#it feels like it's chasing me down my own dash man

[the-fandom-crossroads]

9:27pm *scrolling through my dash like normal*

9:28pm *reaches bottom and scrolls back to top*

9:29pm *clicks home button but dash doesn't reload*

Me: Huh, that's weird. It says there are new posts tho.

9:30pm *RELOADS WEB PAGE*

Me: . . . why is everything on the left now? I guess that's the new update everyone's fussing about

*Start's scrolling*

. . . wait

*scrolls some more*

WHY IS IT FOLLOWING ME?!?!

[houseofanticipation]

You've always been an outdoor person. You're a camper, a hiker, an explorer. You feel at home in this forest; miles upon miles of trees in every direction, the only hints of civilization a handful of campgrounds and the odd ranger station. Years of experience have made you comfortable here, in the cool, quiet air.

Maybe too comfortable.

It's late morning when you first notice someone behind you on the trail. You don't see them when you look back. You just their footsteps, the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves. You expect them to pass you, as you're taking a pretty leisurely pace, but the footsteps always seem to be about 20 feet behind you. You start to get annoyed. This person's thousand-pound feet are ruining your nice, quiet walk. You step to the side of the trail and wait the person to pass.

And so do they.

That makes you nervous. You start walking again, and they walk with you. You stop, they stop. You begin to think you might be in trouble. Careful to keep the noise at you front, you take the folded trail map out of your pocket and begin to scan it. There's a ranger station not far ahead; if you can just make it that far, you might be safe.

You break into a brisk walk, and your pursuer keeps pace. This trail was made intentionally with a lot bends in it, so each hiker or group of hikers could feel like the wilderness was their own, without running into many other people. It means your pursuer can stay relatively close to you without ever entering your line of sight. You're close now, you recognize the little footbridge over this creek, so you break into a run, skidding on mud and dried leaves as you make a mad dash for safety. The footsteps crash through the forest behind you, and you're too afraid to turn around but you're sure they're gaining on you. You see the ranger station up ahead, a little log cabin with a green door, and you practically fly up the front steps, through the unlocked door. You slam it shut behind you and throw the deadbolt, sliding down the door in a mess of exhaustion and nerves.

The ranger station consists of a single room, with a ladder up to a small loft space where the ranger sleeps. You were hoping to find help, but the ranger isn't here at the moment. That's okay. Just the locked door on its own makes you feel a lot better. You listen intently for any sound outside, but all you hear is birdsong, and wind through the trees.

Then someone is trying to turn the door handle. The sound makes you jump, but you try to stay brave. You're still safe. They can't get in.

You hear a man's voice on the other side of the door. "Hello?"

You summon your courage and call back. "Leave me alone! What do you want from me?"

The voice sounds surprised. "I...I don't want anything from you ma'am. It's just...well, you're kind of in my office." You get to your hands and knees and crawl to the front window, just peeking over the sill. Outside is a flustered looking man in a ranger uniform. Relief floods your body. You let him in.

"Thank god," he says. "I'm not supposed to leave the station unlocked, I thought at first some teenagers had gotten in here and...hey, what's wrong?" He's seen the look in your eyes, the way you're still panting, the state of your hair. You explain to him about the footsteps, the chase through the woods, how you hid here for safety. His eyes grow wider with your every word. "Shit, that's terrible. Drink some water, get yourself hydrated while I check around out there." He offers you his canteen. You begin to tell him you have your own water, but he waves you off. "No, no, I can't let you use your own rations. I've got extra water reserves here just for unprepared hikers, I won't run out. Please."

You take the canteen and drink, sitting on a hard folding chair while the ranger goes back outside. Now that you think about it, you're actually incredibly thirsty. You finish off the ranger's canteen, and feel a little bad about it, but he seemed insistent that you should have it.

You're exhausted. It had already been a long day of hiking, and then you went and spent the rest of your energy running through the forest. You were probably overreacting, you think as your eyelids begin to droop. Maybe it was just an illusion, your own footsteps somehow echoed back to you by the forest. In the warmth and safety of the ranger station, the fear you felt before seems almost silly.

Your limbs feel sluggish and disconnected. Your head seems to be full of rocks. Your eyelids fall closed, and you're out before you hit the floor.

You come to little by little, slowly becoming aware of several odd sensation at once. The first thing you notice is that you feel good. Incredible, actually. You're having trouble wrapping your head around why exactly—you're having trouble putting thoughts together, connecting raw sensation to ideas or meanings. But you like how you're feeling, you know that much.

There's more to it though, because you also hurt, which you don't like. There's something rough pressing up against your back, and your arms and legs are sore. You're cold, too, colder than you've been in a long time, and a cool wind stings your bare skin. Why is your skin bare?

You open your eyes. You're in a forest clearing, a place you recognize. It's a popular camping spot, secluded but not far from the trail. You're on a tree—tied to it, you realize, that's the rough thing on your back, and the reason you're so sore. Coils of rope around your wrists are pulling your arms up and behind you, like you're giving the tree a backwards hug. Something similar is happening with your legs, and a rope across your throat is keeping you from pointing your head down.

You are naked.

The ranger is there, leaning into you, and for a confused moment you think he's trying to untie you, but then the whole picture suddenly falls into place. He is raping you, slowly and indulgently, moaning openly as he slides cock up and down, in and out of your pussy. Fear jolts you awake, your fight-or-flight response taking control, but you you have no way to fight and now means of fleeing. You begin to scream, thrashing against your bonds, but they're solid and secure. You're not going anywhere.

"Oh good you're...oh!...awake," says the ranger, still inside you. "I have to tell you, I thought you looked cute when I decided to follow you, but I had no idea you'd be this...o...oh, fuck...this good. I think you've got the tightest little cunt I've ever fucked."

Just because that pleasurable feeling isn't wanted anymore doesn't mean it's going away. With every thrust of the ranger's cock, the feeling builds inside you, threatening to spill over. "Please," you whimper. You can't cum, not here, not to this. "Please stop, let me go."

The ranger grins and looks at you. He gives you an extra deep thrust and you moan in spite of yourself, your muscles contracting and your pussy tightening around him. "Why would I...oh, fuck that's good...why would I stop when you're clearly enjoying this just as much as I am?"

Tears stream down your face. You can't control it now. Waves of tension wash your body, each one making you seize tighter, arching your back, straining your bonds. As the final wave crashes over you the ranger gives one last moan and buries his face in your neck, his cum seeming to warm your shivering body from the inside. You go limp, wobbly, all the tension draining from your body with the cum that spills forth as he withdraws his cock.

The ranger buckles up his pants and leans over, hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck, girl. I can't just keep that cunt to myself. People need to know!" He goes behind you somewhere, and you can hear leaves rustle. When he comes back he holds a stake in his hand: a signpost, with a printed metal sign attached. He shows it to you:

Elk Trail Cum Dump

The park thanks you for your patronage. Feel free to use this receptacle as you see fit.

"I had this made up a few years back." Says the ranger as he hammers it into the ground in front of you. "We've had a handful of cum dumps, but I'll tell you what, you're definitely the best." He looks you up and down, then steps forward and sticks his middle and index fingers up inside you. You tighten reflexively, and he whistles. "Fuuuck me that's good! Alright, I'll probably be back tonight with some friends. New cum dump always attracts some attention. Stay tight, honey." He gives your cheek a little slap and walks away.

It hurts for a while. The bark against your skin. The ropes digging into you. Your shoulders, supporting your weight for so long. But after your sixth hour or so it all just fades into a general, dispassionate numbness.

People walk by sometimes. You hear them on the trail and call out for help. They come, usually but they don't help. A pair of young women laugh and take selfies with their fingers in your pussy. And old man rapes you breathlessly while is wife rolls her eyes and laughs good-naturedly. A middle aged woman with a big backpack says she's going to help you out, which turns out to mean producing a vibrator and giving you the most mind-melting, earth-shattering orgasm of your life, before saying a polite goodbye and leaving you tied up.

When your bladder gets full you just piss right there. It's not a bad way to do it, really; with your legs pulled back like this, you manage not to get much on you. You're a little more concerned about what happens when you need to shit, but you suppose there's a chance you can hold it until you die of hunger or thirst.

A man with a bushy beard gives you a long look before leaving and coming back with a long branch, one end whittled barkless and smooth. He inserts the smooth end into your pussy and sets the other end on the ground, held up only by your natural grip. He instructs you to bounce up and down on it while he masturbates. It's a little thick for you, but it actually feels pretty good, and you try to put on a good show for him as thanks. He lets you keep in there when he leaves, as a way to pass the hours.

You fall asleep just as the sun is setting. You find if you rest your head against the tree just so, you can relax without it falling forward and choking you on the rope across your neck. When you wake again it's full night, and someone has built a little fire in a circle of stones. A dozen or so men are lounging around, laughing, chatting, drinking beers out of a cooler. And raping you of course, but you barely even notice that now. All it really means to you is that someone took away your nice stick.

The ranger is among the men, though he's out of uniform. He raises a beer to you when he sees you're awake. "Welcome back to the land of the living! My buddies here are loving that little pussy of yours."

"You shouldn't have open flames out here," you croak, your throat dry. "You could start a...a...ah! Forest fire." Your sentence is interrupted when the man currently inside you does a strange sort of twisting thing you don't quite understand, and the jolt of pleasure takes you by surprise.

"Ah, fuck you," says the ranger. "Which of us here is the park ranger and which is the cum dump? I know my way around a fire."

"If you say so," you say as the man adds another load of cum to your collection.

He's drunk, you can tell. They're all a little drunk, their words a little slurred, their movements a little wobbly. As the next guy slides into you, you nod at the bottle in his hand. "Hey, let me get a little of that." He holds the bottle up to your lips obligingly, and while most of it splashes down your chin and across your breasts, you get a few good swigs in. It's a party, after all.

When everyone's had their turn on you the boys decide to play a game called "Hide the Herring," which turns out to consist of everyone scattering to find objects, and then taking turns trying to fit them inside you, the winner being the one with the largest object that manages to fit completely inside you. You get several different rocks, some sticks, big chunk of frozen together ice cubes, One guy tries to fit a full, unopened bottle of beer in you, fat end first. It stretches you almost to your limit but he manages, with a bit of clitoral stimulation, to get it all the way up to the neck. He says, "if you can hold on to it for ten seconds you can drink the whole thing," and you agree gamely to give it a try. He takes his hand away and the whole crowd counts down as you clench around this bottle, harder to do when you can't close your legs. You can feel it slipping, little by little, but when the count reaches zero it's still there, and you let it slip out into its owner's waiting hands. He cracks it open and holds it to your mouth, and you close your lips around it. You don't want to lost any like last time. The group is so impressed by the way you open your throat and let it drain into you that they give you another, and another after that. By the end of your fourth beer you're definitely feeling the alcohol, and the last of the fear and misery of the situation falls away like the last remnants of a lizard's skin. Being the Elk Trail Cum Dump, you guess, isn't so bad after all.

The winner of Hide the Herring ends up being a full ten pack of hot dogs. The entrant opens it up, uses two of the hot dogs to pack the wrapping into your pussy, and then spends about fifteen minutes cutting the other eight into pieces and popping them, one at a time, into your asshole. There's a lot of arguing about whether using your ass is allowed, or if it still counts as one object once the package is open, but it doesn't matter to you. Being filled this full feels amazing, and you manage to convince one of the guys to fuck you with your ass stuffed like this. Chunks of hot dog pop out of your ass, two and three at a time as you cum, and he leaves you dripping, feeling warm and gooey.

You get fucked a few more times as they set up camp for the night. Everyone's cum at least once by now, so the loads are getting a little thin, but that's okay. You feel as though you are melting into the tree, becoming a part of it. When you wake tomorrow, you imagine your arms and legs will have grown into its bark, your hair becoming leaves, your heart and lungs and mind becoming wood. Nothing more than a handful of tight wet holes for hikers and campers to enjoy. With this image glowing in your mind's eye, you drift off into a contented sleep.

[chxrrylime]

i’ve a dirty thought that alejandro would be into primal play🧍🏽man’s loves a good chase ESPECIALLY if it ends in him getting to dick down his sub, like just rail the absolute fucking hell out of his boy, fucking him to his limit etc etc, he’s into chasing but he’s def into it more if it involves you as a prize for his efforts 🌝

— 🐍

Alejandro x FTM!Reader ↪ 991 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male dominant Alejandro, trans male submissive reader, cnc roleplay/dub-c0n (saying no / trying to crawl away), predator/prey, primal play, breeding kink, squirting, crying, cervix stim, size kink, slight belly bulge, rimming, vaginal fingering, piv sex, and light choking.

Your lungs burn, chest heaving as you dash through the dry forest. You can hear the heavy footfall behind you, gaining on you, making your head spin. 

You can hear the rushing of water ahead—see where the cliff drops off sharply—have jumped off there enough swimming as a kid that you take a deep breath and leap, gasping as a body collides with yours mid air with a shout, arms wrapped around your midsection as you both tumble into the rapids below. 

You inhale a mouthful of water, hand catching in the rocky underbed to combat the current as you pull your head above water, coughing and sputtering, Alejandro right behind you as he gets to his feet and hauls you up, tossing you onto shore.

“You’re insane,” he hisses. 

You wheeze out a laugh, flipping onto your hands and knees to try and push yourself up, only to hear the crunching of gravel as Ale falls to his knees behind you, one gripping bruisingly tight at your hip while the other scruffs your neck, pushing your cheek down to grind against the dirt.

He growls as you kick back at him, hand leaving your hip to pin you by your ankle, his knee digging into the back of your own before you have the chance to kick that one free as well.

“Forget the game, perrito?” He leans over you, rumbling against your ear, “I think I’ve caught you…”

His warm hand pushes up your sopping wet shirt before you can react, forcing a gasping moan from you as he pinches your stiffened nipple, groping your small breasts.

His other hand leaves the nape of your neck as he feels the tenseness—the fight—leave your body, trailing down to the hem of your pants, pushing the sticky wet fabric down to reveal your bare ass and cunt. 

“Alé—!” You whimper, two fingers pushing into your slick core, his too hot tongue lapping at the salty droplets dripping from your hair and down your neck. 

“Already leaking for me,” he hums, grin sharp against your throat where he nips and sucks, “so needy for my cock, pequeño.”

A shiver runs down your spine and his tongue follows, lapping between your asscheeks at your puckered hole, teasing the entrance with the tip of his tongue as he adds a third finger to your squelching cunt. 

You bite your tongue to keep from begging, rocking back onto his fingers as they massage against your sweet spot, filling your stomach with molten pleasure.

You can’t help the whimpering cry that escapes you as the digits slip free, only to be replaced by the blunt head of Alejandro’s cock moments later. He rubs the flushed tip between your sticky folds, admiring the glossy sheen of your pre that coats your lips, adding his own to the mix. 

The pressure of his cock pushing against your hole has your brain kicking back into working condition, remembering the game you’re both playing. 

“Al��, no—!” you whimper, reaching back to push at his hip, “p-please!”

The bulbous tip pops into your cunt with an obscenely wet noise, a growl rumbling through Alejandro’s chest as he leans down, pressing flush to your back.

“What’s wrong, bebito?” He coos mockingly, giving a harsh thrust of his hips. You claw at the gravel, sobbing as another couple inches slips into your tight walls.

“S’too big—!” You choke, trying to shuffle forward, pretending to want to get away.

“It’ll fit,” he murmurs, leaning back up and gripping your hips tight, “I’ll make it fit,” he growls.

You yelp as he yanks you back suddenly, impaling you on the length of his cock. The pleasure is overwhelming as he quickly starts up a brutal pace, his cockhead bumping against your cervix with each harsh thrust. 

Tears stream down your cheeks and into your mouth, the taste salty as your first orgasm tears through you, cunt pulsing and spasming around Alejandro’s thick cock.

Ale laughs loudly, mockingly, wrapping a hand around the front of your throat to yank you back. His knees spread wider, pulling your head onto his shoulder as he pounds into you, feeling impossibly deeper at this angle.

“There’s my little breeding bitch,” he groans, watching with dark eyes as your tongue lolls out, eyes rolled back, “going to fill this pretty little cunt, no?” 

You whimper, weakly shaking your head no, nails digging into his forearm as he tightens his grip on your throat ever so slightly, making you dizzy. 

“No?” He hums, mock-offended, “your pussy says otherwise, perrita. She’s sucking me in so deep, practically gagging for it…”

“Please, please,” you sob, scratching at his arms, unsure what it is you’re begging for anymore. His cock throbs within your abused walls, cunt puffy and red from where his balls had previously slapped against you, stimulating your clit. 

Only the cold air brushes your little cock now, a pressure building in your abdomen despite it. 

“Fuck,” Ale growls, trailing a hand down your torso, “m’gonna cum—!”

His large hand spreads over your tummy, pushing down on the fat and muscle there, until you can feel the pressure of his cock gliding behind the thick walls of flesh. Your cunt convulses, squeezing his prick in an iron grip as you cum, squirting a steady stream of liquid all over you and Alejandro, your legs kicking and shaking from the overwhelming sensation. 

At the same time Ale bites down onto your shoulder hard, popping through the skin with his incisors and licking over the blood that swells up as his cock pulses inside you, filling you with his hot, thick spend. 

You’re entirely limp in his arms, mind caught in a fuzzy place between consciousness and sleep, floating in the post-orgasmic haze. He holds you tight to his chest, the both of your radiating body heat keeping you warm from the slight early morning chill as you both come down from your highs.

[celosiaceo]

“And Maybe, I’ll Say Maybe”

Leander x GN!Reader

Description: The leader of the Bloodhounds, a famously kind and generous man who would without as much as another give a newcomer a roof over their head, food on their plate and an oasis of normalcy to come back to after drowning in the insanity of Eridia. He’s been nothing but a hero to this newcomer, seeking to provide them with love comfort they couldn’t even dream of before. It almost feels too good to be true. So what happens to be lurking deep within, and what comes spilling out from beneath the flashy mask when the newcomer finds out something they shouldn’t have about their chivalrous saviour..?

Tags: blood, descriptions of sickness, descriptions of violence, descriptions of death

Word count: 7000

Eridia felt like an entirely different city beneath the veil of darkness. The barely lit streets and shrouded alleys felt like a maze cast in a layer of dust.

The dark stretches of houses failed to look any different from each other as I dashed past them, panting for air and taking random turns while praying for my escape.

Left.

Right.

Left

Left

Right.

Left.

Right.

Right.

My heart jumped from my throat to my stomach and back up with every turn I made. My gasps for air muted out almost everything else. Everything, but him chasing after me.

My lungs burned for air, my throat irritated by the cold as whatever I breathed in had no time to heat up. The wind hit my dampening eyes, I kept blindly making turns, and yet I couldn’t lose him.

I felt as if I was going in circles, the streets refused to be different. Or I was just unable to even see where the hell I was going. All I knew is that he was still behind me. And not far at all.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Left.

Left.

Right.

Adrenaline pushed most of my body’s pain out while I kept running, terrified of even beginning to turn around. Afraid to see him being right at my heel.

My heart beat as if it was trying to run out of my body. The rate of my pulse matched the heart’s urge to rip itself out.

And yet, from him, I heard nothing but the fast clicking of his boots against the pavement. He was way stronger than me, and he knew it damn well himself.

I didn’t even dare think of when the adrenaline would run out, and what I would do then.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Right.

Left.

In the darkness of the increasingly less illuminated streets, I almost ran into a wall while making a turn. The space began to feel narrower and narrower. Perhaps because of the panic exploding in my head. Perhaps because I was getting myself that deep into the city. Perhaps because I was setting up my own trap.

It felt as if my airway was closing. My throat was beginning to get sore. Like I could suffocate from one wrong breath. The pain began to trickle back into me as the adrenaline seeped out. My heart pounded with pure terror, my brain scattering as if it were blasted with a hunting rifle.

Every step hurt and my legs felt as though infinite needles stabbed into every muscle. The left side of my stomach, just under the ribs, broke out in torturous pain. I barely bit back a pained cry. One arm clasping at my side, I forced myself to run.

His speed did not even falter.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

At this point, I was gasping for air as if I were drowning. I knew I wasn’t running nearly as fast, yet he stayed at a distance. Was he indulging in this? Was he playing with his food? But… that isn’t like him, like many things I thought weren’t.

My fingers almost stabbed into my side to keep the excruciating pain at bay. I made the same turns, my mind turning into mush as it again began to feel like I was circling. Those narrow alleys did not stand out from each other, almost pitch black.

But then, the streets began to widen again. With newfound hope, I sprinted and clenched my jaw. Involuntary tears streamed down my cheeks. He began to catch up again.

The first triple crossroad. I began to try and twist and turn along the streets again, seeing this as a last chance to escape. This had to be it. This had to be my gate to freedom.

Left.

Left.

Right.

Ahead.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Right.

Ahead.

The clamped dustier air of the alleys was replaced with fresh cold air again. Hope had sprung the pain away a little. I ran like I never ran before, neglecting every screaming muscle in my legs and chest.

My pulse pounded heavily in my head. I thought it was a hallucination, but it sounded like he was falling behind. Another turn. Indeed. Yes. Oh Allmother yes.

I soared with glee. I found the energy to keep running despite my body self-disintegrating in a way. It felt so close, freedom felt so close.

Another turn. I snapped my head to the side. He wasn’t there. Oh Allmother. He wasn’t there. It’s so close to the end now. I sprinted. Another turn.

Shit.

A dead end.

My eyes darted.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

My stomach dropped. The body was paralyzed as if frozen instantly in place. All of the pain suddenly erupted into the muscles. His steps were no longer heard. My breath sped up as all the energy sprung to my brain.

Think.

Think.

Think.

The dead end was full of litter, empty boxes, rotting planks, and reeking trash. A small balancing construction of planks in the left corner that leaned against the wall barely stood out from the clutter.

Without a second thought, I crawled in under it. My head almost nudged one of the planks. I quietly moved up a box to further hide myself from the right, curling up to be most obscured by it.

It was still dark on that street. Now for me, it was even darker, with only a small triangle above my head serving as my unobscured view.

The smell of rotting, decomposing wood surrounded me. My stomach churned. I clasped a hand over my mouth despite my lungs begging for more air. The pain in every muscle of my torso and legs made me feel like my fleshy carcass would crawl out from the skin and air itself out.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, and saliva overflowed in my previously dry mouth, almost making me choke. My heart was nowhere near calm either, craving more oxygen like the rest of my body, wanting me to gulp it like a thirsty human in a desert.

My hands went into a small tremor as I hugged my legs tighter to my chest and buried my face into my knees. I didn’t want to risk moving anything, Allmother forbid it falls loudly.

It was still quiet. Distant noises of a calm Eridian night began to settle. Barely audible crickets, someone’s window closing, echoing music from the Amaryllis district, a Soulless growling far away.

Despite my body wanting to writhe away from the stress, my mind began to calm down. It was futile, but I tried to calm my aching flesh down with small circular motions over my stomach. Perhaps he has lost sight of me after all.

I completely lost track of time. As far as I knew, an hour could’ve passed. Could’ve been a minute or less. I would be none the wiser. No approaching sound. Nothing. Soon, as my ears got used to the smaller sounds, everything began to fall dead silent.

There was only the sound of my breath hitting my hand, but that was no less unnerving. When could I come out? Has he gone back? Is he still looking for me? Would he still be looking for me after however much has passed? Everything felt like a haze.

The silence was simultaneously disturbing and soothing. Disturbing, because imagining a city like Eridia this quiet was unnerving. Yet there it was. Soothing, because no steps were approaching. No voices calling out into the darkness.

The anxiety and paranoia were nibbling at my sanity from the inside out. What should I do? There’s nothing I could possibly do to verify how much time has passed when I can consider myself safe. I felt antsy and uncomfortable. There wasn’t even room to squirm in fear of the planks falling.

Doubts began to creep into my mind. What if he just left? He could expect me to bump into him tomorrow, or soon enough anyway. Without him I barely had anything. No money, no food, no water, no roof over my head. It slowly started to settle just how much control he had over my life here in Eridia, the horrifying extent to which I was completely helpless in this strange place on my own. How desperate to stay away did he think I am? Because I didn’t know either.

Against a human, my hiding spot could work, but not against any Soulless, their heightened senses would definitely feel human flesh between some decomposed planks and a box.

A thought crossed my mind. I have no idea where I am. I was still in Eridia, that much I knew. The buildings weren’t the well-lit and flashy ones of the entertainment district, that much is certain. But the same applies to almost anywhere else. Everywhere in Lowtown looked similar, the streets barely differed between one another. Where do I even go for the night, or, actually, a couple of nights? I had to learn the hard way that no one here will stick their neck out for you unless they get something out of it too. Which is the opposite of my case. Why would anyone here hide someone the Bloodhounds would undoubtedly be on the lookout for? They’re local heroes, so I’d definitely be the villain to them if Leander were to say so. The realizations sunk in like stones into my stomach, weighing me down onto the ground one after another and making me wish I could fall through the cobblestone.

My train of thought stopped dead in its tracks, and my breathing hitched. My hand clasped tightly over my mouth. My fingernails stabbed into my cheek.

A quiet humming began to fade in, accompanied by a familiar clicking of boots. All too familiar.

No.

No.

No.

No.

He kept approaching. His voice was but a quiet, smooth sound in the deadly silence. His humming chimed to the rhythm set by his slow steps. He knew I was nearby.

He kept walking. Getting closer, like death itself coming after a plagued animal.

Right.

Left.

He took the same turns. As I could tell from the sounds only coming nearer.

There was a ringing in my ears like a church bell ringing right next to me. Again, I was frozen. The faint sound of his voice, like the realization of my impending doom, had paralyzed me.

My eyes involuntarily bulged, threatening to pop out of their sockets. My heart raced. I almost wanted to rip it out, fearing he could hear it.

My lungs curled in on themselves, making me suffocate. But I couldn’t even gasp for air. The pathetic amount of air I could get through my hand wasn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps suffocating would be a better fate. I didn’t want to find out what would happen if he found me. My mind clawed at the inner side of my skull, screaming in an attempt to escape this.

But there was nowhere to go. I was caged between decomposing wood to my back and left, and two walls of stone to my right and front. Trapped. I was trapped. There was no way I could move the box away without making a sound or being seen. I couldn’t get out of a dead end without being noticed by him. Not when he was twenty steps or less away.

My insides churned and squirmed. They also wanted to escape this doomed fleshy shell and run. But, just like I, they were bound in place.

He kept humming something. As he got closer, I couldn’t recognize what it was. A lullaby? A ballad? I didn’t know. It barely mattered. My pulse thudded in my head and throughout my body was still louder.

He was here. Just ten steps away. Maybe even at the same exact spot where I froze, seeking a hiding spot.

A small green light stabbed through the little triangle of space just above my head. Of course. He’d want a good look around. Drag out the fun and commit it to memory for the best of indulgence.

My muscles couldn’t relax, as if a force of terror was keeping them painfully tense, wishing to run but having no escape. I squeezed my side against the wall, my free hand pressing my head down more. My eyes cast to the triangle, observing.

The green light didn’t rest over a single inch of my skin, at the cost of me feeling like some of my bones would snap in half. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe he’d spare me.

He just kept pacing the area in circles. Humming the same song. For a moment, he stopped. My heart skipped a beat. Did he find me?

No. Not yet. He cleared his throat. Then he began to walk even closer. To the piles of debris.

He began to sing.

A slow, painfully slow song. It felt as though a knife was being dragged over my neck, just shy of stabbing. He hummed the same slow tune, louder. Like he sang to someone. My heart dropped to my stomach. Time itself seemed to slow down.

He knew I was there. No doubt about it.

“Maybe… you’ll think of me”

“When you are all alone…”

His voice was low and rich. I never heard him sing before. His voice could even be calming, but all it did was make all color fade from my face.

His voice was like dark honey. Deep, sweet, flowing smoothly, and with an addictive drag to it. Had ambrosia been a sound, it would’ve been his voice. If it weren’t the source of my deathly horror, I’d want to drown in it. It had a pinch of sultriness, I didn’t know if it was to mock me or to tempt me.

While he sang, he kept walking through the small area, as if dragging out a high. As if letting me simmer in a feeling of doom.

“Maybe… the one who is waiting for you”

“Will prove untrue…”

By his steps, he seemed to dance along while walking forward. His trenchcoat rustled in the air when he made a turn. For a moment, his singing stopped.

The sounds of wood breaking and falling stabbed the ‘serenity’ of the moment. I could feel my pulse halt. He kicked down some of the debris. A thought involuntarily crept into my head: would my bones sound the same if he were to snap them broken?

“Then, what will you do..?”

He dragged out the note and chuckled after it faded off. He was aware of me listening. A solo performance for a one-person audience. The last feast. Meanwhile, I could barely breathe, like a hypnotized mouse before a serpent.

Another pile of mold-ridden wood was broken. I couldn’t help but shudder. Just how amusing was this to him?

I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t want to. Ever again. I would rather amputate my own arms with a blunt rock than face him. Silently, I prayed. Prayed that he would just stop this torment and turn around and go back the way he came from.

“Maybe you’ll sit and sigh…”

“Wishing that I were near…”

My eyes dampened. I realized I had not blinked in too long, staring into the triangle of green light as much as my eyes could shift to the side without me needing to move my head.

I couldn’t help a shiver breaking out all over my body. The wall was cold, and every neural ending was times more reactive to any stimulus. Every inch of my flesh was inflamed, squirming and writhing like worms.

Simultaneously the sensations of a scorching fever burned me from the inside and the sweat soaking my skin froze my flesh on the outside in abrupt waves. I felt sick from the torturous contrast, my body sending itself into a cycle of confusion and physically manifested panic.

All while, his steps kept resounding against the pavement, for a moment in what sounded like the rhythm of a waltz.

“Then…”

“Maybe… you’ll ask me… to come back again”

Yet again, he kicked something broken and I couldn’t help another shudder, almost expecting his gilded boot to collide with my side. It sounded like he broke a box. I felt nauseated, my mouth suddenly salivating out of control as if I had actually gotten sick. Almost inaudibly, I gulped.

“And maybe, I’ll say maybe…”

He savored every note and dragged it out, his voice and steps would’ve undoubtedly swept me from my feet, had this not been the situation. He hummed the slow melody as if he were serenading me.

Suddenly, an extremely bitter, burning sensation arose in my throat. I kept my hand glued to my mouth, gulping back the overflowing saliva. My stomach flipped dangerously. I wanted to vomit from the explosion of sheer panic, but I had to hold it back.

I felt sick to my core. And him? He continued waltzing along the dead street, his shadow occasionally dancing over the little triangle of view I had.

His alluring voice became just a deliberate bit more sultry like he was flirting. As if he couldn’t just bring on my very death. Cruel. He was cruel. And I was too late to see it.

My shivering stopped, and his steps began to get closer. I couldn’t look at the triangle anymore, my eyes squeezed shut.

“Maybe… you’ll think of me”

“When you are all alone…”

I could hear the familiar smile in his voice. There was not a single doubt in my mind that he felt my agony and thoroughly indulged in it like an aged fine wine. He was punishing me for running in the first place. Especially for running this long. For giving him a hard time.

Tears began to prick at my eyes again, my second hand clutching my stomach again. The circular motions were a futile attempt at stopping the twisting and writhing of my organs.

He only drew nearer. Once again he destroyed a piece of nearby junk. And, again, I flinched. A desperate part of my mind wanted to just be dead already. This act that he was drawing out was too much for both my sanity and my body.

I forced myself to glance at the triangle. The green light was becoming blocked by him. He was starting to come into view. I couldn’t see his face yet, all I knew was that I didn’t want to. Another futile prayer was made in my head. Of course, it didn’t stop him. It felt like not even the Allmother could.

“Maybe the one who is waiting for you…”

“Will prove untrue…”

The daunting spilling of his soft voice made my mind spiral into insanity. I felt neurotic, there was nothing I could do in my self-made trap. He knew it. He kept taunting me with precision, somehow knowing how to press all the buttons with seemingly so little.

Now I could slightly hear the dangling of his jewelry, the quiet rustling of his trench coat. I froze again, eyes squeezing shut almost as soon as I opened them. I wished I could be able to pretend like he’ll disappear if I kept my eyes closed.

He stopped a step away from me. My heart began to pick up pace again. My legs ached in near primal instinct to run. Except there was nowhere. Only right into his arms.

Stepping to the side, he kicked some debris right behind my trap into the wall. It all broke with a hopeless crack. I knew what was coming next. And he knew that. Perhaps I was playing right into his hand all along.

The next thing I knew, the large box concealing me from the right was destroyed into timbers against the wall I was facing.

“Then what will I do..?”

The box was demolished. A pitiful pile of sawdust and mold slumped against the wall. It took him barely any effort. My breath halted in my throat, almost making me choke on the air. At last, I was completely exposed. Nothing hid me from him anymore. I was just a cornered animal now. I could lift my head to see his face, but my body froze in place, almost like it was playing dead.

The green light hit me where his silhouette didn’t conceal me from it. There was truly no escape from him, which my stunned mind needed a reminder of. My stomach dangerously thrashed again, my eyes bulging wide open as they darted to his boots. I could taste the corrosive bitterness on the further end of my tongue and in my throat.

A deep dread was nailed tightly into my head as if slowly knocked deep into the brain with each step of his. I couldn’t move. My head started spinning, a blunt pain echoing through the rest of my body as I felt like I was on the brink of death. It took me my last bit of restraint not to vomit or lose consciousness.

“Maybe, you’ll sit and sigh”

“Wishing that I were near…”

He spun on his heel one last time while stretching out the soft note, letting it bleed out into the all-consuming silence. With it, the whole pinch of hope that my mind desperately held onto fell dead.

His singing paused. His earring jingled and he let out a quiet chuckle. All of this stopped being real. There is no way that this is happening to me. There is no way that I’m here, about to die in a pile of moody wood in the middle of the night. At the hand of someone I once considered my anchor. My savior, even. When did all of it go wrong? When was the point of no return?

He slowly crouched down to me, fully coming into view. Leander’s green eyes, soft before, now looked dead and empty. As they stared into my mortified expression, all I could see in his was a hardly veiled glow of sadistic glee. Leander was smiling. The same little smile as always. But this time it felt so sinister. Was it really different from how he smiled before, or did it take being cornered like this to see what Leander’s smile stood for all along?

“Then,”

“Maybe you’ll ask me to come back again…”

I couldn’t tell if Leander’s voice beckoned me like a siren’s call, or mocked my helplessness. Perhaps both. I felt small, crumpled into a futilely defensive position right before him. All while he sang. As if to sedate me in my last moments.

Leander’s eyes faintly crinkled when he tilted his head to the side, propping his cheek on his fist. He took in my vulnerability and how exposed I was. It was clearly intoxicating to him, Leander took it in like a good flush of alcohol straight to the heart. There was joy to it for Leander, his high-fazed smile felt so familiar, like all the times he smiled at me during the late nights at the Wick when he had quite a bit to drink. In that familiarity, for a moment Leander’s gaze appeared soft like it always did, but there was an unsettling darkness to it that surfaced, or only just became noticeable. Seeing it now broke me out of the trance, the illusion of tenderness that I saw moments prior was gone like a mirage. Leander observed me almost animalistically, I wanted to crawl out of my skin just to escape his eyes.

Tears involuntarily streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop staring with terror right back at Leander, all while he observed with eerie amusement. My whole body broke out into a shiver, unable to stop itself from almost feverish tremors. Leander’s eyes, his smile, his voice, everything about him now was almost the same as always, but his presence made me feel like I was drowning in ice-cold waters that had no end.

In my last shred of hope, I almost wanted to deny all of this. This wasn’t Leander. Leander was someone who always offered a shoulder to cry on, someone who would go out of his way to keep everyone at peace and happy, someone who would smile along with everyone and be the soul of the company. Akin to a gentle giant.

This was someone else entirely. This was someone who gave a thoroughly long, outright draining chase, someone who held out a sense of false security and crushed it with deliberate cruelty, someone who took certain joy in feeling another’s torment at his hand and thoroughly savored it, indulged in it. Someone purely evil. Someone entirely malevolent.

Maybe it was there all along. Perhaps I was looking at a mask, a trap to lure desperate ones like me. Now it didn’t matter. It was too late. I was merely cattle waiting to be slaughtered. A lamb waiting to be sacrificed. Leander’s finger tapped against the side of his knee to the slow beat of the song. It was an almost tranquil scene. Nauseatingly so. Much akin to poison slowly seeping into the tissues of my body. I still couldn’t move, to Leander it all came with mocking ease.

“And maybe, I’ll say maybe…”

The last note went on and on, like the painfully sweet aftertaste of honey. Or like the bitterness of poison. Then it cut off. Everything fell into a suffocating silence once more. I wanted to stab it, gut it with a scream that was trying to scratch its way out of my lungs. But my body stayed still, save for the tremor, like it was turned to stone once Leander looked at me.

And Leander knew what he was doing all too well. Off-puttingly too well. It was cheap, even dirty of him, to do this to someone so much weaker than him. But that wouldn’t change the facts. I was pinned down under Leander’s gently menacing gaze like a new butterfly in a lepidopterist’s collection.

Once he took in the undoubtedly addicting silence, Leander offered another quiet laugh, his earring jiggling when he shook his head a little. Leander’s eyes were partly lidded, the lighting making the purple darkness around his eyelids seem deeper. His expression was mockingly comforting, making a visage of consolation that I would’ve fallen for even earlier today seem disturbing instead. Leander was almost pitying me, both of us knowing I was at his mercy.

I was undoubtedly cornered. There was nothing I could do in my exhausted and deteriorated state that could let me put up more than a second’s worth of a fight.

Leander didn’t need an intimidating face to instill the kind of horror I’d never felt before. His face could look however soft, but he knew at what moment to make others aware of his strength. And now I couldn’t think about anything else. Leander was way broader, stronger, way more powerful with magic, times more resilient, he knew the city way better. My eyes had never been veiled, so how have I not once noticed just how enormous he is? Not even a miracle could save me.

And, as if on cue with reading my thoughts, his smile slightly widened to reveal a dimple. Leander bit a glove off his hand and let it drop onto the pavement. My heart hammered painfully in my chest while his big smooth hand reached closer. My eyes hurt from crying, but hot tears wouldn’t stop flowing at all.

“Oh, what happened, sweetheart?” Leander cooed, brows lowering in staged concern. His hand enveloped the side of my face and held it firmly in place while his thumb wiped the tears off my cheek. I could feel the strength of his hand, he made it clear that he could crush my face at any moment, even if now he continued the gentle act for his entertainment.

Against the heat of Leander’s big hand, I could feel just how cold my face was, it was like that of a corpse. My lips trembled, I couldn’t assemble a single word, as if I forgot how to speak altogether. All that came out was a pathetic mumbly noise.

My body felt like porcelain now, his hand feeling like a sledgehammer just shy of shattering me to pieces. Leander’s control of his strength slipped so rarely that now I feel like each time was deliberate. He tried so hard to seem gentle, but would sometimes grab my hand a little too hard, hold me a little too firmly. Just how much of what I knew about Leander’s persona was consistent veiled threats?

Leander kept caressing my face almost with care, his familiar smile again reminding me of all the warnings that I missed. “Can’t talk at all, hm? Speak to me, dear, don’t worry, everything’s alright now. You’re safe.” Leander reassured, squeezing my face while his free hand reached for my wrist. He was crouched on one knee now, empty green eyes not shifting from me at all.

I pulled my hand away from his like it was about to touch a flock of poison ivy. Again, I could barely muster anything. I gulped, and a quiet sob broke out past my lips. “Stop…” a barely audible plea managed to crawl out with great effort. His smile tugged a bit wider. A glimmer of the same glee shone brighter in his eyes.

“Your face is so cold, darling. You’ve been out here for too long. Don’t you know not to walk around at night? It’s cold and dangerous. Many have reminded you of that.” Leander mused, slightly tilting his head when he caught my wrist. His grip was strong, like a metal shackle. My whole arm kept trembling. Even trying to pull back would be devoid of purpose .

Leader’s eyes. I couldn’t stop staring into them. The same soft green eyes that were once synonymous with comfort and safety were now bottomless swamps. They were devoid of warmth or solace, pulling me endlessly deeper into their darkness and suffocating me, drowning me in their sickening venom. Cold, vacant of a soul, but still hypnotizing as all hell as if he were a hunting serpent and I was its prey. Absolutely unreadable and confusing like a hoard of slithering snakes. Alluring, but reflecting sheer cruelty and only a semblance of happiness from observing my suffering. Leander’s gaze was outright chilling. It was an imperceivable horror in itself, something almost cosmically vast and terrifying as a result. Nothing I’ve ever seen in anyone’s eyes until Leander. Hauntingly beautiful. Frightening, petrifying, and paralyzing, but fascinating in the most nauseating way. It felt like watching an asteroid crash a step away from me as it destroys everything in sight. Like the stomach-churning inability to look away from gory disaser while everything ends. If looks could kill, his eyes would grant me a merciless death of excruciating torment.

He began to tug at my wrist. My hands balled up into fists. I tensed as much as possible, not letting Leander move me from my place. Leander laughed under his breath and leaned in closer to me, his broad shoulders fully blocking out the pitiful space between this self-made cage and my freedom. With that same almost endearing little smile, he said “It’s so chilly right now, look at you shaking all over. Don’t you want to get back to the Wick? You know I can help you find your way back. I can always help you. I can always keep you safe. Just trust me.” His bangs fell over his eyes, concealing a good third of his face.

I still couldn’t say a word. I knew that any movement from my current place would pull me closer into my demise. But not moving would only make him angrier. Not even my curse could affect Leander, so any resistance of mine would be like trying to move a brick wall. All I did was stare at his face, at his faintly smug smile and void-like eyes. My eyes just kept watering because I kept forgetting to blink, subconsciously afraid of dying the second my eyes would close.

Leander’s grip tightened around my wrist, my hand began to feel even colder than it was as the blood circulation began to get cut off. His expression almost felt stuck in place, it felt increasingly off-putting and uncanny the more I looked at it.

“Please…just let me go… I… I won’t say anything… I swear…” I wheezed, my words crawling out barely louder than the crushing silence. My voice was broken, my tears cracking it at every other syllable. It felt futile, but it took me all my effort to beg for my life, to show that I didn’t give up just yet.

I could almost hear the bones in my wrist crack and squelch as Leander latched onto it so tight I almost screamed. My jaw clenched, I couldn’t help squirming. My other hand scratched at Leander’s wrist, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“Oh, my dear, it’s such an awful night for walks today! There’s never a rush to walk around, plus I can always help you find warmer clothes and keep you company, you don’t need a reminder of that, do you? I can’t help but wonder what made you get out of your warm and comfortable room to explore the freezing streets! I’d love to hear all about it while I guide you back, what do you say?” The same upbeat, cheerful tone as when he first held my hand and let me touch his face. He ignored my pleas as if I never opened my mouth at all. He didn’t even show a single sign of guilt, remorse, or doubt... Leander had something specific he wanted to hear, otherwise, I could as well stay silent and embrace my fate.

I had a suspicion I couldn’t say what he wanted me to. After what I saw… I knew I couldn’t. He silently demanded it from me, but he also knew there was a chance he wouldn’t get it out of me.

We stared into each other’s eyes. His greens held a demanding flame that was only spreading, scorching over every inch of my being with time. Leander gave me a chance to say what I needed to. But he made it clear without any words that his patience wasn’t infinite and was very much wearing thin.

Leander’s hand kept slowly crushing my wrist while the other moved from my face to the back of my head. It crept along my scalp, then slowly began to grab a fistful of my hair. Tightly. I hissed, hot tears bleeding out of my hurting eyes. Neither of us dared break eye contact. My time was ticking. Leander was still smiling.

I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. That thought just kept repeating infinitely in my head. Even if I lied, it would only give me so little to live. Leander’s Bloodhounds are loyal without question and would sniff me out from hell itself. Or he could always find me himself. Like today. I couldn’t be safe if I lied, and the fate that would befall me would be times worse than if I stayed silent now.

Leander began to pull my head backward by the hair, bending my neck out while my pulse began to hammer again. I couldn’t look away from him, my eyes still pleading and begging for any crumb of mercy while his kept demanding with newfound impatience, the curve of his lips wavering at the corner.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, it’s okay though, you seem a bit unlike yourself right now. What do you say to me walking you back to the Wick?” Leander questioned as a last warning, this being the first time a drop of the threat spilled into his voice.

I cried and sobbed while tilting my head back. “Just let me go… please, please, please… I beg you, please… I can’t die like this…” I begged almost hysterically while my scalp burned with the pain from the tugging. It wasn’t what Leander wanted, and it looks like he saw he wasn’t getting it out of me.

Suddenly, Leander’s smile dropped. It fell so quickly, as if it hadn't been melted onto his face ever since I met him. My heart plummeted deep down to my stomach. I felt incredibly nauseated all over again. I coughed at the feeling that could only be described as my heart trying to crawl out through my mouth. My time was up.

No…

No

No

NO

NO!!!!

My breathing and heartbeat raced, and I began to struggle and thrash against Leander’s only further clenching grip. He did not back down. Didn’t even move a muscle to suppress my pitiful attempt.

With a violent jerk that shook all my innards, Leander stood up and yanked me onto my feet by the hair and wrist, throwing me at the wall. I yelped as my scalp throbbed with pain, my insides almost bouncing back from the wall at the strength of the impact.

The yelp turned into a broken scream when an indescribably painful crack came from my hand as it was slammed into the freezing wall. My head hit the planks when this happened, they almost broke at the impact and toppled over with a thud. I felt pain spreading from the top and the side of my head, it didn’t take long for warm trickles of blood to follow.

From my hair, Leander’s hand moved to seize hold of my neck. My pulse thudded against his hand with a feverish rhythm, like a useless reminder of my vitality. If anything, my panic entertained him.

His grasp was stone firm and trapping, only slightly shutting down my ability to breathe. That quickly began to change. I stared at Leander with nothing but pure dread when he lifted me to my tiptoes by the neck and leaned in close to my face. Leander forced me to witness his true monstrosity, one that he somehow concealed from most eyes for this long.

I squirmed and choked for air, coughing violently while my free limbs flailed hopelessly like the fins of a fish in the sand. Everything began to slip away.

His hand only kept clenching around my neck while he lifted me from the ground entirely. I choked and scratched at his hand and tried to bite him and begged, but it was all futile. All useless. His entirely unphased cold expression didn’t shift when my vision began to darken and become hazy at the corners. My head began to spin, my oxygen-hungry brain feeling dizzy.

“It seems you started taking the comfort, the safety I provided you with, and my kindness entirely for granted. Let me help you. Let me take you back, remind you where the line is.” His voice was a low growl, and Leander’s bloodthirsty, fury-filled eyes almost stabbed through mine when his face was inches from mine.

Croaky coughing and mumbling were all that could pass through my constricted vocal cords, but Leander kept speaking. “It saddens me so badly, dear. It breaks my heart. I didn’t dare ask for money, I didn’t even ask to recruit you. And this is my ‘thanks’? That just won’t do, Bloodhound rates or not.”

I wheezed and heaved, my body convulsing and writhing like a ball of worms. My nails stabbed into Leander’s leather glove and tried to scratch open his arm, but even with narrow streaks of red gleaming on his skin, he didn’t budge.

My field of vision further shrank. Leander’s face went in and out of focus, blurring and becoming overwhelmingly focused. Only his almost glowing green eyes didn’t fade. Shapes appeared in front of my eyes, the corners of my eyesight turning into dark static. “P…plea…se…” I croaked, what could be the last tears streaming from my face. My hands and feet were going cold as blood stopped normally circulating in my body. I started to lose feeling in my limbs. All while he mercilessly watched life draining from my eyes. Unmoving, like a statue. My eyes squeezed shut.

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through my stomach, pushing all the pitiful remains of air I had out of my lungs. A wet warmth spread on my clothes, accompanied by the pain scorching me from the inside out. Leander stabbed me in the stomach. My blood trickled down and soon began to drip onto the floor. Then it began vigorously gushing out once Leander harshly pulled the knife out.

The cold began to spread, and my heart’s slowing beats echoed through my head. I could barely see anything, everything around me turned into a darkening haze. Except for the green eyes, which stayed brightly gleaming with nothing while scrutinizing death overcoming mine. Like he was reading an alchemy book, not one emotion in his expression.

Leander dropped me onto the ground into the puddle of my own blood. For a little more, he watched me. Then came the last moment of clarity for my eyes, and I saw Leander smiling again. That same smile that was empty all along. A husk of comfort, like a theatrical mask.

Leander picked up his glove and began to turn away on his heel. “If you earn the miracle of waking up again, you’ll know to appreciate me, right, my dear?” He waited a moment more until my near-glassy eyes fell shut.

I could hear Leander’s slow steps and humming echo as the sounds became more and more obscured by the increasing distance and gentle ringing of Death’s embrace. His singing, soft like a rain cloud, coated my head in an almost soothing feeling while all senses faded. Leander’s siren’s call kept luring me away from life.

“Then,”

“Maybe you’ll ask me to come back again…”

“And maybe, I’ll say maybe…”

Until all my senses faded out like a wax-drowned candlelight. Until the world went dark and quiet.

.

.

.

BAD END

[idv-sunsxin3]

can i request a scenario where a handful of the suitcase gang accidentally consumed sotheby's potion (idk how, they just did lmao) and so turning into their udimos for a day.

w/ diggers, pavia, and horropedia pls. WHEEZE just them tryna grab your attention and you trying to decipher what they want or need 🤣

Pavia, Horropedia, Diggers // Turning into their Udimo

Note// 100% fluff. And not pun intended/ih

____

"Y/N!!!" A distressed, familiar voice of a lady yells as you were minding your own business on whatever you were doing(hot mc stuff ig/lh)

"Ms. Sotheby??? What's the matter?" You were nearly startled by her scream that followed after. Asking with a concerned look as you turned to face her - only to see her holding something that is trying to get out of her grip -

"Ms. Y/N!! Please help!!!" Sotheby cries as she raises this creature towards your face as you automatically flinch back in fear of colliding faces with the small one.

"Wait a minute, is that udimo my partner uses on the suitcase---" You were about to point out something once analyzing until you were cut off.

"I know, I know!!! I miscalculated;;; I was working on a potion and and- I accidentally dropped it on the suicase-- and now he is turned into this!!! It'll worn off in one day, i promise- E-EEP!!"

The young lady whines before squeaking when the creature succeeds in escaping from her grip and jumps on you. Making you quickly try to catch it.

"Wow, there!" You say, caught off-guard until you got licked on the tip of your mouth by the udimo, "H-Hey!! That tickles...-!" You say as you try to muffle your giggles while trying to get the udimo to stop licking or poking your face.

Quietly watching you get along with the udimo, it suddenly gave a lightbulb to the little lady with the big hat.

"How about you take care of him as he seems to prefer your company than mine?" Sotheby offers, "I got an earful from Ms. Sonetto on Ms. Timekeeper's behalf, so I have to clean up the suitcase anyway -" She twiddles her thumbs with a nervous cheeky smile.

"Oh, sure." You sweat as you feel unease yet sparkled by the idea, not sure how to take care of someone who is in their udimo form. But it is just one day, right? Plus, your pretty boy looks so cute in this form that you can't help but nuzzle your face on him--!!!

.

.

.

He licks you again...

Huh. We have to work on that;;;

____

//Pavia//

Pavia is not pleased... not even a single bit when he becomes aware of his condition.

Barks in 'M*RDE!!!'

He is already making some plans on to talk to Sotheby after that--(uh oh).

But on the brighter side--- he finally can talk to his children in their language. Now he has to run with them and other kinds of wolf pack stuff like he wished to do before when he was like... a man/lh

He was growling and barking like some edgy pup the entire time he was woth Sotheby. Who was so terrified the entire time she had to put him into a cage(hahaha) with the help of some people before coming to you.

The moment he found you, he got even more insane by barking louder. As if telling 'Y/N!!! Y/N!!! HERE!! GET ME OUT OF THIS TINY JAIL!!' until he realized it just kept scaring you away, becoming harder to ask for help.

So he ended up trying to apologize by making whimpering noises as his ears went droopy while now dropping on the floor as if trying to chill with his small angry tears - huh??? Is that really Pavia???

You eventually help im release him before Sotheby can protest - that he's now nudging his nose on to your knee as if silently asking for attention. Whimpering more with his eyes now sparkling at you.

"Aww... easy there."

He rubs his face on your leg now as you rub his ears. His tail washing and calming down...

Well, until he starts barking and trying to chase Sotheby to bite her if only she didn't immediately dash away - aiyayai....

Once you feel less intimidated by him, now he tries to tell you he wants gelato just by dragging you by the shirt and pawing a picture of it with his claws.

REALLY, BOY...? THAT'S THE FIRST THING YOU WANNA DO??

I guess he really wants to chill down with something cool, huh--

But then you quickly remember that the dessert won't be wolf friendly--- so you gently nag him that you can'tgive it to him---

.

.

.

Pavia licks your hand before licking you.

"Hey- You should stop doing that or else I'm going to be drenched with your saliva;" You whine as you try to clean your cheek. He doesn't listen and starts licking and softly biting on your arm, too, as if teasing, "Stoooopp--!"

It will be a long day...---

The next day, when he finally comes back to normal, that's when things are really getting crazy again.

You were sleeping with him, so the moment you were starting to slowly wake up from your slumber, you swear you feel strong arms around your body as if clinging on you---

You quickly wake up to notice the familiar tattoos on the knuckles of the hands--- identifying them as your boyfriend's.

But the thing is, you didn't expect to find him naked on the bed beside you.

"AH-" You were about to fall off the bed the moment you wake up and see him - LIKE WHO WOULDN'T JFHDNRNR???

It didn't take a second to catch you before pulling you close to his bare chest. Cuddling against you.

"...Buongiorno." He says with a smug look. Before licking your nose.

"Hey!!!"

"Heh."

___

//Horropedia//

Tilts head in doggo.

He really didn't have this on this year's bingo list. Okay/lh

The sad part is that he can not even be capable of yapping about stuff to you!!! How cruel;;; (it still doesn't spare the fact he woofs a lot as if he's talking)

But well, he was actually calm and rational enough to just follow Sotheby so she can help him find you--- the moment where he spots you is when he gets off of her grips and paws on your shirt. Wagging his tail so quickly.

Starts yapping and barking nonstop at you. Your poor self is having calculations on your mind about wth is he saying--- 'Y/N, omg, can you believe this??? I'm a dog, a dog!!! This is bad, so bad!!!' Bark bark bark bark ba-

Of course, he is aware that the potion will be worn off eventually. He just wanted to scare you by thinking he is panicking= meaning it's actually bad. Since it's rare for him to panic like that.

But spoilers= it's not really bad, lol.

It gets him desperate to want you to know what he wants, not just your attention, that he keeps pawing you gently to your forehead as if bonking you

'Noooo wrong, that's not what I meant..!' Puppy whimpering as he says that internally;;;

So far other than the noises and how talkative he usually is, it really honestly didn't make much of a difference when he is yapping at you in dog(like he gives dog energy when he is goofing or looking happy--)

But yeah, he always paws your leg whenever asking you to reach something for him many times--- like a horror novel from the top shelf, magazines, whatever that can keep him entertain without reminding himself of the predicament until it's over---

You ended up giving him a lot of books on his bed and dog friendly snacks so he can just sit there and flip the pages by himself with his nose---- smart doggo...

Now the way he is getting pampered by being helped in reaching stuff is pretty nice. Even he has a day off from work to binge on his hobby with you now!!! What a paradise.

Once he turns back to normal- he'll be shocked.

Like the moment he starts to wake up from hus sleep, he has a blurred vision of his hands caressing your neck as your back was facing him - wait, HANDS???

He takes a look at his hands as if it is a dream. He pinches himself - ouch, not a dream for sure... Then, he notices something..

Why does he feel chilly.

He slowly looked under the sheets -

He is naked, yep.

He was about to say "yikes-" but remembers you're still sleeping. Keeping that in mind, he tries to sneak away from the bed to go get some clothes -

Until your hands started palming to where he is, pulling him closer to you once they found him.

Now he is a statue. A sweating, flustered, naked statue.

Sigh... those typical aftermath scenes of a person turning back to humans from animals but ends up being naked - how typical indeed. He's gotta wake you up on this one now, huh.

Hey, he doesn't have much fear about waking you up- but accidentally flashing you with his naked slim body in the process is a different story!!!!

"Eh... eh... oh... Babe...?" He whispers as he tries to poke your sides.

... Now, this is a true horror scene in his mind.

____

//Diggers//

He really thought it was juice.

But no, it wasn't;;; 😭

He was calm enough to stay in Sotheby's arms until he decided to hop into yours--- staring intensively at you with those big eyes that seem like they're about to cry;;;

'Baby, help me,,,," 😭🥺 He pleads, but ends up sounding like he is croaking softly. Crap...

Now he's going to be a frog inside a bubble for one day - how is he going to eat now when he's hungry???

He was about to make more worried frog noises as he had to come to the conclusion he had to meditate throughout hunger;;; until you just simply popped his big bubble with a finger.

...Oh.-

The Frog now hops into your arms now, croaking almost as if it’s purring in 'thank you'.

Awww...

So far, Diggers has been a pretty peaceful frog vibing on the palm of your hands.

Well, he may also go silly and start jumping and hopping everywhere at his van - all carefree and adventurous. He would try and watch how high he is when trying to move around outdoors.

Despite him being on your palms once in a while because his skin needs to breath sometimes, he doesn't demand much from you as he always seems to take liking of stating at you work--- except that he has these big doe eyes of a tiny frog now.

I can imagine that he sometimes floats when he summons the huge bubble back to engulf him--

he would be struggling to control how to float towards you at first, but the more willing he wants to stay close to you, the better he was at it;;;

It didn't help when you told him you were just going to be off for 2 minutes for a drink, and he's already trying to follow you by blowing bubbles with his own mouth😭

His doe eyes only close for a long time whenever you gently rub his tiny head;;;;

Once he goes back to normal, he is surprised when seeing his state---- happy surprise.

He wasn't fazed by the fact that he's naked. It's so funny.

Now he sobs happily as he can finally be a man once again---!!! Freedom!!!

He giggles happily before planting kisses on your forehead once seeing you wake up and blushing from seeing him shirtless.

"Darling, I'm finally back,,,"

(also mopping on a corner.... Thinking he has been acting so chaotic around you, he couldn't forgive himself and that he won't get head rubs from you fhdhdbdb)

Oh, how much he underestimated you - you still give him headrubs!!! (He luvs them so much, my god;;)

[theheianwife]

Sulky Couple

Adult Gojo X Reader

A dash of NSF & a pinch of fluff

Mentions of kissing/tongue/eating

So I found out that Gojo is a Sagittarius which is one of the most brutally honest signs. I'm actually in a relationship with one even though he is the sweetest man child, he could be too honest IT HURTS.

Imagine being in the same team as your boyfriend Gojo. You were heading out for an assignment together but you had an argument earlier in the day because Gojo was criticizing your use of ability that he thought you were too clumsy and careless to become a Grade 1. You felt hurt by his choice of words and doesn't realize how upset you were so the both of you were completely ignoring each other while heading to the assigned area.

In the middle of a battle field you two had your own thing going on there was no communication nor team work at all.

Suddenly a curse popped up behind Gojo while his guard was down. You were quick to notice it's presence and as much as you were angry at him you still have a strong urge to protect your partner.

You pulled Gojo to the side and roughly kicking the enemy towards a wall. The curse went pierced through and it's strong force cracked open the ceiling and continued up to the roof. Soon part of the building came falling down on you.

It happened so quick that all you thought about doing was lowering your head waiting to be crushed...but you felt nothing. Even though you could hear the loud sounds of falling cements around you, nothing was coming down. You carefully opened your eyes and noticed a pair of long legs standing in front of you. You smirked and dusted off your uniform before you smugly looked up at your boyfriend, Gojo. He was fully ignoring you earlier now he was towering over you while using his ability to prevent any matter to fall on both of you.

You realized how close your face was to each other, your eyes landed down on his lips. Even though you hated when he spoke so mean but his lips had a lovely thin form that made you want to always kiss him. You noticed how Gojo's lips curved into a smirk becoming aware of how you were eyeing his thin lips. You quickly averted your eyes on the other side and was about to leave when slendered fingers came in contact with your right cheek. A strong hand was now grabbing your face pulling you to look at him.

You gulped down a lump forming in your throat and tried to confidently look at Gojo with a blank stare. Even though he was wearing a blindfold you could feel him stare behind them as he rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. Gojo couldn't resist ignoring you for long. His annoyed by your sensitive side but not getting any attention from you is what he hates the most.

"Alright it's my fault. My bad sweets. I'm sorry for running my mouth like that. Can you forgive me?" He asked leaning into your face. You were gritting your teeth inside not wanting to put your pride down but at the same time you felt excited, your heart was beating so fast that when you felt his soft lips against yours your legs felt numb. You quickly grabbed into his shirt to regain your balance.

Gojo side smiled in victory noticing your submissive side was showing clearly stating that your walls were down and that you were now under him. He moves the hand on your cheek to the back of your head roughly pushing his tongue into your mouth, swirling it against yours. His sudden move made you inhale sharply and moved your nails began digging into his uniform. Your face was turning red as soft moans came flowing out your lips. You responded back in the same rough pace but as you did he suddenly slowed down his kisses and teasingly moved back a bit giving you a chased kiss on tip of your lips.

This irritated you and absentmindedly pulled him back by the shirt. "Satoru.." You growled under your breath warning him that you weren't amused by his teasing.

Gojo chuckled lowly and leaned in for a long smacked kiss before placing your head under his chin softly rubbing the back of your head. "Maybe I can run my mouth some..part..else."

Pinterest photo.

Idk if that worked implying that his gonna eat you out but anyway I hope you enjoyed reading! Tbh I can't write a full fanfic about this man because I get shy just thinking about being in the same universe as him. I'm off reality I know.

[james-is-here]

I've had this idea for three months and it took so long to put into words because I was trying to come up with...not lyrics so to speak but what I think it feels like in a position like this.

Zombie Au? There's an infection and it's spreading but it's not necessarily zombies. Felix is your little brother.

Blogs: @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @leezanetheofficial I genuinely forgot who else wanted tagged, please let me know again if you want to know when I post

Tags: Death, angst, you might cry (I genuinely cried), I'm so sorry if you cry 🥺, blood, kn1fe, Felix being the precious soul he is even in a dire situation, lots of crying, th-the use of st-stuttering since i've once read that the stuttering is annoying so I'm just warning. LMK if I forgot anything.

You ran and ran, hand tight around your brothers as you keep looking back to make sure he's still keeping up with you and also look out behind the both of you.

You shouldn't be outside at night but your original camp was surrounded by the creatures, slimy, gross, deformed creatures which use to be human beings. It was dusk, barely enough light to see where you're going.

The slow ones were called draggers, the fast ones were called runners, three runners were currently chasing you and your brother. You look back in front of you to find a couple draggers and skid to a stop, running to your left but you went to fast and Felix tripped, loosing the grip on your hand and falling to the ground with a grunt before shuffling back to his feet and catching up to you, taking your hand again.

His fumble unintentionally let the runners catch up to you both as you pant heavily. You still don't know where you're running, the road you're on unfamiliar as you run past buildings after buildings.

You suddenly hear a high pitched whistle and look ahead to your left, a person waving you over to an abandoned convenience store, they wear some sort of head cover that they seem to wear to blend in with the monsters but you saw their eyes and the fact that they were waving you over. You're quick to run over to them but suddenly your hand is empty again.

Turning around, you weren't expecting to see a dragger on your brothers foot. "Felix!" You dash over to him, kicking the dragger in the head before picking your brother up and running into the store.

You set Felix down, cradling his face and looking over him to make sure he's okay. "You guys okay?" The person- or the man- took his head over off and you see someone around you and Felix's age. "Yeah...Yeah, I think we're good. Thank you." "No problem. I'm Chris." "I'm Mn, this is my little brother, Felix." "It's nice to see a few new faces. Come on, there's a few more of us in the staff room."

The other survivors you met were really nice, they were friends of Chris'. Minho, Changbin, and Seungmin. They all lost someone to the infection.

Minho lost his lover, Jisung.

Changbin lost his best friend, Hyunjin.

Seungmin lost his little brother, Jeongin.

and Chris lost his wife and daughter.

You and Felix lost your whole family, you only had each other.

You both were currently on the floor in front of a fire Chris made, everyone else either somewhere in the store. Felix was curled up in your arms between your legs, one leg extended and the other you had your knee up the Felix leaned back on, your body was like his own little bubble, his comfort as your arms were secured around him and you just stared at the dancing flames in front of you.

He shifts, burying his face further into your neck as he slept but slowly he began whimpering and shifting, squirming in your hold as he tried to bury further into your neck. "Felix, bubs, wake up." You rub his arm gently, trying to wake him up and you know he's awake when he moves to face you, you move your legs to hold him properly in your lap as he cries on your shoulder. "Felix..." "I'm so scared, Mn..." "I know...I-I am too." "N-No, I-I'm scared of being in here..." "Wha- Lix, What do you mean?"

He sniffs, moving off your lap to rest his leg on your lap and pull up his pant leg. "No-" The tears hit you fast as you sob and gently graze your finger over the wound. "Th-The Dragger g-got me...I-I'm s-sorry, Mn. I-I'm so s-scared." He's started sobbing now and you just bring him into your arms, holding him tight. "I-I'm sorry..." You shush him, gently rubbing his back. "I-It'll be o-okay, Lixie." You bury your face in his shoulder and hold him tightly. "I-It'll be okay..." If you were reassuring him or yourself, you couldn't say.

Although, someone over heard you, and they were happy that an infected was now in their safe space.

In the stillness of the night, I hold you tight.

As time slips away, fading out of sight.

Every beat of your heart, a whispered plea.

Begging for salvation that I cannot decree.

There was one night, or day, you don't even know the date anymore, that you all gathered near the fire ring, conversing about anything and everything. Chris was telling stories of his family and Changbin told stories about him and Hyunjin, it hurt to learn that Changbin loved Hyunjin but never got the chance to tell him until Hyunjin got infected.

You and Felix were sitting on one of the break room tables, you could tell he's getting weaker, he was getting more tired and he didn't have as much energy anymore.

"I'm sorry...I have to say something before we're all dead." Minho suddenly spoke up and stood up, pulling a knife from the counter. "Woah, hey, Minho! What are you doing?!" "There's a runner or dragger here and I need to take care of it before we're all dead."

Your protective instincts gave it away as you stood and stepped in front of Felix. "Mn?" Seungmin questions your sudden shift before standing up, watching you protect the boy. "Minho, please..." "You really expect that'd change my mind?! Come on, wouldn't any of you want to kill the infected before it took your loved ones?" "Minho, this is my brother, my baby brother, he's all I have left, Please." "You'll end up loosing him." "But I still have him! I still have him now! I don't- I don't want to loose him yet, I-I just can't." You cry, turning towards Felix and cradling his face, gently shushing him as he sobbed, holding onto your wrists as he placed his forehead on yours.

He's muttering that he's scared, that he doesn't want to go, that he doesn't want to leave you and it hurts you even more, leaning back to kiss his forehead before returning to your previous spot.

Suddenly there's hands on your biceps, pulling you away from the boy and you sobbed, begging that this doesn't happen, trying to pull out of Chris' hold but he's stronger than you in the moment. "No, No P-Please! Please, just a little longer please!" Chris pulls you to the back wall of the break room, you try to pull your arms out and run to your brother but suddenly Changbin and Seungmin are holding you in place by your shoulders, keeping you from escaping Chris' hold. You struggle against them as Felix limps backwards away from Minho before falling to the floor.

"I-I'm sorry, Felix..." Minho stutters before driving the blade into his stomach. "No!!" You choke, watching Minho do it a couple more times before dropping the blade and stepping back. "Felix!"

They finally let you go and you dash over to your brother, kneeling next to him and bringing him into your hold, placing a hand on his heart and sobbing heavily. Every other beat is strong but the in between beats are slow and barely there.

"Felix, No..." He sobs, tilting his head into you and you lean further down to connect your foreheads. "I'm scared, Mn..." "I know...I know, bubs, I'm so sorry..."

Your breath grows faint, a fragile sigh,

Yet in your eyes, a fire refuses to die.

I'd trade my every breath to keep you here,

But destiny's grip, I cannot interfere.

His chest begins to rise and sink slowly, but when you lean back to look at his eyes, they almost look alive still, wide and looking up at you the usual way he looked at you, like you were the most amazing guy in the world. He always looked up to you, he loved you as his big brother.

"I-I wish I c-could take your place...give you all that I have. I w-wish you didn't have to go th-through this, Lixie...I-I'm such a terrible brother, I-I'm so sorry." You place a slightly bloody hand on his cheek and wipe his tears away. "Y-You're wrong-" "Ssh, save your breath." He chuckles weakly. "Ironic." His eyes glance down to his stomach where his shaking, bloody hands rest.

Through every gasp, I whisper tales of our past,

Each memory a lifeline, meant to last.

Though time may steal your earthly form away,

Our love's immortal flame will forever stay.

"You'll be with Mama...a-and L-Livy...a-and Rach..." "B-But th-they w-were turned..." "No, that's- That's not them...they're somewhere b-better..."

You move a few strands of hair out of his face and reach down to hold his hand. You don't care about the blood anymore.

"I-I don't w-want you to g-go, Bubs...Y-You belong h-here." "I-It w-would've h-happened...s-sooner or l-later." He inhales shakily, squeezing your hand. "I'm n-not r-really l-leaving." "What do you mean?" He raised a hand slowly and pointed at your chest. "I-I'll b-be here...y-you'll always l-love me, Nn. I-I'll a-always be here..."

I'm here by your side, my love, don't fear,

In the darkness, I'll be your light, my dear.

Though I cannot save you from fate's cruel art,

I'll stay with you, till the last, never apart.

"I-I don't want to leave you now...D-Dying is s-scary, I-I'm s-so s-scared." "It's gonna be okay...I'm gonna be here with you, it's okay. It's okay..."

You stayed the whole time, rubbing your thumb back and forth on the back of his hand and occasionally kissing his forehead. "I-I wish I could've s-saved you. I-I wish th-this didn't have to happen, I-I'm so sorry, Felix..."

You were gonna stay until his last breath.

As your eyes meet mine, in the final gaze,

I'll be the guardian of our love's eternal blaze.

Though you depart from this world's embrace,

You'll find me waiting in love's timeless space.

You had your eyes closed the whole time, you couldn't handle seeing him the way he was but you finally open them, Felix should see you before he goes.

"I-It'll b-be okay, Nn." He raised a hand to the side of your face and you held it tight. "Stop fighting it, Lix. I-I know you are, it's okay. I'm here, y-you're safe. S-Say h-hi to th-the girls and Mum if you see th-them...a-and l-let me know y-your with me every- every once in a while, mkay?" "I-I will a-and t-take m-my locket..." "Lixie..." You choke out as your eyes remain locked and you watch the light fade, his eyes filled with tears and his hand goes limp. "Lix..." You sob with a whine as the others finally kneel by you.

"I'm really sorry, Mn..." You were silent, sobbing over your brother. "Mn, we should move him." You sniff, moving a shaky hand to his neck and Minho gently helped you unclasp the locket, you clutch it in your fist before you leave a final kiss to his forehead and close his eyes. "Okay." You say softly, barely above a whisper.

You pick him up and turn to the other guys. "I-I can't...I-I don't have the strength to just l-leave him somewhere." "I'll take him for you..." Minho offers with his lips pressed together in a soft, apologetic smile. "I-I happen to know a nice area nearby so he won't just be out in the open." "Thank you..." His eyes widen at your words, he just killed your brother, why are you thanking him?

"Wh-When it got worse, I-I don't think I-I'd h-have the strength to actually l-let him go..." He hums in reply and steps up to you, letting you place Felix in his arms before he walks away. "Wait!" Minho turns around and you walk over to him, taking Felix's bracelets, putting them on, and any other items he had on him. You also snatch the pocket knife you saw from a nearby table and cut a part of his hoodie off, the only light blue part of his sleeve that wasn't covered in blood, and put it in your pocket, saving it to make something later. "Thanks." Minho nods before walking away again.

It's lucky the convenience store still has running water as you move to wash off the blood. "Hey, found the clothing section for you." Chris announces, placing a hoodie and jeans on the counter next to you. "In a convenience store?" "Well, from the thrift store next door." "Light Blue?" "Had a feeling...if that's okay?" Tears gather on your lash line before you nod and extend an arm. With Chris' small nod and a gentle smile, he lets you hug him tightly.

"I'm surprised you're not mad at us." Seungmin commented and Changbin slapped his arm. "I-I'm actually grateful...Yeah, you let my brother...b-but it was a necessary thing to do...I-I wouldn't have had the strength to do it my-myself when i-it got worse."

"I'm back." You leave Chris' embrace and turn to Minho. "Thank you...again." "It's no problem...Sorry I got a bit angry before." "It was understandable. Now if you don't mind, the state of my clothes is making me want to cry again so I'm gonna change."

"We'll be out here." Chris said as you walked to the bathroom with the clothes he got you.

When the door closed, Chris turned to the others. "Him thanking us for killing his brother is weird right?" "A little but it makes sense. Were you watching back there? He held his to his final breath. I could tell he wouldn't have been able to let him go if the infection got worse."

"How'd you know?" "Saw them a couple nights ago, Felix showed him the bite on his ankle from the dragger that attacked him before they came in here. I could see him changing and didn't want Mn to keep him to the point of turning into one of those and attacking us." "Did it hurt?" Changbin asked.

"So much. He looked as precious and kind, I really didn't but I was protecting us." You then walk out of the bathroom, throwing your old clothes into a nearby empty box. "Can I hug you, Minho?" "Uh, yeah, sure." He asks hesitantly and you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his back and shoulders as he did the same to you.

"Thank you-" "Stop thanking me for killing your brother, it's kinda weird." You laugh, pulling away and joining the others on the floor. "Was gonna say thank you for protecting us...although I was against it...what you did makes sense...as much as I want to hate you for killing him you did it to protect us so...guess that skims off some of the hate." "Some?" He looks at you bewildered and the rest of you laugh.

"You killed my brother, you expect there to not be at least a little hate?" "Yeah, but you said some which means there's more hate then gratitude." While you and Minho went back and forth, the other three watch small smiles.

Even in a world of chaos, there's still time to find joy.

😭 I'm sorry if this made you cry and also I wrote this in like three hours it was like 1:20am when I started and now it's 3:41am so I'ma go to bed.

The angst is angsting 😩

His locket had a picture of your family on one side, and him and you together on the other.

[wander-wren]

hot take all those posts about uraraka and deku having the same type (toga and bakugou)?

wrong. wrong! wrong. sorry

deku is the one with the canonically stated weird creepy obsession. whether you personally think its creepy or not is debatable, but regardless chasing down your ex-friend-turned-bully with stars in your eyes and taking such meticulous notes on his fighting (the moves he uses to beat you up) that you can beat him in a fight when you are at a huge disadvantage is…..it’s not normal.

the way. deku loves kacchan. is. not. normal.

that’s toga’s character

now you could say that bakugou is equally obsessed with deku and i think he is but it comes from less of a place of love. it’s mostly his own insecurity centered on the closest person to him. i think deku knows he loves bakugou (for whatever type of love you’d prefer), but bakugou doesn’t know he loves deku. he just has…these feelings he doesn’t know what to do with, and most of his character is a ball of low self esteem masked with huge ego, so it all just gets wrapped up in that. you know?

and i dont think it’s a hot take to say deku is FAR more feral than bakugou, he of the 8pm bedtime and tax returns. deku is fucking unhinged, man. kid breaks his limbs regularly for three seasons and runs off to become a vigilante.

also, deku AND toga’s character arcs are about seeing the way the world thinks of them, the ideas they internalized for a lot of their lives, and then accepting themselves for who they really are. deku doesn’t let anyone stop him from being a hero, and toga doesn’t let anyone make her feel ashamed for her bloodlust. bakugou’s character arc isn’t about inner acceptance, it’s about changing and growing as a person instead of remaining stagnant like he has all his life, comfortably at the top by accident of birth (this is not to discredit the very very obvious work/training he does pre-UA, no one fights like that with explosive hands otherwise, but it’s clear he didn’t need to adjust anything personally/socially).

i know absolutely nothing is going to stop the meme now, but every time it comes across my dash my eye twitches because ugh, blonde and loud does not a toga parallel make.

disclaimer: i am an anime-only so idk what’s happening in the manga but i sincerely doubt it could be anything big enough to wipe out several years of character building. correct me if i’m wrong!

[lucluvr]

“i’ve got you, i swear. nothing’s going to happen to you when i’m here.” 

ft: diluc ragnvidr :3

when things go wrong, you can always rely on him <3

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა fluff / mentions of blood, assault (?) and harassment 

an: i was in a terrible mood bcos smth bad happened to me 2day and i wanted some comfort so i wrote this!! enjoy <33

diluc ragnvinder: 

working as a patrol knight means you have to work long shifts. oftentimes you wake up before the sun rises and come home in the dead of night. the road home is usually quiet with a few passersby here and there. the people of mondstadt are kind. always waving with smiles on their faces.

on friday and saturday nights the streets tend to be empty due to the cat’s tail and angel share housing the citizens of mondstadt. you find these nights to be peaceful. it’s so quiet in fact that you can hear as the light breeze causes the dandelions to shed their blossoms. you can hear each small breath you take, the sound of you blinking. 

these kinds of nights allow you to think. these days your mind wanders to a ruby-haired man rather than how your day went. you fantasize about his pretty eyes, the soft smile that creeps onto his lips when he sees you after a long day of working. you chuckle at a memory.

he had seen you chasing a man down the streets, running full speed behind him. diluc was about to jump in and help, but before he could you had leaped onto the man’s back, pinning his hands behind his back. you quickly pulled out your handcuffs, arresting the man. you pulled him up, making your way down the road. 

you passed by diluc and bowed your head slightly, paying your respects to the older man. he scans your body, the placement of your hands, and lets out a small chuckle,

“it seems not all you knights are incompetent like captain kaeya. it’s pleasing to know that there’s someone the people can rely on,” he runs a hand through his hair before walking away. the small praise didn’t go unnoticed by the people around.

it was rare for diluc to praise someone so boldly and publicly. 

recalling the memory elicits a small feeling of pride that swells in your chest. 

since then you and the owner of the angel’s share bar have been quite close. close enough to send each other letters weekly, close enough to share small kisses behind the bar when diluc’s on break, so close that by accident sometimes you’ll leave lipstick stains on his cheeks and lips (kaeya puts two and two together). you two are so close in fact, you’ve found yourself awaken in his bed a couple times. 

too preoccupied with your thoughts, you trip down a set of stairs. you fall straight on your butt, scraping your knee and palm in the process. 

“are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice chimed in. you look up at the source of the voice. his hand is reached out. you smile at him, softly thanking him for the help. he pulls you up, but you’re still a little uneasy on your feet due to the pain in your knee. his hand lands on your waist, moving lower to your hip. 

you try to take a step back, but he pulls you back in place.

“um, excuse me, sir. i appreciate your help, but don’t put your hand on me. i can stand on my own, thank you,��� you slide his hands off your body, turning around to walk away. he grips your wrist, pulling your back against his chest. 

“hey, i just helped you up, the least you could do is thank me,” he scoffs, moving your hair to the side. you freeze as you feel his breath on your neck. time stops and your lungs stop working. your entire body freezes as you feel his hands and lips move. 

“you’re quite the pretty thing, you know? i have an idea how you could thank me, sweetie,” he laughs against the soft flesh of your neck. the minute his lips meet your skin, you scream. something in your body snapped. you step on his foot, elbowing him in the face. the man groans in pain, screaming at you. he throws all kind of profanities at you. 

“when i find you you’ll regret this, you bitch!” 

you don’t think twice. you dash up the stairs, running anywhere but behind you. you break out into a cold sweat, running faster than you ever have. you look back for a second, but you bump into someone. you stumble backwards as his hand darts out to catch you. 

you see a flash of red and suddenly you can breathe again. diluc catches you in his arms, eyes widened. there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes,

“i know you’re always excited to see me, darling, but you must be careful. i don’t want you getting hurt,” he pauses as he scans your body. he sees the scrap on your knee, how harshly your chest is heaving up and down, and the tears that fall down your cheeks. 

his hand gently reaches out, wiping the wet pearls off your face with his thumb. his gut is screaming at him. someone did something to you. he doesn’t know what, but he knows you’re not shaken this easily. he’s always praised how good of a head you have on your shoulders. 

you finally process who you’re looking at. you throw your arms around his waist, pushing your face into his neck and you sob. diluc’s hands caress your hair, softly whispering reassurances. his soft gestures foil his thoughts. he could kill the person who did this to you. his blood is boiling. he can brush off someone upsetting you, but never for making you cry, never. 

“honey, look at me,” he leans down, taking your head in his hands. his agate eyes fuming with rage. you hiccup and sob looking at him. you let out a mesh of words. none of which make sense to diluc. he sighs, and pulls you back into an embrace.

he realizes that asking you what happened right now while you're still in a fight or flight mode is no use. your mind and heart are racing, you’ll never be able to communicate like this. so diluc settles with allowing you to compose yourself behind his black cape. one hand on your head, caressing your hair while the other rests at your upper back. he holds you in his embrace. he won’t let go until you’re ready.

“i’ve got you, i swear. nothing’s going to happen to you when i’m here.”

diluc watches as the man runs towards you two. he says nothing, he does not acknowledge his existence. he refuses to hear that man’s side of the story because it does not matter to diluc. he made you cry and diluc will never let that slide. he reaches his hand out, his other arm securing your head so you do not see what’s about to happen. 

pyro swirls around his fingertips, morphing into a large bird. the bird flys right for the man. diluc picks you up like a bride, leaping away with you in his arms. you are too far to hear, but the man yelps in fear, running like you once did, but this time he is caught. the bird envelops the man making him face the wrath of the darknight hero of mondstadt. 

no one will hurt you when diluc’s around-- that is certain. and if someone dares to lay a finger on you when diluc is not around, rest assured he will find out about it and deal with it with or without you knowing. 

please like and repost!!! my inbox is always open so say hi if you feel like it :D

[rabbitenn]

Can I ask for a kissing headcannons with Sogo, Tenn, Momo and Toma please? Also if it's not too much can it be slightly suggestive too? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) but if 4 characters are a lot then Sogo and Toma only

Also, don't forget to take care of yourself author! Please eat at least 3 meals a day and hydrate yourself frequently. Lately, people around me are getting sick because of the cold weather so make sure to stay warm too alright? (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

TASTE YOU, TASTE YOU.

“Come over here beside me. My restraint crumbles.”

— HYDE, Kiss Of Death.

ft. Osaka Sogo, Kujo Tenn, Sunohara Momose, Inumaru Toma x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, suggestive (a lil spicy, still sfw), mentions of alcohol.

Thank you for requesting, nonnie ! I’m very sorry this took so long, I hope you still like it <3 Remember to take care of yourself too and stay hydrated, plus get enough sleep, dear ! Winter is approaching, so stay warm too !

♡ OSAKA SOGO

— Osaka Sogo, the epitome of a proper young man, calm and composed, always respectful and following the rules.

— Except when someone messes with his friends, and especially when you tempted him.

— If you add a few drops of alcohol to that last situation, well, you are in for a heated night.

— In any other occasion, you knew your boyfriend wouldn’t be this bold. Not that you are complaining in the slightest, no. He looks so dashing with that dark glint in his violet eyes, face flushed as he desperately chases after your lips.

— And you know, you know he is going to regret it if the state he’s in were to be witnessed by every guest in this gala.

— So you pull him aside, the cold hour making the rose garden outside the venue the perfect deserted scenario.

— The lights from the party cast him in shades of golden, moonbeams refracting from his intense gaze. The night breeze carries the scent of thorny blooms, not unlike his cheeks in their carmine hue.

— “[Y/n]…” He breathes, nose brushing against yours. And you have to admit, the desperation, bordering on hunger in his voice, is a nice change.

— For a moment, you hesitate. Is it really okay, to let him go on when he’s like this? When you know he most likely won’t be able to remember anything by next morning?

— And yet, caution is thrown to the wind the moment his hands reach your waist.

— Pulling you down on a stone bench half concealed by the rose bushes, Sogo hovers above you, arms on either side of your head.

— “So…” You breathe, heart racing, pounding in your ears, the tell-tale sound of warning signs, of ‘you shouldn’t be doing this, not here, not now.’ Alarms blare inside your head, and yet, they’re all silenced by the searing caress of his intoxicated kiss.

— You can taste sake in the sweetness of his tongue begging for access into your mouth.

— And, helplessly, irrevocably, you succumb to it. Akin to the bubbles of sparkling champagne at midnight, euphoria runs through your veins like white-hot liquid flames.

— Your arms wrap around his neck, messing with his already half undone tie. He’s burning up, the dawn lit strands at his nape, sweaty, but you don’t care.

— Despite everything, you want more of this feeling; the sweet prohibition of a love that’s always kept behind closed doors; the thrill of getting caught, and Sogo’s drive… Are enough for you to dive headfirst into danger.

— The night is still young, after all, and everyone seems to be too distracted with their own business at the party.

— So you’ll indulge a little more in this forbidden moonlit paradise.

♡ KUJO TENN

— Tenn, the modern day angel, who is devilish as they come underneath that charming smile he offers his fans.

— That’s not to say his mischievous side isn’t charming, oh no, he is too magnetizing for you to resist him.

— And he loves it.

— To see you struggling to form coherent words, as you try to keep yourself from stuttering (and fail), as your cheeks heat up at the teasing tone he uses to get what he wants from you.

— Your boyfriend’s lips brush the shell of your ear, his face is millimeters away from yours, when he whispers to you how he could give you a secret night you are sure to never forget.

— “Tenn! Stop teasing me!” You pout, covering your face with a pillow you then use to softly swat him away.

— He responds with a chuckle, as he takes your wrists in his.

— “You know you love it, my [Y/n].” He tells you, eyes of sunset clouds lined in starlight staring into yours.

— You swallow, letting out incoherent sounds.

— And you can’t take your eyes off of your angel the moment stardust caresses his cheekbones when his eyes close and his lips seal his words with a kiss to your inner wrist.

— “Did you like that, my love?” Tenn asks, at the same time his fingertips sneak beneath your shirt, his hands warm and soft against your body.

— You can just nod, too flustered to trust yourself with your voice while he is like this.

— Then, his angel halo hovers above the two of you when his forehead comes to rest against yours. And despite his perfect face, and soft voice, the words he utters next couldn’t be more devilish.

— “I could do more things you’d like, if you let me.” He whispers, bringing your fingertips to his lips.

— “I- I let you, Tenn… I want you to-“ Is all you can reply before his lips are enveloping yours in a kiss that’s equal parts tender as it is burning passion.

— And in his proximity, you melt. Falling back against the silky covers of your bed, you let your lover take the air away from your lungs. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back, the frenzied pace of your unruly heart propelling you towards the only right path: Tenn.

— One of his hands cups the side of your face, as the other finds your own over the softness of pale rosy blankets.

— Your fingers slot between his, squeezing his hand lovingly.

— ‘I love you.’ The gesture spells, as your lips are entangled with his, rising you up on angel wings towards dawny pink skies.

— In your own made dream, only you two exist. Tenn, all the light you need, his allure akin to the celestial shine of distant constellations you can feel warm at the tip of your fingers.

— But alas, no matter how sweet and perfect his kisses taste, it seems you both need to pull away for air, if only for a few instants.

— When he looks at you, your boyfriend’s pupils are blown wide, hair sticking away from his forehead. Somehow, the first buttons of his shirt have come undone.

— Smiling softly, your lips trace the path from his chest to his temple, cherry blossom pink blooming in your wake as the angelic idol’s cheeks flush in vibrant shades of rose.

♡ SUNOHARA MOMOSE

— Your boyfriend was usually the paragon of cute and cheerful.

— Read, usually.

— Because there were moments in which his wide-eyed fuchsia gaze turned dark with desire, camellias at midnight, longing to lure you into a trap of never ending romance with their vivid petals.

— And, naturally, who were you to resist this intense side of your partner? You simply can’t, not when you find yourself between him and the wall, one of his arms resting near your head as he inches closer towards you.

— The curtains to his home are drawn, the warm lamp light surrounding you in a haze of anticipation and longing for him, in the same way he aches for you.

— “Darling…” He lets out, two-toned strands tickling your forehead with how close to you he is right now.

— “Yes, Momo?” You ask him, voice almost breaking as you attempt to hold your breath, afraid that the slightest sound may disturb this moment, popping the bubble of intimacy surrounding you.

— His answer comes in the form of his hands cupping your face and him leaning in.

— He tilts his face to the side, as he deepens the kiss, his sharper canines slightly grazing your lower lip.

— You don’t mind at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

— The sensation just serves to spur you on, your hands tangling in his frosted tips, as you drink in his biting kiss.

— It’s a little sloppy on both parts, but neither of you care.

— Especially not when you tug on his lip using your teeth, an indication to go further, that you want more of him.

— He loves you like this, desperate and unrestrained, just the two of you and your unbound feelings driving your every action.

— “There’s no way I’m letting you leave here tonight, my darling.” Momo breathes, in between heated kisses.

— You level him with a sensuous gaze.

— “I just want to be with you tonight.” You utter, lips parted, as you lean in for a brief kiss. “I’m yours, Momo.”

— He lets out a light chuckle, lips trailing your jaw, your skin hot in every place his kisses touch you.

— “And you know I couldn’t be happier about that.” He replies to your statement.

— You both lean in again, stumbling to the couch, where he pulls you on top of him, never once separating his lips from yours.

— And when your glances meet next, both of you know you’re in for an intense night, in the best of ways.

♡ INUMARU TOMA

— Toma wears his feelings on his sleeve, and obviously (even more so than usual) that applies to you as well.

— You are so sweet and loving to him, how is he supposed to hold back his impulses?

— Your smile… the way your eyes shine a little brighter when you talk to him, the way you stand close to him…

— Everything makes it so hard for him to exert self restraint.

— Oh, he knows how much his group mates would tease him for it, but at this moment, he doesn’t have it in him to care.

— He has more important matters to attend to.

— That being you.

— And if you keep smiling at him like that he might end up pinning you against the wall.

— “Why don’t you, then, pretty boy?” You incite him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, towering over him in his sitting position.

— “Did I say that out loud?!” Toma exclaims, garnet hued eyes widening in horror at his impulses being revealed in front of you, of all people.

— “Oh, you certainly did.” You smirk, sitting in front of him over the table, legs crossed, as you lean forward, a finger tugging him closer by his choker.

— Perhaps to prevent you from seeing his flustered expression, or maybe because he can’t hold back anymore, your boyfriend picks you up by the waist, leaning you against the wall.

— “I will certainly do more than say it, then.” He warns, his voice close to a growl, as his little fangs sink on your lower lip, tugging on it, hands roaming from your waist to your hips, bringing you closer to him by the small of your back.

— “I look forward to it.” You rasp, breathing coming in short, hands cradling his jawline.

— ZOOL’s leader leans back in, your fingers fumbling with his jacket, finally discarded to the floor, as his bare arms wrap around you, your hands resting over the fabric of his black tank top.

— Perhaps he was the one that couldn’t hold back, but you’re the one that can’t get enough of him.

— For when Toma slightly pulls away for air, your hands tangle in his maroon locks, as you smash your lips against his again.

— You can feel his smile into the kiss.

— Guess neither of you really could be without the other for another minute.

[houseofhyde]

Hello there amazing writer 🙋🏻‍♀️! I hope you are feeling well and are finding the fandom pleasant 🤗.

I thought I'd share an idea that's been festering in my head if you'd like to give it a try (but first allow me to commend your sharply pellucid guidelines for requesting, you have seriously inspired me to refine my own 🥂)

I was thinking of something where Daemon has been chasing a noblewoman, interest kindled by her prideful rejection to become his latest muse; then one night she goes to his chamber, dejected and teary, indignantly asking for company. Then something like the beach scene from Drfitmark where he's far gentler than he thought he would be.

Thank you for hearing me out, have a lovely day 💐

but only for tonight.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader. synopsis. to most, the rogue prince is an untamable beast, with the fury of a thousand men and mind more stubborn than a mule. to you, he's a nuisance in expensive clothing, prone to run away with his tail tucked between his legs each time you reassure him you're still not interested in entertaining his company. till disaster strikes and the only corner of the keep your legs seem to carry you is his chamber doors. warnings. young!daemon (early 20s), enemies to lovers to strangers, kinda softer than usual daemon (he's young and not completely cynical yet), smut (porn with plot, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, daemon lowkey has a praise kink, dubcon bc daemon is high on life aka the milk of the poppy). word count. 13.1k (this was only meant to be 5k max 🧍‍♂️) hyde's input. thank you so much to @nyctophilic0vitnir for your kind words, your request, and, most importantly, your patience <3 this took me far too long to write and i hope the wait was worth it for you. it pains me to age daemon down (as, personally, i'm a toxic bitch that loves to see daemon be notably older than the reader, since i feel it adds that extra layer of questionable morality to his character and his actions) but it was the only way i felt i could stay true to my personal characterisation of him whilst sticking to the original request. since i view daemon as someone hardened by things in life that only come with age (which, in turn, affects his approach to love/courting), it only felt believable to me that he'd chase after someone in his younger days. obviously not everyone has to agree since, again, this is my personal characterisation of him! i'm rambling so i'll shut up now, enjoy! read on ao3 !

between the blinding shine of the sun and the hateful looks from the ladies seated all around you, you’re shocked to the core that you’ve yet to melt away into nothingness.

the scene is as follows: an arena surrounded by crowds filled with cheering lords and fawning ladies, dressed in their finest of robes and garbs, and with their mouths opened to yell out each time sticks collide or a rider is thrown from his horse; within the arena stand two horses- one so white it offends the eyes and the other blacker than a night’s sky- and, upon their saddles, two men. the first is a man of honour, regal of house and true of heart. he sits like royalty and smiles like a dashing knight, urging his mount towards the stands, no doubt awaiting the gift of the flowered wreath you’d kept yourself awake into the small hours to make. the other man? a fool made of over-the-top armor, a glistening of dark metals and a feathered helmet that, combined with the smug look he sports, has the same effect as simply writing cunt across his forehead.

it is, to your own displeasure, that the second man is who holds his lance out to you first.

“well,” that cocky tone of voice grates you, like the screech of a crying babe, and you fight back the urge to cover your ears, if only by reminding yourself of how his crown-bearing brother is watching from his own seat amongst the crowd. “get on with it.”

“oh, my!” the women in your vicinity swoon, as if the man has just recited a poem of utmost beauty and grace in your direction.

seemingly foolish? most definitely.

but, truly foolish? not one bit, each of them strategic in their behaviour towards the unwed prince, hopeful that someday, should they work hard enough, they’ll be on the receiving end both of his affection and wealth.

you can not mock them- wholeheartedly, at least- for you would be behaving the very same were he any other prince.

“lady cantebury, if you’ll excuse me, i suddenly feel my lunch coming back up.” though you address the woman to the left of you- who, quite frankly, you’ve been ignoring for the better half of the tournament- your words and feigned smile are directed to the man of your ire.

“yes, excuse her, lady cantebitchy,” despite the prince- purposefully, you assume- misspeaking her name, she seems a little too excited that he’s taken notice of her to care. “it takes those northerners a while to adjust to eating something other than half-frozen crops. three moons south and my lady has yet to get used to it.”

“your lady?” you scoff, and quickly scowl, cursing yourself for giving him what he wants: your attention. too late now, you challenge him and lean forward against the railings. “is she with us now, this lady of yours? i should like to pay my respects to her no-doubt deceased sanity.”

“it pains me deeply when you speak so dully of yourself, my lady.” the gaul of this man! to speak such words, to mimic affectionate sentiments and pains in his heart through the clutching of his chest!

and, to make matters worse, to put on this act before the very man you’ve been courting!

the tyrell boy is smiling when your eyes finds his own, but the grip he has on the reigns of the white horse speaks true to the anger that hides beneath the petal-covered surface. you return his smile, and ignore whatever the prince mutters under his breath (something adjacent to greeting that priss of a man, with words more foul and tone heavy on the disgust).

aiming to beckon over the man who should truly receive the gift of your favour, a faint tug on the skirts of your summer’s gown derail your line of thoughts. first, you look to your left, accusing eyes looking upon lady canteburry as if to say she was the one to call for your attention. another tug has your head darting to the right, and there you see her.

the princess is small, in age and height and all else, but she makes up for what she lacks with her overgrown personality and swollen confidence. she’s merely a girl of six, yet she stands as tall as her stature allows, head tilted up to look you in the eye.

“my uncle,” little rhaenyra’s words echo for all to hear, silencing even the most brutishly rude lords as all stand to listen to her sweet voice. “he wants your favour. i think he’s just nervous and forgot to ask for it.”

the last of her words are whispered, loud enough for several women and the prince himself to hear. you shoot him a look as you both scoff over a laugh, him with indiganance and you with disbelief.

blessed be the hearts of children, too pure to know the wrongs of man.

“is that so, princess?” the girl’s nose wrinkles, a sign of her distaste towards hearing you address her by title (“i can not call you ‘nyra in public, sweet child.” you’d told her many a times, hands brushing over her pale hair or accompanying her through strolls in the gardens or helping her escape the boring hours of needle work. “you are a princess, and as one of your ladies it is my duty to address you as such.”)

the girl nods and you spy the way her hair is slowly slipping out of its braid. the actions serves as a reminder, to not just yourself but the gathered crowd of women, of the unfair yet captivating traits of the dragon-riders. fair hair, lilac eyes, unblemished skin.

he wears them differently to the rest of his house.

“listen to the child,” he speaks as if on queue, in tune with your thoughts. “she’s wiser than most her age.”

“unlike you.” you believe yourself to mutter beneath your breath.

the stifled laughter of the queen herself, aemma targaryen, tells you otherwise.

“ao jorrāelagon naejot sagon tolī sȳz, kepus!” you need to be more kind, uncle! another part of the targaryen culture you’ve grown to envy as much as you distaste: their ancestral tongue. which the princess has been improving upon with each passing day since your arrival at the capital, adding yet another person to your list of targaryens who insist on speaking it around you, with no regard to the fact you have no clue of what words they speak. if anything, the prince seems to enjoy it when you storm off, antagonised to the point of despair by his incomprehensible ramblings in his mother tongue. “iā hembar jēda kesan daor tepagon se dohaeragon ao jaelagon naejot gain se riña’s prūmia lēda.” or next time i will not give the help you wish to gain the lady’s heart with.

whatever she says, it’s enough to irritate the prince, if the roll of his eyes are anything go by.

“lykemagon, riña, iā kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot ȳdragon hen aōha bantis zaldrīzes kipagon naejot aōha kepa.” silence, child, or i will not forget to speak of your nightly dragon rides to your father. you may not speak the language, but you’re fluent in context, and so there’s no doubt in your mind that the two are exchanging threats, each wearing that signature look of stubborn challenging you’re more than certain the king grew to despise the moment he realised he’d no longer just face it from his own brother, but his precious daughter too.

when the moment passes, the princess is facing you again, sticky hands plucking upwards to grab onto whatever part of you she can reach and guide you- shove you, if she were stronger than her age allows- closer to the knight in offensive armour.

“uncle, tell the lady what you desire.” the gods were cruel when they chose to favour men over women, tearing away the chance of this poised young girl of ever ruling upon the iron throne, for not even the strongest of men- nor the most foolish, either- would dare to speak to the rogue prince in such a demanding tone.

“to be drowning in whores and wine.” you’re too slow to cover rhaenyra’s ears from the man’s offensive wording.

you suppose she’s heard far worse.

“uncle!”

“fine, fine,” a clearing of a throat, a straightening of a spine and a lunge of a jousting stick in your direction. the horse he sits upon canters a few steps closer and releases the heavy sigh you wish you could. “my lady,” there’s a point to be made with how your eyes drift anywhere but his own as he speaks such blasphemy, a silent scream that you are most definitely, not under any circumstances nor at any point in time, his lady. you’re barely a tolerant of the man! “would you do me the honour of gifting me with your favour, so that i may wear it on the handle of my lance as i shove the other end up this pretty boy’s arse?”

there’s a cacophony of laughter, prompted only after the king himself fails to contain a burst of belly-born rumbles, and then the sweet interjection of ‘nyra once more, voice whiny in a way that reminds you you’ve been cursed with your moonsblood for longer than she’s been alive- even despite your supposed late blossoming!

“kepus! konir sagon daor skorkydoso īlon kȳvanon syt ao epagon zirȳla!” uncle! that is not how we planned for you to ask her!

the prince ignores his niece, eyes spying only upon you and your unimpressed, unmoving, unchanging facial expressions. the frowning lips, the pinched brows, the disdain in your eyes are all marks of something that would- should- send any other man running for the hills, in pursuit of some other lady.

in daemon, it is the pilar of his desire.

“are you going to make me wait all evening?” the teasing smirk and the raise of an eyebrow have become the prince’s signature look around you, from the moment you’d stumbled upon him, hands tangled up the skirts of a serving girl and lips stained in the bloodied red of southern wine. “because i must admit, while i’m not against performing in front of a crowd, i’d rather hoped our first evening together would be a little more intimate than this.”

you bite the insides of your cheek with a force you hope is strong enough to rid you of that grating feeling roused by none other than your greatest enemy: the prince.

by all means, you want to deny him, send him off to pester some other lady for her favour- of which you’re sure he’ll stumble upon an abudance of them who receive him more willingly than you. the crown of pointed thorns and decaying petals and twisted vines is one you’d intended to gift to the rose boy, not the dragon prince.

yet rhaenyra’s little hands and excited smile convinces you to go against your better judgement.

the crowd bursts back to life with cheers and applause as you drop your wreath down the expanse of his lance.

“cherish it, prince daemon,” you call over the crowd, voice drowning out in the masses yet reaching its intended, daemon’s eyes delighting with the attention you give him. “for i just forfeited my chance to be named queen of love and beauty.”

hours later, when the moon sits atop the sky and the king’s guests have had their fair share of feast and drink, you brush off yet another congratulations.

“to our queen of love and beauty!” they cheer, cups to the sky and smiles made of mockery. “our prince sure did pick a fine lady.”

to roll your eyes is your only hope to halt yourselves from chastising the garish men and their claims, a whole rant to throw at them off the cuff of how the only thing their prince has done is place a scarlet letter upon you and slice a dagger through the already fragile relationship you’ve spent your recent days crafting with the stone-faced lady tyrell, who’s spent the past hours staring you down from across the hall and whispering every so often to her husband.

the hand in your own- smaller and distinctly sticky in a way only a child’s hand ever seems to be- tugs and squeezes you along, venturing deeper into the pit of dancing bods, the tuffs of blonde and the poofs of red the only part of the princess you manage to make out as she guides you.

she stops, eventually, when she finds a spot she deems spacious enough and- unbeknownst to you- in the perfect line of view for all that sit the royal table, be they a king, or a queen, or a prince, to witness you both joining in dance, a unique pair among the many couples.

“you know,” the girl ponders alloud, a cheeky grin on her face as her small frame easily twirls beneath your raised arm. “if you married my uncle, you and i would be family.”

“is that so, huh?” she must count her blessings that she remains a child, for were she any older to know better, she’d be tasting the wrath delivered upon any other who’d dare insinuate- much less so boldly propose the idea of- the unification of yourself and the rogue prince. “are you sure you’d be able to handle me as your evil aunt?”

the young girl nods enthusiastically, a silly grin decorating her features and forcing one on to your own down-trodden face, something so infectious in her smile.

when you’d first met the princess, you’d been certain that you’d never warm to her. it wasn’t that she was spoiled or particularly difficult but, rather, you’d never had a child around back home. moving to the capital- under the guise of becoming a lady in waiting to the little princess while truly being an excuse for your father to find you a husband- you’d been unsure what to expect once you arrived. your friendship with the dragon princess was a happy accident.

an accident that’s made adjusting to the capital far easier, sure, but an accident nonetheless.

“uncle!” her recent interest in your courting life and the need to intertwine it with your arch-nemesis’, however, has you rethinking this friendship.

the princess is the one to let go first, ducking out of your hold to crash straight into the prince’s leg, attaching herself onto it like a leech sticks to the skin of a dying man. daemon, seemingly engaged in conversation- with a girl you believe to be part of the lannister house- prior to the appearance of rhaenyra, dismisses the company in favour of his niece, hand clasping itself upon the top of her head and giving several scuffs, messing her hair till it stands in all directions.

and, be it the copious drinks or the immature she-devil who harbours within the depths of your soul, you condemn yourself to approaching the prince.

“stop that!” the words are a hiss as your hands shove away his own and work at smoothing back down the strands of pale blonde. “it took me near an hour to get her to sit still for me while i done her hair, and now you’ve gone and messed my work!”

“then do better next time, perhaps tie it more securely.” never has daemon targaryen had a face so worthy of a slap.

but, as slapping the king’s brother would likely land you straight in a cellar, you settle for something far more childish.

“oh, my bad,” the stretch to reach the top of his head is lessened by the heeled shoes you wear, allowing you to retaliate the treatment he’d given to the princess’ head. “perhaps you should try tying your hair more securely next time!”

it’s a marvellous kind of satisfaction that overcomes you as you gaze upon your masterpiece, the prince now wearing a hardened expression and standing with something akin to a bird’s nest in place of his once perfectly groomed locks.

“i think you’ve been spending too much time with rhaenyra,” he grumbles, attempting to sooth down the mop on his head while trying to maintain an air of collectedness about him as the surrounding guests hide their snickers behind their hands. meanwhile, the princess radiates joy, no fear holding her back from laughing at her uncle. “you’re behaving as if you were her age.”

it’s a struggle to not stick your tongue out, but you fear that would only serve to prove his- likely true- point.

“i’m tired,” rhaenyra, ever the conniving little actress, throws in a fake yawn and stretches her little limbs out as she untangles herself from the prince, staring up at him. the two have always shared a rather queer bond, as though they were cut from the very same cloth, little needing said for them both to understand one another. being aware of this, however, does not make it any easier to accept when they speak of you as though you’re not there. “would you promise to keep my friend company? there’s a lot of strangers at this feast and i don’t want one of them to harm her.”

“i’d say the strangers are the ones who need protecting, princess,” he’s doubled over, moving down to the height of his niece but his focus is all on you and the urge to squirm under his penatrive gaze is stronger than ever. “them northerners can be savages!”

with much protest from you and a shooing motion from the rogue prince, young rhaenyra scurries off towards her septa, eventually leaving the hall intwined with the daughter of her father’s hand, alicent hightower, the pair having been near inseparable since before you’d even arrived in the capital.

you last only four denied dances, three of them which are proposed by the heartbreak prince himself, the only other man bold enough to approach you with your frowning sworn-guard for the night being a lowly lord from the southern isles, kind enough in the eyes yet sporting a few too many wrinkles and grey hairs for you to consider a suitable suitor. and, at last, it becomes time you take your leave, making one last stop before the two royals, once more congratulating the pair on the early stages of the queen’s pregnancy- the first to make it through the initial trimester since the birth of rhaenyra and the sole reason you’ve all gathered, to celebrate the future heir king viserys targaryen claims grows within his wife’s womb- before making your way out into the much quieter, more solitary and notably cooler hallways of the red keep, the noise of the continued festivities drowning out into muffled cheers as the heavy doors slam shut, locking you out.

you breathe easily for what feels like the first time in hours.

ever the fool, daemon seems either incapable of taking a hint or wilfully going to any length to aggravate you, for he matches your steps and follows you out. he’s oblivious to the stare of despair and the roll of your eyes, wishing the man would drop his literal- and figurative- pursuit of you once and for all.

“you’ve been here, what, near four moons?” his voice rising above the stillness of the night captures your attention, widened eyes blossoming with surprise shooting up from facing the ground beneath your feet. “how are you finding your stay? i should hope my brother’s fitted you with comfortable quarters.”

“i, well,” you start, and you mean to finish, you really do. but there’s a loss of connection between your mind and your mouth, one running with a thousand thoughts that fight to reach the forefront and the other parting it’s lips in a broken exhale.

“what, surprised to see i am capable of niceties?” the prince flashes what you imagine most would describe as a charming smile.

“yes. no, actually,” you correct both your words and your posture, unknowingly relaxing that tense feeling that had danced upon the tip of your back and the expanse of your shoulder from the moment you’d found yourself alone with the man walking at your side. “more surprised to see you’re capable of not turning everything into a sexual pass, i suppose.”

“well, you never let me reach the part where i request to see just how comfortable your quarters are.”

that same she-devil who convinced you to mess with his hair perks up her voice once more, seductive whispers encouraging you to cross the space that separates you from the prince and place a hand upon his leather-bound chest, shoving him with less hostility either of you had expected.

“you’re insufferable!” at the very least, you retain the ability to criticise him verbally, though with far more interruptions of failed-to-conceal laughter and less sharpness in your tone.

“i believe it’s pronounced irrefutable.”

“i’m impressed,” you nod along to your own exclamation, vaguely aware of the fact you’ve twisted your feet around till you face the man completely. “that’s a big word for someone with the vocabulary of a foul-mouthed child!”

“if big things impress you, rest assured i’m well endowed.”

“like i said, insufferable!”

when your exacerbated sighs and his teasing chortles fade away into the air of the night, a calm quiet settles over you both, like fog over mountain tops. the rare abscense of the wandering eyes and judgemental snickers and the gossiping whispers exchanged through the courtiers has made way for an unexpected tolerance of the prince’s company, one that leads you astray from your usual disgust and further towards the walking disaster-child that is daemon targaryen.

“come,” it’s a demand, not a request, the talons of your hands digging into the arm of his coat admittedly harder than necessary, a sick depravation found in the firmness of his biceps. you find he gives no protest to the way your arm locks itself around his own. “walk me to my chambers, oh mighty knight!”

“is this your way of accepting my offer to see how comfortable your ch-”

“daemon, so help the seven, if you finish that sentence, it’ll be i who shoves a lance up your arse.”

silence returns like an old friend: with open arms and the promise of a story to be told.

the pair of you traverse through the winding halls of the castle together, arms linked and feet synced- the prince puts a great effort into shortening the length of his steps. to outsiders looking in, you’d almost appear to be nothing more than another couple in the early days of courtship, smiling off to the sides and capable of looking anywhere but each other. the reality that this very man has put your true intended betrothal at risk becomes buried deep beneath the surface of your thoughts, uneager to remind yourself of how you’d last seen the tyrell boy rising from the dirt of the arena, face frowning as the prince called out your name, thanking you for you favour.

“you never answered.” he speaks carefully, voice a gentle timbre as though he’s attempting to coax a wounded fawn out of its hiding place.

“hmm?”

“my question, about your stay. how are you finding it?”

you can not seem to answer him. it isn’t that you don’t want to answer- trust there is another world out there where you easily list off every reason he’s made your time in the capital feel something comparable to torturous and arduous work- but, rather, that you do not have an answer. because not a single person, from your own father all the way to little rhaenyra herself, has dared to ask you before.

no individual has cared to know, yet here the prince stands- walks by your side, more accurately said- and inquires on it.

it jars you so severely you feel the beginnings of an ache in your head.

“oh, well, it’s been... good, i suppose.” both of you share a common disbelief towards the words you speak, yours evident in the way your grip tightens around his arm and his making itself known in a dismissive grunt. “the keep is beautiful, and my chambers are beyond any level of comfort my own house could afford, and the weather is admiteddly nicer. it’s just...”

“lonely,” the man finishes what you started, the hand on his free arm at some point raising itself to rest upon your own. it’s only reflex for your fingers to relax, untense the vice grip you’ve dug into him. “this city is somehow the busiest yet loneliest place in the whole of westeros.”

“don’t get sentimental on me, prince daemon.” to dismiss the mellowness settling in between you with a jovial tone and a pointed look is all you can think to do, far too unprepared to be confronted with the possibility of the rogue prince possessing anything beyond the sheer audacity he displays on the daily. “we would not want someone to overhear and assume you’re soft-hearted.”

the man swallows back a comment of how, while his heart may falter, another of his organs would not fail to remain hardened, and simply gives a noise of agreement. you arrive at yet another flight of stairs, this one so narrow it requires you to walk ahead of the prince, the grasp you have on him never faltering as it slides down the expanse of his arm and reanchors itself on his wrist.

you make it not even a quarter of the way up before your dress proves itself to be a nusance, catching on your feet and sending you crashing forwards, saved from bruising your skin and breaking your bones on the solid stone below by daemon, who effortletsly catches you by the waist.

“i wasn’t aware the king placed you in the highest tower of the keep,” the prince, a known hypochondriac, quips on the amount of stairs  the travels to your chambers entails.

“must be to keep scoundrels like his brother from trying to reach me.” a joke it may be, given you both laugh, but there’s certainly an element of truth behind it.

pray, you will, that you’re never enquired on how often a scoundrel has taken it upon himself to lift the ends of a woman’s dress for no reasons other than aiding her to climb up steps without the fear of her feet catching on the ends of it.

he follows you up closely, closer than he’d been before, and drops the material only after you’ve reached the top. the pair of you move in sync to reform your previous positions, arms intertwining with ease.

“what,” it’s criminal, you think, that it’s taken you all this time to experience how soft the prince’s voice can be once he’s rid it of all that ego and peacoking energy he barks around the courts with. meanwhile, he’s doing everything he can think of to slow your inevitable approach towards your chambers door. “do you have planned tomorrow morning?”

“tomorrow morning?” the question prompts you to look at him. seeing his face closer than it’s ever been before, you see the little details, like the flecks of deep purple that accentuate the lilac eyes, or the small scab on his chin where a shaving knife must have sliced it, or the subtle indent of frown-lines on his forehead that you think a man of his age is far too young to possess. “usually my mornings are spent with the other maidens who reside in the keep, before rhaenyra comes searching for me after she’s broken her fast.”

you don’t mention the way the young girl never fails to bring something tucked beneath her skirts- an apple, a buttered roll, a slice of meat- and forces it upon you, demanding you eat the breakfast you so often forget to take.

“how likely is it that your absence would be noted, say, if you were to go one daybreak not with those wenches?” you wrinkle your nose at the choice of words and he chuckles, mentally notting the distaste you harbour for wenches and reminding himself to use it against you at some point in the future. “my brother says the she-beast they call vhagar laid a clutch.”

“how ominous. haven’t you dragonriders taken enough dragons beneath your wings?” it’s meant to be naught more than a silly comment, a clever play on words to rouse a tired eyeroll from prince daemon. it isn’t, however, supposed to pull a pointed look and a sigh of defeat from the dragonless targaryen. “i’m sorry... i didn’t mean to offend.”

“no, no, it’s fine. just never speak such a stupid pun again.” he juts his arm out, playfully stabbing the point of his elbow into your side and rousing a smile back onto your face, unease slipping out with your next exhale. “it’s for the queen’s babe. my brother demanded i collect the eggs and bring them to-”

“there you are, my love! i’ve been looking for you all evening.”

like a pair of children caught with their hands down a cookie jar, daemon and you jump apart with haste, eyes no longer focused on one another and, instead, on the figure stood at the very end of the hall.

he still wears the armour which he’d been defeated by the prince in.

“laurel!” while your tone may read as elated, it’s filled only with disappointed surprise. “what are- why- what brings you here, at this hour?”

the prince seems to instinctively step closer to you as the tyrell boy begins to approach, leaving his post outside your door. he’s stern, brows furrowed and nothing remains of the man who’d been making you laugh a mere ten paces back.

“i was looking, for you,”

“clearly not hard enough.” you wonder if the tyrell boy catches daemon’s muttered words and, the part of you that agrees with them wishes he did.

you’d been at the feast all evening, with just about every other person of status in the city. if he’d wanted to find you, he’d have been best to make an appearance at the event rather than camping outside your apartments.

“i thought we could take a stroll through the gardens,” the rose speaks as though his idea is not preprostous, inviting a maiden out into the darkened greenery at such a late hour.

passing by the prince, laurel tyrell spares him no attention, as though the man is not even there, and simply makes his way towards the stairway, turning back only when the notion that you stand frozen in your spot kicks in.

“come along, my lady!” my lady. those two words feel tainted from hearing them fall from between the prince’s lips, the tyrell’s voice prickling your skin with it. “i promise i shant keep you late.”

your eyes find the prince.

he nods, once and then a second time.

“go,” he urges verbally, when his actions don’t speak loud enough. “fleabottom’s been calling my name all evening, and i intend to answer it.”

with a twist in your gut and a wretch in your heart, you shuffle your way over to laurel tyrell’s open palm, letting him drag you back down into the night.

this is a decision you come to regret, no later than four sleeps.

because the man's words follow you, no matter how quickly you run through halls and creep up stairwells. they turn every corner you take and pause with every rush of breath you stop to heave into your screaming lungs. you pass doorways and sleeping guards, and they pass them with you too.

this nonsense best prove it's worth once i bed her.

there's anger in the clutches of your hands, clenched into fists of pointed knuckles and skin-digging nails, and sadness caught between the lashes of your eye, drops of liquid heartbreak threatening to stain your skin if you so much as blink.

the halfwit doesn't notice when i focus on her tits instead of her eyes.

the poetic words, the strolls through the gardens, the nights of dancing, the stolen smiles and fleeting looks across crowded rooms, all for nothing.

least she be a maiden. i've heard the feel of breaking one of them in is unmatched.

all for laurel tyrell to be another man who sees only the shape of what you hide beneath your clothing.

you want to hate him, curse him, tell all you meet of his crude words, but, instead, the thought of their reactions leaves you despising yourself, for ever thinking a man could think with more than what sat between his legs.

it is not even an option to contact your father, you lament while climbing yet another winding stairwell, for he’d merely remind you of a woman’s duty, which serves only her house until she takes a husband and, then, serves only him.

if the tyrell boy wishes to bed a maiden, your father’s voice plays in your thoughts as though he were stood before you this very instant, best it be you.

his words, the thoughts and your footsteps all come to a halt at the same time. like reentering your body, or awakening from a nap, you find yourself disorientated, gazing upon a chamber door you register not as your own. no, this door is more akin to the level of gradiose you face each day that you visit the young princess’ room, dragged away by her small hands as she works to avoid yet another one of the classes that she views as a bore.

yet, this is not her door.

sure, it carries similar markings and engraves in the wood, and sports that very same rich colour and shine to it. but something, subtle as it may be, is askew. the princess’ door has silver handles, this one has gold. the princess sleeps in the east wing of this part of the keep and you’re certain you’d marched west, away from the voice of your betrothed. a guard stands by the princess’ door, no one sits outside this one.

bile rises in tune with your hand, staining the back of your throat with anxious thoughts as you hesitantly knock.

you pause and wait.

minutes pass before you’re knocking again, this time with a little more anger behind the way your knuckles hit against the cold oak. it’ll be a wonder if you do not awake to swirls of purple and twists of blue painted across your skin come sunrise.

the tenant of these apartments still does not open their doors.

you hit a little harder, replacing knocks with a forceful, full-handed slap against the door. and then another, and another, and another, and-

your hand meets flesh that prickles with stubble and points with it’s cheekbones.

“what in the seven hells merits such behaviour at this hour?!”

the prince, for the life of him, has barely managed to open his eyes fully, rejecting the bright lights that burn in the hall. behind him is a sea of black, whatever treasures or prisoners he hides within his quarters lost into the darkness. he’s frowning, hair a mess, clothes foregone hours ago, and a distinctly red hand print slowly searing itself into the left side of his face.

the sight brings you more relief than you’d ever thought him capable of.

you’ve always been rational. it’s a badge you wear with honour, basking in the glory anytime one of your siblings met the angrier side of your father that never failed to reprimand them for being less like you, for being incapable of thinking before acting like you, for never weighing consequences until after a deed was done.

till the day you die, you will never find the words to describe what leads you astray from this level-headedness in the small hours of this evening.

you crash into the prince less gracefully than you’d prefer, lips barely meeting the bottom of his and pressing themselves half on his chin as you dive in for a kiss.

a kiss that daemon does not reciprocate.

in fact, he doesn’t even attempt to move, body frozen in place. pulling back to find the sheer unfazed, almost bored look that occupies the features of his face, floods your soul with a horrible, thick, heavy feeling, that stains every part of you it touches. 

you’re ashamed.

and mortified.

and disgusted.

and embarrassed.

and reaching for his lips again.

this time your mouths collide in perfect level, no unwanted chin in the way. wanting- needing something to anchor you down, your hands shoot out to grasp at where a tunic would usually be. instead, you’re met with nothing but the solid, heaving, sweating mass that makes up the prince’s naked chest.

daemon remains stoic.

“i,” you breathe a shaky exhale, a sting nagging away at your reopened eyes as the previous tears reappear. with a nod, and a sniffle, you step back from the man. the nervous tremble in your hands forces you to grab at the fabrics of your skirt, grasping at anything to distract your mind. “that- this was a mistake.”

this entails so much. kissing him, knocking on his door, walking to his chambers, moving to king’s landing, courting with the tyrell boy, letting the prince get in your head and, all over what? a single experience where the two of your were capable of coexisting without tearing one another’s hair out?

it is all one big mistake, the kind that one can’t hope to fix if all they do is turn and run from the danger it exudes.

knowing this won’t stop you from trying, however.

you twist so quick you worry you may snap your spine or strain a muscle, body kicking into action in an attempt to get as far away from the prince as you’d once desired to be from the tyrell boy. not even a full step, do you make it, until an unmovable force clamps down on your arm.

daemon imposes on you this time, leaning down and crashing his lips against yours. his mouth is warm, with lips of honey and hands of stone that grab and pull and tug at the parts of you they blindly reach for.

the prince is not the first man you’ve kissed- nor do you imagine a life where he’ll be the last- but there’s something behind the way his tongue burrows itself into your mouth, his presence so tangible and all consuming.

you pull back, if only to catch your breath, but he follows, taking ownership over your senses.

stumbling backwards and crossing the threshold into the prince’s chambers, darkness takes ahold of you both, bathing you in nothing but the light of a distant moon. you barely register how one of you reaches for the door behind you, only the slamming of it alerting you to the fact it’s been closed. a lightheaded feeling overcomes you, forcing you to pull apart when your lungs scream for air.

“i’m starting to understand,” daemon’s voice is full of rasp, dry and cracking and far too grating on the ears for you to genuinely be finding yourself attracted to it. “why my brother swears by the milk of the poppy.”

a horrible feeling floods your soul, bile burning its way up your throat.

“oh, oh my god,” your hands are at the level of your eyes, pulling at strands of your own hair. “i completely forgot... you- you’re on bedrest, i can, i’ll just leave-”

the prince’s injury had been the talk of the town since it had occurred: a near-deadly run in with a frightened stag amidst a hunting tourney. the horned animal had spooked his horse, throwing the man off its saddle as it reared and ran off, leaving him to face the male deer. the truth of what had entailed, few would ever know, all that was said was that the prince returned to camp dragging the slaughtered animal by it’s horns with a blood staining the clothing surrounding his left shoulder. 

“no, you won’t, heathen!” in rare occasions, daemon would be the only one to pull a smile from you all day. how fortunate that this is one of those occasions, the scowl on his brows contradicting the subtle upward quirk of his thin lips. “you can not dangle a piece of meat before a dragon and then refuse to feed it.”

were you in any state to think rationally, you’d dig more into the fact he’d just referred to you as a piece of meat.

but, then, if you were thinking rationally, you’d never have wound up at his door.

the second kiss is less forceful. no rush enlaced with every touch, no desperation tickling at both your senses, no desire to stray too far from one another.

you find yourself trusting the prince more than you’d like to when he starts to guide you backwards, a gentle pressure on your hips building while his mouth travels over your jaw and reaches the top of your neck. you walk, and stumble, and shuffle wherever the man directs you and, then, you fall.

any frightful scream you would have let out is quickly replaced with a squeal and a giggle of delight, back meeting what you’re confident in naming the softest bed you’ve ever laid upon.

at last, the shine of the moon allows you to see the man hell-bent on attacking you with his mouth.

“what is the meaning of this, hmm?” the condescension in his tone usually grates you. now, it excites you, arouses you, leaves you wondering of what pleasures he could speak with it. “why’re you suddenly at my door, behaving like some wanton whore?”

oh, you think, who knew such crass could prickle your skin with desire?

the shadow of the prince casts down on you, bathing you in an exagirated enlarged image of him, as if the fates wish to remind you of how big a shadow he looms over your own existence. it scares you.

his eyes scare you more.

they’re usually wider, observing every move, full of that mischievous nature the prince is known for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then daemon’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand that circles a grip around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, silver hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“do you know how hard it is to get you alone? always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid feasts i had to attend to finally get some time with you?” daemon pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, sweet girl? or are you lost in that pretty little head of yours?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with a new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want me to say.”

if it’s the wrong or right answer, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced man releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting jasmine that reminds you of how alluring yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answer to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm of your lips is a mismatch of beats, where one moment you are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down, down, down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you’ve succumb to daemon’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he has in his possession and currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to repeat his previous seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand suddenly finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips ruck up the fabric that safeguards the last of your modesty and meet the ends of your sleep-gown, you’re wishing you’d never slipped it on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over your near shear dress occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like visenya and vhagar at the unstormable vale, daemon parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s pulsating core.

“have you figured out what i want yet?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual smite-filed, almost spat-out-words tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the man. right now, there’s no trace of sardonic undertones in the thick rasp and there’s no time for an exchange of childish insults while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you desire, rather than what the stranger incarnate looming over you wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows no longer furrowed and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. the prince, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he’d stopped you from fleeing at his door.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, till a mere inhale is enough to have your chest pressing into him.

the prince’s descent to the floor is graceful, his figure made of solid muscle and unclothed skin lowering till his knees hit the ground and it becomes you who stare down at him, your hands clutching at the silk sheets his bed has been dressed with in an effort to replace the desire to touch him instead.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of his eyes on you, or the sheer visual strength depicted in the straining muscles of his thighs, you instead focus on the way his lips have trailed away from yours and are beginning to make their way towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your flimsy night-dress, successfully manoeuvring the cotton material till it pools around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the night.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a laugh.

his laughter.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your dress with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, fabric digging into the rapidly heating skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how beautiful your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, not unlike the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” one hand finds it’s way onto his shoulder- the shoulder that does not possess gauze wrapped around it, that is- and grasps it in a vice grip, the fear of melting off the bed and directly onto the concrete floor all too prevalent as you gain enough confidence to let the other hand slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the silver locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked to drink from your cunt?”

you nearly choke on your own shock.

“i suppose that’s another honourable title for me to wear.” daemon is beginning to give you whiplash, with all this switching between being unusually receptive to your presence and the man that minutes before was making poetic profanities out of the beauty of your bared chest. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting once more to make out your figure in the darkness. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting before you, knees pressing into the ground in a mockery of a bow, some crevice deep within your soul sparks up a fire that burns on the belief that perhaps you’ve been wrong about the prince all along, judging only on what people say and not on how he behaves. then, he reopens his mouth and dampens the flame. “now, do i have to tear you out of your skirts or will you stand up and let me slide it off?”

this time, its your laugh that echoes in the air.

“you think i jest!” he seems to whine his way through his exclaim, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is both influenced by the milk of the poppy that flows through his bloodstream, and is going to drive you insane. “i can not go on another moment like this, you sitting there like something akin to the most mouthwatering summer’s peach, without spending my seed. and, while i’d much prefer to do so inches deep inside you, i’ll settle for a mouth full of cunt.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture the prince’s essence. “okay, okay, i’ll umm... just stand up and-” the shriek of fabric tearing rips through the space between you. “hey!”

“i’d apologise but, well,” daemon’s dazed smile should not be this gentle, not when it is proceeded with his hands returning to your now bare thighs. “you were trying my patience.”

his hold on you is strong- both the grip he has on your legs and the control he harbours over your mind-, and he plays it to his advantage, laying one palm flat over your torso and forcing you backwards, till your back meets the mattress and your eyes find themselves staring up at the images carved into the roof of the wooden bedpost, details indistinguishable in the darkened room.

from the floor, the prince is grabbing and pulling and maneuvering you down the length of the mattress, finding the backs of your knees and bending them, spreading your legs to a width wide enough for his broad shoulders to sit between. 

“need you closer, my tongue’s not that long.” the prince mutters, half to himself, as your arse meets the edge of the bed, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. your hands return to fisting at the sheets beneath you, digging and searching and reaching for a way to keep yourself grounded through the maddening thoughts of the prince and the current position you find yourself in, and ignoring the anxious ridden vipers inside your mind that spit their venom and hiss their tongues in commands that entail you gathering the remaining fabrics of your tattered clothing and running out these chambers, out the keep, out the damned capital, out the clutches of the man on his knees. though, with the way his fingers squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’d make it as far as even a single step. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the ladies in the seven kingdoms that would die to be in your position, and you choose to say that?” he tisks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on those words, next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your aching bud.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch upward momentarily, back arching off the bed and mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your buzzing centre and up your pubic bone. “you smell sweet as sin, you know? enough to make any man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when the prince makes his way back down to your pearl and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow more sodden, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- which slips and slides its way down to the crack of your arse, dribbling over your puckered hole- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your womanhood. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head forces itself into the grip you have in his hair while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he slurs over the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while the prince is simply watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your cunt clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

the rogue prince takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why did you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced peak you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your pearl is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. daemon hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged bud. “the goal is to make you cum on my tongue, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your pearl, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

“would you ever stop?” your whining tone is reminiscent of a spoiled babe, crying and fussing over the need to be fed milk from it’s mother’s teat.

“‘tis you who’s becoming insufferable now, my lady.” the prince, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your centre and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between daemon’s and your own.

“you can move.” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your pearl and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, sweetling.”

and, really, who are you to deny a prince?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you watched the flowered wreath slip down his lance. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and daemon’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and dropping your legs over his shoulders, mouth pressing right up against you with his tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, else all the old gods and the new be damned.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time on the spare pillows that line your own bed, in the hours where the moon sits high within the sky and not a creature stirs nearby to witness your self-pleasing sins. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man below you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “oh, there, right there, daemon! yes, i’m going to-.”

the prince pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his mouth. he’s getting everything he’s imagined since he’d watched you first step foot into the keep, your naked body a mess before him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your breast.

he watches how the white tips of your nails clash with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you peak, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you fidget and kick away from him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of your essence he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he lets you move him, mouth switching to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something similar to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“you sound as though you enjoyed yourself.” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, mouth agape as you drag and drop the air through your lungs, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

“do you ever...” despite your efforts to sit yourself up, against his sheets you remain with limbs melted into puddles jelly and eyes staring wide at the heavens above, a tremble still present in your thighs as you subconsciously feel the patterns his hands dance over them. “shut up?”

“only when my mouth is otherwise occupied.”

silence prevails alongside the ticking of time. some part of you registers the return of your feet to the cold floor and the departure of the man from between your legs. he doesn’t stray far, hands clamping down on your hips, a gentle squeeze or two his own way of searching for your presence, urging your eyes to meet his.

they remain looking upwards.

undeterred, the prince is, bending himself at the waist and resting both hands on either side of your head, holding his own weight up as his face obstructs your view above. life enters you once more, eyes focusing at last on him and his upturned mouth and the remnants of your sexual indiscretions drying into his skin.

“for someone who hates it so much, you sure do know how to stroke my ego.” he must be on a mission, you think, to remind you of why you’ve spent your days avoiding interactions with him instead of tangling yourself within his arms. “i’ve got something much bigger for you to stroke though, once you regain your senses.”

this something bumps against your skin, solid as a rock and spluttering a spit of fluids onto you, warm and sticky. sneaking a quick glance is not enough to fully encapsulate the details that make up this fierce looking appendage, with it’s red-angered tip and its decorative bush of hair and the peak of his stones that sit just past its base, yet it’s all you allow yourself under the scrutiny of his eyes.

“perhaps it’s time you to choose your words more wisely, prince daemon,” your voice is breathy, chest heavy still. you try distract him away from noticing such a feat, hand dancing down the expanse of his bare back till it meets the globe of his arse, nail digging in so deep they’re bound to leave marks, if not draw blood too. “it would be far too easy to punch you in the cock from this position.”

he swallows back a demand for you to speak more about his cock.

clarity bestows itself upon your mind, as your memory serves you a cruel reminder of the words you’d overheard and the voice you’d been running from, dread burning its way up your throat in a sickening twist of guts. the prince must notice the shift in the air, perhaps the way your face has grown a little paler or your pupils dilate as you venture off into the hellscape of your mind, for he’s quick to return you to his hold, heavy body pressing down on you as the prince’s mouth meets yours.

there’s a tangy, sticky sweetness to his kiss, a taste of your self that he gifts you with bitten lips and languid tongue, delving deep into your mouth as if in search of some hidden treasure.

it’s clear now, to the both of you, that your reasons for being here- in his chambers, upon his bed, beneath his body- are nothing if not driven by something deeper, darker, more dangerous than simple ardent lust. months you’d been within reach. months he’d been vocal of his desires towards you. days you’d been betrothed to another man.

but the prince never asks, and so you never answer, letting yourselves indulge in the arts of pleasure and pain.

he pulls on your lip, you pull on his hair. he drags his nails down your body, you dig yours into his rear. he drives you deeper up the bed, you drive him deeper between your legs. he rolls his hips into you, you roll your eyes back into your skull.

“this is a dream. you’re a dream,” perhaps your rational thinking has devolved to naught but hedonistic intentions, for you’re almost certain the mighty rogue has something familiar to wonder intertwined with his breathless voice. the dilation of his pupils, eyes more black than targaryen-lilac, is a mystery you ponder over, wondering if it’s driven more by lust or sedative. “and tomorrow i’ll awake to an empty bed and the reality where you tolerate a rat more than me.”

it’s unclear if he speaks literal of the long-tailed rodent, or if it’s simply a new name for the ever-growing list of things he calls your betrothed.

“do you say that to all the whores you fuck?” your words carry a bite, one your own destructive nature hopes will drive him away from you.

“we don’t speak,” he does the opposite, sinking further into you. you become all too aware of the heat returning to your core when he ruts the length of his cock up your folds, coating himself in a thin layer of your lubricant. “sounding like you, they can never achieve it. they can look like you, from the back, at least.”

believing his words to be a lie feels easier than accepting them as truth. the rogue prince has been nothing if not a menace to the streets of silk since the dawn of his sexual maturity, and there is not an inch of you that can fathom him using these vices as a means to quench the desire for you, seeking out your form in faceless, nameless and, apparently, voiceless cunts.

there’s no great lead up to the breaching of your walls, simply another two rolls of his length along your soaked core and a ghost of a kiss against your forehead before the prince is lining himself up and impaling you with his cock.

you’d been warned all about the ache that would come with the breaking of your maidenhead, traumatised at the young ages of four, five, six and onwards of how, someday, your husband would tear you open and leave you a bloodied mess. and, yet, here you lay, a dull ache burning within you, the feel of a pop and the heavy slap of his stones meeting your skin.

“it hurts, i know,” he hushes you when, at last, a pained whimper breaks the surface of your silence, hips stilled and keeping him buried deep in your walls that fight and squeeze and tighten around the intruder. his face, from the little you see of it past the wall of tears building within your eyes, is scrunched up in discomfort, fighting back the instincts that tell him to pull back and fuck himself into you over and over. “but you’re good, and you’re strong, and you can take it. you know you can, just relax.”

you do as your told, far easier than either of you had expected, and find rhythm in his own heavy breathing, matching each inhale and exhale till the soothing of hands over your thighs relaxes the muscles and you manage to retract the nails that dig deep into his back.

the prince moves only once your legs tangle themselves around his waist, spreading you wider and holding him closer.

from there, a symphony ensues, except where normally one would find the melody of a guitar or the blowing of a flute or the beating of a drum, this one is made of skin slapping, mouth kissing, moan singing. the ache builds and builds till it collapses into a pit of delirious pleasure, the kind that opens your eyes as to why it’s so easy for men and women to succumb to the sins of flesh.

“look at you,” his words are rough while his touch is soft, hand gliding over your breasts once more, pinching and pulling at your aching nipples as he puts strength into gazing down at you, intoxicating himself with the way your bodies join at the hip, his cock disappearing into your walls and reemerging coated in your arousal, glimmering beneath the moonlight. “taking me so fucking well. letting me carve out a home for myself in your cunt, huh? gonna let me stay inside you forever?”

he’s manic, and crazed, and spewing out things that you know should make you cringe and roll over in disgust. but you’re just as far gone, mind no longer vacant in your body as you chase that special feeling only the repeated hammering of his tip against your womb can bring.

“let me cum inside, sweetling,” is it more plea or demand? it’s hard to tell, and hard to care, arms circling round the back of his neck and back arching to press chest to chest. the prince ceases his senseless rambling only to lay kisses down your sweat-covered face, neck, chest, each carrying the weight of his desperation to feel you real and breathing beneath him. “stake my claim over this tight little cunt, leave you dripping from how full i make you.”

waves of pleasure crash over you in tandem, unintelligible groans and gasps all that play through the air as hands clamp down and teeth bite skin. your walls spasm around his cock while it twitches within you, both of your peaks painting your bodies in liquid arousal. warmth fills your cunt and trickles out of you, catching on the dark mass of hair that sits above his appendage, the stark white of his cum sickeningly reminding you to the first time you’d seen snow as a child and arousing the same response from you: a desire to taste it.

he collapses down onto you before you get the chance, however, and the exchange of body heat and shallow breaths lulls you both through your states of ecstasy, slipping into a quiet comfort.

the prince moves slowly, as if not to disturb either of you, and shushes you with kisses when you whine at the loss of him from your cunt, softening cock slapping down against your leg. a few moments pass before he’s moving again, this time with you in tow, dragging at the sheets beneath and working them over you both just as you begin to register how cold the chill in the room is. never mind, the dragon keeps you warm against him, limbs tangling as you make a pillow out of his chest.

“my betrothed.” you take the lead this time in breaking the comfortable cloud of silence which had settled itself above your tired bods. the prince merely grunts, disliking the sound of those two words as much as you dislike the taste of them. “i overheard him conversing with an adviser of his.”

“whatever he said, i’ll cut his tongue out and feed him it.” his vulgar threat drags an airy laugh out of you as he mumbles it into the top of your head.

“my maidenhood, that’s what lead him to offering me his hand.” you laugh again, though there is no trace of humour as it devolves into something of a broken, heart-wrenching sob. “gods, i must be so stupid for thinking a man like him could fall in love with me.”

the silence is unnerving, weighs down on your chest with every breath that ebbs and flows between you both. you’re waiting on it, anxiously anticipating the moment laughter breaks out his ribs and shakes his whole body in amusement at your sheer ridiculous expectations, mocking you for giving away your maidenhood in an act so childish as simply not giving your betrothed the satisfaction of taking it.

marriage is politics, you can picture him saying, love is merely a made up tale to entertain children.

daemon never quite has been one for following expectations.

“i could fall in love with you.”

so it is you who winds up laughing, a repeat of that fractured chuckle that dissipates into something more painful and stings at the cracks in your heart.

“you’re not in love with me, daemon,” it feels obvious to say, yet you’re graced with a disagreeing look upon his face. “you’re obsessed with me, there’s a difference.”

“i beg to differ.”

“you see me as nothing but a lady who doesn’t fall at her feet for you, and it excites you. it’s okay, i understand, but i won’t let you delude yourself nor i into believing its love.”

he has no reply to give, not one that could change your mind.

and so there you lay, naked bod pressed to naked bod, sweat and spit and other bodily fluids becoming the glue that hold you together, with limbs entangled and eyes locked. you see peace in his smile and he watches as sleep slowly whisks you away into its warmth.

little does the prince know your eyes will not meet his own again for many years to come.

not days later, as he stands amongst the crowd of folk bearing witness to the exchanging of vows between the tyrell boy and you, nor several years after, as you return to the great hall of the red keep to see the announcement of prince aegon's birth, your own child stood at your side and grasping your hand, the silver-moon upon her head no match to the straw blonde of your husband.

[archiveikemen]

Liam Evans Main Story: Chapter 24 (Crazy Love)

Premium Avatar Challenge Story

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

I don’t expect much. My heart that just had that thought was screaming to hear the words that would be spoken a mere second later.

Liam: Kate. Back then, I couldn’t take your hand.

Liam: I couldn’t bring myself to reach for your hand that you so desperately held out to me.

Liam: However, I…

His trembling fingers gently touched mine.

Liam then firmly grasped my fingertips before wrapping his larger hand around my hand.

Liam: Ahh… I…

Liam: The whole time, I wanted to touch your hand like this. By my own will, I… I wanted to grab your hand.

The warmth between our interlaced hands made my heart stir painfully with emotions.

Right now, Liam and I were living in this situation because it was inevitable.

Liam: Kate. You always believe in tomorrow.

Liam: Even when tomorrow seems full of uncertainty and dreadful, you take a step forward and face it while trembling at the same time.

The pair of eyes in front of me softened and narrowed, as if embracing my show of courage.

Liam: I… I want to become someone who can stay by your side. I don’t want anyone else to have that position.

Liam: I may not be the best at walking towards tomorrow. But if it’s a tomorrow with you in it, I want to run towards it together…

Liam: Kate. The way you’re the only one I look at and chase after is almost comical.

Liam: So… please, be there in my tomorrow and waiting for me.

(... Yes.)

(These are the words I’ve always wanted to hear.)

Liam: Don’t go anywhere. Don’t… don't leave me behind…

(...)

(Leave Liam behind?)

Kate: W-Wait a second. Who’s leaving who behind?

Liam: You leaving me behind.

Liam: You decided to leave us, so this dinner party is to bid you farewell—

Kate • Liam: :O

Kate • Liam: Could it be…

Victor: Ahaha. Sorry, Kate.

Victor: I just couldn't wait any longer.

???: It was this middle-aged man’s (Victor) idea in the first place to lie. I mean, I did go along with the idea, so this is on me too.

Liam: … Harry.

Back from his mission, Harrison was nearby enjoying the sweets with a satisfied grin.

Harrison: I have the curse of a lying fox. Did you forget that my words shouldn't be easily trusted?

Liam: By any chance… was everyone in on this?

Roger: Heh.

Alfons • Elbert: …

Jude: Huh? What are you talking about?

Ellis: Jude. Shh…

Liam: Pfft… ahahahaha, gosh.

Liam: Seriously, this is why you all are villains!

William: Only realising that now?

Liam’s laughter was carefree.

His smile was like if stars had fallen from the sky, sparkling brightly and captivating my eyes.

Kate: Fufu…

All the tension that had been building up inside me was released instantly. Warm tears trickled down my face.

Liam: Kate…?

Kate: … Sorry. I just… I just felt so relieved… to see your smile…

Kate: The way you’re smiling right now and communicating your feelings to me is making me so incredibly happy that I can’t help overflowing with love for you.

Liam: …

Liam: Sorry, Kate. I’m about to do something very selfish.

(Huh?)

With my hand in his, Liam dashed out of the dance hall.

Liam: — Let’s go.

William: Haha. Is it alright for the star to be absent, Queen’s Aide?

Victor: Yeah, that’s alright. I love watching those kids living freely.

…

Liam immediately hugged me tight the moment we ran into his room.

Kate: L-Liam?

Liam: I know that I shouldn't take away the star of the party.

Liam: But your tears were so beautiful and lovely… I didn’t want anyone else to see them.

The way he looked so much like a dejected cat made me forget about the tears I shed just a while ago and smile.

(I’ll gladly accept anything that will happen.)

Kate: Please don't apologise. … That actually made me happy.

Liam widened his eyes in surprise before frowning and nuzzling his cheek against mine.

Liam: Mm… don’t let me get too carried away.

Despite his playful tone, I could sense his unease.

Liam had been suppressing his own feelings so long, so I wanted him to express what he truly felt in his heart.

In front of me, at least.

Even if it's something confusing.

(Don’t hesitate when our gazes are locked like this.)

Kate: … That’s okay. Whenever you’re thinking of me, please believe that I think the same way about you.

Liam: Really?

Kate: Yes. Really.

Liam: Then…

(Ah…)

He pressed his lips against my ear, gently nibbling on it and sending shivers through my body.

Liam: If I’m thinking that I want to touch you more, is it still okay for me to assume you're thinking the same way…?

Liam: Touching you isn’t enough. I want to make love to you until you’re all wet and dirty, is that okay…?

(... There’s only one answer.)

I nodded, and Liam held me down on the bed and slid his hand underneath my dress.

The dress I had specially put on for Liam to see was tossed to the edge of the bed, my bare body covered in nothing and glistening with sweat.

Kate: Haa… ahh…

(... I’m going crazy.)

Liam’s tongue roamed my chest, my skin still feverish and my body limp from my first climax.

Kate: Ahh…

Liam: I figured you’d like it when I do this to you. … I’m going to make love to you a lot.

Knowing that my body had become easily aroused because of all the pleasure he had brought me, Liam smiled and spread my legs before pushing himself deep inside me again.

Kate: Nngh…

Liam: Haa… you’re so warm… Kate…

My legs wide open, Liam thrust into me over and over again, making me scream in pleasure.

Kate: aahh…

Liam: W-What’s the matter with me… I want you so badly… I’m going crazy…

I was so captivated by the passion in our gazes as our eyes met, I forgot to breathe.

The hungry look in his rose-coloured eyes was like that of a cat in heat.

As if to satisfy his hunger for love, he indulged himself in my body and warmth.

Kate: …

For a moment, I found his ferocity frightening.

However, my intense feelings of love for him surpassed my fears; and so I tightly embraced his sweaty back.

Kate: It’s okay. You don’t have to hold back. I’ll give you everything you want, all of it.

Liam: …

Liam: … Yeah.

Liam: Perhaps… up till now… I’ve never truly lived.

Liam gently guided my hand to his chest and placed it over where his heart was.

I could feel his heart beating like a small animal’s.

Liam: I don't know why… my heart is racing like this…

Just feeling it with my palm wasn't enough, I wrapped both arms around Liam and embraced his whole body.

…

Kate had fallen asleep from exhaustion after countless love making sessions. Liam gently stroked her hair as she slept peacefully by his side.

He’s spent many sleepless nights like this, but none of them were as peaceful as tonight.

For the first time in all his years of living, he thought that the silence of the night felt pleasant.

Liam: … Thank… thank you… Kate.

At that moment, it started raining in his heart.

The rain that signalled the onset of an episode had always been ice cold. But, this time, it was soft like a gentle rainfall in springtime.

He heard the voice of the other him who lived inside his heart.

(... It’s been a while. I’ve been wanting to meet you.)

… What, you’ve never initiated a talk with me before.

(I’m sorry for everything up till now.)

… ~ silence ~ …

(All this time, I’ve always thought of you as a Grim Reaper luring me towards my death. I was wrong.)

… ~ silence ~ …

(I lived my life as if I were a dead man. You were only trying to remind me that I was alive, weren't you…?)

… What about it? So, what do you want? Do you finally want to get rid of me?

(Nope, you’re the other me. You’re the scars from my past wounds. That’s why, you definitely won’t ever disappear.)

(But I want you to watch me. Watch as I walk towards my tomorrows.)

… Do whatever you want.

Just know that if ever you go back to being a coward, I’ll drag you back into the darkness. Remember that, yeah?

The sound of the rain faded away and disappeared.

Liam: …

Instead, all he heard was the sound of Kate’s breathing as she slept soundly.

He would surely tell Kate about the peaceful night first thing in the morning when she wakes up.

[heynikkiyousofine]

Came up with a dark and twisty, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers InuKag fic. Here's Inuyasha and Kagome's first meeting below. 😈

The little girl tugged on her hand, almost desperate in her attempt to get to the strange man before her, but she kept a firm grip on the tiny hand, her fear overwhelming any rational thought. Hearing a soft whimper from her, Kagome winced and silently apologized, figuring she was squeezing her hand a little too tight, but Rin refused to let up, repeating over and over that she knew the man, that he was safe.

Figuring she spoke the truth, given that the girl had only been in Kagome’s care for less than days, she released her hold on her, carefully keeping her body hidden behind the tree. Rin dashed forward, crying out and she was scooped up by the silver haired man quicker than she imagined, her sobs crushing Kagome’s heart. At least she will be safe and he will never get her again.

A tiny sigh of relief left her lips, Kagome keeping her gaze trained ahead, in case this man, or the family behind them dared to take her back. What if…… what if they return her back to him? No, I won’t go back! A strange warmth spread through her, as if soul was crying out with her pain. Gripping her cloak tight, she kept her eyes trained on the scene before her.

Rin had climbed down from the man’s hold and he gently guided her to stand with the other children, two twin girls that looked like a perfect mix of the other two. Assuming they were their offspring, Kagome wondered how the silver haired man fit into the whole picture.

“Hey, we’re not gonna hurt ya.” He spoke, his voice soft but kind. 

Do not let me fall for their tricks. He could be one of the many dangers Sister Kikyo warned me about.

“Inuyasha, wait.” The other man, the one with indigo eyes and short hair that matched her own, stepped forward, his curious gaze boring into her, as if he was looking through her. “She’s a miko and an untrained powerful one at that.” Miko? What is a miko? The heat within her grew and she could feel her fingertips warming, as if she were holding them over the fire pit a little too close.

“I ain’t gonna hurt her.” The silver haired man, Inuyasha she deemed, snarled. 

Oh, kami. He’s not human. 

He stepped closer, no denying his cautious movements, but she didn’t dare to move beneath this predator’s gaze. If she ran, he would certainly chase her and bring her back to Naraku without question.

He moved closer, Kagome able to see the gold of his eyes, yet the fear and heat within her grew. Squeezing her palms so tight, she felt her nails dig into her skin, the lash marks on her right hand opening again. She did not dare to move, as the man approached slowly, repeating  softly that she was safe, his frown deepening when Kagome knew her hand was once again bleeding.

“My name is Inuyasha, and these are my friends. Rin is my niece. Thank you for your help in her return” His nose twitched, his eyes searching her form as he stood a mere three feet from her, but her body refused to listen to her. When his eyes focused back on her own, she swore she saw a flash of anger rise, leaving as quickly as she came, the fire dousing her skin morphing into an inferno.

“Inuyasha, she’s going to purify you if you get any closer.” The dark-haired man warned, confusing her. She was not magical, she had no way to hurt this man. Before she could tell him to stay where he was, a whisper of something washed over, causing her own blaze to rise. She blinked and suddenly Inuyasha was flying towards his friends, letting out a loud grunt as he collided on the grass. 

Swallowing, she exhaled, shocked to find herself surrounded in a barrier, resembling the one surrounding her village, only this one was a bright pink instead of deep blue. Had she done that to him? No, she was a normal girl. 

“Kagome!” Rin cried out, ripping herself from the woman’s hold before rushing towards her. Kneeling down, Kagome held her arms open as the little girl leapt into them, her body trembling as the barrier fell, her refusal to hurt Rin overwhelming. Why am I feeling everything so strongly? It’s like my emotions are enhanced and I can’t control them. 

“Kagome, they’re not going to hurt you.” 

Kagome shook her head, unable to stop the shivers that racked her body, keeping the humans and non-human in her peripheral, adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She would make sure Rin was safe before she took off on her own, her grip on the girl’s clothing tightening.

“Uncle Yash is my family. I promise you will be safe with him.” Rin pointed as her Uncle Yash nodded, his hardened features softening as she took him. He was powerful and whatever he did to make her react in such a way proved that. Never in her life had Kagaome imagined that she could raise her own barrier. If she had known that, she would never have succumbed to so many punishments.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, Rin quieting and she knew that all eyes were on her, waiting for whatever decision she would make. Can I trust them? Could I have his protection from the horrors of my past? Something within her spoke the truth, though she wasn’t sure what that was, but she went with what her soul was telling her to do. Sliding her uninjured hand in Rin’s, Kagome opened her eyes and rose, giving Inuyasha a slight nod.

Slowly walking forward, her body refused to relax, as if it knew the moment she wasn’t safe, she could use every bit of energy she had to run. Rin squeezed her hand, giving her a soft smile as she guided her towards the group.

“Uncle Yash, Uncle Miroku, this is Sister Kagome. She saved me from the bad place.”

Kagome glanced back at the woman and children behind them, finally noticing a small bundle attached strangely to her back, each of them smiling at her.

“Sister Kagome, is it? Please, allow us to guide you to our home so that we may look at your injuries. If you would like that is?” The dark haired man stepped closer, causing her to involuntarily shrink back. His home? Where I could be held against my will?

“No one is going to hurt ya, I swear on my life.” Inuyasha spoke again, her head whirling towards him and something inside her clicked, her soul reaching out for him all on its own. A loud chime rang in her ears, as if someone was ringing the village bell right next to her and all Kagome felt before blackness took over were warm hands around her waist.

[pealeii]

ok only if you want but can yuppie give me a rundown of the les mis fandom/ characters? Like who is enjolras and why do people ship him with the guy whose name starts with g and ends with taire? Idk I remember the plot of valjean stealing bread then taking care of a dead lady's daughter while running from the worst cop ever add the daughter like falls in love with eddie redmayne but i remember none of the freedom guys lol.

Again, only if you want to but i keep seeing les mis on my dash and I'm genuinely curious!

HAHAHAHA OKAY

I don’t feel super qualified to answer this cuz I haven’t read all of the book yet, but I LOVE the musical and thank you for indulging me cuz this musical has my heart, body, and soul

So your first question is about Enjolras and Grantaire. One of the storylines in Les Mis is about the June Rebellion, which was an anti-monarchist uprising (that actually happened irl but that’s besides the point.) In the show, Enjolras is the intense and passionate leader of this revolution. He has a bunch of friends who have joined in his cause. One of them is Marius (played by Eddie Redmayne in the 2012 movie) who falls in love with this girl (Cosette) who happens to be the adoptive daughter of a known convict. But we’ll get to that later. So Marius comes in being all “I’M IN LOVE” and Enjolras is like “NO WTF I DONT CARE STICK TO THE PROGRAM WE ARE TRYING TO REVOLT 👏 AGAINST 👏 THE 👏MONARCHS 👏 AND FREE 👏 THE 👏 PEOPLE”

So Enjolras is all revolution, no nonsense. And all the other schoolboys (the barricade boys) are on his side. But then there’s Grantaire, who believes in nothing and is constantly drunk. Depending on the version, but in the book especially, it’s pretty clear that he is hopelessly in love with Enjolras. Again, Enjolras is taking none of that cuz he’s in love with France. In the book, there’s an interaction between them where Enjolras says “You don’t believe in anything.” And Grantaire says “I believe in you.”

So the rebellion culminates in the boys building a massive barricade, waiting there to fight the soldiers that oppose them, for the freedom of the people. No matter how passionate and strong-willed the boys of the revolution are, it is sadly hopeless. The soldiers and policeman kill them. The last one to die is Enjolras, triumphant till the end. But wait! While the guards are closing in on Enjolras, who pops up, drunk and out-of-it but GRANTAIRE HIMSELF. He goes over and asks if he can stand by Enjolras (“Permets-tu?” in the original French book. Which roughly means “Do you permit it?”) They take each other’s hands and DIE TOGETHER so no wonder ppl ship them.

As for Marius and the girl he likes. The girl is Cosette, whose mother was a woman living in poverty and fending for herself named Fantine. She could not take care of Cosette, so a kind man named Jean Valjean took her as his own. And Fantine passes :(

But a lil thing about Jean Valjean is that he stole some bread to save his sister’s child but was CAUGHT so he spent 19 years imprisoned. After that, his porale began but it WASNT ENOUGH cuz the guy who oversaw those prisoners was INSPECTOR JAVERT, a man who made it his life mission (he thinks it was God-ordained as well) to track down and capture Jean Valjean. So Jean Valjean has been relentlessly pursued by Javert ever since. And when Valjean finally gets the chance to end Javert’s life and end this chase, he spares him, shows him mercy. Javert, in his dedication to the law and his ONE mission, cannot take this mercy, and throws himself off a bridge. :{

The barricade boys have fallen, Javert has fallen. And eventually, Valjean will be taken from the world as well.

And Cosette and Marius get married yayyyyyyy

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The artist and the soldier: the unlikely friendship of Lucian Freud and Brigadier Andrew Parker Bowles

The painter makes real to others his innermost feelings about all that he cares for. A secret becomes known to everyone who views the picture through the intensity with which it is felt.

- Lucian Freud

Lucian Freud’s majestic The Brigadier, painted between 2003 and 2004, is a powerful, intimate, portrait of Brigadier Andrew-Parker Bowles, a dashing cavalry officer and ex-husband of  Queen Consort Camilla, and thus a venerable member of the British establishment and aristocracy.

Steeped in the traditions of military portrayals, Freud’s painting of a British army brigadier is transformed into a resolutely contemporary painting by his legendary attention to detail and lucid brushstrokes. It evokes the spirit of the grand military portraits that populate art history, yet in Freud’s hands the lucid brushstrokes produce a portrait that captures the contradictions of the modern world in a very contemporary way.

But the portrait also tells a story of a most unlikely friendship struck up by an artist and his subject. They made an unlikely pair: the roguish painter in his eighties, who famously enjoyed a flutter and a fight, and the highly decorated soldier with impeccable royal connections.

Although Freud died in 2011, Parker Bowles is always ready to share his story of his friendship with the uncompromising and difficult late artist. He most famously tells of one story when, “‘At one stage a group of Americans were taking flash photos, which Lucian hated, so he threw a bread roll at one of them. The man complained,’ recalls Parker Bowles. And how did you react? ‘Well,’ he pauses. ‘I was just a tiny bit embarrassed.’ Luckily, the proprietor was on hand to mediate. ‘He came over and said to the American, “I’m terribly sorry but Mr Freud is allowed to do that.” That was it.’ That always gets a bellyful laugh out of the ex-brigadier Andrew Parker Bowles (APB as he’s often tagged).

If you visit Parker Bowles’ cottage in the Cotswolds, you’ll see many interests bits of memorabilia. The last British Union flag that flew in Rhodesia, where he served, is resting on a radiator. Nestled on a shelf amidst medals and trophies is a small bottle of stitches preserved in brine – wrenched from Parker Bowles’ back after he broke it during the hurdle race at Ascot. In another is a lump of cartilage extracted from his knee and pickled for posterity (the culmination of rugby knocks and jumping out of a plane). All, in their own way, are emblems of the rugged masculinity and swashbuckling adventure he exudes even at 83 years old. One can see why the irascible Lucian Freud liked him.

But in the corner of one room are photographs of his old friend, Lucian Freud. They hang next to a bronze bust of Freud’s head and a framed letter: ‘My dear Andrew, since even your more foolish actions have their reasons – why is it that I haven’t seen you for so long? Can we have a ride, a drink, a jaunt or a fight? Please write. Lucian.’

The pair first met in 1983, when Parker Bowles, then Commanding Officer of the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment, received a request from Lucian Freud, who wanted to paint a horse. Parker Bowles chose the horse he thought was best at staying still and Lucian painted away. ‘When he finished, he gave the trooper holding the horse a sketch and said, “Don’t just throw it away, if you want to sell it, go to my agent and he’ll buy it off you.”’ With the money, the trooper bought a house. ‘A rather nice start. I got nothing as a result,’ says Parker Bowles in mock dismay. ‘Except I got to know him.’

Before long, a friendship blossomed. Together, they’d go riding, galloping around Hyde Park, Freud’s scruffy suit covered in paint, his white silk scarf billowing in the wind. ‘Freud wouldn’t wear a hard hat. So it would be me chasing after him, trying to slow him down. Him going flat out.’

Over the years, they’d visit the National Portrait Gallery at night, which would be opened especially for Freud. They went to Paris for an exhibition and to Ireland to see Freud’s bookmaker, who had accrued more than 20 pictures in lieu of gambling debts. They watched the Ascot races, and ‘as I recall, he lost a million pounds betting.’ Eventually Freud stopped gambling. ‘When I asked why, he said, “Well, now I have enough money.” The joy and fun was being short of money and losing it and having people hammering on his door.’ Those debtors, it was said, included the notorious East End gangsters, the Krays.

And yet, amongst all the liveliness, Freud also found the time to work prolifically. He painted well into his eighties, burning through sittings - a nude mother one morning, her nude daughter in the afternoon. Perhaps it was only inevitable that one day the bell would toll for Andrew Parker-Bowles.

It was 2003. At first APB said no. he said, “Look, I have things to do.”’ He had recently left the army and was putting together a few business prospects. No matter, said Freud: “It will only take a few months. It’s a head and shoulders.”’

They’d talked about James Jacques Tissot’s glamorous portrait in the National Portrait Gallery of Colonel Fred Burnaby, a moustachioed war hero who served in the same regiment as Parker Bowles. It would be the inspiration.

So APB went back to the Knightsbridge Barracks and borrowed his old uniform. To his surprise, he discovered that it no longer fitted as comfortably. ‘I’d put on a bit of weight, or otherwise it’d shrunk,’ APB would laugh at recalling his embarrassment. ‘The first morning it was so hot, and the uniform was so tight, I undid it. That’s when Freud said, “That’s it, hold it, that’s what we want.”’

The three-month mark came and went, and the picture continued to grow in size. As APB would recall, ‘He kept on adding canvas. My heart sunk. Soon it was seven feet high.’

By his own admission he was a fidgety sitter and Freud was ‘incredibly slow.’ Parker Bowles got by with plenty of Diet Coke and regular breaks. ‘As you can see from the picture I had rather an inane look on my face. You can’t have someone smiling because you can’t hold a smile for 18 months.’

Freud liked to work in silence. ‘Every so often he would come quite close to you.’ He gestures his hand to his nose. ‘Look at you, and go back.’

When Freud wanted to rest, he’d stop and talk. ‘But then he wouldn’t paint. One was torn between wanting him to get on with it and listening to what he had to say about things.’

At one stage Parker Bowles caught a glimpse of the portrait He didn’t like APB seeing what he’d done, but it was such a big picture that APB couldn’t help but look at it, and complained that his friend had been unkind in the likeness of his size. Freud gleefully painted an extra inch of fat on to Parker Bowles’ middle. ‘He did it to shut me up.’

Freud’s tempers were infamous, yet he and Andrew never argued. ‘Discussions yes, arguments no. In his relationships, the minute something went wrong, he’d cut you off and wouldn’t ever speak to you again. Luckily, he didn’t do it to me. But he did with some of the girls he painted.’

Instead, Freud was ‘great company’ and a routine emerged. ‘It would be breakfast at Clarke’s, then we’d go back and I’d climb into my uniform. Even if he was just painting my face, he still wanted me to wear the whole uniform.’ Lunch might be at Clarke’s again and then back to the studio. If it sounds intense, it wasn’t constant: twice weekly for the sittings. ‘Then he’d wheel in the next victim.’

The starriest of these included Jerry Hall and Kate Moss, though perhaps one of Freud’s most talked-about paintings, unveiled in 2001, was of the late Queen Elizabeth II. Many were critical of the royal portrait, which was, even by the most anodyne description, unforgiving. One newspaper called it a ‘travesty’. Parker Bowles is more sanguine about it. He said in one interview, ‘You have to say it’s accurate. I once asked Her Majesty, the Queen what she thought about Mr Freud’s picture and she replied, “Very interesting.” Which is a very clever answer, really.’

And what of his own portrait? Did it require diplomacy? After 18 long months the oil painting was finished and titled The Brigadier. One critic described the painting as ‘insolent’, ‘scathing’ and ‘melancholic’. He went on to describe its subject as looking ‘saddened and wiped out’. Flattering? Admittedly perhaps not, but a masterpiece, said many. Parker Bowles - who divorced Camilla in 1995 - was a fan of the work, and the painting’s naturalism is one of the reasons why it is so popular. Parker Bowles might have bought it. Instead, it was installed in someone else’s house and eventually sold by Christie’s in 2015 for $35m – a record figure.

Andrew Parker Bowles has always been stoic about missing on buying his own portrait but he lacked the funds by a country mile on his military pension and other holdings. He conceded that he didn’t fancy the idea of, “a seven-foot picture of myself looking rather red-faced and fat wasn’t my idea of fun”.

So there’s no Brigadier hanging in the Cotswolds, but a picture of a friendship emerges and endures. Freud lived to be 88. Parker Bowles went to see his friend as he lay dying in the summer of 2011. Three of his daughters were there; Freud had 14 acknowledged children. Parker Bowles went in. He was unconscious and APB held his hand. They went next door with Freud’s assistant David Dawson and their Irish friend Pat Doherty, whom Freud had also painted, and they had dinner and Freud died that night.

Andrew Parker Bowles continues to have fond memories of his most unlikely friendship with one of Britain’s distinguished artists. He said once in a newspaper profile. ‘Freud was a fascinating man. I wouldn’t say he was a particularly kind man, he was often quite cruel. But his whole life was painting, really, right to the end.’

[moon-sang]

hewo, I saw ur masterlist and it said you take requests for Inosuke so hehe 😏

Could I request maybe a demon reader (to make it interesting) and maybe Inosuke is ordered to take her down whilst Tanjiro and Zenitsu kill another demon, but Inosuke actually grows a bond with the demon (maybe she’s a bit mischievous in a non-sexual way) and he finds out she has never eaten anyone before much like Nezuko.

BONUS: Tanjiro and Zenitsu confused as hell when they see Inosuke holding hands with the demon walking back to them 😂

you don’t have to do this, it’s just been something on my mind ❤️

Friend Or Foe?

Inosuke x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is my first time writing for kny characters so pls be kind with feedback if you have any ❤️

SUMMARY: Inosuke finds an unlikely friend.  OR

The request.

WARNINGS: fluff, mild angst, Fem!reader, demon!reader, mature language, maybe a tiny bit of tension, mischievous!reader, I think that’s about it, please tell me if I miss anything!

—

The cave is covered in fog as Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke make their way further in. An ethereal glow illuminates the crescent shaped moon as rays of white moonshine emanates the top of the mountain’s head.

“G-g-guys, this is getting really creepy!” Zenitsu whimpers, body ragged and trembling in fear. “Stop being such a baby, Monitsu!” Yells Inosuke, triggering the blonde even more. “STOP SCREAMING SO LOUD!! YOU’RE GONNA KILL US, YOU MORON” Tanjiro audibly sighs, turning to face both his teammates who were in a fist fight by then. “This isn’t going to work” He whispers, loud enough for Zenitsu and Inosuke to hear. “W-what isn’t going to work, Tanjiro?” Zenitsu asks in confusion. “I can smell two different scents … I think there are two demons here.” He exclaims. “wHaT!!! THIS IS BAD, THIS IS REALLY, REALLY B-” 

“I think we should split up.” Tanjiro explains 

“YEAH!”  “WE CAN’T SPLIT UP, THAT DEMON WILL KILL US ALL, AAAAAH!”  “it’s ok Zenitsu, you can come with me. Will you be alright on your own Inosuke?”  Tanjiro questions.

“I’ll be fine, Gonpachiro!”

Tanjiro doesn’t even get a chance to respond when Inosuke is already dashing past him, headed straight for the entrance of the cave AKA the wrong way. It takes a few seconds before the green eyed man comes running back, realising his mistake, and finding the right track to the demon he was to fight.

~~~

A forest of blood red crystals formed a small trail for Inosuke to follow. His boar mask was reflected through the many diamonds that sprung from the ground, like small crops. As the demon slayer strode through the diamond garden the more he began to feel like he was being followed. 

With a swift turn of his heels he spins around and almost bumps into the demon. 

Dangerous e/c eyes stared back at him, yet there was a sprinkle of innocence in them. Her skin was a clear s/c, but slightly paled, most likely from being a demon. She bared her fangs at him in a toothy grin, eyes glimmering in mischief. 

Inosuke cackles and reaches for his swords….Only, they’re not there-

“Huh?”

“Looking for something?” Sneers the demon girl, holding his swords in a reverse grip. 

“HEY!! THOSE ARE MINE!” Inosuke yells, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Can I have them?” She asks with a knowing sly smirk. 

“ABSOLUTELY NOT” He grunts. 

Her smile widens and she bolts past him, taking his swords with her.

Damn, she was a fast demon…

“HEY! GET BACK HERE!”  It didn’t take long for Inosuke to catch up to her, after all he was used to chasing Monitsu all the time.  He chased the demon to a dead-end, with only an unclimbable mountain above her. 

“HA! I WIN!” He yells as she stops running, realising her situation.  “Do you?” She asks with a quirk.  Without warning, the demon girl jumps in midair, but instead of landing on the ground again, a small rounded crystal path forms under her feet. 

“HEY, THAT’S CHEATING!”  As Inosuke starts to charge at her, she takes another step, and as if she were climbing a set of crystal stairs, another path formed under feet, as the previous one faded. She continued the same pattern until she was on top of the mountain that once towered over her. 

“NO FAIR!” 

With a mockingly sympathetic smile, she chucks two diamond daggers down. Surprisingly, when they hit the ground, they do not break. 

Inosuke picks them up in question, but quickly realises what he needed to do. 

With an all too familiar laugh he jabs one of the diamond dagger's into the mountain rock. Once again, it does not break. Must have some weird demon spell on it. Thought the demon slayer. He does the same with the other dagger, and slowly climbs up the mountain that way. 

He’s surprised to see the demon hadn’t moved from her place, when he finally reaches the top. 

“Took you long enough.” She blurts.  Inosuke clenches his fists. 

Finally, some challenge. He pondered. 

As much as the boar masked man hated to admit it, he was actually having a little fun…with a..demon.. 

she must have put him under a spell to like her, yeah! That’s what it is! 

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I will slay you!” He exclaims. 

“Then hurry up and do it..” She giggles, throwing both his swords at him

He catches them with expert precision and readies them in his stance. 

She lifts her arm slightly and a diamond sword constructs itself in her hand.

She swings the sword so it’s in a reverse grip, and positions her self in a defensive stance. 

He charges at her, without wasting a second. 

Their swords clash and ring through the crystal cave. 

Inosuke lifts his swords off of hers and went for her head, a little hesitantly…after all.. he kinda liked her.  She ducks the swing of his sword and kicks him in the stomach, sending him crashing down to the floor. 

She menacingly walks over to him and offers her hand, encouraging him to take it. 

Instead, Inosuke sweeps her legs and she falls to the ground as well. From there, the demon slayer climbed on top of her and readies his sword at her neck. 

“Go on.” She says, when Inosuke hesitates.

“Slay me, demon slayer.” She chuckles.  “SHUT UP!”  Why was he having such a hard time decapitating her?

He stays hovering over her for a while longer, battling with his own mind on what he should do.

The demon yawns from underneath him, admittedly getting a little bored. 

“I’m hungry..” she groans.  actually..now that he thought about it, Inosuke was getting pretty hungry as well..

His stomach lets out a low growl at the mention of food and she chuckles. 

“Lets go get something to eat.”  “What the damn hell do you mean?! Aren’t I your meal?!” 

“Naaa, I don’t like fur in my food.” She snarks.  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” He barks.  she snickers in response, enjoying every moment of this. 

It had been a while since she was treated like she was normal. 

“How about.. some tempura?” She asks.  Inosuke’s ears go up at the mention of his favourite food and he immediately gets off of her. 

“You like tempura?” He asks, completely intrigued with her now. 

“Of course.” She says with a smirk.  He’s silent for a moment, before-

“LET’S GET TEMPURA!”  ~~

BONUS: 

“So you have two friends named Gonpachiro and Monichi?”  “Yup, my turn now.” 

“Do you eat humans?” He asks.  “No, I’ve never eaten human before, I can resist the urge to by consuming human food.” She says with a faint smile.  “oh” he says as they walked through the cave.  “Hey! Is that your friends over there?!” She asks as two figures appear at the entrance.  Inosuke squints and widens his eyes when he realises it’s his teammates. 

“Yeah! It is!” He replies, grabbing her hand and running towards them.  “ITADAKI TONTARO!”  Tanjiro turns his head in absolute confusion. 

“ITS TANJI-” He cuts himself off when he sees Inosuke running with what smells like a demon.

“Inosuke…who’s this?” He asks wearily.  “OH, THIS IS Y/L/N Y/N.” He blurts out.  “She’s a….-”

“Demon, I know.” He finishes for him.  “We’re gonna get some tempura!” He yells before bolting off, finding the closest restaurant that sells what he wants.  Tanjiro and Zenitsu exchange looks of absolute confusion and horror (in Zenitsu’s case). 

What had their friend gotten into this time? 

~~~

Requests open.