#yet being doomed to loose him again

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

zhiji. zhiyin.

moments since then--

i wanted / the past to go away /

i've been looking for places where silence means peace

i wanted to leave it, like another country;

and not loneliness, because i've spent enough time

i wanted / my life to close, and open / like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song / where it falls /

tell me about despair, yours,

down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; /

and i will tell you mine. / meanwhile the world goes on. / meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, /

i wanted /

over the prairies and the deep trees, / the mountains and rivers. / meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.

to hurry into the work of my life; i wanted to know, whoever i was, i was /

tell me about despair, yours, and i will tell you mine. / meanwhile the world goes on.

alive /

i've been looking for places where silence means peace and not loneliness

for a little while.

"Moments since then" (from 'Places I’ve Taken My Body: Essays' by Molly McCully Brown, source); "I wanted the past to go away" (from 'Dogfish' by Mary Oliver, source); "Tell me about despair, yours, and i will tell you mine" (from 'Wild Geese' by Mary Oliver, source)

TYK excerpts under the cut:

"Close friends that can completely understand each other" ('Story about Zhiyin', from the wikipedia article of Bo Ya, source); "I thought you said you intended to live and die with me, Part 1/2" (TYK, Ch.46, tl. wenbuxing); "Luckily, I haven't fallen deeply in love with you yet." (TYK, Ch.29, tl. lianzi); "Does it hurt?" (TYK, Ch.45, tl. wenbuxing); "I thought you said you intended to live and die with me, Part 2/2" (TYK, Ch.46, tl. wenbuxing); "To feel a closeness to a friend or a loved one despite being seperated by a great distance" (from the idiom definition of "海內存知己，天涯若比鄰", wiktionary article, source)

[bunnyreaper]

simon is your most precious bear, but he won't settle for just that.

(18+/MDNI, plushophilia, mild moment of dubcon?)

you'd found him in a charity shop one day and couldn't walk away without him in your arms--the most darling little bear you've ever seen. 

the stitching on his button eyes was barely present, the threads on his body were also loose, and his fur was a little more than worse for wear. usually a sign of a bear well-loved, but you got the feeling looking at him and his missing smile that his state wasn't from something entirely different. 

you'd taken him home and treasured him ever since. restitched his eyes and his precariously hanging limbs, polished his little plastic nose and tied a ribbon around his neck.

you'd tried sewing in a smile underneath his cute little nose, but found the expression didn't quite suit him. when you tried again, arching the stiches downward, you found you much preferred him as your grumpy bear anyway.

once he was pampered and restored, you sat him pride of place on your pillow, having him guard you and keep watch over your bed whenever you weren't in it. at night you held him close, squeezed him tight until you drifted off to sleep--dreams that are always so sweet and peaceful, and you swear it's because he keeps the nightmares at bay. 

little did you know of the soul trapped inside--simon.

he'd fallen in love just as you had, obsessed with the way you'd looked at him and never stopped looking--obsessed with the way you cared for him and held him. he'd never liked being trapped as a bear until you took him home, where he belonged. 

now he took his role as your stuffie very seriously. and clearly, it paid off, as he quickly became the favourite of all your plushies--the one you treasured above all others.

fair to say simon had captured your heart, and in turn, he was always doted on and adored by you. never was he allowed to slide off the bed to be forgotten, never was there a day that went by where he wasn't kissed or cuddled by you.

but sometimes he had to be moved from his place, his spot. when you had visitors over, he'd be replaced in the bed by strange figures, stuck on the nightstand as a spectator to it all.

the comforts they provided were different, bringing bitten lower lips and breathy moans rather than sweet smiles and gentle whispers. and all the while simon was trapped, doomed to watch other men in the bed the two of you shared--knowing deep down in his stuffing that if he were just human again, he could do a much better job. 

late one night, after another visitor, you return to the comfort of your bed with simon clutched between your arms. you squeeze him as tight as you can--a sweet, satisfied smile leaving you as you hold him close and embrace the comfort and safety he provides.

"one of these days, they won't be disappointing." you sigh, releasing your disappointment and unknowingly unleashing wishful magic

it's then simon feels it, something inside him he hasn't felt in so long, as his body shifts from bear to man. 

he should do something about the way you scream, soothe you as he usually does, but right now, there is nothing calming or comforting in the way he feels right now--just pure posessive lust. codependant, ugly love. 

simon takes advantage of his newfound form, using muscular arms to crush you into the bed, determined to make up for lost time no matter what it takes. his dick hardens instantly, so used to the feel of your body against him and yet intoxicated by all the new sensations.

he expects you to keep struggling, to fight back in disbelief, but when the shock wears off he delights in the way you look at him--just as enamoured as you had the first time you ever laid eyes on him.

[missnxthingg]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 4.5K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - SMUT & swearing 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Four is our lucky number, so let's spice things up! As I wrote this, I could only think about the song Conflicted by Halestorm (pardon the hard rock). Hope you enjoy this one!

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𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 - 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃

Lando woke up a little lost the following morning. His cheek was pressed to the top of Y/N's head and his arms were loosely still around her waist. She was still deep into sleep when he opened his eyes. Too afraid to wake her up and having to face an awkward conversation, he stood very still, taking the first minutes of his day to look at her and think.

Whatever happened between them yesterday was weird, to say the least. People don't simply go from hating each other to being vulnerable and sharing a bed in a matter of hours. He didn't know what had got into them and it scared him how much he enjoyed the moments they shared the previous night. It scared him how good it felt to be vulnerable to her. And the feeling he got on his chest every time he looked at her was the most terrifying of them all.

Feeling a clench on his chest, Lando carefully slipped out of bed and changed into fresh clothes, did his entire morning routine and, in less than 15 minutes later, he was downstairs in the restaurant for some breakfast. Since it was so early, and everyone was still tired from the weekend, he managed to sit alone and think. The last thing he needed was company.

Eventually, the hotel started to get crowded, and a few fans were starting to recognize him among the people at the restaurant. Feeling cranky, he thought it was best for him to go back to his room and get ready for his flight later that day. Zak had already texted him, saying he hoped to have a meeting on the flight. So he needed to rest his mind.

Lando hadn't decided how to behave around Y/N yet. She was woken up by the time he arrived, but was having a shower while he was gone. He packed everything he needed while she kept the bathroom busy. She only came out ten minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes for the flight.

“Good morning”, she opened a small smile for Lando, who didn't retribute it. 

“Morning”, he mumbled, taking his needed things for a shower.

Y/N was surprised with his behaviour, but decided not to comment on it. Who the fuck goes from cuddling to no reaction in only a few hours? Only someone as complicated as Lando Norris. 

“At what time we'll be leaving?”, she ignored how he acted and decided to act just as cold.

“We have to be at the airport at one”, he said and Y/N only nodded to his response.

But she just couldn't help herself. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine”, he shrugged before locking himself in the bathroom.

The rest of the trip was exactly like that. Y/N only heard Lando's voice when necessary. He only shifted his mood during the meeting he had with Zak on the plane. Not very interested in talking about racing, she chose to put on her earpods and drift away into music.

They only met again a week later, when Y/N was invited to attend the Cannes Film Festival. To not make it seem like their relationship was one-sided, they took advantage that his off weekend was supposed to be during the event. Lando met her in France, where they had booked a suite with two rooms this time, so they would only have to meet in common areas such as the living and dining room. 

What surprised Y/N was that Lando was back to his asshole behaviour once again.

“You never, ever shut up, do you?”, he sighed, taking a spot on the living room's couch.

"I'm just saying that we're late for a brunch and you're fucking sitting down, Norris", she folded her arms and puffed her chest, making sure he knew how upset she was.

"I'm not required to be at this brunch. Just need to be with you at the red carpet", Lando put his feet up on the coffee table and turned the TV on, pretending not to care. Y/N promptly removed his feet from the table.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I literally always go out of my schedule, fly out away from home, just to be at your goddamn work events, and you can't do the same for me?”

"We're not a real couple, Y/N. I don't know if you realized that", Lando squinted his eyes as he spat out the words. Words to which were daggers right across her chest.

She didn't know why it pained her so much to hear those words; to see how aggressive he was behaving. That was not the same Lando that a week ago begged for her to comfort him and pulled her closer before falling asleep. He wasn't the bubbly and happy Lando Norris she saw on track.

Trying to fight back some tears, Y/N turned her back and retreated to her room. “You do you, Norris. I'm gonna finish getting ready because, contrary to you, I care about my career”.

She had to fight really hard to not call his PR team and call this whole thing off. Lando wasn't committing to his part of the agreement, so she didn't feel like it was fair. But she washed her face, took a deep breath and got ready for brunch. By the time she was out the room, Lando was waiting dressed in a linen button up and short's, perfect for a casual spring day.

Y/N didn't say anything and carried on her way out, him right behind her. When they got to the hotel lobby, they put on their little show, with his hand on the small of her back and opening doors for her. Later that day on the internet, people were melting with the pictures of them in line for brunch, with the sweet kisses being shared between them.

But the real commotion came on the next day, when they attended a Martin Scorsese film premiere, looking like the hottest couple in Cannes. Lando dressed up in a beautiful and classic black suit, while Y/N chose a draped baby pink dress that made her feel like a goddess. When she came out of her room after hours with stylists, makeup artists and hairdressers, Lando felt the air being knocked out of his lungs and he did his best at pretending not to care.

Their fans, on the other hand, cared too much. Their names climbed up to worldwide trending topics; their picture on the red was all over Instagram. People loved how amazing they looked together. Lando and VN really could be a breathtaking couple if they were actually together. It was the perfect combo: the rising star and the sunshine athletic boy.

“A match made in hell”, he whispered in her ear as all the cameras blinded them with the flashes.

"I fucking hate you", she whispered back, and Lando felt like those words were a stab right in his chest.

Of course he knew Y/N hated him. He himself has made sure those feelings were known. But this is the first time he's heard it since the night they shared in Miami. Why does he now care that she hates him?

The words flowed so easily out of her mouth. She was angry at him. Absolutely livid by his behaviour on the previous day, or the fact that he simply pretended the last grand prix didn't happen. So if Lando was going to be petty, two can play this game.

The entire night was filled with snarky comments. Lando made sure to show how he wasn't enjoying the premiere, and Y/N had a comment for every comma that came out of his mouth. She could say anything to try pissing him off. What was making Lando angry, on the other hand, was seeing other men looking her up and down, just like a piece of meat. Didn't they have anything else better to do?

After Y/N spent good ten minutes talking to a very hot model, who was flirting with her the whole time, Lando gave up on waiting for him to leave and approached them, letting his hand go around her waist, securing her close to his body.

“Jesus, don't they realize you're taken?”, Lando mumbled, as he frowned at the model, now long gone.

"I thought we weren't a real couple. So there's nothing wrong with other men flirting with me", she provoked, feeling his fingers tighten around her waist.

“There is when, publicly, you're still mine. Or don’t you remember my one and only rule?”, you could see the red creeping up his neck. Was he actually jealous? It can't be.

“You really are a book I can't read”, she sighed, making an exit towards the theatre where the movie would be exhibited.

Thank God for long movies, because they wouldn't have to listen to each other's voices for three hours. But after a standing ovation once the credit's started rolling up, Y/N proceeded to try talking to as many people as she could at the cocktail party after the session. At the end of the day, she had talked to really important directors and producers, who in the future might think of her while doing a new project.

Lando, on the other hand, stood by her side and looked bored. He hated the film, thinking it was too conceptual for his liking, not to mention too long for a fucking boring plot. Y/N was getting angry at his behaviour and was making their deal go through the sky.

“I swear to God, if you keeping doing this, I'll call our team and end this whole fucking thing”, she complained, making him roll his eyes.

“Fuck off, you're still full on flirting with other men in front of me. I'm not the only one fucking this agreement”, by that time, they were alone in a secluded area of the party.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Norris, I'm working, not flirting, for fuck’s sake. This is the same thing as talking to sponsors. I'm not fucking flirting with any of them”, she was visibly angry at his behaviour.

“Well, it doesn't look like it”.

The fight was taken back to their hotel room and they did their best to make their discussion go unnoticed by other people. But once the doors were closed, they fought like they were married with children.

“This is disrespectful”, Lando shot when they brought up the men she talked to through the night.

“It's work, Norris. I don't know why you're so fucking jealous”.

“Because, we're in a goddamn relationship, Y/N. You can't go out all flirting with other men”.

“You said yourself we weren't in a real relationship. So why are you so jealous?”

“I'm not”, he reaffirmed, making her chuckle.

“Prove it”, she crossed her arms and daringly arched her brows.

She made every molecule of his body agitated. Once, Lando thought it was anger, for all the times they fought without having a reason and all the days she behaved like a brat, making his blood boil under his skin. Now, after the crash and the moment they shared in that tiny driver’s room, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

He was furious; absolutely livid, without knowing exactly what he wanted. Normally, Lando is a very decisive man. But when it came to Y/N, things were just a mess in his head. And right now, looking at her with her arched brows and folded arms, almost daring him to explode at her, he knew that there was only one thing he could do to end up with the fire that was consuming him.

The next second, Lando had his lips on Y/N, furiously attacking them in the neediest kiss of all time. She was taken by surprise and actually had to wait a few seconds to reciprocate anything. She had that look on her face, provoking him into the edge, waiting for a shout that would give her a single reason to hate him. Now he’s got her on the hook and there was no way to run. Actually, Y/N didn’t actually want to run anyway.

Lando had pressed her against the wall, a leg right between her thighs, keeping them apart and their bodies close. He had a hand around her neck, and another one on her hips, securing her against the wall. The pressure he put on her throat felt delicious. No one had ever held her like that before. Her panty was soaking wet not even two seconds later.

It only felt better when he moved his kisses down, trailing them to her neck. His lips sucked on her sweet spot, right under her ear, making her moan with the hot sensation over her skin. Also, if she wasn’t turned on at that point, feeling Lando’s hard on her thigh absolutely did the job. And if he was playing a game, she knew how to dance around it as well. Quickly, one of her hands was palming him over his trousers. He moved back to her mouth, kissing her as if his life depended on it, and biting her bottom lip when the pleasure got too much for him.

“Stop it”, he moaned against her lips, making her smile. “You can only touch me when I say you can touch me”.

“Bullshit”, she dared. “Look at you, Lando. You can’t get enough of my touches. I know you want them all”.

“Fucking…”, Lando removed his knee from between her legs and helped her kneel on the ground right in front of him. He leaned forward and softly landed his hand on her chin, making Y/N look up. She tried to put her best innocent look and he was absolutely done for her. “Open your mouth, baby”.

Y/N opened her mouth for just a little bit, and Lando slipped his thumb in so she could suck on it. Then after a while, he replaced it with his middle and index finger, going in deeper and making her almost gag on his hands. Tired of playing games, he kneeled as well, levelling their eyes, before letting his hand travel to the zip on her back.

“Come on, pretty girl. I want to see you”, he left a few soft kisses on her cheek and daringly opened the zip. “Can I take this off?”, she nodded, but Lando wasn’t satisfied. “I need to hear you say the words”.

“Yes, please”, she pleaded and soon her dress was on the floor, exposing her bare tits from the lack of bra and lacy black thong. Lando didn’t waste a second before dipping his head into her nipples, sucking, biting and playing with both of them. Y/N was a moaning mess in second, pulling his head closer to her body as she felt fantastic with just his lips on her nipples. “Lan, oh my God. Please, I wanna feel you”.

“You misbehaved”, he smirked, getting away from her tits to undo his belt. “I told you not to touch me and just wait. Now, if you wanna touch me, you better open up”.

He quickly lowered his trousers along with his underwear and his hard cock came hard, slapping on his stomach. Lando was sure he could die happily at the sight of Y/N’s eyes brightening and her mouth automatically opening wider for him. “Good girl”, he praised, taking her face by the chin and bringing his cock to her lips.

Y/N’s mouth felt so warm and amazing; Lando was losing it. He started trusting his hips into her face, making his dick go deeper in her throat and her gagging sending delicious vibrations up his body. He was surprised when one of her hands grabbed his balls and massaged them, sending him over the edge just quick enough. He had to pull away before coming on her throat. Y/N pouted in the absence of his cock, still being attached to it by a string of spit and pre-cum. Lando used one of his hands to wipe it off before kissing her again.

“Baby girl, I need to last longer, and you’re not helping at all”, he whispered on her lips once again, making Y/N giggle. What she wasn’t expecting, though, was a hand sneaking into her pussy, his middle finger gathering the juices pooling on her panty. She let an audible moan out, making him know how much she was enjoying that. “Do you want my fingers?”

“Yes”, she breathed out and Lando picked her from the floor, quickly taking her to bed, where they could get more comfortable. He slowly removed her underwear and tossed it around the room, the place getting filled with her glorious smell. 

“Spread your legs wider, love”, Lando commanded and she immediately responded. “Good, just like that”. Y/N was going feral with the praise, and he got it right away. “You have a praise kink, pretty girl? Oh, that’s so sweet”.

Now that he knew that, Lando was going to put that information to use. He went back to her mouth though, this time slowing down the pace of her kiss, but the intensity was just like before. As much as he wanted to jump right in and just fuck the shit out of her, he would do anything to make this last for as long as he could. “If I am to have her for only one night, I want it to be unforgettable”, he thought.

Y/N was drunk on his kisses; feeling her soaking wet core brushing on his bare thigh and his tongue furiously sliding against hers. She just wanted to feel him, so she guided his hand to her pussy and pleaded with her eyes. Being a good boy, Lando slipped a finger inside her and pumped it inside slowly, making her lose it, throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Yes, right there. Oh my… Lando”, her hands flew to his back, fingers digging on his skin. Y/N started to roll her hips against his hand and he smiled at her attempt to feel even better. “I need more, please. One more”.

“One more finger, baby?”, Lando immediately obeyed, loving the sweet moan that came out of her mouth right after. “Come on, tell me what you want”.

“Kiss me, Lan”, she pulled his head closer to hers and her lips met his midway. Lando could’ve died happily just like that. He was getting addicted to her kisses, specially now that they were wanted and asked for. They weren’t a stunt act. They were behind closed doors. She was doing it willingly. 

“Does that feel good?”, he asked between kisses and she nodded, feeling a knot tightening around her stomach.

“I’m gonna cum”, she grunted, making him start circling her clit with his thumb. “Shit, shit. I’m cumming”.

Her pussy clenched around his finger and now he was covered with her juices. Knowing it would make her go crazy, Lando brought his fingers up to his lips and licked them, moaning at the taste of her sweetness. “God, makes me want to get it straight from the source. You taste so good, baby girl”.

Y/N sat on bed and jumped right into his neck, wrapping her arms around his head to kiss him intensely. Lando was surprised by that, but he couldn’t get enough of her kisses. He has been learning to love them for a long time now, but it was so different; so magical. 

“You want to eat me out, uhm?”, she asked him, making Lando arch his eyebrow and smile. “I asked you a question”.

“Well, I would not be opposed to it”.

“That’s not an answer, Lando”, she stopped kissing him, throwing her back against the mattress and getting comfortable between the pillows. She was not going to make him say it. He was the dominant; he wasn’t the one to say those kinds of things. But when Y/N spread her legs and started to play with herself, he just couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Fuck yes, I do. I want to eat you out, pretty girl”, he fell down, head right between her thighs, and started to trail kisses up her legs, until his lips were wrapped around her clit. If Y/N was trying to contain herself, she just couldn’t do it with how good it felt to him eating her pussy so deliciously.

But with their history, she just couldn’t help but provoke him. “You can do better than this”, Y/N dared, as if she wasn’t a moaning mess a few seconds before. And Lando wasn’t one to turn down challenges.

He pulled both of her legs over his shoulder, securing his head on her pussy and making her more comfortable. This time, he started sucking on her clit while working two fingers inside of her. He was too busy to say anything, but Y/N had a whole fucking lot to say about his work.

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so good. Shit, you just know how to find the right spot. Gonna make me cum again, uhm?”, she was almost screaming in pleasure. When Lando started brushing the right spot inside of her, she felt like she was going to explode. It was different than any other orgasm she ever had in her life. She cummed so hard on his mouth, screaming his name in response.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen”, Lando had a beautiful smile on his face, that was covered in her juices. “Shit, that was so perfect”.

“You did so good”, she let a hand up to his face, rubbing circles on his cheek with an adorable smile on her face. But then, her hand fell to his cock, pulling him closer to her as she jerked him. “But now it’s time for both of us to feel good”.

Lando kissed her once again, just because the kisses were an addiction by now. Her hands pumping him only made it all feel so much better. Just the thought of having her around his cock made it twitch.

“Eager much?” She smirked on his lips, but Lando didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled her legs to wrap around his torso and guided his cock to her entrance, head brushing her pussy and collecting all the wetness. Y/N moaned and whined just with the contact.

“Eager much?” He joked back before putting just the tip inside. She felt so tight around him, Lando had to take a second to put it all in, needing to push one of her legs over his shoulder, just to give him more access. “Holy fuck, you feel so good around me. Baby, so tight for me. Fuck yes”.

He had closed his eyes, but she gripped on his throat, making him look down again. “Let me see your eyes, Lan”, she asked. His ocean green blue-ish orbs met hers and he quickly wrapped one of his hands on her throat as well. 

“Say my name again”, it was his turn to ask, and she moaned with the request. “Say it”.

“Lando”, she whispered, his cock now moving delicately inside of her. 

“Louder”, he demanded, picking up the pace.

“Lando!”, she screamed, making him slammer down his cock inside her. “I want you to ruin me”.

“Your wish is my command”. Now it was a matter of honour, and Lando was going to give what she asked. So he found the best pace, keeping the movements firm, yet slow enough to not be too much.

“You’re so big, love”, she praised, brushing her hands on his cheek, making him look her in the eyes. Lando looked so pretty while trying to contain his moans to speak. “I can’t get enough of you. I’m so full”

“You take me so well, my love. Fuck me”, his movements were getting sloppier, and she could feel his cock already twitching inside of her. Y/N also noticed that he was holding back his force, trying not to overstep. 

“Don’t hold back, baby. You can use me”, she encouraged, and that was all Lando needed to hear before quickening the pace. And then, it was getting too hard for him to hold back. He wanted to last longer, but it all felt so good. Lucky enough, Y/N started to clench around him. “I’m gonna cum, Lan. Please!”

“Let’s cum together, pretty girl. Come on, we can do this”.

He glued his eyes with her, the hand on her throat not letting them break eye contact as the waves of pleasure crashed over their bodies. Y/N came first, but less than 5 seconds later, he pulled out to come on her stomach. She pumped him outside, getting him dry, while he retributed the favour with his fingers until they were both done.

Y/N had to wait a second to come back to her senses, but Lando promptly took a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned the mess he made over her. Then, too tired to function, he dropped his body over her and pressed a few kisses all over her face. It was like now that he had finally had her, he just wanted to curl up with her and forget about the whole world. And she was willing to let him do just that, because that was exactly what she wanted as well.

He fell asleep just a few seconds into their comfortable silence. Y/N continued to roll her fingers through his curls, lulling him into deep slumber, as she thought about what had just happened. It was still unbelievable in her head, but she kept replaying every moment, already missing his touch. And if her feelings for Lando were already confusing because of that night after his crash, this only made things worse. But having him sleeping on her arms, his digits digging on her skin as he clings tight onto her, made her forget about all her worries.

He woke up for just a few seconds and caught her staring at him. Instead of pretending she wasn’t looking, Y/N cracked him a smile. Lando opened an even wider smile before pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep, angel. Come on”, he got off her to turn off the lamp on the night stand, turning the room dark.

He found a spot for his head on a pillow and missed the warmth of Y/N. So he pulled her closer until she was lying on top of him. The skin to skin contact felt so intimate and comfortable for them. No fabric or cloth between them, just their bodies holding in together. And with his soft hands on her hair, Y/N fell asleep listening to Lando’s heartbeat, who had his own funny pace: quick in adoration for her, and then slow, after she calmed him down.

She would be the death of him someday.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstufff @bishhhitsaurionn @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins@riccdannyf1 @kapsylia @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny @lqvesoph @itscrzy @fangirlvibez @poppyflower-22 @livelovesports @logischeroktopus @happy-jj @saturnbloom77 @cmleitora @formulaal @secretgal66 @taisferrari-blog @ellen3101 @sunsshinesunny @eclipsedcherry @tems13 @readingbringsjoy @naanibubbletimmispeach @kenzeyeballs @alilcloudy @architect-2015 @tillyt04 @eringaitskill @honeyhatty12 @dreamercrowd @demig0d0fapollo @mxmtewnz @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @beyond-the-ashes @ijustgomessitupx @floraav @laiba26mindflay3r @books0fever @marialovesf1 @sltwins @ourteenagetragedy @katieschry1 @loveofmylife12 @diaa-20 @urfavsgf @chilisandmilk @elleeeee21 @likedbygaslyy

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

[ohnonotthehorrors]

It's too late, I'm talking about The Canary Curse again.

Jimmy's curse is contagious. And it isn't just Martyn.

Every single season one of Jimmy's team mates, in fact, Jimmy's Closest team mate, has died early.

Obviously, in secret life Jimmy's teamed with Martyn, whose somehow doing Worse than him. First yellow, first red, loosing hearts left and right , worse. Absolutely wet catified.

Keep in mind, this is the same man that won Brutally last season. He's gotten into the top four as many times as Scott, whose almost comically competent at the game. Second he has a season teamed with Jimmy? In place to be the first perma-death-before-Jimmy's ever.

Limited Life Jimmy has two team mates. Grian and Joel. Now, Grian did decently but he wasn't the closest to Jimmy. (In fact he caused his death multiple times). That was Joel.

Joel who teamed with Jimmy first, Joel who was completely dedicated to the bad boys, Joel who was going to sacrifice himself. That Joel, who went out third, in the same episode as Jimmy, just blocks from where he fell.

Double life hardly counts right? I mean, obviously Jimmy dies and then his soulmate dies right? Except... isn't it interesting that Tango has his soul tied to Jimmy and immediately goes yellow? First yellow of the server in fact.

Last Life Jimmy spends a portion of the game isolated, when he isn't he's with a team of five. A very unstable team of five. By the end of the season Jimmy's closest ally is Mumbo, the man he's running around as a red life with causing trouble. The man he quite literally gets Killed with, seconds from each other, by the same man.

Finally, third life, the wrench. After all, Jimmy's teamed with Scott, as we said before, Comically good at the game. The man has gotten into top four, Every Single Season- except third life.

Third life Scott doesn't do quite as well for himself. Not poorly, but average. This, from the man who needed to be killed multiple times in limited life to make it a fair fight? Something's up. Something like being married to the canary, the one doomed to die first.

(wonder if Jimmy's noticed yet-)

[doe-eyed-fool]

Heaven Is Where You Are

Chapter One

Lucifer x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, Injury

Making this into a full fic lol. Enjoy~

There were consequences for every action, and it could be good or bad. When given life, one would live it to the fullest, and try to be good. Try to be forgiving, even when it hurts. Try to be understanding, even when it's hard. Try to be a better human being.

And when that life comes to an end, the consequence for doing all one can, being the best version of one's self, is the afterlife of Heaven.

Life, was a gift. Heaven, was a privilege. Not just anyone could get in.

So, when given such a privilege one would consider themselves lucky. Blessed, even. There would never come a day of hardship or anguish. It was paradise after all. It was meant to be easy, meant to be rest and relaxation for the rest of eternity.

And you, an angel granted that paradise from the very beginning, knew better than to take it all for granted.

But how much longer could you go, knowing that he was gone?

Lucifer. God's favorite. The brightest star in all existence, in your eyes. He was so much more than an angel. He inspired those around him, made everyone's day better, including yours.

Though, there were times when his creativity worried and concerned others.

And in the end, that creative mind of his, would lead him to his doom.

Even God frowned upon his ideas, his views, but God was merciful. Lucifer was given the chance to stay, if he put aside all of that "nonsense".

But Lucifer refused. He insisted that these new ideas of his could be grand. It could change the very way of life itself. And that's what scared everyone.

Lucifer was forced from Heaven, and fell into the wasteland of what would soon be called Hell down below.

Your heart ached, not a day would go by, when you didn't miss Lucifer. There was no way of contacting him, it was out of your power to do so. Many nights you spent crying, and wishing he were still here.

All you could do, was hope and pray that he was alright.

As the years go by, moving on grew harder and harder. And just as you began to give up, there was a flicker of hope that walked through Heaven's gates.

Charlie Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer.

You saw so much of Lucifer in her. The light in her eyes, her determination, her strong will, even her smile. It all reminded of you of him.

And if Charlie was here, Lucifer was still alive and hopefully well.

You couldn't give up now. Now, you had a reason to fight for a chance to see him once more. However, it would come with dire consequences...

Heaven grew further and further away from you as you rapidly descend. The pain from loosing your wings, and the harsh plummet to the hard ground below would all be worth it in the end. Just a little while longer...

You didn't move for a moment, as you looked up at the blood red sky. Your head was pounding, and your body ached, but you couldn't give in just yet.

You brought yourself to a stand, and start walking. There was only one place you could go now. And you could only hope that she would welcome you in.

You grew more exhausted by the minute as you continue onward. Nearly tripping and falling over as your legs trembled with every step.

Almost there.

You walked for what felt like hours before finally arriving at your destination. You look up at the tall building before you.

Hazbin Hotel.

Relief washed over you, but just as you took another step, exhaustion finally settled in.

And you collapsed.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, you could hear a voice, though it sounded muffled.

"The fuck? Ugh...Ey! Charlie! We got a dead body out here!"

"A what!?"

Charlie. That's who you came here for. Darkness took over before you could utter a word, but only for a brief moment.

"What happened?"

"I dunno, I just found her like this."

"Well...What should we...Wait. Is that...Her blood! It's-"

Again, into darkness. The voices only growing more and more muffled as you finally slipped into unconsciousness.

You awoke sometime later. A groan left you as you brought yourself to a sit. As you did, your back throbbed with new pain. With a hiss, you look over your shoulder. Your wings were gone, but that wasn't the only thing that stood out.

Your top was missing, the only thing keeping you covered was thick bandages wrapped around your back and chest. Who did this? You take a look around, and noticed you were in a room.

The bed you were on was surprisingly comfortable. To the left of the bed, was a large window that lead to a balcony. Ahead of you was a bathroom and outside of it, slightly towards the left, was a decently sized TV. And to the far left of the room, was a closet and the door.

Who's room was this? Where were you? Who bandaged you?

Your questions would soon be answered, as someone opened the door and walked inside. You relaxed upon seeing just who it was.

"Hey, you're awake."

Charlie Morningstar. She smiled as she approached you, carefully and cautiously. She stood just before the bed. "How are you feeling?" She asks.

"Sore." You mumble. Charlie nods. "I thought you might be." She motions her hand to the table beside the bed. You look over to see a glass of water and some medicine. "Go ahead, you'll feel much better."

You thank her before reaching for the medicine and water. You downed the pills and sighed. Hopefully it will kick in soon.

"So. Um...Sorry if this is uh, a bit of a personal question but..." Charlie trailed off, rubbing her neck. "Are you...an angel?"

You nod. "I am. Well...I was. I'm not an exorcist angel, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah, I didn't think you were." Charlie says before sitting at the corner of the bed. "But I'm still confused. What happened?"

"It's...a very long story." You sigh. Charlie stays quiet, giving you the ok to continue. And so, you told her everything. You told her about Lucifer, and how much you cared for him. You told her how lonely you felt when he fell all those years ago. And you told her how you risked everything, for the chance to see him, just one more time.

"You must have really missed him." Charlie says softly. "I did. I still do..." You felt tears at your eyes. "Please, tell me, how is he?"

"He's doing good. Well, he is now." Charlie tells you with a small smile. "I don't know if you know this but, him and my mother split. And it kind of...really made him upset. He wasn't the same for a while after that. But, as of recently, things have been slowly getting better. We've even grown closer."

You heard rumors of Lilith suddenly disappearing without a trace. It only added to your worries. Lucifer fell with Lilith, the love of his life. They both made sacrifices, some that hurt them, but they had each other.

And that gave you a strange new feeling you'd never felt before. And you didn't like it, nor could you explain it...

"Well, I'm glad he's doing better now." You smile. "I may be overstepping here but...may I see him? I don't think I can go another second without seeing him. It would only be for a little while."

Charlie chuckles and offers her hand. "You're more than welcomed to see him. I'm sure he'd want to see you too."

Your smile grew. Finally, after all these years, you'd be able to see Lucifer again. Your heart soared at the thought, you could hardly contain your excitement.

You reach out, and take Charlie's hand.

[everythingelseisextra]

You're Like Me

Part Twelve: Run, Little Girl

Description: A loose idea for saving you sparks conflict. Warnings: References to rape and torture, language, references to poor mental health Word Count: 2125 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @look-at-the-soul @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28

When you were younger, trapped in a constant cycle of hotel rooms and hazy, feverish feeding frenzies, you acted as though love was a brutish thing, something to be brushed off and forgotten about. Like a bruise on your body left over from some client with more insidious inclinations, it only hurt if you thought about it. Love was performed, used in order to gain some gentleness, maybe, placed on your form like a costume. As soon as it was over, as soon as you could let it go, it became a brash, useless thing again, pointless. You loved a girl and you would never have been able to make something out of it. That was the beautiful thing about it; you were doomed from the start, and yet, you still dove in without holding your breath. You tried to nurture a still-born. You wanted to love yourself and you looked in a mirror and you weren’t sure who that was. It’s hard, you think, to take such a risk as to love. In your years on this earth, you’ve looked at love from afar and thought you could never have it. As a child, you looked at anything kind and saw darkness underneath it.

You are Eve and you’ve taken a bite from the apple, and now you’re aware, far too aware, of the evil in the world. These are things you have said and done, and most of them make you a victim or a villain. These are the people you have been, and most of them are sad. 

Now, though, you are starting to see the good too. Because a white horse prances through the arena and he stands beside you and watches with soft blue eyes and his head tilted towards you, just slightly. Because when you wake from a nightmare, or from fitful half-sleep, and you call him, he always picks up. Because on the few nights you have together now, you share a bed, and he does not touch you. Because he is the closest you’ve ever had to safety, and you’re not sure what you fear more; the circumstance of it being taken away, or the possibility of it staying and learning who you are without the trauma making you a survivor. 

There is a quiet battle happening in front of your eyes. They are trying to locate you. There are men, he says, who prowl Birmingham with hungry eyes and dirty clothes, and they don’t settle. They pace and provoke and pester until people fall prey to their pressure and answer their questions, all too vague to pinpoint, but too pointed to be for anyone else. Descriptions of your younger self float through the city, and you find yourself face to face with who you used to be. That person who held fast to life when everything around her asked her to want to die. 

How does one kill a hydra? Tommy struggles with this, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. You lie back on the bed, your legs dangling off the side, and stare up at the ceiling. If he tries to take down the current lead, a man named Liszt, then another will simply take his place, and they’ll know where the threat comes from. A web of men dangle around Liszt, prepared to fight for him and what he stands for, and targeting one of them would likely wipe out the Shelbys, powerful as they are. 

“Money?” You turn your head to look at him, your eyes drifting over him. He wears a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a black vest and pants, accessorized, of course, by a gold chain and finely made watch. “If we could somehow stop their revenue, that might do something.”

“Lead the girls out on strike and watch them get shot?” He shakes his head, continuing to pace. His head rolls back on his shoulders, stretching out his tired muscles, and he looks up at the ceiling, pausing. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Oh God, okay.” You sit up, one arm supporting you on the bed while the other toys with the belt you wear. “What is it?”

“Only way I can think of is to infiltrate. Report back to my connections. Take them down from the inside.” 

You blink slowly at him, unbelieving. “And you’re suggesting you go into that world and— and what? Pretend to be one of them? Tommy, you know that line is thin.”

“Arthur’s not careful. John doesn’t take things seriously. Can’t ask Pol or Ada. Who else?” He looks over at you, eyes flicking to your hand on your belt, then back up to your face. 

“No.” You press your lips together, staring him down. “I won’t let you”

Knowing what he’d say as soon as he opens his mouth, you shake your head. “Because I don’t want to see you put into positions where you’re forced to rape and torture and use young girls like who I used to be. I don’t care the reason why you’d be doing that, you’d still be doing it.. Intention doesn’t matter when it’s going to affect someone for the rest of their lives.”

“I wouldn’t be doing all that.” He gives you that infuriating, searching look, like he’s unsure how he should proceed and wants you to tell him how.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t start out doing that, but you’d get deeper and deeper. Boiling a frog.”

“I’m not a frog.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s a metaphor.”

“No, I’ll know when I get too deep.” 

You resist rolling your eyes, both wanting to express your frustration and also maintain the mutual respect you serve each other. “You’ll know when you get in too deep like I knew I wasn’t actually being sent to a boarding school?”

The sentiment hovers between you, tense in the air, and you become deeply conscious of the rise and fall of your chest, of the way your fingers fall still on the belt. He will get in too deep, you think, and by that time, it’ll be too late to back out. It’ll be too late to change anything. He’ll be stuck, like you were, in a loop of being forced to do something you would never choose, would never wish on anyone. 

“It’s the only way.” 

“That’s a cowardly argument and you know it.”

“You’re afraid to take the risk that’ll ultimately save your life.” His voice raises slightly. “I’m not the fucking coward.”

You bristle, standing up and stalking towards him. “Why are you so desperate to risk your life for me? What does that say about you, huh? Do you care about me or hate yourself?”

It was a low blow. You said it without thinking, without realizing the effect it might have. His eyes widen slightly, and his jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, then another, then turns and starts to walk out of the bedroom. 

“Tommy, wait.” You follow him, socks sliding on the wooden floor. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes. You fucking did.” He’s bitter, not giving you the time to explain yourself. 

Your heart pounds in your temples.”Thomas, you know I don’t think—”

“You do. You do, and you’re right. You’re fucking right.” He turns and points a finger in your chest, rheeling on you. “I’m fucking— I’m not right in the head, and you know it, and you’re like everybody else in this damn family and look at me like I’m the worst thing a human being can be. I’m getting fucking tired of it. For once could someone treat me like I’m not a liability?”

“First of all,” you snap back, a hollow sensation filling your chest and something cold spiking your heart. “I happen to quite like you, so whatever you’ve got in that head of yours about me looking at you like the worst thing ever is all you. You’re not right in the head, and neither am I, and I don’t blame you for that, so we can move right on from what I just said to you. That was bullshit and I’m sorry. Lastly, and this is probably the most important,” You take a step towards him, leaving about a foot between you. “Who the hell told you that having feelings and vulnerabilities made you a liability?” 

He straightens, the furrow in his brow loosening, the anger in his face turning to something tensely thoughtful, the expression someone would take when doing difficult math or strategizing. He considers you, taking a few deep breaths, then looks away. “Probably me.” 

You nod slightly, reaching out a hand to take his. “I’m sorry I said that. I got heated at that moment. I didn’t mean it.” 

“You still said it.”

“Yeah. And that’s on me. It wasn’t right to say that to you.” You squeeze his hand, peering up at him, trying to read his expression. “Are you ready to move on?”

He nods slowly, eyes staring off over your shoulder, mind clearly elsewhere. You gently tug at his arm, leading him back to the bedroom. 

Once the door is closed behind you, you let go of his hand and cross your arms. “What?”

His lips purse in an almost-pout and he shakes his head. 

“Out with it.” 

His lips twitch up and he stares at you, as if waiting for you to speak.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, is this funny to you?”  You step towards him, resisting smiling back and failing miserably. 

His smile widens, and you catch a glimpse, for the first time since you met him, of the boy he used to be, all charm and sleepy eyes. Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat slightly.

“Oh, so it is funny.” 

“I’ve been with a lot of women, and—”

“Oh boy, I’m so excited to hear what comes after that absolutely stunning start to a sentence.” 

“Do you want me to talk or not?” 

You incline your head, trying to hide a grin. 

“I”ve been with a lot of women, and they all wanted Thomas Shelby. Except Grace.” His tone sobers. “Not Grace.”

You stay quiet, tilting your head, letting him have the space to speak. Grace’s name serves as a kind of silent message between the two of you; that he wants, or needs to be able to speak his mind without interruption, no matter how long the pauses take, no matter how shy or uncertain he seems. You don’t speak until it’s over. 

“I’m a broken man. I’m no fucking joy to be around, and there’s no great reward for knowing me like they always expect. I’m heartless, cold, and called the Devil. But you—” He looks away from you, swallowing hard before he speaks. “You don’t give a shit who I am. Just yelled at you in the hallway and you didn’t fucking flinch. You’re brave. Or— or not smart enough to know better.”

You shake your head, chuckling slightly. “You know I’m neither, Tom. If you’re asking why I stick around, I’ll tell you.”

He looks back at you, giving you a slight nod. 

You step forward, placing a hand on his chest, just above his heart. “You say you're heartless but you’re not. You say you’re cold but you’re not. You’re like me. You’ve adapted to live in a world that isn’t fair to you. You’re ashamed to admit that your heart beats like mine does. And I— I love you for that.”

Slowly, his hand lifts to cover yours on his chest, his eyes slide shut, and he speaks his next words in one long breath. “There are better men—”

“And they’re not you.” You smile, slipping your hand up his chest to hold his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Eyes still closed, he leans into you, and his whole body seems to shift, to relax, to move to you. “I choose you, Tom. Like you chose me.”

He nods, his soft eyes opening to look down at you, pupils a little larger than before. 

You shift your weight forward and kiss him, and he melts into you, lips soft and pliant, allowing you to take some control. Your other hand rests on his waist, gently pulling him towards you. You fit together, entwined, his hands resting on your hips, delicately holding you. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, and you sway in silence, an almost-dance. 

“Stay the night.” It’s not a question.

You chuckle. “I have to do the horses in the morning.”

“Fuck the horses.”

“Maybe don’t.”

His hands, hesitantly, pull you to stand flush against him. His voice is breathy. “Please. Stay the night.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Alright, we can— we can try.”

[camille-lachenille]

Was thinking about just how much characters in the Silm and LOTR deal with pain an injuries on a daily basis. It’s not always said plainly but they exist in the story, they live, they are important, and I wonder how much of them are inspired by Tolkien’s own experience of war injuries/illness. How many of his fellow soldiers came back home disfigured and disabled and were faced with disgust or contempt?

Sure, there’s the whole fairy-tale/mythic aspect of loosing a limb in your heroic quest to get the Magic Object, but what about Gwindor, who was captured by Morgoth and, when he finally managed to escape, was so changed by his sufferings that his beloved rejected him? Gwindor’s not a hero, he’s a simple soldier who suffered through war and captivity and became disabled because of that. How much pain did he live with daily even if it’s never said on the page?

And, still in the CoH, there’s Brandir the Lame. He was born disabled, couldn’t be a warrior, yet held a position of power until his people wanted action and scorned him. Brandir is a healer, a man of wisdom and lore; how much of it is because he tried to cure himself? To ease his pain but also try to "fix" himself in the eyes of his people and be the worthy leader he thought they wanted.

There is Sador ‘Labadal’ too, who chopped his foot off in an accident and is looked down for that by several character (not the least of them being Morwen).

These three characters are all disabled and looked upon with pity, contempt or outright disgust. They did not become disabled in the doing of great deeds, their stories aren’t heroic, and so their disability makes them worthless in the eyes of many.

If you take Maedhros, on the other hand (pun fully intended), he is seen as made greater by his disability. He suffered unthinkable torments and was freed at the price of his right hand, and did many great and terrible things after that. It is similar for Beren, who also lost his hand (arm chopping is not a love language!) but it always portrayed as a good and heroic character, because his disability is the direct result of him taking part in the great designs of the world rather than a banal accident.

And that’s only for the Silm characters, because we don’t want to forget about Frodo of the Nine Fingers, who bore the One Ring to the very fires of Mt Doom. Frodo who returned home sickly and traumatised, plagued with chronic pain, nightmares and a poor health and was only looked at down by the hobbits who did not take part in the quest if the ring. Frodo may be a hero for Men and Elves but he has little to no recognition in his homeland.

Another character I nearly forgot (shame on me!) is Celebrían, She was captured and tortured and despite her physical wounds healing she was never the same again, to the point she had to leave her family to seek healing elsewhere. I see this as a form of mental illness, probably depression and PTSD. And Celebrían is not thought as lesser because of her disability. She is seen as a tragic story, yes, but it’s better than most of the other disabled characters in the Silm.

Anyway, I don’t really know what my point is here, just that I noticed a pattern in the representation of disabled characters in Tolkien’s works, first of all that they exist at all, and second that how they are treated certainly reflects the views of society on disabled people during Tolkien’s lifetime. The way he writes disabled characters isn’t perfect, far from it, but they are here, and I, as a disabled reader, am immensely glad for their existence and I play in the gigantic sandbox of the Legendarium with these characters and others whom I imagine as disabled in any way.

[viridianevergarden]

In Spite of it All (Elain x Azriel) Part IV

A/N: It is the eve of Elriel month! Finally, we're back and starting with Elain's POV. Things are happening 👹 Enjoy!

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Bad always follows in the path of Good. After tension builds between Azriel and Elain, an unwelcome presence makes itself known at Rosehall.

Key: Positive and negative tension

Triggers: NSFW themes right off the bat but not much else. Relatively safe.

🏷️: @downingg2001

Link to read!

Teaser from beginning below!👇

The strong scent of cedar graced Elain’s nose, silently beckoning, calling her from her slumber. Even then, she hadn’t bothered to open her eyes. Hadn’t bothered to consider where the fragrance was coming from.

She was so comfortable.

Too comfortable to get up, too comfortable to move.

Perfect, this was perfect.

A heavy weight shifted from behind, pressing itself right up against her back. Another force had snaked around her waist, pulling her in firmly.

The abrupt movements pulled Elain back out of her dozing. Slowly fluttering her eyes open, she took in the view of the daylit room. Everything seemed normal. There was nothing there.

Her gaze cascaded down to her lower half, spotting a massive leathery wing lazily slumped across her midriff and off the side of the bed. All the way down to the floor.

Another shift from behind, skin and warm air met with the crook of her neck. Elain tensed, sucking in a breath as clarity finally came to mind. She recalled it all, what occurred just hours before, who she’d invited into her bed—

It was Azriel.

It was Azriel who was lying against her. Holding her close, skin on skin, back to front with no space in between. Enveloping her in his own warmth and in the safety of his grasp. Color rose onto Elain’s cheeks as she laid there, silently enduring the skittering heat of his rhythmic breathing across her skin. With each warm wave, a shiver crept down her spine.

Hot. It was getting hot.

Elain couldn’t fight it. This male, who her heart still so viciously and unwaveringly ached for, had been so close. His skin on hers, his mouth against her neck, his arms around her waist— It was one of the ultimate expressions of intimacy.

It was getting too hot.

Her own festering arousal had doomed her from the start, the heat of it already beginning to pool down between her legs. And if Azriel scented it, if he woke up and smelled it—

They had never been this intimately close before. Not in this way. Everything last night, everything before, it was all for a reason. But this blatant touching, this unrestrained and subconscious touching was so like solstice night— And yet, this was… This was so much better.

The taloned thumb of Azriel’s wing twitched before the entire appendage moved upward, rendering Elain effectively clung onto and cocooned. She’d been trapped in his arms and by extension, his own wing.

She couldn’t bear it. The embarrassment in the growing heat between her own legs. The race of her heart. The simmering of her skin to the touch, his touch. She had no choice. She had to escape this— Escape before she might do something she’d regret.

Elain squirmed a little, hands reaching down to undo Azriel’s hold on her. His thick arms, while firm in grip, had ultimately loosened just enough to barely let go of her. The male loosed a low groan against her neck, right into her ear.

The delightful sound of it, the mere feeling of the vibrations against her skin—

It was getting worse.

Her body, it all ached for him. Throbbed for him. The want, the need fought like hell against her whole being. The damning desire to wake him and let him do whatever he wanted with her, begging to resume what once could’ve been all those weeks ago—

Too hot. Its all too hot.

She had to go. She couldn’t make another mistake again. Couldn’t bear the thought of further ruining what had already been undone and done again.

Elain slipped out from under that large black wing, careful not to step on the remainder of the length of it that laid arced on the floor. Azriel shifted again on the bed, seemingly from the sudden loss of warmth. Of her warmth.

She fled into the bathroom. Quickly. Quietly. The door behind her clicked shut, followed by a series of soft panting from her. Biting her lip and pressing her shaking thighs together, she tried her best to calm her ravished body, so at odds with her addled mind.

This hunger she felt, this insatiable hunger— She couldn’t do this to herself. Not to Azriel. Not again. Not when her own feelings were responsible for solstice night. Not when it was her fault that she misunderstood their relationship. Not when it was a mistake before. She wouldn’t— couldn’t dare make it again.

The guilt had practically swallowed Elain whole. Guilt for feeling this way. For allowing herself to feel for a male who didn’t even want her in the way she wanted him, to love a male of whom she shouldn’t.

For even allowing her own traitorous body to react to him this way, when all he had done was breathe down her neck. When all he was doing was sleeping. He couldn’t even have true peace in his own rest. Not from her. Not when she was around.

Elain pushed herself off the door as she strained to ignore the sizzling sensations that still remained, the ones that fought with her in every step she made.

Bending over the rim of the tub, she turned on the bath to get it running warm. She had to rinse off to clear her mind, to rid herself of the scent of her own arousal. And perhaps to hide from Azriel out of her own crippling anxiety. She could only hope that he hadn’t woken up yet. Let alone smelled it.

[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

Paring: Harwin Strong × reader

Warnings: Swearing, hints of violence

3.03

One hand rests on your bump, while the other holds onto Aerion’s hand. Your second born son had separation anxiety as a toddler, so everywhere he went, he had to hold onto your hand. Aerion had mostly grown out of it, but whenever he was nervous or afraid, holding your hand would soothe and comfort him, and being around a place he was unfamiliar with had caused him to become more quiet than normal.

Ada was sitting beside her grandsire, Ser Lyonel, and was completely caught up in his tales of Harrenhal, a place she had yet to visit. It did worry you slightly how pale your father-in-law seems, but perhaps he was exhausted from playing with your children or the worry felt after receiving a raven saying his wife was sick with a fever. Your father beams as Vaegon tells him about his bond with Nightmare and how large his dragon is.

You feel a tug on your dress, and Aerion quietly asks if he’s allowed to go and play with his cousins in the gardens. “Of course, sweetling,” you smile. “I’ll let you know when it’s time to get ready for supper.”

A few moments had passed before Aegon approached you. He slid into the chair beside you and let out a huff. “Why does he still hold your hand?”

“It comforts him.”

“It’s weird.”

As much as Aegon’s comment irritates you, you couldn’t deny that a mother showing so much affection to her son would be weird to him, simply because he wasn’t used to it. “It’s not weird; some children find comfort and warmth from being close to their parents.”

Your brother brushes stands of strangely silvery hair out of his face. Scrunching his nose up, he says, “But why do you let him?”

His question is painful to hear. “Because he’s my son, and I want him to feel safe.”

Aegon doesn’t reply for several moments, and when he finally speaks again, he makes a remark about how Sunfyre's dragon was bigger than Varos.

“Is that so?” You stand and motion for him to follow; instead, Aegon stares at you blankly, so you take his hand and lead him to the window. An action that doesn’t go unnoticed by your father, who smiles.

“What are we looking at?”

“Wait for it…”

Your brother is left speechless as a dark shadow cast by Varos overtakes the keep. He had grown so large over the past few years that he was now the same size as the wild dragons. Feeling slightly smug, you grin. “What was that you were saying, brother?”

“How did he get so big?”

A mixture of amazement and confusion was painted across his face. Remembering how fascinated you were with the size of Dreamfyre, who was the largest dragon you had seen when you were Aegon’s age, you smile. “Two hundred years before the doom, the Valyrians settled on Dragonstone, and it’s believed they used sorcery and magic to shape it like dragons on purpose, so that it instilled fear in those who saw it. It's said that the same magic that lingers on the island is what causes the dragons who live there to thrive.”

“And you really believe that?”

“Do you think Varos would have grown so large otherwise?”

Aegon says nothing, but you smile, noticing he’s still loosely holding your hand.

—

“If you cannot drink wine, you should at least indulge in one of these. The cream is to die for.”

You pick up one of the strawberry tarts laid out amongst the bread, cheeses, fruits, and sweet tea that Ser Laenor had brought to your sister's quarters. It had been some time since you spent any real time with your cousin, so it was pleasant to spend some time with him.

Noticing Ada watching you closely, you dip your finger into the cream on top of your tart. You pretend to go to lick your finger, but instead you wipe it on the tip of her nose. The giggle she lets out warms your heart.

Laenor leans back in his chair with a faint smile on his lips, his face clouded from consuming so much wine. He was an unhappy man, and neither the richest of Dornish wine nor the finest of men would help him find peace. Sometimes you wonder if his love for his sons is the only thing keeping him alive.

“Where are the boys?”

“They are with Ser Tyland.”

Laenor takes a large gulp of his wine, finishing the cup before placing it down. “And Ser Harwin?”

“In the training yard, he was instructed by Rhaenyra to supervise my nephews and brothers sparing,” you laugh. “It won’t be long now until your sister has her babe; Daemon is convinced it’s another girl.”

You stay in your cousin's company until it’s time to take Ada to attend her lesson in High Valyrian.

—

“Might I ask what you’re staring at?”

Harwin chuckles. He was leaning against the doorway, seeming content watching as you unbraided your hair since deciding to remain in your quarters for the rest of the evening. “I couldn't help but notice how beautiful you look.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words and the way he looks at you.

You smile, thinking of his compliment as your fingers untangle the wavy strands of hair still stuck together. “How are my nephews coming along in their training?”

“I think the sooner the boys come to Dragonstone, the better.”

His response takes you by surprise. “Oh, my father told me Jace and Luke were training daily, so I assumed they would be getting along fine.”

“Cole is teaching your brother’s cruelty; he had Jacaerys fight both Aegon and Aemond at the same time. The poor lad didn’t have a chance.”

Your heart sinks at the news, and you feel a rage building inside of you. “I didn’t realize it was that cun—Cole was training them; I thought it would have been another knight training Jacaerys and Lucerys.”

Harwin stands beside you and runs his own fingers through your hair, enjoying the feel of the soft texture against his calloused hands. “Life will be much better for them in Dragonstone, for all of us. Besides, it will be better for Ada and Lucerys to grow up together.”

Not long after the birth of your daughter, Rhaenyra and Laenor proposed a betrothal between your daughter and their second-born son, sweet Lucerys. At first, Harwin was hesitant to accept because they are cousins; however, he had to admit he preferred it to the Valyrian custom of siblings marrying. And most importantly, you knew a son of Rhaenyra would always treat your daughter kindly.

You rest your palm on your stomach and say, “Hopefully, my love.”

—

Luckily, you remember the knights shift patterns from all your years of sneaking around the red keep and use them to your advantage. You sneak into Ser Criston's quarters just before he finishes for the night.

Surprised by your presence, the knight jumps back until he’s pressed against the wall. As you step closer to Sir Criston, you see the amusement on his face. “What is your intention towards Jacaerys?” you demand. “Rhaenyra has told me everything.”

A smug look spreads across Criston’s face until he fills the tip of your dagger just under his chin. He takes a deep breath before replying. “I have no ill intentions towards the boy, princess.”

“I don’t believe you. You’ve known all along who his biological father is, and yet you continue to torment my sister?” You ask, confused and frustrated.

“Did she tell you I asked her to marry me?”

“Yes, she mentioned some ridiculous proposal of you running away together to Essos and marrying for love.”

“I’m sure your husband would enjoy hearing that you find marrying for love ridiculous.”

“Jest about my husband again,” you dare, while pressing the blade up enough to cause more pressure. “You gave into temptation and blamed my sister for soiling your white cloak; is that it?”

“You’ve always been very observant, haven’t you, princess?”

“None of this is Jacaerys fault.” Seeing the fleeting look of fear in the knight's eyes, you lower the blade. The only reason you were giving Criston a chance to change his ways was because he cared for your younger siblings, especially Aegon. It was no secret that neither Alicent nor your father gave him the attention he needed to feel loved. “He is innocent in all of this, and need I remind you that any punishment Rhaenyra would receive if the truth was revealed would be much worse for you.”

“I understand,” he says meekly.

As you turn to leave, Criston suddenly grabs your arm roughly, then spins you to face him. He leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. You're taken aback by the unexpected display of affection from him, and you slap him hard across the face, feeling your cheeks burning with rage.

The knight looks at you with sincerity in his eyes. “It was never Rhaenyra I wanted, princess; it was always you.”

[mythicalmyles]

Hide and seek with predator prey thingy?

With Slendy? Or Offenderman?(if you write for him)

(maybe both? Jabxhdjsns thats asking abit too much aint it?)

Maybe when he catches (name), he breeds him full?

Maybe he would also degrade (name) a bit? Telling them how they are such a pathetic, but delicious little morsel?

👉👈

.

- 🐺

Decided offender since i aint written for him yet<3

Noncon, teasing, overstim

(Name) honestly knew it had been game over the moment he stepped inside of the woods, the feeling of being watched had his hair standing on end all night. He’d lost the path a while ago and hadn’t been able to find it, he couldn’t remember even when he’d lost it. Suddenly he had looked down and just no more path. He felt like he’d been looking for hours, his mind ticking with each passing minute.

His chest felt compressed and he had the odd feeling like he was being hunted, he didn’t have anything bigger then a fox in the woods and they wouldn’t bother. But his hearing was sharp and alert as he made his way through the dense trees, a feeling of doom had him pausing before a yell was ripped from him.

Something wrapped around his chest and dragged him through the bushes and around trees, the speed dazing him when he was abruptly stopped. Horror filled him as he registered what was in his vision, an eldritch horror filled nightmare stood before him. He would’ve screamed if not for the tentacle that shot around his neck, cutting off air flow.

(Name) couldn’t breath and his head began to get fuzzy, mind swirling as the white being cocked its head at him. “So pathetic, can’t even find your way out of the woods. Such a shame.” It’s voice echoed through (Names) head, his body froze as more tentacles began wrapping around him, keeping him spread open. (Name) whimpered, trying to wriggle but failing as it was strong.

“You were so easy to catch, it was almost unfair.” The sound of his sweats tearing filled his hearing, wide eyes staring at the terrifying being. “Such a pretty little thing.” (Name) whimpered as he felt something press against his home, rubbing against him and drawing choked sounds from him. He desperately wriggled in the beings hold, its appendages tight on his flesh. “S-s-.” A tentacle wrapped itself around his mouth, the only sounds being muffled.

(Name) froze as the tentacle finally slid inside of him, his body locking up as his mind blanked. He couldn’t stop himself from moaning as the tentacle inside of him began twisting and fucking him, his body arched as he felt its appendages slide over his body. They teased him by sliding across his nipples and wrapping around his cock, squeezing and playing with him.

The being took its hat off, hanging it on a tree as it smirked at the sight of its prey loosing his mind as he was played with. (Name) felt his mind drift as his body relaxed, allowing another tentacle to slid into him and ripping a loud moan from him.

Ecstasy filled (Names) body, every slid of the tentacles against his prostate driving him further into his mind. He had no chance of escape, instead choosing to just allow what was happening. His hips mindlessly rode the tentacles, barley registering he was even doing it. The tentacles kept a tight grip but allowed more movement the more submissive he became.

“Might just keep you, a pretty little lap dog.” It chuckled, its voice sending every hair on (Names) body standing on end. His desperate eyes gazed at the being, his orgasm fast approaching. It removed its tentacle from his mouth, instead wrapping it loosely around his neck.

(Name) gulped as moans poured from him, the tentacles inside him slamming deep. “Good boy, moan for me.” (Name) shook, his eyes rolling back as he came. His body completely relaxed into Offenders hold as he rode out his high. “I want to see that delicious face again.” It smirked as another tentacle slid into him and they sped up, thrusting fast inside of him. (Name) practically wept as he felt his cock begin hardening again, his body shaking. “Plea-please.” (Name) hiccuped out only to recieve a chuckle and a particularly violent thrust.

“You can take it.” A large smirk covered its face, sharp teeth filling (Names) vision. It didn’t take much longer to draw another orgasm from him, his voice hoarse as he screamed. (Name) couldn’t think, the tentacles still fucking him and stretching him out. “Tonight will be a fun night.” It chuckled, voice rumbling throughout the forest.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Want You Dead

Daemon Targaryen x Pirate!Reader | Part 1 2 3

Summary: It was a classic case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time that lead to the Rogue Prince's capture to a ship of pirates. Had it not been for the cunning lady of the ship, he would have been killed. Yet, upon his relief of capture, he told himself it was only right if he captures the very lady that thought to capture him in the first place.

Word Count: 14k+

Warnings: graphic mentions of assault/rape, smut [oral (m receiving), degradation kink, impregnation kink, binding kink, fingering, vaginal penetration], fem!reader, super slow burn (i hate myself for doing this to myself), some made up characters and lore, time skips, bisexual reader, super thirsty reader, super major kinky reader, everyone onboard is her playmate fr, curse words because I'm tired, angst, misogyny, parts with fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: HELLO I MADE A FUCKING SPIN OFF????????? WHY????? IT'S SO LONG I CRASHED THE EDITOR SO MANY TIMES ?????? WHICH IS WHY I AM CUTTING THIS IN HALF OR POSSIBLY MORE T_T I really did not want to do this but tumblr decided for me with the amount of times it refused to cooperate. It's far from done T_T but i hope it's just gonna be two very long chapters. Anyway pls reblog and comment if you so desire me to get that next chapter finished quickly T_T also, if you would like to be tagged pls tell me.

"STOP!"

The 3 pair of ears in the room ring at the sound of the shriek.

He, who was bound on the floor, didn't care for it though, as there was another more pressing matter at hand. He awaited the piercing sensation of a blade to his neck. He realized though that shriek had halted his impending doom as no painful sensation came. He opens his eyes just as a sound of someone galloping over resounded on the wooden floors.

"What are you morons doing?" I demand, turning to the silver haired man on his knees with a sword to his neck. He raised his eyes up at me, then down to the weapon in my own hand.

I hit the sword by his neck away, metal clashing against metal. The blood my blade was still slick in splattered onto man's cheeks in the process.

I make a face at that, crouching down after wiping my weapon on my dress shirt, uncaring if it stains the already stained off-white cloth.

I take in his features-- violet eyes, strong jaw, pointed nose, just as it seems he is taking in mine. I do not fail to catch the fact his pupils linger on the loose ties of my top by my cleavage where a single, largish, encrusted ruby dangled from my neck.

My own eyes travel down to his armor, and it seems we both silently examine the crests we bore. I lick my lips before speaking, "apologies. May I?" I raise a hand to his face.

The man looks at me darkly. I knit my brows, holding in a chuckle at his lack of response, tongue darting out yet again to my lower lip. I pull my hand away. I stand straight then turn to the two men behind me, "did you cut his tongue off?"

For a moment, the two look at each other. The tall, red haired man widens his eyes at the shorter, yet still tall, blonde, mentally asking him if he, indeed, cut off his tongue.

I roll my eyes after a moment passed with no response, "how could you lot forget so quickly? I was literally here with you less than an hour ago, not a whole day!"

I dust off my dirty, leather trousers and stomp my leather boots as I listen to them make excuses.

"It's not me! I caught Gorm hacking at him and I came to help," Ahern replies with his thick Gaelic accent, "I do not ken if he managed to chop his tongue of in the meantime."

I turn to Gorm, placing my hands on my hips, exasperated, "well?"

"I don't remember, if I'm being honest," he replies under his breath, muttering something about drinking too much ale in his Norse mother tongue.

"Fine!" I sigh, turning back to the man on the floor, "shall I check?" I lean down, piping softly, "could you be a dear and just," I bring my thumb by his lower lip, barely ghosting it on his skin, "open your mouth for me? It's truly more for you, if I'm being frank."

For the prolonged while I exchange looks with him, the man seems half compelled to do as I asked out of sheer intrigue. His eyes were still dark, and I yet could tell there was a curious glint behind them, curious and predatory.

"Who's he anyhow? Why can't we kill 'im?" Ahern asks.

Immediately, the prisoner turns away and stares at the large oaf with a look of daggers.

I huff and look over to said oaf, shooting him a similar expression. Ahern's annoyed face, once finding mine, melts into regret.

I roll my eyes, walking towards the discarded weapon on the floor, picking it up, "this is yours, correct?" I turn to our captive, earning silence still.

Ahern answers instead, "that's his alright."

I turn to Ahern, "This is Valyrian steel," I start to explain, turning back to its owner, "and his hair is whiter than your arse cheeks," I hand him the weapon. "He's a Valyrian."

"Hmp," Gorm tilts his head, "I thought he was just old."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, "this is why you should leave the politics to the masters, captain." I turn from Gorm to our prisoner, "and as said master, I say we take him onboard and bring him to our next stop... use him for show."

For a moment, my two shipmates are silent.

"No offence," the ginger rubs his fingers down from his chin to his beard, "but this one would've nearly killed our bright ol' captain if I hadn't stepped in," Ahern says.

"And you would suggest what? We leave him here? We kill him?" I inquired, "you do know that being a Valyrian means he is not only a high born, but a royal, right? And even it were that he is not the most beloved of his line, make no mistake his line will come for whomever made him unable return."

I steal a look from the Valyrian, "we don't even know why he's here, clad in armour."

"Yeah, well no one's gonna know why he ended up missing," Gorm says, yet again making me roll my eyes.

Ahern agrees, "yeah, we've done it once before-"

"Yeah! With that rat and his stupid cunty right hand-"

"And that old geezer! Gods, with the awful beard-"

The two continue to bicker amongst themselves of the exploits we've accomplished, but they all fall deaf to my ears.

"I beg your pardon," I turn to the man who had yet to speak, "they're not very creative and it's impossible for even I to help them with that."

Finally, after a few moments of struggle on the behalf of the captive wanting to break free, we got on board Jocelyn. We had to knock him out and have Ahern carry him over his shoulder to do so though. We tied him up, starboard side, with rope on poles meant for the very job of keeping prisoners.

Right now, I was patiently awaiting his return to consciousness.

I fiddled with my necklace, retracing the emblem on the reflective red rock with my fingers. I was sat by the edge of the ship, watching as the salty waves crashed against the hull.

I couldn't help but break into a smile upon hearing the man behind me curse and groan. It was nearing the sunset now, so he was lucky the sun was not too bright for his newly opened eyes.

I turn from where I sat, and hop in front of him, slightly raising my head to meet his face, as he was taller than I, "so you do have a tongue."

His head shakes as the ship hits a particularly rough wave.

I blink at the bloodied side of his head and purse my lips before telling him, "if you hadn't been so difficult, I wouldn't have had to hit you with my hilt."

He grinds his teeth then clenches his jaw, clearly not in the mood for my shenanigans, evident in his attempts to pierce me with his glare.

I place my hands behind my back and lean forward, "you're bleeding. Just say the word and I'll clean you up," I raise a finger, "and even feed you. Supper is almost ready."

He speaks nothing still.

I narrow my eyes at him, anticipating some sort of bite in his vernacular, since he did hold the looks of someone who basks in chaos.

Gorm especially made it a point to whine about how confrontational and short tempered he had had been, and how they quickly escalated into a fight because of the silver haired man's brazen words. Of course, Gorm omitted mentions of any sort of offence he did to our captive. He didn't have to say anything for me to know he's most definitely guilty of riling the Valyrian up just as much though.

I make an exaggerated expression, "I am afraid I'm being quite serious about asking for your permission before doing anything to you," I lean closer, "before touching you. Consent, to me, is important, for anyone who touches me without it loses their fingers one at a time."

The man's expression is blank, yet I could see a fire building in his violet eyes. I chuckle, excited over his brewing vexation.

Upon the impact of another crash of waves, I bend my knees and rock with the movement to remain upright. My hair flies up to the man's face as a gust of wind accompanies us. I push the strands behind my ears, exposing my collarbones further, practically drawing in the man's gaze to the area. I bite my lower lip as I watch him examine my skin and the necklace laid upon it, "perhaps you'd be more willing to speak of another topic? Shall you prefer to ask me something about myself?"

I move back and sit on the side of the ship again, this time facing him.

He was stretched out like a starfish, arms and legs in thick rope, and I could only imagine how uncomfortable he must be, especially since he was still clad in his armor. Oh, how I wonder, with how good he looks in it, how much better he would look without.

After another moment passed with only silence, I decide to speak instead, "your crest. It is similar to the king's." I think of how badly I want to retrace it with my fingers.

His head wobbles again because of the waves.

"I reckon you could be a prince, considering your attire. It would make sense, considering how much gold Ahern got out of you. But then again," I take a moment before continuing. He seemed exasperated and awfully done with it all. Though he had an air of composure around him, with how he was clenching his fists and possibly curling his toes underneath his shoes, he looked like he was about to snap. I smirk deliciously, thinking of nothing else than a way to make him burst, "perhaps you are just so desperate to pass off as a Targaryen."

"Not as desperate as you are to converse with me," he finally responds, though in High Valyrian.

I purse my lips in a small, thoughtful smile, and cross my arms, "I am not the desperate one on Jocelyn," says I in the same language.

He conceals it well, but I could tell he was not expecting me to understand, let alone respond.

For a moment, the two of us stare each other down. If he could, he probably would have lit me on fire with his gaze by now.

"Supper is here," chirps Aldora, walking towards me with a hot dish of food. She dreamily smiles ear to ear as she hands me a bowl.

I smirk back at the shorter woman as I take the food from her, "thank you, my love."

"May I?" she peers up at me with a longing expression.

"You may," I offer my hand, "but what of our Targaryen scum?" My eyes flick over to the said man as Aldora takes my hand and hops up next to me, "what shall he eat?"

Aldora frowns, seating herself snugly close to me, "he's a Targaryen?" She pulls her lips in disgust as I nod. She then presses her lips in an uninterested pout, "matters not. He is our prisoner and dangles on our mercy."

I click my tongue at that, "now, my love, I taught you better than to leave your bed pets hungry," I retort, hopping off in front of the said Targaryen, managing not to spill a drop of food.

Aldora is offended, "you cannot bed him!" She whines, "you are promised to me tonight."

I chuckle, "I jest, love," I turn back to her and give her a quick flying kiss, "still," I turn back to the man and scoop up some food, "I would enjoy it if he joined."

I bring a spoon up to his lips. His jaw clenches slightly as he looks down on me.

"I WOULD NOT!" Aldora exclaims, jumping down behind me. Swiftly, I turn to her, seeing her cross her arms with teary yet angry eyes. She roughly stomps off, thunder and lightning following her.

I can't help but chuckle in amusement, calling out, "Aldora, my love! Do not be cross!"

Ahern, who Aldora shoved right past, huffs at the contact then bellows out, "it'd do you good to get used to it!" He then turns and makes eye contact with me, "she's got a thirst that not even all seven seas can quench."

After a moment tension, Ahern snaps out of his trance and turns back to the direction of my quarters where Aldora locked herself up in, "last time, she left me for you! Imagine how I felt."

"AT LEAST IT WASN'T FOR A PRISONER!" Aldora screams.

"Aye, and a prisoner one time," Ahern mutters, walking off somewhere else in the ship.

"My arm is starting to tire," I speak to the prisoner.

"Both mine are," he quips back, making me chuckle in excitement over his harsh tone.

I put the spoon down on the bowl and raise a brow, "what would you have me do?" I watch his expression then decide to take a bite of food myself. He reverts back into his silence. A brow of mine quirks up in expectation.

When he does nothing but glare, I lose interest, "right."

I crouch down and place the bowl in front of him, nudging it back in place with my boot when it moved around the floor, "tell me when you're finally interested. Then, I can keep you locked up in my quarters instead of here." I stand up and give him a smile, "til then, Targaryen scum, I must pacify Aldora, lest she threaten to throw herself into the sea again."

The said Targaryen only watches as his unhinged captor walks away and enters her quarters. It was not long until the seas calmed, the sun set, and his, along with everyone else's ears were filled with lewd, loud, and wanton groans and cries of womanly pleasure.

His eye twitches as he looks down at the bowl of food in front of him.

The next day, I am munching an apple in front of the silver haired man, yet again waiting for him to wake up, only this time from his sleep.

Our captain, Gorm, who had been watching me watch the prisoner finally decides to walk over.

"Might I?" he asks me before coming closer. I, who was leaning against the side of the ship reach my hand out to him, and take another bite of my apple, wordlessly allowing him to approach me.

He takes my hand and firmly pulls me against him, wrapping his arm around me, securing them under my breasts. I place my arm over his and I continue to finish the rest of my apple.

Gorm leans against me, bending down to match my height, muttering in his mother tongue against my ears, "I don't understand your intrigue. He is hideous compared to me."

I chuckle as I chew before responding in Norse, "you vikings made sure to steal all the pretty women from their husbands," I lean against his chest and crane my neck up to look at his face, "you're wrongfully boasting about your good looks." I take a moment to examine in his blonde hair, blue eyes, and thick lashes, giving his lips a quick peck, then turning away, taking another bite of my snack, "and, he's not so bad. Much more cunning than you could ever be."

Gorm huffs at that, face sinking to my shoulder, pressing a rough kiss on my skin, "he doesn't know what you like."

I giggle at the ticklish feeling, "and I wager he'll learn much quicker than you ever could."

He is fully offended, and releases me abruptly. He then spits at the Targaryen's direction. Lucky for the latter, it misses his face by a hair and lands in front of him with a disgusting splat sound.

It was in this moment, I realize that man was already awake. I excitedly perk up at the sight of his open eyes, "good morn, Targaryen scum!"

He only looks at me again, completely annoyed, face wound in tension, ready to kill.

I smirk at him, "oh don't be so grumpy. If you must know, you are not special to the title scum," I walk over to him, clarifying as I get on my toes and move back and forth, "I think all monarchs and nobles are such."

He watches me as I take another bite of my apple, "hungry, my pet?" I ask as I move the fruit to his lips.

As if on cue, I hear his stomach growl. I decide to ignore it for his sake, although I am sure the involuntary act his body betrayed him with only added much more to his sour awakening.

I instead explain, "I will not feed you if you do not ask me to, for why should I force you when I know how much more effective it'd be to persuade you," I turn between him and my apple, "especially since I, too, am a master of that craft."

The Targaryen scum does not respond in the manner in which I wanted, "where did you steal that?"

My lips quirk at the accusation as I watch his eyes lock on my ruby necklace, "you think so lowly of me, Targaryen scum. This is the only thing on Jocelyn that is truly mine."

Jocelyn? He huffs, asking again "where are you taking me, insolent wench?"

I huff, rolling my eyes, "boring." I release a sigh, "still, if you must know, we're heading west. It's quite pleasant there in this time of year."

The man seems a bit pacified with my answer and I detest it. I click my tongue, "you are too eager to escape, yet you've no idea whose ship you are aboard."

He tilts his head, "you called that nitwit captain."

I cross my arms and shrug, turning to Gorm for a second then back to him.

"It's his ship," he decides.

I bite my apple, then reply, muffled, "does the captain normally own the ship?"

He quips back with his own question, "does the king own the castle?"

I give him a look, "well, that doesn't matter," I reply, "he's the king."

The Targaryen decides to speak to me again in his native tongue, "my sword holds the strength of his king's army behind it."

I chuckle at that, looking down to his hips, where his sword would have been, had I not locked it up with the rest of my spoils, "I see no sword, nor army behind you at all," I look back up to him and step forward, replying in High Valyrian, "you are nameless to me."

His face contorts at that.

I am awfully excited by this. I swirl my tongue across my lips and chuckle.

"Untie me and I will name myself," he responds.

I can't help but throw my head back in laughter, fully amused by how much weight he puts on the revelation of his mere name. Still, the spark behind his eyes makes my stomach churn deliciously, so I say, "I will untie you, if you swear not to touch me without my approval."

He weighs the seriousness of my words. He does not respond, and I am honestly surprised he did not just lie to me just to get what he wanted. I was not stupid enough to think his silence as agreement, and yet I was so eager to see what he would do, to feel him against me, even though I knew his touch would be nothing but attempts to hurt me as hard as he possibly could. It however set a ripple of excitement down to my core. I quickly decided I was ready to be hurt and began to bring my hands up to his left arm. I quirk a brow up, asking, "may I then?"

He again does not respond, but this time, I say, "I will assume you agreed with me, darling."

It work on untying one of his hands. His arm tenses under my touch.

It does not take long before someone catches me in the act and scolds harshly, "OI! DO NOT UNTIE HIM!"

"Or what, Fredson? You'll kill me? He'll kill me?" I chuckle, "good. I cannot stand your snoring."

"Captain!" someone tattles.

There is a moment of commotion then Gorm, fuming, shouts, "YOU WILL NOT UNTIE HIM!" He begins to storm over from the far end of the ship, "I will cut his arm off if you do!"

Continuing to work on the bind, almost fully untying it, I mutter, mostly to myself, "I don't understand how that is a threat to me."

By the time Gorm manages to get here, it's too late. The Targaryen scum already darted his hand to me and struck me across the face with all his might, or at least what was left of it from being tied up so long. Make no mistake he was still strong though, as I literally went spinning on my heels, seeing stars.

Next thing I knew, I was barely conscious yet conscious enough to feel his hot breath against my cheekbone. He had me pressed against him, his arm was around me, choking my neck.

I whine, breathless, bothered, increasingly turned on. I lick my lips and taste blood. I moan after I hear him mutter in High Valyrian, "you are a fool in thinking I would not hurt you."

I barely manage to wheeze out a chuckle, "I wanted you to hurt me."

He does not respond to this as Gorm is barking out multiple long threads of threats, demanding his attention. The rest of the crew is circled around the us, ready to watch whatever is going down next.

The man holding me captive barks, "do you doubt that I could break her neck?"

"No, but think she would enjoy it," Gorm retorts, face contorting.

I choke out a chuckle but it ends with a cough. The blood on my philtrum sprinkles in front of me because of it.

"I may not be bright, but neither are you for thinking you can get anything out of killing her other than yourself getting killed right after," Gorm states.

The Targaryen quickly realizes the rashness of his actions, agreeing internally he was getting nothing out of this. It was especially clear to him or, perhaps the exact opposite of clear, when he was hit from behind, effectively getting knocked out again.

Instantly, my chokehold is freed and I inhale sharply, coughing out in my hasty attempts to catch my breath.

After my lightheadedness faded a bit, I look up and find Aldora to be my savior. With her angry expression, she heaves as she grips a rock, knelt atop of a barrel. She drops the stone to the floor and makes a face at me, "still into him, love?"

I straighten myself up and watch as blood drips form the Targaryen's forehead, "are you doubting me?"

Aldora growls in annoyance and storms off yet again.

I lick what's left of the blood on my lips and turn to Gorm, who is glaring at me in distaste. I tilt my head to the the other light haired man, "unbind him."

"You fucking-"

"We're nearing our destination. We can't possibly leave him tied up, bleeding, and dirty," I retort, "and as you said just now, you are not bright enough to understand most things, so instead of using your head, use your hands to do as I say."

Gorm grips his fists tightly and clenches his jaw. I stare at him, awaiting his compliance. He does just that, albeit begrudgingly, and once he moves, I walk off and mutter, "by the way, tell Ahern it's his turn to be captain now."

When the captive finally woke up after yet another brutalizing, he was met with darkness, or rather, he quickly gathered, a dark prison cell.

"Good, you're awake," I smiled, looking over to him from the other side of the cell where I sat, "again."

The man that was sitting with his arms on his lap when realized he had something on his head.

"It's the last of the ice that hadn't melted yet," I tell him, hand through the wooden bars, holding a wrapped chunk of ice to his skull, "it helps with these injuries. Though since you're supposedly a dragon, perhaps this is uncomfortable for you."

He groans, slowly turning to me.

I pull my hand away, only to bring the ice down to his lap, "once again, you tired my arm."

He turns to the ice and places it back on his head as he moves to stand. I rise too, much quicker than he, then purse my lips in a small smile, "come now. Honor our deal. I should like know what to moan out next time you think to choke me."

He finally stands, his free hand slamming on the bars as he got his footing, "I am a prince of house Targaryen, you mad wench!"

I knit my brows at him, "I'm thinking you might not be as smart as I gave you credit for. I asked for your name, not your title."

"Let me out of this cell and I swear I will spare you to annoy another sorry bloke on your next expedition," he grunts.

I make a sound in thought, half faux-thinking about it, half enjoying how quickly his lips loosened after taking another hit, "I don't like that deal," I decide, instead showing him the elixir I had in hand, "how about you tell me your name and I give you this."

He leans against the bars, looking out at me.

"It's moonshine."

He pulls away, instantly uninterested.

"Mėnulio distira," I mutter, renaming it, or rather calling it for what it is, "it's used now to help women with labor pains, but it was first made-"

"Made to help warriors heal from their battle wounds," he continues, interested again, "where did you get that?"

"You have no sense for bartering, Targaryen scum," I reply to him in his mother tongue.

He discards the melted block he held, and leans both his hands on the bars, peering down at me, "Daemon Targaryen," he starts, "Prince of Dragonstone."

I raise my brows at that, chuckling, "an ambitious title to covet, Daemon."

He words out carefully, as if each syllable that left his was laced in flames, "I am heir to the iron throne."

"Ooooh," I blow out and end with a giggle, "that would have been true had the king not named his daughter, Rhaenyra, successor."

Daemon's face darkens at that. His ears ring upon realizing there was knowledge of this on the ship, and yet nothing of him. He suddenly felt as though he was toyed with.

I coo at him, "find no offence in my lack of knowledge of you, Daemon. -"

"I am your prince!"

"- I only know of this news because it was so exciting that a woman would succeed after a long line of raggedy old fucks."

Daemon seethes with venom, yet a sardonic smirk adorns his lips, "and you think my niece will empower impertinent, common whores like you?"

My jaw tightens at that. I lick my lips, pressing my tongue on my top front teeth, "it's funny how you wish to taint me by calling me a whore, and yet," I release an airy chuckle, "it's men like you that degrade women to be perceived as such. It's your filthy, little cock that is devaluing."

It's his turn to laugh, "you act as if," he steps closer, hands going to his side, "you were not so eagerly lusting after my" he raises his brows, "filthy, little cock moments ago."

I choke on my saliva as I laugh.

Daemon watches me and cannot hold back the curving of his lips.

I slap my hand on my chest as I attempt to catch my breath, "you are the most amusing man I have ever met."

"I am closer to the gods than man," he retorts, "you'd be wise to remember, bitch."

"You know," I raise a hand at him, "out of all the kinks and the thousand ones I have, this is the only one I don't."

The man smirks, leaning down to see my face clearer, "worry not, I'll break it into you."

I smile back at him, raising the vial in my hand, "I like a challenge," then throw the object to him.

He catches it with ease and looks up at me with a calculating gaze.

Before I could tell him anything else though, Gorm comes thundering down towards us, "that bastard better be alive, or else he'll be food for the kraken."

"Gorm!" I chirp, smiling at the blonde man stomping over, "he's well awake, but just to make sure everything goes smoothly during dinner, I gave him the elixir."

"You fucking what?" Gorm does a double take, raising a hand.

Daemon, in this moment, looks at the bottle in his hand and begins to waive his doubts on it.

I shake my head and shrug, "we can't really use him if he's fucked up in the head, now can we?"

Gorm breaks into a fit and releases a string of Norse cusses. I raise my hands in an attempt to calm him. I don't manage to place my palms on his shoulder as he raises his own and fists them, growling in frustration. He darts his hands to the bars and growls, "give me the vial!"

Daemon, at this point, uncorked the vial and downs the liquid in one go.

In that moment, Gorm sighs, releasing all the tension in his body, defeated. "May I?" I mutter as he nods on instinct. I place a hand on his shoulder and smile up at him, "I told you. There's nothing to worry about."

Gorm takes a moment to respond before breaking into a chuckle, "you're too cunning for your own good. What if he dies before we manage to break into Suston's treasury?"

Daemon knits his brows upon hearing that.

"I'm pretty sure he won't cause delay since he's adamant about being a prince and all. It's his death anyway."

"His death?" Daemon repeats, "who's death?"

Gorm looks over to him, as do I, then knits his brows, "what? Was I the one that drank the poison willingly?"

Daemon's eyes quickly dart to me. I turn to Gorm, chuckling, "stop pretending to be witty when you're nervous this dinner will last half a day long."

"Well it could!" he whines and groans simultaneously.

I make a face at that, just as Daemon asks in High Valyrian, "did you fucking feed me poison?"

Gorm looks at him, stupidly and annoyed, "what did he say?"

"He asked me if I fed him poison."

Gorm scoffs, "you drank the poison yourself, Targaryen scum."

Daemon's eyes flicker over to Gorm, tenfold not enjoying how the insult rolled off his tongue. It was poison all along. Daemon shoots me a look, sighing, releasing an angry string of curses, to which I give a soft smile and shrug.

"Calm yourself, pet. As you've overheard you have half a day until it actually does anything. In the meantime, you can help us if you want to get the antidote."

He replies in his native language, "what makes you think I'd be willing to do anything you tell me to do?"

I blink at him and shrug again, "then die."

Gorm begins breaking a sweat, "but you said the King-"

"There'll be no way for the King to know who poisoned him. Unless he gets smart and finds something on this ship distinct enough to bind to us."

"Like your pretty necklace," Daemon notes, eyeing the jewelry around my neck. He leans on the bars.

I look down to my chest and find myself chuckling, "but you said it was stolen."

"But you said it wasn't," he retorts, "regardless, at this point, many have seen you in your flashy accessory." The prince sticks his hand out through the bars and I smile. He is more cunning than what he let on.

I don't hesitate and yank the jewelry off me, throwing it over to him. He again catches the object easily and observes the rock on a golden chain, swearing to himself for the nth time since first seeing it on the piece of jewelry that he's seen it before, and yet he cannot recall where.

"Now that all's fair," I sigh, "I'll let you out of your cage and-"

"Wait, how is all fair?!" Gorm asks, face souring in confusion.

"Gorm!" I sigh, "He just agreed to help us, since he can't do anything anyway. I gave him the necklace so that if we let him die, the king will find a way to find us," I turn to Daemon, "if they manage to find his body."

"But we won't let him die!" Gorm retorts, "he's got too much leverage on us!"

I roll my eyes, exasperated, moving to unlock his cell, "I'll explain it to you when you're older."

"Do not be so comfortable with the idea of riding with her," Ahern says, arms crossed, as he adjusts the straps on the horse Daemon is mounted on.

He, who was on the steed, now clean and in fresh, noble attire, looks down at the man and gives nothing but a blank expression, "don't be so bothered by the idea of me riding her."

Ahern snaps his gaze onto him, "you fucking cunt-"

"Why is he on the horse?" I ask, dropping the skirt I held, giving both men a look of annoyance.

Daemon, in this moment, became acutely aware of the scenery. The ship, Daemon learned was named Jocelyn, was resting in the dock. The sun was setting yet again, creating this warm orange atmosphere. I was no longer in trousers and a dress, instead, I was in a deep red dress, with the neckline dipping teasingly, deliciously low. Usually, my necklace would be the cynosure of my outfit, but it was currently in the Targaryen scum's pocket.

"I am your husband," Daemon recounts that detail of the plans we made, "I would not insult my lady wife by letting her do all the work."

I narrow my eyes, ignoring him, "where is my carriage, Ahern?" I ask the red head, making him avert his gaze elsewhere. He clears his throat and starts, "well..."

"Well?"

"We lost it."

"You lost my fucking carriage?"

Ahern finally turns to me and bursts, "it was Gorm's fault! I've only just been captain today! He said there was an issue in the stables and some thieves came and-"

My sigh cuts him off. Rolling my eyes, I turn to the man propped on the horse, observing the careful look he had, "I should do the work since my husband and my men have no idea what they're doing."

Daemon's lips smirk as he extends his hand out to me, "you need only tell me where to steer my steed."

I stare at him for a long moment, shaking my head as his lips curve deeper, "pull me up, my lord husband."

His stomach ignites at that, twice as much as arms wrapped around him. In fact, his entire body was churning ever since that moment.

When we arrived to our destination, a private banquet held by Magnus of house Suston in his estate, I changed character, holding my head up with grace, practically skating instead of walking.

Daemon could not mask his astonishment of me, though he was trying quite hard to. From the way I unmounted the horse, to how I casually greeted every servant we passed, it was clear to me he was taken aback by how easily I played the part.

And so dramatically, just before we entered the banquet hall, Daemon grabs my arm and pulls me close to him to a stop, "who the in the name of the gods are you?"

I look up at him then to the hand he had on me. Daemon turns to the skin he was holding then releases me. I clench my jaw, clicking my tongue, bringing my hands to his face, "may I, husband?"

He knits his brows, still seemingly unable to understand my need to continuously ask for permission before touching him. Still, his face softens, then he says, "I am yours, wife."

I brush my hands on his cheeks, gently, tracing the curve of his jaw, "I told you as we recounted our plans for tonight on the ship that I was invited as a lady of an esteemed house. Once I put a dress on such as this, I am just that," I pull a smile, "which is why I will not cut your finger off."

Daemon is not satisfied with the answer.

I sigh, pulling my hand away, "I thought perhaps you would have figured out by now, since you have my necklace in your pocket," I begin to walk off, eyes still locked in Daemon's, "I am the heir of house Rubin."

Daemon's jaw loosens at that, that's why the crest looked familiar.

I smirk, knowing well that his shocked expression was due to the fact the very house I was speaking of has not stood for about as long as I have been alive. Or at least, not in any way that counts.

"Lady Rubin!" the man, who was seated at the head of the table exclaims the moment we walk in the banquet hall.

I smile at him, "sir Magnus Suston!"

I walk over to him, forcing back a look of disgust at his eagerness. I stop a few steps early since he took it upon himself to walk over and raise his hand out to me.

Daemon watches as I uncomfortably take his hand. Magnus places a kiss on my skin a second too long that I rip my hand away.

He is unbothered as his eyes dart to the man by my side, "and who might this be?"

I turn over to Daemon, "this, sir Magnus," I turn back to him, "is my prince husband," I pull my smile wider, "of house Targaryen."

Magnus' face falls as he releases a gasp, utterly baffled, "y-your grace! Your majesty!" He breaks into a loud and nervous chuckle, "I was unaware you would be gracing our company tonight. I-I-I am honored by your presence."

Daemon hums, annoyed by his squeaking, "yes. My lady insisted on honoring her visit to your," he looks around the place, "dwelling. Yet it was beneath me to allow my wife visit a man in these hours by herself. Impertinent of you to ask for her presence at this time, don't you agree?"

"Ye-yes, of course," he starts, fidgeting, "I was completely unaware the lady was wed, I-"

"Thought you had a chance with her?" Daemon blurts, raising a brow.

"I- I-" Magnus attempts to start but could not possibly continue with how absolutely petrified he was under the prince's gaze.

The prince turns to me, uncaring of the other person, "shall we sit?"

I give him a smile as he pulls the chair out for me.

Magnus mutters something about us sitting and making ourselves comfortable but it's all incoherent, and his words only become clear once Daemon is sat down next to me, "tis not Marcus, your eminence... but Magnus."

Daemon turns man across him, face completely uninterested and annoyed.

Magnus tugs on his collar with his finger, clarifying, "my name, your grace."

"Does it matter how I refer to a low born?" Daemon asks, leaning against the chair, raising his nose.

I purse my lips at that, turning to my side, crooning out, "my love."

The sound is ineffable and absolutely delicate to Daemon's ears. He was unable to hold in his surprise, nor the chuckles that came after. He clears his throat in an attempt to calm himself, "my apologies, my love," he continues in High Valyrian, "but he's got his head too far up his arse for a peasant, no?"

"He is not a peasant since he now owns a large expanse of land," I retort in the same tongue.

"Well, he won't for much longer anyway," Daemon replies, turning to the empty cups before him. He reverts back to our common language, "will you not serve me wine, Mark?"

Magnus shoots up from his chair, taking a jar of wine and circling over to pour Daemon a cup. He then moves to pour me a drink, but Daemon promptly blocks him, hand covering the cup, "will you not even ask her if she wants wine? She could be with bearing my child for all you know."

I turn to Daemon's enraged look, pressing my thighs together under my skirt before consequently crossing them over each other.

"I- ah," Magnus starts, reeling backward, "apologies my lady, I-"

"She is not your lady," Daemon retorts, face twisting at the man's trembling squeaks. The prince lowers his gaze upon me, expression calming but a fraction, "would you like a glass of wine, my love?"

I break into a smile, "might I just drink from your cup instead?"

He wastes no time. He grabs his cup and hands it over to me. With my lips curved in a smile, I take the object from him, and after taking a sip, handed it back to Daemon, who promptly downed it contents. Upon placing the cup back on the table, he looks over his shoulder, annoyed by the lingering presence, "you stand there and yet we have no food on the table still."

Magnus' eye twitches as he grips the pitcher with much force. He scurries off back to his seat and paces back and forth, unknowing if he should sit or run off somewhere, "my deepest apologies, your grace. Usually my servants do not take this long."

And as if on cue, there is a piercing shriek from the distance.

Magnus gasps, already on edge, completely taken aback by the noise. He stutters, sitting down tensely, "wha-t- what was that?"

Daemon takes his cowardly expression, noticing him shiver. He raises his brows, "is that not one of your help? Are you so stupid to not even know where the sound is coming from?"

Magnus covers his head in fear as there is a loud crashing sound followed by grunts and more shouts. He turns to us, looking for some sort of comfort, but is met by only my stoic gaze and Daemon's vexed one.

All at once then, the banquet hall's doors burst open with a loud sound, and Gorm, followed by the rest of our crew walks in with plates of food. The tall blonde stills when he sees the shriveled up man of the house, "you still haven't killed him yet?"

Magnus grips his chest as he involuntarily stands and screams, "WHO ARE YOU!? What have you done to Helena?!"

Gorm, who was holding an entire pot of what I assume was stew, moves to place the food on the table and draw his sword. Upon doing so, Magnus runs over to the wall in fear. He halts where a sword was mounted. He grabs it and screams, holding it up in his defense, "get out of my house! All of you! GET OUT!"

Gorm walks over to the terrified man, ready to behead him, but he is stopped my Daemon, who quickly stands, "no." The Targaryen turns to him and raises his hand, wordlessly asking for Gorm's weapon.

Gorm looks down on the shorter prince, then scoffs.

"Give it to him, Gorm," I say.

Magnus' breath hitches, seemingly only now realizing what was happening, "you treacherous whore! You brought them here?!"

Daemon turns to Magnus as the latter screams with tears staining his face, "and, what? This is the prince of the realm? You lying piece of-" he is unable to end his words, as he broke into a shriek as Daemon went upon him. Magnus attempts to swing at him, but Daemon quickly knocks the sword out of his hand and promptly ends the squeaks by beheading.

Blood splutters as the body drops to the floor. Daemon makes a disgusted face as he turns back to me. He walks over, handing Gorm his bloody sword. Once he's sat back down, he looks around the room and calls, "where's the fucking food?"

The crew trickle in, laying the food that was prepared by the now dead servants onto the table. Daemon wastes no time in digging in.

I watch as he stuffs his mouth with chicken and say, "you enjoyed that."

"He's a squeaky son of a bitch," he responds in High Valyrian, ripping off a leg of chicken with his hands, placing it on my empty plate.

I look at the food and break into a smile, "thank you."

"Eat up, for I will tire you tonight, wife," he continues in his native tongue, nonchalant, not even looking at me.

I chuckle, propping my hands on the table, ignoring everything else but the eating prince beside me, "I was under the impression you would be leaving the moment we were done."

Daemon swallows the food in his mouth then grabs a piece of cloth on the table, wiping his fingers on it, "I did this much as your lord husband," he turns to me, "might as well claim all that's left of mine."

"I belong to no one, Targaryen scum," I smirk, responding in High Valyrian. He mirrors my expression as I continue, "you will find that your armor and your sword is on the horse we rode on a while ago," I then reach into my top, fingers slipping between my breasts.

Daemon watches my actions intently, hands tightening into a fist.

"All that's left is this," I say, pulling out a vial, "it's a bit warm, having stayed under my breast all night. I hope you don't mind."

He watches as I place the object in front of him, speaking again in his native tongue, "dragons prefer warmth." Daemon stares at the small thing for a moment, then turns back to me, wordlessly examining my face.

After a few moments pass, he brings his hands up, then mutters, in the same language, "may I?"

I nod.

Daemon brushes the back of his hand on my collarbones, making me release a breath at the gentle action. His eyes are stuck on my skin, my own are stuck on his lips. I feel my body burn in warmth as his hands make it to my nape, where his fingers begin to dig into the root of my hair, "you should be more cautions."

I lean against his hand, silently looking at him, as he continues, "House Rubin has fallen decades ago."

The forming smile on my lips falter as he suddenly withdraws from me.

He thinks I'm an imposter. How daft of him.

Still, I cannot help but release an airy chuckle at the look he gives me. I push my shoulders back, "does it matter if a pirate falsifies claims?"

He smirks, then tuts, "oh doe. Any wolf would know you are the very ruby of that house," he brushes the back of his hand on my cheek, making my stomach swirl, "how many souls must have perished to ensure your survival." His hands then move down my neck. He presses his palms flush against my throat, fingers fiddling with my jaw, "and how many more will follow in attempts to covet the very ruby in my hands."

Daemon grows excited, feeling the pulse under his thumb quicken.

Swiftly then, he pulls away then inquires in High Valyrian, "how do I know this won't finish the job?"

Skin still so aware of the feeling of his hand on my neck, I take a moment to realize what he means. I turn to where he was looking and let out a hmp, "how do you know if I even poisoned you truly to begin with?"

Daemon smiles, drawing his hand out again. I anticipated his touch, and yet the tease places it on the table, "you remind me of Caraxes."

"Your dragon?" I ask, just as he moves for the elixir and hands it over to me. He does not speak a word and only stares at me.

I knit my brows, "what? Do you want me to drink it?"

He purses his lips at that, seemingly agreeing.

I raise my brows, taking the object, uncorking it, "and then what? There'll be nothing left for you, moron," I then break into a chuckle, "unless you want me to put it in my mouth and spit it into yours."

Daemon smirks, leaning onto the table as he continues in High Valyrian, "then at least we'll be poisoned together."

I am unable to hold in my laughter, "you're fucking crazy."

Daemon raises his brows.

I stand and step forward, "may I then?"

"So long as I keep getting to touch you," he responds, pushing his chair back. He spreads his legs and rubs his hands on his lap, beckoning me over. I respond my pulling my skirt up and placing a knee on his lap. I bring a hand to his neck and push his head up to me. His hands go to sides and grip tightly on my waist.

I throw my head back, pouring the liquid in my mouth. I close my lips as I lower my head to meet Daemon's. I press my mouth against his, slowly allowing the antidote to trickle onto his tongue. Daemon pulls me down on him and I adjust my legs atop his. He laps his tongue out to my lips, taking in the liquid greedily until there's nothing left but moans in me. It's all very messy as the liquid surely does not all go into his mouth, yet it was so very scrumptious.

"Oh for fuck's sake, get a room," someone calls angrily.

I am abruptly pulled off after this. I barely manage to look at Daemon as he suddenly stands and grabs me, bending down and throwing me over his shoulder.

"They're all fools to think you would not be heard from here," Daemon says, kicking the doors of a room open. It was a great stroke of luck that he found the master bedroom. Not that it mattered, I would let him have me wherever he wanted. And judging by how he threw me onto the bed, I’m certain he thinks the same way.

I sit up on the cushions and watch him as he crawls over to me. His brows quirk at the sight of the blankets, "that squeaky moron has horrible taste."

I waste no time in grabbing his face once he is close enough, placing heated kisses onto his lips. He leans into me, body pressing against mine, hands scratching at the fabric on my back in an attempt to undo my dress.

He pulls away from me so he could work on getting me naked.

I can’t help but laugh at his fervor, “easy, boy, you might hurt yourself.”

I manage to see him clench his jaw before he stands up from the bed and yanks at my corset. He effectively shoves me face down onto the cushion and rips my skirt back so my folded legs were now flat on the surface. He then climbs atop me, groin on my bum, and undoes my laces, ripping it all the way open. Once he’s finished, he digs his nails firmly into my skin in an upward motion, “you will know your place, bitch.”

He moves off me, only to flip me over and climb atop me again. This time around though, he bunches my skirt up and brings his hands in between my thighs, making way for himself in between them.

“I should ruin your pretty little dress, so you won’t be able to use it anymore,” he mutters, pressing his pants on my bare core, earning a moan from me.

I reach my arms out for him as I grunt, “ruin me with your Targaryen seed.”

Daemon brings his hands on either side of my thighs and roughly kneads on my flesh, “you would enjoy that won’t you, little come slut?”

His hands dart to the collar of my dress and he roughly rips it off, causing me to grunt. I shift in my spot, raising my arms, wriggling out of the fabric as he pulls it over my head. For a moment, I am caught in the expanse of my own skirt, then I am fully stripped beneath him. Right after throwing my dress off to the side, my hands work on undoing his breeches, but I am so rudely slapped away.

I give him a pointed look, but it falters after he catches my wrists and pins it over my head with his hands, “I am your prince husband. You are subservient to my mercy.”

His face is close to mine when he says this and so I give an open-mouthed moan, “fuck me good, prince husband, I beg.”

He chuckles. He keeps my wrists under one hand and brings his free one down my face, “so eager,” his palm rests on the side of my neck, “perhaps I shall take you back with me and wife you in Dragonstone.”

Taking this moment of tenderness to my advantage, I attempt to free my hands under his. However, I find that I underestimated his strength. His one hand on my wrists pull my limbs upward, making me whine. He clicks his tongue, “you don’t like that?” Daemon’s other hand runs firmly down from my neck to my core where he then rubs on my soaking folds, “you would prefer to be my come whore, hmm? Such a lowly dream”

He hisses, as do I, when he pushes two fingers in me, “your cunt belongs to me now. You will not be able to have anyone else’s cock but mine.”

I chuckle at his words, “you’re a lot of talk for someone so opposed to the idea of me undressing him.”

Daemon’s eyes darken. He shoves himself off me and kneels, “undress me, then, whore.”

I take in his looks, his expectant gaze, the hardened length beneath his trousers, and yet I cross my arms, “no.”

“No?” he repeats harshly, although there was no trace of anger in his voice. It was in fact of excitement.

“I will not submit to a man who perceives me to be a lesser version of him.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, removing his shirt by himself, “I remember your distaste for this, my dear ruby,” he throws his shirt aside and I lick my lips at the sight of his toned chest, “you are right not to enjoy these words when they came out of the mouths of all the trolls that fucked you before me.

“But like I said,” he grabs my hand from my chest, continuing in High Valyrian, “I’ll break it into you.” He pulls me up, bringing my palms to his waist, “strip me, while you still can.”

I sit up, fingers digging into his garment, replying in his language as I lick my lips, “or else what, Targaryen scum?”

“Or else you won’t be able to do anything with your hands at all.”

I groan at the thought, feeling my stomach roll. My hands then dart up to his face and I heatedly kiss him, savoring the taste of his tongue. My fingers travel back down, fiddling with the string of his clothes. I take a moment to nibble on his lower lip before I pull away and lie back down with my arms over my chest again, “do your worst.”

“You insufferable minx,” he quips proceeding then to climb off the bed. For a moment, I am confused and a little concerned, but then I see him rip at the tassel of the drapes, carelessly bringing the window’s cover to the floor. He winds the rope in his hand as he draws closer to me, “turn over.”

I bite my lips and cross my legs, “no.”

Daemon laughs, darting for my ankle, yanking me towards him, “turn over, my pretty little whore.”

“Fuck you,” I retort.

He wastes no time and roughly grabs me, flipping me over himself. My body is buzzing at the feeling of his rough hands on my bum.

“Not at this rate, you’re not,” Daemon replies, hands grabbing my arms, forcing them behind me, tying them with the rope still attached to the curtain that was dangling near the bed helplessly. He then pulls my hips up, bringing me on my knees. My face pressed on the bed as he climbs behind me and fiddles with my heat, “so deviant for no reason,” he notes in his language.

His fingers tease my entrance, and my voice betrays me because of it, “you—enjoy it.”

He laughs again, pumping two digits in and out of me, “not as much as you.”

Daemon feasts on the lewd sounds, absolutely basking in the slickness dripping from his fingers. He positions his free hand on my hip, digging his nails in my flesh roughly. He focuses on my heat around his fingers and quickly eases in an orgasm. I let out a pained grunt when he withdraws before I could come though. Although I was expecting it from him, I still bark in anger, “Targaryen scum.”

He tuts, rubbing my back, “come now…” he teases, “you didn’t expect to be rewarded for your insolence.”

“I can fuck myself better with my fingers."

Daemon laughs, “I’m sure from now on you’ll imagine they were mine.” He then brings his wet fingers to my mouth, wanting me to lick them clean. For the most part, I do, but he yelps when I bite down. I lick my lips after he pulls away, smirking in victory.

He grabs me by the hair, pulling me all the way until I'm upright. I whine in pain, yet feeling my body burn in excitement. He mutters hotly against my ear, “let’s put that mouth of yours to good use.”

He shoves me down and I hear him work on his pants. I roll over, grunting as with my arms still bound behind me. I chuckle, “who’s eager now?”

Daemon’s length springs free. The idea of him burying himself in me makes my breath hitch. He discards his pants to the side, “you won’t be so verbose after I burn my seed down your throat.”

I stick my tongue out and giggle.

In all his strength, he rearranges me like a doll. He gets me on my knees and sits in front of me, wordlessly commanding me to do his bidding. I obey and take him in my mouth eagerly. His hand is controlling the bobbing of my head and I feel utterly pleased with myself upon hearing his satisfied grunts. After relishing in his profanities, I begin to constrict him in my teeth.

He whines, “less teeth, viper.”

I use more teeth.

His grip on my hair tightens but his arm movement still.

I begin to laugh, but he’s so big that I can’t, so I begin to choke.

Daemon revels in the feeling for a moment, pushing himself deeper into my mouth before ripping me off him, allowing me to catch my breath. I heave as he brings my ruined face up to meet him eye to eye. His other hand grips my jaw, “if you will not obey, I will come in your cunt and leave you bound and unsatisfied.”

I lick my lips, head banging at the pain he was eliciting from all the hair pulling, “you would risk leaving a baby dragon inside me?”

I smirk at him, whining as he pulls my head back slowly. It seems I hit a chord as Daemon’s face is unreadable. Suddenly, he releases his grip and shoves me down. He claws at my legs then presses my knees to my breast. All at once, I am a loud moaning mess as he enters me without another word and beats into me without a break of pace.

The sound of skin hammering against each other is overpowered by my screams of pleasure. If I had known that what it took to get him going, I would have lead with that.

Daemon pistons himself in an angle so sweet that I can feel a fire so hot build in my belly. His lips are latched on my neck, sucking, biting, licking. Overly sensitive already, it doesn't take long until I uncoil beneath him and his brutality.

I am reeling, absolutely spent, utterly boneless beneath him, loosing my breath all over again.

He does not relent however, and I whine in a mix of both pain and pleasure at his lack of courtesy for me to come down from my high. I quake beneath him, repeating his name like a prayer, unsure if I wanted him to stop or keep fucking me raw.

My throat begins to burn at my obscene sounds that left my lips. I barely manage to hear him as he speaks to me

“They say a pleasured wife brings forth a male heir,” Daemon jaggedly mumbles, “will you be a dutiful lady wife and spawn me a son?”

My head is spinning at his words. Too keen on chasing this rebuilding high however, I spew out words in the heat of moment, “yes. Fuck yes. Burn your seed into me. Put a child in me, Daemon.”

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing my jaw, “your cunt is so eager for me, wife, do you feel it?”

My only response is my filthy groans.

My eyes are flooded by tears when I finally come around him for the second time. Daemon wastes no time and follows. He digs himself balls deep into me, shooting out every bit of himself inside. The feeling is so hot, I could barely feel my legs around him nor how my toes curl.

I relish in the feeling of his weight on top me. My arms behind me hurt twice as much as I remember I cannot even touch him.

“You will not move an inch, slut,” he mutters after catching his breath. He pulls away from me and I whine at the action, not enjoying the emptiness that came after. I watch him as he goes about the room and collects his clothes. He begins to dress himself and I stupidly look at him as he mutters, “if you do not fall with child, I will consider it treason.”

Once he is clothed, he walks over to me and turns to my legs. He pushes them together. I squeak when he digs his hands on my leaking core and presses a kiss on my belly, “you’re wasting my seed.”

With that, he gives me one last look and walks away.

Many moons had passed since then. It was almost as long as the years since the prince has been away from his home.

Daemon decided not to recount this encounter with pirates to a single soul, not even to Lord Corlys, who was enraged by his absence and began to believe he had forsaken him in their battle in The Stepstones. He played off his lack of appearance as with vague reasons of failed outsourcing, already irritated by the idea of people gossiping about how he was captured by a bunch of slow witted pirates had he told him the truth. Corlys obviously did not buy it, but he had no time to press on about the matter as the issue with the Crab Feeder was more imminent.

Daemon wonders what became of his captor after killing that Suston man. He would look at the ruby necklace he kept on him from time to time, wondering when he could use it to his capture his captor in return. He had yet to also make use of the fact the pirate claimed to be a Rubin, a house that was dissolved during the height of a war in their region. That, and he was owed a son.

"You look deep in thought, uncle," Rhaenyra notes walking over to him. Daemon had his feet up in the table and his back slumped on the chair as he chewed on some grapes.

He responds to the princess in High Valyrian, "I'm merely enjoying my time back home."

Rhaenyra chuckles, walking closer, "I did not know you were fond of this place."

Daemon watches as she sits down next to him and asks, "tell me about your adventures in the Stepstones."

He shakes his head, "what is there to tell but the fact there was blood and loss, before our eventual victory."

"Come now," she smirks leaning in, "they sing your name great praises and even gave you a title, yet you cannot think to tell me much more than that?"

"War is not a dazzling story, princess," he turns to her, giving a smirk, "you would be wise to be a benevolent Queen."

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes and shakes her head, muttering in her native speech, "the irony of my uncle telling me this."

"But you enjoy my irony, don't you, my niece," Daemon chuckles in response in the same tongue, bringing his hand to her head, ruffling her hair playfully.

She swats at his hand and shoves Daemon off with narrowed eyes, "well if you will not speak to me of your battles, tell me then if it is true you had an encounter with pirates."

Rhaenyra watches his face grows stoic as he mutters, "they were all pirate, girl."

"No," she shakes her head, "I overheard the servants speak about you dealing with a crew who had women onboard. They say you were turned away after asking them for help."

Daemon straightens up as he laughs, not even taking a moment to wonder how anyone even knew this, "more like I turned from them after they'd forced help out of me."

"So it's true, then!" her voice goes a pitch higher in excitement, "you had encounters with women pirates."

Daemon takes her expression in, "does that please you, Rhaenyra?"

"I think it's exciting to know there are fearsome individuals out there who bleed every month just as I."

Daemon blows out a breath that bubbles out into a fit of chuckles. He grabs a few more grapes, eating some, throwing one at his companion, "you're all fucking mad."

Rhaenyra narrows her eyes at her uncle yet again, "you mean all women? We're all mad?"

"Yes," he stands, smoothing out his pants, "but then again if I bled every month I think I would be so as well."

"My Prince," a voice calls, and Daemon turns to the guard who interrupt the laugh he was sharing with his niece, "Lord Corlys has requested your presence."

Daemon's mood does a total 180, "he is aware I am not entertaining anyone."

"My apologies your grace, but he insisted that it was urgent. He says it's about House Rubin."

Rhaenyra watches his uncle's face shift. Daemon's mood does yet another 180 and promptly decided to answer to the call.

He quickly regards his niece and heads off right after.

"Lord Corlys," Daemon nods upon entering his chambers, "you have news for me."

"Nothing that either of us don't already know," says Corlys, arms crossed as he stood by the table where the necklace Daemon had lent him was laid out, "the house of Rubin and all its heirs died during a skirmish, leaving their wealth and land ripe for the pickings of whoever stake their claim."

The prince nods, eyes going to the necklace on the table, "and what of this?"

"I've had a jeweler inspect it and he said he knew exactly who designed this and who had it commissioned."

Corlys and Daemon turn to each other as the former says, "it was made in the north by the request of the Lannisters as a gift for the Rubins."

"And yet I found it on the neck of a pirate," Daemon smirks, picking the ruby necklace up.

"It is not surprising, considering house Rubin was most definitely looted after its fall. They were also situated close to sea folk. Our houses once joined hands in the expeditions of the sea. Hearing of their demise was a sad day even for us."

Funny, Daemon thinks.

"Now, tell me what this has to do with the pirate ship that robbed 2 more of my ships blind."

Daemon's lips quirk, "that makes 14," he releases a chuckle, much to Corlys' annoyance. "What if I told you, Lord Corlys, that capturing the captain of that pirate crew could not only grant you satisfaction but could reignite your alliance with the house of Rubin."

Lord Corlys shakes his head, "and why would I want an alliance with a dead house?"

"Perhaps since it was that house that robbed your countless ships blind."

Corlys does not follow. Daemon raised his brows, "the captain is the remaining heir. Why snuff out the last of its remains when you could built it up and use it as an extension of your power. Your men have seen the might of Jocelyn first hand, did they not?"

For a moment, Corlys wonders who Jocelyn is, until he remembers that was the name of the ship. "What makes you think this Rubin-turned-pirate would swear fealty to me?" he raises a brow.

"Willingly? Perhaps not," Daemon smirks, "but is it not so much more fun to break it in?"

"That is not their captain," Daemon speaks.

Corlys instantly gives the order to execute the man with a simple hand gesture. "Yes," he responds, "yet it seems like they're not running out of captains any time soon as each time we capture someone who knows anything about that ship, Jocelyn, they claim to be the captain. Still, that fucking ship is still lurking the sea."

Daemon's lips curve upward, "perhaps they were captain for a while."

The other white haired man knits his brows, "what?"

The prince ignores this, "your error is in assuming their captain would be an ugly man."

"Are you saying the captain is a beautiful woman?"

"I'm saying the captain of the ship is the remaining heir of the house Rubin," he retorts, "you ought to be more careful of how quickly you kill your captives."

Corlys narrows his eyes at this, "does it matter if we restore this supposed 'true heir' when no one would be the wiser if I hailed a stable boy as a Rubin."

"It matters if you want an alliance with a fiery strategist who managed to steal from your ship, not once, but 18 times now, was it-- in broad daylight, or--" Daemon turns to the dead body that was being dragged out, "you want one with a smelly imbecile that's walking dead weight."

"Then what do you suggest I do, my prince," he asks, voice growing irritated.

"Nothing more," Daemon nods, "I'll do it myself."

"Targaryen scum," I smile, voice genuinely excited upon seeing the face of the man walking over to me. "You got a haircut," I say baring the blood on my teeth as I smile, "I am impressed to tell you that it suits you, even though I prefer long hair."

Daemon takes in my appearance, eyes raking over the blood that was on my face and clothes. He turns over to one of the guards, barking, "did you do this to her?"

The guard quickly shakes his head, "n-no, your grace. But I was told she did attack and injure multiple men."

Daemon's anger is calmed after this, though his face makes no change, "leave us."

Once it was only him, I, and the chains on the wall that I was bound to, he steps forward, licking his lips as he brings his hands up to my face, "may I?"

I look up at him, lips curving into a smile, "you may."

Daemon pushes back the hair that was stuck on my skin with sweat, tucking it behind my ears. He then begins in High Valyrian, "you could not resist me, could you?"

I lean against his hand as he places both of them on my cheeks. I pout, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Daemon chuckles, fingers gently pulling away from my face, "did you not hear about my presence in the Stepstones and purposefully hijacked those Velaryon ships..." he hums, "perhaps out of spite?"

I screw my eyes shut as I break into a hearty laugh, "out of spite over what, pray tell?"

"Leaving you tied up in bed," he mutters, placing his hands behind his back.

"And I am bound now as we speak, yet I share laughter with you," I raise my brows, "must a pirate really explain their motive for stealing?"

"Perhaps not," Daemon responds, turning down to my belly. He presses a hand on it, "how has your womb been?"

I chuckle, "it seems your seed is defective," I narrow my eyes, "there was so much of it in me, and yet nothing came forth from it."

He grabs my face with both hands again, "worry not. I will wife you up again soon enough."

Upon his mention, I recall a detail I learned that angered me. I clench my jaw, replying in High Valyrian, "perhaps it was precisely because you had an actual lady wife at the time that your own seed was against your wishes to get me pregnant."

Daemon chuckles, pulling his hands away, "jealous?"

"No." I respond, "I pity your bride that you treated so poorly."

The prince rolls his eyes, "oh, don't worry, my dear ruby, for the ugly beast has since been relieved of her duties upon her trip to the underworld."

"Fucking Targaryen scum."

Daemon watches my expression grow dark then chuckles, "are you not excited to perform your duties to me?"

"That's why you had my crew gutted?" I bark back, "were you to stupid that you not have tried to get me yourself?"

"It was not my failed attempts to capture the captain, but Corlys Velaryon. He did not take kindly to the fact you stole a handsome sum from him, which is why he made sport of killing Jocelyn's crew."

"Well, he's got the captain now," I say.

Daemon nods, "Indeed, she is here."

"Whatever he wants, I'll do, so long as you spare my remaining crew."

For a moment, Daemon is a bit disappointed by the admittance to defeat, however he understands soon enough.

"There's not much of us left," I mumble, "Aldora, Ahern, Gorm, Fredson, Charles, Th--" I cut myself off as my throat begins to tighten. "There's not point in fighting if we all end up dead."

"Smart," Daemon nods, "Lord Corlys will be delighted to know this." He then begins to walk off, "in the meantime, pay your dues here until I come for you."

I let out a soft chuckle, replying to him in his mother tongue, "petty scum."

"Targaryen scum," Demon corrects before walking out.

I hadn't expected him to come so soon that night, but then again, if I recall, I did have him out of his chains after sunset.

"Miss me already?" I ask in a teasing tone in High Valyrian, "will you lock me with your dragon next?"

It was a bit too dark for me to make out the figure coming closer, but there was something very off with him. There was something about the slowness and suspicious manner in which he stalked over, apart from the hood he was wearing.

I figured then Daemon would not act like this at all. So it begs the question, why would a guard have to come here dressed like that?

My heart began to quicken as I began to think of what this man's motives were. Still, unwilling to accept the worst, I spoke out in the Prince's language, falsely hoping it was him pulling a twisted joke, "is this your way of getting back at me?"

"What kind of demon language is that supposed to be, you cunt?" the man growls, darting forward, heaving heavily in front of me. He grabs my face, and I see him along with the cut he had going down his cheek to his lips, "remember me, bitch?"

I merely look at him as he forces my jaw open with the intensity of his grip on me.

"You're not so tough now that you're under the Prince's thumb," he seethes, hands coming down my neck, choking me, "since you scarred my face, you whore," one of his hands leaves my throat to go down to my thighs, "I'll make you regret the day you drew your blade."

My wrists and ankles were bound but that did not make me cease my attempts to fight back, though futile. And even though he was choking me, I made it a point to still scream, not caring if he asphyxiates me in the process. Better that than to be docile.

He was basks in my failed attempts to fight him off as he rips my top open and forces my trousers down.

Prince Daemon did not want Lord Corlys to join him on his way to the prison cell today for he so wanted all the attention to himself, especially since he couldn't speak in the privacy of High Valyrian, since Corlys could speak it.

And so together, begrudgingly, the two were making their way to the cell. Daemon had a spring in his step. He was so excited that even before entering the prison, he called out in the other language, "rise and shine, beautiful."

Lord Corlys averted his eyes from the guard who was unlocking the door, giving the prince a questioning look. He truly didn't think much of it however, knowing the prince's irritating nature.

Honestly, Daemon was half expecting an answer, an annoyed retort, and so he received none, he pressed his lips together in disappointment. He added once the door was open, "not in the mood to tease today?"

Corlys walks in first, face dropping in shock at the sight before him.

For but a moment, Daemon feels a rush of possessiveness, thinking Corlys must have been enchanted. He thinks of how he would easily cut off his hand if he so laid a finger on you. However, his own anger dissipated, then doubled upon his entrance to the cell.

I look at the two men, wondering how they were related to distract from how exposed I was. My assaulter did not possibly think to cover my chest nor pull my pants up. There was also a burning feeling between my thighs that I could not bare to look at. Anything other than thinking of how my flesh was surely torn was welcomed.

The prince is beyond livid. The lord beside him appears to be disturbed as well.

"Did you have your men do this to her?!" Daemon barks, turning to Corlys, raising an accusing finger as he pressed so close to him in anger that their chests slammed against the other's.

Corlys throws him an incredulous and angry look, shoving him off, "why would I when you were so clear on making sure the lady came here in one piece?!"

He heaves heavily, ready to attack Corlys, but the sound of my uncontained whine makes him avert his attention to me. Daemon then walks over to me instead, raising his hand out, but the sentiment is so uninvited that I bark out even through my hoarse and broken voice. It was so loud I even surprised myself, "DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

Daemon halts in his tracks before he could go near. His hand drops, tightly turning into a fist, he mutters, "unshackle her."

Corlys does not do anything.

"UNSHAKLE HER NOW!" Daemon shouts, turning to the door, where a guard quickly came running in. The moment the guard nears however, the prince shouts again, "STOP."

The guard freezes, turning over to him with a look of confusion and anxiousness.

"Give me the keys," he demands, pulling the man over to him by his shoulder, then extending his hand out to him. The guard wastes no time in handing the prince the object. Right after, Daemon walks over to me, carefully as if his whole life depended on it. His fingers work on the lock without touching my skin.

Corlys watches as he does this.

The moment one of my arms were free, I crumple, dangling on the other arm that was still bound. Daemon looks down on me as I muffle the whine that comes as I force myself to stand. He quickly moves to the other side, undoing the lock, then crouches down, working on the bounds on my ankles. Once he is done, he rises in front of me, expression hard.

I look up at him before pulling up my pants that were left by my ankles then covered my breasts with what remained of my ragged shirt. He looks like his mind is running with a thousand different things and yet he cannot even bring himself to speak one word to me.

I croak out, hoarse and tired, "now you know why I don't like being touched without consent, Targaryen scum."

Daemon's jaw clenches. His anger multiplies at the notion this has happened once before.

"Lady Rubin," the other man in the room speaks, walking forward.

I turn to him, lips curving in a farce of a smile, "Lord Velaryon." I swallow roughly before muttering, "you, too, were convinced over my characterization yet you have not even seen me in action."

The man looks at me for a moment, examining my expression. He steps forward, untying his cloak, handing it over to me, "will you be able to walk over to the ward to the seen by a maester?"

I look at his extended hand and feel my smile fade, tears building in the corner of my eyes, "of course." I raise my hand to his cloak, gently pushing it away, "lead the way, my lord."

He watches me and withdraws his hand before nodding and tying his cloak back on, "I'm afraid the way there includes an unavoidable flight of many stairs."

"I was not defeated last night, nor will I be defeated by mere steps."

Lord Corlys seems to appreciate my response, and so he turns to prince Daemon, speaking in High Valyrian, "You were right about her fire. She's different from the rest of her crew."

"Thank you, my lord," I reply in the same language, making the man turn to me in slight shock, "I would have appreciated the compliment more had it been directed towards me."

With this, Corlys turns to me, shocked, but impressed. He then shifts where he stood and motioned to the door, then walking off.

I clench my jaw before taking a step. I falter in my actions and am unable to withhold a pained grunt as I do so. It enrages me. I heave heavily. The incident of last night replays in my head uninvited. I will the tears forming in my eyes back where they came and I force through the pain with each step I make.

By the time I make it out of the cell, I see Corlys there, waiting for me. I draw closer to him and it is then I hear a voice behind me, "I will destroy whoever did this to you."

I turn over my shoulder, expecting to see Daemon, but I find no one. When I do manage to spot him, he is already far off in the other side of the hallway.

"The prince was keen on bring you to me," Corlys starts, extending his hand to the direction we needed to travel, "his personal motives are now more apparent to me after seeing how he reacted to you." He begins to walk slowly and I follow after him.

He continues in High Valyrian, "he insisted that instilling you in House Rubin and re-forging an alliance with you as its head will be more beneficial than beheading the captain of ship Jocelyn, who stole ten thousands worth of goods from my vessels."

"It's clear to me the prince does what he wants all the time, but that does not equate to him always getting away with it," I retort, taking a moment to continue, lest I let out a pained whimper, "whether his influence on you will allow me to keep my head or not, all I ask is that you no longer harm whoever's left of my crew. They were only following my orders."

Corlys watches me as I limp in my short strides, then raises a brow, "following the order merits the same punishment of whoever gave it." He places his hands behind him, "they also lied when they confessed to be the captain when they were clearly not."

"I did not ask them to do so."

"A lie is a lie," he says, "Prince Daemon however said that you allowed your crew to take turns giving the order, being the captain for a time."

I clench my jaw, turning to my feet, "they were all born without... it was my way of giving them a taste of power."

I turn to Corlys, but I instantly regret it, for his gaze upon me was most scrutinizing. I turn away just as he tells, "I knew him, the man who you claim to be your father. Estephan Rubin. I would like to say we were friends years ago when he was still alive."

I rub my eyes that were watering in pain.

He continues, "I knew of his four sons and how each of them died in battle, though I repent of not remembering their names. However, my memory does not fail me enough not to know about Rubin having a daughter."

"That makes two of you." I press my lips, turning back to him, "I was told my father died well before I was born. My mother died of child birth."

"Who raised you then?"

"The remaining servants of my house, Agnes, Douglas. They married each other and had children of their own. For a while, I acted like I was their eldest child, but then some lords found out about the origin of birth, and then they--" I shudder, unable to bear the pain of the memory on top of the physical pain I was feeling now. I turn back to my feet, "I was 13 when I ran away and lived off of whatever I could pickpocket."

"Who taught you how to speak this language then?" he asks in High Valyrian.

"You tend to get around when the world is out to get you," I respond, hand coming up to my chest, "what remained of my house, my ruby necklace, it bore the crest of Rubin. I realized all I had to do was be shameless enough when wearing it and people would be willing to do whatever you want."

I turn to Corlys when he halts in his tracks.

"Keep your head then, Lady Rubin," he says, "go forth with your banner, not as a pirate, but as the last of house Rubin and bring me back all twice the amount of which you stole. I swear then I will spare your crew."

I nod, "consider it done," I reply in his mother tongue, extending my hand out to him. He shakes it firmly, beginning to talk about his plans for me as we continue our travel to the maester's room.

[kaytrawrites]

QSMP - the little inventor returns to the nest

Summary in which Tubbo, in his post-death addled state, joins his sunshine under a warm blanket of stars

Notes this is a follow-up to this fic: QSMP - three little eggs under starry feathers all the props to @piecanl for putting this idea in my head :D

---

Tubbo lay on his back, his eyes unfocusing. High above, the night sky was like glittering velvet, the stars twinkling in and out as his vision darkened. 

The cold was spreading from his back across his body.

The night was warm.

He was cold.

So, this is what dying is like…

It’s a funny feeling…

Did Empanada feel this way all that time ago?

Tubbo’s vision blurred, his mind turning to the little girl he cared for so deeply. 

His sunshine.

His golden girl.

Who he would do anything for.

Who was safe.

She was safe.

It was funny.

They were both under a blanket of stars right now.

She was safely with Philza.

And Tubbo was here.

Dying.

He should have taken up Tallulah’s invitation to stay the night.

He should be under those star speckled wings with Sunny.

Not here.

Not dying.

His vision went fully dark, and the DOOM of death rang in his ears.

Tubbo’s eyesight cleared slowly, the federation mall greeting him. His chest was still cold. Not as cold as earlier. But the cold still hurt.

He could barely focus as he stumbled… somewhere. His heart was freezing. Yet still beat.

The sky above was speckled with stars.

Familiar patterns, slightly askew.

Ah. Water.

He splashed through the water, crossing it. The water was cold. Not as cold as he.

Tubbo stood on damp sand, staring up at the building before him. The top of the roof shone like a star had fallen from the sky and affixed itself there. The windows were dark, the inhabitants deeply asleep.

Tubbo wanted nothing more than to enter.

But he felt he didn’t deserve to…

Traitorous feet! He ascended the staircase to the front porch, and slid open the front door. 

Oh. Someone was awake.

The faint rustling of feathers greeted the shivering young man.

“Toby?” The tired voice of Phil asked.

Tubbo stood in the doorway, not daring to enter, but his feet refused to leave.

“Tubbo, you are dripping wet.” Phil approached, and held out a hand.

Tubbo’s traitorous hand reached out and took Phil’s offering, and his traitorous feet let him enter the cozy building.

“Let’s get these wet clothes off you…” Phil said, guiding the young inventor to a chair by the oven. Tubbo’s shaking hands were no help, so Phil had to unbutton his shirt.

Tubbo hated it. He was a whole adult! He hated being treated like a child.

Phil paused, then turned and grabbed a large fluffy towel from a shelf. He dropped it around Tubbo’s shaking shoulders. “Come on mate.” He turned to the oven, shoving in a few pieces of firewood to warm the area a little more. “Keep that tucked around you. Then you can get changed.” He patted the folded pajamas he had grabbed. They were green and looked far more comfortable than the wet clothes that Tubbo still wore.

Slowly Tubbo stopped shivering, and he started to slide his shirt off, leaving just his undershirt. Phil stood, and turned to organizing chests while Tubbo changed. Eventually, Tubbo’s wet clothes were in a pile on the floor, he had weakly toweled off the damp, and the pajamas were on. They were a similar style to Phil’s own, being loose knee length pants, and a lower-hip length short sleeved shirt that crossed in the front and tied at the waist. Somewhere in Tubbo’s post-death and cold-addled brain, the word Jinbei seemed to be right, but again. His brain was addled from the death and the cold water.

Phil chuckled, and led the younger man to the line of futons on the floor where the three little eggs were asleep. Sunny was cuddled into Tallulah’s back, almost entirely on the same futon. Tubbo dropped to his knees beside his little daughter, the futon soft and inviting. 

Phil turned, his wings rustling, and he lifted another quilt down from where the household stored their extra quilts. 

Tubbo flopped over behind his daughter, his hand starting to reach for her, but he forced it to stop. Did he really deserve to be her dad if he failed this badly?

The thick quilt settled around him, the scent of sunshine and spring filled his senses.

Phil dropped down to his usual sleeping space, spreading his wings to cover the three eggs and the young man.

The blanket of stars settled over him.

It was warm.

His daughter was warm.

She was safe.

He was safe.

Tubbo lay on his back, his eyes unfocusing. Just above, the feathers were like glittering velvet, stars twinkling in and out as his vision darkened into comforting sleep. 

[foxykatie425]

No one asked, but here are my hopes for a third and final Jedi game…

Things I want:

• A reason for the characters not to be involved in the OT. My prediction is that Cal will be forced to destroy the compass to keep the colony on Tanalorr safe from the Empire, leaving them stranded with no way out of the Abyss, but having a small but thriving settlement with everything they need to survive. And then some day, after the Empire falls, some other Jedi (whether it be Luke, Ahsoka, Ezra, whoever!) will have to go on a mission to reach them and reconnect them with the galaxy.

• Kata training with the Force. Most likely she’ll be trained by Cal as a Jedi, but there’s a chance Merrin could also be teaching her some Nightsister magick. I’m looking forward to Kata being a fully fleshed out character.

• Declarations of love. I guess technically we got a little of that in Survivor, but both of them have yet to actually use the L-word! And I think we’d all scream at an “I love you” “I know” moment!

Things I don’t want:

• A Merrical baby. As much as it would make my shipper heart happy, there are two reasons I don’t want this. Firstly, introducing another kid would take the attention (and by that I mean the audience’s attention) away from Kata, who has yet to really have her time to shine. And secondly, it would probably contribute to the next thing in this list I don’t want…

• Threats on his family pushing Cal to the dark side. At least in a super blatant way. I’m fine with Cal struggling with the dark side, and given the way Survivor ended I’d say it’s almost necessary. (Although, I can’t see him falling completely, that would not be a very satisfying ending to his arc.) What I don’t want is Cal dabbling in the darkness in the name of protecting his family. First of all, let’s not prove the Jedi Order right! Second of all, we’ve had that story in Star Wars before! More than once! Of course, that was one of the big reasons for Anakin’s fall, but we even had that in Survivor with Bode! And while comparisons between Cal and Bode might seem poetic, they would be a lot more poetic if Bode was still alive. Obviously everything that happened still affects Cal, but from a storytelling perspective, you can’t really expect the audience to draw parallels between two characters if one never appears on screen. Case in point: Cal and Trilla shared a lot of interesting parallels in Fallen Order, but Trilla is only mentioned in Survivor once, and it’s in passing. But if Cal started doing unscrupulous things to protect his family, he would very quickly be reminded of Bode and stop himself from making the same mistakes. (Besides, lest we forget, Merrin doesn’t need protecting!)

• Cal dying. (And not just because I want him and Merrin to have the first true happily ever after in Star Wars.) It’s always the looming threat in anything set before the OT, especially with Jedi. I mean, never mind Yoda’s declaration to Luke in ROTJ that “the last of the Jedi will you be” because that’s already been proven false in pretty much every way; I’m fine with assuming that, believe it or not, Yoda may not have known everything! However, Cal has made himself a pretty high-profile Jedi in the eyes of the Empire, and one would logically assume that if he was around during the OT, Luke would have sought him out. Thus we once again run into the question of “doomed prequelitis.” Rogue One played this trope completely straight. Rebels mostly did not, but notably the two major Jedi characters were both removed from the equation. One in the form of death, and the other in the form of semi-voluntary intergalactic exile! (Of course there’s the loose thread that is Ahsoka, but there are lots of plausible ways to keep her out of the OT, so we’ll save that discussion for another day.) My point is the status quo that is established at the end of Survivor would not keep Cal and company off of Luke’s radar. They are still involved with the Hidden Path, which presumably would have ties with the larger Rebellion, and they would surely keep doing that as long as they are able. However, killing off Cal would be the easy way out in terms of storytelling. Even if his death was some kind of heroic sacrifice, it would once again be a story we have already seen many times in Star Wars. It would be lazy, repetitive writing, and with the time capsule that is Tanalorr, it does not need to be that way. All we need is a reason that they can’t leave Tanalorr and a reason no one can go in after them. Hence why I think the last compass will be destroyed!

Obviously these are just some overarching ideas for what I think the third game should look like and have little to do with gameplay or any kind of specific plot. I’ll leave that to Respawn! 😉

[xiaolanhua]

So here are my thoughts about In Blossom!

This post may have some spoilers!

I finished watching it yesterday and decided to make a post about my opinions while the drama is still fresh in my mind.

So, the drama made me interested from beginning till the end and overall it's great! It's nothing really revolutionary in terms of plot/story (historical dramas tend to have some similar stories) but it delivered what was promised: mystery, romance, investigation, a bit of thriller with amazing shots and gorgeous costumes!

About the leads:

Liu Xue Yi as the male lead really raised the level of this drama. His performance was one of my favorite things while watching it and i'm so grateful to whoever casted him as the lead because he deserves it (enough with playing the bad guy who never gets his happy ending or the girl 🥲).

At first, I was a little bit concerned about watching because I wasn't a fan of Ju Jing Yi's acting from the dramas I've watched with her but after finishing this one I think she made a solid performance (it's not the best one but definitely her best one yet) and it didn't compromised the drama at all. I've seeing a bunch of not so nice comments towards her specially because people were not happy with the actress "swapping" and although I think the "original" Yang Cai Wei did a great job I'm still satisfied with how things turned out and I like both "Cai Wei".

About the main couple:

For me, it's really poetic how Pan Yue loved Cai Wei since childhood, got to reunite with her after 10 years from being apart of each other, to think he finally married her and then "she" dies on the eve of the wedding, and how he goes insane about her death that get white strokes on his hair and goes on a mission to know who is behind her murder WHILE Cai Wei it's alive by his side but with the face of someone he despises (Shangguan Zhi) and when they start to work together on the cases, they begin to be close to each other and he hates himself for developing feelings for Shangguan Zhi thinking he's betraying Cai Wei's memory. It get's even better because he's falling in love again as she's behaving like the Cai Wei he knows so he get's even more confused and watching all of this was a delight!

They had chemistry, their scenes were fun, interesting, tender and sometimes even hot so it's a win for me actually.

About the second couple (SPOILER!!!!):

Their interactions were pretty cute and they had chemistry but it's a shame what happened to them, specially with Lan Jiang (he deserved better). I always felt that they were a "doomed" couple and I'm sad that I was right about it, my heart hurts for them both as the characters themselves and the ship that didn't sail.

About the cases and the story:

Another thing i liked about this drama is how the cases were introduced, they were directly or indirectly related to the main "mystery" and every case were solved so they didn't left any loose ends. Some dramas of this genre tend to abruptly solve the cases and they end up not adding much to the narrative so I'm glad this were not the case here.

The pacing of the drama was pretty good but I do feel like the last two episodes were a bit rushed. We can't have it all, can't we?

The ending was good as expected (not for some characters I would say) but still good. SPOILER!!! I liked that the cliffhanger did not affected the characters so it could have a second season if the producers wanted but it's not necessarily needed (My Journey to You can't relate).

Overall, it was a pleasant watch so I rate 8.9 out of 10. It's not perfect but I would totally recommend!

[fave-fight]

ROUND 2, MATCH 44

NO MAGIC, POWERS, WEAPONS, OR ADDITIONAL HELP FROM OTHERS

Isabelle:

“She's in Smash, also she's best friends with Doom Guy”

“She's probably got some pent up rage about being stuck with mayor duties, especially when the player neglects the games. She's cute and this tournament need more women. I'm so happy someone else thought about her, too.”

“If she can hold her own in Smash she can hold her own here. She deserves the chance let loose too. Let her wreck some people!”

Floyd Leech:

“If he stays in human form and has no mage stones, he's just Some Guy, so he still qualifies. This mafia motherfucker would FIGHT. One time when faced with a monster, everyone else was like "oh no, we need magic" and he was like "nah, let's punch it" and then he DID. He hasn't used his pointy teeth in canon yet, but he could in theory bite someone if necessary, and it would hurt like a bitch. He'd fight dirty, I just know it. Let him punch everything and then get punched in the face, it'd be so great.”

“This guy is a menace who almost never uses weapons or tools to terrorize people. He's strong and athletic, smart enough to get what he wants on a whim, and squeezes contract-breakers until they faint on a regular basis.”

“NOTE: Floyd is a magic boy, but the “no mage stone” thing is there because it means he won’t be able to use magic, because people in Twisted Wonderland can’t without accumulating deadly magic toxin unless they have the stones. He’s also a merman, but he’d be in his human form. His human form does have pointy teeth (like the anime character kind) but I’m not sure if they have any real effect in game other than to intimidate people. Other people in this game have them too who are allegedly “human.” And again, plenty of “human” anime characters have them. Myfeeling is that they shouldn’t be disqualifying on their own.  This game is about magic boys at a magic school, but don’t worry, they get into traditional fist-fights so often it’s literally a randomly generated event that can happen in your Guest Room space. And Floyd Leech would never use magic in a fist-fight. He’d think that was “no fun” or “totally lame.” His signature magical spell just nullifies other people’s magic that targets him… so he can fight them with his fists. Since no one else here has magic, it’s totally irrelevant.  Also I’m not sure he uses fists so much as he does something to his opponents that he describes as “squeezing” them. I don’t know entirely what he means by that when he’s in his human form, but how much it scares the faceless NPC students indicates to me that he’s found a way to make it work. I do know it’s supposed to have a whole mafia vibe to it. Because his dad (and his childhood friend he lowkey sort-of works for) have real mafia boss energy. And Floyd’s basically decided that if he’s going to do this mafia shtick it’s Capo or bust. Floyd doesn’t always feel like doing stuff, due to his wildly unpredictable mood swings, but it honestly seems like the thing he can most easily be convinced to do is beat the shit out of people. During the “Beanfest” event (which was somewhat analogous to a paintball match), he insisted on throwing his weapon away and beating up aforementioned childhood friend even though the game was over and he’d already lost, just because apparently “once Floyd has decided to fight nothing can be done about it" and you just have to fight him if you want to get on with the rest of your day. He’d started out that event “not really in the mood” but somehow ended up spending the entire day beating the hell out of every person he ran into. In the camping event, when all of the boys were being picked off by a monster in the woods one at a time and were panicking because they didn’t have magestones or cellphones and therefore couldn’t defend themselves with magic or call an adult for help, Floyd was literally just like “why don’t we just beat the shit out of it?” And then he DID. And it was awesome.  But before you think he’s just some sort of dumb thug, let me assure you that Floyd is actually one of Night Raven’s most intelligent students. He has a photographic memory and can create valuable gems in alchemy class with minimal effort. Unfortunately, his mood swings make it impossible for him to maintain a decent GPA. But he’s actually a smart, tactical fighter. He’s just violent and unstable. Oh and if you’re wondering, his personality is generally abrasive and confrontational. He regularly starts arguments with the most volatile people at the school, just to mess with them and see where it goes because he’s bored.  Finally, if it sweetens the deal for anyone, Floyd would wear some killer designer shoes to this fight. Don’t worry, they wouldn’t be dangerous/weaponized. They’d just be expensive and custom made. You know, so he can get upset when someone scuffs them up.  Like for real, is there anyone who deserves to be in a crazy bitch fist-fight more than a moody mafia prince who’s secretly some sort of genius, but seems to only truly love fighting and designer footwear? If there is, I can’t think of them. ”

[ereana]

Neuvifuri - You know we aren’t meant to be

Justice seeks to ensure that all individuals are treated fairly and impartially under the law. Laws were plentiful in Teyvat, spanning from the laws of nature that governed the physical world to the laws of humans which ensured that civilisations did not descend into anarchy.

Then there were the laws of Celestia which wrapped around souls, divine or mortal it made no difference, like thorny vines. Painful to touch, constantly felt, with the ever looming threat of terrible punishment should someone dare to try and free themselves. Celstia’s laws reigned over all others matched only by the savage chaos of the abyss.

Powerful but not infallible. Furina’s grand performance had been able to fool even the heavens themselves; days passed and yet Fontaine continued to go on, her people now safe from the cruel fate that had awaited them. The laws of Celestia were not absolute and be it either through loopholes or trickery those deadly vines could be dealt with.

Or perhaps, Furina thinks with a wry smile, it is simply something unique to her that allows her to slip loose from the metaphorical rope around her neck. A certain stubbornness to challenge the tyrannical will of fate that would leave her miserable on a throne weeping for everything she has lost. If she possesses one exceptional quality as a mere human it is her willpower, her strength to rise every morning for five hundred years and deceive everyone.

So when she dares to rise up against the order of things once more she is prepared to do whatever it takes to triumph once more.

Humans are not supposed to love dragons.

Dragons are incapable of loving humans.

Two beings that should never tie themselves together with the corrupting thread of intimacy and affection. The differences in lifespan, in power, in mutual understanding are only a few of the reasons why such a union would be abhorrent. Celestia would curse any who dared even align themselves with their ancient foes let alone love one.

The relationship would be doomed from the start; a tragedy that all the actors know the ending of. Pain. Death. Heartbreak. A tale that would taste like ashes in the mouth of even the most talented bard.

Furina doesn’t care.

The morning sun has only started to sneak under the curtain of her bedroom window, inching its way across the floor to her bed. Her normal-sized single bed which, while perfectly fine for her to collapse onto at the end of the day, is in no way big enough for her beloved companion snuggled up against her.

She has been surprised to learn that Neuvillette was a cuddler in his sleep before it quickly melted into the delight of being so lovingly held by her — always hers she knew that now — dear Iudex. 

Furina runs a delicate finger over the arm around her waist, tracing the scales that run in beautiful patterns all the way to his finger tips. She can feel the light pressure of claws against her nightdress, not enough to hurt — he never would, never again — keeping her close and safe. Neuvillette only ever lets his draconic features slip through when he’s with her; claws, scales, fangs the marks of his birthright that should unnerve her instead pulling her further into his orbit. Only she gets to see him like this.

It was never meant to be like this.

Furina was supposed to have disappeared after her trial, blended into the populace of the nation she had ruled for five hundred years as another citizen. Another of his subjects to care for but nothing more than that. She should have stepped back from the spotlight like any good actor would.

But she’s always been a little selfish with Neuvillette. He’d been her partner, the closest thing she had to a friend, and she had clung to him with all the strength in her feeble human body. Late night conversations, outings, the quiet coziness of their private aquabus, moments she’d hoarded greedily over the centuries in some vain attempt to feel less lonely under the crushing weight of her duty.

Furina tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. He looks so peaceful like this. The sternness of his features is softened in sleep as though the stress of the waking world has melted away. As she strokes her thumb along his jaw he lets out a pleased rumble, that’s definitely not a purr as he’s told her many times, and somehow pulls her even closer.

She feels so small in his arms, he could snap her in half without breaking a sweat but Furina only feels protected in the embrace. It’s as though he’s trying to keep her safe from the rest of the world. Maybe he feels like he needs to.

After all, the two of them were never meant to be anything more than Sovereign and Usurper, at least according to the laws of this world.

Not meant to be.

It’s a sin to love him but she does, with all her being.

He shouldn’t love her but he gave her his heart, placing it into her care for her to destroy him if she’d been so inclined. Everything has changed but also nothing has because she is still his lady and he is still her dragon.

Furina smiles as Neuvillette yawns, sharp fangs flashing in the dull light of her room. He blinks sleepily at her. It’s unfairly adorable. He reaches up to take her hand in his own and presses it to his lips, looking at her with a devotion that once would have shaken her to her core.

“Good morning, my lady.”

Furina giggles and leans in to give him a proper kiss.

Not meant to be, but no sin has ever tasted so sweet.