#i love giving him embroidery and all these light colors

[oseike]

Some more of the boy (Jesse Venetiaan from Third Wheel Strikes Back)

From what I remember reading, the fashion of the Holy Kingdom favored long robes, where the Empire in contrast sported short jackets and shirts. I'm thinking Rome vs German inspiration (and by Rome I really mean the Vatican and priest robes). According to the novel, Jesse normally wears clothes he brought with him, but he has occasion to wear the Empire's fashion at a couple points.

[eggluverz]

STARS FADING BUT I LINGER ON, DEAR

PAIRING. dan heng x gn!reader; dan feng x gn!reader

CONTENT WARNINGS. torture and imprisonment but nothing graphic or in detail!! 

WORD COUNT. 5,332

SUMMARY. dan heng has been having dreams about you. they started off good—like a fairytale even. but soon he’s been getting the feeling something is wrong. you’re trapped and alone and can’t escape. dan heng wonders if his dreams are telling him something. and if they are…what is there for him to do?

SOF’S NOTE. *shoves this fic in everyone’s face* LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT MY BABY!! PLS LOVE IT AND TREASURE IT!!! CRADLE IT GENTLE IN UR HANDS!!!! okay on a more serious note ahdjkdkd thank u anon for this amazing request i absolutely adored writing this 🥺🫶 idk where all the flower symbolism and dreams came from bc ik its not the in req but yk what it spoke to me for this story so i rolled w it HDJSKD i hope y’all enjoy!! :> 

“What are all those flowers for?” you giggled, watching as Dan Feng entered the room with a cart full of peonies in tow. 

It looked a little ridiculous; the elegant and renowned Imbibitor Lunae wheeling around an absurd amount of white, pink, and red flowers. But Dan Feng never cared about pretenses when he was with you. He always felt comfortable enough to be himself, no matter how ridiculous it appeared. 

As he approached, he held a small, blooming red peony out between his fingertips. “They’re for you, naturally.”

He brushed your hair aside and gently tucked the stem of the flower behind your ear, admiring how the deep red of the flower complimented your complexion. 

“Beautiful.”

You looked down at your feet with a small chuckle before meeting his gaze again. “Thank you. You’re beautiful as well.”

“Thank you, my love,” said Dan Feng, his hand resting on your waist as he planted a kiss on your forehead. “Do you like the flowers?”

You nodded, feeling the soft petals of the flower in your hair between your fingers as you stared at the bundles of peonies in the cart he brought in. Dan Feng walked over when he saw you staring and led you to each section of colors. 

“These are pink—to show my affection for you.” He picked a flower and kissed the petals before bringing it to your mouth to reciprocate. You obliged with a giggle and he smiled and hid the scandalous flower in his sleeves. “These are white peonies, to let you know I’m always thinking of you.”

You placed your hand on his chest, feeling the careful embroidery on the silken fabrics. “You’re always on my mind, too.”

“Good,” he jested. “As I should be.”

Without warning, he brought your body flush against his chest and captured your mouth with his own, softly tugging at your lower lip. You chased after his touch to give him a kiss of your own, but he soon pulled away with a teasing grin on his face. 

You pouted. “Hey!”

“Patience, beloved,” said Dan Feng. “I still haven’t gotten to the last color.”

“Oh, my sincere apologies,” you said sarcastically, knowing he was the very reason he hadn’t finished his own speech. “Please, carry on.”

“Since you asked nicely.” He cupped your face and stroked the petals on the flower behind your ear. The sensation of his light fingers brushing against the soft flower petals tickled the skin around your ear and you felt your breath catch in your throat. “This flower is a red peony, to symbolize just how passionate I am for you.” Dan Heng stared into your eyes before he spoke. “I hope you know how much I love you, truly.”

“I know,” you said, gaze not once meeting his. Your stomach tightened and your heart started beating faster as you placed his warm hand on your chest. “I love you, Dan Feng. Every part of my being is yours.” 

“And mine, yours.”

Dan Feng took your hand in his, leading you into your bed chambers. You had never felt more loved and wanted than in this moment. But when you entered the room and looked up, the hand you were holding was no longer Dan Feng’s. 

Instead, your hand was clutching an iron bar instead of your lover’s hand, shackled in chains on your wrists and ankles. Dan Feng was gone and you were stuck in here for eternity. 

You cried out, body racking with helpless sobs. Every fiber of your being—mind, body, spirit—missed him so much. The worst part wasn’t the torture, the solitary confinement, the lack of access to basic human needs. 

No, that was nothing. 

Nothing compared to knowing you would never see Dan Feng again. 

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

Dan Heng woke with a start, hair plastered to us forehead with sweat. His pillow and blanket were both strewn across the floor of the Archives and he found himself on his bed alone, a heavy pounding coming from the place where his heart should be. His heart hurt so much he wondered if it was even his. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to take a deep breath to calm himself down.

That was the third time this week Dan Heng had a dream like that. 

Before, it wasn’t terribly uncommon for him to dream about your experiences with his past reincarnation. Dan Heng thought it was strange at first— Why is he dreaming of your memories rather than Dan Feng’s? But the Archives had no answer, so he was forced to accept the fact with mild curiosity as he grew accustomed to the untraditional visions that manifested as dreams that he has been having. 

Still, the strange part wasn’t that he had dreams of you, the strange part was that recently, since the Astral Express left Luofu, Dan Heng has been getting bad dreams of you. Or, to be precise, he’s been experiencing bad memories you have gone through. 

Dan Heng thought the torture was the worst of it. As cold blades cut against your warm skin, Dan Heng felt each push. Each puncture. Each drop of blood they drew from your veins. He woke up constantly in pain, checking his own body to be sure it wasn’t happening to him. 

But he learned a new form of torture that came from the heart. The solitude and loneliness. The knowledge that the one you loved most has perished— Was forced to reincarnate and never see you again. 

The pain on his body was temporary. But Dan Heng felt the ache in your soul every minute of every day. 

He just doubted there was anything he could do to stop it. 

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

“Y/N,” came a quiet voice from outside the cell. “I came to check on you again.”

You looked up from your thin futon to meet Jing Yuan’s remorseful eyes. Your living conditions have been upgraded from those you’ve experienced for decades now. No longer were you in chains— You had access to a bath, and they even offered you books and enough food to sustain you. All while confined in a cell, of course. 

Perhaps they no longer viewed you as a threat. Not that they should have ever viewed you as such in the first place. You didn’t understand why you were punished solely for being Dan Feng’s lover. You weren’t a warrior. You didn’t hold any position of power. You were a scholar and lover of books and plants. But you’re an accomplice, the Preceptors said as they mercilessly chained you up. 

If you weren’t knocked into unconsciousness moments after, you would’ve spit at their faces as they took you away. 

“Y/N…” 

You snapped out of your thoughts, dragging your gaze to the man in front of your cell. Placing your book to the side, you smiled up at Jing Yuan. “Sorry about that. I was a little out of it there.”

Jing Yuan frowned and your heart moved, feeling the depth of his sadness. “No need to apologize. Tell me, how have you been?” 

“Good, I have to say,” you said, sitting up straight on your bed. “I’m almost finished with the book you gave me last time.” 

He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m glad.”

“Is something the matter?” you asked as you stood and walked over to him, offering a hand of comfort through the iron bars. 

Jing Yuan took it, giving you a gentle squeeze before dropped your hand. The rush of human contact, despite how brief it was, coursed through you. It’s been so long since you felt the touch of another person.

“Dan Heng and his friends left the Xianzhou Luofu,” he said solemnly. 

Your eyes shut as you let your forehead press against the cool metal of your cell. A tear fell down your cheek but a smile remained on your face. “That’s… That is good. He should be free from this place. Dan Heng is happiest that way, correct?”

“That is how it seems,” Jing Yuan sighed. He held back his words for a moment, hesitant. But as he looked at you, he could not longer keep it in. “Do you still think it was the right decision to not inform Dan Heng that you are here?” 

You let out a quiet laugh, taking a seat on the floor and Jing Yuan soon followed suit. “What would he do with that information? What if he felt guilty—? That could hold him back.”

“Are you certain that is a choice for you to make?”

Sighing, you shook your head. It wasn’t your choice to make; it was Dan Heng’s. You knew that deep down inside. But what could you do when you were aware of Dan Heng’s aversion to his past—to any potential connection to Dan Feng? And thus, any connection to you? 

You felt it, you dreamed about it. Dan Heng’s hatred for his past reincarnation. You mourned for them. Both Dan Feng and Dan Heng. For the former, you knew it must be hard having no connection to your reincarnation. Was his soul no longer tethered to this world? Perhaps he felt lost, even in the afterlife. For the latter, you did not blame any resentment that came from him. You knew all too well that being judged and punished based off the actions of another person was unjust. You wouldn’t wish it upon anybody. 

And so, it made sense to you that Dan Heng wanted to accept his past for what it was, and then be free from it. You did not want to interfere with that. Especially not when he was so close to healing and making a good, happy life for himself. 

And now, after Jing Yuan told you Dan Heng and his friends finished their adventures in the Xianzhou Luofu, excited to take on the rest of the galaxies, you thought that maybe you made the right choice. You would be happy enough here, alone in this prison, if you knew your beloved was free. 

It was a decision you made yourself, for Dan Heng. 

And it was one you hoped you wouldn’t regret. 

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

“Foolish! No!” Dan Heng thrashed in his sleep, wanting to reach out and shake you to your senses. He’s had terrible dream after terrible dream, but this was one he couldn’t simply let go of. 

This one seemed more recent than any of the others. That was not a dream of a distant memory from long ago— No, the Astral Express that Jing Yuan spoke of in Dan Heng’s dream had only departed Xianzhou Luofu a few days ago now. That meant you were there, locked up right under his nose, for the entirety of his stay at the Luofu. And no one told him a thing.

Dan Heng had to control his fury. He felt hurt and betrayed, despite not having a true, personal connection with you himself. He wasn’t Dan Feng and, deep down, he recognized he didn’t have a claim to your thoughts, feelings, and emotions. But the pain he felt from knowing you were there, and that maybe, just maybe, he could’ve done something to help you sooner, was something Dan Heng couldn’t shake.

He knew what he had to do.

Perhaps it was bold, impulsive, and maybe dismissive of their current plans, but he had to do it. Dan Heng took a deep breath, not waiting for the night to turn into day. He was going to ask Pom-Pom to please turn this damn train around.

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

“Where are they?” 

Much to no one’s surprise, Jing Yuan seemed to know exactly what Dan Heng was talking about. What else could be important enough for Dan Heng to barge into the Seat of Divine Foresight without a word of warning? 

Jing Yuan quickly excused the meeting he was holding, biding a quick apology and saying they would reconvene shortly. Despite the newfound privacy, he still didn’t reveal anything to Dan Heng.

“Well, good afternoon to you as well, Dan Heng—”

“Stop. There’s no time for formalities right now.” Dan Heng folded his arms, hands clutched into tight fists by his sides. “Where are the Preceptors keeping them? And why the hell haven’t you done anything to help Y/N?”

With a heavy sigh, Jing Yuan took a seat in his chair, gesturing Dan Heng to sit across from him. A gesture Dan Heng pointedly ignored. He wasn’t here to sit down and take his time. He wanted to know where you were now so he could get you out of there. The torture, the poor treatment, the punishment for something you didn’t do... It wasn’t fair. He could hardly put up with it in his dreams. He wondered how it was possible for you to even be surviving all this time. 

“It may surprise to you here,” Jing Yuan stated, voice low, “but as much influence I have over Xianzhou, the Preceptors unfortunately remain untouched by that.”

Dan Heng’s grip loosened, momentarily feeling guilty for assuming Jing Yuan did not try to help you in any way. From what his dreams could see, Jing Yuan was one of the only people who frequently visited you— Which was already more than he could say for himself. 

His face hardened but he relented. “I’m sorry for suggesting such a thing.”

Jing Yuan gave him a half-smile through hooded eyes. “If you hold any recollection of Dan Feng’s time with them, I don’t blame you for having such a severe reaction. Y/N was—is…remarkable.” 

“I shouldn’t know that myself,” said Dan Heng quietly. “Yet somehow, I know you’re right.” 

He looked at the ground solemnly, suddenly frightened that he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help you after all. If the Cloud Knight General Jing Yuan couldn’t influence the Preceptors, what could he do? 

He shook the negative thoughts out of his head. Sure, Dan Heng wasn’t Jing Yuan, but he was the reincarnation of Dan Feng, the previous High Elder and Imbibitor Lunae. Dan Heng was the friend and ally of current High Elder Bailu. Dan Heng had the General backing him with a token of alliance. And Dan Heng would stop at nothing to free you from your shackles. 

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

The process was more painstaking than Dan Heng had originally thought. After informing Jing Yuan of his plan to speak to Bailu, Dan Heng soon realized that conversing with her would be the easiest part.

The Dragon Lady was kind and had a good heart. She cared for other people and didn’t want to see anyone in pain. The difficult part came from feeling the lack of respect the Preceptors had for her. They treated her as more of a child than a High Elder, even withholding her title of Imbibitor Lunae until they deemed she was “of age.” But Dan Heng thought she had more sense and knowledge than all of the Preceptors combined. 

It took negotiations, possible acts of coercion that broke many Vidyadhara laws, and even the threat of Dan Heng to follow in his past life’s footsteps and destroy the seal at Scalegorge Waterscape and many more places… But Dan Heng, along with the assistance and backing of Bailu and Jing Yuan, finally got the Preceptors to agree to release you without forcing a reincarnation. 

You had suffered decades for a crime you had no hand in committing. The Preceptors were simply scared your love for Dan Feng would influence you to be a main headpiece in carrying out the rebellion against the Xianzhou Luofu—hence why those in charge had originally agreed to keep you here. But Jing Yuan was the residing general now, and with his army at his side, he was able to voice that he no longer viewed imprisonment on this land to be befitting of you as a solid conclusion. Bailu stated, as a complete bluff that anyone could have seen right through, that if you were not released immediately and given the opportunity to be reconnected with Dan Heng, she would no longer be as willing to repair any seals, should they be harmed in the future. 

Somehow, instead of all three of them getting locked up for treason or whatever Vidyadhara laws they horribly crossed, they managed to succeed in their goal of winning your freedom. The Preceptors wrote in their official records the release date of prisoner Y/N and agreed to escort one of them to your cell.

Jing Yuan and Bailu, of course, both opted for Dan Heng to be the person who sees you first. But only after making him promise they would get to see you once you settled into your new life. 

Dan Heng smiled, thanking them for their part in this operation. And when night came, he spoke his vow to you under the endless stars.

He would see you soon. And this time, he would never let anything bad happen to you again. 

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

“More peonies?” you asked with a laugh, staring in awe at the field of flowers that were newly planted on the grounds of your estate. The bright colors of the petals flushed against the dark green of the leaves lined the gardens of your grand quarters. 

Dan Feng nodded, the trimmings on his sleeves detailed with the faint embroidery of petals dancing around the wind. Your heart warmed when you saw it. It was fitting for him, such a beautiful and caring soul. 

“I had them planted for you,” he said, gesturing at the arrangement around you. He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Because one cartful just wasn’t enough.” 

You shook your head as you went around the rows of peonies, touching the petals in awe of the spring bloom in the air. The smell was sweet and the wind was cool, providing the right amount of breeze to offset the heat of the sun. First, you went to the patch of white peonies, then pink, then red. Then, you noticed a shade Dan Feng hadn’t given to you before.

“Yellow peonies?” you said curiously, Dan Feng following along as you explored the gardens fit for royalty. Because, he had said before, to him, you were.

“Indeed.” He plucked one from the bush, careful not to ruin the stem of the plant itself. Slowly, he brought it up against the light in the sky. “Yellow. As radiant as the sun.” 

You stared up, shading your eyes as to not get blinded by the brightness. “It shines almost as brightly as you.” 

Dan Feng made a noise of amusement at your words. “I should be the one saying that to you.” 

“Perhaps you should speak faster,” you teased. 

You walked over to him, placing your hand in his and leading him to a field of grass. When you got to an area you liked, you sat down on the floor, gesturing for him to follow suit. Dan Feng brushed at the fabric of his clothes once before happily obliging. As you sat there, you looked over at Dan Feng and studied the look of serenity on his face. His expression was calm, his eyes were soft and the corners of his mouth tilted ever so slightly into a smile. In the hand that was not holding yours, he held the yellow peony still in hand.

“Does it symbolize anything? Like the others?” 

He nodded. “Yellow peonies are rare to come by. Only the most renowned of breeders can craft one to the perfect shade.”

At his words, you looked back at the abundant row of yellow peonies dressing your land. You wondered how much effort he went through in searching for the perfect shade to gift you.

“They’re to symbolize my wishes for you,” stated Dan Feng, toying with the edge of a petal with his thumb. “I wish to bestow upon you luck and prosperity, for the rest of your life.” 

“I think I’ve used all the luck I possibly could, finding someone like you,” you giggled, bumping your shoulder against his before leaning your head on it. Dan Feng breathed deeply, resting his head on top of yours. “And the only prosperity I wish for is to be prosperous in love. With you.” 

He laughed, a deep rumble vibrating against your body. “So, all your wishes of luck and prosperity have already come true? What need was there for me to gift you these flowers, then?”

You held your palm out, waiting for Dan Feng to place the yellow peony at its center. He gently laid it there, letting his fingers linger against your skin. 

“I’m glad you gifted me these,” you reassured him. “Now, when I walk by, they will always serve as a reminder of the radiant peony right in front of me.”

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

The next morning, Dan Heng entered the dark corridor with a flower tucked into a hidden pocket of his outer garments. 

While he was nervous about how you might react to him going against your wishes that you expressed to Jing Yuan, his determination to assure your freedom was more than enough to counteract that. If Dan Heng truly wanted to be freed of his past and atone for the wrongdoings of Dan Feng, he would need to make sure no one else was being punished for his actions. 

He had helped repair the Ambrosial Arbor’s seal at Scalegeorge Waterscape, to atone for Dan Feng’s acts against the current High Elder and all of the Luofu Vidyadhara. Now, he would release you from decades of unjust punishment you suffered simply for being associated with him. 

“Y/N, you have a visitor,” one of the Preceptors said dryly, unlocking a cell. The hooded man could hardly hide the look of distaste on his face a before he rolled his eyes and walked away. “I’m sure you two must have plenty to catch up on. Leave here quickly before we change our minds.”

Dan Heng peered into the entrance, his gaze meeting your confused and alarmed face in an instant. 

You looked between Dan Heng and the open cell, not a Preceptor in sight. “Is this a test?”

He shook his head, showing you the official pardon signed by Bailu, Jing Yuan, and a representative of the Preceptors. You held the document in your hands, reading its contents and feeling the seal to believe it’s legitimacy, before giving it back to him. He felt your hands tremble as you made brief contact with his and he was overcome with the urge to comfort you. 

“This isn’t a test,” he promised, looking into your eyes in hopes you would see the truth in them. “You really are free from here.”

You let out an amused noise of disbelief, shaking your head. “Oh, Dan Heng… What did you do?”

He startled at the sound of his name coming from your lips. He was so accustomed to you only repeating Dan Feng over and over in his dreams that this felt almost refreshing. 

“Rather, what did Jing Yuan do?” you corrected, laughing quietly as you stood up from your seated position. Your robes, once beautifully crafted, were worn and tattered. But the light in your eyes never waned. “I told him not to tell you.”

“He didn’t,” said Dan Heng. He considered his statement before adding, “I suppose eventually he did confirm it, but I was the one who confronted him about it.”

You raised a curious brow. “And how, pray tell, did you know about this…situation?”

“From my dreams.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. For once, you were speechless. 

“I know it’s more normal to have dreams about your past reincarnation,” he stated, neatly folding the document in his hands before sliding it away into his pocket. “But, while I occasionally had dreams of Dan Feng’s life—bad ones normally, might I add—it’s been more common to have dreams of you.”

With a slow and shaky breath, you shut your eyes to think. “You’d had dreams of Dan Feng’s memories of me, do you mean?”

He shook his head. “No. They’re dreams of your memories. Some included your moments with Dan Feng from long ago, yes. Others were you in this prison. A recent one was of Jing Yuan visiting you and in it you said not to tell me about this.”

You chuckled helplessly. “What good did that do, after all?”

“Why didn’t you want me to know? Why didn’t you want me to help you?”

“It wasn’t that!” you protested, your eyes telling stories your words could not keep up with. You sighed. “Okay, it was.”

Dan Heng let out a sharp breath.

“However, it’s not for the reasons you might be thinking,” you corrected, arms folded over your chest. “I’ve come to accept my life being imprisoned here. It’s given me a lot of time to think and reflect. And, similar to you, I’ve occasionally had dreams of you, Dan Heng.”

He tilted his head to the side. 

“They weren’t long nor were they frequent. But what I have gathered from them, scarce as they were, is you resent Dan Feng. You don’t want any ties to your past. And you’ve accomplished so much growth and closure, finally freeing yourself from all that burdened you. What good would it be to drag you back here and make you relive this?” 

“You sound ridiculous.” 

His words were harsh and it stopped you right in your tracks. You stared at him, eyes wide as they peered into his, but he couldn’t let that stop the words of logic from coming out of his mouth. 

“You’re not a saint nor are you a martyr. You don’t have to try to be one. You’re a person, and for that you should be free in your own right. You’re a Vidyadhara, trapped and punished for actions that were not your own. I understand what you’ve been through— I’ve been there, too.” Dan Heng held his hand out to you from outside your prison cell, waiting for you to walk out and accept it. “Furthermore, you are a kind and loving soul, and you don’t deserve to spend a single moment in this place. Please, accept my help.”

Your cheeks were wet as you nodded your head. Slowly, you placed your cold, shaky hand in his. He felt your cool skin against his warm one and he enveloped your hands gently, brushing your knuckles with his thumb to share the heat in his body. 

“I’ve wanted to get out of here so badly,” you admitted through silent tears. “I hated being confined and alone. I felt helpless. Pathetic.” He watched with a heavy heart as you wiped your own tears away. Could he reach out and do it for you instead? He chastised himself. As much as he wanted to, he had no right. “But you suffered so much in your past life—in this life even. I didn’t want to cause you any more pain.”

Dan Heng shook his head. “What brings me the most pain is knowing you were suffering for so long, and I didn’t help you.”

“How could you help when you didn’t know?” you reasoned with a sad smile. “I’m sorry for making Jing Yuan promise to never let you know.”

His eyes squeezed shut as a sharp pang ran through his heart. “Please. Please promise me you won’t do something like that again. If you need me, I want to be there for you. Always.”

You gaze widened at his words before you recollected yourself. 

Dan Heng winced as he understood what he said. His mind and soul were confused. He knew he wasn’t Dan Feng, that this was the first moment he has ever had with you. But why does he feel like he’s known you forever? 

After a few moments of silence, as if you were giving him time to amend what he said, you finally spoke. “Okay. I promise.” 

He felt every muscle in his body relax at those words. He knew the promise you spoke was true to your heart. Dan Heng believed it with all his being and he let that console him. 

“Thank you,” he breathed. 

With one of your hands still in his, he slowly led you out of the corridor and up the stairs, away from your cold and dark prison. 

“What are you going to do now that you’re free?” Dan Heng asked, hating himself for hoping your future plans would somehow include keeping in touch with him. “Will you…stay on the Luofu?”

Your body tensed as a shiver went down your spine. You shook your head fervently as your expression twisted into one of grief. Dan Heng’s heart stirred at the sight. He knew that feeling all too well, and it pained him knowing you had similar conflicts to go through. “No, that’s the last thing I want to do. I won’t stay here. At least not now.”

“I understand.” 

You gave him a weak, but hopeful smile as he squeezed your hand softly. 

“And you?” you wondered, looking at him with thoughtful and eyes as you awaited his response. 

“I’m going to the Astral Express to continue on with our adventures,” he said with his lips upturned. “It’s a great place to call home, especially when you’ve lost the only place you had once called home.” He stared at you for a moment. “If you would like to join us—join me—I think you would very much enjoy it.” 

You teared up at his offer. “Can you really just invite people like that?”

Dan Heng briefly thought of the girl they picked us as an icicle and the boy who they found with no knowledge of the past. He considered your situation. “Yes, we really can.” 

The sunlight from outside finally started shining through the walkway, signaling that you were almost out as a freed person. 

“Also,” he said, before he could forget, “I, myself, would want you to come join our crew, even if it’s only for a little while. You can stay for as long as you want, and leave whenever you want as well.”

Your ears perked up at that. “I like the sound of that. If the Astral Express will have me, then I would love to join.” 

Dan Heng smiled as he patted the top of your head. Your body relaxed at his touch as you leaned into him, and he continued to hold onto you as you approached the exit. “No one will threaten your freedom ever again. That is my oath to you.”

You started at him, brows furrowed in determination. “And I vow the same to you. These new beginnings will bring only freedom and prosperity.”

At that word, Dan Heng suddenly remembered the small gift he brought for you. He blushed as he felt the soft petals of the peony in his large pocket. 

“I have something for you,” he said, slowly stopping in his tracks. He turned towards you and you followed suit, tilting your head to the side in question. “It’s nothing big. But it’s a token. A reminder.” 

He held out the peony in one hand, watching as your eyes lit up at the sight of it. Your mouth widened as you let out a noise of laughter, accepting his gift and holding it close to your chest. 

“Thank you, Dan Heng,” you said, tears of happiness filling your eyes. “I love it.”

It wasn’t yellow— He wasn’t the bright and radiant Dan Feng you knew and loved. It wasn’t red or pink, even. While he felt traces of love and attraction for you from his past memories, he knew in his heart that wasn’t really him developing those feelings for you. 

Instead, it was a white peony. 

You were always in his thoughts. It was both a blank slate, and a gentle reminder. He would never forget you, and as he got to experience life with you, who knew what dashes of color would be mixed in next with this pearly white. 

[liveontelevision]

Suffer Epilogue | Lucifer x Reader

Thanks for the patience friends, been a busy bee :') but here she is in all her glory, a happy ending for everyone!

SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT MINORS DNI 18+

♡♡♡

The feeling of royal silks and golden embroidery under your fingertips are soothing in their own sense. But what lies beneath is what truly interests you. With his own assistance, his beautifully constructed suit vest is removed. You needed no help when it came to swiftly unbuttoning the entirety of his blouse. What's revealed is a heaving chest, a rosy blush tainting its snow-white complexion.

You want to taint it more.

You dip your head down, running your hands down the length of his sweet skin, until your palms rest comfortably on either side of his waist. Tracing your thumbs across that nerve that continuously forces a subtle jerk, you leave a trail of kisses and nips across his chest. The additional discoloration of your delicate bruising only paints a prettier picture below you.

Leading your hands back up to his chest, you brush your fingers across his skin delicately. An action much less intimate than anything that's just occurred seems to force a vocal response. A whimper, muffled into the back of his ash-colored hand, contrasts the blush on the apple of his cheeks quite nicely.

You look at him, like an artist enjoying their latest creation, beaming at him with pride.

Back to work.

Pressing feather-light kisses up the column of his neck, you take a gentle hold of his wrist to pull his hand away from his lips, wanting to leverage the sweet whines that spill out. You continue on until you barely kiss the corner of his mouth, refusing to give him what he wants.

But only for a moment.

Once he's nearly begging for a kiss, you let your lips meet his tenderly. A passionate exchange of pants and occasional nipping at his lower lip, Lucifer manages to let out something other than a breathy whine -

"Darling, I.. I love y-"

Your hand is immediately clamped over his mouth. You stare at each other with wide eyes, at the sudden action. After a breathless moment had passed, you quickly pull your hand to your chest and sit up.

"S-Sorry! I just.. sorry! Did.. that hurt..?" You ask with a hint of hesitation to your voice, as if you weren't exactly sure you wanted the response.

Lucifer sits up from lying on his back to resting on his elbows, still quite comfortable with you straddling his topless form. He lets out a nervous chuckle, his eyes glowing up at you.

"Well..! Not physically." He says, a tinge of frustration in his words. "Is there.. something we need to discuss, dear?"

Shit.

You suck in your lower lip and quickly shake your head.

"N-No! I don't think so! Nothing important!" You stammer out. Your nervous smile is only met with a stern expression of disbelief, then a sigh that sounds like an admission of defeat. Lucifer brings his hand up to caress your cheek.

"I won't force anything out of you, but I.. am getting a little worried." You can't control the involuntarily flinch at his touch, and it only seems to dishearten him more. Before he can pull away, you take a grasp of his hand and bring it back to cup your cheek.

"I know. I'm sorry." Your response is almost a whisper. The sound of vibration against a nearby nightstand brings both of your attention to your phone. You carefully unmount him, after receiving a quick kiss on the forehead, and glance at the reminder sent by the one and only princess of Hell; Exercise on the importance of communication is in 10!

Feeling a gentle hand encase your shoulder, you catch Lucifer sneaking a peak at your screen - "Hm. That one should be good for you, my dear." - only to antagonize you. You groan and shrug him off before standing.

He's.. not wrong, though.

The hotel wasn't exactly bustling with residents, but since the mini-battle with that damned radio demon, there were definitely some new faces. Charlie couldn't be happier, especially with the news of her friend Sir Pentious making it safely to Heaven. The hotel was working. And it was finally peaceful.

But, there's always a quiet before the storm.

Charlie was now aware of your relationship with her father, even if it wasn't by your own admission. And after Lucifer requested a one-on-one with Vaggie, something that occurred more often after her angelic strength was restored, you had the hotel manager cheering you on as well.

It didn't take long for Angel or Husk to find out, but that was mainly a precursor to Niffty interrupting some private time you were trying to have with Lucifer. And Alastor.. he hadn't shown his face since the fight. On occasion though, you'd catch his scowling shadow. As if the shadow met your eyes, its smile curls upwards.. and it waves.

You wave back.

It was nice for everyone to know, actually. You thought you weren't one to enjoy PDAs of any kind, but having Lucifer sitting near you at all times, his fingers interlaced with yours, or even his thigh gently touching yours, felt like a well-earned reward. Best of all, him placing his hand on the small of your back while greeting new residents, you got to his expression. A grin of pride adorned his face each time. Damned, if that didn't make you feel amazing.

That being said, things must be perfect between you and the king, right? For the first time, there's nothing threatening your relationship. It's out in the open, even. You're being supported by the one demon who matters most, Charlie, and you've never felt more.. loved...

Love.

You told Lucifer you loved him. In the heat of battle, when Charlie was mere seconds from tearing Alastor apart, you told him you loved him.

It feels foolish. How could you bring something like that up in a moment of such severity? Then again, Maybe that was it. Maybe you just said it to get it out of your system at your most vulnerable. 

Maybe you didn't even mean it.

You shake that thought from your head every time it comes up. And unfortunately, it comes up often. On the other end, Lucifer was always there to calm your nerves. With every little kiss, every embrace, every bite, he would suffocate any retched thought that you dared to come up with.

An unfortunately common occurrence, your battery had simply run out today. You have to find Lucifer.

"Luci?" You call out, peeking into his office. He's hunched over his desk, groaning and waving you over to him in response. You happily trot along, setting a tray of teacups beside him on his desk.. well you tried to at least. Stacks of papers were covering most of the tabletop, and any little movement would surely cause something to tumble. You opt to set the trey aside and hand him his cup directly. With an exaggerated groan, he leans back in his chair, his head lulling back.

"I believe I'm dying my love." He mutters out. You roll your eyes in response and lean your back against the edge of his desk.

"I highly doubt that." You respond with a smirk. You watch him rake his fingers through his hair, before finally taking a sip of the tea. His eyes almost immediately soften. With a sigh from his lips, he sets the cup aside and starts rubbing his neck.

"I'm proud of Charlie, and I'm more than happy to help- I'd even prefer to do all the communication with Heaven, but.. this?" He gestures weakly to the forest of paperwork shrouding his desk. "This is literal Hell."

You shrug, "Well, You're not wrong." You sit up, chuckling when he shoots you a glare. You stand behind him, gently placing your hands on his shoulders. "If it's stressing you out so much, why don't you take a quick break? My treat~" You bend at the hips to whisper in his ear, his shudder in response only raising your ego more.

"I-I don't know, I'm.. I still have a lot to do, and some of this needs to be.. sent over... tomorrow..." As he hesitates over your offer, you're already working his shoulders with gentle hands. Pressing your thumbs into where it feels the most tense, you have to work hard to untangle the knots in his muscles. Your hands slide from neck to shoulder, then move farther up each time, eventually toying with the hairs on the back of his neck, earning you a delectable shudder.

“D-Darling, I really should get some more done.." He groans out, as you brush his hair away from his face and rake your nails down his scalp.

After seeing his eyes flutter shut, his head having fallen backward onto the chair, you press a quick kiss to his forehead.

"You're doing great, Luci. I'll be here to help in any way I can." You say sweetly. He looks up to you with half-lidded eyes and tucks the hair that dangles in front of you behind your ear. You hum, quite content with his motion to pull you into an upside-down kiss.

The next thing you know, you're perched on his desk, most of the papers scattered around you. Lucifer keeps a tight grip on either side of your legs, pulling you completely flush to him in one fell swoop. With a little yelp, your playful giggles are snuffed by a deep kiss. His hands explore your sides, tracing over every curve he can get his hands on. With one swipe, his claws barely graze your skin, having snuck under your top without you truly noticing.

You respond with a gasp, wide eyes only met with shut, concentrated ones. His hand moves quickly, completely encompassing your chest with one hand, caressing and toying with your breasts. You try to let out a moan in response, but he's refusing to break the passionate wrestling of your tongues for even a second.

You arch your back, forcing your bodies even closer together. a feat you thought impossible, until you feel him leaning closer, creating friction against your heat you weren't expecting.

You tighten your legs around his waist, involuntarily bringing his hips closer to yours. You let out another muffled whine, gripping desperately at his hair at the nape of his neck.

While this is fun and all.. you want to see his face. 

You want to see his desperation and frustration as you pull yourself away and force him to return to work, only for you to tease him in other facets.

You place both your hands on his chest and gently push away, your body leaning closer to the desk. And you get exactly what you want. A panting, desperate mess, looking ready to beg for you to continue on. But he doesn't beg. Instead,

".. I love you." He says weakly.

Your body is brought to a complete halt, your legs and arms tightening around him with the sudden tension of your muscles. You look at him with wide eyes, and he only realizes the source of the disruption once he's fully regained his composure.

You've never seen him this way. Frustrated. Disappointed. Fuck, it's the worst. He paces back and forth in front of you, still a mess sitting on his desk.

"I-I just don't understand, I love you-" He emphasizes his words and you bite your lip and force your eyes down.

"-and I know you love me back. You said it first." He was right. He looks at you with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot as if he were impatiently waiting for a response.

"I did- I do..! I just- I'm worried about.. something happening, or someone-" You stammer a completely unreasonable response out and it only forces a worried look onto him.

Damn, that one's even worse.

"Look, I'm trying to figure out why I can't say- .. but, I feel it, Lucifer, I promise." You say weakly, clutching at your chest, unsure if it was meant to imply how your heart is brimming with thoughts of him, or if it's due to your own nerves. Your eyes are drawn from your lap to Lucifer's soft expression when his hand gently cradles your chin. Your eyes are glossy, almost ready to tear apart.

"I know, darling. I just hate to see you in this much distraught over something like this. I'll always be here, and my feelings will never change.. so I'm more than willing to wait for you to be ready for this to go on any further." Again, his words always calm down. "but... this is affecting me as well. If I can help you-" 

"Lucifer, I can handle myself-"

"-can handle yourself,” He interrupts in tandem. “I know. I know you can." He lets out a sigh, his smile dropping bringing a pain to your chest. "I'll be here for you, my love. For anything." He plants a quick kiss to your cheek. "I should.. get some work done. And uh.. clean up this mess." His gesture to the piles of papers, now on the floor, brings a small smile to your lips.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer."

"I know."

-

No one frustrates you more than yourself. Are you questioning his feelings? Your feelings? What if you don't trust him? After all this time, all the hurdles you've had to jump, and how he's stuck with those?

Cursing yourself, you're pacing the balcony to your hotel room, a pleasant addition after the reconstruction. Yet, all it's been good for is getting fresh air from the suffocating thoughts in your head. It wasn't voices exactly, you just always felt as if your mind was vibrating at this weird frequency. As if there was a static-

"What do you think you're doing? Trying to cause more trouble? You shouldn't be here." Leaning against the railing, you call out to the familiar sensation.

"I'm on thin ice already, darling, I hope you don't think I'm idiotic enough to cause more trouble so soon." Just as you thought, Alastor stands upright from his shadowy figure, leaning against his microphone by your side.

This was the first time he's emerged since he got his ass thoroughly kicked by Charlie. And even after all that's gone on, you allow him to stand by your side, staring down at the city.

"Did you ever love me? That whole time?" Your question seems to startle him, you see his hand flinch against his cane at your voice.

"Love? That isn't exactly.. Something I do." He responds. You scoff at his tacky words,

"So, what, you've never loved anyone before? How do you-"

"I'll say it, if it will stop you from asking me ridiculous questions." You hold your hand up dismissively.

"Don't." He swoons in your direction, a hand over his heart following a dreamy sigh.

"Oh my sweet apple pie, I love y-"

"Stop it." You snap. He retreats, bending at the hips to lean against the railing.

"Speaking of.. apple pie-"

"He's not here. We're uh.. taking some time to yourselves." You admit quickly, looking away and nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

"Ah, and you were looking for a little rebound?" You groan at his words,

"No! Stop it you freak!" You push him away, despite the fact he made no real advance. He only retaliates with a hearty chuckle.

"Come now, You know I just enjoy your misfortune."

You let out a calm huff, your tension melting at the cool breeze that fills the silence between you.

"I'm scared. There's always something that's torn us apart. And usually, it's been my fault. What if I screw it up again, Al?" Your sudden openness brings a curious eye over to you. Still, Alastor stops to think before he speaks.

"What was the cause of your first uncoupling?" You cock your head in confusion, but he ushers you on.

"Well.. I kissed him while he was married.. In Charlie's nursery. While she was sleeping." You mumble your words, an embarrassing look back to what started this all. Alastor's holding back a laugh.

"And he refused you?"

You shake your head in response.

"No, actually, Lillith caught me."

He hums, before continuing his questioning.

"And the other time.. was my doing, correct?" His words hold no static, a human voice greeting you for the first time.

"Uh.. Yeah." You confirm softly, a bit of shock coming through your own voice.

"Well, it seems like the constant here is your little apple pie." His says. You quickly clarify,

"I don't call him that, just so you know."

"Well. He's quite the thorn in my side. So he must be an even sharper one in yours. He's surely not going anywhere without a fight." His words are laced with irritation and honesty. "Do you doubt that?"

"Well.. no. I don't. I believe in him." You say.

"Then that seems to matter more than anything, my dear." You ruminate for a moment. It can't be that easy..

"But what if-"

"Listen close." Alastor takes a firm grasp on your jaw and moves to face you entirely. He brings you to a sharp stance, your eyes wide at the sight of his towering form. "Despite my intentions, I did learn quite a lot about you during our time together, my dear. Your head is always full of static, you overthink every damn thing. Quite a nasty habit, I must say."

Seeing your breath pick up, he scowls and tosses his hand away with a sigh.

"Do you love him?"

Soothing your jaw, you look at him with a hint of disdain, but his question throws you off.

"I.. I think so..?"

"Then trust that. Trust the quiet. There isn't always a storm to follow, you know." You look away from him, thinking on his words. Leaning back against the railing, a final cool breeze blowing through your hair, you realize you can't deny him.

"Thanks, Alastor. You know I'm sure you could come back and-"

You look over to Alastor only to find yourself standing alone on the balcony.

-

You'll refuse to give Alastor credit until the day you drop dead - so never - but you were suddenly feeling very.. peckish.

With a determined huff, you approach Lucifer’s bedroom door. And with an even more determined knock, the door cracks open. Without a true greeting, you almost hesitate. Maybe he’s upset with you..? Maybe he isn’t ready to see you after- 

There isn’t always a storm to follow.

You take a deep breath.

“Can I come in?” You peek inside, just your head entering the room. It feels strange announcing your entrance.. You’ve slept beside him a number of times, his bedroom is all too familiar. You take in his lounging figure, despite the fact he’s beckoned you over with a smile. It’s a tired smile, sure, but he put it on just for you.

His room consists of his ridiculously large bed, king size obviously, and a little nook that houses a love seat and a small fireplace. He’s laid about the cushions of the love seat, a book in hand and some reading glasses miraculously pitched on his nose.

You remember him telling you he doesn't need them.. Of course he doesn't, he’s an angelic being. But he likes to play pretend.

You take in a deep breath, making Lucifer lower his book to look at you, his elbow resting on the arm and his face resting on his hand.

“Lucifer, I'm- I need to tell you-” You stammer through what you can barely call a sentence.

“Well don't force yourself, dear.” He rolls his eyes and sends you a sly smile, lightening the tension with some usual teasing remarks.

“I'm not! You've just.. you’ve done so much for me and that- it’s hard. To rely on someone. To.. need someone. But I do and-and I can't ignore it anymore. I need you by my side, Lucifer. I.. trust you.” You rant on, not entirely understanding the words coming from your own mouth. This goes on for a minute. Trying to say I love you without saying it directly is proving to be a more difficult task than you initially thought. So..

“I love you.”

It’s quick, almost timid coming from your breathless chest. Suddenly very alert, Lucifer sits up and cocks his eyebrow at you.

“I'm sorry?” He responds. Is he doing this on purpose?

“I-I said.. I love you…” You struggle to repeat yourself.

“I don't think I caught that.” Oh, he’s absolutely doing this on purpose.

“Lucifer, please.” You whine, looking at him with pleading eyes. He stands, approaching you without hesitation, without anticipation, without anger- you can’t read him. Your breath quickens.

“Say it again.” Standing directly in front of you, he barely has the upper hand. The smallest height difference gives him the slightest chance to look down at you, and you’re suddenly wishing you prepared yourself for this more. His stern voice is sending shivers down your spine.

“I-I.. love you. Lucifer.” You repeat with a squeak, looking to him like you’re speaking a foreign language. Like you aren't sure if he’s truly understanding your words. Those three simple words.

“Again.” He says in a low tone. When you finally look to his eyes, they’re softer than you originally thought. And despite his thoughtless approach, looking crude and intimidating, he’s completely red in the face.

“I.. I-I lov-” Before you can fulfill his request, his lips are on yours. Suddenly acting very desperate, he swallows the rest of your sentence. Your eyes flutter shut, his arms quickly wrapping around your waist and pulling you in. He traces your curves, his hands all too familiar with your body at this point. Not making it too far from the entrance of the bedroom makes the process of bringing you against the wall far too easy.

Whether it be his strength or your complete trust in him, you pay no mind when the back of your head hits the wall with a subtle thunk. You were sure if someone were in the hall at that moment, they would feel the need to check on the ruckus. You attempt to brace your arms against the wall, but Lucifer’s hands are instantly encasing your wrists, bringing your hands to his shoulders.

Touch him. He wants you to touch him.

You oblige, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck to keep yourself anchored. His tongue slips into your mouth smoothly and is searching for your own. With lavish rolls of his tongue, your neck can barely handle the weight of your own head, lulling along to follow his movements. He brings a hand to the back of your head, to cradle it, to keep you exactly how he wants you. Tilting his head just slightly, he devours any and every little sound that manages to slip out, your lips completely locked.

Lucifer brings you in closer, and you almost immediately noticing the constricted bulge pressing into your thigh. It’s enough to snap a snarky remark from you once you can pull away.

“If that’s all I needed to say to get you this excited, I would've said it soon-” Before you can tease him further, he pulls your lips against his again, a quick but sloppy kiss hazing your mind. He takes your neck firmly, his thumb and index finger guiding your head to the side. Bringing his lips to your ear, his voice fans across your ear.

“Say it, again.” 

You want to scold him, when his passion brings the slightest flame against your ear. But the burning sensation, and his hand encapsulating your neck, is withering any words you were planning on saying. Which pushes Lucifer’s request to the back of your mind.

He plans a heavy kiss against your jaw, just in front of your ear, exhaling deeply. “My love-” 

He brings you back for a moment.

“I-I love you, Lucifer-” You mutter out, your voice much higher than you intended it to be. His lips are on yours again. Not daring to break the connection, it takes nothing for him to bring your legs up and around his waist, where he holds you against his chest tightly. It doesn't last long though, because your back hits the plush blankets of the bed before you can truly process your feet were ever off the ground.

He crawls onto your lying form, his arms caging you in. You were expecting to see a lust-driven monster with how he's acting, but once you see his face, you’re met with sparkling eyes and a lip bitten so hard, that the slightest well of golden blood shines off his sharp teeth. A more familiar expression brings you some relief. You run the back of your fingers across his cheek, which he chases with a sudden smile.

“I love you.” You repeat. This one seems to take all the breath from his lungs. Because he didn't ask you to say it. You said it because it was simply true. You said it because you simply love him.

Your hand curls around his jawline, giving you a gentle hold on his face, to bring his lips back to yours. You hum sweetly into his lips, feeling them curl into a smile against yours. He’s quick to trail the kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your jawline, then down to the column of your neck. They become deeper, sloppier, with each kiss. Occasionally, he’ll bite. Or he’ll leave the smallest bruises around your collarbone. It has all melded into one passionate sensation that you can only respond to with soft whimpers and breathy moans.

He’s completely kissed down your body, his movements bringing him down until he’s seated on the floor by the bed. You sit up on your elbows when you muster the strength, but your stability is quickly taken away when your ankles are taken in both his hands. He yanks you down the bed until your hips sit just at the edge. The sudden motion forces a concession of giggles and a startled yelp from you, music to his ears.

His ability to overwhelm your senses leaves you defenseless to him stripping you. It doesn't take much, while you weren't expecting this exactly, you did arrive in loungewear. Which makes it much easier for him to quickly access your clothed heat that had already soaked your bottoms with his treatment.

“L-Lucifer, you don’t have to- Mmn!” Your words are interrupted by a curled finger pressing the fabric of your briefs in between your folds. He drags his knuckle across your opening, the friction from the fabric brings a burning sensation to your already melting heat. It can barely be considered touching you, yet it forces your head to fall back onto the bed, your fists wringing the blankets below you.

With another breathless whimper, Lucifer's chest is heaving at the sound alone. Having you completely at his disposal and loving every moment of his touch?

Now that can bring a man to his knees. He just needs more.

“Tell me more, love.” He hooks his fingers around your underwear, just enough to slide two fingers in your entrance. You gasp, but there's barely any air to fill your lungs. He curls his fingers, just once, and he's enjoying the sight of your immediate reaction. He was convinced that your body was molded perfectly to his. Your hand fitting perfectly in his, your bodies perfectly connected when embracing, your entrance being perfectly filled with just his fingers. He adds another.

A slow curl, with all three fingers, hits your growing bundle of nerves another time, only to drag his still-curved fingers down across your clenching walls. You can barely call what comes out of your mouth next words, even if you mean for it to be his name.

While he could spend hours doing this, pumping into you quickly, only to slow and press his fingers deeply into you moments away from release, he’s hungry.

Before you can think any further, your mind truly in the clouds, a lavish lick of a serpents tongue runs up the length of your pussy. you grip the bed sheets on either side of you, arching your back away from the mattress. Even with your movements, Lucifer is eagerly following your hips, already having a desperate grip around your thighs. If you arch back, he dips his head lower. If you flinch and curl your body, he's pushing his tongue further into your entrance.

Completely at his mercy, you're left an absolute mess when he adds back those three fingers he previously tortured you with. In tandem, he works your entrance while flicking your clit, with the fork in his tongue only heightening the sensation of its tender state.

You're close. He's completely lost in the sound of you, the taste, but you're focusing hard on the twinging pleasure that heightens while you hold your own breath. it forces a myriad of heaving, hitching, moans, and whines. And after a collection of his own low growls and moans into your heat, you're left an utter mess above him.

His head tilts slightly, resting his cheek on your thigh as he cleans any of you that he may have missed. A rare occurrence that he doesn't take every last drop from you, It takes you a moment to realize he had left his position of kneeling in front you. Until the sudden clinking of a belt buckle forces your wide eyes to meet with its source. Th impressive outline of his cock forces you to bite down on your lip. Despite being a familiar sight, you're swooning at the sight of him releasing his length.

You match his hazy eyes as he falls forward, caging you in and leaving his own mess of precum to mix with your precious juices.

‘You- are incredibly frustrating.” He says in a low breathless voice. Your mind can barely process his insult before he's involuntarily grinding his hips against yours. You yelp, reaching a hand up to cover your mouth. But almost like instinct, Lucifer has reached up to take your wrist and push it to the bed, beside your head.

“L-Lucifer please, I'm still sens-”

“You're irritating.” he adds, his voice husky and his breath hot against your cheek as he lowers his head. “You're disobedient.” You are desperate to wet your suddenly dry throat, your head swarming with each buck of his hips, now sliding between your folds but never entering you. “and that only makes me love you more.”

His roller coaster of praise and repremands, are turned into heavy pants, a needy whine as he enters you, and a desperate moan into the side of your ear. 

He's so familiar, so adapt to you. And you him. But despite his unusual behaviors tonight, he's much weaker than usual. More vulnerable. Even with the upper hand, his mind is running with the thoughts and sensations of his body melting into yours, giving his all to you. He wants to give his all to you.

His overstimulating abuse leaves it difficult to focus your eyes on any one feature, but the rosy hues in his cheeks and his glowing eyes will always find you. You reach your arms up and desperately claw at the back of his vest, the material barely letting you take on a steady grip.

“L-Lucifer, I-I can't-”

“Close..” You barely hear it, the softest whisper in your ear. “I need.. you to-”

“I-I love you..! I love you, Lucifer, please~” the words fumble from your mouth thoughtlessly.

“I'm yours-” he struggles out, his speed and rhythm becoming sloppy and unmeasurable.

You tilt your head back, your body arching into him only gives him access to a deeper part of you.

“Mine.. I love you-” you squeak out. With a final press into you, you feel the relieving sensation of him finally finishing. You stay connected as he continues to grind into you, despite already being fully sheathed. Finally, Lucifer collapsing on you with a hefty whine.

“Well?” You hum softly, running your hands through his hair as he continues to steady his breath. he looks at you, with a slow blink, and a goofy grin.

“Say it back.” You said calmly.

“say what?” You yank his hair back a bit and he winces with a smile.

“If I could kill you, my love, I would.” You say with a stern expression. Your seriousness only brings a smile to his face.

“I love you, too, darling.”

-

You find yourself in your room, scrolling through your messages and rereading the text Charlie had sent one last time.. just to be sure.

We're holding a clothing donation event for new sinners and residents! There's no pressure in how much you'd like to donate, but if there's anything you don't wear, it could go to good use in someone else's hands! Or claws! (Also, if you wouldn't mind helping with mending and sewing some stuff at the event, I would really really really appreciate it!) XOXO

You let out a quiet chuckle to yourself, tossing your phone aside. You open the door to your closet, not exactly realizing until now.. it was busting at the seams.

"Alright.. let's do this then." You rummage through your mess of a wardrobe, flipping through every piece. Charlie made it a point to make it sound like you don't have to get rid of too much, but this was a perfect excuse to dump most of your unloved clothes.

A few things stop you.

Your uniform you were given at the Morningstar manor. A dark red dress with a white apron. It was barely worn after Lucifer insisted you wear something more comfortable around the house.

Another dress of yours; one of your favorites that you purposely tore across the bottom, to bring it much higher across your thighs. Something to give you some much-needed attention after getting fired.

You toss those aside, along with some hand-me-downs you received and altered when you first came to the hotel. You wore some, but you've developed a nicer wardrobe that fits you much more comfortably.

You passed a lilac-colored dress, it had a light shine to it that begged to be caressed. You remember how lovely this felt against your skin. It was what you wore during a visit with Lucifer.

"I wonder what happened to the corset.." You mutter to yourself. This one's a keeper. You move on.

Something that felt expensive passes through your fingers, and you stop to examine it more carefully.

"Woah.."

It was the gown that Lucifer gave you for the gala he invited you to. It was the same gown that drew so much attention to you.. including his. The same one that you kissed him in.. 

You felt a bit torn. It held so many great memories, except for the end of that night, of course, and it was a gift after all.

"Okay.. if it still fits, I'll keep it." You barter with yourself, before getting undressed a bit too excitedly.

It took some hassle, but twisting and turning in front of your mirror, you're in awe at the quality. And it did in fact still fit. You ran your hands along the fabric, thoroughly enjoying the quality.

"Woah."

You quickly turn, hearing the exclamation come from your door. Lucifer stands with a bouquet of flowers in hand, but it's almost immediately on the ground. In a state of pure astonishment, Lucifer's eyes were sparkling at the sight of you.

"That's the-" He weakly holds up his finger to gesture to the dress, his words failing to form any coherent thought.

You chuckle nervously, tucking your hands behind your back and fidgeting with your gloved fingers.

"I was just.. looking through my clothes for the.. uh.. Charlie was asking-" you stammer out some sort of explanation, but nothing explains why you felt the need to play dress up.

"Her donation event! Right!" Lucifer quickly responds, stepping completely inside your room and shutting the door behind him. He kicks the flowers he's already forgotten about, and quickly scoops them back up. As he approaches you, he catches sight of the numerous piles of clothing. With a quick snap, they're neatly folded and sent away into a portal, assumingly somewhere near Charlie.

"Ah, angelic magic." You hum satisfied by the now neat floor. You examine him, placing your hands on your hips with a smirk. "A bouquet of flowers? What's the occasion?"

With another display of magic, a vase appears on your vanity, which he slips the flowers into.

"Just a gesture.. of love~" He draws out his words, slipping his hands onto your waist.

Oh, he's letting the I love you get to his head, isn't he?

You respond with a quick eye roll, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you, Luci, I love them." You draw out your words to mimic his.

"You picked out a good one." He looks you up and down, his hands on your waist thoroughly exploring your sides. "I already told you how stunning you look, right?" 

"Yeah.. decades ago. It.. wouldn't hurt to hear it again, though." You mutter, a sly smile across your face. He holds you closer, his warm hands palming the small of your back. With a quick twirl, forcing a fit of laughter from you two, he stops when his eyes meet yours. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

"And stunning?" 

"And stunning." He lets out a quiet sigh, tracing his claws from the base of your shoulder to your hand, interlocking your fingers. With his other hand, he pulls you in by your waist. You only respond with a quiet giggle.

"What are you doing?" You ask as he turns you around. He starts to slowly sway you along, and you struggle for a moment to keep up with the impromptu waltz.

"Dancing. I wanted to dance with you during that Gala. I never got a chance, though." His tone makes it sound as if it were your fault.

"Probably because you were pawning Charlie off to me every 5 minutes." You glare at him, with a still-apparent smile.

He shrugs.

"Can you blame me?"

"I can, actually."

Another laugh is forced from your lips when he spins you around. As he draws you back in, you're brought flush to his chest. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and let out a breath that you've been holding in for years. Lucifer gives you another contemplating look.

"Now, the dress is pretty and all, but..."

You cock your head to the side with a soft smile. "But?"

"I think I’d prefer you in white."

♡♡♡

Haven't written smut in a hot minute :') hope it was tasty

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[cobragardens]

CORRECTED & UPDATED! Clothes + Equivocation = Romance:

The Husbands in 1793

EDIT: I made a significant error when I wrote this. As @goodjomans kindly points out in the comments to Part 2 of this essay (massive shoutout for this, goodjomans! also I love your name!), Aziraphale is the one who dresses the executioner in clothing like Aziraphale's original ensemble, not Crowley. This changes my conclusions about the meaning we can take from this scene!

On the one hand, mea culpa, y'all. I shall get on with eating my crow. On the other hand, I had to go through this frame-by-frame to catch which of the ineffable spouses puts Jean-Claude in his new togs, and the answer only lasts three frames. Here it is:

After Aziraphale changes his clothes, but before Crowley snaps his fingers and unfreezes time, there's a shot of the executioner over Crowley's shoulder, and he is now wearing a light coat with gold embroidery on the shoulders like Aziraphale's. Aziraphale arranges the executioner's death, not Crowley. So I feel like an idiot for missing it, but not a total idiot.

Let's discuss how this information changes what we can read from this scene! I'm going to leave my original text in place and edit with bold green. I can still stand by most of this essay, but this detail changes how I read the meaning of the husbands' communication at the end of this scene.

So we're all clear on the fact that the universe of Good Omens is an inescapable nightmare dystopia in which either of the husbands' merciless authoritarian regimes could be watching or listening to them at any time, yes? And that if either are caught 'fraternizing' with the other that means discorporation, torture, memory wipe, and/or death for either or both of them, yes?

Which means Crowley and Aziraphale can never speak or do anything openly to each other about their friendship or attraction or love. Everything they say and do has to have an innocuous meaning they can point to in case anybody ever sees or hears something Team Azcrow can't explain away. Walls (and ducks) have ears, and the price of slipping up--as we see in 1827--is heavy.

When a character says or does something that has two distinct meanings because they need to disguise what they really mean from one party but make their meaning plain to another, lit-nerds (and lit nerds🍃) call this equivocation. Equivocation is a kind of coded communication meant to pass hostile ears and eyes in plain sight but reach its intended recipient with its true meaning. The 1793 scene is jammed with it.

A lot of that coded messaging revolves around the clothes Crowley and Aziraphale choose in this scene, so--THESIS PARAGRAPH, BITCHES--we're going going to talk about how their clothes read to the people of this time period and location, what their clothes tell us about their characters, how their clothes help them equivocate, and what they're really saying with that equivocation. And Spoiler A-fucking-lert, it is ROMANTIC AF PRETTY GD ROMANTIC. Let's get nerdy!

We start with Aziraphale's beautiful champagne-gold and powder-pink ensemble.

This outfit would tell people of this time period 3 things about Aziraphale:

That he's insanely wealthy--These clothes would be silk, hand-embroidered with thread made with actual gold. Each individual garment could cost years' or even decades' worth of working-class wages and take a team of skilled artisans dozens to hundreds of hours to make.

That he's a fop--i.e., a man who loves fine clothes and dressing up and looking fancy. By the 1790s in England, once-fashionable foppishness was giving way to the Neoclassical 'Corinthian' style, and was considered effete. (Fun note: During this time period, effete did not automatically indicate gay, and pink was considered a masculine color, so while Az. is queering it up to the audience here, his clothes would not have read as gay or overtly effeminate to the other characters around him.)

Even though he's insanely wealthy, Aziraphale wears clothes that are decades out of fashion.

According to the Victoria & Albert Museum, "As the [18th] century progressed, the male silhouette slowly changed.[...] Coat skirts gradually became less full and the front was cut in a curved line towards the back. Waistcoats became shorter. The upper leg began to show more and more[...]. Shoes became low-heeled with pointed toes and were fastened with a detachable buckle and straps or ribbon[.]

Source

That description is not what Aziraphale's wearing. Judging by his heel height and the length of his waistcoat, Aziraphale is wearing a style that's at least a decade older than this:

And this is from 1765. The great crepes caper happens in 1793, almost 30 years later.

My inference: Just as he has in the modern period, Aziraphale has settled into a style he really likes and refused to let go of it long after it's gone out of fashion.

We'll come back to this set of Aziraphale's clothes in a bit, but we need to talk about Crowley's first, because Crowley's clothes in this scene help render a line he says later about this outfit very flirtatious and darkly romantic.

First, some background: What was considered acceptable attire for wealthy people in France changed pretty much overnight during the French Revolution after the storming of the Bastille in 1789 and the fall of the French monarchy. Instead of advertising wealth, clothes now had to advertise political allegiance, and they had to do so loud and clear. And if you didn't want to be murdered by the French First Republic, that political allegiance had fucking better be to the Revolution.

People started wearing a looooooot of super patriotic shit. And I mean it was like little kids on the 4th of July; clothes were red, white, and blue in any hue and garish combination and print. The cockade, a fabric rosette in the colors of the French flag, was required by law to be worn by men, and despite that was just as popular among women. To show solidarity with the laboring classes, the fabrics the wealthy wore went from embroidered silk in light Rococo colors (what Aziraphale is wearing) to sober neutrals without decoration in wool, cotton, and linen.

Now, the script note for Crowley's clothing in this scene is this:

But clearly there were some changes made between script and filming, because Crowley does not appear standing behind Aziraphale; he appears lounging.

And he's not dressed as a French peasant.

Here's how French peasants dressed in 1790:

Peasants at this time wore styles that distinguished them from the styles of the upper classes not just in materials, colors, or patterns, but in shapes. Full trousers and cropped boxy jackets in French flag colors were the marks of the laboring-class Revolutionary, and both styles were huge changes from hundreds of years of French fashion up to that point.

And that's not what Crowley shows up wearing. Crowley is wearing the knee breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and frock coat of a wealthy man, and in fact his clothes reference a very specific type of wealthy man.

In the 1790s, if you were an aristocrat who wasn't happy about the Revolution and you were so sure of your privilege that you would risk your life showing it, you wore black in mourning for the monarchy and in protest of the violence of its deposition. If you were an aristocrat who wanted to protest and you didn't want to be immediately murdered by the French First Republic, you wore a style called half-mourning, which was black with a colored coat.

Here's a picture from a 1790 fashion magazine of an aristocrat in half-mourning:

"The text accompanying the plate describes his ensemble as 'half-mourning,' referring to the aristocrats who lamented 'the diminished powers of the monarchy and [signaled] their willingness to die for the royal cause'" [emph. added]. [Source]

Notice: the shoes, stockings, breeches, waistcoat, and cravat are all black. You with me?

Because here's Crowley in 1793:

I've turned up the brightness and exposure in this image so he's more clearly visible against the stone, but I haven't warmed it up. He's wearing a coat that's a dark blackish red. Everything else, even his cravat, even his shirt, is black. (The black shirt is anachronistic, a lovely little nod to Crowley's refusal to wear angelic white.)

This is 179fuckin'3, y'all. Marie Antoinette is executed in 1793. It's 3 full years after that fashion plate up there in his bright red jacket, and that lil dude was already risking his neck way back in 1790. As we can see from the fact that the government are apparently now grabbing random wealthy-looking Englishmen off the street to murder without trial, the time for a man demon to be sauntering around Paris dressed in all black or even nearly all black is well past.

Crowley's also wearing a whole assload of huge silver buttons, which would have been flashy and tacky and frankly pretty weird in 1793 but very definitely an eccentric Rich Person Thing to do, bc regular buttons at this time were horn or wood and covered with the garment's fabric. The only man in France who could get away with this fancy aristo shit anymore was Robespierre himself, and only "devotion to the cause[...] excused Robespierre’s showy dress since he was perceived as a bridge between the politically empowered bourgeois deputies and the ardently antimonarchical unenfranchised classes." [Source]

So when Crowley teases Aziraphale--

--both of them are perfectly well aware that Crowley's outfit would get him just as killed as Aziraphale's.

And that's why Aziraphale's expression is annoyed when he has abandon his "standards" and change his clothes. Because Aziraphale's the one who needs the favor, Crowley makes him take one for the team and wear the goofy hat.

The clothes Az. changes into here still tell people that he's rich, but they also say he's a hardcore Revolutionary. The red jacket in a current cutaway style, the cockade and sash, and the bonnet phrygien (the red garden-gnome cap) all announce this guy is a huge supporter of the Revolution. His clothes are all still aristocratic in shape and materials (and he keeps his now-unfashionably frilly lace cravat), but he's no longer flaunting obscene wealth in a city filled with angry starving people, and the gnome cap says he's in solidarity with the working classes even if he isn't one of them.

Once he restarts time, Crowley is not leaving that prison cell safely without either changing his clothes or taking Aziraphale with him, because Crowley looks like a rich asshole protesting the fall of the monarchy--which is frankly exactly the kind of thing he'd show up wearing to the Bastille during the Reign of Terror (just like he wears athleisure in Heaven). But Aziraphale's new appearance covers for them both: if the rich-looking guy with no cockade and wearing all black under his almost-black coat is in with this other guy who's obviously a Revolution fanatic, then the rich guy's probably okay, right? He just forgot his sash at home or something. Bees.

Something else happens when Az. changes, too. Look at Aziraphale's new dress from a different angle:

Half-mourning is a white shirt, but a black cravat, so this isn't half-mourning. He's wearing three different badges of the Revolution to make up for the fact that Crowley looks like a Satanic libertine (which tbf he is), but Aziraphale's new ensemble is black and dark red.

Y'all. Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

Now, this is a more fashionable and higher quality version of what the executioner is wearing, so Aziraphale has very plausible deniability here; if anyone ever pulled him up on it, he could say he just copied our man Jean-Claude.

But let me show you what English fashion looks like right now:

This is a French painting of a wealthy Frenchman, but he's wearing the English 'Corinthian' style. It was painted in 1795, so this would have been the very cutting edge of fashion in England in 1793, and the fabrics and colors look right at home in Revolutionary Paris. (He's wearing the cockade on his hat, btw.)

Look at all that angelic white! The buttery almond of the buckskin breeches, the golden kidskin gloves, the rich tan of the riding boots! The blue of the greatcoat! All colors we know Aziraphale prefers!

And yet this is what Aziraphale chooses:

We know from the entire rest of the show how very particular about his clothes Aziraphale is. And yet 150 years before he (accidentally) admits in words that he's Crowley's friend, Aziraphale wears Crowley's colors to take him to lunch to say thank you for a rescue.

When we decide whether a character's speech or action is equivocation, one of the things we check is whether equivocation (and deception generally) is something that character does elsewhere in the text, which, with Aziraphale, hahahahaha, DUH. He's already using equivocation in this scene.

The lunch date itself is equivocation on Aziraphale's part. Aziraphale tries to thank Crowley for the rescue, but Crowley says,

So Aziraphale says,

No more words like "thanks" or "rescue" used, but a couple hours of good food and drink and conversation, Aziraphale hopes, will express the gratitude toward Crowley it's not safe to speak aloud. With this, Crowley and Aziraphale explicitly establish that they are equivocating for each other's safety and using coded communication--immediately before Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

So yes, Aziraphale may well copy the executioner's clothes. But consider: When a character who can't speak or act openly says or does something that has two or more possible meanings, this can be read as equivocation.

We don't get a face reaction from Crowley about Aziraphale's new 'fit, so we can't be sure how he feels about this. But this whole scene is, even on its surface, about 1) the meaning clothes transmit to a viewer ("Oh good Lord," says Aziraphale when he sees what Crowley's wearing) and 2) how to show gratitude and appreciation when you can't speak of them openly. And we know Crowley notices clothing and clothing colors, because look at what he wears, like, ever. So it's very reasonable to presume he notices Aziraphale wearing his colors, and it fits well with both the rest of Crowley's actions in this scene and with his being very hurt and angry when Aziraphale later characterizes their interactions as "fraternizing."

Right, so we've covered what's going on with the husbands' clothes, and we've looked at two examples of equivocation on Aziraphale's part, viz., lunch and his change of colors. (Here's an example of equivocation on Crowley's part as well.) Now let's look at that super interesting thing Crowley says about Aziraphale's first outfit.

Here's the line:

Crowley follows up here on earlier lines in which he teases Aziraphale for coming to Reign-of-Terror Paris for crepes: "Dressed like that?" meaning Aziraphale was guaranteed to get arrested dressed like an aristocrat. The top layer of equivocation is always an innocuous meaning: the plausible deniability meant for the hostile/unsafe listeners. That's Meaning 1.

But "Dressed like that, s/he's asking for trouble" means two other things, too. It's a veeerrrrry familiar phrase, isn't it? We've all heard that arrangement of words in that order before. It's used when people think someone (usually but not always a woman) is dressed to invite sexual attention.

How do we know we're supposed to take this modern meaning from this phrase? This is how:

We have learned in literally the previous sentence to this one that rain has not been invented yet. The only two humans in existence have just left the Garden. Balloons definitely do not exist yet, humans couldn't tell you what lead is, and yet this is a phrase Crowley uses and Aziraphale understands. This tells us, the audience, in the very first line of the very first scene with these characters, that their speech is anachronistic and modern, and that we are to understand their phrasing in its contemporary sense.

So. When Crowley says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" in 1793, we should read that in the context of the scene and in the senses the phrase carries to us today.

And since Crowley is using a phrase that means the executioner is dressed to invite sexual attention, and the executioner is wearing clothes identical to Aziraphale's, then Crowley is necessarily telling Aziraphale that when Aziraphale was wearing those clothes--those frilly, effete, unfashionable-for-decades clothes that nobody else likes and the French now murder people for wearing--that was, in Crowley's view...provocatively sexy. Meaning 2.

"Dressed like that, s/he was asking for trouble" is also what people say to justify violence, especially sexual violence against women and queerphobic attacks against men perceived as gay or just 'insufficiently' 'masculine'. In fact justifying assault is likely the most common way this phrase is used today by a wide margin. Meaning 3.

Crowley's joke isn't even really a joke in this sense; it's a vicious barb. And, because it must, it sounds like it's at Aziraphale's expense: You wore the wrong clothes, you weren't careful enough to guard yourself against the men who want to do you harm, so you deserved the trouble you got. Meaning 1.

Except remember: Crowley is also dressed for trouble. And Aziraphale is aware of this. Crowley's 'fit would be almost as offensive to the Revolutionary French of 1793 as Aziraphale's Rococo pastels, and probably just as likely to get him arrested and murdered by the state if he weren't making letting Aziraphale keep him safe by wearing the cockade and the silly hat. Crowley's not saying anything about Aziraphale here that he's not also saying about himself; and as we know from Aziraphale's initial "Oh good Lord" when he turns around and sees Crowley's black and red half-mourning (with extra black and gobs of silver), Aziraphale knows it.

Then why the rapey joke, Crowley?

This is fucking why:

Crowley rocks up at the Bastille just in time to witness some grubby fucker assault his friend. Assault the person Crowley will greet 15 seconds after this as angel.

Crowley's first act after freeing Aziraphale is to send this dude to his death. Nope! Aziraphale is the one who arranges to have the executioner killed in the clothes he would have killed Aziraphale for wearing. He takes Jean-Claude's ability to speak (but not to make sounds, interestingly! Jean-Claude can still whimper, Jean-Claude can still cry!) so the executioner can't tell anyone about the 'mixup.' It's unclear which of them blocks the executioner's power of speech. The vicious joke about assault in Meaning 3 isn't at Aziraphale's expense at all. It's not You wore the wrong clothes, so you deserved the trouble you got. It's If this guy thinks you deserve trouble for wearing the wrong clothes, he can eat his own rules.

And that's the other piece of evidence that, along with Crowley's ensemble, shows us the audience and Aziraphale which meanings Crowley intends with his equivocation. Meaning 1 is cancelled out by Crowley's clothes. That leaves Meanings 2 and 3.

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what their clothes help them say without words.

Concluded in Part 2!

[01zfan]

consuming the light | o. st

pastors son!shotaro x rich!fem. reader | 8.9k words

went a little overboard with the world building im sorry but i loved this story too much

contains: arranged marriage (not between shotaro and the reader), implied virginity loss, bible study under the guise of fooling around, readers parents are awful, shotaro is the best, ANGSTY, sad ending, oral (fem. receiving), missionary, emotional

sacrilegious masterlist

god was always kind to you. some people called it luck but you knew there was a bigger force behind all the good in your life. you were blessed to say the least. so many people would kill for the life you were born into.

as you walked down the aisle, your thin white veil filtered the colored light coming through the stained glass of the church. it was a veil imported from a place in italy you couldn’t pronounce, and it had beautiful white embroidery that told the story of both you and the man you were going to marry. the symbolism was etched not only into the veil, but also your beautiful dress. the explanation of the stitching had went in one ear and out the other. 

you looked down the aisle to your soon to be husband. with each slow step and each swelling note of the organ you felt like you were walking towards your doom. the light from the stained glass window was artificial, giving the illusion that the rest of your life wouldn’t be drained of color and sunlight.

the sun shined down on you in the form of the pastor’s son. you remember the first day you met him, during a sunday dinner hosted at the church. he helped serve the little kids and you were volunteered to help by your parents. they figured that shotaro could teach you to be kind, something they said you lacked. you weren’t sure if it was true or not, but you were at the age that you believed whatever your parents said. 

the only time you were excited to learn about god was when shotaro became your bible study partner. your parents wanted it more than you did, but you quickly became accustomed to looking at shotaro as he went over bible verses. you barely looked at the passages, eyes trained on his side profile and the way his skin gleamed underneath your kitchen lights. he would look at you as you mouthed latin hymns wrong and blush, knowing that you weren’t paying attention.

you ended up spending more and more time with shotaro outside of the church. he would come over to your house often, gawking at your high ceilings and the maids you had. you learned pretty young that your house was different than everyone else’s. your lifestyle was different, surrounded by custom furniture and large rooms. you would never tell shotaro that you enjoyed going to his house more. his house had food prepared by his parents and his place was cozy and warm. but when shotaro came to your house the cold tile suddenly felt warm underneath your feet, and all you wanted to see was his face when you looked up from your plate at dinner. he took time to learn the names of the people that kept your house up and running, thanking them sincerely when they would bring you fresh cut fruit during your bible study lessons.

your first kiss was with shotaro underneath the big tree in his backyard. you sat on the swing that hung off a large branch and laughed as he pushed you, saying you might end up wrapping around the branch if he kept going. your swings came to a stop and shotaro came to stand in front of you. he looked at you with eyes that reflected the light coming through the trees. you were shy when you said you liked him and the kiss was awkward, lips barely touching before you both pulled away. you both turned away from the other, faces hot and eyes darting everywhere else. shotaro’s hand was hot when he grabbed yours as he walked you home, and he gave you a gentle peck on your cheek when he dropped you off at your door.

from that moment on for more than three years you and shotaro had a relationship of sorts. he would walk you home and hold your hand and look after you. you ended up becoming a regular at church and shotaro started sitting next to you in the pews. no one suspected a thing was going on between you two, sometimes it felt so unreal that you didn’t know what was going on either. you both avoided the topic of defining what you guys had. something about it felt so unholy, like you were straying from the path your god—your parents had carved out for you. you couldn’t resist straying from the path when you first put your tongue in shotaro’s mouth, or when he pulled you to straddle his lap. it was all new for the both of you, learning about passion and fire that burned outside of hell. it was liberating to experience a new emotion and trying to understand it. when you told shotaro how to touch you it was like you finally had control of something in your life.

shotaro had a good head on his shoulders, one that entertained your requests and listened to you. you credited his obedience to the church, thinking about all the sunday school nuns that shaped him into the man you snuck around to see. you knew it was partially credited to his parents. they were different from yours, they had an honest living. you had heard stories of both your fathers growing up together and getting along before they chose different paths in life. your father chose riches over anything, and shotaro’s father chose the path of righteousness. their close relationship in childhood evolved to be something cordial and somewhat awkward, something both you and shotaro bared witness to. you imagine it drove your father crazy seeing someone so honest be just as respected if not more in your town. shotaro’s parents were a important part in the community, maybe even more important than your father. so your parents had built up a fake rapport with shotaro’s parents, one that you’re sure they saw right through. god-fearing people you found out were insanely perceptive. shotaro’s parents didn’t outwardly call out the fraudulence until your parents offered a large donation to the church in exchange for the churches endorsement. 

you still remember the last time you ever saw shotaro. his parents stormed through your house, looking for whichever large room you two resided in. he sat in the nook of your window while you sat beside him, with his face in your hands. his hair blew gently from the spring breeze while you brushed a strand behind his ear. that’s what had become of your bible study, the two of you sneaking away to kiss and look at eachother. 

shotaro sprung up from his spot in the window and you whipped your body around to face the door. it was quiet for a moment, everyone in the room slowly understanding the scene laid out before them. both of your parents stared at the two of you, intruding on an intimate moment. you realized you were caught when your father raised his voice and your mother began screeching. shotaro’s parents were calmer, for some reason that scared you even more.

“we are leaving now, son.” his father said sternly.

shotaro didn’t look at you as he kept his head down, walking towards the door. you were frozen in place, fingernails digging into your knees as you watched shotaro walk away.

you only got one last glance at shotaro as his parents led him out of your room. his father gave one more look to your dad, the scariest look you have ever seen.

shotaro didn’t even make it down the stairs before he heard your parents yelling at you. something about betrayal and risking your lifestyle to sneak around with someone so poor. shotaro and his parents were all shocked. he didn’t get yelled at by his parents, he was sure all the anger they felt for him dissolved into pity. 

you never got the chance to spend much time with him after that day. he became a distant figure in your life. you only caught glimpses of shotaro in the church, running around stretching his hands far to help anyone. you never got the chance to be alone with him ever again, so you were forced to watch him grow up through the church.

you watched shotaro grow into the leader of the youth group, then continue to grow to someone who led sunday service. you watched him get sent off to a private catholic school a couple of towns over. usually it only happened with rich families, but shotaro was a special case. he had wowed the school board and was rewarded a scholarship that allowed him to go. 

as ridiculous as it was, you debated on asking your parents to send you to that school. they were the ones that proposed you go to the expensive school at first, they could’ve afforded it with ease. they insisted you go to make them proud. after the situation with shotaro transpired, making them proud only made you want to deny it more. after spending so much time telling your parents you weren’t going to go to the private school it was too late to go back on your word. so you settled for staying in town. you would just have to wait until school ended so you could see shotaro again. you waited for summer eagerly like all of your peers did, but you had your different reasons. in the back of your head you saw the distant figure of shotaro, coming closer and closer to you as each season passed.

summer was like a movie every year, memories glossy and organic like it was shot on a film camera. the film was different each year—as a child it was bright and saturated, the blue sky popped and the grass shined brightly. the older you got the more muted summers became. you credited it to becoming mature, finally turning into the adult you wanted to be so badly. you made it your plan to become that bad kid your parents called you all those years ago. it wasn’t long before you heard the final bell of school toll. your graduating class ran out in their puritan christian schoolgirl uniforms. the shrill sound of cheers filled the parking lot as everyone took off the cross pendants that adorned all your necks. it was a tradition that started long before you, symbolizing your changing relationship with god. other girls in your class would become closer to him, but you had your plans to abandon him completely.

summers were very important in your town. everyone came home during the summer for the annual congregation at the ocean. it was something like an unofficial holy site, something made up by the elders before the current elders of your congregation. everyone participated in the event, washing away their sins and stress in the holy water of the ocean. it wasn’t an obligation to participate, but everyone had to be there. you saw shotaro there every year, helping take care of the kids and sometimes leading the oceanside service. 

you saw him on the sand, running around with a kid hanging onto his shoulders. you couldn’t help but look and wave at him and he waved back. you wanted him to come to you more than anything. you wanted to tell shotaro that you were an adult now, your parents couldn’t dictate who you spent your time with. even meeting in secret would suffice, but you just had to see him up close again, to have him talk to you. with his parents busy and your parents never coming to the ceremony you could finally get have a word with him. you beckoned to shotaro as you laid underneath your umbrella in the shade. this was the newfound confidence that came with washing away your sins—you were suddenly ready to sin some more. you wanted to whisk shotaro away to the car you had driven here or take him to your empty house. maybe even a secluded part of the oceanfront if he let you.

shotaro came to you after looking bewildered only for a moment. he sat with you underneath the shade of the umbrella, eyes fixed on the changing tides. 

you two both sat in silence, seeing children on the beach run around and adults chatting. it was comforting, being able to be so close to shotaro with so many people around. you put a sandy hand on his knee and shotaro turned his head away from the water to look at you.

”i missed you.” shotaro said.

the way your parents raised you was extremely different from shotaro’s upbringing. it was evident in how you two interacted with eachother. when shotaro had no problem telling you he missed you, you felt sick sometimes even reaching out an affectionate hand to him. the first part of your relationship was like a one sided game of chicken, shotaro had to work hard to whittle down your cold front. but you were older now, a different person who didn’t struggle with that stuff anymore. so you nodded your head and played with the sand some more, trying to distract yourself.

“i missed you, too.” you said.

letting down your walls was worth it when you got to see shotaro smile because of the sweet things you say to him. his hair blew in the light breeze the same way it did that night your parents caught you two. you cast your look down and so does shotaro. his eyes watch your hand as it plays with the sand.

“how are your parents?” shotaro asked.

just as quick as the walls went down, you could feel them go back up. you scoffed and retracted your hand from his knee. shotaro already missed feeling the fine grains of sand that stuck to your palm press against his knee. he turned his head to follow you as he watched you lean back and prop yourself up on a singular fist. with your free hand you moved your shades to rest on your head.

“after all this time the first thing you ask about are my parents.” you said. 

shotaro knew you wanted your words to pack a punch, but you looked distracted as you continued to play with the sand. shotaro could never bring up your parents yelling at you that day, but when he saw you he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about your pained expression when he left your room that final time. shotaro brought a hand to rest on your calf. he squeezed it gently to let you know he was sorry. shotaro felt blessed when he saw you smile. he watches you tilt your head and purse your lips, like you’re trying to think of something.

“wanna get out of here?” you asked.

your hand that was playing in the sand went back to shotaro. you were confusing to him, so shy when it came to affection but still so bold with your words and suggestions. he had trouble believing you were the same girl only a moment ago that could barely say that you missed him. now he was following you towards the parking lot as you headed towards his car.

you led him away from the oceanfront to the parking lot. you bobbed and weaved through cars, going to the familiar dingy shit box shotaro drove. it was almost like you two were robots, neither of you saying a word while shotaro used a slightly shaking hand to unlock his door. shotaro raced to open the passenger door for you, but your hand went to the backdoor instead. you opened it slowly and crawled in, doing your best to give shotaro a view of what he hasn’t seen in months. when you were fully situated in the seat you beckoned to shotaro again. he looked around the parking lot, scanning for anyone watching. once he saw the coast was clear, he went into the backseat too.

you didn’t even let the door close before your lips were on shotaro’s. you wasted no time bringing him in close, swinging your leg over his. shotaro welcomed it, hand going to your hip and your leg. your hands on his shoulder gripped his shirt. he didn’t 

it wasn’t hard to channel all your frustrations and pent up emotions into shotaro. you kissed him with a fierceness, pressing your lips to his quickly. you saw shotaro’s eyes become hooded when you started sucking on his bottom lip.

it took shotaro a moment to get into it. the fear of being caught melted off his shoulders when you brought his hand to rest on your chest. he squeezed the flesh he hadn’t been able to touch in so long, knowing exactly what you needed. when you brought your hand to his clothed dick, he had to pull away.

“we shoudn’t.” shotaro said against your lips.

“i waited a whole year. i can’t wait anymore.” you said. 

shotaro wanted to give in to you so bad. he wanted to make you feel good in the back of his beat up car. but he thought about how you deserved something special in a place that was more private. so shotaro resisted the temptation and took both your hands and put them back at your sides.

shotaro was lucky he practiced restraint, because as he pulled away from you he saw your parents leave their parked car heading for the beach. he pulled away from your lips, visibly distracted.

“what’s wrong?” you asked.

“your parents are heading towards the ocean.” shotaro said.

you crawled over him to see for yourself. sure enough your parents were walking towards the water, weaving through the cars the same way you were. you clambered over shotaro the rest of the way, ignoring his grunts as you opened the door. you were much more rushed, running through the cars trying to find a way back to your spot before your parents got there. shotaro followed behind you, going back to what he was doing before he sat by you.

you had to act as nonchalant as possible when your saw your parents see you. you kept your eyes on shotaro, letting him distract you from your impeding doom coming a step closer. shotaro gave you one last smile before your parents came and stood directly in your line of sight. they blocked your view of your sun. they stood before you like a wall separating you from shotaro. you tried to peer around their bodies but it was no use. your mother waved her hands in front of you to get your attention. you put your sunglasses on top of your head to look at them fully. they wore their usual business attire, they came from whatever meeting to come straight here. it was painfully obvious your parents weren’t going to stay there for long.

“hello honey.” your mom said to you. “congratulations on finishing the school year.”

you stayed seated underneath the umbrella. it was so annoying trying to keep up appearances. your parents were highly regarded in the town, being the second richest family and the only ones with strong political ties. you don’t know if it was because of the money or the status that made your parents so distant. you lived with them your whole lives but knew nothing about them. you were closer with the various nannies you had in your life, ones that would mysteriously quit when you referred to them as mom. 

your relationship with your parents was strained to say the least. after they degraded you and shotaro for hours on end that day the chasm between the three of you only deepened. your relationship had devolved from a mutual respect to a silent agreement that you would behave and be the dutiful daughter you had to be as long as they funded your lifestyle. this included beautiful sunglasses, gorgeous gowns, and extravagant parties. beyond the cash they threw at you they were barely parents, never knowing anything about your life. but them congratulating you on graduating was the first thing they have said to you in weeks, so you pursed your lips and nodded curtly.

“thank you.” you said.

you saw shotaro’s parents walk by and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at them. your relationship with the couple had become strained too. you wished more than anything to feel the warmth of their home again, to be able to say a word to their son again. your parents noticed your attention had shifted, so your dad cleared his throat loudly.

“let’s go home. we have some very exciting news to share with you.” your dad said.

so you went on an awkward and silent car ride home with your parents. they never picked you up, much less drove you places. the pit in your stomach started growing and you could practically feel an ominous dark cloud appearing over your head. your parents said nothing for the rest of the car ride, letting your mind wander to the worst scenarios.

you weren’t sure what was happening when you opened your door to see a man and his parents sitting on the sofa in your living room, chatting about something. the man got up almost immediately and you were taken aback by the person standing in front of you. he wore the nicest clothes you’ve ever seen and had his hair primmed and proper. you felt extremely underdressed compared to him. you were still modest in your beach outfit, but the man in front of you was wearing clothes of a professional.

you were stunned into silence seeing the man stand before you, and even more stunned at how everyone in your living room was staring at you expectantly. you realized that you were the left out of the loop, completely in the dark about the situation at hand. you look to your parents for the answers.

“what’s going on?” you asked them.

“have a seat honey.” your dad said.

your parents looked at you expectantly and you sat down. although you were defiant, you were still a dutiful daughter, one that listened. that’s why you sat down and listened to your parents while they told you why the family was in your home.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing as your parents told you about your future marriage. the man in front of you was the son of the richest family in town. you could tell by the way your dad’s eyes shined when talking about the family that they were richer than you could comprehend. ties with the money stronger than anything else. you visibly stiffened hearing it, before you could object your dad held up a finger to silence you. you blinked away tears as both your parents and the man’s attorney told you the conditions of the marriage. apparently everything had already been planned out and decided while you didn’t know a single thing. you weren’t able to get a word in until they were done. you looked around the room, everyone smiling as if it was the best plan in the world.

“what if i say no?” you said quietly.

“we cut you off.” your father said simply. 

you looked down at your hands, clasped together in your lap. you would’ve never thought you’d be married off to someone you barely knew. your mother had been lucky in that aspect; she got to marry your father who was a family friend. but you had never seen the man that sat next to you on the couch in your entire life. your family was rich to the point this didn’t need to happen. you looked to your mom and dad, the looks on their face told you trying to persuade them out of this was no use. at the feeling of the man’s hand on your shoulder it lit a fire in your belly, a defiant one that had you shrugging his arm off of you.

you stood up from the couch and you locked eyes with your father. your mom instantly resorted to protecting her integrity, looking at the man’s family with her smiling face and customer service voice.

“we will see you guys at the party tonight. thank you for stopping by.”

your mother shuffled the man and his family out while you stayed there staring down your father. he didn’t relent or say a single thing until the door closed.

“i refuse.” you seethed.

“you don’t have a choice.” you father said. 

you wanted to yell at him, but you knew it was no use. your mind flashed to shotaro and the way his hair would blow in the nook of your room when the window was open.

“we already have the money. we don’t need to marry into more of it.” you pleaded.

for the first time in your life, you made your father laugh. to the point where he nearly had tears coming from his eyes. he laughed the whole day, only laughing more after seeing anger take over your features. he laughed as your anger turned into defeat. his laughs rang in your ears for the days to come, turning you into the shell of the person you once were. you had lost all defiance in your body, finally becoming the compliant daughter he always wanted.

when the party came, you had no energy left in you to say snarky remarks or roll your eyes. you had become unassertive, nodding your head and saying a meek yes whenever asked a question. you could only look ahead, focusing on random paintings hung to the walls as you heard your father pretend to get choked up talking about how he will be walking his daughter down the aisle. 

you imagined seeing shotaro across the room, having him come up to you and whisk you away to a secret place for just the two of you. when you danced in the ballroom you imagined shotaro expertly blending with the crowd, dancing with you and telling you the plan to escape. he’d squeeze your hand extra tight before heading towards the exit. you wondered if he had heard the news yet, how he felt about it. when you thought too much about him your eyes started to water and the lump in your throat got bigger. you needed a place to cry, what better place than the nook in your room where you last felt love. you were able to finally sneak away after severable feeble attempts, exiting through a door in the kitchen.

shotaro was able to sneak into the party after being let in by staff that liked him. he wandered around the party, scared to be caught by your parents, knowing it would lead to him getting kicked out. once shotaro realized that your parents were too invested in talking to the esteemed guests of the party not sparing him a second look, he walked freely around the party. he realized quickly that this wasn’t a celebration thrown for you, but just another opportunity for your parents to make money.

shotaro felt himself fall apart when he opened the door to your room. he heard you first, the quiet sniffling drowning out the sound of your door opening.

you got up from the nook in your bedroom window to turn towards your door, getting ready to yell at whoever came in. you melted seeing shotaro, the tears you were holding back flowing freely. it was like no time had passed between the two of you, a whole school year of no contact dissolving into the air as you held out your arms to him. 

shotaro sat beside you and held you as you cried into his lap. he was patting your back and rubbing your head, comforting you anyway he could. shotaro kept telling you it’s okay a million times over like it might fix the current situation. he realized he had no idea what to say to you, only that he felt tears threatening his own eyes as he thought more and more about you. when you finally pulled away, makeup you had cried off stained his black pants.

“i’m sorry.” you hiccuped.

shotaro shook his head immediately.

“i should be the one that’s sorry,” shotaro said. ”i should’ve never left”

you sniffle to sit back up and look at him. 

“i figured if i got a good education your parents would view me favorably.” shotaro said. 

shotaro used the corner of his sleeve to blot away some of your ruined makeup. it was no use as your eyes swelled again, tears running down your cheeks. shotaro saw a cold resolve settle across your face. you looked up to shotaro, forcing his eyes to hold contact with your bloodshot ones.

“my whole life my parents have acted like god, and you left me just so you could try to please them?” you said quietly.

shotaro wished you sounded angry when you asked the question. he actively watched the fire burn out from behind your eyes, replaced with the same cold look shotaro saw on your fathers features. your perfect posture had devolved into you slumping against him. he couldn’t stop his hands from levitating to your face, trying to warm you up with his clammy hands. 

the feeling of shotaro’s hands were lost on you, eyes steely as you looked ahead. you quickly found out it didn’t matter, nothing did. even if you blew up and cursed at shotaro for wanting to please your parents instead of pleasing you it wouldn’t change your fate. if you kicked shotaro out and cried in your bed alone you would still be walking down the aisle tomorrow to a man you didn’t even know. atleast with your head pressed to shotaro’s chest you could hear his heart pound in his chest a thousand miles a minute and feel his hands wrapped around your body. the possibility of never feeling this close to anyone ever again hit you like a javelin in your stomach. it made you want to double over in pain, it felt like you were losing your breath as you held shotaro’s hand tightly.

“what am i supposed to do?” you asked.

shotaro didn’t have the answers for you as you looked up at him. in your eyes he could see new tears welling and taking the same path down your cheeks.  your eyelashes clumped together from the tears and you were starting to be reduced to sniffles. 

you could see shotaro’s eyes go blank and you realized he didn’t have an answer for you. your blurry eyes travelled to every part of his body, trying to find the answer there. you look at his black hair, the way it falls right above his eyes. every time he blinks his strands move, his hair is practically dancing as he tries to blink away tears. your eyes go to shotaro’s hands, how they grips yours so tightly that you don’t want to let go. you wonder if he will use those same hands to pray for your marriage and future that starts tomorrow. you like that you can still feel his heart beat, how it increased when you looked him in the eyes for too long.

“do you love me, shotaro?” you ask.

shotaro is happy that he knows the answer to this question—he has for a long time. he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear before going back to blot the tear tracks on your cheeks. he nods gently looking into your eyes.

“i love you more than you’ll ever know.” shotaro says quietly. 

its a quiet declaration of love as he wipes your tears away. your hand on his bicep tightens. the somber look in your eyes is replaced with a desperate one as you bring yourself from his chest to look shotaro in the eyes. 

“can you show me. please.”

shotaro could actively feel his reserves melting away the longer he looked at you. he recognized that look on your face from the countless times you two snuck away to fool around. you guys never did something when there was more than your housekeepers around. festivities from the party travelled upstairs and bled through the door. all it took was one single person to walk in and see you two. but you increased your grip on shotaro’s bicep as you readjusted yourself on the ledge. shotaro gave one last glance to your door. he remembered that he locked it after he came in. he put his other hand to rest behind you as he leaned in close. his eyes alternated between your lips and your eyes, looking for any doubt or hesitancy.

“are you sure?” shotaro asked.

he felt your hand go down to his wrist as you spread your legs. your beautiful dress rode up past your thigh as you led shotaro’s hand to your heat. his eyes grew wide but you kept your voice steady.

“this is the one time in my life i get to make the decision,” you pressed shotaro’s palm flat to your panties, letting him feel the heat. “i’ve been sure about this for a very long time.”

that was all shotaro needed. he used his other hand that was rested behind you to tilt your head, exposing your neck to him. shotaro lets his lips graze the skin of your neck, loving the way you shiver beside him. he presses his hand further into you, and you let out a sigh as you lean into him.

“i’ll let you make all the decisions tonight.” shotaro whispers into your neck.

it is sexual but it’s comforting to see how easy it is for shotaro to understand what you need. he gives you the reigns and the ability to be god on your last night of freedom. you nod your head immediately while pushing your hips to meet shotaro’s hand. he uses the heel of his palm to press against your clothed clit and his finger pushes into you. your hand, searching for something to hold, goes to your window blinds.

shotaro brings your face down to his to bring you into a kiss. the moonlight shines on you both through the window as he uses his free hand to guide the back of your neck deeper into him. shotaro lets his tongue graze your teeth before you open your mouth wider. his tongue presses against your cheek before finding your tongue, loving the feeling your your wet muscles touching. it is messy, so messy that a string of spit connects your mouths when shotaro pulls away.

“where do you want me?” shotaro asks.

it takes you awhile to find your voice again. you feel almost nervous being in charge, but shotaro rotating his hand to palm you makes your anxiety fall off your shoulders.

“on the bed.” you say.

shotaro stands up first, reluctantly pulling his hand away from your core to help you stand up from the nook. you already feel weak in the knees as shotaro leads you to your bed, a gentle hand on your back as you guys make your way across your marble floor. it’s almost like a dance, you two move in beat to the music that plays downstairs.

shotaro pulls back the canopy surrounding your bed so you can go through. you sit in the middle of your alaskan king bed, almost swallowed by the plushies and blankets that surround you. shotaro lets the curtains close as he continues to stand next to your bed. you stare at the outline of his body illuminated by the yellow glow of lamps in your room.

“do you want me to take off my clothes?” shotaro asks. 

you dig your feet underneath a blanket as you think. shotaro stands outside patiently, waiting for your order.

“just your pants and shirt,” you see shotaro reach for the waistband of his pants. “leave your underwear on.” you blurt out.

shotaro pauses only for a moment while he takes in his request. you can hear him laugh and see the shadow of him undressing himself. you take off your underwear and attempt to take off your dress but the zipper is out of your reach. 

you don’t let shotaro see you struggle to reach the zipper when he pulls back the drapes of your canopy. he looks at you and you move over slightly, as if there’s not enough room on the bed for the both of you. shotaro settles in next to you and goes back to the same position you were at sitting on the nook. you let your hands run over his upperbody, eyes looking at the bulge in his boxers. shotaro lets out a small sound of surprise when his hand presses to your bare pussy.

“so wet.” shotaro murmurs to himself.

you nod your head and lift your hips slightly while shotaro presses his palm against your clit again. the on and off presses has you gasping and closing your legs around his hand. shotaro has to use the hand that was guiding you through the make out session to apply pressure on your leg in efforts to keep them apart.

“do you want me to do this to you all night?” shotaro says in between kisses on your neck.

you have lost half your mind at this point. you shake your head trying to gather what’s left of your thoughts. you remember the sensation of shotaro’s fingers pressing into you over your panties.

“put a finger in.” you say.

shotaro obliges immediately, your wet hole giving no resistance. it has both of you moaning, the sensation new to the both of you.

“another.” you moan quietly.

when shotaro puts his second finger completely in, he does a scissoring motion inside of you. it is foreign but builds up a heat in your stomach and you can hear the tiny squelching of shotaro’s fingers interacting with your slick. you instinctively close your eyesdig your fingernails into his shoulder.

“feels good?” shotaro asks.

he kisses your eyelid and you nod your head yes. your hips feel like they’re lifting on their own accord, trying to feel more of shotaro’s fingers.

because your eyes are closed you don’t see shotaro more his body to slot between your two legs. when you no longer feel his warmth next to you, your eyes open. you see shotaro in a position you’ve never seen him in before, on his stomach as he lifts up your dress just enough to uncover your lower half. you let your upper body lower, until your propped up on your elbows. you keep an eye on shotaro and he keeps an eye on you, placing wet open mouthed kisses on your thighs. he was dangerously close to your center, a new wave of your slick coating his fingers. the speed of shotaro’s fingers was cruel and slow. you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking into his hand at a faster pace. each time you did so, shotaro’s palm grazed your clit.

“can i try something on you?” shotaro asked. he continued to place tender kisses on the hot skin of your thigh. “i heard people talking about it at my school and i could only think of you when i heard it.”

”okay.” you whined.

shotaro pulled one of his fingers out of you and you whine dagain at the loss. he used his free hand to push your thigh towards your stomach and placed an open mouthed kiss on your folds. your elbows suddenly slid out from underneath you, the new sensation making your back hit your bed with a soft thud. you focused on the canopy of your bed, the royal red and gold fabric that cascaded down your bed. it was one of the many signs of wealth in your life. you would give it up in a heartbeat to feel shotaro between your legs everyday.

shotaro looked up at you from between your legs, only getting a glimpse of your heaving chest. your boobs rested so nicely in your dress, and your pretty whimpers made him want to continue kissing your folds. shotaro was surprised seeing all of his peers at school so sinful, performing acts on each other that would send a pastor into cardiac arrest. but he understood why they did those things when he got his first taste of you. you were sweet and coated his tongue, he found himself needing more. 

you placed your legs over shotaro’s shoulders as his hand that was holding your thigh went to spread your pussy lips. he was licking whatever you body would give him earnestly, wrapping his lips around your clit before sucking. this had you pressing your head into the pillows and closing your thighs around his head. 

you got back on one of your elbows to wrap your hand in shotaro’s hair. you used the grip you had on his locks to push your further into your heat, mouth agape while you rode his tongue. you would’ve apologized sincerely in the moment for being so greedy, but you could make out shotaro’s smile in your dimly lit room. your hand pushed him further into your heat, his finger and tongue moving in tandem.

“shotaro.” you moaned.

shotaro looked up at you from in between your legs, humming into your pussy. your thighs pressed around his head again.

“keep going.” you said.

shotaro hummed again before focusing his eyes back on your heat. his speed picked up, the sucking and the licking and the kissing quickly became too much for you. shotaro pulled away his mouth to piston his two fingers into you again, wanting to see your face as you finished around him. the eye contact is what sent you over the edge and what made shotaro almost cum in his pants. your walls closing in on shotaro’s fingers almost made it impossible for him to move his digits. he kept going driven by the sound of his name falling from your lips.

by the time you came back to earth, your back was pressed into the mattress again and you were sure your head would leave an indent in the pillow. you looked down from your spot, shotaro looked down at you in amazement. your dress was haphazardly pushed push past your hips and your legs had folded in on themselves without shotaro keeping them apart. your hair was already sticking to your forehead from the sweat and you felt like you looked insane. shotaro looked at you like you were god in the flesh. maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to get on his knees for you.

you used the last of your strength to push yourself back up, eye level with shotaro who was resting on his haunches. you looked down at his boxers again. his dick twitched underneath the thin cotton layer, and you swore you could see a patch of wetness on the fabric. 

you turned your body around, showing the zipper of your dress to shotaro.

“help me with the zipper.” you said. 

any authority in your voice was replaced with raspiness. you had to clear your throat as shotaro slowly brought the zipper down your body. shotaro helped you out of your dress without asking, pulling your arms out and letting the dress fall to your stomach. hiss hands went to the clasp of your bra, waiting for you to tell him to help you with that as well.

“bra too, please.” you said.

it was the same process, him helping you out of it before tossing it to the end of the bed. shotaro slowly turned you back around, guiding you back down on the bed. shotaro gently takes off your dress and you lift your hips to help him.

when you are fully naked you hike up your legs, making your knees touch to cover up your heat. shotaro lets you cover yourself up, a gentle hand resting on your knee. your eyes keep drifting down to his boxers, and you put a gentle foot to rest on his dick. shotaro instantly hisses from the contact and he bucks up into your foot. shotaro’s action surprises you both. 

“fuck.” shotaro says breathlessly.

“take your boxers off.” you say while moving your feet.

shotaro tipped forward on the bed to hover his body over yours. you could see his dick springing free, bobbing around before sticking straight forward.

shotaro kept his body above yours waiting for your next order. you saw how angry and red his tip was, how it seemed to be aching.

“touch yourself.” you said quietly.

shotaro wrapped his hand around his dick and began pumping slowly. it was the same pace he had when fingering you, slow and controlled. the power you had over shotaro in that moment went straight to your head. he let out puffs of air as he continued to touch himself. you wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, until your foreheads were touching. shotaro kissed your lips and you preened you neck to give him better access.

“i want it inside.” you whispered to shotaro.

shotaro’s hand let go of his length and went to your hips. his fingers were sticky as he pressed them into your skin.

“are you sure?” shotaro asked.

“don’t ask me that.” you said.

shotaro kissed your eyebrows that furrowed. he apologized before bringing his hips close to yours. you instantly forgave him when you felt his tip prod against your entrance. 

“ready?” shotaro asked.

you nodded your head and he brought your lips in for another kiss before sliding in. it was little to no resistance, but your walls wrapped around him all the same. you were basically sucking in shotaro until he bottomed out, both of you letting out moans at the feeling of him completely inside of you.

“keep going.” you whined against shotaro’s lips.

he didn’t have to be told twice before pulling out and thrusting into you again. your hips touched each time, causing you to wrap a leg around shotaro’s waist. his forehead still rested against yours, the sweat on both of your skin keeping you together. shotaro let his eyes wander down to your chest, watching your breasts move with his thrusts. you while body reacted to him, from your eyes all the way down to your feet. it gave shotaro the drive and energy behind his thrusts. he would fuck you like this all night if you’d let him. he used both of his hands to hold your cheeks, separating your foreheads to press kisses all over your face. your sweat and some tears stuck to his lips, you were all over him. shotaro kept a hand on your face as he looked down where you were swallowing him up with ease. 

“can i—” shotaro started.

“yes.” you whined.

shotaro used his hand to unwrap one of your legs and put it over his arm. this new angle made it feel like shotaro was splitting you down the middle. you cried and pressed your hands to his chest, feeling the taut muscle underneath his skin.

“shotaro.” you cried out. 

shotaro went back in, somehow even deeper than before.

“i know. i know.” shotaro cooed. 

he had to put his body upright to get a better angle, but he still found himself folding over to kiss your face. his other hand that wasn’t holding up your leg held your hand. he could tell you were trying so hard to keep your eyes open for him, but pleasure was taking over.you squeezed his hand each time he hit a part deep inside of you. shotaro was taken aback at how you looked so pretty like this, laid out for him. he wished it was him that would have your hand tomorrow.

“you should run away with me.” shotaro said in between thrusts. 

your eyes snapped open and you clamped around him. shotaro smiled and leaned over again to kiss new tears that had fallen.

“okay.” you moaned.

it was hard to remember what you were agreeing to. you just wanted shotaro to keep hitting that spot that was deep inside of you.

“we can get married and live in a cute little place, yeah?” shotaro said. 

his pace was picking up and you didn’t know what was happening anymore. you were slowly losing control of your body, driven by the steady sound of your thighs slapping shotaro’s skin. he let go of your leg to fuck you in missionary, pressing his chest so close to yours it kept your boobs in place.

“i love you.” shotaro whispered in your ear.

you brought your nails down shotaro’s back, your legs wrapped around his waist brought him closer. the tears had started to come out more aggressively, you could feel the warm trail down the sides of your face.

”i love you too.” you silently cried.

you pressed your head into shotaro’s neck as he kissed your temple. his arms went behind your back like he was holding you, and he was driving his hips deeper and harder into you. your moans had turned into high pitched cries. you didn’t have to say you were close, both you and shotaro knew. he also knew that he should pull out now, but you kept your legs wrapped around his waist as you started moving your hips to meet his.

“inside. please.” you whispered.

shotaro came immediately once you told him to. it came out in thick ropes while your walls milked his dick. even in his haze of euphoria, shotaro brought a hand to your clit to stimulate the bundle of nerves. your back arches off the bed as you came around him. you couldn’t stop the high octave sounds from escaping you, and shotaro wouldn’t have it any other way. he was letting out pathetic sounds himself, whining and whimpering your name underneath your canopy. 

shotaro didn’t pull out until he had gone soft, both of you shivering from the odd sensation. he rolled off of you and brought you close to him, arms wrapping around your body like he was giving you a hug. you started crying into shotaro’s chest and he rubbed your back, telling you it was going to be okay.

you and shotaro stayed awake well after the party was over. you spent your time tracing out his palm with your fingers before clasping your hand over his, clasping your hands together a million different ways to make sure he was really there. you kept your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat drum against your ear as shotaro gave you forehead kisses. the canopy around your bed gave you semblance of privacy, keeping your naked bodies partially hidden through thin draping. the longer you stayed in that position the less you cared if someone walked in—maybe your soon-to-be husband would walk in and call off the marriage immediately. if your parents banished you and wrote you out your inheritance so be it. but you knew shotaro would never forgive himself if you lost your stability in life because of him. maybe you two would find a way around your marriage. rich people committed adultery all the time. 

neither of you said a word until you saw that the sun was beginning to rise. it was an awful feeling seeing the lamps in your room be outshined by the sun because it meant that the day was here. you would lose your last name and any freedom your parents allowed you would be under scrutiny by your husband. you weren’t marrying the one you truly loved, the one whose heartbeat increased against your ear. shotaro began gently rubbing your arm, trying to comfort you as soon as possible. but you were out of tears as you raised your head to look at him. you moved some of shotaro’s hair out of his face. you wish he could stay with you forever

“they’ll be here soon to get me ready for the wedding.” you said.

shotaro wanted to stay too. the way he hesitated before sitting up and kissing your hand that stayed near his face. he put on his clothes slowly, looking around for garments that were right in front of him. you stayed perched on your bed, watching the love of your life solemnly get ready to leave you forever. 

when shotaro was done he went to the nook, leaning over to open the window and take out the screen. you rolled out of bed and threw on your robe that hung from a pillar on your bed. you tied it tight while walking over to shotaro who was preparing himself to exit through the window.

“are you sure?” you asked, peering out the window. 

the drop wasn’t too bad, but it was a drop regardless. if shotaro hurt himself you don’t know what you would do. shotaro smiled and looked down himself. he turned to you and nodded.

“i can make it.” shotaro said. 

he took one last look at your room, seeing all the knick knacks you have collected over the years chaotically placed everywhere. your room was the only place in your house that didn’t feel sterile like a hospital or made him nervous. it was comforting the same way you were. shotaro couldn’t believe this was the last time he’d be in your room. he looked at your desk and the calendar that was above it, seeing ‘shotaro day’ in big bold letters two days ago. 

“will you be alright?” shotaro asked. 

you nodded, because that’s all you could do.

“i’ll find a way.” you said simply.

“we’ll find a way,” shotaro said. “your staff likes me, i’m sure they’ll tell me when i can get you alone.”

shotaro gave you one more longing kiss before moving out of your window. you had to look away when shotaro lowered himself from your windowsill, getting his body as close as possible to the ground. you wanted to grab his hands and pull him back up and beg him to stay with you. but you had to watch him drop down into the flowerbed on the backside of your house, perfectly fine from the fall.

shotaro gave you one last look and waved goodbye. you had to bite your lip to hold yourself back from yelling his name as he walked away.

sacrilegious masterlist

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (4)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaegar's younger sister, has silver hair and violet eyes. For the rest of the parts and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 3

- Next part: 5

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy

Inside the royal pavilion, the air hums with lingering excitement from the day’s events. Courtiers and nobles mill about, exchanging pleasantries and gossip over cups of spiced wine while servants move discreetly through the crowd, refilling goblets and offering trays of delicacies. The colorful tapestries lining the pavilion walls depict scenes of dragon conquest and ancient Valyrian splendor, but none of the finery can fully mask the undercurrents of tension that swirl beneath the surface. Eyes dart toward you wherever you move, curiosity and judgment mingling freely as whispers trail behind.

You remain close to Arthur, the clamor of the gathering fading into a dull hum as his presence grounds you. His expression is stern, his watchful gaze sweeping the pavilion, but there’s a hint of warmth in his eyes whenever they meet yours. He stands tall, a silent sentinel by your side, yet you can feel the subtle tension in him—his awareness of every potential threat, every prying glance. Despite the spectacle Rhaegar made, despite the victory, there’s still a part of you that longs for a moment of peace away from all the politics, away from prying eyes.

You lean slightly closer to Arthur, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance up at him. “Ser Arthur, don’t you think we could slip away for a bit? Just the two of us?” Your tone is light, playful, though the desire in your words is genuine. You want to escape this gilded cage, even if only for a while—to feel the cool breeze on your face, to walk under the stars without the weight of a thousand eyes watching your every move.

Arthur’s eyes soften at your words, and though his expression remains composed, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know as well as I do that your absence would be noted, Princess. The court has a way of turning even the smallest actions into tales fit for a song.” His tone is gentle, but there’s a trace of regret in it—regret that he cannot give you what you want.

You let out a soft, wistful sigh, your fingers grazing the delicate embroidery on your gown as you glance toward the entrance of the pavilion, where the evening sky is just beginning to darken into twilight. “Perhaps, but a girl can dream, can’t she?” You turn your gaze back to him, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Or is it that you enjoy keeping me trapped in this web of courtiers and schemers?”

Arthur chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “If it were up to me, you’d be free to go wherever your heart desires, Y/N.” His voice drops slightly, growing more intimate as he adds, “But as much as I’d like to steal you away for a few moments of peace, I fear it would only cause more trouble for us both.”

You tilt your head, a small pout forming on your lips as you teasingly press, “You’re telling me the Sword of the Morning can’t whisk me away without anyone noticing? I must say, I’m a little disappointed.”

His eyes brighten with amusement, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he leans in just enough that only you can hear his next words. “The Sword of the Morning could take you anywhere, Princess. But we both know there are some battles best fought with patience rather than steel.”

The truth in his words tempers your playfulness, though the yearning to be anywhere but here lingers. You take a step closer, your voice softening as you allow a touch of sincerity to slip through. “I just want to forget, if only for a little while. To be somewhere quiet, where I can breathe.”

Arthur’s gaze holds yours, his eyes filled with understanding. “One day,” he promises quietly, “I’ll take you to a place where no one will follow. Where it’s just us, far from all of this.” There’s a conviction in his voice that sends a shiver down your spine—a vow that you know he would see through if he could.

But before either of you can say more, a pair of nobles approach, their smiles wide but their eyes sharp as they bow low. “Princess Y/N,” one of them begins, his voice dripping with false charm, “might we have a moment of your time? The court is eager to hear more about your thoughts on the day’s events—particularly Prince Rhaegar’s most recent… performance.”

You force a polite smile, the mask slipping back into place as you turn to face them. “Of course,” you reply with practiced ease, “it was quite the spectacle, wasn’t it?”

As they begin to engage you in tedious small talk, Arthur shifts slightly, moving just enough to remind you that he’s still close by, still watching over you. You can feel the tension return, the game of words and hidden meanings resuming as you navigate the conversation with careful precision.

But even as you exchange pleasantries and deflect veiled barbs, your thoughts drift back to Arthur’s quiet promise—a promise that lingers like a secret between the two of you, a flicker of hope in a world where true freedom is scarce. Perhaps you cannot escape tonight, but the dream of it—the thought of a future moment where it’s just you and him, away from the court’s scheming eyes—remains a small comfort amid the chaos.

And as the night deepens, you cling to that dream, knowing that within the heart of this twisted game, there are still those who would stand with you, those who would fight to see you free, even if only for a fleeting moment beneath the stars.

Noble lords and ladies, their jewels glittering and silks rustling, drift like moths toward the center of attention—Rhaegar Targaryen, who strides into the pavilion with Ser Barristan Selmy close behind. His entrance is nothing short of a spectacle; every head turns as he moves with the easy grace of a prince born to command attention. The victors’ laurels still adorn his brow, their silver leaves catching the light as he offers a smile that is both charming and distant, fully aware of the role he plays in the court’s eyes.

Almost immediately, Rhaegar is swarmed by a flurry of nobles eager to win his favor. Ladies bat their lashes and flutter their fans, while lords congratulate him on his victories and subtly position themselves closer in hopes of currying favor. The pavilion hums with the sound of fawning praise, laughter, and whispered conversations, all revolving around the Dragon Prince.

Rhaegar plays his part well, his smile never faltering as he exchanges pleasantries and light banter. But you can see the weariness in his eyes, the way his gaze occasionally drifts toward where you stand with Ser Arthur, as if searching for a reprieve from the performance. He catches your eye briefly and offers you a quick, almost conspiratorial wink—another silent jest shared between siblings, an acknowledgment of the absurdity of the court’s endless games.

You stifle a laugh and return a small, knowing smile, but your attention is quickly drawn back to the growing commotion around Rhaegar. A lady of House Redwyne practically drapes herself over him, offering a goblet of wine with a flirtatious smile, while a lord from House Hightower attempts to regale him with tales of his own minor victories in a past tourney. It’s a well-choreographed dance, and Rhaegar navigates it with the skill of someone who has been performing all his life.

But just as the energy in the pavilion reaches its peak, the air changes. The soft murmur of conversation halts as an unmistakable voice booms across the hall, sending a shiver through everyone present. 

“Enough!”

King Aerys’ voice is harsh, grating, and filled with an anger that slices through the air like a blade. The once lively pavilion falls deathly silent as every head turns toward the raised dais where the king sits. His gaunt frame is cloaked in shadows, but his wild, silver hair and the glint of madness in his eyes are all too visible. His fingers twitch against the armrests of his seat, a sign of his growing agitation.

“Are we here to indulge in vanity?” Aerys’ voice rings out, cold and edged with fury. “To prance and preen like peacocks in heat?” His eyes sweep the hall, alighting on Rhaegar with a look that is both possessive and accusing. “You think yourself above it all, don’t you, boy?” Aerys’ voice drips with venom as he glares at his son. “Winning wreaths and favors while the realm crumbles beneath our feet?”

The tension is suffocating. Nobles who were moments ago vying for Rhaegar’s attention now shrink back, their faces pale, trying to avoid drawing the king’s ire. The festive atmosphere has been shattered by Aerys’ outburst, and even those closest to him appear uncomfortable. You can see Tywin Lannister’s jaw tighten, though he wisely says nothing.

Rhaegar remains where he is, composed but with a somberness that settles over his features. He meets Aerys’ gaze unflinchingly, though there’s a careful respect in his posture—he knows better than to challenge his father directly in this state. “My actions were meant to honor our house, Father,” he says calmly, his voice measured. “The people must see strength and unity from the royal family in these troubled times.”

Aerys’ laugh is sharp and joyless, sending a ripple of unease through the room. “Unity?” he sneers, leaning forward. “Or the illusion of it? A wreath of flowers won’t protect you from the knives waiting in the dark.” His eyes flick toward you, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your blood run cold—an unsettling mixture of pride and malice. “And you, my sweet daughter… so eager to play the part of the realm’s darling. Do you think their love will save you when the fires come from above?”

Ser Arthur tenses beside you, his hand instinctively moving closer to the hilt of Dawn, but you place a calming hand on his arm. This is not a moment to escalate, no matter how your heart races. The entire pavilion is watching, holding its collective breath as Aerys’ gaze sweeps the room once more, daring anyone to speak out.

But before the silence can stretch too far, it is Rhaegar who breaks it. He steps forward, bowing his head slightly, not in submission, but in a gesture of respect. “The fires can be controlled, Father, with careful hands and wise decisions. The people look to us for guidance. We must be their beacon, not their torment.”

Aerys’ eyes narrow, his lips curling into a snarl. “Careful hands… wise decisions…” he echoes mockingly. “You speak like a man who has forgotten the true nature of power. Power is fear, Rhaegar! Fear keeps men in line, not these hollow displays of affection.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but Rhaegar does not waver. He simply stands there, his expression calm, yet his eyes burn with defiance—not openly, but enough for those who know him to see it. You can sense the tension crackling between father and son, a battle fought with words and looks, but one that has far-reaching consequences.

For a long moment, it seems as though Aerys might lash out further, but then, as suddenly as it came, his rage seems to ebb. He leans back in his throne, waving a hand dismissively. “Go on then,” he mutters, his voice laced with disdain. “Continue your little charade, but know this, my son—when the storm comes, your songs and smiles will be worthless.”

Rhaegar bows once more, a gesture as much for the court’s benefit as for Aerys. “I shall keep that in mind, Father.” He turns away from the dais, and slowly, the gathered nobles begin to resume their conversations, though the air remains thick with unease. The joyful energy has been replaced by something colder, darker. Even Cersei, who usually thrives in such tension, keeps her distance, her eyes calculating as she watches the interaction between father and son.

Rhaegar makes his way back toward you, his face betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath the surface. He nods briefly to Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan before turning his attention to you. “It seems I’ve soured the mood,” he says lightly, though there’s an edge to his voice that only you can detect.

You shake your head, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “You did what you had to, Rhaegar. He was looking for an excuse to lash out. I’m only glad it didn’t go further.”

Rhaegar’s expression softens at your words, but before he can respond, Ser Arthur speaks up quietly. “The king’s mood is mercurial. We should be cautious tonight. These are the moments when whispers turn to daggers.”

Rhaegar nods in agreement, his gaze distant for a moment as if weighing unseen threats. “You’re right, Ser Arthur. We must tread carefully.” His eyes shift back to you, a flicker of concern in their depths. “Stay close, Y/N. There are too many eyes on us tonight.”

You give a small nod, understanding the weight of his words. The court is watching, waiting for any sign of weakness to exploit.

The pavilion’s lively chatter slowly resumes, but the undercurrent of tension remains. The air feels thick with secrets and unspoken intentions. As you stand beside Rhaegar, your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the various courtiers, knights, and lords mingling like pieces on a gameboard. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of someone moving with far too much subtlety to be simply blending in.

Varys.

The spymaster, clad in his familiar silk robes of muted colors, hovers near the edge of the gathering, his smooth, shaven head reflecting the torchlight. He seems to be watching everything and nothing at once, his fingers steepled in front of him as he offers shallow smiles to those who greet him. But you know better—Varys never lingers without purpose. His eyes dart briefly in your direction, a flicker of interest in the depths of his ever-watchful gaze before they shift elsewhere, as if cataloging every interaction for later use.

A shiver of unease runs down your spine. Varys is always lurking, always observing, but tonight, his attention feels more pointed, as if he’s assessing more than just the usual political maneuverings. You’re about to mention this to Rhaegar when he suddenly takes your hand, a playful smile on his lips.

“Dance with me, sister,” he says in a low voice that’s just loud enough for those nearby to hear. There’s a playful challenge in his tone, but beneath it, you sense something more—a need to steer attention away from whatever plots are bubbling under the surface. 

Before you can protest, Rhaegar is already leading you toward the center of the pavilion, where musicians are preparing to play a slower, more intimate tune. You can feel the gazes of the court shift, some envious, others curious, as Rhaegar’s boldness once again takes center stage. But this time, there’s a layer of privacy in his gesture, a protective shield raised under the guise of a dance.

The music begins, a lilting melody of strings and flutes, soft and sweeping. Rhaegar’s hand is warm on your waist as he guides you into the steps, his movements smooth and assured. The world around you blurs slightly as you move in sync, your brother’s presence comforting despite the eyes tracking your every move.

As you sway together, Rhaegar’s voice drops to a near whisper. “I saw Varys too,” he murmurs, his expression not betraying the words as he spins you gracefully. “He’s watching closely tonight. I have a feeling more is afoot than just petty court politics.”

You glance up at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “What do you think he’s after? He always has his webs, but his interest tonight seems sharper.”

Rhaegar’s gaze briefly flicks toward the edge of the pavilion where Varys lingers. “He thrives in chaos and uncertainty, and tonight’s spectacle gave him plenty of both. But he’s careful—he’ll make his move only when he’s certain it’ll be most advantageous. For now, we play our part.”

You let out a breath, focusing on the dance, on the comfort of Rhaegar’s familiar presence. “I suppose we’re giving him quite a performance,” you say lightly, though your mind races with questions.

Rhaegar’s grip tightens slightly as he pulls you closer in the next step, his voice growing softer. “Keep your wits about you. Varys isn’t the only one with hidden motives. Father’s mood is unpredictable, and there are too many in this court who would seize any opportunity to stir unrest. We’re treading on thin ice.”

Meanwhile, back at the edge of the pavilion, Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan watch with sharp eyes, their duty clear as they remain vigilant. Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gerold Hightower join them, each knight exchanging brief, knowing glances as they survey the scene.

Jaime, still young but already carrying the confidence that comes with being a Lannister and a member of the Kingsguard, leans toward Arthur with a smirk. “The court will be talking about this dance for weeks. Prince Rhaegar certainly knows how to keep them entertained.”

Arthur’s expression is unreadable as he watches you and Rhaegar move together, though there’s a protective glint in his eyes. “Entertained or distracted,” he replies coolly, never taking his eyes off you. “The prince knows the value of keeping eyes where he wants them.”

Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander, nods in agreement, his face set in a stern line. “We do our duty, but tonight, that duty may be more than just guarding against open threats. The tensions are rising, and the wrong move could tip the balance.”

Barristan adds quietly, “It’s not just the king we need to watch. The lords are restless, and the alliances are shifting like sand. One misstep, and the court could fracture.”

The knights’ conversation fades into the background as you and Rhaegar continue to dance, the music swelling gently around you. Rhaegar spins you one final time, his hand lingering on yours as the dance draws to a close. The court’s applause is polite but filled with underlying curiosity—what more will the Targaryen siblings do to keep them guessing?

As you step back, Rhaegar offers you a reassuring smile, though his eyes carry the weight of unspoken thoughts. “Remember, sister,” he says softly, “the dance isn’t just on the floor. It’s in every word spoken, every glance exchanged. And tonight, the game is only beginning.”

You nod, understanding that the true battle isn’t fought with swords or lances, but with the subtle machinations of power, influence, and perception. And as you return to your place beside Arthur, the warmth of Rhaegar’s hand still lingering on yours, you’re reminded that while the court may be a nest of vipers, you’re not without your own allies—loyal and steadfast, even in the darkest of times.

Arthur steps closer to you, his gaze unwavering. “You danced beautifully, Princess,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You offer him a small smile, though your mind is still preoccupied with the threads of intrigue weaving around you. “Thank you, Ser Arthur. It’s easier with a partner you trust.” 

His eyes meet yours, a silent promise shining in their depths. “You can always trust me,” he says simply, and there’s no doubt in his tone.

The night air cools as the celebrations wind down and the nobles of the court retire to their chambers. The flickering torches lining the corridors of the Red Keep cast shadows that dance along the stone walls, lending an air of quiet intimacy to the passageways. You walk beside Ser Arthur Dayne, his presence a comforting warmth amidst the chill. His steps are measured, ever the composed knight, but you sense the underlying tension in him—the awareness that tonight’s events have set new pieces in motion, even as the court pretends to sleep.

The distant sounds of revelry fade as you ascend the winding steps toward your private chambers. Arthur’s hand hovers near the hilt of his sword, a silent reminder of his vigilance, but there’s a softness in his gaze whenever it drifts toward you. Despite the weight of duty and the unspoken dangers lurking in the shadows, there’s a quiet joy in just walking beside him, away from the prying eyes of the court.

When you reach your chambers, you pause before the door, your heart beating a little faster. You glance up and down the corridor, ensuring that no one is near before turning back to Arthur. His eyes meet yours, and you can see the question in them—what is it you need to say that requires such privacy?

But you say nothing. Instead, with a boldness that is entirely your own, you step closer, your fingers brushing against the leather straps of his armor as you pull him down toward you. His breath hitches, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just the two of you, the echo of distant conversations and the chill of the stone walls fading into oblivion.

You rise on your toes, closing the distance as you press your lips to his. The kiss is immediate and fervent, fueled by the stolen moments and unspoken desires that linger between you. Arthur’s hands hesitate for just a moment, a knight torn between his vows and the love that he carries so deeply in his heart. But then, with a soft groan, he gives in, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. The metal of his armor is cold against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his kiss, which is slow and deep, as if trying to savor every second of this fleeting moment.

Your fingers thread through his dark hair, tugging gently as you pour every ounce of longing and affection into the kiss. The intensity of it is both thrilling and tender, a merging of passion and trust. You lose yourself in it, in the taste of him, in the way his breath mingles with yours, in the warmth that spreads through your entire body.

But reality, as it always does, catches up. You both pull back, reluctantly breaking the kiss, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Your foreheads rest against each other’s for a brief moment, eyes closed, as if neither of you are ready to let the night slip away just yet.

“Y/N,” Arthur whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb brushes against your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as if trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory. “Goodnight,” he adds softly, the word carrying with it an affection that transcends any formal title he might use.

You smile up at him, your voice equally tender. “Goodnight, Ser Arthur.”

He straightens slowly, his reluctance clear in the lingering touch of his hand before he finally lets go. His expression is one of quiet resolve as he steps back, his features softening only for you. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” he says, though you both know he’s not just guarding your chambers—he’s guarding your heart, and his own.

You take one last look at him, holding onto the warmth of his gaze before turning and slipping inside your chambers. The door closes softly behind you, and the world feels a little emptier without him beside you. But you take comfort in knowing that he’s there, just outside, standing sentinel as he always does—loyal, steadfast, and devoted in ways that words can barely express.

As you lay down for the night, the memory of his kiss still tingling on your lips, you find a measure of peace in the knowledge that, in this vast and treacherous world, there is someone who loves you purely and completely. And even as you drift off to sleep, you know that come morning, Ser Arthur Dayne will be there, ready to stand beside you, ready to face whatever the day may bring—just as he’s always done.

The Red Keep is shrouded in darkness, with only the pale moonlight and dim torches casting an eerie glow on the stone walls as the night drags on. But within the throne room, flames dance wickedly, fueled by wildfire—a sickly green light that twists and flickers, illuminating the twisted face of King Aerys as he watches the scene before him with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. The stench of burning flesh already hangs in the air, a putrid reminder of the madness that has seized the man who once wore the crown with dignity.

The great doors creak open as the Kingsguard, all clad in their white cloaks and shining armor, file into the throne room. Ser Arthur Dayne is among them, his face set in a grim mask as he takes his place beside Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Gerold Hightower, and the others. Aerys barely acknowledges their presence, too enraptured by the spectacle he has orchestrated. At the foot of the Iron Throne, a group of criminals—ragged men, trembling with fear—are chained and forced to kneel, awaiting the king’s judgment. Their fates are sealed, though. This is not justice, but a sick ritual born from a mind long unhinged.

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he watches Aerys give the signal. He has seen this before—the mad king’s need to wield fire as both punishment and entertainment—but it never grows easier to witness. The flicker of flames reflects in Aerys’ eyes as he watches the pyromancers approach, their hands already stained with the remnants of their craft.

“Burn them,” Aerys hisses, his voice a twisted mix of glee and malice. “Let their screams echo through the night. Let the realm remember the price of treachery.”

Arthur’s stomach churns at the words. The criminals before them are no lords or plotters; they are petty thieves, street rats caught up in the chaos of the celebrations. Yet here they are, about to meet a fate far worse than they could have ever imagined. For a moment, Arthur’s mind drifts—away from the madness in the throne room, away from the sight of men and women about to be consumed by green fire—and toward the one person who anchors him in this hellish world.

Y/N.

He can still feel the ghost of your kiss, the warmth of your touch pulling him back to a place where honor and love are more than just words. Leaving his post outside your chambers was not easy; every instinct screamed at him to remain close to you, to protect you from whatever dangers might lurk in the night. But when the summons came from the king, there was no choice. Duty, that heavy, ever-present chain, pulled him here to witness this horror.

The crackle of wildfire snaps him back to the present as one of the criminals is dragged forward, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Arthur’s eyes flick to Ser Jaime Lannister, who stands rigid beside him, a different tension visible in the young knight’s posture. Jaime’s usual air of confidence, almost arrogance, is gone. Instead, there is something unsettling in his expression—a deep unease that Arthur hasn’t seen before.

As the flames roar to life, engulfing the first man in a swirl of sickly green, Jaime flinches, his eyes narrowing with something close to disgust. He’s seen bloodshed, has killed for the king more than once, but this—this grotesque spectacle—disturbs him in a way that even Arthur can feel. It’s in the way Jaime’s fingers grip the pommel of his sword, white-knuckled, and the way his gaze flicks away from the burning man as the screams fill the room.

A quiet murmur escapes Jaime’s lips, more to himself than anyone else. “This isn’t justice… it’s madness.”

Arthur hears him, the words resonating in his own heart. He glances at Jaime, catching the flicker of doubt and something else—fear, perhaps—lingering in the young knight’s eyes. For all Jaime’s bravado and ambition, even he cannot mask the revulsion that this twisted show evokes. And yet, they are all powerless to stop it. To intervene would be treason. To speak out would be to sign their own death warrants.

The screams continue, echoing off the stone walls, a twisted symphony of agony that only fuels Aerys’ glee. The king leans forward, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, every muscle in his gaunt frame taut with anticipation for the next burning.

Arthur clenches his teeth, forcing himself to remain still, even as bile rises in his throat. He has fought in battles, has seen men die in ways that haunt even the bravest, but this—this perversion of power—gnaws at the very core of what he stands for. He thinks of you again, of the way you looked at him with such trust when you said goodnight. The thought of your warmth, your strength, is the only thing keeping him from walking out of this nightmare.

As the next criminal is dragged forward, another wretched soul pleading for mercy, Arthur’s thoughts return to you. How long can this go on? he wonders. How long until Rhaegar, until all of us, are forced to confront the monster that wears the crown?

But for now, all he can do is watch, stand guard, and keep his silence. There’s a brief pause in the horror as the pyromancers prepare more wildfire, and in that moment, Arthur’s gaze drifts to the Iron Throne itself. It looms above them, a grotesque reminder of the blood and fire that forged the Targaryen dynasty. He imagines you sitting far from here, safe within your chambers, unaware of the darkness unfolding in the dead of night. He clings to that image, letting it temper the rage and helplessness that threaten to consume him.

The screams begin again, and this time Jaime doesn’t even try to hide his disgust. He turns his head slightly, muttering under his breath, “How much longer must we endure this?” His voice is barely audible, but it carries a weight that hints at something more—something dangerous brewing beneath his surface.

Arthur doesn’t answer. There’s nothing to say. The madness will continue for as long as Aerys holds power, for as long as fear keeps the court in thrall. But Arthur’s resolve hardens as he endures the sight of another man consumed by fire. He will endure, for your sake. For your safety, for the fragile light you bring into this world that is so consumed by shadows.

When the night finally ends, when the ashes are all that remain of Aerys’ latest victims, Arthur knows he will return to his post outside your chambers. He will stand guard until the dawn breaks, ever vigilant, ever ready to shield you from the darkness that threatens to swallow them all.

But even as he fulfills his duty, his thoughts will remain with you—the one person who reminds him that there is still good in this world, that love, honor, and loyalty can survive even in the heart of madness.

The acrid scent of smoke and charred flesh still clings to the air as the throne room falls into an uneasy silence. The pyromancers have withdrawn, and the few remaining embers sputter out in grotesque puddles of green. The grim scene lingers, a stark reminder of the twisted spectacle Aerys just reveled in. The King’s voice, though now quiet, echoes faintly in the back of Arthur’s mind—a chilling contrast to the man he is sworn to protect. 

Arthur steels himself, pushing down the lingering disgust, his thoughts instinctively turning to you, safe in your chambers—or at least, he hopes so. He’s just about to focus on getting through the rest of this wretched night when a movement in his periphery catches his attention. 

From the shadows of the throne room, Varys glides toward him, his steps unnervingly quiet against the stone floor. The spymaster’s silken robes rustle softly, giving him an almost ghost-like quality. He moves with a practiced, unnatural grace, his expression unreadable but for the faint, polite smile that rarely leaves his lips. Despite the horrors witnessed tonight, Varys seems utterly unperturbed, as if he is simply taking a pleasant stroll through the castle gardens.

“Ser Arthur Dayne,” Varys purrs, his voice as smooth as oiled silk. “A most eventful night, wouldn’t you agree?”

Arthur’s hand instinctively tightens around the hilt of Dawn, a reflex born from knowing that nothing about Varys’ approach is ever innocent. He keeps his expression neutral, though his tone carries an edge as he responds, “You have a talent for appearing just when the shadows grow darkest, Varys.”

Varys’ smile widens ever so slightly, his eyes gleaming with unspoken amusement. “Why, it is my duty to know what transpires in every corner of this keep, whether in light or shadow. We each have our roles to play, after all.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow as he studies the spymaster. There’s a disarming charm to Varys, a softness that belies the razor-sharp mind lurking beneath. Arthur knows better than to underestimate him, especially on a night like this. “And what role are you playing tonight?” he asks, his voice low but firm. “What game are you involved in this time?”

Varys tilts his head slightly, his expression one of mock surprise. “Game, Ser Arthur? I merely do what is necessary to keep the realm… stable.” He glances briefly toward the Iron Throne, where Aerys still sits, mumbling to himself in a half-mad reverie. “Though, stability is a precarious thing these days, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Don’t play coy,” Arthur says, his patience thinning. “You’re too deliberate for idle conversation. What do you want?”

Varys sighs softly, as though disappointed by Arthur’s directness, but his smile remains in place. “If only more men in this court were as forthright as you, Ser Arthur. Very well, I shall not waste your time with pleasantries. The realm is changing, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Old loyalties are shifting, and new alliances are being forged—even in places one might not expect.” He pauses, his eyes studying Arthur with unnerving intensity. “But it is not just the lords and ladies of Westeros who must be watched… it is also those who guard them.”

Arthur’s grip on his sword tightens further. He knows a veiled threat when he hears one, but Varys’ words are too slippery to grasp. “What exactly are you implying, Varys?”

“Implying? Why, nothing at all.” Varys’ tone is light, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. “I merely caution you, Ser Arthur, to be mindful of where your loyalties truly lie. Kings, queens, and even knights—each of them can be swayed by forces beyond their control. One must always be prepared for what comes next… lest they be caught off guard when the winds change.”

Arthur’s mind races. He knows Varys is circling something, though it’s difficult to discern exactly what. “And you would position yourself to benefit from those changes, I imagine,” Arthur says coolly. “You’ve built your webs across the realm—so tell me, Varys, what do you gain from tonight?”

Varys’ smile thins, his voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “I gain only what I’ve always sought—peace for the realm. But peace requires certain… sacrifices, as I’m sure you understand.”

The spymaster’s words hang in the air, thick with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. Arthur’s eyes narrow, his mind flicking back to you—still waiting in your chambers, blissfully unaware of the sinister undertones woven into the fabric of this night. He knows Varys well enough to understand that nothing he says is without purpose, and that whatever plot is brewing, it’s already in motion.

Before Arthur can press further, Varys gives a slight bow, his voice returning to its customary silken cadence. “I would not wish to keep you from your duties any longer, Ser Arthur. It would be most unfortunate if the princess were left unguarded.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat at the mention of you, his protective instincts flaring. “I don’t need reminding of my duty,” he says sharply, stepping closer, his presence imposing. “And if you even think of involving her in whatever schemes you’re spinning, I’ll make sure it’s the last mistake you ever make.”

Varys meets Arthur’s gaze without flinching, his smile never wavering. “Why, Ser Arthur, you wound me. I would never dream of causing harm to one so beloved by both prince and knight alike. My interests lie elsewhere… for now.”

With that, Varys steps back into the shadows, the smile on his lips the last thing to fade from view. Arthur watches him go, unease churning in his gut. The conversation has only confirmed what he feared—Varys is playing a dangerous game, one that involves more than just lords and kings. And while the spymaster’s intentions remain obscured, one thing is clear: you are not as far from the heart of these machinations as Arthur wishes you to be.

As he turns back toward the entrance of the throne room, ready to return to your chambers, Arthur’s thoughts remain troubled. The realm is shifting, and those who live by honor and love must tread carefully in a world where shadows and secrets rule. But no matter what comes, no matter how dark the night may grow, Arthur knows one thing with absolute certainty: he will protect you from it all, even if it means standing against the very forces that bind him to his duty.

With a firm resolve, he strides through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, his steps quickening as he approaches your chambers. For tonight, and for every night to come, he will be there—your sword in the shadows, your shield against the encroaching darkness.

In the Tower of the Hand, the midday sun filters through the narrow windows, casting harsh light on the richly adorned chamber. The city outside is alive with the continued festivities—cheering crowds, lively music, and the clamor of merchants and revelers filling the streets. But within the tower, the mood is anything but celebratory.

Cersei Lannister paces back and forth, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as her expression shifts between fury and frustration. She’s dressed in her finest crimson and gold gown, a statement of power and prestige, but her usual air of confidence is marred by the tension in her movements. The memory of the tourney—and Rhaegar’s public rejection of her advances—burns like a fresh wound. Every step she takes is fueled by the humiliation of having been overshadowed, not just by Rhaegar’s sister, but by the entire spectacle designed to push her aside.

Tywin Lannister, seated at his desk, watches his daughter’s agitation with a calculating gaze. He is the picture of calm authority, his green eyes cold and assessing as he steeples his fingers and waits for Cersei to exhaust her initial fury. He’s always known that his daughter’s ambition burns as brightly as any Lannister fire, but tonight’s slight has ignited a new level of determination—and perhaps desperation—in her.

“It’s disgraceful,” Cersei hisses, finally stopping in front of her father’s desk. “Rhaegar makes a mockery of me, flaunting that Targaryen girl before the court as if she’s his queen already. How dare he? I was promised—” Her voice catches as she swallows down the indignation. “I deserve to be at his side. I’m the future queen, not her.”

Tywin’s expression remains unmoved, his voice cold and measured. “Promises, my dear, mean nothing when they are not backed by power. And right now, Rhaegar is demonstrating his influence, not just in the lists but in the court. He’s reminding us all that his family comes first, a message that serves both to show his loyalty and to reject yours.” He leans forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. “But this is no reason for you to lose your composure.”

Cersei’s eyes flash with anger. “You want me to be composed, Father? When that girl flaunts her brother’s favor as if she’s already queen in all but name? She has no place in this! We must act—now, before they’re too entrenched in their little charade.”

Tywin’s lips thin as he considers her words. “The girl is a problem, yes, but not an insurmountable one. You must understand, Cersei—Rhaegar is not easily swayed by simple flattery or shows of ambition. His mind is set on keeping her close, and if we are to change that, we must be smarter.”

Cersei’s frustration bubbles over. “Smarter? I’ve been subtle, Father. I’ve been patient. I’ve done everything expected of a future queen, but he still doesn’t see it. What more can I do? If Rhaegar insists on pushing me aside for his sister, what hope do we have?”

Tywin rises from his chair slowly, his towering presence adding weight to his words. “Listen carefully, Cersei. You are a Lannister. You do not whine, and you do not complain about what you deserve. You take what is rightfully yours. The prince is playing a dangerous game, but so are we. And unlike him, we are not bound by sentiment. You will continue to present yourself as the ideal match, and I will ensure that Aerys sees you as the only option worthy of his son.”

Cersei’s eyes narrow. “The king favors no one now. He’s lost in his madness, more concerned with his twisted games than with making alliances.”

“Precisely,” Tywin replies smoothly. “Which is why we must be persistent. Aerys has always been prideful, and his hatred of me is well known. But even he can be made to see reason when it benefits his fragile grip on power. If you show Rhaegar the strength of your position—if you make it clear that you are the future queen the realm deserves—then even Aerys will be forced to acknowledge it.”

Tywin’s eyes bore into hers, his voice softening slightly, but the steel remains. “You will not win this by competing with that girl in beauty or charm. You must be relentless. Show Rhaegar that only a queen like you can secure his rule, stabilize the kingdom, and bring the Lannisters fully into his service. Aerys may be mad, but he is not blind to the strength of our house. If we persist, Rhaegar will have no choice but to consider the advantages of uniting with us.”

Cersei’s anger doesn’t fully dissipate, but she begins to see the path her father is laying out. “And what of the princess? How do we deal with her?”

“Leave her to me,” Tywin says, his voice icy. “She is a mere distraction—elevated by her brother’s affection, yes, but ultimately vulnerable. If we press the right levers, even Rhaegar’s precious sister can be pushed aside. You must focus on showing Rhaegar that he cannot afford to ignore you. The court is fickle, and influence shifts quickly. Give them something to rally behind.”

Cersei’s eyes glint with renewed determination as she steps back, nodding slowly. “Very well. I’ll make him see that I am the queen he needs—the queen this realm deserves.”

Tywin watches her with the faintest hint of approval in his eyes. “Good. But remember, Cersei, patience is as much a weapon as ambition. We will strike when the time is right, but for now, you must play your role perfectly. Every gesture, every word must reinforce your position as the rightful queen of Westeros.”

Cersei’s anger cools into a calculated resolve. She gives her father a curt nod before turning and sweeping out of the chamber, her mind already turning over the possibilities. She would be the queen. It was her destiny. And no dragon-spawned princess was going to stand in her way.

As Tywin watches her go, his expression remains unreadable.

[respectthepetty]

Fun Fact: I get sick when I get too excited, so after this past week of fun in the sun and great shows, Only Boo! has pushed me over the edge, and now my tummy is in the throat and my heart is beating at an alarming pace, and it's all because I love these two soooo much!

It started with Blue Boy Kang wearing his Yellow/Orange Oddity's colors during their dates.

And hit a stride when the lights behind Moo where their colors when he was cooking for them.

So it made sense that Moo wanted to tell the entire world about his boyfriend as he wore Kang's blue hat with that little Kai Palo embroidery on it which was symbolic of Kang's love for Moo just a few episodes back.

Because no matter how much Kang wants Moo to stop telling everyone about them and giving away free food, he is just as much in love with Moo as Moo is with him.

I have a theory that red = passion in this show, so to see Moo play his song of love and devotion for Kang while both wore red was the first assault on my senses.

*heart racing*

If I wore a smartwatch, this would have been the moment it started beeping to alarm me that I was entering dangerous territory.

Then, the show hit me with the boys matching in GREEN (because a Blue Boy + Yellow/Orange Oddity = Two Green Peas in a Pod)

But this green business started on the rooftop during the date when the lights started changing from yellow and blue

TO GREEN WITH THE BLINDING LIGHT OF LOVE! (this is how a show gets a colors award!!!!!!)

But it's the little 🔥fire🔥 over Moo's heart that really did it for me (with the red behind him!).

Because Kang in his boyfriend era is the epitome of a Blue Boy in love as he is doles out all the touches

All the kisses

And all the affection to show Moo how much he loves him, especially because Kang plans to move to Bangkok to be with his boy after years of staying stuck in his grief.

Which is, once again, peak Blue Boy behavior since once Kang decided to give into his feelings, he was all in.

He is committed. He is dedicated. He is willing to keep their relationship a secret because he knows what is in his heart and doesn't need anyone else to confirm it.

So I'm thrilled to see them living together

And fully embracing their colors (and each other) next week.

Hopefully by then I'll be much calmer, @avorbl and @doublel27

But I doubt it.

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

I have WIPS to share. Real WIPS! Woohoo!

So, last week I created an Instagram for my dolls. Those of you who have already given me a follow know what my current sewing project is. If you'd like to see the magic as it happens, check it out. If you are anti-Instagram, I'm making my first Penny!

She's currently in pieces as I make her clothing. (It's easier to size it correctly before adding arms and a head).

She isn't for any specific fic. Instead, I'm using her as a way to experiment with my methods. I wasn't happy with the joints on my first several dolls, so I tested out a new strategy on Penny that results in sturdier (and cleaner!) joints. I'm also adding many smaller details that require light embroidery, like Penny's glasses. I might also give her a ring and some ears. Why you ask? Well, the next fic I have in mind will require dolls with all sorts of small details...like pierced ears!

Whenever I need a break from Penny, I've also been writing words. I'm making progress on "Baz in a Bubble" (still trying to find a title). Have a snip of Baz POV below the cut:

One time I organised the books by publication year. I found that far more amusing than Fiona did. That one earned me a book to the head. Apparently “no one reads the fucking imprint page, Basil.” (Clearly false. I am not no one—although perhaps my reading habits do not reflect those of the general population.) Most recently I’d gone for aesthetics, which Fiona detested.  “Fix this immediately,” she growled when she saw the books arranged by colour. “I cannot live in a fucking Instagram post.”  “I thought the rainbow theme might feel cheery,” I laughed. “It feels gay.” She sniffed. “Or bored American housewife full of regrets and antidepressants.” “I mean…” I shrugged, gesturing between the two of us. 

Thanks for the tag @rimeswithpurple (I continue to covet that sweater. It is my FAVORITE color) and @noblecorgi (Simon is ridiculous and I love him).

Hellos and high-fives: @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @bookish-bogwitch, @raenestee

@hushed-chorus, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @artsyunderstudy, @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@talentpiper11, @valeffelees, @drowninginships, @mooncello, @larkral

@iamamythologicalcreature, @aristocratic-otter, @emeryhall, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @beastmonstertitan

@best--dress, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @run-for-chamo-miles, @ic3-que3n

@facewithoutheart, @rbkzz, @supercutedinosaurs, @theearlgreymage, @messofthejess

@skeedelvee, @arthurkko, @fiend-for-culture, @martsonmars, @orange-peony

@onepintobean, @palimpsessed, @moodandmist, @ileadacharmedlife, @theimpossibledemon

@fatalfangirl, @technetiumai, @katatsumuli, @stitchyqueer, @comesitintheclover

[aurianavaloria]

Something you wanna talk about but nobody ever asks?

Baldwin's costumes. ✨

He's got a different outfit for every appearance in the film (5), and I have to say that this one is my absolute favorite out of all of them and we do not get to see enough of it:

I just love the lace detailing on the collar and the intricate embroidery on the headband. His veil looks to be of a different material than his previous ones, too - almost shinier, although it could be the light making it appear that way. Also, this may be the lighting as well, but I really do prefer the off-white/cream/ivory hue of the fabric for this particular outfit, as opposed to the very stark white of his previous two.

My least favorite has to be his armor, though. The war mask is beautiful, and the cape gives him that "kingly" look (as well as a huge swatch of his signature color for the audience to recognize), but the rest of the outfit leaves a lot to be desired. His "helmet", if it can be called that, is entirely nonfunctional, and the rest of his garb is almost as bad. Juxtaposed to the armor of his far more historically-accurate bodyguards and it looks even worse.

Tbh, I think he would have looked better with one of his other "casual" outfits, or something quite similar to them, than what they ended up giving him. It would even have been believable, given that he was no longer capable of front-line battle at that point in his life, and it would have also been more in line with what Saladin is wearing in that same scene.

Your thoughts?

[sentientfunfetti]

dollhouse wally/reader headcanons !

(dollhouse wally is made by @/itskorrychang on twitter + instagram. i’m unsure if they have a tumblr. go support them!)

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !

CW// YANDERE/POSSESSIVE THEMES !!!

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i’m pretty sure this is canon but when i first saw it i had to expand on it more. he would call you things like: pretty thing, beautiful/beauty, gorgeous. nice words like that. he wouldn’t use ‘vulgar’ words like ‘hot or sexy’ to describe you. too unimaginative.

loves the feeling of your skin on his. you’re so warm and soft against him and he loves it. doesn’t even mind if you have body hair, even if that would be a bit weird to other people. it just adds onto you and he would find it immature if someone else complained. touch starved as well. being alone for so long does that to people. he just loves physical contact with you in general.

would definitely do things the old fashioned way. he would mail you a love letter and hope you get it with baited breath. if you say yes then expect him to stumble over his words all while trying to keep his composure. if you ask him who delivered it to your mail box, he would say eddie.

he would brag to barnaby about you. since he believes that the dolls hes made of his dear neighbors are real and listening he would sit barnaby down while you’re away and brag to him about you. sometimes barnaby responds. maybe one day he’d allow you and him to meet?

definitely possessive. doesn’t like to see his pretty thing wander far from him. even of he has to keep you in the dollhouse himself, he’ll do it if he needs to. he’d hate to see you get hurt, and the world is harsh and cruel out there. it would be best for you to stay with him…completely…forever. where you’re safe.

sometimes spends moments of you two spending time together just…staring at you. he loves the way you look. your hair, your eyes, the way your face crinkles up when you smile. it all makes him lightheaded and fuzzy. if he made a doll of you he would show you with pride and point out all the fine details that he captured of you, even the ones you haven’t noticed.

doesn’t like it when you see his ‘cracks’ or flaws. he would like to appear to you as flawless as fresh porcelain, but unfortunately sometimes you make him just a tad too emotional and he starts to show his true colors. he just hopes you don’t hate him or think bad of him. you’re the first visitor he’s had since the others abandoned him…he really would love for you two to be together for as long as possible.

makes you small gifts all the time. really is an arts and crafts kind of guy. he loves seeing your face light up when he gives you dolls or other things he’s made by hand. he also does embroidery and makes doilies. tends to do it when you’re away to pass the time until you come back. he would try and teach you how to do it too.

on the flip side, if you gave him a gift— well he’d just melt. he wouldn’t know what to do. even the smallest gift would send him into a flurry of “oh neighbors” and “i love you”s. he would tear up a bit and immediately put it somewhere where he can see it anytime he wants to. it would be precious to him, no matter how well made.

isolation breed abandonment issues. he wouldn’t like you leaving his side that much, and if you do he would wait patiently until you get back. he isn’t the kind of guy to set a curfew, as you’re your own person and an adult but he would definitely expect you to be back before nightfall at least.

would allow you to call him ‘dolly’, simply because it amuses him.

doesn’t sleep that well and has trouble sleeping, he usually spends that time alone but when you’re around he likes to watch you sleep. he stands over you with his arms folded behind his back, or sits on your bed and watches over you as you snooze along. he’d brush your hair out of your face, or whisper to you as you sleep. things he would probably never say to you if you were awake. he’d also take that time to study your face more closely for his doll of you. more time to look at you the better. you look so peaceful and it brings his heart joy to know you’re here with him, and safe. if you’d allow him, he would love to cuddle you while you sleep and would do the same either way.

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

these were just silly little ideas i brewed up! i’ve been having real bad brainrot of dollhouse ever since i saw him and i haven’t really seen that much content of him around and that’s a shame because his design is absolutely incredible.

i’d also like to take this time to mention that my requests are open! as long as you follow my guidelines, we should get along just fine. i can’t guarantee i will get to every one but i can try! hope to see you soon, neighbor.

[netherese-blorb]

Blackstaff Ball

Passage inspired by this absolutely incredible caped court suit.

Excerpt is from a larger Gale/tav story I'm stuck on, but I thought this passage made for a cute little reader POV moment on its own.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The present moment finds you with minutes to go before your departure to Blackstaff Academy's annual ball, making final adjustments to your hair. You made a point to go with the customary styling of you own upbringing, rather than the slick elven braids you had been taught to associate with class and nobility. Loose curls were piled precariously onto the crown of your head and secured in place with dozens of pins, each capped with shimmering gems made from colored glass. As you move, your hair sparkles as each new pin catches the light.

Your fiddling comes to a sudden halt as Gale enters the view of your mirror. You’d never seen him in formal dress before, and to say it suited him would be a criminal understatement. The impeccably tailored three-piece court suit had every inch of his toned form covered in deep blue velvet and golden embroidery. A swirling thigh-length cape of matching fabric made it look like he brought the night sky wherever he stepped. He wore it all effortlessly with his ever-present, well-educated poise. You had never seen anyone look so beautiful. 

“Gale, it’s-  you look-” Your sentence, already ill-formed, is lost as soon as you turn to face him. Taking him in fully, it’s as though you were getting a glimpse of him at the height of his power; before the orb, before his fall from Mystra’s grace. This is Gale the storied prodigy, the towering Archmage. You resist a sudden urge to fall to your knees in reverence. 

Gale had never been unsatisfied with your level of appreciation for his appearance, yet now he sees reflected back on him the intensity he often feels when looking at you, and suddenly understands the startled blush you sometimes give him in response. It was piercing, that look, overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating. He wanted your eyes to leave him, and he wanted them to consume him.

“I could speak no more eloquently of you, my love.” He jests, a little breathlessly, failing to thin the palpable tension between you. The moment you take a first step toward him, the floodgates open. He rushes across the room to meet you and captures your lips in a heavy, desperate kiss. You return his moves with equal intensity, taking his face in both of your hands, as if to pull him impossibly closer. 

He pulls you in by the waist until you're flush against his chest. His fingers brush against the ribbons sinching your dress closed and he can think of nothing else but pulling them undone, breaking them if he has to. 

Before he can, you’re interrupted by an alarm spell alerting you that the scheduled cabbie has arrived to take you both across the city to Blackstaff. You pull away reluctantly and erupt into a fit of giggles. 

“The illustrious Professor Dekarios is covered in my lipstick.” You say, wiping his mouth with the pad of your thumb. It was ridiculous, this life you had found yourself in; swapping sloppy schoolgirl kisses with one of the most accomplished wizards in a generation, rushing to catch a carriage that will whisk you away to a magical ball. If only your teenage self had known the fairy tale life that was in store for you.  

Gale snatches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. “The oft-sung hero, soon-to-be Mrs. Dekarios, is going to end up on that bed covered in nothing if we don’t leave right this minute.” 

As tempting a threat as it was, there would be time for that once you returned. Several times, if you had the energy for it. You grab your shawl, your gloves, his hand, and stroll dreamily out to the waiting carriage.

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Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more from me, you can find me as 'luckybottlecap' on ao3 <3

[lovelyhan]

kwannie w a corruption is my fav thing ever … i’ll never shut up abt it >_< he just loves cute things … “that’s my cute girl” … and he goes feral when he sees u wear anything w lil flowers on it :c

01:12 — SEUNGKWAN

he's finally debuting on this blog 🤧 also heads up that i'm Well Aware that sk's bday is in january but just roll w me on this one ok?

seungkwan likes cute things.

from adorable puppies to frilly dresses; from afternoon tea parties and dainty flower arrangements—his affinity for all things cute is something a lot of people know about him, but don't really think twice about.

so when he brings you to this year's birthday dinner, no one really bats an eyelash at the way you're dressed. everyone knows seungkwan loves dolling you up. always decorating you in those cute babydoll dresses that flutter across your thighs, hair adorned with pretty flower pins, and a light sheen of makeup that makes your pouty lips all the more delectable.

god, those lips... it's already a difficult for him to let his other friends see you when you look like the epitome of adorable. but when you keep acting so shy and bashful every time someone compliments your outfit? seungkwan can hardly wait for all the formalities to end so he can get you alone in your shared hotel room again—doing things that are the furthest thing from cute.

he finally gets what he wants hours after wining and dining with his friends—with you giggling in the hallway as you drag your boyfriend into the privacy of your room.

seungkwan can't help the way his heart momentarily swells at how breathaking you look. you've only had one glass of champagne, but the alcohol has colored your cheeks a lovely shade of red—further emphasized by how your cheekbones puff out as you beam at him lovingly.

it's in times like this when he can't wrap his head around how he managed to end up with someone as otherworldly as you. but when the door to the hotel room clicks shut and you immediately spread yourself out on the queen-sized bed, all those wholesome thoughts are gone in a flash.

"i've been itching to give you your present, kwannie," you giggle as you spread your thighs, tugging the hem of your babydoll dress to reveal what you've been hiding underneath. "i think you'll really like it."

seungkwan nearly chokes on his own breath when he catches a glimpse of the white lace of your underwear. he's no stranger to seeing you in such intimate fabric—silk and lace were his favorites—but the dainty red roses embroidered on the crotch area are enough to make his brain short-circuit.

fuck. he likes cute things—adores them way too much. but you in particular love to drive him just a little more insane with each passing day.

"what a pretty baby," he groans, letting himself join you on the mattress as he helps you out of your dress. when he sees the same embroidery patterns stitched across the matching bra, he hisses between his teeth. "all this for me?"

"you deserve it," you purr, guiding one of his big hands to cup your throbbing heat through your panties. "happy birthday."

with the last threads of his self-control finally snapping, seungkwan lunges for your sweet lips—tasting the peach lip gloss on his tongue as he pries your mouth open. you let out a quiet whine that he swallows with another kiss, pushing your underwear to the side so he can glide his lithe fingers along your wet slit.

"you're drenched, sweetheart," he notes with a laugh that has you pouting against his lips.

seungkwan brushes his fingertips along your entrance, gathering enough slick before spreading it across your puffy clit. your reaction is most adorable—a buck of your hips and another whine reverberating in your chest.

"kwannie," you whimper, hooking one of your legs around his waist to bring him closer. "i've been wet all night. wanted you to come unwrap your present while we were at dinner."

"dirty girl. you wanted me to take you in front of all my friends? is that it?" your boyfriend gives your pussy a playful but firm slap, making you jolt on top of the mattress as another rush of slick trickles out of your needy hole.

"uh-huh," you babble, grinding your cunt against his hand with parted lips. "want them to know i'm yours."

gods above. he only has so much self-control.

while others might've completely caved and stuck their dicks inside of their adorable girlfriends, seungkwan likes seeing you fall apart on his fingers first before he fucks you dumb with his cock.

you're always so receptive when he preps you like this. whining so cutely when he rubs your clit with just the right pressure. the way you frame the his name around such a pretty moan as he pumps his long fingers into sopping cunt is all the incentive he needs before feeling your walls clamp down on his length.

"f-fuck," seungkwan stutters—thighs clapping against your ass with each forward thrust. the sight of you still wearing the dainty lace set as he takes you from behind makes him feel just a little more feral. "that's my cute girl. taking me like i'm made for you."

the squelch of your pussy is the most obscene sound he's heard all day and your boyfriend decides he wants more of it. seungkwan amps up the cadence of his strokes as he presses your head down on the mattress. but as much as he wants to pull your hair to keep you in place, he wants to spare those pretty flower pins even more.

"baby's the prettiest little thing in the world," he whispers raspily in your ear, one of his palms groping your breasts as he continues hitting it from behind. "you'll let me finish inside you, right? then you'll keep these cute panties on so my cum won't go to waste."

the mere mention of being filled has you clenching even tighter around him—desperate moans echoing across the four corners of your hotel room.

"need it, seungkwan," you nearly sob into the sheets—reaching between your thighs to find your clit before timing your rubbing with your lover's movements. "need you to stuff me full of cum so badly."

who is he to deny his pretty girl such a desperate request?

your boyfriend's hot cum surges into your cunt in thick globs, dragging a long-winded moan out of your lips as the sensation of being filled pushes you over the edge.

seungkwan inhales sharply when he feels you milk him for each drop of his release. but no matter how overstimulated the both of you are, he continues to fuck his cum into your sloppy pussy. as if to make sure it'll take you days to sweat him out.

when his vigor has all been spent, seungkwan slips out of your hole carefully—so quick to pull your delicate lace panties back in place before tugging the fabric against your ruined pussy. the material catches across your sensitive clit, making you moan out on instinct.

your boyfriend quietly observes the way his cum is starting to stain the pure white lace before his eyes flicker to your fucked out face. still panting and squirming like you want more even though he's already given you so much.

but hey, he's nothing if not a fool for his adorable baby.

⟢ end notes: Obviously i got carried away with writing this 🦧 but that is ok bc everyone deserves to be headass for corruption kink seungkwan 🥰🥰 thank you for sending this in, mika my love so sweet <3 i enjoyed experimenting w kwannie more than i thought i would !

[kiestrokes]

For hard hours: skz and ateez if you wanna 👀 and the colour of lingerie you wear that makes their brain go offline 🥵

Stray Kids Fave Lingerie Colors | NSFW

Pairing: SKZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Genre: hard hours, headcanon, imagine, smut adjacent. Warnings: cursing?

Sexually Explicit Content: mentions of undergarments, duh 🤪

🗝️ Note: I of course had the most difficulty WITH my bias. But thank you again for the ask drift partner 😘 @chans-room

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted here.

Channie - maroon, maybe a sheer one piece with lace embroidery over the nipples to tease him, full garters and matching stockings. I can't get around the thought that this man has a thigh kink.

Lino - a lovely mint green, it's simple satin two-piece set because he doesn't want any distractions from you. But it needs to be tangibly appealing to this little cat, textures are important.

Changbin - idk why, but I imagine him liking a bright purple (like rave purple), almost orchid, something silky, accompanied by black fishnets.

Hyunjin - the set needs to be extravagant, lots of layers to it, removable pieces, peekaboo's, the color...hmmm. Hyun gives classic black vibes, but the designer makes up for the simplicity of the color.

Felix - an icy blue, don't murder me but I am thinking quality velvet teddy with a dramatic floor length gauzy robe that as matching blue fur trim. (on my Marth May Whovier shit again, drift partner)

Han - bright red, strappy two piece that connects to itself, and connects to a choker around the neck. Han loves the straps and gets a little flustered when he struggles to remove them (sorry @minttangerines for adding this delu on a Friday)

Seungmin - fuck it, he's getting lavender. a simple lacey bra and panty set and a matching silk robe when you both get a little shy.

Babybread - light pink, true light pink and not the trending Barbie pink. thinking a long line bra with lighter pink paneling and obvious boning. adorned with flowers.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[puffins-studio]

Zombies AU! 🦠

I got to sew another set of Spydoc doll to add to @picnokinesis ’s fic collection! I was given free reign for koschei’s outfit so obviously I did my best to go all out 😆 even added some extra grim! Image description and explanation of his outfit with all the little Easter eggs and things is under the cut

Even if you don’t like the idea of zombies I highly this fic, am not really one for the gore in zombie movies but this fic it have big on the science side of zombies and am a sucker for and it’s don so nicely! I absolutely love it!

@picnokinesis Zombie AU “Future Dust (blood and rust)”

Bonus pictures of our little meet up! Which was totally amazing!! Taka is just a brilliant and kind person! So am really happy I get to make them dolls base on their fics! As always they just turn out to be really fun to make!

For costumes designed I like zombie koschei’s look as it’s match’s 13’s, the brown shoes, blue pants, purple shirt/sweater. there also a thing going around of villains wearing sweaters but it also give a misleading soft look and the zombie virus probably makes him cold. His jacket have a grey inside and a hood. He also in the same color palette as camper van koschei. I was trying to make him match with Theo and her jacket as what are the chances that they found matching jackets and put them on because it reminds them of each other. A little detail that I added just because I thought he be crazy enough to do something like that, you can see it in the picture but I put a little piece of green felt that matches theo’s bandanna around his wrist just under his sleeve like there a bracelet as if he found a piece of her and he wanted to keep her close/ maybe if it the other way around. And I also just switched which sides their hair parts to what they have in campervan

[ID: The pictures is of two felt doll that are the shape of a gingerbread man with a big head, one is supposed to be the Thirteenth Doctor and the other is Dhawan Master from Picnokinesis’s fic. Dhawan master have light brown felt for skin, black hair with a fringe to his left and sideburns hanging past his ears. He also have brown spotting over his face for scaring. He have on brown shoes, dark blue pants, a purple sweater and a brown jacket hoodie with a grey lining. Thirteen has shoulder length, dirty blonde hair that hang just pass her ears. She has on 13’s purple rainbow stripe shirt, cargo pants and black shoes, and a brown jacket and a green bandanna around her neck. She also has a green backpack with a brown sleeping bag rolled up on top, a metal pipe sticking out of it. With a little embroidery of a planet with a ring, a moon, and a star to be a Easter egg for camper van there a virus shape keychain. 1st picture is them together, 2nd is a picture of the back of the doctor to see her backpack with a brown sleeping bag and a felt metal pipe sticking out of the top, 3rd is a picture of her front, and the 4th is a close up of the master.:ID]

[syndrossi]

I super love ur fic! It is so well written 🫶

I was wondering if you can give me a short description of Rhaegar and Jon in your fic? :3

I wanted to make a fanart of them but with all the GOT fics I've been reading the physical descriptions have been a chaotic mix 😅

!!!

The two of them are sort of a blend of their original parents and their new ones, so there's plenty of leeway for whatever strikes your fancy/imagination! Their coloring is pretty close to original (dark hair and grey eyes for Jon, silver-blond and dark purple for Rhaegar). When Daemon is studying them, he notes that Jon has his mother's facial shape (Alyssa Targaryen was noted to have a "long face" which I imagine Jon's Stark heritage reminds him of). Their biggest similarities are in the eyes/brow and nose, and they're pretty much the same height, with Jon's complexion slightly fairer.

(Someone asked me once whether they could pretend to be one another with the appropriate wig and fool anyone, and the answer is "at a medium distance for someone casually familiar with them," "definitely if someone doesn't know them," and "don't bother trying with Daemon.")

By the latest chapter, Jon's hair is shoulder-length and fairly straight, and he'll wear it loose or tied back in a short ponytail depending on whether the activity calls for it. Rhaegar's is longer, somewhere mid-back. He generally doesn't wear it completely loose. He likes to do a full braid of variable complexity depending on mood for days with a lot of activity. Once they meet up with Daemon, he starts mimicking his hair aka top/front pieces braided and joining at the back, with the rest worn loose. There's a special "dragonriding" braid that Daemon does that he also mimics, but I have no idea what it looks like other than "very secure, minimizes hair getting in the eyes, a+ aesthetic."

As for accessories of interest, they have their bronze knives gifted by Lady Royce early on.

They unraveled the tightly-wrapped cloth, baring first a sheath of stiff, oiled leather with the Royce crest engraved onto one side, and then a hilt of bronze and black, the pommel and guard burnished to a glowing sheen that formed a striking contrast with the dark grip. The blade was also bronze, with runes delicately etched along either side of the spine. And beneath it, compactly rolled up into a neat spiral, a leather belt to hold it. It was a hunting knife, not a dagger, but Jon did not have to feign his joy. He’d felt naked since waking here without any means of defense. “It is beautiful,” Raymar said, angling the blade to catch the light of the fire so he could read the writing etched into the blade. “‘We remember.’”

Their clothing at the Vale is acceptable for children of noble birth, though plainer than those that would belong to children in the main line of one of the great Vale houses. They get travel-wear for the trip south, which includes thick, warm cloaks and shin-high boots.

And at their presentation, they are wearing long dragons-heads tunics that belonged to Daemon and Viserys when they were children, which are long and black, with the three-headed Targaryen sigil in red embroidery on the front. That's the only scene where they wear circlets, which would be fairly plain and silver.

(...you said "short," but I am physically incapable, apparently! Use whatever you like and feel free to ignore the irrelevant bits.)

[honeybeefae]

The invitations came flowing in for everyone in the Inner Circle. After the war with Hybern and the entire mess that was Briallyn, everyone was wanting to return back to normal and what better way to celebrate that than with a good old fashioned solstice party?

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain, were surveying the new dresses they had designed for it while Mor and Amren were going over different jewelry options. Rhysand and Azriel, the latter which was reluctant to even go, were also in the midst of getting ready when a sharp knock on the door caught their attention.

“Why was he invited again?” Azriel grumbled, crossing his arms as Rhysand matched his sour look.

“Nesta needed someone to accompany her tonight.” Was the only response the High Lord gave before opening the door, revealing a smug looking Eris.

He was dressed impeccably, the dark red of his suit complimenting his skin nicely along along with some of the golden embroidery on the sleeves and pocket. Although that color didn’t quite match the theme, Rhys couldn’t deny that somehow it still worked.

“Wipe that smirk off your face. This is just a formality.” A soft yet firm voice scolded, Eris’s eyes lighting up when Nesta walked into the room. Her sisters followed behind, none of them very happy with the arrangement, but they knew he could care less.

“Of course, of course.” Eris replied smoothly, straightening his stance. “Though I must admit, formality or not, you look stunning.”

“Watch it, Red,” Cassian growled, appearing in the door frame with a deep scowl. “High Lord or not, I have no problem teaching you-“

“Shhhh,” Nesta shushed her mate, turning to look at him while wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t waste your breath with threats. You know who I’m coming home to tonight.”

Cassian glared at Eris for a few more seconds before looking down at Nesta, his eyes softening as he gave her a deep kiss. He made it a point to turn them to the side so the red head could get the full picture, staking his claim just in case.

All Eris and the rest of the Inner Circle could do was roll their eyes. Cassian released her and bent down to her ear, whispering something that had her ears turning pink before wishing her a good night. Rhysand and Feyre were the first to walk out and winnow away as the rest slowly trickled out behind them.

The only three left were Nesta, Cassian, and Eris, as the air in the cabin grew thick with tension and a primal need to assert dominance between the two men. She couldn’t help but to snort as they sized each other up, Cassian obviously more physically built.

Eris only gave him a slight tilt of his head and a cocky grin, snaking his arm around Nesta’s waist.

“I’ll suppose I’ll be dropping her off later…unless she changed her mind about her company tonight.” He taunted, not even flinching when Cassian stepped into his personal face with a warning sneer. “Such a brute.”

“I like brutes.” Nesta quipped, sending Cass a wink. “Now both of you relax before you tear me in half.”

A quick image of her being tore in half in a much different way flashed across her mind after she said the words, her breath stopping for just a moment before she regained control.

“You know the rules.” Cassian stated, talking more to Eris than Nesta, but they both nodded. “Have her home before midnight or banned be damned, I will come find her.”

“I think that temper is what got you in this predicament in the first place.” Eris chuckled, holding his hands up innocently when Nesta gave him a look. “But I give you my word I will return her.”

“Good.” He nodded, giving his mate one last look and whispering. “I love you.”

“I love you too, brute.” She smirked, taking Eris’s arm as they both winnowed away to the Summer Court.

He stood there in silence, his mind running over worst case scenarios, before huffing and going over to the desk. Cassian started furiously writing a letter to Tarquin, begging him to lift the ban as unwanted images of them dancing together haunted his brain.

(In honor of the summer solstice ((where I’m from at least!)), enjoy this little blurb! This was SO much fun and honestly???? A threesome between Nesta, Cassian, and Eris, sounds SO good and that’s how I wanted to end it but idk😁 I hope you guys liked it and happy summer solstice!)