#with them from that position to her on the throne with her crown on the ground

[unabashegirl]

Sovereign — part I

the crown calls for duty. and he chose her. *inspired by Bridgerton*

Author's note: Hey lovely readers! 💫 This is the first part of my upcoming five-part series that for now is exclusive to only my Patreon. I know it’s a bit of a tease, but I wanted to give you all a sneak peek into what’s to come. 😊

I’m so excited to share the full series with you all, but the remaining parts won’t be posted here until August. However, if you’re eager to read the entire series right now, you can join my Patreon for just $2 and get access to all five parts, plus all the extra blurbs and mini-series that I’ll be posting exclusively for my Patrons! ✨ Thank you so much for your support – I can’t wait to share more with you! ❤️

The season had begun.

For most, the arrival of spring meant renewal—the promise of fresh blossoms, soft breezes, and warm afternoons spent in Hyde Park. But for the ton, it meant something far more treacherous. The drawing rooms of Mayfair and the grand ballrooms of Grosvenor Square had become battlegrounds, where reputation was both sword and shield, and marriage was the ultimate prize.

None bore the weight of the season more than Prince Harry, heir to the throne of England.

For months now, the Queen had made her wishes painfully clear: it was time for him to find a bride. The court whispered, the nobility schemed, and yet, Harry remained indifferent. It wasn’t that he disrespected his duty—on the contrary, he had been raised on duty. Every step he took, every word he spoke was scrutinized, measured, and deemed either appropriate or unworthy of a future king.

And a future queen? Well, she would have to be perfect.

Harry loathed the entire process. The ton was filled with young ladies who knew what was expected of them—how to smile prettily, how to flatter, how to appear desirable but not too eager. Each time he attended a ball, it was the same—delicate curtsies, soft laughter, the flutter of lace-trimmed fans. He would bow, dance, make polite conversation, but none of them stirred anything in him.

“She is quite beautiful, is she not?” his mother had pressed just last week, gesturing toward Lady Eleanor Ashford, the daughter of a powerful duke.

Harry had glanced at her—she was beautiful, yes. But he felt nothing.

The Queen had sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “You cannot wait forever, my dear.”

Harry knew that. And yet, he remained unmoved.

Across London, in a grand but modest townhouse on Berkeley Square, Lady Y/N sat in front of her vanity as her mother’s voice droned on behind her.

“The season has only just begun, and already, you have received invitations from Lord Pembroke, Viscount Sterling, and even that dreadful Marquess of Dorset.” Her mother sighed as she adjusted a pearl bracelet around her wrist. “Darling, you could secure an engagement before summer if you played your cards right.”

Y/N met her own gaze in the mirror, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She knew her mother meant well—after all, Y/N was not the daughter of a duke or an earl. Her family was highly respected but untitled, which meant she would need to marry well to maintain her position among the ton.

But none of that mattered to her.

She wanted something… more.

Not just a good match, not just a wealthy husband who could offer security. She wanted a marriage built on something far rarer—true companionship. Love.

“I will not marry a man simply because he offers,” Y/N said smoothly, applying a hint of rose balm to her lips.

Her mother huffed. “Then at least try to look interested, my dear.”

Y/N sighed, turning away from the mirror. “And what if I do not find anyone who interests me?”

Her mother paused, something wistful passing over her expression before she pressed a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Then I suppose we shall pray that someone does.”

By the time the Queen’s Garden Party arrived, the entire ton was abuzz with excitement.

The event was one of the most exclusive gatherings of the year—only the most distinguished families received invitations, and for the unmarried ladies, it was another opportunity to secure the attention of a suitor.

Y/N had attended in previous years, and each time, she had found herself bored beyond reason. This time was no different. She had barely arrived before Lord Pembroke—a well-mannered but utterly uninspiring gentleman—sought her company.

“My lady,” he said smoothly, bowing before her. “Might I say, the sunlight does you a great favor today.”

Y/N smiled politely. “How kind of you to say, my lord.”

She allowed him to make conversation for a few minutes, nodding where appropriate, but her mind drifted. The gardens were in full bloom, a sea of soft pinks and lavenders stretching beneath the grand terraces. She longed for a moment of peace—a reprieve from the exhausting expectations of courtship.

At last, she excused herself, stepping away from the crowd and toward the sprawling rose garden.

The scent of fresh blooms filled the air, and for the first time that day, she breathed freely.

She was so lost in thought, admiring the deep red petals of a climbing rose, that she did not notice the figure approaching beside her.

“Do you often steal moments away from the crowd, or am I simply fortunate today?”

A voice. Smooth, rich, amused.

She turned—and found herself staring into the striking green eyes of none other than Prince Harry himself.

For a moment, Y/N simply stared.

It was one thing to hear about the prince—to see him from across a crowded ballroom or to catch a fleeting glimpse of him in the royal box at the opera. But standing before him now, his gaze fixed directly upon her, was an entirely different matter.

Prince Harry was striking, yes, but not in the way one would expect of royalty. His golden curls were slightly tousled, as if he had run a hand through them moments ago. His sharp jawline bore the hint of stubble—unusual for a man so closely observed by society. And his eyes, impossibly green, held something unreadable beneath their surface.

She should have curtsied immediately. She should have lowered her gaze and uttered the expected greeting, Your Highness, with the soft, lilting voice of a proper lady.

Instead—

“Goodness, are you always this quiet, or have I finally stunned someone into silence?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Y/N blinked, suddenly realizing she had, in fact, been staring at the prince for far too long.

Oh. Oh no.

A rush of mortification burned up her neck, but she refused to crumble. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I was merely attempting to determine if you are real,” she replied smoothly. “After all, Your Highness is spoken of so often, I half expected you to be a myth.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. It was not the response he had anticipated.

Most ladies stammered before him. They blushed. They simpered. They certainly did not suggest that he was a figment of the imagination.

“I can assure you, I am quite real,” he said, amusement flickering in his gaze.

She hummed, tilting her head slightly. “A shame.”

His smirk deepened. “A shame?”

“Yes,” she mused, turning her attention back to the roses. “If you were a myth, people might have been more creative. A prince with emerald eyes who sweeps unsuspecting ladies off their feet in a rose garden—now that would be a far more interesting tale.”

Harry found himself completely thrown.

Who was this woman?

He knew of Lady Y/N, of course. She had made a name for herself this season—not for being the most beautiful or the most accomplished, but for being different. She lacked the careful precision of other ladies. Where they moved with effortless grace, she was known to take a misstep or two in the middle of a dance. Where they fluttered their lashes and demurred, she spoke with unfiltered honesty, often leaving even the most polished gentlemen scrambling for a reply.

She was not the sort of woman the Queen would approve of.

And yet…

“Perhaps I should take offense,” Harry said after a beat. “Do you mean to say you are disappointed by my existence?”

Y/N turned to face him once more, a teasing glint in her eye. “Not at all. I am only saying that if you are to exist, Your Highness, you might at least try to live up to your legend.”

Harry let out a soft chuckle. He had met countless women this season, all of whom had been eager to prove their worth as his potential bride. But none had challenged him.

Not like this.

Before he could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Lady Y/N!”

Her mother.

Y/N winced internally before stepping back, quickly gathering herself. “It seems my mother has caught me wandering again.” She glanced at him, her lips curving in something dangerously close to a smirk. “Try not to disappear back into myth before the next ball, Your Highness.”

And with that, she turned on her heel, walking briskly toward the crowd.

Harry watched her go, hands clasped behind his back.

He had been thoroughly unimpressed with this season’s offerings. But Lady Y/N…

She had just become very interesting.

If there was one thing Lady Y/N knew how to do, it was cause her mother distress.

“You were speaking to the prince? Alone?” Lady Hathaway’s voice was nothing short of scandalized as they walked through the grand halls of the palace. “Do you have any idea what people would say if they had seen you?”

Y/N sighed, lifting her skirts just slightly to avoid stepping on them—she had already tripped once today, much to the amusement of the Duke of Kent. “It was hardly alone, Mama. There were at least a dozen people within earshot.”

“That is beside the point! The prince!” Lady Hathaway pressed a gloved hand to her forehead, as if physically pained by the thought. “And what did you say to him? You were not… yourself, were you?”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I can assure you, I did not burst into song or challenge him to a duel, if that is what you mean.”

Lady Hathaway made a strangled noise, clearly unconvinced. “You must take this season seriously, Y/N. You have already dismissed three perfectly suitable gentlemen. We do not have the luxury of being selective.”

Her mother had said this often in the past weeks. And, to an extent, Y/N understood. She was not from a titled family. She had no grand inheritance to her name. If she wished to secure a respectable future, she needed to marry well.

But good heavens, must she marry boring?

Lord Carrington had been dull as a butter knife. Lord Pembroke had spoken only of his hunting dogs. And Lord Danforth, while handsome, had once taken twenty full minutes to recount his journey to the countryside in excruciating detail.

Not one of them had made her feel.

Not like—

She shook the thought away before it could fully form.

Prince Harry was not an option.

She knew that.

Two nights later, at the grand ball hosted by the Duchess of Ashford, Y/N was beginning to suspect she was being watched.

She had felt it all evening—the weight of a gaze, lingering on her longer than it should. But each time she turned, the ballroom was filled with so many people, so much movement, that she could not be certain.

It was only when she paused near a marble pillar, fanning herself lightly, that she found her answer.

Prince Harry.

He stood across the ballroom, half-concealed behind a gathering of lords and ladies, his expression unreadable. But he was watching her. Still.

Her stomach gave an odd little flip.

No.

Absolutely not.

She had already spent far too much time thinking about him since the garden party—about the way his voice had curled around his words, the smirk he had barely concealed.

This would not do.

Determined to put some distance between herself and the thoughts she should not be having, she turned abruptly—only to walk directly into a passing footman.

A gasp tore from her lips as the tray he carried tipped, a full glass of champagne tipping straight onto the front of her gown.

“Oh!”

“Oh dear—my lady, I—” The footman paled.

Y/N had a second to mourn the beautiful silk before she burst into laughter.

The poor man looked so terrified.

“Do not look so stricken,” she assured him with a grin. “It is only a dress, not a war crime.”

Several heads turned in their direction at the commotion—including, unfortunately, her mother’s. Lady Hathaway looked horrified, a hand pressed to her chest as if she might faint right there.

And across the ballroom—

Prince Harry was smiling.

Not the polite, practiced smile of a prince. But a real, unguarded one.

The kind that sent something dangerous through her veins.

Oh no.

This was bad.

The carriage ride home was excruciating.

Lady Hathaway had not spoken a word since they left the ball—her lips pressed so tightly together it seemed as though she was physically restraining herself from unleashing her thoughts. Y/N had almost begun to think she might be spared.

She was wrong.

The moment they stepped into the grand foyer of their home, the doors barely shut behind them, her mother exploded.

"Do you take pleasure in humiliating me, Y/N?"

Y/N sighed, carefully unfastening her gloves. "Mother, it was an accident."

"An accident?" Lady Hathaway's voice rose to an octave only reserved for absolute catastrophes. "Spilling champagne down the front of your gown? Laughing—laughing!—as if you were in a tavern instead of a ballroom filled with the most distinguished families in England? And in full view of the prince!"

At that, Y/N straightened. "Ah, so that is the real concern."

Lady Hathaway looked positively livid. "You do not wish to be the subject of his scrutiny. It is one thing to catch a gentleman’s eye, but his? You are a novelty to him, Y/N, a source of amusement—"

"That is quite an assumption," Y/N interrupted, crossing her arms. "And perhaps he simply enjoys a lady who does not take herself so seriously."

Her mother inhaled sharply, as if she had been personally insulted. "You are impossible."

Y/N only shrugged. "I prefer unpredictable."

Lady Hathaway pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience clearly unraveling. "Do you think this is a game? We do not have the luxury of scandal, nor the connections to recover from it."

That made Y/N’s stomach twist.

She knew her mother only wanted the best for her—security, respectability, a match that would guarantee her a good life.

But was that enough?

Before she could formulate a response, there was a sudden, sharp knock at the front door.

Both women turned.

One of the servants hurried forward, hesitated only a moment, then opened it—revealing a tall, uniformed man standing rigidly at the entrance.

A royal guard.

Lady Hathaway let out a gasp.

Y/N merely blinked.

"Lady Y/N," the guard spoke with crisp precision, bowing slightly. "His Royal Highness, Prince Harry, requests your company for a promenade tomorrow morning in Hyde Park."

A stunned silence followed.

Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest.

Her mother looked as though she might faint. "The prince—"

"Yes, my lady." The guard dipped his head. "I am to escort Lady Y/N at precisely ten o’clock."

Another silence.

Y/N swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I—"

Her mother grabbed her wrist, fingers tightening like a vice.

"She would be delighted," Lady Hathaway declared, a desperate sort of enthusiasm in her voice. "It is an honor."

The guard nodded. "Very well. I shall return at the designated time."

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and strode back toward the carriage waiting at the curb, disappearing into the night.

The moment the door shut, Lady Hathaway spun on her daughter.

"You will not ruin this."

Y/N barely heard her.

Prince Harry had invited her to a promenade.

In the daylight.

In public.

This was not just amusement. Not a passing curiosity.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

And for the first time in her life, she was not entirely sure if she wanted to run from it… or straight toward it.

The fire crackled softly in Prince Harry’s study, casting flickering golden light over the grand room. He stood near the towering window, one hand clasped behind his back, the other tracing idly along the rim of his glass. He had barely taken a sip.

His mind was elsewhere.

On her.

Y/N Hathaway.

A woman unlike any he had ever encountered within the rigid circles of court. She was not the wealthiest, nor the most highly ranked, yet she carried herself with a quiet confidence that drew him in.

She was unpredictable.

She did not fawn over him, nor did she shrink in his presence. She had looked him in the eye, unbothered by his status, and had laughed—an act that should have been insignificant, but to him, it was utterly disarming.

And now, he had extended an invitation.

Would she accept?

Harry exhaled, tilting his head slightly as he gazed out at the palace grounds, watching as the royal carriage departed toward the Hathaway residence.

He was not nervous.

Princes did not get nervous.

And yet, the thought of her refusing—of her treating his interest as nothing more than a fleeting amusement—made something tighten in his chest.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He straightened.

"Enter."

The door swung open, and his royal guard stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Your Highness."

Harry turned fully, his expression neutral, though his fingers clenched briefly at his side. "What news?"

The guard lifted his head. "Lady Y/N has accepted your invitation, Your Highness. I am to escort her to Hyde Park at precisely ten o’clock tomorrow morning."

For a brief moment, a flicker of something rare passed through Harry’s expression—relief.

"Very good," he murmured, inclining his head in gratitude. "You may go."

The guard bowed once more before excusing himself, slipping out of the study with precise, measured steps.

But before the door could fully close—

Another voice entered the room.

"You are smiling."

Harry did not turn. "Am I?"

"Indeed," the Queen mused as she stepped into the study, her gown sweeping elegantly across the polished floor. "Which I find most curious, considering I have just overheard that your planned engagement tomorrow is not with a foreign princess or a titled lady of the court, but rather the Hathaway girl."

At that, Harry finally turned, his features composed. "You disapprove?"

His mother regarded him carefully, her hands clasped in front of her. "She has no title, no grand fortune. Surely, you know that is not a match the court will accept."

Harry said nothing.

He merely smiled.

A small, knowing, maddening smile.

The Queen exhaled, shaking her head. "You are impossible."

Still, her gaze softened—just slightly.

For all her concerns, there was a warmth in her eyes, an unspoken fondness as she studied her son.

He was his father’s son, through and through.

And if there was one thing she had learned long ago… it was that Harry had inherited his father’s heart.

And once it was set on something—on someone—no force in the world could sway him.

Not even the crown.

let me know what you think 😉 and if you have already read it then let me know what you though abt it!

[personinthepalace]

I'm completely obsessed with this photoshoot

[sesamenom]

maglor's second run as high king regent (while elrond tries to figure out who gil galad is even related to):

Elrond: Hey.

Maglor: What do you want?

Elrond: So, Gil-Galad died.

Maglor: And?

Elrond: We need a new king.

Maglor: Absolutely not.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Viking! König

————

Viking! König Headcanons

NSFW

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————

Viking König who starts making sharper weapons to slaughter his enemies

Viking König who has a soft spot only for his wife. You came from a different village, one that König is known for “collecting their tax” for his protection. You were part of an arranged marriage because your family couldn’t pay him, so you where the payment

Viking König who won’t let anything happen to you. You both grew to love each other

Viking König has a bit of that dad body with a bit of muscle to him

Viking König who is covered in traditional tribal tattoos for his bravery as a warrior and clan leader

Viking König who lives kind of secluded from everyone else but everyone knows where to find him if anything happens

With that being said Viking König like to take baths in the river with you naked joining him in the same river you both washing dirt off each other and it leads into something more

Viking König has started to like walking around his home naked or half naked and likes for you to join him

Viking König who loves seeing your face, moaning his name or placing your small hands on his lower stomach knowing he is way bigger than you and you look sexy as hell under him

Viking König who’s favorite position is missionary because he loves seeing your face while you are under him taking him so well

Viking König who carries you on his arm showing you off in a way, you are all giddy when he flexes and you are slightly raised up

Viking König who treats you like the Queen or Princess you are. You sit on his lap in the great dining hall with the entire clan. He let’s you eat from his plate that was more of a feast than anything

Viking König who eats you out on the big table with the clan members acting like nothing is happening

Viking König loves being home and sees his wife walking around the home nothing but bare skin

Viking König who loves you laying on the warm furs on your shared bed

“How could you look so beautiful?” You just shrug at his comment

Viking König who loves seeing you get off with nothing but your fingers, your warm bodies finally getting close to each other and he starts to help you out

Viking König who hates being interrupted while his time with you

“Someone better be dying!” König yells.

Viking König who is intimidating, buff, cold, ruthless, and cruel, the little time he has with you and it gets interrupted by someone he’s pissed

Viking König who sits on his throne as a traitor was amongst his clan

Viking König who lets the traitor take an axe to the face and head and then goes back to you

Viking König who starts wanting a child

Viking König who takes his time with the baby making till you were comfortable with the idea of having to carry a baby around in you for 9 months

Viking König who treats you like you were glass. His hands always holding you as you tried to move around the clan

Viking König who scares off all the man who thought you looked even more sexier when you were pregnant

“How dare they look at you?” König growls while looking down at you

“I’m okay, König,” you tell him, patting his arm.

Viking König who becomes a tad jealous of your baby always latched to you

Viking König who is seen as the best father

Viking König who takes your sons hunting for the first time. He shows your son how to shot a bow, it started out with fish and he made his way to start hunting turkey and deer next

Viking König who sees your daughters making things out of leaves and flowers. Flower crowns, and woven baskets, he like carrying them around for her as she collects her materials for more things to make

Viking König who sends his kids to bed early because he loves to have his time with you, making love to you and kissing every square inch of your body just hear your soft moans

Viking König who loves having date night in a stream of water naked with you, you two drinking and it became very heated in the water

Viking König who likes to play with his children, having a lot of kids and he spends all of his time with them the best her could

Viking König who gets caught in the middle of his daughters braiding his hair, putting flowers in his hair, curling his hair with pinecones and they pretended to give him more tattoos

Viking König who plays 'hide and seek' with his sons, showing them how to not get caught by the enemy and how to be sneaky when also hunting.

"I found you Leon," König says, pointing an arrow at his son hiding behind a tree.

"Dad~" he groans, coming out from behind the tree.

"I saw you Claus," he comes out from the tree, that Leon was behind.

"Felix, go wash up, your mother will hate seeing you covered in mud. If I can see you, your enemy will too," König says as he walked back to his home with his boys behind him.

Viking König who starts training himself to get ready for when he has to leave you and his children for a battle

Viking König who hates when he has to leave, he's leaving you to handle 5 kids on your own

Viking König who started a big feast before he has to leave

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #44

Three Teens, Three Crowns, and a Whole Lot of Nope

Imagine dis…

I was just shuffling around my playlist when I heard that song from the animated movie El Dorado and it made me thinking, so here it goes…

…

DANNY’S POV

The moment my best friends bit the ghostly dust, the universe decided to hand us a set of crowns we didn’t ask for. Because obviously, nothing says “Congratulations on your tragic deaths!” like a full-time job in the afterlife.

Tucker, in a plot twist no one saw coming (except maybe Clockwork, because that guy cheats), turned out to be the reincarnation of some ancient Pharaoh. Not just any Pharaoh—oh no—he got the VIP pass straight to the top of the Egyptian pantheon, answering only to me, the so-called King of the Infinite Realms. Because if there's one thing I’ve learned, it's that my best friend is destined to be the world's first tech-savvy, WiFi-dependent god-king of the afterlife.

Sam, on the other hand, had always been a little too into nature, and I guess the universe finally decided to roll with it. When she synced up perfectly with Undergrowth’s power, the big walking salad declared her his heir, making her the literal Queen of Nature. So now, Sam basically has dominion over every plant in existence, which means I can never make an offhand comment about preferring artificial Christmas trees without getting a death glare.

And me? Well, since I yeeted Pariah Dark back into the sarcophagus where he belonged, the Infinite Realms figured I should be the one running the place. So, lucky me—I got promoted to Ghost King, a position that comes with all the responsibility and none of the training manual.

Now, you’d think that’s enough responsibility for a trio of teenagers who just wanted to survive high school. But no, Clockwork took one look at us, decided we sucked at ruling, and thought, Hey, let’s make this fun! So instead of, I don’t know, giving us an actual lesson in leadership, he chucked us into a completely different dimension (because, sure, why not?) and told us to start cults.

Yep. You heard that right. Cults.

No warning, no instructions, just a “figure it out” and a push into the deep end. One minute we’re in the Ghost Zone, the next we’re scattered across this weird universe like a really weird cosmic prank.

So now I’m stuck in Gotham, which, by the way, might be more haunted than the Ghost Zone itself. I have no idea where Sam and Tucker ended up, but if I know them, Tucker’s probably convinced a bunch of tech bros to worship him as some cyber-god, and Sam’s singlehandedly turning a park into her new throne. Meanwhile, I have to somehow convince people to follow me without sounding like a lunatic.

This is going to be fun. (Spoiler: It won’t be.)

…

SAM’S POV

Gotham reeked of smoke, oil, and decay. Beneath its gothic beauty was a suffocating lifelessness, an unnatural cage of steel and concrete. The city was a graveyard where nature had been paved over and left to rot in the shadows of towering skyscrapers. It was unacceptable. It was offensive. And Sam was going to change it.

She wasted no time. The moment her feet hit Gotham’s cracked pavement, she started planting seeds—both literally and metaphorically. It began with whispers. A small movement. A group that promised something different. Gotham had no shortage of lost souls—criminals, outcasts, the downtrodden looking for something beyond the city's endless cycle of crime and punishment. But Sam wasn’t offering power or chaos like every other Gotham lunatic. No, she offered something much rarer: sustainability.

Food. Shelter. Community.

It started with fresh produce, rare and valuable in Gotham’s urban wasteland. No one questioned where it came from, only that it was fresh, free of toxins, and worth more than a stack of stolen cash. The deal was simple—manual labor in exchange for nourishment. Gotham’s criminals, many of whom spent their lives getting stabbed, shot, or beaten in some turf war, found the idea shockingly reasonable. Hospitals ate through their earnings. Gang life was profitable until you bled out in an alley. But a place that provided food, healing, and protection? That was something different. That was better.

The movement grew. What began as a handful of desperate people looking for a way out became something bigger. The streets whispered of a new force rising, one that didn’t deal in violence or corruption but in roots—roots that burrowed deep, that refused to be ignored.

At first, the Batfamily dismissed it as background noise. In a city filled with psychopaths dressed as clowns, what was a little nature cult? But when Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn vanished—not in a grand escape, not in a fiery explosion, but simply faded into the movement—their indifference turned to concern.

When Ivy resurfaced, she wasn’t the same. The wild unpredictability had been tempered into something focused. Controlled. She still worshipped nature, but now she had a leader, someone she called High Priestess. And that leader wasn’t some ancient force of the Green. It wasn’t a metahuman, a scientist, or a villain. It was a teenager.

A black-haired, violet-eyed girl who stood in front of kneeling followers, leading ceremonies beneath the growing canopy of Gotham’s first true forest in centuries.

Sam had never been one for blind worship. She despised mindless devotion. But this wasn’t about faith—it was about purpose. The people who followed her weren’t zealots; they were survivors. They had seen what Gotham’s endless cycle of crime and violence had to offer, and they wanted out. She gave them that. She gave them a cause. And if it meant being called a cult leader, then fine. Whatever. Labels didn’t matter. Results did.

And Gotham was changing.

The city fought back, of course. The corruption, the crime families, even the Bat himself—none of them liked an unpredictable element in their precious, miserable ecosystem. But Sam had never been one to back down. Gotham was sick, diseased, rotting. She wasn’t here to burn it down like some power-hungry villain. She was here to fix it.

And if the Bats wanted to stop her, well—

Let them try.

…

TUCKER’S POV

Metropolis was beautiful. It was clean, it was bright, and it was bursting with technology. Skyscrapers gleamed under the sun, state-of-the-art AI patrolled the streets, and futuristic inventions were integrated into everyday life like it was no big deal. This was a city that worshiped innovation, where science and technology weren’t just tools but pillars of society.

Tucker should have been in heaven.

But he had a mission to complete before he could sit back and enjoy the wonders of Metropolis. Clockwork’s orders. And if the old ghost had taught him anything, it was that ignoring his cryptic guidance usually led to bad things. So, no indulging in the city’s top-tier tech just yet. He had a kingdom to build.

At first, Superman didn’t even notice him. That was fine. Tucker wasn’t looking to pick a fight with the world’s strongest hero. He moved in the background, setting up encrypted networks, hijacking digital footprints, and planting just enough static in the city’s airwaves to keep any unwanted super-snooping off his back. The occasional glitch in Superman’s super-hearing? That was Tucker, laying the groundwork.

But the real disruption came when people started vanishing.

Not just any people—tech specialists, programmers, engineers. The kind of minds corporations fought over, the ones Luthor’s company owned through shady contracts and blackmail. One by one, they disappeared from Metropolis, slipping through the cracks like digital ghosts.

The city was no stranger to missing persons. Metropolis saw its fair share of people vanishing into the underbelly of crime, alien invasions, or one of Lex Luthor’s ever-growing list of sinister schemes. But this? This was too precise, too targeted. Luthor’s R&D departments were bleeding talent at an alarming rate, and the usual suspects weren’t responsible.

The only common thread? The Code of Ra.

It started as an urban myth—a secretive group offering sanctuary to tech minds who had seen too many of their peers exploited, coerced, or “recruited” by the so-called forces of good and evil. They were promised a place where their work was valued, where they were free to create without fear of it being stolen, weaponized, or locked behind corporate greed.

And at the center of it all? Him.

Tucker hadn’t just built a cult—he’d built a kingdom. One where technology wasn’t a tool for war, where engineers and programmers weren’t disposable assets, where knowledge was sacred. He offered an intellectual utopia, a society where the greatest minds could work without limits. And the best part? They wanted to be there. There was no brainwashing, no coercion. The world had burned them too many times, and Tucker had simply given them an alternative.

And, okay, maybe he leaned into the whole Pharaoh thing a little. He was a reincarnated ruler, after all—might as well own it. Gold-trimmed robes, sleek futuristic stylings with ancient Egyptian aesthetics, and a throne room that looked like a cyberpunk temple. He’d always thought he’d look good in royal attire, and damn, was he right.

But his people didn’t follow him because of the theatrics. They followed because he gave them something no one else had—freedom.

Superman, unaccustomed to dealing with cults, found himself in unfamiliar territory. He had fought tyrants, warlords, and intergalactic conquerors, but a movement built on voluntary devotion? That wasn’t as simple as punching a bad guy. Normally, this was the kind of mess Batman or Wonder Woman would handle. But Diana was off-world, and Gotham had its own cult problem. That left the burden squarely on Superman’s shoulders.

And Tucker? Tucker was more than ready to enjoy the show.

…

DANNY’S POV

The desert sucked.

Like, really sucked.

If he ever made it out of this, he was going to personally petition the Ghost Zone to just delete the concept of sand from existence. Sand was evil. It got everywhere, it was hot, and it made him feel like a melting popsicle under a blowtorch.

His ice core hated him. His human half hated him. The sun was having the time of its life roasting him alive. And then—nothing.

When he woke up, things got weirder.

For one, he wasn’t dead. Which, honestly, was a pleasant surprise considering the whole “heatstroke and possible dehydration” situation. For another, he wasn’t lying in the sand anymore. Nope. Instead, he was inside a coffin.

Not the first time he’d woken up in one, but still, rude.

He sat up, blinking blearily, and was immediately met with dozens of kneeling figures in dark robes. No one screamed. No one attacked. They just...stared.

Which, honestly? Way creepier than ghost attacks.

The air smelled like flowers, incense, and something ancient, like he’d been dropped in the middle of an old temple. Around him were offerings—literal offerings—of gold, silver, and silk. And the people? They were whispering. Murmuring things he barely understood, eyes shining with what he could only describe as religious awe.

Which was never a good sign.

Danny had questions. A lot of questions. But the big one?

What the actual heck was going on?

It took some time—aka him sneaking around, eavesdropping, and pretending he had any idea what he was doing—but eventually, he figured it out.

These people? Every single one of them had died before. Not in the casual, “oops, tripped and fell” way, but in the full-on, flatline, bright light at the end of the tunnel way. And somehow, they’d come back. Some were resurrected, others survived things they shouldn’t have, but they all had one thing in common: they felt drawn to him.

Apparently, he was some kind of cosmic beacon for people who’d taken a one-way trip to the afterlife but forgot to stay there. To them, he wasn’t just some random ghost kid—he was the King. The embodiment of balance, life and death, chaos and order. The guy who got to decide whether people stayed dead.

And that was so not on his resume.

But did that stop people from kneeling at his feet, swearing loyalty, and building a cult around him? Nope.

Did he ask for it? Also nope.

And somehow, it just kept getting bigger. At first, it was just the devoted ghost-adjacent weirdos. Then mercenaries. Then, a group of assassins and a guy named Ra. Even Slade freaking Wilson showed up one day, standing ominously at the back like the world’s most intense chaperone.

Danny didn’t do cults. He wasn’t qualified for cults. He was barely qualified for high school.

But Clockwork had said he needed to establish one, and, well...mission accomplished?

Now, all he had to do was find Sam and Tucker, reunite with his spouses, and figure out how to explain to them that, uh...he might have accidentally become a god-king of the undead.

Yeah. They were never gonna let him live this down.

…

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I tried a new type of writing. How is it?

[venusbyline]

Out of Love (1/4)

chapter two

— summary: Everyone talks about how Aegon the Conqueror married one sister out of duty and the other one out of desire. Unlike his ancestor, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon wants to marry both his aunt and his cousin out of love.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!reader x Baela Targaryen

— type: smut

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, Targcest (nephew/aunt & cousin/cousin), threesome FFM (female/female/male), throuple, corruption kink, vaginal sex, doggy style position, oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, scissoring/tribadism, creampie, overstimulation, secret relationship, cuddling & snuggling, aftercare, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, dom!Baela, reader is Alicent's second daughter, mild hurt/comfort, kinda fluff too, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I'm not a Jacela shipper, but I had the idea for this shortfic yesterday. So... I'm writing for them hahaah btw, don't worry cuz this story wouldn't be a love triangle, the characters are a throuple, the three of them love each other equally, they just have different dynamics between them.

— author's notes²: Out of Love is a mini series involving Targcest, throuple and forbidden love.

— author's notes³: Each chapter will contain its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes⁴: If you want to be tagged for the next chapters, tell me!!! <3 <3

❥ Jacaerys masterlist • Baela masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

You were on Jacaerys' bed for the third time that week, enjoying the carnal pleasures that he and his betrothed were willing to teach you.

Ever since Rhaenyra succeeded to the Iron Throne and the entire family was forced to get closer, you had become almost inseparable from your nephews and cousins — which had deeply irritated your mother and your brother Aemond, although you did not mind so much, because at least you could have some true friends.

Surprisingly, both the crown prince and Baela showed an intense interest in you, something that was wrong — at least in the eyes of the Seven —. You tried to resist at first, denying their advances and saying that you were saving yourself for a future marriage.

All that resistance fell apart when you caught them having sex during a random afternoon. The sight of Baela riding on Jacaerys' cock, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face as he grabbed her hips to help her move even faster... It was too much for you, and you did not even try to hide your accidental presence there.

After that day, the couple dedicated themselves to showing you a lot of sexual things that could be pleasurable for you and would not take your maidenhead — since you were afraid that you would not get a propitious betrothal if you were not a virgin anymore.

On that night in question, Baela was eating you out and Jacaerys was fucking her from behind at the same time.

"Mmm, that feels so good..." Baela moaned when Jacaerys fucked hard inside her, hitting that most sensitive spot.

"So fucking good..." Jacaerys grabbed her hips for more intense thrusts, growling when she shook her ass to tease him. His attention turned to you as he saw you squeezing your own breasts and enjoying Baela's full lips sucking on your clit. "Is Baela making you feel good, sweetheart?"

You opened the eyes and stared at Jacaerys behind his betrothed, who was between your spread legs. "Yeah, baby... It feels so good." The sweet, trembling praise made Baela chuckle, sending a tingle through your bundle of nerves.

Speeding up his movements, Jacaerys slapped Baela's ass once, tilting his body down so he could grab her curly, white hair and push her a little further against your cunt.

Baela gasped in pleasure, because of the rough thrusts and the sweet taste of your juices soaking her face. Sensing that Jacaerys was close to the high, she wiggled her ass again against his groin and increased the stimulation on his cock.

"B-Baela... Shit, love, I am going to cum," Jacaerys' moan sounded like a whimper and he almost felt ashamed of himself. However, despite his desire to cum on your breasts or your face, he remembered about the same fetish shared by the three of you. Then he grabbed both of Baela's buttocks one last time before spilling his seed inside her tight cunt.

The princess hummed at the delightful feeling of Jacaerys' cock throbbing and filling her insides with dense, warm spurts.

The poor boy barely had time to recover, pulling himself out and lying on the other side of the bed, his head aching a little bit from the pleasure. He looked at his seed dripping from Baela's entrance, giving a weak smile and taking a deep breath at the sight of her purplish inner lips.

Lying there, Jacaerys rested while Baela sat up, only to fit her legs over yours right away. A whine escaped your lips at the sticky sensation of Baela's cunt on you, Jacaerys' cum making everything slippery.

She held one of your legs to keep them wide open, lips parted and brow furrowed, a clear demonstration of how aroused you were making her feel. One of your hands went up to her breast, the soft weight in your palm sending shivers down both of yours.

"Baela..."

"I am close too, darling..." She whispered, biting the lower lip as she heard your needy whimper. Rolling her hips back and forth, Baela arched her head back, moaning loudly when your two clits rubbed against each other.

The chambers filled with the wet sounds of your cunts and the ones of pleasure as you both reached the climax. The pace of Baela's hips stuttered, but she kept moving them so she could prolong her high, stopping only when she heard your whimper and realized that you were already too overstimulated.

"She will have to go back to her private chambers in a few hours..." Baela whispered, stroking your silver hair while you slept snuggled against Jacaerys' sweaty chest.

The crown prince clenched his jaw, looking at your sleepy form. You seemed so serene like that, together with them, resting after experiencing one more hint of the pleasure they were capable of giving you. It was not fair that you had to sneak out of there and leave them so soon.

It was not fair that you had to leave them.

Noticing the silence of her cousin, Baela gossiped with a tense tone: "Rumors are running through King's Landing. You know... They are about the fact Alicent is probably considering a betrothal between her and Daeron."

There was no surprise on Jacaerys's face, but rather anger. He knew about the rumors and he also knew that you had plenty of suitors from other Houses, all of them interested in a political alliance. You were beautiful, young, fertile and with your maidenhead intact, besides being a Targaryen princess. Any single lord in his right mind would try to have a chance.

That did not make the situation any easier to overcome. "I do not want this to happen. And I know very well that you do not want that either."

Baela remained quiet for a few moments, her heart warming seeing you and Jacaerys cuddling in his bed, the after-sex smell making her aroused for the second time in that night — though she was not going to say anything about it, considering everyone was exhausted and Jacaerys were quite tense, just like herself.

The last thing Baela and Jacaerys wanted was to have to end whatever was going on between the three of you someday. The idea of you marrying someone, really falling in love with your future husband, or at least being forced to be faithful to him panicked them...

They wanted you. They needed you. They loved you too much to let you move on any time soon.

“I could try to convince my mother and then marry both of you,” Baela raised an eyebrow at Jacaerys’ words, clearly not shocked by the prince’s impulsive decision. He seemed to realize that too, because he immediately frowned, all frustrated. "Do not give me that look, love. I would not be the first Targaryen man to do something like that. Aegon the Conqueror married both of his sisters. Maegor the Cruel had six wives."

"Well, that is the problem. One of them was a conqueror and the other one was a tyrant. It's not like the people of Westeros would accept something like that these days," She did not add the fact that he being considered a bastard by the Realm was already enough of an obstacle that his legitimacy as heir might be challenged at some point. He understood what she thought without her even having to say it, though he did not want to admit that she was right. "Being the next king and queen does not give us the freedom to have our every wish granted, Jace."

Jacaerys sighed, too tense for his own good, closing his eyes and trying hard to keep the mind free of melancholy or angry thoughts. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Baela drew his attention back. "However, we can at least try."

[sl-ut]

for better or for worse

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!hightower!reader

description: the dance is over, the blacks have won. rhaenyra has taken control of the red keep, making quick work of executing those who have wronged her, save for alicent, who would be locked in a tower for the rest of her days, and gwayne’s daughter, who she has special plans for.

warnings: SMUT, canon-divergent (blacks win au, rhaenyra does not take kings landing until she wins), slight dark!rhaenyra but just glimpses, slight dubcon in beginning but after that it’s 100% consensual, mentions of death, several mentions of b&c, doesn’t follow plot to a t but def contains spoilers, violence, and all other got/hotd triggers just to be safe

words: 8K

date posted: 13/11/24

King’s Landing had been nothing but chaos since she had arrived so long ago, accompanied by her cousin Daeron who had been called into the fight for the throne. Her father, while off fighting this senseless war alongside the Hand of the King, had requested that his only daughter be brought to stay in King’s Landing as a means of protection. That was, of course, long before Aemond and Vhagar were killed in battle and Rhaenyra descended upon King’s Landing on Syrax, flanked by five other fully-grown dragons and their riders. If she had thought things had been chaotic amidst the war, there were simply no words to describe the capitol in the days to come.

She had been with her aunt when the Blacks landed, spending most of her days with the Dowager Queen in the wake of her own daughter’s death. She did not mind, knowing herself to be Alicent’s greatest comfort in that period, as well as the fact that she had also gone without the gentle touch of a mother since she was a child. Jaehaera often joined them, blissfully unaware to the fact that her mother had died months earlier, These prayer and tea times that they spent together were sacred to each of them, until, of course, they turned their gaze to the window, where Syrax’s golden scales glittered in the sunlight as she landed in the courtyard with grace.

Aegon had been in no position to defend his crown. He was dragonless and crippled, both at the hand of his younger brother, and Daeron was still leagues away from the capitol with his own dragon Tessarion. As Rhaenyra’s mount snarled and snapped at the white cloaks around her, they were quick to surrender as they took in the sight of the five other dragons circling in the clouds above; there was no way out. 

Those loyal to Rhaenyra were quick to storm the castle, keeping everyone inside until she could discover exactly who her enemies were and who were simply complicit. She had swiftly had Aegon executed, as well as Otto Hightower and the rest of the Small Council, save for Alicent. She’d been far too close with the Dowager Queen to have her publicly humiliated and put to death, and considering that she had admitted to making such a grave mistake in regards to the succession, she instead had her locked in a tower until further notice. Her only request was that she would be joined by her niece and granddaughter until Rhaenyra made other arrangements for them, which Rhaenyra was merciful enough to oblige. She was not a tyrant, and felt no desire to punish the innocent for the crimes of men. 

Nine days they were locked in the tower with no word from Rhaenyra. The white cloaks guarding their door were curt when asked, and only opened the door for their meals and the bare necessities to be delivered to them. It was a tight space, one that was likely intended to be a luxurious cell for one, though luckily Jaehaera took up little to no space at all as she was usually physically attached to either her cousin or grandmother. Both women made an effort to keep the young princess comfortable and entertained in some way, whether it be by telling her stories, singing with her, creating makeshift games for them to play together…they both understood that she was just about that age where everything could suddenly begin making sense, and they wanted to delay her realisation of the situation as much as possible. They spent their nights huddled together for warmth, being so high up in the castle as winter came upon the realm made for some very cold nights, and they were all eager when a handmaiden arrived in the morning with a jug of warm water for them to clean up with. 

Finally, on the tenth day, Alicent had decided she had had enough. She had woken the two younger females up with her banging and yelling at the door, demanding to see the queen. Jaehaera clung to her cousin in fright while Y/n watched in anticipation as the door swung open, one of the guards stepping forward to confront the Hightower woman. 

“It’s been ten days,” she hissed, straightening her back in an attempt to reclaim any authority that she may have left, “I demand to see the queen. Not for myself, but for the sake of my niece and granddaughter, who are being punished for crimes they are wholly innocent of.”

The white cloak rolled his eyes, “You demand? Just as you have for the last ten days? The queen is busy, she has a realm to recover from the war you caused. Now, be quiet, your concerns will be brought to the queen and, no doubt, be dismissed, just as all of your others have.”

The door rattled with the force that he closed it with, leaving Alicent to slouch and huff in disbelief. How had her life turned out this way? How had she fallen so far from her position as queen to become nothing more than a prisoner and a nuisance to her guards? Her shoulders began to tremble as a sob tore its way from her throat, though no tears escaped her watery eyes. This was not sadness or anger that she was feeling, nor was it grief for the loss of each of her children, having received word of Daeron’s death in battle only days earlier. No, this was complete and utter defeat; everything she had ever worked towards gone and abandoned beneath the rubble of utter destruction. Her family and legacy, destroyed because of a simple misunderstanding on her part, because the lords of the realm would see the world in flames before a queen sat the Iron Throne. 

Alicent sank into the embrace of her niece and granddaughter as they gathered around her. She stroked each of their hair, absorbing the last ounces of love that she would be offered in this world. 

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, her thumb caressing Jaehaera’s soft cheek and wiping away the tear that slid down her flesh. In that instant, she was transported back, staring down at her sweet Helaena; what she wouldn’t give to have only a few moments more with her, to have been able to be there and wipe away her tears and stop her from throwing herself to her own demise. “Everything is alright, my little dragon. And you, my sweet niece, you are both going to be alright.”

A few hours later, the three were stirred awake as their guards banged on the door, announcing their oncoming entrance. Alicent bounced to her feet, placing herself between the door and the two younger girls. 

The knight stepped inside the room, his face as stern as ever, “Queen Rhaenyra has decided to be merciful, and meet your demands. Come at once, or not at all.”

The Dowager Queen was quick to motion the other two to follow, taking each of them by the hand as she rushed after the knight. She would not waste the one opportunity to help what was left of her kin as much as she could, even if it meant that she would face a long and desolate future all on her own. 

They finally reached the throne room, and of course Rhaenyra would only agree to meet the remaining members of her enemy’s family in front of the entire court. Y/n noticed immediately how empty the room appeared, numbers dwindling quickly within the Red Keep and leaving only those who bent the knee behind. Some were blindly faithful to the Hightowers, even to their graves, which brought the girl some comfort, but very little considering that it meant that she too would need to abandon every value she’d been taught since she was able to walk. 

The remaining courtiers leered at them, no doubt having the most offensive swears and curses on their tongues, only holding back out of fear of the new queen. Regardless of the fact that they had bent the knee, more than half of these lords were undoubtedly hating the fact that a woman had ascended the throne and only surrendered out of fear. Y/n hoped that Rhaenyra might have some mercy for Jaehaera at least, if not for herself. Of course, she mourned the deaths of her father, grandfather, and cousins; she had once accepted a betrothal to Jason Lannister’s eldest son on behalf of her family’s cause, so there was some evidence against her own odds. The young child, however, could not be blamed for the work of her father by anyone with half a mind, though she has heard that Rhaenyra has grown mad since the death of her son Lucerys, so half a mind may have been too much to ask for. 

Rhaenyra herself looked nothing short of regal as she sat upon the Iron Throne, the crown placed neatly upon her tight nest of braids previously belonging to her father, and her great grandfather before him. Her violet stare was piercing as they grew closer, but her eyes were trained entirely on Alicent as she tucked her niece and granddaughter behind her, jaw shifting back and forth, signalling that she had been grinding her teeth in anticipation. 

Beside her stood her two remaining children, Aegon and Viserys, both seeming far too young to truly understand what sort of position they were currently in, how much power they wielded over the rest of the souls in this room. They were both toddlers when the war began, and Aegon did not appear to be any older than six or seven.

One of her queensguard stepped forward, his booming voice echoing around the partially empty chamber, “You stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. You come before her as traitors for conspiring with the pretender and usurper Aegon the Weak. How do you answer these claims?”

Alicent let out a shuddered breath, “Yo-your Grace. I–we come before you to humbly ask–”

Rhaenyra let out a pitiful laugh, one that held nothing but malice behind it, “Humbly? You come before me humbly?”

The court let out a unanimous, nervous chuckle, all anticipating the queen’s next words.

Alicent’s face drained of colour, “You-your Grace?”

“Your niece and granddaughter who you hide away from me, they may come to me to ask for mercy, humbly, as you say. They are innocent in all of this, only the pawns of a greater game.” The queen grinned, “A game that all began with you.”

Alicent scoffed, quickly wiping the single tear that fell down her cheek, “Your Grace, last time we spoke face-to-face, we seemed on the same page. Forgive me for my confusion at your animosity.”

“Animosity?” Rhaenyra leaned forward, fingers gripping the arms of her throne in rage, “When we last spoke face-to-face, you swore to me that your usurper of a son had agreed to abdicate, that he was too crippled to even sit his own throne. Then, I come to learn that none of this was true, and that he had instead taken advantage of my lack of preparedness and had instead invaded the territory of my own allies. So explain to me exactly how my anger at your lies and betrayal to be displaced animosity.”

“Rhaenyr–”

“You will address the queen with respect to her title, traitor.” The same member of the queensguard spoke with an edge to his voice.

Alicent sighed, “Your Grace, I come to you, humbly, as a woman of the Faith, as you well know.”

“Faithful enough to take a lover before my father’s corpse was even cold,” She laughed, eyes looking out at the members of her court, who all seemed in shock at the admittance, “The words came from your own lips when we last spoke face-to-face, do not deny it to me now.”

Y/n frowned, tears pooling along her waterline as she tucked Jaehaera into her side. As if to protect her from these slanderous words, although she did not doubt any truth behind them. Her aunt had always been a faithful woman, so chaste it was almost impossible to believe, so it did not surprise her to find the woman who had once been her closest confidant airing out her darkest truths before the court. She did not blame her, despite the fact that she had drilled into her head the importance of virtue and chastity as a woman, but in truth, her aunt was the strongest woman she had ever known; she was forced into a marriage with a man who was more than double her age, taking on the role of queen at sixteen and consequently losing her best friend; she was the mother of four mentally unwell children, one unable to keep his wits about him, one who was tragically more in tune with the world than anyone gave her credit for, one who was maniacally vengeful, and another who grew up away from her protection. Perhaps Daeron had been the luckiest of them, considering how his siblings had fared, but Y/n knew that he had experienced his own ailments that had been kept well concealed on behalf of her great-uncle, the Lord of Oldtown, and she also knew exactly how the lack of a maternal figure affected a child.

Her father had done his best, but often admitted that he wished his sister had been there to help him guide her to womanhood. The septas could only do so much, though they taught her more self hatred than anything. Her great-aunt was a stern woman, and had no patience for her questions or girlish dreams, and pushed her away as much as humanly possible. 

“Your Grace,” her voice carried through the hall before she could even think, all eyes turning to the meek figure hiding behind her aunt and standing before the queen as a traitor. Rhaenyra herself seemed surprised to hear from her, violet eyes staring down at her curiously, “Forgive us. Forgive us for our crimes against your reign. My lady aunt speaks the truth when she tells you that we come to you humbly, three women guilty of nothing but being under the control of the wrong men. You, yourself, have experienced this cruelty, as has every other lady in this room.”

The queen seemed taken by her words, sitting back against her throne thoughtfully, “You mean to appeal to my mercy based on our shared experiences? On our mutual sex? Do you truly consider the three of you completely innocent of any crimes?”

“Innocent?” Y/n asked, “I–”

“Step forward,” the queen commanded, “You muster enough courage to speak before me. Speak to me plainly and speak to me truthfully.” 

Y/n’s gaze fluttered to the ground, then to her aunt, whose eyes were wide and glossy with fear. She shook her head, pleading with her not to speak any further. She inhaled deeply, sliding her palm over the crown of sweet Jaehaera’s head before she finally stepped around her aunt and stood directly before the queen.

“We do not have all day,” the queen smirked.

She clenched her jaw, growing angry with how much the woman seemed to be enjoying their humiliation, “My aunt admitted to her mistake, and yes, she is partially responsible for this war and her lapse in judgement is one that cannot be so easily forgiven or forgotten.”

“There we agree.”

Y/n swallowed harshly, “But you must not forget, that the plan to…usurp your throne existed from the moment that Aegon was born. You better than anyone must know that. While your father lived, you were protected, but he was the only man in this world who has ever wanted you to succeed.”

Rhaenyra gulped, “You speak as if you know me. As if you know my life, or the people in it.”

“I do not mean to offend Your Grace, I only wish you to understand,” a stray tear trickled down her face. “I accepted a betrothal made for me on behalf of my grandsire, a man who you executed for his crimes. I have never met the man I was meant to marry, nor was I ever going to prior to our marriage. I was nothing short of a game piece. My sweet cousin, Jaehaera, barely old enough to understand the fate of her own mother, or her brother before her,” Rhaenyra’s face paled at the mere mention of little Jaehaerys, “I have no doubt that my grandsire had similar plans for her in the coming years. As for my aunt, she has made mistakes, yes, many of which she will never be able to repent for, but she was victim of only the same treatment as I, only she was given to a gentle man rather than one who is known for nothing but his ability to hunt, as I was. If you cannot find the forgiveness to spare myself or my aunt, I beseech you to take your niece into your care, for she is the only one of us completely innocent.”

Rhaenyra averted her gaze, silent for a moment before she finally waved her hand dismissively, “I’ve heard enough. Take them away.”

Y/n kept her eyes steady on the queen as the guards dragged her away. She wanted nothing more than to climb those stairs and weep directly at her feet, to beg for mercy, whether it be through a quick death or a pardon, but instead she held her stare firmly, forcing the queen to stare into her eyes as long as she could before the guards dragged her into the corridor, and back up to the tower.

A day passed before they heard anything more about or from the queen. Servants came and went with their meals and the guards ignored Alicent’s insistent yelling, until the door finally opened and a white cloak stepped inside the small room. 

“The queen has summoned you.”

Alicent stood from the small writing desk near the window, wringing her fingers as she took a nervous step forward. 

“Not you,” his voice stopped her, his gloved finger extending to point at the younger woman who cradled the child on the bed, “Her.”

“Her?” Alicent barked, “No, she is innocent. What could the queen possibly have to speak to her about?”

“That isn’t any of your concern, traitor,” he scowled at her, “She can come with me peacefully, or we can do this the hard way. I have no preference.”

Y/n shared a glance with her aunt, slowly moving to slide Jaehaera out of her lap. The child clung to her, small hands grabbing her tightly as she wept in resistance. 

“Jaehaera, please,” her voice cracked at this rare burst of emotions from her cousin. The girl had been through so much in such a short amount of time, and she didn’t even truly know it. “It will be alright. I will return.”

Alicent peeled the child away from her, cradling the child as she screamed while her niece was grabbed by the arm and roughly led out into the hallway. 

Y/n was shocked when the guards led her away from the throne room and up into the palace where the royal bedchambers were kept. 

“Where are we going?” She asked the guard. 

He ignored her, finally stopping before the largest door in the corridor, a room she had once known as Aegon’s chambers, but were now Rhaenyra’s. A shiver worked its way up her spine as the guard knocked, roughly forcing her through the door when the queen called out for them to enter. 

The queen sat in a large chair before the roaring fireplace, far too close to such heat for anyone but the blood of the dragon. Her eyes were pulled to the door, a small curve appearing on her lips at the sight of the woman in front of her. 

“My lady,” she nodded her head, “You may leave us, Ser Rychard.” 

The guard gave her a slight shove forward out of the way of the door as he closed it behind them, leaving the two women almost alone, save for the handmaidens that scurried around the room around them. 

“Your Grace,” she lowered into a curtsy, “I must ask–”

“Save the pleasantries,” the queen hummed, turning her gaze back to the fire, “You were bold enough earlier. Do not tell me it was all for show.”

“I apologise if I overstepped earlier. I believe that you, of all people, can understand my desperation to preserve my cousin’s innocence.”

“I can,” the queen reached for the cup of wine at her side, taking a slow drink, “I have no intentions of harming a hair on Jaehaera’s head.”

“You mean it?” a weight was lifted from her shoulders, “What will you do with her?”

“I will keep her as my ward. Regardless of her parentage, she is a Targaryen princess and will be raised as such. She will know her histories, and she will have the finest things.”

“And will she know of her mother?”

Rhaenyra paused, “Helaena, for better or worse, is involved in such histories. I want the child to know not only of this war and the losses she has faced, but why they occurred and what we could learn from them.”

Y/n tilted her head and frowned, “No.”

“No?” the queen gasped, disbelief clear in her voice, “Tell me then, what would you have me do.”

“For better or for worse,” the younger woman scoffed, “For better or for worse, Helaena was nothing short of a victim. I understand that you had little relations with your siblings, for reasons I cannot fault you for. But in this war, for better or for worse, there were innocent lives lost on both sides.”

“Helaena took her own life.”

“Out of grief!” Y/n paused after her voice rose in volume, collecting herself before the queen, “Perhaps you had no part in the butchering of her son, as you say, but her death was nothing short of a casualty, I’m sure you can agree.”

Rhaenyra stood from her chair, crossing the room at a frightening speed, “You dare question my involvement in such…such…”

“Senselessness?”

The queen paused, staring at her with that same curious stare she had worn the day before in front of the court. 

“I believe you when you say that you had no part in this, Your Grace,” the young lady diverted her gaze to the floor, “But regardless, the order came from your late husband. The job was done in your name. Jaehaerys was not the first victim of this war, but the pain that this caused Helaena is one that you can almost understand yourself.”

“Do not speak of it.”

“This war has caused nothing but loss and heartache. Do not teach Jaehaera that her brother was butchered with purpose, or that her mother was a tyrant who chose to leave her.” her eyes had glossed over, and her grief had overcome the strength in her voice, “Helaena was special, she mattered, and for better or for worse, she was forced to watch as her son was brutally slain in his own bed, forced to submit to their will in order to not only save her own life, but Jaehaera’s as well. Teach her of her mother, and who she truly was. Do not paint her as a villain or a coward for her choice to leave this world.”

Rhaenyra stared at her for a moment, a rare glimmer of understanding appearing in her violet gaze before she lunged forward, taking the younger woman in her arms. Only then did the Hightower woman allow herself to weep for the first time since her imprisonment. 

The queen soothed her and brushed a hand over her hair. She held her close, allowing the younger woman to nuzzle into her neck as close as she needed. After a few moments, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks dry as she attempted to compose herself.

“My apologies, my queen. I do not know what has overcome me.”

She shook her head, hand coming up to brush her thumb across her cheekbone, “Do not apologise. You are right, I know just as well as anyone that you and Princess Jaehaera are innocent of any crime beyond being born a woman. I understand your grief. The princess will learn of her mother as she was, not as she will be remembered. She will know her brother and she will understand that I had no hand in his death. She will know her father, who, beyond his many faults, I am told, was as attentive a father as he could. When she is older, I will propose a marriage between her and my own son Aegon, so that she may carry on her mother’s legacy as queen consort and finally end this feud.”

“Only if she agrees,” Y/n whispered, “You claim yourself to be different from men like my grandsire. Do not force her into an unwanted marriage.”

Rhaenyra scoffed out a laugh, “You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

The younger lady let out a small giggle of her own, glossy eyes staring into those of the queen. Neither of them took any notice of the curious stares of the servants around them as their foreheads came together, noses brushing as Rhaenyra teased her lips against the younger lady’s. She smiled at the surprise on her face, testing the waters once more before finally pressing their lips firmly together. 

Y/n was still, unsure of how to react. She had not been so intimate with anyone before, let alone another woman. She had been raised as a woman of the Faith, which warned against the dangers of such temptations, but there was something so alluring about the silver-haired woman that made her not want to pull away.

The kisses shared were soft at first, but slowly grew in passion as Rhaenyra took a handful of the younger woman’s hair in her hand, guiding her mouth along with her own. 

One of the servants cleared their throat, clearly uncomfortable with the display. Rhaenyra pulled away just enough to turn her head.

“Your Grace, your bath is ready.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, “leave us.”

The handmaidens made quick work of fleeing the queen’s chambers, no doubt eager to spread such gossip through the staff of the Red Keep. Once they were gone and the door was closed behind her, Rhaenyra turned her attention back to the starry-eyed girl in front of her.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Your Grace?”

“You heard me. I imagine you have been longing for a proper bath after days in confinement. Take off your clothes, and get in the tub.” The girl stared at her for a moment, causing some concern to appear  in Rhaenyra’s eyes, “Forgive me. You may leave if you wish. I will send some servants to your quarters for you to bathe in private if you so choose. However, I would like you to stay.”

At a loss for words, she mumbled out her most pressing concern, “What of the servants? Word will spread quickly, especially among suitors.”

“Suitors,” the queen snorted, “you complain of betrothals one minute, and demand one the next.”

The lady shook her head, “Not for me. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I had assumed you would wish to remarry once the throne was secured.”

“I have no desire to remarry. I have been widowed twice over, and not a single one of my lovers outlived this war. I do not wish for more children, or for company offered to me by any man. I cannot deny that we would face ridicule, but if you were to become my lover, I can protect you from unwanted betrothals and you will never face hardship again in your lifetime so long as I can protect you. Regardless of your answer, you are more than welcome at my court, and I encourage you to speak to the princess of her family, for no one could do her mother justice as I know you could.”

Y/n was stunned at the sudden change in demeanour. The woman who had called them before the court to interrogate and humiliate them for their parentage was now offering her a place in her bed. The woman who had only just gotten cross with her was here offering her a permanent position not only in her court as a subject, but also as an equal within these rooms.

“Say the word,” Rhaenyra breathed into her flesh, dragging the bump of her nose down the column of her throat, “And you will be free of me. I shall never ask you of this again. Or, take off your clothes, and you may have everything you could ever want.”

Y/n inhaled sharply before a nervous smile appeared on her lips, “Help me with my laces?”

Rhaenyra smirked, pressing one more kiss to her lips as she took her by the hand, leading her further into her bedchambers to where the large wooden tub had been prepared. She forced her to turn, making quick work of the laces at the back of her gown and helping her strip. Luckily, the gown was rather plain, simple blue cotton over her shift, and she was bare before the queen within moments. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned up and down her figure, a satisfied smile rising to her lips, “Your beauty exceeds my expectations, my love.”

The shift from enemy to lover was swift, so quick that Y/n felt like her head would begin to spin. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she gingerly allowed the queen to take her by the hand, guiding her to step into the steaming water and sink into the warmth. She sighed at the feeling, having only had access to a small basin of lukewarm water between the three of them for the past fortnight. 

“Would you like some wine?” Rhaenyra asked her, already beginning to pour her a cup before she answered.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Y/n answered bashfully, accepting the cup and taking a long sip from it before allowing Rhaenyra to set it aside. 

Rhaenyra allowed Y/n to bathe in silence, sitting at her side and helping to scrub the oils away from her scalp with tender hands, manicured nails massaging the gentle skin and causing the girl to tip her head back and let out a small noise of contentment.

After she was cleaner than she had ever felt in her life, Rhaenyra’s hands moved down the back of her neck, softly massaging the tense muscle until she reached her shoulders. They then pushed down her back as far as she could reach before her flesh met the side of the tub, and began crawling around her front. Her nails tickled the flesh over her ribs, settling just beneath the slouched underside of her breasts, but made no effort to crawl any higher. Her soft pink lips ghosted up the side of her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of the oils in the tub. 

“Tell me to stop,” the queen whispered, “And we will never speak of this again.”

The younger woman exhaled shakily, slowly turning her head to come face-to-face with the queen. Their noses brushed one another for a moment as Rhaenyra waited with bated breath as she waited for her answer.

“Do not stop.”

The words were out of her mouth no more than a second before Rhaenyra’s lips descended on her own, fingers crawling up and firmly cupping her breasts in her palms. The younger woman gasped in surprise, but quickly relaxed into the queen’s touch as she rolled her already pebbled nipples between her fingers, completely disregarding the fact that the long sleeves of her gown were now doused in the water. One hand began to descend further into the water, tracing across her ribs, the soft pudge of her belly, and just barely reaching the thatch of curls that just barely protected her modesty. 

She pulled away with a gasp, “Wha-what are you doing?”

Recognition appeared in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her features softening, “You are a maiden?”

The girl shook her head, “My great-aunt once told me that if I was not chaste until my wedding night, I would be damning not only myself, but my entire house as well.” 

“If that were true, I can promise you that many of these great houses would be damned, my own included,” Rhaenyra scoffed, “With a man, it can be painful, but nice. I admit, I am not quite as experienced with my own sex as I am the opposite, but I find it just as if not even more enjoyable. Women are more…in-tune with one another.”

She stared at the queen inquisitively, “What do you mean?”

“You would understand what feels nice to you based on your personal explorations, just as I do.”

“Explorations?”

A small chuckle escaped Rhaenyra’s throat as she pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, “My sweet, you are truly so innocent, aren’t you. Do not tell me you have never pleasured yourself.”

The girl shook her head, brows furrowed. Pleasure? What could she mean? Everyone had told her that coupling with her lord husband would be unpleasant for the first while, but may begin to feel nice after some time, but no one had ever mentioned anything of her own pleasure. 

“Then I would humbly request that I be the first to show you,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “just say the word.”

Her nimble fingers played with the hair between her legs, tracing over it playfully and laughing to herself at the jump of the younger woman’s hips under the slightest of touches. Her thighs clamped together, this familiar feeling pooling between her thighs becoming more overwhelming than ever; she would normally wait this out, clean the wetness away and carry on, but she did not think that the queen was going to allow her to this time.

“Yes,” she uttered out, mouth feeling impossibly dry, “yes, please, Your Grace.”

The title sent a shiver down Rhaenyra’s spine, perhaps something to be reused at another time when she did not need to be so gentle with her. 

“In here, we are equals, my love. You may call me Rhaenyra, or whatever you wish.”

The queen’s name rolled off her tongue fluidly, and Rhaenyra revelled in the sound. She finally pulled away, standing to her full height and extending a hand to the woman and carefully helping her step out of the cooling water and onto the stone flooring. She led her back to where the fire continued to roar within its hearth, and turned her back to her. 

“Help me?” She called over her shoulder, moving her long braid to the side as the younger woman eagerly helped her undress.

The young Hightower woman stared in awe at the sight of her queen, appearing like a goddess before her as the firelight flickered off of her milky-white flesh. Rhaenyra was nothing short of beautiful, if that word was even suitable for a woman so divine. Y/n felt an overwhelming urge to bend to her every whim and desire.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” she whispered as Rhaenyra turned back to face her, chests brushing against one another with every heaving breath. 

“Have you seen many women in such a state, my lady?” Rhaenyra teased, an easy smile appearing on her lips.

The younger woman looked down bashfully, “I have not. But I doubt any other could rival you.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, kissing her so slowly it felt more like heavy breaths falling from their lips than anything else, “But you do, my sweet.”

Rhaenyra pulled her impossibly closer, deepening their kiss until her tongue was able to familiarise itself with the interior of her mouth. Y/n’s gentle fingers found their place on the queen’s jaw, holding her close as Rhaenyra reached around her, one hand gliding up and down her back while the other shamelessly grasped at her bottom, softly massaging one cheek in her grasp and smirking at the squeak of surprise it drew from her new lover. 

“Lay down,” she breathed into her, guiding the younger woman down to lay flat on the luxurious white fur rug in front of the hearth, wasting no time in dropping down to lay on her side next to her. “I need you to relax, I have nothing but pleasure in store for you, my sweet.”

Her pink lips traced down the length of Y/n’s throat, quickly descending further down to engulf her pert nipple between her lips, tugging and nipping at it as gasps and whimpers began escaping her lover. She moved to the other breast, taking her time in worshipping the flesh and nipples alike.

“How does this feel?” She asked between kisses pressed to her sternum, “I wish to hear you always, my love.”

“G-good. I cannot–I cannot explain it, but…”

“I understand, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra kissed her lips again this time, the hand that had once been resting on Y/n belly had slid further down to rest between her thighs once more, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the skin, “Will you allow me to feel you?”

The younger woman hesitantly nodded, breath hitching as Rhaenyra parted her thighs and finally breached the curls with her fingertips, a soft sigh falling from her lips as she felt the wetness pooling at her core.

“Feel this?” She asked, moving her fingers around to collect some of her slick before drawing small circles on her sensitive pearl, “feel how much you desire me? Nothing could stop me from having you, my sweet.”

For a split second, that same dark glint appeared in Rhaenyra’s eyes, the one she had the day prior in the Throne Room. For better or for worse, Rhaenyra was a Targaryen, all bound to have some darkness within them. If she were not so disposed at the moment, Y/n may have felt a sense of fear, but instead it only furthered her desire.

“Oh,” she jolted at Rhaenyra’s movement, legs widening at the warming sensation that appeared in the pit of her tummy, “my love,” Rhaenyra grinned at the name, “I feel…”

“Good?” Rhaenyra asked.

The girl nodded enthusiastically, tilting her head back into the plush rug as Rhaenyra dared to breach her entrance with her fingertips. Rhaenyra watched her face for any discomfort as her finger easily sank into her sweet heat, glad to find none even as she inserted another.

Y/n let out a cry of protest as Rhaenyra removed her fingers entirely, bringing them up to her lips and sucking every drop of her juices off of her digits. Y/n watched in awe, her kiss-swollen lips parted in surprise at the vulgarity of it all. 

“You taste divine,” Rhaenyra cooed, moving to kneel between her parted thighs, “and look how beautiful,” the girl let out a whimper as she traced her finger around the entirety of her cunt, “I fear I may perish if I do not taste you this instant.”

She left no room for questioning or protest as she settled on her belly, back arched with her ass high in the air behind her. Y/n only wished she could step out of her body for a moment to admire the sight from behind, but was quickly brought out of her thoughts as Rhaenyra dragged her tongue slowly up the entirety of her core, from taint to clitoris. 

She pushed herself up on her elbows in surprise, thighs clamping shut around Rhaenyra’s head as she began to alternate between licking around her entrance and suckling on her sweet, swollen pearl of nerves. The first true moan of pleasure was dragged from her throat as the queen sucked her clit, tugging at it with her lips for a moment before letting it slip back beneath its hood with a soft gushing noise. Rhaenyra chuckled, taking great pleasure in noticing how wet and responsive the young lady was to her touch, finally conceding and nuzzling her face into her wetness and focusing on bringing her to the brink.

She was not far off, having never felt such pleasure before in her life. She supported herself with one hand behind her, back arching into her touch as the other hand planted itself on the back of Rhaenyra’s head. Her eyes suddenly widened in shock, the feeling in the pit of her stomach far too strong to fight off any longer.

“Oh, oh,” she panted, “Your G–Rhaenyra, you must stop. I think I am going to–oh!”

Her face burned with embarrassment, thighs closing together as Rhaenyra pulled away. She could not believe that she had just…the feeling had been so similar to that of when she needed to use the chamber pot. Had she truly just peed on the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?

But Rhaenyra was dry as she returned to her side, save for the wetness smeared from her chin to her nose and across both cheeks. She was quick to press an eager kiss to her lips, allowing the girl to taste herself on her tongue as she smoothed her hand over her soft belly comfortingly. 

“You are so lovely,” the queen mused, “every part of you. Now, let me clean you–”

“No,” the lady protested, “let me…I wish to return the…”

Rhaenyra grinned shamelessly, “You wish to pleasure me?”

She nodded bashfully, feeling so vulnerable yet so connected at the same time as she came down from her own orgasm. Rhaenyra nodded, shifting herself across the rug once more until she was facing the opposite direction, stroking her lover’s hair gently.

“Tap my leg if this is too much. Just lay back, and allow me to take my pleasure from you.”

Rhaenyra quickly swung her leg over the girl’s head, straddling her face as she slowly lowered herself. 

“Stick out your tongue, my love. Remember what you liked, kisses and licks, remember?”

Y/n nodded, brushing her own hair away from her sweaty cheeks and following her instructions as the queen lowered herself onto her face, a low moan rumbling from her jaw as her dripping cunt settled onto Y/n’s awaiting tongue. 

Rhaenyra gripped her hair, slowly beginning to grind her hips down against her as the girl lapped eagerly at her core, moaning at the musky taste of the queen’s most intimate centre. She did her best to follow the movements that Rhaenyra had administered on her own core, licking and kissing until she was eventually engulfing the entirety of her cunt in her hot mouth, slurping and sucking at her juices. Rhaenyra laughed in surprise at this, grinding her hips harder.

“I had no idea you could be so greedy, my love,” she chuckled, rolling her head back in pleasure, “Oh, yes, yes.”

The girl was spurred on by the praise, testing the barrier of her clenching hole with her tongue as Rhaenyra rocked her hips harder and harder, forcing her clit down on the girl’s nose. Her words of praise became slurred as her movements sped up, loud yells of pleasure leaving her, no doubt revealing to the guards outside her chambers exactly what was happening between the queen and her prisoner.

Rhaenyra, having gone without touch since long before she invaded the capitol, was almost as quick to finish as her sweet maiden had been, moaning in pleasure as thick drips of white fluid oozed from her tight hole, covering the entire lower half of the younger woman’s face. 

The queen was pleased to find a grin on her lover’s face as she climbed off of her, quick to greet her with a kiss of dying passion, tiredness overtaking each of them as they laid together, hands wandering across naked skin. 

“Stay with me tonight,” the queen murmured, “and I will bring you so much pleasure you will not even remember your own name.”

Realisation dawned on the Hightower maiden, remembering Jaehaera and Alicent locked in that tower while she could sleep in the queen’s own bed that very night. Guilt gnawed at her conscience, though she would never find it within herself to regret any of what had transpired between them that night. 

“I cannot,” she frowned, “Jaehaera, she wept when I was escorted away. I promised her I would be back.”

A soft smile appeared on her face, “You care for her as your own. I admire that.”

Y/n shrugged, “As I have said, she is innocent in all of this. She does not even understand why she does not see her mother anymore.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, “You and the princess will be given proper chambers on the morrow, just allow me some time to arrange it. I would not dream of sending her back to that nursery, so she may stay in the rooms near my own children out of convenience for the maids. You, however, my love, will have the queen’s chambers.”

Her eyes bugged out of her head, “The–Rhaenyra I cannot–”

“You can, and you will.” She pressed, “as I have told you, I have no desire to remarry or take another man to bed. You are the closest I will ever have to another spouse, I swear it to you now. If I could take you to wife and make you consort at my side, I would.”

The Hightower woman felt warmth spread across her cheeks, but a gnawing question tugged at her, unable to deny herself of seeking the answer. 

“And my aunt, the Queen Dowager?”

Rhaenyra’s face hardened, “I shared a love with Alicent as a child, one that I have never been able to replace. For that, and for your sake and Jaehaera’s, I swear to be merciful to her. However, she began this war, and plotted against me from the moment my sweet Jace took his first breath. For that, I cannot forgive. She will be treated well, but she will remain in confinement for the rest of her days, as she has requested in exchange for your own freedom.”

Y/n was silent for a moment, knowing that this truly was the best outcome possible for her aunt at this point, “Will we be allowed to visit her? I knew Helaena enough, but Jaehaera would benefit most from Alicent, who knew her better than anyone.”

She pondered for a moment before coming up with her response, “So long as she bends the knee and accepts her fate, I will grant you visitation once a week, and you may pray together if you must.”

Y/n nodded, leaning in and trailing her own sweet kisses up Rhaenyra’s jaw and to her lips, “Thank you, my love.”

She jumped in surprise as Rhaenyra’s hand enclosed around her throat, applying no pressure except for the slight press of her thumb on her jugular as she pulled her in to meet her kiss once more, this one slower and lazier than the others as their lips dragged across one another’s softly. 

“For better or for worse,” the queen whispered into her, “you are mine, now and forever.”

[bokutoko]

VENUST

knight!iwaizumi x princess!reader

prologue.

wc. 1.7k

cw. introductions of two protagonists, some world building + a little bit of showing how they interact, (probably) very inaccurate knowledge about royal family protocol, mixing eras within various monarchies - don’t kill me i don’t care enough to do extensive research

six years ago. . .

the room was much too stuffy for her liking.

the stained glass windows lined the throne room, surrounding them in a kaleidoscope of colors. the high ceilings and intricate art painted on its arch almost always made her dizzy to look up at if she did so for too long. she learned long ago, though, that it was considered “unladylike” to let one’s mouth hang open—her mother claimed it led to the implication of ignorance and stupidity.

she was not stupid.

the royal chambers made her feel oddly small, in a way. the hall that echoed even the faintest of noises, whose doors opened far and wide, creating a straight path to the entrance of the castle. just right outside being the rolling acreage and nearby forest. her home, at times, felt like an enclosure, with nature looking in at her, taunting her.

she sat in her seat by her father, who was laden with purple robes that were usually a deep shade, but with the sun’s catching, resembled a brighter violet. her dress was a similar shade, though a bit lighter, thanks to the family’s modiste. she was finally able to include some input into what she wore—it was her birthday gown, after all.

many said her sixteenth birthday would be magical, full of dinner parties and mounds of gifts from the people of the kingdom. “a day worth celebrating, indeed, for on this day, the princess was born!” many told her.

she was not a fan.

not that she didn’t appreciate the working class because she did, probably far more so than her father. but rather, she did not care for the day in its entirety, due to her presence here, in this uncomfortably warm room, standing before a group of sweaty boys.

the newest recruits for the knight guard were to be officially sworn in today, and naturally, they chose the hottest day of the year in the middle of summer for the ceremony. if it wasn’t so miserable, it would be comical to watch some of them stand still in this godforsakenly humid throne room.

as she looked almost bored at this prospect, she met the eyes of the one she cannot make eye contact with, or else she’d laugh out of turn. and that was truly “unladylike.”

iwaizumi was different from the other knights of the castle, with not having this strange infatuation with her that some of the others had. he treated her highly—even became friends with her. or at least she hoped they were.

she didn’t have many friends.

she met his eyes before looking away, acknowledging his presence while maintaining protocol. it was an important day, after all. along with this formal accolade, there was to be one exemplary knight chosen to take an oath to the crown as personal guard to the princess. he was handpicked by the king and the general of the knight guard.

iwaizumi looked quite dashing in his uniform—the stoic knight, with his armor in perfect position. despite his unruly hair adding a touch of some boyish charm, it was obvious he took this job much more serious than these other upcoming guards.

when the clock and bell struck noon, the king—her father—rose, with her and her mother following, signaling the few new guards to stand still at attention. she noticed the beads of sweat rolling down their temples. with the thick cloth they wore as undergarments to the armor they adorned, it was no wonder why they were roasting like wild pigs.

many elders in the church gathered for the accolade, with the archbishop himself attending and standing at the head of the group, but she most often ignored their presences. she remained civil for appearances, though she did not want to surround herself with their ungodly diction used to describe women.

the king cleared his throat, silence washing over the crowd of men. he had a way of demanding respect from people with less than a single word, and they listened, monarch or not.

she could only hope she’d one day be like him.

“today, you all have been chosen to serve the royal family as our trusted knights.”

as her father spoke, her mind wandered many places other than where it should be—listening to him. she thought about what would be served at supper, if her tulips buds in the gardens had bloomed yet, if her handmaid had gotten more sleep recently. but she kept up the façade of a perfect princess quite well, even though all she cared about was this prospective personal guard of hers. she wondered if he’d be nice to her—respect is a given, as a princess, but she wished for someone who was intelligent, resourceful, relatively kind.

she didn’t need a nanny, she needed a protector.

“iwaizumi hajime, step forward.”

she kept a well-trained, impassive expression as her eyes followed iwaizumi’s steps to kneel before the king.

“due to your exemplary performance, you have been chosen to serve as the personal guard to the princess. you will accompany her wherever she may go, and, if the moment may come, you will lay down your life to protect her. do you accept this post?” the king’s voice echoed through the hall, his eyes trained on the young knight.

the air was silent, save for the occasional soft pants from the elders due to this blistering heat. she subconsciously held her breath—what if iwaizumi was to refuse the post? what if she’d been reading too far into their conversations together? did he speak to her out of pure obligation? what—

“i do, your majesty,” iwaizumi answered, his voice confident, “i am honored to serve the crown and to protect the princess.”

the king nodded, turning to look to his daughter. “my child, come forth.”

her heels clicked, clicked, clicked against the stone floor as she approached her father’s throne, awaiting further instruction. he grabbed the family’s sword from his sheath, the pure steel of the blade shining in the high noon light.

he handed her the weapon, silently prompting her to be the one to dub iwaizumi as knight. as she stood before iwaizumi, his head was low, his gaze to the ground.

“iwaizumi hajime,” she said, “i dub thee sir iwaizumi, of the royal kingdom.”

current day. . .

“did you hear of my newest purchase of some land by the sea, your highness? i hear the coast is your favorite this time of year.”

linked arm-in-arm in the gardens with her newest suitor, she was beginning to regret accepting his invitation of a turn about the grounds. the garden, full of her favorite flowers, felt sacred to her, for it was her place to hide, to roam about when she felt overwhelmed with the world.

she glanced back at iwaizumi, who walked several paces behind them as their chaperone. his face remained expressionless, betraying none of his thoughts to her.

“my newest estate will have the finest of homes,” the suitor continued on and on, “with one very beautiful princess enhancing its beauty.”

she couldn’t hold in her soft laugh. “how very bold of you to assume such a thing.”

he gave her a questioning look, so she clarified, “how very arrogant of you that you’d assume i’d be swayed by a mere scenic view.” her tone was polite as could be, but her words were blunt. many had viewed the princess as rude with her words, claiming she did not think before speaking.

but trust in the fact that she definitely had been thinking of this since the stroll began.

plus, the men who claimed such things were prior suitors who were rejected by the princess. they claimed she sought the impossible: love.

“love, in a time of building alliances? how utterly outlandish,” they said.

maybe so, but she knew what she wanted.

she looked back again at iwaizumi, her eyes giving him a telling sign to intervene. in a matter of seconds, he approached the two and announced, “your highness, the king has requested your assistance. it sounded rather urgent.”

she hid her smile and looked back at her trusty knight, then to the suitor. “oh, dear,” she said softly, “i am terribly sorry, your grace, but my father requires my presence.”

the man only forced a polite nod and waved a hand, watching her and iwaizumi walk back to the castle’s doors.

“thank you.”

he only hummed. “not a fun one, i presume?”

she cut her eyes at him, watching him stifle a grin. iwaizumi had warned her of the duke before he even arrived, having heard stories from the maids, who heard them from those in the market downtown. the princess chose to ignore them, wishing to give him at least one chance.

oh, how wrong she was.

nonetheless, she couldn’t help her own smile that slowly overtook her face. “not fun at all, this man was thinking he could barter a marriage with a coastline estate.”

“what a fool, to think you can be bought like some animal.”

she sighed, letting her shoulders finally slump once they walk through the doors into the quiet castle. “i fear there is not a royal soul in ilithiya who is not a brash, insolent… barbarian.”

he nodded along, listening to her exasperated sighs and frustrated words. “you will find someone, princess. someone who values you and loves you as yourself.”

“possibly.” they reached her chamber doors. “unless the most perfect man has been right in front of me this entire time, i’m not too sure.”

iwaizumi felt his heart sting just a little. if he’d been born with royal blood… maybe he could have swayed her.

maybe she could’ve even fallen in love with him.

“i understand, princess. but for now, you should rest before supper,” he nodded as he opened her door for her, “i will be right outside.”

after entering her room, she leaned against her door, letting his words sink in. he would “be right outside”—a phrase he always said to her before she retired for the afternoon or evening. his way of reminding her that he was always there to protect her.

he was her shield.

granted, it was his duty.

but was that all it was?

introductions. ♛ ⚔︎

᯽ princess yn.

22. princess of the kingdom of ilithiya.

᯽ sir iwaizumi.

24. knight, personal guard to the princess.

notes. ✎ᝰ

᯽ purple is the color of royalty, due to the rarity of its dye. clothes with this dye were expensive, so only the wealthy (royalty) could afford it.

᯽ accolade: “knighting” / the ceremony of granting knighthood.

᯽ kneeling with a bowed head is most common in religious worship, so the fact that iwaizumi did so while being dubbed a knight by the princess conveys his upmost respect for her.

NEXT: love letter #1. more than duty.

table of contents.

taglist (open - comment/ask - 18+ age must be visible): @nectardaddy @alcyneus @stellar-headquarters @tsukisangel @tiredafbruh @dearru @iloveiwaizumihajime @anonimusunnoan @you-cant-even-see-it @stargirlstabber @kr1nqu @alpha-mommy69 @wordsofelie @nemuranai09 @nobodybutnnoorr @kiyoramen @loveyislost @shortcakebaby

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[betterthanyalls]

hey betty wetty bo confetti

How’s about Ares x Reader in which she’s the daughter of Odysseus and and and she’s defending Telemachus & Penelope from the suitors and after getting into a fight with Antinous or however u spell his name, she meets Ares somehow?

BTW DONT FEEL PRESSURED OR FEEL THERES A TIME LIMIT - TAKE YOUR TIME 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

Okay love ya 🤩🤗

that nickname concerns me BUT HIIIII so ion know how good this is :sobs: , i made it in the span of like 2-3 hours from a burst of motivation. HERE YOU GO TAKE THIS AS A LATE BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Masterlist

Warrior's Blood

Ares x Reader

EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Action

Words: 1.4K

Published: 11-3-2024 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud belch sounded from the palace’s dining hall, followed by boisterous laughter and unorganized yells. The princess of Ithaca glared down the hallway while she stalked past the dining hall to her destination of the training grounds. “Men,” a loud voice called, the speaker standing up on a wooden bench, “we have been waiting for the throne for far too long. Can’t you see we are being played?”

Y/n slowed her pace, taking a peek into the crowded room to see the one suitor she hates the most speaking. Antinous. 

“I say, we take the throne. That boyish prince and his sister only stand in our way to the queen. Once we are rid of them, we shall have full access to the crown." Cheers and yells followed quickly. The onlooking royalty sneered in disgust. Normally, Y/n would only walk away and tell her mother about the new plan, but something inside her felt different—an urge to fight, a need for conflict. 

Taking a step into the light of the hall, Y/n cleared her throat.

“What would my mother think of this? Threatening to kill both of her children and then seizing her by force?" Y/n had to keep from gagging, not only at the idea of their threat but also the horrid stench of the room. 

Antinous turned to the princess with a look of pure murder and flame.

“Well, if it isn’t the weak girl. If you speak even a word of our plan, I will rip you limb from limb so you can meet your father in the underworld,” he stalked towards the younger girl with a vicious grin. “Now that I’ve thought about it, how about we begin that plan now? Starting with you.”

Y/n was wise enough to duck down, blocking an oncoming punch, only to be nailed in the gut with his knee. Falling to the ground with a sharp gasp, she was pulled to her feet by her hair. “Come on, girlie. You had the strength before to challenge me; where is it now? You’re as weak as your father.”

Staggering and getting out of his grasp, she pulled up a loose fighting position. The princess narrowed her eyes at Antinous’ insults while taking steps back to match his steps forward. Y/n tried to find some sort of strategy to take him down, like how Telemachus taught her. Her brother would always say to fight with wisdom, but there was no wisdom anywhere near this fight. Strategy only works if your opponent has strategy too. Antinous was anything but a planned fighter. 

So with her next best option, Y/n grabbed a nearby vase and chucked it at her rival's head. She missed, making Antinous even more angry. With a yell, a foot made contact with her stomach, throwing the princess to the floor and her head hitting a pillar. Pain shot through her entire body as she struggled to regain her breath. 

‘So, I did this easily. Thanks for the amazing lessons, Tele.’ Her mind wandered, forgetting about her approaching opponent as she took a glance at a nearby wall. There, up high, hung a tapestry by her mother. The twelve Olmpyians were displayed with divine glory. Glory that could help Y/n not die, if only they saw her. With nothing left to lose, the princess sent up a silent prayer before deciding to help herself.

With much pain and huffs, Y/n managed to stand on her feet once more with a sway.

Antinous offered a loud laugh, ricocheting off the stone walls.

“You just can’t stay down, can you? Do you not want to see Odysseus in Hades?”

“Don’t you dare speak my father's name,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She leaned onto the pillar with one hand while her other held her hurt stomach. Something other than pain burned inside her—a yearning to see him hurt, to see Antinous suffer. 

A new energy boosted her body; her muscles didn’t feel as sore, and the pain was dissipating. Deciding not to question this, Y/n dodged another punch aimed for her jaw. With fast footing, she grabbed a spear off the wall beside her and countered another punch.

Antinous grabbed the spear to rip it from Y/n’s grasp. Quickly, Y/n pulled the spear closer to her and kicked Antinous in the ribs. Instead of knocking him down, he only stumbled back. 

‘Left’ A voice spoke in her mind. Y/n was about to question the order until she noticed Antinous barreling towards her and instantly followed the demanded direction. 

Dodging a swipe of his sword, the princess swung her spear down at the man's knees, causing him to trip. Looking down to where he fell, a sudden push of rage flowed through her veins.

‘Blood’

She didn’t need to hear the voice again to know exactly what to do. With momentum, Y/n brought the weapons head down into Anitnous’ thigh, earning a scream from the male. She ripped the weapon from his flesh only to bring it down once more with another bloody cry. Her thoughts seemed barren except for a new order from the unknown voice. 

‘Stop’

That order only seemed to boost her adrenaline. Stop? She couldn’t. Not with all this pent-up anger and frustration she felt for Antinous. Y/n needed to make him learn where he stood as a guest in her kingdom. But as she raised her spear once more, the voice barked a command louder and all her pain and exhaustion rushed in.

‘STOP’

In an instant, her spear clattered to the floor as Y/n held her head with a groan. Antinous was being tended to by his fellow suitors, who had opted to stay on the sidelines. With labored breaths, Y/n managed to stumble away from the dining hall and towards the empty training grounds. 

Exhausted, she slumped to the sandy floor and leaned her back against a rack of swords. Her eyes shut against the glaring sun as the royal attempted to regain her breath. To her pleasure, the heat was blocked by a sudden shadow. The young adult cracked open her eyes to see a darkened figure wearing the full armor of a Spartan soldier. A mixture of emotions flooded into her soul as she recognized the nation's armor. Was this news of her father from serving beside the Spartans? But her hope was snuffed out as the familiar voice spoke.

“Stand up.”

She wanted to argue, but something in her felt compelled to follow the instructions. So, shakily, Y/n stood up in front of the warrior. From a new angle, she could see the stranger's identity. All breath escaped her lungs as she recognized the being from similar statues and paintings.

“Ares.”

The god, who towered over her with his divine form, smirked at the recognition.

“Indeed. I’ve seen your skill, princess of Ithaca. You fight well,” the god of war stalked around the girl in a circle, seeing her state after the fight. 

Finally, the two pieces connected in her mind as she turned to face him.

“It was you. The voice. The orders. That was all you.”

“You follow orders well, except for when you’re told to stop. I like that sort of fight.” Ares stood tall, power and bloodlust radiating off him as his armor seemed to brighten a bloody red in the sun’s light.

“Why’d you stop me anyway? You are the god of bloodlust, are you not? I could’ve killed him and solved the whole problem!” Y/n argued, upset at the missed opportunity.

“Have you forgotten the laws of hospitality? You would have been punished harshly by the gods had I let you continue. Not even I can defy those.” He glared down at her with warning. In response, she looked away with a defeated huff.

“Why’d you even help me then?” She grumbled, looking at the nearby swords; a few training weapons had begun to rust from limited use. 

"You have the ambition needed for the battlefield. Why would I let such skill go to waste with no proper mentor?” This caused Y/n to look at him instantly in shock, meeting the gaze of a grinning god beneath his helmet.

“Mentor?” 

“Y/n of Ithaca. You fight to protect. You fight to the last stand. That is a warrior’s blood. Like your father before you, you have the makings of a legend.” Ares held out his hand like he was shaking for a deal. “Become my champion, and I will help you become stronger than any opponent you shall face.” 

Y/n thought it over for less than a few seconds before grabbing the gods hand in her own and shaking them up and down. 

“Deal.”

[rhadamanthes]

PR nightmare. Eren x reader

warnings: rockstar!eren, reader has curly hair, reader has a child, use of y/n, mommy kink, lactation, cheating, handjob, nipple play, cowgirl, fingering, eren is a crybaby, eren is whipped, jealousy, slight age gap (reader is 28 Eren is 23) kind of co dependency but not really... only on Eren side unhealthy relationships I guess ? lol.

author's note : I never had a child nor I plan to so there may have some inaccuracy about the way reader's body is recovering but for the sake of this fiction let's just pretend. part two is now up !!

word count : 8,6k

It's your first day at work since you gave birth to your babygirl. You are anxious about seeing your colleagues again. What if they think you should lose some baby fat ? look too tired ? Are too eager to leave your family to be here ? All of these questions make your stomach churn.

But most of all you are anxious about seeing him again. You're Eren Yeager's manager. The famous rockstar could have any of the best agents in the world, yet he decided to stick with you since his early days. You are glad he does, as he is now your main source of income. After an extended period of time without seeing you he always gives you the cold shoulder just like a cat.

Eren has sent flowers to congratulate you but you haven't seen him in person for four month now. Stepping in the skyscraper you swipe your badge on the portico making your way to the elevators. The agency you work for has rented two floors: the 13th as a photo studio and the 16th as offices with all the managers for the different talents the company englobes.

Today Eren is shooting covers for his upcoming album so 13th floor it is. Nervously pulling at your cuticles, the door opens on the familiar white walls of the studio, the staff is running around, making them look like ants from your point of view, you giggle at the thought, making your way to the spot where the cameras and the background is set. Dark colours as always, Eren's universe is particular but if fit him well.

"Oh my god you're back!" Isabel exclaims, she's part of the junior team. Her hands are wrapped around a box, containing swords, american fists and other weapons. What the hell does Eren have in mind this time?

"Yes it's my first day back" the two of you make small talk before her presence is requested somewhere else.

The scenery he's chosen is stairs leading to a rusty iron throne. You bite your thumb, the reference is easily understandable, you make a mental note to ask the legal team if you could get in any type of trouble for that.

"Ah, y/n what a pleasure to see you again" Daris Zackley, the artistic director shakes your hand with his usual strong grip. As always, conversations with him are one sided, he talks and you try to find a new sound of approval you haven't already used. He fills you in with what happened for the last few months, most of it you already know :keeping in check with a rockstar's every move is indeed an easy task even on your hospital bed.

"Where is Eren ?" you interrupt, you've been there for almost half an hour now and not a single one of his dark locks you've seen.

"Running late as always but I told him 10:00 is my last limit we're packing up if he doesn't show up in 3 minutes" he precises checking his watch.

" I was at hair and make up Genius Zackley" a deep voice reaches your ears. Well at least you know the shoot is not getting canceled. Turning around to face Eren you can't help but smile at his pun. Eren is wearing nothing but a white linen sheet low on his waist, spartan sandals on his feet and hair fully down. The only thing missing is a laurel crown so he can go full Cesar on his throne, suits him well though.

"And who are you ?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. There it is the cat letting his owner know that it's absence was very rude. You roll your eyes at his comment.

"The new intern, now please get in position before your team leaves" It's his turn to roll his eyes now, turning his back on you as he ascends slowly the stairs up his rightful seat. You understand now why he chose such a dark environment, it makes his tan skin and light clothes pop out. You only notice now that there isn't one single of his chest tattoos on display, probably the reason why the makeup took so much time.

A good call as always, Eren knows what makes him look good, what to accentuate on his body and features to make him irresistible, the tight golden bracelets around his biceps and thigh are the proof. Sometimes you wish he's also known how to behave but it would quite make your job inexistant: you've lost count on how many public statements you had to make on his behalf, the number bribes you had to give paparazzis so compromising photos wouldn't air out in the open.

Laying on his throne he tries all different types of positions, keeping his face impassible. When he looks your way you give him a thumbs up and he rolls his eyes, again. His act is starting to get on your nerves, the initial joke was fun but now he is just acting like a petulant child. An extra that you recognize as Mina Carolina, joins Eren on the throne, she's wearing a similar toge, the collar dripping down with fake blood. They are reenacting La Piéta, your fingers come to your temple, massaging them in circular motions. You are going to be really busy for the next few weeks.

_

"What's the plan for lunch" you ask once Eren is changed into casual attire. The photoshoot extended past mid day break, the star of the show not being totally satisfied with how the photos turned out.

"I'm having lunch with Mina you can have lunch with whoever you want." he states not even looking at you while he ruffles in his bag.

"Eren" you snap, your tone makes him look up immediately. "You're having lunch with me Mina will have you whenever during the week. He opens his mouth to no doubt get on your nerves some more but the sharp stare you give him seems to change his mind.

"Fine" he utters, smiling at you for the first time today.

After a silent commute to one of the regular restaurants you enjoy around the office ,you are sitting on a plush bench. Eren is right next to you, With the way he acted toward you this morning you would think he'd put the maximum distance between the two of you, but no, his thigh is flush against yours and he's completely ignoring the menu resting in front of him, instead hovering over yours to choose his dish. Is it a new trick of his or did he really missed you that much ?

"So how is life at three now ? " he asks, face resting on his palm as he looks down at you.

"Pretty much the same i mean plus the diapers, the crying in the middle of the night, the milk and the stroller" Both of you chortle and Eren takes a sip of his water.

"Well you're not exactly selling dreams here you know ?" you nod picking at the bread basket.

"What about you ? New album coming soon ? "You know the answer, you just want to hear him say it.

"Yup, I had sleepless nights too but it's all good, when we get back I'll make you listen to some tracks yeah ? " You nod all smiles and your plates arrive.

Entering the building again you can feel Eren's attitude shifting, he's walking miles in front of you, not looking back a single time. You're not going after him, taking your sweet time going up the stairs as he waits for the elevator. Whatever game he's playing he'll get tired of it first. After all, you are bound to work with him anyway. 

-  

And he does, next morning bursting in your office.

"You didn't even ask to listen to my music, some manager you are" he grumbles, depositing a fuming coffee on your desk with a bagel. 

"I already had my cup you can give this to someone else" you state eyes never leaving your monitor as you catch up on your emails. 

A beat of silence fills the room except for the soft tune of your mechanical keyboard. 

"Are you being serious right now ?" voice of the angry Eren you recognize, but you still don't acknowledge him.

"I have a lot to do, our schedule is pretty packed so please if there is nothing else" you gesture vaguely to the door. 

The sound of his footsteps receding makes you smile, the door slams behind him, through the glass doors you see him storm off god knows where. 

Your office is at the end of a corridor where pictures of Eren and yourself, his gold record adorn the walls, you started in the bullpen like everyone else, but after many successful achievements you moved to your personal office.  

Everytime you walk up this alley it reminds you that you've been with him since his first day even before the two of you joined the agency. Your old apartment used to be filled to the brim with paperwork, cd's and gift the early days fan would send him, sometimes you are nostalgic of theses days, just the two of you, canvassing all the clubs and bars of the city to get a scene, now they pull at your feet, or rater your phone to get him on their stage. 

Currently, different club owners are listing the advantages to get Eren's album release party in their establishment. Not a single one has convinced you yet, they are all pompous and pretentious. Eren has made a name for himself in the music industry, he doesn't have anything else to prove. 

But you wish to find him something simpler, more like him. Plus the last time he was invited to a club he ended up in a fight, you would hate that kind of publicity for his new album, other managers would probably think that all kinds of publicity is good publicity but you are rather protective of him. 

The criticism he receives about his music you couldn't care less, you either like it or you don't. But when it comes to his personality, you hate seeing every random person on the internet giving their two pieces of advice about him, you know him, the real him, so the critics hurt  as if they were directed toward you. 

All of these thoughts swim in your head, twirling the cord of your desk phone, as the man whose name you forgot keeps rambling in your ear. The door of your office files open, snapping you back to reality. Your eyes send daggers to whoever entered without permission, but they soften once you realise it is Eren. 

You gesture to the phone, for him to keep quiet, his long legs close the distance between you two as he falls to his knees, face planting in your lap.  Eren large  shoulders start to shake and soon enough you feel hot tears piercing through the tissue of your dress where his head lay.

Oh, your heart clenches in your chest. Instinctively you start combing his long hair, quickly dismissing the man on the other side of the phone to focus on Eren. 

"Hey, what happened, what's wrong Eren ? Tell me" your voice is soft, similar to the one you use talking to your newborn child. The sobs quietly come to an end , you place your hands on the side of his head to look him in his eyes but he resists. Eren was always very private about his feelings, especially the ones he thinks make him look weak. 

"Did something happen with the others ?" you ask, resuming the combing motion through his dark locks.  His head shakes slightly from left to right. "Then talk to me please. I'm getting worried there."

"I'm sorry" is all he says, it's muffled, faint, inaudible if it wasn't for the silence of the room. You don't even need to ask why he is sorry, you already know. A tiny smile is growing on your face, this time you leave him no choice but to look at you, lifting his head up forcefully. 

"You don't have to apologize about anything, hm ? It's ok Eren" you reassure him as you wipe the trails of tears from under his beautiful emerald eyes with your thumbs. His brows are furrowed, eyes slightly red and lips pursed in a soft pout. He looks good like that, your smile grows slightly again. 

"Why are you laughing?" he sniffled. 

"Would you rather have me crying with you ?" you giggle, deposing a soft kiss on his forehead, standing on your feet, you pulling him up with you. He is towering over you from a good twenty centimeters. "Come here" you lock him in a tight hug, arms around his mid back. His body relaxes into yours and he lets out a long sigh. "I missed you, I don't want you to leave me again" he whispered, squeezing the air out of you. 

You are glad to finally work things out with him, but the way he has you pressed against him makes you painfully aware that you are not fully recovered from your pregnancy. Your breasts  are pressed against his hard chest. "Eren, Eren" you squirm tapping his back. He breaks the contact with a worried expression on his face. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, sounding panicked, holding your shoulders in his hands.  "No, no just" you look down at your bust and see two darked stains on the level of your breasts, so much for not wearing a bra today. "Is that blood" he whispers-yells approaching his face from your tits. "No! It's milk, silly" you push his head off, looking down at the mess on the upper part of the dress. From the corner of your eyes you can see him fixing his pants. There is no way he's turned on by that. 

"Eren! Ew! Get out! " You tone, pushing him to the exit as he giggles. "If you need help just call me" he laughs, kissing your cheek. You roll your eyes at his behavior but smile nonetheless. 

You always keep spare clothes in your office, having learned that they always come in handy after too many drinks at late night office parties. As you button up the navy linen shirt, you can't help but feel ashamed about Eren seeing you like that, he took it as a joke of course, there are not a lot of things he takes seriously except for his art. 

Your life will never be the same while he keeps fulfilling his lifelong dream of becoming a rockstar.  Tears pool in your eyes, it's your turn to cry now.

- 

Days after days you slowly fall back into your routine as Eren's manager, accompanying him to events and interviews to make sure he stays in line or reveal too much about his upcoming comeback... But most of the time you are here, at the office, l  upon exiting the elevator a conversation catches your ear. 

"He'll be the face of Y.fragrances that's like such a good deal he can probably get any girl he wants after that" you hear Floch Forester boast to one of his colleagues with a voice as annoying as his face. 

"Did you just say Y. fragrances ? " You inquired, approaching his desk, his Adam apple bobbed up his throat and he nodded "The deal is for Eren ?" another nod. "Scratch that deal immediately" your tone is cold, him and petra ral was the tandem that replaced you during your leave obviously that haven't been doing a good job. 

"What are you talking about ? this is good for him and all of the company" he laughed nervously looking at his colleague for help. 

"If you knew how to do your job properly you would know that Y.fragrances is a branch of Y.pharma owned by Grisha Yeager, that name rings a bell to you ? That's Eren's father which he hasn't spoken to in years. This is just another one of his schemes to get a hold on his son, So scratch that deal right now or Eren will fire you himself."

Floch's face pales as you speak, frozen in place like you just turned him into stone, you quirk an eyebrow and he reaches for his phone at the speed of light. Turning your heels you walk toward your own office. What a shitty way to start the day you grumbles, heels hitting repeatedly the faux wooden floor. 

"That was pretty impressive" a familiar voice you recognize as Eren's trail behind you. "There is no way you didn't know about this, Eren, what are you doing?" you grumble, not taking the time to look at him. "I wanted him gone, the guy is an asshole, but nothing gets past the best agent in the world so you saved his ass"

You roll your eyes stepping in your carpeted floor office.  "This could have been a real mess Eren, it is serious."  you turn around and he is right in front of you, almost stepping on your toes. "Are you mad at me ?" he asks, kissing your cheeks, this is usually how he greets you in the morning.  "No, but next time run it by me first ?" you take the cup of coffee from his hands, drinking the sugary mixture from the cap, he nodded at you, all goofy grin on his face. 

"Anyways we have a busy day today : Zackley got the results of the shoot for your cover Pixis want to see them too so we have to be in the red meeting room in ten, this afternoon you have fittings for the fashion week and we'll also see if we can borrow something for your party" you give him back his cup at the end of your rant. "Sounds good ?" 

"You're the boss" he shrugs, positioning his mouth on the lipstick stain you left in your wake, eyes never leaving yours. What a tease.

It is a rare occurrence that the CEO shows up to validate any visuals so when Pixis enter the room, everybody goes quiet. 

"Y/N, a delight to have you back among us" his deep voice starts, as he squeezes your hand. You greet him back shyly and Eren laughs next to you. Of course he does, but it's not like you can dap up a sixty something year old man or greet him with the familiarity you do with Eren. 

The meeting goes well, the cover is provoking, the religious imagery he copied, the game of thrones reference but somehow everyone agrees that it fits Eren's persona well. 

"Armin and Mika are in town, cool if I grab lunch with them ? " Eren asks once you are both out of the room. "Sure, just remember we have to be at 2:00 at the showroom." Promising he'll be there on time Eren struts to the elevators. 

When you enter your office again you're met with the deep voice of your partner, Erwin Smith, he's holding your little girl and your heart immediately melts. 

"Surprise." he says, a tired smile adorning his angular features. Rushing to the sofa you depose a million kisses on his lips, patting gently the top of your newborn hair. 

"My babies" you squeal once you're sat next to them. Erwin transfers the baby from his arm to yours and she stirs a little before falling back asleep. Catching up with your lover you almost forget that you are at work, until it is feeding time, naturally you undress your chest when Erwin jolts standing up to close the blinds that are facing the corridor, the sofa is in a blind spot but you appreciate his attention anyway. The milk flows from your breasts to her mouth and you are able to relax. 

Your breasts are significantly heavier with all the milk you're carrying these days so this is a welcomed relief. You lay your head on Erwin's shoulder, feeling yourself getting slowly dragged to sleep. The door opens suddenly, dragging you back to reality, your eyes are wide open. 

"Eren!" you scold, you're a bit reassured that it's only him but still.

"You could have knocked, surely the closed blinds and doors were not enough to let you know she was busy" Erwin states in a sarcastic tone. 

"I didn't know we had visitors" Eren shrugs, sitting on the empty side of the couch flushed next to you. The proximity makes you realise that your breast is out. It takes a bit of manoeuver to swap the baby in her father's arm and button up your shirt all while preserving the little of dignity you have left, but you manage.

"So... what's the name of the baby?" Eren asks, isolating the last word like it's a slur. You snortle looking at him. "Lily, you want to hold her ?" you ask, knowing that he hasn't a paternal bone in his body, if anything he's the one that needs to be held. 

"Hard pass," he grumbled looking elsewhere. "We probably need to leave soon" Crap, you almost forgot about the fitting. You quickly check your watch and indeed you need to leave now or else you'll mess with everyone's schedule.

"Baby, I need to go, but I should be home early tonight" You turn back to Erwin, cradling his face in your hand. 

"Don't worry" he kisses your forehead softly. "Wait, you didn't eat anything, I didn't mean to hog you during your break" he speaks with a concerned face.

Standing up you smooth the material of your pants. "That's fine I'll pick something on the way" You hold your hand out to him so he can stand as well. The warmth of his palm makes you giddy and you turn your attention to Eren. He is still sitting on the couch, arms crossed and an empty stare. "Let's go ?" 

The ride in the elevator to the ground floor is deadly silent, Erwin looks amused, Eren looks ready to slit his own wrist. Parting ways with your family, you kiss Erwin and Lily one last time while Eren calls an uber. The Mercedes class A pulls up to the curb, the door is opened for as you take your seat behind the driver's. Surprisingly Eren is  stacked against you once again, with the way he's been silent for the last couple of minutes you would think that he'd choose the farthest option. Ain't he just full of surprises 

He is sitting sideways, caging you against the window. A slender finger of his picks up your curls and twirls them around, all of his attention is on you as you scroll your social media mindlessly, when the car is set in action you have to remind him to buckle his seatbelt. 

"Has he ever tasted your milk ?" The question makes your eyebrows shoot in surprise. You turn to him "Can we not discuss this now ?" you glance at the driver in the rearview mirror. "Would you prefer to be at the showroom in front of everyone ?" "Actually that's my personal life so I don't owe you anything" Your tone is harsh but you can' t believe he has the audacity to demand this from you. 

The mood has been set for the rest of the day, professional interaction only, he tries the different look the stylist has prepared ,you give your advice and validate them. No banter, no funny pictures like you always do. His gaze lingers on you from time to time and it is enough to make you feel bad as you eat the driest sandwich ever, in an empty corner of the room.There is something about giving him the cold shoulder that always makes you feel guilty. Eren never means ill, not to you at least. So you make the first step to reconciliation with him. 

"Hey, want to share a cab back home ?" you ask, searching for his eyes but he's only looking at his shoes, fixing his leather jacket.  "I don't want to bother you" he simply answered, voice barely above a whisper, your heart sank to your socks. "Eren, I didn't mean to lash out on you earlier" you start, grabbing his hand. "It just wasn't the right time, ok ?"  His emerald orbs meet yours and you swear they're more glassy than usual. "Yeah ok, let's just walk for a bit" you nod and the both of you make your way out of the building.

The first minutes are walked in complete silence. You try to find the right moment to break the ice but you don't know what to say, you don't know how he will react. Ever since you came back you feel like you haven't done a single right thing with Eren, making him cry, making him upset, what if you two are not compatible anymore ? 

"I'm sorry about earlier, I know I may have crossed a boundary, but I don't know how to act when I see you with him, for the longest time it was just us"  A weight is thrown off your shoulder but also his words are sinking in your core ; us ? You and Eren are undoubtedly a duo. It has been ever since he was 18 and you were 23, the age he is now. 

"I know" you say, bumping his biceps with your shoulders, a smile forming on your lips as you reminisce about the last years.

You've met him through Zeke, a college friend of yours. Diploma in hands, him as a literature major, you as a communication major, he had no issues finding a job, you on the other hand should have known that this sector was saturated. Months and months with no proper job offer, or decent one that takes into account your hard years of studying and the salary that goes with it. But beggars can't be choosers, you ended up as a  barmaid to make ends meet.  

As the good friend he is, Zeke reached out to you when his punk little brother (his words not yours) dropped out of school to pursue his dream of being an artist. He needed contacts and someone to tell him wrong from right: everything a eighteen years old boy lacks. Of course you helped him, After all there is a reason you decided to major in this domain.

Selfishly when he started to become a local attraction you wanted to keep him to yourself but the opportunities were soaring for you two, soon enough you were able to quit your job to focus mainly on Eren's career. It is safe to say that you spent the most of the last five years stuck to him. 

"Do you remember my apartment on Salisbury Street ? I was thinking of renting it for the launching party " he chortles looking at you with curious eyes.

"That shoebox ? It can barely fit the whole team. What about guests"

"Never stopped us before " you reply with a knowing smirk, he's looking at you with the same expression.

"I like the idea" comfortable silence stretches between the two of you, as you glide down the streets, sun slowly setting behind the skyscraper. Still you can't shake the need to address one more issue

"He's never tried it" it's an half word confession but you can't bring yourself to spell it out. Regardless, Eren seems to understand perfectly well what you mean. 

"The guy is a pussy, if you were my girlfriend we would be making cheese out of it"

"You're so gross" a laugh bubble up your throat 

"No but really, I want to taste it, think about it, there will be no doubt about who's in charge then"

You glare at him sideway "There never was a doubt about who is in control here" 

"Right you're so bossy. Is it why Erwin is at home with your bald ass baby while you are out earning the keep ?" you push his shoulders at his stupid comments

"Erwin is working from home, Levi helps him around the house, and you are probably jealous of Lily because she rocks the buzzcut better than you do"  Eren had so many hair phases in life, bald, undercut, bleached, colored. These days his hair is long, almost grazing his shoulders blades, all natural color from roots to ends. The reminiscence of his previous hairstyle makes him cringe.

"Wait, did you say Levi ? You're telling me that these two spend their days together taking care of your baby while you are out with me ? Good thing it's the month of June you are one hell of an ally."

"Right, it's not like you have several gay allegations yourself within your friends group. Who was it with again ? Armin, Reiner, Jean" You're about to list some more when his large palm covers your mouth. 

"That's different, I'm famous so that's how I know I actually made it" You roll your eyes not very convinced with his reasoning, but there is this river in Egypt...

Of course you are aware of the rumors surrounding your partner and his... janitor ? friend ? You wouldn't even know how to describe it. Levi has been in Erwin's life long before you and he will be long after. All in all you don't really care that much about it. Erwin is good to you and your daughter. Levin makes your life easier and is caring despite his icy personality. Sometimes you are caught between their longing stares, almost feeling left out.

"Let's call a cab" you offer to conclude this odd day.

_ 

Another day, another task to tend to. The "back to basics" idea for the release party was approved by Pixis and Zachley; you are able to rent your old appartement for the occasion. To you and Eren it used to be a recording studio, hotel, showroom, office and so much more. You want to conserve the vibe it used to hold but also make it more practical with all the transit that there will be that night.  Sitting on the couch of your office you try different layouts on your Ipad when a knock echoes in the room.

"Come in"  You lift your eyes to meet no other than Eren, since when does he knock on the door ? As if he heard your question he clears his throat.  "With yesterday's incident I figured I might pick up good habits"  Well, that is a pleasant surprise, never too late to be a good boy you shrug, refocusing your attention on your screen.

"What are you doing here anyway ? It's a day off for you" No answer comes from his part and you feel the couch dipping next to you, his head resting in the crook of your neck, his body curled up against you, back facing the door. 

" I wanted to see you and Porco is the biggest douchebag ever" You shoulder shakes with a soft laughter, right Eren is not the best at getting along with the fellow artist signed at this agency Porco harbour about the same temper as Eren so you can see how that cause a problem. 

"Tell me more about it" you hum softly caressing his hair. Eren mirrors you, softly tugging at your curls to make them bounce. 

As Eren rambles on, he keeps his head in your neck, lips grazing the tender skin with each word, deep voice reverberating directly against it. Goosebumps are rising all over your skin and you can't say that you know what he is talking about, you are distracted. When his lips press fully against your neck you yank his hair hard, giving him a stern look. 

"Let me taste you"  his green eyes are boring into yours pleading to finally indulge him. Intimacy has always been a good way to unwind for you and with everything coming up you could use the stress relief. If you both want it, what's the harm in that?

"Lock the door and close the blinds" you murmur letting go of his hair but he doesn't move "Unless you changed your mind" Scrambling to stand up he almost trip over his feet with what you only can guess is excitement. His eagerness makes you chuckle, you sit up on the couch, setting the Ipad away. Nothing is going to distract you from this moment. 

Making a quick work of the doors Eren comes back rushing to the sofa, while you unbutton your blouse. "No, no let me do it" he pin your hands to your side, fiddling with the buttons himself instead.  He is kneeling on the plush cushion of the sofa, so close to you. 

"You are practically panting" you remark, teasing his abs through his shirt.

"I'm so excited," he smiles, kissing your lips roughly. 

Once your breasts are out in the open Eren scoop them up in his hands, groaning when they are pressed against each other. "Look at you, so perfect" the smallest droplets of milk spritz out under the pressure. The sight makes Eren moan, as he attaches his lips to your left breast, aspiring the teat into his warm mouth, drawing the precious liquid from your body, the one substance he has been dreaming about for the last few weeks. 

Better than any drugs he's ever tried : his expectations have been met, moaning every second sending vibration through your bust. 

"Does it taste good baby? You like it ?" you taunt, letting your nails rake against his skull. 

"You're a goddess, it's so fucking good" he grunt before resuming his previous acitvity, eyes closed. It's like he is making out with your tit, tongue swirling and lapping at your sensitive nipple.The wet suction sounds fill the room and you stick your thigh together. Feeling yourself getting more aroused by the second. 

You didn't know it would affect you that much, but damn,seeing how a simple body fluid has him acting drives you crazy, you allow small moans of content to escape your lips. Once he has his fill Eren cup your cheeks, giving them a languorous kiss allowing your own taste on your tongue, it's sweeter than you expected. 

"Do you like it mommy ?" If it wasn't for your lust clouded brain you would have cringed at the nickname but right now you couldn't care less, biting your lips as you nod. 

"How about that one ?" you inquire pushing the fabric of your unattended breast. Eren moans, wasting no time to give it the same treatment as the other, he is splayed across your lap, strong arms locked behind your back. You feel his hardness against your thigh. There is no way he can cross the open space like that, so you take matter in your hand, literally. 

You have never seen his cock before so when you fish the hard length from his trousers your mouth falls in an o shape. The boy has reasons to be cocky. Spitting in your hands, you apply slow stroking motion on his penis. He immediately starts to fuck your hand and you smile how greedy can one be ? 

"Let me touch you please, let me make you feel good mommy"  you nod quickly, swallowing your spit, as you do so Eren's fingers have already snaked their way to your wet core. Making a quick work of your panties you feel the tip of his digit tracing circle on your clitoris, mimicking the ones he applies on your nipple. You haven't indulged in sexual intercourse since the birth of your daughter solitary or with Erwin so this feels like an electrochoc, your eyes close shut and a curse slips your lips. 

Your hips buck on their own and your grip on his cock intensifies. Eren and yourself are  both desperate as each other, chasing your high using the other's body. 

"Be a good boy, make me cum please, I'm close Eren" you know this will motivate him to bring you to your edge, and it does, accelerating his movement as he groans in the fat of your breast with muffled whispers of "mommy" mixed with your name. You want him to come at the same time as you so you focus on his tip, swiping your thumb over his slit over and over again.

The room sounds like a mess when you both finally cum. You're panting, Eren is moaning, you can only hope that no one walks past your office right now. His hot semen covers your digits and you lazily bring it to your mouth to have a taste, not as sweet as your milk, but you'll take it, licking clean any remnant on your skin. 

His head is resting on your lap, as he kisses your belly through the buttoned part of your blouse. 

"Was it good for you ?" he murmurs, looking at you through his dark hair. You nod as a smile crosses your face, you push his hair back.  "Yes Eren, thank you"  A proud smile is displayed on his face as he closes his eyes once more, rubbing his face in your covered stomach. 

_

It's Friday evening, and finally the week comes to an end. You have staged the apartment for Eren's upcoming listening party, it is perfect. You curated the place to be a perfect mix of his past and present self, it's more of an intimate gathering than a big launching. It will sure stir up the curiosity of the press and fans so might be good on all sides 

You haven't seen Eren since your... steamy intercourse, he is off until the next week. The aftermath of your act is unsure yet, he left with a spring in his step and a dopey grin. He wanted to spend the rest of the day with you and had a hard time keeping his hands to himself.  You took it as a post orgasm bliss, only wishing that he won't be acting that way toward you in public now that you finally indulged him. 

Getting home to your partner and child that day was jarring, a part of you was excited about keeping such a dirty secret but it also made you feel like shit. You cried that night and Erwin held you close to his chest, soothing you, telling you that everything was going to be ok. There is something about being in his arms that instantly calms you, he is so much bigger than you, and always warm.

 You didn't tell him the reasons behind your tears but he was as supportive as always. You had rocky days during your pregnancy so he's not a stranger to your random outburst of emotion and you are grateful he doesn't judge you for it. 

One thing you don't miss about pregnancy other than the swollen ankles, shitty sleep positions, back pain and nausea, is the alcohol prohibition. You are currently relaxing on your sofa, a nice glass of white wine in your hand while you watch the latest episodes of love island. The doorbell rings and you adjust your silk robe before making your way to the door. It must be the Thai food you ordered. 

You don't have the time to greet the courier that he's already bursting into your apartment. You are ready to scream when you recognize the emerald eyes that have been haunting you for quite some time now.

"What the fuck is wrong with you seriously" you barely can contain the anger in your tone, kicking his calf with your bare feet. 

Eren mumbles  something you can't hear as he takes off his shoes and jacket. He is avoiding eye contact with you at all cost, you recognize this behavior. The same he used when he shaved his hair without telling anyone two days before his first ever  billboard appearance, the same he used when he got caught with his ex again after publicly painting them as a bad person. 

Just what has he done this time? You close your eyes resting all of your weight on the front door. Here goes your peaceful weekend. 

"Eren ? What is going on" you tone is calm, he has a habit of getting defensive when feeling cornered. 

"Nothing, just wanted to see you" you almost believe him but he is fidgety, too much to be normal. You close the distance forcing him to look at you. 

"Speak" 

" I have told Armin and Mika about us" Your whole body freezes at his words, you're speechless, soullessly staring at him. Large hands come to your shoulder shaking  lightly as he calls your name. Freeing yourself from his grasp you walk to the couch slopping on it. His words swim in your head on repeat. His bestfriends know about this, they're far from gossip kind people, but the more  people know the more at risk you are.

"Are you mad at me ?" he's sitting right next to you and you haven't even noticed. 

"You told your friends that I cheated on my partner Eren, sorry if I'm not smiling ear to ear right now" you deadpan, downing your wine glass in two greedy sips. These words seem to have awakened something in him as he whispers his next sentence.

"Shit is Erwin here ?" You shake your head left to right. "He's  at his dad's with Lily and Levi. I'm joining them tomorrow." Right, it's the first time your father in law is meeting your baby girl and here you are with the men you cheated on his son with, way to go. "Why the hell did you do that?" you ask incredulously.

"They've known about how I feel for years, I was so happy the other day it slipped my lips"  

"About how you feel ?" you question, filling your glass again.

"Yeah, I love you" he answers easily, kissing your cheek.  You snortle, once the bottle is empty, setting it on the ground. "No, you don't" 

"Yes I do" he sounds angrier, gripping your shoulders for you to face him "I have been in love with you since I was eighteen and I don't plan on stopping" His revelation makes you all giddy inside but you can't show him.

"It is normal for you to feel attached to me, we spend an awful lot of time together Eren, but it is not love" you explain, petting his cheek tenderly. His brows furrowed and he scouts closer to you. 

"I'm not a child, I know what I feel, I'm in love with you can't you see it ?" 

"Would you be saying this if we didn't have sex the other day ?" you regret your words the moment they echoe in the room. He looks like a kicked puppy and you're the one who gave the blow. 

"I love you because you care about me in a way no one did before, you understand me and I thought i did too." he gets up and before he can move you catch his wrist, he's wearing the watch you have offered him after he won his first award.  He could be wearing any of the expensive watches that were gifted to him by the brands he works with, yet he chose the small discreet one you picked for him. You gulp, guilt sinking slowly but surely in your bones.

"Do you remember when you slipped encouragement notes between the cue cards for that stupid vanity fair video or whatever ? That is one of the reasons  I fell in love with you, not because of the other day" You tug at his wrist so he can face you again. 

"I'm sorry Eren, I didn't mean to say that. It's just a lot for me to take in, can you understand baby ?" The nickname softens him and he hugs you.

-Crisis averted- your manager brain can't help but chant in your head. You shut it down rapidly, as the situation sinks in. Are you in love with Eren ? Probably not if you're asking yourself this question, you need to clear out this situation. 

Pushing his body away from yours you kiss him. A real kiss one where you take the time to taste each part of his mouth, tongue dancing around each other and bodies impossibly closer. The butterflies are here in your stomach but that is not enough for you to determine your feelings. 

"Get on your knees Eren, eat me out" His eyes grow wider but he wastes no time obeying you. 

Parting your knees, Eren yanks you to his face, planting it straight in your pussy, he then starts to rub it  left to right, up and down, the groan he left out sends  vibrations in your whole body.  With the help of his fingers he stretches the skin around your clitoris, exposing completely the bundles of nerves to the cold air of the room. You don't have the time to shiver that his tongue is actively lapping at it. 

Your hips jolt at the contact it almost feels like your first time, you can't even remember the last time you received head.  Grabbing your glass from the table you sip on your wine as a smile spreads across your lips, this what heaven must be like, a pretty boy giving you head while you sip on the gods nectar. 

"Is it good ?" Eren asks, the lower part of his face covered in your arousal, the sight makes you catch your lips between your teeth, you nod pushing his head back towards your core with your feet. He smiles against your pussy. 

The familiar numbness in your legs tells you that you will not last long, but there is something else, something more urgent that comes with no warning. Before you can utter out a word a stream of bodily fluid sprays on Eren's face. Fuck, maybe you had to much wine. Your body shakes and it doesn't stop eren from his assault on your abused clitoris. 

"W-wait please Eren" you beg pulling at his hair, you feel the tears prick up in your eyes with the intensity of your first orgasm. He contests a bit, before resting his head on your thigh nipping at the flesh playfully. 

"I want you to feel good" He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that he is covered with your cum, your pussy clenches greedily but there is nothing to grasp on, you need him right now. 

"I think you prove us that you are very much capable of that " you chuckle, pushing his shoulder with your toes "Come here" you pat the empty spot on the couch next to you. Once he is sat you straddle him, locking his lips with yours. Eren quickly gets rid of his pants and underwear, he's about to pull the string of your robe, when you catch his wrist.

"It's my first time having sex since childbirth" you murmur against his lips, almost shameful. You don't want him to imagine a wild rodeo session that will leave him limping.  "We are going to go slow, you chose the pace ok mommy ?" he reassures you, planting feather light kisses on your lips, here goes the butterflies against. You nod grinding on his erection a few times for good measure then slowly sinking it inside your cunt, inch by inch. 

Once it is fully seated inside of you, you start with slow back and forth grinding motion. Eren's large palms are on your back, accompanying your every move, but never directing you, he is so willing to help it makes you want to ruin him. attaching his plump lip to your nipple he suckles but nothing comes out of it. 

"Fed someone else today, there is nothing for you" you mock, gripping his jaw in your hand as you intensify your hips movement. Eren pout looking up at you. "I want you all to myself" he managed through your grip. His eyes are glassy, you are convinced that you can make him cry out of pleasure if you play your cards right. The thought makes your pussy clench down on him and he winces.  

"You want mommy to yourself baby ?" you ask in a condescending tone, gripping the headrest of the couch to ride him harder still.  He nods furiously. "I want to be yours" you chuckle at that, slipping your fingers in his mouth. "You already are Eren, you belong to me, I control every aspect of your life"  you press your digits hard on his tongue and he moans. "Say it" you command, laying your feet flat on the couch to bounce up and down on his thick cock. 

His words are incomprehensible , your fingers filling his mouth are the reasons, a devilish grin sprouts on your face. "Say it or I will stop" you emphasize your words with a hard slam of your hips down his cock, the tears break free from his pretty eyes, there he is.

"m'yours" he spills hastily, drool covering his digits and your chin. "Good boy" you use the nickname as a reward and his dick twitches inside of you. 

It is priceless to see him like that, you feel your lower belly tangle in a mess of excitation and pride. The sloshing sound of your wet cunt ramming up and down his manhood does nothing to tame you down.  The same feeling of numbness runs through your legs again, you don't want to cum yet but you are not going to be able to hold it in if he keeps looking at you like that. 

"Do you want to fill me up Eren ? Fuck another baby inside of me ?"  you ask, taking out your fingers out his mouth. More tears fall freely from his eyes and he growls, head falling back  on the couch still gawking at you through hooded eyes,

"Please, yes please"  he begs voice deeper than usual, he's such a mess right now, you giggle ready to finish him. Your lips melt on his, as your drool covered hands flies to your pussy, flicking your clit in circular motions.  It is not long until Eren's cum fills you up to your womb, you follow shortly after, body thrashing against him. 

"I love you" is the first thing you hear when you come back to your senses. 

"I love you too Eren" you answer, his dick stirred inside of you. 

If it is true, why does it leave a bad taste in your mouth ? 

[surielstea]

Giver and Receiver

Kinktober day 3: Worship + Thigh Riding

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Courtesan!Reader

Summary: Eris teaches Reader what it’s like to be on the receiving end of pleasure.

Warnings: Minors dni | 18+ only | overstimulation | praise kink | name calling (whore, angel, darling) | thigh riding | heavy worship | dom/sub dynamics | slight angst (HEA) | fingering | p in v

A. Note: I cooked with this one I fear, mostly smut but when there IS plot you better believe it’s good.

7.2k words.

I walked into the throne room behind my Madame, a forced sultry smile on my red-painted lips, my hands clasped tightly behind my back, my posture straight as I peered up at the High Lord of Autumn through my lashes.

I was positioned in a line of seven other girls, all from the same business as me.

"Lord Beron," My Madame purrs, bowing at the waist, her short greying hair flowing with her as she dipped her head. We all followed suit, as instructed.

"Rise." He commanded and we obeyed, standing tall under his scrutinizing gaze. His eyes roamed over us for what felt like an eternity. Cold, analytical.

"Vedika is our most valued, and expensive girl," My Madame says after a moment of thick silence, placing her hands on the girl next to me. I swallowed thickly, steeling my features the way Vedika did. She was such a natural when it came to stuff like this, I envied her for it more than I envied her beauty.

I always struggled during The Choosing, especially by royals. They were so entitled, thought it was in their right to treat us more like objects than human beings, and perhaps it was, because we were harlots, the lowest class in a High Lord's eyes, despite my Madame's organization being the most prestigious of all courtesan companies.

"Who's your youngest?" Lord Beron asked with an arched brow and my stomach knotted. Oh gods, he was the worst kind of male, wasn't he?

My Madame didn't miss a beat as her hands moved to Clarissa's shoulders, we truly were just money bags to her. "That would be my dear Clarissa, turned forty only a week ago." She said, her voice like silk, smooth and fluid.

"I'll take her," The High Lord said, waving his hand and beckoning the young girl over. My Madame went with her, outstretching her hand as one of the courtiers placed a small coffer of gold into her hands. My madame's eyes nearly popped from her skull.

"My lord, this is far too much for one girl's service," she crooned, her tone sugary, no doubt hoping for future business.

I released a quiet, shaky breath, allowing myself to relax as my nerves ebb. He didn't pick me, thank the gods he didn't pick me.

The high lord didn't even cast her a glance, too focused on the girl he plucked from us as he said, "Give the others to my sons," He waved us off with a dismissive hand and my stomach lurched. "But be discreet, my wife needn't know I have whores roaming the manor," Beron ordered, and again, my Madame bowed, the rest of us following suit, as always.

My hands slightly shook, but I clasped them together behind my back and steeled my expression. Being chosen by a High Lord was one thing— at least he had some sort of leash, the crown bound him to some extent. But his sons? The ones who most likely had no chance of being heir anyway? They had nothing to lose. They could kill me and no one would bat an eye, one whores life for a royals entertainment. It happened more often than one might think.

I stifled my shallow breaths as we left the room, my Madame giving each of us directions to a Vanserra's room. Vedika glanced over at me, her warm brown eyes soft, and comforting.

Vedika taught me everything I knew, everything. She often stuck her neck out for me, in my first years as a mere seventeen-year-old I had told her I was terrified of the male I was assigned— so she offered her services for half the price to the male, and he was quick to ditch me for her. She returned later that night littered with bruises and marks, to this day I still don't think I could ever repay her.

"Vedika, you can go to the youngest of the brothers, he's the first door on your left, a real charmer apparently," My Madame hums. "A reward, for all the money you bring me," She purrs.

Vedika bows low, proper. "Thank you, mistress," She said, her voice soft and as lovely as a summer's night. She stood upright and gave me one last lingering look before disappearing down the hall.

"And you," My Madame sighs, looking me over. "The oldest will do for you," She clicks her tongue, hands coming to my shoulders, fixing my posture.

I bit down on my lip to stop it from trembling. The eldest Vanserra was known for his cruelty, renowned for the way he had treated The Morrigan, his former fiancée.

"Perhaps he'll beat some sense into you," Madame mused, clicking her tongue as she adjusted the sheer fabric of my gown. Her words hung in the air, and I wasn't sure if she meant them literally or figuratively. "Now, what do you say?"

I bow low, lower than Vedika had. "Thank you, mistress," I utter, willing my voice not to wobble.

"Go on then, last door down," She shoos. I rise from my bend and don't say another word as I stride down the hall, faux confidence in my movements as I pass every door, the sounds of moaning and grunting already being able to be heard from the adjacent rooms. My steps became more and more hesitant the closer I got to that last door, hands trembling as I came to a stop in front of it and raised my hand to knock.

I blinked away my fear and knocked twice, loud enough for him to hear without question, but still, delicate, to show that I was nowhere near a threat.

I rocked back on my heels anxiously, my stomach knotting itself into a tangled mess. The door swung open. I looked up, and up, and up. Meeting eyes of gold and amber and saffron.

I've heard talk of Eris Vanserra, but nowhere in his reputation did anyone mention how unfairly beautiful he was. His tousled auburn hair, brushed back like he'd run his fingers through it countless times, framed a face too sharp and striking to be kind. His skin, smooth and sun-kissed, was dusted with freckles over the bridge of his nose. His full lips parted, and I realized far too late that he was speaking to me.

"My, my," He smirked. "I'd say the gods have gifted me an angel if I didn't know any better." He crosses his muscular arms over his carved chest, leaning against the doorway and peering down at me. "What brings you to my chambers?"

"Your father..." I say, then wince. It'd most likely be best if I didn't mention his cheating, bastard of a father if my goal was to sleep with him. "I work for Madame Kamira's house," I explain, attempting my most sultry of voices. "We were called upon to service the Vanserra family, one for each son," I sum briefly, clenching my hands into fists behind my back, my manicured nails digging into my palms.

His eyes darkened with amusement as I clenched my hands into fists behind my back, nails digging into my palms. This was a game, and I was already losing.

Eris tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over me like I was something to be savored slowly, methodically. I fought to keep my breath steady, to maintain the façade of composure. My role here was clear: I was a courtesan, meant to please him, nothing more. The idea of taking anything for myself had never even crossed my mind. It wasn't allowed.

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped aside, motioning for me to enter. "Well then, let's see what all the fuss is about," he said smoothly, his voice a purr.

I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before crossing the threshold. His chambers were vast, dimly lit by the flickering glow of a hearth. The air smelled of smoke, cedar, and something faintly sweet, almost like cinnamon. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and a large bed dominated the room, draped in crimson and gold.

The door closed behind me with a soft click, the sound almost ominous in the silence. I could feel him watching me, and the weight of his gaze settled over my skin like a heavy, heated blanket. I prepared myself to do what I always did—to serve, to please. This was nothing new.

"Relax," Eris said, amusement dancing in his tone as he crossed the room, each step deliberate and predatory. "I don't bite. Not unless you ask me to."

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening despite my best efforts. My hands still trembled slightly, but I clasped them in front of me, hoping to hide them. I'd been in situations like this before, but something about him—about Eris—was different. Dangerous.

"You seem nervous," he commented, his voice now closer than I expected. I turned slightly, only to find him mere inches away, towering over me with that same smug smirk on his lips.

"I'm not," I lied, though my voice wavered ever so slightly. I didn't understand why I felt so on edge. He was like every other male who'd paid for my company—so why was this different?

His amber eyes glinted with amusement as he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was gentle, too gentle for someone with his reputation.

"Liar," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

My throat tightened, and I resisted the urge to shrink away. Instead, I tilted my chin up, meeting his gaze directly. Fine, I'd play this game.

"I'm here to serve you, my lord," I said, injecting as much confidence into my voice as I could muster. "How would you like me to begin?"

Eris chuckled, the sound low and rich, sending a shiver down my spine. "Bold," he mused, his hand trailing down my neck before dropping to his side. "But unnecessary. I have something else in mind."

Before I could ask what, he moved to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. He patted his thigh once, a clear invitation.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I moved without hesitation, crossing the room to stand before him. His eyes darkened, the playful glint from earlier replaced by something deeper, more intense.

"On my thigh," he instructed, his voice soft but commanding. "Take your pleasure."

I froze. I couldn't have heard him right. Take my pleasure? No one had ever asked me to do that. I wasn't paid to find my own pleasure—I was paid to give it. I must've misunderstood. My body tensed, and confusion flickered across my face, though I tried to hide it. Surely he didn't mean—

"Go on," Eris coaxed, his amber eyes softening as he watched me hesitate. "Don't be afraid."

My breath caught. He wasn't telling me to focus on him—he wanted me to take control, to feel something for myself. The very idea felt foreign, like stepping into uncharted territory. But I couldn't let my confusion show. Not when he was watching me so intently.

With measured movements, I straddled his thigh, the smooth fabric of my gown brushing against his legs. His hands came to rest on my hips, holding me steady but not guiding me—he wanted to watch me, to see me take what I was never allowed to have.

"There's a good girl," he murmured, his fingers digging in ever so slightly, his approval radiating through his touch. "Now, get yourself off."

I bit down on my lip, my hands resting on his broad shoulders as I began to move. Slowly at first, testing, the friction of my core against his thigh sending jolts of heat through me. I wasn't used to this. It felt wrong, almost selfish. But his hands, his eyes—they were encouraging me to go on.

"Faster," he urged his voice a low rumble that sent another wave of heat pooling in my belly. "Don't hold back. I want to see how badly you need this." His words sent a shock through me, but I still didn't understand. I was supposed to make him feel good, wasn't I? Not myself. This was for his enjoyment, not mine. And yet, the way his hands gripped my hips, the way his eyes never left mine—he seemed more focused on me, on my pleasure, than anything else.

Eris's smirk faded slightly, replaced by something warmer, more patient. His hands guided me, helping me move against him, the friction intensifying with every roll of my hips. "Let go," he whispered, his voice full of command but laced with something softer. "This is for you. No one else."

I gasped, my grip tightening on his shoulders as the pleasure built inside me, coiling tighter and tighter. His praise, the way he was watching me so closely—it was almost too much. Every time his thigh flexed beneath me, it sent another wave of rapture through my body, until I was trembling with need. But I didn't know how to give in.

"You're beautiful like this," Eris whispered, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "Absolutely stunning."

His words were the final push I needed, and with one more roll of my hips, I shattered. A soft cry escaped my lips as pleasure tore through me, my body convulsing against his thigh. His hands held me steady, keeping me from collapsing as I rode out the wave of ecstasy.

For a long moment, I couldn't move, couldn't think. The only sound in the room was my ragged breathing, the world narrowing down to the heat of Eris's body beneath mine and the smug satisfaction radiating from him.

When I finally looked up, his smirk had softened into something almost, tender. He raised a hand to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my flushed skin.

"There you go," he murmured, his voice full of approval. "You did well, angel."

His praise sent a lingering warmth through me, and despite everything, I found myself leaning into his touch. For a moment, just a moment, it felt like more than just a transaction. But I knew better than to let myself believe it.

Eris pulled back, the heat in his eyes still simmering beneath the surface. "You're not done yet," he said, his voice a low growl that made my pulse quicken once more. "Nowhere near it, baby." Eris's grip tightened on my hips, pulling me more securely onto his lap. The warmth of his body seeped through me, and I fought to steady my breathing as the remnants of pleasure still pulsed through my veins. His hands, large and sure, never left me—there was no hurry in his movements, no sense of urgency. Only calm control, as if he had all the time in the world to coax another reaction out of me.

I was still reeling from what had just happened, struggling to comprehend it. To understand how someone like him, someone with such power, and such a cruel reputation, could be so patient. Could focus on me like this.

"Look at you," he whispered, his hands sliding from my hips to my waist, then upward, tracing the curves of my body with deliberate care. "You've never been worshiped, have you?" The words sent a shiver through me, a reminder of how foreign all of this felt. I should have felt more in control, and more confident, but instead, I felt, vulnerable. Exposed in a way I hadn't ever been before.

"I don't—" I started to say, unsure of how to finish. I didn't understand how this was supposed to work. I didn't know what he wanted from me. "How can I service you, My Lord?" I manage to say, despite my orgasm still consuming me down to my very bones.

Eris leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against the curve of my jaw, just beneath my ear. His breath was warm against my skin, sending a ripple of heat down my spine. "It's simple," he murmured. "You find release, and I find mine from watching you unravel."

Before I could respond, his hands began to move again, gliding down my sides with an almost reverent touch. Every caress was measured, and controlled, as though he was savoring every second, every inch of my skin. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

"Don't think," he said softly, his voice barely more than a breath against my neck. "Just feel." He cooed and my brain faltered when I tried wrapping my head around it. This was work, my job, I was being paid for this, this... idolatry.

"Good girl," he whispered, the praise low and warm. His hands continued their slow exploration, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, making me shiver. "I want you to get used to this."

I tensed, biting down on my lip to stifle the soft whimper that threatened to escape. Get used to what? This attention? This feeling? The thought of him focusing on me, of being the one receiving pleasure, still felt strange. But the way his hands moved, the way he murmured soft words of encouragement—it made something inside me melt.

"Eris, I don't... I'm not used to—" I started to say, but it was too much to even voice, to express.

"I know," he said, his voice soothing. "But you're going to learn because I'm going to teach you." He said against my throat, my heart raced, and for the first time, I allowed myself to believe him. To believe that maybe—just maybe—this wasn't about control or power or payment. Maybe he truly did want to give me something in return. Something that had never been offered to me before.

"Relax," Eris repeated, his fingers grazing the tops of my thighs, sending sparks of heat through my body. "Let me worship you."

Worship.

The word sent a tremor through me, and I couldn't stop the soft exhale that escaped my lips. Worship. I had spent years learning how to worship others, and how to make them feel like gods beneath my touch. But this, this was different. This was Eris Vanserra, a male of unimaginable power, offering to gods damned to worship me.

His hands continued their slow, deliberate path, moving higher, his fingers dancing over my skin with reverence. Every touch sent a new wave of heat coursing through me, and I felt my control slipping away, unraveling beneath his ministrations.

"You're tense," he said quietly, his voice full of understanding. "You don't have to be. Not here. Not with me."

My breath hitched as his hands moved back to my waist, pulling me closer to him. The warmth of his body pressed against mine, solid and grounding. I felt his lips brush against the shell of my ear, the sensation so delicate it sent a shiver through me.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear in a ghost of a kiss. "Let me teach you what it's like to be praised."

My chest tightened the vulnerability of his words settling deep inside me. I didn't know how to let go. I didn't know how to take what he was offering. But I wanted to. Oh, gods, I wanted to.

Before I could overthink it, I nodded, the motion small, almost imperceptible. But it was enough.

Eris's smirk softened into something more tender, and he pressed his lips fully to mine, the kiss slow and deliberate. His hands roamed my body with respectful intent, each touch drawing more pleasure, more heat from me than I thought possible.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to revel in it.

His hands were everywhere. Not in a rush, but in a way that felt like he was memorizing every inch of me. His palms skimmed my sides, the curve of my waist, the softness of my thighs. He explored me like I was something precious, a treasure to be savored rather than a tool for pleasure. I'd never felt anything like it.

My mind struggled to catch up. This wasn't supposed to be how it went. I was meant to please him, to give. And yet here he was, still, making me feel like I was the center of the universe. Like he was here for me, and not the other way around.

His lips moved from my mouth, trailing down the side of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. A soft moan escaped me as his tongue flicked against the hollow of my throat, and I felt him smile against my skin.

His hands gripped the hem of my gown and slowly began to lift it. I inhaled sharply, my nerves flaring, but his movements were steady and patient. He paused, giving me the chance to stop him, but I didn't. I couldn't. My body, and my mind—they both craved more.

The gown slid over my hips, the cool air of the room hitting my heated skin as the fabric pooled around my waist. I could feel my pulse racing, could hear the soft rustle of the fabric, but all I could focus on was him—Eris. His hands were on me, his gaze drinking me in as though he had never seen anything more captivating.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. His hands rested on my thighs now, thumbs drawing soft circles over my skin, warming me with every touch. "Let me see all of you."

I hesitated, but there was no judgment in his eyes, only a desire that burned brighter than any fire in the Autumn Court. Slowly, I shifted, letting him lift my gown fully off of me, leaving me bare before him.

Eris's gaze raked over my exposed body, his pupils dilating as he took me in. But instead of feeling vulnerable or objectified like I had countless times before, I felt powerful. Wanted. Craved.

His hands slid back up my thighs, slow and reverent, until he reached the apex of my legs. My breath hitched, and I clenched my thighs together instinctively, but Eris's touch remained gentle, coaxing.

"Relax," he murmured, brushing his lips against my collarbone. "This is for you."

I exhaled shakily, the unfamiliar words settling deep inside me. He wasn't taking; he was giving. It was a concept I struggled to grasp—how could someone like him, a Vanserra, want me to take what I wanted?

His fingers grazed higher, parting my legs gently, giving me space to breathe as he settled between them. I bit my lip, the anticipation building with every second, with every brush of his hands on my skin. His gaze flicked up to mine, and the molten gold in his eyes was enough to make my breath catch.

"Be good for me, yeah?" he said again, his voice like a warm caress. His fingers moved between my legs, slow and teasing, brushing against my most sensitive spot.

The touch sent a shockwave through me, and I gasped, my hands clutching his shoulders for stability. His thumb circled my clit, gentle but firm, applying just the right amount of pressure. I could feel the tension building inside me, winding tighter and tighter with every stroke.

"Take what you need," he whispered, his lips ghosting over my jaw, my neck. "This is yours. I'm yours tonight."

I whimpered, my head falling back as the pleasure began to mount. His fingers worked me expertly, drawing out sounds I hadn't known I was capable of making. Every caress, every touch, was designed to make me come undone.

But as the heat built, I couldn't shake the disbelief. This was meant to be for him, wasn't it? I was supposed to serve. Yet here I was, trembling and teetering on the edge of something I'd never felt before, something overwhelming and wonderful.

Eris seemed to sense my hesitation because his hand slowed, his fingers teasing rather than giving, prolonging the agony. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "You deserve to feel this," he whispered, his voice deep and rough with desire. "I want to hear you say it."

I could barely form words, could barely think past the haze of pleasure clouding my mind, but his command pulled something raw from me. "I— I deserve this," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips.

His smile against my skin was wicked, triumphant. "Attagirl."

And then, before I could fully process it, he slid two fingers inside me, slow and deliberate, filling me in a way that made my back arch off the bed. I gasped, my body instinctively pressing against his hand, craving more of that delicious friction.

"You feel so perfect," he breathed, his lips pressing hot kisses to my neck as his fingers moved in and out, setting a slow but torturous rhythm. "So tight."

I moaned, my hands fisting in the sheets as I rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving me. His thumb returned to that sensitive spot, circling, teasing, driving me higher and higher.

I was on the edge, teetering between control and chaos, the tension building to a crescendo. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, and the coil inside me snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.

I cried out, my body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through me, leaving me trembling in its wake. Eris didn't stop, didn't relent—his fingers continued their delicious torment, drawing every last bit of pleasure from me until I was spent, gasping for air.

When I finally came down from the high, Eris withdrew his hand slowly, and gently, and I collapsed against him, my body trembling, my mind spinning.

"You're perfect," he whispered, his voice soft and full of reverence. "And I'm not done with you yet."

Before I could protest, he shifted, pulling me beneath him and laying me down on his enormous mattress, his body hot and solid against mine. I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, and I swallowed hard, my body still humming from the aftershocks of pleasure.

Eris leaned down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss, and I felt his hand slide between us, positioning himself at my entrance. He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes molten with desire.

"You alright? Think you're ready for me?"

I nodded, breathless, my heart pounding in my chest and with a slow, deliberate thrust, Eris entered me, filling me completely.

I gasped, my elastic walls stretching around him, adjusting to the sensation of him deep inside me. The weight of his body, the way he fit perfectly between my thighs—it was overwhelming, like he was made for this, made to take me to places I'd never allowed myself to go.

He paused, letting me adjust, his gaze fixed on mine. There was something in the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered, like he could read every flicker of hesitation, every burst of pleasure crossing my face.

"Breathe," he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. He brushed his lips against my jaw, the warmth of his breath grounding me. "You're doing so well, sweet girl."

I let out a shaky breath, nodding as I tried to relax into the sensation. His praise made something warm bloom inside me, something unfamiliar but not unwelcome. The tension that had coiled around me since I stepped into his chambers began to unravel, slowly giving way to something softer, more intoxicating.

He shifted his hips, moving within me, at a slow, languid pace that sent heat spiraling through my veins. Each thrust was controlled, and measured, like he was savoring every second, every sound that escaped me.

"I want to hear you," he whispered against my ear. "Every moan, every gasp. Don't hold back."

I bit my lip, stifling the sounds that threatened to spill over, but his next thrust, deeper and more purposeful, tore a moan from my throat. My body arched beneath him, seeking more of that delicious friction, more of the pleasure that was building between us like a fire.

Eris groaned softly, his breath ragged as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the curve of my shoulder. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me to meet his slow rhythm, each movement a reminder of just how much control he had—control he was choosing to give me.

"You feel so perfect," he breathed, his voice raw. "Like you were made for me."

The heat in his words, the way they wrapped around me like silk, made me clench around him. His pace quickened slightly, his control slipping just enough for me to feel the urgency building beneath the surface.

I let out a soft whimper, my hands grasping at his shoulders as I pulled him closer, needing more of him, needing to drown in the way he made me feel. It was too much and not enough all at once—every thrust bringing me closer to that edge, to the place where my body and mind could no longer resist.

Eris seemed to sense my rising need, his hips snapping forward with a little more force, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. His lips found mine again, devouring me in a kiss that was hungry, desperate. He swallowed my moans, his body grinding against mine in a way that made me lose all sense of the world outside of this moment.

"You're close, aren't you?" he rasped, his forehead pressed against mine. His hand slid between our bodies, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs, circling it with just the right amount of pressure. "I want to feel you come around me."

The way he touched me, the way his words wrapped around me like a command and a plea, it sent me hurtling toward the edge. I couldn't hold on any longer, couldn't resist the pull of the pleasure that built inside me.

I cried out, my body trembling beneath him as the orgasm ripped through me, stronger than anything I had ever felt before. My muscles clenched around him, dragging him deeper, and I could feel him groan, feel his body tense as he chased his own release.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Taking me so well." His pace quickened, his thrusts more erratic now as he sought his own pleasure, the fire in his eyes burning brighter as he watched me fall apart beneath him. I was barely coherent, my mind lost to the pleasure, but I could feel him—every inch of him, every sound, every touch, searing into my skin.

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned low and guttural, his body shuddering as he found his release inside me. The warmth of him, the way he collapsed against me, breathless and spent, sent aftershocks rippling through my body.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the only sound in the room the soft, ragged breaths we shared. Eris's weight was comforting, and grounding, and I found myself clinging to him, my hands still tangled in his hair, my body still trembling from the intensity of what had just passed between us.

He shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, his hand brushing soothingly over my side. "You did so well," he whispered, his voice full of admiration. "So perfect."

I didn't know what to say, how to process the fact that someone had just taken the time to worship me, to make me feel something I had never been allowed to feel. But as I lay there, wrapped in his warmth, I couldn't help but feel... cherished. For the first time, I wasn't just a courtesan. I wasn't just here to serve.

He pulled back slightly, his fingers trailing over my flushed skin, his eyes soft as they met mine. "Are you alright?" he asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

I nodded, unable to form words yet, still coming down from the high he had pulled me into. He smiled at that, a small, satisfied smirk that made my heart skip a beat.

After it was over, we lay tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, my chest still heaving from the intensity of it all. Eris's breath was warm against my skin, his hands trailing over my back in slow, soothing circles. The quiet intimacy that followed the storm of passion was disarming, and unfamiliar. I was used to being dismissed, sent away with a few gold coins and a soul a little dimmer than when I had arrived.

But Eris, asked me to stay. So I did. He held me close, his touch reverent, as if I was something precious, something to be cherished, not discarded.

"You're trembling," he whispered against my temple, his lips brushing the area. "Are you cold?"

I wasn't, but I nodded anyway, unsure how to explain that the tremors were more from the emotional upheaval than any physical discomfort. Without a word, Eris shifted, reaching for the blankets and pulling them over both of us, wrapping me in warmth. His arm remained around me, pulling me back against his chest, his fingers stroking my arm gently. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe.

"Rest," he murmured, his voice soft and comforting. "You've earned it." It was an order I found myself willing to obey. My body, exhausted from the overwhelming pleasure, began to give way to the heavy pull of sleep. I hadn't realized how much I craved this—this gentleness, this quiet comfort. The idea that I could just be held, without expectation, without obligation.

Before long, the steady rise and fall of Eris's breathing lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I woke, the room was bathed in the dim light of early morning. Eris was still beside me, his arm draped lazily over my waist, his face softened in sleep. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and... and something else. Something I wasn't ready to name.

What had happened last night—what he had done to me—had altered something deep inside me. Eris hadn't just touched my body, he had touched a part of me I hadn't known existed. He had made me feel like more than just a tool for someone else's desires. At that moment, I hadn't been just a courtesan. I had been a woman, his woman, worthy of pleasure and tenderness.

But as the warmth of that realization settled over me, so did the cold truth. He was the son of a High Lord. I was nothing more than a whore.

The thought hit me like a weight in my chest, making it hard to breathe. This couldn't be real. Whatever had passed between us last night couldn't mean anything. It couldn't. And yet, the way he had touched me, the way he had looked at me—like I was something more—had shaken everything I thought I knew about my place in this world.

How could I ever go back to who I was before? How could I move on from this, from him, when he had shown me a version of myself I had never seen?

I turned my head slightly, studying the sharp lines on his face, and the soft fall of his red hair across the pillow. He was beautiful, yes, but more than that, he was dangerous—dangerous in the way he made me hope. Hope for something I had no right to even dream of.

But what other choice did I have?

I closed my eyes, swallowing against the lump in my throat. I had to be realistic. This was one night. One perfect, beautiful night, but it couldn't be anything more. He would go back to his life, to his duties as a lord's son, and I would return to Madame Kamira's house, to my place among the other courtesans.

Still, as I lay there in his arms, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, I couldn't stop the yearning that twisted deep in my chest. I wanted more. I wanted to know what other nights with him might be like, what it would feel like to be worshipped by him again, to be held like I was something precious. But even as the thought bloomed in my mind, I felt the sting of reality pulling me back.

Eris stirred beside me, his golden eyes fluttering open. He blinked a few times, focusing on me, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, I saw something soft in his gaze. Something that made my chest tighten with a dangerous mix of longing and fear.

"Good morning," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "I was afraid I'd dreamt you." His voice was still affected by sleep, deep and groggy.

"Oh? Did I leave that much of an impression?" I replied, a smile already tugging at my lips before I could stop it. "I'm very real."

"Thank the gods for that," he mused, propping his head up on his elbow and reaching over with his free hand, brushing my most likely messy hair from my face. The action was so simple, yet intimate. "And how do you feel? Last night was quite eventful."

"Eventful," I echoed softly, a slight laugh escaping my lips. "That's one way to put it."

Eris chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and it made my heart skip again. "I could come up with other words but I think you'd turn red if I did." He hummed, leaning closer, his nose brushing against mine.

"You might be right," I murmured, growing shy with our proximity— despite the fact that he had me grinding on him just last night. I glance away and to my relief, he rears back. "I have to admit, you surprised me," I confess.

He dips down, his lips brushing against my neck. "Yeah? How so angel?" He asked while pressing a soft kiss to one of the marks he left mere hours ago.

"You made me feel things I thought weren't capable," I utter, peering down at him.

His lips paused on my neck, his gaze flicking up, staring at me through his brows, studying me. "And what is it you felt?"

"Adoration," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Like I was more than just, a service." I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat.

A slow smile spread across his lips, and he moved back up, his breath brushing against my cheek. "Angel, you’re not a service." His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "You could've asked for anything last night, and I would've given it to you."

"Oh? Anything?" I teased back, arching a brow.

"Anything," he confirmed, his voice deepening as his fingers trailed softly down my arm. "You deserve to be adored. In fact, I rather enjoyed worshipping you."

I rolled my eyes, though my pulse was racing. "You have such a way with words, don't you?"

He smirked, not missing a beat. "You're just realizing this now?" He asked, running a hand up my shoulder, past my jaw to cup my cheek.

"Maybe," I shot back with a smirk of my own. "I was a bit, distracted last night." His thumb grazed my bottom lip as I spoke, his gaze never leaving mine.

"You weren't the only one." For a moment, the playful tone between us softened. My heart thudded against my chest as I realized how much I wanted to stay here, basking in his attention. His gaze flicked down to my lips and I quickly reminded myself of the reality we lived in—the boundaries we couldn't ignore.

"I should go," I said suddenly, my voice shaky as I slipped from his arms, pulling the sheets around me like a protective barrier. "I have other clients to tend to." The weight of my words settled heavily in the air, and I saw the flicker of disappointment cross his face, quickly masked by resolve.

"I'll see you again, won't I?" His tone was earnest as I slipped from the bed, pulling on my discarded gown and trying to ignore the way his eyes never left my figure once.

"Depends, will you call for me?" I tilt my head with a teasing smile, he looks up at me, tucking a muscular arm behind his head— it was an effort not to slip back into bed next to the heir.

"Every night, if I have to," He grinned like a cat.

"Careful, you'll run out of money before you know it," I taunt, reaching down and brushing a tuft of red hair from his forehead, I hadn’t meant to— but my body wasn’t my own when I was around him.

"You seem to underestimate how deep my pockets go, sweetheart," He purred, I ran my fingertips down the side of his face in a caress as gentle as a lovers.

"Do I?" I ask playfully, and he catches my wrist before I can brush my thumb over his slightly swollen lips. His hold was soft, yet as immovable as iron, a warning.

"I might just buy you all for myself if you keep teasing me," He suggests and my breath hitched at the idea. He arches a brow.

"You like that idea?" It was his turn to smirk. "Leaving your Madames house and becoming my personal whore," His hand slipped into mine, bringing my palm to his lips and kissing it gently. "Lover behind closed doors?" He suggests and I swallow thickly, not allowing myself to even imagine the fantasy— nor think about how desperately I wished for that.

"And when you grow bored of me?" I ask. "Will you cast me to the streets?"

He looked as if he might have scoffed at the idea if it weren't for the glimmer of hope he caught in my eyes. "Bored of you? My angel, I've only laid with you for a night. It'll be lifetimes before I'm done with the list of things I wish to do to you." He purred and my heart fluttered, gut twisting at the promise of pleasure. "Are you sure that's what you want?" He added and I doubt I had ever nodded in agreement to something faster in my life.

"Yes— please," I blurt and he chuckled, kissing my palm again.

"Then come back to bed, and when your Madame comes to riot for your return I'll give her triple what she thinks you're worth," He declared and I blushed, unsure what to say to convey how eternally grateful I was. He tugged on my hand and all I could do was get back into bed beside him.

"My angel," He whispered softly, and his next words seemed to leave a mark on me more permanent than any of the ones he had given to me last night. "You deserve every dream you've dared to wish for, let me give them to you.”

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[neptunesbeloved]

"My Lovely Lady..."

wc: 1,660 words

Synopsis: Your husband is having flashbacks about your previous night ...

tw: afab reader / nsfw / smut / erotic imagine / *insert any male character* x afab!reader / non-protected intercourse/ married couple / penetration / might be some other things I forgot to mention

Material list

Author's note: This is my first time seriously writing something in English so I would like to apologize if there might be any mistakes or if my work is not perfect. I am also open to taking advises on bettering my work. I truly hope you will enjoy my first piece of work.

There she was, lying comfortably across the bed as a thin silk fabric draped over her naked body, tracing the dips and curves of her caramel skin. Her long braided hair resembled a flowing waterfall, starting from the crown of her head to the base of her nape before separating into two paths. One path led to the hollow of her supple breasts, while the other draped along the valley of sheets and pillows beneath her form. The lulling melody of her angelic breathing harmonized with the soothing hum of the fan. In this peaceful moment, he allowed the holy feeling of gratitude to fill his heart. He was grateful to be the one pleasing her, the one who brought her peace and bliss. But above all, he was the only one she blindly trusted with her unconditional love.

"My lovely lady..." he whispered to himself.

The atmosphere was peacefully calm after their previously shared night of intimacy. Thrusting and trusting, flooding and moaning, growing more in love with each second as their bodies became one. Their lips joined, sealing a promise of eternal love and devotion to one another, as her delicate wandering hands danced along the epidermis of his back. He gently pulled back from the kiss and withdrew his intimacy from her warmth before tenderly looking into her eyes, his gaze as romantic and sincere as hers. His palm traveled from the slope of her arm to the mound of her cheek. She leaned into his caress, slowly batting her long lashes. Their hearts beat in sync, and their breathing synchronized, as if this moment were meant to be. Their intimate silence spoke volumes about the purity of their love.

"Loving you is healing my soul. Darling, I sincerely adore loving you..." he declared, his eyes filling with salty, emotional tears. Her fingers slid under his eyes to gently wipe them away. "I feel so precious when I see myself in your reflection." She marked a brief but significant pause to let her words sink into him."I have a feeling that you and I were meant to be, that all of our romantic hardships made us appreciate real and healthy love even more," she said, her voice softening until it reached a loving silence, giving him the space and time to reflect.

She guided one of her curious hands to the back of his neck and lowered his head before kissing him. Their lips danced together as she gently placed the back of her knee on his hip. His palm caressed her latching leg from her hip to the back of her knee, while her tongue delved into his mouth, seeking his. Their tongues locked and then sensually rolled against one another. They weren’t seeking dominance, but rather an equilibrium between their oral rhythms.

After gently detaching from their union, he aligned himself with her glistening entrance, pleasing them both by sliding his swollen tip from her sensitive bundle of nerves to her vaginal opening. His teasing foreshadowed what he planned to do with her that night. He was going to please her—driving her to the throne of carnal heaven, watching her squirm and moan his name. She was his goddess, and he would make sure she knew it by worshipping and honoring her under the moonlight.

After his light teasing, he positioned himself at her opening, looking into her eyes in search of her consent. She looked back at him and gently nodded. No explicit words were needed; it was as if they communicated telepathically. With their fingers interlocked, he placed a tender kiss on her wedding ring. "I love you... and I always will. Please, never forget it..." he sensually whispered, making her heart flutter.

At the feeling of him entering her, she rolled her eyes in delight as a moan escaped her pretty two-toned lips. He began thrusting slowly, making her feel every inch of him before withdrawing at the same pace. He loved it—feeling her coil and tighten around him, hearing her little gasps and moans of pleasure. He took pride in pleasing her. After a few minutes, he finally allowed himself to release his whimpers of passion, knowing his beloved wife found them endearing. He poured all his love and devotion into each movement. Proving his love was his duty, for she was the goddess and he the priest. She was the nurturing water, and he was the seed in the soil.

She was perfect in his eyes—from her coily hair and its impressive versatility to the beautiful stretch marks on her hips and thighs. He adored it all.

His free hand traveled down to her rosy bundle of nerves, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her soft skin. As he moved inside her, the pad of his thumb found her clitoris. He used her arousal to ease his circular motions against the tip of her sacred center. In that moment, he felt her insides tighten around him, sending them both over the edge into divine release. Her body responded on its own—squeezing, twisting, and pulsating around his length.

She surrendered to her body’s erotic pulsions, grinding against him as her voice became an angelic melody of pleasure, blessing everything and everyone fortunate enough to hear it. She finally ascended into heaven, overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensations that consumed her bare body. Passion tingled across her alluring frame—from its core to its extremities.

Her husband joined her in ecstasy, filling her depths with his warm, flowing release. Breathless, he leaned down to kiss her smooth jawline and delicate neck.

"Words aren't enough to express how deep my love for you is... I can’t help it... I love every single part of your being..." he murmured between kisses and tender licks. She gazed up at him and softly chuckled. "Don’t be silly," she murmured playfully, running her fingers through his hair.

He finally collapsed beside his beloved, encircling her in his comforting embrace as his luscious fragrance soothed her. He carefully kissed her forehead before lovingly whispering in her ear:

"Sleep tight, my lovely lady..."

Enjoyed it ? Here is the refined version.

Love y'all💗

[heliosunny]

nahhh i've got an idea, dom male reader x mydei. hehehehehehe btw if you can't or do not want to write this, it is okay tho. i like your writing style and how you literally the only yandere accounts that post literally often. thank youuuu!

Yandere!Mydei x M!Reader

The grand halls of your palace were once filled with warmth. You were a king not of tyranny, but of wisdom and justice. And yet, justice meant nothing to the blade that had pierced your chest.

You lay on the cold floor of your throne room, the warmth of your own blood seeping into your garments.

Among the chaos, a single figure remained still.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

Your body growing weaker by the second, but Mydei finally moved. He knelt beside you, his hands cradling your face.

"Who did this?"

Mydei was no mere knight in your service—he was something far more devoted.

"Don’t worry, my king." He pressed a hand to your wound as if he could hold you together by sheer will alone. "I'll fix this. I'll fix everything."

-----

The throne was cold beneath him. The weight of the crown—your crown—rested heavy on Mydei’s head, but it meant nothing to him. He had not taken it for power, nor for glory. No, this was merely a temporary position, a means to an end. Until you returned, the throne was nothing more than a placeholder.

And you would return.

The dark mage knelt before him, trembling under his golden gaze. Their face was slick with sweat, exhaustion evident from the unnatural rituals they had performed. Mydei had spent countless nights hunting them down, forcing them to bend reality itself to his command.

"I did what you asked." the mage rasped, "Your majesty..he lives. But—" They hesitated, daring to glance up at him. "Not here. His soul——was pulled into another vessel, elsewhere.."

For a moment, the room was silent. The gathered nobles, too frightened to speak, held their breath. They had already seen what happened to those who failed him.

"Is that so?"

With a flick of his wrist, he let them go.

"Send word to my scouts," he ordered, "Find him. I don’t care whose body he wears now."

His fingers traced the armrest of the throne.

"I will find you.…"

----

The scent of pine and damp earth filled your lungs as you took a deep breath. The forest stretched endlessly before you. Your fingers gripped the worn handle of your hunting knife.

You didn’t remember anything before waking up in this body.

"You're lucky to be alive... Son." the old man had told you when your eyes first opened. His wife had clutched his arm, her wrinkled hands trembling as she stared at you in disbelief.

"We thought we'd lost you"

They had told you about your last hunt, where you were gravely injured, where even the village healer had doubted you would survive.

You looked into the polished steel of your hunting dagger that night, searching for familiarity in the reflection staring back at you.

Still, you had a job to do.

If this was your life, then you would live it. The bow fit comfortably in your grip, the weight of a quiver on your back a second nature. Muscle memory, you told yourself.

Tracking prey was effortless. Another clean kill. Another hunt completed. You wiped the sweat from your brow, exhaling.

------

The weight of the deer slung over your shoulders was nothing compared to the exhaustion settling in your bones. The familiar scent of burning firewood and fresh bread greeted you home, a comforting routine after another successful hunt.

But as you neared your house, something felt off.

You saw a stranger stood at your doorstep, definitely not belong to this village.

Your parents stood before him. The old man’s fingers twitched toward the knife at his belt, his instincts sharp despite his age. The old woman clutched her apron.

Then you noticed it—the object in the stranger’s gloved hand. It glowed faintly as you approached.

The moment the stranger’s gaze locked onto you, his golden eyes widened.

He knelt after realizing that he was staring at you long enough.

"Your majesty."

The glowing object in his hand pulsed faster.

You stared at him, obviously, you didn't recognize him.

"Who… are you?"

"You may not remember me now.. But you will, soon"

Your parents had barely taken a step toward you before the guards moved. One of them grabbed your father’s arm, yanking him back. The old man grunted, stumbling, his weathered face twisting in pain. The other shoved your mother aside, causing her to fall to her knees.

A rush of heat flooded your veins.

With a single step, you closed the distance. Your hand shot out, gripping the nearest guard’s wrist. The crack of bones followed as you twisted, sending the man to the ground with a strangled cry. The second guard barely had time to react before you drove your palm into his chest, sending him staggering back.

The guards scrambled to recover, but before they could so much as lift their weapons, a chilling voice cut through the air.

"Stand down."

The guards froze in place, their faces drained of color.

"You dare lay hands on him in my presence?"

Neither of the guards dared to answer.

"We will have a discussion about discipline."

The guards paled further. You ignored them. Instead, you knelt beside your mother, gently helping her up while your father straightened with a grimace.

"Are you alright?" you asked.

Your mother nodded shakily, gripping your arm. Your father, though clearly furious, held his tongue.

"I will stay here" he announced. He turned to your parents, offering a polite smile. "Your son has lost something dear. I intend to help him retrieve it."

"Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "You stay, but don’t cause trouble."

"As you wish, my king."

The forest was quiet in the early morning. You pulled your cloak tighter, feeling the weight of another pair of footsteps trailing behind you.

You didn’t like it.

Every time you glanced over your shoulder, there he was, his eyes always on you. He said nothing, but the way he looked at you made your skin crawl.

You didn’t know who he was or why he called you “king” but he carried himself like a man who had bled for you—and was willing to bleed again.

Still, you tolerated his presence.

If he was telling the truth… if your memories were stolen or lost… maybe this was the only path to getting them back.

The two of you had tracked the deer for hours. Working together was almost disturbingly fluid.

Eventually, you found it grazing in a clearing, its coat dappled gold by morning light.

Mydei raised his weapon. The perfect killing stroke was only a breath away.

But something tugged at your attention.

From the thicket nearby, soft rustling—two small heads peeked out. Fawns.

"Wait!" you said, one hand reaching out to stop him.

Mydei’s movements halted instantly at your word.

He turned to look at you. "It’s wounded. One blow and it’s done."

"It has kids."

You stepped past him, lowering your bow. The mother deer limped slightly, trying to shield the fawns behind her with her body.

"We don’t take parents from children."

"You remember that."

You looked over your shoulder. "What?"

"You used to say that all the time. In war, in law, in hunting… Mercy. You always chose mercy when it mattered."

You frowned. "Sounds like a decent person. Doesn’t feel like me."

"It is you." His voice was hushed. "Even now, with no memories, you’re still.. you."

You looked away, a strange tightness curling in your chest. You didn’t know what you were expecting to find out here—but it wasn’t this.

The deer limped off, its fawns following close behind.

You turned to Mydei. "Let’s keep moving."

He nodded.

The fire crackled softly, its light casting flickering shadows across the trees. Smoke curled upward into the starless sky, carrying with it the scent of pine, ash, and the fish you'd caught earlier. Nothing fancy—just skewered over flame.

You sat on a fallen log, arms resting on your knees, your eyes half-lidded as you watched the flames dance.

Mydei sat across from you. He hadn’t touched the fish. Not yet. As if his appetite depended on yours.

You broke the silence first.

"So," you said, pulling a skewer free from the fire and taking a slow bite, "if I was really this ‘king’ you talk about… what was I like?"

Mydei’s eyes lifted, catching yours through the firelight.

"You were..." he began, "Kind. But strong. People feared disappointing you more than they feared punishment. You never raised your voice unless it was to protect someone."

You snorted softly. "Sounds made up."

He smiled faintly. "I thought so too, the first time I saw you. I thought no man could be so perfect. But… you weren’t perfect. You just chose to be good when it was hardest."

Your hand tightened slightly around the skewer. You stared into the fire, letting the warmth crawl into your skin.

"Tell me another story then." you said after a moment.

Mydei paused. Not to search for one—no, it was clear he had thousands. He just didn’t know which would hurt less to say.

Finally, he said, "There was a day when we were at war. The enemy had taken a village, used the children there as shields. Everyone advised you to wait. To let them starve the enemy out. But you refused. You entered alone."

"You negotiated with them. You carried a child on your back through the burning fields."

You could almost smell the smoke.

You shook it off. "That’s stupid," you muttered. "No one should walk into a trap like that."

"That’s exactly what you said afterward. Right before you scolded me for trying to follow you in."

Then, softly, you asked: "Who were you to me?"

"The one who followed you when no one else dared."

Your heart skipped. You looked back at him.

You said nothing, but for the first time, you didn’t look away.

It had been a few weeks since that first campfire.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between tracking game and listening to those half-sorrowful stories of who you used to be, Mydei stopped feeling like a stranger.

He was still strange, no doubt. But beneath all that stillness, there was a fire—one that only ever flickered when he looked at you.

One morning, you gave him your answer.

"I’m not going back."

You expected resistance. But instead, Mydei bowed his head slightly.

"Understood."

And just like that, he was gone.

But the silence did not last.

Back at the palace, Mydei stood before the high court.

"The King’s return has been delayed." he announced calmly, seated on the throne you once ruled. "In the meantime… I will resume rule."

There was a murmur of confusion. But when the new decrees came, the kingdom shook.

Public executions.

"Let them hang until the birds take their eyes. Let the air know what happens to those who betray their king."

Every prisoner sentenced to death. Hung in the square, their heads severed and displayed for all to see. The message was clear:

Loyalty or death.

Mydei watched every execution himself. Not with pleasure—but with a cold, simmering wrath barely concealed beneath his gaze.

It was never about justice.

It was the beginning of cleansing.

A first step to burn away weakness, to purge every trace of betrayal that had led to your death.

You may have said no for now.

But Mydei would not stop.

He would never stop.

------

You had only come to the city to trade.

A bag of dried fish and preserved meat slung across your shoulder, a small bundle of furs under your arm. Just enough to get your parents the winter herbs they needed.

But from the moment you stepped past the outer gates, something felt… wrong.

The streets were quieter than they should’ve been at midday. Families kept their heads down, conversations died quickly, and more than once, you caught the sound of someone crying behind closed doors.

Worse still—guards. Everywhere. Standing in alleyways. Perched on rooftops.

You found an elderly shopkeeper who was kind enough to sell you the herbs at half price after seeing the pelts. When you asked about the strange atmosphere, she looked over her shoulder and whispered:

"Haven’t you heard? The Regent is purging the kingdom. Anyone suspected of betrayal, anyone who opposed him during the king’s assassination—dead. Executed like cattle."

You froze. The king?

"I thought he was—"

"Gone. But now the Regent rules in his name. And it’s worse. Much worse."

You couldn’t shake it. That tightness in your chest.

Somehow, you felt responsible.

You turned to leave the city before the sun dipped, but you didn’t make it far. Not even two streets out before they struck. A blast of magic knocked the breath from your lungs.

Mydei was sitting on the throne when the doors slammed open.

"Three mages, just beyond the east gate. They claim they caught a spy."

Mydei raised a brow, only vaguely interested.

"Let them in."

The guards dragged the mages in first. Behind them, a figure was pulled forward in enchanted chains, a dirty cloth draped over the head.

His eyes narrowed.

"Who is that?" Mydei asked coldly, rising from the throne.

One mage bowed. "A stranger to the capital. He was wandering near the restricted border. We suspect he may be—"

"Uncover him."

The mage complied, grabbing the cloth and yanking it away.

Time seemed to stop.

Your face.

Bruised. Cut. Blood on your temple. Still breathing, but barely.

Mydei slowly walked down from where he is. The blade was already in his hand before anyone noticed it had left its sheath, and then, the mage’s head rolled to the marble floor, eyes still wide in shock.

The court gasped in unison.

Mydei turned to the second. "You laid a hand on him?"

The last two mages fell to their knees instantly, screaming for mercy.

Then silence. All of them are dead.

Only your breathing remained.

"Bring a physician. Now! The best one. Touch him wrong and I’ll make your family watch as I peel you apart."

----

You awoke with a soft breath.

The scent of polished wood and roses lingered in the air.

You sat up slowly.

Someone helped you change your clothes.

And then the ache started.

Flashes behind your eyes.

A throne. Blood.

But then it was gone—faded like breath on glass.

The door creaked open. And he stepped in.

"Where are my parents?"

"They’re safe. I’ve arranged for a physician to stay with them full-time and have stationed guards discreetly."

A quiet sigh left your lips.

"...Thank you" you murmured, sinking back slightly into the soft bed.

Mydei walked closer, but kept his distance.

"I knew you’d ask about them first."

You looked down at your hands, flexing them slowly.

"...Did I live here?"

"Yes."

You had just started breathing normally again.

But then, the door opened once more.

A robed figure entered—A mage. You hated how you kept encountering them.

“What’s going on?”

The mage remained silent.

Instead, Mydei’s hand moved and pinned you by the shoulder. Not hurting you, but holding you still.

“What are you doing—?”

“They’re here to help you.”

“I don’t underst—”

“You will.”

The mage lifted both hands.

A searing light bloomed in the air between you. You struggled, but Mydei didn’t let you move—his grip grew firmer as the light bore down on you.

“Stop—Mydei, wait! I don’t—”

The spell pierced into your mind like a thousand glass needles.

And then— everything came crashing back.

You saw it all.

Your heart seized in your chest.

And you collapsed.

When you awoke, the pain was gone.

You remembered your own name. Everything that made you you.

And Mydei—he was already there, sitting beside your bed with his head lowered, still as a statue, fingers laced in front of his lips as if in silent prayer.

He looked up the second you stirred.

“You’re…”

You opened your mouth, “Mydei…”

And then he wrapped his arms around you tightly, “You’re back!”

He buried his face in your shoulder, shoulders shaking with silent relief.

-----

Mydei had always walked behind you.

For as long as he could remember, he had never needed anything more than the feeling of your voice giving him orders. That clarity, that purpose, was his reason to live.

Now that you stood once again at the top of the world—he had everything.

There was nothing to mourn. No more nights haunted by dreams of your blood-soaked body, no more empty corridors echoing with your absence.

You had returned. And he was whole.

Rumors had spread like wildfire of the lost king reborn. Nobles who once dared to plot found their heads lining the city gates.

Under your banner, armies surged. You took back what was once yours. And then you reached further. Lands that had turned arrogant in your absence were conquered.

Not all days were bloodshed.

Sometimes, when the mood struck, you would make your way to the royal training court.

Your strikes were heavier now—your absence had dulled the sharpness of your stance. But you were no novice. Mydei, however, never struck you like a teacher. He met you as an equal.

“You're still not holding back.”

“I never will” he’d say simply, offering his hand to pull you up.

In the moments between wars and sparring, Mydei would kneel beside your throne without being summoned. He didn’t need permission.

You never had to ask if he would die for you.

He already had.

Again and again.

As long as you wore that crown, as long as you ruled the world—you would never walk alone.

The palace slept beneath a blanket of stars. Guards stood silent along the halls. Outside, the wind stirred faintly through the courtyard trees, but within your chamber, all was still.

You lay in bed, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

And Mydei never left his place beside you. His armor was gone, but his sword still rested within reach. Just in case.

But as the hours stretched on and your breathing softened, Mydei moved. He approached your bed and lingered by the edge for a long moment.

“You’re here…”

His hand brushed yours—fingers wrapping around your larger palm, holding it in both of his like something fragile and precious. His thumb traced along your knuckles, memorizing the lines, the warmth, the proof of your existence.

He knelt.

And with a slow, aching breath, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

When he finally pulled away, he stayed seated beside you on the floor, hand still cradling yours in silence.

The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow into your chambers. You blinked, rubbed your eyes, and pushed the silk covers aside as you sat up with a yawn.

And then you swung your legs over the side of the bed— and tripped.

“Wha—?”

Your foot caught on something solid, warm, and very much not the floor. With a surprised grunt, you crashed down, dragging the blanket with you as the world tilted— And landed right on top of someone.

“Mydei?”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

He had clearly fallen asleep beside your bed, collapsed from fatigue without meaning to. But now you were straddling him, tangled in covers, your hair a mess and arms trapped at his sides.

You scrambled up in embarrassment, muttering an apology, trying to disentangle yourself—

Only for your foot to snag on the blanket again.

Smack.

You crashed forward, and this time, your forehead slammed right into Mydei’s mouth.

“—!”

He let out a faint grunt, and you winced at the sharp sting of pain.

You quickly pulled back, horrified to see blood already gathering at the corner of his lower lip.

“Damn it—! Stay there.” You grabbed the nearest cloth, panicked but trying to stay composed. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t even—! Ugh, this is my fault.”

“It’s fine.”

You ignored that, grabbing the small case of ointments near the bedside and unscrewing the cap. With careful fingers, you reached toward his face.

“Don’t move.”

You dabbed the balm gently over the split lip, and he held still beneath your touch.

“Done. Now get up, Mydei.”

-----

The village was quiet this morning, nestled deep in the rural lands reclaimed under your banner. You were there to ensure their peace.

You and Mydei rode at the front, flanked by a handful of guards. The villagers bowed with hushed reverence as you passed, offering fresh bread and small gifts of thanks. But you felt strange.

“Something’s wrong...”

A firebolt struck the nearest house

“Protect the villagers!” you ordered instantly, drawing your blade.

The guards leapt into action, shielding children and herding families toward safety. You turned sharply toward the treeline.

Dozens emerged—cloaked figures, former rebels from the lands you’d conquered.

They weren’t after the people.

They were after you.

“Draw them away,” you muttered, stepping beside Mydei. “Toward the ruin tower. We’ll finish this ourselves.”

He nodded without question.

The old tower was long abandoned, overtaken by moss and rot. It stood like a crooked fang on the edge of the cliffs.

The rebels chased, just as planned.

Half of them fell to your swords, the rest driven to desperation.

From the shadows of the top chamber, hidden figures lunged—ambushers lying in wait. You pivoted too late, barely fending off a strike aimed at your neck.

In the chaos, someone tackled you from behind.

And you were falling.

The wind howled past your ears as the edge of the tower vanished beneath you—until his hand caught your wrist.

“Your majesty!”

The scene unfolds in slow motion, the world reduced to crumbling stone, blood, and the weight of a choice neither of you wanted to make.

Mydei’s grip on your wrist is iron, his other hand braced against broken masonry, muscles straining to hold you both aloft. And you see it. The moment he realizes: This won’t work. The structure shudders. The math is simple. One life or none.

So you act.

The knife is in your hand before either of you can protest. You drive it into his palm and his fingers jerk open in reflex. His scream is raw, your name half curse, half plea, but you’re already falling, the wind howling in your ears as the tower collapses behind you.

You land hard. Alive. That's what matters.

But Mydei doesn’t know that.

By the time you stagger upright, wiping blood from your lip, the sky is raining something worse than rubble.

He jumped.

Because he thought you were gone, and the universe without you wasn’t worth staying in.

Then your body moves. You lunge, arms outstretched, and catch him midair with a grunt of impact, boots skidding in the dirt. His weight nearly knocks you over, but you hold on.

"You— I mean..."

You grin, all teeth and no remorse. "Miss me?"

He chokes out something between a laugh and a sob. You pretend not to notice the wetness on your collar.

The grand hall of the palace is alive with light and laughter, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine.

You sit upon the throne, draped in royal finery, a goblet of wine dangling carelessly from your fingers. The feast is in full swing—musicians play lively tunes, nobles toast to your safe return, and the long tables groan under the weight of the banquet. But your gaze keeps drifting to him.

Mydei hasn’t touched his wine.

You smirk into your cup.

Then, with a lazy wave of your hand, you silence the musicians.

"Today," you announce, "we celebrate not just my safe return, but the loyalty of the man who would have followed me into death itself."

You raise your goblet toward him. "Sir Mydei—step forward."

For a moment, he hesitates. Then, he approaches the throne and kneels, head bowed.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your free hand. "Tell me," you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, "was it duty that made you jump after me? Or something far more foolish?"

"You know what it was"

You hum, amused. Then, in one smooth motion, you rise from the throne and pull him up by his uninjured hand. The court gasps as you press your own goblet into his grip.

"Then drink with me," you command, grinning. "And stop glaring like I’m already dead."

His fingers tighten around the cup. For a heartbeat, you think he might throw it in your face.

Instead, he drains it in one defiant swallow.

The nobles erupt into cheers. You laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Good job, Mydei."

[raxistaicho]

An ill-fitting throne, like an ill-fitting crown

When I was last playing Three Houses, I was struck again by how small Byleth looks, seated on Sothis's throne:

They just look so fantastically unfitting for the throne.

Female Byleth can't even touch her heels to the ground, and while male Byleth can do that much, the arm rests are too far apart for him to use them properly, and he visibly has to sit so far forward that he can't rest his back against the back of the throne, either.

A pretty common theory is that Sothis was huge when she was alive, and aside from just the sheer size of the throne this is supported by, of all the grotesque things, the Sword of the Creator itself:

It's pretty easy to infer that the serrated portion of the blade was crafted from Sothis's spine. A person's spine generally constitutes 25% of their total height, and the Sword of the Creator is huge, especially compared to Female Byleth:

With Byleth being 5'4'', Sothis could easily be between seven and eight feet tall. She'd easily dwarf everyone else in the game, including Dedue and Nemesis.

Where am I going with this?

Byleth not being big enough to sit properly upon Sothis's throne is symbolic in a way: they're being pressed into a position that doesn't suit them. Just look at how uncomfortable and uncertain they seem, particularly female Byleth.

[ghouljams]

I'm seeing a lot of knight posting and no knight!ghost or knight!Keegan. Where my babies at?? I miss them.

Ghost is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the idea that he's getting married (and the multiple assassination attempts from a desperate future father-in-law)

Keegan on the other hand, is enjoying the fact that his lady is a bit further from the crown. Still noble, still with that rigid moral code threatening to snap your spine in two, but so much softer, so much more pliant where he brushes his lips. Drags his fingers down your spine. Rests you on your knees and sweeps his knuckles over your cheek, content to have you sit and rest against his thigh like a docile little pup. You're quite pretty like that, relaxed, boneless in his hold. The fibers of you plucked free from their knitted knots, all that lovely structure that's turned you from threat to fabric unwound under his hands.

There's some guilt, of course, he has the same upstanding you do, the same titles and crests. They may look and sound different, but in the eyes of the throne you're the same, disposable nobles with a high enough standing to sit beside the Princess. Cast off at a moment's notice if you find yourselves too close to her highness. It's good he's here to help you keep your distance. He should marry you, should take the time to offer you his name when you're laying in bed with him, soft and sated. When his fingers trace down your spine, when they toy with your hair, he should whisper something deeper than the promise of pleasure. And he can't say why he doesn't.

Fear maybe. Your position hinges so heavily on the promise of perpetual maidenhood, you'd be so sad to leave your lady when she needs you, sad enough to deny his proposal he worries. Or perhaps fear that marriage is a step too close, that he won't be able to hide the worst parts of himself from you anymore, that the mask will finally come off and you'll be able to see the scars that dig into more than just his skin.

And where would that leave him?

Alone again, perhaps.

[kasagia]

Dancing With The Devil

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: Your whole life revolved around court intrigues, gaining influence, and extracting the darkest secrets from important nobility. As a woman, there wasn't much you could do or count on. Unless you provide yourself with status and position through a good marriage. You've made your life perfect. You had a complete plan and vision for your future—even after the unexpected loss of your fiancé, you managed to rise up and find another good match—until the Na-Baron decided to interfere with it and ruin everything you had been working for. You were about to find out for yourself that dancing with the devil never led to anything good. Even if the consequences of this come after some time... Warning: kind of royal au!; 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; Inspired by: Bridgerton and "Would've, could've, should've" - Taylor Swift Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

"What do you mean by saying that Paul Atreides is dead?"

"Exactly that." Your mother replies with her typical calm, adjusting the crown on her head in the mirror. "He and his family went on a diplomatic mission to Arrakis. They were attacked by… a group of rebels. More specifically, it was probably Sardaukar, but we all know who benefited more from the death of the Atreides." You shudder at the mere mention of the Harkonnens. However, you still can't get over the shock of the revelation you've just heard.

"It is impossible. They couldn't kill them all, after all... what about Caladan? And the plans of the Bene Gesserit? The Emperor would never…"

"The Emperor is not the same man you knew. As he grows older, he grows not in wisdom but in fear. He is more afraid of maintaining his throne than of the good of the empire. And, as we all know, Paul was his most likely successor. So he killed him before he could kill him." She explains this to you, making sure that her appearance is impeccable. She turns from the mirror and nods to the maid, ordering her to give her a coat in your family's colours and embroidered with the decorations and symbols of your house.

"I... are you just trying to tell me that I don't have a fiancé?"

"Unless you want to marry his corpse, yes, that's what I am trying to say to you from the beginning." Your mother snorts in amusement, watching you as you are still in shock, trying to process this unexpected, terrible news. The shock in you slowly gives way to anger. This wasn't how things were supposed to look.

"Mother, you should know how tragic this situation is. After all, the season is almost over; when will I get any suitors? Should I be without any for a year? And then another one? You know perfectly well that most of the descendants of high families have already announced their courtship. Am I supposed to end up as a spinster?"

"Calm down. The season isn't over yet. Since... Caladan has an unstable political situation, Princess Irulan suggested that we take over the main, final celebrations. All you have to do is dress nicely, present yourself well, and catch whatever poor young men come here." You snort mockingly at her feeble attempts to comfort and reassure you.

"I won't have a better husband than Paul. He was the perfect match! Not ugly, easy to control, filthy rich, only son who was supposed to inherit everything—where will you find me another husband like that?" You ask furiously, more concerned about the consequences of his death for you than the fact that you will never meet your fiancé ever again. You couldn't end up as a spinster. You couldn't marry just anyone, either, or, worse, end up as a mere concubine. You didn't spend all these years beautifying your appearance and studying politics, martial arts, economics, and biological sciences to marry some insignificant idiot from an unknown family and planet.

"It's going to be hard, I won't lie, but we'll get through it. We are Y/L/N. We never give up and always achieve our goals. You're too beautiful, darling, to become a spinster. And too smart to marry some insignificant lord."

"You too were, and yet you ended up with my father."

"I married him out of love and love... love makes us do stupid things. But you are smarter than me. You can do much better, I have no doubt about that. We'll give you a week of mourning before we throw the first party. During this time, we will review... available men. To know who to focus on." You nod, agreeing with her plan. You couldn't immediately rush out to find another suitor when your previous one had just been buried beneath the sands of Arrakis. You had to pretend you were crying for him.

It wasn't like you didn't care about Paul at all. You liked him. He was a good conversation partner and a nobel man. But in this situation, you felt more sorry for yourself. You were left with no fiancé, no suitor, and no other alternative.

And if there was anything worse for a woman in this world than death, it was either infertility or becoming a spinster whom no one paid any attention to. You could have handled every other situation perfectly well, but not such humiliation.

Or at least that's what you thought until you crossed paths with the one and only Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

You stand against the wall, sipping your champagne with probably the sourest expression on your face. The masquerade ball had already started an hour ago and you still couldn't find anyone whose attention you could attract.

You and your mother had looked through... all the possible options, but none of the men who came here were fooled by your sweet swan appearance. And if he did, he proposed after just a few minutes of conversation. You may have been in a desperate situation, but you weren't looking for a desperate man.

Standing against the wall allowed you to take a closer look at the nobles present at the ball. You caught a few rumours and scandalous behaviour—touching too long, stolen kisses, and a few other things—but you didn't feel like thinking about them at all when the vision of your future looked so bleak.

Your bad mood is only fueled by Irulan's presence and how she's clearly having a great time at your funeral. As if she had achieved another one of her many victories. Lucky bitch.

You sigh and place your glass on the tray of a passing servant. You are about to leave the masquerade ball when your attention is caught by a man standing alone on the other side of the room.

His outfit is… unusual. His black coat is finished with sharp metal decorations, making it resemble more of a fancy armour than a classic formal outfit. The black mask completely covers his face and the back of his head, leaving only his full lips and part of his defined jaw to your eyes. 

And you really like those lips. Very much. You decide that today you will test their softness when the stranger's cold blue eyes meet yours. A shiver of excitement runs through you as you imagine the things you could do with this intoxicatingly beautiful man. And maybe it's the alcohol you drank or your pathetic longing to be the centre of someone's attention that makes you feel brave enough to approach him.

As you slowly approach him and look at him closely, you realise what he's disguised as. The black swan. It was so good for you that you decided to be the white one tonight.

However, the man suddenly disappears in the crowd of people. You frown and look around, searching for him, but somehow you can't. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. You freeze when you suddenly feel someone's presence behind you. A shiver of excitement runs down your spine as the man's husky whisper echoes in your ear.

"Looking for someone, my lady?" You turn your head to meet the same icy blue irises up that were watching you from across the room a moment ago.

Goosebumps run through you as his gaze inexplicably hypnotises you. This could be your opportunity; you just had to play your cards well and make him more interested in you. The circumstances and scenery were perfect—downright romantic, like from a book. You just had to make this handsome devil equally enchanted by you. You must have caught his attention if he decided to play with you and chase you to get to you first.

You also need to find out who owns those captivating lips and eyes whose colour rivals the ocean waves. Oh, and how you desperately wanted to immerse yourself in them...

"My lord." You curtsy, turning fully to face him to study him even more carefully. He was tall, with a muscular figure visible under his clothes that you wanted to explore with your fingers. You lick your lips, shifting your gaze back to his, and catch him assessing you with his eyes, just like you had just done with him. "I couldn't help but notice how... coincidentally, we fit together with our choice of outfits."

"Indeed, we do. Although I personally think you would look better in black, little swan." The nickname he gives you and the arrogance in his voice make you snort mockingly, raising an eyebrow at him defiantly as you become even more fascinated by this mysterious man.

"Why is that?"

"You may look like a tiny, innocent bird in this white, pretty dress, but your eyes—your eyes give it all away, my lady. You can try to deceive men with this... undoubtedly beautiful sight for the eyes, but not all of us fall so easily to the false mirage—maybe only lesser men—but you're not desperate enough to seek the attention of a mere duke or count, who would be easily led by you, are you?"

"And who are you to make such bold assumptions?" You ask furiously, glaring at him as he gently strokes the collar of your dress with his fingertip, playing a little with the white feathers that were attached to it. He smirks, his white teeth gleaming dangerously, reminding you of the smile of a wolf before it catches its prey.

"Definitely not a lesser man." He replies, undaunted by your anger. His hand slides from the collar of your dress over your shoulder as he grabs your gloved hand and presses a soft kiss on it, and you can barely keep yourself from closing your eyes and giving in to the pleasant feeling of having his plush, full lips so close and yet so far from your skin. "May I? I believe that this beautiful dress will look better while moving…"

At this point, you should refuse. Thank him for his company and go find a... more suitable one. But you can't deny that he's read you accurately so far and that he's touched a part of you that you haven't shown to anyone. You were too curious to just let him go; you wanted to stay with him longer and see what would come of this acquaintance with him.

So you nod and let him lead you to the dance floor. A few heads turn towards you, but you can't reach anything other than him, and the feeling of his larger hand gently holding yours in a strange way makes your heart flutter slightly.

You feel like he's put a spell on you, and strangely, you don't want to break out of it at all.

His eyes never leave yours. You're almost dizzy from how intensely he's looking at you. He places his hand on your waist, pulling you a little closer to him. He holds you tight enough so that you can feel his touch on you, and it isn't painful for you. He leads you into a dance with incredible grace for a man, spinning you around to the rhythm of the music.

He's so close to you that you can smell his scent, which is as addictive as his burning attention. The smell of anise, musk, and hot spices assaulting your nostrils makes you involuntarily lean towards him, wanting to be as close to him as good manners allow. However, you know that if you spend another few minutes longer in his presence, all your mother's teachings will be forgotten in favour of... getting closer to this compelling man.

"So what do you believe in then? If you don't believe in coincidence? Destiny?" You ask, trying to shake off this strange feeling of loss of control he's giving you.

And you almost fail miserably, barely keeping yourself from blushing as his low chuckle makes you burn even more for him. You had to find some flaw in him—something that would turn you off if you didn't want to lose your mind completely, because for now, everything about this man was sinfully pleasant.

"We create our destiny. Don't you agree?"

"Sometimes things are beyond your control, my lord." You disagree with him, keeping your searching gaze on him as his hands move to your hips.

You bite your bottom lip as he lifts you up in one fluid motion, following the steps of the dance. The ease with which he shifts you and spins you so that your back is against his chest as he sets you down on the floor again makes your cheeks blush as you think of all the ways you could use his large, strong hands. You feel like a horny teenager in her first season. And you don't like it at all.

"And sometimes, all we need to do is take a step and reach out for what is rightfully ours." He whispers in your ear, wrapping his hands around you, never stopping his movements.

You swallow thickly as he places your joined hands on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your bare collarbone. You bite your tongue, trying to hold back a moan when you feel the rough skin of his hands, confirming your suspicions that his toned physique is built from years of training and fighting. This fuels your desire for him even more.

"Possible. But our reputation suffers because of it. You can't escape the eyes of society. No matter how hard you try, my lord." Your eyes fall on the couples dancing around you.

You gasp when he suddenly wraps his arm around your waist and turns you around, forcing you to face him again. You almost bump into his chest, completely unprepared for such a sudden move from him. He gives you a mischievous smirk and a wink, amused at how he managed to catch you off guard and off-balance. You purse your lips, causing his eyes to shift to them.

"Do you know what freedom you can achieve when you throw off the yoke of your reputation? How many opportunities are open to you?" He whispers hoarsely, leaning towards you. You lift your chin, meeting his gaze as your heart beats frantically against your chest. You get the feeling he has in his mind... something much less pure and decent. And you almost trembled in his arms with excitement.

"Do you know how many doors close in front of you? No one wants to associate with a vile person rejected by society."

"Oh, but those nefarious always seem to get their attention, don't you think? They are invited out of sheer curiosity about how they will behave and what exciting and forbidden things they will do. They are the source of the most virulent gossip; you won't deny it, right, little swan?"

"Possible. Are you one of them?" You ask, curious about his identity.

He gives you a mysterious, mocking smirk as he chuckles throatily. He leans down and brushes his lips against your ear. You sigh as his lips press a small kiss to your earlobe, your heart racing as you feel him so close to you. You wait in suspense for what he will do next, completely oblivious to the people around you, who, fortunately, are too busy with themselves to notice what is happening around them. You'd never been so happy about wearing a mask before, even though it was a way to protect your identity and allow yourself... to do a little more in such a public place.

"Oh darling… what if I told you that I'm the worst of them all?" He whispers seductively, biting your ear. You gasp, digging your fingers into his arm, holding on to anything as he plays cruelly with you.

At this point, you should thank him for this dance, turn around, and find another company. But there's something... magnetic about this man that draws you closer and closer to him.

Maybe it's the thrill of the unknown—the excitement of how different this man seems from the rest of the people here. And even though your mind is screaming at you, and rightly so, to back away before you burn yourself with the fire that burns from him, you want to follow him like a moth, desperately wanting to bathe in the glow of these new sensations he is giving you.

So, without thinking about it for a long time, you grab his hand and lead him out of the room. Surprisingly, he obediently follows you, not questioning you as the two of you walk through various corridors. You lead him towards the exit—straight to the palace gardens, where there should be much fewer people who couldn't... overhear you.

You drag him into the maze, taking him to one of the dead ends. Before he can say anything, you lean in and kiss him lustfully. You moan at the feeling of his soft lips caressing yours, and you tighten your hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. The metal trim of his outfit digs into you, but you ignore the feeling, completely absorbed by the way his tongue slips into your waiting mouth.

Under different circumstances, if it were known to him who you were and there was no mask covering half of your face, you would never have dared to take such a... bold step. But now, with him so close to you and your identity safe under the white feather mask, you moan into his mouth, letting yourself bask in the feeling of desire.

You and Paul... fooled around a few times, but the furthest you went was touching each other. But with this man, the man whose name you didn't know and who was currently sucking the air from your mouth, you felt completely different.

All your nerves were on fire. Every inch of you was begging for his touch and undivided attention. You couldn't help but moan and melt into his hands as he possessively tightened his grip on your hip, pulling you much closer to his body.

Your bodies fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle, and you couldn't help but wonder if your souls were also two halves that fit together thoroughly.

Just when you feel like you can't go without air any longer, his mouth stops attacking yours, instead caressing and nipping at the skin of your jaw and moving to your neck.

Suddenly, the corset you're in becomes too tight, and breathing becomes increasingly difficult for you as his lips mark your neck, making your already lust-crazed heart beat faster. You whine, your hands tracing his muscular torso, as you find yourself in extreme conflict. You know you should push him away and that you shouldn't let him mark you so clearly, but on the other hand, he brings you so much pleasure and makes you shiver just from the feeling of his lips on your neck. You dread to think what he would do to you if he moved a little further south of your body—if he kneeled in front of you and did to you things you only read about in the privacy of your chamber.

You quickly cover your mouth with your hand as you are about to scream when his teeth dig into your neck. He sucks on the sensitive skin, making sure to leave a clear mark on you. Your eyes widen in shock when you hear a threatening growl from him. His hand grabs yours tightly, removing it from your mouth, and his icy blue eyes flash with anger, giving you a furious glare.

"Hold back your moans and screams one more time, and I will make sure the people in the palace hear you crying because of me, little swan. And believe me, I can make it only pleasant for me, so don't test my patience and mercy and be a good girl for me." He growls, tightening his grip on your hand that he pinned to the hedge behind you.

He kisses you hard, chastisingly, as he takes a step towards you, closing any space between you. Your breasts rub against his chest as he presses against you, and you think you can feel his hardness through the layers of your clothes.

A short gasp escapes you as his hand travels beneath the layers of your dress. His fingers take their time caressing the skin of your legs, slowly climbing up to where you needed to have him as soon as your eyes fell on him. You decide to compromise with him and pull him into a kiss so as not to attract unwanted attention from any of the guests.

You gasp as his fingers brush against your clothed core. His raspy chuckle as he discovers the undeniable flood between your legs makes you blush with embarrassment and anger. Your breathing quickens as you reach out to grab his cock, squeezing him painfully tight for teasing you. A loud moan leaves his lips swollen from kissing, making you want to extract other, equally temptingly beautiful sounds from him.

But before you can do anything, he drops to his knees in front of you and lifts the folds of your white dress. You shiver, feeling his breath between your legs as he takes his time stroking your thighs, caressing them with his soft lips.

You moan as he sucks and bites the skin of your inner thighs, teasing you as he blatantly ignores your needy pussy. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, biting your lip as you try to pull him to your clothed core. He growls while spanking your pussy. You scream at the sudden, burning sensation, your legs shaking, so only his strong hands are keeping you upright.

You tilt your head back, resting it against the hedge, and moan softly as he presses a teasing kiss on your clothed core. His fingers gently slip under your panties, only to rip the fabric off of you in one quick movement.

You sigh as his nose brushes against your folds as he inhales your scent, stuffing your torn panties into his pants pocket. His tongue gently and teasingly tastes your wetness, making you even more frustrated. You push aside the fabric of your dress and take his hand that was exploring the curve of your ass and pull it to your pussy which is screaming for his attention.

His chuckle stimulates your clit, making you moan and pushing your hips into him in a desperate attempt to find a release. He growls angrily at your impatience and grabs your hips in an iron grip, positioning you to his liking and plan.

You hold your breath as his fingers gently enter you, soothing the burning feeling of emptiness inside you. His tongue plays with your clit, sucking every last drop of your juices out of you, as if he's as addicted to your taste and sounds as you are to the feeling of his touch and the way he fills you.

You feel your orgasm building. You close your eyes in blissful relief, allowing yourself to moan, not caring if anyone can hear you. Your fingers dig into his neck. He growls against your pussy as you draw his blood from him and intensifies his ministrations. His fingers move in and out quickly as he sucks on your most sensitive spot, as if he's trying to mark you there and leave you a hickey there.

Your fingers run up his neck. You want to pull his hair—hurt him as much as he hurts you. Your fingertips find their way beneath the black fabric of his mask covering his head, but when you reach out to grab his hair, you're met with bare skin.

And then everything falls into place in your head.

When the realisation comes to you, you freeze, you lose all feeling, and all you can do is stand there and think about who you let under your dress and between your legs.

Harkonnen. You were being eaten by a fucking Harkonnen, and judging by his body structure, voice, and the guest list you've looked through hundreds of times, by one and only Feyd-Rautha, Na-Barron of Giedi Prime.

You tremble, not at all because of the feeling of how his fingers and tongue work continuously on your orgasm, intensifying your sensations as he lets out soft moans at the taste of you, but because pure terror overwhelms your whole body. You unconsciously tighten the hug on his neck, which only increases the intensity of his… efforts on your wet folds, as he wants to take you over the edge.

You take advantage of the fact that he's too... distracted and push him away from you. You grab the skirt of your dress and run fast, as far away from him as possible. Your heart races as you hear his soft growl before, to your even greater dismay, he chases after you.

You run through a maze, trying to lose Harkonnen among many paths, hoping he will reach a dead end and lose your trail, or at least to find some group of people. After all, he won't be able to do anything to you in front of witnesses—or maybe he could?

You tremble at the thought that the same hands that cut the throats of servants and concubines, hands that killed prisoners in the arena and people in battle, touched you and were the cause of your... your pleasure.

How stupid you were! How could you allow yourself to be seduced by Harkonnen and carried away by your stupid emotions and desires? You mentally curse him, his family, and Paul Atreides, whose death made you have to chase men again to find a suitable husband. And especially you curse how amazing and extraordinary you felt under the touch of this bloodthirsty beast, whose house has been nefarious for centuries.

You run forward, not daring to turn around to see if he's still chasing you. You're so lost in your thoughts and so scared that you accidentally run into someone. You gasp as a hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from falling. You have a heart attack, thinking that it could be him and that he has somehow outsmarted you. But when you look up, you don't see blue irises, but green ones.

"Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to..." Your words stop as you take a closer look at the man. He wasn't wearing a mask; he apparently abandoned it when he entered the garden, and you have to say, he's... handsome. Very.

“Of course you didn't mean to. You couldn't see me when you were running so fast, which makes me wonder: From what are you running away, my lady?"

"I... To be honest, I'm running away from my maids. And that ball. It's just… too much excitement for one evening." You lie, quickly making up an excuse.

Obviously, you won't tell him that you're being chased by the horny Harkonnen heir, with whom you were ALONE in the garden. That would be a scandal. Just talking to this man now could be considered that way too... let alone what you allowed Feyd-Rautha to do to you.

"I think so too. Viscount Y/L/N throws good parties, but… they're a little too loud for my liking. Too vibrant." He comments, offering his arm to you. You can't help but smile as you place your hand in the crook of his arm.

Luckily, he leads the two of you in the opposite direction you were running from. You see that his brown and gold mask is tied to his arm, and on his finger he has... the ring of the Luwael family, a close family of Emperor Corrino. You just talked to the emperor's cousin, the pretender to his throne since he has no son.

You can't believe how lucky you are.

"Tell me about it, I've been enduring it since I was 15." You say it jokingly, giggling when you see his eyes widen as he realises he's gossiping about your father, and you think he looks adorable and cute in his state of little panic.

"Lady Y/N Y/L/N?" He asks, shocked. You nod and reach for the ribbon of your mask, removing it. You see his pupils dilate slightly as he takes in your appearance, his cheeks turning pink—whether from embarrassment or lust, you don't know, but you still like his reaction to you. "My apologies, I didn't mean to offend…."

"You did not." You interrupt him quickly with a charming smile. "It's... refreshing to be able to talk to someone who has similar opinions and feelings. At least when it comes to those terrible balls."

"Sometimes I feel like they force us to participate just to have something to gossip about later."

"Don't you like gossip?" You ask curiously, raising an eyebrow as you continue your walk through the gardens. You completely forget about Harkonnen and your... mistake, as you are trying to gain the interest of the man next to you.

This could be your big chance.

True, you heard that he and Irulan were to marry so that power would remain in Corrino's hands, but... if you make him want you, no one will stop him from taking you as his wife.

"I don't like court intrigues. The way ladies throw themselves at lords just to gain a higher title."

"Maybe for you men, marriage is more than just a financial transaction, but unfortunately for most of us, it's all about stability. The security of our lives is the most important thing here, and love—love is a complex and difficult thing; most often, unfortunately, it is only in books. Won't you agree?"

"Possible. But I would rather my wife love me than the power I give her." You smile in understanding. So you have a romantic in front of you... You have to adjust your role well, so you keep your true thoughts to yourself. You innocently hang your head, feigning uncertainty.

"This is completely understandable. Don't all of us dream about it? Have someone of your own, trusted, to whom you can confide all your dreams and fears without being afraid of being laughed at or ignored?" You ask, turning your head to look at him as you ask him your final question.

By the way he watches you with a burning light in his eyes, you know you've come to the right place and have successfully sold your image of a weak, defenceless woman dreaming of a real courtly romance. Pathetic. However, you will do anything to get a husband, you'll even pretend to be a helpless lamb.

"Yes... I assume that's what all of us want. Maybe expect the Harkonnens." You laugh at his joke, feeling very awkward at the same time as the memory of a certain Harkonnen's lips comes back to you.

You curse yourself for how damn good he made you feel. They may not have known love, but if they were all like Na-Baron, they knew damn well how to please their women—a thing you couldn't say about all the lords of the great houses.

You and Lord Luwael walk around the garden for a while before you both decide to head back to the ballroom. You put on your masks, and the man escorts you back, all the while being a perfect gentleman, including dancing, which he later asked you for.

You have fun maintaining your image as a hopeless romantic who wants to find true love and break away from the courtly conventions that overwhelm you—a perfect match for the emperor's heir. He doesn't tell you his identity until the end of the evening, but you don't mind. You know you've charmed him. And that he will seek your company at the next events of this season.

What you don't know is that certain icy-blue irises are watching you two furiously as you are led back into the ballroom by Lord Luwael. You also don't know that the Harkonnens are persistent and ruthless people who can wait years for their plans to be implemented, and that their devilish Na-Baron is truly the worst of them all...

Or that Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen decided a long time ago that you would become his wife. It didn't matter what he had to do or how to achieve his goal.

In the future, you will often regret this night and dancing with the Harkonnen devil. Very often.

~9 years earlier~

“They say he killed his mother. That his uncle and brother are training him to become a killer beast. That he is now devoid of any emotion except anger and bloodlust, and Paul told me that he apparently even has concubines.” Irulan gossips with you as the two of you watch in the distance as Feyd-Rautha trains in the courtyard.

The emperor invited several greater families to discuss something. You weren't too interested about it. Your mother simply packed your things and said you were leaving for a week. But you were happy. You had the opportunity to play with other nobles' children and it was definitely a nice break from listening to your parents' constant arguments.

"Nonsense. He's our age. Let's ask him if he wants to play with us." You decide and stand up to walk over to the hairless boy. Irulan grabs your hand tightly and pulls you back to your hiding place behind the pillar.

"He is a Harkonnen, Y/N. They don't play." She says and leans out to look at him. He swings his sword several times, making several quick movements and turns.

"But he isn't like them. He grew up on Lankiveil. Besides, I still remember him when he had blonde hair. And Harkonnens have no hair, so..."

"Baron made him his heir. Of course he had to... make himself look like them." She interrupts you, wrinkling her nose in disgust. You shiver slightly at the mere mention of the baron and nod thoughtfully.

"Pity. His blonde curls were pretty." You comment and lean out to look at him. You hold your breath as you make eye contact with him. He looks at you coldly, not moving an inch. You wave at him, giving him a hesitant smile. He stares at you for a while longer before he turns on his heel, his back to you, as he continues his training as if nothing had happened. "Still, we should have asked him. He looks quite lonely."

"NO. I won't be nice to him. If my mother gives a son to my father and I have to marry this… Harkonnen, I will throw myself from the tower."

"Why from the tower?" You ask, confused, frowning at the girl.

"I don't know. This is what the main characters in books do when something terrible happens to them. They say they will throw themselves off the tower."

"I prefer it when they fight the dragon." You say this, glancing at the boy again. You don't know why, but something just wouldn't let you walk away and leave him, although you really want to play with Paul, Irulan, and the other kids. You find yourself much more wanting to play with this strange boy.

You frown when you see him accidentally cut his hand. He doesn't cry like Paul did when you slammed his hand in the door. Instead, he puts his mouth on the wound and sucks out the blood. He tears off a piece of his clothes, wraps it around his hand, and continues training.

And somehow, it makes you make a decision.

"Y/N! What are you doing?!" Irulan hisses at you as you pull your hand from her grasp and take a step towards the courtyard.

"Fighting the dragon. Wish me luck." You answer, and without looking back, you head towards the training boy. His pale, bald head almost gleams in the sun, and you can't help but wonder if his lack of hair makes him less tolerant of the sun's heat.

When you are close to him, you stand still, not wanting to accidentally impale yourself on his sword. He notices you out of the corner of his eye, stops swinging his sword, and turns towards you, looking at you closely.

"Hi." You say as you wave at him.

"Lady Y/N." His voice is slightly hoarse, as if he had sandpapered it. You frown, surprised by such a formal greeting. Usually, only adults greet you like that.

"Um... my lord?" You answer hesitantly and shake your head, trying to ignore how strange he's acting. "Do you want to join us? We are playing hide and seek." You say, pointing your thumb at the pillar you and Irulan were hiding behind a few seconds ago.

"It's fun for kids." He replies dismissively and starts swinging his sword again.

"Are you not one?" You ask in surprise, still looking at him. He growls in annoyance and turns towards you, giving you a furious glare as you interrupt him.

"No. I am a man. And men are supposed to fight in battles and train to become stronger."

"Why?" You ask and frown at him, following him as he walks over to the fountain where he left his water and towel. He wipes the beads of sweat from his head, giving you a confused gaze.

"To keep their women and country safe." He replies like it's an obvious thing everyone should know.

"Well... do you have any in danger right now?" This time it's him who furrows his hairless eyebrows at your weird question. He thinks for a moment, observing you, and then shakes his head.

"No."

"Great! Then you can play with us." You say it excitedly and grab his hand. He hisses under your touch, and it's only then that you realise you've grabbed his injured hand. You want to apologise, but his mad glare quickly silences you.

"I already told you that I am not going to play any stupid game, woman!"

"Hey! I am not a woman, I am a girl! And you are a boy, so stop pretending to be an adult and play with us." You respond to his furious growl with your own and shoot him your evil glare. But instead of caring about your outburst and maybe even complying with your demands, he just laughs, making you even angrier.

"I will do whatever I want. You won't order me, little bunny. It doesn't matter how cute you look when you're angry." He mocks you and turns his back on you. You stamp your foot, furious at his behaviour and the fact that he is dismissing you.

"I doubt that sitting all alone is what you prefer." You say, unconsciously hitting his sweet spot. You see him tense as he reaches for his sword. However, his attitude quickly turns indifferent again as he turns his head to glance at you briefly.

"You should go."

"Why?"

"Before anyone notices me with you. Why are you asking so many questions?" He asks irritably, and he starts his training again.

Even though he tries to ignore you, you can see him glancing at you every few moments as you continue to stand there, watching as he swings his sword and cuts through the air.

"Is that yours?" You ask him curiously, sitting on the edge of the fountain.

"Yes. My uncle gave it to me for my 10th birthday." He replies proudly and stops for a moment to talk to you. You smile, staring longingly at the metal blade.

"My gave me dolls. Again. It's so boring." You grumble, keeping your eyes on his weapon. "How do you play with it?"

"I don't play. I train." He replies in annoyance and rolls his eyes at you. But you can see in his eyes that he's not mad at you at all. On the contrary, he wants to continue talking to you. That's why you act more boldly.

"Whatever. How do you train with it? Can you show me?"

"These are not things for a woman." His rejection doesn't dampen your excitement at all. On the contrary, you want to train with him even more, to do something that your mother forbade you to do a long time ago.

"Well, that's a good thing that I am a girl, then. Can you show me? Please? My dad wanted to train me, but my mom didn't agree. She is stupid." You complain, causing him to chuckle. You smile widely, thinking that he looks better when he's cheerful and not with that dark and grim scowl.

"She is. You should know how to protect yourself. Your father won't be fighting for your safety forever. And with that attitude, I doubt you will ever find a husband to protect you."

"Good. I don't want one. Can you show me then?" You ask, ignoring the fact that he's trying to insult you. You look up at him with your beautiful, pleading eyes and stick out your lower lip.

He watches you for a moment, frowning as he feels his heart beat faster when you give him that cute look he simply can't resist. He sighs, barely taking his eyes off of you, and nods.

"Fine. But only if you stay away from me after that."

"Okay." You reply excitedly and nod enthusiastically. He smiles slightly and stands behind you, helping you maintain a good stance with your sword.

"Hold it like that." He says, adjusting your grip on the handle.

"It's so heavy! How can you hold it and move?" You almost collapse under the weight of the sword, but you try to hold it the way he shows you. He laughs huskily, making you smile.

"You can get used to it with time. Now. I will show you some basic movements."

He trains with you and shows you some tricks and moves. And although he was rough and rude towards you at first, over time you both enjoyed each other's company.

You manage to make him laugh a few times, and each time you count it as a small victory considering how grumpy he was. He's obviously extremely fascinated with fighting and seems more than willing to teach you a few things. You think this "training" is fun—at least until you accidentally injure yourself.

"Ouch!" You scream and almost drop his sword. Luckily, he caught it quickly, before you could cut your foot. He furrows his hairless eyebrows and takes your injured hand in his.

"You're as clumsy as you look, little bunny." He mumbles and brings your hand to his mouth.

He licks up your blood like he did with his and tears off a piece of your dress. He wraps the cloth around the wound and looks closely at your hand. You frown, disgusted that he's licking your blood, but you don't move. Well... not until you realise this insult.

"Hey! You hurt yourself a while ago, too. Besides, it's my first time." You are angry at him, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms.

"Because I had an unexpected audience that was talking passionately about me behind my back."

"Oh… I'm sorry. It was mean." You respond contritely, not realising how he must have felt when everyone around him assumed the worst about him and didn't want to be around him.

"I got used to it." He replies in an emotionless tone and looks away from you, almost looking like a beaten dog, even though he tries hard not to show it. And you feel terribly sorry for him.

"You shouldn't. You are cool. When you take the stick out of your ass." You joke, and he chuckles. You smile at him, but his good mood is suddenly interrupted by something. His face turns serious, his muscles tense, and you only hear the growl of some animal before Feyd pushes you behind him.

A large hunting dog runs up to you. He lunges at Feyd, knocking him down. The dog bites him, and Feyd screams in rage. He tries to plunge his sword into the dog's side, but it clamps its jaws on the Feyd's arm, immobilising him.

You gasp in dismay. You reach for a rock and throw it at the dog, trying to distract it. You succeed, but before you can think about what to do next, the dog lunges at you.

You land on your back and use your elbows to get up, but the dog is quickly above you. He growls, foam dripping from his muzzle onto you, and you can only stare in horror into his eyes. You gasp when, just as he is about to sink his teeth into you, Feyd's sword suddenly pierces the dog.

You lie on the ground, unable to move, as you feel the animal's blood dripping onto your dress. Feyd pushes the dog off of you and gives you a worried look.

"Are you hurt?" He asks and offers you his hand. He helps you get back on your feet, looking for any wounds. You shake and shiver as you look at the dead animal. Feyd notices this and places his hand on your cheeks, making you look into his eyes as he turns your back to the animal's body.

He opens his mouth to repeat the question, but freezes when you throw yourself into his arms and hug him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you sob softly. Feyd holds you tentatively and strokes your hair, clumsily trying to calm you down.

"Thank you." You mumble into his neck. He doesn't say anything. He just holds you, letting you cry into him and calm him down. When you finally do, you move away from him. You wipe tears away with the sleeve of your dress, which makes Feyd's heart clench uncomfortably.

He doesn't understand what you're doing to him. He should have felt disgusted by you and been as far away from you as possible. He should have rejected you the moment you threw yourself at him, but... somehow he couldn't deny you this moment of comfort. The mere thought of you seeking comfort from him made his heart flutter a little. And you smelled nice, too. Like ocean. Like Lankiveil. Like home.

You represented everything his uncle wanted him to forget. You were... soft. Too soft. And nice. He should have wanted to hurt you, not comfort you, but all he wanted to do was hold you and protect you from the cruel world.

"Y/N!" Your father's scream reaches you.

The man pulls you further away from Feyd and looks at him warily before his worried gaze shifts to you and your eyes, bloody from crying. A moment later, the Baron and the Emperor join you. The men look at you and the dead dog, frowning.

"My best hunting dog..."

"Feyd-Rautha, what is this about? What have you done?" Her uncle's threatening growl makes Feyd tense. A shiver runs through him, and he opens his mouth to explain himself, but you beat him to it, leaving your father's arms and standing bravely in front of the baron and emperor.

"He saved me."

"What?"

"The dog broke off the leash. It… it would have bitten and torn me if Na-Baron hadn't killed it." The men look at each other, assessing the situation. Feyd watches you carefully, ignoring the surprised, frightened looks from the emperor and your father as you tell them that he killed a nearly three-foot dog.

"I... thank you, Na-Baron. For protecting my daughter." Your father nods to him, but he still has an iron grip on your arm. As if he were afraid that Feyd would turn out to be a worse, more dangerous beast to you than the dog that wanted to bite you to death.

"You're welcome, Viscount Y/L/N." He replies, shifting his gaze from you to your father for a moment.

Your dad is not waiting for the Emperor and the Baron to let you two go. He simply grabs your hand and leads you back to the palace with him. As if he wanted you to be as far away from the Harkonnens as possible.

"You shouldn't let just any dog ​​bite you. You let me down, boy."

You feel sad when you hear his uncle's words. You turn your head, making eye contact with the hairless boy. You give him a small, reassuring smile and wave at him. You see him purse his lips and shift his gaze back to his uncle, who is scolding him. However, he looks much less tense than before.

Unknowingly to you, you gained a secret admirer that day. An admirer who was going to make him the only man who would have the privilege of protecting you and holding you in his arms. He promised himself that this would happen, even if he had to bring hell into the world.

~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

Dearest, gentle readers… did you miss me?

The opening of a new season has never been a more exciting and long-awaited event. The great families were impatiently waiting for more scandals delivered by this year's suitors. And this author is bursting with anticipation for the future events and gossips of this season.

This year, we have several unexpected debuts that this author will be watching very closely. However, I am convinced that the undivided attention of the masses will probably be stolen by the Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, who this year decided to take part in the great search for a wife.

Lord, take care of the future Baron's chosen one so that she can live up to the expectations and life among the Harkonnens.

However, this author wishes the Na-Baron all the best on his birthday and believes that we all look forward to the opening of the season on Giedi Prime, especially to his signature fight in the arena, which will be the main part of Na-Baron's birthday celebration.

But we also cannot forget about the stars of the previous season, whose story is not even close to the end yet.

Lady Y/N Y/L/N did not decide to plunge into great mourning after the tragic death of her fiancé, Paul Atreides. Lord Luwael was charmed by the young honourable at the end of the previous season, and Lady Y/N turned out to be not indifferent to his courtship. Surprising? A little bit. Unreasaonbale? Of course not. After all, why stand faithfully by a corpse of a duke when you can stick by the side of a potential Emperor?

But this author is deeply disappointed that we didn't get to hear any wedding bells at the end of the previous season. Maybe these two will surprise us all this year, and we will see a real royal wedding that we haven't been able to witness for ages.

We are all looking forward to the ball in honour of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's birthday, which will be opening this year's season. And this author can't wait to bring all the gossip and scandal to our curious readers. Who knows who will win this great race and have a good match this season?

Happy hunting to all the future brides!