we?”

Your fingers traced the rim of your glass as you looked over your shoulder, following his line of sight. “The High Lords have never been particularly skilled at minding their own.”

“No,” he mused, swirling the wine in his glass. One of these times, it would spill, Cauldron-willing. “But usually they’re more subtle.”

Across the room, Beron leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth as he murmured something to his eldest beside him. Helion, a few seats down, wasn’t even bothering with discretion, openly entertained as he twirled his glass between his fingers. And Tarquin—Tarquin, for all his efforts to seem engaged in a separate conversation, kept glancing toward the two of you like he was expecting the walls to crack beneath the weight of whatever game you and Rhysand were playing. 

“That would be too convenient,” you murmured, gaze sweeping the room in one slow, deliberate pass. 

Rhysand huffed a quiet laugh, low enough that only you could hear. “Pity. I was looking forward to seeing how many veiled threats you could fit into a single conversation before Tarquin stopped you.”

“Five, at least.”

His brows lifted, mouth curving in a mockery of admiration. “Ambitious.”

You turned to him fully now, tilting your head. “Concerned?”

Something flickered behind his eyes, too quick to name, before that infuriating smirk returned. “Hardly. I just prefer results over theatrics. And right now, I’m afraid we won’t be getting any.”

You exhaled slowly, glancing once more at the gathered High Lords, at the nobles who clearly had no intention of keeping to their own business. 

Cresseida had been clever—forcing this into a public spectacle rather than a quiet, controlled negotiation. But if her goal had been to force you both into some kind of amicable resolution, she was bound to be disappointed. 

You met his eye. “Then it seems we’ve wasted an evening.”

Rhysand tilted his head, studying you with a lazy sort of amusement, fingers tapping idly against the stem of his glass. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Your jaw tightened. “No?”

“No,” he said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his wine. “I’ve had quite a bit of fun. I’ll give you credit, you’ve made it almost enjoyable to watch you stew.”

Bastard. 

You shifted forward just enough that it could be passed off as casual to any onlookers. Just enough that the space between you thinned, that he had no choice but to notice the shift in proximity.

“Tell me, Rhysand,” you said, voice dipped in silk and steel. “Do you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” You studied his face for any sign of a reaction, a flicker in his eyes—something, anything— at the sound of his name on your tongue. You swore you saw his jaw tighten ever so slightly.

He smiled as he leaned in, matching you breath for breath. “Tell me, (y/n), would you find my voice tolerable if I took the more subtle route?” he said, voice barely above a murmur.

You felt the faint pressure at the edges of your mind, like the brush of something sharp testing the barriers you’d carefully constructed for this very reason.

Your answering smile was slow, sweet, and entirely false. “Try it and see how fast I rip out your tongue.”

Then… he laughed—really laughed, low and rich, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. He leaned back with it, head tilting, and the shift sent you bristling, spine straightening before you could think better of it. 

His laughter faded, tapering into a breath that still carried the ghost of mirth. “Careful, High Lady,” he said, eyes alight with something dangerous. “I might begin to suspect you’re attempting to entice me.”

Your nails pressed into your palm. Self-satisfied prick. As if you’d waste the effort.

“Rest assured,” you said, voice smooth as glass, “if I meant to entice, you would not be left wondering.”

His brows lifted, just barely, before his weight shifted away, as if to study you. “Ah,” he said at last, a touch too light. “Then I must have misjudged your intentions. My sincerest apologies.”

Your breath felt too shallow, your skin too warm. Unacceptable. And of course, he knew it.

So you only smiled again, slow and sharp, before turning on your heel. “Enjoy your night, High Lord.”

You didn’t wait for a response, only tossed the words over your shoulder and kept walking, leaving him standing there. Watching you go. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

To the High Lord of the Night Court, whose lack of talent in negotiation is rivaled only by his truly abysmal attempts at seduction, 

It seems our time in the Summer Court was just as unproductive as our letters, though I suppose I should commend you for attempting a new strategy. Unfortunately for you, whatever effort you put into wooing me was wasted—I can assure you, I am not so easily swayed by charm, nor will I be seduced into accepting an entirely unreasonable deal.

Now, unless you’d prefer to spend more time failing miserably at that endeavor, perhaps we can return to the actual purpose of these discussions. You proposed a meeting to negotiate, yet I’ve still heard nothing of what—aside from the absurd—might convince you to release the other courts from their trade agreements with the Night Court. So, tell me, Rhysand: do you have any real terms to offer, or should I expect another pointless conversation?

(Y/n) High Lady of the Dusk Court

✦

To the High Lady of the Dusk Court, whose wit remains as swift as her refusal to entertain reason,

I see your patience is as thin as ever. I was hoping you’d save your biting commentary for after our negotiations, but I should have known better. Your sharp tongue is always ready to make an appearance, even when the subject is far more pressing than whatever petty barb you think will get a rise out of me.

As for this wooing nonsense you insist on mentioning, had I wanted to spend the evening trying to seduce you, I certainly wouldn’t have agreed on the Summer Court. I’d have taken you somewhere far more secluded—perhaps an estate along the Day Court’s southeastern coast, where the sunsets are golden and endless, and the warmth of the air would make it all too easy to lose yourself in far more pleasant distractions.

I’d even go so far as to arrange a romantic candlelit dinner. A small, intimate table set for two, close enough that you’d have no choice but to brush against me whenever you so much as reached for your glass—the first, second, and third. Though, knowing you, I’d likely have to wait until your eighth before you finally deemed my shoulder worthy of supporting that insufferably high-held head of yours. Roses, of course, scattered in excessive, bordering-on-ridiculous abundance. A personal violinist to serenade us—no, perhaps an entire string quartet, just to ensure the moment is properly insufferable. I’d be remiss if I didn’t include poetry of course—something overwrought, preferably recited under the stars with all the solemnity of a male professing his undying devotion. Really, (y/n), if seduction had been my goal, I’d have made sure to leave you with no doubt about my intentions. 

We’d have had plenty of time for meaningful conversation, uninterrupted by the chaos of Cresseida’s “enthusiasm”—which, I might add, was the delicate (I say delicate with the utmost sarcasm) term Tarquin managed to muster for the spectacle she orchestrated. I suppose it was foolish of me to expect any self-respecting High Lord to take command of his own palace and dismiss his unwanted guests, though I’m sure you’d prefer to dismiss such reasonable suggestions as impractical, as is your way.

But, of course, I digress. As it stands, my terms remain unchanged: Ramiel. The western half. You’ll find that without it, there’s little incentive for the Night Court to make concessions. No amount of your desperate little dramatics will sway my stance. I think we both know this is the only real term on the table.

Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court

P.S. I must thank you for the satisfaction—I believe that was the term you used—of hearing my magnificent name fall from your lips the other night. And now, to see it written by your delicate hand as well… Truly, I must be the most Cauldron-blessed male in all of Prythian.

✦

To the ever-persistent High Lord of the Night Court, whose ego remains as unshakable and misplaced as his faith in his own charm

It seems I underestimated just how much time you’ve spent considering the matter of seducing me. Such detail, such effort—few males would go to such great lengths to convince a female of their supposed disinterest. If I didn’t know better, I might think it’s been occupying that scheming mind of yours far more than you’d care to admit. Though I have to wonder… Do all your fantasies involve me drinking myself into some pliant, starry-eyed fool? Or is that your way of compensating for the fact that I would never find you charming of my own accord?

And here I thought you were merely insufferable—imagine my surprise to learn you’re a gossip as well. I should have guessed. You seem precisely the type—sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, always poised to collect whatever little scraps of intrigue fall into your lap. I can only assume you relish hoarding such information, tucking it away until it serves some greater purpose. I wonder, do you find as much satisfaction in keeping secrets as you do in sharing them? Or is it just my ability to match that insufferable wit of yours that has you so eager to write?

Speaking of which, your remarks about Tarquin were as predictable as they were shortsighted. I’m sure it must be easy business to force out fae who have ruled for millennia when you yourself have only been alive for a fraction of that time. Even easier when one in particular has a habit of reducing things to ash. 

Tell me, Rhysand, do all your enemies receive such personal attention, or am I special? I must be, considering how quickly you seem to find time to respond to me. It’s impressive, really—your letters reach me in a fraction of the time I typically receive correspondence. You’re either woefully impatient or remarkably eager, and I’m not sure which is worse. 

But since you’re so determined to keep the discussion of rights to Velaris’ trade agreements at a stalemate, perhaps I could put my delicate hands to some use. That is, if you can manage to set aside your fixation on Ramiel long enough to consider alternatives. I wonder if I ought to bring something else to the table—something of more… immediate value to you. 

That being said, you’ll have to quell your impatience for the time being. I’ll be away on business, which means you’ll have to find some other means of entertaining yourself for the time being. As much as I hate to deprive you of my company, I suspect you’ll manage. Try not to let your restlessness get the better of you. I’d hate to return to a stack of letters detailing all the ways you ‘could have’ won me over, if only I’d let you. 

(Y/n) High Lady of the Dusk Court

P.S. As lovely as your rose-petaled fantasy sounds, I much prefer mirabilis. I wouldn’t expect you to appreciate the significance. 

✦

To the High Lady of the Dusk Court, whose ability to misinterpret my intentions is truly something to behold,

I hate to shatter your illusions, but you are not special—not in this regard, at least. The speed of my letters has nothing to do with my enthusiasm and everything to do with geography. Our courts share a border, after all—an unfortunate reality, considering how much of it you carved from my own. Proximity is a rather mundane explanation, but if you’d prefer to believe I spend my days waiting by the window for your next scathing remark, far be it from me to rob you of that fantasy. 

On the subject of fantasies: You do love to twist my words, don’t you? If I recall, you were the one to pose the question—am I not allowed to entertain it? I simply offered you the scenario that seemed most realistic. And yet, you seem quite fixated on the idea of me seducing you. I wonder—do all your rebuttals involve projecting your own preoccupations onto me? Or is this your way of compensating for the fact that I’ve gotten under your skin more than you’d care to admit?

What you refer to as gossiping, I prefer to think of as being well-informed. A skill you should appreciate, given your own sharp tongue and penchant for gaining leverage. But I’ll admit, secrets do make for excellent company—particularly when the alternative is a conversation as dull as this stalemate of ours. And I have yet to decide whether the pleasure of matching wits with you outweighs the agony of your stubbornness. 

Now, as much as I’d love to ignore the blatant baiting in your letter, I find myself… curious. I can certainly imagine the lovely image of those delicate hands of yours being put to use—after all, I distinctly recall them attempting to drive a sword through my neck not long ago. I’ll admit, I’m rather torn between dreading the thought and finding it intriguing. And if that amuses you, then by all means, enjoy yourself. I’m sure you will. 

I’m sure I’ll find some way to pass the time. Perhaps I’ll spend it in quiet reflection. Perhaps I’ll take up a new hobby—painting, poetry, composing terribly romantic ballads in your honor (for the string quartet to play, of course). Or perhaps I’ll simply use the opportunity to reclaim what’s mine. Ramiel, for instance. Wouldn’t that be amusing?

Enjoy your business, (y/n). Try not to miss me too much. 

Rhysand High Lord of Night

P.S. The mirabilis is an exquisite flower. I had a bed of them at my townhouse in Velaris—I always admired them for being the only flora wise enough to appreciate the beauty of night in the Night Court. 

✦

To the High Lord of the Night Court, whose delusions of grandeur are as endless as they are exhausting,

I must confess, I almost missed these letters in my brief reprieve from them. Almost. Though I must say, I imagined your anticipation a little differently. Not waiting by the window, pining for my response, but rather rifling through your mail, skimming past important matters of state in search of your name in my handwriting.

I’m right, aren’t I? 

As amusing as it is to imagine, you’ll have to forgive me for not sharing in your enthusiasm. You’ll find I have more pressing concerns than indulging whatever thrill you get from these exchanges.

And yet, despite that eagerness, you still managed to disappoint me. You dodged my question so artfully, I almost didn’t notice. Again, almost. You say I’m not special ‘in this regard, at least’—which begs the question: in what regard do you believe me to be special, Rhysand? Go on, amuse me. Though I imagine you’ll find a way to dodge the question, just as you so skillfully sidestepped my last.

On the matter of your other fantasies, I do hope you weren’t too attached to the idea of reclaiming Ramiel. I’m surprised I wasn’t informed of an attempt while I was away. Either you truly were joking, or you failed spectacularly. I suspect the former—if only because the latter would wound your pride too much to keep quiet. But don’t delude yourself into thinking I’ll let you take it so easily. Should you ever try, I suggest you prepare for far more resistance than the last time your court made an attempt at mine. I suggest you spare yourself the embarrassment and resign yourself to the reality of the border as it stands.

And speaking of revisionist history, I see you’re still clinging to the notion that I carved something from your court. Let me remind you that I took back only what rightfully belonged to Dusk. Not an acre more. The distinction may be an inconvenience to your pride, but I assure you, it’s quite important to me.

As for the truly pressing matters—you say you can imagine my hands being put to use, torn between dreading the thought and finding it intriguing. How very dramatic. I only meant to say I would see what strings I could pull. What exactly did you imagine I was referring to? 

Speaking of which—I do have another portion of my reacquired land that I might be willing to bring to the table. But before I entertain any offers, I think I’d like answers. To all of my questions. 

Try not to let the anticipation distract you too much. 

(Y/n) High Lady of the Dusk Court

P.S. A poetic interpretation, though an inaccurate one. The mirabilis does not bloom for night, Rhysand. It blooms for dusk. I’m hardly surprised you managed to make it about yourself. Though, I suppose I can’t fault you for finding familiarity in beautiful things. 

✦

To the unshakable guardian of borders, both territorial and personal—though one seems far less impenetrable than the other, High Lady of the Dusk Court,

I’ll admit, my evenings were far quieter in your absence. Dreadfully so. I found myself quite bored without your charming insults—perhaps I should be worried? I fear I may have grown too accustomed to your scrutiny.

I did have an enjoyable time speculating about what, exactly, could have kept you from writing. Was it boredom? A newfound commitment to your so-called pressing concerns? Or were you simply trying to teach me the virtues of patience?

A noble effort, if so. Though I must say, for someone with more important matters to attend to, you seem remarkably preoccupied with my pride. Your fixation on it would almost be endearing—if it weren’t so transparent. Are you hoping to wound it? Searching for some weakness, some bruise you might press your thumb against? If my ego is as fragile as you imagine, why are you working so hard to shatter it?

On the matter of Ramiel, I’m flattered by your assumption that I would go about reclaiming it in such an underhanded way. But contrary to popular belief, I am not entirely cold; I can make a joke. I make many of them, really. And taking Ramiel back with anything less than a true effort would be disgraceful to it. A sacred mountain deserves a worthy battle, don’t you think? I can only assume you agree, given how fiercely you cling to what you’ve taken—excuse me, what you’ve reclaimed. I’ve found myself agreeing with you on this front—revisionist history is an unfortunate thing. Perhaps we should compare records sometime, particularly those regarding the last time our courts clashed. Preferably over a bottle of that wine we had in Adriata. Seven glasses that night, was it? Or was I too distracted to count? Either way, I’m sure the discussion would prove enlightening—it may remind you history has a habit of repeating itself. 

Speaking of indulgences, I find it fascinating that, of all the questions I so skillfully evaded, the one you’re most intent on prying an answer from is what I think of your hands and what you’ll do with them? An interesting choice, considering your previous insistence that you have far more pressing concerns than indulging me. But who am I to question your priorities?

I suppose I can be merciful and share the long-awaited answers you so demandingly requested (Mother help whatever poor male ends up as your mate, if this is how you insist on getting your way):

Partially. Matters of state demand priority, but I do allow myself certain distractions. 

If I told you, I’d lose the pleasure of watching you try to figure it out yourself. But since you seem desperate for an answer, I’ll offer a hint: it’s not your modesty. Or your patience. Certainly not your generosity. 

I thought it was quite evident what you meant to imply. But if you insist on feigning innocence… Truthfully, I assumed your offer was one that would require privacy. And a great deal of generosity on your part. This is something, I now realize, you certainly wouldn’t have put into writing if only to uphold the charade that you’d never find me charming. And now that I’ve said as much, I do hope you’ll allow me the dignity of never having to elaborate further. For both our sakes. 

Yours in anticipation, Rhysand High Lord of Night

P.S. Can you blame a male for admiring fine calligraphy? The way you curl the R and y on the envelope—it does wonders for an already stunning name. Almost makes me forgive the rest of your letter. 

Almost. 

P.P.S. You can’t fault me for finding familiarity in beautiful things? It seems I’m beginning to grow on you. 

✦

To the High Lord of Night, who wields wit like a blade yet underestimates the sharpness of my own,

I should make one thing abundantly clear: I did not call you beautiful. I merely acknowledged your tendency to find yourself in the presence of beautiful things—an unfortunate distinction you seem determined to misinterpret. Your ego has always had a habit of bending words to its will. 

As for your supposed concerns over my absence, rest assured—I had no ulterior motive for not writing. No grand scheme to test your patience or see how long you’d last before you wilted from neglect. I was simply occupied. The life of a High Lady is not one of idle indulgence, after all. I leave that to you. 

And yet, you speak as though I spend my precious time working to shatter your ego. An interesting claim, considering I’ve done nothing but respond to the words you so generously provide me. If anything, you’re the one offering up your pride, Rhysand. If it’s cracked, I certainly wasn’t the one to drop it. 

On the matter of history, I must say, your memory is sharper than I gave you credit for. Seven glasses, was it? And here I thought I’d lost track. I wonder—does an obsessive enemy count each sip so meticulously, or only a male in love?

Speaking of unanswered questions, you’re still avoiding mine. And until you decide to remedy that, I see no reason to disclose what I plan to bargain with (a term I use loosely, as I know your court has a rather… rigid interpretation of the word). But since you seem so desperate to know, I’ll offer you a choice: either admit there are too many ways in which you find me special to list, or do your best to name them all. 

And regarding your… interpretation of my offer, I’d suggest you check your assumptions. Whatever it is you imagined, that was entirely your own doing. A slip of the mind perhaps? A rather telling one, if so.

(Y/n) High Lady of Dusk

P.S. Since you seem so taken with my calligraphy, I made some additions in honor of your rather devoted attention. A fitting touch, don’t you think? Do let me know if you’d noticed before reading this.

✦

To the most self-important High Lady in all of Prythian,

Love? You flatter yourself. A male in my position would be reckless not to keep a close eye on his greatest adversary. And a sharp memory is hardly a crime—though I suppose I should be grateful you only accuse me of counting your drinks and not of slipping something into them. It would not be the first time you assumed the worst of me. 

And since you’re so eager for me to list them—very well. The ways in which you are special:

You wield words like weapons, yet claim innocence when they strike true. A fascinating contradiction. I’d almost admire it, were I not so often on the receiving end. 

Your dedication to antagonizing me is truly unparalleled. The effort, the commitment—it’s impressive. One might even say admirable. 

You’ve managed, against all odds, to make even silence feel pointed. A rare skill. Not one I’d expect of someone so supposedly burdened with more pressing concerns

You have an impeccable memory for every instance in which I’ve stalled or withheld negotiation details for my own gain—yet here you are, doing the very same. Hypocrisy has never looked so graceful.

I could continue, but I wouldn’t want you to mistake it for admiration. And besides, I believe I’ve humored you enough. 

I am not going to argue the wording of your offer with you. You chose your words carefully, as you always do. And I am but a male. Where, exactly, did you expect my mind to go?

And if I were to claim that you, of all people, would never be so sentimental as to embellish my name with hearts—would you deny it? You accuse me of obsession, of something more, yet only someone utterly besotted would go to such painstaking effort. Curious isn’t it?

Yours in ruthless scrutiny, Rhysand High Lord of Night

P.S. You can spare yourself the trouble in your next letter—I will not be listing any more. I wouldn’t want to inflate the ego of my greatest admirer lest she believe me to be interested. 

✦

To the most infuriatingly self-satisfied High Lord in all of Prythian, who so skillfully dodges a direct answer while pretending it’s beneath him to do so,

Besotted? I would have thought a male in your position would be reckless to mistake a simple acknowledgement of his shortcomings for something so tragic as infatuation. But if it soothes your ego to believe I spend my waking hours consumed with thoughts of you, I suppose I shouldn’t deny you that small comfort. The fragile need their delusions.

Where did I expect your mind to go? If my phrasing left room for your mind to wander, it says far more about you than it does me. Projection is an unbecoming look on a High Lord—though, lucky for you, it seems to suit you well. 

And if you were to claim that I—of all people—would never be so sentimental as to embellish your name with hearts, I’d wonder what you’d do if I denied it. But alas, I have no need to lie. It was not painstaking to do the calligraphy, nor did I waste away hours perfecting it. It comes quite easily to someone as skilled as myself. But if you prefer to imagine me blushing, lovestruck, ink-stained fingers pressing to my lips as I sigh over the flourish of your name—far be it from me to rid you of such a fantasy. We all must have our amusements, mustn’t we?

Now, I ignored it the first time, but I can’t any longer. Twice now, you’ve signed off your letters, “yours, Rhysand.” A rather bold choice, don’t you think? Unless, of course, I’ve missed something and you are. Mine, I mean. Seems an odd habit for a male so determined to deny any particular interest in me.

Not yours, in measured indifference, (Y/n)

✦

To the ever-distractible High Lady, whose selective attention is as impressive as her deflections,

You seem to have overlooked a few key matters in your last letter. Namely, any mention of our negotiations. I upheld my end of your demand by providing the list you so graciously insisted upon. And yet, curiously, I find myself still waiting for the slightest indication of what land you intend to put forth in this bargain. A mere oversight, I’m sure. Or perhaps my entirely accurate assessment of your infatuation left you so flustered that you simply forgot?

And speaking of such flustered states—you made quite the fuss over how I sign my letters, yet in your haste, you seem to have neglected to properly sign off your own. Are we abandoning such formalities now? A shame. I had so been looking forward to seeing what you might come up with next. 

Yours, as ever, Rhysand

✦

To the most persistently arrogant High Lord, whose ability to fixate on trivialities is truly unmatched,

Oh, I do apologize—was there something important hidden between all the self-satisfaction and baseless accusations? How careless of me to overlook it. You’re right, of course. I should have addressed the matter of our negotiations. It’s just that I found myself distracted by your transparent attempt to shift the conversation. A flimsy strategy, Rhysand. I am ashamed it hit its mark. 

You claim to have upheld your end of the deal, and yet, all you’ve provided is a list dripping with backhanded compliments and veiled frustration. Hardly the fair exchange you make it out to be. But fine. Since you’re so desperate to discuss it, here it is: shared rights over the Prison. The island was, historically, my ancestors’ land, after all. You should consider it an honor—and a rare olive branch—that I’m willing to grant you even that much. 

As for your signature dilemma—what an astute observation. If my lack of a formal sign-off has rattled you so, I can only imagine how unmoored you’d be if I started leaving my letters entirely unsigned, much in the same way you have a habit of leaving my questions unanswered. A terrifying prospect, I’m sure. But since you so clearly long for my parting words, I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you. 

Still not yours, (Y/n)

✦

To the ever-elusive High Lord,

It has now been a full week past when I expected your reply—an unusual delay, given not only the geography of our courts (as you so helpfully pointed out before), but the sensitive nature of my last correspondence as well. Surely, by now, you have some response, unless, of course, there is truly so much to discuss with your advisors? I would have thought a male of your remarkable intelligence could have reached a decision long before now. 

But perhaps you are merely searching for the perfect way to tell me what I already know—that this is a wonderful opportunity for the Night Court. I have no doubt your brilliant mind will find some way to convince the Illyrians that they only need half the mountain for their precious Blood Rite. Surely, their warriors will be just as fearsome without every inch of Ramiel beneath their feet. 

Patiently (for now), (Y/n)

✦

Rhysand,

I sincerely hope my last letter has reached you. It would be a shame to have to fire someone over such a careless mistake. But since I have yet to receive a response, I must now assume one of two things: either my words were lost twice, or you are deliberately ignoring them. Neither is particularly reassuring. 

That said, I have reconsidered a portion of my last letter. In hindsight, my suggestion was both insensitive and entirely wrong. It was not my place to suggest forcing the Illyrians to alter a sacred tradition they have upheld for generations. I recognize that now. So let me be clear—I have absolutely no problem allowing them full access to Dusk’s half of Ramiel for the duration of their Blood Rite. It is not my intent to rob them of something so integral to their history. 

I trust this correction will not go unnoticed. And I expect to hear from you soon. 

Yours (less patient than before), (Y/n)

✦

To (y/n), the High Lady whose patience, it seems, is as thin as her restraint in letter-writing,

I appreciate the flood of correspondence awaiting me upon my return—truly, it is touching to know that my absence was felt so… acutely. Though I must say, I expected better of you than to jump to the most uncreative conclusion. Ignoring you? Deliberately? You wound me. And here I was, under the impression that you enjoyed a bit of mystery. 

I am sure you will be surprised to find that I, in fact, do not have the luxury of spending my days hovering over my desk, eagerly awaiting the arrival of ink-stained letters. I have been occupied. Surely, a mind as sharp as yours can deduce that certain matters require my undivided attention—ones that, regrettably, cannot be shared in writing. Or perhaps you’d rather I neglected those responsibilities to promptly return your ever-charming correspondence?

As for the contents of your latest correspondence—finally, some substance. Shared rights over the Prison. A bold proposition. I find it endearing how you frame it as an honor rather than the calculated power play it truly is. Your generosity is noted, as is your gracious concession regarding Ramiel. I suspect the Illyrians will be deeply relieved to know you have found it in your heart to grant them access to land they have fought and bled upon for millennia. How lucky they are to have your benevolence. 

And now, to address the most pressing concern of all—I do wonder if you are more fixated on our negotiations, or on me. I will grant you the mercy of answering your most burning question. Am I yours? A dangerous thing to suggest, especially from someone so insistent that she feels nothing at all. 

Yours, as always, Rhysand

✦

Rhysand,

I had no place to suggest altering a tradition that is not mine to change. It was careless, and I regret it. Please consider this my formal apology—to you and to the Illyrians. I will ensure that my future propositions are made with greater thought. 

As for the matter with the Prison, I will not waste either of our time dressing it up as anything but what it is. A necessary arrangement. One that, should you still wish to discuss, I will be available at your convenience. 

(Y/n)

✦

(Y/n),

How uncharacteristically… restrained. I confess, I find myself at a loss—where has the sharp-tongued, impossible-to-rattle High Lady gone? I was rather enjoying our exchanges, yet now you write to me as if I am nothing more than a bureaucrat awaiting your next trade proposal. It does not suit you. 

Something must be weighing on you to make you forget our less stately topics of conversation. I wonder—should I be concerned? Or will you insist, as always, that nothing at all is amiss?

Yours, Rhysand

✦

Rhysand,

I regret to inform you that I am currently preoccupied with matters of importance. Your musings about the missing High Lady of Dusk, while charming, do not qualify. I have neither the time nor the energy to explain, but rest assured—it’s nothing that requires your concern.

(Y/n)

✦

(Y/n),

I’m not asking for the inner workings of your court. Only some assurance that the High Lady I’ve been painstakingly coaxing into a negotiation hasn’t decided to throw herself into the abyss. A waste, truly—in more ways than one. I’d hate to lose the only opponent who’s ever managed to keep pace. 

Yours (against my better judgment), Rhysand

✦

Rhysand,

If you must know—though I suspect you already do—I’m fine. Truly. Or at least as fine as one can be when balancing the weight of a court that seems determined to pull itself apart at the seams. 

I wanted this. Fought for it. Sacrificed for it. I would do it all over again if I had to, if only to reclaim what was stolen from my ancestors and restore Dusk to what it once was. But I can’t say I anticipated how steep the price would be. 

Beron, for one, seems intent on ensuring I feel every thorn in the crown I now wear. I knew his help would come with strings—but I misjudged how tightly he’d be willing to pull them. He’s been pressing me for greater trade rights along the southern border, a thinly veiled attempt to undercut Velaris’ control over the merchant routes. I refused, of course. Which only gave him an excuse to retaliate—restricting shipments of raw materials that my court requires to rebuild. He knows exactly how far he can push before I’m forced to give him something in return. 

And then there’s the matter of Thesan’s generosity. Or rather, the staggering debt it left me with. His support during the war was invaluable, but now the treasury is running thin. I’ve already levied new taxes, cut court expenses, not to mention countless other efforts, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough. 

As for Tamlin—he’s been… circling. Watching for weakness. He hasn’t demanded anything outright, not yet, but the implied threat is clear enough. I suspect he’s waiting for Beron or Thesan to draw blood first, hoping I’ll come crawling to him when Dusk begins to buckle under the weight of their demands. And I’m certain he’ll enjoy every moment of it. 

And through all of it, I’m expected to smile and remain composed. To reassure my people, my advisors, my allies—that I have it all under control. That their High Lady is not unraveling beneath the pressure of debts and threats and politics. That I am not coming apart at the seams from the sheer exhaustion of being tugged in every possible direction. 

I know I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I’m sure you’ll eventually use it against me—some leverage to play when it suits you best. Hopefully I’ll come to my senses and burn this letter before it reaches you. If you’re reading this, then evidently I need to be evaluated for hurling my court’s politics into the hands of my enemy.

I knew this would be difficult. I was not naïve about the cost. But there is something uniquely punishing about knowing I fought so hard for this crown, only to find myself bound by a different set of chains. 

And yet, I’ll keep going. Because what other choice is there? Because this is what it means to rule—to carry the weight alone. 

You understand that don’t you?

(Y/n)

✦

(Y/n),

I can’t decide whether I should be flattered or insulted that you think me capable of using this against you. If I were going to exploit you, I would have done so long ago—by making sure everyone knew just how fond you are of me.

Beron is not nearly as clever as he thinks he is. His entire approach relies on you needing him more than he needs you. Which means you need to make it clear that you don’t. If he’s restricting raw materials, look elsewhere. There’s a port in Day, just south of your shared border, that could cover the loss. Speak with Helion. It’ll be more expensive, yes, but not so much that it’d justify letting him think he has the upper hand.

And Thesan is not unreasonable. He wouldn’t have extended his aid if he didn’t believe Dusk was a worthy investment. But debts of this scale aren’t meant to be paid off in coin alone. Offer him something softer: diplomacy, information, a trade route that benefits both courts—perhaps the one Beron is panting after. Show him that aiding your court wasn’t charity—it was a strategic decision. If you position it correctly, you can turn him from a creditor into an ally. 

Tamlin—well. I wouldn’t waste too much thought on him. He’s not bold enough to make the first move, and even if he were, he’s too predictable to catch you off guard. Let him watch. Let him wait. He’ll tire of it eventually. And if, by some miracle, he proves otherwise—you won’t be the only one handling it. 

And you’re right—this is what it means to rule. To be pulled apart, worn down, tested until there’s nothing left but steel and bone. But you’re not as alone as you think. And if you ever tire of pretending you have everything well in hand, you know where to find me. I’ll even provide the wine (Eastgate Ruby, Tarquin tells me, is what was served at our “meeting”). 

You should know—you’re doing well. Better than well, actually. They wouldn’t be pressing this hard if you weren’t already a threat. 

Yours, Rhysand

P.S. Take your time responding—see to what needs seeing to. But do keep in mind, every day we linger in this stalemate is another day merchants are kept from Velaris. And I do hate to keep good wine waiting. 

✦

Rhysand,

I imagine I owe you an apology for how curt I’ve been. If I were you, I wouldn’t have bothered replying, much less with actual counsel. And yet, here you are. I won’t pretend to understand why, but I’d be a fool not to recognize the value of what you’ve given me. 

Your assessment of Beron was correct. Helion has surprisingly agreed to supply what we need, though not without cost. I suspect I’ve a certain High Lord to thank for that…

But that’s not why I’m writing. You said my offer of the Prison was something— but is it enough? You were adamant before about Ramiel. Has that changed, or are we only delaying the inevitable? I’d rather know where we stand than waste time circling the same conversation. 

And despite my better judgment, I’ll say it again—thank you, Rhysand. Truly.

Yours, (Y/n)

P.S. I am not fond of you. Do not spread baseless rumors. 

✦

(Y/n),

The advice was nothing—really, if this is all it takes to earn such enthusiastic gratitude from you, I almost feel guilty for not demanding more in return. Try to keep your wits about you, will you? It’d be a shame if our negotiations were cut short because you keeled over from sheer appreciation. 

Speaking of—the High Lords’ meeting next week seems as good a place as any to finalize our discussions. I doubt we’re the only ones eager to put this matter to rest. 

Let me know if I should move your place card beside mine. 

Yours, Rhysand

P.S. The rumors would not be baseless.

P.P.S. I’ll see about officially changing them to High Lords’ & Ladies’ Meetings. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The marble gleamed gold beneath the afternoon sun, intricate carvings twisting along each column of the Day Court’s grand hall. Sunlight spilled through arched windows, catching on the etching along the ceiling—everywhere you looked, there was radiance, warmth. But the mood within the room was anything but bright. 

Tamlin and Tarquin were already at it. 

“I don’t give a damn what your scholars have said,” Tamlin bit out, his fingers curled into the polished wood of the table. “Your dam project diverts water away from the Riverlands, which directly impacts all of—”

Tarquin exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “You mean it impacts Spring. The other Courts seem perfectly content with—”

The argument barely cut through the layered hum of conversation. The hall was packed—High Lords, High Ladies, emissaries, and advisors all seated along the sprawling table or just behind the leaders of their court, quiet but watchful. Courtiers lingered at the edges of the chamber, murmuring among themselves. Further down the table, the room had splintered into smaller conversations, hushed discussions carried between tilted heads and subtle glances. Viviane murmured something to her counterpart in Autumn, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Eris murmured something low enough that only Azriel could hear. Whatever it was made the shadowsinger’s mouth curl. Some spoke of alliances, of shifting borders and trade disputes, while others engaged in idle pleasantries, weighing their words with careful calculation. 

You hadn’t spoken to each other yet. Hadn’t needed to. But his attention settled over you all the same, a quiet pressure against the edges of your awareness. 

Rhysand lounged beside you, one arm slung over the back of his chair, fingers drumming idly against the carved wood. His expression was the perfect mask of boredom, his violet eyes sweeping the table as if merely observing, gathering. 

But each time you spoke, each time your voice wove into the discussion, something in him tensed. Not noticeably, not even in a way you could explain, but you felt it. The way his fingers stilled against the chair, the way his head tilted just slightly. 

Your place card was, in fact, next to his.

You hadn’t asked him to move it. Hadn’t responded to that letter of his.

You’d gone to read it, expecting nothing more than the usual formalities, maybe a carefully chosen turn of phrase or two. But the first page had barely contained a paragraph, just a handful of neatly penned lines before cutting off entirely. You’d frowned, turning it over, checking for more—only to find the second page clinging to the back.

The moment you saw it, you realized the second page wasn’t part of the letter. Not officially. 

The stray notes scrawled in the margins, phrases crossed out and rewritten, thoughts scattered between lines of unfinished sentences. Lists, reminders—half a to-do list squeezed into one corner, a set of numbers you didn’t recognize. And then, amid all of it, a letter. A real one. One that had never been meant to leave his desk. 

The handwriting was messier, less composed, as if written in haste. He hadn’t redrafted it. Hadn’t refined the words or arranged them carefully. It was raw. Unpolished. And as you read, a slow, twisting pressure built in your chest. 

You still didn’t know what to do with any of it. 

So you did what you always did: you kept your expression unreadable, smoothed down the silk of your sleeves, and shifted just enough to let yourself feel the weight of his attention. 

You’d chosen your dress carefully. The rich midnight blue of Dusk, the embroidery catching faintly in the afternoon light, shifting between silver and violet in the right angles. The fabric was sheer in places, opaque in others, with delicate beading that traced the bodice and sleeves like constellations. The silhouette was deceptively simple, fitted through the torso before cascading in effortless folds, pooling slightly where you sat. Your jewelry was understated—a bracelet of woven platinum and black diamonds, earrings and a necklace to match. But the tiara was another thing entirely. 

Dusk’s coronet was a thing of starlight and shadow, its intricate metalwork impossibly delicate yet undeniably strong. Bands of dark silver twisted together, slender but unyielding, their curves resembling the arms of a crescent moon. Small gems were inlaid at precise points, catching the light like scattered stars, a constellation mapped in precious stone. At its center, the design wove into an intricate lattice, almost imperceptible unless one looked closely—a reminder, woven into its very structure, that not everything of Dusk could be seen at a glance. 

Still, there was business to be done. 

“The borders between Dusk and Night remain unchanged,” you said when the conversation made its way to you. Your voice was even, measured. “The western face of Ramiel remains under Dusk’s jurisdiction, but the Illyrians retain access for the Blood Rite.” 

There was a beat of silence. Agreement, consideration. 

Then from beside you—

“My Court shares access to the Prison,” Rhysand said smoothly. “And as long as there are no tariffs imposed on the Night Court, trade will resume with Velaris at Dusk’s discretion.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. His voice was cool, each word delivered with the sharp precision of someone well-versed in negotiation. Nothing in his tone hinted at the letters he’d sent—not the formal, measured ones at the start, but the later ones, where the careful mask had begun to slip. Where the words had become… something else. 

You weren’t sure what unsettled you most—the contrast, the deal, or the fact that, beneath all of it, you still hadn’t decided how to act on that letter. 

“That brings us to trade,” you continued, your gaze sweeping the table. “After lengthy discussions, the Solar Courts have reached an agreement regarding our eastern waters.”

A ripple of interest passed through the room. Some leaned forward slightly, others tipped their heads, listening. Across from you, Helion and Thesan exchanged glances with you and Rhysand—subtle, knowing. 

“Only the Solar Courts may conduct trade with one another through the eastern waters,” you announced evenly. “Any trade between the Seasonal and Solar Courts must be conducted through land or the western waters.”

The statement settled like a stone in the room’s collective understanding. 

Tamlin, Tarquin, and Kallias looked largely unbothered. The arrangement changed little for them—they had ample access to the western coast of Prythian and had conducted most of their trade through those routes already. 

But Beron. 

You turned your attention to him then, the barest trace of a polite smile tugging at your lips. 

“Surely, you all understand the desire to avoid unnecessary hassle,” you mused lightly, watching as the realization sank in. 

Autumn had no western coastline. No direct route to the western waters. Which meant Beron’s merchants would now be forced to transport goods through other courts to access those trade routes—incurring delays, additional taxes, and the general headache of relying on the goodwill of neighboring courts. 

Beron’s jaw tensed. His fingers flexed slightly where they rested against the table, and though his face remained carefully neutral, you caught the flicker of something sharp in his eyes. 

A quiet hum of approval came from Helion, his grin barely restrained. Tarquin exhaled a soft chuckle, though he masked it with a sip of wine. Even Kallias looked vaguely entertained, his cool blue stare flicking toward Beron before settling back on you. 

Rhysand, however—

Your peripheral vision caught the slightest tilt of his head. The slow, deliberate tap of his fingers against the arm of his chair. But it was the glint in his violet eyes that held your attention, the way his lips parted just slightly, as if he might say something. It seemed you’d surprised him. 

You smoothed an idle hand over your skirts and said simply, “This arrangement best serves the Dusk Court’s interests.”

And you settled back in your chair, your expression unreadable, the matter closed. 

The meeting stretched on for another few hours, dragging through the usual political pretense, minor disputes, and long-winded proposals that wore your patience thin. Rhysand, ever the picture of relaxed authority, lounged in his chair as though he hadn’t a single concern in the world. But every so often, when some lord made a particularly absurd suggestion, his gaze would flick toward you—dry, incredulous, as if waiting to see if you’d heard the same nonsense he had. 

When it finally ended, the room shifted from rigid diplomacy to something looser, easier. Wine flowed, platters of food were brought in, and the stiff atmosphere gave way to quiet chatter, laughter, the clinking of glasses across the grand table. 

You turned to Rhysand, leaning slightly toward him as you picked up the thread of conversation from the meeting. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to guide the negotiations with Kallias in your favor,” you said, voice smooth. 

He exhaled a soft laugh, setting down his glass. “You wound me, (y/n). I did nothing of the sort.”

Your brows raised. “Mmm. You’re insufferable when you lie.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t do it often.” His eyes glittered with that infuriating look, the one that made you want to roll your eyes—or perhaps throw your glass at him, just to see if he’d still be smirking afterward. 

You huffed a quiet laugh. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Lying is a delicate art. You, Rhysand, are a hammer.”

His brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in those violet eyes. “And yet, I always seem to get the job done.”

“Blunt force trauma has its uses, I suppose.”

That earned you a low chuckle, the sound curling through your spine. Before you could savor your victory, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room. “I believe they’ve got Eastgate Ruby here somewhere. I requested it—for your sake, of course. I’d hate for you to suffer the effects of withdrawal.”

You exhaled a sharp laugh. “How thoughtful. I assume you’ll be the one administering the cure?”

Rhysand’s grin was slow and wicked as he stood from his seat and reached for your chair, pulling it back with an easy grace. “It’s the least I can do.”

You didn’t move at first, just arched a brow at the gesture. He only held out a hand, expectant. 

When you finally slid your fingers into his, his grip was warm, steady. He helped you up with an ease that felt almost practiced. 

You gave him a look. “Chivalry, Rhysand? Really?”

“I’m not uneducated, (y/n),” he murmured, the edge of his thumb brushing against your knuckles before he released your hand. “I do know how to treat a lady.”

“And yet, I remain unconvinced,” you replied dryly.

His smirk deepened, but he said nothing. 

The two of you strolled toward the side of the room, the low hum of conversation filling the space between you. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt civil—but then Rhysand tilted his head slightly, considering you. And you wondered, fleetingly, if he was thinking about you the way he claimed to in that letter. If his mind lingered on the words he’d written, just as yours had. 

“I have to admit,” he mused, “I’m impressed with how you handled Beron.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Are you?”

“I know people who’ve sat at this table far longer and wouldn’t dare speak to him like that,” he said, pouring wine into both of your glasses. “I suspect you may have even rattled him.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled at your lips. “Good.”

His gaze flicked toward you, unreadable. “Good,” he echoed softly. 

You took a sip of your drink, then tilted your head. “I’ll admit, your advice was… helpful. As was your agreement to reroute your Seasonal Court imports through Dusk.”

Rhysand let out a hum of acknowledgement. 

“But,” you added, “I don’t recall asking for it.”

His lips twitched. “Oh, forgive me. I should have realized that underneath all the pitiful complaints about the other Lords, you were just waiting for an excuse to take his head off.”

“Precisely.”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, his tone turned deceptively light. “Speaking of being offended—imagine my surprise when I wrote to you and received no reply.”

You merely blinked at him. “A tragedy.”

“Indeed.” He took a slow sip of his wine. “So, I took it upon myself to move your place card.”

You gave him a look. “That explains the seating arrangements.”

His smirk was nothing short of wicked. “Did you really expect me to let you sit anywhere else? Besides, you were originally meant to be seated next to Beron. I imagine you wouldn’t have spoken quite so freely had you been within arm’s reach of his fire. 

You huffed a quiet laugh, swirling the wine in your glass. “You assume so much, Rhysand. Maybe I would have enjoyed the warmth.”

His brows raised slightly. “Oh? Should I tell him he missed an opportunity?”

You gave him a pointed look before taking a slow sip, letting the dry sweetness of the wine sit on your tongue. Then, with deliberate ease, you murmured, “I prefer a more tempered heat. The kind that lingers, burns slow.”

His grip on his glass tightened—just slightly.

But he didn’t rise to it. Not yet.

The conversation wove effortlessly between sharp-witted remarks and veiled barbs, the hum of the room growing livelier as tensions fully eased. The air felt lighter, laughter ringing out across the space, and for once, there was no pressing matter to discuss. So you let yourself settle into it—just a little. 

Rhysand, too, seemed comfortable, the usual sharp edge of his presence dulled by wine and something more elusive. A sense of ease, perhaps, though it didn’t stop him from watching you carefully over the rim of his glass. 

“I must admit,” you said idly, swirling your wine, “I expected Adriata to be a far greater distraction than it was.”

He hummed. “Did you?”

You nodded, tilting your head ever so slightly. “I thought the festivities would be enough to hold my attention but… I was proven wrong.”

The words were casual—innocent, even—but something flickered across Rhysand’s expression, so brief you might have imagined it. He only chuckled, eyes glinting in the light of the setting sun. “Tragic. Was it boredom, then, that drove you to linger?”

You leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle in front of the other. “I wouldn’t say boredom. More like—” your fingers trailed along the stem of your glass, “—an unexpected tether.”

That time, you were sure you saw it—the way his fingers paused against the base of his own glass, how his posture remained utterly poised save for the slight shift of his jaw. But he recovered quickly, that ever-composed mask slipping easily back into place. With a quiet, breathy laugh, he tipped his head slightly, eyes briefly shutting as he exhaled through his nose—the kind of laugh meant to brush something off. 

You knew that laugh. You knew it well. 

It sent a slow thrill curling through your chest. 

He drained his glass and set it down. “You’re in rare form tonight, (y/n).”

You feigned innocence. “Am I?”

Rhysand only looked at you, an unreadable half-smile playing at his lips. The silence between you stretched, tension coiling beneath it, but then the conversation carried on—seamless, effortless, that undercurrent still thrumming between you both. 

It wasn’t until later, after another glass of Eastgate Ruby each, when the moment felt right, that you finally struck.

“Tell me,” you mused, leaning in slightly. “Do you ever think back to Adriata?”

Rhysand stilled—just for a fraction of a second. 

Then, as if nothing had happened, he set his empty glass down with a quiet clink. “Fondly,” he said smoothly. “Why do you ask?”

You only smiled. “Oh, I was just wondering—if you make a habit of spending your nights consumed by thoughts of me.”

That time, he definitely froze. It was brief, but it was there—the faintest hitch in his breath, the subtle clench of his jaw. 

And gods, you could see it, the way his mind must have been racing, trying to determine how you were able to see straight through him. 

Then, slowly, his smirk returned—lazy, measured, meant to convey utter indifference. He exhaled, almost pitying. “Really, (y/n), all this just to get my attention? You could have saved yourself the trouble, darling.”

You hummed, unimpressed. “Is that what you think this is?”

“An obvious bid for my affections? Yes, I’m afraid so.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Gods, Rhysand. You must really enjoy the sound of your own voice.”

“Say it, (y/n),” he teased, voice a near-mocking whisper. “Go on. Say it.”

“Oh, I’ll say something.” With a flick of your wrist, a small, folded parchment materialized between your middle and forefingers. You held it out to him, watching as his smirk faltered ever so slightly. 

He eyed the paper, then shot you a dry, unimpressed look. “What’s this?”

You didn’t take your eyes off his. “Read it.”

He scoffed, plucking it from your fingers with a lazy flick of his own. “If this is a declaration of your love,” he said, unfolding the paper, “I’m sorry to say I’ll have to decli—”

He went silent. 

You watched the exact moment realization struck. How his mouth parted just slightly, how his posture stiffened, fingers tightening around the parchment. 

The letter. 

His letter.

✦ — — — — ✦ — — — — ✦

roses           mirabilis candles Eastgate Ruby!!! violin serenade?           string quartet.                    6 - 2 -2 -1

To the relentless archivist of my supposed delusions, High Lady of the Dusk Court

             (y/n)            Dearest (y/n)           My Dearest (y/n)           My Dearest, (y/n)                            My (y/n)

To the relentless scholar of my every flaw, whose thoroughness borders on devotion, High Lady of the Dusk Court, 

        “burden of leadership clouded your judgment?” Insufferable, Rhys? Sexist, even? I think so. I thi—why the fuck did I send that   High Lady, do you ever stop scheming?

(y/n) of Dusk.               High Lady (y/n)          (y/n) (y/n) (y/n) (y/n), High Lady of the Night Court       (y/n)       Why can’t     I   write (y/n) properly…. (y/n)...

To the incomparable, unparalleled High Lady of Dusk,Arriving in Adriata, I’d presumed the festivities would be the distraction. Yet, as usual, you managed to prove me wrong. Your presence, always commanding, kept me tethered to that place far longer than necessary, though I suppose there are worse ways to spend one's time. 

            Find better excuse to avoid bets with Az… You always lose.                       looked godsdamned good today. Fuck that dress.     

That dress—fuck. I could hardly believe you had the nerve to wear it. Of course, you couldn’t have known how impossible it would be for me to focus on anything but the way it clung to your body. But it was your eyes, the way they met mine with that knowing gleam, that reminded me why I can’t entertain these thoughts. And gods, when you leaned forward—deliberately, no doubt—I had to force myself to remember that there were other matters at hand. That I had a court to oversee, another war to stave off, and yet—yet—all I could think of was the way your body moved.   Send Amren report. Or don’t. Let her stew.                      Draft something strong for Beron. Or just set him on fire.        37690 And your lips. The way you licked the wine off of them, tempting me to be the one to trace them with my own. I should have been horrified, or at the very least, unnerved enough to turn away, but instead, I found myself imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to pull you close, to feel you press against me, hard, and feel that warmth only you seem to emit. 

                                        ^What would you taste like, sound like And then I could not shake the image. That night, in Adriata, it was as if you knew. Every movement of yours, every glance, every gesture, it felt like you were feeding the very thoughts I dared not admit to myself.                           Pen test.. .  .  .

I spent the rest of the night consumed by you. By the memory of your body, the way you moved, the way you tensed when our eyes met. I couldn’t stop picturing it—your fingers digging into the sheets, your mouth parted, breathless, wrecked. The way you’d sound with my name on your tongue, desperate, ruined. I fisted my cock for hours that night to the thought of you. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t you. My grip, my own touch—pale imitations of what I craved. I wanted those delicate hands you offered, your body beneath mine, shattering for me. I wanted to hear it, the little sounds you’d make, the way you’d gasp as I buried myself in you. 

I bit out your name into the dark, over and over, as if saying it aloud might summon you. Might let me taste you, feel you. Might let me have you the way I wanted.                       985    87396                  696543I’m reminded of a night many years ago, one I’d rather forget. The war camp. The way the rain had turned dirt to sludge beneath our boots, the way the air reeked of steel and blood and something burnt. Our magic was drained. The battle had gone on too long, had stripped us of our elegance, our strategy. And there was only raw will left—yours against mine, fury against fury. You struck first. Your blade hissed past my ribs, slicing through my leathers, leaving a gash in my skin. I don’t even think you meant to miss. 

I threw you into the mud, pinned you there. You fought like an animal, snarling, kicking, teeth bared as if you would sink them into my throat given the chance. And for a moment—for a sickening, electrified moment—I wanted nothing more than to break you. To press you into the dirt until you yielded, until you spat out my name with a curse and finally, finally, it would be over. 

I hated you then. Hated you. 

And yet—when I lay alone in my tent, it was not the war I relived, not the blood or the near-miss of your blade. No, it was you. The heat of you against me, the way your body had fit against mine even in our struggle. The wild, frenzied way you fought, like a storm given flesh. I thought of you pressed against me in the mud, of the way your breath had mingled with mine, the way my body responded to yours despite everything, despite knowing you would have killed me just as easily as I would have killed you. 

I dealt with it that night the same way I dealt with it after Adriata. Even then, I couldn’t explain it. I should have wanted to hate you.                 You can’t fault me for finding familiarity in beautiful                 things? It seems I'm beginning to grow on you.          Infatuated, obsessed, besotted No, I couldn’t help it. Every time you glanced at me, every time you spoke, I could feel that pull. And when you left, I won’t lie, I was relieved. You were leaving before I did something monumentally reckless. But don’t for a moment think I wasn’t wishing for a different outcome.  

The matter at hand remains. Perhaps, next time, if you find yourself at my side again, I can be of service to you in a more personal way. 

Consider it, my lady. 

Eternally at your feet, if only you’d let me,                Bound to you in ways I have no right to claim,      Yours, in every way I shouldn’t be,

Yours, Rhysand hair gel ear plugs cufflinks assorted chocolates an apple (for balancing the chocolate)

✦ — — — — ✦ — — — — ✦

Rhysand exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression shifting into something between incredulity and resignation. Then, slowly, he looked up at you. 

You only sipped your wine, waiting. 

For the first time since you’d known him, Rhysand had nothing to say. It was a rare thing, to see the High Lord of the Night Court like this. Unmasked. Uncomposed. 

“What’s wrong?” you murmured, tilting your head ever so slightly. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

His jaw worked , muscles tightening, and you swore you saw the flicker of something else. A sliver of vulnerability, gone as quickly as it appeared. 

Then he exhaled, long and slow, the sound almost amused. “And here I thought you lacked a sense of humor.”

You merely hummed, watching him, your patience infinite. You wouldn’t grant him an out so easily. 

Carefully, deliberately, he folded the letter, pocketing it. “How, exactly, did you come by this?”

“Oh, Rhysand,” you purred, feigning sympathy. “Would it wound you further to know that I didn’t have to try very hard?”

His gaze darkened, sharp as a blade. “You couldn’t have rifled through my things…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said smoothly. “It was sent to me. By accident I assume, considering the look on your face.”

Silence. A long, stretched moment of it.

Then, at last, he smirked—but it was different now. Subtler. Wry. “I’m touched,” he murmured. “You kept it.”

You let your lips curve just slightly. “Of course. I’d be an idiot not to.”

A quiet hum left him, his violet gaze tracing your face, searching for something—perhaps for any sign of what you truly wanted from this. But you gave him nothing. 

Rhysand’s tongue ran over his teeth, considering you. Then, without warning, he laughed. Low, quiet, a thing of disbelief and wicked amusement all at once. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

You leaned in, voice a whisper against the space between you. “I can’t help it. You’re so much more fun when you lose.”

Rhysand exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head again as though you were impossible. “You think this is a loss?”

You only smiled. “I think you should choose your next words carefully.”

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh before pinning you with a look so cutting it nearly stole your breath. But there was no true bite behind it. No sharp edges—only something molten, something simmering. His voice, when it came, was soft. Dangerous. “Tell me, my lady—do you make a habit of inciting war in the middle of a crowded room?”

You only smiled. “I prefer my battles to be fought in private.”

His pupils flared.

It was all you needed. 

You turned without another word, setting your glass down as you slipped through the crowd. You didn’t have to look back to know he would follow. You felt it—that tether pulling tight, that unrelenting weight of his gaze pressing into your spine as you wove through the bodies, effortless, deliberate. 

You led him out of the hall, past the open archways leading to the moonlit balcony, past the guards stationed at the entrance. Only when you reached the dimly lit corridor beyond did you glance over your shoulder. 

Rhysand was already there. Already close. 

You barely had a second to register it before he was moving. And then… gods.

Then you were pressed up against the cool stone wall, his body caging yours in, his hands braced on either side of you. He wasn’t touching you. Not yet. But his scent wrapped around you, intoxicating, dark and rich, and when he leaned in just slightly, his breath fanning against your cheek, your entire body tightened. 

A pause. A deliberate, torturous moment where neither of you moved, where the space between you became razor-thin, humming with something volatile. His head dipped, his lips hovering near the corner of your mouth, as if he could taste your breath, as if he was considering closing that final inch. 

Then, lower. A shift, a slow drag of heat down the line of your jaw, until his mouth hovered near the hollow of your throat. Not touching. Not yet. 

His breath was steady, infuriatingly controlled. “Was this your plan all along?” he murmured, so soft it was almost a whisper. 

Then he lifted his head, the movement slow, measured. When your eyes met, you saw it—the strand of midnight hair falling across his brow, the way his gaze flicked over your face, dark and searching. The sharp cut of his cheekbones, the slight part of his lips, as if he were only just remembering to breathe. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Gods, this close, he was—No. You shoved the thought away, locking onto his stare instead. 

“If you’re asking whether I planned for you to humiliate yourself tonight,” you said at last, “then yes.”

A quiet, dangerous laugh. His body didn’t move, but the sound of it wrapped around you, coiling tight in your stomach. “And yet,” he mused, “you’re the one against the wall.”

Your heart was a war drum in your chest. “I led you here, didn’t I?”

Something flickered in his expression, something deep and molten that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight to your core. And then, faster than you could react, his hands were no longer braced against the wall. Fingers brushed your hips, featherlight. A test. A warning.

Then his grip tightened. A firm, possessive press as he pinned you, properly now, his body a wall of heat against yours. His hands dragged up until his thumbs skimmed the barest sliver of exposed skin between the fabric of your dress and the curve of your waist. 

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it slip, didn’t let him see how the warmth of his hands against your skin sent heat curling low in your stomach. But he felt the way your ribs expanded with a sharp inhale you couldn’t quite control.  And he liked it. You could see it in the way his smirk softened into something lazier and edged with indulgence. Like he was savoring this. Savoring you. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to move. 

So you did. 

You let your hands drift upward, skimming over the muscle of his forearms, his shoulders. You weren’t gentle. Your nails scraped against the fabric of his jacket, dragging just hard enough to make him feel it. You weren’t going to stand there and let him have the upper hand. 

Rhysand stilled, just for a second, a breath caught between his teeth.  “Careful, (y/n). You’re starting to seem a little desperate.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. “That’s rich, coming from a male who’s been standing here breathing down my neck instead of doing something about it.”

A flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fingers flexed against your waist, his thumbs pressing in, dragging ever so slightly along the curve of your hips. Not enough, never enough. And you wanted to see how far he’d let you go before he snapped. 

You rolled your neck with a sigh, all patience and unbothered amusement. “Surely you don’t need me to spell it out for you,” you mused, voice just shy of mocking. “Not when you so generously did so for me.”

Rhysand exhaled sharply through his nose, something between a laugh and a warning. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable.” You dragged your hands down, fingers skimming the hard places of his chest, settling just at the lapels of his jacket. Your nails caught the fabric, a teasing little pull. “Always talking. Always circling. But when it comes down to it, you—”

A sharp inhale from you, which made his hands tighten. 

You smiled, slow and wicked. “You hesitate.”

And whatever tenuous thread of restraint was holding him together snapped. 

It happened too fast for you to do anything but gasp as Rhysand surged forward at the same time you yanked him down. A collision of heat and breath and hands grasping, dragging, pulling. His mouth was on yours, fierce, consuming, and you met him with equal fire, teeth clashing, nails digging in, every ounce of restraint gone. 

His hands were everywhere—on your hips, at your back, tangling in your hair as he pressed you further into the stone. His lips moved against yours like he meant to ruin you, and you let him, let him take because you were taking just as much, matching every rough kiss, every sharp inhale, every fevered touch. 

Your hands fisted in the front of his jacket, yanking him closer even as you arched against the press of his body. His answering growl sent a sharp thrill down your spine. 

“See?” you breathed against his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His teeth scraped against your bottom lip before he bit down, just enough to make you gasp. “Hard,” he growled, “isn’t the problem.”

Heat flooded your cheeks—not from embarrassment, never that, but from the way he pressed against you in proof of his words. 

You dragged your fingers down his chest, slow, teasing, until you reached the buckle of his belt. A light touch, the barest flick of your fingers against the leather. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

Rhysand dipped his head with a low chuckle, pressing his mouth to the curve of your throat. “And here I thought we were past pretending.” His hands were doing their own exploration, fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips before skimming lower, his grip firm, insistent, like he was committing the shape of you to memory. 

You sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall, only to jerk it forward a moment later when you heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. But Rhysand didn’t move. He didn’t even lift his head, only kept pressing slow kisses along your throat. 

You scowled, pressing your palm against his chest. “Someone’s coming.”

“Mm.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “So will you, if you’d stop interrupting me.”

You shoved him, but he barely budged, only laughing quietly as he nipped at your jaw. “Rhysand,” you hissed, your breath uneven. “They’ll hear us.”

He pressed his hips against yours. “Let them.”

You almost choked. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned, all wicked teeth. “And you’re loud. But lucky for you…” His fingers skimmed your spine, sending a shiver straight through you. “I have a solution for that.”

And before you could say another word, darkness curled around you both, swallowing the hallway, the stone wall, the distant sound of footsteps—

And then, you were somewhere else. The air was warmer here, laced with the scent of citrus and jasmine. 

You looked at your surroundings. Velvet sheets, intricately carved furniture, and an unmistakable large, luxurious bed. From beyond the balcony, the distant murmur of the Day Court’s nightlife carried through the air. 

Your lips parted as you took it all in, realization creeping over you. 

He’d winnowed you straight into his bedroom. 

You turned your head sharply, meeting his gaze. “This,” you said, voice rich with disbelief, “was your solution?”

He only grinned, unrepentant. “Would you have preferred I left you there? So you could step out, all flushed and breathless, and explain to whoever came wandering that your hair isn’t a mess, your lipstick isn’t smudged, and that your dress has absolutely been this rumpled all day?”

Your glare was sharp enough to cut. “I would’ve managed.”

Rhysand hummed, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t doubt it. You always do. Though I can’t say I’m not enjoying this alternative.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “What, dragging me into your room so you can avoid being caught acting like a depraved bastard in a public corridor?”

He clicked his tongue. “And here I thought you appreciated efficiency.”

You rolled your eyes, but the effect was somewhat ruined when he reached for you again, his fingers gripping the curve of your waist. “Besides,” he murmured, dipping his head, “if you were truly so scandalized, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Your lips parted, a sharp retort forming—only for it to dissolve as he kissed you again, stealing the words straight from your tongue. 

It was different now. Less reckless, more intent. Like he was savoring the feel of you, like he knew how to dismantle every bit of your composure. His hands dragged down your back, gathering the fabric of your dress, pulling you flush against him. Clothes vanished between desperate, grasping hands. His jacket went just fine, the thud of it hitting the floor soon followed by the quiet, unmistakable sound of your tiara slipping from your hair, landing in a delicate clatter of metal against stone. His shirt had been the first casualty, though. Your fingers tore at the buttons, sending a few flying before you shoved the ruined thing from his shoulders. His hands weren’t much kinder to your dress, the delicate clasps at your back coming undone with infuriating ease, the fabric pooling at your feet. 

You found yourself pressed down onto the edge of the bed, his body still caging yours in. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. He stood before you now, bare-chested, his hands moving to the fastening of your heels. 

Your breath caught, though you’d die before admitting why. The way his fingers brushed against your ankle, the slowness with which he undid the first clasp—it was infuriating. And the entire time, he held your gaze, eyes dark and intent. 

You exhaled, leveling him with a look. “Strange, for a male so fond of his dramatics to feign chivalry.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he finished undoing the strap and slid the shoe from your foot, his fingers pressing into your calf as he set it aside. “Can’t a male show some courtesy?” He shifted his attention to the other. 

You arched a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I could always leave them on, if you’d prefer.”

Your eyes flicked to the heel still dangling from your foot, then back to him. Slowly, you lifted your leg, pressing the pointed toe just beneath his ribs, applying the barest hint of pressure. 

“I think,” you mused, “you just want an excuse to be on your knees for me.”

His pupils flared. “Oh, darling,” he purred, fingers wrapping around your ankle as he tugged the shoe free, tossing it carelessly behind him. “If you wanted me on my knees, all you had to do was ask.” Then his grip shifted as he pushed your legs apart. 

The sight of him there, settled between your legs, dark and utterly unrepentant, sent a sharp pulse of arousal straight through you. You barely had time to work through the implications of that before his mouth was on you. 

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as he mouthed over the thin scrap of lace still covering you, heat and pressure teasing, tormenting. His tongue pressed against the damp fabric, moving in slow, devastating circles, tasting you through it, his grip keeping your thighs spread as you instinctively tried to move. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, fingers curling into the sheets beneath you. 

“So soon?” he murmured, pressing another kiss to the soft heat of you through your underwear. “I know I’m irresistible, but I thought you’d at least try to play hard to get.”

A retort formed on your tongue, something sharp and scathing, but it died the moment he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down. His mouth followed the movement, his breath hot against your skin, and you shivered, unable to stop the anticipation that spiraled low in your stomach. The soft drag of his lips against your inner thigh had you clenching the sheets, the heat building inside you before he’d even touched you properly.

He took his time, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh, making your breath catch. The lace of your underwear was dragged down the rest of the way, and your body tensed, the slow movement of his hands almost maddening in its gentleness. Your eyes fluttered shut, and before you could make a sound to make your frustration known, he was there—his monmouth, warm and wet, pressing against your skin, tasting you slowly. 

A breathless gasp escaped you, your hips instinctively trying to press closer to him as his tongue moved over you, teasing and tender at first. He wasn’t in a rush. Each flick of his tongue, each press of his lips, felt like it stretched on for eternity, drawing out the pleasure until it became a slow, aching burn. His grip on your hips tightened as he angled himself better, his movements becoming firmer, more purposeful. 

The heat in you intensified, the building pressure almost unbearable as his tongue worked you, flicking and teasing at just the right moments, just the right way. You could feel your body growing more desperate, each brush of his lips drawing out a soft moan from deep within you. His hands dug into your hips, holding you steady as he devoured you like a male starved. 

You fisted the sheets beneath you, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could bring him even deeper into you. The pressure was tight and unyielding, but still, he took his time, savoring you as if he had all the time in the world.

“Gods,” Rhysand groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body and sending a shudder down your spine. “I could get drunk off you.” His voice was thick, dark with something near reverence as he pressed another slow, deep kiss to you.

A sharp tug to his hair was the only response you could manage, desperate now. His only response was a low hum, the sound reverberating against you as he doubled his efforts—his tongue pressing deeper, more insistent. 

The pleasure was unbearable now. Every movement, every stroke of his tongue, pulled you closer and closer to the edge. You were trembling beneath him, your fingers scraping at the sheets, your body writhing.  

His voice was a dark whisper against your skin. “Come for me,” he said, and it wasn’t a request. 

And when he sucked that sensitive, aching part of you into his mouth, it was like the world exploded. The coil inside you snapped, and you shattered, your back arching off the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. You felt like you were drowning in it, unable to breathe, unable to think—just lost in the feeling of him. 

Because he didn’t pull away immediately. No, he lingered, his mouth working slowly, indulgently over you as you trembled beneath him, trying to ride out the aftershocks. His lips glistened with you as he finally pulled away, his pupils blown, a wicked satisfaction playing across his features. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but his gaze never left you, taking in the way your body still trembled, the way your breath came in ragged gasps. “You taste like heaven,” he murmured as he leaned down to press lingering kisses to your inner thigh, as though savoring the aftermath of what he’d just done. 

Your breath still came fast, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts, but as the haze of pleasure began to clear, your focus settled elsewhere. You propped yourself up on your elbows, the movement slow and shaky as your gaze tracked lower, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. Rhysand was still kneeling between your legs, his hands braced against your thighs, but your attention dropped to the front of his pants—where he was still painfully, achingly hard, the outline of him straining against the fabric. 

Your lips parted slightly, and the barest flicker of amusement crossed his face as he followed your gaze. 

“Oh?” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Are you finally taking pity on me?”

You said nothing, just arched a brow and let your eyes drift back down again, pointed. 

A low sound slipped from his throat, rough at the edges, as he stood to toe off his shoes, then his socks, before finally working the buttons of his pants. His fingers were deft, practiced, and within moments, he was shoving the fabric down his hips, taking his underwear with it. 

And gods.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him—thick and heavy, the flushed head already leaking, the sheer size of him reigniting the heat in your core. Your mouth went dry, then immediately watered. 

He must have noticed, because his lips curved—lazy, smug, as if he could already hear the thoughts racing through your head. But he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he wrapped a hand around himself, gave himself a few slow pumps, and exhaled roughly through his nose. 

“Strange,” he mused, voice like silk. “I don’t recall you ever being this quiet.”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, leveling him with a look even as warmth licked at your skin. 

“Savor it while you can,” you muttered.

“Oh, I’d actually prefer you be loud.”

His hand left himself, and in the next breath, he was reaching for you. His touch was firm but unhurried as he guided you further up the bed, his palms skating over your skin, coaxing you into the pillows. The mattress sipped as he followed, settling between your legs, his body radiating heat against yours. Then his fingers found the clasp of your bra, undoing it with one deft flick. The straps slipped down your arms, the fabric falling away, but he didn’t move to touch. Just looked. Took his time. The hunger in his eyes was palpable, the weight of it pressing heat into your skin. The intensity of it made warmth crawl up your throat, but you held his gaze, refusing to be the first to break. 

But as the seconds stretched, a thought coiled through you, unbidden. The words from his letter ghosted through your mind, teasing, taunting. He’d imagined this before. Imagined you. 

Your heart stuttered as the realization settled fully in your bones. 

Because when he looked at you now, he wasn’t just seeing you. He was seeing every thought he’d already had—every fantasy he’d already spun in that scheming, insufferable mind of his. You could almost feel it in the way his gaze traced over you, in the way his chest rose and fell, in the way his fingers flexed as if resisting the urge to reach for you. 

What you would taste like, sound like—

The way you’d sound with my name on your tongue, desperate, ruined. 

A slow, satisfied smile curled your lips. You wondered if you were anything like what he’d imagined. If you matched the image he’d conjured those nights alone, all those moments he’d spent thinking of you when he shouldn’t have. 

Then his grip tightened on his cock, just slightly. He gave one more slow pump before lining himself up against you. And then, barely above a whisper—

“Tell me to stop.” His eyes bore into yours. 

You could. 

You should. 

But instead, your hips tilted ever so slightly forward—an invitation, a challenge. 

And Rhysand, the bastard, took it. 

A sharp inhale left him as he pushed forward, sinking into you with a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine. His head tipped back slightly, lips parting on a groan, and gods—just the sight of it, the way his chest heaved, the way his fingers dug into your hips as if grounding himself, sent a slow, molten ache unfurling through you. 

He stretched you in a way that had your nails biting into his arms. His gaze snapped to yours as if he felt it too—that unbearable, perfect tension wound so tight between you. He bottomed out, holding there for a moment, his jaw clenched, the muscle feathering in restraint. 

Then his grip tightened. And he moved. 

A slow, dragging pull before thrusting back in, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body arched into him, a choked sound escaping before you could swallow it down. The answering smirk that flickered across his face was nearly as infuriating as it was devastating. 

“Oh, you can do better than that,” he murmured, punctuating the words with another deep thrust, the movement sending a delicious shockwave through you. Your fingers found purchase in his shoulders, nails raking down his back, but it only made him groan, his pace quickening as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips. 

“Much better,” he praised, voice rough. “But I want to hear you.”

As if to prove his point, his hand skated down your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist, angling you just right—and stars exploded behind your eyes as his cock slid deeper, filling you completely. The pleasure was almost too much, each thrust dragging a gasp from your mouth, each move of his relentless.

Your fingers dug into his back, nails scraping over his skin as you pressed yourself up into him, matching the rhythm, desperate for more. “Rhysand…” The name escaped in a broken gasp, barely audible over the sound of your breaths and skin slapping on skin. 

His eyes glittered with satisfaction, his pace steady but unyielding as he watched you. “Tell me what you need,” he demanded, his thrusts pushing harder, deeper, each one making your breath stutter in your chest. 

You swallowed, barely able to think straight with the overwhelming pleasure flooding your senses, but the words came anyway, whispered, breathless. “Don’t stop.” A particularly hard thrust had you gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving marks on his skin. Rhysand’s pace was relentless, pushing you higher and higher, but you needed more. 

“Tell me,” you gasped, “how often did you think about me like this?”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t slow. His hand tightened on your thigh, pushing you even further into him, and the tension in the room seemed to snap tighter. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You smirked, feeling emboldened. “How many nights did you spend alone, imagining me underneath you? How many times did you get off to the thought of me?” Your voice dropped low, a teasing edge creeping into your tone. “And that night in the tent… did you picture me like this then too?”

His cock slammed deeper into you at your words, and you could feel him shudder, his control faltering for a moment. He leaned down, lips grazing the curve of your neck, his hand sliding up to palm at your breast, fingers teasing over your skin. 

“I’ve thought about you more than I should,” he confessed, his voice a growl. “Your body, your voice—gods, the way you look at me, like you know exactly what I’m thinking. Every letter you’ve sent, every word you've written has been etched into my mind. You’ve kept me awake more nights than I care to count. So many nights I’ve imagined you… ached for you.”

The words came fast, like he couldn’t stop them, like they’d been building up. “Every damn letter you wrote—I read them more times than I’ll admit. I’d catch myself thinking about you when I shouldn’t, remembering your words when I tried to forget. And I’d get lost in it… lost in the thought of you. That night in the tent…” He growled, pulling you closer, slamming into you harder. “I couldn’t forget how you moved, how you fought, how you looked at me like you wanted to tear me apart. And I hated it—hated how badly I wanted you.”

His hands tightened on your hips, controlling the pace as his thrusts grew more demanding. “I would lie there, late at night, thinking about your fingers on my skin, your mouth—thinking about how you’d taste. How you’d feel under me, desperate, ruined for me. I pictured it all—what you’d look like when I finally had you, when I could take you in every way that I wanted.”

His voice dropped to a whisper as his lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, even when I wanted to. Every time we wrote, it only made it worse. I’d catch myself craving more—more words, more of you—before I even realized what I was doing.”

Another thrust forced a moan from your lips. His mouth curved against your skin, savoring the sound, reveling in the way your body clenched around him. His grip on your thigh was bruising as he angled your hips just right, dragging another helpless cry from you.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his breath hitching as he felt you tighten around him. His forehead dropped to yours, his thrusts growing rougher, more insistent, as if he were chasing the very thoughts that had plagued him for so long. “You feel better than I ever could have dreamed.”

“Gods, Rhys—”

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as his hand slipped between your bodies, fingers pressing where you needed him most. Your head fell back against the pillow, pleasure cresting so fiercely it left you dizzy. 

His breath caught. Just for a second. 

Not at the way you shuddered beneath him, not at the way you tightened around him—but at the way his name had slipped from your lips, unfinished, softened. 

Rhys. 

You barely registered it, too lost in the pleasure as his pace faltered for the briefest moment, a sharp inhale through his nose before he recovered, his free hand grabbing your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. But you felt the shift, the way his lips brushed over your jaw—softer now, lingering. 

And then, quieter, rougher: “Say it again.”

Not a command. Just… a request. 

It took a moment for your mind to catch up, to realize what he meant. Heat curled in your stomach—not just from the way he was moving inside you, but from the way he wanted it. The way he needed it. 

You turned your head, breath mingling with his. “Rhys,” you whispered. 

A wrecked primal sound from his throat as he shifted suddenly, rolling and pulling you with him until your thighs framed his hips. The world tilted, pleasure still rippling through you as your palms found his chest, heat meeting the inked whorls of black that curved over muscle. He leaned back against the pillows, gaze dark, ravenous, drinking you in like he’d never get enough. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, his grip firm on your waist, fingers pressing into heated skin as if to memorize the way you felt in his hands. “Look at you.”

Your cheeks burned under his gaze, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour every inch of you, like he was worshipping the sight of you above him. 

A slow roll of your hips had him swearing again, jaw tightening, his head pressing into the pillow for a brief moment before he lifted it again, eyes locked onto the way your body moved above him. The way you trembled. The way your chest rose and fell, glistening in the dim light, every bounce, every shift of your body against his making his hold on you tighten.

His fingers slid lower, curving over the swell of your ass as he pulled you down hard, meeting you with a sharp thrust that sent you keening. 

“Oh, fuck—Rhys—” The words left you in a breathless gasp, pleasure knocking through you, but he only smirked, his grip flexing. 

“Yeah?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it, something unraveling. 

You wanted to reply, something sharp on your tongue, but the words never made it out���lost the second he drove into you again, harder, faster. 

His smirk told you everything—he knew exactly what he was oding to you. Dark satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he thrust into you, each movement sharper, more insistent. 

“I—shit—” You barely knew what you were trying to say, only that your body felt like it was on fire, that you could hardly breathe, that he was fucking you so good you couldn’t think. “Rhys, I—”

He wasn’t letting you work for it, wasn’t letting you do anything but take it. His hands gripped you tighter, fingers pressing into your skin—just shy of bruising, just enough to make you shudder, to make the ache feel just as good as everything else. He dragged you over him like he couldn’t get enough, guiding you exactly where he wanted. His chest heaved beneath your palms, every breath ragged, every sound punched from his lungs with each thrust. 

Your head tipped back, pleasure cresting, every nerve in your body alight. But he wasn’t done. 

One moment you were gasping, hands bracing against his chest as he drove into you with deep, relentless thrusts, and the next—his arms wrapped around you, dragging you down, pressing you flush against him as he buried his face in your neck. 

And then he fucked you like he meant it. 

Hard, deep, his grip unyielding as he drove into you, hips slamming against yours with a pace that stole the air from your lungs. 

“Fuck, Rhys—” You weren’t even sure if you were saying his name or just gasping it, like it was the only thing you could cling to in the onslaught of pleasure. 

“That’s it,” he rasped against your ear, voice wrecked, sending shivers skittering down your spine. “Just like that, just take it. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails raking against his scalp as a broken moan tore from your lips. 

“Feels—too good,” you gasped, a half-delirious laugh slipping out before another sharp thrust stole it from you. “Fuck—you’re so—”

“So what?” he teased, his lips dragging over your jaw, your neck, anywhere he could reach. “Say it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to force the words through the haze clouding your mind, through the pleasure threatening to consume you whole. “So—fuck, Rhys—so deep—”

A groan rumbled in his chest, low and satisfied, before his grip on you tightened. “Yeah? You like that?” His voice dropped, rough, nearly smug. “Like the way I feel inside you?”

Pleasure surged through you, coiling hot and deep, making every nerve in your body tighten in anticipation. 

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, at his hair, desperate to ground yourself against the intensity of it all. “You—” Your breath caught as he snapped his hips up, hard and precise. “You already know.”

“Maybe.” He smirked against your skin, then his voice dipped, quieter, raspier—”Say my name again.”

Rhys. Rhys. Rhys. 

Your breath tangled with his, and for a moment, everything felt different. More than just pleasure. More than just bodies moving together. 

“Rhys,” you gasped, the word slipping out without a second thought. “Fuck, you’re—you’re so deep. So—so fucking perfect.”

He moaned at that, a low rumble of a sound, his chest rising and falling against yours as his hips snapped up to meet yours with relentless rhythm. You could feel every inch of him, the way he filled you, the way his movements were both precise and utterly frantic. The pleasure had your head spinning, but the way his name tasted on your tongue—how it felt to say it again and again—was a drug in itself.

His eyes locked onto yours, something wild in them now, a primal hunger that only grew as you spoke. “You feel so good,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders as you moved against him, feeling every flex of his muscles beneath your fingertips. “I can’t—I can’t get enough of you, Rhys.”

The words spilled from you now, breathless and unfiltered. “You’re everything I need,” you whispered, voice a little desperate. “So fucking deep, so good, Rhys. You make me feel—gods, you make me feel so good, so full of you.”

His body responded to your words like a switch had been flipped. His fingers dug into your flesh as he pulled you down against him again and again, each thrust now more forceful, as if he couldn’t get enough either. His lips found your throat, kissing and biting his way down your collarbone. 

“Don’t stop,” he muttered, his voice a rasp in your ear. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

“Like I’m falling apart, Rhys, like I can’t take it—can’t think—fuck, Rhys” Your breath caught as his thrusts deepened, hitting the perfect spot, and your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sensation overwhelmed you. “I never want to stop feeling this—never want you to stop. I’m so fucking close. I—”

His groan cut off your words, a sharp sound of pleasure as his hands moved to your ass, pulling you down harder, faster. You could feel his body tightening beneath you, and it sent a shockwave of heat through your own, pushing you to the edge. 

“Gods, (y/n),” he gritted out, his voice raw, strained, and low. “You feel so fucking good. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you struggled to keep yourself steady, meeting his thrusts with everything you had left. The intensity of it all had your head spinning, the pleasure so overwhelming that you barely noticed the words slipping from your mouth until they were out. 

“I’m on the tonic,” you gasped, your voice unsteady as you focused on the way his body moved against yours. “I don’t want you to pull out—please.”

A rough, breathless curse left him, his hips snapping into you with a new urgency. Your body responded instantly, your thoughts dissolving into sensation. The tension in your body was at the breaking point, every inch of you coiled so tightly that you felt like you might snap. You could feel him losing control, each thrust harder, faster, the desperation mirrored in his eyes. 

Then his hips jerked up into you one last time, and as you heard the low, guttural sound of his release—his breath hitching, his hands gripping you like a lifeline—you couldn’t hold back anymore. The sensation of him finishing inside you was all it took. You exploded, the orgasm rushing over you in waves so intense you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel him, feel his body trembling beneath you. 

“Rhys,” you gasped, your voice raw as you rode out the waves of your release, still trembling in his arms. 

He groaned your name, holding you against him as your body shuddered with the aftershocks. He kept you close, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of you just yet. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Gods, you drive me insane, (y/n).”

You huffed out a laugh,  your fingers lightly tracing the lines of his chest, still catching your breath. “I should drive you insane more often.”

Rhysand let out a low chuckle, fingers brushing lazily along your spine. “Oh, you already do enough for a lifetime.” Then, after a beat—”You’re a handful.”

You raised an eyebrow as you propped yourself up just enough to meet his gaze. “I thought you liked it.”

His gaze locked onto yours, no trace of humor in it now. “I do.”

“Then maybe you’d do well to stop your incessant talking.”

He smirked, but it was soft, almost like he was holding back something—something he knew better than to say right then. “Fine.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting to climb off him, only for his arms to tighten around your waist.

“Stay,” he murmured, a little too smooth, a little too comfortable. 

You hesitated. The air between you was heavy, charged, but the moment was already slipping away, back into something more familiar, something edged with unspoken things neither of you dared put a name to. 

“Fine,” you muttered, feigning exasperation as you let yourself settle against him once more. “But if you start snoring in my ear, I’m gone.”

His laugh rumbled beneath you. “Noted.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

(Y/n),

I trust you’ve arrived safely back in Velaris. The final terms of the agreement regarding the Seasonal Courts’ trade routes through Dusk have been sent with this letter for your review. Barring any objections, we should be ready to move forward by next month. I assume you’ll have thoughts on the restructuring of the second clause—if only to disagree with me on principle—so let me know where you’d like to make your changes. 

On a separate note, I expect my bed will feel unusually empty tonight. A tragedy, really. Let’s hope I can bear the suffering. 

Do try not to miss me too much. 

Rhys

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You let the letter fall to your desk, lips pressing together as you read the last few lines again. 

Despite yourself, a quiet scoff escaped you. Typical. 

Shaking your head, you reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. Whether he deserved a response was another matter entirely. 

[lesservillain]

congratulations on 2000 followers! 🍀

could i request baby daddy eddie with the smut prompt 22 ‘are you doing that on purpose?’

thank you so much you're so kind! hope you enjoy :)

join the 2k celebration!

cw: baby daddy!eddieverse (non canon compliant), unprotected piv (but he pulls out), reader testing eddie's resilience on purpose

wc: 2.5k (I am so sorry lol)

Eddie was sure he was going crazy. He was positive. There was no way you were wearing those little sundresses just for him. No way you were leaning forward or bending over in front of him to get his attention. You were just comfortable around him. Something that he was happy about after living together for a month and a half now. 

But, damn it if it wasn’t getting him riled up. He swears he saw a peak of your ass when you bent over in front of him to pick up Autumn’s toys in the living room. You had stretched out really far to grab something and the hem of your dress rode up to expose the curve of it, and he swears you lingered there long enough for him to get a good look on purpose. 

He gets it’s getting into the mid 80s, but did you have to wear a thong? He didn’t know how he could keep going on knowing what you had on under those dresses. The dresses that were so short they showed off your legs to him, making his mind wander into places that they shouldn’t as they disappeared into the flower printed fabric.

And don’t even get him started on the fact that you weren’t wearing bras around the trailer. There was little left to the imagination when he could see your hard nipples barely covered by the material covering them. Not to mention your tits were practically spilling out at all times and he could barely keep his eyes off of them. 

But Eddie kept his cool. He pretended that it didn’t bother him around you, only to beat off in the shower after a long day of suffering through you prancing around the house in front of him. Work was his only reprieve from the torture you were putting him through, because as soon as he came home to you plating the table in that short denim skirt, he was immediately getting hard.

After weeks of suffering through this, Eddie had finally reached his breaking point. The two of you had put Autumn to bed when you ran into the bedroom to get ready for bed. It was starting to stay hot at night and Eddie expected you to come out in a t-shirt and some sleep shorts like you normally do. But here you are, sitting next to him on the couch in nothing but a pair of skimpy underwear and one of his shirts.

”Sweetheart,” Eddie says, turning to face you on the couch. You look at him with wide eyes and give him a smile.

”What’s up?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, trying to keep his eyes off your exposed skin. ”Are you doing that on purpose?” He gestures at your legs and he watches the way they shift when he gives them attention. You tilt your head at him, a confused look on your face.

”Doing what?” You say with a giggle, seeming unsure of what he’s referring to.

”Are you…y’know, wearing that to get a reaction out of me?”

You look down at yourself then look back at him. “I’m sorry, does me wearing your shirt bother you?” You ask with genuine concern.

”No, not at all,” Eddie says waving his hands. “It’s not that you’re wearing my shirt. Well, it’s kinda that, but it’s not a bad thing.”

”I don’t understand, Eddie,” you say, shaking your head slowly.

”Ugh, I just…” Eddie takes a deep breath in before fully facing you. You mirror his actions, worry etched on your face. “Listen, I know it’s hot and all that, but I can’t…can’t help but notice the things you’ve been wearing around the house.” Eddie’s eyes are downcast, not feeling the courage to look you in the eyes as he confesses what he’s been feeling.

”What I’ve been wearing?” You ask, trying to get him to continue.

”Yeah, like the short dresses and the skirts…the low cut tops…no bra…” Eddie’s mind begins to wander as all of your outfits flash into his mind. He’s trying to will himself not to get hard in this moment, but it seems to be a losing battle.

”What about them? Do they bother you?”

”It’s not that they bother me in a bad way. More like…the exact opposite.” Eddie knows his face has to be red as he says these things to you. “And I guess I just got it in my head that you’re wearing these things on purpose, to try and get a rise out of me.”

The room is silent for a moment. Eddie doesn’t dare look at you, because he’s sure you’re about to laugh at him for making such a stupid assumption. Why did he think this was a good idea? He should have just kept his big mouth shut.

”Is it working?”

The tone of your voice has Eddie’s eyes snapping up to look at you. You’ve got a devilish look on your face that makes Eddie feel like he could melt into the cushion of the couch right now.

”W-what?” Eddie stutters out, not sure if he heard you right.

”I said is it working?” You repeat, leaning forward into his personal space. Oh god, what’s happening?

”Are you being serious right now?” Eddie doesn’t want to mistake this for something it’s not. The last thing he needs is to make you uncomfortable and have you leaving him.

But when you start to climb on top of him, he starts to think maybe he was right all along.

”As serious as a heart attack,” you say, your eyes on his lips as you inch your face closer to his. Eddie feels his heart skip a beat when you brush your lips against his, subconsciously leaning forward to chase after them. You didn’t resist as his lips met yours, slowly moving them against his in a passionate kiss. Eddie swears he sees sparks every time he gets to kiss you and this time is no different.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, pushing your body against his as the kiss picks up, getting more heated with every passing second. Eddie is impossibly hard in his jeans right now and all you’ve done is kiss him, but in this moment he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t even care if this kiss doesn’t go anywhere, he’s just happy to have this with you right now, his dick be damned.

But you seemed to have other plans as you lower yourself into his lap, fully seating yourself against the tent in his pants. Eddie lets out a low moan as you start to rock your hips over him, the friction feeling so good that he can’t help but grab your hips and keep you moving over him. The feeling of your soft, bare skin in his hands was enough to drive him crazy. 

“Wanna take this to the bedroom?” You suddenly ask, pulling away from him. The sultry look on your face was enough to do Eddie in, and he wasted no time wrapping his arms around your legs and lifting you up on the couch. You let out a giggly squeal as he picked you up, your grip around his neck tightening as he carried you into your shared bedroom.

Eddie playfully tossed you into the bed, eliciting a laugh from you as you bounced on the mattress. You beckoned him with grabby hands and he obliged you by crawling over your frame on the bed. Grabbing his collar, you pulled him into another kiss that made Eddie’s head spin. It makes him feel brave enough to let his hand slip under the hem of your shirt, gliding over the expanse of your soft stomach until he reaches your chest. You must like this, because you gasp against his mouth as he begins to fondle your breast in his big hands.

Suddenly, your hands leave his shirt and make their way lower until you’re at the button of his jeans. You pop it open with little resistance, the old zipper coming undone on its own from the pressure of how hard he was straining against them. With little warning, you slipped your hand into his boxers and grabbed at his length, making Eddie’s breath hitch from the contact. Eddie retracted his hand from your chest to help you pull his pants down enough that you could release his cock from its confines. 

You immediately start to stroke him, moving your hand up and down his aching length. The way you rolled your hand over his tip had his brain going dumb, turning him into putty in your grasp. “Shit,” he breathes out, looking down to watch you work him. And when you stop he wants to whine out like a pathetic dog. But his complaints die on his tongue when he watches your hands reach down for your panties and pull them down. He sees the little wet patch in the crotch and starts to salivate. Would you let him eat you out again like last time?

He got his answer in the needy way you called his name. You looked at him with lidded eyes and Eddie was a goner, ready to give you whatever you wanted. “Please,” you beg, grabbing for him again. “Need you.”

“Awe, you poor thing,” Eddie cooes at you.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you pout, crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, you better hurry up and get to it before I change my mind.” Eddie took that threat very seriously. He moved himself until he was situated between your legs, staring at your exposed center as you opened up for him. He goes to line himself with your entrance when you put a hand against his chest to stop him.

”Not to ruin the mood, but do you have a condom?” Eddie blinks at you, sweat forming in his hairline.

”N-no,” he says, brows coming together. He didn’t think this was going to happen again so he never went out and got any, even after your last encounter. He won’t be mad if you decide to call it since he doesn’t, but he really hopes that you don’t.

”Ugh, okay,” you say defeated, and Eddie feels all the excitement drain from his body. “Just make sure you pull out this time.” Eddie’s ears perk up at this and he gives you a harsh nod, accepting your request.

”Yes ma’am,” he says, giving you a salute. You roll your eyes at him, but can’t stop yourself from smiling. 

Eddie lines himself up again and starts to push himself inside of you. Your head falls back as he pushes further in, only stopping once he’s fully inside. Eddie’s not faring much better than you, the way your cunt is squeezing him feels like heaven on his cock. He gives you a second to adjust after having no prep before he starts moving, not wanting to hurt you.

”God, you’re so big Eddie,” you breathe out, and the words go straight to his cock. He starts to rock his hips back and forth, starting slow at first until he gets a good pace going. Your moans are music to Eddie’s ears, only egging him on. 

“Harder.” Your words are strained, driving Eddie crazy to hear you beg like this. He leans forward, caging you between his arms as he gets into a better position to really fuck you. His hips smack against you as he delivers harsh thrusts into you, his cock hitting you deep inside.

His name leaves your lips in a series of chants intermingled with curses and calls to the lord. Eddie should be trying to shush you so you don’t wake your daughter up, but he doesn’t want to give up having to hear you like this either. So he settles for the next best thing, which is bringing his lips to yours and kissing you to shut you up. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in closer, faces mushing together from how close you were. 

You start to claw at his back, his shirt riding up to expose the skin there for your nails to dig into. The pain felt so good, like you were marking him as yours with each scratch that you left behind. Not like you needed to make it known he was yours, you were the only one for him anyway.

”Fuck, I’m close,” Eddie says, panting against your lips.

��Mmm, need a little more,” you say, and Eddie gets the hint right away. He puts his weight on his one arm and reaches between you to rub your clit. He’s never done it before so he has to do some guess work down there, but when you sigh as he comes in contact with what he thinks he’s looking for he gets to work on your bud.

”Oh my god,” you moan, and Eddie swears he can see hearts in your eyes when he looks down at your fucked out expression. While he’s focused on your pleasure, you bury a hand in his hair and pull his head back, exposing his neck to you. Eddie’s eyes roll back at the feeling, discovering something about himself in that moment. 

And when your lips land on the exposed skin of his neck he has to take a moment to refocus himself so he doesn’t cum right then and there. The way you’re completely devouring his neck is definitely going to leave a few marks tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. He’ll walk into work with pride tomorrow knowing that you were the one to mark him up for everyone to see. 

With the sensory overload, Eddie can feel himself about to reach his end at any moment. He was determined to make you cum first though, so he held off and picked up the speed on your clit. You started to flutter around him so he took that as you getting close and continued to pound into you.

”Fuck, Eddieeeee!” He feels you cumming around his cock and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. As he’s about to cum, he stops his movements and grabs his cock, withdrawing it from you at the last second to cum on your stomach. His hand works himself quickly to ride out the feeling as he paints your skin with his cum, working every last drop out of him.

”Shit,” he grunts, grabbing the tip of his cock and holding it as the last of his spend leaves it. He unscrews his eyes, blinking them open to look at the mess he’s made of you. He feels something tugging on his hair and he looks up at you to find you playing with it, a satisfied grin on your face.

”You okay?” He asks, and you give him a lazy nod for an answer. “Let me get you cleaned up.” He goes to get up but you call his name to stop him.

”I was thinking we could get in the shower…together.”

Eddie’s heart soared at the suggestion, wanting nothing more than to do that with you. Things might not be clear between you now, but he’ll do whatever he can to keep you close to him for as long as you’ll allow it.

[dokries]

things seventeen take pride in doing for their partners

pairing: seventeen x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of food, some kissing

author note: hello! i’m alive!! thank you anon for requesting this, and i’m so sorry it took…literally 5 months to write this 😭 i hope you enjoy it though! thank you to my awesome friends who helped me write this <3 (honestly i have no idea where so much for chan came from but extra chan love!!)

masterlist

seungcheol (s.coups) - buying you groceries

⟢ seungcheol is a provider, and he’d love to be the one getting you things, especially if it was something as important as groceries.

⟢ he’d totally just text you for a list, and expect you to just tell him exactly what you wanted—plus later, you’d get a bunch of pictures asking which brand or version you wanted of something to make sure he doesn’t get the wrong thing.

⟢ he’d want to pay for most, if not all of it—but he wants you to be comfortable with what he does, so you could both figure out who’s paying for it (though he’d definitely make sure to pay for the small things at least).

⟢ he has his card (and wads of cash) and he’s not afraid to spend it on you—in fact, he prefers it that way.

⟢ it’s even better when you’re with him, since you can spend time together and do something essential (and perhaps it gives him a glimpse of what’ll come down the line, once you’re both older).

jeonghan - getting you the hot gossip from work

⟢ jeonghan is…honestly, he’d make sure he picks up all the gossip for himself—and for you both to discuss later.

⟢ he wouldn’t be nosy per say…he’d just keep his ears open when there were people around talking, okay? it’s not his fault they’re so loud.

⟢ and of course, he’d retell it to you in such a way that you couldn’t help but be completely immersed in the drama because his manager is dating who?

⟢ there’s multiple lines of gossip that you both follow based on who you’re talking about, and each week there’s at least one debrief session where the two of you sit down on the couch and you just absorb the information he gives you.

⟢ he’s glad to see the different expressions you make, and it makes him happy to see you so interested in something he’s telling you about, even if it’s something horrendous about his co-worker—and then when you snuggle up next to him, ready to fall asleep he gives you a small smile and pats your head in contentment.

jisoo (joshua) - buying you flowers or little trinkets

⟢ i think that while joshua’s love language is more like quality time, he seems like the type of person to also buy you flowers every few weeks—or whenever the flowers he previously got you wilt.

⟢ he’d totally get a bouquet for you and a flower for himself to make sure he knew exactly when to get you some new ones.

⟢ obviously, it’ll be your favourite flowers! or just ones that remind him of you, depending on the week.

⟢ if you’re allergic to flowers, he’d get you chocolate or something else you really like—it doesn’t have to be exclusively flowers :>

⟢ he’d see little deer characters and think it would remind you of him, so he would drop them over at your place so you’d always have a way to remember him! (you’d definitely have a little deer and cinnamoroll collection at home somewhere).

junhui (jun) - cooking for you

⟢ even though jun is busy, he knows you are too, so he makes sure to make dinner for you when you get home.

⟢ he immediately rushes you out of the kitchen when you try to help and shushes your protests.

⟢ he’d beg you to just let him cook for you—unless you really wanted to cook yourself. at that point, he would make sure to be the trustiest assistant chef you’ve ever had, just to make it a little easier.

⟢ he just enjoys seeing you have something he made for you and the smile you give him afterwards always makes it worth it.

⟢ if he’s not there for dinner, he makes sure to leave a packaged meal for you in the fridge, complete with a sweet sticky note telling you to eat well and text him a cat meme when you see it.

⟢ he’d make sure to note down your favourite foods, and try to remake some of the things you’ve liked when you both go out on dates to make you happy—because it makes him happy too.

soonyoung (hoshi) - bringing you snacks when you’re busy

⟢ if soonyoung noticed you hadn’t gotten up to get food or drink water in a while, he would come in himself, giving you a plate of fruit or whichever snack you liked the most with a water bottle to keep by your side as you worked.

⟢ he’d do this even in the late hours, when you were studying for an exam or an important report for work, and give you something sweet as a treat—and a reminder that no matter what happens, he cares.

⟢ if you didn’t mind, he’d just sit with you in the same room and do something else to pass the time so you wouldn’t feel alone.

⟢ if he couldn’t be with you but knew you were working or studying long hours, he’d get food delivered to you—or deliver it to you himself again, showing up on your doorstep later at night, hoping a hug and a good meal will energize you.

wonwoo - fixing all your tech issues

⟢ honestly, this is something he’d be really good at.

⟢ like yes, he’s good at so many other things but as soon as you run into any problem whatsoever, he’d know how to help—even if he did have to watch a youtube tutorial or read a guide for your tv.

⟢ he’d fix his glasses right after he managed to fix that weird glitch where your google results were all in a different language or your phone would keep shutting down on you.

⟢ would definitely guide you through fixing anything if he couldn’t be there, and wake up sleepily to facetime so he could see the problem—his glasses askew and his bed hair on full display.

⟢ wonwoo would be proud to call himself your tech guy, especially if it made you smile—and besides, he’s happy he can help you with any challenges, even if it’s something simple.

jihoon (woozi) - planning surprise dates

⟢ jihoon, honestly, spends a lot of time on his own in the studio, and while you visit, he really knows he needs to get out of his second home sometimes—and a date with you is a good way to do that.

⟢ he’d do it shyly, calling you up to first ask if you were busy, and then ask if you could come meet him at the studio (he…can’t drive, otherwise he would pick you up.)

⟢ it’d be nothing much in his eyes: a stroll at a park nearby, learning something new, going out for dinner—simple things that were better when he did them with you. 

⟢ sometimes he’d just show up at your home with flowers, his face red, since he’d been encouraged by soonyoung to do so and be “more romantic for once!” (or at least, that’s how soonyoung saw it. he didn’t really know about the archive of songs that jihoon had written inspired by you, and you had only seen a few of them anyway.)

⟢ he’d always make sure to look into places where you would be interested so you could go together, and he could watch you be entertained by something you wanted to do—even if it wasn’t something he would do himself. 

seokmin (dokyeom) - notes of encouragement

⟢ seokmin’s the type of person to send long, long texts about how much he loves you and how proud he is of you every so often, especially if you’re busy and he can’t see you as much as he wants to!

⟢ he’d leave little notes around the kitchen after weekly movie night, so that when you wake up the next morning, he can see your reaction when you see his shameless puns on the colourful paper—which are all definitely related to whatever you watched. or you know, dad jokes. one of the two.

⟢ if he ever brought you lunch while you were out, he’d leave a little note telling you to eat well and message him so he knows you’re doing okay!

⟢ he wants to make sure you know you’re loved and when you write your own notes for him, he just about melts, giving you a gentle peck on the forehead and a long hug until you both end up giggling.

mingyu - fixing things around the house

⟢ yes, he may be clumsy but mingyu is always volunteering to build you new furniture or fix things you (or he) has broken.

⟢ every so often, he’ll just scan through the entire house under the pretense of cleaning for you when you’re busy, and creates a mental list of what to do. it’s like he’s trying to sneak around but it doesn’t really work because it’s so obvious where his gaze is.

⟢ he also loves to help you rearrange furniture too! like your own little interior design helper except you only pay him in cuddles on the couch…wherever you two put it.

⟢ would totally text you pictures of furniture if he goes to ikea and asks if you want them so he can just buy them for you (and so you can have a little date at home building whatever it is).

minghao (the8) -  watering your plants / taking care of your pets

⟢ he would show up early at your door, ready to help out if he was available—and something he would always do is take care of your babies (plants and/or pets!)

⟢ he’d water your plants for you, leaving a note to remind you to not do the same later, and hum to them to help them grow faster and stay healthy.

⟢ he’d also make sure to help out with grooming or feeding a pet—whatever you needed so you could focus on yourself first.

⟢ if you don’t have either, well he’d take care of the sleepy you by making sure you get through your morning swiftly and happily.

⟢ he’d be proud of making sure you were alright in the mornings, despite how hard it could be some days.

seungkwan - making sure you’re active

⟢ seungkwan loves to do sports and go on hikes and the such, and i think that he would want you to be with him!

⟢ obviously, he wouldn’t force you to but hey, you do need to stay active, and it’s better if it’s with him than on your own—plus, it’s more fun by his side.

⟢ he would totally buy you matching jackets to go hiking in, and always pick activities that you’re comfortable with doing.

⟢ he lights up every time you would say you’re having fun and would run over and give you a quick kiss before continuing your badminton match.

⟢ once you’re both tired out, it’s time for cuddles on the couch…and maybe a quick cheesy rom-com where you can both make fun of the protagonists.

⟢ eventually, he can see the difference in your strength and stamina, and it reminds him to keep working hard too, because you do the same for him.

hansol (vernon) - remembering you

⟢ hansol is a bit of a forgetful guy but he would never forget you (well, for the most part at least; he still has his moments). 

⟢ you’re brought up casually in most conversations he has simply because you’re so important to him that you can be brought up anytime.

⟢ everything and anything ends up reminding him of you, even if it’s not meant to. he’d tell you about most of them because he loves getting a text back full of love, or a smile on your face as a reply.

⟢ even if you’re not present, he’s always hyping you up without realizing. 

⟢ with you, he’s always sending you cat memes and posts in general saying “us” or “u n me fr” 

⟢ he takes pride in simply knowing you, and having the ability to be around you so much :)

chan (dino) - driving you around

⟢ we’ve all seen the dingo video where chan drives a fan somewhere, right? yeah that’s him on the daily with you.

⟢ you’re his passenger princess !! (gender neutral <3) and he makes sure you know it, always offering you a ride no matter where you need to go!

⟢ the grocery store? your friend’s house? the optometrist? [insert any ridiculous place he doesn’t need to accompany you to]? he’s already waiting for you outside.

⟢ this goes even if you’re fully capable of driving yourself because he knows it can be tiring getting on the road some days, but he’ll always brave the bad traffic if it’s for you. 

⟢ knight in shining armour? no, he’s your knight in a really nice car, one that, in his mind, has your name all over the passenger seat. 

⟢ other than that though, he would offer to take you for a late night drive often, with your choice of music on the aux as he drives you over to a spot he researched about weeks ago because it was the perfect couple spot (at least, that’s what it is according to google).

⟢ he’d have a huge smile on his face every time you waved at him before opening the door and plopping in right next to his side, where he could sneak glances at you while waiting for the light to turn green.

thank you for reading ‎♡ - moon :>

[wendichester]

Hii idk if you take Jensen ackles request but I was wondering if u could make one of him and actress!reader. Like they meet during the 1st season during the episode wendigo. Basically how Jared and Gen.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ take one, forever,

summary. jensen, jared, and you. the stars of the tvshow supernatural. and damn, there's a lot of chemistry.

pairing. jensen ackles x actress!reader genre. fluff ; slice of life au

wordcount. 527

notes / warnings. loved loved this request! thank you so much sweets 🩷

The first time you meet Jensen Ackles, it’s freezing.

You're deep in the Vancouver woods, shooting Wendigo, bundled up in layers that do nothing against the biting cold. Your breath puffs out in white clouds as you hug yourself, shifting from foot to foot to stay warm.

Then, from behind you—

"You’re gonna shiver yourself right off this set if you keep that up."

You turn, and there he is.

Jensen Ackles.

Even under the layers of flannel and the worn-in leather jacket, he looks insanely good. Sharp green eyes, that easy, lazy smirk—like the cold doesn’t affect him at all. Like he’s made for this.

"You’re not cold?" you ask, incredulous.

He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “Nah. Texas blood.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Meanwhile, I’m over here turning into a human popsicle.”

Jensen grins, and without hesitation, he shrugs off his jacket, stepping closer to drape it over your shoulders. “Here. Don’t tell wardrobe.”

You blink up at him, surprised. The jacket is warm—smells like leather and a hint of aftershave.

"Jensen, I can’t take—"

"Sure, you can." He winks. “Can’t have my co-star turning blue before we even hit episode two.”

You should’ve known, right then and there, that you were in trouble.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

The thing about Jensen is—he’s stupidly easy to like.

It starts small.

The inside jokes between takes. The way he always, always makes sure you’re okay after a long day. How he learns your coffee order by week two and starts showing up with an extra cup, just for you.

And then, one day, Jared figures it out before you even do.

“You guys are so obvious.”

You nearly drop your script. “What?”

Jared smirks, stretching out on one of the director’s chairs. “You and Jensen. The thing.”

“There is no thing.”

Jared gives you the most Jared look ever. “Right. So you just happen to be wearing his jacket again?”

Your face heats. “It’s cold—”

“And the way he looks at you? I mean, come on.”

You roll your eyes, but later, when you catch Jensen watching you from across set—his gaze lingering, thoughtful, warm—you wonder if maybe Jared has a point.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

It happens in the quiet, in-between moments.

A late night on set, waiting out a rain delay, just the two of you huddled under the same coat, talking about everything and nothing.

A wrap party, where he pulls you onto the dance floor, spinning you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

A Tuesday afternoon, where he catches you laughing at something stupid Jared said and mutters, God, you’re something else, like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

And then—

"You wanna grab dinner sometime?"

You look up, heart stuttering. "Like… cast dinner?"

Jensen shakes his head, smirking just a little. “Nah. Just us.”

You swallow, pulse skipping. “Like a date?”

He shrugs, but there’s something softer in his gaze. “Yeah. If you want it to be.”

You do. God, you do.

"Yeah," you breathe. "I’d like that."

And when he grins, dimples deep and ridiculously charming, you think—

Maybe this is the start of something big.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[wordsofwhimsy]

⚔ How to Slay a Dragon ⚔

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 3,012

Synopsis: Reader has a little sister whose birthday is coming, and what she wants can be summed up in three words: princess, dragon, superhero.

a/n: okay this is cute as shit and everyone is entitled to their opinions but if you don’t agree with me you’re wrong

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon when your little sister, Lily, burst into the living room, practically vibrating with excitement. Her wide eyes were filled with a mix of hope and determination, the kind of look that only a kid could pull off.

“I want to be a princess!” she declared, her voice bright with the confidence of a five-year-old who thought she could have anything if she just wished hard enough. “And... and Invincible has to save me!”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. You were in the middle of making lunch, but Lily’s request was loud enough to catch your attention. You glanced over at Mark, who was lazily lounging on the couch with his phone in hand, only half-listening.

His eyes flicked to Lily, then to you. He froze, his gaze locking with yours for a split second. His lips parted, but before he could say anything, Lily was off again, talking a mile a minute.

“Because, like, Invincible always saves the day! And I wanna be a princess! Will he come? Can he come? Can I be a princess for my birthday?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your face from betraying the sudden panic bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t like you had never thought about the possibility of Lily putting two and two together. She adored Invincible—heck, she probably knew more about his heroic feats than you did. But hearing her make such a direct request hit you like a ton of bricks.

Mark, still trying to look casual, sighed deeply. "You know," he muttered under his breath, "I’m not sure Invincible will be able to make it. He’s, uh, super busy with saving the world and all that.”

Lily, however, wasn’t listening to him. She was too busy bouncing on the balls of her feet, her little hands clasped together as if pleading with the universe itself. “But... I really want Invincible to come! Please!” she begged.

You exchanged another glance with Mark. He gave you a subtle shrug, trying to act unbothered, though you could see the tension in his shoulders. You chuckled softly, hoping to defuse the moment before Lily noticed anything.

“That does sound really fun,” you started, crouching down to her level, “But I’m not sure if Invincible will be able to make it to the party. He’s really busy, and, well... saving the world comes first, right?”

Lily pouted, deflating just a little, but she didn’t give up. “But... I really want him to be here! He has to save me from a dragon, you know?” Her eyes glinted with determination again. “I can be the princess, but he has to be the hero!”

Mark’s lips twitched, clearly trying not to laugh at how serious she was. You could see his resolve softening, though he put on a mock-pensive face. “Well, I mean, being a superhero is tough work... but I’ve heard he’s a good guy. He might be able to stop by for a little bit,” he said, playing along.

Lily’s face lit up. “Oh, yay! I’m gonna be the princess! I’m gonna be just like one of those princesses in the books, and Invincible will save me from the dragon, and then we’ll have cake!”

You gave a small smile, grateful that she was still so young and innocent. “Of course, you’ll be the princess. And don’t worry,” you added, glancing at Mark, “we’ll make sure you have a super special day. You’ll be the star of the party.”

Lily twirled around in a circle, her dress flaring out behind her as she squealed in excitement. “I’m going to go play with my dolls now!” she declared, already running off to her room to plan out more of her royal adventures.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mark sat up fully now, looking at you with an amused, slightly worried expression.

“So, uh, you heard that, right?” he asked, voice a little tight as he ran a hand through his hair. “She wants me to save her from a dragon.”

You nodded, crossing your arms as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “I heard. And I’m not gonna lie—she’s totally obsessed with you. I’m pretty sure she thinks you actually live up the clouds. Just waiting to swoop in and save the day.”

Mark sighed, running his hand over his face. “Yeah, well, now I’m definitely gonna have to show up. I can’t just let her down like that...”

You gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re sweet. Just another reason I love you.” You brought your fingers together to make a heart, winking at him with a smile. A light blush dusted his cheeks. Placing your hands back onto the counter behind you, you continued, “But as for the dragon...”

“Rex?” Mark interrupted, already knowing where you were going.

You grinned. “Exactly. He owes me a favor.”

Mark laughed softly, though it was more nervous than anything else. “Okay, so... I show up, save the day, and maybe knock out a few dragons. Then what? I just... leave? She’ll probably think it’s some kind of dream or something.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you said, waving it off. “We’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. I’ll keep it low-key, and I’ll handle the details. Just... try not to blow your cover. Can you imagine if she figured out you were actually him?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I want to...”

You breathed out a light laugh before turning back to the half-prepared meal. “Just be ready for a lot of pretending. This is gonna be one hell of a party.”

Mark gave a small, resigned chuckle. “I’m starting to realize that...”

You smiled, your heart glowing with affection for both him and Lily. “Thanks, Mark. She’s gonna love it.”

Mark smiled back, his eyes softening. “Anything for you... and for her.”

The next week, preparations were in full swing. You decorated your backyard with banners, balloons, and a massive cardboard castle you’d spent days putting together. Your little sister was bouncing around in her princess dress, completely unaware of the superhero shenanigans that were about to unfold.

“It’s perfect!” she shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

“We’re gonna have so much fun today!” You cheered along with her, adding the last streamer to the wooden fence. “Aren’t we Mark?” You tunned to your boyfriend who was lingering awkwardly by the snack table. Why did he look more nervous about this roleplaying than he ever did out in battle?

“Y-Yeah,” he stuttered, forcing a weird smile.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, for a second nervous that Lily would question his stiffness, but she simply twirled by him while humming a nameless tune.

Rex, ever the prankster, had thankfully agreed to be part of the party. He showed up wearing a makeshift dragon costume, looking absolutely ridiculous, but he was completely game for the idea. You had to admit, the dragon outfit was hilarious—bright green and covered in foam spikes—but it would do.

Finally, everything was set. The party guests had arrived, the kids were running around with cake smeared on their faces, and Lily was on her throne (aka, a fold-out chair with a plastic tiara), waiting eagerly for her hero to arrive.

“Invincible’s here!” one of the kids yelled excitedly as Mark arrived on the scene, striking a heroic pose. Lily gasped, her eyes wide in awe.

His arrival was anything but low-key. A streak of blue and yellow shot across the sky and in an instant, Mark descended from the clouds, lowering himself to the ground with his fists placed dramatically at his hips. The kids screamed in awe as he stood tall, a glowing presence of undeniable heroism.

“Invincible! You came!” she squealed, standing up and rushing to him.

Mark crouched down to her level, giving her a smile behind his mask. “I’m here to save the day, Princess.”

Lily giggled. “A dragon! It’s gonna eat me! You have to save me!”

At that moment, Rex, in his dragon costume, appeared from behind large oak tree, growling and stomping around like a child playing pretend. The other kids screamed and ran, but Lily, in her princess glory, stood tall, waiting for her hero to step in.

Without missing a beat, Mark sprang into action, launching himself toward the dragon. “Stay back, beast! You won’t hurt the princess on my watch!”

Rex growled playfully as Mark “fought” him off, throwing a few staged punches that sent Rex stumbling backward, dramatically toppling onto the grass with exaggerated “oofs.” The kids watched in rapt attention, some giggling, others gasping, caught up in the spectacle of it all.

Lily, standing like a true princess in her pink gown, clasped her hands together in awe. “Go, Invincible!” she cheered, her voice a mix of wonder and excitement. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she watched Mark fight off the “dragon.”

Things got a little wild as Rex—really getting into character—lunged at Mark with a loud roar. He was a little too enthusiastic in his movements and, with one miscalculated step, crashed into the play castle you’d spent so long putting together. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t ache at the sight. The entire structure wobbled and collapsed in a cascade of pink and purple cardboard towers.

The kids screamed in mock terror, laughing and running in all directions. One of the younger kids even shouted, “The castle’s gone!” as if the dragon had destroyed the very heart of their kingdom.

Lily, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure excitement, gasped. “The castle!” she squealed. Then, just as quickly, her expression shifted to a beaming smile. “It’s okay! Invincible will fix it!”

But the dragon wasn’t done yet. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he grabbed a plastic party cup from the snack table, holding it dramatically. The kids watched, intrigued, unsure of what was coming next.

Without warning, Rex tossed the cup into the air, and just as it reached its peak ascent, the plastic exploded with a loud pop! The kids screamed and laughed, some of them ducking in surprise at the burst of noise.

One of the younger kids screamed, “Ahh! The dragon’s breathing fire!” They scrambled back, terrified yet thrilled by the sudden explosion.

You froze for a moment, wide-eyed, before narrowing your eyes and glaring daggers at Rex, your stomach sinking. This was not part of the plan. You had been trying to keep things low-key, and Rex—of course—had to use his powers. You shot him an exasperated look, silently mouthing, Really?

Rex gave you an innocent shrug, clearly not understanding why you weren’t loving the “real” dragon fire. He mouthed back, What? They loved it!

But Mark, ever the hero, didn’t break character. He took one quick glance at Rex, then turned to Lily, his expression resolute. “Fear not, Princess!” he shouted, his voice booming with heroism. “I’ll protect you from any danger!”

Mark shot across the yard, zooming in Rex’s direction faster than a speeding bullet. Rex, seeing the intensity in Mark's gaze, let out a nervous growl and began backing away, slowly at first, then turning into a full retreat as Mark sped after him. The kids gasped as the two “fighters” flew across the yard, Mark grabbing Rex by the tail and lifting him off the ground. “Enough, dragon! You’ve caused enough chaos for one day!” Mark called out, his voice as commanding as ever. Rex let out a huff of defeat as Mark flew him high into the air, away from the party, until they were a tiny speck in the sky. The kids cheered, their excitement building. Mark returned to the ground with a soft landing, flashing a grin at the crowd. “The dragon’s been dealt with, Princess. The kingdom is safe again!” Lily squealed in delight, her eyes wide with amazement. “You really did it!” she beamed at Mark, who smiled back at her.

“Now to return you to your observation tower,” he said, doing his best to maintain a tone of bravado. Mark scooped her up in his arms, holding her securely against his chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world. “Hold on tight, Princess!”

Lily’s eyes widened as they slowly ascended up into the air, her small hands trying to grip onto his costume as she looked down at the ground below. “We’re flying!” she gasped, her voice full of wonder, but there was a hint of nervousness too.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Mark reassured her, his tone soft. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He gave her a small smile, trying to ease her nerves. He made sure to keep the pace slow, not too fast, just enough to keep her comfortable as they gently floated up toward the second-floor balcony.

As they neared the balcony, Mark carefully adjusted his angle, ensuring that he landed softly, his feet touching the edge of the railing with expert precision. He moved slowly, making sure Lily felt the full security of his arms around her.

The backyard had gone completely quiet as the kids below watched, their mouths agape in awe. They’d never seen anything like it.

Mark landed softly, and when his feet touched the balcony, he stood still for a moment, making sure Lily felt secure before he even thought about letting go. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with reassurance. “We’re here, Princess,” he said gently. “Safe and sound.”

Lily, still wide-eyed but now completely at ease, looked up at him, her face lit with excitement. “That was so cool!” she said, her voice filled with joy, but there was no fear left in her expression. She had fully trusted him, and now, she was in complete awe.

Mark waved down at the kids below, who were staring up at him in wide-eyed wonder. They “ooo-ed” and “aww-ed,” completely captivated by the sight of a real superhero—Invincible—actually flying.

“Take care, everyone!” Mark called down, his voice carrying with that heroic quality.

He gave the small crowd below a salute, placed a gentle kiss to the back of Lily’s hand, then with a burst of speed shot into the sky once more, this time rising higher and higher until he was a small figure in the sky, leaving the partygoers to watch in awe. The kids below cheered and clapped as they watched him soar away, vanishing into the distance.

A few moments later, Mark walked through the fence into the backyard. He was dressed back in his usual attire with an overly casual expression on his face, looking around in a way that was beyond suspicious.

A minute later Lily came running down the stairs and into the backyard again, her excitement almost palpable. As soon as she saw Mark standing there, her face lit up with pure joy. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands excitedly.

“You missed it, Mark!” she exclaimed, her voice practically bursting with enthusiasm. “Invincible came and saved me from the dragon! He really saved me! You should’ve seen it! He flew me up to the balcony! It was amazing!”

She bounced around in circles, her eyes wide with excitement as she couldn’t stop talking about the adventure. “And then the dragon exploded a cup! And Invincible caught me! It was the best birthday ever!”

Mark chuckled, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her excitement. He bent down to her level and ruffled her hair playfully. “Wow, sounds like Invincible did an amazing job,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “Guess you’ll just have to tell me all about it.” She hummed a happy sound of agreeance before bounding off to join the other kids.

As the chaos of the party continued—kids laughing, running around, and playing—you quietly made your way over to Mark. You stood beside him for a moment, just watching the scene. He was still grinning, but there was a softness in his eyes as he watched Lily and the other kids play.

Finally, you turned to him, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “You know, you’re really good with her,” you said, your voice quiet but full of warmth.

Mark glanced at you, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he shrugged modestly. “I just wanted to make her birthday special, that’s all.”

You gave him a knowing look, tilting your head slightly as you crossed your arms. “Well, you did. And, honestly, you’re gonna make a great dad someday.”

Mark’s eyes widened, his face immediately turning crimson as he stammered, “A-a-are you serious? Y-you want to start a family?”

You laughed at his reaction, a light, playful sound that made his blush deepen. “Not quite yet,” you teased, the corner of your lips curling into a smile.

Without missing a beat, you grabbed his arm and gently rested your head on his bicep. You sighed contentedly, letting the peaceful moment take over. “But maybe someday.”

Mark, still flushed, looked down at you, a soft smile spreading across his face. The idea lingered in his mind, and he leaned down to kiss the top of your head, his lips brushing against your hair in a sweet gesture. He thought to himself, That'd be nice.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, surrounded by the laughter of the kids in the background, the warmth of the sun making everything feel just right. You were both content, thinking about the future in that quiet, almost unspoken way, knowing that whatever came next—one step at a time—was a journey you could take together.

[heesimp]

girl i need another heehoon fic SO BAD!! literally can’t read anything else, i keep coming back omfg. i don’t even know if i like the ship or if i want y/n included but i just know that you’re so good at writing and i must read another part of the heehoon fic😭🙏🙏

jokes aside, i would really love if you could listen to my request and add another part but if you don’t want to it’s completely ok, OF COURSE.

love your works babe, have a great day!💖

I’ve been in the mood to write mxm lately…maybe jayke next?

if you want the video insp then follow my twitter

It’s entirely too hot in Heeseung’s bedroom.

Sunghoon breathes heavily through his nose when he feels his friend’s body above his own, palms planted on either side of his shoulders as he drags his lubed cock against his ass. Heeseung’s big cock fits perfectly between Sunghoon’s ass cheeks that it makes both of them wonder why they hadn’t thought to do this sooner.

Underneath him, Sunghoon’s cock pressed painfully hard between him and the mattress below. No amount of humping could ever release that kind of tension, especially with Heeseung trapping Sunghoon’s body beneath him. The older boy takes his sweet time rubbing up against him and bites his bottom lip as he smirks to himself with his eyes closed in deep, horny pleasure.

Every time Heeseung’s tip brushes Sunghoon’s asshole, he can’t help but let out a quiet whine against the soft mattress beneath him. Heeseung’s hips rut over and over again, wet tip leaking with precum as the lube creates this sticky noise that Sunghoon feels. His ass is so warm from the ongoing friction, but he doesn’t care.

“This feels almost as good as humping our balls together,” Heeseung says once he’s brought his mouth to Sunghoon’s ear. “Remember that? You got on top of me and we rubbed our cocks together until we both came. God, your balls were so fucking big and full of semen. I knew you’d cum hard.”

Sunghoon moans as Heeseung’s warm breath touch the side of his face. He puckers his lips and Heeseung wastes no time pushing himself forward to kiss the younger boy while sliding against his ass harder. His tip catches Sunghoon’s asshole and Heeseung swallows his short moan. He pulls back and adjusts his hips until the head of his cock prods against Sunghoon’s ass.

“You want me here?” Sunghoon pathetically nods. Heeseung puts his hands on Sunghoon’s body and uses him as leverage as he pulls his hips back as if he were going to fuck his friend, but only teases the tip against the wrinkles hole over and over again. Sunghoon whines while Heeseung audibly laughs. “So impatient for my cock. Do you feel how big I am? My dick’s gonna ruin your little fucking hole.”

Heeseung humps Sunghoon faster the more he talks. “You’re gonna make me cum, Hoon. Holy fucking shit, you’re so fucking sexy.” Sunghoon clenched his ass and spreads his legs wider at Heeseung’s appraisal. His balls clench and he readjusts his cock so that it lies between his legs with his tip pointing away to relieve some of the pressure.

“Fuuuuck. No condom, too? What, you only save that shit for girls?” Sunghoon turns his face to look at Heeseung.

“I fuck girls raw.”

Heeseung clenches his ass and thrust harder. “That’s what I like to hear. Pump these pussies full of your cum. They should be thankful.”

“Fuck,” Sunghoon groans.

“I’m close,” Heeseung says with a heavy pant. “You ready? You want my cum?”

“Give it to me. Fucking give it to me.”

Sunghoon does not expect Heeseung to shove all of his cock into his asshole, but the surprise is so welcomed that Sunghoon immediately cums and stains Heeseung’s bedsheets with his mouth wide open in a loud, incredible scream. Meanwhile, Heeseung pushes Sunghoon against the mattress as his cock pumps his load while he throbs, and Sunghoon can only lie there and feel the way Heeseung’s thick ropes make a mess of him.

“Tight.” Heeseung moans with his eyes screwed shut and mouth open. “Your ass is fucking tight. Tighter than the wettest pussy I’ve ever had. Shit shit shit. Sounds so good when you cum, too. Might ruin pussy for me.”

Heeseung is still hard by the time he’s finished cumming and slangs his hips to thrust in and out of Sunghoon again, who moans so deeply that Heeseung nearly feels it in his chest. He chuckles once he starts feeling how wet Sunghoon’s hole got over that last escapade and fucks it back. The wet and sticky sounds forms perfect harmony with Sunghoon’s little moans when Heeseung bends down. Still drilling his cock in and out of Sunghoon’s ass, Heeseung whispers against his ear.

“Let’s watch some porn together next time, hm? Maybe I can fuck your girls while you watch or make them watch as I fuck you. Need to see how perverted you can get.”

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSTURNIOLO SURPRISE TOUR DAY 1 * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　where during the first show of the Surprise Tour, a sign from a fan in the audience catches Chris's attention.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: Wrote this while waiting for the opening of the gates in Lollapalooza, so I'm sorry if it isn't good 😭

A/N³: I don't remember if there was a rule for signs, but I had this idea so pretend that it's allowed 🤓

Chris leaned back in the medium orange fluffy couch, fingers drumming absentmindedly against the microphone as he let his gaze drift across the seated crowd, Nick's voice sounding like a background sound.

The venue was filled with excitement - including his. Every seat was occupied, fans sitting with their hands clutched in their laps or resting on their knees, only able to express their enthusiasm through loud screams instead of frantic movement.

The no-recording rule meant no phones were raised, no glowing screens obstructing the view, just pure, undistracted attention on the triplets.

Chris adjusted his mic, about to move on to the next segment when his eyes snagged on something that made his lips twitch into a smirk.

"Wait." He cut in suddenly, interrupting whatever Matt was about to say. "Before we show them the surprise, can I read a sign from a fan real quick?"

A new wave of screams erupted. Fans, despite being seated, tilted their heads, trying to follow his line of sight. Hands clutched the edges of armrests in anticipation, and whispers skittered through the crowd.

Matt glanced at Nick, who shrugged and gave a quick go-ahead gesture.

Chris grinned, leaning forward slightly.

"Hi! Can I read your sign?" He asked, pointing to a specific girl in the crowd. The girl’s eyes went wide, her entire face lighting up in disbelief. For a moment, she sat completely frozen, her hands trembling as she gripped the paper. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she nodded rapidly, her expression torn between excitement and utter shock.

Chris cleared his throat, exaggerating the motion as he held the mic close.

"Alright, let’s see." He mused, squinting dramatically. "Your sign says, 'I’m only here for Y/N-'"

Chaos.

Pure, unfiltered chaos.

The fans couldn’t jump, couldn’t wave their arms, but their screams alone shook the walls. Some clutched their chests, and others turned their heads frantically, scanning the audience in search of her.

I mean, they didn't even know that she would be there.

Chris pulled the mic away, shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh as he instinctively turned toward the section where he knew she was sitting.

And there she was.

Y/N sat comfortably, her legs crossed, shiny clothes curving around her body, hands resting on her lap. Her smile was radiant, pure amusement dancing in her eyes that watched him like he was the only person in the entire room.

Chris exhaled a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to point at her.

"Unbelievable." He muttered into the mic, shaking his head playfully. Then, turning back to the audience, he smirked. "Well, I can’t even judge you. Everywhere I go, I’m only there for Y/N, too."

Another round of screams exploded through the venue, fans absolutely losing their minds. Chris, adoring the reaction, leaned back into his chair, eyes still locked on Y/N as if she were the only thing that mattered.

And to him, she was.

Her fingers decorated by black nails lifted to her red tinted lips, blowing him an air kiss before mouthing a slow "I love you".

Chris’s heart swelled, warmth spreading through his chest as he smiled, cheeks heating - probably because of the yellow lights, of course.

"I love you more." He mouthed the words back, blue eyes shining. "Alright, attention back to me now."

© vanteguccir

[sevsgiirl]

hi, ive been reading a lot of your fics lately and i absolutely adore how you write sevika mwehehe can i have a request? can you make a fic where reader unintentionally raised her voice at sevika during an argument and sevika went teary eyed with her puppy eyes, and after that reader promised sevika that she'll never do it again, maybe a lots of angst and fluff/comfort? thank you so much and please never stop writinggggggg AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

— sevika when you raise your voice at her

synopsis: you and sevika had one promise to each other; no matter what happens, you won’t blow an argument out of proportion. if either one of you senses you’re about to say or do something spiteful — you walk out. so what happens when you fail to do that and hurt her in the process?

tags: arguing, mentions of violence, screaming, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, angst, reader is kind of a bitch (I was lowkey projecting when I wrote this)

note: I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG but as a girly who has serious temper issues this req hit too close to home :’) because my biggest fear is accidentally letting my anger out on my partner so thank you for sending this req in and for your kind words. ily <3 I hope you like this.

it felt like you two were running around in circles at this point.

you only ever asked sevika one thing and one thing only - to look out for herself and to stop playing martyr all the time. you get it. she has a job to do and she looks out for people. but how much more of playing sacrifice will it take before her actions eventually backfire on her?

maybe you sounded selfish, but you didn’t care. you were exhausted seeing your girlfriend come home all the time looking so beaten up - sometimes her prosthetic was missing, she’s limping, blood smeared all over her and there have been occasions she didn’t even come home. you ran around zaun in search of her during those days just to find her sporting new bruises and another broken limb in the last drop, clearly not wanting you to see her in that state.

but you did. you always do and you were getting tired fearing for her life 24/7.

“sweetheart, it’s not that big of a deal-“

you scoffed, throwing your hands up “of course you don’t think it’s a big deal, you’re only thinking about yourself, vika.”

you’ve been going on about this for almost an hour now and yet neither of you can’t seem to reach an agreement. you were both stubborn but the minute she walked into the front door adorning another black eye, bruised upper lip and new stitches, you knew enough was enough.

you shook your head, setting the medicine kit aside as you turned away from her because you knew if you stared at her for too long you were going to end up having a nervous breakdown. because how much longer until she realizes her self destructive behavior is not only hurting herself but you as well?

she sighed, leaning against the couch as she watched you gripped the kitchen counter, refusing to meet her eye.

“it’s not like I wanted this to happen. who wants to get their ass beat? but it was inevitable and if I didn’t get those payments silco will-“

“oh my god, who gives a fuck about silco?” you exclaimed, whipping around to look at her with a scowl “he is not worth getting your ass whooped every. single. day, sevika. he really isn’t and you need to get it through your head that this need to put your life on the line for people who treat you like crap is not doing you any good and it never will.”

“he has a plan. I wouldn’t be trusting him if he didn’t.” she argued through clenched teeth, trying to sit up and you only threw a glare at her.

“sevika, sit your ass back down before you hurt yourself-“

“no, because I hate it that you’re treating me like I’m so fragile and acting like my work means nothing and that everything I do is just for nothing.” she hissed and you only looked at her with your mouth agape.

“when did I say any of that?” you said as you stalked towards her “stop making it seem like my concern for you is just me trying to undermine you and your job when I’ve been here to support you since day one.”

“well, it doesn’t feel like it-“

“because fucking look at you, sevika!” you couldn’t hold it in anymore, your anger finally boiled over and words were thrown just to spite “you look like a fucking idiot every time you walk through the door and you have a new black eye, your mech arm is ripped off, your leg is limping or you can’t feel your left fucking ass cheek. I take care of you every single time yet you still to go back to silco just so he can put you through the same bullshit over and over again!”

“so what? are you just reckless or too stupid? which one is it?” you were breathing heavily and sevika could only stare at you with wide eyes and her lips parted.

she’s never seen you this mad before, not only that but what you just said to her… it hurt not only because you wanted your words to hurt, but because all she could think about is how you once promised each other that you’d never let your arguments get this far.

she understood where you coming from but if there was one person she’d never expect to blow up on her, it was you.

she closed her eyes and tried to muster up a response, but she found nothing. instead, you were greeted with silence as sevika turned her back on you and placed her hands on her hips.

you were still recovering from your outburst but the second the dust settled in and you realized your mistake, it was as if your factory settings were switched and you immediately walked over to sevika, your hands trembling.

“vika…” you said as you laid a tentative hand on her shoulder “vika, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

“j-just forget about it,” you didn’t miss the way her voice shook. she was never the type to cry in front of anyone, not even you most times, but you recognized the signs of her resolve crumbling.

with that, you wasted no time hugging her from behind, holding onto her like she was your life support.

“vika, baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice I just…” you let out a shuddering breath and held her tighter “I just got so worried. I hate seeing you get hurt all the time and I know it’s your job and you know much I appreciate what you do for this city but just… I can’t afford to lose you, baby.”

you nuzzled against her broad back and let out a sniffle “because what if one day you just don’t walk through those doors anymore? what if it’s not your mech arm that’s gone, but you entirely? I can’t keep risking letting you get hurt until eventually I just lose all of you. that’d be the end of me and I can’t fucking do that.”

“I’m so scared of losing you, vika.” you said, your voice trembling “you’re the only one I have left and if I lose you I wouldn’t know what to do.”

it was quiet. so eerily quiet you could hear a pin drop before finally, sevika lets out a deep breath and loosens your arms around her so she could face you.

what you see once she turns around nearly shatters your heart into smithereens - tear stained cheeks and glossy eyes, she looked absolutely torn apart and you wanted to beat yourself up for even raising your voice at her in the first place.

“oh baby,” you cupped her cheek and almost as if on instinct, she leaned into it “I’m so fucking, sorry. I’m so sorry, vika. please f-forgive me. I just-“

she shook her head, placing her palm on top of yours “i-it’s okay,” she said “just… I understand where you’re coming from, and I’ll try to look out for myself more properly. but just know you’re never gonna lose me, okay? I’ll always be here with you. no matter what. forever and always.”

she squeezed her eyes shut and intertwined your fingers together “let’s just not fight like that ever again, okay?”

you nodded, engulfing her in a tight embrace “I promise.” you said, emphasizing every word “never again.”

[moonstruckme]

hello mae!!!

if inspiration strikes i'd love to request either a bruise in the shape of a boot print or blood seeping through clothes with spencer x bau!reader? thank you in advance, i hope your weekend was lovely! <3

Hi, thank you sweetness I hope your weekend was lovely too! <3

cw: injury? I'm not sure how to put it exactly but bau!reader gets moderately hurt while working basically. Oh also a squatter is taken into police custody for basically nothing but don't worry he's going to be questioned and released he's okay

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 579 words

You hold your breath as Spencer brushes his fingertips over the discoloration on your ribs. You hold your breath, but you don’t wince. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyway, eyes scanning you over. He wants to flick on his flashlight to see better, but he knows you’d run away before he could really look. Or hobble away, whatever you’re capable of right now. “I think he broke your rib.” 

You’re sitting on the curb a few meters away from your crime scene. It’s dark out, early morning, but an anonymous call brought the BAU out to check out a body that may be the latest victim in their case. 

There wasn’t supposed to be anybody around. The squatter caught you all by surprise and you him, Spencer and JJ chasing him down from the second floor. You’d been at the bottom of the stairs. Hadn’t even drawn your weapon before he kicked you down like a door to get you out of his path. 

“Just one rib?” you ask, wry. 

Spencer tilts his head, inspecting the bruising. “Maybe a few.” 

“Ah.” You lean your head back. You’re far enough into the country that you can see the stars, fading one by one as the sky lightens. “Perfect.” 

Spencer wants to reach out his hand more intimately, to touch you, to pull you closer, but he knows better than to make you look like you need taking care of. Not with your team so nearby, not with the reputation you’ve worked so hard to earn for yourself. Instead, he says in a soft voice, “Breathe.” 

You inhale. It looks like it hurts. 

Spencer’s chest aches faintly. He wonders whether it’s due to sympathy pains or something else. “This never should have happened.” 

Now you wince. “I know. I’m sorry, I should have been prepared.” 

“No.” He frowns. “You weren’t supposed to be prepared. JJ and I should have caught him before he got to you.” 

After the squatter knocked you down, Hotch caught him on the way out the door. They’re taking him in for questioning because he was found at a crime scene, but you all know he’s not your unsub. It makes you getting hurt feel even more pointless. 

“It’s not that bad,” you say.

“I can see his boot print on your chest.” 

“Can you really?” You look down. It causes you to bend slightly, the sort of minute movement you normally wouldn't notice, but now you suck in a breath. “Ow.” 

“Ow,” Spencer agrees compassionately. He covers your side with his hand, gentle but steadying. 

You shift, trying to find a comfortable position. “Could you make out a boot size?” you ask. 

“Probably. Why?” 

“Just curious.” 

“You know we already have him in custody. And he’s not our unsub.” 

“Yeah I know.” You shrug, wincing. You’re discovering all the things rib fractures make inconvenient. “It’d just be cool. Like, if I ever did get kicked by an unsub. In theory.” 

“You’d probably just catch them,” says Spencer. 

“Didn’t catch this one.” 

“Well, you were caught offguard. I’m sure it won’t happen a second time.” 

You laugh, then gasp, hand covering Spencer’s on your side. “Ow. Stop that.” 

“Sorry,” he says, genuinely contrite. “You’re going to have to go to the hospital.” 

“Yeah, I know.” It takes a moment to subdue your grimace, but you push out your bottom lip a little, meeting his eyes. “Hold my hand?” 

Spencer knows you’re likely teasing. He thinks he’ll do it anyway.