#Seed family dances | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachdues · 2 months

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FAMILY MATTERS

Shinjuro Rengoku x Kyojuro Rengoku x F!Reader

A/N: so uhhh… y’all remember my Red Dress one shot? Well, here’s the continuation of that, except now, it’s Shinjuro’s turn.

There is nothing redeemable about this. It’s pure smut.

CW: MDNI • 7.2k • explicit sexual content below • cucking • breeding • creampie • Kyojuro sets his fiance up tbh but she’s into it • just nasty filth • doggy • rough rug sex • desk sex •

Senjuro ended up departing for a neighbor’s after dinner, and the Rengoku patriarch retired to bed not long after. Though the two of you should have been well on your way home, Kyojuro had gotten distracted.

“I thought of you all through dinner,” his breath is hot against your ear. One hand flips up the skirt of your sundress as the other fumbles with his belt. “How you sat there, talking to my father and brother while my seed leaked out of you.”

“Kyojuro — oh —“ you’re cut off by his bruising, rough kiss. You break away only with a sharp gasp as your fiance’s practiced fingers drag over the lacy seam of your underwear, your hips bucking into his touch. His mouth only slopes messily down your neck. Kyojuro growls into your skin in approval at the wetness he finds between your legs — a mixture of his cum and your renewed arousal.

“You drive me wild,” the leather around his hips gives way, and his fingers are nimble as they unfasten the top button of his pants.

You can’t hide the way your mouth runs dry, or how your thighs unconsciously press together as Kyojuro pulls his stiffened cock free. A thrill flutters in your stomach at the thought of getting on your knees before him and offering your mouth for his use. That excitement is doubled at the prospect of being inside your future father-in-law’s study, a place you wouldn’t have dared to venture had Kyojuro not led you here by the hand.

But that arousal grinds to a sharp halt when Kyojuro’s fingers curl under the edge of your underwear and yank them down your legs. A quick rustle of fabric indicates he’s shoved them into the pocket of his loosened pants, for safe-keeping.

Kyojuro gives himself a firm pump before lining himself up with your entrance.

“This is — Kyo — your father’s study —“

“I’m aware.” With one mighty thrust of his hips, he forces himself to the hilt inside you. “Keep quiet, my Flame.”

Once he’s confirmed that your hand is braced steadily behind you on the rich mahogany of his father’s desk, Kyojuro pulls back, his fingers deftly pushing the straps of your sundress from your shoulders. He tugs the bodice down to your waist and your breasts pebble at the sudden exposure to the warm air of the home office.

Kyojuro hums at the sight of the marks he’d left behind; the way the light from the fire dances across your exposed skin.

He begins with shallow thrusts that grow deeper, more forceful with every passing moment. Before long, you’re forced to smother your whimpers against the thick curve of his shoulder, your fingers curling under the edge of the desk as it rocks and creaks with his movements.

“Fuck, my love,” Kyojuro groans into your hair. “God, you feel too fucking good to stop.”

He must be desperate, you decide, given the way he steadily lets his weight fall into you until you’re forced back against the flat surface of the desk. If you weren’t too busy muffling your sounds of pleasure by burying your teeth into your bottom lip, you would’ve smiled. Kyojuro was so adorable when he was like this; when he gave into his more base desires to rut fast and deep.

Your fiance quiets his own euphoria by sealing his mouth against your throat. His moans rumble across your skin, chased by alternating flicks of his tongue nips of his teeth His hands grip you firmly by your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, anchoring you to him as he pushes faster and deeper into you.

A floorboard nearby creaks, but neither of you notice; you’re too enraptured in one another, your body already thrumming with a need for more that hot, saltiness you can’t help but crave that you know Kyojuro won’t be able to resist giving you.

Thank goodness for the card of neat little pills waiting on your nightstand at home; though you’d likely be pushing your luck, you’re optimistic that your fiancé will give you his fill and still get you back in time for you to take your birth control.

Kyojuro tears his mouth away from your neck and straightens, his nails digging into your hips as he jerks you to meet his bruising thrusts.

“What do you think, Father?” Kyojuro’s jovial tone makes you freeze and the sweat which has begun to cling to your skin turns cold. “Is the view better than you imagined?”

Instantly you jolt up, clinging to Kyojuro’s massive frame in an effort to keep yourself concealed.

A dismissive scoff sounds from a distant corner of the study. “It certainly isn’t worse.”

Dread curdles in your stomach as Kyojuro’s father steps out of the shadows. His face is hard and severe, even as he draws closer to the fireplace adjacent to his desk, the light of the flames offering no warmth.

You begin to squirm against Kyojuro, who is bewilderingly still buried snugly inside your warmth. Your anxious little taps against his chest, his shoulders, however, do nothing to spur him into action, no matter how you urge him away.

“Now, now, my Flame,” your fiancé tuts, quelling your protests with a warning thrust, shallow, but firm enough to cease your squirming. “You cannot deny you’ve been tempting him.”

Across the richly manicured office, the elder Rengoku’s eyes burn in silent agreement.

“In fact, I seem to recall you mentioning how fuckable you thought he still was.”

Your mouth falls open in horror. Not only was it an exaggeration of what you’d actually said (he could still get it, don’t you think?), but you’d said it to tease Kyojuro. In private.

“And I think we both know this little dress of yours was intentional. You know how we love red.”

Shane burns in your cheeks. You did. You’d worn the red sundress to bait your fiancé, but you’d also done it knowing the significance of the color red in the Rengoku family. And while your comment about the fuckability of the family’s patriarch had mostly been lighthearted, some part of you had always been curious.

Perhaps Kyojuro was right; maybe you’d been enticing the senior Rengoku just as much as you had his son.

But there’s a faint tinge of jealousy in Kyojuro’s tone that has your heart thumping madly against your sternum. It’s the kind he rarely showed even when you were openly flirted with in front of him, whether the two of you were out on a romantic dinner or simply running errands together. A sort of dominance that only ever manifested when Kyojuro perceived a threat — a person whose eyes lingered too long, or when someone simply got too close for comfort.

It is that possessive anger which shows now that his competition is his own father. Perhaps he is hoping the elder will be exactly that — an old man, limited in his age and unable to satisfy you the way Kyojuro knows how. Though, from your blushing once-over of Shinjuro’s form where he waits across the study, you quietly think perhaps Kyojuro has underestimated his father. While he may indulge in his stash of fine alcohol too often, Shinjuro remains agile as ever, his body, strong.

Your curiosity flames, lashing at you until it can no longer be ignored. For every way Kyojuro’s personality contrasted heavily with his father’s, you could not help but wonder whether that opposition continued in other areas. Namely, the way Kyojuro’s switch flipped the second you got him alone, riled up and heated was in diametric opposition to his ordinarily warm and sweet disposition.

Because, no matter how gentle and kind and warm Kyojuro was, rile him up enough and he turned into a downright fiend when left alone with you.

Shinjuro, in contrast, was anything but sunny and cheerful. At best, he was a crass old man with a habit of letting alcohol loosen his already too loose tongue. Assuming consistency was a variable in play, perhaps that meant he would be softer; more gentle.

Despite your embarrassment at having been discovered, you cannot deny your own longing.

Kyojuro grinds once more into you before withdrawing from your heat entirely. You wince at the loss of his warmth, fingers clawing at air to bring him back, to cover you with the safety of his body once more, but he only steps aside.

“If you’re gonna fuck in my house, little girl, then you’re gonna have to abide by my rules.” Shinjuro’s voice carries that deadly sort of authority you’d only ever heard him assert when dealing with business, and it’s severe enough that you find your spine straightening in answer. “And I believe in sharing.”

Your mouth falls open as though you have any basis to protest when you’ve been caught red-handed, but Shinjuro cuts you off.

“That’s my rule from now on.” He looks to his son. “You fuck her in my house, then it’s free use. That includes your brother, once he’s an adult. Don’t like it? keep it in your fuckin’ pants.”

Shinjuro’s attention slides back to you, and a sharp flutter shoots through the pit of your stomach at the leering desire in his eyes. “And I don’t care if you’re here visiting with your future kids. I’ll fuck you once they’re asleep.“

Any cautious optimism you had that Shinjuro might embrace the softer side of intimacy flew right out the delicately arched window of his study.

And yet, your curiosity lingers.

Hesitantly, you lower your eyes and see the rigid bulge straining against the seat of his pants. It looks almost identical to Kyojuro’s, but from your quick assessment, it seems his father boasts a greater thickness.

The thought of how that thickness might feel, buried inside your makes, makes your mouth go dry.

Warm, gentle fingers catch your chin. “Only if you want to.”

It is a whisper only meant for you to hear, and suddenly, some of your anxiety eases. You know, by the burning sincerity in his eyes, that if this truly was beyond your realm of comfort, Kyojuro would cut it off without you needing to even utter your safe word.

With a light gulp, you nod, the movement almost as imperceptible as Kyojuro’s eyes become unreadable. But he says nothing more; instead, Kyojuro merely steps away, leaving no barrier between you and his father. Predator and prey.

Self-consciousness has your arm jumping to lock itself over your chest, a futile attempt to conceal what has already been exposed.

Shinjuro stalks silently across the rug, drawing short of where you’re still spread atop the edge of his desk. The shadows dancing along the walls of his study do not conceal the way his tongue flicks out from between his lips, moistening them, the longer he stares between your parted thighs. You clench around nothing under the heat of Shinjuro’s gaze, and his eyes narrow like he knows.

Some of that burning desire tempers as Shinjuro’s eyes flick to your face. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

The abruptness of the question catches you off guard, and you’re shaking your head before you remember to demand why he’s asking in the first place.

Shinjuro’s eyes harden. “You’ve had the nerve to fuck this girl under my roof and you still haven’t knocked her up?” He scoffs, turning his attention back to his son. “I impregnated your mother the first time I brought her here. Have you no shame?”

A quiet anger simmers in Kyojuro’s eyes. “She’s on birth control.”

“No fuckin’ excuse,” Shinjuro pushes past his eldest, his eyes locked between your thighs, still spread wide. “The Rengoku family is known for its virility. You’ve embarrassed that legacy. Go sit down.”

Wordlessly, Kyojuro backs away, his anger burning hotly on his face. He crosses to one of the great, stuffed leather armchairs to the side of the hearth where the fire roars and settles in, his eyes bright.

Shinjuro turns his ire back to you. “You see that ring on your finger? The one paid for with our family’s money?” And your eyes drop to the beautiful engagement ring sitting on your left hand, placed there by Kyojuro. “That’s not just a gift, sweetheart. Deal was you get the ring and you give this family your womb.”

Some fiery, rebellious part of you balks at that, overtakes your own common senses. “The wedding is still a few months away.”

“You think that fuckin’ matters? That ring means you’re part of this family, little girl. And being in this family means pulling your weight.”

He reaches for you then, and it takes a concentrated amount of effort to not flinch away from him, no matter how wetness pools between your legs.

Shinjuro’s fingers curl around your forearm, tugging it away to expose your breasts.

“Not bad.” He clicks his tongue. He palms one in his hand, rolling it, pinching it between rough yet warm fingers, as though testing it. With an alarming swiftness, the tension in your limbs eases, your body turning pliant and supple under his touch, confident and knowing. The faint moans trembling in your throat under your future-in-law’s inspections quickly choke off with a yelp as Shinjuro gives one tit a firm slap.

He smirks. “They’ll be better once you’re good and fat with a kid. What, with your milk and all.” He closes his eyes and shudders. “So fuckin’ sweet. I couldn’t get enough of it with Rukka.”

Shinjuro jerks his head at Kyojuro where he settles into the great leather armchair by the mantle. “He’ll like it, too. Little degenerate, just like his old man.”

He fondles you once more, pulling a small whimper from you that makes him smirk. Shinjuro eyes one of the hickeys near the top of your nipple, left behind by Kyojuro’s earlier attentions and with a faint sneer, he flicks it.

You gasp and arch into him, goosebumps skittering along your skin and you quietly present yourself for more. The way he continues to palm you — rolling each breast in his hand, testing its weight — leaves you with the distinct impression that you’re little more than some prized brooding mare and he, your inspector. That feeling is only amplified when Shinjuro suddenly grabs your hips and forces you back against his desk, maneuvering your body in different positions to see how you bend.

“Arches her back nicely,” he remarks casually, as though discussing something as tepid as the weather. “Feels flexible, too. But none of that means shit if she’s not fertile.”

Shinjuro steps back, his hands planted on his hips, expectant. “Let’s see what we’re working with, girl. On the floor,” When you don’t move, too frozen atop the desk and uncertain of what he’s asking, he nods at the rug. “Go on — present yourself for me. Need to inspect the goods.”

With shaking legs, you lower yourself off the desk. Cheeks flushed with heat, you cast one last, anxious glance at your fiancé. Kyojuro, however, says nothing, his eyes boring into yours as he waits.

You’re doing this; you’re actually doing this. You are willingly lowering yourself to the great, ornate rug sprawled across the floor of the study, knees first, and then your hands, followed by your forearms.

Your heart hammers away at your chest as you wait, ass held high in the air, your cunt on open display. A soft thump of a body lowering itself behind you is followed by rough fingers that spread your ass cheeks, forcing your thighs to shift and widen. The faintest tickle of warm breath fans over your heated, drooling center, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying out in desperation.

“Pretty little pussy,” Shinjuro hums with faint appreciation. Two, thick fingers swipe harshly through your dampened folds, spreading your wetness from your clit to your entrance. “Glad he at least knows how to get you warmed up. You’re fucking soaked.”

His fingers circle your opening, pressing against it just enough to make you squirm into the rug, but not enough to alleviate the nearly painful way your cunt continues to flutter and clench around nothing.

“How does she take it — oh,” you can hear Shinjuro’s leering smirk as he slips his finger inside your fluttering entrance. “Sucked me right in. Least she knows what to do when she’s got somethin’ in her.”

He pumps another finger lazily into you as you moan your encouragement. “Does she taste as sweet as she smells?” Shinjuro’s voice is faintly hoarse as he addresses his son.

There’s a pause that seems to stretch on for an eternity. “Sweeter.” Comes Kyojuro’s answer, strained, though you cannot see his face from where his father has crowded you into the rug. “Father —“

“I ain’t gonna taste her.” Shinjuro brushes off your fiancé’s warning, flippant. “Don’t need to. She’s ready for a good breeding, I can tell just by the smell of her.” A sharp slap of a hand against your sex pulls a yelp from you, and yet you can’t stop from wiggling your hips in a silent plea for more. “But you have failed your duty in bringing about the next generation of our family. You both have.”

There’s a rustle of clothing behind you followed by the distinct click of a belt buckle. “So I’m correcting it.”

Shinjuro’s fingers find your clit again, his quiet signal that he is addressing you even though he turns your brain to mush beneath his expert touch. “Looks like I’ve gotta show my boy how to properly breed a woman, since he’s yet to put his brat in you.”

Your stomach clenches. If not for Shinjuro’s leg wedged thickly between yours, keeping you spread for him, you would’ve pressed your thighs together in anticipation.

Shinjuro shifts behind you, pushing his pants down past his knees. Your curiosity is too great to resist, and slyly, you throw a glance over your shoulder, eager to see if your predictions about the Rengoku patriarch’s endowments ring true.

Before you can confirm, a rough, demanding hand ensares itself in your hair. With a hard shove, Shinjuro forces your head down, deepening the arch in your back. Behind you, Kyojuro makes some faint noise of discontent at his father’s roughness with you, but he does not interfere.

“I can only assume it’s ‘cause he’s not fuckin’ you properly. That’s what happens when you spread your legs for boys. They don’t know what you need.” He lines his tip up with your entrance. “Need a man to fuck you right.”

With a single, deep thrust, Kyojuro’s father bottoms out inside you.

He does not bother to give you time to adjust to him; he’s moving before you manage to choke out a small sound of surprise, one that’s lost to the fierce smacking of skin meeting skin.

“You need to— fuck — her — like — this —“ Shinjuro grinds out, each word punctuated with a sharp slap of his pelvis against your rear. The fat of your ass jiggles with every lurid thrust, and the elder Rengoku’s balls — heavy and full of cum that you know he’s going to insist on unloading inside you — smacks against your clit in time with his movements.

A responsive moan vaguely registers to your right, and with great effort, you turn your head toward the sound, eyes squinting through the stray strands of hair that have fallen over your face.

You spy Kyojuro, seated in the great leather armchair by the study’s fireplace. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright as he watches where his father appears and disappears into your body. In his hand is his cock. Its tip matches the color of his lips, parted as he pants against the languid pumps of his fist.

Shinjuro must catch sight of his son too, and it only spurs him to move faster; harder. “You like looking at her while she gets fucked, don’t you?”

You crane your neck further to watch for your fiancé’s answer, but a pointed slam of Shinjuro’s cock deep into your warmth forces your eyes back into your head. The stretch from him is incredible and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, even with Kyojuro; a burning fullness that is almost as uncomfortable as it is pleasurable.

Kyojuro must nod, for his father only scoffs in dismissal.

“Yeah, I see why. She’s a pretty fuckin’ thing, isn’t she?” A harsh slap of his hand against your ass nearly sends you jolting forward. “Bet you treat her like a little princess; too delicate to handle a good pounding.”

If you weren’t so fixated on the way your breasts scrape against the coarse rug beneath you in a dizzying blend of pain-tinged pleasure, you might have laughed. Kyojuro was an adventurous lover, and a considerate one at that. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to pin you down and fuck you when you wanted him to. Though, even Kyojuro’s roughest moments did not compare to the way his father now brutally fucked you into the floor of his study, his cock fat and heavy; as hard as steel.

Unlike Kyojuro, there is nothing loving about this; no tenderness. Shinjuro’s movements are nothing more than pure domination. He is not demanding your submission; he is forcing it.

The conversation between father and son is accompanied by a score of wet, sticky slaps of Shinjuro’s hips against your ass and the tiny little oh! oh! ohs! that you whimper into the rug. You soon find it impossible to fix your gaze on anything other than the diamond sitting delicately on your left ring finger; the way it glints and shines in the firelight as your fiancé’s father fucks you harder into the floor.

“That’s where you’ve gone wrong, boy. Fertile little things like this don’t want to romanced.” One broad, rough hand snaked up your spine to grip the nape of your neck, pushing your head down hard into the rug. “They want to be used.”

Shinjuro laughs, a harsh, jeering sound. “Just wanna be fucked stupid, isn’t that right?” His fingers tighten around your neck, commanding your attention despite the way he’s fucking your brain numb. “You just want someone to pump a baby into you. You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?”

The skin of your kneecaps burn from the way they scrape against the rug under your future in-law’s unyielding pace, and it’s because of that stinging pain that you’re able to ground yourself enough to manage a single, jerky nod of your head.

“Tch. Then why are you on birth control?” Shinjuro growls between vicious, forceful thrusts, his pelvis slapping hard against your backside. “You holding out on this family?”

Shinjuro draws nearly all the way out before he slams back into you, the blunt head of his cock bullying right up against your sweet spot. A slew of profanities pour from your mouth into the rug below, and your toes curl violently as he shifts his hips forward and keeps himself pressed right against it, stilling his movements.

You want to howl; he’s pushed right against the most sensitive part inside your body, one that Kyojuro knows will have you making a mess of both yourself and him after only a few grazes. And yet, his father, the bastard that he is, has the head of his cock jammed right against it, with seemingly no inclination of moving anytime soon.

Nor does he seem to care how you writhe and whimper into his rug, either. Your legs vibrate against the floor, and your hips move of their own volition, desperate for relief, but Shinjuro’s hold on your neck strengthens.

It’s torture and he must know it. “Answer me.”

“Not ready!” You gasp, your hands balling into fists against the carpet, your nails biting into your palms as the throbbing deep in your cunt becomes nearly excruciating. “We said — ngh — we said we weren’t ready yet!”

You cry out at the sting of a hand smacking hard at your ass. “You’re marrying into an old family, sweetheart.” Shinjuro spanks you again, and tears spring into your eyes. Yet, despite the pain, you only throw your hips back, desperate for more. “Money ain’t a concern. Your job is to birth the next generation of Rengokus.”

Despite his admonition, Shinjuro resumes his movements, easing back into his previous pace as though he hadn’t paused to start. You nearly cry out in relief, your hips circling and grinding against him for more, just more.

“Doesn’t matter, now. Don’t worry, you pretty little thing. You’ll be begging me to put a son in you soon enough. But until then —“ a rough, bruising hand snakes its way into your hair, balling it between his fingers. Shinjuro jerks hard on your head before he mashes it into the rug below, your cheek chafing against the rough carpet. “I don’t want to hear a damn word out of you. My son needs to be taught a lesson.”

Your eyes strain to seek out your fiance once more. Kyojuro’s blush has deepened to a fierce crimson, though his eyes darken at the way his father shoves you down into the floor.

Kyojuro is a passionate lover; while he can and does fuck you hard, he always keeps well behind the line between rough sex and cruelty. His father, it seems, toes that boundary far more closely. You can tell this bothers your beloved fiance by the hard set of his jaw and the wait his teeth grit together.

And yet, as the noises pouring from your mouth out of you slide from high-pitched, breathy whimpers to deep, sultry moans, and the study fills with pointed wet schlicking sound as the Rengoku patriarch continues fucking you without mercy, Kyojuro does not interject.

His hand only tightens around his cock; the tempo of his movements, only growing in speed.

Shinjuro’s grip on your neck loosens before his hand pulls back to rejoin the other at your hips. A low whistle blows past his lips. “If only you could see the way she’s creamin’ all over me, Kyojuro — filthy thing loves being used.”

He grunts appreciatively as he jerks you back to meet his rapid movements. “Does she always make this mess on you?”

A deep, rumbling groan is Kyojuro’s only answer, and his father chuckles.

“I figured. Look at her, suckin’ me in like this. Practically beggin’ me to fuck a child into her.”

A sharp smack cuts through the air like a knife, the skin of your ass stinging as Shinjuro cocks his hand back and spanks you again. Harder and harder he rides you, and the bruising ache blooming between your thighs is one you know you’ll feel for days.

Shinjuro’s next thrust is forceful enough that it lays him nearly flat against your back, his chest heavy and hot, dampened with sweat. The coarse hair covering his sternum scrapes at your shoulders as the elder Rengoku tightens his hold on your hips.

“You picked a ripe one, Kyojuro, I’ll give you that. Pretty little cunt like this was meant to be filled.” A hand winds under you, and Shinjuro’s palm presses flat against your lower belly. “With hips like this, she was made to give this family more sons.”

“Pussy is even better pregnant.” Shinjuro declares to no one in particular, his whiskey-tinged breath hot against your ear. “All the hormones and shit. Makes things tighter. Wetter.” You twitch violently into him as his thumb glides harshly over your clit. “More sensitive too. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

“You want her pregnant, don’t you, Kyojuro?” And before his son can answer, Shinjuro snorts. “Yeah, you do. Bet you’ve even beat off to the image of it — her all fat and swollen with a kid, tits leaking, pussy sweeter than wine. I know I would.”

Beads of sweat roll down the thick planes of Shinjuro’s chest and abdomen, staining your back. Each jolt of his body into yours produces a wet thwap that joins the lewd squelching your cunt as it gushes around his cock, as his body suctions to yours.

Teeth, sharp and brutal, nip harshly at your neck. “I like to think I’ve spoiled my boys, Y/N.” Your future in-law growls lowly in your ear. “They may not agree. But they didn’t want for nothin’. And I still like to indulge ‘em, every now and again.”

Shinjuro’s rough hand reaches under you to palm at your tits. “You love being a big brother, don’t you, Kyojuro? How about I put a new baby brother in your fiancé’s womb for ya? How’s that for a gift?”

You clench hard, your stomach nearly convulsing at how tightly you grip onto the thick cock bullying relentlessly into you right as Kyojuro looses a great, cracked moan.

“What my boy wants, he gets.” Shinjuro sounds so casual as he peels himself off you, straightening back up on his knees. One hand moves to press down on your lower back, deepening the arch of your spine until your ass returns to its position high in the air.

His grip on your hips tightens with bruising force as he resumes jerking you back to meet his movements. “You ready to beg yet, sweetheart? You gonna let me breed this tight little cunt? Give your fiancé a new brother to spoil?”

You hardly recognize any of the sounds pouring out of you, unable to concentrate on anything but the way the ache in your groin deepens, your desperate need to be filled becoming damn near painful.

Behind you, Shinjuro chuffs through gritted teeth. “Yeah, you’d like that, huh? You’d love walking around, plump and round with your father-in-law’s bastard, wouldn’t ya? It’d be your dirty little secret.”

There’s a frenzy to his movements now, the more Shinjuro becomes lost in his own fantasy. His balls slap harshly against your clit, the coarse thicket of his hair scraping against your raw flesh as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten. “Everyone would see you and my boy together and think such lovely things; a new family starting out. No one would know — no one would guess that you were pregnant because of how much you like bending over for your fiancé’s old man to let him breed you like the sow you are.”

The image of it — of you, attending some fancy gala with Kyojuro, happy and glowing while his father’s baby grows steadily in your stomach — has you throwing your hips back, circling and grinding with a desperation that makes your fiancé’s father laugh, harsh and bitter.

The sound only makes you clench harder around him. God, you need it; him, of all fucking people.

Shinjuro.

“Please, please, please —!” The request rolls freely off your tongue before you can think the better of it. Across the room, Kyojuro cries out, as wanton and desperate as you.

“Please,” Shinjuro mocks. “Please what?”

“A baby — give me a baby, please! Oh please please —“

“You want to give me another son, huh? Fucking mine isn’t enough for you?”

“Yes!” You sob, the skin of your cheek burning where it mashes against the rug, but you’re far too gone to care. “A son, please, oh please put a son in me! I want to be good, let me be good —“

You’ll do it, you’ll give the Rengoku family as many heirs as they need to know your worth; to know that Kyojuro made the right choice when he got down on one knee and presented you with a ring worth more than your own salary.

“Bout damn time you see things our way,” Shinjuro growls, and he shifts forward, planting one foot by your knee. “I’ll stuff you full.”

He bends over you again, his chest forcing your back to flatten, and you nearly drool at the coarse prickle of chest hair where it rubs between your shoulders.

The scent of woodsmoke and fine whisky clouds your head. “Tell me, do you think my son will still fuck you even while you’re carrying his brother?” Shinjuro’s eyes dart to where Kyojuro sits, his head thrown back and thighs spread wide as he pumps himself, a deep, drawn-out moan rumbling in his chest.

Shinjuro conceals his grin against the side of your head, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “Yeah, I think he will. Your pussy’s too fuckin’ sweet to resist, isn’t that right, Kyojuro?”

“Yes.” Comes Kyojuro’s single reply, little more than a strained groan.

It’s too much; the obvious need in your fiancé’s voice coupled with the way his father so ruthlessly pumps into you, his cock stretching and filling you so perfectly as he hammers away all the right spots forces your eyes back into your head, your fingers clawing at the rug chafing your skin raw. The pressure in your stomach mounts until you feel almost ready to burst, every inch of you trembling as you wait for that familiar coil to spring.

Shinjuro swears lowly, once, sensing just how close you are to breaking apart, before he recovers.

“Just think, boy.” He calls out to his son, his voice boastful despite how he clenches his jaw. “Once her milk comes in, we won’t have to take turns having a taste. All we gotta do is sit her between us and each take a tit. Fun little father-son bonding. Whaddya say?”

Your eyes fly open. The image of it — of you straddled between the two Rengokus, both mouthing hotly at your swollen, aching breasts while your stomach sits round and full with a child that might have been fathered by one as much as the other — is your undoing.

Somewhere in the depths of the Rengoku ancestral estate, Kyojuro’s brother sleeps. You can only hope that his slumber remains peaceful, given the loud, cracked scream that rips free from you, burning your throat as your climax slams into you like a freight.

The coil in your stomach does not unwind; it explodes, blows apart in a mess of shrapnel capped with prolonged cry as your walls squeeze around your lover’s father’s thick, demanding cock.

“Oh fuck, she’s good,” Shinjuro throws his head back, eyes rolling into his head at the way your cunt seizes around him like a vice. “Harder, Y/N. Your father in law wants you to cum fuckin’ harder.”

One hand unlatches itself from its bruising grip at your hip, curling under you. Shinjuro pinches your clit firmly between the roughened pads of his fingers and your stomach seizes. A violent spasm of hot, searing pleasure rips sharply through your groin, sparking gush of sticky fluid to spring forth and coat the rug below.

“Daddy!” You cry out, too fucked out of your mind to fully register what has escaped your mouth; the slip you’ve made.

Daddy is reserved for Kyojuro — and under specific circumstances. Only after you’d been your most difficult, your most rotten, such that Kyojuro knew you were baiting him, waiting for him to pin you down and give you exactly what you wanted and set you right. Only after you were looking up at him through glassy eyes, so unbelievably fucked out of your head did the word Daddy ever leave your lips.

In a way, you suppose those conditions were present here. After all, it was your fiance who suggested you’d pranced around the Rengoku ancestral estate in your red dress to frustrate both him and his father. And Shinjuro is, in fact, fucking you halfway to hell and back, your brain having nearly liquified in your skull.

So really, he can’t fault you for getting your wires crossed.

“Daddy! Fuck — oh fuck, yes, yes, Daddy, daddy —!”

Kyojuro moans back in response, and that single sound — a ragged, pleasure-delirious thing — only makes you clamp down harder around his father’s thick cock.

“Yeah,” Shinjuro snorts, his laugh dark and cruel. “Yeah, I’m your fuckin’ daddy, aren’t I?”

You continue to howl for him until your voice gives out, quieting down in time with the slow ebbing of your climax, your body turning limp limb by limb. When the last of your orgasm echoes through you, you nearly collapse prostrate into the rug. You would have, if not for the bruising grip of hands latched firmly to your hips, keeping you in place.

You’re only permitted to relax for a moment before Shinjuro decides it’s time for him to make good on his oath to fuck a son into you.

A single, long draw of his hips nearly pulls his cock free of your sopping heat. But before that can happen, Shinjuro’s fingers dig into the fleshy part above your waist and without warning, he slams back into you, hard and brutal.

Air wheezes out of your lungs and you’re forced out of your post-orgasm haze, yanked right from the clouds of bliss and dropped back in the study as he repeats the movement once, twice.

You scramble to find purchase, your arm flailing out before you as you scramble to find purchase. Before you can, however, one rough, callused hand wraps firmly around your bicep, holding you down against the floor. The other snakes to your wrist and wrenches that arm behind your back, pinning it in place at the bottom of your spine.

And Shinjuro fucks you. Hard. Even more so than before.

You’re utterly at his mercy; little more than a toy, bouncing between his body and the floor of his sprawling study as Shinjuro chases his release. Your legs will be rubbed raw with friction, both from the rug beneath your knees and your hamstrings where Shinjuro’s thighs press firmly into yours, his hair as coarse and wild as what grows from his head.

Behind you, the elder Rengoku’s breaths have turned ragged.

“Hold her — fuck — hold her down like this when you cum.”

Whereas Kyojuro’s climaxes are always accompanied by loud, strangled groans, euphoric and lilting, Shinjuro comes with a deep, snarling grunt. With a final, bruising thrust, fiancés father-bottoms out inside you. His hips shove heavily into yours, pushing hard against your ass as he presses his cock as deep as possible. The force of it bends your spine, making Shinjuro distribute half his weight between his hips and his arms where he holds you down. He comes as powerfully as he’d claimed you, his orgasm every bit as punishing and relentless as the rest of him.

Your eyes roll back into your head at the first spurt of his cum, your mouth falling open. Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth, trickling down your cheek and dampening the fibers of the rug.

Deep; your father-in-law’s cock is so fucking deep in you, his cum hot and thick as it coats your womb. Distantly, you hear the pleasured cry of Kyojuro as he reaches his own climax, his seed spilling hot and fast over his fist as he watches his father unload himself inside you.

“Feel me pulsing, doll?” Shinjuro grits through clenched teeth. “That’s me puttin’ our next heir in you.”

The only response you can manage is a faint moan. It takes a moment for you to feel it; the tell-tale gush of cum that always leaks out of you after you’ve been filled, tangible proof of how thoroughly you’d been claimed. And it strikes you that the delay is the result of how deep inside of you Shinjuro had been when he came.

Deeper, you silently concede, albeit begrudgingly, than Kyojuro has ever reached.

But then it comes; a thick trickle of hot fluid spilling over where your bodies are connected, Shinjuro’s balls twitching against your throbbing clit as he continues to unload himself inside you. Dizzy with the pleasure of feeling his cum, so warm and viscous, you cant your hips back into his, mewling your gratitude.

Full; you’re so very full of your father-in-law’s cock and cum. So very sated.

There’s a triumphant exhale behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know Shinjuro wears that self-satisfied smirk of his, the one he always had whenever he successfully trounced his son in front of an audience. His hand releases its crushing grip on the wrist he’d pinned behind your back in favor of rubbing your ass where it circles against his base, though whether it’s out of appreciation for you or a further brag to his son, you can’t say.

The elder Rengoku holds himself in place for a moment longer, ensuring every last drop of his seed is properly deposited into your waiting womb. Only when he’s satisfied nothing remains, does he pull out, not bothering to give you any warning as your body spasms and winces at the loss of his warmth.

The air at your back turns cool, no longer invaded by his lumbering body. A chill snakes down your spine at the sudden draftiness of the study as the sweat glistening along your back and staining your dress cools. Some of your awareness — and your contempt — returns to you as the spell cast over you by Shinjuro dissipates. You focus on each muscle of your body, identifying what you’re still able to love as you prepare to push yourself up from the floor, when two, broad hands latch around your waist.

Shinjuro cares not for your small whimpers and whines as he forces you to turn around on your raw knees, not letting you rest until your rear faces Kyojuro.

“There, that’s a properly bred pussy,” Shinjuro announces with a not-so-gentle smack of his hand against your swollen, dripping folds. “Take a look, son.”

A derisive snort shoves its way through your nose. Of course, it isn’t enough for Shinjuro to have fucked his son’s fiance right in front of him; now he has to show off his work.

But do you resist? Of course not, nor does Kyojuro protest, panting as he comes down from his own high where he sits near the fireplace.

“See that?” Two rough fingers catch a thick bead of Shinjuro’s cum as it slides down your inner thigh. “You want a baby? Don’t let a single drop go to waste. Fingers or your cock, it doesn’t matter — just make sure it stays inside.”

You focus on calming your own breathing, relief settling into your bones as Shinjuro pulls his hand away at last.

A moment passes, undisturbed except for the labor of your mutual breathing, when Shinjuro breaks the silence once more.

“But I’m gonna let you fuck my seed back into her.”

And with that, he leaves you crumpled helplessly on the floor, departing only with a sharp smack to your ass, still held high in the air.

He motions for Kyojuro to move and confounding, his son complies, half-jumping out of the leather armchair in his haste, his pants around his knees. Wordlessly, Shinjuro settles into his seat, one arm folded behind his head, his bicep bulging while his other hand wraps around his drooling cock, still hard and shiny with the combination of your cum and his.

“Go on, boy,” the elder Rengoku juts his chin to where you lay limp on the floor, your red dress pulled down bunched around your waist. He gives himself a firm pump with his fist and his mouth settles into a leering smirk. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

I’ll see you all in hell

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kyojuro rengoku #shinjuro rengoku #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny rengoku #kny kyojuro #kny shinjuro #kny smut #demon slayer smut #rengoku smut #rengoku x reader #rengoku shinjuro #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #shinjuro x reader

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alicentsgf · 1 month

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changing deaths like laenas and using baelas precious screentime to sow the seeds of a narrative where rhaenyra died some glorious death in fire as a dragonrider does a deservice to literally every character involved. especially rhaenyra weirdly, who its most likely supposed to prop up. rhaenyras death was tragic. she was eaten by her own brothers dragon as her young son watched. it haunted him deeply his whole life. he hated dragons until the day he died. it was not glorious. it was just tragic. the audience being able to comfort themselves after her death saying 'it was a dragonriders death at least' is not the point. we are supposed to sit with the discomfort of what war has done to this family. her death should be painful and empty of meaning because that is the fundamental truth of the dance as a whole.

#hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon iii targaryen #hotd critical #asoiaf #f&b spoilers

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thedivinetarot · 10 days

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My baby used to dance underneath my architecture

What will your spouse love about you?

☆How to chose the perfect pile for you?

1) Close your eyes.

2) Clear your mind.

3) Take a deep breath.

4) Ask the question in your head. And then open your eyes and the picture you're drawn to the most is your pile.

☆ Note:

- Thank you guys for 300 followers. I'm really happy and grateful to have you all in this sacred space of my mine.

- This is a general reading for the collective or whoever read the post. So, take what resonates for you as a person.

- I usually do an energy check for each pile so that the reading can resonates as much as possible to the reader.

- In this reading we are going to know what your spouse love the most about you.

- This reading can be applied on your current partner or future spouse. Please don't read it for your crush or someone you are briefly dating; this is a totally different situations.

Lots of love ❤

Arya

Pile 1 - Last dance

Your current energy

I see that this pile is spending time with their family and specifically with an old man. It could be your grandpa or your father or someone old in your family. If not then there's a man in your family who is sick and you are taking care of them. I see that it's not going to be that serious they will get well soon, they need a little rest and everything will be alright. I see that some people in this pile have been dealing with poverty or lack of money/ financial support. I see you not doing anything about it, you feel like this thing is out of your hand. Or (another energy I'm picking up on) I feel like this pile have someone sick or died in their family and they cannot pay the hospital or funeral bills which is leading them to feel powerless and in debt (I'm so sorry if this is you). Another case I'm seeing is that this pile may lost their money on something they're addicted to; could be liquor, food, drugs (I see a thing not a person to be specific). I see also that this addiction is so strong you feel like you cannot put a boundary for and it drive your insane. You might be addicted to shopping or thrifting? Anyways, I see also that you are working so hard on that addiction because it is unhealthy for you pile 1. I asked for an advice for you and I got that you need to be more assertive about your feelings pile 1, don't let them drive you insane. I see there's an ungrounded energy here. Like someone can't set still. The cards are telling me that you need to be more assertive and take small baby steps solutions in order for you to reach where you want to be.

What will your spouse love about you?

Well, I like the energy here. I see that you are a multidimensional person with many and many layers. Your future spouse will loovvve your sense of logic. Even if you are emotional or think with your heart instead of your head. He will love how your brain works I see that he will love also how feminine and sweet you are. You might be curvy or fat but your spouse love those curves or fatness. He love how motherly you look. You see those girls who are overweight/curvy or chubby but there's something so comforting and motherly about them that you want to hug them and take care of them? That's what your spouse will love and this is how he sees you. I see that you are also someone who hates injustice, you hate how people treat each other like trash. You hate it when someone is treated unfairly in front of you. Or you might be someone who was treated unfairly because of how you look or your personality but don't worry your spouse is going to love it. Also I see that you are someone who is very assertive and you see things from a different angle. I see that you have a very structured routine that is in order. Also I see that people in this pile are quite spiritual, they believe in Karma and justice. Your spouse will literally love all of those things about you. Also I see he will love how persistent and stubborn you are. You might be someone who plant the seed, protect it, nurture it until is become a beautiful tree then you set under it to enjoy the fruit of it and it's shadow. Pile one you are an amazing person and your spouse see how much you put effort into anything and everything. You might be someone with the motto " Take care of your own garden if you want to attract butterflies and if butterflies didn't come then you have a wonderful garden to enjoy". Also I see that this pile is not afraid to walk away from situations that is not serving them anymore; I see that your spouse love how you are not too attached to them. You are not clingy pile 1 and your spouse respect that. I see that you love challenges and you embrace it with a huge smile on your face. You like to the challenge and you like the thrill and you like how much it changes you.

Placements for this pile

Aries, Taurus, Libra, Cancer, Pisces, Aquarius, Neptune, Moon, Saturn, Mercury dominant in your chart, stallium in the 1st/7th/2nd/11th/4th/12th house.

Pile 2 - smiling Christine

Your current energy

This pile is taking care of someone young like a sibling or you might be a babysitter who is working on their independence by taking care of children. I see a young adult here around 18 to 24 years old. I see that this pile is determined on making their dreams come true. You might be saving money or you started to take an action towards a hobby that might get you attention from the public, like a tiktok account or IG or any form of social media. You might be someone who was held back by limiting beliefs about yourself but that changed now and you are more confident in your ability and your talents. I see a tarot reader here or someone who is psychic or a witch like me (hello fellow witches, tarot readers or psychics). I see that you are discovering your talents finally and working on either to get noticed by the public for them or to improve them before you become a celebrity or known person for that talent. I see also that there's someone here who is learning about their roots or your own culture. Your parents might moved to another country and never really had the chance to introduce you to your culture but now you are allowing yourself as an adult to get to know your roots and culture. Another thing I'm picking up on is that people in this pile are very independent, they do their own thing, take care of themselves but there's this nostalgic feeling to your childhood or when you were a child. I see also that you might be someone who their grandparents was your entire childhood. Like they might have took care of you or you grew up around them. I see that for some of you; your grandmother was a witch or a healer or knows alot of tarot or astrology. And if not then she might be so familiar with religion (any nothing specific) and you took this gift from her and now your psychic abilities or gifts are being developed. Hey! Also I'm picking up on something else pile 2, the wheel of fortune is finally spinning your way. So, if you have been unlucky in your life then the luck is on your side from now on. I see that you worked very hard on yourself and now everything is going to be the way you dreamed of wanted. I see also that your dreams carry a significant meaning or warning do not ignore them okay?

What will your spouse love about you?

Okay, your spouse is going to love how patient you are. You might be someone who things never really worked out for them or your spouse's life was really that good until you entered their life and boom everything turned out to be soooo good. I think because you are a healer or a witch then you have a good karma to you or your energy is so uplifting that your spouse's life got turned upside down for the better after you entered his life. I see that you are literally that girl who is very nurturing, caring and gentle. I'm picking up on capricorn placements. You are someone who is the boss (and no one is going to handle this side of you like your spouse). I see that you might be someone who is business oriented, you are someone who is very practical. I'm picking up on someone with earth mercury, no one can fool you because you can freaking find out. I see also that you are not really afraid of loneliness, you can easily turn it into solitude and enjoy your time (queen I respect that 💋👑). I see also that you are very loyal and marriage/ relationship material. You might be someone who gives a lot of dating advice to your friends and get the ick from people who date dusties. I also see that you are so sexy or controlling. You know those jealous wifey or girlfriends who are very controlling and obsessed with their partner? You might be one of them and your spouse ADORE that!. Anyways, I see also that you might be too attached to your spouse and he love it. I'm getting pluto-venus aspects in your chart. I'm also hearing obsessed and loyal and your spouse love that. Idk why but I feel like this person will love your private area or how sensual you are. There's something sexual here that I shouldn't write but I will anyways. This person love how your private area feels on his pepe and if you are a man or masculine then you are going to love how she feels (if you know what I mean), I guess he like to stay inside and enjoy or he might stay there a little longer just to be close. I feel like this pile is shy too and you look adorable when you get shy and blush.

Placements for this pile

Virgo, Cancer, Aries, Capricorn, Saturn, Taurus, mercury in earth sign, mercury, jupiter, venus dominant in your chart, stallium in the 1st/2nd/10th/4th/6th house. Pluto-venus making aspects in your chart.

Pile 3 - Christine in front of a mirror

Your current energy

Oh, I feel so sorry for this pile. Guys you might be dealing with a lot right now. I see that you are carrying your emotional baggage on your back refusing to let it go. I see that this pile are very overwhelmed by those emotions. I feel like there's a relationship with someone with Aquarius placements that really ended but you are refusing to believe that this person is gone and will never return. I see that you are nostalgic to them and you miss them a lot. You miss when you both were together having fun and hanging out. You are refusing to let this person go because you think they are the one but they are not. It is not necessary that this relationship is karmic. But I'm seeing that you are refusing to heal and move on you are literally getting yourself stuck by your own hands. Please try to rewire your brain, trick it to think that you'll be fine without that person. I see this lack will be over because your spirit angel is telling me that your soulmate will soon enter your life pile 3! How wonderful. This person will be blonde, chubby and cute. He will take care of you. Also, they are telling me that you need to put a FULL STOP to that situation/connection and stop hanging there in hope that the ex/old person will return. Your soulmate will soon be in your life how magnificent is that? Anyways what you actually need more than anything is to understand that life is abundant of choices and that one person was a lesson for you to grow and learn something new. Spirits are encouraging you to learn how to put boundaries (healthy ones) and do not get too attached to that person or the new one. You need to love them and embrace that feeling without getting attached to them. That's how love works, you chose to love a person but you are not attached to them. No, you are fine without them and everything is alright. Also try to get out of your comfort zone. Learn about detachment and your attachment style so you can love freely.

God bless you pile 3 I wish you healing and peace.

What will your spouse love about you?

Hehe, I see that your spouse love how quarrelsome you are. You like to debate with them. You like the thrill of proving your point of view. I feel like you are an ENTP Idk why I get that feeling. I see also might be someone who is balanced and connected to the higher source of power or God. You might be someone with active crown chakra, you are not attached to material things like other people. Like you know that you were born to die, listen to born to die by Lana Del Rey if you want to. I see that you may be your spouse's type. I see that this man is literally manifested you. I'm also picking up on the lyric of "I'm your dream come true" feather by Sabrina Carpenter. You are this person's dream come true. Also you might be someone who is firm and still. There's this firmness and stillness in your opinions and views that can't really be changed. You are a predictable person and your spouse love how he can predict your actions. I also see that you are very independent and you have your own things and your own life. The keyboard typed wlw (woman love woman) so you might be in a same sex relationship too. Anyways, what your spouse doesn't really like is how much you carry on your shoulder. You might be someone who was hyper independent or was single for a very long time that you cannot allow your spouse to help you. I'm picturing someone who used to do alot of things alone and never really dated anyone for a long time so you are used to doing your things for yourself. I see also that you might like traveling? Or you love to learn about cultures? Yeah it can be a thing. I also see that your spouse can be from a different city or different country. The cards are telling me that you are very childish and naive or look like that. You might be someone who experienced poverty or lack of money or financial stability. Your spouse want you to know that he is going to spoil you rotten and take care of you. Also he want you to know that both of you will build an empire together so keep yourself open for that. I see also that your spouse is a master manifesto sooo he probably manifested someone like you into his life. There's something here about your looks, he might also like how you look like. I see that he will have his venus in your ascendant or your mars in his ascendant because the chemistry between you two is undeniable.

Placements for this pile

Sagittarius, Gemini, Leo, Aries, Pisces, Cancer, Jupiter, mars, mercury, moon as dominant planets in your chart. Stallium in the 9th/1st/4th/3rd/5th/12th house. For the mbti ENTP, ENFP and ESFP.

Pile 4 - Enchanting Vanity

Your current energy

Hmmm okay, this pile here is being pursued or confused between two people. I see that you might be liking someone for how they look and the other because of their money or because you see something with them in the future. There's conflict here and it is in you pile 4. This pile, I believe that they are being confused between those two people and who is their twin flame. You might be mistaken your twin flame for someone who is not or the opposite. Like, you might think that this is not your twin flame but they are. I see also that you are very restless. And you cannot truly see who is your person. The cards are advising you take time alone and reflect on your values. I see that you are afraid to be alone and independent. You are afraid to show your weakness and vulnerable side to people which lead you to overthink or obsess over the outcome. So, I guess it is better for you pile 4 to just set alone and face that. Face your fears or vulnerability and don't obsess over the outcome. Also this pile is like pile 3, they need to detach and practice mindfulness in order for them to see the truth. I will give you a tip about detachment; all you have to do is to imagine that what you are going through is a story someone is telling you. Then use logic to analyze the story that the imaginary person have told you to decide whether you should or shouldn't take an action or not and if not action then a solution. Imagine for example, that a friend came to you for a problem, how will you help them? Will you take a step back to see the bigger picture? What is a good solution you will give to that friend? And so on and so forth. About the two people you are seeing, reflect on your values and see who exactly have the similar values as you. I'm also seeing one of them is cancer and the other is taurus and if not then you might have those placements. I'm pretty sure that the universe is going to guide you towards a solution, you need to be open I order to see the synchronicity that is going to give you the answer.

What will your spouse love about you?

I see that this pile work really hard to keep themselves fit and in a good shape. You might be someone who was overweight previously and you work very hard to not go back to what you were. Your spouse love and respect how you take care of yourself. He love how you care about your health. I see also he hate to see you overthinking but love it when you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them. The cards also are telling me that your spouse love how you forgive people and move on, you might be someone who is not spiteful towards people who hurt you, you heal and wish them to heal instead of hating on them nonstop. I see that you don't forget but you forgive. I see also that you have this inner power to you that make your spouse go insane for you. You might be someone who is into manifestations and the law of attraction and other stuff related to this. You might even manifested this person and he is in awe of you. I see that you are very patient, very strong headed. What is yours will find you and you do not chase you attract. He might love your family or your roots or your culture. I see a culture difference here like pile 3 so go read it if you want to. Anyways, I see that he also admire your private part and if you are a man then she might like your thing. I see that they (your spouse) will LOVE your area so much and think that it is sooo feminine. You might be someone who knows how to take care of that place and you keep it shaved and clean. I'm also picking up on hygiene, so you might be someone who always shower and keep themselves shaved and fresh. You might use expensive perfume or you just looveee to shower yourself with perfume after you finish showering. You might also have a long body care routine like those pretty girls on YouTube. All of those stuff is really something very admirable by your spouse. You might be someone who is quite adventurous and any chance to travel somewhere is un-wasted by you. Like you can't set still in one place for a long time. You need to travel and discover. You are very open to try a lot of things. Open to cultures, you like to try new different food, different places, and you cannot handle the idea of staying in the same place always.

Sorry if this pile was short the messages was straight forward.

Placements for this pile

Earth placements (taurus, virgo and capricorn). Gemini, cancer, moon, venus, Saturn, mars as dominant planets. Stallium in the 10th/6th/2nd/4th/3rd house in your chart.

Post date: Fri- 13t of sep/2024

*Feedback is appreciated

#free divination #free tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot community #divination #divination readings #metaphysical #occult #tarot pac #pick a picture #future spouse #future spouse pac #pac future spouse

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frogchiro · 3 months

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I’m so glad you’re back!! Could you talk more about goddess!reader and Konig, absolutely love love love your stuff btw 🩷🩷🩷

-🦇🍍

Ofc I can!! I love my desperate simp♡

He's an old, battle hardened warrior who somehow never prays to the gods of war, warriors and battle, instead he prays to the sweet goddess of love, art, dance and fruitful crops.

König ignores all the jeers from the other warriors who mock him for praying to a goddes who is usually worshipped by dramatic artists, farmers, girls, women and new families and yest somehow it's König who always comes back from even the hardest battles and is always the decorated war hero.

What they don't need to know and is only for his devoted eyes only is the small figurine of you made out of ivory, and always runs his rough fingers all over your full curves in worship, breathing a silent prayer and kissing it.

Whenever he is in the solitarity of his own home, he makes his own kind of offers to you; he jerks off his fat cock for you, offers you his thick, potent seed and his pleasured moans, his whined out words of devotion his prayer for you.

In his deepest desires and fantasies he dreams of meeting you in your temple, your beautiful, full body lush and lightly covered in expensive silks and gold jewelry as your sweet voice becons him towards you and he willingly goes and falls to his knees, naked and offers himself as an offer to you...

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #goddess of love!reader #goddess!reader #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2

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dark-konohagakure2 · 4 months

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hii, can i request noncon madara capturing tobiramas virgin daughter during a battle and then using her as his personal slave? sorry if this isnt a request you're comfy writing !

tw: noncon, age difference, size difference, kidnapping, enslavement, abuse, breeding, rough sex, degradation, sadism

All characters depicted are 18+

There are very few people that Madara can claim to loathe with his entire being, but if he had to pick one person, it would be Tobirama Senju. Not only had the man constantly discriminate against his clan, but he was also responsible for Izuna's death. Now Madara wants vengeance, and he already has the perfect plan to make Tobirama feel the same pain as him.

During the Uchiha's next battle against the Senju, his main target is not Tobirama, but his daughter, and capturing such a weak girl is almost laughably easy. Madara thinks it's only fair, Tobirama stole someone he loved, and now Madara will steal somebody he loves.

Despite his stoney face, internally Madara feels as giddy as a child on Christmas morning, he now has his hands on not only Tobirama's daughter but Hashirama's niece as well, and he has complete and total power over her, and he plans on using that to his full advantage.

Once he has her in his grasp, Madara will do everything in his power to strip her of all her human dignity, stripping her of her clothes, slapping her around, and treating her like less than dirt, tearing her apart with his harsh words and razor sharp tongue as he makes use of her.

"Shut your mouth you Senju whore. This is what you deserve for having such tainted blood running through your veins, so be quite before I rip your tongue out."

Madara is very rough with his newly acquired slave, holding her down roughly with his bigger body, using his full weight to force her thighs against her chest as he ruthlessly claims her virginity, almost animalistic with the intensity he employs as he breeds her.

He is a much bigger and stronger man than most, so Madara can easily hold her down or lift her up as he takes advantage of her. He'll twist and bend her body in uncomfortable positions to increase her pain and his own pleasure. Madara doesn't care about her comfort, he believes that she deserves every bit of suffering she gets for daring to be a Senju.

Madara doesn't just use her for sex, but for labor as well, making her do demeaning tasks such as cleaning the blood off his weapons and armor whenever he returns from another one of his "dances", he'll even gloat to her during this, telling her with relish about how the very blood she's cleaning off of him is the blood of her fellow clansmen.

Whenever Madara is done with her, he leaves her broken and bruised everytime, his seed leaking out of her holes and her body trembling in equal parts fear and pain. Madara enjoys her pain, knowing that he's not only hurting the girl herself, but her father as well by proxy.

"Does it hurt? Good. That's just a fraction of the suffering your damned father caused me when he killed my brother. Get used to it, bitch. This is your life now..."

Madara sees this as a twisted form of justice in a way. Tobirama took a family member from him, so Madara will simply make himself a new one, and he'll use that Senju bastard's own flesh and blood to do so, the thought of having a half Senju child both disgusting and exciting Madara.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #boruto #naruto smut #x reader #headcanon #naruto headcanons #reader insert #madara #madara x reader #madara smut #naruto x reader #uchiha #uchiha x reader #uchiha smut #konoha founders #tobirama

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yumeka-sxf · 6 months

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New chapter today, and even though most of it seemed to continue the silly tone from the previous one, the last few pages actually shocked me! 👀

For the first time, ANYA CONFESSED TO SOMEONE THAT SHE CAN READ MINDS! Now this doesn't necessarily mean anything crazy will happen in the series from now on, since Damian doesn't believe her (at first). But proving that you can read minds is easy to do, so the question now becomes, will Anya keep trying to prove it to Damian until he believes her? Or will she regret it later and not try to prove it, and then the plot point isn't touched on again? Regardless, this chapter definitely makes it seem like Damian will be the first person to know about her mind-reading powers.

Then there's the question of why Anya chose to confess this to Damian? I think it's a combination of a few reasons, the main one being that Damian doesn't have any connection to her family, so little risk of him telling them and thus bringing about the fear of abandonment Anya has should they find out. This might also be why she chose to tell him over Becky, since Becky already has somewhat of a relationship with Loid and Yor. The other reason could be that, as time has gone on, she's learned to trust him, at least when it comes to something like this. As hostile as he is towards her, she knows that he's not a double-crosser or a blabbermouth, and deep down he wants to do what's right. And lastly, it was the heat of a moment - her knowledge about him seemed weird so he questioned it, and perhaps at that highlighted moment, when Damian was being genuinely nice to her (since she can read minds, she knows if he's being genuine or not), she wanted to try not lying for once, just to see what happens.

Guess we'll have to wait until next time to see if anything ground-breaking comes from this...will Anya keep pursuing this, will she regret it and let Damian continue to not believe her, or will it just not be mentioned again until later? This reminded me a bit of the Mole Hunt arc where Yuri became suspicious of Loid, but the latter was able to throw him off the track. But the seed of suspicious was planted nonetheless. In this case, even if Damian continues to think Anya was lying, a seed of suspicion may have been planted in him too that could come into play much later on. We'll see!

But besides this big event, a few other notable things in this chapter was super rare soft Damian from the above page. This continues to prove what I've always thought - that Damian acts the way he does to appear "proper" in front of his peers, but when he's alone with Anya, his real feelings seep out. She's a rare person where he doesn't feel the need to put on airs around.

We also got more Henderson x Martha crumbs. Love to see it.

Also loved to see Anya getting cocky and Loid freaking out about it 😅

Overall, even though I'm not as into Damianya as I am Twiyor, I still enjoy seeing their progress, and this chapter was definitely one of the most Damianya-chapters of all~ Despite some of the "dance with Damian" challenges being a bit too silly for my taste (like, how did Emile and Ewen organize all that last minute?) the payoff at the end was worth it! Loid and Yor better get themselves together or their daughter will end up beating them in the romance department 😂

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #anya forger #damian desmond #damianya #sxf spoilers #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers

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dogbites-puppylove · 5 months

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Apple seed cyanide

TW: description of yandere mentalities and actions (obsession, possessive tendencies, stalking, etc)

Tags: Yandere! Joker x reader, Yandere! Harley x reader (platonic)

If you want the honest to god truth, Harley knew that the Joker was spewing saccharine filth from the start when he reached out with promises of a sweet little life, one with a darling family of their own. She knew because, after years of watching him pant after the trials of Batman, she saw he had no room other than his obsession left in his heart. But like a moth to firelight, she flutters dutifully back into his arms attracted by promises already broken

Imagine her surprise when shes greeted at the door with a bright smile, almost sane enough to trick her. He ushers her in with a sweet note in the air and a “surprise waiting for her” in the living room. Bound and gagged a couple is crying out on the floor, shaking their hands in a pathetic plea, and attempting to crawl away, and usually, Harley would be all for making a joke or two, but instead, all she can see is you. Your little presence floods all of her senses, sitting perfectly pacified on the floor. Behind her, she's aware of her partner's sick laughter, but she can't shake off the trance she's in.

You couldn't be older than 3, still without proper motor skills and a morbid curiosity stopping any critical preservation instincts that might have had you crying. This becomes more evident when instead of screaming, you giggle as the clown prince of crime crouches down to haul you up into an embrace, even bouncing you up into the air a few times to pry out more laughter. She can barely hear the shrieks of your old parents as the Joker finally deposits you safely into her arms, and as she cradles you close to her chest that aches for you. It's a physical hurt that almost overwhelmed her, the need to crawl inside you and live there, or for you to do the same, and it is in a stranger's house that Harley falls in love again.

“Sweet as honey ain't they?” the Joker coos and cackles at you, waggling a few fingers in front of your face, grinning even wider as you grab at them. “Full of curiosity that one is, a real riot!” but Harley can barely hear him much less acknowledge him past the roaring of blood in her ears. Her heart beating out of her chest she thinks it might just spill open to accommodate the organ trying to crawl closer to her darling. For the second and last time in her life, Harley is chained and leashed to another's will, a fate of coming to their beck and call, your will, her darling wrapped perfectly in her arms.

To the Joker's credit he does love you, or as close to love as he can get. He hushes your cries, indulges you in sweets behind Harley's back, and she's even caught him humming silly little tunes as he dances with you wrapped up in his arms. You bring clarity to him, a surety in his life that he doesn't feel unless pulling Bats along in another joke. You were going to be his perfect legacy, proof that he cannot truly die, you're a part of him in this way. Of course, you’d need a quick little dip into a vat of toxins to truly make a perfect legacy but you needn’t worry, he still loves you. You just need a little preparation first.

Every week he takes you on little daddy-darling outings, he tells Harley your going around to sightsee, and he lets you play a lot of fun games until the sun sets. And he's truthful because his warehouses are far and in between, and every mutilation he leads you so lovingly through is a fun little joke. His little comedian, hell coo as he leads your hand tightly clasping a knife against the throat of one of his own boys who had tried to run. Isn't this fun sweetheart?

He underestimates, however, just how devoted Harley is because while she was fully delusional when they had first gotten into a relationship Harley cannot spare you as collateral damage to her own fantasies. She is painfully grounded as she takes in everything about you 24/7, your expressions, words, actions anything she can she takes to covet away in her mind forever. As much as she is a monster she is your mother and she loves you, you are anything she's ever had and everything she'll ever have. He doesn't realize that she obsessively checks over you, even spotting the smallest flecks of blood, how when she kisses you goodnight she can see the thin sheen of apathy take hold of your gaze.

The final straw comes in the form of a huge argument, she comes home early from work eager to see her little baby, when she finds the Joker cooing into your ear, goading you into doing your best as your hands wrap around a familiar gun. Like the devil on her shoulder, she can't even scream as you pull the trigger, eyes momentarily twitching but no other expression as your former parent's brains paint the windows. And she realizes as you turn around to smile at her sweetly with blood on your teeth and tears that seem so foreign streaming down your face that you need to leave, she has to get you away.

That night she takes you, just 9 years old, and runs. She has no real destination, just a desperate notion to get away, to save you from all that she knows the joker is trying to make you. She can't, she can't let you go through what she knows will force you into the type of person you never wanted to become. Because she can see herself in the mirror and can mourn normal happiness and stability, and she has watched the joker bleed himself dry until he has nothing to himself but an old laugh track repeating over and over again. It's a life of agony and you don't deserve that, not you, never you.

Of course, her body ends up leading her to Ivy’s place, and the woman can only stare in shock as her best friend who had gone radio silent all those years back collapses at her door holding a kid so close she might be trying to meld into one. “Please, please not my baby” Harley begs and any anger that Ivy could have had melts.

For a while it's paradise, the Gotham sirens all corralling once again in their glory, and with their very own new member, you. Selina takes to you quickly, cooing about how her kitten is just the most clever thing in the world as you quickly work through her little trips. (Privately she will worry to Harley about the lack of awareness you have for your own health, the way your eyes glaze over when a plan takes place, and the brutality you exhibit.) Ivy also takes to you quickly, teasing you with little nicknames (how can you be a sapling when you're a human?) and she teaches you how to nurture, how to care for plants and love them as they deserve. (And she will confide to Harley how you seem to take to poisons particularly well, how you are able to craft things more disastrous than she can dream, how your curiosity always leans to the morbid.)

Harley herself takes great energy and care into trying to undo what the Joker has done, it's laughable how Gotham's greatest villains all sit in a circle every week and preach about morals and empathy. But to their credit, it works, and though you may not be able to feel the full existence of motion, though you can't seem to feel it as deeply as others your heart still throbs with what must make you human. You learn consequences and cling with desperation to these little lessons that prove you aren't your mentor. (not father, not anymore)

And yet Harley can still see how your apathy takes hold in the face of curiosity, how you prefer crowbars over teddy bears, and how despite your hardest efforts empathy is always a little too easy to push away in favor of hard-earned apathy. (and she knows, she knows that as long as that bastard is still out there doggedly searching the ground for you, you won't ever truly be safe) so she makes a deal.

The phone rings and Bruce can only raise an eyebrow at the untitled phone number, he doesn't make a habit of giving out his number so uselessly so after the third ring he picks up.

“Hello? This is Bruce Way-”

“Hey Bats.” Alarm shoots through the roof at a voice he hasn't heard in years, and yet still so closely relates to his arch-nemesis.

“Harley? How did you get this-”

“Listen, listen I know it's gonna sound real bad but I- I need you to hear me out. A favor, I need a favor. I'll go back to Arkham, stay there for the rest of my days but, I” she breathes and it's far too shaky for the woman he knows her to be. “My baby” she sobs “You gotta keep my baby safe, he's out there Bats and he won't leave em alone as long as their alive.”

Through his confusion, Bruce manages to calm her down, and wrangles a short story out of her, how she and Joker had played family until she couldn't bear to see you break anymore and how she knew that she alone couldn't keep her darling safe. And maybe it's the boy staring at the corpse of his family in Crime Alley that speaks instead of himself but he finds himself reaching out to help. (he can't let another family split, not when he can help it). As long as Harley doesn't kill, no more lethal tactics, and as long as she reports everything she knows about joker, and works with him against him, she can stay outside of Arkham walls. And as for you?

Your tenth birthday hits and Bruce Wayne steps into your living room with a strangely calculating gaze and a warm smile.

“You must be Y/N? Ah, nice to meet you officially, my name is Bruce Wayne, and ill be your foster family.”

Author's Note: Another reupload. ALSO! I HAVE GOTTEN THE ANON ASKS!! I AM JUST A SLOW WRITER I’LL GET TO EM I PROMISE!!

#yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #harley quinn x reader #joker x reader

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Clingy Baby collection masterlist

a collection of varying muses labeling Reader as "clingy".

featuring muses: Carmy Berzatto, Mafia Bucky Barnes, modern Aemond Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, and Joel Miller.

"The enemy uses those things you're insecure about. Free yourself and take your power back by being secure in who you are - flaws and all," — The Day My Soul Cried: A Memoir by American award-winning playwright, producer, screenwriter, podcaster, advocate, Yvonne Pierre

total fics: 7

this collection is considered "active"

mostly hurt and comfort, some angst

don't see your muse? have your own request?

requests OPEN requesting rules and masterlist

"Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime," — Mineko Iwasaki, Japanese businesswoman, icon, and the most famous Geisha. author of Geisha, a Life

God's Plan

your boyfriend carries the worst parts of his job home, bringing to life one of your deepest-seeded insecurities. -> or being called clingy [during a fight].

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

word count: 3.1k+

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

🎭 drama 🥺 hurt 🚫 no REAL comfort 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship

read here

part two: Two to Tango

the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

word count: 5.4k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💔 small angst 🧸 small fluff ☠️ discussion of deceased family member 🙊 general language and content warning 💣 relationship angst 🔏 barely edited

read here

Curiosity Killed The Cat

few weeks after rescuing you from a kidnapper, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become. -> or overhearing being called clingy.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

word count: 5.1k+

fandom masterlist: Marvel

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🦋 modern AU 💸 mafia AU 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 brief depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🫠 description of self-destruction 🔏 barely edited

read here

You Might Think It's Foolish

meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. -> or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

word count: 3.1k+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💣 relationship angst 🐝 stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🐍 toxic family 🍄 toxic relationship...? 🔏 barely edited

read here

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

word count: 18.3k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥀 unrequited love 🥺 hurt 🚫 NO comfort 💣 relationship angst 👯‍♀️ BFF trope 🍒 author's favorite 🐝 stand alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship 🥂 alcohol mentions 💛 requires maturity and caution 🚺 misogyny 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 🫠 depiction of self-destruction 🍑 character with given nickname ⏳ AU timeline 🦻 eavesdropping trope ❗️ single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure 🚹 men 2️⃣ written after season two 🔏 not edited

read here

Not All That Glitters is Gold

during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you. -> or (publicly) discovering you're being called clingy by your man from someone else.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

word count: 3.1k+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💣 relationship angst ⏳ AU timeline 🙊 general language and content warning 🔏 barely edited

read here

Save Me From Myself

in a moment of unparalleled anger, you learn what Joel really thinks of you.

request: Can i request joel miller for the clingy baby series!! Maybe they were traveling together w ellie and she clings to him bc he always kept her safe until he calls her clingy one day.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!reader

word count: 1.9k+

fandom masterlist: The Last of Us

⚠️ mild spoilers 🙊 general language warning 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💔 mild angst ❗️ short fic!

read here

Pretty Boy Swag

your big ass family comes to town and hosts a town-wide family reunion. after they meet your boyfriend for the first time, your proximity is criticized, and when you try to fall back, Eddie's swift to your side again. -> or when someone else calls you clingy, you try to fall back but your man doesn't want that.

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

word count: 6.2k+

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

⏳ AU timeline 🐝 stand alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content 🐍 toxic family 🎭 drama 🧠 depiction of mental health: insecurity, anxiety 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🧸 some fluff 🚬 drug use 🥂 depiction of alcohol use 💍 established relationship 🥰 romance 🛑 abrupt ending 🔏 not edited

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

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3cremepie3 · 8 months

Text

The creamery pt 1.

Synopsis - Where or would the Twst boys would cream in/on you? Feat. Scarabia

Warnings - cremepies, unprotected sex, facials, possessiveness, breeding kinks, mentions of pregnancy, dollifaction, degradation

A/n - a quick series while I figure out he future of this blog.

Jamil would cream on you for sure. He loved painting your face after a praise session. The many “good boys,” and “you’re doing so good baby,” went straight to his already throbbing cock. You had a way with words which sent the man of few words crazy.

He buckled into your tight grip not able to contain himself. “Fuck feels so god damn,” he spewed. His curses fell on to deaf ears. Which is what he loved about you. You would take anything he gave you while still being the loving obedient doll you were.

“Do you feel good,” you teased. Of course, you already knew the answer but you needed to hear it from him. “Don’t ask me stupid questions bitch just keep pumping me,” he demanded. “Yes sir,” you chirped. You licked your lips at his angry expression not having a care in the world.

Your free hand went to feel up on his abs made by his years of dancing. How’d you score a guy like him you’d wonder. While he thought the same as he groaned loudly enough to fill the hallway nearby. “How’d I get a slut so willing to let me paint her face?” Must’ve been a miracle,” you answered tongue open awaiting his seed.

You snuck even further down on your knees so he could shoot at you more easily. Your grip faltered on his hard cock letting it bob itself up and down into an orgasm. “That’s right better not swallow it either.” I’m not,” you spoke with your tongue out.

He watched fascinated as your features were painted in his seed. His breathing calmed but his cock never did still hard and leaking at his claiming of you.

Kalim would cream inside of you. The king of irresponsibility why would he ever remember to bring a condom? And even if he did why would he use one? He's an Al Asim a family of a practically breeding farm. He could always add to that with you.

He had enough money to keep a family afloat and you were truly in love. But fuck all those fake reasons the true reason was that he loved creamepie’ing you. The feeling of your pussy gripping down on him as his cum drowned your wound was one he would never recover from.

Especially when you would call out to him so sweetly. “Kalim!” You would exclaim back arching into his sweaty body. He would grab your waist pushing you even further into him. Your lips would crash into his needing something to grab onto since he was pushing your body up. You would take his breath away until he collapsed on top of you.

“Sorry love you just felt too good,” he would smile into the crook of your neck. It was already late since he came in you so you guys would go on and on fucking late into the night until Jamil banged on his door telling you to sleep.

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troublesomesnitch · 6 months

Text

Make Your Hands Unclean

Aemond x Wife!Reader - Period sex drabble

Premise and bits of dialogue shamelessly stolen from The Borgias.

Contents: drabble, pure filth. Menstrual sex, p in v, anal touching, graphic imagery. Internalised misogyny and harmful attitudes towards menstruation. Aemond is an asshole. Porn with weird plottish vibes.

Words: 2300

idk what this even is, this thing kind of wrote itself and I just went with it. It is kind of a mess tbh.

You were supposed to marry a lord.

That is what you were raised for, and those are the skills you were taught. To sing, to dance, to play the harp; to make yourself look pleasant. Your septa taught you to sew, and a woman from Essos taught you to weave, and in the afternoons the maester taught you history and linguistics, astronomy and arithmetic, and other things that ladies rarely speak about, but nevertheless must learn.

For it is the lady, not the lord, who runs the castle. Who manages the household, and oversees the people it employs. Such a lady must ideally be both kind and commanding, generous and frugal. She must know how to handle serfs and noblemen alike, and she must be proficient in numeracy; able to record expenses and perform difficult calculations.

To be a prince’s wife requires no such skills.

This castle already has two queens, and besides it is not for royal women to concern themselves with practical matters. There are ladies-in-waiting for that, and stewards, chamberlains, maids and matrons; an army of servants hundreds strong to ensure that you may always be spoiled and idle. More than a lady, but less than a queen, left to twiddle your thumbs and wonder when, if ever, the oppressive walls of Maegor’s Holdfast will begin to feel like home.

You do not like it here.

The days are long in King’s Landing, and the air is foul, polluted by the smoke of ten thousand hearths, by the stench of filth and unwashed bodies. It seeps through every crack and crevice, and you like the early mornings the most, when a cleansing mist blows in from the sea, and the ship’s bells ring over Blackwater Bay.

Your husband rises early too, though it is for different reasons. Prince Aemond adheres to strict routines, to noble pursuits and rigorous discipline. He is exactly as people say: a stoic, severe in both temper and countenance, condemning indulgence and deriding depravity.

Yet for all of his moral posturing, he does seem to have developed a taste for it rather quickly.

You couldn’t say the exact number of times the prince has had you, but it has been many, and often, and in every position imaginable, and you dutifully report it all back to your family. As they have instructed you to do.

Before you were sent off to the capital, you were relentlessly reminded that there will never again be an opportunity such as this. That a marriage to a royal prince is a rare honour for your family, and one that was only made possible because the crown finds itself at war. Your house is not a great one, and your father is not the noblest lord, but he is very wealthy. And on the field of battle, wealth does tend to triumph.

You do not know what other promises were made, what lands or titles were negotiated. Only that so much now depends on you; on your ability to please your husband and give him healthy children. Preferably male, but even a daughter would markedly strengthen your position. So you play your part as best as you can , and you pen your secret letters, divulging all the details of your intimate affairs. That the prince sleeps with you frequently, and seems to find great pleasure in it. That he performs his movements to completion, and expends his semen inside your body.

It is a grave responsibility to have on your shoulders, and you were utterly crushed when you woke to find your insides churning, and your sheets stained with blood.

They will be most displeased, your mother and father. Your brothers and uncles, and your cousins too. Prince Aemond's seed has not yet taken.

In the evening he knocks on your door. Two determined raps, and you are thoroughly surprised. Your maid will have told his mother of your ailment, and she will have told him, and he too must be disappointed. But you know it is the prince, for there is no one else who would visit you at this hour.

You know very well what he has come for, too.

“We can’t tonight,” you sigh.

“And why is that?” he says, amused, as if the idea that you would refuse him is ridiculous.

“My blood - I am bleeding.”

Prince Aemond hums, but he walks to your couch and begins to undress himself, unbuckling his doublet and unlacing his breeches, tugging off his boots while you wring your hands.

He can’t be serious. He can’t mean to take you like this.

“It’s not - it isn’t proper,” you protest. “Our maester said it is ill-advised - most men find it unclean - “

“I am not most men,” he scoffs.

There is no arguing against that, and he says it with all the confidence of someone who knows it to be true. Aemond is a royal prince. A dragonlord, a scion of a greater people. Second to no one but his king and brother, and if he wants to get himself all bloodied, then you suppose that is his right.

He rids himself of his undershirt, and you reluctantly move to the side to let him join you in bed. It isn’t proper, but your insides flutter when he pulls you against his naked body, letting you feel the warmth of his skin, his manhood against the back of your thigh. It is hard, and twitching when he runs his hands over your figure, your breasts and your stomach, your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs -

“No, you mustn’t - ” you squeak, but he rucks your gown up anyway and slips his hand in between your legs.

You are wet there, with blood as well as with desire, and you can feel the stickiness when he spreads your lips, curving his fingers and sliding them back and forth along your slit. His breathing is hoarse just from caressing you, from feeling your wet, your warmth, your little swollen nub begging to be touched. You whimper when he circles it with the gentlest of strokes, light and teasing, until you arch your hips up in frustration and breathe oh please.

Prince Aemond likes it when you beg. Only then does he press down, but not enough to bring you to a peak. Just enough to make your insides tighten, and more blood gush from your womb.

You always did find it strangely beautiful, the blood of your cycle. Deep maroon, and scarlet red - but you are ashamed to see it coating the prince’s fingers when he withdraws them. It is thick, and clotted, and he takes a moment to study it before he wipes his hand clean on your shift.

“Are you not displeased with me?” you whisper. He should be, given that you have failed to conceive. That there is no way of knowing if you can bear children at all.

“One mere month is not cause for concern,” the prince says.

You breathe a faint sigh of relief. It is a comfort to know that at least your husband doesn’t hold your failure against you - yet.

He tugs on your shift, eager to expose your body, but you cross your hands over your chest.

“Let me keep it for tonight,” you plead.

You can’t rid yourself of the thought that you are unclean, and you would feel so much more at ease if he didn’t see your heavy, aching body. But you don’t want to entirely deny him access to it, either. Seeing as you are bleeding, the chances of begetting a child are small, which means that his wish to sleep with you must come from genuine desire rather than obligation. And that makes you very happy, as you imagine it would any wife.

You will make sure to include it in the next letter you send back home. Hopefully it will lessen their disappointment.

The prince looks somewhat displeased, but he lets you keep your dress, resorting instead to bunching it up around your waist. He is stern, but never cruel to you, even if he does pull at the neck to bare more of your breasts. He pinches your nipple, and then his hand moves downward again, and you throw your leg over his hip to give him more room to touch you.

This time he does it properly. His fingers find your pleasure right away, and he swiftly brings you to your rapture, impatient as he is to have you. It leaves his hand stained and tainted, and once again he wipes it off on your shift, but this time you don’t care.

With the position you’re in, it is easy for him to crawl over your leg and take his place between them, and he kisses you as he presses against you, deeply and hungrily, rocking his hips, his manhood throbbing and leaking between your legs.

Your parts are soaked, but he is careful when he pushes inside. Despite the prince’s relentless pursuit of knowledge, he must not know all that much about a woman’s blood, at least not in practical terms. Where it hurts, and how much, and whether this intrusion will make it worse. You can’t hold it against him - you don’t believe there are many scholars who would want to write about the topic, and how then was he supposed to learn?

“Harder,” you pant, and he obliges, moving faster and pushing deep inside.

You let him find a steady rhythm, hooking your legs over his hips, and letting your hands wander over his body while he has his way with you. You stroke his balls, imagining that what he keeps inside will take root in you. You pinch his nipples, all hard with pleasure, and you slide your hands down to his lower back, to the base of his spine, where the skin is dusted with downy hairs. Where you can feel each of his thrusts; the rolling movements of his hips, the rhythmic clenching of his buttocks.

Your dainty touch makes him shudder, and you move your hands to his arse, and then further still, slipping your fingers in between his buttocks. To where he is warm and tender, and where his skin starts to pucker.

It is filthy, the way he twitches there. The way he throbs. A dirty place to touch, and a sinful thing to do, but you have found that the prince likes it. No added pressure or attempts at entry, just gentle strokes with the tips of your fingers. Soft caresses over his opening.

He buries his face in your neck and groans, and you can feel that he is nearing his peak. His movements are fast and shallow, his chest heaving and slick with sweat.

“Yes, my prince,” you whisper. “Fill me with your seed, put a son inside me - “

He likes that. He hisses loudly, gripping the headboard for purchase, and you look up at him when his hips stutter. Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar.

He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening.

You lie still as he peaks, allowing him to rut into you wildly, groaning and grunting as he spills his seed. Hot, and wet, and adding to the mess inside you. He lies limp on top of you to catch his breath, and when he finally withdraws, the blood is everywhere. On his softening organ, on his sack, and crusted to the soft hairs on his thighs.

“I’ve made you dirty,” you state.

“Yes, you have,” he says. “In more ways than one.”

You look the other way to give him some privacy when he rises to tidy and dress himself. On your wedding night he stayed with you until the morning, and he has done it a few times since, but it is not a common occurrence. Prince Aemond prefers to sleep alone, and your mother chastises you for that too. She says that to rouse a man’s desire is less than half the battle, and that you must make your husband love you.

Of course if it were really that simple, then there would be no unhappy marriages and no children born as bastards, and if you knew how to make a man fall in love, you would be the richest woman in all the world.

But you must at least try.

“Won’t you stay with me?” You ask. “It is - important, for a woman to be embraced - to be treated gently, afterwards…”

“Next time, I will,” he says. And that is the end of that, for you will not stoop so low as to beg for his company.

He smoothes out his shirt and pulls on his breeches, and you sit up and comb your fingers through your tangled hair. When you look down there are stains on your sheets, and a thick rosy fluid trickling out between your legs.

“You may want to abstain from riding,” the prince says over his shoulder. “It is known to upset the balance of the womb.”

You nod, bound to obey what is clearly a command posing as a suggestion.

“Did you know,” you muse, “that the blood of the womb is the only blood that is not born from violence?”

Prince Aemond looks at you with a thoughtful expression, one that suggests he had in fact not considered that before.

“Quite the philosopher you are,” he remarks, with a little raise of his brow. Coming from him, that is the highest praise.

It does not change his mind about staying, but he does press a noble kiss to your temple before he leaves you. Sore and bloodied, but content.

You did well tonight.

Notes

“Most men find it unclean/I am not most men” is from S1E7 of the Borgias.

“Menstruation is the only blood that is not born from violence and yet it’s the one that disgusts you the most” is a quote by artist Maia Schwartz. I couldn’t find any more information about her unfortunately.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic

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bookwormjust · 2 days

Text

Gifts for a new family (established relationship with Azriel)

As you walk through the lively streets of Velaris, the city sparkles with the magic of the approaching Solstice. Snow gently falls, dusting your dark curls as you move from stall to stall, gathering thoughtful gifts for each person you hold dear. The vibrant energy of the city surrounds you—laughter, chatter, and music drifting through the air—but you’re focused, determined to find the perfect gift for each individual.

The Archeron sisters, your dearest friends, are at the top of your list. For Nesta, something elegant but practical—a sword charm, small yet intricately carved, reminding her of strength and grace. For Elain, a collection of rare seeds wrapped in delicate ribbon, the kind that will bloom into the most beautiful flowers in the gardens she adores.

Then, there’s Lucien. The idea of him being alone during Solstice tugs at your heart, especially with Elain’s rejection lingering in the air. No one seems to have thought of buying him anything, but you do. After a few moments of wandering, your eyes fall on a beautifully bound book on rare herbs and healing remedies—a subtle but kind offering, something that speaks to his knowledge and appreciation of the natural world. You smile softly, hoping it will be a small comfort to him.

And for Azriel—your shadowsinger. Your heart flutters as you think of him, the way his shadows dance around him like they know you. You’ve spent hours pondering the perfect gift, wanting to show him how much you care, how much he means to you. You finally settle on something simple yet deeply personal—a custom-made leather sheath for Truth-Teller, engraved with symbols of protection and strength, paired with a small silver pendant representing hope, something light for him to carry, always close to his heart.

Azriel’s mother, though you’ve never met her, is also on your mind. After all, she’s an important part of him, and you want to honor that. In a small shop tucked away in a quieter corner of the city, you find a delicate silver bracelet adorned with small, shimmering crystals that catch the light just right. It’s a token of kindness and respect, a gesture to show you’re thinking of her even before your paths have crossed.

With your arms full of gifts, you make your way through the bustling streets, feeling the warmth of the season and the love you have for everyone in your heart.

As you continue through the vibrant streets of Velaris, you think about the gifts for Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian, wanting each of them to feel the thought and care you’ve put into their Solstice presents.

For **Feyre**, you know how much she values art and expression, how it centers her and allows her to find peace in times of chaos. You eventually come across a beautiful set of high-quality paints from an artisan's stall. The pigments are vibrant, and there’s an array of colors Feyre could use to bring life to her next masterpiece. Alongside the paints, you pick up a small, hand-crafted sketchbook with a leather cover embossed with Velaris' iconic skyline, a symbol of home and her new beginnings.

For **Rhysand**, the High Lord of the Night Court and someone whose burdens are heavy, you want to offer him something that will remind him to find moments of rest and joy, despite his responsibilities. After wandering a bit longer, you find an elegant silver cuff with an intricate, celestial design that mirrors the night sky—the stars and moons delicately engraved into the metal. It's imbued with a subtle magic that encourages calm and relaxation when worn. A small but meaningful reminder that he, too, deserves peace.

And then, there’s **Cassian**. His boundless energy, laughter, and warrior spirit make you smile as you think of him. You search for something that speaks to his strength but also shows that you understand the heart beneath his brash exterior. After much deliberation, you find the perfect gift—a beautifully crafted pair of leather vambraces, sturdy but detailed with intricate patterns of wings and flame, symbolic of both his Illyrian heritage and the inner fire he carries. There’s also a bottle of rare Illyrian whiskey from one of his favorite distilleries, a little something extra to bring him joy on Solstice night.

With every gift now carefully chosen, you feel a warm sense of satisfaction. Each present carries a piece of you, a reflection of how much these people mean to you, and you can already imagine their reactions as they unwrap their gifts. The Solstice, after all, is about connection, love, and light—something you’re more than happy to share with those you call family.

As you stand on the bustling street, snowflakes dusting your shoulders and your arms full of carefully chosen gifts, the weight of the bags starts to pull at you. You smile softly, thinking how wonderful it would be to have Azriel here to help carry them—and to see him, of course. Through the bond, you can feel his steady, quiet presence, a warm pulse of calm beneath your skin.

You reach out gently, letting your thoughts drift toward him. *Azriel?* you send, a soft, playful nudge through the bond. *I may have gotten a bit carried away with the Solstice shopping...* You glance down at the many bags you're struggling to hold. *If you're not too busy, do you think you could come rescue me?*

For a moment, there's silence, then you feel a ripple of amusement from him, his presence wrapping around your mind like a comforting shadow.

*Rescue, hmm?* he responds, his voice a deep, smooth caress in your mind. *I’ll be there in a moment, love.*

A warmth floods your chest at his words. Within minutes, you catch sight of his familiar form gliding effortlessly through the crowd, his wings tucked close to avoid the bustling shoppers. As he approaches, his shadows swirling gently at his sides, his hazel eyes lock onto yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Azriel takes in the sight of you, arms full of bags, and chuckles quietly. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he says, his tone warm as he reaches for the bags, easily lifting them from your hands as if they weigh nothing. His fingers brush yours as he does, sending a shiver of warmth through you.

“Just a bit,” you reply, smiling up at him. “I didn’t realize how much I was carrying until I tried to walk back.”

Azriel shakes his head, his shadows whispering around you both as if they’re pleased to see you together. “Good thing I’m here, then,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as they linger on you. “Shall we?”

With his strong arm around you, you feel a sense of lightness, knowing that together you can face the chaotic streets and the busy holiday, each gift chosen with care and love for your new family. You walk side by side through Velaris, the snow falling softly around you, as Azriel quietly and effortlessly carries the weight that had become too much for you—just as he always does.

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x female!reader #acotar reader imagine #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #Spotify

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cressidagrey · 9 days

Text

Tear the World Apart

For Eris Week 2024- Day 7 - Free Day

@erisweekofficial

Summary:

Eris’ mate decides to get rid of her father-in-law. Also known as: If Eris Vanserra married a very bloodthirsty Margaery Tyrell.

Warning:

Plotting of Murder, Poisoning, Mention of domestic violence and parental abuse, Beron ends up dead?

(Lovely dividers thanks to @tsunami-of-tears!)

The moment Wisteria Abinac met her future husband…her future father-in-law was a dead male.

Beron Vanserra should have simply known better than to ever have laid a single finger on her mate.

It was an open secret in the Autumn Court, after all, what exactly he did to his lovely wife and his sons. The High Lord was known for his cruelty.

So really…she was doing everybody a favour if she killed him.

Wisteria decided two things during that Masquerade Ball where she first danced with Eris Vanserra and the Mating Bond decided to snap for her: Beron Vanserra was a dead male and Wisteria Abinac was going to marry her mate.

That marrying her mate was going to make her the next Lady of Autumn…well, that was just a happy coincidence. (Her grandmother would be very pleased indeed. This was what Begonia Abinac had always strived for, after all.)

Wisteria wasn’t going to protest that particular title in any way. She had not been named Wisteria for nothing. Wisteria was named after that sweet-smelling vigorously climbing plant: She was rather good at climbing, especially the social kind.

That was what she had been raised to do, hadn’t she? If the bumbling male idiots in her family couldn’t manage it, the females did.

So at that Masquerade ball…it had been the touch of a hand, calloused from sword fighting and one look into a pair of amber eyes and the Mating Bond had decided to snap for her.

It hadn’t snapped for him.

At least, Wisteria didn’t think so, because he spent the rest of that Masquerade Ball utterly ignoring her.

Oh well. That only managed to light a fire under.

Wisteria was going to procure herself the Heir to the Autumn Court as her husband. Even when it was the last thing she did. Thankfully, the situation didn’t turn out to be quite as dire.

Actually…it was laughably easy. Wisteria had expected it to be more difficult.

A few words to her father at dinner one evening of how her older brother should really marry and finally procure an heir to their duchy…Thanks to the cauldron, her father had the High Lord’s Ear. (The fact that her family kept most of the Autumn Court provided with grain, was useful for once.) She knew that he would mention something to the High Lord about finding his eldest son a wife….and once he did…the seeds were sown.

Then, a few words to her grandmother of how cunning and handsome the eldest son of the High Lord was…Wisteria didn’t need to say more to make her intentions clear. Begonia Abinac just patted her hand and congratulated her for setting her sights on such an ambitious target…

And once Wisteria had these two in her corner…well, then she only needed a few other well-placed words to a few other well-placed people and the next letter that fluttered into the Abinac family manor… that was all about how High Lord of Autumn had decided that his eldest son should also really get on with that heir business and that the daughter of one of his most needed allies was going to be just a good pick as any...

The next court occasion brought with it a lovely new dark green dress that fitted beautifully with her dark hair and eyes, a gold tiara woven in her hair that looked like gold encrusted leaves and fat emeralds dripping down her throat…She already looked like the Lady of this Court, even when she wasn’t. Not yet, at least

And once Wisteria had her in…it was even easier.

She knew what the High Lord liked. Wisteria had perfected the mask of a simpering, submissive girl. Nothing that Beron would find threatening in any way. Just about magically powerful enough that he thought she was worth it to give birth to his heir’s heir, but weak enough that he wasn’t worried that she would start a rebellion or anything like that…

A fun plaything. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She did make sure at that ball that she caught the eyes of every available male. Waving a bright red flag in front of them that she was available, from good breeding stock and clearly knew how to behave. She knew that she was playing with fire.

Oh well. Wisteria had always adored flames.

She was counting on the Mating bond-induced jealousy. Expected it in fact.

No other male would be stupid enough to get in the way of a Prince if he did make his interest clear...and it seemed to work. After about an hour of simpering conversation and wrapping a curl of dark hair around her finger…, there he was...the Autumn Prince himself.

He came to stand next to her, a glass of wine in one hand as he leaned casually against the wall. Wisteria took a moment to study him closer. Gods, he was certainly easy enough on the eyes. "Enjoying yourself, Lady Wisteria?" he asked a moment later, his voice casually polite, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

She turned her head to look at him fully, a polite smile on her own lips in return as she met his gaze. "Of course, milord," she said back, her own tone just as polite, even as her own eyes slid down over his body as she spoke. "I always did enjoy a good dance."

Eris chuckled and took a drink of his wine, his eyes watching her with an expression of interest. "You certainly seem used to them," he said, his tone still casual, but there was a slight hint of a question to his words. "You've already shared a dance with half of the available males within the room."

She giggled back, lifting a hand and toying with a strand of her hair. "You exaggerate, Milord," she said back, her voice still casual, keeping her mask of polite innocence on. "I think it's only been one-quarter of the available males in the room."

"Searching for your long-suffering future husband?" he asked her. There was something sharp in these words, but she didn’t let that stop her.

"Oh, I already found him," she gave back drily.

That got him to pause, and she silently noted how his golden eyes flashed with something like surprise at her words. There was a hint of a frown on his lips for just a moment before he smoothed it back out, but he was clearly thinking furiously. "You have?" he asked his tone back to being casually polite. "Who is the lucky male, then?"

She lifted her head a little more and tilted her head to the side with a smile of innocent satisfaction on her lips. "Why, you, of course, milord," she said like it was just the most obvious thing in the world.

There it was again...that flash of surprise in his gaze, his eyes sharpening just a fraction. She wondered if he was going to brush her off as some silly, foolish, simpering female...or if he was going to take the bait...

It...it took all her willpower and hard-won experience to keep that polite, innocent smile on her lips and not smirk in victory as she watched him consider his words, his golden gaze on her face never wavering for a moment...

"...Is that so?" he eventually said, his tone still casual and polite, as if he was discussing the current weather and not her stating that he was already her future husband. "And why, exactly, am I your chosen future husband, Miss Abinac? You don't even know me."

The corner of her lips tugged up, just a fraction, at the question, the first crack in her mask, but he was sharp, his eyes noticing that, of course. "That may be true, Milord," she gave him a smile back. "But I could say the same the other way, too. You know nothing about me either...and yet, you approached me all the same."

"I do know that you are a very good dancer," he said calmly, offering her his hand.

Once more, Wisteria hid a victorious smirk, her own hand placing itself in his, her fingers curling through his. "I do like dancing, Milord," she replied calmly. "And I do pride myself on not trampling on my partner’s toes."

Her mask didn't even slip once as he led her out to the dance floor, the two of them began to dance, and it took every ounce of control in her body not to smile in sheer satisfaction at the feel of the Mating Bond in her chest burning brilliantly, as if to mark the moment as something...momentous.

He proposed 3 days later.

She knew that Eris didn't propose to her because he wanted to. His father ordered him.

A fact that Wisteria knew and thoroughly loathed and which gave her all the more motivation to make sure that she would be the one truly pulling the strings come the day she married him.

Eris may not want to marry her, but he was her mate.

And Wisteria had secured that ruby ring set into gold...well, she could have laughed at how easy it was to get what she wanted. Her entire engagement to the High Lord's son had been as simple as a flutter of her eyelashes and a few choice words.

Actually marrying Eris...well that was another thing entirely.

He seemed utterly uninterested in her. Which stung and made her seethe more than a little if she was being honest with herself. After all, he was her mate...and yet, he gave her nothing. Not a hint of the bond between them...not an inch past polite courtesy and duty.

Granted, he didn’t treat her badly. Wisteria just was certain that there were inanimate objects that got more of his attention than her. Not even to speak of his whole horde of dogs.

Well, at least the dogs liked her, she supposed. Probably helped by the fact that she was not above some well-intentioned bribery and fed them bits of her breakfast.

(Though if she had hoped that maybe once the dogs liked her, Eris would warm up to her…well, that did not come to pass. He was more likely to glare at the dogs than he was to look at her when they played with her.)

It had been nearly three months. And her husband had not given her a single damn thing to work with…

In fact, he hadn't touched her at all. Other than that one kiss at the altar to seal their marriage, that was.

Eris had not shared her bed once. Had never even tried to touch her at all.

How exactly was Wisteria supposed to give him an heir, if he didn’t lay with her?

Her mate was infuriating.

Eris was her mate for Cauldron’s sake...he should want her, should seek her out...so why wasn't he doing that? It was making her furious.

And when Wisteria was furious…she did one thing and one thing only: She plotted.

In this particular case, Wisteria plotted the downfall of her father-in-law.

Beron Vanserra was a brute of a male...and yet, it was laughably easy to figure out how to manipulate and play him. After all, he wanted the same thing all males like him wanted.

He wanted to be flattered and praised, to be told that everything he said was correct and he was doing the right thing. It was all just a matter of careful flattery, of sweet words said at the right moment, and it was all too easy to gain his ear and attention...

Beron Vanserra was not only a dead male, but a stupid one, as well.

And that…that suited Wisteria’s plan just so well.

Just as she had plotted to marry Eris…she plotted to make Eris High Lord.

After all, Beron was doing nothing more than slowly destroying the strength and power of Autumn. He was destroying the lands...he was wasting all the resources that the court had...and he was doing all of it as he drank himself into oblivion on a nightly basis. The whole thing was an excellent opportunity for her to carefully slip a few words into the right ears, to whisper about better ways of doing things...to suggest Eris as a better leader...

And well, if she joined her parents-in-law at their nightly dinner, with a bottle of Apple Cider in tow...a wedding gift from the ancient Duke Hector who sadly died just days after their wedding...that was simply what a good daughter-in-law did, right?!

(And if that meant that she gave the long-suffering Lady of the Court a break from having to soothe some of Beron's...tempers...well, even better. Amara had always been lovely to her after all. And Eris did adore his mother, seemingly the only person who managed to make him show any feelings at all.)

Amara, in turn, had seemed to grow quite fond of Wisteria, taking it upon herself to teach her the way of the court, who to turn to for what…for a girl that hadn’t had a mother since her own had succumbed to illness when she had just been a toddler…it was foreign to have that again. Wisteria’s grandmother had never been particularly maternal. But Amara was.

And just because of that, Wisteria wanted to shield her from Beron’s outbursts and his tempers.

It was a good thing for the Lady of the Autumn Court to catch a break from Beron on some level, and if it helped to strengthen Wisteria's bond with Amara and Eris, well, all the better.

(Or at least, Wisteria told herself that that was the only reason why she enjoyed spending time with Amara.)

Wisteria knew two things: One, in a match of magic, she would utterly lose against any High Lord. And two...Beron was stupid to actually drink that damn apple cider every night.

(Thank god, the late Duke Hector had been gracious enough to give them three whole boxes of it to their wedding…nobody would notice if she started…adding something to the last batch of it…)

Wisteria hadn't been born an Abinac for nothing. Her knowledge of botany was...extensive. Extensive and well-known.

Well known that she tended to the Palace Gardens and even planted medicinal herbs to stock up the infirmary of the Forest House guards…

The knowledge of herbs, plants, and nature in general had certainly helped Wisteria a great deal, in all sorts of different ways. The knowledge of some particularly useful plants and herbs...well, the knowledge had certainly come to good use. After all, it was only sensible to try and learn how to better aid her people...

And it made for some rather handy tools to have at her disposal...should the need for them ever arise.

And if she snipped off a few sprigs of hemlock every day...oh well. Nobody needed to know.

She wasn't stupid enough to only poison the High Lord‘s glass. She would be found out in a heartbeat.

Wisteria poisoned that whole box of Apple Cider.

She was also very careful to build up an immunity to Hemlock for both her and Amara over three months. There was no antidote for Hemlock after all…

Like any good planner, Wisteria played the waiting game, playing the dutiful new wife and daughter-in-law by day, planning and plotting for her husband's coronation by night.

Safety first. Making sure to cover her tracks.

She wasn't stupid enough to take the risk of being found out. The poisoning of the High Lord needed to be done, but her own safety and the safety of Amara needed to be considered first.

And when Eris told her that he would be away for a week or so, tending to Autumn’s army...well...

Wisteria decided that Beron's time had come.

She behaved just like she had done for three months. Following the routine she had established.

Wisteria played her part as perfectly as always, her routine just as precise and on point as it had always been. Just that the drink she poured her father-in-law that night…it was lethal. (For him.)

It was so easy to keep the mask of the dutiful daughter-in-law on as she made sure that Beron's meal for that evening was prepared on time, and she even kept it in place as she followed the long-established ritual of handing Beron his nightly drink afterwards, a kind smile on her lips.

Granted, her own drink was just as hemlock-infused. As was Amara's.

There was to hope that she didn't absolutely fuck this up.

Wisteria was careful, after all. She wasn't taking any chances, not by a long shot. Beron, for a High Lord, was surprisingly stupid in so many ways...

As he took his first drink, she brought her own glass to her lips, not drinking a single drop.

The sudden gasping after breath...the fact that his whole face turned purple...The panicked scrabbling at this face and neck as he tried in vain to get anything, any air at all, into his body...Beron Vanserra...he didn't even manage to take a single step in her direction, or to even reach for the magic...he fell dead before he could even make a move to reach her.

He just fell to the floor, dead before her eyes as his own wife watched on in shocked horror as the life left her husband's eyes, but Wisteria didn't allow herself to look at Amara, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on her father-in-law as his final breath left his body.

And then she started screaming for the guards.

(Really, her acting performance was on par with the Royal Theatre, if she said so herself!)

Her performance was perfect, her screams and sobs of horror were enough to draw a great many guards, several of them coming running into the room quickly, clearly alarmed at the loud sounds, their eyes turning to look at the scene in the room in front of them.

They froze in place for a moment as they took in the sight of the late High Lord on the floor, his face a purplish shade of colour and his dead, unblinking eyes staring up at them, but their attention then turned to the sobbing, hysterical Wisteria, who was in the middle of sobbing and crying as her trembling hands clutched at the fabric of her dress...

And Amara, who just stared, shocked into silence.

Wisteria did feel horrible for traumatising her like that. But it was the best way to make sure that the Lady of Autumn would be seen as innocent.

Amara’s usual gentle and kind demeanour was nowhere to be seen at this moment, her face utterly pale and her dark eyes as wide open as they could go, her hand clutched tight against her chest as she stared down at her dead husband, her mouth moving as she tried to speak, tried to say something, anything...and yet, she was still too shocked to make a single sound beyond a strangled gasp.

The guards that answered Wisteria's screams and came rushing into the room stood there for a moment in shocked and horrified silence, their eyes frozen on the body and the sight of the High Lord dead on the floor, dead by...he was poisoned.

And then, as if on cue, they all as one seemed to realize that Wisteria and Amara were still alive and standing in the middle of the room, and their gazes moved to look at the two females, their eyes taking them in and trying to assess the situation.

She had counted on them thinking that females were weak.

She had been right to count on that. The moment she started stuttering about the apple cider that had been a wedding gift from a dead male...they had found their culprit.

Too bad for the late Duke Hector...but then, the male had hated Beron with a passion, so Wisteria thought that he probably wouldn't feel too bad that she used him as her scapegoat.

Her stuttering and sobbing were enough to confirm the guard's belief that the late High Lord had been poisoned by the apple cider...and not a single one of them thought of any other culprit than the late Duke Hector. After all, he had given the gift, and he was dead.

The perfect crime.

Wisteria was sobbing loudly the entire time the guards were in the room, her expression one of perfect distress and shock as they all discussed the 'crime', and it was only after the guards had picked up Beron's body to take it away and prepare it for the funeral rites, that Amara finally seemed to regain herself.

She turned her head to look at Wisteria, her face still deathly pale and one hand moving to clutch tightly at the younger female's arm. "You're unharmed...?” she whispered, her voice trembling from the shock.

"I'm alright," Wisteria replied shakily, her own voice trembling just as much as she turned her head to look back at her mother-in-law, her eyes red from the sobbing, a very convincing picture. "I'm alright...thank the Mother," she whispered, her voice still shaky as she took a few steps closer to the Lady of Autumn Court and gripped the older woman's hand in hers.

"I am so sorry," Wisteria apologised. She wasn't. Not really.

"It's alright," Amara whispered, her hand squeezing Wisteria's own hand so tightly they felt as if they were crushing her fingers. "You're...you're alright," she repeated again, as if the words were a mantra to comfort herself. Wisteria squeezed Amara's own hand back, her other hand moving up and wrapping around the older female's shoulders, hugging her.’

Poison was found in the glasses of all three and in the bottle. Clearly Duke Hector had wanted them all dead.

The guards had bought it, hook line and sinker. After all, the duke was dead...there was no need for further investigation beyond that, and the belief that the Duke had wanted to poison everyone present during the meal was more than enough for them. They were just so sure of themselves after all, and the case was wrapped up neatly, and nobody was going to bother to investigate further beyond what appeared to be the obvious conclusion.

Her plan…it had gone off without a hitch.

Now to deal with the fallout.

"Let's go sit down," Wisteria told her mother-in-law softly. "Why don't you come stay in Eris and I's rooms tonight?"

Amara shook her head faintly, but it was more of an instinctive, thoughtless action rather than an answer to the suggestion, and after a moment she whispered out a weak, "Please." It was the most vulnerable that Wisteria had ever seen the older female act as they began making their way towards the Heir's room.

She kept an arm around Amara at all times, murmuring gentle reassurances as she led her towards her and Eris' room, doing her best to reassure her mother-in-law as best she could. Amara was in shock, that much was obvious.

She helped Amara sit down on an armchair once they reached the room, one of her own hands moving to take the older female's hand again and holding hers in hers, gently rubbing her thumb across Amara's knuckles in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Just try and take a few deep breaths," she spoke in a gentle, soft murmur, her eyes watching the older woman closely as Amara sat there, all too aware of the fact that it could very easily go downhill if Amara didn't get herself back in control soon. "I'm right here," she reassured. "You're not alone. You'll be alright. Just try and breathe."

Amara obeyed, or at least, she tried, taking in a few shaky, gulping breaths that shook her body as Wisteria continued to speak in a soft, gentle voice, the young, inexperienced Lady of Autumn Court doing her best to help her in-law and maintain her own mask of concern and distress, all too aware that if her mask slipped even a little...if Amara so much as suspected something, her meticulously planned charade could come tumbling down around her.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Amara finally managed to get herself a bit more together, her own grip on Wisteria's hand loosening and her breathing becoming less shaky and ragged as Wisteria continued to hold the older female's hand and murmur soft assurances to her, taking her time and letting Amara calm down at her own pace.

"I never thought..." Amara said, shaking her head.

"Nobody could have predicted this," Wisteria murmured back, squeezing Amara's hand gently. "It can't have been easy for you," Wisteria told the older woman gently. "Dealing with him, I mean. You're a much better wife than he ever deserved," she continued, squeezing Amara's hand in her own. "You're strong...and good," she continued, her voice soft and gentle, her expression one of sympathy and concern over what she was saying. It was the complete and total truth, after all, which made it all the easier to act like she was feeling bad for the older woman's plight.

Beron had been a brute and an ass...and it had made it so much easier to poison his drink. "All he ever did was hurt and belittle you," Wisteria continued softly. "Nobody deserves to be treated that way, certainly not by one's own husband...especially not one as gentle and kind as you," she said, one of her thumbs rubbing slowly over the top of Amara's knuckles. "All he ever did was hurt and belittle you," Wisteria continued softly. "Nobody deserves to be treated that way, certainly not by one's own husband...especially not one as gentle and kind as you," she said, one of her thumbs rubbing slowly over Amara's knuckles.

She was supposed to be naïve, inexperienced, clueless...yet it seemed she had outplayed them all...and she had won. With her mask in place and Amara starting to pull herself together more with each passing moment, it was starting to look like she had gotten away with her planned crime...

Now...the only thing she needed to do was wait until Eris came home so she could start the second phase of her plans.

"What did you use?" Amara asked her, her voice even.

Wisteria blinked a couple of times, surprised by the blunt question. From her experience, Amara had never asked a question so bluntly before...or a question with such a dark and difficult topic. "Pardon?" she asked, her head tilting to one side as her own fingers continued to gently rub at the top of Amara's knuckles.

"To poison him," Amara clarified, looking directly into Wisteria's own eyes as she squeezed back the younger female's hand in hers. "What did you use?"

Wisteria's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say, her hand tightening around Amara's own as her mind worked desperately to find a believable answer, a lie that sounded plausible. And then, her eyes dropped down to stare at Amara's own hands, and a thought came to her mind.

“I have no idea, what you could possibly mean,” she said carefully. “But it did look like Hemlock poisoning to me.”

Wisteria felt her heart rate quicken in her chest, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm, her eyes lifting up so she could look at Amara again. Amara was looking straight back at her, her own eyes sharp and perceptive, the older female's expression carefully neutral. She could see that she had caught on to something...had perhaps even caught on to the truth. But Wisteria could deny that, she could deny it, and she could play it off.

Amara just huffed.

“Why?” Amara asked her. “Why take that risk?”

Wisteria swallowed hard, her heart racing even faster in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her face calm and neutral, her eyes still fixed on Amara's own.

She couldn't falter, or make any kind of mistake. If Amara decided to pursue this, if she continued to pry...her entire plan could be destroyed, all of her work and planning for nothing.

There was no mistaking the question. Despite her mask, and her neutral expression, there was something in Amara's eyes, something in her tone that made it clear to Wisteria that she knew. Amara had guessed what she had done - and she most likely suspected even more besides.

And now, Wisteria needed to answer her, and she needed to answer in such a way that would make the Lady of Autumn Court stop asking further questions about what had truly happened in the dining room tonight.

“Nobody lays a finger on my family without answering to me,” Wisteria said simply.

***

“Are you sure?” Villard, one of his commanders, asked him quietly.

Eris was standing by the tent doors, one hand bracing himself as he silently stared out over the field in front of him.

Was he sure? No. He was not sure...but he was very much afraid.

But fear, just like any other emotion, was useless to him. He clenched his fingers briefly before he spoke, his voice quiet and controlled. "I have to be sure," he said to the General.He could be afraid. He could be full of dread...but there was no turning back now.

His men, along with the men of the Autumn Court army, were waiting at camp for orders. They were waiting for him to give the orders to march. The entire army was relying on him.

He could not show them any fear. He could not show them any doubt.

And so, he took in a slow, deep breath and tried to force himself to appear as if he was completely confident in what he was about to do...even if he was far from confident. It was a risk. A gamble. He knew that.

But he needed to make it.

He needed to. The clock was ticking.

Ever since three months ago.

Since he had stood in that temple and married his mate and had pretended that she wasn’t that. He pretended that she was the wife his father had forced onto him, that he wasn’t interested in the slightest. Which was a lie. It was the biggest lie of his whole existence.

Pretending that he wasn't interested, pretending he didn't care for her...every day had been getting harder and harder.

These dark brown eyes looked at him, belying shrewd intelligence and he often wondered if she didn’t know much more than she let on.

He closed his eyes briefly and clenched his jaw, a sharp pang of pain shooting through his chest at the memories...but he could not think of that now. He had more important things to focus on.

“Yes,” he answered, grounding out the words. “I am sure.”

Sure to carry out the plan they had made…sure in the military coup he had planned. Sure to show up at the forest house gates with an army in tow and kill his father, take that crown that was his by right through blood.

“But it feels like a mistake.” He admitted, his voice just loud enough for the commander to hear his words. “That I'm leading us all to our deaths.”

His head turned slightly, enough so he caught a glimpse of the expression on Villard’s face while still staring out over the field.

He saw worry, and concern...but he also saw loyalty and determination. Loyalty to him.

"You're overthinking this, General," Villard said, and the firm, quiet tone in his voice caused Eris to turn his head fully and look at him. "You're leading your men into a battle. You're preparing yourself for a war. Any General in your position would feel the same as you do. This is how it's supposed to be. But this coup is our best, our only option. And you've never gone into a fight scared before-" because he had never had anything to fear at all before, "...and you're not going to start now.

"But I-" Eris tried to speak, but his protestation was cut off by Villard’s next words, as blunt and serious as always.

Villard didn't bother to mince his words. Never had. "If you continue to doubt yourself and hesitate, then you're going to get your men killed, General," he said bluntly. "Your army is waiting for you to lead them. You are one of the best Males I have ever served under, and I have faith in you...and they do, too. Do not make me doubt my faith in you."

Villard was right.

"Tomorrow," Eris finally said. "Tomorrow at dawn."

Villard nodded his head once in agreement.

Tomorrow at dawn. Tomorrow, they would be marching. Tomorrow, they would be riding to the Forest House...to confront Beron.

Eris took in a deep, shuddering breath as if he was trying to convince himself that he was really going through with it. He could not back down now. He couldn't second-guess himself anymore. They were doing this, they were actually doing this.

And then...then he felt it.

Felt the whole foundation of Prythian shudder and shake...could feel the magic in the air.

The High Lord's Magic fell onto his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

The reality of what had happened, of what this meant hit him, and for a moment, he didn't breathe.

His father was dead. The power and the magic that came with that fact were now his. That crown that he had dreamed about for so long, that crown that had eluded him for centuries was now sitting on his head.

Eris Vanserra was the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

He tried to breathe, tried to make himself feel steady again. He couldn't falter. Not now.

He clenched his hands briefly, his shoulders rolling back as he tried to adjust to the new, sudden power that he could feel thrumming inside him, the magic flowing through him in a way he hadn't known was possible.

It was both thrilling and terrifying. Thrilling in the power itself...and terrifying for what it now meant.

He had no time to adjust, though, and no time to marvel. They had to ride. They had to get to the forest house and get there now.

"You felt that," Villard spoke beside him, a near imperceptive shake in his voice "Didn't you?"

The question caused Eris to snap back to the situation.

His eyes met Villard’s own for a brief moment, his head moving down in a short, nearly imperceptible nod. “I did,” he spoke, his voice just loud enough for the man next to him to hear.

There was little point in trying to hide the fact that he had just felt the power that came with becoming High Lord. There was little doubt that the whole army had...that the entire forest had just felt that sudden change.

A murmur ran through the army behind them, an ever growing, steady hum of voices and whispers, a murmur that had started the moment the shockwave of magic had raced through the camp.

There could have been no doubt who that earthquake of magic had been. Nor who had just become High Lord as a result of it.

"High Lord," Villard murmured, dropping to his knees before him.

All around them, the entire army was dropping to their knees, the soldiers in the army lowering themselves onto the ground as the murmur of voices became a steady, quiet chant of the title.

High Lord. High Lord. High Lord…

Eris stared out over the camp as his men, his soldiers, knelt before him.

High Lord. High Lord. His mind repeated the words as he swallowed hard.

He felt a little like he was floating. A little like this was all a bad dream, and that any moment he was going to wake up and find it all a lie.

High Lord of the Autumn Court. This was the dream that he had longed for. This was what he had been working for, planning for...and it was here, now.

It was time now. Now. They wouldn't wait until Dawn.

That first action of that High Lord's magic thrumming underneath his skin was to winnow a whole legion of warriors straight to the doorstep of The Forest House. It was a drop in the sudden ocean of power at his disposal…to winnow a group of his most trusted soldiers.

The Wards bend for him with nary a thought.

They and Eris himself appeared at the entryway of the Forest House, standing in front of the imposing building as his eyes immediately shot to the top of the building as if trying to spot a light in a window, or a silhouette behind the window panes of the second floor.

He wondered if she could feel it if she was watching from a window.

He turned and looked at Villard - his General now - and gave a short, sharp nod. The first step in this coup was to secure the Forest House. And then, the rest could happen.

There was no time to linger. No time to look over the house or let the enormity of the situation hit him. They had to move now. Every second counted.

The army rushed forward, the legion splitting up through the doors of the house. They needed to secure every room in the house. Every hallway, every room, every possible place his brothers could be hiding in, preparing for a fight.

Eris stayed behind in the main hallway, staring up at the grand staircase in front of him as his magic thrummed in his veins, waiting for one of his brothers to try and do something stupid.

None did.

It was actually...surprisingly easy.

Servants and staff fell down to their knees as they passed him, as he made his way upstairs...

Hemlock poisoning, one servant had blurted out. The healer are already seeing to…the body. The poison was in the Apple Cider you received as a wedding gift from Duke Hector, High Lord…

Eris tried not to let the easy way in which everything was working out bother him, tried not to let the calm and quiet of the house make him more suspicious...and tried to not think about the easy death his father had ended up having.

Hemlock poisoning.

He clenched his hand into a fist at his side, the only outward sign he let himself show as he headed up the stairs to the second level of the house.

His wife and his mother were sitting in their living room. Having tea. Like they hadn't just witnessed the death of his father not even an hour earlier.

Eris paused in the doorway, a frown on his normally impassive face as he took in his mate and his mother - sitting on opposite couches in the living room with tea between them.

There was a calm air about both of them as if they hadn’t just felt the house shudder from the death of his father, as if they hadn’t sensed the change of High Lord.

A faint sense of bemusement filled him as he watched her move, as Wysteris' dark red dress swished around her legs as it nearly skimmed the floor.

Wisteria's head snapped towards him and she gained her feed. Long brown hair fell down her back, pins straight as usual, a golden crown weaved during the chocolate tresses. Dark brown eyes were mustering him, the dark red velvet gown she wore contrasting sharply with her ivory skin.

And then his wife, his mate, sunk into a picture-perfect curtsy. "High Lord."

She had been beautiful the very first time he had seen her, at that Masquerade Ball. One dance… one dance and he had felt the Mating Bond rippling through him. And at that moment the only thing on his mind had been that he needed to protect her.

He had utterly failed at that.

Because Wisteria Abinac, his mate, had been offered to him by his father on a silver platter as his future wife.

He had tried everything to get out of marrying her. Everything to keep her as far removed from himself as he could. And he had failed. Failed, because fundamentally, Eris was a selfish male. He had told himself that disagreeing too much was just going to result in people giving Wisteria a second look, and so had only groused and complained enough not to have it be completely out of character.

And then he had married her.

Eris had married her. And he had known that if anybody found out that Wisteria was his mate…she was the easiest way straight to him. The easiest pressure point to exploit.

Eris couldn't have that. Not right now. So instead of actually being a proper husband to his mate…he had just started plotting right then and there to finally get rid of his father.

Wisteria didn't look surprised to see him here or to see the army of soldiers that filled the halls behind him. No, when she had turned to look upon him, all he had seen in her eyes was knowledge. She knew exactly why he was here.

"Wife," he answered her, a quiet acknowledgement of her words and her curtsy, his own eyes sweeping over her form. "Are you...well?" he asked her. It wasn’t everything he wanted to ask her. It was so far from what he wanted to do.

What he wanted was to sweep her up in his arms and whisper apologies against her skin, admit everything to her and… He couldn’t do this right now.

"I didn't drink any of the Apple Cider," she answered. "It was a wedding gift from Duke Hector...apparently seasoned with Hemlock. Thank the cauldron that neither Amara nor I drank any of it."

Hearing that his mate and his mother hadn't drunk any of the Cider was pure relief. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the tension that had been wound tightly in him began to loosen just a little.

"Thank the Cauldron," he murmured quietly, taking a few steps into the room. Behind him, the army was still swarming into the second level of the house. As he moved further into the room, his eyes swept over to his mother, taking in the picture of calm she presented as she sat sipping her tea from the couch.

"Mother," he greeted her, a slight incline of his head to the female. "Are you unharmed?"

The older female nodded at his question, sipping her tea again before she spoke in a calm, measured tone. "I didn't drink any of the Cider either," she told him, and the knowledge that she hadn't had a sip of the Hemlock-spiked drink helped set his mind at ease, at least somewhat. Even when she seemed nearly…absent. At least she was alive. At least she was safe.

Everything else…they could deal with everything else.

It was probably the shock, he reasoned. It was probably…

Eris inhaled a breath, trying to take a moment to steady himself. He needed to be calm, he needed to be emotionless. Which was seemingly impossible, because Wisteria grasped his hand in hers.

"You will need to appear in the Throne Room," she said calmly. "For the proclamation. Let me find you something to wear."

He paused when she grasped his hand, his eyes flickering to her face with a bewildered expression for a moment before he managed to shove that expression away behind his mask again. Wisteria seemed all too calm for the circumstances as if everything going on was a minor event instead of what it really was.

"Throne Room," he confirmed, squeezing his wife's hand back once before releasing it. "Yes, I need clothes."

Wisteria let go of his hand, and he mourned the loss of her touch, as she headed towards the bedrooms, probably to rummage through the clothes in there.

Meanwhile, his mother continued to sit there, sipping her tea like nothing was happening at all.

Eris paused, standing in the middle of the room and staring at her for a few seconds. Something was off...there was something odd about how she was sitting there like she wasn't the least bit bothered by the fact that there was an army in her house and her husband had just died. Did she...did she know what was happening?

His mother raised her eyes up to meet his gaze, a hint of sadness in her eyes to tell him that she did, in fact, know what was happening. Of course, she was sad...and yet, there was a slight sense of understanding as well.

"Go," his mother said, resting her cup on the saucer as she spoke. "Let Wisteria get you ready. Your brothers will soon realise what is going on. You don’t have time to linger here."

Eris’ eyes flickered back to where his mate had disappeared. Wisteria reappeared moments later. She moved efficiently, seemingly uncaring about the fact that an army was in the house, or that her father-in-law was dead. That she had watched him die.

His mother didn't move, didn't even rise from her spot by the couch, continuing to sip her tea as if it was a normal afternoon.

Eris forced himself to turn, his teeth clenching together tightly.

His wife held out the jacket for him to slip into. She had chosen a deep red brocade jacket for him to wear, one edged with golden thread at the wrists and the collars. He was quite certain that he had never seen it before.

Wysteria slipped the coat around his shoulders, pulling the jacket around his form and buttoning it closed. Her touch was grounding, even as he needed to hold himself back. It was the most intimacy he had ever allowed himself to have with his mate.

The brocade was heavy, the cut of the material clearly made for a High Lord. His wife fussed with the jacket for a few moments as he stood and watched her, before she stepped back with a small nod, looking him up and down.

"How do I look?" he asked her, a note of dry humour in his voice even as he spoke the question, even as he allowed a small, sardonic smirk.

He was to go and make his formal proclamation as High Lord, and here he was with his wife fussing over him, straightening his collar, adjusting the way his jacket sat on his shoulders, pulling at the end of his sleeves to adjust the fit. He could almost say the situation was bizarre if it wasn't so damn serious.

Wisteria tilted her head to the side lightly, her lips tilting up in a small smile that damn near took his breath away as she took him in from head to toe, looking him over.

"Like a High Lord," she finally spoke. Wisteria took a step in closer to him, reaching up and tucking a loose piece of hair back into his hairstyle. "Like you were always meant to be."

She took his arm before he could offer it, the perfect Lady at his side.

She was the picture of a perfect wife as she moved to stand at his side, and as he looked down at her, he knew that they would look every bit the High Lord and Lady as they strode through the hallways.

This was where they were both meant to be. This was who they both were, down to their bones.

That proclamation went painlessly.

He had expected something....but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Even his brothers behaved. Though that may was thanks to Wisteria’s eyes that were keeping them pinned in place as she sat on the throne beside him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, at his wife, his mate, at the long, pin-straight hair, her spine held straighter than a rod of iron, the elegant arch of her neck and cheekbones. She looked so regal, so composed...She was beautiful.

The dark red velvet sharply contrasted with her skin, with the flowers that grew up in gold thread over her skirt and sleeves...

Flowers. Flowers. Flowers for a female who had been born into the Abinac Family. Known as the Grain Keepers of Autumn. Known as...known for their keen interest in botany. The garden that Wisteria kept...the garden she kept to have medicinal herbs grow, all tucked away in the little glasshouse that had been his wedding present for her…

The one thing he could give her that...that was just a hint of his feelings for her. For this beautiful being that had come into his life when he had least expected it.

But the herbs…the…

She wouldn't have done this…Right?

She wouldn't have. There was no...Just because his father had been poisoned by Hemlock...that wouldn't...

A frown pulled at his lips as he took in the serene expression on his wife's face, the soft smile that was there as she sipped on her drink.

She was calm, composed, and perfect. Just like the Lady of the Court was supposed to be.

Hemlock Poisoning…Hemlock Poisoning in the Apple Cider that had been a wedding present to them…From the Ancient Duke Hector that had ended up succumbing to his fever weeks after their wedding…

That…

Duke Hector had disagreed with his father politically on numerous occasions. But he had been a good male. Too good a male for the treacherous Autumn Court…He wouldn’t have….Eris could simply not imagine that he would attempt an assassination.

But apparently he had.

His mother. His mother knew. She was too calm. Too collected. Too…

His wife was too relaxed. She was too at ease. She had seen his father die in front of her, yet there was barely a flicker of emotions on her face.

But why. Why would...

But that was the question, wasn't it? Why would his wife conspire to kill his father, the High Lord? Only to put him on the throne?

And it had been stupidly dangerous what she had done. Hemlock was fatal. There was no antidote. If she or his mother had drunken even a drop of that Apple Cider…they would have both died.

Why take such a risk?!

That was the question, wasn't it? That was the question that was running through his mind, over and over again.

Why?

Why had Wisteria done this? Why had she poisoned the Apple Cider, knowing that all of them would be drinking it? That she herself had almost drunk from it?

Why.

There was no clear reason, no possible answer that came to mind...unless...

It made him want to get up from her throne, scoop her in his arms, and get her as far away as he could.

Unless this wasn't because of a clear-cut desire for power. Unless this was something more personal, more...driven. Unless there was a deeper motive behind this.

He kept his mouth shut.

Eris waited until the night wore on until the night was late when they retired to their room for the night. They had always slept in separate rooms, a custom that they had followed even when they had shared a bed the night of their wedding.

Tonight, however, he had no intention of following that custom. He was going to find out why his wife had poisoned the cider, why his mother seemed so unsurprised at his father's death, and why everything had been so damn easy for him to become High Lord.

He followed her to her room, and if she was surprised by his act...she didn't show it.

They had never shared a bed. He had never laid a finger on her. There were some lines that even Eris wasn’t willing to cross. Not when she didn't even know that they were mates. Not when...

He threw up a shield, encompassing just the two of them and then grasped her hand tightly, pulling her to him so that she needed to face him.

Her dark eyes widened, the first sign of surprise he had seen on her face in hours. The look of surprise didn't linger for long as a mask of composure slipped back into place, and the calm gaze was back on her features, watching him emotionlessly.

Still, he had to give her credit for managing to school her expression so quickly.

"You killed him."

He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Wisteria to stare at him wide-eyed, for her to become hysterical, for her to assure him that she hadn’t…

But he hadn’t expected the confirmation. “Yes,” Wisteria said, meeting his eyes, her chin held high. There wasn't even the slightest hint of remorse on her face, not a sliver of guilt anywhere in her features as she confirmed his accusation. “And I would do it again.”

"You poisoned the Apple Cider," he half-snarled at her, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You poisoned it with Hemlock."

She shrugged her shoulders lightly, almost like this was a normal conversation to her.

"I did," she answered his accusation. No excuses, no explanations, just flat confirmation.

Eris gritted his teeth together, his muscles tensing with barely concealed anger as he listened to his wife speak with such a calm tone.

"Why," he bit out in a low, strangled voice. He needed an explanation, a reason, anything that might give him some idea as to why his wife had murdered his father.

She looked him in his eyes again, her gaze unwavering as she stared at him unblinkingly. For a moment, he thought that she wouldn't give him an answer, that she would simply stand there, staring him down in her usual, calm manner.

But she spoke, her voice as emotionless as her expression.

"Because you were too sentimental," she said. "He was bleeding our court dry. He was hurting your mother. He was hurting you."

A shocked breath left him. His hands relaxed slightly, the muscles in his shoulders loosening a little as the rage within him simmered. "What if my mother had drunk that apple cider?" he hissed at Wisteria. “What if you did? You could have killed both of you! There is no antidote to Hemlock.”

"There isn't," Wisteria agreed. "But you can grow an immunity to it."

"Are you telling me that you have been slowly poisoning yourself and my mother for the last 3 months?!?!" He asked incredulously, disbelief and horror colouring his wife. She had knowingly poisoned herself?!

She had...she had slowly been building an immunity to Hemlock.

"You were poisoning yourself" he managed to croak out, disbelief and anger mixed in his tone. "You were poisoning both of you!”

Her lips tugged into the hint of a smirk at his words, a reaction she never showed usually.

"Yes." Her voice was as emotionless as ever as she spoke. She could've been talking about the weather, it was almost eerie. There was no hint of regret for poisoning her and his mother, not a hint of remorse for the way she had planned his father's death. "I fed your mother and me tea spiked with a tiny amount of Hemlock so if we ingested a bigger amount, nothing would happen.”

"Why, in the Mother's name, why would you do that," he managed to half-yell out, his hands clenching into fists again.

"Well, only like that I could fault Duke Hector for it," his wife answered, like the answer was obvious. "He's dead, so nobody will get his head cut off for treason.” She said that, like clearly that was the perfect, reasonable answer.

Eris stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to string together everything she had just told him, trying to make sense in his head.

She had poisoned his father, using a method that only she could survive, and then left a paper trail to frame Duke Hector for the murder. It was...it was brilliantly done.

The level of planning, of patience, it had to have taken her months to plot all this out.

And she had been quicker than him. He wasn't sure if he should be furious at her, or impressed.

It was a perfectly executed, perfectly planned scheme. She had poisoned his father, knowing that she and his mother were the only ones who could drink the poisoned Apple Cider and survive it, and had set up the path so that it ended in Duke Hector being framed.

"Why," he asked her in a strangled tone, his tone strangled with conflicting emotions as he desperately tried to make sense of what had happened. "Why go through all this trouble? Why, in the Mother's name, why go through all this? Why kill my father?"

She just looked at him for a moment. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, mate."

His breath stopped in his throat as he stared at his mate in shock, his eyes widening as she spoke.

"What did you just say?" He asked her, half-expecting her to change her answer, to give him a different response.

Her lips tugged up in a slight, crooked smirk as she looked back at him, her eyes flickering with a hint of...something that he couldn't put his finger on. "You heard me, mate." She stepped in, moving closer towards him, her footsteps silent against the carpet. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, even if it meant killing your father."

"You knew," he croaked out.

Wisteria knew. She had known...since gods only knew when. When he had tried to keep away from her...when he had tried to get out of that arranged marriage…

His back tensed and his muscles clenched as he stared at his wife, every single moment he remembered of the two of them from the last three months running through his mind as he listened to her words.

Wisteria had known. The whole time, she had known that they were mates.

"Since that Masquerade Ball, actually," Wisteria admitted brightly. "I decided that I was going to marry you then."

The words stunned him, the statement stealing the breath from his lungs and causing his muscles to tense with surprise.

She had known.

Since the moment they met…it was…She had planned and plotted out everything since then. And he had had no idea.

"You knew." Eris could only stare at her in wonder.

"I knew I was going to marry you and that I would kill your father," she said with a shrug. "He deserved worse."

"Why," he asked again in a strangled tone, his mind still reeling, trying to process the information that she had given him. "Why, in the cauldron’s name, would you go through all this trouble, all this damn planning, simply because you knew that we were mates?"

***

It had been a long time since she had seen him look so...baffled. She always enjoyed it when she managed to get a reaction out of him, and this was the best one to date.

Wisteria reached forward, resting her hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle under his shirt, feeling the steady thump of his heart. She could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles were tensed as he stared down at her with an expression that was so deliciously lost.

"I told you, there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you."

Her fingers curled slightly against his shirt, resting atop his beating heart, feeling the steady thumping of his heart against her palm.

"You were too sentimental." She reminded him, staring up into his eyes, into his beautiful, green orbs. "You wanted to spare your father, despite all the suffering he put you through. You wanted to let him live, despite how he had made your and your family's lives a living Hel."

"You were being too damn soft, too nice." She told him with a slight, crooked smirk, pressing her body closer to his, closing the gap between them until their bodies were pressed together. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, feel the way his muscles tensed as he stared back at her. "That is what made me decide to murder that worthless bastard."

"I was going to slice his throat tomorrow," Eris said suddenly, catching the back of her head, making it impossible for her to get out of his grasp. "I was planning a military coup. It would have been perfect. If somebody didn't decided to ruin it for me."

Her lips twisted into a smirk at his words, her dark eyes flashing with a hint of challenge as she looked up at him. She didn't try to struggle or break free, enjoying the feel of his fingers digging into the back of her hair, the warmth of his body as he kept her from escaping.

"Like I said, too sentimental," she drawled at him, her smirk widening when she saw his expression flicker.

"Says the female that said she would do everything for me," Eris disagreed. "Who killed my father because she didn't like the way he talked to me in public."

She arched her eyebrow at his words, her smirk widening yet again when she saw him grit his teeth together in irritation. She leaned in, her body flush with his chest, her nose almost touching his chin as she looked up at him.

"That's because you're mine," she told him fiercely. "You don't think I would kill him for insulting you? For the way he abused both you and your mother?"

Her breath brushed against his chin, her body pressed tight against his, feeling his fingers dig into her scalp as he held her tight.

"What, do you think I'm just going to sit there and let somebody insult my mate?" She asked him in a tone that was barely above a hiss, her eyes narrowing slightly in irritation.

He growled, the low sound echoing through his chest, and she couldn't help but shiver involuntarily in response. The sound he made was deep, primal, possessive, and it made her shiver all the way down to her core.

"I'll kill anybody that ever insults you," she told him in a low tone, the words almost a promise, and she felt his body tense even more in response to her vow.

It was a true statement too. She fully intended to kill anybody that insulted him. Her mate. She would tear apart anybody that put even a single, verbal finger on him.

His fingers tightened yet again against the back of her head, his hold on her almost painful. She didn't try and loosen his grip, but instead, her lips tugged up in a crooked smirk as she angled her chin up to look into his eyes. Her whole body was pressed against his, her skin burning wherever his hard chest pressed against her.

Their faces were only mere inches apart, her breath brushing against his chin, her mouth a hair's breadth away from his. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her body tingling wherever he touched her, wherever his body was pressed against hers.

It was a wonder that her legs didn't give out under her. She was burning, her body practically buzzing with heat, her blood singing with something primal, something almost feral. Everything about him in this moment seemed to overwhelm her, seemed to consume her.

"If you ever, ever do anything as idiotic as dosing yourself and my mother with Hemlock again, I'll kill you," he breathed.

Her breath caught in her throat at the low threat in his voice, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up into his eyes. There was a dark, almost dangerous look in his eyes as he stared down at her, the threat in his voice sending a shiver down her spine, making her breath catch yet again in her throat. It was enough to make it feel as though she were drowning in something almost primal, something that she had never felt before. Her whole body was thrumming, her muscles tense, her blood singing.

"You are my mate." And finally he said the words she had longed to hear from him for months. "You are my mate. The next time you plot to kill anybody, you'll come to me so I can help you hide the body."

Her heart thundered in her chest at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making her head swim, making her body burn as a shiver ran down her spine for a completely different reason.

And for the first time in her life, she actually felt like the world paused for a moment, like time itself had froze around her, as she looked up at her mate and her mind struggled to process the fact.

She had, actually managed to make her mate declare her as his.

Her plan had worked. "Do you understand me, Wisteria Vanserra? You are my wife, my mate, the Lady of this Court. You'll come to your High Lord and you'll tell him all about your homicidal plans."

Her mind was still reeling from his words, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, but she managed to nod in response to his order. Her muscles trembled slightly, her heart practically hammering in her chest.

"Good."

The praise made her breath catch in her throat, her body trembling slightly as she stared up into those beautiful, green eyes of his. Her blood was singing, her body practically trembling with the need to get closer to him, to feel his hands, his body against her own.

And then he kissed her. There was nothing sweet about the way he kissed her. It was teeth and tongue and heat and...

Yes. This was what she wanted, what she had been aching for months to feel. His mouth on hers was like fire, his tongue hot and desperate against hers as they kissed each other. It was like a dam had broken, like all the tension, all the frustration was finally being released through this kiss.

The world melted around them, the world faded into nothing, all her senses, all her focus zeroing in on the feel of him, of the hard planes of his chest against hers, of her own body feeling like it was vibrating, like she was burning up from the inside out. Everything faded away into this burning, beautiful, heat with his hands on her, with his mouth against her's, nothing mattering but the two of them.

A gasp escaped her as she felt his mouth on her throat, his tongue tracing over her, burning a trail down her skin as he spoke against her. She arched her neck instinctively, letting him have better access to her neck, her breath catching as he spoke.

Her fingers reached out, desperate, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, his back, her fingers digging in and curling, grasping at him, trying to pull him even closer to her, trying to feel more of him, more of his hard, muscled chest, more of his hot skin against her's.

She was drowning in him, in the heat that was burning them both, in the fact that he was actually holding her, actually holding her like this, that he was actually her's just as much as she was his. Her mind was practically incoherent, her whole body burning, her blood singing in her veins with a primal, possessive need.

And the look in his eyes as he looked at her...he was beautiful, he was wild, and he was hers. And she would slaughter anybody that got in their way.

She'd tear the world apart for him and with him.

#erisweek2024 #eris x reader #eris x oc #acotar fanfiction #eris fanfic

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hezzabeth · 10 months

Text

There was someone singing in the greenhouse, someone with a pitch-perfect deep voice. Revati closed her eyes, pressing her ear against the glass door.

In a field where the paper daisies grow,

Underneath the sun's harsh glow,

I wander through, light and free.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The smoke coils in the sky far above,

But your petals still dance around me.

Don’t be afraid; soon the rains will come.

Everything lost will grow again.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The stars begin to rise,

My hands scooping your seeds.

Soon you will take flight

Towards the soft moonlight.

There was an old, prop piano in the abandoned Holly Bush Tavern. The only person who could play it properly was Mr. Gupta. During holiday festivals, he would coax melodies out of the sticky keys while Mrs. Gupta sang in a nasal voice. This was different. The singer’s voice filled Revati in a place she didn’t know was empty. The singing stopped abruptly as Revati’s weight caused the door to creak. Of course, the door creaked. The greenhouse was a wobbling claptrap box made out of welded-together old windows. Miss Grassroots, a tourist who had been dead for almost six years, had built it. Inside lay the heart of Baker Street. The heart had begun as a rose garden. Nanni was the one who began picking up the fallen red petals, drying them, and turning them into tea.

Revati only had vague memories of the first day of the invasion. Mrs. Grasston and Dusk had invaded the kitchens and gift shops. Together they managed to pool together seeds and cuttings in order to grow a small food supply. There was a wall of tomato vines, grown from several seeds found in old slices left in the bin. There were the garden beds where the potatoes and carrots grew. In fact, the potatoes were what kept Baker Street from starving to death. Next to one of the largest windows, the herb and weed boxes grew. Revati’s father was the one who ripped open gourmet tea bags in their home, discovering dried seeds inside. Bridgadeiro Bun was sitting under the lemon tree. “You’re a pretty good singer,” Revati said gruffly. “I was just trying to cheer up Deshia; she’s been feeling a bit depressed lately,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree's trunk. “Who’s Deshia?” Revati asked, faintly confused. “The lemon tree, of course! She said nobody's chatted with her for years,” Bridgadeiro said. Suddenly, the tree shook its branches, causing a fresh lemon to fall into Bridgadeiro’s lap. “Thank you for the gift, sweetheart,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree again. Revati stared at the lemon tree, not quite sure what to think. Could a tree really be depressed? It would explain why the lemons were so withered and small.

“All Buns speak plant; it's the same gene that causes our pink hair," he said. Revati glanced around, her eyes briefly falling on the giant pumpkin vine near the door.

"Are the plants talking right now?" Revati asked curiously.

"Most of them fell asleep hours ago. When they were awake, they just kept jabbering on about a golden lady," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"So, the lemon tree is depressed? I could get Aurora to come in here and read to her," Revati conceded.

"It's more than that. She misses the lady who planted her; she doesn't understand why she vanished and never came back," Bridgadeiro remarked. Revati found her hands stroking the book of fairy tales nervously.

"If she's talking about Mrs. Grassroots, she died," Revati replied flatly. Six years ago. Six years ago, there were over a hundred tourists living on Baker Street. Nanni, who had spent years living with mother, insisted on moving into an abandoned hat shop near the edge of the park.

The day the tornado hit was the same day Nanni decided to tell Revati all about her family history.

"I always carry the death stone in my handbag, along with everything else I'd ever need in an invasion," Nanni pointed out. Technically that was true; Nanni's giant handbag was filled with almost anything.

Outside, Revati could hear her father trying to roll down metal shutters. There was the sudden horrible roar, and Nanni's wall exploded in a cloud of rubble.

"A lot of people died," Revati finished, her voice trailing off. First came the tornado that caused a gap in the mirror walls. Then the trickle of automatic vegetable cleaners who decided to exploit the crack. Finally, the battle on Mansfield Park between the cleaners and a group of tourists.

"The lady that planted this tree was actually a member of the Lost Princess rebel army; she convinced a bunch of tourists to fight with her," Revati remarked, shaking her head. Then she firmly opened the book of fairy tales.

"It looks like some people survived," Bridgadeiro replied.

"I don't want to talk about it; I just want to read! Here, you can read with me; you might like this story," Revati replied.

Once long ago, in a lost village near the foot of Mount Raya, there lived a special little girl. She was known for her kindness and her deep love for nature. Everyone in the village called her Naisha. Naisha had a special gift; she could talk to plants. The villagers often saw her whispering to the flowers; they adored her magical gift.

One day, Naisha learned about a legendary tree called the Kalpavriksha. The old ladies in the village whispered that it had the ability to grant any wish. Drought, fearsome and terrible, had swept through the land. Flowers withered, no longer able to whisper. Trees forgot their songs. Naisha decided she must seek out the tree and wish for one thing alone: rain.

"Wake up," a voice screeched, and Revati's eyes snapped open, the book of fairy tales tumbling onto the ground. Aurora was standing above her, the bright morning sunlight making her hair glow.

"Morning," Revati yawned and then jumped when she realized Bridgadeiro was asleep next to her.

Bridgadeiro slowly awoke, smacking his lips together.

"Juniper said you were in here; she never mentioned the boy," Aurora remarked coldly as Revati slowly stood up.

"Anna made him sleep in here; I must have passed out while reading," Revati said.

It was then that Revati realized Aurora was holding a tray filled with fresh strawberries.

"Hmph," Aurora said, shooting Bridgadeiro a suspicious look as he also stood up, patting the tree trunk.

"Let me guess, Queen Victoria sent these with an apology?" Revati asked.

"Yes, and a request to fill her vodka order," Aurora said, placing the tray on the ground.

"If she was really sorry, she'd give us a strawberry plant," Revati pointed out.

"Oh, you don't need one of those! You have the fruit," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"You can't just shove a strawberry in the ground and hope for the best; it rots," Revati replied. Bridgadeiro merely leaned down, examining the strawberries. After a few moments of careful examination, he picked up the biggest, brightest berry.

"You can; you just need the right formula," he said. He vaguely walked towards one of the empty garden beds that was going to be turned into an onion patch. Carefully, he dug a small hole and placed the strawberry inside before covering it in earth. Then, he reached into his massive jumpsuit pocket and this time pulled out a small vial of portable perfume.

"One pump should do it," Bridgadeiro remarked before pumping a cloud of perfume onto the soil. The earth began to twitch and vibrate, and Revati gasped as greenery sprouted from the soil. The plants quivered and then twisted as white flowers bloomed. The petals then shriveled and fell off as the center of the flowers grew into green berries. A few seconds later, the berries blossomed into a deep red.

"They shouldn't be doing that! Strawberries take two weeks to grow," Aurora gasped.

"I suppose they would in the wild, but I just gave them a pump of my Gene Grow fusion serum!" Bridgadeiro said, leaning down to examine the strawberries.

"They should produce fruit every day, but only if you talk to them nicely," Bridgadeiro added as he picked a strawberry and handed it to Revati.

Revati sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tiny bite. It tasted just like a strawberry.

"Does that stuff work on all plants?" Revati asked curiously.

"It tends to go a bit haywire when you spray it on legumes; you end up with giant beans that have no nutrients," Bridgadeiro said.

"I saved your life; think it's only fair you spray all the plants in here," Revati said firmly.

"It would be better if I planted their seeds outside and created new crops; otherwise, the rapidly growing plants could burst outside the walls," Bridgadeiro replied. Revati nodded crisply.

"I'll be sending someone to check on your efforts later today; I'll be far too busy working," Revati replied with as much dignity as she could muster in a sleep shirt before marching out of the greenhouse. The book of fairy tales lay abandoned on the ground.

Revati carefully changed into her work uniform. When she was a child, her wardrobe consisted of souvenir t-shirts from the gift shop fashioned into dresses. Now that she was almost an adult, Revati had to get creative.

Most of the gift shop sweatshirts had been swiped long ago. Instead, Revati put on the top half of the cafe's old uniform. It consisted of a magenta and purple striped waistcoat with a navy blue blouse covered in tiny clocks. The bottom half should have been a matching bustle skirt. Revati switched it with the men's purple trousers. Revati then carefully redid her braid and applied some more soot lipstick. Aurora, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"You're wearing your second best outfit," Aurora remarked.

"I suppose I am," Revati replied as she grabbed her coat.

"I thought you said you were done with romance after that whole mess with Little Hardi last summer," Aurora said, and Revati stopped walking.

"I am!" she protested, and Aurora pressed her thin lips into a disapproving frown.

"You were sleeping with him."

"God forbid I fall asleep next to another human being," Revati said as she marched through the cafe past Nanni, who was sewing something.

"You kept him! You gave him a job," Aurora added knowingly.

"I didn't keep him! He's not a feral child; he can leave whenever he wants," Revati snapped as they stepped outside, and she put on her sunglasses. Olde Landon was always at its worst in the morning. Like all major tourist attractions and cities, Old Landon had an atmospheric blanket high above the park's surface. It meant that nobody in the park froze to death at night, but it also meant the morning light was far too bright.

"Is that Little Hardi and Queen Victoria standing next to the fountain?" Revati sighed wearily.

"They both arrived at sunrise; I told them you were busy, so your mother made them breakfast," Aurora remarked.

"Sunrise; of course, they sacrificed sleep so they could get here first," Revati remarked, marching towards the two other leaders. Queen Victoria was wearing one of the park's costumes, a stained white lace wedding dress. Little Hardi, on the other hand, was wearing a deep blue doublet with a ruff collar and matching tights.

"Little Hardi, is your brother still unconscious?" Revati greeted him.

"We took a vote last night, and he played Macduff," Little Hardi replied.

Revati, who knew fully well what that meant, had to stop herself from flinching.

"You killed him? That's a little harsh," Revati pointed out.

"It was for the best; we need a strong leader during a time of invasion," Little Hardi remarked practically.

"Time of invasion? Isn't that a little dramatic?" Revati had to ask.

"There must be another crack in the wall; thank Jane, it's probably not too big! You two would be far too young to remember the vegetable cleaner invasion," remarked Queen Victoria.

"I was twelve," Revati said dryly.

"I was fourteen; the tornado destroyed the Hamlet's haunted castle ride, and the appliances killed the actor playing Ophelia," Little Hardi pointed out.

"You're both still tiny children as far as I'm concerned; I can't believe this is who I have to work with," Queen Victoria replied, and Revati brushed past her with annoyance, heading to the dress shop across the street.

The shelves of the dress shop had long ago been stripped bare. All that remained were the three Penny Farthing Bicycles that had been part of the shop's window display. Revati wheeled her Penny Farthing outside only to see Queen Victoria having a heated discussion with Aurora.

"What do you mean she's going to ride to the wall by herself? All representatives from all towns should go!" Queen Victoria was screeching, slapping Aurora's shoulder with her fan.

Revati parked her bicycle and marched towards Queen Victoria, grabbing her hand.

"Slap my assistant again, and I'll break your fingers; you know I can do it," Revati growled.

Little Hardi, who was now sitting by the fountain, laughed.

"I was just speaking the truth! We have a treaty; during times of crisis, we unify," Queen Victoria said, her voice tight and a little frightened.

"I don't see Lady Morganna here," Revati pointed out, referring to the ruler of Medieval faire.

"You know perfectly well Medieval faire cut us all off after the tornado hit! They probably all died off years ago," Queen Victoria snapped back. Queen Victoria was right. Medieval faire was located in the center of a massive fake castle complete with a drawbridge. After the invasion, Lady Morganna had yanked up the bridge and refused to speak to anyone. Anna and Nanni had tried to visit several times with baskets of dried lemons. They were horrified when someone from above threw the contents of their toilets onto the streets.

"My new friend said he saw naked people in the wilderness dancing around a murdered television! Sounds like Lady Morganna to me," Revati merely replied, pointing to Bridgadeiro. Bridgadeiro, who was in the middle of taking several pumpkins out of the greenhouse, waved.

"Could be a coincidence; regardless, you are not going to the wall! We need to have a proper group committee meeting first! Then a vote," Queen Victoria's.

Revati just rolled her eyes and released Queen Victoria's hand, causing her to stumble and fall onto the floor. Revati then reached into her jacket, pulling out her stun gun, shoving it into the queen's stomach. The Queen made a faint whimpering sound as her eyes rolled backward, and she collapsed again. Revati then aimed the gun at Little Hardi, who held his hands up, protesting.

"I'm not going to stop you! I came here to propose marriage," Little Hardi insisted.

"Marriage? To me?" Revati asked dubiously.

"All kings need a consort, and I'm not interested in Big Hardi's husband," Little Hardi said, slowly getting down on one knee.

Revati stared at him and shook her head.

"I'm seventeen," Revati pointed out.

"Well, the wedding wouldn't be for another couple of years," Little Hardi replied.

"I thought we agreed to keep our relationship professional after the handkerchief incident," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi held a hand to his heart.

"I told you dozens of times I had nothing to do with my brother's plot," Little Hardi insisted.

"He accused me of cheating on you using an old prop handkerchief as evidence, and you believed him despite it being the exact same plot of the play Othello," Revati pointed out. The entire incident occurred over a year ago and ended with Revati kidnapped and tied up on the stage in a white fluffy nightgown.

"I'm a very insecure person," Little Hardi pleaded. Dating while trapped in a fun park during the apocalypse was difficult. Before the feral children came along, Revati was the youngest person on Baker Street. All the teenagers in Whistleton were raised to be incredibly prissy. Most of them refused to do anything more than dance or hold hands. Little Hardi had been a fun, age-appropriate choice. Little Hardi was happy to do far more than hold hands.

"No," Revati said firmly.

"No? Really?" he asked, sounding faintly surprised.

"First of all, your legal system involves killing criminals on stage in the middle of plays, which is horrifying," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi shrugged.

"Secondly, I'm not an idiot! You just want to marry me so you can take over our greenhouse," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi gasped as if looking deeply insulted.

"That's not true! If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks," Little Hardi pleaded as Revati climbed onto the penny farthing.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo2023 #science fiction #speculative fiction #speculative worldbuilding #futurism #sci-fi #creative writing #scifi story #science fiction novel

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