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house-strong · 2 years

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— THE DANCE between dragons ʾ ⋆

summary ; request by anon.

“possibly a little love triangle request?? Jacaerys/Reader/Aemond but Jacaerys ends up coming out on top?”

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen

notes ; i absolutely LOVE jacaerys ever since ep 8,, what a respectful king he is!! warning: this is lengthy!

being offered the hand of an established lord was a glorious feat that was longed for by any waiting lady in the realm. to find a husband that has not only the name, the title, but also lands and wealth to shower his soon-to-be family with. this would not only strengthen ties within the houses of the realm, but ensure that any lords daughter would be well treated, well respected, and well cared for.

but, to get two hands of established lords was unprecedented. you seemed to be in such predicament. to add fuel to the fire, they were both princes. to say your family was merely ecstatic wouldn’t be doing it justice.

one velaryon and one targaryen. the eldest child of laenor velaryon and the princess rhaenyra targaryen, and the youngest son of his grace, king viserys targaryen and his wife, queen alicent hightower. jacaerys velaryon, future heir to the iron throne, and aemond targaryen, the one-eyed prince.

you had been in the presence of aemond longer than you had to jacaerys, being the dutiful lady-in-waiting to the formers older sister, princess helaena. brought to court in king’s landing by your lord father, you were first caught by aemond targaryen – a child with a serious facade who had only smiled when he caught your eye. he would ensure that you were content, always lingering around in the shadows like a lost pup. he envied the time his sister had with you and always pestered his sister with questions.

does she like flowers? what’s her favorite pie? do you think she cares if i have a dragon or not?

that was when he had two eyes.

now, he was a man grown and hardened. donning an eyepatch and a scar on his left eye, he was no different than how he was as a boy when he was with you.

kind, charismatic, and funny. sure, he was all too teasing sometimes, but he always knew the right thing to say afterward so that you could never stay upset. the boyish things he used to do when he was younger; gently shove you as he passed by, mutter playful taunts under his breath, and interrupt your time with his sister princess, was vastly different than the way he treated you now. now, he brought flowers every now and then – even going as far to claim that they were from your native lands. they weren’t, of course, but it was obvious from his dragon riding attire and the dirt underneath his fingernails that he had gone out of kings landing in search of a bouquet worthy of your attention.

bringing you a book, staying by your side in silence as you answered scriptures sent to you by your family, and sitting by you and eating his dinner by your side. offering a dragon ride – anything, to keep you entertained and keep you in king’s landing.

it was adorable, his queen mother had thought. although princess helaena was married to her brother, prince aegon, and no longer needed a lady-in-waiting, the royal family kept you by their side (or rather aemond’s side) for aemond’s sake. you kept him out of trouble and brought light back to the prince’s once dull life.

from the beginning, these interactions had left your heart fluttering and your stomach in a knot. however, as of late with prince jacaerys’ arrival, the feeling had quelled and moved from aemond to jacaerys.

jacaerys velaryon, was no different. when his family returned to court at king’s landing and was greeted by the king, the queen, his uncle and aunt, and surprisingly you, he was head over heels. in your house colors and a long gown that covered your ankles, with long sleeves that looped through your fingers bound by jewelry, he thought he had met the entity of the maiden he had heard maesters and small-folk speak about.

beautiful and radiant, he knew he had to get to know you. the only thing in his way was the stone dragon that ever so protectively stood in front of you, almost shielding your presence from his nephew. it was like a silent exchange between the two when they made eye contact – you were aemond’s.

that didn’t stop jacaerys though. with each action aemond had for you, jacaerys had an equal and sometimes even greater reaction.

he was less obvious and more of how a lord should act; offering his hand to you when ever you climbed stairs or descended from a carriage, being the first to arrive at your apartment chamber to summon you to break your fast. he was constantly a new figure in your life and often asked questions about your native lands. you couldn’t tell him much – years of being away from home, it had turned into a distant memory rather than a fresh remembrance. he had told you one day, when you announced your discontent at being away from home so long, that he would take you. that statement alone was enough to make you fall.

that was when the dance between the dragons started and the revival of their long feud began.

“dear (y/n),” aemond’s voice brings you back to the present. you halt your tracks and turn your head toward the direction of his voice, a smile brightening both of your faces. you give him a customary curtsy as he approaches with long strides. “where are you off to in such a hurry?”

you hadn’t realized how fast you were walking or where you were even going.

“i was going to the godswood to read, my prince. i find that it’s both quiet and relaxing to be there,” you reply, rediscovering the reason for being out of your chambers.

aemond relaxes his shoulders and puts his hands behind his back, “no need for formalities, my lady, would you care if i joined?”

the question wasn’t surprising at all, aemond was always by your side. it was rather poetic and sweet.

“i would love if you joined me, prince aemond.” at your affirmation, aemond sticks out his right arm and you gladly grasp it, taking care to stay in his line of sight as you readjust your hold on your book. his other hand falls onto the one holding his arm, his fingers, long and warm, curled around yours. “how are you fairing with the return of your nephews?”

perhaps you should have waited to ask him, for his face turned dark.

“my nephews and half-sister are like the plague. they turn everything sour and seem to ruin–” when he feels your head turn and his eyes on his side profile, he halts his word assault on his family, “though, the kitchen cooks are preparing better meals every day. i assume that is the only light of their presence.”

“aemond,” you say carefully, raising your brows. the prince sighs and continues to lead you to the godswood, and soon enough, the halls open into an enormous, open courtyard with a single weirwood tree. “they are your family.”

aemond wants to pull his hair out, freely say obscenities and announce their bastard parentage – but he had sworn his mother that he would stop with the strong insults.

“family,” he tastes the word on his tongue before gently dropping your hand from his arm. he approaches the weirwood tree and collapses to the ground, legs spread open and bent at the knee. “is a peculiar thing.”

you follow but more gracefully, bending your knees and sliding on to the grass. you splay out your dress, doing care to keep your modesty. you allow the silence to engulf you two and think about your choice of words next, “how so?”

“sometimes i think my own family isn’t mine,” he confesses and this is the time where he makes that face, the face that comes before he allows his secrets to fall and his wishes to come forward. “aegon, he.. he isn’t what i’d imagine him to be. my mother is.. absent and my father is the closest thing to seeing the stranger.”

you frown, but he continues, “i believe helaena is the only one i’m truly proud of and is my beloved sister.” his confession is a sad one and drives you to gently place your hand on his in support. “i think we should be lucky to choose our family.”

he does well to look you in the eye at his last sentence. you bashfully look away and your hand leaves his – he doesn’t like the sudden coolness on his skin that follows.

“would you like me–” your sentence is cut short by the sudden surprise of aemond’s calloused finger catching your chin, turning your face to his. his thumb gently touches your bottom lip and he’s focused on the pair. with caution, he looks for any objection and when he sees none, he leans in and places a delicate, but yearning kiss on your lips. he parts and leans back, a boyish look lightening his features, “aemond.”

his name comes out like a whisper from your lips and he almost moves to his knees. you enjoy this feeling – the fleet of uncertainty and the softness of love.

the moment passes faster than how it happened and suddenly you’re both parting farther, “nephew.” you look up and it’s jacaerys approaching.

jacaerys smiles once he catches your eye, but it falters when he gaze moves to aemond, “there you are, lady (y/n). i’ve been looking for you.”

he’s been.. looking for you? it’s both a surprise to you and aemond, though, the latter grips the earth until his knuckles turn bone-white. you don’t seem to notice, but the once kind smile the velaryon prince bore had turned triumphant. it’s almost as if he wants to piss off his uncle.

“my prince– i, you have?” you look down at the forgotten book in your lap and quickly raise it to jacaerys’ line of sight, as if to defend why you and aemond were in the godswood, “i was just reading to prince aemond.”

“i’m sure it was something lovely to hear.. dear uncle, would you care to lady (y/n) joining me on a stroll throughout the red keep? i might even show her how great vermax is.” your head turns to observe aemond, who was as quiet as ever. his expression is cold and his singular eye glares daggers into the velaryon prince. you were sure that if vhagar was here, aemond would have commanded his beast to rain fire on his nephew. however, his lips purse into a fine line and his eye flicks to meet yours. he blinks, then looks at jacaerys and nods in defeat.

“i shall safekeep your book, my lady,” aemond says solemnly, giving you a wounded look. he wants to reach out to push jacaerys away, taking you in his arms and mounting vhagar with you by his side and leave king’s landing. “i will.. see you tonight?”

you smile and nod, handing the book you were supposed to read to the prince, before grasping jacaerys’ extended hand that helped you to your feet. you give one last look at aemond while jacaerys leads you away, and it’s enough to tear your heart in two.

you follow jacaerys without a word, your mind a blur. was aemond confessing himself to you? pledging himself to you? did he.. love you? it was enough turmoil that you wanted to tear your hair out.

“you weren’t reading to him, were you?” prince jacaerys asks, his head turning to glance at you as his breath mingles with the air. you’re suddenly shy and nervous – whether from the truthfulness of the kiss you and aemond had shared, or the close proximity between you and jacaerys.

“not exactly, my prince,” you confess, ducking your head and looking at anything but the prince beside you. maybe you should have lied, but so far, you and jacaerys have been nothing less than honest. that’s what you loved – the honesty that never had any deceit or ill-will. perhaps you wanted to keep it that way.

the halls of the red keep become more secluded, less skylight falling into the courtyard and more torches lighting the corridors. jacaerys leads you up steps and you follow, lifting the skirt of your dress a bit to clear your pathway.

he continues to lead, the passageway becoming more clear and open once again. you inhale deeply at the last few steps, the air exiting through your nose as you two exit the tower of stairs. the walls soon disappear and the open, clear sky becomes obvious as it replaces the targaryen heraldries and tapestries. you gasp in awe as you turn your head – from here, visenya’s hill and black water bay are in view. it’s beautiful from the garrison wall.

jacaerys’ steps slow and you walk ahead, turning at the last moment to face him. he looks troubled, hands enclosed in fists at his side.

“it’s no secret that he has some affections for you,” jacaerys says carefully, taking in your figure before creating a set in his jaw, the bone more prominent. he turns his head and stares out into the open bay, moving toward the wall to lean into it. “i don’t doubt that he’s already made it known.”

“i’m sorry, my prince, but i don’t understand what you’re getting at.” your words border on a laugh, brows furrowing as you move closer. what was jacaerys playing at? was this some elaborate plan to embarrass you?

“no sly words, nothing less than the honest truth,” he starts, moving away from the stone wall to stand in front of you. his warm hands engulf yours – it’s embrace is firm and reassuring. thumbs gently run along your hand as he tries to soothe his own nerves and coax yours. “i will tell you exactly as i feel, and i would hope you feel the same.”

your heart moves from your chest to your stomach and tears had begun to well in your eyes at his next words.

“i.. i must confess that i also harbor affections for you. these past few days, while so little, have been something that i’ve been longing for,” he begins, looking down at your conjoined hands before peeking up through his brown strands of hair. “i think of you night and day, lady (y/n), your well-being clouds my judgement, and i am at constant ends with myself.”

he thought to himself, to either make himself happy and serve the consequences of being at yet another war with his uncles, or forever live in regret. he decided to swallow the lump in his throat.

your breath shudders at his confession and you feel your stomach lurch.

“i want to ask for your hand. i want you to be my lady and be by my side when my mother ascends the iron throne and i take dragonstone.” one of his hands releases his grasp on yours, his hand rising to brush a stray strand of hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear. his smile is boyish, with teeth peeking from behind his lips. this mere expression is enough to make you sigh. “i want you to see your family and visit home whenever you’d like – we can go together on vermax and travel wherever we’d like.”

“we wouldn’t have to worry about court, or formalities. we could.. we could do anything that your heart desires,” he inhales deeply, the air squashing the dull ache in his chest, “i just.. i want you. all of you. what do you say?”

the passed days replay in your mind. jacaerys dancing with you in the courtyard – the laughter that always filled the room whenever you were with him. it felt comfortable and content to be with him. you had no worries when you were with him, no worry of the wrath of his mother if you upset him, and no worry if your absence had caused a disturbance. this was easy and this felt right.

“yes.”

when word of prince jacaerys’ proposal to you and your acceptance had caught wind and spread like dragonfire, it had done nothing but harden the feelings of aemond targaryen. some would even say that it drove the one-eyed prince mad and demand atonement, an eye for an eye, or in this case, a loved one for a loved one.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fic #my writing

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cozycottagetarot · 10 months

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Quick Pick: Messages From Your Person

Hello, my loves! It's been way too long, but I'm finally back (hopefully for a long time) with a new reading as well as a bit of a rebrand. Today's reading is focused on messages from your person (kind of in the realm of a future spouse but generally a long-term partner) but I think for some of you it may come across as a current partner as well.

This is a pretty experimental reading for me. I want to start including an 'energy check' of sorts to help you better figure out if a pile is for you or not. I've done 'channelled' messages before but I felt weird about them so I've decided to give it a try again. The message aspect of this reading is just a free-flow writing of the cards that were pulled. And of course, I decided to play around a little bit more with my graphics. I'm always open to feedback, so I'd love to gather your thoughts on the set-up and reading itself.

Elle 🌿

P.S. I'm trying to re-do my masterlist but can't locate all my old pacs easily. If you come across one, I wouldn't mind if you send me the link. 🙏

Support My Work | MASTERLIST

Disclaimer: When reading tarot, my aim is to focus on self-reflection and seeking guidance. The readings you'll find here are designed to add a pinch of fun and entertainment to your day. While I might sprinkle in some advice that hopefully vibes with you, please remember that these insights aren't a substitute for any professional advice you might need-- after all, you know your journey best! For any love-related or future-focused readings, consider them captivating musings exploring possibilities. Divination inspired stories even. I can't predict the future but I do hope to add some enjoyment and insights into your everyday. Lastly my darlings, please take from these readings what resonates with you most, be it some, all or none, and leave the rest. 🌟

PILE 1

Note: Pile 1 your pile gave me absolute hell the first time around 😭. I was writing/channelling the message and the energy literally just gave way at one point, I was flabbergasted 🫨. Anyway, the second pull was much clearer, but I included notes I felt were important from the first pull in the post-reading notes section.

Your Energy:

Going through an awakening. A need or call for self-reflection. A new cycle is beginning. You must face what you are running from within, but you must also be patient. Rely on your inner strength. Needing to learn more about yourself before doing/trying something different. Potentially finding yourself in part of a mentorship. Connecting with people similar to yourself. Navigating regrets. Needing to let go of the old you. Needing to ground yourself. A strong energy of needing to look within yourself. It is time to prepare yourself for your next journey.

The Message:

Can you let the past go? We’ve been through so much, the both of us, on our own and together. Why do you hold on to it when our future is waiting for us? I know I hurt you and I apologize. You didn’t deserve any of the pain I caused you. I don’t blame you [it felt like there was a specific reason but I couldn’t get the specifics] but I feel lost without you. I could tell you why, I want to, but words mean nothing without action. You know my story. My relationship with my mother, how that shaped me. You know I love the attention of it all, having everyone’s eyes on me. Makes me feel good.. makes me feel. But no one else’s attention mattered like yours did. I felt most close to myself with you. Please, please let go of that version of me you’re holding onto in your head. I’m taking space because I need to heal. I need to heal my relationship with me first before I can heal it with us. This isn’t goodbye; just so long for now. I’m taking time to put that me in the past too and find myself and what I want from this life. I mean it’s simple really, I want you, us. I want to give you the good life you deserve, but I need to fix myself first. Give me the self-love I deserve.

Post-Reading Notes:

There’s a mature, sad regretful energy. Someone on a journey of self-exploration. Two hurting souls who met at the wrong time. One of you may be further along in your healing journey or you’ve both healed parts of yourself and your relationship that the other one hasn’t healed yet.

First Pull Notes:

One of the first things that came to mind for me is a dark night of the soul… I haven’t heard that term in so long and I’ve completely forgotten what it means, but for someone in this pile, I feel like that may resonate a lot. Going through a tough time. Blow after blow. Your higher self or inner wisdom is trying to reach you. Introspection before a new beginning. An ending of something you don’t want to let go of?

Big things are happening in your life, and significant changes are taking place even though it might not seem that way right now. Lots of air energy. Gaining mental clarity is super important for you right now. Breakup vibes? You two are like opposite sides or motivations of the same energy. Holding on when you know you should let go. This is definitely your person (one of the cards literally says ‘You’re my person’).

PILE 2

Your Energy:

For some of you are at the end of suffering but lying to yourself about the truth of the outcome, while for others you’re running from the mistakes made along the way. Maybe it's both. You’re still grieving all that is lost, be gentle with yourself. Hard work and consistency may await you but keep at it. Adventure is closer than you think. You’re on the brink of success. Moving forward hurts, but you must. Your person (or something you've been romanticising) is waiting for you. You just have to be brave enough to step through the gate. Opportunities are coming your way. If you're interested in floral hobbies or embroidery go for it.

The Message:

I hear you. I haven’t given up on you. I hear the songs you play for me, I hear the songs of your heart. You’re my love, my soulmate. We were meant to be, you and me. You’re not crazy or insane, or any other term you demean yourself with. You’re my everything. I can feel your soul even though we’re apart. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can feel you there. I can see your sparkling soul mirroring mine... sad eyes, bright smile, you leave me in awe. I know you call to me, and I’m sorry I’m not there. Don’t hate me for it, please. I’m leaving behind all that has been holding me back… the same as you. I’m sorry it’s so lonely. I want to meet. What do you say? Impromptu trip to the tropics? Somewhere cold? I just want to escape the world with you and lie in your arms. You’re my home. I sit in your energy and let it guide me your way. But I do need time. Please be patient with me. I haven’t abandoned you. I’m finding me, for you. I dream about you so often and being the kind of person you’d inspire me to be.

Post-Reading Notes:

"I need you to run to me, run to me, lover." (Run by Hozier, the chorus specifically. I know the song is supposed to be a metaphor but I'm suggesting it at face value). A very healing energy to your person's messages. Your person could also fantasise about you a lot... in a non-x-rated 18+ kind of way. It was mentioned on one of the cards but that part of the card felt awkward in the rest of the cards. They’re possessive, it doesn't seem like in a negative or extreme way but again, that's not something that was strong or clear. There’s something to do with the attention of others. They just want to be yours completely… Honestly, a submissive yet dominant kind of energy. A protector and/or provider (take that as you will) who is absolutely smitten with you and will do anything you say.

I don't typically read for it, but one of the cards had twin flame written on it. It could also be symbolic of mirroring each other in your personal journeys in life.

PILE 3

Your Energy:

Powerful yet solitary energy. A new chapter of your life. Accomplishing a big goal. Moving to a new location. Creating a good foundation for yourself in preparation for what comes next. Balancing your energies. Sleep issues. Struggling with anxiety or managing thoughts after a traumatic event. Celebration. Having security. Authoritarian role or vibes.

The Message:

Okay, I can do this: I can’t get you off of my mind. I’m constantly thinking of you, viewing your content, trying to set myself up to run into you. I know it’s silly, especially since you hurt me. Who pines after the person that hurt them? Well, it wasn't meant to be mean. You’re just so mysterious I can’t ever read you and it or you make me nervous. I’m always worrying about what to say. I want to talk to you but opening up to others is hard. I’m afraid I’ll start crying or you’ll hear my voice crack. You’re my person. I’m sure of it. You’re everything I’ve hoped for in a person, everything I dream about before I go to sleep at night. You’re doing so well for yourself, but I want to spoil you and be there for you. Not always materially. I know you can cover that for yourself. But being there for you and spending time with you… I heard you were seeing someone. I hope it’s not true and even if it is, I hope it doesn't last. No, I’m not sorry. I’m going to work up the courage to reach out to you soon.

Post-Reading Notes:

Oh Pile 3, you’re so intimidating to your person. Secret admirer vibes. I definitely think you’ve got a very serious or professional energy and an intimidating appearance. That may especially be true if you’re taller than average for your demographic/s. The energies here feel very balanced or neutral (not heavily feminine or masculine) on both your end and theirs.

PILE 4

Your Energy:

Such a beautiful light-hearted energy. There’s such a beautiful and hopeful energy in this relationship here but it’s also possible someone or something is working against you right now. A very important decision is being made. Someone could be trying to take something from you, but keep going. You’ve got this incredible power/energy to you. Vows are super important, be it making them with someone else or making a vow to yourself to gain or achieve something. Collaboration. Having everything you need to succeed. There could be challengers coming your way but you're strong enough to overcome them.

The Message:

I’m sorry. I don’t know, that was immature of me. I swear it wasn’t like you thought but don’t worry I’m going to do better. Honest. You know, I dream about us being together and growing old. I dream about our kids. They’re so stinking cute. We’ve still got growing to do, ok, or I’ve still got growing to do. Please talk to me. You know I hate it when you give me the silent treatment. I know I disappeared on you and that wasn’t cool. I just get so… I care about you a lot. I don’t want to see you hurt. I want the best for you. I know I act all big and bad but I’m a softie at heart. That fight was weird. I don’t like it. It wasn’t like us. It meant nothing I know. Would you pack up and run away with me if I asked? I hate the distance between us right now. Im always listening to our playlist. I know I acted like I'm uninterested in something serious but I am. I want you. I miss you. I want to spoil you and give you everything you deserve. Just give me a chance. Please hear me out.

Post-Reading Notes:

The vibes while doing the reading felt like very young vibes? There’s a youthfulness there. Someone who either is actually young in age or hasn’t grown up emotionally in a certain aspect. It felt like they did something prideful that was hurtful to you and you two are in a disconnect during the moment captured in the reading. It didn’t feel like a serious fight. More so when you’re upset with someone and acting like you’re madder than you really are (your vibes) and the other person is sweating and begging you to talk to them again (their vibes).

Also, idk why but Peter Parker kept coming into my head 🕸️. I’m not feeling to analyse it so take it as you will.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #cozycottagetarot #future spouse reading #future spouse tarot reading #messages from your person #cozycottagetarot readings

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blorbosinmyheadcentral · 7 months

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your art makes me explode in a positive way like

im chewing and swallowing it in an aggressive way like

it's just SO good im melting ilove your shading and KEHEKEBEKJDJF

anwayshi hello do you happen to have any headcanons for showtime rolls on the floor and dies

Thank you so much, really appreciate it!

Oh God I don't know if this will read as coherent because my thoughts about Showtime are all over the place. But I'll try to format this the best I can

✨Showtime HCs! ✨

Their relationship starts when they start spending time together.

(The reason why they do so could vary. In Supervised Machine Learning's case, Pomni becomes something of a "tutor" to Caine; They discover that they work well together, and the other's company can be quite pleasant!).

So Pomni and Caine build a weird, but comforting friendship, and all is well.

Then the feelings appear.

Caine is the first to realize he fell in love.

It sounds illogical but hear me out… it'd be really funny--

Ok no seriously I think Caine can actually feel. Keyword "can". He's very much still a machine and it shows in the pilot. But like his inspiration (AM), Caine is also a rogue AI. Whatever his programming originally intended him to do, he probably doesn't follow it as closely now as back when he was created (which is a whole other post).

Caine knows what love is and the extend it can go, since the Moon is so open about her feelings. He just doesn't like the Moon back specifically haha (sorry Moon) :}

All this to say, I do believe this is within the realm of possibility for him. (Not that it's ever gonna happen towards anyone in the show. These are just wishful shippy thoughts).

He might not recognize it as love at first, because it manifests in such a different way from his one reference point.

His friendship with Pomni had gone through phases.

When they first met, he continuously touched her with no concern for how she felt.

Learning from and about Pomni herself led him to come to respect her boundaries (and becoming mindful of everyone else's).

Then they're close friends, and gradually, Pomni does not mind his regular wacky, touchy-feely self. So Caine acts as he had always done before.

Caine expresses his love for Pomni with physical gestures and his undivided attention.

When they teleport to travel to other places, he holds her close so she doesn't get too dizzy; he pats her head to reassure her; he touches her arm to get her attention; he grabs her hands when he's excited about her ideas; he holds eye contact for prolonged periods of time; and he touches, and touches, and touches, and touches.

It's selfish, and so he keeps it buried in his deepest 0's and 1's. But he'd like to keep hanging out with Pomni, having her in his sight, and feel the texture of her gloved hands until the end of time.

Despite all this, to him, virtually nothing changed.

What? He's spending time with Pomni as he'd always been doing, and behaving as he'd always behaved!

It's Bubble of all people that has to point out that, "Hey boss. I think you WANT her!"

Absurd. Nonsense. Preposterous! It is merely a relationship of mutual support and affection between a ringmaster and his trusted, former-human companion. Nothing more.

(Declaring his love to her unprompted didn't ever cross his mind, so there's no way it could be that. Is there?)

Caine finds out that yes, there is.

Pomni had always been a nervous wreck, but her mind state becomes more manageable over time. She eventually adjusts to the circus life like everyone else did.

"Accepting" her fate is a different story. The will to escape, to remember, never really leaves. She's just more careful about it.

So when she starts working with Caine - to improve life so people don't go abstracting anymore, and hopefully find a definitive exit - she's not expecting to end up liking her time with him.

Not that she'd absolutely hate it, either. He's… "okay"… Just-- outlandish, loud, he keeps invading her personal space, he keeps touching her, and it makes her die a little every time.

If he's up to listening, though… it can't be that bad, right?

Turns out that no, it wasn't that bad.

Yes, he is outlandish, loud, he keeps invading her personal space and touching her. But she explains what she means to him, clearly and patiently, and he makes an effort to do better. An actual effort.

Sometimes he'd misinterpret what she meant - the ambiguity of human language - and the new games would go horribly. But little by little, his efforts make life overall better. Something reminiscent of actual, real life, the one they've all forcibly left behind.

And he tries, and he tries, and Pomni finds herself enjoying the process as much as the good results.

Pomni likes Caine's eagerness to learn. His enthusiastic attitude borders on silly, and the absurdity makes her laugh on occasion. When faced with the prospect of a "real" exit, she loves his upbeat optimism.

When she's not hanging out with Ragatha, Jax, Gangle, Zooble and Kinger, she begins to enjoy spending quality time with Caine.

Each one of their hang outs is a new surprise. They make a picnic in the tallest mountain exactly in between day and night. They learn to dance - while floating in the air. "Since you asked, here's a DIGITAL camera! Let's take pictures of the Void for one tenth of a second at a time!"

Sometimes he just comes by Pomni's room, and they end up losing track of time. Just chatting about how things have been, what they could be, and what to do next. Ideas and ideas and ideas.

Before Pomni knows it, she's comfortable enough that recalling his old habits makes her not dread them anymore. So when Caine stands close and lightly touches her arm due to oversight, she makes sure he knows it's all right.

And they keep spending time together, and he touches, and touches, and touches her. Pomni, in turn, feels lighter, and lighter, and lighter. Peaceful, at ease. Dare she say, happy, even.

Life is not perfect. As it stands though, it's good enough. No one has abstracted. No one is at risk of abstracting so far.

Progress is slow, but the research for an exit continues, and she is hopeful. The thought of actually leaving grows closer to reality. But a part of her feels heavy.

When it occurs to Pomni that leaving the Amazing Digital Circus means leaving Caine behind, she is alarmed by how much she'll miss him.

It'll hurt. Badly. So much the thought pains her even now.

The moment Pomni realizes this, she comes to the unexpected conclusion that she may like Caine a little more than she thought she would.

This later leads to an interesting discussion with Ragatha.

By the time Pomni comes to that conclusion, Caine is already down bad.

Neither has any idea that the other is in love with them.

Cue dumbasses trying to deal with their feelings while the potential conflict the escape brings looms over their heads.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk!

#showtime #tadc showtime #caine x pomni #pomni x caine #showtime ship #cherpiet #Really appreciate how their dynamic can blur the line of friendship/romance so easily #Supervised Machine Learning is just. *gestures at all that*. minus the romance #Also sorry for taking so long to answer the ask I am not good at answering asks #I don't always know what to say #I wish I had what gooseworx has. She is a big insp #long post

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fairyysoup · 17 days

Text

matters of taste

part one (repost)

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Not all trainees are great on the job. Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson in a bakery, however? Absolutely unmatched.

content warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI) smut, threesome - f/m/m, semi-public sex, workplace sex, car sex, handjobs, oral (f+m receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, spitroast, fluids play, dumbification, praise, degradation, implied masochism, mention of housewife kink, steve harrington has a big dick, enemies to lovers-ish but they're all crazy about each other let's be real\

a/n: this is my second time trying to repost this!! let's not talk about how ugly it looks ok i think the header is implying that reader is a sentient pie and honestly... yeah

It’s… you know what. It’s whatever. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine, everything’s fine.

You pause midway through frosting some cinnamon rolls to watch one of the newbies wheeling a cart of mislabelled muffins past your decorating table. You strategically keep your voice void of inflection as you say, “Price stickers, Harrington.”

“FUCK!”

You watch Steve dramatically jostle the cart back around to wheel it toward the rack that contains the multitudes of different flavor and price stickers used in the bakery, swearing like a sailor the whole time. He collides with another cart, and slams it directly into your other trainee, Eddie Munson.

“Shitshitshitshit shit-” Eddie curses and stumbles into a rolling rack of donuts. He grabs the rack before it can topple over, and succeeds in catching four trays of donuts when they fall out of their slots and into his arms.

You roll your eyes at the spectacle the two of them create, which is quickly becoming the norm, and go back to stroking globs of cream cheese frosting across the cinnamon rolls in front of you.

It’s not like they’re the world’s worst trainees or anything. It’s not like they’re completely incompetent, or that they purposefully goes out of their way to make your job unnecessarily difficult or anything. It’s not like, together, they create the most chaotic and hazardous environment possible.

No, sir. Nothing to see here. No problems to be had.

“‘You didn’t put the price stickers on, Steve-’” you hear Steve mocking you in a purposefully insulting falsetto, and give him a side-eye that you know he can’t see. “Mehmehmeh- ‘You didn’t put the bagels in properly. You didn’t frost the bundt cakes just right.’”

“‘You didn’t circumcise the bread bags,’” Eddie adds as he shoves the trays of smushed donuts back onto the rack and grabs a rag to wipe icing from his apron.

“Fucking what?” You turn to look at them fully, holding your frosting covered hands out in front of you.

“I don’t know!” Steve whirls around to sneer at you. His bubblegum pink uniform shirt is just about the same color as his face, rosy and flushed with the heat from the ovens and probably his climbing heart rate. “Why’s everything gotta be packaged differently? It’s just bread!”

“I don’t make the rules! Don’t argue with me and just do it!” That’s another thing. Steve’s just so argumentative, about everything. How you package things, how you wash the dishes, how you clean the floors at the end of the day. Meanwhile, Eddie won’t argue with you per-se, but the day he does something correctly will be the day pigs fly. It’s the most annoying fucking thing you’ve had to deal with at this job, and you’re stuck training them.

It’s not a particularly hard job. You’re just clerks at Mimi’s Bakery, nothing is out of the realm of doability- it’s more of a stamina sport. You’re all closers, so that means a lot of packaging and a lot of cleaning, interspersed with helping some late afternoon and evening customers, within an eight hour shift. It isn’t very busy anymore, either; summer’s over, and you still have about a month until the holiday rushes start. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for them, but they’ve both been here for two weeks and still act like they were born yesterday.

Steve spends an extraordinarily long time putting the price tags on the packages of muffins- and putting them on crooked, anyway, so that the entire pile looks janky and rushed despite his slow pace. Eddie’s too busy wiping chocolate icing from his arms to notice Steve’s haphazard labeling.

Your eyes trail the wet rag that Eddie drags across his skin, leaving behind only the ink from his tattoos for you to scrutinize. During the lull, the bakery’s PA system comically offsets the tension in the room with a generic old jazz standard. Your boss, Mimi Callaghan, has an enthusiasm for novelties from her youth- hence the confectionary shop-style pink pinstriped uniform dress you wear, and your clashing forest green apron just oozing with sex appeal. Steve looks like a knockoff Ken doll in his similar blouse and khakis, but he confessed to you on his first day that he used to work at the Scoops Ahoy in the old Hawkins Mall, so you assume he isn’t too phased by it. You’re not about to tell him that he makes it work. Eddie, on the other hand, looks like someone picked him up at the Local Smokes down the street and thrust him into the uniform against his will, like he’s not really supposed to be here. You hate that you find the weird juxtaposition of his tattoos to the pink and green uniform kind of hot.

“Don’t forget to face the shelves when you put them out,” you tell Steve as he pushes the cart past you again.

Steve’s ears glow bright red. “I’ll put out something-”

“Suck my fucking nuts, Harrington, you wanna do the job right or not?”

Eddie cackles loudly as Steve turns around, but instead of glaring at you he just looks mildly amused, like Eddie’s hysterical laughter rubbed off on him. “Why’re you so mean to me, huh?”

“What?” You splutter, gloved hands flexing in the air and squishing frosting between your fingers. “Why- why’re you so fucking difficult? Put the goddamn muffins out, we don’t have all day-”

“I think she likes you, Harrington.”

You squint at Eddie, still rubbing himself down leisurely with the rag, twisting his rings around his fingers idly even though he didn’t even get any icing on them. He leans against the counter with a smirk on his pretty pink lips like he thinks he’s done something. Like there can’t be another reason for why you’re so easily frustrated by Steve- by either of them, really. Like their lack of decorum or work ethic are completely out of the question, you guess, to his way of thinking.

“Like him?” you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant as you go back to smacking cream cheese frosting across the pans of pastries in front of you. “Puh- lease. He’s infuriating, he doesn't listen to directions. Also, Steve, your customer service voice? It- you know what, it’s obnoxious. We work in a bakery, you don’t have to put the moves on every girl that comes in.”

“Oh, okay. Hear me out- maybe you don’t like my customer service voice because you’re jealous.” Steve hums, rocking back on his heels and looking even more smug than he did a few seconds ago. “I can put the moves on you, too, if you’re feeling left out.”

You don’t dignify that offer with a response. You kind of just want to punch him in the face. “Go put the muffins out and let me listen to the goddamn PA in peace.”

He has the decency to look shocked. “You like this goofy old shit?”

“I love this goofy old shit, which is more than I can say about you.”

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” Eddie hums casually, in as condescending of a voice as he can muster. “You don’t have to pretend like you aren’t into Harrington. I know I am.”

“And you, Munson-” You whirl on him, pointing one frosting covered finger angrily in his direction, at which his eyes go all wide and innocent. “Don’t even get me started. Your fucking hair gets everywhere. I swear I had to excavate an entire gerbil from the garlic bread you made yesterday. Take a fucking weedwacker to that thing, for the love of god. And… and your tattoos are fucking dumb.”

You don’t want to admit that you like the sight of the tattoos, actually. When Mimi had told you that the newbies you’d be training were gonna be “that darling Steve Harrington, and his friend, the Munson boy” you’d been a little bit pleased. There isn’t much to admire in a bakery except cakes, and if having the two of them around the bakery means things just got a little more scenic, then you were happy to have them.

Unfortunately, a pretty face often means an infernal personality. Finding one without the other would probably take an act of god at this point. Times two, you got stuck with the fucking chaos twins.

“Dumb?” Eddie wolf whistles. “That smarts, sweetheart. It really does. You haven’t even seen all of my tattoos yet. I’d love to give you a tour of them, though-”

Your face burns at the thought of Eddie Munson letting you get a first class look at his tattoos. He probably has ones in places even god doesn’t know about, and you glare down at the cinnamon rolls in front of you to hide how flustered you are about it. “Fuck you, Munson.”

“I wish you would.”

“For christ’s sake- Steve. Muffins, now.”

Steve does what he’s told, for a change. It doesn’t give you as much of an ego boost as it usually does- really, you just feel sort of dull as you snap your rubber gloves off and throw them in the trash can to the side. You don’t know why you let them bother you as much as they do, but for some reason the just jerk your chain like nothing else.

The bell over the front door jingles, alerting you to the arrival of a customer. You take a quick peek at the ovens behind you to check the time; it’s nearly 8, and the bakery closes at 10. You fight to not roll your eyes as you grab a pair of gloves in case whoever it is wants something out of the display case.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Your voice is sing-songy enough that you want to smack yourself. A middle aged woman has made a bee-line for the counter, straight past where Steve is bent over a display table, struggling to shift all the old muffin boxes to the top and slide the newer ones underneath them.

You stare at his ass for… probably way longer than necessary, honestly.

The woman points at a singular cake box left on the counter from today’s special orders, and immediately reaches up to take it without any other introduction.

Oh. One of these customers. The ones who come in and grab stuff off the counter without asking for assistance, who will walk back into the kitchen to look at the overstock racks and help themselves to things that haven’t been put out on the floor yet.

A tight smile curls at your lips as you snag the tag on the box and look at the name before she can yank it off the counter from you. “For Linda?”

The woman nods curtly. As you turn the box to face her, your eyes shift back to Steve as he moves around the side of the display table. He stretches his arm out to reach for a stack on a higher shelf, and your eyes linger on the way the short sleeve of his uniform shirt rides up to expose his bicep.

“This is not the cake I ordered.”

“What?” You snap your eyes back to Linda’s pinched face, glaring down at the cake on the counter. It’s a basic sheet cake, with white frosting and a screaming red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ on it. Not necessarily a masterpiece, but a neat and pretty cake nonetheless.

“I ordered a cake with a winning streak theme. This has nothing on it,” Linda says icily as you snatch up the order slip you had taken off of the box and inspect it.

“A marble quarter sheet with white buttercream and a red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ in black icing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… what’s on the cake, ma’am.”

“But there’s no other decoration. Where’s the winning streak theme?”

You blink, and briefly make eye contact with Steve over the woman’s shoulder. He’s all but abandoned his task of stacking muffin boxes, instead watching your face carefully as your conversation plays out. He raises one eyebrow at you, and you’re not sure if that’s him trying to be condescending or supportive.

“I- I apologize, ma’am-” you start, looking for a way to dig your way out of the situation, “The order does say that you requested the theme, but you didn’t specify any decorations. Our decorators won’t take liberties with the order on their own if you don’t request-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Linda interjects, and you clamp your mouth shut with a dull ache beginning to throb in your temples. “I’m supposed to be at a winning streak themed party in twenty minutes and I have an embarrassment of a cake to show for it. I should be reimbursed.”

“The cake wasn’t paid for in advance,” you tell her mildly, trying not to crinkle the page with her order on it as you hold it up.

“Uh… accommodated, then. I shouldn’t have to pay for something I didn’t want in the first place!”

“I’m afraid I can’t just give you a cake for free, ma’am. I’m not authorized.”

“Can I speak to your manager, then?”

You open your mouth to say that, technically, you are what amounts to the shift manager. It’s just you and Eddie and Steve in the store, and even though neither of your job descriptions really include the word ‘manager’ in them, seniority rules over all. You’ve been here long enough to be able to train them, so by right you’re the one in charge.

But then a warm hand touches the curve of your lower back, and Steve appears out of thin air to gently scoot you aside without so much as a hello.

“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Steve smiles, and you could almost mistake him for being sincere if his fingertips didn’t dig into your back just slightly before pulling away.

Linda visibly softens her demeanor, smoothing her stringy blonde hair away from her face. “Are you the manager?”

You scrutinize his profile, trying for all the world to read his fucking mind, because you have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s barely even taken a cake order, let alone dealt with a disgruntled customer with a botched one.

“That, I am!” Steve declares, and oh. Cheeky motherfucker. He’s doing the voice. He bats his eyelashes- big, long, sweeping blinks that you think can make him take flight if he tries much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“This girl,” Linda tells him shortly, not even looking at you when she motions in your direction, “is refusing to compromise about this cake. It’s not what I ordered, and if I have to show up for this party without a winning streak themed cake, I’m going to be embarrassed. The customer is always right!”

“In matters of taste,” Eddie says from over your shoulder.

Linda fixes Eddie with a cold stare. “I’m sorry?”

“That, uh… that saying.” Eddie steps up to your other side, obviously choking back a laugh as he clears his throat. “The full saying is, ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste.’ Meaning you’re right about your order, we can’t argue with your personal preferences.”

“Exactly.” Steve shrugs easily, the picture of self-assurance as he takes the order sheet from your hand and looks it over. You’re not even sure if he entirely understands how to dissect the order sheet itself, but he looks convincing enough while doing it. “If you don’t like the cake, you don’t have to buy it. But my gi- ‘ this’ girl is right.”

You snap your eyes toward Steve, the back of your neck burning. His what?

Steve continues like he’s made no mistake whatsoever. “We can’t give you the cake for free- the only person who can do that is the owner.”

Linda scowls. “‘Take it or leave it,’ you mean?”

Steve affords her a kind smile. “I’d be happy to pull any of our cakes out of the display instead, if you see any you prefer.”

“No,” Linda insists, obviously unhappy about it, “I’ve been coming here for twenty years and this has never happened, the owner knows me-”

“We can call Mimi, if you’d like,” he adds.

“No, like I said, I have a party in twenty minutes,” Linda says sourly, and begins digging through her purse. “No, I’ll pay for this one, I guess.”

Behind the counter, you watch Steve ball up Linda’s cake order sheet in his palm, squeeze it unnecessarily hard, and toss it into the waste bin. Then, faster than fucking lightning, you watch Eddie type the price of the cake into the cash register. He hits the sales tax button twice.

“Come back soon!” Eddie says cheerfully as he hands her the receipt.

You stand motionless behind them both, dumbfounded, until Linda leaves. And then Steve’s immediately cursing, shaking his head as he turns and starts walking toward the back room, hands untying the bow at his waist to undo his apron. “They’ll say anything for free shit. Anything. What the fuck is a ‘winning streak’ theme, anyways? I swear- no, you know what, I don’t actually fucking care. I used to give out freebies all the time at Scoops. But this isn’t corporate, and Mimi knows my family-”

You follow him closely, disappearing into the back with him as he continues blathering. “Why did you do that?”

“Hm?” Steve pauses as he’s pulling his apron over his head, and stares at you for a few seconds, like he doesn’t even know what you’re referring to. And then, you see his brown eyes widen. “Oh! I guess… I mean, I could see it going bad, and I figured if she wasn’t listening to you, then she’d probably listen to me. If I, y’know. Put the moves on her.”

You snort loudly. “Always so fuckin’ cute- I could have handled it myself.”

“No, I know you could have. I know.” Steve nods, his hair sort of fluttering around his face as he looks away from you. “But… y’know, you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to, while I’m here. I’ve been tortured by KGB and fought monsters, I can deal with an angry customer-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh. Uh…” He pauses, eyes drifting off to the side, to meet Eddie’s, who trailed behind you into the back room and is lingering over your shoulder. “Dun- Dungeons and… and Dragons? Yeah… yeah! Have you- have you played it?”

“You?” Your giggle splutters loudly in your chest before bubbling up out of your throat unexpectedly. “Steve Harrington plays Dungeons and Dragons? You like that goofy sword and sorcery shit?”

“Fucking metal sword and sorcery shit, thank you very much,” Eddie snaps, and you scoff at him.

Steve chuckles at your little jab at his words from earlier, looking anywhere but at your face. “Yeah, sort of. I mean… Munson taught me a bit about it.”

“Everything he knows.” Eddie’s grin is wide and holds an air of mystery to it, like he knows something you don’t.

“Hm. Put that on a t-shirt for me and maybe I’ll buy it.” You blush, staring at Steve’s profile as he pulls a water bottle out of the employee break cabinet and takes a long drink from it. Then, you turn to Eddie, who leans against the door jamb. “Where’d you learn that thing about ‘the customer is always right,’ anyways?”

“Hm? Oh… I used to help my uncle Wayne in his garage,” Eddie explains nonchalantly. “Learned a lot from watching him deal with customers.”

“Right,” you hum, nodding slowly, and then turn to Steve. “And you. You could get in so much fucking trouble if Mimi finds out about that whole thing. Where did you pick that up?”

“My best friend- Robin Buckley? You know her?” Steve says as he puts the bottle back in the cabinet and snaps it shut. You shake your head, and he goes on. “Yeah. She’s crazy smart. We worked together at Scoops, and Family Video. Always had a way to respond to everything, even though she’s awkward as hell. And before you ask- yes, she would have tried to put the moves on Linda, too.��

“Would she?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve grins at you fondly, making your heart stall in your chest a bit. “Every single move in the book. If you ask me, she’s better with the ladies than I am.”

You laugh, then nod your head slowly, looking him up and down. “Okay. You’re actually fucking hilarious, Harrington. Too bad I hate your guts.”

“Really? I’m moving up in the world.” Steve grunts. “There’s a fine line between love and hate, my darling dearest.”

“Is that why you almost called me ‘your girl?’”

His smirk creates cute little dimples in his cheeks. “No, I almost did that because you’re the only one who can tell me to suck on their nuts, and I’ll actually consider doing it.”

Before you can even take a moment to process that little wise-crack, Eddie’s distracting you. His hand passes through your line of vision, then comes up and presses against the front of your green apron, just against your breast. You genuinely think he’s trying to feel you up, and you snap your eyes down to find his ringed fingers scraping a giant drop of cream cheese frosting off of your chest.

You feel your cheeks heat up. That must have come from when you were frosting the cinnamon rolls- more like smacking them around with frosting, really- and the fact that it was there the entire time Linda was here is more than humiliating. You must have looked like such an idiot, trying to conduct yourself like a manager-

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, using that same fucking condescending tone that makes your hair stand on end, before meeting your eye and sucking the glob of frosting off of his two fingers.

You get a sudden head rush, and it takes way more self restraint than it should to not audibly whimper. Oh, he really shouldn’t have done that.

You stare at him for a long moment, your eyes flickering between his, and his fingers in between his ungodly pink lips. You… you feel like you’re fucking drowning, floundering around with your head underwater and you don’t know what to do. You snap your eyes to Steve, looking for some sort of sympathy or support, but he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, he just winks.

No. They absolutely should not have done that.

“Fucking… fuck this. Fuck both of you- I have work to do,” you hiss, trying to skirt past buckets of frosting to get around where Eddie’s blocking the doorway, but he refuses to step aside, instead creating a one-man barricade while he snickers and continues sucking on his fingers just to rile you up even more. “Fucking move, Eddie.”

“Oh, it’s Eddie now?” He grins, obviously enjoying how much you’re struggling, with your chest pushed up against his and your arm nearly circling his waist to lever yourself against the other side of the door.

“Fuck you,” you spit, for a lack of anything else to say.

“For the second time, I wish you would.” Eddie raises his hand and captures your chin, tilting your head up so that you look at him, instead of over his shoulder or to the side at Steve. Your heart jumps into your throat, feeling his damp fingers on your cheek and remembering how he had been sucking on them a second ago. “Might clean out that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” You snatch Eddie by his pinstriped collar, simultaneously pulling him down to your height and also pushing him back against the wire rack of boxes along the far wall. Eddie curses, stumbling and grabbing onto your hips as if that will steady himself. His nose nudges yours from this angle, and how close you crowd up against him. “You drive me up the fucking wall, Munson. You think you can just sweet talk me like I’m some uptight customer?”

“Woah,” Steve says from behind you, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit surprised. More amused, and intrigued. “I think you struck a nerve.”

“Did I?” Eddie whispers, with a hint of a smirk still on his face. His dark eyes are looking directly into yours.

He doesn’t even have time to breathe before you kiss him. Desperately. Long and hard and sort of angry, open-mouthed so that you can taste the frosting still on his tongue. He makes the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard- somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as his hands come up to cup your face and pull you closer into him. His knee slotting between your legs, not pushing up but just remaining solidly there for you to lean against it. It takes an inordinate amount of strength for you not to grind yourself down onto his thigh.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Steve says calmly from just beside you.

Eddie pulls back for air, forehead resting against yours, thumbs stroking your cheekbones in a mockery of a tender embrace. “Go on. Show Harrington how much you hate him, too.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you grumble, but your hands have better plans. One stays on Eddie’s shoulder, but the other snatches Steve by the collar and pulls him forward so that you can attack his face with the same amount of fervor. Eddie has no compunction to be gentlemanly- while Steve’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, Eddie’s creeps up underneath your skirt to give your ass a tight squeeze, pulling you forward to grind against his thigh and making you gasp against Steve’s mouth so that his tongue can lick deeper into yours.

Nothing quite prepares you for how Eddie’s voice affects you when he says, “Uh oh, Harrington. I think I was right- she likes you. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You make a short noise in your throat, your hand sliding down Steve’s chest to his waist, fingers beginning to make quick work of his fly. “Let’s- let’s just double check, huh? Make extra sure.”

“God- yeah. Yeah, okay. Just- be on the safe side.” Steve’s tongue is burning up when it touches your neck, his head nuzzling down so that he can graze your throat with his teeth.

Eddie catches your hand before you manage to wiggle it beneath his waistband, and looks you directly in the eye just before he spits onto your palm. You whimper noisily at the feeling of it, warm and wet, dripping between your fingers while Steve licks at your neck and heat simmers under the tender skin between your thighs.

Air punches from Steve’s mouth when you work his trousers down his hips and pull his erection out of his boxers- he’s not quite pulsing and swollen yet, but your fingertips still just barely manage to meet from how thick he is.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” you curse as you give him a languid stroke, feeling him shudder when you brush your thumb over his tip and then drag your hand down his length again. Eddie’s saliva helps to make the motion fluid and smooth, adding a slick sound to punctuate Steve’s loud gasp.

“What?” Steve hisses, trying his best to appear passive, but his voice betrays him and cracks. He gazes at you a bit apprehensively, his doe eyes looking a little foggy with need as they flicker over your face and focus on your lips.

“Nothing on earth needs to be this big.”

Eddie’s free hand coming up to weave through Steve’s hair and jerking his head back. His teeth catch Steve’s earlobe just before he murmurs, “Told ya, big boy.” Eddie looks directly at you over Steve’s shoulder. “Harrington’s packing a fucking monster, isn’t he?”

You hum as you let your fingers drift along the length of him. Steve’s gaze suddenly turns darker, and his chuckle falls flat out of his mouth like an exclamation of awe more than anything. “Think you can take it?”

You don’t answer that. Your grip tightens just a bit and he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Are you one of those guys that’ll come as soon as I gag?”

“Fuck, maybe?” Steve’s hands cup the sides of your neck and trail up to cradle your head as you lower yourself in front of him.

Eddie scoffs. “He can’t handle it worth a shit. Don’t go easy on him.”

“Then he’d better hold on to something.” You scrape your nails down his exposed thigh, reveling in the way his entire body shakes at the feeling.

And, without any further warning, you wrap your lips around his cock.

Steve curses, hands balling into fists just before he slams them down against the shelf he’s leaning on. Through your lashes, you watch him gasp for breath and you wonder if he’s honestly going to last long enough to fuck you properly. Not that it really matters, though, because Eddie seems like he’ll be more than happy to pick up where Steve leaves off.

Eddie’s hand rests on the crown of your head, guiding you on Steve’s cock. His tip leaks with precum that tastes salty on your tongue when you lick at his slit, and as you take him further into your mouth, you realize just how right you were. He hits the back of your throat, making tears spring up in your eyes and a quiet moan bubble up out of your chest on its own when you choke.

Steve just about loses his mind over it. He groans loudly, scrambling for a place to put his hands and ending up with a fistful of Eddie’s uniform shirt while he tries to compose himself.

“Holy fuck, you look so good with your mouth full,” Steve grunts, his free hand coming up your chin as he slides his cock out of your mouth and back in again.

“I think I like her more when she can’t talk back to us,” Eddie chuckles darkly, pressing on the back of your head and making you choke again.

Steve hisses, his fingers tightening on your cheek. “Look at me, let me see those eyes- there you go. Pretty baby.”

You whimper, letting your jaw go slack so that Steve can fuck your mouth all he wants while you try to steady yourself. You should hate it. You should hate this- you hate them both. You think.

Wait. Do you?

You’ve never been this needy before, but hell if your cunt isn’t just throbbing in your uncomfortably wet panties, and your nails are digging into Steve’s skin where you grip his thighs for support. If he notices any pain from it, he doesn’t say anything- just keeps giving you these erotic little gasps every time his cock nudges the back of your throat and your eyes flicker shut for a moment before he taps your cheek and makes you open them again.

“We should do this more often,” Steve says thickly, and without thinking, you hum in agreement. You add a little resistance against Eddie’s hand on your head to regain a bit of control, letting your tongue roll against Steve’s length however you want.

“You think she’ll give it this good if she’s getting fucked?” Eddie muses suddenly, his finger’s toying with your hair rather than guiding you anymore.

“Fuck- only one way to find out.” Steve shakily releases the fistful he has of Eddie’s shirt, letting him slip away from his side. Eddie’s hand leaves your head, instead falling to the tie on his apron to start undoing it.

You whine softly, shuffling up on your knees and nearly slipping when you feel Eddie’s hands flipping the skirt of your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. His large hand smooths over the hem of your underwear, then lowers to stroke the cleft of your pussy through the fabric.

“Oh, poor thing.”

“What is it?” Steve asks.

“She’s soaked through these pretty panties,” Eddie coos softly as his fingers stroke back and forth over the fabric, nudging your clit with achingly gentle, indirect touches. You moan, arching your back for more. “Baby got so wet from sucking Steve’s cock, huh? Sweet little pussy needs some attention?”

“Shit. God, that’s so hot. Fuck-” Steve grabs your hair, guiding you off of his cock with a wet noise that makes Eddie’s fingers press on your clit just a little bit harder. You splutter, drool trailing from your lips and dripping down your chin as you try to catch your breath. Something you can’t quite do, because Eddie won’t stop touching you.

Steve tilts your head up, leveraging you backwards a bit as he kneels in front of you. “You want Eddie to fuck you? Is that what you need?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around Steve’s wet cock and giving him a few slow pumps. “Yeah, I-” you hiccup when you feel Eddie’s fingers hook your panties to the side, and dip through your dripping folds, unobstructed. “Oh fuck, I want it so bad.”

“Don’t hate us so goddamn much now?” Eddie croons as he presses two fingers deep into your pussy.

You groan and hang your head, forehead pressing up against Steve’s navel and your nails sinking into the meat of his thigh. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, and it occurs to you that he likes that pain- or maybe he just likes holding you against him while Eddie fingerfucks you.

Steve’s fingers card through your hair tenderly. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Munson. I think she’s having trouble talking.”

“For a change.” Eddie curls his fingers, and you nearly lose your balance, thankful that you have Steve to hold you up. “So fuckin’ wet… I think I want to taste it first.”

Eddie’s fingers leave you, and you openly sob against Steve’s stomach as his grip tightens in your hair. “E-eddie…”

His two hands curl around the waistband of your panties, and rip through the fabric as though it’s only paper. “Hold her up, Steve, it sounds like she’s gonna need it.”

Steve puts his hands on your shoulders and holds you up, rocking back so that he can get a good look at your face. Eddie spreads your legs apart, and you can feel him crowding his body in between them. There’s a slight pause, and then his tongue touches you, licking a stripe of fucking fire through your cunt from behind.

Oh shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s too good, too warm and slick when you’ve been aching for it for way too long, your clit pulsing desperately and burning hot when his tongue strokes over it. You strain up against Steve’s hands, but he keeps pushing you forward, keeping you there against Eddie’s mouth. You moan obscenely loud, your hands tearing at Steve’s shirt like it’ll somehow convince him to let you go.

“You’re so damn pretty like this, angel,” Steve whispers, tilting your chin up when your head falls so he can keep looking at your face. He’s flushed, his lips parted and his eyes drooping and so dark that you nearly balk under his gaze.

Eddie groans in the back of his throat and finally pulls back, and you’re not sure whether to chase his mouth or to sob for relief, so you sort of do both at the same time. He plants a hand on your ass to keep you from falling backwards into him.

“Fuck, she tastes so sweet. Here-” You feel him move, and then Steve holds up a hand to catch something that Eddie tosses to him.

You lift your eyes and discover that Steve is holding your torn underwear. The light blue fabric looks so out of place and innocent, little pink flowers decorating the waistband. It makes it worse that he’s looking directly at you, keeping you frozen in place. He holds them up to his nose and breathes deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut just briefly before he looks at you again and drags the soaked crotch of them across his tongue.

“Steve…” you breathe, overwhelmed by the sight of him and the sound of his groan of pleasure. You search for something to say to him, but nothing comes before you feel something hot and thick pushing into your soaking entrance. You gasp, and then claw at Steve’s thigh in lieu of something to hold onto. “Fuck, Eddie-”

“Shouldn’t you be choking on Steve’s cock right about now?” Eddie hisses through his teeth, sounding strained and letting out a low groan to punctuate it.

You whine, feeling unbelievably stretched and full as Eddie splits you open, but you still scramble backwards and sink your mouth onto Steve’s cock so quickly that a gasp leaps out of his chest.

Steve punches out a little laugh, his hand twisting your hair and pushing you down until your eyes water. “So agreeable once you get your pussy filled.”

“God, she’s so tight,” Eddie grunts as he hollows out and starts thrusting, reaching deeper inside you each time. You don’t think it’s so much that you’re tight as he’s just big- you haven’t seen his cock, but you can feel it, like you haven’t fucking felt anything else before, and it’s good. You can feel every inch, every ridge, and it makes your eyes fully roll back into your skull. “Fuck, you gotta feel this-”

“Can’t. ‘M not gonna last, shit…” Steve sounds wrecked, his words coming out sharp and desperate. The hand on your head is shaking, and you’re honestly impressed he’s lasted as long as he has. “‘M gonna come down this pretty throat.”

“You hear that, sweet pea? You gonna swallow all of Steve’s cum?” Eddie’s hand weaves through your hair around Steve’s fingers, aiding in shoving your head down onto his cock.

As if you weren’t going to, and as if he wasn’t already fucking your mouth faster than you could reasonably keep up. But you whimper and bury your nose in the patch of coarse hair at the base of Steve’s cock, inhaling his scent and tasting his musky flavor on your tongue, and you swallow around him. And then you keep swallowing, because Steve comes hard.

He sounds absolutely gorgeous when he does it, too. If Eddie wasn’t fucking you so hard that you couldn’t stop whining, you think it would be nearly like a symphony to hear Steve reduced to quiet whimpers. By the time the hands on your head relax enough to let you off of him, though, he’s completely out of breath.

“Good girl,” Steve pants, his hand lifting up to caress your cheek and to wipe a little dribble of his cum from the corner of your mouth, so soft that it could be construed as sweet if there wasn’t any context to it. “Fuck… you were so good.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie coos into your ear, still driving his hips into yours with such force that it’s jolting you toward Steve. “Good baby, pretty baby- takes cock like a perfect little slut.”

You groan, hanging your head and arching your back toward Eddie. You seize up, your orgasm simmering low in you like the receding tide before a fucking tsunami, and you’re almost scared of how big it feels.

“She liked that,” Eddie chuckles darkly, bending further over you so that his breath tickles your ear. “You like it when I call you a slut, huh? Our perfect. Little. Slut.”

You open your mouth to say his name, tell him to shut up, or keep going, or anything, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. Your hand juts forward and clamps down like a vise onto Steve’s thigh, finding that he’s pulled his pants up. Your nails scratch at stiff khaki twill, trying to beg him to take pity on you, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

“Pick her up,” Steve says above you. “I want to see her face when she comes.”

Oh, so he’s trying to kill you, actually. That tracks.

Eddie’s arm snakes around your waist and hauls you up, and he rocks back onto his heels to pull your back against his chest. He hugs you close to him, shushing you when his cock hits you from a different angle and you cry out sharply from the feeling.

“Pretty thing can’t take it,” Steve murmurs as he crowds in close, his hands coming up to caress you through your dress. The fabric is too goddamn rough and itchy, and your skin is too sensitive for him to be toying with you now.

“Oh, she can take it.” Eddie sounds so sure, his voice rough and stony as he rocks his pelvis up against you while, at the same time, pulling you down into his lap. “She can take all of it. Can’t you, baby?”

You hope the question is rhetorical. You’re trembling, too lost in the feeling of the mind-numbing bliss Eddie’s giving you to come up with a response at this point. Your hand plunges back over your shoulder into a mess of curly hair, and you feel him turn his head to brush his lips against your ear.

Steve’s hand brushes up your thigh, creeping under your skirt that’s draped across both you and Eddie’s knees. You barely have time to pick your head up and intellectualize what he’s doing before his thumb touches your clit.

“Oh fuck-” Eddie chokes out urgently, just at the same time as you sink your nails into his forearm and all of your floor muscles lock down around him.

And then the tsunami hits.

You nearly scream, your cunt tightening up to wring everything out of the sensation that it can. Eddie’s cock is so hard and it hits inside you so perfectly every time that you swear you’re going to die from it. You’re collapsing forward, despite Eddie’s grip on your waist and Steve’s solid chest creating a barrier for you to fall into- your limbs feel liquid, all your muscles finally relaxing all at once.

You feel Eddie falter, his hand slipping on your waist so that you do fall into Steve’s chest. While Eddie’s cock throbs inside you and his moans fill your ears, Steve’s hands cup your face and tilt your head up toward his. And then his lips are on yours, and his tongue is licking deep into your mouth at the same time as you feel Eddie come deep inside your cunt.

You don’t want Eddie to pull out. Not really. You’re not going to tell him to stay there inside you while you’re both crouched awkwardly on the hard floor, but you do wish he’d take at least a few seconds before he does, because the aching emptiness he leaves in his place is enough to make tears spring up in your eyes.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, you did so well,” Eddie whispers as you sob openly from the sensation, his arm coming back around your waist to pull you against him. And then you both sort of topple backwards, his shoulders hitting the stacks of backstock frosting buckets as Steve shuffles back to lean against the wire rack across from you. He pulls your legs into his lap and starts stroking his hand across your bare calf.

You try to catch your breath while Eddie reaches for something on the floor off to the side. You blink your eyes open to find him fiddling with his discarded green apron, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket in it before wadding it up into a little ball.

He promptly tucks it between your legs and starts cleaning you up with it.

“R’you using your apron… as a cum rag?” You slur tiredly at him, squeaking a little as the rough fabric scrapes across your overly sensitive clit.

“Don’t want to leave a mess,” he mutters easily, making Steve chuckle across from you. “Why s’it that I can fuck you half out of your mind and you’ll still bitch me out about how I clean shit?”

“‘Cause it’s fun t’see you all mad. You’re pretty when you’re pissy.” You feel his chest shake with laughter as he finishes wiping you down and tosses the apron aside, then wraps his arms snugly around your middle.

“Good thing you’re pretty all the time, then.” Eddie huffs, rocking you back and forth a little as he fits his head on your shoulder. You tap your fingers across his forearm, looking down at them and humming contentedly.

“What is it?” Steve asks, smiling at you almost fondly.

You sigh, dragging your fingertip along Eddie’s skin. “I like his tattoos.”

“I knew it,” Eddie whispers, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, making you giggle and shut your eyes. “I still haven’t shown you the rest of ‘em.”

“There’s always next time.”

Steve blinks. “You want to do this again?”

“Of course I want to fucking do this again, Steve,” you snap, rolling your eyes playflully. “Been wanting to jump both of you since you started, wasn’t it fucking obvious?”

“Was to me.” Eddie’s finger traces along your collar, toying with the first button on the front of your uniform dress. “Also, I haven’t seen your tits, so. I’m not done with you yet.”

“I dunno, the dress kind of does it for me,” Steve admits, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… cute. Like a 50s housewife or something.”

“Let’s get you a string of pearls and see how long ‘Big Dick’ Harrington lasts then,” Eddie snickers, and you laugh tiredly as you watch Steve flush.

You fall into easy silence, but just as soon as you relax into Eddie’s arms, the bell over the front door of the bakery jingles. And then the hand bell on the front counter dings loudly.

And dings again. And dings again. And dings agai-

“You gonna get it, this time?” Steve asks Eddie, sounding a little bit grumpy already.

“No, I’m gonna hold her a while longer,” Eddie says coolly, not leaving any room for discussion. He presses a tiny kiss to your neck, just underneath your ear, and you squeak in surprise at the lightness of it. “Go get ‘em, Mr. Manager Man.”

“Fuckin’-” Steve rolls his eyes as he gently sets your legs aside before gracelessly clambering up off the ground. He smooths out his uniform, tucking in the tail of his shirt before striding through the door into the kitchen. “What’s up, party people?”

“Do you have any chocolate cakes with white buttercream already made? I need it for tonight.”

Eddie scoffs in your ear, his hand drifting across your thigh to rest just shy of your pussy, making your breath hitch and your hips cant up toward his touch. “They always wait for the last fuckin’ minute, don’t they?”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #roses*

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schneiderenjoyer · 3 months

Text

My Descent Into Madness About Unilogs

This is more of a full blown conspiracy theory than a theoretical analysis of information, keep that in mind.

So, as always, this will be VERY long and ramble-y so take your time reading!

I left off in my discussion about The Wheel's connection to the Storm and it being the possible key to how it all works without really explaining it. This is why.

The Wheel doesn't just have the ability to create fog that repels the Storm within the suitcase, but also has the ability to summon arcanists.

Through a two dimensional golden thread weaved onto the spindle, it can't be felt tangibly and it doesn't seem to truly "exist" in that realm. But with enough of these "nonexistent lines" can Vertin call out to an arcanist and bring them there.

Specifically any arcanist of any timeline. Regardless of if they've ever been reverse into that era yet.

As well as the implication of summoning an arcanist not just from their timeline, but from another universe's timeline.

Now, I'm about to pitch you the conspiracy theory part of the essay, so entertain my insane ramblings for a bit because this is gonna be one of my hottest takes known to man.

Sonetto didn't survive the Storm in the prologue.

Here's my reason why I consider this a possibility:

We barely knew Sonetto's personality in the prologue, so it'd be easy to do this switch compared to doing it at a later date. But what we can glean from pre-1966 Storm and post-1966 Storm Sonetto is her immediate tonal shift.

Sonetto before the Storm is far more subdued with her way of speaking with Vertin. Professional and could even be considered more polite.

We can chalk this up as her being on Work Mode and with the Storm's arrival approaching, it's far more important to get the task done than her relaxing her mood.

So, let's think about why I think it's not possible for her to make it back to the Foundation on time. In the prologue, we see them discuss a new form of teleportation device still being improved by LaPlace.

It's a means to have a better way to teleport a large group of people from a much farther distance.

With this in mind, it's important that they have the disks to immediately evacuate because it'll take longer to get back to the safety of the Foundation. But they used all three of it. One to summon Vertin.

One to intercept the enemies.

And one-

Was used by Regulus to escape.

And with that time, they only hade 45 minutes left before the Storm hits. Sonetto instructed her squad to go back ahead, leaving her to go with Vertin to investigate.

Even if we're absolutely generous in stating she can get far with using consistent fast travel arcane spells to move her to safety, how much time did she have?

Not enough. Not even the best teleportation spell can get her back in time assuming the nearest London branch is just a subdivision away.

Speaking of teleportation spell, we can even use one of the teleportation spells as a reference. Aferoj Around.

It's one Sonetto suggested Vertin used to summon her, but immediately dismisses it as a possibility. It could be because of the fact that the range wouldn't make sense assuming that Sonetto's been summoned from the main headquarters all the way to where Vertin is. So even an advanced arcane skill like that can't just summon someone in that great amount of distance.

While it's also should be taken into account that with the reverse having send them from 1966 England all the way to 1929 America, it's still an impossibility if they were to still be within London. Because if that kind of spell is so easily executed consistently, then they wouldn't be developing the Teleport disk. It's an advanced skill for a reason and even that has limitations. So other less taxing teleport skill wouldn't have the distance needed to get Sonetto back in time.

Which brings us to post-1966 Storm Sonetto and the wild implication of her summoning. For one, her reaction is far more brighter and excited, familiar even. Much more like the puppy we consider her to be now. It can also interpreted as shock, but the demeanor compared to post-1966 Storm Sonetto at least has a slightly noticeable difference.

One of the biggest difference though, is this:

Madam Z somehow knew about what Vertin's doing and has instructed Sonetto specifically to seek her out.

If we can believe in Vertin's words here, she's never told anyone about this. Not even Madam Z. So to boldly be told that they knew all along is a strange difference that even took Vertin off guard.

Why this is important is to ask you this. Just how much can you tell if someone is replaced with another version of themself? We're all lead to believe that those differences are drastic, but alternate universes doesn't have to be full blown change. It can be as simple as putting on your right sock first rather than the left that day.

Which is why it'd be so cruel and so sneaky to actually have done this switch in the first place. Because we don't know Sonetto enough to have noticed the change. And Vertin doesn't know her enough either after 4 years of not really being that close to her.

And how can I say this could be possible without a little bit more evidence to entertain it? Well, Chapter 5 is the reason I'm making this theory in the first place. And that's because of one person.

Diggers.

This man. THIS MAN.

Canonically fukin joins the Manus. This manfailure is the sole reason, aside from one more reason but i'll get into later, why I thought about this possibility.

Because you can say that maybe after this event in the island he'll just defect to Vertin's team later after suffering the injustice of the arts or whatever, but I like to point back to one of the listed descriptions of Unilog's capabilities.

It can sometimes change the fates of people. So what I'm suggesting is that the Diggers we end up recruiting isn't the same Diggers, but an alternate universe one who didn't join the Manus as he was literally ripped from his timeline to join Vertin's instead.

This could explain many more of the characters in the roster being from timelines far into the past or even far into the future like John Titor. Heck, it explains dead people like Click and Poltergeist being there when they're supposed to be dead. Because summoning them through The Wheel has the potential to change their fate.

So yes, you can also argue that means Vertin did end up saving Sonetto from reversing and they actually do have their timeline's Sonetto still, but there's still the possibility that she's just another universe's Sonetto. She's both this timeline's Sonetto and not at the same time.

Schrodinger's Sonetto. (Note that this isn't the accurate use of Schrodinger's cat logic, it's mainly a joke)

Which now leads up to 100% the ultimate reason why I wanna pitch this idea as possible and y'all already know where I'm leading up to, this is just a huge build up to one thing and one thing only.

S C H N E I D E R.

THAT'S RIGHT. IT WAS SCHNEIDER ALL ALONG. You think I wouldn't go a single damn analysis without talking about my bbygirl? You're dead wrong. If this summoning system has the damn ability to yoink people from another universe and change their fate, then the possibility of getting Schneider back is far more real. Heck, you can even pull a version of her that actually IS an arcanist like y'all I fukin swear I'm not delulu, PLEASE--

ahem.

So that's my thoughts about what could unilogs do. I know it's extremely far fetched, but I like to entertain these ideas in hopes that it might give people a lot of other theories to craft!

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 theory #this is more of a conspiracy theory than JUST a theory #I'm so sorry for this i've completely gone the deep end #it's months worth of brainrot exploding now that I'm free to catch up on things #I have a mouth so therefore I must scream #i wanna make a fanfic using this concept ngl #i have too many WIPs tho quq

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comfortless · 2 months

Note

I have some thoughts about König I wanna run by you.

I really like the concept of him following rules to the letter, but not the intention.

like he would never steal from friends, but that only applies to items, job opportunities, romantic interests, and ideas don’t count.

he would never cheat on his lover, EVER! but…that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain thoughts of the nice recruit who for sure has a crush on him, he could lead her on just a lil bit, live off the attention when he’s deployed and claim ignorance if anything gets serious.

oh and he would never hit you, of course not! but if he got you riled up enough or angry enough to throw a punch his way he could hold you down and restrain you so you don’t hurt yourself, he’s not a monster for kind of liking how you struggle to break free from his grip, and he’s barely even exerting any energy, it’s a safe kind of powerplay to him.

ok i am listening and nodding my head yes!

König didn’t get the positive attention he so craved when he was younger, so any little bit of it he can grapple at is his for the taking. He’s a bit impulsive.

Mental health and repercussions are not at all relevant to him when he sees something that he wants and is within the realm of possibility for him to attain. He would have a sort of conniving way when it comes to going about these things, too. It isn’t intentional, but to him, his reasoning is absolute. Probably gets that from his father, but he prefers not to think of that.

He’s no master manipulator here, just a man that is very aware of his few talents. He’s not even good at telling a lie, far too blunt and always speaking the first thing that pops into his head.

There’s a promotion at work another operator is vying for? Well, he’s far more suited for it anyway— look at him. He’s big and good with his weapons, handles them nicely and can plow through an enemy with as much ease as he can a wooden door. His confirmed kills far exceed the number of things that his parents could find and scrape together and deem themselves proud of him for. König’s not entirely withdrawn, either, his people respect him. Some might even admire him a bit, wishing they had the things that he never even asked for: his height, the creepy look upon his face, his lack of hesitation when pulling a trigger or burying his hunting knife in another man’s guts.

They’re on good terms, still on good terms even after he presents his argument as to why he’s just that little bit more deserving. He doesn’t need to bring up his childhood or much of his past to anyone here, but he knows down to his very marrow that people tend to think there’s something off or wrong about him and in turn he’s met with pity or fear. He utilizes it, gets what he feels he deserves by coming off gruff and demanding, even whiny if the situation calls for it. Time and time again, he comes to realize it’s much easier and more rewarding for him to play people like toy soldiers in these situations.

He might not be able to get a girlfriend in any authentic way, but as Ghost said in her reblog here, I do think he would have at least tried a tryst with a friend’s girlfriend at some point. König could reason away any guilt. She came onto him, batting her lashes and wearing that low cut blouse while telling him about just how selfish her man/his friend was in bed. And when it ends terribly as these things do, he’ll learn his lesson well enough, gives some hashed apology over a pint of ale. It doesn’t mend a void, only forces another distance between himself and another person. König is more than used to that.

It is always the wrong thing said or done, always a ship with no harbor to dock. He would have friends, yes, but it’s up in the air as to whether or not any of them last very long. He’s self aware enough to realize that he creates these problems, that he could have just done x instead of y, but there’s this tentative, newfound pride wrought up within him that he doesn’t ever let go of. He doesn’t want to be seen as that weak little boy he once was. Apologies are like pulling teeth, even getting one from him is a big deal.

It isn’t his fault he didn’t get as much pussy as any other man and surely… any true friend of his would know enough about him to accept that he was not entirely the one at fault here. Richtig..?

He’ll be happy to take credit for a job well done. It wasn’t his idea to burst through that door and clear out a room of enemies, but he did the work. He deserves the praise, the increase in pay, whatever benefit he can gain from it. It didn’t matter that Fender barked out the order over the comms, warned his team of potential danger, what matters to König is that he got it taken care of with no casualties on his side.

New recruits come and go often, and more often than not, they’re horrified of this giant that outranks them. König still hasn’t mastered any way with women, but he’s been fortunate enough to land himself a sweet, cute girlfriend that waits for him at home. He’s not an idiot, either, knows a little romp at work isn’t worth a thing in comparison to her and would only add another fire to the desolate world he lives in in his head. His girlfriend’s the only garden he has, and he would rather damn himself entirely than ever see something he loves burn.

So, when one bold woman does approach him, placing her hand on his arm and complimenting his stature, he doesn’t feel a thing except some strange twist of pride.

He’s come a long way from the boy who was ridiculed and bullied relentlessly, worked himself tirelessly into becoming this broad mimicry of a god made flesh. But fuck. The attention is nice. He would compliment this recruit’s aim from time to time, pat her on the head like a good little dog when she takes out an enemy or stacks on extra work for herself. It never goes further than that, but she practically eats out of the palm of his hand, begging with her eyes rather than her voice to ask for a night with her colonel.

And when he’s on leave, and his girlfriend is asking why this woman is texting him so often, he shrugs and casually tosses her his phone. He’s got nothing to hide, hasn’t even entertained the thought of sleeping with this girl. If anything, she reminds him of himself before he ever got laid. That desperation is certainly there, and it does kind of unsettle him. Is this how he came off to women before…? A pitiful little thing that just wants to be loved and cared for?

He doesn’t even respond to the recruit’s messages, even when there are so many of them. He kisses his girlfriend everywhere, fucks her like it’s the first few times all over again, and falls asleep nestled up against her. There’s no room in his heart for anyone except the object of his affection, but a part of him does hope this lost little lady finds her own sliver of heaven too. He knows how she feels and hates the thought of making a woman cry outside of fucking her well. So he lets the recruit down easy next time they meet, tells her he doesn’t care for relationships at work, that he loves his girlfriend and he doesn’t want to hurt her. It’s spoken candidly, and doesn’t leave any room for discussion.

Shame about the lack of affection while deployed, but he’s managed on his own longer than most. He’s got an entire album of pretty photos of his girl in and out of the lingerie he bought for her to keep him company, anyway.

And admittedly, arguments with his beloved turn him on.

They both know that she can’t actually hurt him. When her hand is raised to give him a good slap for being a complete asshole over something as trivial as a cashier for accidentally ringing something up twice, he’s already hard. The grin on his face is nothing short of ugly, because he knows how this ends, the same way that it always does. He would take her wrist only after she’s hit him, let her stew in what she’s done, murmur her apologies through stilted breaths and lashes heavy with tears. She tells him she just doesn’t understand why he is the way that he is sometimes while trying to wrench her hand away from his grip.

He’s not rough enough to hurt her when the argument sparks up again, even guides her down onto the floor with a steady hand on her back while she pleads with him for answers that he just doesn’t have. He would go back to seeing a regular therapist for her, maybe. He would do anything for her and that’s just another thing that they both know.

“Heh… you like me crazy,” König would breathe into her hair when her thighs are locked around his middle. Poor thing can barely speak when she’s exerted her energy trying to best him in a battle she could never hope to win. She’s all whimper and no bite, nails raking over his shoulders with each slow, teasing thrust.

“Look at you.” He practically purrs when her face is taken into one callused palm, brought forward to lock eyes with him when the sounds spilling from her lips grow more needy. And then he gives her the fucking she deserves, rougher when she’s sighing his name and trembling from the residual waves of her own orgasm. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong anymore; argument long-forgotten, buried under a blanket of white heat. He chases his own end, lets her watch him unravel all for her as his seed fills her, spills out where they connect to make a mess of the carpet below.

He’s selfish in those ways.

#syl getting carried away again? imagine that!#Kö headcanons #<- i need to start tagging these! i keep losing ‘em!#as usual you lot are geniuses we are all sitting at the lab table constructing the most vile most perfect man

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mayhaps-a-blog · 22 days

Text

I admit, I am not often within the realm of Despair. I expect I spend most of my time in Dream’s realm, with occasional visits from Desire, and of course I walk the paths of Destiny (as we all do) with Death waiting at both ends.

But I dream a lot about Despair.

Some have complained about Despair’s depiction in the Sandman, comic and TV show, which Gaiman has countered by reminding them that Despair is, in fact, his favorite character, and he did not depict her as a caricature or a cruelty but with love and respect in every line. Perhaps Despair looks different to others – as an Endless, she does, indeed, look different to everyone – but at least for me, I think his depiction is just about right.

(Perhaps for you she is thin, so very thin, big, dark eyes following you out of her skeletal face, wasting away and whispering that you should waste away with her. Perhaps she is tall, muscular, a heavy hand resting on your shoulders, always, always holding you back, holding you down. Perhaps she is barely a shadow, flitting at the edges of your vision, always there, interrupting every task, impossible to ignore.)

Despair, to me, is heavy. She is the dark cloud that weighs you down; she is the warm, suffocating blanket that refuses to give you up. In Despair’s embrace, every move, every step, is a struggle, a weight, as she whispers to you: “No. Don’t. Stay with me, forever.”

And Despair loves you.

Your every sob, your every sigh; your every bad day and grumble and mumble and groan, she adores. She would love nothing more than you gather you tight and hold you forever; she will wrap you up and never, ever let you go. If you let her.

Despair is a true friend, who loves every dark part of you, every dark secret, every silence. She is not, perhaps, a good friend – in many ways, she holds you back, pulls you down. Enables all of your worst habits, encourages you to sink into your worst self. (I think perhaps we all have friends like that, and if not, you’re quite lucky, or have few friends. They can be good friends, fun friends; but perhaps best kept at a distance, if they can be.) She’s the kind of friend who can bring down the room simply by breathing – the absolute worst at parties.

But she will always, always, be your friend.

When every other friend has deserted you, when you’re cold and alone and at your worst, she is there. To smile, and hold you tight; to watch, and whisper, “It’s okay. I’m still here. I will never, ever leave.”

This is not, perhaps, meant as a comfort. But in the cold and the dark and the fog and the mirrors that only show your worst self, your worst life, what else can it be?

Despair is not, generally, pretty. She has no interest in such fripperies as social niceties in appearance. She is not, generally, kind. But there is no one, nothing, in the entire universe that could possibly love you more. No matter what.

And that, in the end, is what makes her beautiful.

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maniacwatchestheworld · 4 months

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What if only the afterlives that take place in a different space exist within the Ghost Zone? But that all the death gods & reincarnation gods are equally important there?

Perhaps imagine it as being a reflection of the polytheism of the living DC realm? All the death gods

Somehow, I doubt that Pariah Dark was truly the literal king of the Infinite Realms. The very name implies that they are infinite. If he had, why would he be referred to simply as king & not emperor or god-emperor? He was certainly a big enough jackass.

It's possible that he was simply a conqueror &, thus, the right of rulership of the lands of the dead that'd conquered would obviously have changed due to this. However, the likelihood that he managed to conquer literally the entirety of a place that is infinite is nil. Because it is an impossibility in the grand scheme of things.

As such, it's more likely that Danny would've only become ruler over those select areas & not the literal entirety of the afterlife. If anything, I see if being more so that he'll have to cooperate with the vast number of death deities within the IR that constitutes Earth.

I admit, I do have a bias in terms of religion & am obviously going to prefer my own over all others & will believe that it is the right one no matter what & this likely shows in my own theories & worldbuilding.

At the same time, I try to be respectful of the cultures of others. Though, perhaps I can sometimes come across as a bit tone deaf.

And I can definitely understand not liking the white-washing of cultures. I hate it when Hades & Loki are portrayed as evil in a ridiculous attempt to draw parallels to Christianity. Because they aren't Christianity & that isn't how they are in their actual stories. Same with Zeus being portrayed as good, because... woof... He uh... he was messed up. Like, holy cow messed up...

I mean, I can understand a degree of creative liberty. Like, I could understand if the myths were portrayed as being his dark past that he's trying to move on from, but the fact that they aren't even addressed sometimes is... I don't like it.

Nods nods. And hey, no worries. You don't feel particularly tone deaf here. The fact that you're giving this some thought at all is enough for me! And hey. I get the having bias towards your own religion. I'm the same way too obviously. :p

But yeah. I'm alright with this way of going about the Infinite Realms and Ghost Zone in relation to other afterlives. It probably wouldn't be how I would personally want to go about this, but I wouldn't mind seeing works using this particular reading of the Infinite Realms.

And I ABSOLUTELY feel you about the Christianization and flattening of mythological figures. Always a very >:T time for me when I see people portraying Hades as evil. Because like... He's not. Also I can't help but to love Loki. He's such a freaking doofus and I love the he. But yeah... I also get frustrated by the flattening of DC characters within this fandom too... Obviously it's not the same, but the ideas are related so thinking about that just reminded me of that... Just... Siiiiiiigh...

#anonymous #anon ask #answered #religion #religious discussion #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dcxdp

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pinkkittysaw · 3 months

Text

CHAPTER II

- MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

← chapter one

series master-list can be found here!

summary: the night of your brother’s annual birthday ball takes an unexpected turn

paring: knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader

word count: 9,613

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI! you will be BLOCKED!) heavy plot, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) handjob, power imbalance, dirty talk, spit, slight humiliation kink, parental loss.

disclaimer(s): although this series is inspired by the medieval and regency time periods, they are not 1:1 representations. although i will always do my best to represent both as accurately as possible, there may be some minor changes.

some of the plot points in the original game story have been altered or taken out to fit this au better. there are no eikons

a/n: i want to dedicate this chapter to my AMAZING friend, and fellow writer, jordy (@cryptictongues) who not only let me bounce ideas off her constantly, but also beta read some of this chapter as well. thank you for everything!!!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and art is by edmund blair leighton

A month or so passed since your last tryst with Clive, leaving the relationship between the two of you to be strained with pent-up tension. In light of the momentary heat of passion, you both agreed that such conduct would be better kept private, in places where no wandering eyes could intrude, so as to not arouse any more suspicion. There were to be absolutely no dubious behaviors in public, which proved to be undoubtedly difficult.

With every promenade you'd take around the castle grounds, you'd see him training, all sweaty and flush in his fit form, and all you'd be able to think about was mounting him then and there, riding him until you were both run ragged.

Your confidants and lady's maid have caught your prolonged glances during your strolls in the sunshine, but you've always met their accusations with a dismissive flap of your hand fan, stating that you were "simply curious about the training regiment that the knights were conducting," even if your eyes always lingered on one knight in particular. Baddies

There was talk around the palace for a while about the sudden disappearance of a certain scullery maid, but seeing as the crown had more pressing matters to deal with than the loss of a single maid, one who could easily be replaced, any investigation resulted in the conclusion that she had simply "fleed her duties," and it was left at that.

In reality, though, you had visited her late in the night after your passionate affair with Clive many moons ago, offering to pay off her debts and then some if she swore to secrecy that nothing she saw that night would make its way into the ears of the public.

The amount of gil being offered was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Seeing as your father amassed insurmountable fortunes during his reign, idle gossip wasn't worth the consequences if she were to be found out as the source of the rumor, so she took the small fortune and fled the palace walls that very same night.

Now you find yourself sitting in another store room, one that's presumed to be in less use than the previous one, perched upon an old barrel.

A royal ball was in attendance, and all nobility within the realm were invited. The occasion? Your younger brother and future heir to the throne's birthday. He reached the tender age of one and twenty, which just so happens to be the legal age of marriage in your country, so, of course, your father invited all the reputable debutantes in the realm in hopes that your brother would secure a future queen, though he'd never admit to such schemes out loud.

You were hoping that tonight would be another secret rendezvous with your lover, but you haven't so much as gotten a single word with him all evening.

All you had thought about during the preparation was how you were going to tease him throughout the night. The gown you had selected to wear was chosen with him in mind. The silhouette hugged your figure to perfection, and your cleavage was heavily accentuated in the lavender muslin. The hem was detailed with a layer of tulle tulips, and crystals of various sizes decorated the bustline. Put simply, you looked ravishing—the epitome of the most elegantly cut diamond.

Your father would spare no expense when it came to his son's birthday ball, so you were in luck to some degree, but the only man whose eyes you wanted on you was nowhere to be found.

The ball was supposed to provide perfect cover. All the orderly staff would be at your father's beck and call all evening, and he'd be too busy showing off your brother like a prized chocobo to notice your disappearance, leaving you to your own devices after a certain amount of time.

You and Clive would be able to sneak off without a trace or care in the world, but for some reason, every man of nobility just happened to be extremely insistent upon getting in at least one dance with you, all whilst having meaningless conversations regarding topics you couldn't bother yourself with caring about.

The ball started off well enough. You knew you couldn't immediately disappear into the shadows; you owed both your father and brother a dance to start the evening, as was tradition for the royal balls in your country.

The three of you walked out into the ballroom together. Your father went first, then you and your brother in succession.

The room was lavish, as it often was whenever such events were hosted in your kingdom. Multiple chandeliers holding long wax candles filled the ceiling, and the light reflecting off the gems on your gown made you shine beautifully. A golden hue encapsulates the entire room, casting wispy shadows and twinkling shapes on the hardwood floor. Your family emblem was painted in stark white chalk at the center of it. Various flowers from the royal gardens hung in sconces around the perimeter of the room, with vines filling out the empty space in between. Fine fabric in your kingdom's colors was draped over the windows in high arch shapes.

Scanning the room, you look for where to make your grand escape. After a few dances and perhaps some intermingling at the refreshments table, you'd be skittering along the ballroom walls, hiding in the shadows, before making your exit.

There was still a short amount of time before the guests started to file in, so after the final touches were made to the decorations, you took your place on the dais next to your family, with your father in the center and your brother to your right.

The royal knights line up in front of the small stage, and though Clive is always the pinnacle of orderliness while on duty—excellent posture and great form—you swear that you catch his eye as he files inside the room. He's not so careless as to let his emotions wear on his face while in the presence of others, especially your father and the Lord Commander, but you're certain that the slightest tinge of pink floods his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the knights continue to get into position, your gaze falls upon Clive's shaggy hair, reminiscing about how the thick yet soft tendrils felt between the length of your fingers as he made his presence known between your legs moons prior.

Your father's voice reels you back from your fantasies as you clear your throat slightly and hope that the bright lights of the chandelier won't give way to your previous thoughts.

Nobles from all across the realm begin to file in and make their greetings, some familiar and some new. A part of you is surprised that all these people traveled from their home countries just to visit your brother, but you supposed that none of the nations wanted bad blood between your kingdom and theirs.

After all the introductions were made, your father began his long-winded speech about your brother, the future of the country, and how proud he is of how far his children have come. The smile plastered on your face feels stiff, and your thighs feel as though they're about to collapse from the amount of curtsying you've been forced to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you're granted some relief from the spotlight while the band sets up on the stage where you and your family previously resided.

You make your way over to the refreshment table, nodding and curtseying to the fellow noble ladies as you make your way over to procure yourself a glass of iced lemonade.

It was not even three seconds later that your father was introducing you to some nobleman.

"Dearest daughter," he starts. You take a deep breath and settle your princessly smile on your face once more before turning around.

"I'd be pleased to introduce you to the Archduke of Rosaria and his mother." You gaze upon the both of them; this is the first meeting you've had with the current Archduke of Rosaria. You met the previous archduke, Elwin, when you were still of tender age, before your brother was born. You scantly recall the details of the meeting, only that he gifted both you and your mother bouquets of Rosarian wildflowers and that he had a penchant for making you laugh (as later on confirmed by your mother).

It's clear, though, that the man standing before you bears no resemblance to his father, sharing the same icy eyes and pale hair as his mother.

"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Joshua, the Archduke of Rosaria, and her Imperial and Royal Highness, Annabella, the Dowager Archduchess of Rosaria," your father continues, giving you room to make your formal introductions.

"It is an honor, your Highness," you state, giving a swift curtsey to the both of them, and although Annabella merely nods to you in acknowledgment, her son gives a full bow in return.

"Come now, Joshua. There's no need for that," she chastises, as if her son were still a child and not a grown man.

"But mother, how could I not marvel at the beauty bestowed upon me?" He responds in full. At your astonishment at his bold declaration, he takes your gloved hand into his own and presses a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Might I say that your gown looks exquisite tonight, my lady? You shine bright like a diamond." Both you and the Dowager Archduchess share a similar look of shock on your faces, and even though you can't see your father's expression from behind you, you're sure that he mirrors both of yours.

Heat floods your face as your eyes meet Joshua's, then his mother's, and although their eyes bear the same shade of cerulean, her gaze pierces through you like daggers of ice, whereas the strawberry blonde beside her carries a lot more warmth.

Time stands still, and you wonder if such flirtations were a product of his father, seeing as his mother held very little kindness or regard in her heart.

You feel your father's hands on your shoulders and realize you've spent the last minute or so gawking at Joshua and his display.

"Please forgive my daughter; she isn't used to such blatant declarations of affection from esteemed gentlemen." It's at your father's statement that your brain kicks back into gear. Your hand is withdrawn, and an immediate curtsey follows in its place.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness." As you raise your head, your eyes meet Clive's just across the way from behind Joshua, but he's quick to refocus and march forward in front of him.

"No apology is necessary," the Archduke smiles, "though if you truly wish to win my forgiveness, you'll allow me your hand in a dance."

Before you even get the chance to respond, Annabella interrupts, "Joshua, you mustn't. Think of your health."

"Mother," a domineering smile plasters itself on Joshua's face, "certainly I have enough energy to last me at least one dance with the most elegant princess in all of Valisthea."

Annabella sends another harsh glance toward her son before muttering, "Of course," and taking her leave elsewhere.

Joshua heaves a heavy sigh before extending his hand, silently asking for your dance card. You raise your wrist and allow him to pencil himself in before he gives one final bow, and retreats toward his inconsolable mother.

Your father exhales the breath you were unaware he was holding when the band gets in position for their first song. Both you and your father take place in the center of the ballroom as the first dance of the evening.

You couldn't help but notice as you scanned the faces in the surrounding audience that someone was missing. As the starting notes boomed from the instruments, you whisper to your father, "Papa, where's Dion?"

Prince Dion, next in line to be the Emperor of Sanbreque, had grown to be one of your close friends—well, as close of a friend as a princess could have when confined to castle walls for most of her life. You were close in age, and given that there weren't as many young heirs throughout the realm at the time of your childhood, it was only natural that the two of you would become fast friends.

Rumors quickly spread that you and Dion would become betrothed when you were older, securing an indisputable alliance between both nations, but as the years trickled on and both of you came of age, no such proposals were made. After he became leader of the dragoons, it was apparent that one such proposal would never come, but you weren't deterred; if anything, you were relieved.

You held love for Dion in your heart; you'd known each other since you were children, but the love you held wasn't the type of love fostered between two individuals who were passionate about each other romantically.

Your father's face held a quick grimace before lowering his voice as the two of you prepared to take your first steps in tune together. "Dion is busy preparing for a war effort; he sends his regards."

"What?" You mutter, trying to keep the look of shock from developing on your face.

Though you and Dion couldn't frequently meet in person, the two of you penned missives back and forth. In none of your most recent correspondence with each other, had he mentioned anything in regards to an oncoming war.

Your father wasn't a gossip, but being the ruler of an entire kingdom, one must be well knowledgeable about the state of other nations.

He lowers his voice even further: "It seems that the King of Waloed is insistent on reclaiming his territory from Sanbreque."

"Dion never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters."

Your father gives you a lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure you: "He probably didn't want to worry you unnecessarily, especially with the ball coming up."

Your father was more than likely correct in his assumptions, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm sure Dion will be alright," he adds, brushing his thumb over your hand after noticing the newfound stiffness in your movements.

You nod. Dion was and is strong; he turned the tides for Sanbreque in battle many a time before. This was a fact, but something about him having to go against Waloed's army shakes you to your core.

Your father and the king of Waloed, Barnabas Tharmr, were amiable allies for the most part, but you've heard stories, many in particular when he visited your kingdom after the death of your mother. You were still young then, so you couldn't quite grasp the weight and meaning of the whispers your handmaidens had shared in secrecy upon his arrival.

He visited annually for some years after his initial visit before they died down altogether, though you could never ascertain what the meetings were for besides the first one.

Barnabas was kind enough, as one of his nature could be on his trip, but you could never help the feeling that something more sinister lingered beneath the surface when your young eyes met his.

You did your best to quell the unease in your heart and continued to dance with your father. Although he had gotten up there in years, he still moved swiftly across the ballroom floor, even if you had to slow your steps a bit.

It seemed that just as soon as the dance with your father began, it was over, and you were anxiously anticipating the next dance with your brother. You go hand in hand with him while the band begins to play.

"So, Crown Prince," you begin, filling the air in an attempt to quell your nerves. "Future heir to the throne, how does it feel to be Papa's favorite?" You smile, albeit teasingly.

"Surely you jest, dear sister. For without you, I'd be hopeless."

"Now who's jesting?" Your grin graces your face once more as the two of you glide across the ballroom before a somber expression soon replaces your previous jubilant one. "It pains me to think that this ball may be the last time we see each other like this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Look at all the people here," you whisper to him, "surely you don't think Father is just merely celebrating your birthday. You're twenty-one years of age now, dear brother; officially legal to be wed."

"You don't truly think he'd see to it that I'd be married right away, do you?

You both twirl around, and your father comes into view, standing next to the royal guard.

"Maybe not right away, but you know how he is. Ever since Mama died, all he's wanted is to see our futures secured, and in your case, our bloodline. If that means marrying us off early, then so be it, I suppose. At least you have the luxury of choices in who you'll marry."

"Then how come you weren't married off as soon as you came of age?"

"Because you still needed me. You had no mother to set an example, so I needed to be in your life to show you how proper noble ladies should act," you snirk as he rolls his eyes. "If I'm speaking honestly, I feel the answer is more sentimental than logical. I don't think Father wanted to lose another member of our family before we were both of breeding age."

"I suppose you're right. It's more than what most fathers would do. Now that I'm able to be wed, do you suppose that'll hasten his plans for your marriage?"

You sigh, the thought has lingered in the back of your mind since your brother grew out of being a child. "I'm not sure, but who knows?"

"Don't look so down," he smirks. "If you reach spinsterdom, you'll always have a place here with me."

You smile kindly. "Thank you."

As the instruments die down, signaling the dance coming to a close, you once again find yourself on the outskirts of the ballroom. You snag a look at your dance card to check where Joshua has penciled himself in. A waltz, of course. He'd undoubtedly use this opportunity of close quarters to flirt with you some more.

His name was listed far enough down the line that you could make a break for the storeroom now, and...

"Your Royal Highness!"

The next hour and a half was filled with nothing but dancing, with only a few minutes of rest provided in between.

You had been skirting along the edges of the ballroom when you just so happened to catch the eyes of an old presiding duke who resides in your kingdom, and it was all downhill from there.

What was supposed to have been a "romantic" evening was turning into a disaster. At every turn, you were swept into the arms of yet another elderly gentleman looking for a younger and more agreeable wife.

As you twirled and spun around the hardwood flooring, you were afforded only mere glances at your lover from afar. Every time you laid your eyes on him, he always appeared to be preoccupied with something else. Not that any of your concurrent dance partners would've noticed your wandering eye, as theirs were doing much of the same.

If there was one thing that all these men had in common, it was the ogling. Some of them "tried" to be more polite about it than others, going for glances at your cleavage in between the minimal required time they had to actually look you in the eye instead of blatantly staring at your chest the whole time.

It was clear, though, that all of them were oblivious to just how obvious they were being with their gaping looks, not realizing that you could tell when people were talking to your chest instead of your face.

Though you're certain that a drink limit was set for this ball, it was becoming quite clear that a majority of the "gentlemen" had imbibed to their pleasure, the smell of port lingering on their breath whenever they'd lean in close.

After a while, you had managed to escape all your suitors and camouflage yourself in a nearby group of gossiping noble ladies, the majority of them being mothers, who were well-equipped with an onslaught of questions about your brother and the future of the kingdom.

After quelling their curiosity, you nestled yourself in a corner, facing the wall of the ballroom, and let out an exasperated sigh, taking a few moments to collect yourself.

You were beyond frustrated, both sexually and mentally. All you desired was to climb between the sheets with your lover and have him pleasure your body until your thoughts were reduced to a mindless fog. To say you were having intense urges was an understatement.

It'd be easier to deal with if Clive wasn't a member of staff that you saw often, like a cook or a coachman, but being your sworn shield, he was in your presence a majority of the time. So close, yet so far.

His touch was often the source of your fantasies at night. Your mind wanders, flitting between thoughts of his scruff against your neck, his breath on your skin, and how his strong hands would grip your body.

You were never able to help but wonder what your first time together would be like. What does he look like when he comes? What does he sound like? Does he moan, grunt, or whimper? Would he be gentle with you? Similar to how he grasps your hand when helping you step down from a carriage, slow, languid thrusts into your heat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, both of your bodies clinging onto each other for purchase. Or would he be rough? Similar to how he fights: powerful, unrelenting thrusts into your cunt, overwhelming as he batters into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You were often unable to decide which scenario you liked better as you reached your climax, whispering his name as you came down.

You know you shouldn't have such intense lust for someone who's working in your service, but knowing that just excites you more.

"Princess!"

You release another deep exhale as you turn around. You're really starting to get irritated at the word "princess."

"Your Highness!" you exclaim with a half gasp. Apparently, Joshua was set on keeping his promise of a dance.

"My sincerest apologies," you curtsey.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before extending it toward you. "You owe me no such things, my lady. Are you still willing to accept my dance proposal?"

"Of course, Your Highness," you place your gloved hand in his as he walks you to the dance floor, and you can't help the smile that rises on your face as you take your place together.

"I know it's against propriety for you to deny me a dance, but I'm not so cruel to force a lady when she doesn't want to."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I assure you. You're perhaps the most polite man I've danced with thus far, besides my father and brother, of course."

His hand makes its way to the small of your back as more couples fall in toe behind you and the Archduke. Your conversation lulls until the music picks up, your hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

"Although I am most disappointed to hear that these gentlemen would treat a beautiful woman such as yourself with little regard, I can't deny that I'm pleased to be the only one who's seemed to win your affections."

This man.

As much as you try not to fawn over the attention, his words are like silk in your ears, as if they're the most natural sound you've ever heard.

It doesn't register that you're smiling so brightly until he comments on it: "You have one of the most radiant smiles, my lady."

You shake your head from side to side as if trying to regain your composure. Despite all the time you shared with Clive over a month ago, you weren't used to such blatant flirtations in front of so many people at once. Even if they couldn't hear your conversation, the smiles on both your faces single you out from the other couples on the floor. It leaves you feeling exposed, as if a bright light has been shone on both of you.

"Forgive me if I speak out of line, Your Highness," you inhale, "but where on Valisthea did you learn to become so charming?"

He offers a chuckle and a swoop of his strawberry-blonde hair. "I'm quite a fan of the written word. It was often one of the few escapes I truly had as a child, so I may have picked up a few techniques after reading a romance or two."

"Perhaps you could lend your novels to some of the other gentlemen here so they can learn how to properly woo a lady."

"And risk losing being the sole recipient of your affections?"

"Feeling insecure over your abilities?" You cock your head to the side, a small smirk appearing on your lips.

Joshua ponders the question for a moment, putting on a good face of deep thought as if he's truly rolling the question around in his head before responding, "More so like...I don't want to give the poor blokes false hope when I'm sure to come out on top anyway."

"It seems that you're very confident indeed."

The two of you chuckle as he twirls you around, only to be met with the scorn of Annabella's icy gaze after locking eyes with her from the other side of the ballroom. The joy in your expression quickly dies off, and the figurative noose tightens itself around your neck, suffocating the life from your lungs.

With your newfound stillness, Joshua has to guide you back into his arms. He looks off in the direction of your eye line and sighs before speaking once more, "I apologize on behalf of my mother."

"You needn't do so for my sake," you're quick to respond, attempting to reassure him that you were unaffected by Annabella's glare.

"Do you think I can't sense the dread in your eyes?" He smirks, and you offer a strained half-laugh in response while waiting for him to continue.

"I was frequently ill as a child, thus it was very rare to step foot outside the archduchy," he clears his throat, "after my father had passed, it seems that her protective nature only grew."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father. I've only met him a handful of times, but he was always very kind. My mother once told me that I frequently laughed in his presence." You understood Joshua's pain well, having lost your mother during the birth of your brother years before the former Archduke passed.

A solemn look graces his features before he relaxes once more. "He was a good man, from what I can recall from my memories of him," he pauses, "I can only hope that I can be half the man he was when it comes to ruling the archduchy."

You take a moment to mull over your words before voicing them. "It seems like you've managed to capture his kind and generous spirit. I'm sure you're already well on your way to living up to his name."

"You're very kind," he nods, and a genuine smile fixes itself on his face, unlike the charming one he's graced you with before.

The music slows to a stop, indicating the end of the waltz, and Joshua walks you back to the fray of the ballroom as slowly as possible. "Perhaps this is inappropriate to say given the present company, but I'd love to call upon you some time."

A part of you is surprised, not expecting a courting proposal from someone you could actually tolerate. Being thoroughly charmed, you agree.

"There's a jousting tournament within the next fortnight. It's always an invigorating time. You should attend if you're able."

He takes your gloved hand in his, raising it until your knuckles graze his lips. "I'd be most delighted to attend. Until then, my lady." He releases your hand and turns off in the direction of his mother, who looks all too unhappy with him, and you, by extension.

You sigh, ready to be completely done with the evening. You move toward your father, ready to meander around where he sits near the dais, hoping that any lingering suitors would see him situated nearby and turn the other direction.

Once you've raised your head and made your way toward your father, Clive comes into view. He's moving toward you at a fast pace, and before you can stop yourself, your feet turn to guide you in his direction instead. Momentarily forgetting your place, you call out his name, though it's difficult to hear over the chatter of the ballroom.

At the same time, two overlapping voices call out to you. One is Clive's; the sound of his voice is more familiar to you, but there's another that cuts through the air.

A gruff "princess" is all you're afforded in terms of a greeting.

Both you and Clive come to a halt and turn in the direction of the unknown voice.

The man has a familiar face, though you can't exactly place from where you know him. He's around your father's age, with wrinkles lining his eyes and forehead as well as dashes of grey in his facial hair, so you conclude that your father must be how you've made his acquaintance before.

The man is decently handsome, more so than the other creeps you've had the displeasure of dancing with. He has stark eyes, almost crystalline in nature, which are a sharp contrast to his raven-colored hair.

These traits prove to be startlingly similar to those of your current lover, but you decide it's best to dissect that later.

Clive is the one who breaks the silence. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Your majesty?

You offer the man a curtsey in apology while Clive bows, but the stranger pays you no mind, choosing to focus on the knight instead.

"Is something the matter?" Though it's merely a question, his voice carries a wealth of command behind it.

"Nothing that can't wait," Clive begins, his eyes flitting between you and the unknown—at least unknown to you. "Please pardon my intrusion." He bows to the both of you before stalking off toward your father.

You suppose you'll be informed later if it's truly so important.

The silence fills between you and the man again before he asks, "May I have this dance?" His mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“It's only a country dance; nothing too intimate,” you think to yourself.

If you were being honest, the last thing you wanted to do was begrudgingly endure a dance with this gentleman after having more than your fair share of imbeciles indulge themselves in your assets, but propriety comes first. So instead of telling this man to kindly fuck off, you put on your best princessly smile and place your hand in his.

"Of course," you reply, and he leads you toward the floor.

You stand next to each other in between other couples before the band begins to pick up once again. The melody starts slow enough, so you take this time to ask the man exactly who he is, keeping your tone light and polite.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; it seems that I remember the face but not the name.”

He must've made his entrance later on in the evening after the formal introductions, because you certainly would've remembered him during the greetings.

He offers a light chuckle before muttering, "Barnabas, King of Waloed."

King of Waloed. The very same king who's planning to go toe to toe with one of your closest confidants. He's aged quite a bit in the fifteen-odd years it's been since you've seen him last; it's no wonder you didn't recognize him.

Your body language gives you away despite your best efforts, and his laugh pierces through you. "It seems my reputation proceeds me."

The disdain is thinly veiled in your voice. "Don't you have a battle to prepare for?" you grit, and he laughs again as if the prospect were beneath him.

"I'm not worried," is all he offers in response. His presence must've been what Clive was trying to warn you about.

You take a deep breath, seeing it best not to stir anything up in the public eye.

You get a better look at him when the succession of people in the line with you turns around. He certainly doesn't dress like a king—definitely not one like your father. There are no bells and whistles to his outfit, no ornate capes lined with exotic furs, or gilded crowns.

If anything, it seemed like he'd dressed down for this event, and you can't tell what pisses you off more: his pompous attitude toward heading into battle that may surely send Dion to an all too early grave or his nonchalance in showing up to a royal ball in only a blue tunic and black leathers. It felt like a jab. Though his pompousness in battle may be deserved, this blatant display of disrespect was not.

He gave the impression of a venomous snake, intriguing to look at but ultimately best viewed from a faraway distance.

It takes everything in you not to grind your teeth together and overemphasize the stiffness in your movements.

As if sensing your irritation with him, Barnabas probes, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

No, you're quite simply NOT!

"I've gotten to the age where these sorts of gatherings lose their luster."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As you got older and balls became more about finding matches, you started to dread them. You were hoping that it being your brother's birthday would be enough to spare you from marriage prospects, but alas, you were clearly wrong.

"A shame," he mutters, his words lacking enthusiasm.

The group moves along to the beat of the tune when Clive comes into your view, talking to your father.

"Who's that brooding fellow you're staring at?" Barnabas asks, trying to cut off whatever is taking your attention away from him.

The two of you move in succession toward the back of the group when it registers just how much you've been gawking at Clive in Barnabas' presence.

"Him? He's my first shield," you answer nonchalantly, letting no indication of fondness slip into your voice.

Barnabas snickers, "I had no idea noble ladies were so heavily invested in the lives of their shields."

"I know naught of what you mean," you scoff, acting like the princess you are.

His voice rises in volume as he declares, "Why don't you let a real man take care of you?"

Heat floods your body at his words, and you do little to hide your disgust.

"Excuse me?"

"He's nothing but filth," he continues to say, and the rage inside you reaches a boiling point.

"You speak of him as if he's nothing but a lowly street rat."

"He might as well be, compared to us. You could have an entire kingdom of knights protecting you as well as one of the most powerful men in the realm, instead of just one lowly feeble knight."

"Are you always so incorrigible toward those who are beneath you? It's a miracle that your kingdom still stands."

He laughs out loud, beside himself. You were sure he'd have your head. Instead, his volume just gets louder, so those dancing alongside you can hear.

"I've heard rumors that your precious first shield is actually a royal bastard, but from whom he's a descendant, I've no idea. A man of his standing is simply not fit to be in the position of protecting a princess. I'm just looking out for you."

If you were feeling rage before, now you're furious. As much as the people in your dance group tried to be respectful, heads couldn't help but turn at Barnabas' accusations.

Whether Clive being a bastard was true or not didn't matter; you refused for someone who valiantly defended your life to be made a mockery of over such trivial matters in your eyes.

"I was the one who held the sword that knighted Clive!" You start off loud, similar to him, but your voice gets lower as you draw near.

"My father gave him a title under his tutelage. Clive's been protecting me since I was the tender age of twelve years old and is the only man I'd trust with my life outside of my father and brother."

There's a pause before you continue.

"If you wish to win my favor, it'd be wise to watch what you say in regards to him," you grit.

You're not sure when the rest of the group stopped dancing alongside you, but by the time you realize it, all their eyes are on you. Though the people outside of the circle couldn't hear your conversation, the crowd caused those on the fray of the ballroom to turn their attention toward you.

Barnabas only snirks, scanning your face plainly when you turn back to face him. Your glare is prominent as he escorts you back off the dance floor once the music dies down.

He speaks in a low voice, right in your ear, "You're a feisty one, but don't worry, I enjoy a challenge." He smiles menacingly before releasing you.

All the wandering heads seem to return to their original activities upon the group's dispersal. You don't want to cause any more disturbance, something you're sure you'll get a lecture for later on, so you give a curtsey to Barnabas, lowering your head.

"I shall bid you adieu, Your Majesty." The words are choked out, and not a moment later you're turning on your heels and making your exit out of the ballroom.

Which is how you ended up in an old store room, with nothing but your various frustrations and the ebbs n flows of silence to keep you company.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, but by the time you hear the door open, you're convinced that it was a servant sent to escort you back to the ballroom, but instead, it's Clive.

There's no hesitation in his movements as he steps toward you, catching your face in his gloved hands as he reads your expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Even if there's no threat of physical danger, that doesn't mean emotional scars weren't left after your interaction with the king.

"I tried to warn you...I tried to-"

You cut him off, "I'm okay, Clive. A little embarrassed, but it's nothing I couldn't handle." You smiled softly at him, which he returned in full.

"What were you two talking about?"

Warmth flows throughout your body once more, and you don't want to admit that the cause of the outburst you had was because of him, so you act nonchalant.

"Nothing of importance."

He raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe what you're saying at all, but he doesn't press you on it, not now at least, and you won't give him the chance to when you ask, "Jealous?"

He smirks, shaking his head back and forth slightly. "Do you enjoy tormenting me, my lady?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you enjoy watching my torment? Does it give you pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I know naught of what you mean. Have you perhaps forgotten your place, knight?" You put extra emphasis on the word as you toss a smirk his way.

He backs up from where you're sitting on the barrel. "All those men, dancing with you, ogling you. All the while, I'm forced to stand by and watch them all make a pass at you."

You offer a faux pout. "Aw, come on. They're not all bad."

"Enough of them are."

"Are you truly so jealous of those who're above your peerage?" You can't help but snirk in amusement. This was the first time you'd seen him act like this.

"Yes, no!" He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts: "The Archduke and that bastard king."

Your eyebrows rise at his declaration. "You hate them so much that you've forgone proper titles?"

He rolls his eyes at your statement, and you're unable to hold back your giggles. You hop off the barrel and take his face into your hands.

"There is absolutely no affection for that king in my heart, I assure you. As for the Archduke, though he is roguishly charming, I happen to prefer meaner mugs to delicate pretty features like his," you move to press a kiss to his cheek.

His head hangs low in shame. "I cannot deny that jealousy and resentment burn in my heart at the thought of you with another."

"Believe me," you say, stroking his cheek, "I'd much rather spend my time with you than with stiff men who smell of port. I've been looking for an escape practically all evening.“

"They don’t deserve you at all, my lady. Those men don’t deserve to know the softness of your skin,” he lowers his mouth to place delicate kisses on your neck, then moves toward the exposed flesh of your bosom above your gown.

"Clive," you gasp, tangling your fingers in his thick locks.

“They don't deserve to know the sweetness in your voice when you cry out in pleasure," he whispers, pulling away from your skin to trace his thumb along the frame of your face.

“I’ve missed you," he states.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls you into him for a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation, eager to taste each other once more. The kiss is sticky; the clear gloss painted on your lips transfers onto his. He’s licking into your mouth as your lips brush against each other, tongues wrestling each other for dominance.

You're moved backward until you're pressed against the storeroom wall. Clive reaches down, grazing your bum with his palms over the fabric of your skirts before lifting your legs in the air. The back wall holds you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Desperate to get close to him once more, not even wanting to separate for a second, you pull him back into you and kiss him fervently, not wanting to be parted from each other. He angles his hips toward you, teasingly grinding himself into your heat, causing you to whine into the kiss.

“Looks like you did miss me, hm?” He separates from your lips, moving to kiss down your neck once more.

“Let me make it up to you for being so neglectful of your needs.” He continues kissing down your neck, moving over to your décolleté, and then finally down the swell of your breasts.

“Founder, how I wish I could mark these tits,” he murmurs, dropping your legs back down onto the floor so that he can skim your torso and squeeze at your chest through the fabric of your gown.

“You have an intense infatuation with my breasts, don't you?” You giggle, laughing at his awestruck countenance while he continues to knead the fat in his hands.

“You've no idea." He smirks at you, then suddenly kneels before you.

“What are you doing?” You pet his hair softly as he looks up at you.

“I’m just being a good knight, my lady. On my knees for you, like I should be.”

"Oh, really now?"

"Mhm," he mumbles, taking your gloved hand in his. “I truly did miss you, and I plan on showing you just how much.” He reaches towards the hem of your gown, bunching it up over your navel.

"If you'd be so kind as to help hold up your skirts, my lady."

"I suppose I should be so kind." You lift the hem of your dress over your hips as Clive places your leg over his shoulder.

“Now this is how I shall swear fealty to you,” he leans towards your bare mound, planting a few kisses upon your mons before blowing cool air onto your cunt.

“I’ve missed your taste. I dreamt about it for so many nights." His thumbs trace slow circles into the skin near your pelvis as he continues teasing. He trails his tongue where your thigh meets the stark white stocking covering the majority of your leg.

"Fuck." He leans his face into your pussy once more, inhaling the rich scent before finally dipping his tongue into your wetness. He groans into your cunt.

Holding up the skirts of your gown the best you can in one hand, you snake the other into his shaggy locks, taking hold of his roots. Your chest heaves in anticipation.

“Please, please, Clive, don’t tease me," you whine, "it’s been too long.”

“Aw, did my sweet princess miss me?” He goads, sticking his tongue in your entrance and greedily sucking up your arousal on his wet muscle.

“Did her princess pussy miss how good I made her feel?” He kisses up the seam of your cunt until he reaches your clit.

"Did she miss how I made love to her with my mouth?” He spits on your pussy, the glob of saliva sticking to the hairs that cover your mound, some of it dripping to the ground.

He's quick to remove his gloves, tossing them aside before he takes his thumbs and spreads your folds apart, watching as your quivering hole twitches in anticipation.

“She must have missed me, with how much she’s leaking just for me."

All you're able to do is bite your lip and nod, feeling embarrassed as his words generate heat in both your cheeks and core.

He plugs your warm hole with his tongue, not wanting a single morsel of your essence to be wasted.

“It’s alright, princess; I’m right here.” He speaks directly into your cunt, looking at you with a deeply enamored gaze.

"I’ve missed her too, you know," he says, sliding his tongue all around your sopping pussy.

“I’ve missed her wetness, her sweetness, and her warmth. I missed how she clenched around me as I gave her pleasure," he groans.

Making his way to your clit, he gives it sweet kisses and drags the length of his tongue along the entirety of the bundle of nerves before pulling it into his mouth. His teeth graze the nub, causing your hips to jump forward, pressing more of yourself into his face.

Your fingers curl into his shaggy locks, struggling to keep your dress in your hold as you lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure, his pretty face proving to be useful for more than just gazing upon.

His teeth nip at your inner thigh, “getting greedy now, aren’t we princess?” He traces the divots of your thighs with his fingers, enjoying the feeling of your skin.

You don’t say anything, choosing to instead respond with an angry huff and pull his face back into your cunt by his hair.

“Point taken,” he smirks against you before pulling your clit back into his mouth again.

He moves his hand from your thigh and down to your pussy, sliding his middle finger back and forth between your folds, coating it in your slick. He slips to your entrance, circling the quivering hole and waiting, drawing out a whine from you.

“Please,” you exhale, your head rolling back against the wall, desperate to have him deep inside you. Though you’d much prefer squeezing down on his cock, that’d have to wait for another day.

He chuckles, the vibration from his voice moving through you, causing you to keel over slightly. Clive breeches your warm hole, slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of his thick finger stretching you out.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess; you’re so wound up. Just take what you need," he coos, murmuring against you, his breath hot on your skin.

He curls his finger into you, the pad of his digit hitting the spongey spot along your walls.

“Looking for another audience? Was the poor maid not enough the first time?” He’s smirking against you now as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt.

“What if your father were to catch you with me, hm? How do you think he’d react to his little girl stuffing her cunt in the face of someone he deigned worthy enough to protect her?"

Your breath is ragged, unable to form words due to the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly as he spews more filth at you.

“Keep moaning like that, and we’ll soon know the answer yet.”

He moves to your clit once more, slurping and sucking at your swollen pussy, desperate to push you over the edge. He fucks his finger into you at a rapid pace now, and his tongue is quick to catch whatever dribbles out onto his fingers, dining on your essence like it’s the finest ambrosia known to man, and to him, it might as well be.

Your head is lulled back against the wall as heat creeps onto your face and into your core. You don’t dare look down at Clive, who's nestling his face further in the hair that covers your cunt, knowing that you’ll surely come undone at the sight.

After the night you’ve had, you more than deserve this a thousand times over, and if it were up to him, he would happily oblige in all your desires.

The tips of your fingers cinch into his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer to your core, your orgasm building rapidly.

Clive pulls no punches, suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking it like a piece of hard candy. His index finger has joined the middle digit, fucking in and out of your cunt.

With practiced strokes, he contorts his fingers until your climax is upon you. Your lips part with a silent scream as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your thighs shake as they try to close around his head, and his steady palms hold them apart as he removes his fingers from your pussy. Every drop of arousal that leaks from your womanhood is lapped up by his tongue til your hands are pushing his face away.

Clive gets the hint, removing your thigh from his shoulder and setting it back down on the floor. You attempt to move away from the wall, but he holds you in position until the jitter in your leg ceases.

He wipes the remnants of your spend from his face onto your inner thighs, and the roughness of his facial hair sends a shiver up your spine.

Once you've settled, he moves to help with fixing the skirts of your gown.

"Do you like it?" You smile brightly. "I wore it with you in mind."

You twirl slowly, your dress billowing slightly, wanting to show off all the detailing. His face warms at the gesture, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I think lavender may be my new favorite color."

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the blissful feeling before Clive speaks up once more.

"We should get moving. The break for supper will be happening soon, and we don't want any whispers of our whereabouts if we're not in attendance."

He moves to make a break for the storeroom door when you grab his forearm.

"Surely you're not going to go out there with your... predisposition," you flit your eyes down to the front of his trousers, where a prominent erection has made itself known.

"I'll take care of it myself, later."

"Let me help you..." There wasn't much time for you to return the favor with your mouth, and any other activities would leave you disheveled in a way that everyone would know of what happened between the two of you, but you could provide relief with your hand.

Despite the time restraint, you wanted to tease Clive a little, putting the tips of your silk gloves into your mouth and pulling them off of each hand slowly with your teeth before setting them aside nearby, so as to not be sullied with bodily fluids.

You wanted to get a good look at what you'd be working with, so you sink to your knees and pull his trousers down to his thighs. You give him a wide-eyed expression as the appendage bobs free, hitting his stomach gently.

His cock looked a lot different than those pictured in the medical texts that you've snuck from the royal library. He had extra skin and hair and garnered a much bigger girth as well.

As tempted as you are to swallow the whole of him into your mouth, you settle for a simple kiss right on the tip, and his cock twitches back at you cutely in appreciation.

You rise to your feet once more with his aid and grasp him in your hand. His fingers are quick to cover your own, the size of them dwarfing yours.

"Are you positive that you want to go through with this? I truly don't mind taking care of myself," he asks.

"And not return the favor?" You chuckle. "I promise, I am doing this out of my own desire." You move to the column of his throat, placing soft and delicate kisses on the skin before moving toward the junction of his jaw.

"Now just relax," you coo, running your fingers delicately up and down his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it won't take long for him to climax, but you do your best to be as teasing as possible. His head lulls back as muffled sounds are delivered from his throat, and you can't help but admire how pretty he looks like this.

Not only does he have an impressive amount of girth, but his length is nothing to scoff at either, with a protruding vein running along the underside of him. The sheer size of him fills up your entire palm as you continue to pump slowly, the softness of your skin akin to silk upon his cock.

"So tell me, Clive, how many nights have you been fucking your fist to the thought of me?" You whisper in his ear, and his eyes shoot wide open as he takes in a gulp of air.

His hips buck lightly against you in response, giving you all the permission you need to continue your questioning.

"Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad." Your kisses continue on his neck as his hips continue to rock.

He takes in another gulp of air before answering.

"E-every night.”

"Every night? How cute," you tease, speeding up your movements on his cock. He bites his lip in an attempt to hide his noises while the rhythm of his hips meets your hand every time.

"I touch myself thinking of you too. Except my fingers are nowhere near as filling as yours," you chuckle to yourself as he groans out.

"Founder, above."

His cock is fully slick now, and at any moment, he looks like he's ready to burst, taking to wrapping his fist around yours and creating a vice-like grip with your fingers. All his movements are hurried and rushed as he chases his release.

For the final blow, you mutter to him, "Fuck my fist like you would fuck my pussy."

Clive full body shudders, tightening his grip once more before thrusting wildly. It's only a few short moments later that he's removing your hand from himself and laying his seed on the floor below, groaning your name in the process.

Afterward, the two of you take a few moments to collect yourselves and tidy your appearance. Old rags were used to wipe off the remnants of Clive from the floor, and you were just about to make your exit when the melody from one of your favorite songs played through the door.

"Clive, may I have this dance?" You extend your hand toward him, giggling to yourself.

From looking at your dance card earlier, this song was the second-to-last song to be played before the break for supper.

"And don't give me the excuse of not having enough time. We'll make it back to the ballroom before everyone's filed out for the evening."

"Even if that is true, my lady, I assure you that I know nothing of ballroom dancing."

"Did I ask you if you knew how?"

There's a momentary pause, one that he fills with a shake of his head. You nod in return.

"No, I did not. I simply asked you to dance with me. I'd still wish to so even if you had two left feet."

There's another pause as you extend your hand toward him again.

"I even saved you a spot on my dance card," you smile, shaking the parchment in front of his face, where the line for this dance is indeed left blank.

In his indecisiveness, you take his hand in your own and press yourselves close together.

"It's just you and me," you whisper, resting your head against his frame, the sound of the music filling the silence. His opposite hand moves to the small of your back, and the two of you end the evening in each other's arms, swaying to the sound of muffled music.

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