#things that happen when i drink mead.

[damienthepious]

rilla deserves to kiss arum sloppy style and tpp itself has managed to fail to deliver this since pre-pandemic. get your lizard double dicking, rilla, i believe in you forever. mwah

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Accidental Confession- Thorin x Reader

Summary: Thorin overhears you confess your feelings about him to his nephews

Word count: 1, 478

Mixing yourself, two dwarf princes and a full barrel of mead was bound to create some chaos. Honestly after an hour of drinking with them you’re surprised that the worst thing you’d done was a failed handstand and a terrible improvised song. Unfortunately however things were going too smooth for too long, and your luck of only slightly embarrassing yourself was running out.

You and the princes were sat in the woods outside of Erebor, all three of you needing an escape from castle that could sometimes feel suffocating. Though you were only visiting your friends, you could tell they needed a break from their uncle, especially Fili as he was next in line and his list of duties were piling up every day. Needing the biggest break out of all three of you, it was no wonder that the embarrassing question came from him.

“Y/N, I have a question.” The blonde dwarf asked, sat upon a rock with a cheeky smile on his face.

“Well fortunately for you, Fili dear, I might just have the answer.” You reply with a cheeky smile of your own as Kili refills your cup.

“Why do you dislike our uncle?” Came Filis oddly sobering question.

This question caused even Kilis face to become serious as both princes stared at you. Although their faces were filled with worry, you couldn’t help the girlish grin that came to your face. At seeing your grin, both princes grew matching grins of their own.

“I don’t dislike your uncle.” You answer, trying hard and failing to hide your smirk.

“Oh really? When he speaks you seem to always walk away and just last night he asked you to dance and you denied him.” Kili now interrogates, a quizzical smile growing on his face.

“It’s not because I don’t like him.” You try to defend yourself sheepishly.

“Is it because you do like him then?” Fili asked you smirking.

“No! Maybe… Look it’s not fair! When he talks that dwarf language…”

“Khuzdul.” Kili quickly corrects.

“Yeh! It’s just really hot… I know he’s your uncle but it’s so hot! And and! The dancing! If I dance with your uncle my tits would be in his face! Which if that happened I’d get so turned on I’d die.” You confessed to your friends, babbling foolishly.

Fili and Kili exchange a look at hearing your confession, before promptly bursting out in laughter. Their laughter so loud that you’re sure people in Erebor could hear it.

“It’s not funny!” You half-laugh and half-shout, trying hard to stay serious and defend yourself, but unfortunately failing.

It wasn’t long until you too joined their laughter, all three of your laughs sounding loudly through the forest.

If any of you had been sober, you might have realised that such laughter had drawn the king under the mountain himself to find your little hiding spot. Seeing you all so intoxicated and in the forest he had half a mind to storm over and tell you all off, but was abruptly stopped at the conversation at hand.

“You should tell uncle how you feel!” Kili announced excitedly.

“No!” You shout.

“Why not?!” Both of your friends seemed to yell in unison.

“Oh yeh what would I say? ‘Hey Thorin, I know you’re the super duper important and serious king, but I think your voice is really sexy and the reason I don’t dance with you is because if your face was in my tits I’d get so horny I’d die! Also you’re really sweet to me and I’d like to hold your hand and bake you nice things and maybe kiss you a little’…” Your confession suddenly turning more sweet and serious.

Realising just how you felt about Thorin, your head fell as you played with your fingers, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and embarrassed.

“Maybe we should head back. It’s getting cold and I think it’s time we all went to bed. We’ll get you something nice to eat and some nice warm furs.” Fili suggests as he takes your hand, knowing your confession was a lot more than just a silly girl being attracted to their uncle.

As both boys held your hand to help you walk, Thorin hid himself behind a tree, not wanting to be noticed. Though he hid, he couldn’t help but stare at you as you left with his nephews. Knowing his feelings were reciprocated suddenly filled him with both relief and fear.

*****

You were surprised to wake up the next morning with only a mild hangover after your night of drinking with your friends. Getting dressed you decided it was a day for comfortable clothes, topped with a big warm cardigan knitted for you by Ori.

As you went to leave your room in search of food you literally ran into the last person you expected.

“Oh! Hello Thorin.” You sheepishly greeted him, slightly stepping back into your room.

“Good morning, y/n. How did you sleep?”

“Fine, thank you. Is there something I can help you with, Thorin?” You nervously ask him, trying hard to keep eye contact with him as you wrap the cardigan around yourself.

“Yes, um- may- may I come in? I’d like to speak with you in private.” He asked as his voice suddenly became more serious.

“Ye-yes, sorry, um, come in.” You anxiously step aside and quickly pull out a chair from your vanity for him to sit on while you sit on the edge of your bed.

Thorin manoeuvres the chair to sit directly in front of you, your knees barely grazing each other. Looking from your hands, to your barely touching knees and into his beautiful blue eyes, your gaze quickly falls back to your hands.

“I-I need to speak with you about last night.” Thorin stutters out.

Looking back into his eyes, you meet him with a quizzical look. The king under the mountain is never nervous and you had not spoken with him at all last night.

“I-I heard what you said to Kili and Fili last night.” He confesses.

Suddenly your eyes go wide as realisation hits you. At hearing this, your blood turns cold, both fear and embarrassment filling both your body and your face.

“Oh no.” You quietly mumble as you anxiously hide your face in your hands.

You were mortified and scrabbling your brain to think of anything to get him away, so you could wallow in shame and embarrassment alone. However before you could think of the words to save you, you felt large warm hands around yours, as Thorin pulled them away from your face.

“Please do not hide from me.” He gently soothes you, as his thumb runs across your fingers.

Your head shoots up at his comforting touch and words. Your eyes filled with panic, dart between your now joined hands and his kind eyes. Trying to look for pity in them but you did not find it.

“This was not how I had imagined telling you this but I suppose after last night I could not ignore my feelings anymore. Y/N, I care for you so deeply and think you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my many years. I feared you would not feel the same as I am not of the race of man and am quite older than you, but from what I heard last night I’m guessing the feeling is some what mutual.” He smiles as he gazes lovingly into your eyes.

You were stuck, too many emotions holding you in place. Confusion, fear, embarrassment and maybe a little bit of love forcing you still and your eyes to never leave Thorins.

“Amrâlimê?” Thorin speaks, worry now in his eyes as he places his large warm hand on your cheek.

You can’t help but close your eyes and hum at the feel of his skin finally against yours. Placing your hand over his, you rub your face further into his hand.

“I suppose you were right about your reaction to me speaking in my native tongue.” Thorin teases you as his face comes closer to yours.

Your eyes fling open as you realise he truly did hear everything you said. Letting out a defiant chuckle, you decide to show him just how much you meant the words you said last night. Grabbing a hold of his coat with both hands, you forcefully pull him into you, as you press your lips passionately against his own.

Thorin moaned into your mouth as your hands desperately pulled at his hair and his squeezed at your hips. You couldn’t get enough of each others touch as you both pulled the other closer.

Finally breaking away, your foreheads rested against each other as you stared into each others eyes.

“Maybe we should try the dancing next.” Thorin teased you with a smirk and a wink.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Thirteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Backstreet’s back, ALRIGHT! Or rather, the Bat Boys™️ sort their issues out. Tathaln’s ball is officially announced. Azriel gives Kaeda a piece of his mind. Fin has no business being the sexy dad he is. Roza’s worried about reader.

Word count: 6.3k.

Warnings: None for this part.

All is silent, save for the rhythmic tick-tick-ticking of the clock. Cassian has always hated that clock. Finds it fucking annoying.

But it fills the vacant hole that exists in the absence of conversation. That hole is open and gaping between Cassian and Azriel. It’s not a table that sits between them — it’s a dangerous, yawning chasm.

Az stares at Cass, and Cass feels uncomfortable. He’s seen that cold gaze be levelled on people hundreds of times, thousands. To be on the receiving end feels a little like staring death in the face. He actually kind of wishes that Kaeda hadn’t been sent off to the dorms to sleep off her drunken state, because at least then he wouldn’t be the only one here, being subjected to…this.

So, he stands up, so abruptly that his chair almost topples over, and asks, “Want me to make you some tea?” The question feels stupid the second it leaves his lips.

Azriel’s eyes track him, drink in every uneasy shift and twitch. It’s not that Cass is afraid of Az — though anybody with half a brain cell would be — just that he’s not good in these situations. Situations where he has to be serious and…and listen.

“Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s cold voice stops him before he can move. “When, in our years of friendship, have you ever once made me tea?”

Cass peers over a broad shoulder and shrugs half-heartedly. “First time for everything…”

“Sit.”

The word brooks no room for argument. Cassian does, indeed, sit.

It’s then that Azriel heaves a deep sigh, his entire body taut as a bowstring, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Cass blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry—for what I did in the mead hall. I…had no right.”

“…But Y/N and I…”

“It’s not for me to dictate whether the two of you should or shouldn’t lie together. My…jealousy…is my problem, and mine alone.”

This is hard, Cassian realises — for Az to say this. For him to face it. And Cass can relate to that. Not everyone can be as silver-tongued as Rhysand. The Mother knows, Cass himself isn’t.

But he also isn’t an idiot. Some people may believe him to be, and that’s their mistake, because being proved wrong is usually the last thing they remember before waking up to a healer standing over them. He’s aware enough of his surroundings to know that something was brewing between Azriel and Y/N for years before Cass took her to bed…or kitchen counter, or…whatever.

“I need to be better,” Cassian offers, “at thinking before I act. Thinking about who I might hurt with my decisions. I’m working on it.”

Az studies his friend, and he feels no anger. If anything, it’s guilt that claws at the shadowsinger. He gave poor Cass a pretty good hiding over something that was, essentially, none of his business. And it could have all been different if Az simply wasn’t a coward, afraid of his feelings.

Something he needs to work on.

And perhaps he’s doing that as, rather than burying the topic, he asks, “What…what actually happened? How did you end up sleeping together? I mean…do you have feelings—”

“No.” Cassian cuts him off, blinking. “Gods, no. I love Y/N, you know that. But not romantically. I just…I felt so damn useless that night, Az. If you’d seen the way Y/N was…the self-loathing. I didn’t know how to help.”

Immediately, Azriel’s brow pinches. “Self-loathing?”

“Because of what her father did to her. When we were flying to Fenlaros, and she was the only one being carried in…”

Azriel slumps back in his chair, feeling like a godsdamned idiot.

He blinks forward and wonders what the fuck the point is in being born a shadowsinger when he obviously can’t read situations very well. Within seconds, it’s clicking into place.

“And then you started that fight with that Fenlarion male,” Cass continued. “and Kaeda just declared that it was her you were fighting over…and everyone has a limit, you know? I think that night was just all too much for Y/N. And she was so upset, so downtrodden…talking about how she hated herself. And I’m not good with words like Rhys is, and I’m not as observant as you are, but I am good at physical touch. Physical comfort. And it seemed like the only thing I could offer in that moment to take that bleakness away from her. But I should have thought about how you would feel—”

“I’m glad you were there for her.” Azriel blurts, realising, with every word, how much he means them. “I wasn’t. I failed her that night.”

“I really didn’t know that the two of you had been exploring things. If I did, I wouldn’t have done it. I mean…that fight you started wasn’t over Kaeda at all, was it?”

Az’s eyes shutter. And it goes against every natural instinct of his to strip himself bare and just…be honest. Every steel wall he’s ever built up is screeching in its effort to stand strong and not be caved in. And those walls were necessary in a life of darkness and hate…but that life is long gone.

What good do those walls do him in an environment where he has love, has people who genuinely care for him? As much as he wants to run and hide from his feelings as he always has…he thinks that the key to happiness may be on the other side of those walls. That a new bravery lays in letting some light filter through the cracks and warm a guarded heart.

His voice is quiet, laced with a self-preserving fear, as he admits, “No. It was not.”

Before Cassian can offer an encouraging response, the front door is swinging open, and Rhysand is kicking snow from his boots and trudging in. Azriel tenses like a threatened animal — but there is no threat here. Only safety, only love. He forces his shoulders to relax.

The violet-eyed male takes in the sight before him. Goes still as he looks between his two friends. “Please tell me this is a positive conversation.”

Cassian inclines his head. “Work in progress. Why don’t you make some tea?”

“Fuck you, make your own tea—”

“Make me some tea—”

“Kiss my ass, dickhole—”

“I’m in love with Y/N.” Azriel blurts.

It promptly shuts the other two males up.

They turn away from their bickering to look at the shadowsinger. He looks…shocked, by his own confession.

“I’m in love with her,” he breathes.

Cass and Rhys share a glance, and then Rhys is slowly approaching the table, carefully taking a seat like he doesn’t want to startle Azriel out of the moment.

“We know, Az.” Rhys tells him gently. “I mean…I think we always suspected…”

“I started that fight in Fenlaros because I was jealous of that damn male having his hands all over her. Saying the things he was saying. It was nothing to do with Kaeda.”

“You should really tell her — Y/N, I mean. Tell her how you feel.”

Azriel’s eyes trace a mark in the table as he admits, “Kind of already have. When she came to speak to me earlier today.”

Another glance is shared between Cassian and Rhys. And both are equally surprised — figure they would have heard something about it. Unless…unless it hadn’t gone down well.

And now that Rhys thinks about it, Y/N had been tense whilst he’d flown her back to Velaris. Taut in his arms and barely uttering a few words. Perhaps this was why.

“Did she…not take it well?” Rhys hedges. He wants to be delicate, not go blasting in at full-force. So rarely do they get to see such a vulnerable side to Az.

Azriel shakes his head once. “It’s not that, it’s…” He clears his throat. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?” Cass pushes, and Rhys shoots him a warning glance.

But Azriel doesn’t balk from it, doesn’t slink back in his seat. Instead, he lifts his head, and he levels his friends with a desperate look.

“There’s more that I haven’t told you.” He says.

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A short while later, Az thinks that maybe talking through his feelings is a good thing. Just saying the words has a little bit of weight easing from his chest, his shoulders.

But Cass and Rhys aren’t saying anything at all. Cass and Rhys are staring at him like he has two damn heads.

And then Cassian sits up, barking, “Tathaln Baralas wants what?”

“Exactly what I told you.” Azriel shakes his head. “He wants me to move to Fenlaros and work alongside him. Has some sort of backing from the High Lord, though I’m not sure how much. In a nutshell, Kaeda’s interest in me has always been driven by her father.”

“I knew that little wasp was up to something. You know she tried to kiss me tonight?”

Az shrugs. Really could not give a fuck. “I figured something had happened from the look on your face.”

“I never liked her. Nor her father—”

“Her father,” Rhys cuts in, “walks a very fine line in presuming to exceed in his role as a Camp Lord. His ego and title are going to his head a little, it would seem, if he believes he has the authority to scheme such ideas.”

“It’s a terrible idea.” Cass says. Neither of the other two noticed him get up, but he’s returning to his seat, speaking around a mouthful of food. “All Illyrians in one big camp? They’ll kill each other.”

Rhys is inclined to agree. But he turns a neutral — maybe gentle — expression on Az and asks him, “Do you want to go to Fenlaros?”

It would kill him if Az said yes. Would kill Cass, too. These recent days of being torn apart by tension has been bad enough. Being in different camps and not seeing each other is an almost unbearable thought.

But they would find a way to live with it, if Az decided he wanted to go. They’d find a way to be okay with it.

Such thick silence fills the room that the thudding of all three of their hearts is audible.

But then Azriel replies quietly, “No.”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian bother to hide their relief.

“I told Kaeda I would think about it.” Azriel goes on. “And I told Y/N that I’d promised Kaeda that. But I don’t think I’ve ever really intended to think about it — or needed to. I think…I think I was just using it to bide my time. To create space for myself and…avoid everything else.”

“By everything else,” Cassian chomps into a loaf of bread, “do you mean facing your feelings for Y/N?”

Azriel can’t deny it. He nods. “It’s not an easy thing to face…to be vulnerable. Hiding behind this Fenlaros situation has just been easier. Cowardly, yes, but…easier.”

“You can’t keep pushing her away, though, Az.” Rhys says. “You can’t let her think that you might be leaving if you have no intention of doing so.”

The shadowsinger’s eyes flutter shut, thick, dark lashes grazing his cheekbones. “Do you think I’ve fucked it beyond repair?”

“No.” Cassian offers. “But you will, if you don’t start handling this the right way. Tell Kaeda and Tathaln to fuck off. Tell Y/N you’re in love with her and want to see her naked—”

“Watch it.” Azriel warns quietly, but Cass continues, unperturbed.

“Just start letting more people in. And I’ll stop letting so many people in, because it gets me into trouble. I think…I think we all need to grow up a little. Do better.”

Rhysand’s brow pinches. “What do you mean, we all do? I’ve done nothing other than put my own pleasure aside to advise you idiots. What could I possibly need to do better?”

Cassian shrugs. “That haircut, for one. It’s annoying.”

“And when was the last time your hair saw a comb, Cassian?”

“When was the last time you were generous and made tea for your good, long-suffering friend?”

“So this is about the tea.”

“Of course it’s about the tea, jackass. Zakai clearly isn’t with you for your observational skills…”

Azriel sits back, allowing their bickering to become background noise. There’s a warmth to the sight, the sound, that makes him realise he never again wants a repeat of this situation — of being apart from his friends for days, tension thick between them.

He loves Rhys and Cassian. Loves them dearly.

Another reason why he could never, ever turn his back on this place.

And he finds himself actually being…grateful…that Cass was there for Y/N that night. That she didn’t have to suffer her self-loathing alone.

There’s still a lot to get through, of course. Daunting emotions and truths to face head-on. But as he watches the two loveable idiots in front of him take verbal swipes at each other, it’s the first time in a while that he wonders if things might actually be okay.

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The news is announced the next day, when Lord Devlon gathers a rather colourful bunch of his soldiers in the mead hall and stands at the front, silencing them all with a single shout. Rhys, Cassian and Azriel stand against the far back wall, their arms folded over their chests.

Gods, they hope it’s not another training exercise. Not so soon. Az has things he wants to resolve before he saunters off and possibly gets himself killed.

But Devlon reads the roll of parchment in his hands, a frown contorting his features. He looks up, his eyes very deliberately finding Rhysand as he announces to the room, “A message from the High Lord.”

And every other gaze is then swivelling to turn on Rhys, too. There’s something accusatory about it, like they’re assuming he’s privy to whatever it is their asses have been dragged out of bed to hear.

He isn’t. He wants to be in bed, too.

“Looks like you pricks better get your dancing shoes ready.” Devlon raises his eyebrows. “The High Lord is calling for a ball. Legions from all camps invited.”

This — this is exciting news for the brutish males who could fill the mead hall with their egos alone. Not because they have a particular affinity for dancing, but because amongst themselves, they’re already murmuring about which particular camps they dislike for some reason or other, and what they plan to do about it. So many bloodthirsty streaks are painted in those males’ eyes, stamping out the tiredness that lay there only moments before.

Nothing pricks an Illyrian male’s ears up quite like the prospect of a fight.

“The legions from each camp have been carefully selected, and you lucky fuckers will be representing Windhaven.” The Camp Lord continues, disdain dripping from his voice. He wants his men out there training in the cold, not prancing around a dance floor. “Plus-ones are allowed, also, so it might be time to splash out on a pretty gown for whoever is warming your bed these days. The ball is to be held on Starfall, at a neutral venue of the High Lord’s choosing, and I expect you all to make Windhaven — and me — look good. Any questions?”

“Do we actually have to dance?” One male asks, while another one pipes up with, “Will those pricks from Camp Steelshore be there?”

Rhys shuts out the litany of battling voices as he turns a concerned look on Az and Cass. Their expressions mirror his own. Something about this feels…off.

So while he looks like he’s merely lounging against the wall, hands in his pockets, he sends his inner claws spearing straight for Devlon’s mind. He doesn’t give away what he’s doing, not even slightly, as he roots around in the Camp Lord’s thoughts and grabs for his glimpse of the letter. Rhys scans it, drops the thought, and he’s out of Devlon’s mind and straightening himself up before the male can so much as flinch.

“Let’s go.” He tells his friends, and not Devlon nor the males around them seem to care as Azriel and Cassian follow him, the formidable trio traipsing out into the thawing snow, regardless of whether the meeting is over or not.

They’re halfway back to the house, safely out of earshot, when Cassian finally barks, “A ball? What the fuck?”

“At the request of Tathaln Baralas.” Rhys reveals. “That’s what the letter said. He took the idea to my father, and the asshole is humouring him. This has all got to be part of Tathaln’s plan.”

Cassian scowls and spits his disdain at the ground. “Someone needs to drive a poison arrow through that prick’s heart already. I don’t like this one bit.”

“It’s my father’s intentions I’m worried about.” Rhys shakes his head. “Tathaln only has the power that my father gives him. One word from him and this idea could be snuffed out and never mentioned again. And I expected that to be the case. Arrogant as fuck he may be, but my father isn’t stupid. He’ll know what a terrible idea this is, and I would have predicted that he’d laugh in Tathaln’s face for mentioning it. I didn’t think he’d actually entertain it…which means—”

“There’s something in it for him.” Azriel finishes.

Rhysand nods. “Every single move and choice my father makes is, ultimately, for his own gain. He would never agree to anything if he weren’t getting something out of it himself. Whatever Tathaln has proposed to him…my father will be using it for his own gain.”

Cassian opens the door to the cottage and strides in, forgetting — as always — to kick the snow from his boots. “What, though?” He asks. “What could Tathaln have that your father could want?”

Rhys shrugs and waves a hand, magic promptly mopping up the wet, melting trail left in Cassian’s wake. “That, I don’t know.”

“So what do we do?” Az watches him closely, trying to read the thoughts on the male’s face. His shadows reach out to him, too. “Are you going to talk to your father? Make him see how ridiculous this idea is?”

“No,” Rhys shakes his head. “There would be no point. I could lay a whole host of truths out to my father, and he’d go against them on ego alone. He must want something badly enough for him to be throwing money into it. This ball won’t be cheap.”

“And it won’t be a ball, either.” Cassian cocks an eyebrow. Roots through the kitchen cupboards for food. “Blood will be spilled. And you can’t dance on blood. I’ve tried. Too slippy.”

Rhys chooses to ignore that little scrap of information. Mostly because he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “I don’t want us to pre-empt anything.” He says. “If I go straight to my father with concerns about any of this, it could blow up in our faces, instead. For the time being, I think we should just…go along with it. Watch it play out, and see what happens. My father is unpredictable. Even I can’t tell you what goes on in his head.”

“I can speak with Kaeda.” Az clears his throat. “See if she’ll tell me anything.”

“You have fun with that.” Cassian mumbles, biting into something. “I’d sooner chop my balls off and nail them to the front door.”

“Such a way with words. It’s no wonder, really, that females fall at your feet.”

Cass shoots him a wicked grin. And this…this is nice. What they’ve both missed. This is normal.

“I’ll keep an eye and ear out for anything.” Rhys drags them back to the subject at hand. “But my father’s good at not letting anyone know things until he wants them to know them. And he’s clearly serious about this.”

Cassian swallows. Takes another bite. “And until then? Until we know what he’s even serious about?”

Violet eyes sparkle with mischief, and one side of Rhysand’s lips tips up. “Until then, boys,” he says, “you’d better practice your dancing.”

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Azriel really hopes she’s not there, but sure enough, when he enters his room at the dorms, Kaeda is sitting up in his bed.

It gives him a little bit of satisfaction to see her look…less than perfect, for once. Her hair is knotted, and even the vibrancy of the red shade seems a little dulled. Her skin is sallow, her eyes bleary. He wonders if she’s as miserable as she currently looks.

She beholds him with a strangely coy look, like she’s waiting for him to rip into her. But if she really knew the shadowsinger, she’d know that that is not his style. He does not shout. He rarely fights physically. His danger lies in his quiet voice and icy stare.

Kaeda’s tired eyes fall to the blanket pooled around her waist, and she murmurs, “You’re angry with me.” Her throat bobs with a swallow. “I understand. But I appreciate you putting me to sleep in here when I was in a vulnerable state.”

“I would have done it for anyone.” Az presses his back against the wall, folding his arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The female merely bows her head. Doesn’t bother to argue.

“I have a question.” Azriel then says. “I’d like an answer.”

“I know that Cassian has probably told you about last night, and all I can say is I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I was drunk and upset and I—”

“I don’t care about that.” He really doesn’t, and it shows on his face. “I want to know what your father is playing at by organising an Illyrian ball. I don’t believe for a second that the gesture is an innocent one.”

She glances down again, but Azriel doesn’t buy the coy act for one moment.

“Kaeda.” His voice is laced with warning. “Tell me.”

“It’s just…a ball. A ball to have all camps in one place, so he can get a good look at what each one has to offer. It’s nothing sinister.”

“So, a chance for him to scout more supporters for his cause.”

“He’s trying to make a change, Azriel. A good one—”

“He’s interfering with lives. Tearing families apart.”

“Good results require difficult choices.” Her voice hardens.

The shadowsinger bites out a cold, brusque laugh, turning away from her. “Mother above, he has you trained well.”

There’s movement behind him. Kaeda is kicking the sheets away and pushing to her feet. And she’s…seething.

“You would laugh in the face of somebody trying to make a positive change?” She snaps. “What reason have you to be so arrogant? At least my father is trying to make a difference. All you’re doing is clinging to a miserable life in a miserable place where you don’t even have a family or home of your own—”

“Except that I do.” Azriel rounds on her so quickly that his wing knocks a fragrance bottle off a shelf. “I may not have your riches, and that’s fine, because I have a group of people — a family I made — who love me enough to care whether or not I come home at night. Who want nothing less for me than happiness and contentedness, and not just to use me as a pawn in some convoluted plan that will do more harm than good. I have reason to be in Windhaven, whether it’s miserable or not. I have love here. So much of it. And there’s nothing — not a damn thing — that would make me turn my back on it.”

Something in his impassioned speech clearly hits a nerve with Kaeda. She goes still.

And she looks…small, despite being fairly tall. She looks…insignificant.

Her eyes fill with tears. One spills over and rolls down her cheek as she whispers, “Please, Azriel.”

Azriel says nothing. Stares at her.

“Please.” She takes a step closer. “I’m not above begging. I…” Her voice cracks. “I need this. I need you to say yes—”

“Your father,” he interrupts quietly, “is playing a very dangerous game. And he’s using you to do it.”

“You don’t understand. I…if I can’t give him what he wants, I’m finished. I’ll have no home to go to, nobody on my side.”

“You already have nobody on your side. You’re his daughter and he’s dangling your livelihood over your head and ready to snatch it away if he doesn’t get what he wants. You’re already finished.”

“Please.” She says again. Tears are streaming, now, and she tries fruitlessly to wipe them away. “Please, just…if this is about Y/N—”

“Do not,” he grits out, “bring her into this.”

“She’s already in this. I know that you want her and not me…that you always have…and that’s fine. Bring her to Fenlaros with you, if you must. I’m sure my father could be persuaded on that. But just…please—”

“You’re not listening, Kaeda. This isn’t just about my family. It’s about all the other families that would be separated, ripped apart by your father’s scheming. He’s power hungry. This is just the beginning of a whole host of self-serving plans that will bring him glory — do not doubt that for a second. People like him are never satisfied, and he needs to be stopped. Not encouraged.”

“You’re wrong.” Her voice is so weak, Az isn’t convinced she believes her own words. “He just wants a better future for Illyria—”

“No.” Az levels her with a pointed look. “He wants a better future for himself. I will not play a part in that, and neither will my loved ones.”

“Azriel, please—”

“I will attend your father’s ball, just as Lord Devlon has ordered me to do.” He breezes to the door, not caring that this is his room he’s leaving her behind in. He stops, palm poised on the handle. “But as for delivering a male straight into your father’s den? You better start trying that seduction on somebody else. Because there is nothing that would make me follow you into that camp.”

He leaves without a glance back. And while it sits uncomfortably inside him that he made a female cry…he can’t help feeling like he’s finally doing the right thing.

About time, too.

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This — this is the last thing you ever would have expected of coming to Velaris.

The tonic you’d needed was an extended amount of girl time with Roza. And yet here you are…in the High Lord’s arms.

“This is useless.” You murmur, aware of every single place your body brushes against his. One of his hands is a firm weight on the small of your back, the other clasping yours. “I’m not a natural dancer. Fuck, I’ve never even been to a dance.”

Fin’s mouth tips up at the corners. “There’s that filthy mouth.” His hand lets go of yours, opting to move up to the cut of your jaw, where he allows his thumb to rest on your lower lip. “You,” the pad of it swipes slowly over your mouth, “are going to be exquisite.”

You square your shoulders. Cock a challenging eyebrow. “Is that genuine encouragement, High Lord? Or an order?”

A deep chuckle. Slowly — reluctantly —he lets his hand drop. “Both.”

Flirting with him like this, playing the part of the High Lord’s pet, is a necessary evil. You’re just so surprisingly good at it that you can’t discern whether it’s an affront to him, or to Roza. Or both.

But you can’t deny that you’ve been flattered by his undivided attention this past week. And perhaps he’s been flattered by yours, too.

Mother bless Roza for her undying support. The best you can do for her, right now, is to keep her in the loop. She merely tells you to be careful.

But a week — a week of cosying up to Fin, of breaking through his exterior and appealing yourself to him. You humour him with these dance lessons, with the preposterously expensive shopping trips and dinners, the late night fireside conversations. Anything, everything, to get him to tell you what truth lies behind the excited glint in his eyes whenever he speaks of the ball. To tell you what it is he’s planning.

Perhaps you’re not appealing enough. You are no more aware than anyone else. And that’s really fucking frustrating.

At least your hard work has kept you from thinking about Azriel every five minutes.

Your breath still heaving from your dance efforts, you make your way over to the table of refreshments by the huge, arcing windows that overlook the city. The High Lord’s palace, you have to admit, is a place you might miss once you’re back in Windhaven. You’ve never been one for luxury, never had more than a few things to your name — but the views are what makes you feel like the richest person in all of Prythian. These are not the cold, barren views of your camp, but a place of such vibrancy, it sometimes makes you want to cry. It’s like the setting of a storybook, laid out right before you.

From behind, slow, graceful footsteps sweep across the wooden floor. Fin comes to a stop so closely behind you that his body heat encases you.

Fingertips make contact with your skin, the back of your neck. The sleeveless tunic you wore for your practice now feels like nothing more than a paper towel.

“You have such beautiful skin.” Fin says roughly, and you tense. So far, this week, he’s kept a respectful distance away. Hasn’t put you in any awkward positions.

You pivot under his touch, pressing your back up against the table enough that his hand drops. It’s not entirely for show as you smile apologetically and tell him, “Sorry — scars.”

Such genuine, slicing rage fills his face. The intensity of it almost knocks you breathless.

“I will kill him.” He says the words like a lover’s promise. “With my bare hands, I will kill him for taking your wings.”

He had the power to stop the practice before you were even born. He is very old — over nine-hundred-years — and very powerful. What he says, goes.

And yet…he means it. You can see it. And perhaps you have seen so much unkindness, such brutality, that little scraps of ferocity, of passion, in your defence, make you a blinded fool.

But a part of him — however small — actually cares about you. Enough to mark your abuser for death.

But your father’s blood will soak your hands, and yours only.

You smile up at him, wickedly, cunningly, prettily. “No, you won’t.” You reply. “Because I will do it first.”

And the fury in his stare simmers immediately to a different sort of heat. Your words are a flirtation to him — a cut of raw meat dangled above a hungry, waiting animal. They make him feel something.

“Such a murderous little thing.” His soft laugh caresses your skin. He sounds pleased — impressed. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

“I would hope so. I am to be your special guest at the ball, after all.” A small voice in your head wants to coax him; tell me what you’re planning, tell me what to expect.

But, as always, he steers the conversation away, a vague, mysterious smile on his face. “Do you like it here in Velaris, my murderess?”

“I do, very much so.”

“I can’t help pondering how much you would thrive here. You were made for so much more than Windhaven. Illyria, even.”

A soft, coy smile — one that comes from deep within that part of you that wants the praise, the compliments — that needs them. “Many would disagree with you.”

“Show them to me, and I will twist their minds until they see in you what I do.”

“And what is it you see in me?” A disingenuous little liar. A good actress. A traitor.

Fin leans down, and for one startling, heart-stopping, stomach-lurching moment, you think his mouth might meet yours.

But his lips brush over your cheek in a tender, barely-there caress. He presses a kiss to the skin before retracting. Straightening himself out. The way he slides his hands into his pockets with casual arrogance reminds you so much of Rhys that you miss your friend instantaneously.

“I see beauty that is unappreciated, and intelligence that is underestimated.” Fin says. “And I see a female that I wouldn’t mind having at my side.” His eyes trace you from head to toe. “I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

No response sits on your tongue. You think you might be too surprised by the genuine praise. The fact that the High Lord actually feels some level of affection towards you.

Maybe you’re not so bad at these games.

He turns without waiting for your response, and only when he’s at the door does he make eye contact with you over his shoulder.

“Keep practicing the dancing, my murderess.” He says. “We’ll make a fine pair at that ball.”

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If Roza weren’t so worried, she might laugh at the three expressions of outrage that meet her when she strolls into the cottage.

Rhysand jumps up immediately and demands, “Did you fly here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

Roza merely rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. “Don’t get your undergarments in a bunch, Rhysand. I’m pregnant — not on my death bed. The babe is fine.”

Her son does not look convinced. Neither do Azriel or Cassian. As if they’re, like, experts on pregnancy, or something.

“What are you doing here, mother?” Rhys stalks straight to the fire and stokes it. Then straight over to the kitchen to make a hot drink. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Mostly.” Roza pauses. “I hope.”

Azriel sits up at that. “Is Y/N alright?”

“She’s fine.” If playing games with the High Lord of the Night Court can be considered fine. Roza eases herself into a seat, and Cassian is promptly propping cushions behind her back. “I want to talk to you about the ball.”

Cass’s lips turn up into a half-smile. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, Roz. Promise.”

“You’d better be. Because I want all three of you looking out for Y/N at that ball, do you hear me?”

The command is a firm one, and yet the three males don’t straighten up at her matriarchal tone like they usually do. Instead, they share a puzzled glance, frowns pinching their features.

“It’s a ball for Illyrian soldiers and their guests of choice.” Rhys explains, carrying a steaming mug over to her. “None of us are bringing her along. Not to that.”

“You may not be.” Roza slides a protective hand over her bump. “But your father is.”

All three males go so preternaturally still, it’s almost frightening.

Rhys bites out, quietly, “What?”

“Your father is taking Y/N to the ball as his special guest. He’s bought her a gown, taught her to dance — he’s serious about this.”

“He can’t.” The shadowsinger’s face is like rolling thunder. “He cannot take her there. All those males—”

“That’s precisely why I’m not attending. He needs someone in my place, and he’s taking Y/N.”

“He can choose someone else.” Azriel’s clipped tone, his panic, is not at all personal to Roza. Usually, he would never speak to her in such a way, but—

But this is Y/N they’re talking about. Y/N in the High Lord’s hands, at a ball with so many Illyrian males, too many Illyrian males.

“Watch your tone, Azriel.” Rhys warns, but Roza is holding up a hand. Because she gets it — the panic.

“I’ve tried telling him to take somebody, anybody, else.” She says. “He’s insistent — absolutely adamant that he wants Y/N.”

“But why?” Cassian frowns.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if his kindness to her is genuine or not.” She shakes her head, absentmindedly stroking her bump. “All I know is that he’s taking Y/N to that ball, and I’m not going to be there. You know, Rhysand, that there is no changing your father’s mind once it’s set. I need the three of you to look out for her.”

Because Y/N is just as much a daughter to Roza as the little girl growing in her belly. They know that.

Rhys inclines his head, reaching out to place a hand over Roza’s. “We will, mother.” He promises. “Whatever game he’s playing…we’ll look after Y/N.”

Roza’s eyes dart to Azriel, to Cassian. “Do you promise?”

“We promise.” Cassian, unfazed as always, grins. “You just focus on the little one, Roz.”

Azriel’s face is grave, but he nods once. “We won’t let her out of our sight.”

Y/N is in good hands with them, Roza knows. She may even be in good hands with Fin, depending on what his true intentions are. Perhaps being at the High Lord’s side is the safest place she can be. It’s an unknown.

But one thing Azriel does know, as he wishes and wishes for this damn ball to just be over already, is that he’s wracked with guilt.

He can’t help feeling like it’s his fault — that his actions, his behaviour, chased Y/N right into a viper’s den.

That he’ll stop at nothing to get her out of it.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[asumofwords]

So this is a rquest. Aemond and his niece got bethroted but shes not happy about it. So, to tease him in hopes of him putting an end to their bethrotal, she starts flirting with every lord, guard or men that she finds attractive on the Red Keep. But, one night, she takes things to another level and sneaks out to a party at Flea Bottom and hes the one who finds her dancing on top of a table and, even if its a sight to be seen(thats what the men watching her with hungry eyes think too), he finally snaps and drags her out of there into a private place where some dubcon smutty action happens ;). With him telling her "if you want to act like a whore, ill treat you like a whore".

A/N: Oooooh, juicy. Thanks for the request!!! I honestly love the idea of giving Aemond a run for his money haha. I love seeing a man become feral. I hope you enjoy hehe.

Unsought Betrothal

TW: Dark!Aemond, 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Aemond being a cunt, forced marriage.

Words: 6k

Pairings: Aemond X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Your betrothal to the One-Eyed Prince was a shock you. 

Alicent had insisted that you marry your uncle in order to strengthen the bonds of your divided house, and your mother Rhaenyra was all too eager to agree. Despite the relationship of the two women having soured over the years, and efforts to rekindle it beginning, you could not say the same for Aemond. 

As a child, Aemond had been quiet, dutiful and albeit awkward, kind. Not quite fitting in, and baring the brunt of your brothers and other uncles bullying. Yet, underneath his quiet demeanour, was a simmering rage and vicious jealousy.

Lords and Ladies from all over the realm had come to join you this evening in the Red Keep to celebrate the engagement of the Velaryon Princess to the Targaryen Prince. The Hall was lined with tables and chairs, food piled high on gold and silver plates and goblets of wine and mead held in every persons hands. Music played loudly, and the overall mood of the room was happiness.

Except for you.

You sat at the table, watching the Court converse with each other, laughing loudly, and others dancing in the middle of the room as music played from the corner. All wore their finest gowns and silks, necks and fingers dripping with gold and jewels.

Aemond sat beside you stiffly, having not tried to converse with you as he simply observed the room of guests, goblet in his hand with a spiced wine from Dorne within. 

You sipped heavily from your goblet as you watched the celebrations, wishing for them to end so that you may disappear into your chambers, and enjoy the last few moments of solitude that you may have before you are wed to the Prince. 

How terribly dull. 

You had begged your mother to not allow this to go forward, to not accept the betrothal, but she refused. It was a way to prevent a war, she had told you, and that she had not been allowed to marry who she had wanted to either. 

And so you bit your tongue, and did what your mother bid you to do.

Sighing loudly, you pulled the goblet up to your lips, drinking the rest of the spiced wine quickly, feeling it leave a warm path down your throat as you swallowed. It settled in your stomach, and the buzz from drinking that evening began to rise. 

You turned your head to look at your uncle, “Are you going to ask me to dance?” 

Only the slightest, most imperceptible movement of his head, allowed you to know that he had heard you. You stared at the profile of his face, his sharp nose and face accentuated by the candle lit room. 

“Hm.”

The least he could do was dance with you, to pretend that he wanted you. To pretend that he cared for your happiness. You both had gotten along when you were younger, but when Lucerys took his eye, he had become most bitter and spiteful, always looking at ways to take it out on you.

Aemond would openly call you a bastard, trip you over and sneer at you. He would make comments about your hair, and dresses, your brothers and your father.

He made your life hell.

Standing abruptly you slammed the cup onto the table and shoved your chair backwards, before walking down into the space where everyone was dancing, leaving your betrothed to sit at the table with your family in silence.

Bodies weaved around each other and smiles lit up the room. The Lords and Ladies parted like the sea, to allow you to dance with them all, their hands coming up to their partners before spinning back around. 

As they made room for you, you were stood in front of Lord Cregan Stark.

Cregan was who you had hoped to be wed to, in fact who you had begged your mother to wed you to. You had heard nothing but praise about the man; of his bravery, of his loyalty, and of course his handsome looks. He had dark brown hair, almost black atop his head, it was lightly curled and sat just below his ears. 

He wore all black that evening, and the way his clothes fit his body made you want him all the more. As you looked at him he smiled, teeth showing as he bowed before offering you a hand. 

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Princess.” He spoke to you above the sounds of the music and people around you, as you held onto his hand and danced.

“Thank you, My Lord. You are too kind.” You blushed, as his hand came to hold at your shoulder. So respectfully.

“You have travelled far for such an occasion.” You noted.

“Of course, Princess. Who wouldn’t want to see such an event. And meet the famed Rose of the Red Keep.” You felt his hand come to the middle of your back, as you moved. 

The wine coursed through your veins as you spun again, feeling a burning sensation on your skin. As you looked up, you saw Aemond watching you and Cregan dancing, one eye narrowed and his lips pursed into a hard line. 

Perhaps you didn’t have to go through this marriage after all…

“I had hoped this would have been for us.” You purred, voice low so that only he could hear.

Cregan almost paused as he looked at you, dark brown eyes searching your face.

“You mock me, Princess.”

“I assure you, I don’t. I had asked my mother to betroth me to you. Though, she thought my uncle would be more advantageous. It is… tradition.”

The Stark did not answer you, instead his hand moved further down your black dress, settling on your lower back as you moved. You pulled apart from him, glancing up to see if Aemond was still watching.

He was.

“Would you mind accompanying me to get a drink, My Lord? I find that my feet are beginning to become tired, and I am thirsty for more wine.”

Lord Cregan bowed his head in acknowledgement, and led you through the crowd to the tables on the side. Picking up a goblet, you poured yourself a full cup, turning to face the dark haired man before thrusting the cup out to him to sip from first. 

His large hand brushed over yours and you felt heat pull through you. He pulled the cup to his lips and sipped, before talking.

“If I had known about your intentions for me, I would have rode here sooner.”

His voice was as smooth as butter, and you felt yourself drawn to him.

You felt that watchful eye on you still, burning into the side of your face.

“Or maybe I will have to ride back to Winterfell with you.” You stepped away from the table and closer to Cregan, pulling the cup form his hand, sipping the wine heavily as you slipped up to whisper in his ear.

“I heard that Starks never break an oath.” You let your lips graze his ear, and you felt the man pull in a breath, deep into his chest.

“We don’t.”

“That is… impressive.” You purr leaning back to look at him again, “So if we were to marry, and to speak our vows, you would honour them?”

“Would you?”

“One flesh,” You placed a hand on his chest above his heart, “One heart, one soul, now and forever.” You smiled at him. 

As you moved to lean closer to him, to invite him to follow you, to ensure people would witness you leave with him, to embarrass Aemond so that Alicent would annul the betrothal, you heard your name.

Both you and Cregan turned your head to see Aemond himself, standing beside you, eye glaring at your hand upon the Stark mans chest. Cregan took a step back, nodding his head at your betrothed.

“My Prince.” 

Aemond did not even spare the Lord a glance, nor even an amused, aggravated or bored hum like he usually did. He simply stared at you, and where your hand now hung limply by your side. 

“Come.” Aemond challenged you.

“Why?” You snipped back, turning to look at Cregan who stood where he was, looking all the more uncomfortable.

“You wished to dance.”

“Not anymore. I am tired.”

“Then I will accompany you to your chambers.”

“No thank you. I can walk myself.”

Aemond then turned his attention to the man who still stood beside you both, watching the stiff interaction.

“Do you have intentions to bed my betrothed?” Aemond questioned, as though he was asking about the weather. Tone all too uninterested, but lone eye bright with that quiet simmering rage.

“No, My Lord. We were merely talking.”

“Hm. Excuse us, we have much to talk about.” 

Aemond wasn’t asking.

Cregan nodded at your uncle before back at you, “Of course.” Before he turned back away and into the sea of people celebrating behind you. You watched, eyes wide and rage building inside, as your uncle stood in front of you were Cregan had.

“I see what you’re doing.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, Aemond.”

“Hm.”

“Excuse me, I have to finish my conversation.” You pushed to try and walk past him, back into the crowd.

Aemond’s hand grabbed your arm as you moved to follow Cregan back into the crowd, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your arm.

“Let go of me.” You grunted, as you tried to yank your arm from his grip.

Aemond turned his head away from you, looking to the far wall where Ser Criston Cole stood. The man caught the Princes eyesight before coming towards you.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” You growled, hand roughly pulling the One-Eyed Princes fingers backwards and off of you.

Ser Cole stood beside you, ever the dog of the Hightower’s.

“Please escort the Princess back to her chambers. She has had enough wine for the evening.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Ser Criston bowed, his brown eyes looking at your face expectantly. 

“No. I’m not going. These are my celebrations. And I am celebrating.” You snapped. Trying once more to weave your way into the crowd, finding Cregan’s gaze on yours as he watched the scene play out. 

“Don’t think you can whore yourself out to these Lords without me knowing.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hm.”

You snatched your arm away from his, before walking away from him back to the large table where you all sat. Alicent watched you anxiously as you sat back down, anger rolling off of you in waves, whilst your mother watched on in exacerbation. 

You spent the rest of the evening sitting at the table, not speaking to anyone else, watching Cregan from across the room, and feeling the gaze of your uncle as he observed you from your side.

You grew tired and restless from the celebrations and eventually excused yourself, bidding the table a curt good night before leaving the Hall and making for your chambers. The further you got from the Hall, the quieter the hallways became, until all that you could hear was the distant laughter and chatter of the court, celebrating an already doomed marriage. 

As you reached the end of another corridor that led to your chambers, you heard quickened steps on the stone floors behind you. Clasping your hands at your front you turned, expecting to see an angry Aemond, hot on your tails to berate you for the evenings events. 

What you did not expect was Cregan Stark, rapidly approaching you, hair wild and smile wide. His cheeks were a soft pink from the alcohol and likely the brisk pace he made to catch up with you.

“My Lord?”

“Please, call me Cregan.”

“Cregan.” You smiled, “Are you alright?”

The tall man stepped forward in a rush, his large palms coming to grab each side of your face before pulling you hurriedly into a chaste kiss, his lips pressing roughly against yours. He pulled away just as soon as they touched.

You smiled at him, stomach doing flips, heat crawling up your neck.

“Some Lords and my men will be going down to Flea Bottom on the morrows eve. Join us.” He asked, voice rushed.

Your smile only widened.

“Where?” You asked, looking behind him to make sure that no one else was listening.

“At the White Stag. Say you will come.”

“I will.”

Cregan’s smile made your heart warm. 

“Until the morrow. Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight.”

The next day went by slowly, as you anxiously waited on night to fall, and for you to leave the Keep to sneak down to Flea Bottom to the White Stag, where you would meet with Lord Cregan Stark. 

You had avoided Aemond like you usually did, opting to stay hidden in the gardens or your own chambers away from him, planning what to wear in your head mentally all day. 

Soon the moon rose high in the sky, and you had your maids prepare you for bed, bringing a bath to your chambers, letting you soak in the hot water, scented with fragrant oils.  

They could not leave your chambers sooner, and after you had finished your meal alone and had your hair brushed, you slipped into your bed and closed your eyes, pretending to be tired so that the maids would leave sooner.

As you heard the chamber doors close, you shot up out of bed, discarded the chemise over your head before throwing one of your black gowns on. Although you struggled to lace it yourself, you still succeeded. You pulled a large black cloak from your closet and pulled the hood over your head before placing a hand on the face of a painting. With strength you pushed the painting backwards, revealing a hidden pathway behind, one that you and your siblings and uncles had used as children, and one in which, you knew your mother had used in the past too. 

Shutting the path door behind you, you slunk down the passageway, winding your way through the Keep, and then finally descending down large steps to Flea Bottom below.  

As you reached the small city, the streets were lined with people and noise, drinks were being drunk, songs being sung and even performances in squares were watchers looked on at puppet shows and plays. 

You wound your way through the streets, not entirely sure of where you were going. That was when you felt anxiety. You did not even know where you were, or how to get there. Or what even the White Stag looked like. You looked behind you and noticed that you couldn’t even remember what way you came. 

Before you could let the anxiety overwhelm you, you felt a warm hand placed on your shoulder.

“Princess.” Came the smooth timber of Cregan Stark. 

You smiled at the man who stood before you. Dressed in dark brown leathers with his hair brushed backwards out of his face, bar one lone curl that hung down from his forehead.

“You look lost.” He joked.

You huffed a relived laugh, “Would you believe me if I told you I wasn’t?”

“Not one bit.”

“Well, you'd best lead the way.”

The White Stag was a large inn, with stone flooring and walls, exposed wood detailing and low light coming from candles and a large fireplace. The windows were adorned with rich red curtains, and tables and chairs sat strewn amongst the space. As soon as you stepped inside, the air changed. It was hot, bodies were everywhere as they laughed and sang and even danced. Women sat atop mens laps or sang loudly as they stood nearby. 

Cregan sat you down at a table that was full of men, you assumed also from the North, with three to four women standing beside, or leaning against them. Most ignored you as you sat, a large pint of mead being placed in your hand, as Cregan sat beside you. Turning his chair to face you fully, as you looked at each other. 

“So, I have been thinking about what you said last night.” He spoke loudly over the sound of the inn. 

“What did I say?” You teased.

“About oaths.”

“Oh, I think remember.”

“I thought of something else.”

“And that is?”

“Oi Cregan, who’s the girl?” Came a booming voice of a man across the table. His skin was pale and dotted in freckles, almost like constellations. He had short dark hair and piercing green eyes. Before Cregan could answer for you, you replied.

“Y/n.”

The man tilted his head. “Has the Princess lost her way?” He teased, smirk rising on his face. 

“Leave her be, Dustin.” Cregan lightly warned the man, which only seemed to spark his interest more.

“So you are the Princess then. Where’s your husband?” Dustin asked, thick accent curling his r’s, as he looked behind you.

“I’m not married.”

“Ah, but you are betrothed.”

You sipped heavily form your drink. 

“Not for a lack of trying. I had hoped to have that betrothal annulled. Do you have a spare horse?”

Dustin’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, then to Cregan beside you who laughed.

“You lost your dragon?”

“No, but I think the North would be far too cold for him. Plus, easily spotted.” You smirked, sipping again before turning your attention back to Cregan.

“So, what else had you thought of?” You inquired.

Stark smiled down at you as he shifted his chair closer, the sound of the wood scuffing on the stone below catching in your ears.

“Thought about oaths that I would make to you.”

“And what would those be?” You leant in closer, hand coming to touch his thigh.

“I would swear to honour you.”

“Go on.” You urged him.

“I would swear to give myself to you fully.”

“And?”

“I would swear to ensure that you never hunger or thirst for naught.”

“For naught?” You ask, heat building inside of you as you drank. 

Cregan smirked in response.

“And what if I told you that I was starved?” You asked.

“Are you?”

“Of a sort.” You let your hand crawl higher up his leather clad thigh, the muscles rippling under your touch. 

“Then I would have to work to fix that.” He smirked.

As the night continued, you and Cregan sat closer and closer to one another until your knees were brushing against each other. Dustin watched on shamelessly as a woman sat upon his lap, long slender fingers brushing against his neck as she spoke quietly into his ear. 

The night was filled with the laughter and joy you had hoped for last evening. Ale was spilt upon wooden table tops and floors, as men and women began to sing louder and dance upon tables and chairs. Before long, the woman who had seated herself upon Dustin pulled you up with her, onto the table to dance. 

You let her grasp your hand, as you laughed, looking back at an amused Cregan and and even more amused Dustin, as you pulled up your skirts to jump atop a large table, where four others had begun to stamp their feet and sing loudly to a song you had never heard. A sea shanty tale. 

You let the ale guide your body as you twisted and danced, laughing loudly with the woman, who you learnt was named Sara. Her long auburn hair glowed in the light as you leant on each other to dance, one hand still tightly grasped in your skirts to keep them from ripping beneath your feet. 

Cregan’s icy eyes watched your movements as you let a hand trail up the bodice of your dress, watching him with intent as you swayed. Stark leant back in his chair, legs widening, with one arm leaning upon the table as Sara placed a soft kiss to your cheek in excitement. You felt a blush crawl over your cheeks. 

All eyes were on you, as the men watched you sway your hips, hands smoothing up your body in a slight tease. The ale making your movements bolder as you stared at Cregan, challenging him to take you somewhere more private, or if he so desired, there on that very seat.

Never before had you felt so desired.

As you bent forward to give the men a show of your cleavage, you felt the world tip suddenly, as a calloused hand ripped you from the table. Your ankle rolled sharply as you stumbled back onto the stone floor, iron grip bruising the soft flesh of your wrist. Your sight caught those of the table who watched you, no longer in a trance, stiffly. 

You turned your head to you assailant, finding one piercing purple eye and another sapphire watching you in distaste. Aemond’s lips were pulled down into a sneer and he held onto you tightly, three men from the Kings Guard behind him, as well as Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan watched as Aemond towered over the both of you, looking down his nose as he watched in disgust, anger pouring from him in waves. And although he looked somewhat calm on the outside, you knew that this quietness was telling of Aemond’s simmering rage.  

“Do continue.” Aemond purred, pushing you roughly towards Cregan, your feet stumbling beneath themselves. 

“Don't-” You began before he interrupted you.

“-I think he was talking about fixing your hunger. Were you not, Lord Stark?” His one purple eye, boring a hole into Cregan's head.

Cregan did not answer, instead his jaw clenched. 

“No?” The One-Eyed Prince mused.

“Aemond, stop.” You hissed, ankle sore from the way you landed on it.

“But you seemed so content, dancing for these Northerners, niece. Continue.” 

“Fuck you. Craven.” You hissed, watching Aemond’s lip twitch upwards, before he looked back at Ser Cole.

“Ser Criston, have these men escorted to the edge of the city. I fear there has been treason this evening.”

Ser Cole and his men stepped forward, surrounding the table, as Cregan and his men looked up in shock. You looked at Cregan, wide eyed before turning back to Aemond.

“What? They did nothing wrong!” You began to panic.

“I fear there was a plot to tarnish your good name, Princess.” Aemond purred, snatching your arm painfully before beginning to pull you through the White Stag, and back out into the streets of Flea Bottom.

You dug your feet into the ground, trying to pull away from him, ignoring the slight pain of your ankle, but he was too strong for you, his bruising grip getting tighter the further he dragged you away.

“Stop! Let me go! They did nothing wrong!” You dug your fingers into his, trying to pry them away, but it was no use. He dragged you through Flea Bottom as onlookers watched.

You pulled a hand back, making a fist before you slammed it down onto his shoulder, “Get off!” You yelled.

Aemond stopped in his tracks, and you breathed heavily, still trying to pull away from your uncle. His head turned to gaze at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion, except the small twitch of his lip. His eye roamed you before looking behind you. 

Then suddenly he was moving again. 

Aemond pulled you into a small dark alley, bruising grip painfully throbbing up your arm. You looked frantically around you, but all had gone back to their business, and ignored the two Valyrians. He threw you forward into the space as your chest heaved, looking about to escape, but there was none. 

“If you want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like a whore.” He purred before he descended on you. His hands pushed you roughly against the wall of the alley, brick digging painfully into your back. You squirmed, desperate to get away from his grip, hands coming up to his chest to push your uncle away from you.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He growled, hands roughly coming up to palm at your breasts and you fought to push him off, fear crawling its way up your throat.

“Did you truly think I wouldn’t know what you were doing?” He sneered, one hand pushing against your throat roughly, cutting off your air. Your hands flew up to try and pull his away as he kept you locked against the wall in the dark depths of Flea Bottom.

“You thought you could parade yourself like a whore,” His hand ripped the front of your bodice down, your breasts spilling forth from their confines as his violet eye watched greedily, fingers coming to pinch painfully against your nipple, “To try and have this betrothal annulled.”

The cool air kissed at your breasts, causing your nipples to harden. You pushed at him with all your strength, trying to run away from the sharp pinching of his fingers, and the lack of air he denied you. Each pinch made your body stiffen. 

You whimpered.

“But you misunderstand me, niece.” His hand left their cruel assault upon your breasts to roughly begin hiking your dress up your body, you felt panic and fear begin to settle in your stomach as you dug your fingers into his chest sharply with your nails , trying to get him to let you go, shaking your head.

“Do you think I would let some filthy Northerners touch you?” His hand slipped under your skirts, brutally digging into the soft skin of your sex, “It will be my seed that will grow inside of you.”

Aemond’s fingers rubbed up and down your cunt roughly, gathering what little wetness was there, before he thrusted two fingers inside of you. Your eyes widened in shock as you felt the sharp sting of his intrusion. His fingers moved in and out quickly and painfully, pushing roughly into your warm heat as he watched your face.

“This is what you wanted, yes? To be treated like a dirty whore?” He purred, as breathless whimpers left your lips, your hands weakly pushing against his chest as you felt your vision begin to blur from lack of oxygen.

Your uncle’s hand left your throat and you sucked in a greedy gulp of air, a sob escaping your lips as you clawed at his arm, trying to stop his movements, whilst the hand that left your throat came down to roughly grasp at your exposed breasts.

“What would Lord Stark say to see you like this, hm? To see the Princess exposed in the filthy streets with her uncle inside of her cunt. Would he still want you?” He growled, hand quickening its pace as you felt a warmth begin to settle in your lower stomach, the pain fading away to be replaced with the soft trickles of pleasure. 

“Stop, Aemond. Please.” You begged him, voice hoarse as a tear slid from your cheek. He had you pressed so tightly against the wall that you could not move your hips back to escape him, so that all you could do was let him use you.

“Please?” He mocked, face coming close to yours before he kissed the tear away from your cheek. He hummed.

Your betrothed thumb came to press sharply at your slit, as his fingers rubbed the soft spongey flesh inside of you, pulling pleasure from your forcefully. 

A ragged moan left your lips as you jolted from the sudden pressure. 

“Mmm.” Aemond hummed close to your ear, moving his hand faster and more brutally. You felt tears begin to prick at your eyes, as you felt yourself being forced closer to your peak.

“Are you going to cum, zaldrītsos?” (Little dragon) He purred in your ear, as his thumb swirled roughly against the small bundle of nerves, the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten.

“Are you going to cum on my hand like a filthy whore? Out in the open for anyone to see? Perhaps I should have had Cregan and his men watch how disgusting you are.” He mused, and you felt yourself clench.

“Go on, be a good whore and cum for me.” He growled, and you felt the coil snap, as his thumb and fingers sent you over the edge, crashing down into a powerful orgasm.

His hands did not stop their assault, as you tried to push him away from you, tears sliding down your cheeks as your body twitched in the aftershocks of your orgasm. His fingers only became rougher as they pulled at you, before suddenly they were ripped away, a gasp leaving your lips as Aemond roughly spun you against the wall, your cheek digging into the rough brick of the alley.

His hands pulled your skirts over the rump of your ass, before pulling you backwards towards him. Your hands caught the brick as you tried to pull yourself straight and away from him, as Aemond clicked his tongue behind you.

“Be a good whore, and take it.” He hissed before you felt the soft hard head of his cock brush against the lips of your cunt. 

You moved to pull away but you were trapped.

“Uncle, please. No.” You cried, as you felt him push sharply inside of you, pain blooming within as he broke through your walls.

Aemond grunted from behind you before he started a brutal pace, his hips slamming against yours roughly, as you felt the painful sharp intrusion of his cock inside of you. The head of it, roughly hitting your cervix causing shooting agony to ripple up your body.

“So fucking tight.” He growled as he continued his assault, broken whimpers escaping your mouth as you used your hands to hold you up against the wall in purchase, trying to crawl away from him. 

Your uncle leant forward, crushing you with his body as he rutted up inside of you, changing the angle suddenly, brushing over the soft spongey flesh inside of you, causing you to mewl.

“Does that feel good?” He mocked as he continued to rub himself against the spot, the pain of him taking your maidenhead replaced with the warm sparks of pleasure, building faster than before. You shook your head, trying to move away from him.

“No?” He asked, “Let me help you.” 

Two of Aemond’s fingers shoved roughly into your open mouth before it snaked down the front of your dress, pressing against your clit, swirling softer circles around the nub.

Your cunt clenched against his cock as he continued to rut against you, his soft grunts in your ear as you felt yourself begin to wet around him, his cock sliding in and out of you smoother, aided by your arousal.

“I think it does feel good. I can feel your slick.” He mused as he continued to rub on you.

You felt yourself rapidly descending towards your second release, your fingers digging into the bricks as you began to chase after the peak, hips subtly pushing back against him. His fingers began to rub faster against you, as he thrusted harder into you, cock grazing that special spot as the coil wound itself tight, ready to break again before suddenly he stopped.

Aemond pushed himself fully into you, the head of his cock pushing snugly against your cevix as his fingers lifted away from your clit, preventing you from reaching your climax. A soft sob fell from your lips as your hips pushed back into him, chasing what was denied.

“Uh uh.” Your uncle tutted, “Beg.”

A whimper left your lips.

You refused to beg. 

Instead, pushing yourself up and down his shaft shakily, trying to catch your release, though your movements were jagged and shallow, prevented by him pushing you up against the wall. 

“Aemond.” You whispered his name, feeling the pleasure begin to simmer away from you, dwindling rapidly. 

“Beg.” He purred, softly pulling out and then slowly pushing back in, his shaft rubbing through you, causing pleasure to spark.

“Uncle.” You whimpered again, grabbing his arm trying to pull him closer, but he did not budge.

“Be a good little whore, and beg for it.”

“Aemond, please.” You begged, as you pushed your ass back into him, using your hands to attempt to rind against him.

“Please what, sweet niece?” He purred in your ear, hand grasping your hip tightly to stop your movements.

You shut your eyes tightly before sucking in a shark breath, head turning against the bricks so that you could peer at him from your periphery.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” Aemond mocked, as ground his hips into you, causing a wave of pleasure to curl its way around your stomach.

“Please fuck me, Aemond.” You begged louder. Feeling shame and arousal crawling through you as you hid your face back into the brick of the wall, pushing your ass back into his crotch, feeling his cock gently slide through your folds.

“Good girl.” He praised, before thrusting roughly into you, setting a sharp pace, hips clapping into the flesh of your ass, echoing in the empty alleyway.

A hand wound its way up your throat to hold you still as he pulled you backwards, arching your back against him as he thrusted wildly into you, before the other hand snaked down to begin rubbing at your clit again, fingers slipping around it smoothly with your slick.

“Please, please, please.” You whimpered, hips pushing back against him as his lips kissed against your neck, your second release rapidly arriving with every thrust of his hips. 

Aemond grunted against you as he felt you clenching around him, each push and pull of his hips dragging the head of his cock against your sweet spot, before it sent you tumbling over the edge.

The coil snapped and you found yourself moaning loudly into the alley, his hips continuing their brutal pace as he pushed you through your climax, his fingers continuing to rub circles against you, prolonging your release. You felt your slick drip down your thighs, and moaned.

“Yes.” He purred into your neck, before his teeth dug sharply in to your shoulder, his hips stuttering against you, as you felt his warm seed spurting inside.

You sagged against him, letting him hold you up as he continued to thrust into you slower, letting each spurt of cum settle deep inside of you, as some began to leak out of you and down your legs.

“Fuck.” He sighed dreamily, as he pushed himself to his limit inside of you, feeling your cunt twitch around him. 

A dull ache began to settle in your core as you felt Aemond slowly slide himself out of you, feeling his seed and your release drip onto the dirty ground below.

You breathed heavily as you caught your breath, leaning your head against his shoulder as his hands gripped your hips, bruising your tender flesh, before he spun you around to face him.

His hair was messed, and a light layer of sweat had settle upon his forehead. The pupil of his lavender eye was blown out so that you could scarcely see the iris behind it. His gaze trailed down your body to your exposed breasts which heaved with every ragged and exhausted breath you took. A hand came to stroke the underside of one softly, causing goosebumps to erupt across your body.

“My sweet niece,” He cooed, “Such a good whore for me.” You almost keened at his praise as his eye landed upon your lips. 

Your uncle leant forward to press a rough and punishing kiss to your lips, hand curling in your hair at the back of your head, denying you to pull away. You kissed him back lazily as you felt him smirk.

The One-Eyed Prince pulled back watching you intently before he smiled.

“We will be wed on the morrow, and you will carry my seed, and grow heavy with my child.” He looked down, brushing a hand against your stomach.

You blinked as you looked at him.

“If you thought you could escape me, you were sorely mistaken.” He leant in close, lips brushing your ears, “Iksā ñuhon.” He purred.

You are mine.

I hope you enjoyed that lil request! Thanks so much for sending it through, it was fun to write. :)

[livin4woso]

Chapter 1- breaking the media

You knew that clubs would be interested in you but definitely not this one. You were 16 and playing for arsenal after transferring there when you were 13. You started your career off at sunderland your home club with the aspirations to be like the many legends from sunderland including beth mead, lucy bronze, Jordan nobbs there were plenty to idolise so when arsenal had offered you a place on the u16s at 13 you couldn't resist. Your parents had very little care for the fact such a large club was interested with you and had no intention to move from the north east to london so therefore sent you to a foster home for your time at arsenal. The people who you had lived with were amazing and at some points you believed they were better than your own biological parents who gave no interest in your career and no care for you in general.

Your time at arsenal was amazing you were flying through the age groups and here you landed on the first team of arsenal. Now maybe this was due to the plenty of injuries of the backline and of laura the right back which just so happened to be where you played on the pitch that lead you to your debut but you were estatic to say the least. You only played half the game but didn't mean that you couldn't leave your mark on the pitch you had executed the perfect slide tackle on lauren hemp swiftly removing the ball from her feet as she edged nearer to the box.

That tackle had left jonas an impression and many other teams beyond the wsl. You began to make more frequent appearances on the team but only as a sub but still each time you stepped on the pitch the media was all over you the next star girl who was gonna be the big thing. All the titles and names should have put pressure on you to do better yet it never did infact it was motivation to carry on. Summer had arrived the end of the season meant big transfers arsenal had missed out on winning the title race yet you were the most popular conversation topic of where will you move next or if you would stay at arsenal. Now the conversation was relentless everysingle club had wanted a piece of you and for good money from what you had heard but it was ultimately your decision and a little bit of arsenals choice after they had turned down bids from Manchester city and Chelsea early in the transfer window.

Of course you wanted to stay at arsenal, you thrived there your idols were there you grew up admiring leah williamson, beth mead and vivianne miedema, you had a few offers on the table that your agent had given to you yet none of them beat arsenal or had come close to the same pay check but that wasn't the reason you were staying it was more of the bragging rights to say you were friends them even though you were like the adopted child of arsenal many complained that your presence was aging them but it was only for jokes they loved you really. Then the call came at 11.40pm just as you were about to crawl in bed after a long day of pre season grind as unlike the other girls you couldn't go on holiday and get drunk on a beach you were 16 you couldn't even legally drink but that didnt stop you. You were exhausted as sleep weighed on your eyelids then the phone rang.

"Barcelona are interested in you" your agent said to you. "WHAT, YOU'RE JOKING" you shouted almost waking up everyone in your house. "Yes but if you want to go you need to have an answer by tomorrow, the contract is a multi year so it will be constantly updated each year..." your agent began to ramble on about the terms of the contract "yes" you splutter out interrupting his long speech "yes what?" He asked back almost fed up of your frantic behaviour "yes, i want to go its the only club i would leave arsenal for and im not gonna get another chance like this" you said firmly there was no hesitation behind your words "right then we will final up the deal with arsenal and Barcelona and we will figure out an appropriate wage" he said almost scoffing at that last comment and going back to his professional terms (ramble) which meant nothing to you.

Once he hung up the phone you lay in bed in the darkness when reality hit you "omg im going to play at Barcelona" you said to yourself "OMG IM GOING TO PLAY AT BARCELONA" you repeated to yourself this time shouting almost squealing in fact. You couldn't believe it was happening, and you drifted off waiting for the deal to finalise it. It was going to be a long process of negotiation, but it was on you were willing to wait out for .Soon the red and white iconic kit would change to a blue and purple equally as iconic kit and you had a chance to write a legacy one which you knew would catch the medias attention, maybe even break it.

[brayneworms]

c'mon, baby, you're my best fix | sampo koski

kinktober day three: dry humping

word count: 2.4k

content: dry humping, gender-neutral reader, silvermane guard!reader, hatesex elements, sex as stress relief, semi-public (alleyway), reader has been drinking but isn't implied to be intoxicated, dom!reader + sub!sampo (but he's implied to be a switch), elements of sadism + masochism, degradation, coming untouched.

♪ love in a trashcan - the ravenettes.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

The biggest fucking lie anyone had told, ever, had come out of Sampo Koski's mouth that afternoon:

C'mooon. I can be good.

You know for a fact that this is a lie, because through no will of your own you have become quite well-acquainted with Sampo Koski, and if there's one thing you're sure of is that he has a physical aversion to doing what he's told.

He had been told, for example, the following many times: Leave me alone, Koski. You're a fucking creep, Koski. Stop conveniently walking by my workplace the very minute I finish my shift, Koski. No, you can't buy me a drink, Koski.

And yet he shows up anyway, like a bad penny, like a dog someone hadn't reprimanded harshly enough and had come sniffing around looking for scraps. Maybe you're too nice, but you sort of doubt it. You think it's more likely that Sampo likes when you talk down to him, which is a whole other can of worms that you're not remotely interested in opening.

"I get the feeling you're mad at me," comes that familiar simpering voice, sliding home into the booth opposite you. Sampo slumps forwards against the table with his face squished against his open palm, grinning that ever-present crescent-moon smile. Cut-jade eyes glimmer out at you through the half-light of the tavern. They always seem to be glittering, despite the absence of any real light. "It's this nagging feeling!" he continues gleefully, even when you glare at him. "This annoying but rather persistent voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that when you tell me to leave you alone, you actually mean it!" He gives a hearty laugh, toying with his flask of ale, and peers up at you through his stupidly thick lashes. "Still, I know it can't be true, considering what happened the other night."

Stupid alcohol. Stupid Sampo. Stupid, stupid you.

One day of weakness. Being a Silvermane Guard was never exactly easy work, but most days tended to be less harrowing than the one you'd had. Every lead you'd chased had slipped through your fingers, and your shift had ended abruptly when the brother of a victim you were seeking justice for had elbowed you to the ground in frustration and spat on you. Your superior wrestled him off you and told you to clock off early.

You supposed she was being kind, but it just made you feel more useless than ever. Boiling with anger and with nowhere to put it, you stormed to the nearest tavern with the intention of drowning your sorrows. Two cups of mead in, you'd gone outside to clear your head, and there he had been, lurking around like an alley cat, sharp eyes lingering on everyone who walked past. No doubt looking for his next easy target. You clear your throat pointedly, and he spins around. Surprise quickly melts into familiar delight.

"Captain, my Captain!" he trills, slinking over as he was wont to slink everywhere.

"Not a captain," you remind him for the fortieth time. "Why are you loitering around here, Koski?"

An affronted hand to his chest, as though clutching imaginary pearls. "Oh! Did they outlaw that, too? Going to cuff me and sling me in jail, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' tempt me," you grumble, tipping your head back against the wall of the tavern. "Can you hurry up and commit a crime in front of me, or something?"

Sampo grins. "Rough day?"

"You're not helping," you snip back, slightly unfairly. He isn't really doing anything more than hanging around being irritating. He slinks closer, slinks like he always does, like it's the only way he knows how to move. Oozing around like a toxic slime, draping himself against the wall just in front of you, arm braced against the brick behind your head.

"I could, though."

His forwardness is hardly a surprise. There isn't any danger of missing his meaning in the sleepy droop of his eyes, the lazy smile curling at his lips. Sampo is an incurable flirt to each and everyone—the thing is that most of the time it's part of the con. You know a few Silvermane Guards who have fallen into his charm and his bed that cut him a lot of slack where they really, really shouldn't.

Sampo Koski has friends everywhere, and that's what makes him so dangerous.

You know this. You have done for a while, especially because he'd been trying to worm his way into your bed for about as long as you'd known him. You resent the thought of him having any sort of power over you, though. There's no denying that he's attractive, and you've often wondered if he would be able to put his money where his mouth is, for lack of a better phrase. But handing over that amount of control to someone like Koski is just incurably stupid.

Because then you're trapped. Every time he'd catch your eye afterwards, they'd glimmer, and you'd know he was remembering your moment of weakness, inviting you to remember it too. Every time his eyes would rake down your body you'd know he'd be recalling when he'd seen it devoid of clothing, sweating, trembling. Every time he'd look at you, he'd know he'd already won.

Really, there's a very simple solution. Don't let him win.

"I bet," you breathe, meeting his eyes for once. You can see them widen slightly, his lips part in surprise before he makes a recovery from this most minuscule slip of his mask.

"Ohoho?" He lets out an irritating little laugh. "Gosh. Must have been a really rough day."

"I'd prefer it to get rougher."

Sampo's mouth splits into a wide grin, one almost fanatical in nature. "I should've pegged you as the type!" he gushes. "Why would anyone be nonsensical enough to join the Silvermane Guards unless they secretly enjoyed a little pain? Between you and me, Captain, I don't mind it either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" you sigh. "Only a real masochist would so frequently try to get under my skin."

His lashes flutter. "I'm trying to get under much more than that, Captain."

You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the alley beside the tavern. In the dusk light, the two of you slip into the shadows almost immediately, and you follow the narrow path down to the back of the tavern, where the noise of the street outside is quietened to a whisper. Sampo giggles behind you.

"What an exhibitionist you are," he says slyly. "I should've expected it from you, I guess. I guess—"

You plant two hands on his chest, shoving him back into the brick wall, and kiss him. His words flutter to a halt and he stifles a yelp of surprise against your mouth before his eyes squinch shut. His hands aren't shy, flying up to grip your waist, and you press yourself flush against him. He makes a whimpery noise into your mouth as your knee slots itself between his legs, pushing up. He runs hot, you can feel it even through his clothes, and it's a welcome immersion from the perpetual algidity of Belobog.

He grunts as he pulls away, and you take in the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the high colour in his cheeks with a tinge of gratification. "We don't have an awful lot of time," he says pseudo-apologetically. His hands fly to his belt, fingers working nimbly at the buckle. "I'm due somewhere in twenty—"

His voice stammers to a halt when your hand clamps down over his, stilling his fingers. Sampo blinks up at you, puzzled; the penny hasn't yet dropped, you suppose, even as you patiently pry his fingers away from his belt.

"What are you doing?" you ask bluntly. Sampo's lips part and he looks at you as though you're quite delusional.

"Ah... ahem?" He laughs nervously. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," you answer easily. "What are you doing?" Off his bewildered look—which you take the time to enjoy, considering how little you get to see anything but smug ostentation on his face—you shrug. "Oh, I see. That's what you thought this was? I take you into some... secluded little alley, and I get you off?"

Sampo's mouth drops open. "I—I would've—"

"Let's not delude ourselves," you interrupt, and push your knee up between his thighs again. He makes a high, shaky noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the brick wall. "D'you really think you've earned that?"

"Hm?" Sampo swallows hard, the juts in his throat flexing. "I—"

"All you do is hang around bothering me," you hiss. "And you think... what, one well-timed innuendo is all it took for me to change my mind? If you want to get off, then get off." Your knee slides against him, the stiffening in his trousers, and he makes a rather pathetic noise.

"You're not serious," he gasps, cheeks flushed scarlet. His sleepy eyes are wider than you've ever seen them and trained frantically on you. "Come on, Captain, you can't mean that. W-what would you get out of it, even?" He tries for a smirk. "I promise, if you let the reliable Sampo get his hands on you, you won't regret—mmfph?"

Your fingers slip under the stupid windows flaring over his hips, gliding over the skin there. He runs so warm, and it's ridiculous considering Belobog's perpetual winter, as you curl your fingernails into the skin of the small of his back 'till it dimples and drag his hips painstakingly over the flat of your thigh.

This time, sweet as music, he doesn't talk. His mouth drops open and he lets out a shivering moan, gloved hands scrabbling on the brick wall behind him. "You really are serious," he says in disbelief even as his hips roll absently against your leg. A strained laugh escapes him as—finally—a painfully scarlet flush starts bleeding into his cheekbones. "I always knew you Silvermanes were crazy."

"Mm. Not all of them," you say quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty crazy."

Sampo shudders, one that worms its way slowly through his whole body, and then he drops his head against your shoulder. He smells nice, like smoke and mint, his hair soft as it brushes your skin. His hips move languidly against you, stuttering occasionally, unsure—until you flex the muscle of your thigh against him. A whimper breaks free, high and whiny like shattered glass.

"You're so cruel," he groans even as his body drags against your leg. You underestimated how overwhelming it would be; his breath in the hollow of your neck makes the skin there hot and clammy, and when he moans it goes right in your ear. You're certain he's exaggerating to get your resolve to weaken. Nobody actually sounds like that.

And you can feel him, hard and hot as a brand, pushing up against your leg. You shudder almost imperceptibly, because yes, yeah, you're wondering how he would feel inside you, but you can't—not tonight, you promise yourself as your teeth grit. Tonight isn't about that.

It's about winning.

"Please," Sampo grits out, turning his head so you can see slices of his moonstone eyes through the sweaty locks of hair. "I—nngh, oh—I want inside of you."

"Take it or leave it, Koski," you say, a bit too breathlessly for your liking. He shivers with a sulky noise, and the whole time, even as he talks his hips are rolling against your leg. He picks up speed as sweat starts rolling down his skin, as his hands scrabble over the brick and then fly out to grab your waist and haul you closer. His strength is ridiculous—but so is yours. You let yourself be pulled, feeling his mouth and teeth against your ear, the breathy noises spilled across your jaw.

"Oh—please, I'm close." His eyes blink up at you, wet and deceptively innocent. The look on his face is almost heartwrending. "I need you, anything—your hand, mouth, anything, I don't care, please—"

"You're going to cum in your pants against my leg like the dog you are," you spit, your hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelps, the flush on his cheeks darkening, eyes fluttering shut. "And you're gonna be grateful you even got that much."

Sampo moans, broken and high; his hips stutter against your leg as his hands curl into your waist so hard you're sure they'll leave bruises. But under the pleasure is a certain frustration, a sobbing sound as he cums and it sets your blood alight. You shiver with the delight of it.

The seconds that follow feel like victory.

Sampo peels away from you, stumbling back against the brick wall behind him. He's scarlet all the way down to his chest, his mouth agape and eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears as he uncomfortably adjusts his pants. They're dark and it's night, so he can probably get away with them until he gets the chance to go home and change, but the thought of him walking around in soiled underwear thrills you.

You probably are actually crazy. Sampo's annoying, but he's quite perceptive.

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Well. Erm. That was..." He swallows. "The great Sampo really got himself in a rather sticky situation this time, didn't I?"

"Poor choice of words," you supply, and he winces, flushing harder.

He clears his throat. "Like I said, I, erm, have somewhere to be. Nice catching up, though." He puts two fingers to his temple and flicks them into the air in a mock salute. You watch as he spins lazily on his heel, rolling his shoulders as he starts his walk back down the alleyway.

"By the way," he added, pausing a few feet away. "I certainly hope that wasn't your way of trying to dissuade me." Your eyebrows raise, and he grins; his canines are sharp, and you can see them flash when his lips peel back. "Well, be serious: once you feed a starving dog, it doesn't leave you alone, does it? It comes back for more. Maybe it even follows you home."

He leaves you with that, one last lingering look and an implication that has you burning more than anything that transpired in the last ten minutes.

You get the altogether not unpleasant feeling that this will be far from the last you see of Sampo Koski.

[bunnysbrainrot]

Bourbon and Mead

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Alcohol consumption, flirting, slow-burn tension, slow dancing with Joel, teasing, POV switch. Bear with me, folks, this'll be worth it.

Summary: It's been a busy first week in Jackson, but you're finally starting to feel at home. Even still, you haven't made many new connections, but hopefully tonight's big event can help. Despite your nerves, you go anyway, and see some familiar faces.

Word Count: 4,300+

It had been just under a week since your patrol with Joel and his group, and you're settling in rather well. For such a shabby spot, you have decorated your living space impressively, and it settles something in you. After so long, you're really starting to have a place to call home.

Knock, knock, knock.

The noise shakes you out of a stupor, and you make your way to the heavy wooden door, and tug it open to reveal a friendly face, Maria.

You've had little chance to interact with new people since arriving in Jackson - when you're working as a community this directly, a hell of a lot of work goes into it. Which means, everyone's busy. Just about constantly. That being said, outside of your own room, Maria has been your only companion.

She can sense your loneliness, too, but she hasn't let on. The last thing you needed was the pressure of making a name of yourself in the first few days, so she had kept you busy with chores, patrols, hunts, you name it. To her, that plan would help you adjust to how Jackson functioned as a whole, so you could have the foundation of being a community member, to get your bearings.

Her smile is bright as she speaks, "Hey, sweetheart, just wanted to let y'know about the dance happening tonight. If you're feeling up for it, you should stop by."

The offer erupts a warmth in your chest.

"The dance?" You ask eagerly.

Maria nods, "Used to call it a square dance, but not enough folks know how to, so it's more of a get-together now, but we'll have music, drinks, the whole nine."

It doesn't take long for you to choose your answer. You cheerfully tell Maria, "That sounds wonderful. Where is it, and when does it start?"

She starts to describe the layout of the nearby buildings to the dance, waving her hands in front of her methodically, "But trust me, you won't be able to miss it. Just follow the music." Maria ends her sentence with a wink.

"What do I wear?"

There's a beat as she looks you over, and past your shoulder to your chest of drawers, which she helped stock when you first arrived.

Maria waves a hand dismissively as she replies, "Some people take the chance to dress up, some people dress down. You do whatever you're comfortable with, honey."

You flash her a grateful smile, and she issues a small goodbye before walking off.

---

A good few hours buffers you before the dance. The optional dance, but something in you will stop at nothing to go. You need to see people, have some laughs, live a little.

You take your sweet time getting ready, too. Some downtime is well deserved and rare, but it gives you the perfect window of time - debating on your outfit takes the longest. You opt for a casual hairdo, one that won't get your neck all hot and sweaty once you start dancing. The watch on your left wrist reads 6:47 PM up at you.

Whooping voices can be heard outside your window as people saunter down the street, toward the festivities, you assume. You sneak a peek through the curtains, eyeing a gaggle of townsfolk laughing alongside one another. Their eyes are bright, voices uplifted and loud. The men clap each other on the shoulder aggressively, while the women jab each other in the sides with their elbows. There wasn't much to make out, but whatever they were joking about had them roaring with laughter.

Seeing the crowd inspires you to make way out the door. You ensure all your lights are off, save for your nightstand lamp to come back to an inviting space. A deep breath later, and you were out the door, too.

There's a new feeling in the air, and you can place it precisely. Upbeat music plays far down the small Jackson streets, but its effects are widespread. All around, the other residents beam brightly as they go about the evening. Most people nearest you exchange small 'hello's' and wave politely, others still smile your way. Tightness wells in your chest as you realize just how long it had been since you'd seen so many friendly faces.

The music's volume eventually blares as you near the open area for the dance. The weather proves to be fair enough to host the event outside, so rows of string lights hang between nearby poles and sides of buildings. In the back of the venue is a group of people wielding a variety of instruments, nodding and bouncing with the quick beat of what you knew as bluegrass music.

"Hey, look who's here!" A voice calls out. You glance around until you realize the call was for your attention. You turn to the voice and recognize the woman from last week's patrol, who'd given you the rundown of who your partners were.

You greet her in return before registering the rest of the group. A few of them could be familiar around town, but for the most part, new faces.

Except for one.

Joel's eyes aren't on yours when you find him in the group. He's looking to one of the men, seemingly in a deep conversation. Perhaps he could feel your eyes on him, because his eyes flicker to yours for a split second. He pauses, lets his conversation partner speak, while he gives you a polite nod, before turning back to the man.

The fluttering in your gut was a dead giveaway, this is why you wanted to come. The prospect of seeing Joel again was exciting, but usually slim. And here he was. If only he could just move on from his conversation...

A hand lands on your arm comfortingly. The kind woman tells you, "It's so good to see you again! How have you been settling in?"

There's a twinge of an accent in her words, Southern, but more subtle. Her words are as soft as a hug.

"It's been going alright, finally getting to decorating," you start. The woman listens. Wait... did she ever introduce herself? Shit. How were you supposed to see someone this much without knowing their name?

"That was the best part when I got here. Once I had my space set up, it really felt like home," she replies.

There's a beat of silence between you, and it breaks when you ask, "I'm sorry if this is awkward, but I never got your name the first time we met." You briefly introduce yourself before she replies.

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, "I'm Cara. I never introduced myself, but I wanted you to have at least be one friendly face here."

"I'm thankful for it, I really am. It feels better now that we have names to the faces," you offer with a nervous smile.

Cara looks at you mischievously, softly grabbing your bicep, "Let's get a drink. Whaddya say?"

That kind offer melts your anxiety away, and all that's left is you, Cara, and the joy of sharing a drink with a friend. In moments, you have a glass of homemade mead in your hand.

Someone else from the group calls Cara over, so for a moment you're left alone with your cup of fermented honey goodness. It's sweet, slightly bitter, but leaves your stomach feeling warm as it settles. The burn in your throat is numbed by the warmth in your belly. You make it back to Cara's group and decided to strike up conversation with those folks, thinking that it'd be a good place to start.

The first few conversations are long - a flurry of questions about your background, your journey out to Jackson, and how you've been adjusting to the move. You learn some basics about some of them, but there's a distraction lingering in the back of your mind.

Joel.

A few people in the group break away to leave for the dance floor, the jovial music beckoning them ever closer. You don't follow immediately, which leaves you with a few stragglers, and him.

For the first time in days, you hear his voice again, "What'd you get?"

The question snaps you to attention, looking down into your glass. You glance back up at him and motion with the cup with a swish, "Some mead, I think. Pretty good."

He nods, "Pete makes some damn good mead, 'specially if it's for a party. Pulls out the good stuff."

Part of you wonders if his lighthearted talking is to make up for the blunder on last week's patrol, to ease the embarrassment you still held from it.

"What's in your cup?" You retort.

"Usually it's bourbon, but tonight, it's beer," he replies with a gaze into his own cup. He copies your motion and swirls the cup a few times. A bit of the foamy liquid sloshes out and onto the dirt in front of your, nicer, combat boots. Some of the beer spatters onto your feet and into the dirt.

"Damn, maybe they should cut me off," Joel jokes, reaching into his back pocket and revealing a handkerchief, holding it out to you. "Sorry 'bout that."

You take the cloth, "Making a mess of the place already, and it's not even eight o'clock yet, impressive."

The joke seems to land with Joel; you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes tighten.

Joel

What you say makes him chuckle. It's rare to find someone with a sense of humor these days. That kind of fresh attitude can bring a lot of life in a world like this, especially around here, especially after the loss these people have felt.

New folks were few and far between, given how desolate Jackson had become since the world fell to shit, but there was a wind of change when you arrived last week. Joel could tell from the second he saw you on patrol, even trotting ahead of the group at one point. The light in your eyes when you awed at the mountains tugged at his heartstrings. A type of longing for that kind of simple joy. To be young, without most of his hardships, seeing new parts of the world, even though it had shrunk.

On the patrol, you had gotten too far ahead, in line with Joel in the lead, and you knew it wasn't your place, but you hadn't shied away from him. In fact, you had embraced it, and listened keenly when Joel advised you keep your distance. Normally it'd feel like taming an unruly child, but you had a certain curiosity in your eyes, you were eager to learn.

Joel knows how harsh he can be, let alone to new faces. The worry of how that attitude rubs off on people subsided decades ago - one could say that Joel has truly embraced that 'grouchy old man' stereotype. That attitude has saved his ass more times than he could count, and has kept him safe after all these years. But, there's an unavoidable weight when it comes to hardening yourself up as much as Joel has. It's a truth that he's been evading for years. You make yourself untouchable, but you forget how much you need someone else.

Even so, it's easier that way. You keep losses to a minimum as long as you're not attached. Living that way had gotten him this far.

But now you stand in front of him, with beer-splattered boots and a kind smile despite your new shoes being soiled. You take his handkerchief and bend down to clean your shoes, and hand the cloth back to Joel. His fingers brush against yours when he takes it back - yours are delicately soft against his calloused ones, and it takes him by surprise.

In that split second, Joel's eyes search your face for any change, to see if you freeze like he does, to see if your breath hitches like his did, for any sign that this isn't just some fluke.

It could be a trick of the light, but Joel swears there's a new redness in your cheeks. When you look at him next, it's with bright, innocent eyes, a type of innocence Joel would surely ruin.

"Thank you, Joel," you say softly. His name on your lips is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, it's almost sickening.

Joel clears his throat and gives you a nod, "It's the least I can do."

The sun is dipping behind the mountains, streaking the sky with glorious pink hues against the emerging stars of dusk. A fiddle lilts happily as the song picks up pace, the tune itself serving as an invitation to get yourself moving. In the distance, Cara flashes you a wide smile, and waves a beckoning hand over to her gaggle of folks. You can barely make out her words as she mouths them.

"Let's dance!"

Joel notices your distraction, looking back at Cara trying to whisk you onto the dance floor. There's a good number of people breaking into a flurry of moves, all whooping and laughing as they pass one another. Joel looks back to you, the softness that was there before is seeming to dissipate. His face is hardened again, resigned.

"Guess I'm being stolen away," you say.

"Be careful," Joel replies, "Carried Away Cara doesn't let up. You'll be dancing for hours."

You comment, "Didn't know I signed up for that kind of night."

You've reached the group by now, and Cara is already handing you another glass of mead, and a huge smile to go along with it.

----

You're onto drink number four, you think, and the sky has shifted from a pale pink to a deep indigo, littered with bright stars and a beautiful crescent moon. It seems like the music has blurred together without beginning or end, and your boozy haze doesn't reveal any tiredness, so you keep dancing. Joel was right, Cara's had you dancing for what feels like hours at this point. But damn, did she know how to party.

The song the group's playing begins to slow down, and part of the crowd disperses away. Chattering can be overheard amidst the quieting music. You place a mostly-empty glass onto a nearby picnic table and look around the venue. Folks pass you by with a pep in their step, their faces flushed red from alcohol and relentless dancing.

A breath of fresh air wafts through the venue, rustling through your hair that had tacked with sweat to the nape of your neck. You smile from the sensation, relishing in the cool air across your hot skin. Shit, what time is it?

Your watch beams 10:13 PM back up at you.

Damn, where did all that time go?

The night has given you a rush of adrenaline you haven't found in what feels like months. Something about this dance is erupting a sense of joy you were sure you'd never feel again. Laughter, dancing, good people. Such simple things really do lift the spirits.

You can feel a pointed stare at you off to the side, but do you dare look? Of course you do - it's not like the mead is letting you act composed. Being as subtle as you can muster in your state, you glance to the side, where that looming sense had come from. Far off, leaning against a tall wooden fence, is Joel.

While he had practically ignored you when you'd first seen him tonight, he can't take his eyes off of you in this moment. Your heart skips a beat when he holds the stare, his deep brown eyes never leave yours, even as other partygoers pass between you. It's as if the world had paused, but perhaps just for you, frozen under Joel's gaze, the sole subject of his attention.

He stands alone on the side. No one to interrupt you if you go over...

Before you decide, you wave and smile. A silly drunken grin you'd normally hide. Right now, with his focus only on you, is the most alive you've felt in months. The high of it creeps up from behind, whispering encouragement in the form of a dare. Go up to him.

Your legs make the journey before you register what's happening; your body suddenly has a mind of its own, no way to back down now.

The narrowing distance from Joel pushes your heart to your throat. While your legs carry you smoothly, your senses are turned upside down. The anxiety you have about Joel is nothing but a distant memory. Tonight, you'd overcome your nervousness.

"Not much of a dancer, hm?" You call to him over the music.

A small smile spreads across his lips, "With these knees, I'm lucky to do a damn foxtrot. Someone out there was having the time of their life, though."

He truly has a gift. The moment he speaks, everything else seems to disappear. God, you'd ask him question after question just to hear that voice - deep and gravelly, but the accent is thick and sweet like molasses. A slip of your imagination has you wandering into uncharted territory. Imagine a "baby" or "honey" or "sweetheart" in that voice... Your mind vacates long enough for Joel to arch an eyebrow at you, and you're immediately brought back down to earth.

"I don't know how I went dancing for that long," you exhale.

Joel shakes his head with a chuckle, "You'll get some damn good sleep, that's for sure."

It'd be better if you were sleeping with me.

The unfiltered thought jolts through you, snapping you back to attention. Maybe the mead was making you a little too confident.

Behind you both, the music group's slow beat has pulled folks into a smooth rhythm. The dance floor littered with small groups and couples as the song continued. This new intimate energy could not have been timed any worse. You took a big breath and let it out slowly.

"It's getting late, I should probably head home."

Joel pauses, looking toward the band, then down into a cup of amber-brown liquid. Maybe he resorted back to his usual bourbon.

You follow suit and watch the band play on. A tug in your chest begs you not to go, not yet.

"Think you got time for one last go?" His question snaps your head to him. There's a new spark in his eyes, a softer glint amidst the chocolate brown.

Your answer is immediate, breathless, "Of course."

Anything. Anything for him.

As long as it reveals a glimpse of the man underneath the tough shell. It's still in him.

Joel extends his hand, palm up, to take yours. You lay yours on top plainly, holding a breath at the sensation of your skin against his. It's not like before with the handkerchief. This time, it's intentional, he wants to touch you.

The way his fingers curl to hold your hand settled that debate. His touch is careful. It didn't take a genius to know how rough he could be, with those toned muscles shifting under his plaid shirt; in contrast, he held you with such delicacy, as if you'd break if he gripped too hard.

"You know how to dance at all?" Joel asks.

You bark a laugh, "With this many drinks in me? Highly doubt it."

Joel's laugh is louder this time around. You can actually make it out, and you can feel that it's genuine. "I warned you about Cara. Now I get a drunk dance partner."

"Hey, you asked me to dance. You don't get to give me shit for havin' a good time," your words slur together, proving Joel's point.

Amidst the crowd, Joel manages to find you two a nice spot with plenty of room. The surrounding couples look how you feel - entranced with their partners, focused and attentive, like the other person is the only one left in the world.

"How 'bout this? You lead me."

You freeze, "But, I-I don't know what to d-"

"Do what you want. I'll follow."

"And if I make a fool of myself?" You question.

His other hand migrates to your waist, holding you gently at your side, "The you better really sell it."

Your laugh is giddy. He lets you have room for mistakes. There's room to be human around him.

A deep exhale later, you place your hands on Joel's shoulders and begin to sway, a slow and steady pace with the beat of the song. Seems the mead has done its work of clouding your judgement - you're locked in the swaying motion.

"Is this okay?" You ask softly, finding Joel's eyes. There's a warmth in them you hadn't seen before.

He nods gently, "You lead the way, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

Who'd have known that a single word could melt you completely. Your mind instantly hooks on it, cycles it in your mind as if to brand it into your memory.

Sweetheart.

Your smile is instant, but feels like one of those sloppy, stupid drunk grins that reveal how not-yourself you are at the words.

And so, you sway. As promised, Joel follows right along.

He shifts closer, readjusting the hold on your waist, spanning his fingers along the small of your back. A polite caress, not meandering and wandering around like most drunk men you'd encountered. Joel can keep his hands to himself. Joel has manners. Joel has self-control.

There's a lead to follow with his movements, you discover. It does feel more natural to wrap your arms around his neck like this...

In a swift moment you've melted into him, and with it, your nerves.

You also find that it's far more comfortable to rest your head on his chest. A beat later, your senses return, and you raise yourself back into standing position, realizing the crossed boundary.

"Gettin' tired already?" Joel asks bemusedly.

Maybe he didn't catch it. Thank goodness.

"You're basically rocking me to sleep here," you quip back.

Joel reminds you, "You're the one leading us."

You roll your eyes as you shake your head, bringing a laugh from him again. The sound of it lights you up from inside, flipping your stomach. You'd already learned that that sound was rare.

"Some dance partner I am," you say sarcastically. Joel's smile broadens, and the hand on your back shifts. His thumb idly sweeps across your spine.

Somehow, your arms are back around his neck, and your head is against his chest, all without protest. Joel's thumb still caresses your back as a sign. The song in the background changes to something simpler, with fewer instruments, giving highlight to a slow solo from the fiddle player.

"You're right, I think I'm gonna sleep like a log tonight," you murmur.

Joel's chuckle vibrates against your cheek. The huff of his laugh gives you a whiff of bourbon, sickly sweet and smoky, blending in with his deeper woodsy scent.

"You gotta be more careful next time," his voice slows. "We'll get some water in ya, help fight that hangover tomorrow."

You nod against him, smiling broadly, knowing that you're in good hands. Your words come out sheepishly, "I'm sorry I got so drunk. I... didn't think you'd see me like this."

A gentle squeeze on your side.

Joel's breath skirts across your neck when he mutters, "You think I'm gonna blame you for havin' a good time?"

His lips graze the shell of your ear as he speaks, and his words have a secrecy to them, an intimacy you hadn't seen from him before. You pay attention to the feel of his lips on your skin - they're soft and gentle, but know where to drag along in all the right places.

It's enough to leave your knees wobbling in your drunken stupor, high purely off of his touch, head spinning as you search for a new sensation.

"It has been pretty fun," you reply between trembling breaths.

There's a subtle brush of lips against your neck when he speaks, "I'd say I'm havin' a pretty good time."

Your knees practically buckle beneath you.

The rush of it all has you pulled back from him now, staring at him with surprised eyes. It's not that you didn't enjoy or accept that move, just that quickly, in front of so many people...

Joel's look shifts to something of embarrassment, "Maybe I've had a lil' too much."

You let out a nervous laugh, "I think I'm right there with you, I... I'm sorry."

He doesn't ask what the apology is for. He knows exactly which line was crossed. The hardened look returning to his eyes tells you that this moment of bliss is coming to an end.

"You don't got anything to be sorry for," the thick Texas accent is palpable in his reassurance. "I'm bein' a fool."

A fool. For doing this.

Hopefully he can't see the way that word breaks you. You force a bigger smile, a dismissive one that says 'we can just forget this ever happened', with a wave of a hand.

You offer, "Like you said, just having a good time."

His smile is wry. There's something unreadable in his expression.

Nonetheless, his grip of your waist loosens, releasing you as the fiddle in the background song comes to a silent end. Something akin to tension hangs in the air between you, pulled taught like a string to be severed.

"Well, I won't keep ya any longer. I... appreciate the dance. I know you're probably itchin' to get back in bed, so..." Joel says, trailing off, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You nod, collecting yourself, "Y-Yeah, probably good to get some sleep soon. You, too."

Joel smiles again, but his heart isn't in it like before.

He gives you a quick pat on the shoulder, eyes averted, "Get home safe, alright?"

Before you can wish him the same, he's lost amidst the crowd.

Hello, my sweethearts! So glad to be developing this story more, and I hope you've been enjoying so far! If you'd like, vote in the poll below for how'd you like to see this story develop (if you catch my drift)

As always, thank you so much for your support. And if you're new, it's nice to meet you! Love you all!

-Bunny

{all banners/dividers are from cafekistune on Tumblr}

[brnesblogposts]

Birthday Girl

(repost)

pairing: avengers x reader

a/n I kinda hate this but i needed to write because it’s been months. this only includes the og 6 + wanda & bucky, i could add in others too, just ask! or give me recs because i really don’t know what to write.

reblogs appreciated if you enjoy !

———————————

Eighteen years. That's how long you've been on this earth for (not counting the few off-planet missions you've been on), and as of today, you are officially an adult. You weren't a big fan of birthdays—I mean, you used to be when you were younger, and there was nothing to worry about. As you've gotten older, birthdays have become a reminder of the multitude of responsibilities you'll have to adopt.

You hadn't told anybody it was your birthday; reminding them was the last thing you wanted to do because the Avengers are known for their parties, and they look for the smallest reason to throw one. This year, though, that wasn't going to happen, or at least you were hoping they'd forgotten. 

It was 8:00 a.m., your alarm is blaring loudly on the bedside table, and without opening your eyes, your hand feels around for your phone and eventually finds the snooze button—just five more minutes. 

Suddenly, you become aware and alert. As you stir yourself awake, your body senses a loud, continuous noise, and you feel as if you're being watched. "HAAAAPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR Y/N, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU," your eyes shoot open to find Natasha and Wanda at the end of your bed singing their hearts out and grinning so hard their jaws must be hurting. 

"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead, it's your birthday!" "My girl is all grown up," Natasha says, wiping away fake tears dramatically. "Vision is making waffles for you; get up so you can eat 'em while they're still hot!" Wanda slaps your ankle, and you curl into a tighter ball. "Five more minutes," you whine, and to your surprise, the two women are not putting up with your nonsense today; your blanket is ripped off you, and you're met with the cold morning air. "Be downstairs in 5 minutes or I will pour a bucket of water over your head," Natasha retorts sternly; she is not messing around. You sit up, looking half dead, but you crack a smile, and with contented sighs, the girls leave your room. 

The kitchen erupts into roars of cheers as you enter wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. It's too early for this. 

The first to hug you is Tony, who says, "Happy birthday, kid; just because you're eighteen doesn't mean I'm going to stop being your overbearing father figure." You smile at him because that's all you can do and there are about eight hundred other people to hug; you just want your waffles. 

"Lady Y/N, Happy Birthday!" Thor booms, "In Asgard, at your age, you can start drinking; I brought you back some Asgardian mead for us to share!" Just as he finishes talking, there is a chorus of "no"s and stern looks sent his way. "Thank you, Thor; maybe when they're not looking," you say with a wink, and he returns a smile.

"Happy birthday, y/n." Bruce smiles; you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a soft spot for the guy. You give him a quick hug, which is awkward because, well, it's Bruce.

"Y/N!" "Happy birthday, pal!" Steve hugs you and accidentally lifts you off the ground; once he puts you down and you can breathe again, you thank him.

"Happy birthday, y/n! Now that you don't have a bedtime, we can spend more time scheming!" Clint smirks. The man is your partner in crime and also the reason why you get into trouble. You ignore his snide remark and give him a hug. 

"HAPPYBIRTHDAY Y/N!! I know you're eighteen now, but that doesn't mean anything because you're only a year older than me. What I'm trying to say is.. you can't boss me around." 

"Thank you, Pete," you say, and you smile. You swear his birth certificate is wrong. The kid doesn't seem a day past 14. 

"Happy birthday, doll; it would seem you're catching up to me," Bucky says as he hugs you. "Eighteen and one hundred and six?" raising an eyebrow "Yeah, same thing," you sarcastically rebuttal.

As everyone sits and tucks into their waffles, you take a second to look at everyone. You're happy they didn't forget. 

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

ok no i feel like at this point there could be a list of weird shit connected with my uni

the number of students is almost one quarter of the city's total population. you can clearly tell when the school year is over because the streets are empty

there is a student legend that if you climb through a hole in the 18th century baroque column at the town square you'll pass your exams. the university has to remind students not to do it because there is cameras and they'll get arrested. it just keeps happening

not only does the official university app have a meme page, it also has a Flappy Bird knockoff game that counts the users' score and has a chart showing which faculty has the highest total score (faculty of sciences is first, liberal arts second, education third. faculty of theology has even less points than non-student players)

there is also a Dobble knockoff

also every easter the school website has an egg hunt minigame which you bet is the only thing everyone does in classes during this time. it also has a scoreboard for the faculties

competition between the individual faculties doesn't end with flappy bird, there is a yearly competition in blood donation. I know a lot of universities do blood donation but not sure if any others make it a straight up war. if you ever dreamed of shedding blood to bring your people victory, rejoice! here you can!

there is also a yearly competition of which faculty drinks the most alcohol but i can't find anything about it rn

the faculty of theology keeps losing in every one of the aforementioned competitions

the university merch shop sells slivovitz, beer, wine and mead. you know. if you need to drink your sorrows away when you fail your exams

the university also has its own beer brewery

you know what, starting to think that this university actively wants us to fail by promoting procrastination and alcoholism

the puns. the. fucking. puns.

why just. why. stop. please.

oh also

the main building of the faculty of arts is built on top of a medieval burial ground. this fact might explain a few things

[thinkwosolife23]

I Can't Watch, Beth Mead

Y/N Mead. Beth Mead. A boxer. A footballer. But over anything else she was your wife.

You had just finished your last training session before the biggest fight of your life. Tommorow, you would step in the ring with the current Women's Undisputed World Champion. Savannah Marshall. Being the number 1 contender, tommorow you had the chance to become the world champion.

But for now, you just wanted to be at home, to be with Beth. So when you pulled into the driveway of yours and Beths home, it was the first time today that you had felt able to relax.

"Lover, I'm home!" The sound of your voice echoed throughout you home as you walked through the door, throwing your keys on the side before pulling your trainers off.

"I'm in the livingroom." Beth spoke back to you. You made your way towards your livingroom to where Beth was laying on the sofa watching something on the telly. She looked up towards you as you walked over and kissed her forehead before quickly pecking her lips.

"I've missed you," she said whilst you were walking back to the kitchen to grab a drink.

"I missed you too, today has felt so long." you told her as you jumped up to sit on your kitchen side.

Beth seemed to notice the tiredness in your voice and followed you to where you were sat, placing herself inbetween you legs, arms going around your mid section as yours rested over her shoulders. You being the taller out of the two of you, her head rested perfectly on your chest as yours slowly rested on top of hers.

"Bad training session?" She questioned you as if it was expected. "Nah, not really, Just the usual plus more. My trainers kept going over all the analysis and boring stuff. It just reminded me of all the pressure that's on me for the fight, the fact that i'm going into it as the challenger and should come out of it as the champion. It's just getting a lot now." You replied whilst Beth tucked her hands under the back of your hoodie, slightly scratching your bare back, doing the things she knows calms you down.

"Babe, you just need to trust yourself cause everyone else does, your so capable of winning this fight. And you've worked so hard for it." Beth responded back to you. But Beth herself couldm't tell you that your fight had been a constant thought in her mind over the last couple of weeks. Her thoughts constantly jumping to the worst conclusions. Broken nose, broken ribs, concussion. The potential that you could be knocked out, the view she had of your body splayed out on the canvas, not moving. After all that, her biggest worry was your mental health. She had seen how a loss affects you, she had first hand seen you shut yourself off from everyone, from her. She couldn't tell you that sometimes she wished you weren't a boxer.

You were in one anothers prescence for another 5 minutes, completly content with the comfort your wife was giving, always knowing exactly what you needed.

"I've got you, and that's all I need." You spoke, reminding her and you that she was your motivation: she was always your motivation.

Beth seemed to tense up when you said that, her body wanting to pull away from you. You pulled away from her, glancing at her face trying to find a reason for her sudden discomfort.

"What's wrong, love?" You questioned worringly. Her eyes refusing to meet yours as you jumped off the counter, standing in front of her, taking her hands in your own.

"I'm not coming." She spoke softly, the volume of her voice almost too quiet to even here.

You dropped her hands from you own. Your own hand going to your wedding ring, trying to calm yourself down and stop yourslef from getting angry.

"What do you mean your not coming?" The sadness and anger immediatly noticable within your voice.

"I can't watch it, Y/N. I can't watch you put yourself through that amount of pain. I can't be there when something bad happens to you. Everytime you step into that ring, I dread that you might get knocked down and you won't get back up."

Beth was crying by this point, the tears evidnent by looking at her face. You could feel yourself getting angrier, your nails digging into your palms where your fists were clenched.

"So, what? Me facing it on my own makes it easier for you. As long as it's easier for you, that's alright" Your voice raised as you spoke, you started pacing throughout yours and Beths shared kitchen.

"Did it not matter to you that I was there when you tore your ACL, that I was there waiting whilst you were having your surgery. I was there throughout your whole recovery doing everything I could to make it easier for you, to help you get through the process. God Beth! Did it mean nothing to you that I was there for you when your mum passed away." Your voice significantly quieter this time, the emotions were still evident within every word you spoke.

"That's not fair!" Beth snapped back. Her head coming up from it's dropped position, her eyes following you as you paced backwards and fowards.

"No! What's not fair is you telling me the night before the biggest fight of my life that you aren't coming. For better, for worse, in sickness and in health. You made them promises, you know when you married me. So much for being my wife."

The tears now fluent on yours and Beths face as you took your ring off and placed it on the side before going back to put your trainers on.

"Y/N, where you going?" Beth spoke as she watched you gather your things and grab your keys.

"Like you care!" And with that the front door was slammed shut. You quickly made your way into your car, no idea where you were going to go.

After 10 minutes, you eventually decided to message Alex (Scott). Funnily enough, she was the one who introduced you and beth to one another. Both her and Leah had become two of your closest friends.

Message: Alex x

Hey Alex, sorry for the late message. Me and Beth have had an arguement, am I alright to stay at yours tonight. Xx (08:37pm)

Hi Y/N, don't worry about messaging me. Course you can stay tonight. Drive safe, yeah Xx (08:42pm)

As soon as Alex had replied, you made the short drive to her house.

After getting there, you sat with Alex explaining everything that had happened between you and Beth not even an hour ago. All of your emotions soon flooded out and after a couple of hours of conversating with her, you both decided that it was best that you went and tried to get some sleep.

The next day…

You spent hours tossing and turning last night, your body clearly not liking the unfamiliarity of sleeping without your wife beside you. However, you did still manage to get an adequate amount of sleep.

You woke up to your phone ringing, flashing and just making a stupid amount of noise.

Notifications: Lover 😍❤️ 5 missed calls, 3 unread messages

Messages: Lover 😍❤️

I'm worried about you, can you please just let me know that your okay xx (yesterday, 11:20pm)

I'm sorry, please just come home xx (09:30am)

I love you xx (09:32am)

Your mind didn't even want to think about Beth, or anything that was said last night to be honest. You had to be in the right frame of mind today. The fight wasn't due to start until 08:30 tonight, but you were expected at the venue by 5pm.

Fight day rituals soon came around. Usually, it would be going on a walk with Beth, but today Alex had offered to go with you, the invite also extended to Leah who was straight round.

The rest of the day constisted of Alex and Leah trying their best to distract you from both the fight and Beth.

But all of it started to hit you by the time you were in all of your fighting gear, having your hands wrapped and going through some final combinations on the pads with your trainer.

You were quickly dragged out of your thoughts when one of the staff told you that someone was at the door wanting to see you. You walked towards your door and opened it to find that it was your wife stood there.

You were shocked but your face was tense and showed minimal emotion to her stood there. You turned around and went back to where you were originally sat, waiting for someone to put your gloves on. You glanced up to where Beth was stood, her body still fixed in the spot it was when you had opened the door, but her eyes were yet to leave yours.

"I want you all out." You motioned to everyone who was stood in the room.

"All of us?" One of your trainers relayed back to you.

"Yeah, all of you. I want some time with my wife. In private!" Beth eyes immediatly lit up at what you had just said. Everyone quickly dispersing out of the room, Beth soon walking in closing the door behind her.

Your eyes intensly watching her as she walked over to where you were sat. She picked your gloves up, gesturing to you to put your hand out so she could put your glove on.

"What are you doing here, Beth?" You questioned quietly, not needing another arguement before going out to fight.

"I might have had a bit of a telling off in training today by the girls. Even Jonas had a word with me."

"Good." Your response almost sarcastic.

"I am really sorry, Y/N. Your my wife, i'm meant to support you, be there for you. Through the good times and the bad. I went back on the promises that I made to you and I should've never done that." She said whilst she finished putting your gloves on.

"Come here, you soppy sod." You opened your arms to her, which she soon took advantage of. Wrapping her arms around your neck, yours going around her waist as you rested your head on her stomach.

Both staying like that until someone came in to let you know that it was nearly time for you to walk out.

You looked up at Beth, signifying that it was time for you and her to go. Her hands quickly coming up to your face, her fingers tracing over all of your features before her hands stayed rested on each side of your face. Both of you soon leaning in, your lips locking with hers. She pulled away after a few seconds but making sure here forehead rested against yours, the fear soon showing evident on her face.

"I'll be okay, y'know." You said trying to give your wife some form of reassurance.

"I love you." She said, knowing that it was the only thing you needed to hear.

"I love you." Your words indentical to hers. You stood up giving her one final kiss, "My beautiful girl."

One of the security guards came to take Beth to where she was sat as you were took in another direction.

Nothing will ever be able to describe the feeling of walking out to a full O2 arena, knowing that people are there for your main event. The second you were in people's view; the confident, almost cocky persona was on show. No fear was shown by your face or by your body language. You waited in the ring as your opponent walks out. Your eyes not on her at the minute though, they were trying to find Beth who was sat in the front row with her Arsenal teamates.

But now, your focus shifted. You had to be focus on this fight: not only were you in for the hardest physical battle of your life but you knew that this was a mental game aswell. Your opponent making it known by making a point of walking past Beth and holding her title up before stepping into the ring.

Once you were both in the ring, the spokesperson began introducing both fighters. Also, going over all the rules and stipulations of the match.

10 rounds. 2 minutes each. No headgear. Disqualification for either fighter for any low blows.

You bumped gloves before going back to your corner so the fight could begin.

The first few rounds showed the level of intenstity that this match held. Neither fighter backing down. You took some hard blows but so did she.

Round 6. That was when the balance of the fight took a complete shift. She was showing why she was the current champion. You were taking blow after blow from her, but you still managed to hold your own for a while. It was only when she had managed to land a combination that had took so many fighters out in the past.

She landed a harsh left hook to your ribs forcing you to hunch over in pain; her right hand then punched you square in the face sending straight to the canvas.

Immediately, you felt the pain of the punches you had took and then you felt the blood running down your face, you managed to roll yourself on the side so you didn't swallow any blood. Your eyes looked foward to find that Beth was directly in your eyeline, her eyes glued to your bloody state.

She was trying to figure out if you were able to carry on. Everyone could see that you were trying to get up. You were now on your knees, trying to muster up the energy to stand. But the referess count was already at 6. You were still looking at Beth, trying to use her as motivation and when she mouthed, 'I love you,' that was all you needed.

All of a sudden you were up and ready with a new founded energy.

Round 7: the momentum was all yours. She was getting tired and you knew you had to use that to your advantage. She had slightly dropped her guard and this was you chance to finish it.

Your left hand connected with the side of her head knocking her off balance before your right hand uppercut landed cleanly on her jaw.

She was down and with that the referee started his count.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

You'd done it. You had won. You were the world champion. You dropped to your kneew in disbelief, eyes full of tears that you had actually done it.

The crowd were full of cheering fans and the ring, by now, was filled with people. You stood back up and made your way over to the former champion. You gave each other a hug and spoke of the admiration and respect you held for each other.

The referee and spokesperson brought you too the middle of the ring: announcing that you were the new Women's Undisputed World Champion and gave you your belt.

But now all you wanted was to find was person. You got out of the ring walking round to where she was. Her eyes were filled with tears and it only made it worse when she seen you coming over.

When you got to her you put your belt over her shoulder before she jumped on you, wrapping her arms around your neck and her legs wrapped around your waist.

"I'm so so proud of you, baby. My wife. My world champion." She said to you as you slowly put her back on the ground before attaching your lips to hers causing the whole arena to arrupt again.

You did it, you were now the World Champion. But nothing came over Beth, you knew that everyday you had her by your side and that was someting no trophy or title would ever beat.

After all… you were

Y/N Mead. Beth Mead. A boxer. A footballer. But over anything she was your wife.

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Basilisk

Words: 950

@wolfstarmicrofic

Mildly sexually suggestive, nothing explicit. It’s a dick joke, sorry. 😂

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

James stood on the table in the common room. His first year as quidditch captain had seen them win the cup easily. He’d been stocking up on alcohol for the last few weeks once it became clear that short of a freak result, Gryffindor would be victorious.

All of the Gryffindor sixth and seventh years, and a few from other houses were sprawled around the cosy room, the younger years being sent to bed early, and silencing charms meticulously applied by Lily and Remus. James and Sirius always went overboard at post-quidditch parties, that was a given, Pete usually ended up either throwing up or with a hangover, but Remus was usually the voice of reason.

This is why it was surprising for everyone to find Remus and Lily sitting opposite each other on the sofa, passing a bottle of fire whisky back and forth, whispering, and giggling. Sirius was quite unsettled. Usually, Remus would have a couple of drinks and then keep an eye on him and James. He felt like if he carried on, Remus would be the one who needed to have an eye kept on him.

Remus threw back his head and laughed at something Lily said and a sharp pain flared in Sirius’ chest. Why was he jealous of Evans? Maybe because he’d only ever seen Remus laugh like that at things that he said. Were Remus and Evans…? No, surely not, he’d never do that to James. Right?

“Who pissed in your mead?” Marlene appeared next to him. “Ah. Still being a pussy, then?”

“I regret telling you anything about my life.” Sirius frowned, “It’s not being a pussy to be curious about what the fuck is happening on that sofa.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She jabbed him in the ribs, making him yelp. “If you’re worried about him and Lily, you don’t need to be. You should know your boy better than that, for fucks sake.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius took a few gulps of his mead. Why had he asked James to get mead? It was vile. “What’re they doing then?”

“Spending time with each other? Having a chat?” Marlene looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Nowhere near enough,” Sirius admitted. “But the rate that Moony’s going, I probably shouldn’t have much more.”

Marlene’s face softened. “Aww, Sirius. If you’d been this sweet when we were together maybe we’d have lasted.” A beat of silence passed before they both burst out laughing.

Remus and Lily looked up from their conversation at the disturbance. Sirius took in the blissful smile on Remus’ face and didn’t miss Lily nudging Remus and him knocking her arm away, giggling again. Lily stood up, pointing to Sirius and then to her now vacant seat. Sirius nodded and threw himself over the back of the sofa ungracefully.

Remus held the bottle of fire whisky aloft so it didn’t break, but he got a knee in the thigh for his trouble, “Ow, fuck. Padfoot!”

“Sorry, Moons. That was a lot smoother in my head.” He reached for the fire whisky bottle and Remus raised an eyebrow, “Please? Mead is disgusting.”

“I could have told you that.” Remus rolled his eyes before handing over the bottle. There wasn’t much left at all.

“What were you and Lily talking about?” He asked, passing the bottle back to Remus.

“Pick up lines.” He covered his mouth as another giggle escaped.

“Pick up lines?” Sirius repeated. “With Lily?”

“Yeah, maybe she has her eye on someone.” Remus tapped his nose with a wink. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“And you?” Sirius asked. “Do you have your eye on anyone?”

“Yep,” Remus said, draining the bottle and setting it down on the floor. Sirius was impressed.

“Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“Yep.” Remus laughed. “For now.”

Sirius frowned slightly, “Oh, uh, ok. Do I get to hear any of your pickup lines then?”

Remus thought for a second before straightening his face, pulling Sirius towards him by his shirt and muttering in his ear, “Is that a basilisk in your jeans or are you just pleased to see me?”

Sirius spluttered as Remus threw his head back laughing in that familiar way. “Jesus Christ, Moons!” He stared at his friend as he looked over his shoulder and gave Lily a thumbs up. “Since when do you get dating advice from Lily?”

“Who said I was the one getting advice?” He leaned back on his elbows on the arm of the sofa, not taking his eyes off Sirius. “I may not brag about it like you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m the angelic little prude the three of you make me out to be.”

Sirius was stunned, “You get with people and don’t tell us?”

Remus quirked an eyebrow, “Not even I spend that much time in the library, Padfoot.”

“Not Lily, right?” Sirius had to double-check.

“Of course not. I’m not a dick.” Remus frowned. “I’d never do that to James.”

“Ok good,” He nodded. “Who then?”

“I’m not telling you.” Remus looked amused. “It’s not my business to out people.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. Sirius nodded, “Yeah, of course, sorry.”

“You look grumpy.” Remus tilted his head to the side. “Why aren’t you drunk? You’re usually up on the table with James at this point.”

“Thought you might need someone to be your Moony, the rate you were drinking.” He shrugged. “Plus, you know, mead.”

Remus’ face went through several different emotions before settling in a wide grin. “You’re looking after me, Pads?” He paused, “Are you the room of requirement? Because you’re exactly what I need.”

[starsthewitch]

Star’s guide for Freyja worship 💛🪶

Who is Freyja?

Freyja is the goddess of love, sex, beauty, witchcraft, war, strong women, magic, death, the runes, the Valkyries, love, marriage, fertility, female sexuality, the Disir (female spirits), women, life, plants, joy, happiness, and cats.

Though she is most known for her love influences, being the wife of The All Father, Odin, and her cat and Valkyrie associations.

What are some things she is associated with?

Animals: Falcons, cats, boars, deers

Plants: Practically every plant, flowers, and medicinal herbs

Colors: Yellow, gold, white, green, red, pink, and light blue

Crystals: Amber, rose quartz, rubies, red jasper, jade, malachite, emeralds, tigers eye

Runes: Fehu, but she’s often associated with the runes in general

Incense: Vanilla, cinnamon, frankincense, sandalwood, rose

Her tarot card: The chariot

What can I give to her as offerings?

Gold jewlery

Erotic or romantic poetry

Chocolates

Aphrodisiacs (chocolates especially)

Cannabis

Mead

Wine

Honey

Bread

Pork

Roses

Edible flowers

Amber

Strawberries

Citrus fruits or drinks

Pretty rocks

Skulls or bones (animal only)

Imagery that depicts her

Cat imagery, whiskers, or claws

Falcon feathers or talons

Devotional acts or things you can do in her honor

Wear devotional jewelry

Masterbation (if comfortable)

Sex (if comfortable)

Being kind to cats

Learning the runes

Learning divination methods

Learning witchcraft

Fighting for womens rights

Create or listen to a playlist dedicated to her

Talk to her (tarot cards, dice, pendulum, bones, and other methods work just fine)

Write her letters

Draw imagery of cats and falcons

What is it like working with her?

When it comes to Freyja, she can take on an almost motherly or sisterly role. She often watches from the sidelines, coming to you if you need her or if she would like to say something to you. You can feel her presence as clear as day, it’s warm and comforting, and maybe a little bit heavy and overwhelming.

Praying to her for the first time was quite easy for me because of how comfortable I felt in her presence.

Here are some things I’ve experienced while working with her

I was absolutely terrified one night. There was a meteor shower I completely forgot about that was happening. I have my own room in my basement, and being in the basement meant that you could hear every last one falling. I was afraid because it sounded like someone was breaking in. I closed my eyes and asked Freyja for protection because I had no idea what else to do. And I dreamed that my head was in her lap, her rubbing my head gently and looking down softly at my face.

Seeing cats a lot and them being nice to me!! Often happens with strays

When I would let my cat in my room, she often hopped up on her altar space and sat down, usually not disturbing anything but her crystals. At that time, Aphrodite and Freyja’s altars were right next to each other, and she left Aphrodites alone completely.

She has helped me gain confidence, i’m getting better at speaking out about things

You will often see a lot of her sacred animals. Ladybugs and deers being one of them. I would see them very often, I still do

Back when I needed to get surgery, I told her I wouldn’t be able to work with her much due to my recovery, but to still protect me because this would be my first and major surgery. I was barely in pain, I slept decently well, and there were no complications. I felt safe.

That is it for my beginner Freyja worship guide! I will be doing these for another deity I work with, Apollo.

I do hope these were helpful. If you have any questions or need assistance with anything, my ask box and my dms are always open. So be sure to shoot me a message!

Much love to you. <3

[viixenvi]

𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬

Summary: Bucky was out very late drinking. You fell asleep before him and he slipped into bed. Next thing you know, you are woken up to Bucky screaming and trashing around.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nightmare, trauma, mentions violence, drunk Bucky, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart, honey), panic attack, reader gets accidentally hit, kissing, very sad apologetic Bucky, TONS of angst

Not proofread!! Forgive mistakes

Bucky stumbled in, his keys jingling in his hand. He was out drinking with Thor and Steve. Thor brought some mead and of course, Bucky wanted to try it out. He couldn't get drunk normally, not after becoming the winter soldier.

He was definitely drunk now. Steve had helped him to the door and left after making sure Bucky could walk to bed. He scanned the room, his eyes falling on your sleeping figure.

"Must've fallen asleep," he says to himself while removing his jacket and shoes. He leans forward and falls onto the bed, groaning. You feel the weight shift and open your eyes slightly. Bucky is pulling the blanket over the two of you.

You reach out for him and he pulls you close. All you hear is him whisper 'goodnight' before you are fast asleep.

"No! NO!" Bucky's voice cries out. You are pulled out of your sleep immediately, sitting up in a panic. Bucky is sleeping next to you, his hands are clenched onto the sheets underneath him.

"Bucky, baby?" you whisper. You weren't sure if he was going to scream again so you slowly reached over to him. The moment your hand touched his shoulder he was screaming again. His arms thrashed around like he was trying to hit someone.

Your heart was racing, Bucky's nightmares were the worst part of the nights he drank. You placed your other hand on his chest and shook him lightly.

"Baby? wake up, it's just a nightmare," You say, this time a little louder. This causes Bucky to shoot up, his eyes wide. He is breathing heavily, tears starting to flow from his eyes.

Bucky can't seem to recognize his surroundings as it's dark in the room. He sees your figure and assumes you are here to take him back to Hydra.

You almost fly across the room from the impact of Bucky's metal arm pushing you. "Bucky, sweetheart it's me. It's your doll," you choke out, eyes flushed with tears.

You can see Bucky rocking back and forth, his arms wrapped around his legs that are pulled to his body. This was normal for him when he had panic attacks.

You manage to get up, slowly walking towards him. "Shh Bucky, calm down you are safe." Your voice seems to soothe him enough for the situation to sink in for him.

Suddenly he's wide-eyed, looking at you for any sense of pain you may be feeling. You reach over and turn on the light, illuminating the room.

Bucky now sees your torso, which has already started bruising from the force of his metal arm. Guilt washes over him as he tears his eyes away from you. He turns his head and keeps his eyes glued to the bed.

"M'sorry doll," he whispers, backing away from you when he feels you sit on the bed. You texted your arm, grabbing his metal one. You needed him to know you weren't afraid. It was an accident, his nightmares got out of control sometimes and you had forgotten he didn't like to be touched after waking up from one.

"Honey, I'm okay. You forget that I'm trained for combat. A little push won't hurt me," you clasp your fingers with his and kiss the cold metal.

Bucky seems to relax enough to pull you onto his lap. He lifts your shirt and looks over the area, placing soft kisses on your torso. He pulls away and kisses up your arm, stopping at your lips. They are inches apart and you feel his breath.

"Forgive me, m' so sorry doll," he whispers against your lips, waiting for you to answer.

"Of course I forgive you, baby, accidents happen." With that, Bucky closes the gap between the two of you and kisses you, his metal arm in your hair. You place both hands on either side of his face and kiss back.

Bucky's the one to pull away before he places his head on your chest, nuzzling onto you. He pulls you as close as he can as he listens to your heartbeat.

You were the only one who could calm him down completely. Every bone in his body, every muscle, relaxed the moment you were in his arms.

The guilt managed to wash away somewhat, though Bucky couldn't stop the tiny amount of it left to crush his heart ever so slightly. You meant everything to him and for him to hurt you, even on accident, tore him apart.

"Let's go back to sleep, hm?" You whisper in his ear as you run your fingers through his hair. He shakes his head no, leaning onto you more.

"Can we stay up just a little longer?" He questions. You don't hesitate before saying yes and repositioning yourself to be leaning against the headboard.

Bucky is sprawled on top of you, his head still on your chest and your hands still in his hair. Bucky never felt so safe before. You were his safe space and soon enough he was fast asleep in your arms.

[bluegekk0]

Apologies if this is a repeat ask, my mind is melting a bit cause of the heat, but are there any holidays or festivals that are celebrated in Dirtmouth?

Hi I know this ask is very old, but at the time I didn't have any worldbuilding related to holidays. Now I have some ideas, and I'd love to talk about them!

First, I want to mention how the year is divided in my AU. There are three seasons recognized in Hallownest: Snowmelt, Harvest and Nightfall. Snowmelt is their equivalent of spring, it lasts three months. Harvest is, as the name suggests, the season where most of the crops are harvested, it follows the warmest day of the year, and it also lasts three months. Nightfall is the longest season of the year lasting six months, and is characterized by the near absence of sunlight and snowfall.

I'll start with some celebrations that take place in Snowmelt. Also, just to not overcomplicate things, these are the holidays celebrated in Dirtmouth; things most definitely look different underground, but I want to focus on DIrtmouth as that's the key location of the AU.

New Day is their new year celebration, it is where the bugs reflect on the previous year and make wishes for the one that follows. Historically it was first celebrated on the day the snow melted for the first time, which gave the name of the season. A symbolic bonfire, which I'll mention later, is lit for the last time before Nightfall.

Flower Hunt and Love Day are two holidays that happen one after another. During the first one, the young ones gather flowers for a large bouquet while the adults sing, dance and drink. Flower petals are collected, many of which end up decorating the streets of Dirtmouth. The latter of the two, as you'd expect, is the day where bugs celebrate their love and appreciation for their partners, families and friends, gifts are shared and flower petals co

First Sow is a symbolic planting of the first seed, which will be harvested in the following season. A small feast is held during this day.

Sun Festival is the day which celebrates the hottest day of the year, and marks the end of Snowmelt. It's one of the biggest celebrations in Dirtmouth, with picnics, singing and dancing, and various competitions. Many merchants visit the town during this holiday to sell their wares and participate in the celebrations.

These are the holidays I came up with for the first season, and the ones I focused on the most. The other two seasons are still very much work in progress in this aspect.

I'll start with the three Harvest holidays I have so far.

The first one is Old Light's Dusk, which originated under the name Old Light's Dawn. It used to be a day dedicated to The Radiance, as her worship was a lot more widespread years before The Pale King's arrival. Now, it is the day that celebrates the end of her infection, with a symbolic basket of feathers being burnt and offerings being given to The Ghost of Hallownest memorial.

Harvest Fair is when all the fruits of the harvest are enjoyed, Dirtmouth holds the biggest feast of the year to celebrate. The holiday involves a lot of dancing, singing and, of course, drinking, with mead, wine and cider offered for free to anyone who joins the celebrations. The Troupe also prepares a special performance at the Longhouse.

Spirits' Rest is the remembrance day of those who passed. I don't have many details for this one yet, but I do think it would involve visiting the graves and lighting a symbolic light.

And lastly, the two Nightfall holidays so far.

The season begins with Sun's Farewell, a day where the bugs symbolically say goodbye to the sun and prepare for the long night that will soon come. The main focus of this day is the bonfire in the center of the town, which is lit for the first time and then kept ablaze for the remainder of the season.

The second holiday I have some ideas for, at this moment, is the Fire Festival. This one was introduced fairly recently, after The Troupe settled in Dirtmouth. Those who wish to celebrate gather around a fire and watch Grimmkin put on a show full of fiery tricks and dances.

---

Okay, this is all I have for now. I'm still slowly working on this part of the worldbuilding, but it's been really fun so far! I hope you like it, and I'm open for any suggestions for more holidays!!

[plushie-sentai]

King Ohger Drinking Headcanons

Made a little list earlier in reply to @stickers-on-a-laptop but then got carried away in my free time at work and did a whole bunch so. Have fun! I love liquor and spirits (in like. A ooh yummy this is cool bartender way and not in a I love getting drunk way) so this was honestly rlly fun to write!

Character headcanons below the cut with some little stories hidden inside lol

Sorry I’m too lazy to fix the formatting I might do it later lol

⁃ Gira isn’t accustomed to drinking, he’s young and was used to being at the orphanage all the time anyways. When he does drink with the kings he either opts for something nonalcoholic like a glass of sparkling cider or whatever someone hands him. Kaguragi likes to mess with him and give him cocktails that he SAYS aren’t alcoholic but… definitely are. (Kagu learned the hard way the first time he messed with him like this that Gira is a lightweight and ended up taking care of him overnight in Shuggodam’s castle. The only person who knows is Douga since Gira doesn’t remember and Kagu refuses to admit he felt bad about the incident or that it even happened)

⁃ Yanma - drinks watered down bud light ass beer for the longest time. He doesn’t like it, but it’s what his mentor drank and he thinks it makes him look cool. That, and it’s cheap. This is all he drinks until Himeno buys everyone a round of her favorite cocktail of the week and he realizes he REALLY likes sweet stuff. He orders fruity drinks all the time “for shiokara” but if you watch carefully they’re always sharing it and he never finishes more than one shitty beer anymore. Kaguragi hasn’t told him abt craft beer and ipas yet but he knows it’ll rock his world. Absolutely forgot to add that if Yanma DOES order a cocktail for himself openly it’ll always be a jack and coke.

⁃ Himeno - Drinks fancy cocktails all day everyday. They’re usually very sweet, sometimes extra dry depending on the mood, and she loves anything with champagne, but despite how they look they’re always a higher percentage than anything the other kings are drinking. She also loves a good wine and savors any sommelier knowledge she receives from Sebastian, Cleo, Elegance, and of course Jeramie. Her dinner parties are always coupled with tasteful optional drinks planned to fit the meal. At least once she has a drinking contest with Kaguragi and absolutely drinks him under the table to everyone’s surprise (except sebas)

⁃ Rita - Rita also doesn’t drink much, as they aren’t a fan of being drunk around others and certainly don’t enjoy the mood that comes with drinking alone, but once they’re closer with the other kings (especially Himeno, as she and Morphonia get Rita to try all kinds of new things together) they branch out into drinking here and there. More often than not, you’ll find Rita at a king celebration nursing a glass of sake, a Smokey whiskey, or some very expensive vodka on the rocks. Don’t knock it till you try it in the cold of gokkan.

⁃ Kaguragi - Kaguragi of course drinks anything hand crafted from Toufu. His favorite are the Nigori sake and Daiginjo Junmai sake made from the Suzume’s tears rice. Of course, he’s also a big fan of mead! He does enjoy a good craft beer on the occasion, and will often drink whatever Himeno is serving at her dinners, even if it’s not his usual taste. He’s just happy to be included and have an opportunity to mess with the others a little given he has the highest tolerance out of anyone other than Himeno and Suzume and finds himself getting more tipsy while the others are already fully drunk.

⁃ Jeramie - Jeramie LOVES wine. He’s been drinking it for a long time and even has some bottles that he found in his mothers things that he’s never opened (that in my heart him and Gira share at their wedding). He tends to drink a rose or any white wines as he’s cautious of spilling red wine onto his suit, but he does love a nice sweet red blend too. Whenever he goes wine shopping in the different kingdoms he brings a bottle of his favorite reds to Himeno as a gift.

⁃ Racles - Big baby with alcohol. Never drank much due to fear of letting down his guard around others. Will drink whatever Suzume gives him but mostly refuses drinks from others even after the end of the story. When he does drink, he loves Suzume’s Nigori sake or a small glass of orange blossom mead. He does his best to be the “DD” for Gira (or whoever else needs it really but he always says he’s only there for Gira) Is a very loving and silly drunk the few times he has been and always gets snuggly with Gira (familially obviously), Suzume, and Kaguragi. Gira gets a bit embarrassed but always welcomes it happily, and suzu and kagu LOVE the attention and a chance to mess with him.

⁃ Douga - douga doesn’t like to drink a lot since he works a lot, but Gira tries to make sure he and his family are invited to celebrations where douga may partake in the occasional light beer (typically whatever Kaguragi brings bc he knows it’s always good). He used to drink a decent amount when he was younger so he tries to gently help Gira make sure he isn’t gonna over do it… Gira does accidentally anyways frequently lol

⁃ Kogane and Boone obviously don’t drink alcohol but Gira still makes them Shirley temples all the time as a treat (my sister used to make them for me when we had sibling sleepovers and watch mean girls so this is mostly for me lol)

⁃ Shiokara usually drinks fruity cocktails because he enjoys sour stuff and sodas, which he now usually ends up sharing with Yanma while he poses like he’s still drinking just his shitty beer. Shiokara is also a lovey dovey drunk, but no one is surprised since he’s also like this when he’s sober. Shio is also often a caretaker after parties, even if he himself is drunk, and finds himself helping with clean up and getting people home hydrated and safe, despite usually needing a place to crash himself (hopefully into yanmas arms-)

⁃ Sebastian doesn’t drink super often as he’s worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up appearances as an older gentleman, but when he’s with just the kings or just the ishibana squad, he doesn’t mind letting the veil drop. He’s unexpectedly a bit of a flirty drunk, but knowing this he’ll usually remove his makeup before drinking just so he doesn’t accidentally creep anyone out. Even regardless of that he’s still very aware and occasionally charmingly over-careful about people’s boundaries. He usually drinks whatever he is helping to prepare for Himeno as it’s what’s available, but his favorite is Spumante champagne.

⁃ Cleo - Cleo is a conniseur of all things ishibanan, her favorites being cocktails made with crème de violette and/or white chocolate crème liquor. She doesn’t get drunk often unless she’s having a girls night with elegance and Himeno (and sometimes sebas), but when she is she somehow ends up very quiet and only speaks to either give the wisest advice you’ve ever heard or something just completely unintelligible to anyone but her.

⁃ Elegance doesn’t drink pretty much unless Cleo does, so they’re about on par there. They like to share drinks with each other on occasion so they can try everything sebas and the chef came up with for a meal or party. The first time she drinks with the other kings however they learn that she used to be a bit of a partier when she was younger and always has stories to tell about this time. Yanma (and sometimes Kagu) like to challenge her to arm wrestling but they pretty much always lose. Yanma definitely always loses.

⁃ Morphonia may have started drinking when she was a teen (just for shits n giggles) but she still has a laughably low tolerance. She tried once to drink whatever Rita’s drinking but that night… did not end well. Not that she didn’t appreciate being waited on by Himeno and Rita themselves. She’s honestly a fan of the light beers Yanma never seems to finish, and she thinks the fact he won’t admit he hates them is funny, so she drinks them for him whenever he leaves one open. I don’t think Yanma ever notices it’s her drinking them, lol. She loves to party, but she’s a very chill drunk, and definitely prefers an edible to a glass of anything.

⁃ Kuroko - will typically have the first glass out of any bottle opens for Kaguragi, mostly for safety, but he tends to enjoy the same as him other than will prefer to have beer more often than any spirit. Doesn’t drink a lot because he likes to stay on guard for Kaguragi (though he usually doesn’t need it lol)

⁃ Suzume CAN outdrink Kaguragi, and is pretty evenly matched with Himeno, but often prefers to pretend to get drunk so she can pull pranks or gossip or do whatever scheme she has her heart set on. She also loves a good Suzume’s tears nigori sake, and will occasionally partake in an edible when offered by morf. The few times she does get genuinely drunk, she almost seems exactly the same and lucid?? People are very confused by this lol

⁃ Gerojim, like other bugnarak, have “strange taste” when it comes to liquor. His favorite drinks, on the rare occasion that he feels comfortable to partake, are VERY light absinthe cocktails with a lot of sugar, a bugnarak-made kelp liquor (yes it exists irl), and buganarak algae beer (which also exists, tho very little of it lol. A French brand made some in 2022 and it’s BLUE). Despite his size, he is definitely a lightweight, and is very careful about how much he drinks as alcohol tends to have a bit of an aphrodisiac-like effect on bugnarak and gerojim gets very embarrassed about his behavior during previous fun-times. (note: this is based in studies showing that rejected male flies may turn to alcohol when offered combined with a cursory glance at articles about alcohol creating pheromone signals in fruit flies as well. No promises that this is perfectly accurate but I think it’s fun LOL)

⁃ Dethnarak tends to avoid alcohol, as he both doesn’t enjoy most of it but also is uncertain as to the effect it may have on him in larger quantities.Some worm-descending bugnarak are incapable of getting drunk and find health benefits to drinking it, and others are highly sensitive to it and can do major damage to their nervous systems when partaking. If he drinks at all, it’s usually a glass of expensive smoked mezcal tequila on the rocks. (See again cursory google search at the effect alcohol can have on earth worms, also the joke of worms being in mezcal lol)

⁃ Iroki, Nephila, and Karras have girls nights in hakabaka whenever they feel like having a little fun. Given its hakabaka, they can really have whatever they want, but iroki tends towards a very sharp Namazake sake like she drank made from the rice grown by the dybowskis, nephila a deep dry red wine like an aged Cabernet Sauvignon, and karras a nice bourbon brûlée like she’d have to keep warm and cozy in gokkan. They get as pleasantly drunk as they wish, no matter how much they drink. Their nights are always fun and maybe… occasionally involve some spice.

⁃ Akka likes a good IPA and will often bring a case of somethin new to try to hang outs with the nkosopa gang. He doesn’t drink a lot in general and tends not to get drunk just by preference.

⁃ Mayuta LOVES coming up with new fruity and sour cocktails with shiokara, but also really loves a good IPA like Akka since he keeps bringing them to hang outs. She gets tipsy at parties but isn’t crazy about being drunk either. She just likes to have fun :)

⁃ Asuba drinks a lot of seltzer drinks, basically whatever nkosopas version of white claws and trulys are. He’s happy to drink whatever Yanma and shio are supplying as long as it’s not his shitty watery beer, though. He likes a good party and drinks a decent amount while gaming with the rest of the squad. He’s definitely a goofy/clumsy drunk, telling a lot of jokes but tripping over his words and himself.

⁃ Bonus: Grub! - grub kinda drinks whatever’s put in front of him and has a surprisingly high alcohol tolerance. A lot of people think he’s a bit of a pothead but he doesn’t actually smoke or do edibles as he’s not a fan of feeling high. He can be a bit of a sad drunk, so he’s grateful to have a higher tolerance to keep himself in check, but he’s still a big softie caretaker at heart and will help clean up after parties with shiokara if he’s sober enough to do so, otherwise he tends to fall asleep easily past a certain point and he’s a VERY heavy sleeper lmao. His favorite drinks are margaritas and lemon drop shots, anything sour!

[focusandthefuries]

The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 3

The shame Thórgestr had felt earlier in the morning had not completely gone away, but it had morphed into something much more complicated. Anger at Fargrimr for putting him into the position were that could happen in the first place and confusion an Senua’s lack of anger. At her lack of reaction at all.

He expected her to be angry. To be disgusted. To yell at him for the way his body had reacted. She did no such thing. She stayed there, sitting next to him for several minutes before they had redressed and made their way to the town hall. Or, attempted to, at least.

His leg once again gave out, and when it did, that is when he finally saw the anger cross Senua’s face. She rushed to him once again and helped him to his feet. He could barely speak when she grasped both sides of his face. Her face was so close to his, close enough that if he had tipped his head just slightly forward, their noses could have been touching. He blinked slowly, distracted by the way her thumbs felt tracing over his cheeks. His eyes drifted to her lips. Pale pink and slightly chapped. He would make sure to remind her to drink mead or tea at breakfast.

“You are going to see the healer.” She said through gritted teeth. “I will not allow you to refuse.” Senua was angry. Angry at herself for being the cause of his pain. Angry at him for forcing her hand in battle. Angry at The Furies for stoking the flames of guilt within her.

Look at him Senua.

He can’t even talk.

You cannot lead him into battles like this.

He will die.

He will die because of you.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down over her face. It was then that Thórgestr seemed to break whatever trance he had been stuck in. Hesitantly, his hand reached up and cupped her cheek in much the same way she was holding him. With as much tenderness as he was capable of, he wiped the tears away. “Senua,” he breathed, unsure of what else to say. He wasn’t even sure why she was crying. He felt powerless. He did not enjoy the suffering that so often masked her features.

The moment was broken much too quickly for Thórgestr when Fargrimr’s and Ástríor’s voices were heard fast approaching. Senua had jumped back like she had been scalded by boiling water. He could not suppress the hurt that caused him, Senua could see it in the way his typically proud posture deflated. That too, worsened her guilt.

“Ástríor,” Senua, called, making sure her words would be heard first, before whatever she or Fargrimr had to tell them. “Thórgestr requires the assistance of your people’s healer.”

“The Björg deserves nothing from us. We have already done him a great kindness by leaving his throat uncut.” Ástríor's eyes darted to Thórgestr. They held so much rage that he was tempted to reach for his ax, just in case he might need it. He fought the urge, just barely successfully.

“Senua, I already told you. I am alright.” He did not wish to fight with Ástríor and hoped that his refusal would pacify her enough so they may get on with it. The more time that passed between their initial plan to go after the tyrant and actually getting there the more he grew anxious of what would be waiting for him when he returned to his home.

“Nonsense. I know that he is not viewed favorably by you or your people, Ástríor, but we need him. He risked his life to kill your giant. To bring me here. He wishes to stop everything you hate him for, but he cannot do that if he is unable to guide us to this Tyrant or to his father. Do you understand? “ Ástríor let out a deep, unhappy sigh.

“Senua is right.” Fargrimr added, glancing at the frowning face of his male companion. He found it curious that Senua was making this request, and even more curious that Thórgestr was trying to convince everyone he was fine. What had happened to get the fire in her eyes to burn so strong?

“Fine,” Ástríor spat. She was unhappy at having to help Thórgestr, but she was indebted to Senua, and if it was something the seer requested, it was something she would get. “go eat. I shall bring the healer after she is done with the others she must see first.” She stomped away, not unlike a defiant adolescent, intentionally catching Thórgestr’s side with her shoulder. His eye twitched at that.

“Come. I am quite famished. I am sure you two are as well.” Fargrimr smiled at Thórgestr as he walked past, only getting a scowl in return. Fargrimr noticed Senua’s watchful eye on the Northman, flinching every time he took a step that was less steady than ideal. Curious.

When the trio was finally sat at a table, provided with cooked fish and bread, Thórgestr’s sour expression started to relax. The food was cooked well and the bread was still warm. A hot kettle of tea was placed for them in the center of the table. Thórgestr grabbed it, pouring Senua her cup first, followed by his own, and then reluctantly poured Fargrimr one as well. He was angry at the skinny man’s trickery the night before, but he was happy to have spent the night in a woman’s embrace.

“You need to drink.” He grumbled to Senua. The corner of her lips turned up just slightly at the way his r’s rolled gruffly off his tongue.

It is poisoned.

Don’t trust him.

Do not drink.

She hesitated at The Furies words, but took a small sip after he took one of his own.

“Well then, have you thought of a plan.” Fargrimr queried.

“We did not discuss one.” Thórgestr interjected quickly. He was not keen to discuss what had transpired the night before. Granted, it was nothing scandalous or improper, but it felt too intimate of an experience to discuss so openly. It did not feel like an interaction with an adversary, nor did it feel like an interaction with an ally. It felt most like a night shared among lovers, though he was not sure if he was seeing more than what was there. Feeling more than what was there.

Thórgestr noticed the amused smile Fargrimr was fighting to keep off his lips and shot him a murderous look.

“I see. Did you rest comfortably?”

He knows.

He saw her on top of The Northman.

What must he think happened?

You know what he think, Senua.

Senua choked on her tea. Her companions did not have much time to fret over her as Ástríor marched into view, an old woman hobbling behind her. She must be the healer, Senua presumed. While the venom with which Ástríor approached with was obvious, the healer greeted Thórgestr with much greater kindness. She smiled at him, her grin absent of many teeth. Her hair was grey and braided. She reached out and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it up to her lips. She kissed his markings like a peasant would kiss the ring of a king. Clearly, she had met a Björg much more demanding of her subservience before. Thórgestr felt his guilt might eat him alive.

“That is not necessary…” He trailed off, but, she merely smiled at him again.

“My son was around your age when Sjavarrisi took him from me. You remind me of him. You have the same eyes. You avenged my son, and for that I owe you my deepest gratitude.” Thórgestr tried to smile at her in response. His words were failing him and he was uncomfortable. He was not used to being spoken to by the people of these lands with anything but fear and anger in their voices.

“What is it that ails you, my son?”

“My leg.” He shifted in his seat, pulling the fabric up for her to see the wound. “It was struck by the blade of a formidable opponent.” He flashed Senua a smirk quickly before looking back to the healer.

He hates you.

No, he respects you.

Look at him.

He will live.

The old woman hummed as she removed the makeshift bandage. “I can help you, but first, you must wash the wound with this.” She removed a bottle from the pouch that was slung around her neck. “I will prepare the ointment you need while you are at the bath house. You will need to rest here another day. I will meet you back at your quarters when I am ready.”

Another night…

Alone with him.

Will you hold him again, Senua?

Like you held Dillion?

“Get up, Björg. I will show you to the bathhouse.” He nodded and stood to follow, wincing slightly as he did so. Senua got up as well, feeling compelled to follow Ástríor wherever she was going to lead The Northman.

She wants to kill him.

She will kill him.

Will you let her harm him?

What will you do if she tries?

“Do you wish to bathe as well, Senua?” Ástríor questioned, her tone warm and concerned. Senua thought for a moment. The rain had washed some of the blood and grime away, but there was that which still remained. “Yes.” She answered, no more, no less.

Inside the bathhouse, there seemed to be two rooms that split off from the main entrance. They were separated by a thin wall, but there was no door that closed. “You may take one room, he may take the other.” Ástríor lingered after Thórgestr chose his path, grabbing Senua by the arm. “Will you be safe with him like this.” Senua swallowed and then smiled. “I will be alright.” Ástríor nodded and then she was on her way once again.

Senua took a deep breath and ventured into the room opposite of Thórgestr. It was small, but warm. There was no basin or bucket. Instead, a pit paved with stone was dug into the floor. Senua jumped when she heard the clang of his clothing and his sword hit the stone. Her face flushed when her mind wandered to what he must look like right now. She tried to ignore her thoughts as she too shed her clothing and stepped into the water. It was both deeper and warmer than she had expected it to be.

“Thórgestr,” she called out, her voice thick with what sounded suspiciously like desire to him. There was a pause before he responded.

“Yes, Senua.” He tried to keep his tone even.

“I…”

Want him.

You want him.

“Your markings. Did they hurt?” She changed the subject. She stopped herself from asking something she felt she shouldn’t.

“Only briefly.” He answered truthfully, confused by her sudden interest. “Do they bother you?”

“No.” She let the water flow through her hair before asking her next question. “How far do they go?”

“The only ones I have are the ones you can see. That might change at some point, but I do not yet know if it will.” Thórgestr’s sighed, swirling the bottle in his hand. He had a feeling it would not be a pleasant sensation, but maybe imagining what she looked like beyond the wall that separated them would help distract him from the pain. He uncapped the bottle, and did what he must. It was worse than he imagined. It felt like there were flames consuming his leg and he let out a pained noise.

“Are you alright?” Senua called, pulling herself out of the water, ready to run to his aid if it was needed.

“Yes,” he croaked. He too took himself out of his bath.

You would run to him?

In this state?

Do you want him to see you bare?

Do you want to see him bare?

She dried and dressed quickly. Upset and embarrassed at what she had almost done. She felt an attachment to the man. One she was struggling to admit to herself. She simply just wanted to make sure he was safe, but how she could have helped, she did not know.

“I am nearly ready,” He called to her. Taking that as his word that he was decent, she entered into his room. She was only half right. His bottom half was clothed, but his top was not. He looked from where he was on the floor, tying his boots. He was wide eyed and frozen. He looked so different from the menacing man she fought in the rain. Her eyes dragged slowly over his body, taking note of the smooth muscle and rough scars that adorned his frame. She was surprised by his chest. She had expected it to be similar to Dillion’s, full of course hair. She was wrong. It was much more fine, much more sparse. She struggled to notice any at all.

Her eyes then flickered to the caps of his shoulders before they rested on his stomach. This gaze of hers, unlike everything else up until this point, he knew he was not imagining. He watched her cheeks turn pink and then red, but she did not avert her eyes. He stood slowly and stepped towards her until the tips of their boots were just barely touching. His breathing had gotten heavier, as did hers. He felt a pang of desire, like lightening coursing through the blood right below his waistband. It was an intoxicating thing to Thórgestr, to have a woman stare at you like she wanted to see every inch of you. To drag her eyes over your body, like you had done to hers.

The air felt thicker. It felt warmer. Her fingers reached up to the side of his neck, following the thin lines of ink downwards. He swallowed and his eyelids began to feel heavy. Senua’s hands were shaking slightly as her palm flattened over his chest. She felt his heart beating wildly under her touch. Slowly, she began to drag her hand lower, feeling the peaks and valleys of his muscle.

The darkness is nearly all gone, Senua.

It is only in his hands now.

The tips of his fingers.

It’s gone because of you. You saved him.

When her fingers hit his waistband, they dipped just barely inside, pulling him ever so slightly forward into her. A low grown escaped Thórgestr’s lips, and his head rolled back. A gasp left her mouth when she felt him against her like she had felt him this morning. She felt the knots and the heat begin to form in her own belly.

You can’t have him.

You’ll hurt him.

He’s a Northman, you can’t trust him.

He’ll hurt you.

Her eyes fell closed as he cupped her head with one hand, tilting it back slightly, while the other rested on her lower back. He pulled her strongly by her waist into his body, so she could feel what she was doing to him. To feel how badly he desired her. The sound she made nearly drove him insane. He leaned closer, desperate to feel her lips on his. Senua could feel the warmth of his lips just above hers. He was about to close the gap when an unexpected voice called out from the main hall, asking if they were ready to meet the healer.

“Fucking Fargrimr,” Thórgestr spat, knowing the moment was ruined.