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novaursa · 6 days

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The Dragon's Right (12)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 700+

- Previous part: 11

- Next part: 13

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The skies over Dragonstone were overcast, a heavy blanket of gray clouds that seemed to press down on the ancient fortress. The sea winds swept through the courtyard, carrying the salty tang of the ocean as you stood, watching the crimson form of Caraxes descend from the heavens. The Blood Wyrm was unmistakable, his long, serpentine body slicing through the air with a grace that belied his fearsome reputation. As Caraxes landed with a thud that sent vibrations through the stone beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of nostalgia and wariness.

It had been ten years since you’d left King’s Landing, ten years since you’d made your choice to live in exile with Rhaenyra, far from the politics and treachery of the court. Yet, even here, on the windswept isle of Dragonstone, the shadows of your past seemed ever-present. And now, with Daemon’s arrival, those shadows had come calling once more.

Daemon slid off Caraxes with a practiced ease, his movements as fluid and confident as ever. His silver hair, longer now, whipped around his face in the brisk wind. He wore a dark riding cloak that billowed behind him as he approached, his expression a curious blend of amusement and something else, something that made you tense.

“Nephew,” Daemon greeted, his lips curling into a wry smile as he stopped before you. “It’s been too long. I’d say Dragonstone suits you, though I must admit, the quiet life doesn’t seem quite your style.”

You clasped his arm in greeting, your grip firm as you met his gaze. “Daemon,” you replied, your tone cordial but guarded. “I’d say the same for you. But then, I don’t imagine you’ve come all this way just to admire the scenery.”

Daemon laughed, a low, almost conspiratorial sound. “No, no. Though I must say, the view from the skies is magnificent, as always.” His eyes gleamed with that familiar mischievous glint. “I couldn’t resist dropping in. I still remember the show we put on all those years ago—Lannister’s face was something to behold, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yes, you did enjoy yourself, didn’t you? Stirring up the hornet’s nest and then watching it burn.” There was a pause, then you added, more seriously, “But we’ve paid the price for it, haven’t we? Exiled from our father, from the crown. All for defying a marriage that should never have been considered.”

Daemon shrugged, as if such consequences were of little concern to him. “What’s life without a bit of rebellion, hmm? You and Rhaenyra made your choice, and I supported you then as I do now. Besides, it was amusing to see the Lannisters quiver for once. You took what was rightfully yours—no more, no less.”

You nodded, though the weight of the years spent in exile bore heavily on your shoulders. “But why are you here now, Uncle?” you asked, your voice turning serious. “You didn’t come all this way just to reminisce.”

Daemon’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more contemplative look. He took a moment, glancing around the courtyard, his eyes lingering on the old walls and the distant sea beyond. “Viserys sent me,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “He wishes to see you both. He’s… missed you, despite everything. The years have not been kind to him without his children. And he wants to meet his grandchildren.”

The mention of your father’s name brought a mix of emotions surging to the surface. You’d tried to bury your anger, your resentment, but hearing that Viserys wanted to see you now, after so many years of estrangement, felt like reopening an old wound.

“He wants to meet my children now?” you said, your voice flat, betraying none of the turmoil inside. “I suppose it’s been difficult for him, hasn’t it? So difficult that he married Alicent Hightower after Otto couldn’t push her onto me as well.” Bitterness seeped into your words. “And then he tried to do the same with Rhaenyra.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching you closely. “I won’t deny that Otto Hightower’s machinations played a part in all this. And yes, Viserys made his choices. Poor ones, perhaps. But he’s still your father, and the weight of his crown has only grown heavier over the years.”

You turned away, looking out toward the horizon where the sky met the churning sea. The memories of those last days in King’s Landing, the betrayal, the forced choices—it all felt too close, too raw, even now. “He was willing to sacrifice both of us for the sake of alliances, for the sake of his damned peace.”

“And now he’s paying the price for it,” Daemon said softly, his voice lacking its usual bite. “You and Rhaenyra—your absence has left a wound in him. He’s not the man you remember, nephew. The years, the burdens of the crown… they’ve taken their toll. He’s not well.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions inside you. Part of you wanted to scoff, to dismiss the idea that Viserys could feel regret, that he could truly want to reconcile. But another part of you, the part that remembered your father not as a king but as the man who had once held you and Rhaenyra close, who had smiled and laughed and told stories of old Valyria—that part of you ached to believe it.

“And what of Rhaenyra?” you asked, turning back to Daemon. “He’s banished her in all but name. What does he want from her now?”

Daemon sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “He wants his daughter back. He wants his son back. He wants to meet the children he’s only heard about in letters. Whatever anger or pride kept him away before, it’s fading. He’s sick, Y/N. And he’s afraid.”

You clenched your jaw, the conflicting emotions tearing at you. This was the last thing you had expected—a summons, an invitation to return after all these years. And yet, the thought of facing your father, of returning to that world of intrigue and betrayal, made your blood boil.

“It’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “We’ve built a life here. Our family is here. And after everything that’s happened…”

“No,” Daemon agreed. “It’s never simple. But he’s reaching out, in his own way. He’s trying to mend what’s broken. If you’re willing to listen.”

You looked down at the stones beneath your feet, the wind carrying the distant cries of the dragons above. This was a decision that couldn’t be made lightly. Too much was at stake—your family, your children, and Rhaenyra’s heart, which had been battered by years of rejection and exile.

“And if we say no?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon shrugged, though there was a seriousness in his eyes that belied his casual posture. “Then you stay here, and the world keeps turning. But know this: Viserys is dying. If you don’t see him now, you may never have the chance to see him again.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, your heart pounding as you tried to process what Daemon had said. It felt like a trap, like the last desperate plea of a man who had already lost too much. But there was also truth in it, a truth that made your chest ache.

“I’ll speak to Rhaenyra,” you said finally, your voice strained. “But I make no promises.”

Daemon nodded, his gaze understanding. “That’s all I ask, nephew.”

He turned then, walking back toward Caraxes, who waited patiently in the courtyard. As Daemon climbed back into the saddle, he looked back at you one last time, his expression solemn. “Take your time, Y/N. But don’t take too long.”

With a final nod, he urged Caraxes into the air, the great dragon’s wings beating powerfully as they lifted off the ground, the sound echoing across Dragonstone.

You watched as they disappeared into the sky, the wind whipping around you, carrying with it the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. The decision lay heavy on your shoulders, a choice that could change everything once again.

The horns of the city rang out twice, their deep, resonant call echoing across the Red Keep and through the streets of King’s Landing. The sound brought King Viserys back from his restless thoughts, his frail form stiffening as he looked out the open window. His children had returned, just as Daemon had promised. The realization brought a mix of relief and trepidation to his heart.

Viserys turned to Ser Harrold Westerling, who stood dutifully at his side. The years had not been kind to the king; his skin was pallid, his frame thin and weakened, and his once proud stance was hunched, as if the weight of his crown had finally crushed him. His breathing was labored, each intake a struggle, but his eyes, though dimmed, were still sharp with anticipation.

“Ser Harrold,” Viserys said, his voice strained but determined. “Prepare an escort. The Prince and Princess are to be brought from the Dragonpit to the Red Keep with all the honor they are due. Ensure their children are treated with the respect of their station.”

Ser Harrold bowed, his face a mask of concern. “As you command, Your Grace.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the king’s weary form. “Shall I summon the Maester? You seem... unwell.”

Viserys waved him off, his hand trembling. “I’ll see my children first. There will be time for rest later.”

With a nod, Ser Harrold left to make the arrangements, leaving Viserys alone in the chamber. The king took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his way toward the door. Each step was a struggle, but the thought of seeing you and Rhaenyra again after so many years gave him strength he had thought long gone.

The courtyard of the Red Keep was filled with anticipation as the welcoming party assembled. Lords and ladies, retainers and servants all gathered, whispering among themselves as they awaited the arrival of the Prince and Princess. Viserys stood at the head of the party, flanked by his Kingsguard and councilors. His gaze was fixed on the grand entrance, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

And then, you rode in, leading the procession on horseback, Rhaenyra at your side. The sight of you both, after so long, took his breath away. You had changed in the ten years you’d been away—no longer the young man who had left King’s Landing in a storm of rebellion and defiance. Your hair, still the pale blond of your Targaryen lineage, was longer now, pulled back into a neat braid. Your features were more defined, a hardness in your jaw and eyes that spoke of battles fought and won. You wore dark armor, polished but unadorned, the emblem of House Targaryen etched into the breastplate. There was an air of command about you, a strength and resolve that had grown in your years of exile. But there was also something colder, a guardedness in your expression that made Viserys’s heart ache.

Rhaenyra rode beside you, her presence as commanding as ever. Her silver hair, loose and windswept, framed her face, and her violet eyes were fixed ahead, the only hint of her anxiety the slight tension in her jaw. Behind you both, riding on smaller horses, were your children—Jacerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. They sat tall in their saddles, their expressions a mixture of awe and trepidation as they took in the grandeur of the Red Keep.

You dismounted first, your movements fluid and controlled, as you stepped forward to greet your father. Rhaenyra followed suit, helping the children down from their mounts. Viserys felt a lump in his throat as he watched, his eyes lingering on his grandchildren, whom he was seeing for the first time in the flesh.

“Father,” you greeted, your voice formal and cold. The title was spoken without warmth, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. “It’s been a long time.”

Viserys’s heart clenched at the harshness in your tone, the bitterness that lay just beneath the surface. He took a faltering step forward, leaning heavily on his cane. “Y/N...” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “You’ve... you’ve grown into a fine man. I—”

“Save the pleasantries, Father,” you interrupted, your voice low but cutting. “We both know why we’re here. You sent Daemon to bring us back after ten years of silence. What is it you truly want?”

The courtyard seemed to still at your words, the gathered nobles exchanging uneasy glances. Rhaenyra stood slightly behind you, her face unreadable as she placed a reassuring hand on Jacerys’s shoulder. The boy looked up at his mother, his eyes wide with uncertainty, but he remained silent.

Viserys swallowed, the pain in his chest worsening. “I wanted... I needed to see you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve missed you both, more than I can say. And I... I want to meet my grandchildren.” His eyes moved to the three boys, his gaze softening. “They... they’re beautiful, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra inclined her head, her expression guarded. “They are my pride, Father.” Her tone was polite but distant, and Viserys felt the chasm between them, one that had only widened with time.

You turned to Alicent then, who stood beside Otto, her face pale and tense. “Alicent,” you greeted, your tone almost polite but edged with disdain. “Or should I say, Your Grace?” You gave her a curt nod. “I must confess, I’m unsure of how to address you now.”

Alicent flinched at the coldness in your voice, her eyes lowering for a moment as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Prince Y/N,” she began, her voice strained but steady. “It is... good to see you after so long. The king has been unwell, and it is a comfort to him to have his family near once more.”

“Family,” you echoed, the word heavy with irony. “Yes, I suppose that’s what we are. Though I doubt Rhaenyra and I were much of a comfort to him when he chose to marry you.”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she forced herself to meet your gaze. “I never wished to cause you or Rhaenyra pain,” she said quietly, her voice sincere despite the tension between you. “I—”

“Stop,” you said, your tone softening just slightly. You could see the pain in her eyes, and though part of you wanted to lash out, you restrained yourself. “This isn’t about you, Alicent.”

Before the silence could stretch any further, Maester Mellos stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Prince Y/N, Princess Rhaenyra,” he greeted, his tone deferential. “Welcome back to King’s Landing. We have much to discuss, but for now, let us focus on your safe return.”

You nodded curtly, though your gaze remained on your father. “Yes, there is much to discuss.”

The tension in the courtyard was palpable as you turned to Tyland Lannister, who had remained silent through the exchange. His face was a mask of civility, though there was a tightness around his eyes as he forced a smile.

“Prince Y/N,” Tyland greeted, his voice strained. “It’s good to see you again. The realm has missed your presence. We hope you’ll find King’s Landing... accommodating.”

You studied him for a moment, your expression unreadable. “Lord Tyland,” you said finally. “I hope your brother has recovered from the shock of our departure all those years ago.”

Tyland’s smile faltered, but he kept his composure. “Lord Jason has moved on, as have we all,” he replied, his voice tight.

Before the exchange could escalate further, Otto Hightower stepped forward, his voice smooth and diplomatic. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside, Your Grace, Your Highness. We’ve had food and wine prepared, and there is much to discuss.”

Viserys nodded, though his gaze remained on you and Rhaenyra, his eyes lingering on the boys beside her. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, let us go inside.”

You exchanged a glance with Rhaenyra, who gave a small nod. The five of you—husband, wife, and children—followed the king into the Keep, the tension hanging over the family like a storm waiting to break.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was filled with the soft clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation as the family gathered for the first meal they had shared in over a decade. The long table was set with an abundance of food and drink, from roasted game and fresh fruits to flagons of fine Dornish wine. Yet, despite the luxurious spread, the atmosphere was strained, the tension palpable in every glance, every word exchanged.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his frail frame dwarfed by the opulent chair. He watched his family with a mixture of relief and trepidation, his gaze flickering between you, Rhaenyra, and your children, and then to Alicent, who sat to his right, her expression carefully composed. On the other side of Alicent were her children—Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena—all of whom sat quietly, their eyes darting curiously to you and Rhaenyra.

You and Rhaenyra were seated directly across from Alicent, your children beside you. Jacerys and Lucerys were trying to appear composed and dignified, their youthful faces betraying their unease in such an imposing setting. Joffrey, the youngest, shifted restlessly in his seat, glancing up at the grand, unfamiliar surroundings. You reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, a small smile on your lips.

Viserys cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. “It is... heartening to have my family together once more,” he began, his voice weak but sincere. “We have much to discuss, but let us first enjoy this meal.”

The conversation started tentatively, with polite inquiries about the children and your life on Dragonstone. But as the meal progressed, Viserys turned the topic to the elephant in the room, his eyes resting on you and Rhaenyra.

“I understand,” Viserys said slowly, his gaze shifting from you to Rhaenyra, “that you were married in the old Valyrian chapel on Dragonstone. An ancient and sacred place.”

You inclined your head slightly, your expression neutral. “Yes, Father. Rhaenyra and I were wed there, according to the customs of our ancestors.” Your tone was measured, but there was a subtle edge to it. “It is as valid a marriage as any other in the eyes of our house and tradition.”

Tyland Lannister, seated a few places down, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His lips pressed into a thin line as he recalled the enormous sum House Lannister had spent on the grand wedding that never took place, not to mention the damage to the Sept near Casterly Rock. “Of course, Prince Y/N,” he said, his voice strained. “One can hardly dispute the... sanctity of such a union. Though the Sept where... your departure occurred still bears the scars of that day.” He forced a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

You gave him a cool look, your expression unyielding. “I’m sure House Lannister can afford a few repairs, Lord Tyland.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, but he did not press the matter further, his hand clenching around his goblet.

Alicent, who had been observing the exchange quietly, set down her knife and fork, her eyes lingering on you and Rhaenyra, then shifting to the children seated beside you. There was an underlying tension in her gaze, a restrained irritation that simmered beneath her polite facade. It was a feeling she had harbored for years, one that had only grown as she watched you and Rhaenyra defy everything the realm expected of you.

She couldn’t help but wonder, as she often had, if Rhaenyra had deliberately lured you into her bed before you left for the Dornish border. Had she seduced you, entangled you in her web to secure your loyalty and affection so completely that you would defy the king and steal her away from her own wedding? The thought gnawed at her, though she pushed it down, focusing instead on the repulsion she felt at your union. To her, who had been raised in the Faith of the Seven, your marriage was an affront, a sinful act of selfishness that mocked the very traditions she held dear.

As Alicent’s gaze lingered on your children—on Jacerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—Rhaenyra felt the weight of her scrutiny. She looked up sharply, her eyes locking with Alicent’s. There was no warmth in Rhaenyra’s gaze, only a cold, defiant challenge. For a moment, the two women stared at each other, the years of bitterness and betrayal hanging between them like a shadow.

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys said suddenly, breaking the tension, his tone filled with a forced cheerfulness. “I must say, the boys have grown strong and handsome. I would very much like to get to know my grandsons better.”

Rhaenyra tore her gaze away from Alicent, her expression softening as she looked at her father. “They are as spirited as their namesakes,” she replied, her voice steady. “Jacerys and Lucerys have been practicing their swordplay, and Joffrey, well... he is still finding his way, but he has the heart of a dragon.”

Viserys smiled, though the effort seemed to cost him. “I look forward to seeing them in the training yard. Perhaps they could even teach their uncles a thing or two.” He gestured toward Alicent’s children, who had been watching the exchange in silence.

Aegon, now a young man, glanced at you and Rhaenyra with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something darker that he hid behind a lazy smirk. Aemond, his face serious, studied you with the intensity of someone trying to understand an enemy. Helaena, on the other hand, seemed lost in her own world, her fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth as she muttered softly to herself.

You looked at your half-siblings, your expression unreadable. “We will see, Father,” you said evenly. “It’s been a long time since we’ve shared such... family activities.”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, she almost spoke, her lips parting as if to say something, but then she stopped, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. She looked at Viserys instead, forcing a smile. “The children have missed having their father present. I’m sure it would do them good to spend time with their family,” she said, though her words felt hollow.

Viserys nodded, his eyes distant. “Yes, yes... family. It is what binds us, even when we are apart.” He looked at you then, his gaze lingering on the hardness in your eyes, the guarded expression on your face. “Y/N, Rhaenyra... these years have been difficult for us all. But now that you are here, perhaps we can begin to heal these wounds.”

“We’ll see,” you said quietly, your tone flat. “It’s not so easily done, Father.”

The conversation drifted on, the tension ebbing and flowing with each exchange. The food was eaten, though few seemed to have much appetite. The wine was poured, though most drank sparingly. The atmosphere remained strained, the past casting long shadows over the present.

Aegon, his gaze flicking between you and Rhaenyra, leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “So, what’s life like on Dragonstone, brother? It must be... exciting, living among the dragons and the ghosts.”

You looked at him, your expression cool. “It has its challenges,” you replied, your voice calm. “But it’s home.”

“And the people there?” Aemond asked, his tone more direct. “Do they welcome you as their Prince, or do they fear the dragon that stole the princess away?”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, but you merely raised an eyebrow. “The people of Dragonstone know where their loyalties lie,” you said smoothly. “And they respect those who defend them, not those who sit idle in luxury.”

The barb hit its mark, and Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Alicent spoke up, her voice strained but firm. “That’s enough, Aemond.” She turned to you, her gaze steady. “Y/N, Rhaenyra... despite everything, I am glad you are here. For the king’s sake, if nothing else.”

Rhaenyra’s lips tightened, but she inclined her head slightly. “For the king’s sake,” she echoed, her voice tinged with bitterness.

The uneasy quiet was punctuated by the occasional clink of cutlery against porcelain, the scrape of a chair, or the hushed murmur of a courtier whispering nervously. Though there were many gathered at the table, it felt as if there were only two camps—those who stood with you and Rhaenyra, and those who supported Alicent and her children. And, of course, King Viserys, caught between them all, like a man trying to hold back a tide with his bare hands.

Alicent set down her goblet, her fingers lingering around the base, and cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the table. Her eyes moved from Rhaenyra to you, then back to Rhaenyra, a calculated look in them. “Rhaenyra,” she began, her voice polite but edged with something sharper. “It’s been so many years since you left. We all... wondered what compelled you to take such drastic actions.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose, after everything, you must have had your reasons for eloping and leaving your family behind.”

Rhaenyra stiffened, her fingers curling around the stem of her goblet. “My reasons, as you put it, were very clear, Alicent.” Her tone was steady, but you could hear the barely restrained anger beneath the surface. “I chose to marry the man I love, the man I wanted to spend my life with. That is a choice that, as I recall, was not available to you.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled around the table, courtiers exchanging glances. Alicent’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, her eyes flashing with something dark. “You’re right, of course. Duty has often dictated my choices. But not everyone has the luxury to simply follow their heart, especially when the stability of the realm is at stake.” Her voice was soft, but there was steel in it.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed. “The stability of the realm? Is that what you call forcing me into a marriage with Jason Lannister? All for some political gain?” She leaned forward, her voice rising slightly. “You speak of duty, Alicent, but don’t pretend for a moment that you or your father haven’t benefited greatly from those same decisions.”

Alicent’s face flushed, but she kept her composure. “We all have a role to play, Rhaenyra. You were supposed to be the princess, to stand by your father’s side, not flee to Dragonstone with your brother and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to retort, but you reached out, placing a hand on her arm, your touch gentle but firm. “Enough,” you said quietly, though your voice carried authority. You turned to Alicent, your gaze steady and unreadable. “We did what we felt was right, given the circumstances. And it’s clear those decisions were not made lightly.”

Alicent met your gaze, her eyes searching, as if trying to understand you, trying to find the man she remembered. “And what circumstances were those, Y/N?” she asked, her voice softer now. “What was so dire that it justified breaking your father’s heart and turning your back on the realm?”

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flicking to Viserys, who watched the exchange with a pained expression. “Our father was forcing Rhaenyra into a marriage she did not want, to a man she did not love. And he was willing to do the same to me.” Your voice was calm but firm. “I made a promise to protect my sister, and I will not apologize for keeping that promise.”

The hall was silent, every eye on you and Alicent. You could see the hurt in her eyes, the resentment she tried to hide behind her composed mask. You turned away from her then, focusing on Otto Hightower, who had been watching the exchange with a calculating expression.

“Lord Hightower,” you said, your voice carrying the weight of your title. “Perhaps you could enlighten us on the current state of the realm. I would hope that as heir to the throne, I would be made aware of any... pressing matters.”

Otto leaned forward slightly, a faint smile on his lips as he addressed you. “Of course, Prince Y/N. The realm is... stable, for the most part. The Stepstones remain a volatile area, despite Prince Daemon’s recent efforts. There are still struggles with Dorne, though nothing that threatens immediate conflict.” He paused, his gaze shrewd. “There have been whispers of unrest in the Riverlands, but they have been managed thus far.”

You nodded, though your expression remained serious. “And what of the alliances formed in my absence? Surely, there have been changes in the political landscape.”

Otto’s smile widened, though it did not reach his eyes. “Indeed. Since your departure, several key marriages have strengthened ties with the Reach and the Stormlands. The marriage of your sister, Princess Helaena, to Prince Aegon has also ensured a more unified front within House Targaryen.”

You glanced at Aegon, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and disdain, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk. “And what of your marriage, Y/N?” Aegon drawled, his voice carrying across the table. “I’ve heard many tales of the... unique customs on Dragonstone.”

You shot him a cold look, your patience wearing thin. “My marriage is as strong as any in this room,” you said sharply. “And it is recognized by those who matter.”

Before Aegon could respond, Viserys raised a hand, his voice trembling but determined. “Enough of this bickering. We are here as a family, not as political adversaries.” He looked at you and Rhaenyra, his eyes pleading. “I have missed you both terribly. And I wish to see my grandchildren grow up knowing their family. Whatever has happened, we must find a way to move forward. Together.”

There was a moment of silence, the king’s words hanging heavy in the air. You glanced at Rhaenyra, whose face softened slightly, her anger ebbing away in the face of her father’s frailty.

But Alicent wasn’t done. She turned back to Rhaenyra, her eyes hardening. “And what of your sons, Rhaenyra?” she asked, her voice deceptively light. “You’ve been away so long. Do you ever wonder what kind of life they could have had here, at court? Among their family?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze snapped to Alicent, her eyes narrowing. “My sons are dragons, Alicent. They belong on Dragonstone, among their people, not in this nest of vipers.” Her voice was cold, each word a dagger.

A murmur rippled through the courtiers, tension rising. You could see Otto’s calculating gaze flick between you and Rhaenyra, as if weighing the implications of every word spoken.

Alicent’s face tightened, but she didn’t back down. “I suppose that’s one way to see it,” she said quietly. “But a child should know their family. Even if that family isn’t perfect.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare presume to lecture me on family, Alicent. You, who wormed your way into my father’s bed, who bore children of your own while trying to strip me of everything that was mine.”

The tension at the table was suffocating now, every courtier’s gaze fixed on the two women, their faces pale with the anticipation of what might come next.

Before the situation could escalate further, you interjected, your voice calm but firm. “We will discuss this another day,” you said, your eyes moving between Alicent and Rhaenyra. “This is not the time or place for such discussions.”

Alicent’s gaze flicked to you, her eyes filled with a mixture of resentment and sadness. “You’ve changed, Y/N,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “You used to care more about... so many things.”

You felt a pang in your chest, but you forced it down, your expression unyielding. “I still care, Alicent. But my priorities have changed.” You glanced at your children, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes, their confusion and fear evident. “My family is what matters now. And I will protect them, no matter the cost.”

A silence fell over the table, the weight of your words settling like a stone. Viserys looked between you and Alicent, his eyes filled with a deep sorrow, as if he were watching his family splinter before his eyes.

Otto, ever the diplomat, leaned forward slightly, his tone soothing. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time. For now, let us focus on what unites us, rather than what divides us.”

Viserys nodded slowly, though his gaze remained troubled. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, let us try to be... a family again.”

The meal continued in strained silence.

The bedchamber in the Red Keep felt both familiar and foreign after so many years. The room was adorned with rich tapestries depicting dragons in flight and the Targaryen sigil emblazoned proudly on the walls, a constant reminder of your heritage and the legacy you bore. The soft flicker of candles illuminated the space, casting a warm glow over the plush rugs and the intricately carved bed that dominated the center of the room.

You stood near the window, gazing out over the sprawling city of King’s Landing, the lights of the city twinkling like distant stars in the darkened sky. The sounds of the bustling capital, though muffled, reached your ears—the hum of voices, the distant clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the occasional call of a merchant trying to sell his wares even at this late hour. It was a strong contrast to the quiet, windswept solitude of Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra was across the room, slipping out of her gown and into a simpler, more comfortable robe. Her silver hair, loose now, cascaded down her back in waves. She watched you from the corner of her eye, sensing the tension in your posture, the heaviness in your shoulders.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence that had settled between you. “Are you all right?”

You sighed deeply, turning away from the window to look at her. “I’m not sure how to answer that,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration and sorrow. “Seeing him today... I barely recognized the man who was once our father. He’s a shadow of what he used to be.”

Rhaenyra moved closer, her bare feet silent on the thick rug. She reached out, placing a hand gently on your arm. “He’s aged more than the years should allow,” she agreed, her tone laced with sadness. “But it’s not just time, is it?”

You shook your head, your jaw clenched. “No, it’s not.” You turned back to the window, the city sprawling out beneath you, feeling impossibly far away. “It’s them. The Hightowers. Otto, Alicent... they’ve twisted him, manipulated him. I remember a time when he was strong, decisive. Now he seems... broken, as if they’ve drained the life out of him.”

Rhaenyra’s hand tightened on your arm, a gesture of solidarity. “They’ve poisoned his mind with their ambitions. Alicent has always been her father’s pawn, and Otto... he’s wanted to control the throne for as long as I can remember.”

You nodded, your eyes narrowing as you thought back to the day’s events, the way Otto’s gaze seemed to assess every word, every action, always calculating, always scheming. “I saw the way he looked at us today, weighing the situation, trying to find a way to turn it to his advantage. And Alicent...” You trailed off, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “She’s no different. They want to use Father as a puppet, to control the realm through him.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “And he lets them. He let them slither their way into every corner of his life, every decision. He’s not the father who once stood before the council and proclaimed us his heirs, who would have fought for what was right, no matter the cost.”

You turned back to her, your eyes softening as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I know, Rhaenyra. I know. But what can we do? If we push too hard, if we try to wrest control from them, it could tear the realm apart.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Then let it tear. We have dragons, Y/N. We have strength they can only dream of. We can remind them what true power looks like.”

You shook your head, your expression pained. “I don’t want to fight them, Rhaenyra. I don’t want to start a war. But I won’t let them continue to destroy what little remains of the father we once knew.”

She looked at you, her gaze intense, searching your face for answers, for a way forward. “Then what do we do?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You took a deep breath, your hand still lingering on her cheek. “We play their game, for now. We show them we’re not weak, but we don’t strike unless we have to. Father needs to see that we’re here, that we’re not abandoning him to their schemes. Maybe... maybe we can remind him of who he used to be.”

Rhaenyra leaned into your touch, her eyes closing briefly as she took comfort in your presence. “I want to believe that’s possible,” she murmured. “But I fear he’s too far gone. Every time I look at him, I see the pain in his eyes, the weight of all these years of being pulled in different directions. I see...” Her voice caught, and she paused, taking a shaky breath. “I see how they’ve taken him from us.”

You pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her, holding her tightly as if you could shield her from the world, from the pain that seemed to seep into every corner of your lives. “We’ll find a way, Rhaenyra. We have to.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the low lit chamber, the world outside forgotten as you held each other, drawing strength from the connection that had carried you through so much. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the distant sounds of the Red Keep—the footsteps of guards, the murmur of servants—faded into the background.

“Do you think he’ll see it?” Rhaenyra asked softly, her head resting against your chest. “Will he see that they’ve twisted everything, that they’ve made him into a tool for their own gain?”

You sighed, your fingers gently tracing circles on her back. “I don’t know. I hope so. But even if he does, I’m not sure he has the strength left to fight them.”

Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, fierce and determined. “Then we’ll be his strength. We’ll remind him that he’s not alone, that he still has us.”

You nodded, your gaze steady as you looked down at her. “We’ll fight for him, for the father we remember, for the man who once fought for us. But we have to be careful. We can’t let Otto and Alicent see us as a threat, not yet.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “For now, we’ll play the dutiful children. But if they push us too far...” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “If they push us too far, we’ll remind them what it means to cross House Targaryen.”

A faint smile curved her lips, and she reached up to cup your face, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I’m glad I have you by my side,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

“Always,” you murmured, your voice firm. “Now and forever.”

The two of you stood there for a long moment, the weight of your responsibilities, your fears, and your love all intertwined in the quiet darkness of the chamber.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen

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thelien-art · 5 months

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Fëanáro; King of the Noldor and Lord of the Lights

‘Why, O my people, why should we longer serve these jealous gods, who cannot keep us, nor their own realm even, secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise, I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father’s slayer and the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your king? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the jealous mountains and the harvestless Sea? Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the salt thankless Sea? Or shall we go home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about where a free folk might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city. But by the blood of Finwë! unless I dote, if the cowards only remain, then grass will grow in the streets. Nay, rot, mildew, and toadstool.’

Morgoth´s Ring by J.R.R Tolkien - Of the Speech of Fëanor upon Túna

This took way too long - want a burning version too? or the end of his speech??↓

‘Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures — more still shall we make! Journey light. But bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Tauros, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’

#feanor #feanaro #curufinwe #sons of feanor #if you look close #tolkien #jrr tolkien #silmarillion #tolkien art #silm art #my art #digital art

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year

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Waters

summary: Your existence is an insult to the woman you serve, Alicent Hightower. As Viserys Targaryen's bastard, you should not be serving his lawfully wedded wife - and Ser Criston knows this. Still, he can't seem to stay away...

notes: criston cole x targ!bastard!reader (reader is the daughter of viserys, but not one of his wives bc I am a viserys hater at each turn and opportunity) ALSO criston is extremely mean in this for no reason lmao

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @a-beaverhousen @hightowhxre @dahlias-and-marigolds (msg me to be added/removed)

masterlist | based on this request

In all truth, Ser Criston scared you. Queen Alicent, whom you served as a handmaid, may have cherished her protector, but to you, he was a terrifying shadow, one that judged you for your birth whenever your eyes met.

You were putting away the queen’s jewellery when he practically appeared behind you.

“Are you stealing, Waters?” the kingsguard snapped. You jumped, dropping the Queen’s favorite ring. Quickly, you picked it up, placing it back to its rightful place.

“No, ser. I was only… I only needed to clean this for the morrow.” You stuttered. Criston scoffed behind you, a firm hand gripping onto your shoulder.

“You are a disgrace to the Queen’s household.” He snarled, his voice right at your ear. You shuddered, only ever nodding. You knew that you were a thorn in her eye, a servant that also served as a reminder of her husband’s infidelity. But you’d never chosen where you were. If you could, you would have left King’s Landing with your half-brother, Daeron.

“Apologies, ser.” You finally said. “I shall take my leave.”

For a moment, you were stupid enough to believe that Ser Criston would let you leave. It was only when he blocked the door that your stomach dropped. He smirked down at you, white armor and Dornish beauty making him a sight to behold.

You hated that it made you blush, your head fuzzy,

“Bastard.” He spat. You tried to shift around him, but he never let you, instead pinning you to the wall next to the door. “Did you steal something?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“I shall not ask again.” Criston said, his next words punctuated. “Did you steal something, Waters?”

“No.” you replied. “I swear it.”

The pressure on you relieved itself a little bit, and you took a small breath of relief.

“Perhaps next time, I shall search you.” Criston mumbled idly. You said naught in return, ignoring the thought of I don’t know if I’d mind that all that much.

Your eyes flickered to his lips, and lower, almost automatically. Quickly, you looked back up at his face, before giving a small curtsy. You prayed he hadn’t noticed.

“And what would you be looking at now?” Criston asked. You didn’t answer, didn’t dare, until Criston tipped your face upwards, forcing you to look at him.

“Speak, girl.” He spat. There was so much rage in his eyes, so much anger that you felt yourself crumble, your throat dry as you answered.

“I was looking at your lips, ser.”

Criston laughed cruelly, his hand tightening around your jaw almost painfully.

“Would the little bastard girl like to kiss me?” he asked. You never answered. It had been beaten into you by septas. If you’d lied, you were just like all other bastards. Your silence was enough, and Ser Criston smiled at you so coldly that you wished you could disappear.

It surprised you when he kissed you, but not that his kiss was methodical, devoid of love or affection. And yet, you craved it so much that you leaned into it, allowing his hand to ruck up your skirts and grab your thighs as he pleased.

As his hand travelled up your smallclothes, you were suddenly reminded of the fact that Alicent, your Queen, the woman your father had humiliated, the most powerful woman of the Seven Kingdoms was asleep in the room next to you.

“Please, Queen Alicent is-“ you began, but Criston shushed you.

“You’ll have to shut your mouth.” He said simply. As he dropped to his knees, you closed your eyes, knowing that he wasn’t doing this to pleasure, but to humiliate, to degrade you. As his kisses, this was cold too, but Gods was it good.

Your hand flew to your mouth, covering it in hopes of stopping any sounds from escaping. When a whimper left you, Criston paused, his fingers sinking into you as he looked up at you from his spot on the ground.

“Shut your mouth, you slut.” He insulted, and despite the feeling of humiliation in your gut, you nodded, closing your eyes shut and pressing your hand to your mouth, praying to the Gods that it would be enough.

Criston’s tongue lapped at you, and if you didn’t know better, you would have said that he felt like a starving man trying to sustain himself from just you. Gods, he was good, too good for a bloody kingsguard, and he was doing it all to humiliate you.

Ser Criston was out to get you, to leave you alone in the dark, and the both of you knew it. His hand returned to your thigh, squeezing it tightly, running down your skin and making you feel cherished while the dark look in his eyes did the exact opposite.

Your free hand slowly, cautiously, touched his hair. Carefully, you let your fingers twist into his dark curls, pushing him down to where you needed to be. Had he sprung up and murdered you in that moment, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

He would have done exactly what you expected of him.

Instead, Criston only laughed at your desperation, the hum of his voice making you squirm under his grip. Criston took that as a sign, pushing you further onto your queen’s vanity, skirts rucked up to your waist and cunt exposed to him.

If anyone, guards or the queen walked in in this moment, you were absolutely, royally fucked. Not even your father would attempt to save you then, not that he had ever cared about you all that much to begin with.

Your orgasm washed over you with a cruel intensity. It built itself too quickly, Criston’s movements harsh and unforgiving, and when he pushed you over the edge, it made you feel as if you were truly falling. Your hand still over your mouth, you could feel yourself beginning to truly bite down on it as he kept on going.

Stars exploded behind your eyes, but instead of focusing on how you felt, your only thought was that you could not let the queen hear, could not alert the guards, make any sound at all. Perhaps, if your brain had not turned to mush the second Ser Criston had pushed you up against the wall, you would have told him to stop now.

Of course, there was no guaranteeing that he actually would have stopped. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that thought thrilled you, too.

And when you fell over the edge, Criston kept going, spurring your pleasure on until it became to much and you tried to scramble away from him on the small vanity space that the Queen usually occupied. Your heart dropped as one of her rings fell to the ground, the sound of it making it seem like the loudest thing in the entire world.

Your heart thumped, waiting for the worst to happen. Instead, Criston paused his assault, sneering at you.

“Dumb whore, watch what you’re doing.” He said, and you looked down, ashamed. The folds of your rumpled skirt only served as a reminder as to what exactly you were doing.

“What, don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Criston asked. Your silence seemed to enrage him just as much as when you spoke, and he stood in front of you. Traces of you glistened on his face in the dark, your thighs already aching from his grip, but it seemed that this was not enough for him.

“Get on the floor.” He commanded. You could have left now, made a run for it for somewhere where guards would think that you hadn’t done anything yet, that it was the kingsguard who was dishonouring you, and not you yourself.

Of course, they still probably would have let it happen, but at least, you only would have been sent away from court with rumours following you.

Yes, you could have left. Yet, your feet planted themselves to the ground, frozen there, and you remained, staring at Criston with the smallest bit of defiance. It crumbled under his cold gaze, and you felt yourself dropping to the ground for him.

He didn’t even have to ask you to open your mouth for him, and so, it was your own mind that taunted you for it. His hand threaded through your hair almost gently, slowly guiding you before he picked up a quicker pace. His cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around it, but he seemed to relish that feeling, too.

It appeared as if he got bored with you like this, though. Perhaps he was used to seeing you in such positions of servitutde, kneeling for your queen to straighten out her dress, doing anything and everything to please the people around you like the loyal bitch you were. Just like now.

Criston’s hands wrapped around your hips, holding you in place as he bent you over. Your own hands scraped against the wooden floor, trying to find some sort of stability as you tried to find something to anchor you between the ache in your knees that came with kneeling, your pleasure and the absolute humiliation that only served to make your pussy drip even more.

He entered you without warning, and though you had felt his size in your throat just moments before, it still punched the air out of you as he sheathed himself in your cunt. There was a stretch, though you were ready, and though you thought you’d been prepared, but the sting of it still made you bit your lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

One hadn remained on your hip while the other, his swordhand, the one he used to kill, wrapped around the back of your neck Calmly, Criston pushed your head down to the floor, and there was no need to humiliate you verbally, his actions were enough entirely.

Slowly, he began to move, the hand around your hips moving down to your clit, an arm keeping you locked in place. There was nowhere to run, and, even if Alcient herself had walked into the room in this instant, you knew that he wouldn’t have stopped.

A part of your humiliation was soothed by the fact that the perfect, pious Ser Criston could not resist you, a plain bastard. That part of you was drunk on power, quickly beginning to overtake the parts that had been afraid, and you felt brave enough to let a small sound slip. Only a quiet one, one that was sure to be swallowed by thick walls and myrish tapestries.

Ser Criston’s face curdled into a snarl, and his movements picked up, his pace so burtal that you could ee your skirts rocking across the floor. Still the feeling of it was better than most things you had experienced as Ser Criston’s hand feverishly circled your clit. You could feel your second peak approaching, a wave building within you that had one of your hands leaving the floor and going back to your mouth.

You bit down on the back of your hand as you came, walls helplessly clenching down on Ser Criston’s movements. He did not relent, hips jerking into you almost uncontrollably.

There was no warning when he had his release, moaning quietly as his seed covered your walls. With a few more thrusts, Criston pulled out, leaving you panting. Your hair stuck to your forehead with sweat, wrists and knees aching from holding up your weight, but none of it compared to the soreness of your thighs and cunt.

You knew you would not be able to walk the next day.

A small part of you hoped that Ser Criston would show you some affection, perhaps kiss you gently or take your hand, but none of that ever came. Instead, he stood after a few moments, pulling his breeches back on and walking out of the door.

You sat slowly, trying to straighten out your skirts. Still on your knees, you put Queen Alicent’s fallen jewellery back onto her vanity, before you tried to stand on shaking legs. As his seed dripped down your thighs, you had the sinking realisation of what he had just done to you.

If you did naught, there was a good chance you’d soon be carrying his child…

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green-eyedfirework · 5 months

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Dick walks down the long hall of the temple, past the lit braziers and litany of offerings. The temple has proven a popular one in the last few days.

Of course it has. They're preparing for war.

Dick has prayed at several temples over the fortnight. Wisdom, to find a path out of this mess. The Earth Mother, to ask for his family's safe return. The Protector, the sun god himself, to safeguard Dick's home. He has left rich offerings and offered vast riches. He has promised everything he has to give.

And all he has received is silence.

The gods do not heed his prayers. Tim is gone, lost on a quest from the deceitful Shadow King to find Bruce and return him to the land of the living. Jason is likewise away, too busy being a vengeful avatar of Death to care about Gotham. Gotham's defenses consist of Dick, the precocious ten-year-old halfblood Talia dropped off without so much as a by-your-leave, and Alfred.

The fight will be a slaughter. Too few generals, too few fighting men. The only thing that can help them is the intercession of the gods and there is only one god left to try.

Dick takes a deep breath and kneels at the altar. The knife he draws isn't his flashiest or his oldest. But its hilt matches the color of his eyes.

Dick knows this, because that was what the god whispered when he curled Dick's fingers around it.

The slice of his skin is the barest line of fire. The blood drips onto the altar. One. Two. Three.

"I pray to the God of War. Heed my call."

The silence continues, only broken by the soft plink of blood meeting steel. Dick stays on his knees and doesn't fidget. He has all night.

War begins on the morrow.

"I pray to the God of War. Heed my call."

~#~

He doesn’t know if it’s the hundredth or the thousandth time he says it when he finally gets a response.

"Hello, little bird."

A large part of Dick relaxes at the slow drawl. Everything else tenses.

"My lord," Dick says formally, drawing his hand back and clenching it to halt further bleeding. Deathstroke steps out from his altar, smirk already in place as he beholds Dick. "I pray for your assistance."

"I'm listening." Deathstroke steps around Dick, heavy boots treading on marble, circling Dick like wounded prey.

"There is an army at Gotham's borders. Tomorrow we ride to war."

"I'm aware." Deathstroke smiles, a bloodthirsty, wicked thing.

"I--I beseech you, my lord, to favor Gotham on the battlefield. I know we are the weaker side--we have less men, and the terrain, and the supplies--we will never last a siege--"

Deathstroke cuts off his babbling with a frown. For all the time Dick spent entreating the gods, he hasn't thought much about what to say when one finally listens.

Dick waits as Deathstroke completes his turn and stands before him once more. In the shadow of the altar, he looks like nothing more than a man--dressed for combat, broadsword strapped to his back, dark eyepatch hiding the damage even a god couldn't heal. The other icy blue eye stares down at Dick with the searing intensity of a thousand suns.

In the shadow of his altar, he looks like a god.

"Why?" Deathstroke asks curiously. "Why should I favor you?"

There is a hint of poison in the tone. Dick refused Deathstroke's offer to be his champion once, when Dick was still a child, and gods do not forget. Gods do not forgive.

"I will give you anything," Dick says, painfully honest now that he has everything to lose. "Anything that is mine to give."

Deathstroke's eye flashes. "A tempting offer, little bird," he rumbles.

"It is yours. Entirely yours, so long as you help."

Deathstroke reaches out and Dick stays where he is. Lets the god trace the lines of his face with fingers that feel molten. Hardly dares to breathe.

"Very well, little bird. We have a deal."

The clasp of hands feels like shackles around Dick's wrists. He breathes in and out and keeps the god's stare.

He doesn't let himself think about what he agreed to. Tomorrow is war. The consequences come after.

~#~

"Where have you been?" Damian accosts him the moment he enters the manor. "We practically tore the walls apart looking for you--"

"I was praying," Dick says, heading straight for his room and his armor. "For victory in today's battle."

Damian puffs up. It's almost adorable, if Dick wasn't focused on buckling everything in place. "You are very nearly late for that same battle--"

"I am here now," Dick says shortly, strapping on his sword. "Enough. Are you prepared?"

"I still insist I am better utilized with you, in the vanguard--"

"No." In the case that Bruce does return, Dick will not be the one to tell him that he got his ten-year-old killed. "You will stay and defend the manor in case of an incursion." It is a way to keep the kid out of the fighting and he knows it. "Do you understand?"

Damian makes a face. "Yes," he grumbles.

Dick does not trust him, but he doesn't have the time. Dawn's first light is breaking and the battle will begin soon. He has no way to know what shape or form Deathstroke's assistance will take. He will not sit around and wait for it.

He has begged long enough. The time has come to fight.

Gotham's forces array out, facing those of neighboring Metropolis. Someone is whispering in Luthor's ear, someone enticed him to attack. Someone is keeping the other gods at bay. The deck is already stacked against Dick.

The first charge begins. Dick motions for his forces to stay steady and let the archers answer. A hail of arrows arc over the battlefield.

A wind blows strong enough to sweep them all aside.

Interference. Dick wants to close his eyes and weep. Unfortunately, he does not have that luxury.

He grimly motions for the attack.

The clash of two armies is a terrible thing. The noise of a hundred blades striking each other, the squelch of blood spraying free, the cries and shouts and screams of killers and the killed. Dick hates it and yet he rides to it. There is no other way.

Right before the armies meet, there is an unfurling in the middle, a man straightening like he was always there. And maybe he was.

Deathstroke turns unerringly towards Dick, meeting his gaze despite the lengths that separate them, and unsheathes his sword to point it straight at Dick in salute.

He's smiling. It is a terrifying thing.

And then he turns and attacks.

The armies meet as the God of War scythes his way through Dick's enemies, blood splattering and steel ringing, and sunlight flashing off that enormous sword that Deathstroke wields one-handed like it weighs as much as a feather.

Dick cannot look away.

There is nothing in the world more alluring than the sight of a god in their element.

Nothing more dangerous either.

~#~

In the end, it doesn't matter who whispers in Luthor's ear or snatches arrows from the sky. Nothing in the world, mortal or not, is strong enough to defeat the God of War on a battlefield.

Gotham wins handily. People cheer on the streets, soldiers clutch each other and weep, and the injured outnumber the dead. An occasion to celebrate.

Dick finishes the letter he is writing and carefully presses it shut. Ties it and leaves it on his desk. They will find it easily enough when they search for him. He has kept it vague, only commanding them not to look for him. He is not lost.

Dick made this choice willingly. Now he has to pay the price.

He slips from the manor, ducking past festive crowds and out of the way of laughter and celebration. He clings to the memory of the relief on Damian's face when Dick returned. Alfred's quiet joy.

The determination on Tim's face when he left. The burning green fire in Jason's, utterly alien but at least alive. The implacable strength of Bruce, a mountain Dick has never been able to match.

Dick hoped that whatever Deathstroke asked for, he could stand to lose. Something minor, a quest perhaps, nothing that would steal him from his family. At the very worst, the binding Dick refused once. Being War's champion would severely curtail Dick's freedom, but he would still be able to visit home.

But Deathstroke didn't bless their swords to strike true or their arrows to hit their targets. He didn't shift battlefield currents to their favor or tilt luck on their side. He showed up to fight and slaughtered his way through a good portion of the enemy.

For that much destruction, there can be only one price.

The temple is empty, though offerings fill it from end to end. Dick steps past them all, to the very end of the hall and the altar looming above him. The last offering.

His arm trembles as he stretches it out. But the blade slices cleanly, carving a line up his forearm, blood spilling far faster than before. He switches the grip, the blade jerky in his bleeding hand, and manages a shaky slice up the other forearm. The knife goes clattering against the altar. Dick breathes raggedly and squeezes his eyes against the tears.

It's the pain, that's all. Nothing more.

When he opens them, Deathstroke is right in front of him. Dick doesn't flinch, even when Deathstroke grabs his bleeding arms.

"What is this?" the god hisses, one eye burning furiously. It feels curiously distant though. Possibly because the world is blurring out.

"The price," Dick reminds him with a tongue that feels too big. "You helped. I have to pay."

He can almost feel Jason's shock, can see his little brother turning towards him from far, far away. He wonders if Jay can visit him in the Underworld.

"Foolish little bird," he hears Deathstroke sigh somewhere above him. The burning in his arms changes to burning, sharp, fiery pain racing along the cut and making him scream. "Only life can pay for death."

#my snippets #sladick #gods au #self sacrifice #deal with the devil

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silmarillion-ways-to-die · 2 months

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"What wouldst thou have more? Dost thou desire all the world for thy belly? I did not vow to give thee that. I am its Lord." – Morgoth, The Silmarillion

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains." – Mandos, The Silmarillion

"Their swords and their counsels shall have two edges." – Melian, The Silmarillion

"Love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart; and remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West, and cometh from the Sea." – Ulmo (through Tuor), The Silmarillion

"That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!" – Sauron, The Silmarillion

"Many are the strange chances of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter." – Gandalf, The Silmarillion

"Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends." – Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

"So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." – Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring.

"You have grown, Halfling. Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell." – Saruman, The Return of the King

"Behold! The shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go, and my hate shall pursue them to the ends of the world." – Morgoth, The Children of Hurin

"Fool of a Took! This is a serious journey, not a hobbit walking-party. Throw yourself in next time, and then you will be no further nuisance." – Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years

Note

So you know the Chinese saying that once you've saved a person's life, you're responsible for them forever? where after the reader saves Dream, Dream keeps appearing expecting the reader to take care of him and be responsible for him in a variety of situations and moments. Bonus Points: Dream doesn't exactly explain anything to the reader. Those are the old laws, the reader should be aware of what he was doing when he decided to reach out and save him and that was it.

ANOTHER BONUS: this is why no one rescued Dream— NO ONE WANTED THIS AN INFINITE LIMIT FOR THEM IN SUCH A WAY

Why Are You Here?

Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: You accidentally saved the King of Dreams from his century old prison, now he's your everyday nightmare (affectionate).

Word Count: >900

Warnings: Gender neutral!reader, clingy!Dream, jealous!dream, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: I think I am now finally able to write requests again 🥲🫶 slay for me Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 @sloanexx

I wiped my face as I looked at the clock at the bottom right of my computer screen. I huffed and leaned back on my office chair, twirling myself around as I waited for my file to upload.

One.

Two.

Three twirls in.

Suddenly, I stop in a panic when a dark figure manifests in front of me.

I cling onto the side of my desk and jump out of my chair, "Dream, what are you-"

"I was unable to procure the results we had last time we baked, and I came to tell-"

I grab his arms and frantically look around my office, "what did I tell you about manifesting yourself in inappropriate settings?"

Dream looks down at me with his eyes as I look past him on both sides of his arms. His brows faintly furrow, "this is not an inappropriate setting. You are fully dressed and I am-"

"That is not what-" I quip, pinching my fingers together. I sigh as I look at the befumbled entity, his galactic blue eyes glassed with an innocent incapacity to understand he was not meant to be suddenly in my place of work. I grab his biceps and push him back.

I begin to lead him to the bathroom with our linked arms, "I can't answer your baking questions right now," I look around the room, "also, didn't we establish you should only come to me if you were in actual trouble."

He mumbles, placing a hand on my arm that was linked with his, "my cake did not rise."

I turn to him, "Dream-"

"You told me baking could alleviate my sorrow. It has done nothing but frustrate further. I would think you should bare some responsibility for the fact."

I grunt as I stop in my tracks. I pull away to cross my arms, "did you follow the recipe you have?"

Dream looks back at me, "to the best of my capacity."

"Then I don't know what to tell you," I mutter, shrugging, "I can't really see what you did-"

"Precisely why," he takes my hand, "you should come to the Dreaming with me."

I look around the room and give him an incredulous expression. I whisper-yell, "I'm working right now."

Dream steps forward. His face solemn, "I will make sure no one will notice."

Shutter.

Dream and I snap to the side. Behold, there stood my nosy co-worker, Liam, one hand holding a smoothie, and another holding up a phone, camera pointed at us.

Fuck.

"Liam," I pull away from Dream.

"I didn't take a photo of you," he immediately says, "I took a selfie." He begins to pose and take a photo of himself.

"Liar," Dream retorts with an echo, not having to open his mouth.

I look around the room when the lights flicker because of this.

Liam reacts to it, extremely on edge as he too looks around the room.

I release a breath, thinking of an excuse as to explain why this unknown man dressed for a funeral and I were talking. I look at Dream. Maybe I could say he was going to a funreal?

"So," Liam starts, shaking his head, "who's this?"

"This is..." I start, turning to Liam, "Murphy."

"Murphy?" Liam squints at the Lord Morpheus, "you don't look like a Murphy."

Dream does not respond.

Liam sips on his smoothie before pulling it abruptly away, shaking his phone, "oh I know who this is!" He points repeatedly at me, "this is they guy that has been sending you flowers!"

"No."

"What?"

Dream and I said this at the same time.

Dream turns to me, as I grab his arm and push past Liam, "good talk, Liam. Murphy has to go now."

I sigh as I lead him to the exit, "I was going to make you disappear through the bathroom, but then Liam caught us together."

He makes a sound, "do you not want me to be seen by this person who sends you flowers?"

"What?" I turn to Dream, "that was a mistake in delivery. It was for Abigail. She recently got married-- but I mean you already know that."

"I do," he mutters.

I shake my head, "Liam made a big deal out of it, like he does everything."

"Would you like to do something about Liam?"

I exit our office and drag Dream towards the elevator, "I would like for you never to suddenly pop up here again."

I watch him pout and furrow his brows, "but you are my person," he replies. He stops us both in our tracks, "the old laws bind us together."

I sigh and nod as I walk off and repeatedly press on the elevator button, "I know! I know. The old laws that even you have to answer to."

Dream's face hardens, his posture falls, "is my presence such a nuisance to you?"

"Morpheus," I sigh, "It's not your presence," I reply, "it's the fact you're at my job," I mumble, "my job that I worked so hard to get and would make me spiral if I lost."

I turn from the elevator doors to Dream as he straightens up, "it was not my intention to cause you distress."

I nod, "I know," I place a hand on his arm, "and you're both kind of really cute for this, and super annoying."

The elevator doors open. I motion for Dream to enter. When he does, I smile at him and wave goodbye. He looks and raises his hand, "I will redo my cake in a manner in which will impress you."

I chuckle, "I look forward to trying it."

He presses his lips into a smile, "farewell."

#dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless fanfic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fluff #dream of the endless fluff #morpheus fluff #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #morpheus fanfic

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moorishflower · 2 years

Note

Apropos of the Addams family post from a few weeks back: Hob meeting Gomez and them immediately vibing. Freak4freak friendship. Taking one look at the horrific sublime and wanting to kiss it with tongue

GOD yes like I have trouble imagining writing Hob meeting Gomez Addams actually because the IPs are so different but if he ever did it would be IMMEDIATE recognition. Same hat vibes. Have you beheld my big beautiful spouse? Behold them and despair (the despair is lovely this time of year)

Like can you imagine Hob attending ANY function in the Dreaming, either as the Dreamlord's husband or his consort? Normal McNormalman wandering around amongst gods and fey and nightmares and angels and being so painfully ordinary and HUMAN that he loops back around to being just. The cryptid in the room. Everyone whispering to each other, "Does anyone know that guy? Who is that? Did he sneak in?"

Hob just happily chatting away eating canapes and mingling and discussing footie with satyrs and shit, and finally some asshole god or demigod strolls on up to him and clears their throat, and demands to know "Who are you? Why are you here? You're just some human."

And Hob blinks his big beautiful brown cow eyes and he says "Oh! I'm here with my husband! Here he is now!" And just simp mode activates IMMEDIATELY. Dream standing there in full nightmare regalia glowering daggers at whoever has dared to impugn the honor of HIS husband, visibly bleeding shadows while the unfortunate guest contemplates how swiftly their mortality is about to be ripped from their still-conscious body, and Hob tucks his arm through Dream's, "How's your night been so far, baby? Good party, the brownies seemed very interested in the latest scores for Manchester, think they might be close to setting up a league of their own, dunno who they'd play against though. Christ, you look fantastic tonight. Doesn't he look fantastic? We should definitely dance later, imagine how you'd look on the floor with all these shadows around you. Phwoar. Are you thirsty, darling?"

"Wine will suffice."

"Sure, love, be right back. Nice talking with you, mate!" And off he trots to the refreshments table, and meanwhile Dream has expanded to roughly 1.5 times his normal height and living darkness wreathes him in an aura of cold sweat and midnight shivers, and he has to lean down almost at the waist to address whoever this unfortunate SOB is. Blinking slow and deliberate, like a lizard eyeing a mouse.

"You are lucky. My husband is in a charitable mood. If you ever speak ill of him again. It will not be his mercy you must seek."

And Hob comes back with two glasses of wine right as Dream is straightening up, and the unfortunate god or demigod looks like they're about to simultaneously weep and piss themselves, and he gives Dream his drink and then in a smooth and seamless motion gets his arm around Dream's waist and dips the 8ft tall nightmare man. Logically, and based on their respective heights, it should not be that easy, but Dream is visibly enjoying it.

"My sweet," Hob is murmuring into Dream's clavicle, "my darling, my Dream. Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?"

"Yes. But tell me again."

And at this point Hob's would-be detractor takes the opportunity to flee, just as Hob is planting a line of smacking kisses up the Dreamlord's neck. "Beautiful," he's saying, "ravishing, stunning, awe-inspiring."

And after that there's a sort of flyer or pamphlet that gets circulated through a bunch of supernatural circles, with Hob Gadling's name and description and picture, THIS IS THE PRINCE-CONSORT OF THE NIGHTMARE KING, HE IS ALLOWED AND ENCOURAGED TO BE HERE.

#ask response #the sandman #dreamling

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your-local-simp-writers · 6 months

Text

Star-Crossed Serenity

Word Count: 1024

Warnings: None

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Under the golden afternoon sun, the gardens of the twisted wonderland were a sight to behold. Malleus Draconia, with his imposing figure and regal demeanor, had prepared a surprise for you. As you walked hand in hand, the path opened up to a secluded spot where a picnic was laid out under the shade of a grand, ancient tree.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Malleus,” you said, admiring the spread of delectable treats and the soft blanket laid upon the lush grass.

“It is but a simple gesture,” Malleus replied, his emerald eyes softening. “I wanted to share a moment of tranquility with you, away from the chaos of our daily duties.”

As you both settled down, the world seemed to stand still. The gentle breeze carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, and the only sound was the cheerful chirping of birds. Malleus watched you with a fondness that made your heart flutter, and you knew that this moment would be etched in your memory forever. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the verdant fields of Twisted Wonderland, Malleus Draconia and you found yourselves in a secluded glade, perfect for the intimate picnic he had planned. The grandeur of the Dragon King was evident in every detail, from the fine china plates to the crystal goblets, all laid out on an embroidered cloth that shimmered with threads of silver and gold.

Malleus watched you with an intensity that belied his usual stoic demeanor. “I have longed for this,” he confessed, his voice a deep timbre that resonated with the quiet power of thunder far off. “To be away from prying eyes, to share a moment of simplicity with you.”

You smiled, reaching for a delicate pastry, its flaky layers filled with sweet cream and berries. “And I appreciate every effort you’ve made,” you replied. “It’s not every day that one gets to enjoy such a feast with the heir of the Draconia line.”

He chuckled, a sound as rare as the blooming of the night-blooming cereus, and it warmed you more than the setting sun. “My title means little in the face of your company,” he said. “Here, I am simply Malleus, and you are the one who has captivated my heart.”

The conversation flowed as easily as the wine from the bottle, tales of your respective worlds intertwining like the vines that grew around the ancient tree under which you dined. Malleus was particularly taken with your descriptions of the human realm, his eyes alight with wonder and a touch of wistfulness.

“As much as I yearn to see your world with my own eyes,” he mused, “I fear what my presence would bring upon it. My power is not always… well-received.”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand over his. “Perhaps one day, we can venture there together. With care, and perhaps a bit of your magic, I believe we could make it work.”

The promise hung in the air between you, as tangible as the magic that Malleus wielded with such ease. It was a promise of future adventures, of shared dreams, and of a bond that transcended realms.

As night fell and the first stars appeared, you lay back on the blanket, Malleus by your side. The constellations above were unfamiliar, yet beautiful in their strangeness. “Tell me about the stars in your world,” Malleus requested, his head turned towards you, his expression open and earnest.

And so you spoke, of constellations and myths, of navigators and explorers who used the stars to find their way. Malleus listened to every word, his hand finding yours, fingers entwining. In that moment, under the celestial tapestry of an otherworldly sky, two hearts from different worlds beat as one.

The night deepened, and the air grew cooler, but the warmth between you and Malleus remained undiminished. Wrapped in a shared blanket, you continued to gaze at the stars, each one a silent witness to the evening’s tender moments.

Malleus’s voice broke the comfortable silence. “In the Draconia-bloodline, there is a legend,” he began, his tone taking on the cadence of a well-told tale, “of two stars, separated by the vast expanse of the sky, yet bound by an invisible thread of fate.”

You turned to him, intrigued. “And what became of them?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“They yearned for each other, across the distance, their light a testament to their longing,” he continued, his hand squeezing yours gently. “Until one day, the thread pulled them together, and they collided in a brilliant display of light and energy, creating a new star, one that outshone all others.”

The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, and you felt a flutter in your chest. “Is that what we are?” you mused. “Two stars drawn together?”

Malleus’s eyes met yours, and in them, you saw the reflection of countless stars. “Perhaps,” he said, “or perhaps we are the creators of a new legend, one that speaks of a dragon and a human, and the love that transcends worlds.”

The conversation shifted then, to dreams and aspirations. Malleus spoke of his hopes for the future, not as a king, but as a man who wished to see the world—not with power and conquest, but with wonder and companionship.

“And you,” he said, turning the focus to you. “What dreams do you harbor within your heart?”

You shared your own visions of the future, some grand, some humble, but all of them painted with the brush of possibility. As you spoke, Malleus listened, his expression one of genuine interest and affection.

The picnic had long since ended, but the connection between you had only grown stronger. As the first light of dawn began to creep across the sky, you and Malleus rose, packing away the remnants of the evening.

“This night may end,” Malleus said as he took your hand, “but our story is far from over. With each new day, we shall write another chapter.”

And with the promise of countless tomorrows stretching out before you, you stepped forward into the light of a new day, the Dragon King by your side.

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hotteoki · 1 year

Text

pirate king (j.y.h)

pairing: pirate jeong yunho x fem reader

genre: strangers to lovers, alternate dimension, pirate au

wc: 4k

cw: mild language, weaponry

notes: i wrote this with the layout of the ateez ship in mind (the one in the 'illusion' mv but with blond yunho cause he 4+4 the halloween ver of deja vu

xtra - tysm @woosluv & @ssaboala for beta reading for me! <33

"all eyes on me now! if you still doubt mine, it's too pointless. we're still young and wild, we gonna find new world to be mine!" yunho's fingers moved along the quote carved into the compass he's had since who knows how long.

yunho's head was lifted up forcefully by hongjoong's pointing stick poking his forehead. "you're going to get lost later on the island if you don't listen to me right now," hongjoong tilted his head, stepping back to the blackboard. "captain, i mean this in the nicest way possible, we've been over this, like, six times in the span of a week. we'll be fine," yeosang called from across the room as he tapped his telescope against his other palm, still dodging wooyoung's outstretched arms every now and then.

"you all say this but i know one of you is going to get into some shit and i'm going to have to be the one to clean it up," hongjoong sighed, dropping his pointer onto the ground lazily, "okay, come on, let's get off the ship. remember the plan, and wooyoung, stop trying to kiss yeosang's face. you can do that when we come back."

yunho kicked the ladder down onto the dock, stepping off the ship first. the crew split up, him going into the left path trailing into the cave. they all knew exactly what they were looking for, and the lengths each and every one of them were willing to take to get it.

it was peaceful until a rustle attracted his attention. yunho paused, pretending to re-lace his shoes, his eyes darting to his left, the direction where the sound had come from. when it was calm for the following minute, yunho slowly stood to continue his journey, putting on an oblivious façade, his hand subtly inching for his sheathed cutlass with every step.

yunho wasn't stupid. he's had enough experience to know not to doubt his senses at any cost. true to him, the snapping of a branch immediately heightened his senses. he swiftly cut through the thick, tall grass, eyes meeting with ones belonging to an innocent doe.

as the doe ran off, yunho only noted then how it was running along the path he was on. the cogs in his head whirred in confusion as he wondered why a deer wouldn't run away from a potential predator, rather in the same direction as him. that thought never escaped as he trudged on, praying the cave he was walking towards would appear before him faster.

and lo and behold, there it was.

if yunho hadn't been looking for it specifically he would've missed it entirely. it blended in perfectly with the shadows of the swaying trees, outgrown weeds guarding the entrance, vines crawling around, all leading straight into the depths of the cave.

peeking into the darkness, he checked every corner, sharp eyes darting here and there. finally, they landed on an unusual glimmering spot. yunho stepped closer, cautious of the fact he was now exposed to any potential predators hiding deep in the cave.

he was about a meter away from the shining rock when he realised it wasn’t a rock at all. it was an hourglass etched into the cave walls, almost like the cave was built around it over the years. he breathed out a light sigh of relief upon feeling the grooves of the rock nearby. it wasn’t etched in that deep. he could easily pull it out with a bit of help.

he allowed himself a few more minutes of admiring the hourglass. the cromer, its name was. an hourglass with the ability to lead them to an alternate dimension, where they could escape this timeline that caused each and every one of them so much pain and loss.

after stealing books from other pirates, following leads from old legends, tracking down their ancestors' footsteps, seonghwa had finally found a map hidden deep in the journals of an unknown pirate, their initials and writings long faded within the centuries. the joy the crew had felt when they located the hourglass after years was a night yunho could not forget.

just as he was about to turn back and find his crewmates, yunho was greeted with the sight of the very doe blocking his exit. when it was made clear that the doe had no intentions of moving at all, yunho unsheathed his cutlass. this was no ordinary animal.

his theory was proved right when a gust of wind blew against his face. removing his hand from his face and opening his eyes, he tried to conceal his shock. where the doe had stood before was a girl about his age.

“you’re a shapeshifter.” you raised your eyebrows at his statement, “obviously.” “i thought they didn’t exist anymore after hunters hunted them down ages ago,” yunho still had his cutlass held in front of him, wary of this new stranger. “yeah, i know. that was centuries ago. there’re still a few of us left, but most of us don’t want to be found.” “you’re not one of them, though,” yunho pointed out.

“and with good reason,” you stepped closer as yunho stepped back. sighing, you held up your hands in surrender, “do i look like i’m going to attack you or something?” “you can never be too careful,” he shrugged.

“i’ll tell you an easier way of getting that hourglass without taking this cave down.” yunho’s arm faltered, “what do you mean?” “this entire island relies on the life within the roots, the air, the animals, you know, all that shit. you break this cave the entire island goes down with it. you and your crew would never make it out alive.”

he swallowed. he wasn’t sure if you could be trusted. shapeshifters were known to be tricksters, always up to no good. what if you were playing with him and he could’ve saved precious time taking the hourglass instead of talking to you? after meeting your impatient eyes, he finally decided to play it safe.

“what do you want in return?” “get me off this island,” you replied instantly. the lack of hesitation in your voice made yunho believe you’ve had thought about this for a long, long time. he sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth. the crew couldn’t just find an extra person for charity. they were already rationing their supplies amongst themselves, adding another person might as well be a goodbye to their albeit uncomfortable but familiar living.

“take me with you or no hourglass. your choice,” you crossed your arms, tone firm. yunho swallowed again, putting his cutlass away and rubbing a hand on his face, “you’ll have to talk to the captain.” “fine, then take me to him.” “you can’t just-” yunho wanted to scream. despite being a pirate since birth, he’d never experienced a situation like this, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“you know what? fine, let’s go find him,” yunho pursed his lips. he knew for a fact hongjoong would never agree, but how else were they supposed to get the hourglass? it wasn’t like they could just bow their heads and march back onto the ship and off.

reminding himself of the crudely drawn map in their meeting room, yunho walked for what felt like hours with the intensity of your glare burning the back of his head. he thought he could drop onto his knees and thank the heavens the second he saw the familiar back of hongjoong.

hongjoong darted up at the sound of foreign footsteps, swinging his pistol at your face out of instinct. “she wants to speak to you,” yunho deadpanned, annoyed at the situation he was currently in. hongjoong lowered his pistol slightly, aiming at your chest now, “what do you want?” “i’ll talk when you get this pistol out of my face,” you frowned.

“i’m the one with the upper hand here, you really shouldn’t be making demands.” “considering i’m one of the remaining residents of this island who knows what you’re looking for and how to get it without dying, i don’t think you are.” hongjoong made a face, “and how do i know you’re telling the truth?” “you pirates. always so nervous about everything you see,” you paused, “i want to get off this island, you can help with that, and in return i’ll give you the hourglass.”

yunho looked for a reaction from hongjoong. when he was met with none, yunho was almost disappointed over the fact that his captain was considering his answer. “okay then,” hongjoong put his pistol away, “lead the way.” yunho felt his cheeks flushing at your cheeky smile. sure, he disliked you and your cocky attitude, but he wasn’t blind. anyone could tell you were gorgeous.

“i told you guys one of you was going to get into some shit. now look who’s cleaning it up?”

≡☆

it took a while for the entire crew to be gathered in the tiny cave the cromer rested in, all squished together to get a look at the hourglass while poor mingi stood on his tiptoes at the mouth of the cave. yunho watched in awe as you lifted your hands up, determined to keep his eyes open, only to be slapped with another aggressive gust of wind blowing in his face again.

he blinked cautiously, not realising his eyes had shut involuntarily. yunho vaguely felt his breath hitching at the infamous hourglass held in your hands. the gentle glow of each individual grain amongst the heaps of sand shimmered, tugging on his attention, while contrasting with the simple and plain metal supporting the phials.

“so?” you shifted your weight, waiting for something to happen.

and something happened indeed.

one look from hongjoong was all the crew needed as san shoved you to the ground, with seonghwa snatching the cromer from your grip and tossing it to jongho, the rest sprinting back to their ship. yunho followed his crewmates swiftly, but not before throwing his head back and yelling a quick “sorry!”

in his defense, he was sorry. just not sorry enough to feel guilty about it.

he nearly crashed straight into wooyoung’s back as he skidded to a sudden halt, confused as to why they stopped. sitting on the edge of the ship, legs swinging with an unamused expression, was you. but how…

“you really think you can outrun a doe? how self-centered.” hongjoong stared right back at you, irritated, “you can’t come with us.” “then i’ll take that back.” “i’d like to see you try,” he retorted, pistol now in hand again, “you can outrun me but can you outrun a bullet aiming straight for your head?” you huffed, “i’m not asking you to adopt me or anything, i just need you to drop me off at the nearest island.”

“bullshit. you’re saying you want to go from one island to another?” jongho scoffed from beside wooyoung. “i can’t leave this place without company. please just-” you sighed, and yunho could tell you felt defeated, “please just take me with you.” if he didn’t feel guilty enough, he definitely felt bad now. “cap, maybe we should take her.”

hongjoong gave him an odd look, clearly bewildered, “you were the one who insisted on leaving her.” “yeah well, i kinda feel bad for her now. she’ll stay with us for a few days maximum then we’ll just drop her off somewhere,” yunho briefly glanced at you, lowering his voice now, “i mean, maybe she really can’t leave. what, are we just going to dump her here?”

“i say we make her a deal,” yeosang chimed in, “she can live with us until we locate a nearby island, but if we arrive and it ends up being a bad one, she can’t argue and climb back aboard.” hongjoong nodded approvingly, “yeah, that sounds good.”

yunho watched as your face lit up when he repeated their deal to you. he silently swore to himself to always bring happiness to you during your stay if it meant he could catch a glimpse of your endearing smile again.

≡☆

yunho had volunteered to wrap up the cut on your arm you earned from san’s shove, despite seonghwa usually being the one to tend to the crew’s injuries. he led you down the stairs and to the medical room (which, really, was just their meeting room with a medical kit placed on the table), kicking away scraps of used bandages to the corner, praying you didn’t see them.

as he sat you down opposite him and began prepping the bandages, he began to wonder about you. where were your parents? how did you manage to come onto the island? why did you not have friends? what-

“you look like you have questions.” his gaze snapped up from your arm to your eyes, “no i- well, yeah, kind of.” you laughed lightly, “it’s okay, i get it. i’d be confused too.” yunho hoped you took the redness tainting his cheeks as embarrassment from being caught rather than his giddiness from your laugh. he motioned for you as he got started on wrapping your arm.

“i used to live on a different island, where my parents were. i met this guy, chan, and after being friends with him for a year or so, he offered to take me on a trip with his seven friends. i agreed. i honestly don’t know why i did. it was a spur of the moment thing. i followed him to the docks, where his ship was. turns out he’s a pirate and he’s the captain, much like your crew, actually.

“they said they wanted to go find some ‘treasures’, i just assumed they were joking around. they said they wanted to find an hourglass, i think one of the crew, hyunbin or whatever, said it belonged to his father. i remembered having heard some legends about it, and offered to lead the way. we searched for months, and finally found it on this island.

“when we arrived, they began arguing over who got to have it; they all had a different timeline in mind. someone wanted to go find their dead parents, someone wanted to rescue their girlfriend, it was- it was a lot,” you closed your eyes, throwing your head back, “we weren’t even from this timeline, for fuck’s sake! they fucked with the cromer as soon as they got their grubby hands on it, knowing damn well it was a full moon! i don’t even know what happened, to be honest, either that, or i can’t remember. it doesn’t matter. i don’t want to anyway.

“i think it’s something to do with the stupid hourglass. my theory is it passes down ownership to whomever it deems worthy to hold it, eliminating the past owners. that’s how i ended up alone. i tell myself they each left one by one, but it still bothers me how cursed magic like that exists. i don’t know, the whole thing’s really messed up. i guess being the holder gives you power to hide or expose it to others, because, well, as you saw, i could play around with its surroundings.” yunho hummed, taking in all the information.

he tightened the knot on your bandage, breathing out through his nose and rocking on his chair, “well, now that i know a lot about you, ask me anything you want.” “anything?” you lifted your head up again, eyes wide. yunho smiled, “yeah.” you leaned forward, head resting against your palms, “how are you so cute?”

yunho began spluttering, rocking a bit too far back on his chair, nearly falling over until you grabbed his hand, laughing at his reaction. as soon as he steadied himself, he yanked his hand away, feeling like his entire skin was on fire. you had a proud grin on your face, “i’m playing with you. though, really, you are cute.” he was genuinely convinced right then and there that you were the human form of heaven itself with the way his heart was palpitating.

the only dilemma yunho was having with himself was the fact that you couldn’t stay with them.

he liked to think that you shared the same thought as him.

≡☆

somehow, hours later, yunho found himself next to you on the beach, admiring the sunset from afar. “i haven’t had company in ages,” you commented, “it’s nice. especially since it’s you.” yunho had really wanted to kick his feet and giggle over your bold words, but he opted for a light chuckle.

“do you ever miss your old timeline? or dimension, or however you say it,” he regretted his words instantly at the sad look on your face. “all the time. i had a boyfriend, you know? he tried to stop me from going. i ignored him out of spite because of the amount of arguments we got into before i left. they were mostly to do with chan, he never trusted him, and neither should i have.”

yunho ignored the new, strange sense of jealousy he was feeling, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “you wouldn’t have known.” you only gave a weak smile in response. “so tell me about your boyfriend.” you stiffened up slightly before relaxing again. if yunho wasn’t staring at you, he would’ve missed it entirely.

“well, he was the sweetest guy i’ve ever met. people compared him to a puppy all the time because of his energy,” you hesitated, “he had dyed blond-ish hair, a cute smile, a great sense of humour. he was tall, and was really popular. he always knew just how to cheer me up when i was down. he was considerate, caring, kind, he was everything.” yunho felt himself slowly getting upset. how could he ever compare to him? he sounded perfect.

“jealous?” you teased, nudging him. “not at all,” yunho rolled his eyes, playing with his compass again. he watched your eyes lower onto the very object, a soft look in them. “of course you still have it,” you murmured. “what?” yunho furrowed his brows. had he heard correctly? “it’s nothing.”

≡☆

nighttime rolled around and eventually all of them gathered around; yunho had found himself subconsciously scooting closer to you, landing himself a knowing look from mingi.

while your eyes connected with the flames yeosang started minutes ago, yunho couldn’t help but admire every inch of your carefully sculpted face. it was funny, wasn’t it? how he, at first, hated your overconfident demeanour, your demanding character, your addictive voice, your adorable laugh… huh. maybe he’d never hated you.

“so are you guys going to hide it now that you have to wait to use it?” you tilted your head curiously, and yunho wanted to choke a fistful of sand down his throat to contain the squeals that were threatening to bubble up with how absolutely beautiful you were. he shrugged, “most likely.” “the full moon’s in three days. where would you hiding it for three days?” “up san’s ass,” wooyoung laughed, before getting smacked by san.

yunho couldn’t bring himself to laugh at wooyoung’s immature joke. not when he now knew that he never had a chance with you to begin with.

but hearing your contagious laughter made him think of how lucky he was to have met you at all.

≡☆

“i know you, yunho, and i know you like her-” “like is an exaggeration.” seonghwa rolled his eyes, “just listen to me. she’s not going to be staying with us for long, and if you keep giving yourself a chance to get to know her, you’ll end up getting heartbroken.” “but isn’t that the point? maybe, when we use the cromer and get to a different dimension, maybe we can be together there…” he trailed off at how ridiculous he sounded. “that’s not how it works, and you know it,” seonghwa’s tone was now stern, almost to the point of telling yunho off.

“she clearly likes me too, can’t we at least enjoy the little amount of time we have together?” mingi tossed an arm around yunho from behind, “i say go for it.” “of course you’d say that,” seonghwa tsked, before continuing, “i’m asking you, as part of your crew, and your friend, to think this through.” “i am thinking this through!” yunho insisted, “i’d rather go through a heavy heartbreak than leave her with a bunch of ‘what if’s. i really do like her, seong-”

“no, you’re thinking this with your plan of finding her in a different timeline. yunho, you can’t do that. do you know how risky that is? ignoring the fact how we’ve only known her for a day too!” “of course i know,” he hissed, “but i don’t care how risky it is. i’m doing it.” “love at first sight, some might say,” mingi patted yunho’s shoulder. “oh, don’t get him started on love now,” seonghwa groaned. “love is a stretch, but i definitely find her interesting enough to want to be with her.” “just say you like her, yunho. everyone and their mothers can hear your giggles at night in your room,” hongjoong teased.

yunho’s face flushed, “i don’t giggle!” with that, he left the tiny crowd and stormed off to the meeting room. to his surprise, you were sitting at his regular seat, examining his compass. he left it there?

“so you want to be with me?” you raised an eyebrow, running a thumb over the quote the same way yunho does. “what- no?” yunho scoffed, taking a seat beside you. “i heard you guys. you get loud when you’re defensive. it’s okay, it’s cute.” yunho was at a loss for words. grasping for straws to change the topic, he gestured to the compass, “why did you say something like ‘i still have it’?”

you grew silent, and yunho thought you hadn’t heard him. he was about to repeat his question when you opened your mouth to answer, “i knew you, jeong yunho.” he flinched at the full name coming out of your mouth, “how…” “in my timeline. i knew you.”

you had the same stiff posture as you did on the beach, and yunho recalled what you were talking about during that time, “your boyfriend…” “yeah.” suddenly it all made sense. the dyed blond hair, the puppy personality, tall… yunho had heard every single one of them.

“we were together?” his voice was barely above a whisper. you nodded sadly, a bittersweet smile plastered, “i never got to say sorry for not believing you.” “well, at least i got an apology now,” he wrapped his hand around yours, the compass in between your interlocked fingers, and the cromer, your chance of a new happily ever after, placed on the table just centimetres away.

networks - @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films

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feyres-divorce-lawyer · 1 year

Text

*claps and rubs hands together* alright you miscreants, behold! epic literature provided by moi

~ You Might Be King Of Half The World, But You’ll Not Own Me As Well by WickedTheRedHorse (a literal masterpiece, i’m being so serious rn. when i say i only ship fanon darklina, this is what i mean)

~ the reports associated with my existence have been significantly misconstrued by davidstennant (multi-media fics aren’t usually my jam, but this, this is good jam. exquisite jam. would gladly slather it over some challa bread and feast) [note: hasn’t been updated since may last year]

~ Liar’s Waltz (based on the poll) by @sunlightsage (first rhysta fic i ever read🤌🏾🤌🏾)

~ House of Mirrors by ae_neon (love a widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances — @ae-neon)

~ Burial Rites in Crepuscular Hours by Existential_Teatime (badass alina rights, badass alina wrongs, when she makes the darkling question his intelligence>>>)

~ #8024 by SimplyAnotherWriter (marinette in arkham. that’s it)

~ The Journey to You by Thisishowitbegins (responsible for my resolute belief that timinette is the superior maribat ship, can’t believe this the author’s debut fic) [note: updates may be long as author grew incredibly busy]

~ Feylin Oneshots by Bookish_Gal (let’s be honest here, it’s by @bookishfeylin, need i say more. if you haven’t read it, what are you doing? alexander and adora live on my heart. also dragon tamlin, like hello???)

~ A Court of Frost and Embers by Midnight_Wishes (i made a whole, 6 minute long tiktok abt this on my first acc (that got banned because that clock app is so damn sensitive) really took my feycien obsession from brainworm to brainrot. the absolute longing and devastating angst because lucien knows feyre needs to break the curse yet falls for her anyway, but feyre doesn’t know so she just thinks lucien’s avoiding her for no reason. crushes my heart in the best way. and their calanmai scene, whew) [edit: @goforth-ladymidnight is the author’s tumblr)

~ heaven can’t help me now by disarmed (completed, perfect, there aren’t enough feycien infidelity fics out there)

~ The Girl and the Wolf by MythNinesevenine (miss janet dreams that she was as good at writing as @longsightmyth, DREAMS, i said)

~ A Court of Family Secrets and A Court of Flames and Shadows by flamesandshadows (feyre not going back to rhys after she finds out, nesta not going on that stupid hike, feycien friendship revival, eris and elain sibling relationship, elucien, azris, feyre ruling hewn city. literally all i could ask for)

~ Riddles in the Dark by flamesandshadows (feyre never gets sa’d utm. that’s it)

~ Sacrifice by flamesandshadows (rhys doesn’t get his powers back in acowar)

~ Reputation by flamesandshadows (nyx learns that his family isn’t as innocent as he grew up believing, especially his father. my favorite part, he goes absolute ape shit and deadass almost kills rhysand when he finds out what happened utm)

~ The Great Ikea Game by IcedAquarius (have you ever played hide and seek in ikea with your brothers and then you meet a girl that helps you with god-like magic because she’s bored? well that happens to damian wayne) [first work in an incomplete series but this work itself is completed]

~ Second Best by stormpill (Second Best Cinematic Universe is an actual collection with 75 works across 15 fandoms, Inspired by Second Best - stormpill is an actual tag. SB was a cultural reset. two sun summoners? genius. fjerdan barbie is the best inside joke i know. this shit was so good y’all, i’m so sad it was deleted)

~ Dragonlight by Anonymous (tgt/asoiaf crossover. alina lands in king’s landing (ha, get it) and ends up in a sacrifice by that mad king dude to bring back dragons, except due to her small science, it works. so now alya’s a dragon mama to six firebreathing cuties. alina and that rhaegar dude (that’s his name right?) marry to protect alina from his father cuz bro is called the mad king for a reason. political intrigue, yum.) [sporadic updates]

Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas — A Series by Dragonfly08 (@dragonfly0808 S4 REWRITE IS TOMORROW🥳🥳. best winx rewrite like ever. netflix wishes, WISHES, that they could ever be as good as writing winx as dragonfly is. btw A Withering Pretense is the best rewrite, argue with your mother)

if you don’t read at least one of these, i will cry🙂

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ieatcocoa · 6 months

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A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

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