#like he's the one serving me eye candy on a silver platter

[illiana-mystery]

I totally watched this movie for the plot...

[spider-stark]

PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes. 

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady. 

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.” 

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.” 

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be. 

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault. 

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.” 

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long. 

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze. 

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care. 

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you. 

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-” 

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!” 

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment. 

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.” 

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother. 

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you. 

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?” 

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well. 

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother. 

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you. 

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.  

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?” 

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings. 

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him. 

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant. 

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all. 

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother. 

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.” 

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room. 

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.  

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo. 

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck. 

And, in many ways, you hate it. 

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard. 

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself. 

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind. 

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol. 

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight. 

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest. 

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too. 

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors. 

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball. 

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air. 

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you. 

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips. 

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life. 

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear. 

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table. 

“No!” 

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck. 

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?” 

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table. 

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished. 

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary. 

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?” 

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different. 

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid. 

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!” 

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?” 

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.” 

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent. 

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence. 

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?” 

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe. 

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.” 

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with. 

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-” 

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,” 

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too. 

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!” 

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh. 

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.” 

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising. 

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.” 

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?” 

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.” 

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times. 

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into. 

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel. 

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.” 

“You could.” 

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise. 

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.” 

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth. 

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-” 

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.” 

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another. 

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,” 

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.” 

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?” 

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure. 

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.” 

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you. 

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want. 

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon. 

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into. 

That, for him, it had always been you. 

“Aegon, I-” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.” 

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions. 

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.” 

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it. 

“You’re… generous.” 

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon. 

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.” 

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self. 

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.” 

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression. 

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.” 

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.” 

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.” 

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.” 

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.” 

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age. 

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?” 

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.” 

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin. 

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.” 

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.” 

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice. 

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

[doe-eyed-fool]

Prey | Chapter Eleven

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Murder, Cannibalism, Abuse

The static had become almost nothingness in the back of Alastor's mind. His headaches have disappeared. However, the remedy used to alleviate those symptoms is rather...gruesome.

Gruesome, and yet, he could not get enough. The thrill of hunting was nice, but the feast to be had after...it was exhilarating. Just like with his first kill, with every bite he took, it became easier. It became a need.

Alastor had never known hunger such as this. The smell of flesh, the feel of meat against his teeth, the taste of blood as it covered his tongue and down his throat. He had them raw a few times, before finally cooking them. The cravings only grew stronger after that.

With each hunt, Alastor prepared a new way to serve up the poor souls on a silver platter. As much as he loved venison, human flesh was a whole new delicacy, one he could not believe he lived his whole life without.

It was wrong, horrid, inhumane, sinful. But then again, so was the nights he'd spend hunting.

Alastor rarely ever experienced regret. Once when he was a child, he had stolen from a a candy shop. His mother gave him an earful when she found out. Then again when his mother died. He felt he never had enough time with her, never enough memories.

But when it came to finally ridding himself, his mother, and the rest of the world of his poor excuse of a father. He felt no sort of regret. Instead, he felt relief.

With his next kill, there was a brief moment of panic. But it overshadowed by the pure adrenaline. It was thrilling. He felt no regret.

However, if you were to ever catch wind of his hobbies and new dietary lifestyle...Well, the amount of regret and guilt he'd feel would certainly kill him. You were what kept what little sanity he had left. If you were to leave him, he'd loose himself completely.

He needed you, so badly, that sometimes it terrified him. How could one person make him feel on top of the world and yet so small? So fragile. He hated it, and he loved it, and despised himself.

But he loved you. Oh, how he loved you.

You could never know. Never. For as long as you and him live, you must never know.

He's had you in his life for so long, to suddenly loose you...He'd never be the same again.

"Ow!" 

"Sorry. But, this is kinda your own fault."

The little boy pouts and rolled his eyes at those words. He knew it was. You didn't have to keep reminding him. He glances down at the knee you were putting a bandage on, his frown deepened. 

"Don't look so sad." You say, moving your hands away. "Even though you got hurt, it was pretty cool of you." The boy looked up from his knee to you. "You think so?" He asked. 

"Yeah! It's too bad you slipped on those rocks, you almost caught that frog!" You tell him. "I couldn't do something like that. If I got my dress dirty, mama would kill me!" The boy's eyes widened slightly as he realized that he gained more than just a scrapped knee. 

His clothes were ruined with muddy water. 

"Ah darn. Ma's gonna be mad." He sighed. "Pa too..." Now it was your turn to frown. You stood up and offered your hand. "Let's go to my house. I bet mama would wash your clothes for you. That way, your folks won't be upset." 

The boy took your hand and stood as well. "You sure?" He asked. You nod your head and start to walk. The boy smiled and gripped your hand tighter. "Thanks Y/n. You're the best." 

"That's what friends are for Al!"

 When the two of you made it to your house, your mother gasped at the sight of your friend. "Goodness! Alastor, what happened to you?" She ushered the two of you inside and closed the door. Alastor looked bashful as he answered. "I fell trying to catch a frog."

Your mother sighed. "Your clothes...Clothing ain't cheap, honey." She says as she places her hands on her hips. "Not for folks with our status." With a shake of her head she starts for the laundry room. "Y/n, fetch one of your daddy's shirts please. Alastor, you come with me."

"Ok." You say, rushing to your parent's room. Alastor followed your mother, she let him undress in private. You joined your mother's side and handed her the shirt. She thanked you before knocking at the door.

"Alastor, hand me your clothes, and I'll give this shirt alright?" The shirt was much too big for him, of course. But it would keep him covered until his clothes were clean. 

Alastor did as he was told, and put on the shirt before stepping out of the room. Your mother walked in and began to wash his clothes. 

You couldn't help but giggle a bit at Alastor. He faced you with an annoyed look. "What's so funny?" He asked. "You look like you're wearing a dress." You tell him. 

"It's not a dress!" Alastor huffed. 

"What's this about a dress?" A deep masculine voice called from the living room. You turned, a big smile grew on your face. "Daddy!" You rush to the burly man.

Your father met you half way as he picked you up with a laugh. "Hello sugar! I see you have a friend over." His eyes fell to Alastor. "And I see he's taken a liking to my wardrobe." He chuckles.

Your mother walked out of the laundry room, she smiled upon seeing her husband. "You're home early." She says, joining his side, and kissing him on his cheek. Your father moves one hand to wrap around her waist, while the other held you.

"Finished up work early." Your father tells her. "Now, what on earth is happening here?"

"Alastor got his clothes dirty trying to catch a frog." You answer. "Ah, boys will be boys." Your father says, putting you down. He crouches on one knee to better face Alastor. "You'll grow into these clothes in no time, son. Let's hope your muscles grow in early, like mine did!" Your father laughs, as he flexes one arm.

Alastor couldn't help but laugh as well. Even as a boy, Alastor had been quite thin. He hoped deep down he'd get some muscle like your father has. That way he can protect his mama, and you, and your kind folks. Each of them had all been so kind to him. It's only right he keep them all safe.

"Yeah, I wanna have muscles too!" You say as you flex your tiny arms. Your father pats your head, slightly messing up your hair. "You'll be just as strong as your old man in no time, sugar." Your mother giggle. "Oh my, two muscle heads in one small house? You'll both drive me insane."

You father stood and lightly bumped your mother with his arm. "You love it, don't lie." Your mother playfully rolled her eyes. "Yes, I love it when my giant husband bumps into stuff around the house and breaks whatever's near by. You know how many vases I had to replace because of you?" 

"Only a couple, right?" Your father shrugs, making you laugh. "You're lucky you're so sweet, otherwise I wouldn't put up with you." Your mother says, patting your father's face gently. 

Alastor watched on with a grin, and yet, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. 

They really were nice folk.

"Oh, Al..." You sigh, as you dab the cotton ball at his cut cheek. "Why did you have to go and do that?" Alastor winced at the medicine stinging his cut. "Shouldn't it be obvious?" He muttered. "He wouldn't leave you alone."

"You didn't have to hit him." You lightly scold. "So what if he called me a crude name? He was walking away. Then you go on and punch him. Of course he was going to fight back, and look what's happen to you!" 

"You expect me to just let that idiot speak to you that way? Or anyone else?" Alastor asked. You move the cotton ball away and look him sternly in the eyes. "You are fifteen years old now, you're too old for that kind of nonsense! Picking fights like a child, and getting hurt because of it!" 

"He picked a fight when he wouldn't leave you be!" Alastor argued. "Besides, he was left way more hurt than I." 

"Alastor!" You say with a huff, then you took a breath to calm yourself. "I understand you just want to protect me. And I am grateful you have been. But, you don't need to be doing stuff like that. Especially if it will result in this. You know I hate seeing you hurt..." 

Alastor sighs, avoiding your gaze. "I know." He really does. He hated seeing you so upset whenever he'd come around with a new bruise, or busted lip, or bloodied nose, or whatever else his father decided would be a fitting punishment for him. He hated even more than you had to be the one to deal with it, when his mother was unable...

As Alastor entered his teenage years, he became more bold around his no-good father. He'd stand up for himself more, he'd defend his mother whenever he could, even if it would result in a painful reminder of how his father was the one in control. And a reminder of how weak Alastor truly was.

Even his mother, as frail and tiny as she was, is stronger than him. Not when it came to physical strength, but mental and will power. His mother could have left anytime she wanted.

Her poor excuse for a husband was not home twenty four-seven. If he was no working, he was out getting sloppy drunk with a couple of cheap floosies. 

She only stayed with him because at first, it was nice, for a while. He showed her what she thought was love, provided for her, kept her warm at night and put food on the table. But only got worse over time. Then, she got pregnant. Only more of a reason to stay. At first, she was bitter at the idea. 

She would be stuck with a man who treated her so poorly, with a baby, who would surely receive the same treatment. This baby did not deserve that. She hated that it would be brought into such a cruel home.

She considered sending it away once it was born. But when she gave birth to that baby, when she saw his face, she was filled with nothing but love for him.

That was her baby, her baby boy. Even if he was brought into that terrible home, she would make sure he was loved. If by no one else, than her. She would love and keep her baby boy safe until the day she died. 

Sure, when Alastor was old enough, she could have left right then. He was old enough to take care of himself, her work was done, she could leave. But she didn't. No matter how old Alastor grew, he would always be her baby boy. And she could never leave her baby. 

She had suffered so many times at the hand of that man, all for the sake of her baby. Alastor always admired her for that. She put up with so much, and still, she kept a smile on her face. If that wasn't strength, then what was? 

Even knowing that, Alastor would throw himself in harms way for her every time. If only he were stronger, Alastor would finally get rid of his father once and for all. 

But he was too weak. The bruises and scars on his body were proof enough. 

It's just a shame his mother and now you had to see it. 

"I'm sorry, Y/n." Alastor mutters. He would have promised to stop. To keep his mouth shut, to try and please his father somehow, to avoid his wrath. To ignore anyone who dared to threaten your well being. 

But he could not. He would not. And he never will. 

You had been a beacon of light in Alastor's dark world. When his brightest light was extinguished by the hands of fate, you were there to guide him through the void that swallowed him whole. Alastor had lost himself the day his mother died. He felt as if he would never be the same again. 

And yet, you were there to reel him back from the void. You would not let Alastor go, you would not let him suffer through this loss alone. 

If not for you, Alastor wouldn't know what might have become of him. He wasn't entirely sure if he would have continued on living. What reason was there to? He was alone. Or would have been, had you not been there. 

You knew you would never leave Alastor, he was your closest and most dearest friend after all. But you made a vow that day, that no matter how bad things got, you'd be there by Alastor's side. You'd never leave him all alone. 

But who's to say how well that vow would hold up, if you were to ever discover what Alastor did in the shadows? 

If Alastor could help it, you would never have to know. And what you did not know, could not hurt you...

Tags-

@martinys-world

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@catticora

[willkatfanfromasia]

Thanks for reading and encouraging me guys☺️ here's the finale💗

A Matter of Chance -17

The coming weeks saw Nandini converse more closely with her twin, although the world saw them as uncle and nephew’s wife who shared a common interest for spirituality. She notice his eyes, face and gestures and was gaining an idea about his motivations and insecurities. His doe eyes resembled her own as a youth while she mourned fate for parting her from Aditha. The same man who was now her brother’s challenger.

She made use of her ‘admirers’ to shepherd their relatives and friends into not changing sides regarding the succession.

She thanked Perumal daily for Sembiyan Madevi’s and kundhavai's uncharacteristic non-interference during her wedding plans. But she realised they merely saw her as a candy for tantalizing Aditha into remaining at Thanjai, to prevent Madhurantakan from becoming king

How the tables had turned! they plotted to ensure neither twin reached the throne but now it was destined for atleast one.

She sat in the palace courtyard with Madhurantakan, observing the ornate water fountain and its bubbling when she began.

“Does it hurt? It must, right?

“What?” asked her companion

“Being lied to and led on, only for them pull the ground from your feet?” Nandini continued, looking into his eyes

“Cha! I never thought that your life can be difficult too. I thought hardship was only for folks like us- abandoned at birth, raised in a humble home, exiled for attracting a man beyond her and to live alone amongst the wilderness “ she lamented.

Madhurantakan’s face curled in sympathy, May Shiva forgive him! here he was cursing his fate- bitter over the throne not falling into his lap- while his akka had undergone pain beyond his comprehension.

He bore no ill will for Aditha Karikalan. He merely resented how Sundara chola ‘s 2 sons seemed to have all glories served to them on a silver platter while he wasn’t given a choice. People whispered that he too deserved the throne and he had believed it. Only now, the man he thought to be his father wasn’t that and he was left with no basis to question them. His ‘mother’ raised him away from war and politics and now he understood why- he was merely an ornament- admired but of no practical use.

His opinion of his ‘nephew’ was greatly improved by his steadfast commitment to his twin. The stubbornness that once seemed ungodly now showed a brother in-law who’d always protect his sister.

“They’ve used you ill, thambi (little brother). To raise you as a placeholder, to have cornered you such that you can neither lay claim to the throne nor reveal your plight to others” nandini said tutting “they shielded you from the common citizens, but didn’t hide your upbringing from the aristocrats- wonder why?” she trailed

Nandini saw him realize with every word she spoke that it wasn’t merely his supposed birthright that attracted the chieftains. His cloistered upbringing, away from people, politics and battlefield made him pliable as clay. They’d press their opinions as facts and he would have to listen. Any minister or courtier would see him as a simple devotee to be influenced.

Before he could think of another existential crises, Aditha’s voice boomed “Sithappa, you have taken up enough of my patta mahishi's time today. I have come to steal her lest you send her back into the temple” he laughed at own joke as his wife fondly rolled her eyes.

Madhurantakan was left perusing his ambitions as the couple skipped away to their bedchamber.

They kept him in the dark all these years, exiled his sister and now they’ve tied his hands.

Perhaps his claim to the throne was invalid, but his twin still stood a chance to one-up those Chola elders.

-----------------

Parthibendran and Kandhanmaran were turning out to be miracle workers. They enjoyed being seen as altruistic patriots while they yearned for crumbs of the pattathu ilavarasi’s attention.

They spoke of Aditha Karikalan’s prowess in the battlefield that subdued neighbouring kings. They hailed Arunmozhi’s- Ponniyin Selvan- unmatched place in people’s hearts. Choosing one with neither asset will cause disquiet inside and outside the empire, they said. The chieftains too slowly began turning when enough people repeated these opinions.

To thank his 'friends' for their 'services', Aditha grinningly handed them permanent fiefdoms near the northern borders. “Serves them right for ogling her, like she’d give them the time of day” he harrumphed.

Nandini shot a satisfied smirk at her husband. She promised she’d ‘make amends’ to him for using his friends and making him jealous, and was definitely looking forward to it.

The chieftains grew increasingly reluctant to endorse madhurantakan’s suit. Their influence, afterall, greatly depends on the Emperor’s power. But they had given him their word and the hand of chinna pazhuvettarayar’s daughter and felt guilty backing out.

When Prince Madhurantakan – now supportive of Aditha’s claim for a reason only few knew- finally negotiated control for temple administration over being heir, they agreed with great relief.

“The Crown Prince mulishly wed a nobody, and Princess Kundavai too seemed to have set her sights on a penniless soldier- a lord only in name” the nobles lamented. Nevermind, Prince Arunmozhi may still become our son-in-law they soothed themselves.

Sundara Chola’s guilt over her mother gave Nandini’s efforts the final edge. He was ashamed at his inability to protect Mandakini and decided to ensure at least her daughter lived well.

She didn’t have to persuade or plot to make him ensure Aditha’s position.

Nandini marched out into the gardens towards her smiling husband, smoothing the silk saree over her bump and admiring how Perumal offered her a chance to rearrange her life. Her face glowed with the satisfaction of a job well done and leaned back into him.

She munched on a fruit while relishing Aditha’s roving hands, grateful for that day in the woods. And grateful to her husband’s perseverance

Nandini enjoyed her tenure as empress, working for the land’s orphans. Her Emperor’s devotion to her proved a greater prize than the throne.

The imperial couple spent their freetime between the Pazhayarai perumal temple and a Krishna temple that they built in Thanjai, the latter curiously resembling a small temple in the forest. Nandini would spend early mornings and some evenings leaning against the temple pillar chanting pasurams as her husband laid on her shoulder with closed eyes.

Courtiers were left wondering about her powers- stubborn aditha karikalan who couldn’t be swayed by his parents or the ilaya piratti- could be persuaded by mere glance from his consort. Aditha took pleasure seeing his wife thrive at court- seeing her manipulate the vultures who thought her beneath them only made her more irresistible.

The couple’s absolute need for one another shocked people – it was a wonder they survived their separation! Indeed, Aditha’s wars became infrequent, but when he did return his normally composed wife would cling onto him for days inside their chamber.

Marriage to Vanthiyadevan softened her once thorny sister in law, who had grown to respect her charming manner of manipulating courtiers. They often joined forces, rendering their foes defenseless. Kundhavai also was appeased by her dear younger brother Arunmozhi dutifully falling for her friend Vanathi- resulting in a marriage that strengthened their clan. Aditha was proud of matchmaking for the matchmaker.

The Empress Dowager was pleased with Nandini for thwarting Madhurantakan’s coup, and Madhurantakan was pleased seeing his sister as sole chakravartini- a mutually beneficial settlement.

Aditha was a formidable administrator, disproving those who called him a warmonger and was assisted by his astute brother Arunmozhi . His besotted wife bore him daughter after daughter filling the entire nursery, prompting bittersweet “better luck next time” greetings from all around them.

But for a couple who expected to live a barren life devoid of love, each daughter was nothing short of Gods’ favor upon them. They joyously lived, secure knowing that Arunmozhi would make a great emperor beloved by the people.

@nashibirne @nspwriteups @vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @dr-scribbler @kovaipaavai @budugu @dosai-maavu @matka-kulfi @nirmohi-premika @yehsahihai @curiousgalacticsoul @rang-lo @harinishivaa @chiyaanvikram @celestesinsight @inveter @deepti1011 @vidhurvrika @itszhunotz @babayagahunt @thegleamingmoon @maisadalawa @ragkee @inlovewithfictionalbeings @happysharkdragon @gowrimenonop-1 @ramcharanobsessed @nature-writes29 @voidsteffy @gemsmusings @sowlspace @canonless5

[sashi-ya]

Is it ok if I request a Law x Yonko reader? For once the reader is badass and strong 😎 has her own crew and is well respected yet she fell in love with Trafalgar Water D. Law

Hi!! Of course! I fell in love with the idea. I think Law deserves a strong woman on his side, and this type of dynamic is one of my favorites!! It was intended to be a OS but I got too invested on the story so I decided to part it in at least another part that I'll be posting in a few days. I hope you don't mind! Plus I included some NSFW too, because the tension between the Yonkou and Law was really high! I hope you enjoy it and stay tuned for the second part if you like it 💖 Thanks for reading and supporting my work!

NSFW - Trafalgar D. Water Law x FemYonkou! Reader - PART 1

TW: NSFW. 18+ Minors DNI. Rough and unprotected sex. Chocking.

WC: 4.1K

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31973146

Part 2

Part 3

Final/Part 4

“My dear captain, someone is on the coast!!”, your most loyal nakama comes running through the door of your huge castle with the news. “Mmm, I wonder who it could be…”, you tell her. “I’m afraid whoever we’ve been waiting for has arrived, Captain”, she says, looking at the ground. You have always hated how they are afraid to look directly to your eyes, even though you consider them your equals. But you guess it’s because of your powerful aura, or the respect they have for you.

“Let’s be a good host. His crew can come to the castle once we have talked. He would probably be staying the night, so tell the boys to prepare the royal guest room, ok?”, you order your first commander with a lovely smile.

You laugh, some say your laughter is something similar to a demon, but hey, that’s part of your identity as a yonkou, so… You wait for your guest sitting on your throne, admiring your brilliant rings. Suddenly the big door in front of you opens and there he is, the brat you’ve been waiting for.

You lick your lips, wondering when you will be tasting that sweet candy. No man or woman could ever resist your beauty, or your power.

The steps of that tattooed punk echoes all around the huge room. He is wearing a black coat that covers his whole body from his neck to his ankles, a funny looking white hat, and a big katana over his shoulder. “I hope this is not the only bigger thing he carries…” you think while smiling at him, trying to admire those grey eyes you saw on his wanted poster. But he does not show them, he walks slowly, covering his gaze with the visor of his hat. “Oh, you are trying to look mysterious, I get it punk”, you say to yourself.

He is now in front of you, and finally looks at you. He is even hotter than what you thought. It surprised you when your den den mushi rang and it was him requesting an audience with you, but even though you know this brat is dangerous, you accepted it right away.

“So, Trafalgar D. Water Law, huh? what brings you here?”, you ask him, crossing your legs and bending over a little to see his face. Your throne is a little elevated from the floor, so you look down at him.

“I’m here to ask you for an alliance”, he tells you, fixing his cold eyes on yours. “Oh, I see… an alliance. But aren’t you in one with the Mugiwaras? Why would you want an alliance with a Yonkou? Didn’t you lose your Shichibukai title because of an alliance? ”, you inquire him.

“Heh, I see you have more information about me than I thought…”, he tells you with sneering contempt. That pisses you off, hard. Who do you think you are, little rookie?... You stand up, violently, solemnly. Your black feather coat over your shoulders makes a loud noise, your hair flows over your back. You start walking down the little stairs off your throne and stand up in front of Trafalgar Law. He backs up a little, even if he looks like a total badass, you are scary for him.

“Tell me Law, why do you think I am an emperor of the sea, huh? Do you think you are stronger? Do you think you can outsmart me?”, you tell him firmly, centimeters from his face. Law gasps, he is trying not to look scared, but he is, pretty much indeed. He remains silent.

“Do you think you can put me down as you did with my old friend Doffy? Ha! poor Doffy, he was pissed that his little ex retainer fucked his whole life… Well, I guess that’s what you get for not being incredibly strong and intelligent”, you smirk at him, and begin to walk. The sound of your hills resonates on Law’s head. But even if he might be a little scared, you know he is smarter and stronger than he looks, so you must be careful, especially because he is at your back.

“Why don’t we have dinner and discuss your offer?”, you tell him, this time a little more friendly. “Yeah…”, he tells you with that low voice he has, that makes you bite your lip. Of course you are curious about his proposal and his true intentions, but damn, you wish you were devouring him right now.

You turn your head to the side and tell him “Follow me”, over your shoulder. And keep walking to the dining room.

Once the two of you arrive at the dining room, a big table is waiting for you. Candles on each side of the table, several delicatessens served on silver platters. “Take a seat, please”, you invite Law to sit while you sit on yours.

Law and you are face to face on each side of the table. You bend a little over the table, with your elbows over it, and interlocking your fingers. You show yourself interested in him, smirking sexily. “So, I’m all ears. Tell me about your offering”, you say.

Law takes off his hat letting you see his disheveled black hair and adopts the same position as you. “Well, as I told you before, I want to form an alliance with you”. He is short and concise. You raise an eyebrow, what does he want from you?...

“Why? What do you want from me? and what do I get in return?”, you ask before sipping some red wine from a big crystal cup. “You will be able to defeat the other three yonkous, as long as I can see the red poneglyph you have in here”, he says straight to your face.

You widen your eyes, surprised that he knew you have such a treasure in your hands. “I’m surprised Mr. Trafalgar. You have indeed, more information than I thought… I wonder who told you about it. I’m a little concerned at this point, maybe you are some kind of undercover agent from the marines?”, you tell him, fixing your eyes on him.

Law gasps subtly, his lips part and for a moment he remains silent. He is also looking at you, and you can see a red spark in his eyes. “I’m not with the marines”, he tells you firmly. You begin to laugh and stab the bistec on your plate with the knife. “Of course you aren’t, if you were one you would have denied it instantly…”, you tell him and taste a piece of meat.

The tension floods the ambient, you want to show how dominant you can be, but at the same time you wish he were dominating you in your room.

“Fine, if I accept that means that you and the Mugiwaras will be my allies, right?”, you ask him, showing him you are sure, but deep inside wondering if you made the best decision, after all, pirates alliances are often marked with betrayal…

“That’s right”, Law tells you. “Listen to me closely, little brat. If you happen to show the slightest sign of betrayal, you will know exactly why I’m named “The Sadist”. Are we clear?”, you tell -threaten- him. “I know exactly what you are capable of. Don’t worry, I won't betray you”, he assures you, firmly.

“Let’s have a celebration, then”, you tell him and order your subordinates to bring the dessert. “I’m not a man of celebration, could you please show me my room? tomorrow morning I’ll be telling you all about my plan to take down the other yonkous”, he tells you denying your invitation to a little private party. You are upset, angry… but you won’t show it to him, so, you tell your crew members to show him his room with a big smile on your face.

Once he leaves the dining room, you walk to yours with strong steps, frustrated. "Nobody has ever refused my invitation…". A cold shower cools your annoyance a little but not enough. You snuggle into bed and fix your sight on the big ceiling of your room. "Damn brat, why is he so hot? And for what?"... you go to sleep planning the best way to catch your prey in your spiderweb. You are used to getting everything you want, and Law of course is no exception.

Morning comes and the sun outside shines more than ever. You’ve been planning the whole night on how to seduce your guest, so you order your subordinates to prepare a special breakfast next to the pool. You choose to wear a tight bikini, those who show more than what they can cover, and a white semi-transparent kimono over it… after all, he is a man. He shouldn’t be resisting the lure of your beauty.

When you get to the pool patio, he is already there having a cup of tea, with those lean long legs, wearing an unbuttoned black shirt that allows you to enjoy his tattooed chest. You contemplate the handsome man from the arcade that connects the patio with the castle. You took a finger to your lips planning the next step on your plan.

“Good morning my dear guest and ally!”, you greet him, while sitting next to him under the big umbrella. “Good morning”, he salutes you, looking at you with those intense grey eyes. You give him a side smirk and grab a slice of orange, for some reason none of you look down, and you keep staring at each other. Perhaps trying to fight for dominance, perhaps because he wanted to seduce you as much as you do.

You take the slice to your mouth, and a drop of the juice runs through the commissure of your lips. He follows the path the bead of citric trails on your mouth with his eyes. He approaches you with his hand and runs his inked thumb over your lips. The sensation of his soft surgeon fingertip over your lips feels so enticing. You wish you could suck his finger, yet, he is the one who should succumb first, not you.

The moment gets interrupted when one of your maids offers you coffee. The strong black coffee that keeps you going in the morning, sweet, caffeinated elixir that today isn’t necessary, something else keeps you energized. You gaze at the maid, with hate in your eyes for interrupting such an intense moment. You tell her with a false smile, “yes, please”. She serves you a cup and runs away, quickly, scared as hell.

Leaning on the backseat of the couch with the cup on your hand, you cross your legs, letting some skin peek through the opening of the kimono. “So, Law, tell me about your plan”, you tell him. “Right, so I’ll be staying here for a few weeks, if you don’t mind”, he informs you and keeps talking about the plan. You lick your teeth; you don’t even listen to anything about the plan. You are satisfied as you will be having your sweet candy with you for a long time…

“Perfect, so the plan is set. I’m glad we are allies, Law”, you tell him as you stand up, and walk up to him. You place your hand over his shoulder and look down at him with a smile. “Aren’t you hot? let’s enjoy the pool”, you invite him and keep walking to the edge of the pool. You untie your kimono letting it slide off to the floor. You can feel Law’s sight pinned to your back and even lower, yet he is not moving.

“Right, you are a devil fruit user” you tell him pouting, but either way you dip in the pool. When you emerge from underwater, you take your wet hair out of the face, and get out of the lido. Your bikini turns a little bit see thru and you see how Law looks directly to your now notorious erected nipples from the cold water. You have an evil grin on your face, and he seems to be enjoying every inch of your skin.

“Do you like what you see, huh?”, you tease him. He looks at you, with piercing eyes, stands up and walks up to you. “Huh?”, you say but before you could even continue with a cocky phrase, he is already grabbing you by your neck.

You gasp, ‘cause you got slightly scared, but your bossy attitude won’t let you show it. You begin to chuckle with that -demon- laughter you have. And suddenly stopping you tell him, “What do you think you are doing?”. Law squeezes your carotids even more tighter approaching his face to yours and tells you, “Don’t play with me, if you want me to fuck you just tell me”. “Let go of me”, you command him. He sets your neck free, but his nose still is almost touching yours. “Before I let you walk, you gotta show me how you crawl, brat”, you whisper to him. You celebrate internally how he has already fallen into your trap; he couldn’t resist you. Another victim, another candy to taste, this time a spicy rather than a sweet one.

Law and you keep looking at each other for several minutes more, perhaps playing a game of power, who is gonna be the first to cave in and kiss the other?... Your heart beats faster, the tension is in a way arousing, you hold yourself back while sometimes your gaze wanders over his lips… so enticing.

You were about to cave in when his den den mushi rings. He smiles at you, seductively, and turns around to pick up the transponder. You decide to leave the patio and go to your room, you are way hornier than you think, and falling into his arms that soon it’s not your style. Or so that’s what you think…

You spent the whole day in your room, thinking about your next move. Some of your commanders have come to visit you and asked you about the new alliance, but you seemed so invested in seducing Law that you forgot about your responsibilities.

The night comes, and you are getting ready for dinner. You are excited almost like a little girl, finally you are going to see that face that got your heart beating fast. You have chosen to wear a pretty, draped black dress, not so revealing yet not conservative at all. Your back is completely naked and has a slit on the side of the skirt. Your typical fine jewelry and heels that can kill if you happen to step on someone.

Law is always first in the dining room, this time accompanied by three of his most loyal nakamas. A polar bear dressed in a black suit, and two guys with hats that start drooling when they see you enter the room. The four of them stand up from their seats “Cap… captain…!”, says the one using an orca hat. “Shachi, shut up”, says the other with a hat that puts “PENGUIN” over it.

“Good night sirs, please take a seat”, you tell them. One of the menials runs to your place and moves the chair for you. “Thank you, darling. You can bring the food whenever it is ready”, you tell him, with a big smile. You usually aren’t so sweet with others, but tonight you are in a good mood for sure.

“So, you are the high officials of the Heart Pirates, huh? nice to meet you”, you tell them with your intense gaze placed on each one. The humans swallow, they are intimidated by your imposing presence. The polar bear stands up once again and shouts “AY AY, NICE TO MEET YOU! I’M BEPO!”. You are kind of overwhelmed by how noisy the Mink is, but you think it is kinda cute. Law tells Bepo to sit down and lower the voice, and the bear repeats several times how sorry he is. You giggle a little and tell him “It’s ok, Law! Bepo you are a cutie, nice to meet you”.

The food is served, and everyone starts to taste the wonderful creations of your chef team. You can’t help but peer at your prey while eating. He notices your persistent stare and fixes his eyes on yours. That piercing, grey, icy stare that makes a shiver run through your spine and you’re breathing subtly uncontrollably. No person has made you lose control before, you are known for being cruel and cold, you haven’t felt in love ever in your life, but this brat… this brat has something special.

“Guys get back to the Polar”, Law commands his nakamas. “They can stay in one of the rooms if they want, Law”, you tell him, and the guys start getting excited with red cheeks. “It’s an order, get back to the polar, please”, he orders his subordinates with a cold stare. You roll your eyes back, because you know he is protecting his crew from you, he respects your power and knows well how cruel you can be when you want something. “Fine, fine…”, Bepo, and the guys say and walk away.

“Do you want to have a drink in the garden, Law?”, you offer him after his nakamas have left the place. He looks at you and takes a few seconds to finally respond. “After you”, he tells you and you two start walking to the patio.

The blue night sky looks deep, the sound of the running water of the many fountains competes against the song of frogs and crickets. Some torches light up the path to the lawn chairs. As you walk on the deck, you ask him “Do you always carry your katana wherever you go, Law? Are you afraid of something? He responds from behind “I’m not, I simply take my precautions”. You try to sound strong and petty, but the truth is that the one who is scared is you.

When you finally take your seats on the couches, both of you cross your legs. Your dress allows some skin of your thighs to peek through, and Law can’t resist but scan your whole body with those grey eyes. You do the same, his tight jeans, seems to get even more tighter in between his legs. The unsolved sexual tension between the two of you it’s way too high to ignore, and at this point you are sure Law has on his mind the constant idea of fucking you, as much as you do.

You can’t take it anymore; you are just fed up. This is taking too damn long, you want him in between your legs, now. So, you suddenly and violently stand up, slapping the table with your hands. Law even though got a little scared, he remains still, acting swanky as always. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares. You are tired of this pestering feeling, a flame inside you burns even hotter. Law smiles at you with that cocky smirk and pats his lap. “Come here”, he tells you.

Even if you were dying to sit there, you are just too arrogant to do as a man says, and fighting against your true desires, walk away. “Damn brat”, you say to yourself while walking through the deck stepping strong so your heels sound louder in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, someone grabs you by the wrist and turns you around. You have the Surgeon of Death´s face in front of yours. You gasp, he is not smirking, but his eyes show pure desire, his breathing is accelerated as much as yours. Your hand is directed to his crotch by him. You can feel his hard bulge growing under your palm. You have a side grin. And after a few seconds, he kisses you so passionately, so lustfully, so needy. His inked hands grabbing your hair, pulling your head back, letting your neck exposed so he can dig in like a beast.

“Let’s go to my room, Law”, you gasp in between steamy kisses. “Fine… Room… Shambles”, he says and you two are teletransported to your bed. You land into your mattress while Law is standing up at the feet of your bed. You smile seductively at him, full of desire when he begins to take off his black shirt. The big heart tattooed on his chest that reaches almost to his belly button, his abs slightly defined, the V that his lower stomach muscles form over his pelvis, and a little happy trail that makes you wonder where it finishes, makes you squirm and recognize how needy for this man you are. “Come here, brat”, you tell him with a beckoning finger.

Law is over you in no time, cradling your face with his hand. Your fingers trail the inked lines on his chest. He begins to kiss your neck, lower and lower, his hand is now traveling under the slit of your dress, up through your thigh and even higher. His soft hand caresses the side of your waist, while the other slowly slides off the right strap of your dress, exposing to him your breast.

His tongue plays with your nipple, and you moan his name. A string of saliva forms when slowly relieves the nipple from his lips and looks at you with intense lust. Your hands that were lingering over his bulge are now at each side of his head, and in a simple but fast movement you are now over him, straddling your hips. You grind against his sex, touring your hands over his tattooed chest. You slowly bend over him, biting his neck, playing with your tongue with the little hoops he has hanging from his ears. Law’s hand on your butt, squeezing hard your flesh.

You slide off your other strap, so your dress falls off exposing your torso and beautiful breasts to him. The black dress gets stuck on your hips and you start softly jumping over his aching dick, still trapped in his jeans. Law is sweating, he is about to burst, and you haven’t even touched his sex yet. You don’t even care about the foreplay, you want him to flood your insides, and he wants it too.

He reaches for his zipper and lowers it. You help him by pulling down his jeans and his boxers, letting free his member. To your surprise the left side of his groin area is also inked with a little sword. At first it looked suspicious, but you are so horny that instantly jump over his sex.

Your already wet panties become even wetter when you rub your sex against his. Law closes his eyes, every time your core touches the tip of his cock, like a sweet torture. Until this is too much for him and pushes you to the mattress. You flop down on your back and Law violently tears off your panties. “I’m gonna fuck the hell out of you, bitch”, he tells you gasping, and penetrates you, rough and deep.

“Mh, Law”, you whine, invaded by the pleasure his cock against your walls makes you feel. He has his teeth clenched making his mandible even more sharp. Your bodies are covered in sweat as he pounds you with hard fast thrusts. Your moans would probably make everyone in the castle wake up, but you don’t really care.

Law passes his hand on your back, lifting you as you cross your legs around his waist. You are now seated over him. Your breasts pressed against his chest, face to face, while he keeps penetrating you. The both of you reach climax, you first and then Law. Your core feels how his pulsating member empties inside it. He gets you hugged tight, and you rest your head over his shoulder enjoying how full you feel, how satisfied you feel after relieving that sexual tension between the two of you. n

Even if you insist on this being all just sex, and haven't been in love before, something about being skin to skin with a man after having sex feels better than you thought. Never in your life have you experienced being hugged to someone, so closely, so intimate. His warm breath caresses the skin of your shoulder, and you close your eyes in hope this moment never ends.

Law slowly helps you lay on bed, and he does the same. You are lying on your side while Law is on his back looking at the ceiling. You worship how his inked chest goes up and down with every inspiration and you can't help but put your hand over it. He looks at you and pulls you next to him. Your face is now over his arm, and he caresses your naked back. He probably knows this is a whole new experience for you, as you are known to be heartless… but the truth is that you have always been lonely…

PART 2

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

happy new years! i hope this year brings many blessed gacha rolls! may i request an imagine set in an hanahaki au? with jamil being affected because of his feelings for a gn!reader (who believes their relationship is nothing but platonic)? the ending is up to you of course! i really like the angst you write, i always reread your previous works (my favorite is L'Ouverture-- the line "His heart in exchange for Yuu’s" always gets me)

I rolled SSR Dormitory Uniform Rook on a key recently, so I’m starting off the year with some good gacha luck! o v o)9

Oh...!! I’m so happy to hear that, dear reader~ I, too, have pieces that I refer back to and reread when I need a little pick-me-up, or just to appreciate the writing! I’m glad that some of my works have found a place on your heart for that purpose.

You can read L’Ouveture here!

I wrote another Hanahaki piece (reader has Hanahaki; ft. Leona), which you can read here!

Imagine this...

Jasmine.

Why did it have to be jasmine?

Its aroma, cloying and heady The petals a pristine white, like the feathers of an angel. Sickeningly sweet and pure...

Jasmine was everything that he was not--and yet they were what sprouted in his lungs. What he gagged on each time he found himself struggling to catch his breath. What was slowly stripping his life away.

Its intoxicating perfume filled the great banquet hall, mixing with the desert heat that flooded in through open windows, the aromas of their waiting dinner, the din of music and chatter. Somehow, the jasmine floated above it all, magnifying to a dizzying extent.

His body shuddered, and he doubled over, arms cradling himself--as though it would stave away the flower stalks shooting up his throat, the pain shooting through his chest. A hand scrambled for his mouth, to mask the white petals he knew would spill out.

“Jamil, are you feeling okay? You don’t look too good.” Kalim had one hand on his friend’s back, and the other hand clutching a golden goblet. “Should I call my family doctor? I bet he could get’cha patched up fast!”

He gathered the petals in his palm, closing his hand into a fist and hiding it behind his back. Jamil bent into a bow, his hair forming a raven curtain.

“I am fine. Please, do not concern yourself with me.” He attempted at his usual monotone, his voice slightly raw. “Focus on the banquet. Eat, drink, and be merry.”

Kalim glanced to his goblet, then back to Jamil, and vigorously shook his head. “I can’t. Not when you’re not having a good time too. What’s up, Jamil? You can tell me, can’t you?”

“It is none of your business, Kalim.”

“I’m the host of this party, and as the host, I’ve gotta make sure that everyone’s having a good time!”

His dorm leader slapped him on the back--hard. The remaining wind in Jamil’s lungs went sailing out of him, along with a stray jasmine petal. A piece of pure white flickered in the corner of Kalim’s vision, and his expression darkened.

“Hmm? Jamil...” His dorm leader broke out into a wide grin. “Have you been eating flowers? You gotta be careful with those! Not all of them are edible, so you might get a little sick. If you wanted to eat flowers so much, I could’ve asked Trey to candy some for us!”

“... You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I should have known better,” Jamil agreed, the lie easily weaving through his teeth.

“Do you need to take the night off? I can send someone to your room with stomach medicine later, too! And some leftover food from the party so you don’t miss out on too much.”

“That would mean leaving you unattended to, Kalim. What if there is an attempt on your life during the time that I’m resting?”

“You worry too much! I’ll be okay. There’s too many potential witnesses around.”

“You say potential witnesses, I say potential accomplices.”

“You really do worry too much,” a voice called out. A familiar face revealed itself from a sea of guests.

Kalim brightened, while Jamil paled.

“Oh, you finally made it! I was starting to think you’d never show up!”

“I wouldn’t miss your parties for the world, Kalim. I just got caught up at the buffet table serving myself.”

“I see, I see! Makes total sense! Can’t party on an empty stomach, right?” He boomed with laughter, the punch in his cup sloshing around. “You won’t believe this--but Jamil actually ate some flowers earlier, so he’s not feeling great now. Be sure to not eat any of those decorative flowers on the food!, too”

“I’ll be careful,” they vowed, before passing a worried glance over to Jamil. “But are you alright?”  

The fistful of jasmine petals behind his back tightened. Within the depths of his lungs, a tingling, burning sensation had started once more--the beginnings of new buds. Jamil clenched his teeth, doing his best to force the flowers down.

“I am managing.”

It was not a lie, but it was not the truth either--it existed on the cusp of both, at the edge of dusk and dawn.

“Well, I hope you feel better soon. Try to catch up on some sleep,” they suggested. “Actually, why not just leave the party and rest for the night?”

“I’ve been trying to tell Jamil to take a break, but he just won’t!”

“Ah, that’s not good. You should consider listening to Kalim.”

As though I have not already spent my entire life doing that.

“I must tend to my duties. It cannot be helped.” Jasmine clawed up his throat, turning his words scratchy. He clamped his free hand over his mouth, wincing.

“Jamil... You should really do what Kalim said. You look like you can barely stand. If you’re worried about him, I can stick with Kalim in your place.”

“Ohhh, good idea! That should work out for everyone!”

They beamed at each other, eyes twinkling in conspiracy.

Of course--of course they were dismissing him in favor of one another. 

Kalim has always been the golden child. The one everyone favors.

What a privileged life he leads, having everything he desires served to him on a silver platter.

They deserve each other.

Jamil’s stomach lurched, a new feeling making itself known in the pit of his belly. Jealousy-hot and molten, like the searing sun.

The flowers trapped in his throat seemed to singe his flesh from the inside out. Jasmine pushed up, erupting into his mouth, past his lips, into his hand. White petals peeked out from between his fingers, a few fluttering to the floor.

He doubled over, retching.

“Jamil...?” They stared at him in shock. “What is--”

“Jamil--” Kalim put a hand on his shoulder--but he jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice was low and menacing, matching the hiss of a snake. No--a viper.

But the petals kept coming, jasmine sticking to his lips and filling his nostrils with a flood of its perfume. Pain tore through his flesh and bone with each new flower that blossomed. Beholding a deadly beauty.

He heaved and heaved, until there was nothing more to spit up. Then, trembling violently, Jamil hauled himself onto his feel. He cast a cold look at Kalim and snapped into a bow.

“Excuse me.”

“Jamil--”

He stormed out without another word. Past the party goers, away from his tempestuous thoughts, beyond the double doors--

Into the silent night.

The sky was clear, blanketed by stars and a dusting of sand. Only a sliver of the moon hung above, a wink of light against the dark.

White, like jasmine.

He reached out, cupping the moon in his hands. Slowly closing his fingers around it. Reaching, reaching...

... For something he cannot hope to have.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Hello! Would you write Billy Hargrove with a sweet smol reader who’s super affectionate towards his even though he’s still a big tough boy - feel free to make it smutty or fluffy! 🥰

Sweet as Candy - B. Hargrove

I’m so sorry this took so long! It took me a while to find inspiration!

I hope you like it! I went with fluff because I’m not confident in writing smut haha

Thank you, lovie!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Billy was something different. He captured the town of Hawkings, Indiana with the wink of a cerulean eye.

But only one person captured his attention. Y/N.

She was the only one to hold a genuine smile on their face when asking if he wanted a tour of his new school.

She didn’t jump to volunteer to be his partner in History, but instead waited for him to ask her.

She was the only female in the school that didn’t lust after him like a dog on heat.

Usually he craved the lustful eyes of his followers. He loved to hear his name tumble from a woman’s lips as he brought her to completion, or to be praised in every way possible.

But Y/N didn’t try any of that. She simply... acted friendly.

They quickly became close friends despite his extremely tough interior and his loathing of many.

He was so smitten with the woman that he could barely remember they were just friends sometimes.

She was a genuinely kind person, and he reveled in that.

He never expected for her to be the one to ask him on a date, but there he was, red faced and mouth gaped when the woman asked him.

“You- what?” His eyes were wide, allowing her to see every different shade of blue within the circles of his eyes.

“I asked if you wanted to go to the movies with me. On a date,” he had never seen the girl ooze such confidence.

And he was ready to serve himself up to her on a silver platter.

And he did. He was hers, in every way he could be.

Even when he was claiming his spot as King of Hawkins High, he still felt as if every nerve in his body melted at the mere touch of her hand on his arm.

The Big Bad Billy Hargrove was whipped for little Y/N Y/L/N, and the whole school knew it.

It was perfectly clear when one afternoon, the Boys Gym Class was playing a round of basketball, and Y/N had a free period so she said she would meet Billy there so they could go home after school together.

She walked in to the bleak room, her kitten heels reverberating around the wooden framed room, the glossy planks underneath her feet shaking from the force of the footsteps on the court.

Billy had the ball, he was dribbling it while working his way towards the place where he could shoot. Y/N had zero knowledge of the game, but the one thing she knew was that Billy looked damn fine while playing it.

He was owning the game, making shot after shot.

He caught Y/N’s eye as she stood on the sideline.

She sent him a kiss and a wink, watching as he drops his tough demeanor for one second to beam at her.

He would be damned if he let the guys see him blush, even if he had that reaction whenever she winked at him.

Things were fine until Tommy H. decided to open his unwanted trap.

“Damn, Billy. Your girls looks pretty hot today,” he had the audacity to smack billy on the shoulder as if he believed Billy would simply agree with him.

The switch inside of his head flipped and he sent Tommy a murderous look.

“What did you just say?” He laughed, a malicious sound falling from upturned, smirked lips.

Tommy knew instantly that he crossed the line.

“I- I didn’t mean-“

Billy stepped uncomfortably close to Tommy, glaring at him with the smirk still on his face. As if he were simply leaning in close to his friend to talk, not to threaten him.

“You ever talk about, think about or even look at my girl again, Tommy, and I’ll make you wish you never did,” he smiled in a friendly way, but the look on his friends face was anything but one of friendship.

Tommy looked scared.

The only thing that saved him from pissing billy off even more was the sound of the bell ringing.

The minute it did, Billy turned from Tommy in time to wrap his arms round his girl who was rushing towards him for a kiss.

“Hey, Billy,” she grinned, pecking him on the cheek.

Billy once again fought the blush off of his face, instead kissing her on the lips and wrapping his arm round her waist.

He was the tough guy for everybody else. That’s how he was known.

But Y/N brought out the softer side of him. A side only she knew.

Hell, he loved his affectionate girl.

[smallestchances]

Almost Royal (1)

Summary: Dean & (Y/N) are in love but it might not be as strong as they think it is.

Pairing: Royal!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Pregnancy; Implied Smut; Threats;

7/21/20--- Masterlist

Oops--you left marks. 

Biting onto your bottom lip, you trace the crisscrossing red lines with your gaze, admiring the rippling expanse of his back as he sits on the edge of his bed.  You’d tried to file your nails down as much as you could, but thinking back on it, nothing was going to stop you from grasping at him desperately, pulling him closer so that every inch of skin touched yours--

Biting your bottom lip, you drop the thin sheets that cover your bare body. Silently crawling to Dean, you run your hands up his back and to his shoulders. He jumps slightly, and immediately you place your lips on the first welt you find. The taste of faint sweat sings on your tongue, and when you inhale you find a scent that is wholly and irrevocably Dean. Poking your tongue out more for a taste, he groans and relaxes at your touch immediately.

Before you can register it, Dean slides away from you. You lean towards him instinctively, but his thumb catches your cheek, caressing it’s skin back and forth. Candy green eyes stare at you softly, so open, so expressive--at least to you, Sam always said you had a super power to know what Dean truly felt. 

And right now, his emotions took the breath right out of your lungs. They shine with a warmth that love is too weak to describe. They gleam with a future you feel close enough to taste, a happiness at the tips of your fingers that glow in the center of your chests.

“I love you,” he breathes, the full moon casting a glow that allows his words to still in the air. 

Leaning forward, you connect your forehead against his. “You like-like me? That’s embarrassing.”

He laughs heartily, springing forward so he’s slotted between your legs, hovering over you on your back--just where you like him to be. “Say it back,” he threatens.

“You’ll never take me alive.”

“Say it back,” he grins. “Or marry me.”

Throwing your upper body onto your elbows, you force Dean to back up slightly as you stare at him in belief. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats. “Come with me to Father Novak’s chapel, he’ll do it there.”

“But--but we’d need witnesses--”

“Sam and Charlie are already on standby.”

“I would need a dress!”

“Rowena’s tailored one, and it’s sitting in the back of my closet.”

Frustrated, you smack his bicep. “Why does it feel like you’ve asked everyone but me?”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

Darting your eyes between his, you see a hint of fear join what you’ve seen before. It’s miniscule, but it’s there, and it squeezes your heart. You reach a palm out to his cheek, and he kisses your palm without hesitation. “Your mother won’t be happy,” you whisper.

“I love her,” Dean replies. “I do, but this, you, is something I’d risk everything for over and over again. You’re my past, my present, my future--”

“And my eternity,” you finish with him. Dean leans forward and connects your lips, and you lose yourself in him before you remember where the conversation was headed. “Let’s go.”

“You’re going to be late,” is all you have the strength to mumble against Dean’s lips. He only groans in response, not allowing you to separate far enough to form words.

Your bodies work against each other seamlessly, almost on instinct--where Dean’s body stopped, yours began, pushing and pulling and pulling and pushing. His fingertips gripped your thighs around his waist desperately, igniting a white fire that you can only shudder at.

Your back meets the glass wall of the greenhouse you both found yourselves in, the humidity seeping through your white button up, mixing with your sweat. Dean prods his tongue against yours briefly, before trailing down to your jaw, your neck, your clavicle, your chest--where he stops abruptly at your bra.

A noise sounds at the back of his throat, and Dean devours the top of your left breast before letting the skin go with a wet pop. “I love my girls,” he groans to himself, burying himself between your boobs.

“Your girls?” You tease, carding your hands through his hair.

“Only with your full consent,” he amends, his words muffled by your skin. 

You laugh at his antics, and he picks his head up to smile fondly at you. “My wife,” he whispers.

“Mmmhmm,” you hum. “I have been for over a month.”

“And I hope you will be for the rest of eternity.”

“Hmm, I don’t know...how serious is this?”

He nips at your bottom lip playfully, and before you dive back into each other the door at your far right opens.

Both of you spring apart, only to sigh in relief at the sight of an exasperated Sam.

“You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough for someone to make a speech?”

Dean only shrugs.

“We have to go,” Sam sighs. “Seems that the crown prince is missing during a particularly important coronation event--and the press is having a field day.”

Dean goes to reply but you stop him by stepping closer and fixing his velvet jacket; you straightened his sash and medals, soothing your palms over the material. “Go,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You push him towards his younger brother, and your best friend. “Take care of him Sam!”

“No promises!” He calls back, before they both leave the room.

You watch after them for a few moments, adjusting your own clothes. Retying your apron, you spin your wedding ring on your right hand, admiring the way the opal stone caught the light.

Dean was your husband. He was yours, and you were his. 

Biting your lip to repress your smile, you walk out of the greenhouse with your head down. It’s then that you’re stopped abruptly by--

Queen Mary.

A gasp passes your lips as you dip into a bow. When you rise, you can feel her condescending gaze as she looks down her nose at you. She stands regally, her air of disdain coiling your stomach in. Her eyes sweep over your body, emulating a light scoff before meeting your gaze again. She raises an eyebrow in expectation, and you simply bow your head before brushing past her in an attempt at getting as far away as possible.

X

X

The tents set up in the royal garden mesmerize you. When the sun went down after Dean’s speech the lanterns set outside lit up, casting a lovely glow over the invited courtiers.

Keeping the silver tray in your hand steady, you serve champagne to the waiting patrons as you try to find another glimpse of your love. You hadn’t even had the chance to see Sam again, and this was usually the time you both made fun of all the royal guests together.

Flitting around as much as you could, you finally find the person you wanted to see the most. Slowly making your way over to Dean, your perception clears as you find him speaking to a beautiful woman--one that had beautifully tanned skin complimented by a seductive red dress, and chestnut hair that falls in effortless curls.

“Lady Lisa,” a voice behind you announces. You freeze, your blood stopping its course through your veins.

“Your majesty.”

“They make a lovely couple, do they not?” She asks smugly. “Their children would be beautiful, and the prosperity she would bring to our country is immeasurable. She’s truly the woman Dean deserves.”

Bile lurches into your throat--thick and large and growing bigger each time you try to swallow it down. Queen Mary’s words ring in your ears as you watch Lady Lisa and your husband interact. His eyes glow, and both their smiles are bright as they laugh at things you can’t hear.

You place the platter of champagne on the closest table with a large clang, throwing off your apron before running to the closest bathroom with a quick “Excuse me”.

You don’t make it to the toilets, and instead vomit into a rose bush that stinks of sweet perfume.

Weeks pass by after the Royal Garden Party and you can’t seem to keep up. The days blur together and things in the palace seem to pick up as Dean’s coronation gets closer. Events come and go, and encounters with him do too. Your relationship dwindles down to fleeting moments of passion and restless nights when you can slip into his bed, which are now few and far between.

You try your hardest not to let Mary’s words affect you--but they’ve already taken root within your heart, only growing every time Dean leaves your arms.

“You seem preoccupied,” Sam observes, as you two spend your weekly meet up within the palace library.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts while reading the blurs on your page. “I’m just tired.”

“I believe that’s part of the reason,” he counters. “You and Dean have the same look of longing in your eyes since the garden party.”

You don’t answer. 

“He misses you, you know,” Sam confesses softly. “Everyday when he gets the chance to step away he tries to get to you, but Mother always pulls him away--”

“Well maybe he should try harder then,” you snap. 

Sam raises an eyebrow, sitting back in his chair. “Someone’s testy,” he teases, throwing a pillow at your head. “Dean hasn’t ordered you your monthly ‘shark week’ basket?”

“No.” You throw the pillow back at him. “I haven’t gotten my period since--”

Fuck. 

“(Y/N)?” Sam calls, but his voice is drowned out by the rushing of water in your ears.

When was the last time you got your period? It was the week before you and Dean went to the chapel--

Two and a half months ago.

“(Y/N)!” Sam calls again, grasping your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been two and a half months,” you mumble.

“What?”

“It’s been two and a half months,” you grit out. “Since my last period. 

Silence falls immediately. 

“Let’s go,” Sam decides, standing up while frantically gathering his stuff.

“Sam?”

“Let’s go. We have a palace physician to see.”

X

X

It’s been two hours.

Two hours since you’ve learned you have a tiny baby bean growing in your body, and you can’t stop looking at the ultrasound photo.

Sam was right beside you when the palace doctor told you just what path your life was on. You were on the verge of panicking--as you had every right to be--but Sam’s soothing words made you realize just how much of blessing this was for you and Dean.

Making your way back to the library, you both couldn’t contain your newfound excitement. You talked about everything under the sun about your baby, from star sign to how long it’d take Sam to teach them how to ride a bike.

“Concept,” the younger prince spoke up, both of you on your backs while staring at the ceiling. “If it’s a girl, you name her Samantha, and then you could shorten it to Sam. If it’s a boy--”

“No Sam,” you giggled, shoving his shoulder.

“Just hear me out! Do you even have any names in mind?”

 A small smile makes its way onto your face as you nod. “Dean and I have actually talked about it often. The first time we officially met, his pick up line was: ‘how are we hyphenating our names? Asking for our future kids’.”

Sam lets out a snort. “He’s so corny.”

“Trust me, I know. But eventually, we settles on Jonathan Sam (Y/L/N)-Winchester for a boy--”

“A mouthful but it has both me and my father in it so I might just cry.”

“And Opal (your mom’s name) (Y/L/N)-Winchester for a girl.”

“There’s probably a good reason the name Mary isn’t in there.”

Springing up, you and Sam surge to your feet to meet the figure of the Queen standing at the entrance to the library. 

“Mother--” Sam starts. 

“Leave us,” she states, and when Sam doesn’t move, her head snaps towards him. “Leave. Us.”

He sends an apologetic look your way before following her orders. When the door closes behind him, Queen Mary doesn’t waste a breath. 

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she starts. “You’re going to pack as many things as you can carry and you’re going to leave my country.”

Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to leave this palace with what little money and status you have, and you’re not going to come back. You’re going to leave my family alone and get on the plane I’ve arranged, to the house I have ready for you, and you’re going to live quietly while raising this leech as far away from us as possible.”

“Leech?!” You screech, placing a hand over your stomach protectively. “My child, your flesh and blood  is a gift, one that I will not tolerate you speaking about in that way, and neither will your son--”

“What will you do?” She chuckles. “Hit me? You’d lose your hands.”

“Then I won’t leave.”

“I believe it’s in the best interest for your safety to leave. You and I both know I have a talent at making tragedies look like accidents.”

Her words squeeze your next words away from your throat. It closes, and tears gather at your waterline--but you can’t...you won’t cry in front of her. “If you hurt me...if you hurt us...Dean would never forgive you. You’d lose him to me--”

“Do you really think my son cares about you or your bastard when he’s betrothed to Lady Lisa?”

You lose your footing, and you stumble back as the wind is knocked out of your lungs. 

“What a pity you didn’t know,” she tuts. “Why do you think he’s been so busy lately? Becoming the future King and planning the royal wedding is not an easy task.”

White noise is all you can hear. The tears you fought so hard to  hold in now spill easily, rolling down your cheeks. This is why Dean has been so scarce lately.

He was marrying someone else. He was choosing someone else.

“You have until midnight to leave.”

You don’t hear her leave, your eyes trained on the elegantly decorated carpet that your tears dampen. Your hands begin to shake, your chest heaves, and you can’t tell if you’re breathing.

A familiar hand sets on your shoulder. “(Y/N),” a voice says through the void. “It’s okay! I’m here. What did my mother say, what did she do?”

You can only drag your gaze to meet Sam’s. They’re filled with pure concern, but all you feel is empty. “Did you know?” You whisper.

Sam doesn’t move. “(Y/N)...”

“Did you know that Dean’s arranged to be married to Lisa?” You spit out. 

He doesn’t answer for what feels like years. “Yes, but--”

“How long.”

“You have to listen to me--”

“HOW. LONG.”

“...A month. Since the garden party.”

You rip yourself from his grip, shaking your head vehemently. “I have to...I have to leave--”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Far away from this fucked up family.”

“(Y/N)--”

“No Sam!” You explode, the white noise and emptiness giving way to a deep seeded anger, at being lied to, at being left alone, at being forced out of your home. “This family? This family lies and destroys and I can’t--I won’t stay in this.”

“The baby--”

“Is no longer any of your concern,” you spit at him, before storming out of the library.

Within three hours, you’ve packed everything you could, and left.

Look out for part two soon!

TAGLIST:

@that-one-gay-girl​ ; @fanfictionjunkie1112​ ; @flamencodiva​ ; @hoboal87​ ; @cutestdolans​ ; @anaissomnia​ ; @kbl1313​ ; @fuzzycloudsz​

[vore-scientist]

Bookish (safe soft willing platonic GT M/f vore)

Ok a little explanation is needed for this: IT'S NOT PART OF THE NORMAL MYSTIC WOODS. 

IT'S AN AU+ CROSSOVER SILLINESS

Been talking with @vixen525 (dA, tumblr) and we’ve been talking about fun crossovers with our worlds/characters and this came out of that! 

Contains: safe, soft, non-sexual, willing M/f GT vore No warnings. 

To set you up: Yonah, for whatever reason it’s not important for this story, got transported to the dimension/world of TerraSyor (which belongs to @vixen525 ), but in the process suffered memory loss (bc I wanted to be cliche as fuck and it makes things so much fun!!!). Giants in TerraSyor are called Syors or Syorians which are two subspecies. Check their dA for more information. They are a LOT larger than Yonah. But anyways. That’s kinda the set up, other things you need to know are explained in the story. 

---

“Can you stop pacing? It’s giving me a Syor sized headache.” 

On a desk in the Office of the Giant King was a small desk! And on that desk was an even smaller one! A very odd sight. Even for a very odd King, but it had been like this for about a month now. Ever since a mysterious stranger appeared in the Ruby Isles and had been taken by King Connor to be the new personal guard to his Chief Royal Advisor of Politics. The Small desk belonged to this stranger. The smaller desk to the advisor. And she was getting a bit frustrated. 

For the stranger, who’s name was Yonah HaEsh, was nervous for what she felt was a bit of a silly reason. He was pacing around his desk and stroking his dark goatee, running his hands through his long curly black hair. It was in theory, his “payday” but he refused to take any normal payment. He felt that the generosity and situation he found himself in as a new guard who had all his needs taken care of, and as someone who viewed himself in a temporary position until he found his way back to his home dimension, he had no need for money. But there were other needs. Well not needs, but wants. 

And yet Yonah was still having second thoughts. 

“It just feels wrong… paying someone to let me eat them!” he said for the hundredth time since being offered and him accepting said offer. 

Yonah didn’t remember much, something about the trip through dimensions had rattled his head. But he knew a few things. He was half-giant. Though even that was in doubt as giants, or Syor/Syorians, were more than twice his size, much more. He was a puny 23.5ft and the taller Syor/ians were close to 100! He knew he was a wizard, which was in no doubt given the crazy outfit he had been wearing upon his violent arrival on the island. He now wore a custom royal guard uniform, but he kept on his wizard hat. He knew that his name was Yonah. He knew a few other details, like magical knowledge and… that humans tasted really good. That he liked to eat them. 

He also knew that unlike Syor/ians, he didn’t have the same desire to eat humans, just that he liked to, so why shouldn’t he? He’d eaten Naomi, the aforementioned advisor, a few times, but she really belonged to the King. It felt oddly like she was cheating on her king when he ate her. 

Due to the extreme fancy for humans that Syor/ians had, it turns out the castle had, on retainer, a number of humans paid to be safely eaten. Most did it for the quick coin, but a few stuck around. Apparently this was such a human. One who at least kind of enjoyed this job. That didn’t make Yonah feel any better about it. But he also hadn’t eaten that morning, in anticipation and out of courtesy to what would be his guest. So he was hungry. 

“Can’t I just eat you? Or I can get a new robe!” he said. 

“She’s already been paid, and some variety is good for you,” Naomi glanced up briefly and smiled at him, trying to reassure him. Her new guard was so strange. He was fiercely loyal from the start, wicked smart, and strong, but he had a strange temper and the most interesting things threw him off. Like getting to eat someone! The first time he ate her he’d fallen apart, sobbing like he’d lost a loved one. Wild, since It was perfectly safe, the king had the finest Terran Artificers craft protective amulets. She wore a very stunning one on her wrist, a large silver bracer engraved with depictions of her island, complete with a golden, magical gemstone as the sun. 

A knock on the door to the office signalled the arrival of Yonah’s “payment”. Naomi snapped her fingers and the door’s protective wards momentarily lifted and a uniformed Syor came in, bowing as they did. 

In their hand was a platform, upon which was a cushion, but from this distance it was hard to see the human. It still felt like being served up food, on a silver platter. 

The Syor stopped at the desk and glared down at the much smaller giant. Like Yonah had stolen their treat. But yonah wasnt really paying attention to the guard trying to intimidate him. He was focused on the human.

A young woman lounged on the cushion, paying no heed to what was going on at all, and her bespectacled eyes were engrossed in a book. She had on little clothing but it was extremely fancy, and her hair was done up with golden bands. Those reeked of magic and Yonah knew those composed her protective amulet. She also had a small bowl of candied nuts and fresh berries that must be balanced with magic next to her. No, the bowl was set atop a pile of books and a few others were tucked around her. 

She looked up and down at Yonah, her eyes getting wide but not in horror, but in a bit of afronted shock. After taking another candy she spoke to Naomi. 

“I’m getting that first edition signed copy of The Chronicles of Percival The DragonMancer, right? Otherwise I’d rather be eaten by drooly over here” she indicated the Syor that swallowed guiltily. 

Yonah couldn’t really blame her. Being eaten by a Syor or Syorian had to be much different than by him. He was so much smaller! It must be so much more confining, and being swallowed down… If it was a painful effort for him, it must be awful for the one he was eating. He imagined being swallowed by one of this world’s giants was still terrifying in it’s own way, but not so suffocating. 

“Sure are!” Naomi didn’t even look up from her papers. 

The woman motioned to be placed down on the desk and the Syor obliged. Then they gave her a quick sniff and even dared a lick with the tip of their tongue against her back and left without another word. She should be perfectly safe, this was the king’s office, and the only others in the room were a new but trusted guard and the king’s best friend. Ok best friend is an understatement for what Naomi truly was. She and the king were as close as two could be, they loved each other very much, though they were not romantically or sexually involved. 

Stretching and putting her book down the woman stepped onto the desk to get a look at the one who was to eat her. Short and stocky, She had the build of someone who got plenty of exercise living amongst giants but also was given all the sweets she desired any time of the day. And the attitude of someone who thought nothing of being eaten, but was a little wary of the prospect for the first time in a while. She was sizing Yonah up and her calculations weren’t leading to kind results. And she was good at math. While she lived the life of Extremely luxury given to a spoiled pet, she was horrifyingly well read and used her pay for the finest tutors in the land. Some of them were Syor/ian who were more than happy to be paid with getting to eat her. 

She also did not fail to notice the trepidations of the half-giant that knelt down next his desk, and waited for her to approach, which she did. But she did not climb up onto his lap, not her job to initiate, she was their snack. She literally had to do nothing and she got everything she wanted. 

“Oh, I left my glasses on, I’ll be right back-” she turned but then stopped when Yonah spoke. 

“Ehm, hi,” Yonah said, then decided he didn’t want to be so awkward. He wasn’t a teenager asking out a schoolyard crush. “My name is Yonah, and your name is?”

It occurred to her that not many of the Syor/ians that she was presented to asked her name. How many even knew it? She turned around to see the kind brown eyes behind glasses much thicker than her own. 

“Danielle, Dani,” she said. 

“So, ehm, do you like books?” he asked. 

Oh, a talker. Some liked to have conversations though most just shoved her down their gullets. It was at least a nice attempt to acknowledge her personhood. Not that she really minded, she was living her best life. 

“You bet! I think I’ve read more than nerdy naomi,” she said, finding herself being a bit more chatty than she thought she’d be. 

“Hey! All you do it read when you’re not in a giant’s gut! I got to read documents all day long, so sue me if I dont have the time or energy for every fictional book in the damn library!” Naomi was somehow able to concentrate on her work and still give a brilliant comeback. 

“Anyways,” Yonah said, getting Dani’s attention, “I also like to read! And I think I might have some books you would like.”

“I’m already paid for today,” said Dani, she was interested but was sure there was some ulterior motive. The giants loved to flatter her with gifts, hoping for extra time, but she never gave it. She knew how delicious she was. 

“I’m still unsure about eating you, but I wouldn’t want you to waste your time. Here,” he took off his head and Dani looked genuinely surprised and curious when he stuck his hand in and pulled out a selection of novels. 

“I don’t know if you’ve been told, but I’m from another world entirely, and apparently my hat is full of books!” Yonah held out his hand with the books to Dani who lost all her professional aura and took them all, taking in their covers, which had art styles wholly unfamiliar to her

They were completely unfamiliar to her, in fact the titles were half nonsense. 

‘Stars Without Number, The Tetremalin Time Bomb. A Captain Alfred and the Mystery of the Sigma Quadrant Adventure’ and  ‘The Fantastic Romantic Escapades of The Fantabulous Darington and The One that Got Away’ and ‘MythAdventures: The Awakened Automaton, a Gaslamp Steamfantasy for All Ages’ and one that was not a book but bound with twine titled ‘The Ice Princess, The Official Scripts by the Silken Breath Order, episodes 1-10, with hand-written edits’

“I can have these!?” she couldn’t believe, books no one else had! Books from another world with brand new stories and possibly new genres. Her heart could barely contain itself in her chest. 

Yonah looked at Naomi who gave him a knowing glance. He should really reel it in on the gifts. “You can have one, for now,” he said. A few memories trickled in. “I personally loved MythAdventures, it’s got a fantastic twist.”

Dani smiled, and returned the other books into his hand, but with a big smile she hugged the MythAdventures, she sniffed it deeply. It even smelled like far away. 

Without another word she returned to her cushion, but instead of settling down she took her bowl of candies and returned to Yonah, clambering onto his knees, settling down. It was very adorable and Yonah couldn’t help but smile.  

“Why dont I read it to you?” he asked, adjusting to sit criss cross, so she was a bit sprawled out on his skirt. Then without warning he took something from a pouch at his side and dabbed it on his tongue and said words in a language she didn’t know. Which was frustrating, she knew a lot of languages 

Woah! A burst of grey smoke spread around her, sourced from the half-giant. Only he was not giant any longer. He was human sized. Or nearly, and she was still in his lap. She knew shrinking spells existed but this was not any she had read about. Also, up until now she was certain he had been humoring her about not eating her and just feeling sorry for her and so giving her extra books. But he definitely couldn’t eat her at this size. She also loved to be read to. 

“Yes please!” she handed him back the book. He adjusted his glasses and got more comfortable, with Dani laying across his legs. Even shrunk, he was still a comfy spot, he was chubby, very soft and warm. 

“Would you like a honey nut?” she held up the bowl, “they are almost as tasty as me!” 

Yoanh laughed and took a few. They were indeed tasty. The honey stuck to his teeth and Dani giggled as he licked it from his fangs like a dog licking peanut butter from the roof of its mouth. Finally his mouth was candy free and he opened the book. 

“Oh shoot, this is book 3, I’m so sorry,” he said, “I think I have the first two but,” he reached into his hat again and winced. Then he dismissed his reduction and pulled out two giant sized books. Giant sized for Yonah, so a bit oversized. Dani looked amused, as if she thought this was his plan all along. 

“That’s alright! Why don’t you eat me and read to me, the Syorians have done that a few times, and it was nice.”

Eat her and read to her? Why did that stir a memory? Why was he sure he’d done that for someone else. Someone important to him. The thought was so tempting, even though he kinda planned to just let her continue to sit in his lap. Then His stomach grumbled a bit. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“It’s my job silly! And if you read to me it would be much less like a job!” she hopped off his lap and returned her new book, her bowl of candy, and her glasses to her cushion. This time when she returned it was to climb back onto him. “Alright! Ready to be eaten!” 

If not for her eagerness Yonah might not have proceeded to pick her up and after giving her a playful sniff, shove her into his mouth. 

While a Syor/ian could fit an entire human in their mouth, Yonah couldn’t. Not even close. Most of her body was dangling out. With her minimal amount of clothing yonah got a massive amount of flavor and she had been right. She was delicious. And Yonah did not want to torture her for so long so He worked her to the back of his mouth and tipped his head back to begin swallowing. Next time… next time he would spend more time tasting her. 

Despite not having all his memories, Yonah knew he was proud to be half-giant, though as his throat stretched and the human’s form pressed against his windpipe as he forced her down into his esophagus, he kinda wished he was fully giant. It was painful, in kind of a good way, and he kept swallowing. Eventually her feet disappeared into his throat, and with that her hands entered his stomach, then the rest of her! She was super filling. And that was one reason he was glad to be half-giant, surely for whatever a full giant was, and he was certain his mother was one, eating a single human couldn’t be so satisfying. He slumped with a content sigh and rubbed his belly. 

This just felt... right. He was full and so so so happy. 

“Hey! Aren't you gonna read? If im gonna be so squished I'd like you to keep your word”

Yonah snapped back and also looked at Naomi. He was on duty! He was on guard! Yes this office was extremely secure but he couldn’t completely slack off. And a full belly seemed to lull him a bit. This alarmed him and most of his sleepiness went away. 

Naomi had watched the entire thing, for she was curious as to how such a small giant could swallow a human, but he did. It looked uncomfortable for him but clearly enjoyable. And seeing his stomach become pleasantly full… very different from when Syor/ians ate folks. Except for how pleased Yonah was with himself, that was exactly like a Syor/ian. 

“Yes yes, I… you taste delightful Dani!” he said, back to being a bit awkward with compliments. 

He looked down at his middle and saw the slight signs of a human being trapped inside his gut. The small occasional tremors as she tried to find a comfortable position, and a few times little dents that corresponded to when he could feel her stretch out. He was just tickled peachy watching, feeling. Until he figured that was enough time and he reached for the book. 

As he read he felt Dani relax, but not to the point where she was going to fall asleep. Oh no, she stayed wide awake as Yonah read to her. He did at some point get some water, as his throat got extremely dry, telling Dani what was about to happen so she wouldn’t freak out. She said the cool water felt refreshing! So that was nice. 

There was a notable moment when he took a break to talk to Naomi. She needed a bit of a break too, her eyes were starting to get tired from looking at documents for so long. First she just summarized in words a few of the documents, good practice to tell Connor later. In the month since Yonah’s arrival she had started to go over things briefly with her guard before Connor, to organize things in her head a bit better. Even if Yonah didn’t understand their politics it was very helpful. 

Plus she was super curious about Dani. Or rather, about Yonah having eaten Dani. Naomi knew how weird and different it was to be eaten by Yonah, and Yonah had been very descriptive about how it felt, that he could very acutely tell even minor movements. That he could place his hand on his stomach and feel whoever was inside! This was something Syor/ians could not do, simply because of their size. 

“I don’t mind you touching, but Dani might,” he said, poking himself a bit, causing Dani to stir. 

He had been poking and rubbing his stomach at fairly regular intervals while he read but Dani was still not used to such intrusions upon her space. Syor/ian stomachs were much more cavernous, no such effects at all. Naomi was entranced, and then a bit horrified upon a tremor, and the slightest of movements, especially since before seeing it, yonah just seemed like he’d eaten a good meal, not a person. You could not tell if a Syor/rian had eaten someone, not at all.

“Naomi’s gonna, em, examine me, and you might feel her pressing into my stomach, if that’s ok!” Yonah asked. Naomi was sitting on his thigh as Yonah sat crossed legged, but she stood up now.

“Hmmm, yeah that’s fine!” Dani said, shifting again. Hmmm. Maybe. She pressed a hand to what she knew was the “front” of the stomach.

Naomi gasped as she saw the movement and with only a little hesitation placed her hands at the spot and leaned in.

By the guards of the underworld That felt wrong! That had to be an elbow or a hand. It was obviously a person trapped underneath the layers of fat and flesh. And she could feel as Dani shifted even a little. The best way to describe it is like feeling floating ribs. It was unnerving so she stopped after only a short time.

“I’m, going to get a snack and get back to work.” she said. 

“Not without my escort!” Yonah picked her up and climbed down the desk. They could easily call a servant but Yonah needed to stretch his legs. He couldn’t have a snack since Dani was his snack, but a walk to the kitchens was very much needed. 

Once they got back Naomi dived into her paperwork again. Yonah sat back down at his desk and continued to read. 

And when his time with her was up, he poked at Dani again, and she let out a long groan.

“But you’re not done!!!” she pounded against his stomach in frustration. “You’re so good at reading!!”

That made Yonah feel good! This little human had enjoyed her time being eaten. He almost started crying again, as wonderful as this had been it still made him sad? But in a good way. 

Also she was very correct, they weren’t even halfway through the book.  But really, it was time for a late lunch, and since Yonah had skipped breakfast, he shouldn’t skip another meal. Not very responsible for a guard to go hungry. And he wasn’t gonna eat with her sitting in there. No way. Even if Syor/ians did that, he felt like due to his size it would be incredibly unpleasant, and he was already so full he couldn't eat a proper meal without becoming overstuffed, and burying his occupant. 

Guess he would just have to eat her again soon. 

Once he spat her up and cleaned her off, she turned to Naomi.

“Can he eat me again? Like! tomorrow!?” She practically squealed at Naomi who looked at them both with her knowing gaze - like she had her suspicions this might happen, that she might have requested Dani be his treat for this specific reason. 

“Perhaps,” she said, and smiled so deviously. And Yonah’s face turned a little red.

That might be a bit too soon! That felt like exploitation to Yonah, But he’d love to read to her again so they could progress in the story without her having to be in his gut. And with his lost memories, he knew he was getting to read his favorite books like they were new! Or at least, sort of new. 

And it was something to do while Naomi did her mountains of paperwork. 

[FIN] if you liked PLEASE REBLOG!

REBLOGS HELP SPREAD MY WORK! I also love knowing that people read my stories! My askbox and DMs are OPEN!!! let me know!!!

[Thanks for reading! please reblog! Or message me telling me what you think! I crave feedback! For more mystic woods go to vore-scientist.tumblr.com/tagged/mystic+woods+story or search ‘mystic woods story’]

[softliebgott]

EVENING TEA DRESS

REQUEST: “Speirs steals the reader a sexy dress from a house in Germany and asks for photos of her wearing it 💕🔥” - Anonymous

TAGS: If you would like to be tagged in future prompts or requests, go here and add your username below!

@general-taylor @mgdln97 @gottapenny @endorians @morgan108 @thegermansarebad @floydtab @snafus-peckuh @wexhappyxfew @scarecrowmax @madamsledge @easyroses @ineffablewants @junojelli @inglourious-imagines @sunflowerchuck @adamantiumdragonfly @luz-lovebot @alienoresimagines @fandomscenariosforyou @ray–person @noneofurbusinez @tvserie-s-world @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @keoghans​

Swastikas stared at him, and portraits of Hitler looked on in disinterest as Ron grabbed fistfuls of sterling silver forks, spoons, and knives and piled them into his helmet. Pinched beneath his armpit was an opulent serving platter, its edges reminiscent of the intricate carvings of Versailles. 

After depriving the wooden box’s blue velvet mouth of its silverware, Ron’s eyes latched onto a pair of sterling silver candle holders. Like a kid offered his favorite candy on Halloween, he hurried over and snatched the candle holders, putting them in his helmet. 

He moved to the oak desk, swiping a letter opener, cigarettes, and a lighter. He flipped open the lighter, disrupting its rest by provoking a flame to test it. Satisfied, he stuffed it into his pocket.

Robbing any Nazi of their valuable possession incited an enthusiastic tingle in his stomach. They lose the war, and they lose their valuables, just like their victims did. He not only wanted these upscale items for himself, but wanted to give you some nice things. You always came to his mind concerning gifts. He loved seeing the way your eyes would glimmer, like light hitting a diamond’s intricate edges. He never grew tired of your smile, either. You were his girl. You deserved nifty things and to feel happiness.

Ron meandered the house until he found what he assumed to be a woman’s room. Neat, although she had taken what she could. It smelled floral, with notes of gardenia, lilac, and jasmine. It almost smelled like you, which excited his senses. He had to bring back something special. Not used makeup. Not a hand mirror.

He found a closet with little options of clothing, but a wine red dress snagged his attention. He set his helmet on the vanity, the sunlight striking the silver sterling objects in the way liquid mercury reflected light. Ron plucked the dress from the closet and turned it to fully face him. He wasn’t sure what occasion the dress was made for, but it was damn sexy. Picturing you in it wouldn’t be enough. He had to see you in it.

Removing the hanger, he draped it over his arm, grabbed his helmet, and left.

When Ron came to you, arms full of sumptuous goods, your delight triggered a broad smile from him.

“Silver sterling?” You exclaimed, your eyes swollen with surprise. “Krauts have got it all! Bastards.” You searched through his heavy helmet as if it were a candy bowl, picking out knives with intricate designs on the handles.

Ron let you dig through his helmet, setting down the serving platter on the mahogany coffee table. He gripped the red dress by the shoulders, holding it up to show you. “I found this for you. Looks like your size.”

Your eyes flicked up to the dress, and your apple red lips parted in glee. You hurriedly set the helmet down and began to admire the dress, feeling the fabric and your eyes seeking out the details. “Oh, Ron,” you sighed. “It’s gorgeous.” Your eyebrows squished together, adoration softening your features. “Can I try it on?”

Ron lifted his chin, his gaze heavy-lidded and sensuous as an idea came to him. “Only if I can take pictures.” He pushed his tongue against the backs of his teeth, a sly smile teasing the edge of his mouth.

You glanced to the dress and back to him, pursing your lips at your growing smile. “I’ll go change,” you said softly, taking the dress from him. As you walked off to the bedroom, your heels a chorus of clicks, his eyes fell to the curve of your rear. He clenched his jaw and retrieved the camera, an Agfa Readyset Special, something he had stolen from another German household. 

You had changed out of your navy blue, Kitty Foyle dress and into the red one he had brought you. You kept on your black heeled Oxfords, for they could be worn with anything and were gentle on your feet. Cold excitement stirred in your stomach as you fixed your hair, which was akin to Veronica Lake’s style.

When you came out of the bedroom and Ron looked to you, his shoulders went lax as his eyes, heavy with longing, caressed the curves your dress accented. The chest pattern beckoned more attention to your breasts (almost making them appear bigger), and split down your chest in a teasing way. You placed your hands on your hips where the fabric hugged the most.

“Fuck...” Ron whispered. Red suited you more than it should have. His heart drummed in his ears, and he swallowed a sudden build up of saliva. He raised the camera to his eye level, and as you posed like your favorite pin-up models, he took a myriad of photos, his mind wandering into a vixenish territory.

Hands sweating, he set down the camera and approached you. “You frustrate me, baby doll,” he said, breathless. He bent down, hooking his hands behind your knees, and hoisting you up so your legs girded his waist. He pressed his heated lips against yours, breathing in your scent; a fruity, floral, and vanilla perfume. He headed into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Now that he had seen you in the dress, he wanted to feverishly rip it off.

He’d be sure to keep those photos on him at all times, too.

[maywoodrpg]

WELCOME TO MAYWOOD’S ANNUAL BOXES FOR CHARITY!

This event is put on every year by Camila Kapoor to raise money for the various charities and hopefully push some people out of their shells. Each person will be paired up with one of the mystery boxes below. Now I’m sure you all are wondering how this will work. 

You will read over the boxes if you are a bidder, then place your bid below in the comments. YOU MUST BID ON 3 BOXES. From there you will wait until Wednesday when boxes are announced and go on your date. 

EXAMPLE: Alex bids on box 1, 10, and 12 <--- this would be in the comments. 

If you have any QUESTIONS PLEASE ASK!

The outside of the box is covered in black and white photographs from Maywood back in the 1800s. Inside the box there is a box of twizzlers because it is their favorite candy. Next to that there’s a picnic blanket, apple pie, a bottle of wine with two disposable glasses and a piece of lasagne to be shared, all on top of white linnen. Lastly there’s a disposable camera to be used whenever they want.

The outside of the box is covered in black background, with green binary computer code printed on top. On the inside, it’s lined in black velvet. The contents include: a single key, it looks like a regular car key, but it turns out to belong to a boat. Two premium steaks. Two bottles of wine; one white, and one a sweet red. A triple chocolate cherry coke cake for desert. A captain’s hat, and a securely wrapped candle that’s labeled ‘Ocean Water’.

Box consists of an unused cardboard box that was part of a gift from Christmas — 6x6 with a big rope tied into a messy bow. Beside the rope bow, he stuck on a Christmas bow, yes the red velvety kind. Inside, it has a six pack of beer ( freshly bought the day of ), a red and white frisbee, and a keychain of a longboard as a small reminder of the date. They purposefully packed these things into an unusually large box as to originally throw off the participants.

The box is covered in green fabric, silver ribbon encircling the rim of the box to help keep the fabric in place. Inside there are two wine glasses and a bottle of the Fortier wine circa 1991, a great vintage. Take out meals from a local Italian restaurant are inside wrapped up to keep warm as well as breadsticks. For dessert there’s a box of different colored macarons. A toy horse is nestled against the wine.

The outside of the box is a colorful array of glitter and marker, clearly decorated by a child. A good deal of space inside is taken up by a soccer ball and a jersey shirt. Next to it is a container of handmade Nacatamales, two beers, and a couple pieces of chocolate cake that’s been iced in an adorably messy way.

The box is a simple one, wrapped in solid light blue wrapping paper. Inside contains a boxed set collection of the Golden Girls, a handwritten invitation to Sweet Tooth Candy Shop, a picnic blanket, a copy of the Velvetten Rabbit, and an new, unused notebook. Situated on top of all of this is an envelop addressed to “my date.” The envelop contains a letter handwritten by them which thanks the bidder for choosing them and invites them to spend a relaxing day with them in the location of their choice, where they can chat, write a bit, eat some sweets, and just generally enjoy hanging out together.

The brown box was covered with a world map depicting where each major war had been fought. Inside the lining was fabric with the mayflower compact printed on it. A small copy of the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King is in the box along with a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. There’s an envelope sealed with a wax stamp that reads “free history classes” on it. Also inside is a little box with twine tied around it with a note attached that says “inside is your first clue."

The brown box has a dusty rose ribbon tied around the base of it along with cute glittery flowers covering the outside of the box. The inside is lined with a jewel tone blue fabric. There’s a blanket settled at the bottom with a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses set inside. Twinkle lights are spread throughout the box and little seashells are set around the wine glasses. Assorted sushi and chocolate covered strawberries are also inside along with a little hand written card that says “Meet me at the beach.”

The outside of the box is simple yet classic. Wrapped in silver and gold wrapping paper. Opening the box uncovers the sides and the bottom of the box are covered with a nice lace pattern. Within the box, there are two old fashioned glasses of cola, hamburger with all the fixings and two cartons of ice cream geared toward each other’s favorite flavor for dessert. Other items contained in the box include a movie and a fake movie ticket.

The outside of the box has a different image on each side. The first is a red rose growing out of what looks like a hill. The second is a cream colour with small yellow circles and stars. The third is a fox on a grassy field. The fourth is white, with three circles shaded to look like holes, with “what is essential is invisible to the eye” written in cursive. The top is sky blue, with what looks like a yellow scarf blowing in the wind. Inside the box, is a bottle of wine with two wine glasses, fresh bread, spreadable cheese, and homemade chocolate croissants. Underneath everything is a copy of the children’s book, The Little Prince.

On the inside of the box, it’s filled with a few layers of tissue paper rotating between the colors of blue and green. Placed on top of the paper is a picnic blanket. Placed on the blanket are two silver metal coffee mugs, a variety sushi platter and a scrumptious serving of fresh strawberry shortcake for dessert. Other items found in the box is a blow up beach volleyball and a small music speaker to listen to to some tunes.

On the outside of the box is a mod podged sealed collage of a variety of photos — playbill covers, concerts stills, printed off art images, etc with a white bow superglued to the top. The sides on the inside have a continuation of the collage but on the bottom lays a black velvet cushion, just big enough to fill the bottom of the box. On top lays a ticket that is plain white with gold lining with the words “MCC Theater Presents” spread across the top. It’s taped to a menu detailing several dishes, and drink options. Beneath that is red flyer for a band performance at Lucky’s, and a hand made ‘credit card’ with ‘tab on me’ sprawled where a name would typically be.

The outside of the box has been cushioned, covered with a blush pink satiny material. Little matching tulle buttons adorn the top. Meticulous; time was taken on the top of this box. Inside the box is the same satin fabric, no cushioning. Inside is a bottle of Rose, chocolate-covered strawberries, brie and crackers, figs covered in a balsamic sauce, prosciutto, salami, marinated olives. Inside also lies a white picnic blanket and a candleholder with two long candles. It’s about the romance.

THE FOLLOWING BIDDERS ARE: 

@zahraammun

@lucieoconnor

@jadexramirez

@daphnee-a

@mrantonydaniels

@nikhailkohli

@nataliaflcres

@avatorres

@alexandrademir

@elenakapoor

@corinnaburke

@edgarfortiers

@diegoxalvarez & @riskylindy (who will host but can also bid if they choose)

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

what if s/o and Trish had met before??

For years you’ve had the same dream every once in a while. Your mom had sent you to the store to pick up some tomato juice for her. ‘Mommy is not feeling well, now hurry,’ she had explained while given you some money. (You remembered that it was common for her to wake up with headaches on the weekends.)

Little six year old you ran for several minutes, on the way there you pass by the park like you normally did. You hear crying by a corner and come across a girl, close to your age.

She wore a really pretty dress, the ones you’ve seen only in fancy magazines. So girly and youthful, and with ribbons on her head that matched. Ohh… Her pink hair looks almost like cotton candy, and her watery eyes were a nice shade of green.

“Are you okay?,” you wondered out loud. She takes a good look at you before sobbing.

“Noo- I can’t find my daddy–I d-don’t know where he is,” her cheeks had frickes, you noticed. ('Freckles,’ you later on corrected yourself.)

You look around for a grown up man that might be her father, but no luck. Just an older man across the park who was selling gelato in a little cart. You get an idea to try to cheer her up.

“Do you want gelato? That always makes me feel better. We can look for your daddy after,” you smile.

The girl tries to wipe her tears away with her fingers.

“You promise?,” she hiccuped.

“Uh-huh, I promise,” you take her hand, leading the way, and buy her a frozen treat.

While the both of you ate, she mentions she never had gelato served in such a way. Instead of a cone, she always had it served in a bowl, along with a 'silver platter.’ You weren’t sure what that meant, but it sure sounded interesting!

…

You cannot remember what happened afterwards. You seem to wake up the moment she started smiling at you. You wonder if she’s alright. Still it’s…just a dream.  Such a strange and reoccurring dream.

(Little did you know it was an actual memory, and not a dream.)

****

OH WOAH OMG I got another entry in the PrincessTrish saga?? My inbox must have eaten this until now but wow!  Wow!!  I like the lore we’re adding on here, this is a pretty good origin for PTrish’s fixation and everything ^-^ No wonder she did a double take when she saw you again years later!

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 4

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

Kingdom of Ash spoilers

Tagging @itach-i @nestasbucket @manontrashbeak @blackhavilliard @bookishwitchling @jimetg98

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged 😊

fanfic master list (includes the link to my fics on AO3)

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Manon couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept.

On the rare nights when she actually fell asleep, it never lasted long. Dreams kept her from getting any rest. For every nightmare about the battle, she had mundane dreams that left her just as lonely and drained. Visions of the Thirteen yielding, conversations with Asterin or Dorian, or even the sister she’d killed. Memories from when she’d come of age and formed her coven. They plagued her each night.

As she struggled to come wake, Manon wondered exactly how long it had been. A year perhaps? Yes, definitely before the war. Which meant she just had her first full night’s sleep in about a year.

Opening her eyes to a dark room, her mind stumbled in groggy confusion as she tried to recognize her surroundings. A fire flickered from somewhere behind her, and there was a sliver of daylight coming through the curtains. Silky soft sheets caressed her bare skin as she rolled onto her back.

The Ferian Gap.

It was completely remade from the horrible place of valg infested men where she’d once lived. The rukhin were transforming the Omega into more of a home than a military outpost. She started to doze off again, reaching towards the other side of the bed for the warm body on which she’d fallen asleep.

When her fingers met nothing, she stretched further, thinking perhaps the bed was bigger than she’d remembered.

Manon jerked fully awake and sat up. Ignoring the clench in her gut and the rush of her pulse, she scanned the room for Dorian. But like the bed, it was empty.

The bathing room door hung open, showing no signs that he was in there. From where she still sat motionless in gloomy darkness, she couldn’t see any bags or clothing strewn across the furniture, or piled on the floor.

This reaction was irrational and stupid. And it was something she could not control. No matter how she tried to steady her breathing or reason out where he could be or hear above the formless ringing in her ears, her body refused to obey. Frustration wove itself into the fear and she bit her lip, trying to will the first tear from breaking free.

“Manon?”

She twisted towards the door, where Dorian now stood holding a tray piled high with plates and bowls. Strange aromas - spicy, savory, sweet - wafted through the air as he lightly kicked the door closed behind him.

She’d thought he’d left. Not to get them breakfast. But left. Gone.

Just the sight of him eased some of the pressure and gnawing ache in her chest. But the damned tears had not disappeared. One fell and she turned away before he could see it.

More tears threatened as she noticed one of his shirts crumpled on the bed, less than a foot away and within easy reach. It had escaped her search moments before. Manon grabbed it and threw it over her head. By the time she looked at him, her eyes were dry.

He still stood by the door, watching her, his brows knit in confusion and his gaze searching her inch by inch, like a flame on her skin. She thought about blaming her state on a nightmare, but she didn’t have the energy to lie.

For whatever reason, Dorian said nothing as he sat the tray on a table. An invisible lash of his magic opened the curtains to a bright sunny day. Squinting against the sudden light, Manon excused herself to the bathing room. 

She saw to her needs quickly and returned to the bedroom. Dorian was rearranging what looked like days’ worth of food, spreading everything out on the table. When she pulled out a chair to sit, he shook his head and ushered her back to the freshly made bed.

“Breakfast in bed. Remember?”

Dorian was back to the table by the time she recalled their goodbye in Orynth, and the life he’d wished for them. Travel, no responsibilities, libraries for him, weapons for her, nights like the one they’d just shared, and yes, breakfast in bed. 

Manon sat cross-legged and watched as he continued with his preparations. His very literal take on ‘breakfast in bed’ seemed silly. And potentially messy. But the sight of so many dishes distracted her from the thought. “How much do you think I eat?” she asked.

He laughed, and she knew from its lilting tone that he would not press her about what he’d walked in on. At least, not yet.

“I know how much you eat, but not what you eat. Or rather, what you like.” He raised a steaming silver kettle high above a mug and began to pour. “One of the cooks in the kitchen showed me how to do this properly,” he said, speaking slowly to concentrate on not spilling.

Most of the black liquid ended up in the mugs and he flashed her a grin that was irresistible. Relenting to his charm, Manon clapped, without too much sarcasm, and was instantly rewarded with an even brighter smile. Dorian brought the tray over and placed it on the top of the bed, then sat carefully across from her.

“I’ve never seen tea like this,” she said, looking down into a mug. Now more of a caramel color, the liquid was swirling with foam.

“That’s because it isn’t tea. It’s kahve. Milk and sugar are used to counter the bitterness.” Quickly, he added, “As I learned yesterday morning when I almost spat it out all over the table. Did I mention that I’ve made a wonderful first impression here?”

Manon laughed quietly, raised the mug, and inhaled. It smelled very good, like nothing she’d had before. Spicy and nutty, with other earthy scents she couldn’t quite place.

“What is your favorite food anyway?” he asked, handing her a napkin and utensils.

After so many years of eating only what was available - whatever game could be caught, the slop served here and then at Morath, travel and war rations - Manon didn’t have an answer. Like sleep, it was difficult to remember the last time she’d had a choice in what she ate. The food they had in the Wastes was nourishing and hearty, but nothing extravagant. Their options were limited by what they’d been able to grow in one season, or acquire through trade, which wasn’t much since they had little to offer in exchange.

“I don’t really know,” she admitted, feeling foolish as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “I don’t cook. Except for what I can catch. Game, fish. And this past year, we didn’t have a lot of variety.”

“Well, it’s good that I brought a little of everything then. Maybe something in here will become your favorite.”

“You made all of this?”

Sheepishly, he said, “No. I made some of it. Most are things imported from the Southern Continent that they keep stocked in the kitchens.” He took the napkin she’d done nothing with and spread it out over her lap, then began naming things as he pointed to each plate.

“Smoked and cured meats. Warning, some are spicy. A few different kinds of cheese. Olives.”

“I know what meat and cheese and olives are”, she said dryly, but Dorian ignored her.

“Dried mango, candied ginger...” He went on, naming a bunch of fruits from the Southern Continent that she’d never heard of. “Nothing fresh unfortunately but that’s the nature of bringing in food from so far away.”

Pointing to a still warm loaf covered in seeds and nuts, he said, “I believe you know what bread is.” Another laugh escaped her lips before she could hold it in. “Porridge,” he continued, lifting the lid off a bowl. “And to make it palatable,” three more containers were uncovered, “honey, orange jam, and yoghurt.”

Before he could tell her that the bowl of almonds did in fact contain almonds, she asked, “And what did you make?”

“Ah! The main course.” There was a large, oval platter in the middle of the tray, its contents hidden by a ceramic lid. With a flourish, he pulled it off and announced, “Eggs with cheese, ham, peppers, and tomatoes. I usually put different vegetables in it but I had to improvise.”

Manon examined the dish, bent over to smell it, then poked it with her fork. “It looks edible.”

“You won’t know until you try it,” he purred.

They had flocks of chickens at the Keep, so she ate eggs often. But unlike her normal breakfast, these were fluffy and light. At least the parts not drenched in melted cheese. Trying to get a little of everything, she gathered the egg concoction onto her fork and took a bite. He watched her like a hawk, waiting for any reaction, any tiny sign of enjoyment. Manon kept her face stonily flat as she chewed. Upon swallowing, she immediately reached for more.

Dorian leaned over and kissed her cheek. With the touch of his lips, she realized she was smiling.

Just as she began sampling the other food, he casually said, “Let’s play a game while we eat. A question for a question.”

Manon froze with her fork midway to her mouth. His eyes held the please he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak.

“I already asked one, so it’s your turn. We can’t give yes or no answers, and we each have the right to refuse...” He thought for a moment. “Three questions.”

She finished the jam laden bite of porridge. “Don’t we have to meet the Captain soon?”

“I saw Orghana already. She’s giving us the day to ourselves.” Manon arched a brow, to which Dorian innocently replied, “We got here early and they weren’t prepared for everything yet.”

She reached for her mug. The kahve was still steaming, almost too hot to hold, but she kept it cradled in her hands anyway. Warmth settled through her as she took a few tentative sips. It was good, she decided, savoring the sharp bite that came after the initial sweetness.

Dorian ate while she stalled. As she looked over the tray of food, at all he’d done, she decided she could at least try. He was giving her an out. Three of them, in fact.

“Okay.” Manon finally said, staring at him to gauge how far she could go in her questions. She remembered every single letter from him, every thought and confession. But there were things he hadn’t said that she’d wondered about.

“Now that you know more about your father, how he gave you his name, do you feel differently about him?”

***

Dorian almost choked on his kahve. As he cleared his throat, she watched with a mix of curiosity and apology. And just a hint of you asked for this.

“I was expecting something along the lines of ‘what is your favorite color’,” he joked, but she made no move to alter the question. Not that he’d expect her to. So, after some thought, he said, “When I think about him, it is... different than before. In some ways.”

His letters had contained almost everything – what he’d learned from Erawan, how he’d seen his father in the space between worlds, even the one or two details he’d managed to pull from his mother. But it had always been straightforward accounts of what had happened, never anything deeper.  

“Honestly, I still hate him for what he did. All the people he hurt. But...” He’d never admitted this to anyone else, not even Chaol. “But there is love too, for his help in the end. For knowing he’d fought back as much as he could.”

Manon smiled. She had once tried to get him to consider that his father had not been his true self and perhaps didn’t deserve the full brunt of Dorian’s hate. But he’d refused.

“I wasn’t able to see that before,” he acknowledged. “And there are days when I can’t see past the destruction he left behind. When all I can focus on is the bad. But mostly, I pity him.” Manon listened to every word, almost greedily. It made him think this wasn’t just about him and his father. Yes, she wanted to know about that. But it was almost like there was a different question hidden within it. One she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, ask.

“I don’t know who he really was, let alone who he could have become. That’s what I wonder about more than anything. The what-ifs.” After a long pause, he admitted to something else he’d never said out loud. “Sometimes, when I have to make a difficult decision, I imagine what he might have done. The real him, not the valg. I wonder if I could have made him proud.” Shaking his head, he huffed a laugh. “I don’t know if any of that made sense.”

“It did.” Her voice was thoughtful and quiet, her eyes intense and glowing. A moment passed before she shifted her attention back to the food.

“My turn,” he said, giving her his most mischievous grin. Not giving her a chance to protest, he asked, “What is your favorite color?”

This time her laugh was a little louder, a little more joyful. After a few moments, she said, “I’ve never had a reason to think about it.” Manon looked around the room before stopping and fixating on his eyes. “Blue.”

Dorian’s grin softened. “Good answer, witchling.”

“The blue of the sky in the Wastes,” she amended, drinking more kahve. “Sometimes, when the clouds are just right, it looks like the horizon is on fire from the setting sun. There’s a moment right before it disappears, when the sky is a deep blue. But there’s still that tiny bit of sunlight that makes it bright and distinct from the black. It’s impossible to describe, but it’s one of the things I’ve come to love about the Wastes.” She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He almost said it. Listening to her, watching her face glow at the picture her memory painted of sunsets in the Wastes, he almost said he loved her. But he didn’t.

That lit up joy was a harsh contrast to the sight of her earlier, panicked and gasping for air, tears filling her eyes. He’d told himself she’d just come out of a nightmare. Even though she’d slept deeply the entire night, hardly stirring. Even though when he’d left to get breakfast, she was still fast asleep.

Biting back the words he wanted to say, Dorian replied, "That’s a better answer.”

She smiled and reached for a pastry. “And yours, princeling?”

“I was never able to settle on a single favorite color growing up. It always changed. But, I’ve always been partial to red,” he said, lifting her braid to admire the bright ribbon of fabric securing the end. “And I like gold.” Nodding back to the sofa, the red and gold wyvern of the Havilliard crest stood out on his heavy cloak. “But not that shade.” He leaned over so he was barely an inch from her face. “This gold,” he said, looking into her eyes. “This is my favorite.”

Manon gifted him a soft smile, which he promptly committed to memory.

“My turn,” he said, sitting back and popping a sugared almond into his mouth. “How do you think the rukhin will take to wyverns?”

There was no pause this time as Manon said, matter of factly, “They won’t have any trouble flying once they adjust to the larger size, which won’t take long. But wyverns are different animals. Their dominance hierarchies are more complex than they appear. It’s not just about sex or size. Abraxos is proof of that.”

Dorian suspected the rider had quite a bit of influence over the mount, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he watched happily as she grew more animated while describing some of the training she had planned for the coming days. He knew the challenge - not the kahve - was the source of her excitement. Manon would be in her element here, and he couldn’t wait to see it.

***

He was staring at her again. Staring as if he’d never seen her before. Or, as if he wanted to toss the tray of food off the bed and continue where they’d left off last night. Or like he was on the verge of saying something.  

Dorian’s face was usually like an open book to her. Sometimes she could see the writing clearly, other times, it was more like a picture book, only giving away broad strokes of the story. Right now, she knew he wanted to tell her something, but she didn’t know what.

As she reached for a pastry, Dorian picked up one of the larger treats and offered it to her. “Try this one first. I want to see if you like it.”

It was a square of golden dough, with corners pressed together in the middle, a dark filling, and sprinkles of large sugar crystals on top. Manon took it, but didn’t bite into it. “Trying to distract me from my next question?” she teased.

Dorian waved a hand. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

“Do you enjoy being a king?”

With an uncomfortable laugh, he said, “I’m going to reconsider playing these kinds of games with you in the future.”

The certainty in his voice, that they had a future together, made something in her relax. Manon hadn’t even known the tension was there, until it subsided.

“Yes, and no,” he said.

She waited for more and when he went back to eating, she sat the pastry down. “Answers cannot be yes or no,” she reminded him. He opened his mouth but she held up her hand. “And ‘yes, and no’ is the same thing as a singular yes, or a singular no.”

That grin was back, and Manon had to look away.

She’d told a partial lie earlier. Her favorite color was the blue of his eyes. It was why she loved the evening skies in the Wastes. In that flash of time before darkness, she was always reminded of his eyes. The sight of them now, ablaze with intensity, left Manon feeling utterly defenseless.

“I enjoy helping people. In some ways, I even enjoy that Adarlan is starting over. I wish it wasn’t because of war, but the chance to change things is exciting. It would be so much easier if I could just make proclamations and laws and see them done without the paperwork and meetings and politics.” He let out a heavy sigh. “If I never see another petition asking me to step in between two petty lords arguing over a border, I’d die happy.”

“Hmm. I never took you for a despot,” she mused.

“A benevolent despot,” he corrected. “Now, will you tell me what you think of that pastry?”

The smart ass had made it into a question. Manon huffed a laugh, then took a bite.

Her eyes flashed wide in surprise. “What is this?!”

“You’ve never had chocolate?”

“This is chocolate?” She ate the rest in one bite and grabbed another. “I’ve had something called chocolate but it didn’t taste like this. I’ve always wondered why people went crazy for it.”

He pushed the plate towards her, separating the chocolate pastries from the others. “They’re all yours,” he said. “I like the poppy seed myself.” Dorian selected one with a black, slightly gooey filling. “Try dipping yours in the kahve.”

She did, closing her eyes in pleasure. The flavors alone were amazing, but mixed together... She’d never tasted anything like it in her life.

“I think we found your favorite food. And drink,” he laughed. “I won’t make you give a verbal answer. This will suffice.”

Catching herself just before she spat out bits of the pastry, Manon started laughing too. He was beaming at her, just as he had when she’d first donned her crown so many months ago.

And just like that, unbidden and unwanted, memories flooded her mind. Images of the Thirteen, that battle, the yielding.

It was too much. Too many emotions coursed through her, twisting up with this sudden empty vulnerability. Manon didn’t know how to react, and before she could control it, her laugh turned into a choked sob. One moment she was actually happy, and the next, she was again forcing back tears.

***

Dorian made himself memorize everything about this moment. Manon, cross-legged on the bed, driving him mad by wearing his shirt, eating and drinking and laughing as if they had no cares in the world. As if they were the only two people alive.

But with no warning, no apparent reason, a shadow seemed to overtake her, and she was on the verge of tears.

He grabbed the tray and put it aside, returning to sit in front of her. “Manon?”

“Ask me when I last laughed,” she whispered shakily, staring down at her empty hands, open and lifeless in her lap.

His heart felt as though it were shattering, and he had no idea what to do. “It’s your turn,” he replied numbly, hating himself for being such a fool. For thinking this stupid breakfast could somehow fix things.

You can’t fix her.

Chaol’s words came back, almost a taunt in his head.

Cupping her cheek, he wiped away some of the tears before they fell. He knew the answer, but still, he asked, “When?”

“I don’t know,” she said, leaning into his touch. “I can’t remember ever laughing.”

“I’ve heard you laugh,” he said. “It’s my favorite sound.” He let go of her face to hold onto her now trembling hands.

“Some days are okay,” she went on, watching him rub her palms. “I can function, make decisions, force myself to seem normal. And other days, most days, it’s like I’m wading through a fog.” Her shoulder rose in a half-hearted shrug before she curled in on herself. “I must look normal though. No one says anything. No one notices.”

For a split second, Dorian was flung back in time to when he’d been imprisoned by the valg collar. No one had questioned its presence, his behavior. He’d felt so alone, so lost, he’d wished for death.

But Manon had noticed. She had seen the real him hiding within, and for some reason, she’d deemed him worthy of living. Enough to risk her life to try and save his.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “When you didn’t write, I should have known. I should have come.” Instead, godsdamn him, he’d let his doubts and insecurities get the better of him.  

“It’s ok,” she said flatly.

“No, it’s not.”

A shadow flitted across her face, along with that wariness from last night. “I’m tired,” she said, bringing an end to the conversation.

You can’t fix her.

Maybe not, Dorian thought. But he wouldn’t give up on her again.

As she lay down, he reached for a blanket and threw it over them both. Underneath, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered into her ear. “And I won’t let you go.”

He felt a slight nod of her head, the release of a held breath, and within minutes, she was asleep.

***

For the second time today, Manon awoke dazed in a dimly lit room and had to remind herself where she was.

 And for the second time ever, she awoke to the presence of a strong, solid body pressed against her back, an arm draped over her waist, and warm, steady breaths caressing her skin where Dorian nuzzled her neck.

The morning they had parted in Orynth had been the first.

Somehow knowing she was awake, he kissed her shoulder. “I’m here, witchling.”

Manon pulled her arm out from under his and took his hand. With their fingers interlaced, she brought it to her chest, forcing him to shift even closer. Then she fell back to sleep.

 To be continued...

[fierypen37]

Virtue a Veil, Vice a Mask: Chapter 5

Another chapter up!

The leagues between King’s Landing and Duskendale passed in the crunch of gravel beneath the horses’ hooves and the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. Ciri’s stride was long and liquid beneath her, Jon low-voiced conversation a deep burr in her ear. He spoke of the beauty of Westeros, remarking on the lands they passed. It was indeed beautiful country, softening into its spring green. Just the two of them beneath a blue sky deep enough to drown in, free and giddy with new love . . . it was a glorious feeling.

Dusk began to settle in rusty orange. Shreds of cloud lazed in the sky like streaks of blood. Hunger rumbled in her belly. Duskendale’s walls glittered in the setting sun, fires ablaze in its towers. A welcome sight for a weary traveler. A whistle trilled in her ear. A low note, then high. Low then high, three times. A smile broke out on her face. She stood in the stirrups, spying the cluster of horses off the kingsroad beneath the shade of an ironoak. She whistled back. From her mount, Missandei waved. Daenerys laughed, joy lifting her heart like a bird on wing.

Jon urged his cob even with her stirrup, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Daenerys?” he asked.

“Peace, Husband. These are my own people. I told you of the confidante and bodyguards who rode with me from Essos? When all was well with your father this morning, I sent a raven for them to ride ahead and meet us on the road.” His scowl was dark as stormclouds. Perhaps he should have been named Stormborn too. His posture relaxed, though the scowl remained.

“Why?” Suspicion was sharp in his voice. Her husband was prone to moods as well. Gods help them when they quarreled. Daenerys nudged his knee with her own, undeterred.

“Mayhap I wanted you all to myself for a time,” she said with a suggestive smile. Jon’s answering smile was like the sun bursting from behind a cloud. Gods, once won his smiles were treasures.

“I quite enjoy having you to myself, my wonder,” he said with a heavy-lidded look that Daenerys felt down to her toes. The giddiness bit deep at the endearment. The words spoke of how he treasured and admired her ‘my wonder,’ ‘wife,’ ‘Dany.’ With a pang, she resolved to find similar words for him. ‘Husband’ was a word spoken as often with dread rather than love, though she found she enjoyed calling Jon so.

“I’ll show you how much at the inn,” she promised huskily. Jon hummed, relaxing back in the saddle.

“Greetings, blood of my blood!” Kovarro hailed in Dothraki.

“Blood of my blood!” Daenerys replied in the same tongue. Daenerys slid off a trotting Ciri with a practiced flick of her leg to greet her people. The gravel of the kingsroad gave way to poky green weeds that the horses cropped. Missandei’s scent of cinnamon washed over her, familiar and comforting as they embraced. It was a boon to have a friend close to her own age, though Missandei was often with her love Grey Worm.

“Hello my friend,” Daenerys whispered, peeling back to cup her cheek fondly.

“Khaleesi,” she replied, amber-brown eyes peeking curiously at Jon. He loomed close to her, his eyes flickering warily over the sturdy bulk of Aggo and Kovarro, and the leaner, sharper strength of Grey Worm. 

“My blood, my friends, this is Jon Targaryen. My husband,” she said, first in Dothraki, then again in Common. Shock rippled through the small group. Daenerys bit back a smile. She’d failed to mention that in her raven scroll. Missandei’s eyes flew so wide, her eyes looked like drops of candied honey on a sheet. Grey Worm was the first to recover.

“Husband, Jelmazmo?” he repeated, narrow black eyes looking Jon up and down. An Unsullied sold to Astapori fighting pits when his master gambled away his fortune, Grey Worm became a warrior of some renown. Daenerys bought his freedom, along with several others. To a man, they were fiercely loyal. He was much like the Dothraki who chose to follow her after her dragons hatched, even to the edge of the world and beyond the poison water. Jon’s posture stiffened under Grey Worm’s cool regard.  

“Aye, wed this morning in the sept,” Jon said, his tone even. The words were embroidered with an edge, almost . . . jealous. Caught between irritation and amusement, Daenerys sliced her hand in a sharp gesture. A breeze blew in from the sea, bearing the lingering bite of winter. Daenerys shivered. Her thin woolen tunic was scant protection. Westeros was far colder than she expected. So many surprises.

“Enough. We can discuss the hows and whys as we ride,” she said.

Without further protest, the group pointed their mounts towards Duskendale. By turns Jon and Daenerys regaled them with the tale of their meeting—though editing out the details of the bedding—then the meeting with her kin.

“The silver khal’s every breath is an insult to you, khaleesi. You are Mother of Dragons. Let me kill him for you,” Aggo growled, spitting in the dirt.

“Have a care how you speak of my lord father, rider,” Jon said from beside her. The quiet tone belied a well of cold rage. So cold, it raised gooseflesh on her skin. The bite of the North’s ice. An awkward silence fell, broken only by the song of the wind sighing through the trees and the clatter of hoofbeats on the kingsroad. From the tail of her eye, she saw Jon’s knuckles white on the reins.

“Aggo speaks from a place of loyalty. He will do no harm unless I will it so. Is that not true, blood of my blood?” Daenerys said, with some sharpness. Aggo—his black hair salted with white, a gruesome scar slicing down in left cheek—gave a sullen nod.

“As you say, khaleesi,” he said, with a harsh yank on his red’s reins. The silence thawed a little after that. Missandei, bless her, coaxed Jon into conversation with talk of horses and Westeros.

“Winterfell is the ancient seat of the North, built by Brandon the Builder,” Jon said.

“Have you seen the Wall?” Daenerys asked.

“Aye, my Uncle Benjen is First Ranger of the Night’s Watch,” Jon said, his voice tinged with pride. He flicked a horsefly from the neck of his cob. Daenerys warmed at the sight of him in the amber wash of the dying sun, relaxed and so handsome it stole her breath. The evening star winked along the eastern horizon from the murky velvet blue of the sunset sky.

“It is a glorious sight, my wonder. Seven hundred feet of ice and rock. When the sun hits it, it shines as blue as the sky. The haunted forest stretches for leagues north of the Wall.”

“And what lives there?” Missandei asked, alight with curiosity. Jon shared a grin with Daenerys.

“Wildlings mostly, my lady. Though the stories say all sorts of creatures lurk in wilds.”

“‘Creatures?’ What is this word?” Grey Worm asked, masking his interest with an indifferent shrug.

“Monsters. Beasts,” Jon said.

“What sort? I should like to hunt these creatures,” Kovarro said, touching the hilt of his arakh fondly.

“Fearsome things, to hear my uncle tell it. Direwolves large as horses. Bears as white as snow and fierce as death. Giants three times the height of a man,” Jon said with an exaggerated gesture. Even Aggo’s eyes seemed round as a child’s as her husband spoke. A thin smile lurked beneath Kovarro’s patchy beard.

“You are of the same fierce blood, Jon of the Dragon Tent,” he said. “The direwolf is the Stark sigil, yes. They are my mother’s people.”

“A son of wolves and dragons,” Daenerys said. The duck of his curly head was sweet, bashful.

“I would like to take you to Winterfell, my wonder. My lord uncle and his lady wife would receive us with a great feast.” Daenerys saw the hope in his face and felt an ache beneath her breastbone. Her children called her over the leagues separating them. She licked her lips to answer when the guard atop Duskendale’s wall hailed them.

“Who goes there? Name yourselves!”

In peacetime and in spring within a port and trading town, it was an easy thing for her party to enter the city. There were some suspicious looks at the Dothraki, but a couple gold dragons allowed them to enter unmolested. The streets were bustling despite the late hour. Traders in silks and palanquins who waited for no one, artisans who wanted to milk the last drop of the lengthened light, dirty children shrieking and playing. To a man, they all stopped and stared as her party rode by.

It was no small thing for Dothraki to cross the Narrow Sea. Kovarro with his sleek black arakh, Aggo with his whip coiled around his chest made for a fearsome sight, made moreso by their scowling. Grey Worm too made for a fine sight in his scarred leather armor, a plume of red-dyed horsehair waving from the tip of his Unsullied spear.

Daenerys glanced at Jon. He was used to attention from smallfolk, though she doubted it was negative attention, as a beloved prince of Westeros. Relaxed into the sway of his cob, he looked alert and calm. He felt the weight of her gaze and twisted in the saddle.

“Are you well, my wonder?” he asked. Daenerys nudged her silver closer to Jon’s cob and leaned over to take his hand.

“Now I am,” she said. A voice in her head that sound eerily like her aspish brother Viserys sneered she was a besotted fool. Jon’s smile was well worth it.

Jon led the way into the inn, the Seven Swords. The innkeep was a rail-thin man of middling years, stroking his salted black beard nervously.

“Beggin’ your pardon, my prince, but these lot can’t be mucking about, my other patrons, you see . . .”

“My wife’s men will behave themselves, Master Waters, I promise you,” Jon said, flicking a silver stag in his direction. Daenerys saw the fear stark in the innkeep’s eyes as Aggo ducked under the lintel to enter the common room.

“We shall need meat and beer, three of your best rooms and stalls for our mounts,” Jon continued, leading her to a cozy booth by the hearth. A bard played pipes in the corner. The half dozen other patrons watched with frank curiosity as their group crammed into the booth.

Serving women hovered and in due course platters and jugs were dropped before them with trembling hands. The fare was rich and plentiful: creamy crab stew, mutton chops still sizzling with butter and roasted onions, dark brown bread, beer and water and a crumbly apple tart made from the first of the spring crop. Daenerys’ mouth filled with water. It was all she could do to remember tidy manners. Amongst her Essosi, the mutton and stew were welcomed, though Kovarro refused to swallow the beer.

“Weak milk men water. I will give you a man’s drink once we reach Pentos, Jon of the Dragon Tent.”

Jon gulped his beer without demur, sharing a glance with her. Daenerys nudged his shoulder with her own. The beer was unobjectionable, cold and bitter to her tongue.

“Aye?” Jon asked, wiping his mouth on his cuff, “and what is a man’s drink in Essos?”

“The Dothraki prefer fermented mare’s milk. It’s . . . chewy,” Daenerys said with a moue of distaste. Jon snorted into his cup.

“I . . . look forward to trying it,” Jon said manfully between coughing and sputtering.

To Daenerys’ delight, the initial discomfiture of meeting loosened over the course of the meal. Full bellies went a long way towards easing distrust. Jon scooped a drooping bite of apple tart onto his fork and offered it to her. Daenerys smiled and accepted the bite, allowing a dribble of cream to speckle her chin. The apple tart was delicious, the crust flaky, the cream and apple both sweet and tart. Jon’s dark eyes gleamed, an avid lustful glow. Daenerys dabbed the cream from her chin with her napkin. Missandei’s knowing smile caught her eye, and Daenerys flushed. Here she was mooning like a lovesick girl over her new husband.

“I will seek ship to Pentos at dawn, Jelmazmo,” Grey Worm said, unfolding from the booth and offering a hand to Missandei as their meal ended. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip. A glance over her shoulder found Jon deep in conversation with the innkeep.

“Perhaps wait until we break our fast, Grey Worm. I must discuss our plans with my husband.”

“As you say,” Grey Worm said with a slight bow.

 Upstairs, the Seven Swords offered a hearth and a modest four-poster bed, canopied in moth-eaten hunter green linen. A boy laid wood into the hearth and set it alight with a deft flick of the striker.

“Evenin’ m’lady. M’lord,” he said, skipping to the door and shutting it behind him. With a gusty sigh, Jon loosened the tongue of his swordbelt.

“A fine supper.”

“Yes, it was.” An awkward silence fell between them. Limned in the fire’s wash of gold, Jon looked much as he had last night. Young and devastatingly handsome, open and honest. It was a man’s honest lust in his eyes tempered by that soft, worshipful look. A knot rose in her throat. Jon closed the distance between them and tugged her into an embrace.

“Tolerate my lingering, my wonder. There are moments when I still don’t believe you’re real,” Jon whispered. Daenerys nestled against him with a sigh.

“How are you so wonderful?” she asked, cradling his face between her hands. A tilt of her chin caught his lips in a kiss sweet as summer. The passion kindled after the pleasant torture of their shared meal. His mouth tasted of beer and apples. A firm pinch on her buttocks made her squeak. Giggling, Daenerys retaliated by untying his trouser laces. She felt the hard shape of his cock trapped in its cruel leather prison.

“Wait . . . wait, Jon. We need to talk. We need to talk,” Daenerys said. Gods above, it was sorcery how he could rob her of her sense! Her husband’s husky laugh made heat pool between her thighs, that now-familiar liquid ache. Jon teased the shell of her ear with a grazing touch of his tongue. His warm breath fluttered her hair.

“We can talk after.”

“But--”

“After, my love. Please,” he crooned, worming one warm hand beneath her tunic to cup her breast. Daenerys gave in to his gentle tug towards the bed. Daenerys sat and bent to remove her boots. Jon stopped her, kneeling at her feet. Bracing his hands on her knees, he gave her a glancing, sensuous kiss. Daenerys chased the magic of his mouth as he pulled back. The only sound was the fire crackling to itself, and beyond, fainter thuds from taproom below.

“It’s been half the day, my love. I need to taste you. I need to love you,” he said. Daenerys nearly whimpered, remembering in vivid detail the heat and hunger of their interlude on the road. His strength stole her breath, his passion melted her. It was so sweet . . . and so dangerous. With gentle hands, he undressed her, peeling off trousers and tunic and smallclothes much as he had peeled away layers of mental armor. A determined vine growing into the mortar of her defenses.

Sinking her fingers into a handful of his hair, Daenerys pulled him close for a kiss. Jon’s low hum of approval vibrated against her lips. She lost herself in the give and take, the soft lash of tongue, the eager dance of lips. Her heartbeat thudded loud in her ears. Jon’s hands smoothed over her, back and buttocks, belly and breast. Gentle, but proprietary. Mine. Mine, he said. Daenerys wormed her hand into his sagging trousers, reveling in the heat and hardness of his cock. Jon clutched her close, gasping as she pumped.

“Dany,” he wheezed. Fluid wept from the flushed head of his cock, Daenerys’ mouth watered at the sight. 

“You’re. Wearing. Too many. Clothes,” she said, punctuating each word with an open-mouthed kiss on his neck.

“Gods,” he said, shrugging out of his tunic and staggering out of his trousers and boots. Grinning, Daenerys danced out of his reach. Jon’s eyes flashed, and he dove, pinning her beneath him on the bed. Daenerys whimpered at the hot weight of his cock throbbing against her hip. She squirmed, breath catching in her throat as he pinned her wrists. A cold fingernail scraped up her spine. Khal Drogo’s shade. Hard, rough hands and the pain. Over and over again. Jon’s voice coaxed her back.  

“Dany? Are you well, love?” the pucker of his brow endeared her. Daenerys craned her head to kiss him. Mm, yes that sweet magic of kissing him. Warm melting pleasure at the stroke of his tongue. Her Jon. Husband, love. The fear was a fading thought as yearning throbbed between her thighs.

“Jon . . .” she whispered. She drowned in the sweet dark grey of his eyes, warm with concern, soft with love.

“Are you--” he moved to release her wrists.

“No, leave it. I like it,” Daenerys purred, testing the warm clasp of his hands around her wrists. There was something delicious about being willingly restrained. His to do with what he wished. Mmm, yes. Jon’s smile was wicked as sin.

“I do as well. Very . . . rousing,” he said, barely grazing her throat with his tongue. Pleasure was a subtle shiver. Daenerys arched in his grip, yearning for the press of his weight. He held himself above with easy strength.

“Close your eyes,” Jon whispered. Words as soft as silk with the steel of command. Daenerys obeyed.

Warm amber patterns moved across her inner vision. Gods, he’d barely kissed her and her cunt ached with yearning. It hadn’t taken her dear husband long to find his feet. Jon’s curls were a delicate touch, tickling as he craned his head down. Daenerys whimpered at the sudden suckle on her pert nipple. The cool flutter of his breath, the lap of his tongue. Sensations were sudden and all to brief. A kiss here, a nibble of teeth there. Leaving her wet and squirming. His name fell from her lips in a begging litany. Part of her felt shamed by her naked need, but the soul of her rejoiced. Love and pleasure were heady delights after so long alone.

Jon nudged her thighs apart with his knee. Daenerys clenched and rubbed against the hairy hardness of his thigh, desperate for friction. Jon growled.

“Gods, you’re so wet. Stay still or I will tie you down. Hear me?” he said. Daenerys nodded eagerly, gripping the upper edge of the mattress. Gods, if these were the bed games he wished to play, there may not be anything coherent left of her in a moon’s turn.

“Let me look at you, husband. Please,” she whispered. A moment of silence answered her, with the faint crackle of the fire.

“Open your eyes, my wonder,” he said. Kneeling naked between her thighs and washed in golden firelight, Jon stole her breath. A wild thing of strong muscle and darkfire eyes. The thrill of eye contact was heady. Jon licked his lips.

“Oh yes, I love those beautiful eyes. Watch me.” He settled between her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders. Daenerys strained toward him, the puff of his breath almost too much to bear. The first lick over her pearl burst red stars behind her eyes. He uttered a snarl, eyes pools of black.

“Gods, yes,” he said, spreading her wider. He dove in.

Daenerys clung to handfuls of the mattress, her only anchor in the lashing, licking, maelstrom of pleasure. The tension gathered and she was flung high. He caught her, murmuring love words in that deep, northern-accented voice. His tongue and fingers lashed her into a frenzy, tears leaking from her eyes as he urged to one release and then another. Limp and trembling, she whimpered at the press of his weight, his hard cock nudging her entrance.

“Jon . . . Jon,” she said hoarsely, dragging him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his beard. Her hands smoothed over the sweat-damp strength of his back, cupping the curve of his arse. Jon grunted, framing her face between his hands, petting her temple with his thumbs.

“Sshh, sshh. Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful when you let go.”

“Your turn, my love. Come here,” Daenerys said, maddened by the feel of his cockhead teasing her. Jon flexed his hips, sheathing himself inside her with one smooth stroke.

“So good. You feel so good,” she whispered. Jon pressed his forehead to hers. A bashful smile touched kiss-reddened lips.

“I—I spilled on the sheets watching you. I don’t think--” The words roused Daenerys more than she cared to admit. She busied herself with petting his wild hair. What should she say to soothe his masculine pride?  

“D—Do you want to stop?” she asked. Jon stilled his restless half-thrusting.

“Are you sore? I can--”

“No. Not at all,” Daenerys said, draping a leg over his thigh to keep him close. The delicious pressure of his cock inside her made her toes curl, “You feel so good inside me.”

Jon hummed in agreement, taking up a slow, gentle rhythm. Lazily, they moved together, touching and kissing. The pleasure was sweet, without urgency. Sometime later, he slipped out. Jon laid his head on her chest.

“Mmm, this is nice,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. Daenerys’s heart gave a sharp lurch in her chest. Jon’s open, generous heart made her melt.

“Yes it is.” It wasn’t long until his breathing evened and he drifted off to sleep on her chest. Daenerys nestled happily in his embrace. Tomorrow’s troubles could wait.         

[peutro]

❛  stay  .  i  need  you  more  than  you  think  .  ❜ — jinhyuk and seungwoo :)

TO THOSE WE LOVE ,  longing / endearing one - liners  :  accepting!

seungwoo is selfish.

the request is twinged with a privilege he’s reluctant to look in the eyes  –  a request that would sound closer to a statement to the ears of a stranger.  seungwoo prides himself in knowing jinhyuk better,  recognizing the hesitance twinged in the other’s tone,  something resembling doubt shining through his expression.  seungwoo prides himself in knowing jinhyuk  –

but does he really know?

selfish is a term best used to describe seungwoo’s unconsciousness,   what defines the things and people he discards without a second contemplative thought,  the ignorance at the hurt he causes at the expense of believing he’s doing the right thing  –  seungwoo’s actions are inherently rooted in the very concept of selfishness.

“you’ll be fine without me,”  he says slowly,  smiling nevertheless.  the feeling is foreign on his face in this instance,  when a jolt of longing once forgotten stirs once more like a lover scorned.  

he feels inclined to believe jinhyuk has picked up on what he holds inside himself,  locked up in a box that has too many holes to count.  the emotion oozes out whenever he and jinhyuk share a gaze that feels an eternity long,  when he looks back on strawberry flavoured candy at the convenience store they used to frequent and wonders for the nth time what jinhyuk’s lips might taste like,  or any time over the last few years that have been virtually jinhyuk-less in nature and instead,  loss engulfs the space that his presence once used to  –  seungwoo would instead believe his friend would offer words delivered under sympathetic duress rather than want him,  need him,  where they sit and stand.

“you always are,  jinhyukie.”  his voice is softer than what he was going for,  eyes averting as his intended laughter come across as a mix between a sigh and disbelieving scoff despite himself. 

he thinks of home and all that waits,  any excuse tasting too expectant on his lips,  as he visibly hesitates at jinhyuk’s words.  he thinks of home and wonders for a moment if the very idea could be interchangeable with jinhyuk’s very being.  

wonderment,  sure,  but the thought simmers inside him,  a flame relit from the ashes of an unrequited romance that terrorized the organ in his chest for so long,  thirsty for the matter to be brought to the cognizance of the intended person.  he says he wonders,  but not too long ago,  during simpler times that feel as light as feathers in memories held dear,  he’d embraced the idea jinhyuk could embody the very essence of his home too easily when they were younger and times far less complicated than the present currently was. 

“but,”  he starts,  eyes wandering to meet jinhyuk’s,  something curious stirring in his gaze despite himself.  he’s a one-trick pony,  and so who would he be if not someone that inevitably gives jinhyuk his heart served on a silver platter,  even unasked.

seungwoo’s actions are inherently rooted within the very concept of selfishness  –  and jinhyuk is proof of that.

“i’ll stay as long as you need me to.”  the words are heavier than they should be,  something akin to a promise made under the stars with the midnight summer breeze as their witness  –  you’ll always have me,  jinhyuk.

no matter how the promise was perhaps broken years earlier despite it all;  now,  he’ll ignore past mistakes and broken vows,  and instead reach out for jinhyuk’s hand.  do you know?  he’ll ask later,  when silence befalls and he chokes upon love undiscussed,  do you know i need you more than you’ll ever know?

and so the story goes:  seungwoo’s actions are inherently rooted within the very concept of selfishness  –  and jinhyuk is proof of just that.

[hennessystevens-udaku]

KING ME

After her night with Charlie, Hennessy was even more intrigued about sexual dominance. She yearned for Erik to look at her the way he looked at Charlie when she was in control. That level of raw passion and reverence being something that she craved the most, partly due to her tumultuous childhood. Though she knew some of what the dynamics were in traditional dom/sub relationships, her eager mind yearned for more knowledge. She began spending more and more time away from the group, researching and educating herself on what it meant to be a proper dom and all of the things that she could do to ensure the safety and satisfaction of her sub. When she wasn’t buried in her MacBook or her iPhone, she was with Charlie, absorbing everything she had to give. Confident that she was ready to experiment on her own, she began planning a scene tailored specifically to showing her appreciation to a certain curvaceous King.

--

The family vacation in Amsterdam was nearing its end. On the second to last day, Hennessy decided to plan a day of bonding with her husband and sister wives. Appeasing to her husband’s art hoe nature, she booked a private tour of the Van Gogh art museum as well as lunch along the UNESCO waterways. After lunch, they enjoyed another private tour of the Rijksmuseum, which houses the works of Rembrandt, Van Dyke, and Vermeer. The tiny genius sure knew how to put a smile on his face. So much so that he’d almost forgotten that he owed her a punishment for the stunt she pulled with Charlie the nights before. Almost.

--

After a day of sightseeing and art hoeing, the ladies decided to venture to the infamous XtraCold Icebar for a night of drinking and letting loose, no Erik in sight.

“A bar? Made of Ice? Who said I wanted to be serving up frosted pussy to my husband?” Bastion complained.

“Not frosted pussy,” Ryley snickered.

The outburst made Hennessy laugh. The icebar had been on her list of places to visit as soon as Erik mentioned Amsterdam. That and the cannabis tour of course.

“Our husband,” Aly’Sha corrected, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“Hey, chill out Bast,” Angel joked, causing the entire room to erupt with laughter at the horrible pun. “It’ll be fun,” she chimed, already making her way to the bar.

“I wonder if I could break a chunk of this and make an ice dildo,” Josephine joked causing everyone to groan.

“Now that's frosted pussy,” Charlie grinned.

As the night went on and the drinks began to flow, Hennessy couldn’t stop the desire building within her. She watched the way Charlie’s full hips swayed to the music and secretly wished that they’d taken Erik up on his offer to stay in. The night in Erik’s room played on a constant loop in her mind and the more she looked at her wife, the more she wanted to show her just how much she’d learned in their short time together.

--

4 hours and 6 Amsterdamned drinks later, Hennessy was a dangerous combination of intoxicated and horny. Erik had already retired to his room for the evening, Angel and Bast in tow, and although Hennessy loved a good orgy, she wasn’t exactly in a sharing mood. She stumbled down the hallway of the aparthotel until she stopped outside of Charlie’s room. She could hear Kimora’s loud giggle from the other side of the door and almost turned to retire to her own room when she spotted Josephine in the hallway looking suspicious.

“Something wrong, Mama?” Josephine asked, sensing Hennessy’s troubled state.

“You’re a witch, right? Y’all should be able to pick up on this type of shit,” Hennessy snapped.

Josephine tilted her head in confusion. She always knew the first lady could be a bit feisty, but she’d never seen it to this degree.

“Ooh someone’s spicy,” Josephine teased, her eyes glowing her signature purple glow. Her voice was low and seductive as she began working her magic.

“Kitana wants to come out to play, Hennessy. Why don’t you let her?”

With that, Josephine was gone and Hennessy was in the hallway alone yet again. Only this time, something felt different.

--

“Someone's at the door,” Kimora whispered, her eyes on the entrance. Charlie shrugged, wasted off of her two drinks. She hardly ever drank and when she did it made her very talkative. Drunk Charlie had the tendency to say things Sober Charlie usually kept to herself. The liquor also made her hornier than she already was on the daily as a typical stellium scorpio. Her almond eyes roamed Kimora's chocolate curves and her mouth watered at the thought of a sweet pink cotton candy center. Although distracted, she'd heard the noise in the hall too.

“Probably Josephine. What scent is that? You smell good as hell like, honeysuckles,” she flirted unwilling to move her eyes from Kimora's rich and perfect skin. It made no sense to look that good, she needed the skin routine. Just then the door opened and Kimora grinned, her teeth a bright white. Erik obviously had a thing for nice teeth. All his wives had them. Henny's voice sounded causing Charlie to turn.

“Oh damn, Henny from the block. You came to fuck or be fucked lil mama? Or did you wanna talk? Can we talk and fuck?” Charlie had to tell herself to calm down. She was doing way too much. “My bad, Henny, what's up?”

“Hiii Hennessy,” Kimora’s sweet voice called to the tiny woman standing in the doorway.

“Hey ladies,” Hennessy called out, slowly making her way into the space. Thanks to Josephine, her current look was much different from what she wore to the Icebar. Her curly mane had been released from her signature high puff, framing her chubby face and the emerald green bodycon dress hugged her curves in all the right places.

“Ladiesss,” Charlie dragged willing Henny nearer. She was a sweet faced gazelle and Charlie couldn’t help but eye her curves like a hungry predator of the wild. Her sweet tooth was acting up something serious. “Honestly, I think I might be lit right now.. I think, but I still wouldn't mind a shot of Hennessy if you feel me,” she grinned, a quarter joking and ¾ serious.

Hennessy giggled in response. Charlie had the same longing look in her eyes that Erik got after he returned from a mission. She stalked up to Charlie, the confidence of her alter ego guiding her steps. She reached out to grab a fistful of Charlie’s hair, lifting her head so that they were staring into each other’s eyes.

“If Charlie wants a taste of Hennessy, she’s gonna have to work for it,” Henny growled with a smile, her rose gold fronts dancing in the light of Charlie’s bedroom.

“Tell me what to do Miss. Call me cat daddy and watch me go to work like it's my 9 to 5.” Charlie was feeling the dominant energy Hennessy put forth and she wanted more of it. She wanted Henny to own her title and put her in her place. Never had she been dommed by a woman and it was a past due experience.

---

The sexual tension in the room was at an all-time high. Hennessy and Charlie eyed each other hungrily while Kimora sat on the bed watching the show.

“I just want my pussy ate,” she finally spoke up, obviously aroused by the apparent power struggle going on in front of her.

Henny looked over to Charlie, one eyebrow raised challengingly.

“You heard the woman, Charlie. You wanted some cotton candy and there it is being offered to you on a silver platter.”

“Wait, I said that out loud? Dammit Charlie!” Charlie faced Kimora who'd changed positions, her legs wide and inviting anyone to come forth. It was all the instruction Charlie needed before diving into Kimora’s slickness. Like a seasoned veteran, she feasted on the sweet nectar like it was her life source, Kimora’s voice rising in octaves as the waves of pleasure crashed around her. To ease the growing pleasure building in her own hobbit hole, Charlie reached a hand down to stroke her throbbing clit. A sharp smack to her plump ass by a riding crop stopped her ministrations.

“When the fuck did she get that?” she wondered silently.

“Did I tell you to touch my pussy, Charlie Jade?” Hennessy questioned, slowly stripping out of her bodycon dress.

“No.. but I'm a touch it,” Charlie tested, returning her hand to her pulsing clit. She wanted that discipline. For a minute she thought that her husband had entered the room, this level of dominance being something completely foreign coming from the tiny woman. Another sharp smack whipped across her backside causing her to drop her hand.

“I said move ya damn hand. Don’t make me say it again, Jade.”

Charlie gushed at Henny’s words, a slick smile on her face.

--

The sounds of sex pulled Josephine and Ryley from their slumber. A glance at the nearby clock revealed the time, 3:45 am. Kimora had promised to be back from Charlie’s room no later than 1:30 so that Josephine could teach them both how to effectively hide their side niggas from Erik.

The pair made their way down the hall, stopping as the moans seemed to intensify outside of Charlie’s room.

“Damn, I thought Erik would’ve been too busy with Angel and Bast to deal with anyone else,” Ryley stated.

“That moisturized, ashy ass nigga always ready to kill some pussy,” Josephine replied.

“Ahh, fuck! Charliiieeee!”

Ryley and Josephine’s heads snapped up in unison.

“I know damn well..” Ryley’s voice trailed off.

Using her powers, Josephine was able to unlock and open the door ever so slightly, giving her and Ryley front row seats to the show.

--

“Eat that shit Charlie!” Hennessy barked, both hands twisted in Charlie's thick coils. Charlie felt like she’d reached Nirvana. The way Kimora sang her name coupled with the way Hennessy was commanding her had brought her to completion twice already and she hadn’t even been touched. It was all so new.

Josephine and Ryley watched from the door, mouths gaping. They’d never seen Hennessy in such a way and Josephine smugly patted herself on the back at how well her spell was working.

“Charliiieeeee!” Kimora screamed a final time, her orgasm hitting her like a brick. The only other person that had eaten her out that well was her husband. Charlie looked up to Hennessy, eager for her next set of instructions. Hennessy stood at the foot of Charlie’s bed, proudly sporting a 9 in. strap-on that she had made in the image of her husband’s member. Charlie and Kimora both stared at it hungrily.

“Kimora, come ride this dick. Charlie, on my face,” Henny commanded as she lay prostrate on the bed. After both women assumed their respective positions, Hennessy went to work on Charlie’s throbbing bulb. As Kimora bounced on her lap, Charlie’s thick thighs threatened to swallow her whole. She rolled her hips in tune with Henny’s licks to her hobbit hole and brought herself to completion for a third time tonight.

---

“The fuck going on in here?” Aly’Sha asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes. Kimora and Charlie’s loud moans had disturbed her rest and she was all too prepared to give the women a piece of her mind until she saw Ryley and Josephine outside of the door.

“See for yourself,” Josephine encouraged, stepping to the side to give Aly’Sha a view. Her eyes widened as she watched the live action porn scene before her.

“What did you do to her?” Aly’Sha asked as she watched Hennessy dominate her sister wives.

“She may or may not be possessed by De Strength of de Oakland Neega,” Josephine teased.

--

The spell had long since worn off, but Hennessy’s sex drive was still going. Hennessy was high off power as both women turned into moaning messes under her ministrations. Both Kimora and Charlie’s legs shook as their umteenth orgasms crashed over them.

“H-Henny.. Please,” Kimora whined. She was never one to tap out during sex, but her body honestly couldn’t take another second of the assault that was being delivered to her core. Hennessy looked up from her position between her thighs and smiled, rose gold fronts once again catching the light of the room.

“Again,” was the only word she spoke as she lapped at the sweet nectar between her wife’s legs. It was at this moment that Charlie realized that she’d created a monster. King Hennessy indeed.

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