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roses-for-rosalyn · 1 month

Text

Cowboys

Ellie x reader

Part 1

Summary: a trip to the local saloon? With a man?!

Wc: 2.1 k (shorter ik sorry)

For the ao3 girlies

Cw: cowboy! Ellie x fem! reader, drinking, reader gets drunk, Jesse (just a little side character), mentions of domestic violence, reader has trauma!, reader has scars, lesbian touching and yearning, lots of talking

Minors DNI (fr)

Seriously there’s some descriptions of abuse here y’all I tried to keep it vague, but it’s important I promise! I am not the kind of author who gives the reader trauma for literally no reason. That being said if this isn’t your cup of tea I’ll see you in another chapter or different fic!

LINKS TO HELP PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK

You wake up with the sun. The warm light forced its way through your eyelids, refusing to be ignored. You got up and attempted to get dressed as quietly as possible. You use the reflection of a steel pan to pin your hair back.

You liked the mornings, normally you were very alone, but even with company, it was a peaceful time. Golden light filters through your windows, everything and everyone is still beginning to wake up. It’s quiet.

A face appears behind yours in the reflection of the pan.

“Mornin.” Her voice was a bit low and gravelly.

“Mornin, where are you off to today?” You finish flattening out the last little stubborn hairs and turn towards her. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, and bruises had begun to form on her face, but with the way she carried herself, you would never know what happened last night.

“Was thinking of going to the next town over, I have a few people to talk to.” You grab your boots from the floor and sit in the same wooden chair Ellie had last night. You try not to think about how close you were or how warm she felt against your fingertips as you lace up your shoes.

“You’re lucky you have that bandana.” You stand up and grab the hem of the fabric. “You’re a bit of a mess.” You pinch her chin between your thumb and forefinger and force her to turn to the side, and for some reason she lets you. You turn her the other way, inspecting the intensity of the bruises. “These’ll be gone in a week.” You brush your finger over a particularly deep purple bruise on her jaw, she flinches a bit even at your featherlight touch. “This one maybe two.”

“Whatever you say doc,” she replies with a laugh. You let go of her chin and head towards the door.

“I have to go, but you’ll be back before dark right?” Ellie just nods and you leave, hoping that she does actually come back.

** **

Today when you’re locking up the schoolhouse you hear a different voice, “Hi there, sunshine!”

You turn around and see Jesse. You usually didn’t see him at this time of day. He walks towards you like he has something to say.

“What’re you up to today?” He asks with a charming smile on his face.

“I was just going to head home and have dinner. How about you?” You really didn’t care to hear his plans for the day, but you had to be polite.

“I was hopin’ you might accompany me to a show at Buckhorn tonight?” His eyes are hopeful, he reminded you of a little boy, he hadn’t had the same life you did. You had really hoped you wouldn’t have to deal with him asking to court you, not completely sure you could manage to say no. You didn’t have a good reason for refusing, and who knows what he would say about you if you denied him.

“Um, alright, I suppose I could go. I can’t stay too late though, I don’t like ridin’ in the dark.” You manage a smile. Jesse looks like he is just barely keeping himself from jumping up and down in celebration.

He nods, “I will make sure you get home safe and sound darlin’. Suppose we should head on over then.” You untie your horse and take her by the lead, walking beside Jesse to the saloon.

You didn’t have much to talk about, the conversation was mostly small talk. You let him ramble on about his journeys to Santa Fe, the Apaches he’s encountered, hostile cowboys, thieves. No one ever actually threatened him, just passed by, but with the way he told the stories you would think he would be covered in scars and bruises.

You finally make it to the saloon, Jesse orders you both whiskey. You down it like a shot and Jesse seems surprised, but not appalled like you would have expected. “You want another?” he asks with raised eyebrows and a laugh.

“Yes please.” You smile up at him, a little more genuine. Maybe you could have fun, with enough liquor in your system you could get along with anyone. Drunk you was charming, magnetic, bubbly, men usually tolerated that a little better. Plus the drinks were free.

The band starts playing and you pull Jesse out on the wooden dancefloor. The music pulls at your limbs. As you dance with him you feel smooth as water, the more you drink the smoother you feel. Soon enough you’re leaning into his chest, swaying to the music. The night went by in a blur. You are at the bar getting another round of drinks when you see a familiar set of eyes appear at the entrance.

She makes a beeline towards you, shouldering people out of the way as she approaches. Her eyes look angry, but all she does is brush her hand down your arm like she was making sure you were real.

“I couldn’t find you.” She says, and you swear everything and everyone else melts away as she speaks.

She was looking for you.

“I was here.” You say with a drunk smile, relieved to see her. “With Jesse.” you point over to him. She doesn’t even bother to look. You lean in towards her to whisper, “He’s pretty boring, but he gave me free drinks.” you hold up a glass of whiskey as proof, slightly swaying with the movement.

“I’m gonna take you home.” She says gently.

“That would be very nice, I’m sure Jesse wouldn’t want to take me all the way out there. Just let me go tell him.” You haven’t stopped smiling since you saw her.

“Alright,” she nods, “I’ll be waitin’ for ya by the door.”

You stumble over to him, “Jesse, I gotta head home.”

“Ok let me go get my-”

“No need, my bodyguard over there is takin’ me home.” You point to the masked cowgirl by the door. Jesse looks at you, confused.

“I’ll explain it to you another time, I promise I’m safe with him.” You pat him on the shoulder for reassurance.

“Can I at least talk to him? So I can know you’re safe.” Well at least he seemed to actually care about you, not just the concept of you.

“I don’t see why not,” you grab his hand, it’s large and rough, his palm felt like sandpaper against yours, “follow me.” You lead him towards the cowgirl. She’s standing with her arms crossed, observing the drunkards surrounding her.

“Hi,” her head snaps towards the sound of your voice, her eyes soften.

“Hello darlin’,” she runs her hand alongside your arm again. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch. She looks behind you at the man you’ve brought over to her. “Who’s this?”

“This is Jesse,” you pull him so he’s standing alongside you causing him to stumble a bit. You giggle. “He wanted to make sure you were gettin’ me home safe. Said he wanted to talk to you.”

Ellie reaches out her hand to shake his, “M’ Joel,” she says in a gruff voice. Jesse’s eyes widen a bit. You hadn’t heard her man voice yet, it was a little silly. “Why don’t you go wait by my horse darlin’? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Um, alright.” You didn’t love being booted from a conversation like that, but you were starting to get tired and your feet were starting to ache.

You walked out of the saloon to Ellie’s horse. You feel light and heavy at the same time. Then you remember you brought your own horse here. Your thoughts were so jumbled.

You walk over to grab her, untying her lead after a bit of a struggle. Figuring you would pony her over to the house. You would not ride horseback drunk. Again.

By the time you get back to Ellie’s horse she’s waiting for you. She grabs the lead from your hands and helps you up onto the horse. You were going to try like hell to remember the feeling of her hands on your hips.

“Thank you good sir,” you say with a giggle. She just shakes her head and mounts the horse, grabbing your horses lead before her horse begins to trot away from the saloon towards the quiet desert.

You probably couldn’t help the way you leaned against her back, pressing your body to hers. She was so warm. Your hands wrapped nice and tight around her waist and she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even moved. She stayed sitting right up staring straight ahead. You couldn’t bring yourself to remember why you shouldn’t be doing this. You only knew that you wanted to and that’s what mattered right now.

“Who’s Joel?” You asked, cheek pressed against her leather coat.

“He’s- he was a friend.” She can barely disguise the sorrow in her voice.

“Was he your husband or somethin’?” Questions tend to just pour out of you in this state with no regard for the person you’re asking.

“No, no he was a good friend.”

“Mm, you’re lucky you never had a husband.”

“Why?”

“Well I don’t know if all husbands are like how mine was, but I wouldn’t try it again, just in case.”

“What happened?” You let the sound of the horses hooves hitting the dirt path fill the silence for a moment. You hadn’t really told anyone what happened in your house on the edge of town, where no one could hear you or see you.

“Well, I’ll start at the beginning I suppose. My daddy got sick, real sick and he wanted me to have a man to take care of me after he was gone. So I married a man he chose for me. I didn’t know him, I barely saw him before we got married. But I wanted to make sure my daddy could die knowing I’d be taken care of, so I did it. I still regret going through with it.” You nuzzle your cheek into her back, trying to get impossibly closer. “I still don’t like to think about our wedding night.”

“I’m sorry darlin’ you don’t have to-”

“No I want to, I haven’t said anything to anyone about this before. Kinda feels nice, I feel lighter. Anyways, we moved into that tiny house. It didn’t take long for him to get mean, real mean. Since we lived so far away, no one could hear the screamin’ and yellin’. I still have some scars from that him, that’s why I had that medical kit for you when you got hurt. I’ve had to clean myself up more times than I’d like to admit.” You let out an empty laugh.

“Where is he now?” Ellie’s voice has an anger in it that was terrifying, the type that was calm and sure. She knew exactly how she would remedy it.

“Well, every time he would hurt me I would threaten to shoot ‘em. He would laugh in my face like I had told some sort of fucked up joke. Here let me show you somethin’.” You hike up your dress, exposing the large scar on your thigh. You grab Ellie’s hand from the reins and place it on the Scar, her fingertips run gently across it, like she would hurt you if she pressed too hard. She traces around the jagged raised skin, it was like she was trying to put a picture of it together in her head. “The night he did that I shot him right in the chest. He was an evil, evil man. No one missed him. He’s buried about 500 feet from the house, his grave is unmarked.”

You feel Ellie’s body relax a bit. “That’s good. You did good.” She’s still absentmindedly running her hand along your thigh. The feeling made your breath hitch. Your whole body grows hot. You hadn’t ever felt anything like that. “He deserved it, I hope you know that.”

“Still doesn’t feel good though, didn’t make me feel any better when he was dead. The only thing that changed was that I was safe again.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when her hand slowly leaves your thigh, pulling your dress back down for you.

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Sometimes it feels like the only solution though.”

“Yeah it does.”

** **

You’re half asleep by the time the horse stops in front of your house. You barely manage to lift your head up, but somehow you get off the horse.

“Go on inside, I’ll get the horses settled.” She didn’t have to tell you twice.

You were halfway to the house when you remembered, “Ellie,”

“Yes?”

“Come and sleep inside tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Taglist: @elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @sakiigami @wishbones999 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @ellabssweetheart @lily-fics-11

If ur name is crossed out it wouldn’t let me tag u

Lmk what yall think! Notes, comments and reposts always appreciated! Thank you for all the support!

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #cowboy!ellie #western! au #cowboy!au #cowboys #cowgirl #the last of us 2

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squishycheekanon · 5 months

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Now hear me Out... The techno's reactions to us being like a single parent or something before Meeting them? And possibly Meeting the child?

Bad idea or Not?

Techno x singlemom!Reader

Drabble

Techno wouldn’t care. He’d love your kid just as much as he loved you, they are simply an extension of you. Techno would be there for anything you needed, babysitting, dentists appointments for the kid. You remember that one time where you were stuck at work and there’d been an incident at school, he was the first one you called, he rushed over and set things straight instantly defending your child.

You came home to him playing with, let’s say your son, Apollo. Techno making aeroplane noises as his large hand moved the toy plane around in the air while your six year old son giggled loudly and excitedly.

Your heart was warmed and you felt your eyes stinging with tears at the sight. When you first met Techno you had tried hard to avoid him, not wanting to date anyone since the let down of Apollo’s father. When he left due to you getting pregnant it was a giant kick to your self esteem. You hadn’t felt worth it anymore and honestly not the most attractive either.

So when Techno persued you, you almost couldn’t believe it. Even when you had rejected him out of fear, he continued to court you coming into the diner where you worked and watching you with a smile while you served others. All he thought about was persuading you to quit so you’d never have to serve other people again. He had more than enough money to support you if you’d simply let him.

Finally, after a few months of him flashing his gorgeous pearly whites at you and making you feel all giddy with the sweet nicknames and phrases he spouted with that monotonous voice of his, you relented and let him take you on a date. You were shy and a bit withdrawn still, fussing over yourself and worrying about how you looked.

He eased them, ‘you look ravishing darlin’, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and your fussing ceased. He took you to a nice restaurant, wining and dining you like he had been promising he would. The whole night was actually going well and he’d managed to get you to relax enough to enjoy yourself until the babysitter called saying she had an emergency and she had to leave as soon as possible.

You obviously started rushing away, apologising profusely as you did. Techno chucked some money on the table and ran after you. He caught up to you and offered you to drive you home, after not being able to hail a cab you relented, he was your ride after all. The drive home was tense, you were so scared to tell him about your son not that you were embarrassed by him, not at all. You knew you’d done a good job raising him, but you knew the stigma around single moms and from past experiences when guys had asked you out only to back out when they’d found out you had a kid.

You didn’t want it to happen again, not after the lovely evening you had had and particularly not after the feelings that were growing for the man driving you home tonight.

You’d arrived, thanking him sufficiently with a kiss on the cheek for good measure before exiting the car rather quickly. You were so busy running away that you completely missed Techno’s worried expression, his softened eyes, and him getting out of the car to follow you.

As you unlocked the door, Sophia was pulling on her coat with a sad look on her face. “Do you have to go? We haven’t done story time yet!” Apollo whined.

“How about doing it with me buddy?” You smiled as your son’s eyes lit up at the sight of you home early, a rare occasion when you were working indeed.

“Mommy!” He squealed happily running into your arms. He hugged you tightly as you kissed his cheek. “Who’s that?” Apollo’s question had you turning around to see Techno staring down at you from where you were crouched.

“Sorry I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He apologised, smiling softly at the little boy who gave him a small wave.

That was around four month ago, since then your relationship with Techno had evolved and his bond with Apollo had grown so much. You never thought you’d have this, this safety net, this love. And yet as you watched Techno play aeroplanes with Apollo all you felt was love.

#singlemom!reader #squishycheekanonanswer #asks are appreciated #beefy!techno #dad!techno #squishysneekpeaks

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newtonsheffield · 8 months

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A couple bath! Anthony has the flower petals and candles ready and no one interrupts them.

Eloise is fighting the patriarchy? Cool, he can talk to her later.

A gentleman wants to court Francesca? Here's the viscount's office hours. Make an appointment.

Gregory and Hyacinth tore down the wall with Newton? He'll deal with them later.

Colin is currently in crisis mode because he figured out that he's in love with his best friend and uh oh, she's also a notorious gossip monger? Benedict, watch Colin and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

Anthony’s valet and Kate’s Maid standing outside the door to the room at Anthony’s request under strict instructions that he is unavailable.

Particularly to Benedict whose taken to wandering around after this new Anthony, fascinated in the changes he’s seen in his older brother. A year ago Anthony was saying he really didn’t care to whom he was married. And now Anthony walks into the breakfast room humming as he settles Kate in her seat, preening when Kate leaves him a kiss on the cheek for his trouble.

“Well, this is a change brother.”

Anthony sighed, swishing his napkin, “You minding your business? I quite agree it would be.”

Benedict rolled his eyes, nudging Kate good naturedly, “Have I told you about Anthony’s list of desired attributes in a wife?”

“Benedict.” Anthony warned as Kate chuckled.

“You haven’t but I’m very intrigued.”

“Anthony once asked me which poetry was more deceptive.”

Kate laughed as Anthony tutted, “Well, I was perhaps a little jaded then. I’m very romantic now.”

“Are you?” Kate teased him, “With whom, darling? Must be with your other wife.”

“Kate!”

“Oh he’s getting very cross with us, lady Bridgerton.” Benedict teased.

“I rather like when he’s cross.” Kate hummed, “He looks like an angry turtle.”

“I’m very romantic!” Anthony argued, “Did I not treat you to a very nice interlude last evening?”

“I’m not sure your brother needs to know about that, Anthony.”

“He doesn’t.” Benedict agreed.

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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mellowsadistic · 2 years

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“That was so embarrassing!” Tori whined as she stepped inside her house, the woman who’d been appointed as her ‘Nanny’ following close behind. “Why did you have to make me sit in a stupid car seat? And why do you drive me to and from work in the first place? I can drive perfectly fine by myself!”

“I know you can, sweetie,” Nanny said patiently, “but it’s important that you get used to being dependent. Your regression sentence might be a light one, but the court appointed me as your Nanny for the next three years, and it’s my job to take care of you.” She slipped off Tori’s dress and let it pool at the young woman’s feet, exposing her full chest and bra, and the thick cotton training pants between her legs. “So apart from the journey home, how was your first day back at work?” she asked kindly, noting with satisfaction that the front of Tori’s pull-ups were slightly discoloured.

“It was awful!” Tori scowled. “They all made fun of me, and everyone kept asking to see my… to see my… my undies.”

“Poor baby,” Nanny cooed sympathetically. “But you can hardly blame them, can you? It is pretty silly, after all. A grown woman who’s still in potty training!” She let out a giggle.

“I’m not still in potty training!” Tori said angrily. But then she felt a sudden, hard spank to her rear, and she shut her mouth quickly.

Nanny didn’t come across as particularly strict, but even though Tori had only been in her custody for a couple of hours total, excluding the time she’d been at work, she’d learned that the woman was quick with a smack, and she had a firm hand. She wasn’t looking forward to her first trip over Nanny’s lap; so far Nanny had restricted herself to swatting her bottom while she stood, but Tori could tell she was itching to administer a proper, over-the-knee spanking.

“Oh yes you are, little missy,” she said sternly. “You may not be in nappies, but you are most certainly not toilet trained. Not anymore. Your regression sentence made it quite plain that you will be spending the next three years in a state of perpetual potty training, living the partial lifestyle of a toddler. So let’s try that again. Are you potty trained yet, Tori?”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Tori mumbled, “Not yet, Nanny.”

“Do you wear panties?”

“No, Nanny.”

“What do you wear, Tori?”

“I wear… I wear pull-ups, Nanny.”

“That’s right. And can you use the grown-up toilet?”

“Only… only while I’m at work, Nanny.”

“And while you’re at home?”

“At home I have to… I have to use my potty.” Tori felt like she was about to cry.

“But you don’t always make it in time, do you Tori?” Nanny asked sweetly, and Tori gritted her teeth. That was the rule she hated most. It was so ridiculous! Every time she used the toilet, she had to pee in her training pants for a few seconds first. It was disgusting. Tori couldn’t stand the horrible sensation of wetting her pants, feeling her pee soak into her pull-ups and press against her skin. She’d felt totally absurd standing in front of the toilet at work and wetting herself deliberately, and Nanny’s assurances that she’d eventually start having accidents for real did nothing to make her feel better. It was like some horrible dream! All because she’d been caught inventing a few things for her newspaper column!

“No, Nanny, ” she said stiffly.

“No,” Nanny agreed, and then she started sniffing the air theatrically. “Uh-oh!” she sang happily. “I think Nanny smells wee-wee! Did little Tori have an accident today?”

Tori squirmed on the spot and looked down at the floor, wishing it would swallow her up. Nanny reached out and slipped a finger into the front waistband of her training pants, pulling it out and peaking down at the yellowish padding inside. “Oopsie!” she trilled. “Silly girl, Tori! You’re supposed to do your pee-pees in the potty, not your pants!” She let the waistband snap back, smiling broadly. Then she frowned a little, leaned close, and sniffed again. “Tori,” she said warningly, “I’ll let you off this time because I didn’t say it explicitly, but from now on perfume is a no-no. If you want something to cover up that icky wee-wee smell, then I’ll start putting baby powder on your tushy in the mornings, okay?”

Tori groaned. The smell of urine had followed her around all day. It would only be more obvious if she wasn’t allowed to wear perfume! But would smelling like baby powder really be any better?

“Yes, Nanny,” she pouted.

“Good girl. Now, let’s finish getting you undressed!”

Tori was pleased that she’d at least be allowed out of her yucky pull-ups, but instead of reaching for her training pants again, Nanny stepped behind her back and started to unclasp her bra.

“W-what are you doing?!” Tori asked, taken aback.

“Little girls don’t need bras, honey,” said Nanny. “You can have it back when I dress you for work tomorrow. You don’t need anything but your training pants when you’re playing around the house, okay?”

A flush rose to Tori’s cheeks as her bra was pulled away, freeing her large breasts.

“Oh my goodness,” Nanny tittered. “You do have big boobies, don’t you baby? Look at the size of those knockers!”

Tori turned scarlet and lifted her hands to cover her chest, but Nanny smacked them away. “Uh-uh, sweetie. No covering up. You don’t have modesty anymore. If you’ve got big boobies, you’ll just have to let them jiggle about.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now come along, Miss Melons,” she said with another giggle, taking Tori by the hand and leading her further into the house, “It’s potty time!”

Tori felt disoriented by Nanny’s abrupt switch from treating her like a toddler to teasing her about her womanly chest, and she felt suddenly self-conscious about the way her breasts wobbled stupidly on her chest as she toddled along at Nanny’s side. But she was pulled out of her thoughts a moment later when she saw what was sitting on a little disposable mat in the middle of the living room. She’d known it was coming, of course, but it was quite another thing to actually see the large, pink, plastic potty chair sat in front of her, waiting.

“You know what to do,” said Nanny, patting her bottom gently, a smirk playing about her lips. “You must need to pee by now. I’d bet you were trying to pee as little as possible at work, so people wouldn’t notice the yucky smell.”

Tori shifted from foot to foot. Nanny was right. She had been holding it in for the last few hours of work. In hindsight, she wished she’d taken the opportunity to use the toilet there with some privacy, even if it meant risking snarky comments and taunts from her coworkers about her pissy pants.

“Go on, Tori,” said Nanny. “Do what you need to do. Then make sure you ask properly, like I explained this morning. Unless you’d like to skip potty time today and go straight into your night-time diaper?”

Tori whined inarticulately and shook her head. A few moments of silence passed, and then, with an effort, she started to pee. One second, two seconds, three, four, five. Then she clamped down hard on the stream of wee-wee that had been flooding her toddler pants. “Nanny, I need my potty!” she blurted, blushing furiously and clutching between her legs. After starting, it was difficult to stop, and as humiliating as it was, using a potty would be better than using her pants like a baby. “Please will you help me do a wee-wee?”

“Oh course I will, darling,” Nanny cooed, and she led Tori over to the potty. In one swift movement, she slid her training pants down her legs and lowered her plump bare bottom onto the seat.

Tori desperately avoided eye contact with Nanny as she let her bladder go again, and a tinkling noise filled the room. But she couldn’t stop herself letting out a sigh of relief.

“Good girl!” Nanny crooned, her voice sickeningly sweet. “What a big girl you are, Tori! Well done for mostly making it!” She probed the pull-ups pooled around the younger woman’s ankles with her fingers, grinning at how wet they were after a full day of accidents. “You can almost always make it to the potty for wee-wees, can’t you honey? And you hardly ever make poo-poos in your pants, do you? Barely more than once a week!”

“Once a week?!” Tori squealed, looking up sharply, but she gulped when she saw the stern look in Nanny’s eyes, and she dropped her gaze back to her feet.

“That’s right, sweetie,” said Nanny, with a sinister airiness. “Once a week, and occasionally twice, is what I expect. And if it’s any less, you’ll be in trouble.”

Tori cringed. Wetting herself was already disgusting, and the thought of having to poop her pants at least once a week was enough to turn her stomach. “Yes, Nanny,” she whimpered, as her stream of pee slowed to a stop, and she was left perching on her potty, waiting for instructions.

“Good girl,” Nanny said happily. “Now stand up and Nanny will wipe your princess parts all clean, and then it’s into your night-time nappy and off to bed! There will be plenty of time for playtime later. You’ve had a busy day! Just remember, girls who aren’t potty trained can’t control themselves at night, so if your nappy isn’t wet and icky when I wake you up tomorrow morning, you’ll be going straight over my knee!”

#mellowsadistic

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annoyinglandmagazine · 11 months

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My entry for @aspecardaweek. Focused on Aromantic Curufin.

Celebrimbor had the sweetest little smile Curufin had ever seen. He smiled and giggled at the world as a whole but when he was in his father’s arms he looked up at him with those solemn grey eyes and his face broke into a wide smile of pure adoration. He was a miracle. Eru, he was absolutely perfect. He knew he would never grow tired of this child reaching out for him, of experiencing his joy and soothing his tears with gentle words and affection. This was the most incredible thing he would ever accomplish, bringing this beautiful life into the world. His little patchy tufts of dark hair, the way he clapped his chubby little hands when he was happy, it was all so much more remarkable than anything he could ever have imagined. He was certain that there was nothing in this world he would not give or do for this child. The moment he had been placed in his arms he felt so perfectly happy and content while being overwhelmed with utter love that he knew would be the most important thing in his life from that moment onwards.

And he would not have it any other way. For what else could he want? When people had heard he had become a father the question that had come from seemingly all directions was always of the identity of the mother. A curiosity, he supposed, was probably understandable, Tirion’s gossip mill was notorious. But after he had made it clear that the mother was not simply hiding in his basement, and no, she was not dead, he expected people to move on.

And a lot of them did, resigned that they were not going to get any further information out of the most secretive son of Feanor (quite the achievement). But even if they abandoned interrogations he still heard about it. ‘The child resembles his grandfather an uncanny degree, you don’t suppose the mother could have gone the same way as-’ ‘He must be truly impossible to live with for a mother to abandon her child to be rid of him-’ ‘It’s surely something truly sordid and scandalous-’

He didn’t understand really why people reacted as strongly as they did to the sight of a father and a child, the idea that it was a tragic or immoral thing for a child to grow up in a home without two parents. Arguably his father had had three, and look how that had turned out. The equation of two parents who liked to kiss each other and children hardly seemed to work in that case, or many others he imagined. He cared for and gave his child all the love he would ever need, and even if he had somehow fallen short the child had six uncles and two doting grandparents who were just as happy to shower him with attention.

Celebrimbor lived in a happy home, so what if it wasn’t a mirror of all the others? The love Curufin held for his son was pure and strong, why would there need to be some other kind of confusing love involved in the equation for it to count? Why did he not marry the child’s mother? Because they hadn’t wanted to marry, had seen no reason to. Curufin had wanted a child, not a wife, and Telpiniel had no desire to be a wife or a mother, only a craftswoman who had wanted to attempt the art of creation. He’d gotten on well with her, enjoyed their time together, even. But at no point, during their conversations, the time they’d been taking their pleasure or crafting the fëa of the child, had he felt the stirring of some dormant, deep longing, that had been the subject of so much focus in literature, plays, poetry and song. He hadn’t expected to, nor had he particularly wanted to. It seemed to make some people happy, but whenever he looked at a married or courting couple he felt no desire for something similar, no matter who with.

It simply felt unnecessary, for why would he want the perplexing, flustered love of some random nís or nér when he could have the deep security of the unconditional love he’d always had with his brothers and parents and now with his son? No, whatever emotions other people seemed to feel they were not part of his life and they didn’t need to be. He was perfectly full and content with his own.

#silmarillion #tolkien #aspecardaweek #aromantic #curufin #celebrimbor #aromantic curufin

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sturchling · 2 years

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Lila believes herself to be the Queen of the school

Turns out that she only has power on her class but her delusions don't let her see it

Until the end of the year dance, where she realices that only her class voted for her to be the Queen

And after she doesn't get akumatized (maybe because some other queen-wannabe was or because Gabriel isn't in París) she throws the biggest tantrum in the history of Dupont

Meanwhile Marinette is enjoying her night with her new friends

Lila was so excited for this weekend. It was the end of the year dance and everything was going to be perfect. Her dress was gorgeous, a Gabriel original that he gave to her so she could show off his newest designs before they were officially released to the public. She had Adrien as her perfect date, though he had been reluctant. But a little pressure from Gabriel and Adrien fell in line. And with everyone believing her lies, she was one of the most, if not the most, popular girls in school. She was a shoe in for Queen of the dance. Everything would be perfect, at least so she thought.

What Lila didn’t realize is that only the class believed her lies. Everyone else in the school saw her for what she was. A ridiculously bad liar and nothing more. In Mrs. Bustier’s class Lila may be popular, but with the rest of the school? She was low man on the social ladder. Her reputation was only damaged more when Marinette was practically forced out of Mrs. Bustier’s class because of the lies.

Marinette didn’t purposely bad mouth Lila, but word did get out of what exactly she had been doing to Marinette and the school hated her all the more for it. Marinette was close to everyone, and always so kind, so the rest of the school was outraged at what had been done to her.

As the day of the dance drew closer, everyone grew more excited. The end of year dance was always great. Time came for the dance’s court to be announced. Each class nominated one boy and girl to be a part of the court and have a chance to be crowned king and queen of the dance. Of course, Lila and Adrien were nominated from Mrs. Bustier’s class.

Marinette rolled her eyes seeing them on the ballot, but focused more on cheering on her new friend Carrie, who had been nominated for Marinette’s new class. Marinette also finished up the dresses and suits for her new friends, so they would all look amazing on the special night.

Soon, it was time for the dance. Lila arrived with Adrien and was immediately crowded by her minions. So busy with them, she didn’t even notice that the other students practically avoided her at all costs. All the focus of Mrs. Bustiers’s class was on Lila, and that was how she liked it.

Then Marinette and her group arrived. They were gorgeous in their new dresses and all eyes turned to them. A large crowd gathered around to look at the dresses, and even a few of Mrs. Bustier’s students started looking towards Marinette. Lila glared at the young designer for taking the spotlight off her, but brushed it off. As she started spinning a tale to get the class’ attention back on her, she let her mind wander. Not like Marinette actually matters, she can have this one. All attention will be on me where it belongs soon enough, when I become queen.

Soon, it came time to crown the king and queen. Adrien won king in a landslide, not that he particularly cared, but he smiled and accepted his crown anyway. Lila sat preening, waiting for her name to be called next. “And the queen of the dance is- Carrie!” Lila was shocked in silence, as was the rest of her class. How could she lose? She is one of the most popular girls in school.

But she didn’t panic, she just let the anger and rage consume her, and waited for the butterfly. He always showed up when she was angry. So she waited. And waited. And waited. But it never showed. What she didn’t know is that Gabriel had left town to go to fashion week in New York. She was on her own. No helpful supervillain or butterflies to help get her way this time. So, as Carrie began to speak and accept her crown, Lila stormed the stage.

“I demand a recount! This can’t be right! I’m the most popular girl in school! That is my crown, I should be queen! How could some nobody like you beat me!?” Lila stood there, expecting some push back, but also for the school to rally around her. Mrs Bustier’s class agreed and called for a recount as well.

Mr. Damocles just sighed. “If you insist, we can do a recount, but it will be quick. Almost everyone voted for Carrie, only your class voted for you Mrs. Rossi. Now, if there is nothing else, please get off the stage and let Carrie finish accepting her crown or you will be removed.”

The whole school was laughing at this point, laughing at her. How dare they laugh at me. Lila furiously whipped around and glared at everyone. “Stop it! Why are you laughing?! Stop that right now!” Someone in the crowd called out “We are laughing at you for thinking we would fall for you lies like your class did. They may believe you, but you are a pretty poor liar.”

The laughing continued, as Mrs. Bustier’s class looked around confused and asking why they thought Lila was a liar. Lila saw everything crumbling around her, but she couldn’t let this go. She couldn’t just stop here and focus on keeping her class in her thrall instead of getting this crown she had already lost. So she continued yelling and screaming about how it wasn’t fair and she deserved that crown. She threw a tantrum that would put Baby August, the frequent akuma, to shame.

It ended up that Mr. Damocles did have to have Lila escorted out of the dance and then up to his office to call her mother and discuss her behavior tonight. As she was taken out of the hall, she was still kicking and screaming, yelling about how it’s not fair and she never loses. By this point, Carrie had her crown and was back with Marinette and the rest of her friends. The small group just watched the show unfold with smiles on their faces. Forget the band, this show of Lila’s tantrum was the best entertainment they had all night.

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vigilskeep · 1 year

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What do you think DA companions eat in a day + what is their actual preference?

this turned out to just be some scribbled notes on what i think everyone likes. i also stuck to dao companions bc otherwise we’d be here all day

alistair: makes jokes about fereldan food rather than being particularly a loyalist. not fond of his own cooking. mentions liking cheeses once or twice, doesn’t like the smell of fish in redcliffe. i suspect he’s mostly had anything bland and easy to make lots of, for training templars/grey wardens, and would optimally prefer something made with a little more care and intention. get this boy a home cooked family meal but still in large portions pls

morrigan: by her own admission can cook and likely did a lot of the cooking for flemeth, with simple supplies from the wilds. probably derisive of “fine foods” but in a defensive way where she just doesn’t want to admit she hasn’t actually tried any. has tried to eat raw meat while not shapeshifted once to see if it would still taste good. it didn’t

leliana: as a lay sister she talks about eating simple foods cooked lightly but ultimately i know she was eating like that while having grand narratives in her brain about self-sacrifice while everyone else was normal about it. in reality she’s an incorrigible fancy orlesian and must be treated as such

zevran: a loyal antivan i suspect. he definitely says talking about antiva makes him “wistful and hungry for a proper meal”. i’m guessing mediterranean influences, i’m guessing a good deal spicier than what you get in ferelden. antiva city is also coastal and he talks about “antivan fishwives” so probably a whole seafood thing going on. all that being said i think he will try anything once

sten: canonical sweet tooth for things they do not have in par vollen. i know he is suffering rn if he’s back up there

wynne: likes it fancy, knows what she’s talking about, spends time at fereldan royal court. uses senior enchanter privileges for wine and fine ale (we take a pause to be distracted by the fact that the tranquil canonically brew fine ale for senior enchanters to drink i fucking guess)

oghren: “nugs are good with extra sauce” enough said

loghain: traditional fereldan fare or death. yes he’ll try ONE orlesian pastry while he’s sent there as a warden if there’s NOTHING else to eat. where did the rest of the pastries go loghain

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

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hi! thank you for your wonderful writing <3 i love reading ur otto hightower fics - and i was wondering if you could drop some fluffy family hcs with the tyrell!reader? i'd love to hear more about how they get along with the rest of the family (alicent; aemond; helaena; etc) and things about cedric!

Ooooh, funny that I actually considered writing this! I have so many little things. I might add some details about Rosebud!reader too for funsies Thank you 😊

***

Alicent:

Let's get one thing straight: you're not her mother. In fact, she's older than you by at least a few years. You were twenty-five when you married Otto, and she was approaching thirty. On top of that, she is your queen, so you respect her immensely. Neither of you dared to discuss any sort of ‘mother/daughter’ relationship.

She didn't like the fact her father married someone so much younger than himself. It reminded her of her own marriage: she’d married Viserys when she was a child, had his children as a child, and remained one in his eyes. She didn’t like her father doing the same, even if said bride was an adult. He'd done his time as a married man and father. What was her cousin thinking?

But, she sees how you truly love and care for her father. She’d seen this when he’d become ill, feeling weak and feverish. Every morning, noon and night she found you sitting by his side, weaving a wreath of The Seven, doing needlework or reading out loud to him. You oversaw the maesters when they gave him his medicine, and smiled happily when his fever finally broke. You’re his greatest comfort in The Red Keep, a support system outside of his daughter and circle. She sees how he seeks you out after heated debates in the small council; how he spends his “reflective hours” with you in the gardens, in the godswood or the royal sept. He seems happier since marrying you, and she does adore her half-brother, Cedric. So, she slowly began opening herself to you.

You're the only other woman at court whom she can talk to about matters outside of politics. Since their relationship soured, Alicent didn't talk to Rhaenyra like she once did; being "The Queen" left her with few friends. Having a person who doesn't have ulterior motives or isn't trying to scheme against her felt refreshing.

She enjoys the talks you two have. You two relate on a level your husband never understood. You listen to her rough days, try cheering her up by bringing your favorite fool or piper. Often, you're usually the one asking her for advice. When you and her father have a quarrel, you vent to her and ask if you'd perhaps been in the wrong after all. Nine times out of ten, both of you are wrong, so she ends up telling you two to make up. How you make up, she will NEVER ask.

You're often the neutral party in the house. You have ties to The Greens through Otto, but you like to see things from both sides. It brings a lot of prospective that Alicent might not have seen otherwise.

You're not her mother, but you are a good, loyal friend.

Helaena:

Helaena was only thirteen when you married Otto, so she spent most of her teen years around you. Shy and quiet, she often stayed in her own world; having difficulty socializing with new people, it took her a while getting used to you in general. She found it odd that her grandsire married such a young woman, but she didn't think much of it.

You might not like bugs, but you started the friendship by gifting her a framed rare, exotic beetle for her nameday. You read up on different species and showed her some of the ones you'd seen at home and the flowers you found them around.

A shared interest in nature brought you even closer. You grew up around fields of flowers, vines of grapes, and groves of fruitful trees. You felt at home in nature, and so did Helaena.

In some ways, she reminds you of your younger sister, Elise. Particularly when she is excited about something. The way her eyes light up brings out the sentimental sisterly feelings. You told Otto this once, and it made him smile.

You found her strange riddles interesting. Of course, they’re only little things she sees in her dreams, but you liked trying to guess their meaning. She told you she didn’t really know herself; she’d had them her entire life. Otto told you not to listen to Helaena’s strange ramblings, since he felt it’d only encourage the behavior. You replied by saying there is nothing wrong with having dreams. Dreams were good.

You do everything in your power to encourage and support her. Helaena is never good at speaking in large crowds; she often becomes overwhelmed and stammers a bit. You don’t touch her, since she doesn’t like being touched in those moments, but you do stay by her side as Alicent does. This comforts her greatly.

You also adore her twins, whom you dote on whenever possible.

Aegon:

As much as Aegon loves the ladies, he doesn't understand the hype around you. You're like any other noblewoman from The Reach. You like flowers 🙄 you play music 🙄 you are ✨️ pretty ✨️. Aegon liked his girls to be a bit wild, and you were far from that to him.

Don't worry. You didn't lose sleep over the fact that Prince Aegon didn't like you. In fact, the distaste went both ways. You thought he was a drunken fool who screwed up all the time. You often told Otto that you didn’t blame the king for not naming Aegon his heir. If Cedric ever became a shameful person, you’d make sure your next child inherited everything instead.

Calls you “Grandmother” when he wants insult you, though you throw it back in his face and tell him that you are, so he should listen to you and stop being a prat.

You find him to be vile, especially when you heard about what he does to his serving girls. It disgusted you beyond belief.

When you two get into it, you GET INTO IT. Shade IS thrown. Faces ARE made, and Otto has to remind you exactly who you are and that sinking to Aegon’s level does nothing for anybody.

Though, you do sympathize with him in his more vulnerable moments. After catching him crying in a darkened stairwell, having no energy to climb up it due to the copious amounts of ale in his system, you took pity on him. A boy doesn't behave that way by default. Having no real father figure, believing his mother doesn't care about him, and being told how to live his life has led to his self-destructive behavior. Yet, Aegon has chosen to live his reckless way and you knew nothing you said changed that.

After that day, you two began this strange sibling energy relationship. You called each other names, occasionally smacked one another without really hurting each other, and continued the banter back and forth, but much more affectionately.

This only pleased Otto because it resulted in less headaches.

Aemond:

Heyyyy, we all know Aemond loves the older ladies. He'd been only fourteen when he met you, the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. He could barely speak around you for a long time. Aegon often teased him by mocking how he stuttered or froze up in your presence. He’d gulped thickly when his mother told him you were his step-grandmother now. You were going to live with them? In the Red Keep? The Gods truly were cruel.

It grew worse when, during their visit to Highgarden, he stumbled upon you in one of the cool wading ponds...in nothing but a linen dress that clung to your body. You didn't mind he'd caught you; he didn't know his way around the castle and got turned around. No harm, no foul. Covering yourself in the water, you told him how to get back to the main castle, smiling at his red cheeks and stuttering sentences. *side note: you’d originally hoped Otto would find you, and he did, you just didn’t see him*

You both laugh about it now that he's older.

He's your constant library companion. You each take up chairs in the large library and read quietly. Sometimes, you read out loud, but mostly you sit in silence. Having him sitting nearby felt comforting to you while you read; like having a protective shadow watching over you.

Aemond will never forget how understanding and patient you'd been with him after he lost his eye. Your treatment of him never changed. You helped him when he clearly had difficulty seeing or adjusting to his new condition. You’d sewn an eye patch for him, a leather one with black dragon heads sewn into the straps, which he wears on special occasions.

He took you riding on his dragon as a nameday gift. You’d shown interest in the Targaryen dragons, and he knew you'd be delighted to meet the ancient Vhagar, the largest in the world. It remained entirely platonic; a young man and woman enjoying the skies together. But, he had enjoyed your arms around his middle as he flew Vhagar through the skies and how you clung onto him so tightly.

Perhaps....Nah, that's dumb. You love his grandfather, and he respected that.

Besides, he had Helaena, who'd taken him heart and soul.

Daeron: (you didn’t think I’d forget MIA Daeron Targaryen, did you? Daeron the Daring??)

You didn’t meet Daeron until Otto took you to Oldtown where he’s Ormund’s cupbearer and squire.

He was a sweet boy, clever and witty. He took to calling you ‘Grandmother’, though he said this with a hint of affection in it that was always followed by a laugh.

He proudly told you about his ambitions to be a knight one day, and said that he’d gladly name you Queen of Love and Beauty when he won his first tourney...if you’d go, my lady.

Sadly, you didn’t spend much time with Daeron, but you did get to see the beautiful she-dragon Tessarion.

Cedric Hightower:

You had Cedric a year into your marriage. It was a normal pregnancy for the most part. You listened to the maester’s instructions, took care of yourself, and delivered with no complications. Cedric had your coloring, but had Otto’s nose and chin. You never felt happier than when you held him in your arms, swaddled in a blue and green blanket you’d made for him.

Sleeps. Like. A. Rock. You and Otto still remain quiet around him when he’s sleeping, and he does wake up on his own at least once a night, but otherwise, he sleeps well.

He has a wet nurse who attends to him when you cannot or are unable to for whatever reason, but otherwise, you care for him. You feed him, bathe him, clothe him, read to him, sing him to sleep at night, and play with him. You always imagined yourself becoming a mother, like any noblewoman did, and hoped you’d be like your own.

He definitely likes moving around once he learns to walk. You and his nurse have to keep your eyes on him once he starts moving about, because then you easily lose track of him. You learn he’s pretty quick on his feet. Otto says he’ll make a great swordsman one day, and other men agree so you hope it’ll be true.

He loves horses. You often take him to the stables to pet and feed them hay. He likes watching them walk around mostly since he’s still too young to ride one on his own. He particularly likes your mare, Daisy, a chestnut and black horse with a long mane. Much like the Targaryens with their dragons, you’d chosen Daisy’s most recent foal to be his horse when he grows.

Everyone adores him.

No, really. Everyone.

Well, yeah, he’s a baby and babies can be cute.

Fun Rosebud facts:

I know it’s really a ‘reader’ fic, but I tend to make my ‘reader’ characters sort of their own thing at the same time. I like to give them names, so tyrell!reader is always ‘Rosebud’ to me lol. You’re always free to picture her however you want, but that’s me personally. So much easier to write ‘Rosebud’ than ‘tyrell!reader’ every time in my notes.

The drabbles I’ve posted are not in any chronological order, so if you guys want like a timeline or something, just let me know because I’m going to be writing actual one shots for them soon.

Here are just some fun things I made up for backstory:

You are the third child of Lord Gareth and Lady Jalissa Tyrell, and are their first born daughter. (fun fact, I learned that Margaery’s mother was actually a Hightower too, so that was a cool connection. It was totally by coincidence.)

It took you so long to be properly betrothed because your father usually disapproved of every suitor who came forward for your hand. It didn’t bother you because you didn’t like them anyways, and you got to stay home with your family.

You love music. You can play the harp, lyre, and flute. You played the harp for the king’s party when they arrived at Highgarden for the Harvest Moon Festival. Otto loves to hear you sing Cedric to sleep; he says it soothes him also in a sense.

You enjoy reading the different histories of the world, and learning new things. Like stated above, you love nature too. Expect to always read about Rosebud wearing something floral/nature related in her hair accessories, jewelry or clothes.

You immediately roll your eyes whenever a man starts going on about your ‘beauty and grace’...except Otto, because he means it when he says it <3

You have a very close relationship with your younger sister, Elise, who was born some time after you. But, you also have good relationships with your other siblings: Matthos is your eldest brother and heir to Highgarden, a well known jouster in the region and very handsome besides; your twin brothers Loras and Horas who might as well be the same person with how they do almost everything together. Your youngest sister, Adeline, was an infant when you left home, but you shower her with kisses and presents whenever you see her.

You definitely are not the shy, virginal flower Otto expected on your wedding night. You’ve always had a sensual, sexual nature about you that drove your libido. You kept it hidden by shy smiles and giggles, but only true pervs can see right through it. Before your wedding night, you purposefully put yourself in positions where Otto might happen to come upon you alone. The only time he gave in was when he kissed you the last night of the festival.

You have daddy issues because you’re a daddy’s girl.

The only person who knows about your ‘type’ is your mother, who was actually the one who pushed for a marriage to Otto. Jalissa is a close friend of Otto’s, and knew if anyone would respect and protect her daughter, it’d be him.

A/N: Aaaand that’s a wrap! I hope you liked these little fun headcanons. I’m having a lot of fun writing this series, so expect more from it soon. I get to write out my dilf fantasies through Otto. Oooh, if you’d like me to do her relationships to Team Black (Daemon in particular), I might add that too. Love you guys <3

#otto hightower #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #hotd headcanon #hotd drabbles #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fluff

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Text

Epilogue Just a lil fluffy epilogue... if you don't like babies then this is not the epilogue for you!

Devlon adored his garden. The cat tanked through overgrown grass, bolting after a butterfly while Nesta followed Elain’s instruction on removing the weeds. Azriel let out a little chuckle from the kitchen at Nesta’s disgruntled expression when a particularly thick bramble refused to budge. She was not a gardening person, but wanted to help somehow whenever she wasn’t working with George. Hacking away at something seemed to be the safest place for Nesta.

Remarkably, Cassian offered up his services to help restore the house. It didn’t matter to Azriel if it was simply to repent because Cassian was handy and he did need his help but would have been too proud to ask otherwise. Azriel kept Nesta shielded, keeping her pregnancy under wraps for the time being though Cassian already knew, but it didn’t seem worth it to risk any lingering effects of the mating bond if it could be helped. As it happened, Cassian was fine. He never got too close to Nesta or tried to touch her in anyway – and only ever visited when he knew Azriel was home. They had unspoken rules regarding Nesta. Azriel might not have been her mate, but now that she was carrying his child, he was even more protective of her. As for Cassian, there were no signs of madness or him becoming a tortured male without the bond. Helion believed the close proximity to Nesta prevented those effects. He still had access to her in a way that suited all of them.

Azriel was grateful for the help, but more thankful still to have his brother back. Their conversation returned almost as easy as it used to be as they repaired the house together. They’d repainted most of the rooms after sanding and patching up cracks so they had begun living in a few of the rooms. Each day, they worked from dawn ‘til dusk with Rhys coming occasionally to offer unhelpful advice and get in the way.

It became a habit now that whenever Rhys showed up, Nesta would have to distract him so he didn’t make a mess of painting or hammer a nail in the wrong place. None would tell the high lord that he needed a babysitter, but Nesta reluctantly took on the role, expertly guiding him elsewhere or distracting his attention.

Azriel had overheard them talking once, that hesitant bridge forming between them as they enjoyed an early summer day in the garden with a cool drink while he and Cassian continued fixing the loose tiles of the roof.

‘Thank you for being on our side. It can’t have been easy for you to go against Cassian and my sister.’

Rhys gave her a gentle smile. ‘It was the right thing to do.’

‘The right thing isn’t always the easy one. Will you let Amren return?’

‘Maybe once she’s had enough torture by sunburn and sand. Not for a long time though.’

‘Good.’

‘I’m in need of second.’

‘Not for me,’ she said, screwing up her nose.

‘Well, can I at least have you on standby to chase my enemies with your glorious, silver flames?’

The corner of her mouth tipped up. ‘I’ll consider it.’

The house had taken shape through hours of care. The nursery – which had been kept under wraps so Mor spread a rumour it was some sort of sordid palace of pleasure – was painted a sunny yellow, their kitchen was well used as they explored new recipes together, and they’d changed one of the downstairs rooms into a cross between a small library and a study for Nesta’s collection of books which would only increase to fill the shelves. Most of it had been built by Cassian but they rewarded him with food.

Despite the awful beginning, he was proving to be a steadfast companion again, lending an ear when Azriel worried about being a father or happily rearranging the furniture when Nesta decided she didn’t like the layout that she had chosen for the third time.

On a quiet day, when most of the house was finished, Azriel and Nesta eloped.

Neither of them wanted the fuss or the attention, so they winnowed to the Summer Court and had a priestess marry them on the beach without pomp or fanfare. Even in her simple, white gown, Nesta was a dream. Of course, they’d had to stay a little longer to scour the beach for more shells to add to the nursery. She was barefooted with only a hint of a bump beneath her gown and Azriel’s breath caught in his lungs to look at her – his wife – as she tiptoed along the sand.

Although the pregnancy had been a massive surprise, which his mother had sobbed at, Azriel found himself obsessed. He couldn’t go into the city without buying something for the baby, whether it was more clothes or toys that they wouldn’t be able to play with for months, he always had to buy something. His child would be so spoilt. Azriel doubted he would ever be able to refuse anything either.

The obsession wasn’t just with the baby either. When Nesta’s stomach began to round, he was more attracted to her changing body than ever before. Azriel was more than happy to rub moisturiser all over her every morning and evening while Nesta lay on the bed, content to be pampered. The knowledge that Nesta was carrying his child made him insatiable so the massages quickly turned into sex where he plastered her body with kisses and reverent touches. She complained that her hips were too wide, her breasts were too big, and the stretchmarks that appeared on her thighs and stomach were horrible. Azriel saw none of that. He saw his wife who he loved more than anything in the world, growing his child. He couldn’t have been any more attracted to her if he tried. If it was up to him, they wouldn’t leave the bedroom for ten months.

***

‘I’m so pregnant,’ Nesta whined by the door. Her feet were so swollen that she hadn’t been able to lace up her shoes for weeks – and now she could no longer even bend down to reach her shoes.

‘Have you only just noticed?’ Azriel tenderly stroked a hand against her stomach. ‘You glow more every day. You are carrying our child. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.’

‘I have two more months and he’s been kicking me in the rib since month five. It’s not beautiful. It’s rude.’

‘She is just very active and can’t wait to meet her mother because she knows hers is the best in the world.’

Using Azriel for balance, Nesta raised a leg then the other so he could slip on her shoes for her. They had decided not to find out what they were having. Nesta was certain he was a boy. Azriel and Rovena were both insistent she was a girl. Cassian wouldn’t give an answer either way, the coward.

They walked as far as she could manage through Velaris as a brisk autumn wind swept through, then they winnowed the last part of the journey to the River House. Nesta had only begun showing near the end of her fourth month and her visits to the inner circle were so infrequent that none knew she was carrying except for Cassian – who had miraculously managed to keep the secret. Azriel let the shield around her slip away though Nesta grimaced at the thought of males sniffing her baby in her womb. That was one aspect of being fae that still disturbed her.

Their unannounced visit was met with casual surprise – then they noticed Nesta’s massive bump and it quickly turned to celebration though she couldn’t drink with them and no position was particularly comfortable anymore.

The group had hesitantly turned to Cassian, expecting him to be warped by trauma at the sight of his ex-mate carrying another male’s child, but Cassian let out a laugh. ‘Finally! It’s been so hard to keep this secret.’

‘You knew?’

Cassian scoffed. ‘I knew before Az. You see, Mor, I can keep a secret.’

Mor’s mouth dropped open. ‘That’s the first secret you have kept in five hundred years.’

The remainder of the pregnancy went well. Nesta did not know what she had done to deserve Azriel. He was so gentle and caring with her, massaging her swollen feet and hands, running baths then helping her in and out of the water, not minding when her hormones bubbled up and she cried hysterically at the dead sparrow that Devlon had dragged in. He was so attentive to her every need. Him – and the shadows. If Azriel had to depart then at least one shadow would remind behind, trailing Nesta throughout the house when she had stopped working in the city. And if it wasn’t the shadows, then the cat would curl up as close as he could to her bump on the couch leaving fuzzy, grey hair on every single surface.

The labour was fine because she had Azriel supporting her thought it. It was not commonplace for mortal males to be anywhere near their wife when she delivered a child, so Nesta has assumed Azriel would wait outside. He’d been utterly horrified at the idea of leaving her with just a healer. Throughout he was calm and comforting, holding a cold press to her forehead and being exactly what she needed.

When he arrived, Nesta couldn’t help but gloat that she had been correct. They had chosen a mortal name for their little boy although he’d been born with his father’s wings and a thick crop of black hair a few days after Feyre’s birthday. The Illyrian genes proved stronger than hers. His big brown eyes and dainty wings were the most beautiful things she had ever set eyes on. It brought Nesta so much joy to see Azriel cradling Joseph to his chest. She’d sit and watch with Devlon purring on her lap, marking all the similarities between her tiny son and her husband. Sometimes the pair of them would marvel over Joseph’s delicate fingernails in disbelief that they had created something so perfect.

Rovena stayed with them for the first week, helping them figure out how to manage a baby. Her help was invaluable in those initial sleep-deprived days. For Nesta, the struggle was managing a baby with wings because she was scared that she might somehow damage them. If Rovena wasn’t helping with Joseph, she was cleaning or doing their laundry. She’d even cooked enough meals to last them a few days after she had returned to Illyria.

Once Rovena had left, they allowed the others to visit and Joseph was spoilt with gifts and love from all of the inner circle. He was so adored by all, but especially by his father’s shadows. Often, they swirled around whoever was holding the baby protectively, or if he was sleeping in a basket, a few would peer in and watch. Elain had queried whether they didn’t scare Nesta to be so close to him, but the shadows had only ever been curious little beings to her. Maybe one day, Joseph would inherit his father’s ability too.

Azriel was incredible. It made Nesta love him more. Though nervous initially with fatherhood, he was taking it all in his stride – so much so that sometimes Nesta barely got a look in. At his first cry in the night, Azriel, who slept even lighter now, would hop from the bed and rush to him. Before Nesta could even blink and get out of bed, Azriel would bring Joseph to her for his feed then gaze at them both with adoration. He insisted on changing him so she could rest, and the moment he came home from working, he also insisted upon cooking dinner for them so Nesta could rest then too. Or he’d run her a bath so she could relax. Or if Joseph needed feeding whilst they were eating, Azriel would feed Nesta while she fed their son. She was turning into a fat house cat with the way that he spoilt her.

‘I loved you before. And then I loved you more when you were pregnant. Now? I don’t have words.’

Nesta shifted Joseph higher so he could latch onto her breast to feed. The dawn seeped in through the curtain and instead of trying to sleep a little longer, Azriel had chosen to lay beside them, stroking his son’s dark head.

‘I’d have fifty babies with you,’ he continued.

Nesta’s eyes widened in horror. ‘I’m not being pregnant fifty times.’

Azriel rolled onto his back, his wings taking up most of the space, and he made a grunt. ‘I wish.’

Even when she was full term and she’d felt sad about her body, Azriel had only ever looked at her with absolute desire – and ensured she knew it. They were still having sex at ten months pregnant though they had to be more creative and gentler with her massive bump. He’d barely been able to take his hands from her stomach, so pleased and proud he was that he had caused it. She was heavier now than before she was pregnant, but there was no pressure from Azriel in the slightest – especially not when he brought her something drizzled with chocolate and pumped with cream each time that he left the house.

They were lucky to have a very happy baby boy who was rarely fussy and only ever woke for a feed once in the night so they could still make time for each other. As he grew, Joseph’s favourite thing was for Nesta to blow raspberries on his tummy. He’d squeal and kick his legs or flap his wings. Or, for his father to take him on a very gentle flight around the garden which Nesta watched with her fingers covering her face.

Sometimes, Joseph would frown if Feyre held him as if he knew it wasn’t his mother but couldn’t work out why she looked so much like his mother. Thankfully, he was happy to go to anybody and the inner circle all wanted frequent cuddles with him. Rhys had taken up knitting and showed up at least once a week with a lumpy hat or pair of socks that he’d made with Feyre promising to try and distract him more. They tossed the items to Devlon who had a basket full of items that he tossed and clawed at.

Joseph had helped to heal the rift between them all. Cassian was a frequent visitor at the house still. He was the fun uncle who ran around the house and up the stairs with Joseph squealing and laughing as they jumped around like elephants. Joseph loved him. His face lit up whenever Cassian came by – and it gave Nesta and Azriel some respite to have a moment’s peace. Mor came only when accompanied by one of the others, as if she felt too ashamed to be in their presence after the chaos she’d caused. Nesta wouldn’t ever be her friend, but they could be civil to one another.

In order to be a better father and role model, Azriel had taken a step back from some of his duties. No longer did he spend hours in the dungeons of the Hewn City and emerge covered in blood for his high lord. He was better for it. His rage had been altered to a passion to be a good father for his son – although he already was. Nesta had never wanted this life. Had never wanted to be fae. She had only seen it as wars and magic, far beyond her comfort zone. Now, she had found her own little piece of happiness. Happiness was a home with people she loved – even if they both had wings and she was outnumbered by boys. There was nothing more special to Nesta than walking down Velaris’ busy, cobbled streets with her husband and son. They were able to walk in the sun without being shamed for loving each other despite their beginning. They were happy and everything was beautiful.

@rarephloxes @misteryhen @wannawriteyouabook @theleafpile @loysydark @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens

#nezriel #nesta vs the buffer

144 notes · View notes

mal-urameshi · 11 months

Note

Courting your honor part two 👀🙏🏾

Chronicles of Mama Okoye and Riri! XIII

Courting with Honor II

A/N: I did some research but shit, I wasn't in depth. So suspend your disbelief for me when it comes to the locations I listed here in Chicago. Thanks.

Riri grinned as she excitedly laced up her University Blue Jordan 1s. She stood up and checked herself out from the back in her mirror. She swung her hips from side to side before giving her butt a light smack, “Damn, I think my butt’s getting big!”

She walked up to her dresser and neatened up her already perfect edges before flashing herself another smile. Her straight-backs were on point, courtesy of her mother, and she smelled extra good too. Riri mumbled along to the rap song that was currently blasting in her room as she linked a gold chain around her neck while bopping her head, “Making all this money on my boss shit! Everything I do I keep a profit!”

“You fly as hell Riri.” She creased a finger over her already manicured eyebrows, “Ain’t nobody can test you. Ain’t nobody can do it like you!” She applied some lipgloss and smacked her lips together while she admired the way her arms looked in her crop top.

“Cash Money Records taking over for the 99’ and the 2000s!”

“Yo! This my song!”

Okoye nibbled on the last of her bread as her cup of tea vibrated across the table, which in turn caused some of the dark liquid to spill out of the cup, due to the sheer force of the music’s bass.

Okoye took up her cup and took a sip from its lip as she walked over to Riri’s room. She pushed open the door and was blessed by Bast herself with the sight of her daughter twerking her heart out in the middle of her bedroom.

“Girl you looks good won’t you back that ass up!” Riri rolled her hips to the beat of the music, completely oblivious to her mother taking in the show.

Okoye placed her cup on Riri’s work table, but the porcelain was on a mission to be bumped off the mahogany top. Okoye quickly remedied this by placing a particularly thick book over it to prevent any unfortunate messes.

She glanced over at her daughter who still hadn’t noticed her, lost in the music and high off of her excitement for the events of the day still to come. Okoye smiled and decided to join in on the fun, she gave a clap and jumped on beat with Riri.

Riri turned around and noticed that her mother joined in on her vibe, which caused her to laugh, “Go Mama! Go Mama! Throw that waist aye! CMB make you drop it like it’s hot! Drop it like it’s hot!” She rushed over to her bed and grabbed a few hundred dollar bills and started making it rain on Okoye, “The nyash is nyashing!”

Mother and Daughter fell over each other in laughter as the song came to its conclusion.

I got a bone to pick! I don’t want you monkey-mouth-

Okoye used her kimoyo beads to pause Riri’s music, “I swear, the neighbours are fed up of you.” She laughed as Riri picked up her money from the floor and put it in her purse.

“They dealt with my ass for 16 years, this ain’t new to them. They know what to expect.” Riri shrugged playfully as she threw her bag over her shoulder.

“Just know that I’ll be the one getting complaints while you are off on your date in the States.”

“C’mon, Ma! It’s almost the middle of the day. Ain’t nobody care about the music. Besides, Kendrick is good for the soul.”

Riri busted out a little dance in giddiness; she barely slept last night. All she could think about was Chicago. She was so excited she woke up super early, about to get ready but it had completely slipped her mind that timezones existed.

Riri still didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to convince her mother to allow her to stay just a little over 15 hours in the states for her date with Shuri. Her excuse was that eight hours wasn’t nearly enough to properly immerse herself in the rich culture of Chicago. And although 15 wasn’t enough either, it was at least 7 hours more than she was initially allowed. So Riri was grateful. And 15 hours meant they had to get a very early start. So she and Shuri agreed to leave at 11am and it was almost time to leave!

“Bring back a souvenir for your Umama.” Okoye chimed as she took her cup from under the book and sipped it on her way out.

Riri trailed behind her, ”Don’t worry Ma! I will! This’ll be like all the times you went out and bought stuff back for me. I’m definitely bringing home pizza and stuff. And snacks! Maybe an “I <3 Chicago T-Shirt’ too, just to be cheesy.”

Okoye made a face, “Bast, please, no shirts.”

Riri’s beads chimed with a call from Shuri and she quickly answered, “Hey, Riri I’m outside.”

“Okay! I’ma answer the door.” Riri hung up and did a little jump in excitement, “She’s here!”

She ran to the door and opened it before running into Shuri’s arms for a hug, “Hey!”

Shuri pressed a kiss to Riri’s forehead, “Hey!” Shuri then held Riri’s hand and made her do a little spin, “You look really good! Those cargos hug you really nice”

Riri smiled, “Thanks. I wanted to look cute but be practical since we gonna do lotsa walking, you know? I was feeling myself.” She then gave Shuri a once-over, “But look at you!”

Shuri held out her arms and did her own little spin, allowing her orange skirt to dance with her movements, “Oooh! I didn’t flash you did I?” She teased.

“You sure you wearing panties under there, girl?” Riri looked her up and down with a smirk.

“Ah!” Shuri clutched her imaginary pearls, “I am a decent young lady with honor and class.” She mocked her mother’s tone, which caused Riri to laugh.

Okoye walked outside and gasped, ”Oh my gosh! You girls look so adorable!”

Shuri beamed and Riri blushed.

“Thank you, Okoye.”

“Let me take a picture of you both!”

Riri and Shuri already knew the drill. It’s been like this ever since they were kids. They hugged each other as Okoye snapped the first picture before switching poses. They both kicked a leg up for the next one.

“I wanna hold you from behind for the next snapshot.” Riri exclaimed as she positioned herself behind Shuri and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“You’re mighty confident that you’d be visible in the frame, Riri.” Shuri teased before placing her hands over Riri’s for the picture.

Riri looked up at Shuri with a smug expression, “Please, I eat confidence for breakfast. You know this.”

Okoye swiped through the pictures, “The both of you are too cute!” She looked up from her kimoyo beads as she walked over to them, “Have a great day, okay?” She hugged and kissed Riri, ”Be safe.”

Riri hugged back Okoye, “Yea Ma! I will.”

Shuri held Riri’s hand as they walked over to the Royal Talon Fighter that was parked a little distance away.

“Can the both of you walk any slower? We’re burning daylight here.” T’Challa mockingly shook his head.

Shuri rolled her eyes, “Shouldn’t you be fawning over your girlfriend right now? It’s my date, not yours.”

“Nakia’s coming with us?” Riri queried.

Shuri silently nodded and then cleared her throat, “‘As much as I love my little sister and her long time best friend turned girlfriend, I’ll be bored watching them have their fun while I chaperone. So I deserve some company too.’”

“So what I’m hearing is we don’t have to have a helicopter sibling watching over us?” Riri asked as she swung both their arms as they boarded the ship.

“Correct! He’ll be too busy being Goo-goo Gaga to really pay us any mind.”

“Nice!”

Riri greeted Nakia before she took her seat next to Shuri who pulled out two phones, “iPhone or Samsung? We have to blend in, after all.”

“Yo!” Riri excitedly grabbed the iphone out of Shuri’s grasp and quickly scrolled through the features and noted the specs., “I think my great-great-great grandma used this kinda tech. Dang. It’s all clunky and shit. This is really the best Steve could do?” She pressed the phone to her arm and raised it again. “No built-in healing functions or anything?”

Shuri giggled at Riri’s roast and leaned back in her chair.

“So, what are the plans for today?” Riri drummed her fingers on Shuri’s lap in anticipation.

She held her fingers up to her lips, “It’s a secret.”

“Aw, come on! I’ve been nervous all week! The anticipation is killing me!” Riri slumped herself in the chair and crossed her arms.

“Okay, okay. Fine, since you want to be a sad baby about it, we’re going to the DuSable Black History Museum and Education Center. That’s the first venue.”

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” Riri kicked up her feet and relaxed for the rest of the ride while making conversation with Shuri.

Just a little under two hours later, they touched down and arrived in front of the museum. Riri’s eyes sparkled in wonderment as she gaped at the building. Shuri grinned and swiftly snapped a picture of her girlfriend, “First memory procured.”

Riri held Shuri’s hand, “Let’s go inside!”

T’Challa cleared his throat to catch their attention, “Ring me on your cellular devices when you are ready to go to the next venue.”

Both girls nodded and hurried inside.

Nakia looked up at T’Challa, “Aren’t you supposed to be watching them?”

T’Challa lightly shrugged, “Yes, but they can take care of themselves. Shuri only asked me to come so that Mama would say yes. Besides, the Doras are in the area keeping a watchful eye on them. Do not worry, my love.”

“As you wander through these hallowed halls, you’ll encounter exhibits that chronicle the journey of Black pioneers, activists, artists and visionaries who shaped our nation. Discover the extraordinary legacy of Jean Baptiste Point DuSable, a Haitian-born trader who founded Chicago and ignited the flames of freedom.”

Riri listened in enjoyment as the guide talked about each exhibit with enthusiasm, tugging Shuri every which way to get closer looks at the artifacts and any amount of pictures her clunky phone could possibly hold.

“Hey!” Shuri called Riri over and pointed to a picture of a woman on display, “She kinda looks like you!” She read her name., “She went by Judy Harmon.”

Riri grinned,”You think she looks like me? For real?”

Shuri vehemently nodded, “Stand next to the picture so that I can get a photo for you!”

Riri did as was told and chucked her deuces up with a smile.

After the tour was over they both stood outside as Riri excitedly went on tangents about the knowledge that was bestowed on her, “Isn’t that awesome?! The Black Panthers had breakfast programs to feed the people in the communities, healthcare clinics.” She spun around and skipped down the stairs.

“Man, it’s fucked though what they did to Fred. Like…imagine the waves of change that could have happened had they not run up in his house and offed him like that.” She sucked her teeth and shook her head.

“And Huey. P. Newton! Ugh! He’s such a fricken badass! I want a poster of that shot with his gun on my wall back home! Black Power!” She threw a fist into the air as she jumped down the last of the steps.

Shuri grinned at Riri’s happiness, “I’m so happy you’re enjoying yourself, Riri. I can’t resist patting myself on the back for organizing this. You’re so vibrant!”

Riri patted Shuri’s back for her, “Nah. You outdid yourself and we were only at the first venue! I wanna see more!” She took a deep breath and exhaled, “It feels good being worldly.” She found herself going on another tangent as they walked down the street, “Despite all the suffering and hardships they went through as a people, the Black Americans still persevered. Even though they had their roots…beaten out of them. They managed to create something entirely new for themselves. Nah, I shouldn’t say that. Not everything was stripped of them, because the roots that dem colonizers tried to completely cut out from the Motherland still bleed into their culture in one way or another. The similarities are there. But man, they’re so innovative. I love that for them. They did that shit, man. Their spirit is contagious.”

Shuri silently nodded as Riri ranted. She’s heard Riri’s passions for the Black Americans on numerous occasions but she never tires of it. Riri had admired them to the point of picking up quite a few…or a lot of their ways. Their vernacular being the most prominent. But she never minded it, even though there were those back home who found her quite…peculiar for doing so.

“So what’s next?”

“We can either go to Millenium Park or…”

“You’re gonna show me the Bean?! Let’s go!”

T’Challa held up the cellphone as Shuri and Riri made funny faces at the camera. Shuri then plucked the phone from her brother and took selfies in their reflection of the sculpture, “Damn we look good!”

“No lies were told. You think we could climb that thing?”

Shuri looked at Riri and then the bean with a smirk, “As much as I’d love to, I’m sure that would be a law we would be breaking. And I’m not trying to get in trouble. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“You right, you right.” Riri agreed before the both broke out into laughter.

Soon enough, they found themselves on the Great Lawn having a picnic.

“How many of my arteries do you think are gonna be clogged by the time we get back home?”

Shuri crossed her legs, “All of them.”

The couple had an assortment of food laid out on their blanket: Deep dish pizza, hotdogs, buttermilk donuts, cinnamon rolls, nuggets and fries. You name it.

“That hotdog looks like it’ll give someone diarrhea.” Shuri side-eyed the bun.

“That’s the thrill of it. Will it? Won’t it? The good news is you’ll be able to go in the Talon Fighter and not those public restrooms," she chuckled and she picked up the hotdog.

“You can get food poisoning by yourself.” Shuri gave her a once over before she grabbed her phone, “But first a video for…documentation purposes!”

Riri looked into the camera and showed off the hotdog, “Welcome back to my channel! Today we’re doing a mukbang. This is called…the bad habit… doggy-style.”

Shuri snorted behind the camera, “The what?”

Riri gave a lopsided smile and shrugged, “I have to make it sound interesting because this crap ain’t a regular hotdog!”

“Okay, okay! Keep going!”

Riri waved around the hotdog, “Today we’re gonna find out if I’m gonna get exploded guts from this bad-boy or if Shuri is just being paranoid.”

Shuri turned the camera on herself, “I don’t think the street vendor washes his hands frequently, but Riri insisted it is part of the American experience. My kimoyo beads are on standby for any projectile vomiting that may ensue.”

The camera was back on Riri and she was now looking nervous.

“You know what on second thought...”

“No, no! You have to eat it! You insisted on buying it.”

“You out here making me rethink!”

“Pussy!! Pussy! Pussy!” Shuri bellowed through her laughs.

“I ain’t no pussy!”

“Eat it! Eat it!”

Riri sighed and bit into the hotdog and chewed a few times, “Bruh it ain’t that bad!” She bit into it again, “Like…it tastes well seasoned.”

The camera was on Shuri’s face again, “We’re all gathered here today in remembrance of my girlfriend, Riri. She was such a smart girl. But not smart enough to refuse food from filthy-”

Riri grabbed the phone and handed the hotdog to Shuri, “Experience it with me, baby.”

“I will not share a toilet seat with you.”

“Just try it, it’s good! I swear!”

Shuri eyed the hotdog and took a hesitant bite, “Oop- there Shuri goes, the glizzy in her mouth.”

Shuri threw a balled-up napkin at Riri as she laughed.

“Look at you! How does it taste?”

Shuri licked the corner of her mouth, “It is…acceptable.”

“Nah! You liked it! Admit it!”

Shuri rolled her eyes, “Okay. It was tasty.”

Shuri put down the hotdog as Riri killed the camera and tried one of the donuts.

“How is it?”

“Eh, too sweet and…creamy for me.” She handed it over for Shuri to try.

Shuri bit into it and shrugged, “I don’t think it’s that bad, actually.”

“So, where are we going next, Shuri?” Riri crawled over to Shuri to press a kiss to her lips, removing some of the cream that resided there.

“There is a concert here later this evening that I would have liked us to see, but I have somewhere else planned.”

Riri hung her head before making eye contact again, “Are you gonna tell me where it is?”

Shuri smirked, “Nope. That’s the finale! But we can go to Navy Pier!”

Okoye fiddled with her kimoyo beads, “Maybe I should call her to see how she’s going.”

Aneka groaned, “Okoye, leave Riri alone, she’s in good hands. She’s responsible.”

Ayo hummed in agreement, “Yes, yes. You worry too much. Let my niece enjoy herself.”

Okoye pouted,”But it’s just to check in, though.”

“No! What was the phrase? You will be cramping her style. I know if I was on a date, I’d hate it if my mother was calling me while I was trying to have a good time.”

“Yes, but I can’t help but wonder about the danger. What..what if one of those psychopath mass shooters pop up, eh? Bast forbid.” Okoye crossed her arms.

“Yes! Bast forbid! Geez, Okoye. Try to lighten up! You already told her she could go. There are two Doras with her, a War Dog who is also a former Dora and the Black Panther! Riri is fineee!” Aneka pulled a palm down her face.

“Okoye, you’re stressing out my wife, have a heart.” Ayo rubbed Aneka’s shoulder.

Okoye scoffed, “She is stressing herself out.”

“You know what you need? You need to get laid. “ Aneka teased, “Maybe this is like…some sort of pre-empty nest thing.”

“I do not need to do anything.” Okoye sighed, “Fine, maybe I am a little paranoid about Riri’s safety. It’s just that I know she’ll be safe in Wakanda, no matter what. Out there, I am not afforded that same peace of mind. When you have children, maybe then you’ll understand.”

Ayo placed a hand over Okoye’s, “Koko, Riri is like our own child too, and I understand your worry, but she’s responsible and growing up. She may not even want to stay in Wakanda forever. She could very much want to explore the world…which is more likely than not. And that’s okay.”

Okoye sighed, she heard what they were saying. She was hearing them. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Alright. I won’t cramp her style.”

“Thank Bast! You’ll see her in..however many hours are left in the day. Use this time to be free!” Aneka threw her arms up, “You’re child-free! Let’s go bar hopping! I’m tired of being cooped up in here.”

Ayo nodded, ”I’m in.”

They both looked at Okoye expectantly, “Alright. Let’s go!”

Riri popped the final three balloons with her darts and received a huge ego boost from Shuri’s cheering, “That was amazing, Riri! Your dexterity is unmatched.”

“I mean, no matter what it is, I’m good with my hands.” She winked at Shuri before the carny handed her the large stuffed black cat she picked out. Riri then turned to Shuri and presented it to her, “For my special girl.”

Shuri hugged the plushie extremely tight, “Ahh! He’s so cute! I shall name him Vibe!”

“You’re too freaking cute! Come here!” Riri hugged Shuri who returned the hug.

Shuri’s phone chimed with a notification and her eyes sparkled.

“Riri, remember that surprise I was telling you about?”

“Yea? Is it time?”

Shuri grinned and nodded, “I’m taking you to a Bull’s game!”

“Shut the heck up! You’re lying!” Riri squealed and jogged on the spot, “Are you being for real?”

“Yes! I know how much you love basketball and are a fan of Michael Jordan. So I had to come through for my girl.”

Riri tried to calm herself down, “Oh my God, Shuri. I love you!”

“Vibe loves you too,” Shuri made a kissy face and pressed the plush to Riri’s cheek, “And by the way, they’re floor seats.” She mentioned smugly.

Riri slapped her chest a few times, ”Don’t do me like this Shuri, my heart can’t take it.” She placed her hands on her knees.

“What are we waiting for? We have a game to get to!”

Shuri went to drop off her things in the Talon Fighter and emerged with two Bulls jerseys with the number ‘23’ emblazoned on them along with two hoodies.

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

“Authentic?” Her eyes bulged as she inspected the material.

“Right off of Jordan��s back himself. You know I’d never give you anything bootleg.”

Riri jumped up and gave Shuri a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

“You’re welcome, babygirl.”

She handed over one of her hoodies as well, “It’ll be cold in there. So wear it under your jersey.”

Not needing to be told twice, Riri threw on the hoodie and Jersey as they were walking inside.

After the game, Riri couldn’t stop talking about it as they were walking out, “Yooo that buzzer beater gave me chills! Lonzo was decent and Derrick really pulled his weight-”

Riri’s mouth hung open “Oh. My. Bast.”

Shuri followed Riri’s gaze at what beheld her. Or rather...who.

“That…Shuri that…that’s…”

“Michael Jordan. Yes.” She smirked as he was held up in conversation with someone.

“Did you know he was gonna be here?”

Shuri just shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not.”

“You think he’d autograph my jersey if I asked him?” She whisper-shouted.

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

The couple walked up to the man and Riri cleared her throat and waved at the man when he acknowledged them.

“Hi…Mr Jordan. I’m a really big fan and I don’t wanna seem rude or seem like I’m imposing or bothering you.” She gesticulated and scratched the back of her head, “But I was wondering if you could sign my jersey for me? Please?”

Michael smiled and nodded, “Sure! Do you have a pen?”

“Shit, no. I don’t.”

“I have one!” Shuri handed him a black marker.

Riri spun around and waited for him to sign her shirt. When he was done, she thanked him right before he excused himself.

“Shuri! How did you do that?”

“Do what, Riri?” She folded her lips to contain her laughs.

“Make him appear outta thin air!”

Shuri snickered, “I just did my research. I saw that he was going to attend this game in particular so I just…made it happen. I knew how much you’d have loved this.”

“Loved it? Nah I died and went to heaven or something!” She took Shuri’s hand in hers as she walked out. She pressed her lips to Shuri’s wrist and then hugged her arm,”I really enjoyed today, Shuri.”

Shuri grinned and patted herself on the back, “I’m so happy that you did! I was a little worried that you wouldn’t have liked it for some reason. You can say it was the nerves.”

“Nah! I loved every bit of this!”

They both entered the Royal Talon Fighter where T’Challa, Nakia and the two Doras were already waiting, “Every minute, itty bitty tiny detail of it. You carefully planned out everything and…” She made an exploding gesture.

“My mind is blown! Like for real. I can’t compute right now.”

Shuri sat down in her seat and Riri took off her shoes to properly cuddle in her lap “I know my ass is gonna sleep good when I get home.” Riri murmured.

Shuri wrapped her arms around Riri and rested her cheek against her forehead, “Same. My body is dead tired. I’m really glad you enjoyed yourself though.”

“Mmm.”

Shuri helped Riri inside with her food and souvenirs she got for her mother, just when Okoye walked into the house.

“Mama? I thought you were asleep?”

Okoye shook her head, ”I went on a night on the town with your Aunties.”

“Oouuu. Did you have fun?”

“Yea, I had fun! I brought back some stuff for you too! As promised.” She scrunched her brows, “It felt really weird spending money. It was kinda ghetto though, not gonna lie.”

Okoye laughed at that, “Indeed it is.”

Shuri gave Riri a hug and kissed goodbye. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Riri nodded while giving Shuri one last hug, “It was really fun, Shuri.”

“Anytime, Riri. And there for sure will be a next time.”

Riri waved her off as Okoye locked up behind her.

“I take it your day went well?”

“So good, Mama.” She walked over to her mother and hugged her, “I learned so much and ate so much and I even caught a Bull’s game.” She slightly slurred, the events of the day finally catching up to her.

Okoye pressed a kiss to Riri’s forehead, “I’m happy to hear that, my Pebble. Come, you should go rest.”

Riri held up her arms, “Carry me, please Mama. I’m sooo tired.”

Okoye allowed Riri to wrap her arms around her neck as she hoisted her upwards and walked to her room, “All right. Bedtime.”

“And I ate a probably food poisoned hotdog, but it was so good. I brought home haf. You gotta try it, Ma.”

Okoye laughed out loud at that and affectionately rubbed her child’s cornrows, “Okay, Riri.”

Taggies: @somethingcleaverandwhitty @karimwillia @neptoons1998 @pantherheart

#general okoye #riri williams #mama!okoye #daughter!riri #mama okoye and daughter riri #shuriri #shuri x riri #shuri udaku x riri williams #black panther #wakanda forever #ironheart #fanfic #okoye

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realreulbbrband · 10 months

Text

There was no jellicle sun, but Victoria. She was his. For she filled his life with a light nothing in the air should ever dare to compete.

Platoria headcanons

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ When they were kittens, Plato used to have an irrational fear about losing Victoria in the snow so Victoria would always stay by his side as they were walking together. Over time Plato got over this fear, but he and Victoria still walk by each other with their tails intertwined during winter.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plato is training to be a protector, so sometimes Victoria calls him her knight.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plato never really considered himself a dancer, sure he would dance as all the jellicles do. But he only truly became passionate about it when he met Victoria, watching her dance only inspired him to further his own abilities.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Victoria didn’t pursue Plato at first, she dismissed her earlier feelings for him as a one-off crush that she’d get over in a week. To be fair to Victoria, that was the case with most of her crushes.

But Plato was different, she started unknowingly paying attention to the little things he’d do when they spent time together. Like how he’d lick his paw and brush it against his mane when he felt someone was staring at it for too long (he thought it meant his mane was knotted), or how his tail would go into a zig-zag shape whenever he got embarrassed. The more things she noticed, the more drawn to him she felt.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ For Plato, there was no initial doubt of his love for Victoria. When he fell he fell hard. He was sure he was in love with her, however, what held him back most was his hesitations about Victoria being too good for him.

So he longed for her from a distance for a long while, but the more he longed for her the more he wanted to make her his. He began courting her, eager to show her just how deeply he cared for her. Even if he felt his love wasn’t returned, he cared for Victoria and wanted to thank her for being his dearest friend.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Victoria dislikes being infantilized, while it isn’t a thing that universally happens to her; a few queens and toms did have their “treating her like a child” moments as she’d say. Plato was always her friend and was the first to see her for what she was in the present. A young queen and no kitten.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plato was the first to say “I love you” to Victoria, and when it happened he didn’t even realize he said it. They were both alone. About to say goodbye after the night at the ball, as Victoria moved her paw out of his grasp to leave he blurted it out in a whisper.

Vocalizing his internal thoughts unconsciously. They already knew that they loved each other; they'd just never said it before then. There was some small silence after that which Victoria broke with a kiss.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ While Victoria is well aware of Plato’s romantic gestures for her, she does enjoy playing coy when she can tell he’s nervous. Most of the time it’s to get Plato to finally coax out of his nerves. The teasing is never anything generally mean-spirited, Victoria just keeps asking Plato questions until he feels comfortable enough to spill.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Both Victoria and Plato speak ever so fondly of each other. To Victoria, Plato is all she had dreamed of embodied and with additional quirks that just make her admire him more. Which did lead to her gushing about him to her friends before and after they started dating.

As for Plato, he feels eternally grateful for having Victoria in his life. While he doesn’t boast about Victoria too often to others, say maybe occasionally to George or Etcetera (which Cettie normally prompts) he’d rather show it to Victoria directly. Reminding her of just how much she means to him through his words is almost routine for the couple.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Victoria helps Plato see beauty in almost everything. Plato used to hate NewYear's, which isn’t particularly unusual among most of the jellicles. Only very few seem to enjoy the sight of fireworks, Victoria being one of them.

The first time she saw the fireworks she was standing at her humans’ window, the loud noises did scare her at first but before she could fall off the desk in fear the bright glittering lights in the sky caught her attention.

She was almost entranced by the sight, staring at it in awe. Victoria after discovering new years was an annual thing for humans, began to look forward to it deeply; she had a special spot in the junkyard where she’d watch them from.

Plato wanted to join her many times but couldn’t bring himself too, the fireworks only reminded him of his father’s magic and brought back some memories he struggled to move forward from.

One time, as Victoria was preparing to watch the fireworks again she caught sight of Plato watching her from a safe distance and inside a crate. She invited him to sit with her and they opened up to each other about their own feelings on fireworks.

Victoria sympathized with Plato but wanted to offer her own perspective on the “dancing stars” as she calls them. Victoria’s description, and the way her voice was full of such immeasurable joy it made Plato’s heart melt.

Before they both knew it the first firework set off in the sky. Initially, Plato's ears drooped and his eyes dilated, but then he felt Victoria's tail draping over him, shielding him from his inner turmoil. In that moment, Plato truly saw the beauty both in the sky and in his heart.

#Platoria #victoria the white cat #Plato (cats)#cats the musical #cats headcanons #long post #Forgive me for my crimes of corniness #CH

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soopsiesdaisies · 1 year

Text

Boy, you've been a naughty girl

...you let your knickers down.

Feyre Archeron does not offer joy freely, and someone wants it all to himself.

Feysand Month Day 3: Glances

Warnings: Smut, 9.4k

Beta'ed by @iambutmortal

Read on AO3 - Fic Masterlist

~*~

The throne room was bustling with life.

Its ornate silver chandeliers hung low, magically dimmed light scattering across familiar, onyx stone; fae danced and mingled in groups, voices raised to be heard over the pulsing music. The revel was in full swing: a festivity thrown solely for the newly appointed High Lord of Summer, who, together with his delegation, was travelling around Prythian to garner official acquaintance with the other Courts.

Feyre Archeron stood alone, tucked into one of the more secluded corners, nursing a goblet of wine. Anyone would think she was uninterested in the festivities, and they’d be right: dancing and participating in the tedious debauchery of Hewn City – even if it was, supposedly, a special night – was one of the last things on her mind tonight.

No, the only interest she could dredge up was aimed at her High Lord, who was seated above them all on his stupid, fancy throne. He’d swung one leg carelessly over the armrest while the other neatly followed the sharp edges of his seat, allowing the room a wonderful view of his clothed crotch. A goblet of flashy silver dangled from his long fingers, tilted precariously to one side.

All of her High Lord was visible from Feyre’s position, her view immaculate. His should be too, but she had chosen this spot carefully and was all but hidden from his heavy-lidded eyes.

All part of the game they’d played for years.

Nesta had called it a treacherous ego-boost when Feyre had confided in her, convinced it would get her killed. Their High Lord was well-known for his devilish demeanour, and should Feyre ever tire of their little play, he would chase and he would catch—and when push came to shove, he would maim.

Feyre knew this all too well. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t noticed that all of the unfortunate males who dared to touch her would vanish into the night after revels, never to be seen again. And, if she was being truly honest, it wasn’t as if she did not like it.

It was a losing battle to argue that toying with their High Lord’s precarious temper was part of the appeal. Feyre didn’t bother to mention Nesta’s own teasing brushes with danger, that she’d seen her sneak out to rendezvous with the Lord of Bloodshed when Nesta thought her sisters were asleep.

And, regardless of the hypocrisy, Nesta’s worries were all but unfounded. Rhysand had never truly touched her, though it was obvious he wished to. No matter how much his fingers twitched, no matter how much she silently encouraged him, he’d only ever trapped her against walls by caging her in; at most, his lips would ghost over her pulse point, hitching breath tickling her skin. Feyre was certain that, if she only thought the word, he’d listen.

She wished he wouldn’t.

With an annoyed twitch of her nose, Feyre brought the goblet up to her mouth and took a careful sip. The wine was sour, leeching saliva and leaving her tongue feeling dry. A particularly intoxicated female claimed it was a Spring Court specialty—Feyre had picked it based on the drunken enthusiasm, and because its crimson tint was a match to the colour she’d painted her lips with. What a disappointment.

She swirled the liquid around, scowling. In order to fetch a new goblet she’d have to saunter into Rhysand’s view, something she had not planned to do for at least another hour; that, and none of the attending fae were drunk enough to not pay her any mind. She did not wish to mingle.

But the wine was awful, and she was thirsty, and perhaps—

Earlier on in the night, Lord Tarquin had taken up Rhysand’s attention with a lengthy conversation that had included a lot of cocky grins. It had been a blessing of sorts: with Tarquin serving as distraction, Feyre had been able to avoid Rhysand’s heated gaze with ease if, and when, she decided to traverse through the sea of fae gathered in the hall. When Tarquin, accompanied by his delegation, eventually descended from the dais and disappeared into the mass of bodies, Feyre actually considered it a shame.

Especially considering Keir, the old bastard, had finagled his way into the spot Tarquin abandoned, ready to spout his usual nonsense and complaints. The smirk had slid off Rhysand’s handsome face within seconds and his gaze, that had barely drifted away from Tarquin before, begun to sweep over his semi-loyal subjects as he attempted to hide his boredom. It was likely he would be looking for her.

But the wine…

It took less than thirty seconds for Feyre to break and strut resolutely out of her secluded corner, a straight line for the refreshments.

Then a hand seized her dangling wrist.

“Pardon me,” a low, male voice breathed. “I did not know how to catch your attention otherwise.”

Feyre turned to stare whomever had the audacity to grab her down—and found their guest of honour staring right back.

All thoughts of chastising flew out of the window. Before he’d gone out to mingle, Feyre had been able to admire Lord Tarquin from her little corner. He’d been a sight for sore eyes then, but up close, he was extraordinarily beautiful: his face was as even as the Mother would allow, dark skin glowing in the faelight and eyes a wonderfully vibrant turquoise. His long, shiny hair was just a shade above ivory and looked strong and healthy. She wondered, briefly, if the ends would tickle if they brushed her skin.

She swallowed dryly, ignoring the pair of violet eyes burning holes in her back.

“I would just like to say,” the High Lord murmured, voice just loud enough to be audible over the music, “that you truly are the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.”

Feyre’s eyebrows raised at his boldness, though she could feel a corner of her mouth turn up. “Thank you, my Lord.”

His eyes slid over her face, down to her barely concealed breasts. Feyre was not offended: she had purposefully chosen to wear one of her more revealing dresses tonight, a sheer, dark navy material with a high slit and a deep neckline, tailored to bring attention to the parts of her body she was proudest of. It was not for him, of course, but she did not fault him for looking.

Another male, though, possibly did.

Lord Tarquin swallowed roughly, dragging his gaze back up to hers with visible effort. “May I ask your name?”

“Feyre Archeron,” she answered, holding up her hand when he parted his full lips to speak. “I know who you are, my Lord. You’re rather recognisable.”

He grinned boyishly. “Am I?”

“Of course. Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re not well known.”

“Is it because I am young?”

“It’s because you are handsome,” she said, watching his eyes widen and grin grow wider. He really had a lovely smile. “Not a rarity, but in addition to your position, quite interesting indeed.”

His laugh was low and pleasant to the ears, and it made him all the more handsome. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

Feyre suppressed a smile. “You should.”

“The Night Court truly is peculiar,” he said, shaking his head. “You are all so blunt: no matter how much I know Rhysand doesn’t tell, he still says it like it is.”

“We enjoy being straightforward at times, my Lord.”

“Then I hope my boldness won’t offend you,” he immediately retorted, smiling, “but you are taken?”

Feyre stiffened imperceptibly. It was a valid question: he was obviously interested in her, but did not wish to offend any fae who had already claimed her. And technically, none had; only Rhysand could count, but he had not done so officially.

And so, all she said was: “I am unwed, my Lord.”

“Oh?” he asked, boldly stepping closer with visible curiosity.

“My sisters and I have avoided it thus far,” she elaborated. “Our family is not of… particular political importance.”

“Lucky,” he murmured, mouth pulling into a charming grin. “A chance to wed for love.”

Feyre raised her eyebrows, amused. He was so young, still, so green—barely seventy, if she remembered correctly. Truly a child of Summer; especially considering he still entertained the idea of a marriage out of love.

“Sure,” she said. “I suppose we are very lucky indeed. At least we are not married to a male who sees us as broodmares.”

Tarquin nodded in genuine sympathy, though Feyre’s attention had scattered: from her peripheral, she could see the throne was suddenly empty. Her heart seized her throat—and deep down on her belly, excitement coiled itself into a sturdy knot.

“Lord Beron has lots of ideas like this as well,” Tarquin said, oblivious. “It is absurd to me. Though he does have many heirs to choose from, having children, blessed as they may be, does not take away from a female’s power or intelligence.”

“When Lord Rhysand is not looking, this Court thinks otherwise,” Feyre replied. “I assume you know what happened to The Morrigan?”

His mouth pulled into a thin line. “I did,” he admitted. “It is truly a shame this is how society works.”

“It is changing,” Feyre said. “Slowly, but it is changing. I long for the day when I can fuck whoever I choose, and there are no true social consequences.”

Tarquin’s eyebrows raised and his shoulders loosened. If he hadn’t been so dark skinned, and if the light hadn’t been so low, Feyre was certain she would have seen him blush. “That is quite the wish.”

Before Feyre could even think of a reply, the back of her neck started to prickle, and a wave of sea-salt and petrichor washed over her. Her breathing hitched, and when she stepped back to make room, a large hand drifted over her elbow as though to stop her.

Tarquin‘s eyes widened, the grin spreading across his face bright and excited. “Rhysand!”

“Tarquin,” Rhysand greeted, a heavy gaze flicking between the two of them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, smirking. “Are you enjoying the revel?”

“Most certainly,” Tarquin replied, and he shot Feyre a wink. Thankfully, the brief flare of Rhysand’s nostrils went unnoticed. “The members of your Court are incredible conversational partners; Spring and Autumn have nothing on you.”

“You tell Beron that, won’t you? He’d love to hear it.”

“And Tamlin won’t take offense?”

Rhysand snorted. “Tamlin takes offense to everything, Tarquin. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Tarquin barked out a laugh, eyes closed and head thrown back. Feyre’s eyes focussed on the lines of his throat without her permission; a talon of violent darkness brushed against her mental shields, scratching in warning, and Feyre yanked her gaze away.

“How is my Court?” Rhysand then asked. His smile was as charming as could be. “I am assuming it is quite a change for you.”

“It is very dark,” Tarquin replied, smiling. “But it is beautiful, especially taking the brief glimpses of the night sky into account. This has truly been a pleasurable visit so far.”

“Darkness is our speciality.” Rhysand’s violet eyes slid to Feyre, trapping her under his heated gaze. “Isn’t that so, Feyre darling?”

A challenge, or a boon. She never knew with him, when he was like this.

Feyre lowered her chin in a nod. “When you are born in the dark, it becomes your home. I cannot imagine living in constant sunlight.”

Tarquin tilted his head in unveiled curiosity; his white hair shifted, exposing one muscular, dark-skinned shoulder.

Feyre didn’t dare allow her eyes to linger.

“You wouldn’t truly?”

“I quite enjoy the darkness.” Feyre took a sip of her wine, unable to hide her distaste at its acrid flavour. “Have you explored the city yet, my Lord?”

“Haven’t had the chance, I’m afraid,” he replied. His grin widened, then, and he leaned closer. His scent flooded her nose, encircling her. “Would it be too much to ask of you to give me a tour?”

Feyre looked to the side, where Lord Rhysand stood. Though his stance was relaxed, mouth pulled in an amused tilt, his jaw had tensed. She could feel him against her mental shields, pounding, as though he had any sort of control of her—any sort of claim.

Feyre smiled, bright and dazzling. “If you wish, my Lord, I will. For you alone, of course.”

“Brilliant!” Tarquin called out, clapping an incredibly stiff Rhysand on the back. “And to think your Court terrifies mine—your kindness is truly a hidden gem. Should we meet tomorrow, Feyre?”

“You’ll have to give me some time to recover from the festivities,” Feyre said, ignoring the way Rhysand threw himself at her mental shields. “How does three in the afternoon sound?”

“Amazing, I look forward to it, genuinely.” His eyes twinkled with mirth and excitement. “Cauldron, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it—can I fetch you anything to drink?”

Feyre held out her goblet. “Anything but the red from Spring,” she said.

Tarquin nodded, already reaching for the cup—but then Rhysand snatched it.

“Let me,” he purred. “Feyre is a member of my Court, after all; why doesn’t she continue to… entertain you, Tarquin.”

Feyre raised her eyebrows, questioning, but Rhysand refused to meet her gaze. Tarquin, to his credit, only showed a little surprise; his eyes merely flicked between the two of them, before he nodded yet again.

“Alright,” he said. “She’s doing a good job of it already.”

Feyre couldn’t help the genuine smile from crossing her face this time. Tarquin blinked at her, a bit dazed; Rhysand huffed out a grating laugh and then turned on his heel, stalking towards the refreshments. The crowd parted for him without batting an eye.

Tarquin watched him go, a contemplative expression on his handsome face. “Are you sure you’re not claimed yet, Feyre?”

Her heart stuttered. “I am sure, my Lord.”

He hummed and smiled again, a bit crookedly. “Well,” he said, “I’ll have to believe you then, don’t I?”

“You will,” she agreed. “If a male has claimed me, he has done so without my explicit knowledge, and I do not count that as a claim.”

“I’ll have to take my chances, in that case,” he said, still smiling. Then he sidled a bit closer to her, reaching out for her back.

He pulled her closer to him.

“What—”

A particularly desperate couple barrelled past them, almost fused together. She’d been in the way, and they weren’t taking any note on where they were going. Knowing Hewn City faeries, she would’ve accidentally ended up in a fight.

“Thank you,” she breathed, shooting an offended glare at the two heated fae. “By the Cauldron—I can’t believe I forgot why I hate revels.”

Tarquin hummed again. “You do? I find this quite… fun, actually.”

“It will get significantly less fun as the Night drags on. It’s a miracle fae don’t end up dead more often.”

“Dead?”

“Only once every three years or so,” Feyre said offhandedly, watching as the taller male wrapped his legs around the shorter and started, in full view of every guest and the Mother, grinding on his partner like it was the last thing he’d ever do. “Many get rather… aroused, which causes quite possessive behaviour. The sustained injuries rarely warrant a passing of a soul, though,” during the revel, “so do not worry.”

“Perhaps I should be,” Tarquin murmured, audibly amused.

Feyre was about to reply that he was a High Lord and he therefore had nothing to worry about, but then Rhysand appeared in front of them in a wave of shadow—empty handed.

“Your sister is looking for you, Feyre darling,” he drawled, eyes lingering on Tarquin’s hand resting on her lower back, politely touching only fabric.

His mouth tightened.

Feyre sighed. She wasn’t sure whether he was being truthful; then again, both Elain and Nesta could be quite insistent.

“It wasn’t my business, of course, so I do not know why. But I did promise to fetch you,” he continued. He inclined his head. “Are you coming?”

“Ehm—” she glanced at Tarquin, shooting him a grimace. “Sorry, it’s just…”

Tarquin’s eyebrows shot up, but he released her with an easy smile. “It’s fine. I’ll have you to myself tomorrow, anyway. Isn’t that right, Rhysand?”

Rhysand smiled tightly. “Whatever you believe, Tarquin.”

They stared at each other, Tarquin still with that easy smile and Rhysand all tight lines; though the posturing would have been enjoyable, Feyre felt impatient. She pinched the black fabric of Rhysand’s sleeve between her thumb and pointer finger and tugged.

Rhysand jerked, breaking his staring contest with Tarquin to briefly glance at her, before his bored gaze flicked back to his fellow High Lord.

“Have a nice revel,” he said. “Don’t drink too much.”

Tarquin inclined his head with a curious little smile, and waved them off.

Rhysand walked fast. Feyre, in heels, was struggling to keep up without breaking her ankles.

She was so focused on matching his strides that she noticed far too late they hadn’t stepped outside the palace: instead, they’d walked up to the family wing, abandoned with the High Lord’s lack of siblings and cousins.

“I thought,” Feyre huffed, “my sister was asking for me?”

He didn’t answer, not even sparing her a glance as their hurried steps echoed through the wide, darkened halls he was leading her through, seemingly focussed on one thing and one thing only: getting her alone.

In the absence of his gaze, Feyre smiled to herself.

It took a set of stairs and another long hallway before Rhysand took a sharp left turn, grounding to a halt in front of a door. He pressed his hand flat against the lock, skin barely lighter than the door’s material, and it clicked, swinging open.

Feyre got a quick glance of the room – dark, empty, possibly having laid unused for centuries – before he roughly shoved her inside and entered as well. The large, iron-wrought door shut behind him with a barely decipherable flick of his wrist; with another, the abandoned, empty fireplace sparked to life. He made a bee-line for it, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders heaving up and down.

She left him to his inner turmoil, instead taking the time to look around. As all rooms within the palace, both the floor and walls were hewn from onyx, polished until shiny. Two windows were carved into the rock on either side of the fireplace: on one side, two plush, dark green arm chairs and a small table; on the other a chest, with across from that, a large canopy bed with dark sheets.

Her gaze flicked back to where her High Lord stood, silent and tensed. Feyre took a step forward, thought better of it, and crossed her arms impatiently.

“So?” she then asked, voice loud over the muted crackle of burning logs. “Is my sister hiding in the armoire?”

The lines of Rhysand’s body tightened. She almost smirked.

“My Lord?”

“Do not act dumb,” he hissed, voice low and venomous.

Feyre froze, heat sparking to life in her chest. “Excuse me?”

“Your ears work, don’t they?” Rhysand turned, face dark and promising. “I told you to not act as though you are dumb.”

White-hot pleasure pooled in her belly when her meeting his gaze made his face darken even further. Feyre feigned a sigh, allowing her arms to dangle along her body, and tilted her head to one side.

“You told me my sister was asking for me,” Feyre said. “Neither of them is here—I was making a joke.”

Rhysand didn’t reply.

“Did you wish to speak to me in private, my Lord?”

He simply stared at her, heavy and intense. Goosebumps pebbled along her skin and in a fit of daring, she raised one brow.

“If you do not wish to speak I’ll return to the revel, my Lord,” she said, taking a leisurely step back. “I was having a lovely conversation with the High Lord of Summer—”

“Do not—” he barked, seemingly frozen between wishing to approach her and waiting for her to approach him. “You—”

“You do not wish for me to speak with the visiting High Lord?”

“The visiting High Lord,” Rhysand breathed, “does not need to be entertained.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up. “He does not? I thought it good form to amuse him, seeing he is your honoured guest, but…”

“He does not need to be entertained by you,” he said. “Anybody else can entertain him—but not you.”

“And whyever not?”

His jaw tensed. “I do not need to explain myself.”

“I wish you would, my Lord.”

“Why is it of interest to you?” with an odd shudder, as though he was stepping through a shield, Rhysand finally approached her. His steps were slow, calculated, as though he was playing predator.

The skin fit him well.

“What is of interest to me?” she asked. “That you are not allowing me to entertain Lord Tarquin?”

His mouth contorted into a violent grimace momentarily, before it morphed into a tiny, daring smile. He’d donned his favourite mask.

“Saying his name comes so easily to you,” Rhysand purred, his voice teasing the very edge of anger. “Do you wish to entertain him? Do you truly wish to guide him through our city, show him the sights, as he hangs from every pretty word falling from your lips?”

“I do not see an issue,” she murmured, watching his eyes narrow. “And as I don’t—how will I ever be able to listen? What, exactly, is your problem?”

“My problem? My problem?” he barked out a laugh. “You wish to know what my problem is?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Feyre said quietly. “I would love to know what your problem is.”

“My problem,” he hissed, teeth bared, “is that you smiled at him.”

And there it was.

She could have scoffed. It was such a simple reason for their little tit: so boring, so benign. Under any other circumstance, Rhysand would have allowed his imagination to flow freely, or he would have stuck to baser instincts.

Tarquin was kind, easy to smile at without it being used for other purposes. It hadn’t meant anything; Feyre smiled at her sisters more often than not. But Rhysand was snarling in her face, eyes glowing with a thirst for blood, and whatever retort had been building up stayed put beneath her tongue.

This wasn’t play. Not anymore. Not now, when his jealousy was a palpable tension in the air, growing thicker with every heaving exhale.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “My Lord—”

“Do not call me that,” he interrupted. He stepped closer, all ruse of his self-control gone and flung into the all-devouring flames. “Your loyalties do not lie with me, surely, if your joy is so easily bought by a charming façade and a promise of sunshine. Tell me,” he continued, his breathing irregular, “did you wonder what he would be like in bed?”

When had it gotten this far? When had their little game left the bounds of the board and embedded itself in reality? Sure, a decade of teasing and quiet, polite, stolen moments in darkened corners had at times felt too long, even for her… but it worked for them, did it not?

Perhaps it did not any longer.

He leaned in, close enough for her to count his individual lashes in the dim faelight, close enough to spot the raised remnants of a gnarly scar under his eye, cutting through the apple of his cheek. She wished to touch him, if only to feel the authenticity of the rage boiling under his skin no matter the needlessness.

His anger, his jealousy, was real. Yet, despite the thought that she should be afraid, Feyre felt excitement take hold of her.

And so, she breathed out, “Yes.”

Rhysand had her trapped against the wall in an instant. He smelled so mind-numbingly lovely, of rain and sea and the sharp tartness of citrus; it took all of her willpower to not breathe him in, right at the little depression in his skin above his collarbone, or the curve of his throat.

Instead she watched, heart stuttering in her chest as his power spilled out of him like ink dripping over stone, as his pupils slitted and irises glowed; if he’d looked menacing before, then he looked downright feral now.

He still found it in him to smile at her, fanged and sharp, to brush a lock of hair behind her ear with talons she hadn’t seen appear.

“Then why are you here, darling?” he asked, tilting his head to one side in some distorted display of genuine curiosity. A wisp of shadow curled around the strong line of his jaw. “He’s interested in you—everybody could smell it on him. If it was any more obvious, he would have been on his hands and knees, begging you to ride him.”

Feyre said nothing.

“And considering you’d like to know how talented the little runt would be at satisfying you,” he continued, “it is quite baffling you have not taken him up on his soundless offer. Unless…” he breathed, eyes sparking with a monstrous, corrupted kind of glee, “you find him far too young.”

And yet again, Feyre did not comment. His smile fell away for a snarl; the sound he produced came from his diaphragm and he brought his face closer to hers, hissing out through gritted teeth, “Answer me.”

There was nothing to say. One glance at her mind and he’d find all the answers, plain and clear as day, which would leave him soothed for another year or so—or, perhaps, until another attractive male took an interest in her, and she in him, and Rhysand would feel threatened again.

But it was obvious he was not interested in putting in the effort to find out for himself, so all Feyre did was raise her hand and slowly, but surely, rest her palm against his chest.

Rhysand’s breathing hitched. She suppressed a smile, allowing her hand to slide upwards, fingertips catching against the buttons of his tunic.

“Is it truly only me having smiled at Lord Tarquin that upsets you so,” she murmured, brushing the flat over her thumb over the soft brown skin of his collarbone, “or are you so ridiculously angry because I also hadn’t rejected him outright, for something he did not even ask?”

“I—” Rhysand started, but then her hand closed around his throat and he trembled all over, swaying even closer to her.

“Tell me,” Feyre whispered, pulling until she could brush her lips over his without leaning in. “One or two, both or neither. It is quite simple, my Lord. You only have to give me an answer.”

She placed her other hand on him as well, flat against his chest, inches below his peck; his heart beat at an almost alarming pace, flinging itself against his ribcage.

“I’m waiting.”

Rhysand stared at her, throat bobbing under her palm as he swallowed.

“Both,” he whispered. “It’s both.”

Keeping a firm, gentle hold of his throat, she brought her other hand up to cup his cheek. His brilliant eyes fluttered shut; his sigh expelled from his lungs in spurts.

“Good boy,” Feyre murmured. She stroked the apple of his cheek with her thumb and silently marvelled over how soft his skin was. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Carefully, making sure she wouldn’t let him go, he shook his head and then rested it against her palm.

“Use your words, my Lord.”

His eyes opened; the violet was nothing more than a thin ring around his pupils. “It wasn’t hard.”

Feyre smiled. Rhysand blinked at the sight, dazed, and then leaned closer to her.

“Oh, no,” she tutted, pushing lightly with the hand around his throat. “Not yet.”

“But—”

“Not yet,” she repeated, satisfaction mixing with the hot pool of arousal deep down in her belly as he nodded dutifully.

“What do you—”

Feyre released his throat from her grip and stepped backwards, delighted at the unabashed confusion and pure longing in his heated gaze. She flicked her eyes down and then back up to his beautiful face, quirking an eyebrow.

“Kneel.”

Rhysand sank to his knees almost immediately, without any discernible hesitation. He looked up at her with undisguised reverence, mouth parted, as though he was waiting for her next order.

Resisting the urge to caress his face, Feyre swept the front plane of her dress aside and relaxed against the wall. “You know what to do, don’t you, my Lord?”

He descended upon her like a man starved.

Slowly, at first: he was still discovering, mouthing leisurely at her outer labia as if he had permission to take his time. His lips were soft, if a little chapped, and the sensation was genuinely pleasant; Feyre had to suppress a sigh, slid her hand down to rake her fingers through his hair.

Yes, their game had ceased; it was finally time.

He shivered as she touched him, kissing her sex with more enthusiasm, more fervour. The tip of his tongue teased the very entrance of her cunt, once, twice, before he lapped at her, groaning.

“Do I taste good, my Lord?” Feyre asked, cursing how breathless she sounded.

Rhysand moaned in lieu of a reply, pressing the flat of his tongue against her as he continued to slowly, almost teasingly, eat her out. Feyre allowed her eyes to flutter shut, fingers still tangled in his thick hair, and then threw one of her long legs up, around, the back of her thigh resting solidly on his shoulder.

The slight alteration of position was well-received. Rhysand pressed his face against her, close enough that she was certain he could scarcely breathe, and then he dragged his mouth up, up, lips closing around the little bundle of nerves.

He sucked. Hard.

Feyre’s back arched, mouth falling open on its own volition, and barely managed to reel in the high-pitched moan threatening to leave her throat. Her fingers tightened in his hair, caught between yanking him away and pushing him even closer, and Feyre didn’t know what to do.

Then his right hand curled around her thigh, grip firm and almost bruising, and he simply mouthed at her clit, kissing and sucking, circling it with the tip of his tongue before relaxing his jaw and licking her entirely—she ceased to care about what was supposed to happen next.

Soon, too soon, her body started to tremble and heat up. She had half a mind to tell him to stop, to wait, to drag this out until the first streaks of sunlight crawled above the horizon – they had all night and a good part of day, after all – but she wanted him to help her finish. Pleasure spread throughout her alarmingly fast, the back of her head pressed against the wall so firmly it was almost painful, and he just kept licking her—

Feyre came with a strangled shout, vision whiting out for a brief second as her entire body tensed and trembled. He did not stop, simply continued to eat her out as though he could not stop, would not unless she told him to; she ground her sex against his face, using him to ride out her orgasm and he let her, moaning.

Breathing shakily, Feyre tried to relax against the wall, allowing him just a moment more as she came to. Every time his nose brushed her clit her muscles seized and pleasure slowly started to rebuild. If she was being honest with herself, she could spend the rest of the night like this, with him below her in a position of worship: but this was not in her plans.

She tightened her grip on his hair and pulled until he rose to his full height and collapsed against her, heavy and panting, both of his hands settling tentatively on her waist. Feyre allowed it, smoothing her free hand down the powerful, clothed planes of his back; his breathing hitched again.

Rhysand was unbelievably hard. She could feel the length of him, only barely contained by his trousers, poking her pelvic bone. Curious, she slid her hand from the bottom of his spine to his crotch, cupped his clothed cock, and squeezed.

He jerked his hips, muffling a moan in her shoulder.

“I’d say you enjoyed that, my Lord,” Feyre whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Didn’t you?”

He nodded, grinding against the flesh of her palm.

That wouldn’t do.

She pulled her hand away and rested it on his hip, gently keeping distance between their hips and shushing him when he made the decision to whine. “Use your words, my Lord.”

“Yes,” he breathed needily, pushing himself against her. “Yes, I did, I—Oh—”

“That’s what you get when you’re being good,” she informed him, rubbing leisurely at the throbbing bulge in his trousers. “You see? Listen, and I’ll touch you. Okay?”

Rhysand whimpered as he rutted into her hand, his grip on her waist tightening and loosening in intervals; he was completely at her mercy and, as wretched as it sounded, it brought a thrill like no other.

His grinding started to stutter, signalling he was close already. Though Feyre was very entertained by the idea of her High Lord coming in his trousers on the mere feeling of her hand, she wished to play with him for a bit longer.

With a gentle, featherlight kiss to his neck, Feyre retreated her hand and pushed him away from her.

He stumbled back, eyes wide and confused, breathing heavy—and then a disgruntled expression settled on his handsome face. He immediately stepped closer again with a hissed, ‘Feyre’, as though he wished to chastise her.

One look had him frozen in place.

“You’re wearing so many clothes, my Lord,” she murmured. “Why don’t you undress for me?”

It took him less than a second to jump into action, sitting down on the bed to remove his boots and socks. Then he stood again, hurried, shimmying his trousers and undergarments down his hips simultaneously; his cock sprung up, hard and engorged, precum smearing against the dark fabric of his tunic.

It was so incredibly lovely to watch him fumble with the buttons of his top, hands shaky and hasty. If she’d tell him to bow for her, would he? If she’d tell him after this night that she wished to do this again, would he want to? He was being so enthusiastic, so excited, so willing to please—

By the time he’d managed to shrug off his tunic, leaving him entirely bare to her, his breathing had turned irregular with anticipation and arousal. The beauty of his form was breath-taking: Feyre dragged her gaze across the tattoos curling over his broad shoulders, noting the ink followed and emphasised the natural shape of his body. A light smattering of chest hair matched the dark happy trail that started at his navel and trailed down from there, blending into a neat bush of hair surrounding the base of his large cock. He was all hard lines and lean muscle, built to be used, to fight.

Feyre wanted to climb him like a tree.

Instead, she pursed her mouth, walking closer to him. Every single step caused his muscles to tighten just a bit more: so much so that when she finally reached out to touch him, flicking a perked nipple with the flat of her thumb, he was trembling top to bottom.

“I could do anything to you, can’t I, my Lord?” she stated, smiling as his mouth parted. “I bet that I could only touch you like this, and you’d be happy. Frustrated, yes, but happy. Isn’t that right?”

He started to nod, paused, and then said, with difficulty: “Just me.”

“Just you?”

“Only me,” he corrected himself, eyelids fluttering when Feyre dragged her hand back up to his throat. “You’ll only touch me.”

“Oh, my Lord,” Feyre tutted, “we’ll see about that.”

Even though his brows pulled together, he still leaned against her with an appreciative groan, his right hand sliding back to her waist. She reached for his face again, touching his plump lips with just the tips of her fingers, and with a slow and heady blink he sucked the digits into his mouth.

“You’ll need to open me up a little bit,” she said, heart stuttering as he swirled his tongue around her pointer. Her smile had him groan, and she released his throat to cup the back of his neck. “Can you do that for me?”

Hastily, almost too hastily, Rhysand grabbed her pussy with his free hand, his long middle finger entering her in one swift moment. A breath punched out of her as he impatiently pumped in and out, barely waiting before he added a second; at this rate, he’d be sheathed in her within the next minute or so.

Feyre extracted her fingers from his mouth and tangled her fingers with the hair on the back of his head to drag his face to the curve of her shoulder, successfully muffling his wordless whine. It brought them just that much closer together: the velvety head of his cock rubbed against her belly and Rhysand cursed low in his throat, fingers curling inside her.

“There’s no need to rush, my Lord,” she breathed, pressing her mouth against his temple. “We have all night.”

Rhysand exhaled shakily, scissoring his fingers and then, without being asked, he rubbed his thumb against her still-sensitive clit. Her toes curled; she yanked him even closer, rocking back and forth on his fingers.

“There’s a good boy,” she gasped out, when he rubbed hard enough for her to see stars. “You pleasure me so well–”

“I want to take you against the wall.” The words were a low growl, tapering off into a whine when she tightened her grip on his hair. “Please, Feyre, I need to be inside you, please–”

She stepped away from him, cunt clenching around nothing as his fingers slid out of her, and saw him sway in place. His eyes were clouded with lust and desperation and he reached for her, obviously confused.

“Get on the bed,” she whispered.

She hadn’t even finished speaking before he moved and sat down on the edge of the mattress, hands twitching atop his strong thighs. Feyre watched him, dragging her gaze over his heaving chest and up to his face, lingering on the red flush high up on his cheekbones.

Slowly, trying her hardest to take her time, Feyre pulled at the silky fabric slung over her shoulders; it slid down to her upper arms without too much resistance.

Then she reached behind her.

Rhysand groaned low in his throat when the belt popped loose and the garment, barely held up by the curve of her breasts, slid down her body with one yank at the neckline. His mouth had parted, eyes dark and hooded: he stared at her like she was the moon, or a goddess, a deity—like he’d been kneeling at her altar with an offering for hours and she’d materialised in front of him just to grant him a wish.

“Scoot up,” she said.

Rhysand scrambled until his back reached the wall, obedient, waiting. He was trembling still, likely almost jumping out of his skin with anticipation.

“Excited, my Lord?” Feyre asked, brushing her pointer finger down her hip. At his lack of an answer, she tilted her head to the side, wisps of hair brushing her cheeks. “Well?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Feyre, please…”

“So demanding,” she tutted, though she stepped onto the bed anyway, crawling closer until they were a hairbreadth away from touching. “It’s alright, though. You said the magic word.”

And then she reached out and closed her hand around his cock.

He threw his head back, entire body tensing; his hands had grabbed hold of the silky black duvet, and Feyre thought, with a weird mixture of amusement and arousal rushing through her veins, that the maids would undoubtedly be puzzled to find the fabric punctured in the morning.

One sure, firm stroke of her fist caused his hips to buck up. She tutted again, bracing her free hand against his hipbone to press him back onto the bed.

“Stay,” she said, punctuated by a twist of her wrist.

Rhysand cursed quietly under his breath, eyes squeezed shut. His breathing grew shallower with every single pass of her hand, muscles flexing whenever her thumb brushed the beading pearls of precum off the slit of his cock. He was so pretty like this, flushed with arousal and her touch; the fact that it was her doing, that he was minutes from falling apart because of her, only added to his beauty.

It made her feel almost feral.

Before she was aware of what she was doing, Feyre crawled even closer, swinging one long leg over his lap and casually manoeuvring his dick inside of her.

Gravity had never been more useful. Rhysand was big enough for her to feel the burning stretch down to her toes, but allowing her own weight to help her sink down made the whole ordeal significantly more pleasant. Especially the look on Rhysand’s face, screwed tight with pleasure, caused her lust to grow tenfold.

She scraped her nails down his chest, middle finger catching on a perked nipple. Rhysand rocked his hips in response and Feyre’s vision briefly blurred at the pressure: she breathed through it, repetitively clenching and relaxing around him, before she’d gathered herself enough to cup his cheek and offer him a small smile.

“Alright, baby,” she murmured. “Now you can move.”

And he did.

With a strangled moan he thrusted upwards, and Feyre moved with, holding herself up inches before his body rested on the mattress again. And then she started meeting him, thrust by thrust, feeling so unbelievably full that she did not doubt the feeling of him inside of her would linger for days to come.

He pushed himself forward, large hands landing on her hips just to hold, not to guide; his forehead dropped against her neck and she hugged him close in silent reply.

“You feel so good,” he slurred, mouthing and nipping at her bare skin. “So good, Feyre, I—”

She shushed him, raking her fingers through his thick hair. He did not need to speak or voice his feelings, not now. This was about them joined together, an echo of the intense, almost primal attraction they’d felt for one another when their gazes first crossed all those years ago, something that morphed into a game exciting and tentative and teasing.

Nesta had been right in a way: their play had been a ticking bomb ready to explode, a bucket threatening to overflow. This wouldn’t end in tragedy, though. Feyre would not allow it to.

The sound of their flesh connecting with every thrust was downright filthy, but Feyre found that she quite liked it. That it was something she quite wanted to hear again, something that made her burn with need. And it wasn’t just the sound: it was him clutching at her like a lifeline, it was him looking at her like that, it was him always giving her the urge to smile.

It was the finally, really.

“You’re so good at this,” Feyre said finally, gasping through a moan that was a tad too breathy for her liking. Then his tongue laved at the sensitive spot behind her ear, and her answering moan was far breathier than the last. “Makes me suspect you’ve done this before.”

“Never again,” he groaned. “Only you—only—”

She squeezed around him, and whatever he’d wanted to say tapered off into a guttural moan.

“My lord—"

“Rhys,” he gasped into her neck, whining hoarsely when she ground down. “I—I want you to call me Rhys.”

“You’ve told me that before,” she murmured, raking her fingers through his hair until she found hold, pulling his mouth away from her skin. “I’ve never accepted your offer, have I, my Lord?”

He looked at her, thrusting up into her with a shaky kind of hesitance, as if unsure what she wanted him to do. “You—you haven’t.”

Feyre smiled. His perfect mouth went slack and she released his hair, hand sliding until she was cupping his cheek. The other, ever-greedy, travelled to his beautiful throat. “Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” he gasped, “yes, yes, yes—”

“Well, alright,” she conceded, still smiling, and she brought his face closer to hers. “Just because you’ve asked so nicely, Rhys.”

He accepted her kiss with fervour, lips already parted and waiting before she even managed to slant her mouth over his. The taste of him – herself, and sour wine, and the cold, dark magic that permeated his bones – was resplendent, pinpricks of burning starlight spreading throughout her at his tongue touching hers.

The kiss caused him to groan deep in his throat, hips stuttering briefly before he found his rhythm again. She did not blame him: it was a feeling unlike any other so far to kiss him now, his mouth soft and his tongue hot, almost too overwhelming to cope with. By the Mother, did she want to swallow him whole; nobody would ever match up to this, and nobody should for him.

A strange feeling had started to pulse in her chest sometime between the last breath she’d taken before kissing him and the moment their mouths had touched. It was smug, some kind of annoying satisfaction, accompanied with the white-hot feeling of jealousy.

Feyre was pulled back into reality by the insistent quality of his cock grinding inside of her, as though he was testing his limits. His hands had tightened around her hips, almost as if he wished to guide her instead of her guiding him.

It only took a little pressure on his throat to make him go pliant again. A little more fight would have been lovely—perhaps, next time…

Now, though, she’d grant him one thing.

Keeping her hand wrapped around his neck, she pulled away, successfully keeping him where she wanted him despite his desperate attempts to follow. He whined as soon as her mouth left his, tapering off into silent, hitched breaths when her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

“Pleasure me, baby,” she whispered, smiling when his hand released her hip before she’d even finished speaking, thumb already rubbing against her clit. Her eyelids fluttered and she hugged his face against her neck, pleasure zapping up her spine. “There you go. Good boy.”

He kept up with the movement of his hips, Feyre meeting him with every shallow trust. Yes, this—this was lovely. This was how it was supposed to go. Her in control, him listening to her, and nothing else mattered.

Then Rhys spoke.

“‘M—I’m—” he cut himself off, words morphing into a deep moan. His hips stuttered again, breathing heavy yet slow; he was, undoubtedly, close to completion.

Feyre bit down on his earlobe, relishing in the little gasp that followed. “Not yet.”

“But—”

“Not yet,” she repeated, pulling his mouth away from her. He looked wrecked, hair mussed and cheeks red with exertion and pleasure, mouth slick and swollen. She tightened her grip on his throat briefly. “You’re going to be good, right? You can control yourself, can’t you?”

Rhys set his jaw and nodded.

“Words, Rhys,” she murmured.

His eyes squeezed shut. And then, with another hitching breath, he slurred: “I can be good.”

Feyre wished to press her thumb to his bruised lips, to push the digit behind his teeth and force him to suck. She wished he’d never let her go. She wished, fervently, to be back in the throne room, where the fae would watch her ride him just like this and watch him submit to her just like now.

But then he ground up into her, deep and slow, and his thumb made slow circles around her clit, and his brilliant eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at her with an expression akin to awe—and the desire to be in public scuttled off, to be filed away for later.

He was so beautiful it made her ache.

“I know,” she said, cunt clenching around his cock. At his moan, she brushed her free hand down the side of his face, pressing the flat of her thumb just-so against the corner of his mouth. “You’re being so good, Rhys.”

He whined quietly, trying, in an almost desperate manner, to bring his face closer to hers again.

Feyre smiled.

“Is this what you wished for?” she asked quietly, tilting her head and tightening her grip. Rhys’s breath was stuttering in his throat, eyes heavy-lidded and cloudy; still, he managed to produce a confused groan that told her he had no idea what she was talking about.

“You, under me,” she whispered. “Is this what you’ve dreamt of, Rhys? Is this what you wanted? Or was your little tantrum simply an attempt to get me to fuck the High Lord of Summer whilst you watch?”

It took a moment before the words settled and Feyre watched, delighted, as understanding and rage sparked in his irises. His teeth bared, sharp and straight and a perfect, shiny ivory; the growl started deep in his chest, hissing out from behind his canines like the steaming, violent froth of boiling oil.

“Did you?” she cooed, barely able to keep the smile on her face as his next thrust punched the breath out of her. “Was—was that what you wanted instead, Rhys? Watching me get fucked by another—”

“Feyre—”

“He’s so handsome,” she said breathily. He thrusted again, deep and hard, and she tightened her grip on his throat to prevent herself from falling. “Don’t you think so, my Lord?”

With a guttural snarl, Rhys flipped them over, setting a punishing, mind-numbing pace. The sheets were positively freezing against her sweat-damp back; Feyre barely took note of it, too wrapped up in his cock sliding in and out of her, his thumb rubbing teasingly at her clit. Pleasure, white-hot, rendered her entirely unable to speak—unable to so much chastise him for taking control when he shouldn’t have. Her legs wrapped around his waist on their own accord, ankles locking together.

“Don’t speak of him,” he growled. “Not while I’m in you, not while you’re touching me.”

“Rhys,” she gasped, releasing his throat so she could scrabble at his back with both hands, desperate to find purchase. “Oh, fuck—”

Rhysand pressed his forehead against her neck, sweaty hair tickling her jaw. His mouth was open above her collarbone, breath hot and teeth sharp against her skin.

“You cannot ever torture me like that again.” His voice was gravelly with lust and jealousy, lips just barely skimming her as he spoke. “The way you looked at him earlier, how you smiled—it drove me mad. It drives me mad. And to hear your little fantasies—”

He ground himself into her, deep and slow and torturous, and Feyre’s own moan took her so off guard that it morphed into an embarrassing squeak.

“Only me,” he breathed. “Only I can touch you like this, and it’s only you—only—”

She grabbed his face and wretched it away from her neck, only to push their mouths together. Rhysand moaned into their kiss and she swallowed the sound greedily, drinking him in.

It truly had been far too long; after ten years of only the barest of touches, of dark looks and briefly shared breaths, this was pure bliss. She had him everywhere and he had her, and his hair was spider-silk between her fingers and his mouth was golden dripping honey and he was hard and soft and warm against her, and she never wanted it to end. Just this, just them, forever—that would be enough.

His hips started stuttering again; Feyre did not even attempt to comment. He deserved it at this point, and the way he was kissing her was so sweet and so hungry that she could not find it in herself to take completion away from him for another moment.

Then he rubbed at her clit harder than before, as if trying to urge her along. Their mouths disconnected and Feyre gasped for air, inhaling greedily, the breaths exiting her lungs in breathy moans as quickly as they could enter. Her entire body was tingling, her legs were trembling around his waist. And still, she was trying to hold it off, despite being desperate for release—

He bit down on her pulse point, hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to break skin, and Feyre’s vision completely whited out, his name a mere gasp on her lips. Through the all-encompassing haze of pleasure she could feel him chasing the final leg of his own pleasure, could feel him pushing his cock deep inside of her, thrusting harshly once, twice, three times before they turned shallow and gentle.

Rhys collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, and as the world slowly came back into focus she stroked his hair and his back. He was sticky with sweat, still trembling with exertion, and – to her complete and utter surprise – his wings were out.

“Aren’t you a good boy,” she mumbled after her breath was caught, when she was certain her voice would not fail her.

He chuckled throatily. “I do hope it was better than just good, darling.”

“Fantastic,” she replied, blinking slowly. “It was—yeah.”

She moved just the littlest bit. His hips jerked when she did so, and she could feel his cock twitch inside of her. Then he pulled out, dropping himself onto his side next to her, and completely wrapped her up into his embrace.

She pressed her lips against the space between his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly and his eyes blinked open, irises still so impossibly large.

“I am sorry,” she whispered into the warm, damp air between them.

He frowned. “What for?”

“I was prodding you, wasn’t I?” Feyre laughed lightly, trailing her finger over the pointed curve of his air. “With the High Lord of Summer. He is attractive, but I—”

“Only wished to make me jealous?” he asked, and when she nodded, his face relaxed. “That—I suppose that makes sense.”

“It was exciting,” she said, “to watch you like that. It’s always been exciting—I just didn’t expect you to lose your composure as much as you did.”

A wry smile pulled at his mouth. “He’s a bit more threatening than any old third son of some Lord,” he said. “I couldn’t just break his brain and mist his body. And when you smiled at him… you’ve rarely smiled at me. I couldn’t handle it.”

Feyre pressed a kiss against his mouth, chaste and small. “I’ll save my happiness for you, Rhys.”

He sighed, tightening his arm around her and pulling her against his chest. “Don’t give Tarquin a tour,” he then murmured.

“And whyever not?”

“Because,” he said, almost whining. He buried his face in her neck. “I don’t like it.”

“I made a promise.”

“You did not,” Rhys retorted. “You merely agreed to his ridiculous request—and considering he is the visiting High Lord, my word overrules his. And I say you don’t need to guide him throughout Hewn City.”

Feyre could not help but smile. “And what do you reckon I am supposed to do instead?”

“Be in my bed,” he replied, pulling back from her neck when she slapped his shoulder in admonishment. “I am being serious.”

“You cannot be.”

“I have finally touched you,” he said. “Years of just barely being able to feel the heat of your skin—and now you have put your hands on my body and pressed your mouth against mine. Forgive me, Feyre, if I am no longer able to resist the pull between us; it is far easier to separate two magnets that have not yet connected, than those that are already attached.”

She looked at him, at his earnest expression and the promise in his beautiful eyes, and reached out to cup his cheek.

“Game over,” she whispered, and he smiled.

@feysandmonth

#feysand fanfic #feysand smut #my writing #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar fanfiction #feysandmonth #feysandmonth22

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